Rabbinic Body Language: Non-Verbal Communication in Palestinian Rabbinic Literature of Late Antiquity [1 ed.] 9789004339064, 9789004339057

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Rabbinic Body Language

Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism Editor Benjamin G. Wright, III (Department of Religion Studies, Lehigh University) Associate Editors Hindy Najman (Theology & Religion Faculty, University of Oxford) Eibert J.C. Tigchelaar (Faculty of Theology and Religious Studies, KU Leuven) Advisory Board A.M. Berlin – K. Berthelot – R. Bloch – J.J. Collins – Y. Furstenberg K. Hogan – O. Irshai – S. Kattan Gribetz – S. Mason – J.H. Newman A.K. Petersen – M. Popović – I. Rosen-Zvi – J.T.A.G.M. van Ruiten – M. Segal J. Sievers – W. Smelik – G. Stemberger – L.T. Stuckenbruck – J.C. de Vos

VOLUME 179

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/jsjs

Rabbinic Body Language Non-Verbal Communication in Palestinian Rabbinic Literature of Late Antiquity

By

Catherine Hezser

LEIDEN | BOSTON

The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available online at http://catalog.loc.gov LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2016051825

Typeface for the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic scripts: “Brill”. See and download: brill.com/brill-typeface. issn 1384-2161 isbn 978-90-04-33905-7 (hardback) isbn 978-90-04-33906-4 (e-book) Copyright 2017 by Koninklijke Brill nv, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Hes & De Graaf, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Rodopi and Hotei Publishing. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill nv provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, ma 01923, usa. Fees are subject to change. This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.

Contents Acknowledgements vii List of Abbreviations viii Introduction 1 1 Appearance and Demeanor 24 2 Posture and Spatial Behavior 69 3 Gestures 147 4 Facial Expressions 203 5 Conclusions: Body Language in Rabbinic Literature 244 Bibliography 263 Index of Sources 282 Index of Subjects 292

Acknowledgements This study was inspired by Ruth Finnegan’s book, Communicating. The Multiple Modes of Human Interconnection (2nd ed. London and New York NY: Routledge, 2005), which opened my eyes to the importance of body language in the communication process. When visiting the exhibition, Defining Beauty: The Body in Ancient Greek Art at the British Museum in 2015, I became aware of the ancient artistic use of gestures and postures to denote status, values, and inner disposition. My general interest in dance, pantomime, and theater of the body (theatron ha-guf ) convinced me that this project would be a worthwhile undertaking. I would like to thank Martin Goodman for the opportunity to give a presentation on the topic at the Seminar on Jewish History and Literature in the Graeco-Roman Period at the Oxford Centre for Hebrew and Jewish Studies. The ensuing discussion with the audience of the seminar made me think about some issues anew. I am also grateful to Hindy Najman for her enthusiasm in the subject and to Benjamin G. Wright for his readiness to include the study in the Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism series. Especially helpful was his attentive reading of the text and his support during the last stages of the manuscript’s development. Catherine Hezser

London, August 2016

List of Abbreviations AnCl L’Antiquité Classique AncSoc Ancient Society BiTr Bible Translator CM Classica et Mediaevalia ETC ETC: A Review of General Semantics FJB Frankfurter Judaistische Beiträge HSCP Harvard Studies in Classical Philology HUCA Hebrew Union College Annual JHS Journal of Hellenic Studies JJS Journal of Jewish Studies JNWSL Journal of Northwest Semitic Languages JQR Jewish Quarterly Review JSJ Journal for the Study of Judaism JSQ Jewish Studies Quarterly OTE Old Testament Essays PAAJR Proceedings of the American Academy for Jewish Research RIDA Revue Internationale des Droits de l’Antiquité TPAPA Transactions and Proceedings of the American Philological Association ZDPV Zeitschrift des Deutschen Palästina Vereins ZNW Zeitschrift für die Neutestamentliche Wissenschaft ZVPs Zeitschrift für Völkerpsychologie und Sprachwissenschaft Abbreviations of biblical and post-biblical sources follow the SBL Handbook of Style, 2nd edition.

Introduction Body language is and has always been an important part of communication among humans. Gestures, movements, facial expressions, and physical appearance can convey information on their own or in connection with verbal expressions with which they stand in complex relationships. Rabbinic literature contains numerous references to rabbis’ and their interlocutors’ gestures, postures, spatial movements, eye behavior, and physique which are meaningful within the respective literary contexts and from a social-anthropological point of view. They convey information about rabbis’ self-presentation within the context of Jewish, Graeco-Roman, and Christian society in late antiquity. Non-verbal communication is always culturally specific, providing “access to a shared area of knowledge, one based not on the expression of individual will but on cultural circumstances.”1 Therefore this line of inquiry is particularly suited to rabbinic literature, which is an expression of rabbinic culture rather than of individual ideas and practices. Comparisons between non-verbal communication reflected in Palestinian rabbinic sources and in Graeco-Roman and Christian literature of the period are particularly useful to reveal cultural similarities and differences.2 Roman historians and classicists have pointed out that “in late antiquity there seems to have been an increased interest in and sensitivity to nonverbal communication.”3 Although earlier rhetoricians such as Cicero already stressed the importance of appropriate clothing, posture, gait, and manner of speech as expressions of social status, character, and identity, late antique writers referred to aspects of non-verbal communication much more often than writers of the first centuries CE.4 Not only rhetoricians but also those who aspired 1  A. Corbeill, Nature Embodied: Gesture in Ancient Rome (Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 2004), 1. 2  On the cultural specificity of body language see also K. Thomas, “Introduction,” 1–14 in A Cultural History of Gesture: From Antiquity to the Present Day. Edited by J. Bremmer and H. Roodenburg (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1991), 3: “modern writing on the subject starts from the assumption that gesture is not a universal language, but is the product of social and cultural differences.” 3  R.F. Newbold, “Nonverbal Communication and Parataxis in Late Antiquity,” AnCl 55 (1986): 223–44, 224–5. 4  See Newbold’s comparative table ibid. 227. See also idem, “Perception and Sensory Awareness Among Latin Writers in Late Antiquity,” CM 33 (1981–82): 169–90, where he confirms the late antique emphasis on visual perception on the basis of a comparison of early and late antique Latin authors, see the tables ibid. 176–7 and 179.

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to religious and intellectual leadership functions had to guard their appearance in the public domain. Peter Brown has pointed to the stylized gestures of the late antique “holy man” reflected in the literary sources: the gestures were supposed to convey his spiritual power.5 The Christian writer Chrysostom used theatrical images and vocabulary in his writings.6 Gestures served as signs of identification among those who belonged to particular religious and social strata and sub-strata of late antique society.7 One of the reasons for the increased importance of and sensitivity to body language in late antiquity may have been the development of “a highly competitive, visually flamboyant and individualistic society” at that time.8 The phenomenon that few people could read and had access to written texts, relying on oral presentations, talks, rumors, and the observation of others’ behaviors, would have contributed to the significance of nonverbal signifiers of meaning.9 In a face-to-face society, gestures and facial expressions may have been easier to understand and memorize than words of rebuke and praise.10 Hierarchical distinctions and cultural affiliations became evident by the way people walked, dressed, and interacted in space. Gestures could lend support to one’s verbal statements and opinions to render them more obvious and meaningful. Sometimes they possessed legal power and replaced or supplemented documents.11 Popular familiarity with various forms of public spectacles, including mimes, pantomimes, and other types of theatrical performances would have raised one’s awareness of body language.12 Acting and gesticulation were highly visible and all pervasive: some theatrical scenes and gestures were even

5  P. Brown, Society and the Holy in Late Antiquity (Berkeley and Los Angeles CA: University of California Press, 1989), 121. 6  J.L. Maxwell, Christianization and Communication in Late Antiquity.John Chrysostom and his Congregation in Antioch (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 54. 7  É. Rebillard, Christians and Their Many Identities in Late Antiquity, North Africa, 200–450 CE (Ithaca NY: Cornell University Press, 2012), 17–8. 8   Newbold, “Nonverbal Communication and Parataxis,” 238. 9  See also J.-C. Schmitt, “The Rationale of Gestures in the West: Third to Thirteenth Centuries,” 59–70 in A Cultural History of Gesture: From Antiquity to the Present. Edited by J. Bremmer and H. Roodenburg (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1991), 60. 10  See also Corbeill, Nature Embodied, 147. 11  Schmitt, “The Rationale of Gestures,” 59, with regard to the Middle Ages. 12  On the pervasiveness and attractiveness of such performances in Roman Palestine see Z. Weiss, Public Spectacles in Roman and Late Antique Palestine (Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 2014), 117–69.

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reflected in the mosaic art of Roman and early Byzantine Palestine.13 Despite late antique Christian leaders’ negative views toward theater performances, “the similarities between performances of preachers within churches and those of actors were apparent to everyone.”14 Newbold has suggested that the “greater sensitivity to nonverbal cues in personal interaction may therefore be part of a wider general trend towards more holistic modes of processing data” in late Roman times.15 Based on his study of rhetorical handbooks Gunderson has argued that proper physical self-presentation became one of the defining criteria of the vir bonus, the morally good, socially reliable and trustworthy male Roman citizen.16 The handbooks provided guidelines on how to conduct oneself in the company of others, how to walk, talk, dress, and gesticulate to conform to the ideal of a cultured Roman male. Boys learned these behaviors through observation and imitation of their elders. The knowledge of proper male comportment would be actualized in daily life: “actio and the theory of performance are vital aspects of the truth of masculine identity at Rome.”17 It will be interesting to see whether and to what extent rabbis’ literary self-presentation conformed to or diverged from the Roman ideal. Does rabbinic literature present an alternative, more “feminine” model of manliness, as Daniel Boyarin has maintained?18 Or did rabbis at least partly adhere to Graeco-Roman models of male self-fashioning? They would, in any case, have moved and expressed themselves in an environment which was heavily affected by Graeco-Roman social and cultural mores. Within this environment they would have used body language to express specifically rabbinic power and authority recognizable and identifiable by both their Jewish and non-Jewish contemporaries. Rabbis fashioned themselves as “sages,” that is, as intellectuals in a context in which the image of an intellectual would have been familiar to the populace at least in the major cities of Roman Palestine. As Paul Zanker has pointed out, the image of an intellectual was always time- and culture-specific, changing with intellectuals’ roles within the respective societies: “their image reflects, in 13  See ibid. 121: Some themes represented in the mosaics of Roman Palestine and Arabia “are precisely those employed by the mimes.” 14  Maxwell, Christianization and Communication, 54. 15  Newbold, “Nonverbal Communication and Parataxis,” 239. 16  E. Gunderson, Staging Masculinity: The Rhetoric of Performance in the Roman World (Ann Arbor MI: University of Michigan Press, 2000), 7. 17  Ibid. 27. 18  D. Boyarin, Unheroic Conduct: The Rise of Heterosexuality and the Invention of the Jewish Man (Berkeley and Los Angeles CA: University of California Press, 1997), 8.

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equal measure, both how they see themselves and the role they play in society.”19 Intellectuals such as “prophets, wise men, poets, philosophers, Sophists, and orators in Greco-Roman antiquity did consistently occupy a special position” in their own self-consciousness and in the way others saw them.20 Zanker’s study of Greek and Roman statues shows how this image and self-presentation changed over time. Visual signifiers such as beards and hair styles, facial expressions, clothing, and gestures distinguished the statues of intellectuals from those of politicians. Yet the ways in which intellectuals were displayed varied in accordance with the ideals and concerns of the times in which the statues were set up. For example, in Roman imperial times, especially from the second century CE onwards, “the beard became the symbol of the philosopher’s moral integrity.”21 Since Hellenistic times the raised arm was “a gesture of teaching.”22 A weak body signified “the exemplary and virtuous way of life,” in contrast to the relaxed, healthy body as an “embodiment of a life of pleasure.”23 In late antiquity, even non-intellectuals tried to represent themselves as steeped in paideia, appearing with book scrolls, tablets, and pens, even if they could neither read nor write.24 In the eastern parts of the Empire even those who were not philosophers wore the himation, the traditional garb of the intellectual.25 Intellectual appearance had become fashionable at least among the upper strata of society and those who imitated them, a phenomenon that continued into late antique and early Byzantine times.26 In the fifth century, however, Christians were keen on showing spiritual illumination in the descriptions and depictions of “holy men”: facial expressions were intense and heads turned upward to present them as “steeped in the spiritual and the divine.”27 19  P. Zanker, The Mask of Socrates. The Image of the Intellectual in Antiquity (Berkeley and Los Angeles CA: University of California Press, 1995), 1. 20  Ibid. 2. 21  Ibid. 110. 22  Ibid. 122. 23  Ibid. 122–3. 24  See ibid. 226–9. Greek paideia “had become a crucial element in the self-definition and public image” of certain sections of the population in “all parts of the Empire” (226). 25  See ibid. 232. The himation would have looked like the tallit mentioned in rabbinic sources. See J.A. Goldstein, “The Judaism of the Synagogues,” 109–59 in Judaism in Late Antiquity, part 2: Historical Syntheses. Edited by J. Neusner (Leiden: Brill, 1995), 113, with regard to the Dura Europos synagogue murals. 26  Zanker, The Mask of Socrates, 268 refers to sarcophagus reliefs which depict learned couples and child prodigies; for examples see 270 fig. 145 and 271 fig. 146. 27  Ibid. 323.

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We do not possess statues or busts or reliefs depicting rabbis in late antiquity. On the basis of literary representations of rabbis’ demeanor we may ask whether and to what extent they styled themselves to conform to current Graeco-Roman images of the cultured and learned intellectual or early Byzantine Christian images of the “holy man,” or whether these texts created an alternative, specifically Jewish image of the sage, recognizable in the way he presented himself and interacted with people. Would rabbinic body language represented in rabbinic literature clearly distinguish rabbis from GraecoRoman intellectuals and Christian spiritual teachers or mark them as one particular type of intellectual within a whole range of possibilities within the context of late antiquity? Did rabbinic references to non-verbal communication serve to create a specifically rabbinic identity; that is, do they set rabbis apart as an identifiable sub-group within both Jewish and Graeco-Roman society? Or did rabbis try to conform to existing models of intellectual demeanor, more interested to fit in than to establish a specifically rabbinic image of a scholar’s deportment and behavior? Obviously, non-verbal and verbal forms of rabbinic self-expression, body language and speech are interlinked in the literary sources and need to be examined together. Models for such an examination exist in studies of nonverbal behavior in Graeco-Roman literature and modern literary texts. Barbara Korte has stressed that “body language must be recognized as an important signifying system in the literary text” and constitutes “one subsystem of the text’s entire sign repertoire.”28 In texts references to body language have always been included by the authors or editors for particular purposes: “non-verbal behaviour in literature is always ‘significant’: it is integral to the text’s artistic design even when it cannot be read as a sign with a clearly defined meaning.”29 Although we are unable to observe actual non-verbal communication practices of ancient times, the study of literary representations of body language is also relevant from a social-historical perspective. Gestures, facial expressions, and comportment represented in the literary sources must have been meaningful to the tradents and editors and their readers and audiences, even if the particular meanings are difficult to reconstruct from our modern perspective. Therefore social-anthropological studies, which examine the role of non-verbal behavior in social life, are also useful for the study of body language in ancient to modern literary sources. Korte maintains that, in general, “body language in fictional situations can be analyzed with the same functional categories that

28  B. Korte, Body Language in Literature (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1997), 4. 29  Ibid. 5.

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are used in the analysis of natural NVC” but is much more limited in its appearance and often stylized.30 A study of body language in rabbinic sources can benefit from socialanthropological studies and literary studies of non-verbal behavior in GraecoRoman texts.31 Whereas the social-anthropological study of non-verbal communication began in the 1960s and 70s already, literary studies focused on classical texts are much more recent and were carried out especially during the last two decades. A few exceptions notwithstanding, the approach has rarely been applied to ancient Jewish texts, whether biblical, Hellenistic, or rabbinic. The few studies which exist (see below) generally focus on ritual contexts only. The notion of rabbinic halakhah as verbal statement, rule, and dispute has distracted scholars’ attention from the non-verbal signifiers and descriptions of behaviors and practices that are as important as the verbal expressions in their respective contexts. When focusing on such descriptions one realizes that behavior and action were as important to rabbis as statements and opinions and the observation of non-verbal behavior as relevant as the memorization of halakhic views. Rachel Neis has recently argued that Judaism took a visual turn in late antiquity.32 The image of rabbis as text scholars needs to be corrected by taking their and their contemporaries’ visual orientation into account. In her book, Communicating. The Multiple Modes of Human Interconnection, Ruth Finnegan has stressed that communication is a “multidimensional process.”33 In this process the role of the “visible body” is as significant as the role of verbal messages. People “use their bodies to produce visible signals”:34 They approach others or move away, change their facial expressions, move in front or behind others: “Particular stances and orientations can convey, for example, friendliness, hostility, playfulness, receptiveness, dominance, aggression or appeasement.”35 Equally important are the eyes and particular ways of looking at others that can convey hostility, anger, suspicion or ­welcome 30  Ibid. 55. She uses “NVC” as an abbreviation for non-verbal communication. 31  A good overview of the study of non-verbal communication in different disciplines, with a focus on their usefulness for classical antiquity is provided by T. Fögen, “Sermo Corporis: Ancient Reflections on gestus, vultus, and vox,” 15–44 in: Bodies and Boundaries in GraecoRoman Antiquity. Edited by T. Fögen and M.M. Lee (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2009), esp. 17–22. 32  R. Neis, The Sense of Sight in Rabbinic Culture. Jewish Ways of Seeing in Late Antiquity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 8. 33  R. Finnegan, Communicating. The Multiple Modes of Human Interconnection (2nd ed. London and New York NY: Routledge, 2005), 17. 34  Ibid. 93. 35  Ibid. 95.

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and accessibility.36 In all communicative interactions, the cultural and group affiliations, social statuses, genders, and roles of the interlocutors and the context of the encounter are crucial for understanding nonverbal cues.37 Even “ways of walking communicate,” since they are “learned and culturally variable” processes.38 The body’s appearance and bearing “mark differentiation, drawing on culturally-specific conventions about appropriate movement and demeanour.”39 By standing close to someone or keeping a certain distance, by sitting down while another person is standing people follow certain spatial conventions which constitute the “silent language” of the culture they are socialized in.40 Social differences, gender roles, authority and hierarchy are communicated as much through body language as through verbal statements. Finnegan’s general observations on body language are very important for understanding rabbinic literature as well. For example, in the well-known story about R. Gamliel’s visit to Aphrodite’s bath in Acco (m. Avod. Zar. 3:4) Proklos’s question implies that he has entered an inappropriate space that “belongs” to the pagan goddess (“Why are you bathing in the bathhouse of Aphrodite?”). In his reply Gamliel clarifies: “I did not come into her domain, she came into my domain.” On the basis of Finnegan’s considerations, one notices that these sentences are loaded with spatial significance. The very act of entering the bathhouse signals R. Gamliel’s willingness to communicate with pagans and to deal with the issue of idolatry.41 From the pagan perspective R. Gamliel may be seen as encroaching onto the goddess’s territory. Gamliel’s answer suggests that he—as a stand-in for rabbis in general—appropriates the space of the bathhouse for his own purposes. The story resolves the conflict between visits to “pagan” bathhouses and rabbinic identity by neutralizing the seemingly hostile space.42 36  Ibid. 98. 37  See ibid. 99. 38  Ibid. 101. 39  Ibid. 103. 40  See ibid. 104. 41  Ibid. 108 Finnegan writes: “Moving into a particular space can signal the start or development of a particular communicative phase . . .” 42  On this story see also S. Schwartz, “Gamaliel in Aphrodite’s Bath: Palestinian Judaism and Urban Culture in the Third and Fourth Centuries,” 203–17 in The Talmud Yerushalmi and Graeco-Roman Culture, Vol. 1. Edited by Peter Schäfer (Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 1998); idem, “The Rabbi in Aphrodite’s Bath: Palestinian Society and Jewish Identity in the High Roman Empire,” 335–61 in Being Greek Under Rome: Cultural Identity, the Second Sophistic, and the Development of Empire. Edited by Simon Goldhill (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001).

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Other examples are the many references to students walking behind their masters, junior colleagues walking while senior rabbis ride asses: all of these references express issues of subordination and hierarchy. The entire way in which students and teachers, junior and senior rabbis, rabbis and non-rabbis behave toward each other, as represented in the literary sources, are highly significant with regard to the meanings they convey. As Finnegan has pointed out, “the ‘rightful placing’ of people according to status” plays an important role in courtly and clerical circles as a symbolic marker preserving an established order.43 Rabbinic behavioral patterns and conventions would have developed over time and appear in the literary sources in a solidified form. Ancient Jewish society was very much a face-to-face society in which communication was based on the presence of and contact between the parties involved. Erving Goffman’s work has focused on “face-work,” that is, the ritual elements involved in social interaction. If a person acts “out of face,” if he or she acts against the expectations interlocutors have of a particular situation, the result will be embarrassment and possible damage to one’s reputation. In the R. Gamliel story above, R. Gamliel’s visit to the bathhouse may have been seen as inappropriate by some people. If he had not been able to resolve the conflict, or if he had outed himself as a worshiper of Aphrodite, he would have lost his “social face” among his in-group. Social restraints and conventions are involved in all types of encounters. In any society “a system of practices, conventions, and procedural rules comes into play which functions as a means of guiding and organizing the flow of messages. An understanding will prevail as to when and where it will be permissible to initiate talk, among whom, and by means of what topics of conversation.”44 In rabbinic sources, for example, interaction between students and their teachers is guided by such rules. Greetings are another area in which conventions need to be observed: they ensure the maintenance of a relationship and the harmonious conduct of an encounter.45 According to Goffman, rules of conduct are basically conservative, preserving existing social roles and hierarchies. They serve to confirm identities and social images. The way in which others treat a person “will express a conception of him.”46 One

43  Finnegan, Communicating. 109. 44  E. Goffman, Interaction Ritual. Essays in Face-to-Face Behaviour (London: The Penguin Press, 1972), 33–4. 45  See ibid. 41. On greetings see also idem, “Relations in Public,” 202–18 in Social Encounters. Readings in Social Interaction. Edited by Michael Argyle (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1973). 46  Goffman, Interaction Ritual, 51.

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could say that rabbinic literature constructs the image of the rabbi by the way he relates to others and others behave towards him. For the study of body language Michael Argyle’s book, Bodily Communication, is particularly useful, not least because of his detailed treatment of the various types of non-verbal communication.47 My synonymous use of the terms “body language” and “non-verbal communication” throughout this volume is based on his definition. Bodily or non-verbal communication “takes place whenever one person influences another by means of facial expression, tone of voice,” gestures and other bodily movements, postures, body contact, spatial behavior, clothes and other aspects of appearance, non-verbal vocalization (eg, laughter, weeping) or smell.48 Nonverbal cues are closely linked to language and can serve to illustrate, support, or contradict what is said. They also stand alone, however, for “there is a lot which cannot be expressed adequately in words.”49 Just as verbal messages require the participants and audience to understand the language that is used, nonverbal signifiers require de-coding. In real life situations people would have an “awareness of others as beings who understand the code which is being used.”50 The code being culturally specific, encounters with people from other cultures can lead to misunderstandings and embarrassment: “cultural differences in NVC are a major source of friction, misunderstanding, and annoyance between cultural and national groups.”51 In rabbinic literature such misunderstandings are evident, eg, in encounters between Palestinian and Babylonian Jews. Adam Kendon calls gesture a “visible action as utterance” in the title of his book.52 He points to the multiple ways in which gestures are related to discourse: “At times they are used in conjunction with spoken expressions, at other times as complements, supplements, substitutes or as alternatives to them.”53 Within the context of rabbinic halakhic discourse the term “visible action as utterance” may be applied to the description of rabbinic actions and practices in support or contradiction to statements. Such actions are usually considered as halakhically significant as verbal statements which they 47  M. Argyle, Bodily Communication (2nd ed. London and New York NY: Methuen & Co. Ltd., 1988). 48  See ibid. 1–2. 49  Ibid. 2. 50  Ibid. 3. 51  Ibid. 49. 52  A. Kendon, Gesture: Visible Action as Utterance (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004). 53  Ibid. 1.

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support, supplement, illustrate, contradict, or replace. Kendon defines gestures as “movements seen as deliberate, conscious, governed by an intention to say something or to communicate.”54 Such an expressive intention would always be present in literary sources where gestures, body movements, and actions never appear at random. The fact that body language adheres to culturally specific rules that need to be de-coded makes the study of non-verbal behavior in ancient societies and literatures particularly challenging.55 Nevertheless, classicists and ancient historians have engaged in such studies since the 1990s. In a programmatic article published in 1992 Holoka has pointed to the “research opportunities” awaiting classical scholars in this field. Classical literature is full of references to bodily signals, spatial behavior, facial expressions, personal appearance, and vocal characterizers, “material largely overlooked till now.”56 This wealth of material should be studied on the basis of a “large and growing body of modern research in nonverbal communication.”57 Holoka advocates the use of socialanthropological studies in the analysis of body language in classical texts. Since Holoka wrote his article, studies of nonverbal behavior mentioned in Greek and Roman texts have proliferated. Before I turn to them, however, an important precusor needs to be mentioned: Carl Sittl’s study of the gestures of Greeks and Romans was published at the end of the nineteenth century already.58 His definition of gestures is rather broad, including “all non-mechanical movements of the human body,” whether they are carried out intentionally or instinctively.59 His definition includes not only the Latin 54  Ibid. 11. 55  Ibid. 326 Kendon refers to differences between cultures, societies, and sub-groups within societies, “in how gesture is used and differences in the specific gestures employed.” He refers to Efron’s study of gestures among Jews and Italians at New York’s Lower East Side as an example, see D. Efron, Gesture and Environment (New York NY: King’s Crown Press, 1941) and idem, Gesture, Race, and Culture (The Hague: Mouton and Co., 1972). Efron’s work is based on direct observation and is carried out from an anthropologist’s perspective. 56   J.P. Holoka, “Nonverbal Communication in the Classics: Research Opportunities,” 237–54 in: Advances in Nonverbal Communication. Sociocultural, Clinical, Esthetic and Literary Perspectives. Edited by Fernando Peyatos (Amsterdam and Philadelphia PA: John Benjamins Publishing Company, 1992). 57  Ibid. 58  C. Sittl, Die Gebärden der Griechen und Römer (Leipzig: B.G. Teubner, 1890). Interestingly, already before Sittl’s work was published, I. Goldziher’s study of nonverbal communication among Arabs came out, see idem, “Über Gebärden- und Zeichensprache bei den Arabern,” ZVPs 7 (1886): 369–86. 59  Sittl, Die Gebärden der Griechen und Römer, 1; my translation from German.

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gestus (gestatio, gesticulatio) but also facial expressions called vultus. Similarly broad is his thematic focus, which ranges from non-verbal expressions of emotions to mourning, greeting, and prayer rituals, legal gestures, expressions of reverence, and the body language of stage performers. The distinction between emotional expressions, mourning rituals, and “symbolic gestures,” to which a separate chapter is dedicated, is not entirely clear, since some of the “symbolic gestures” also express emotions such as antipathy. Nevertheless, the work constitutes the basis of more recent studies of body language in classical literature which use social-anthropological studies not available at Sittl’s time. Especially numerous are studies which focus on gestures mentioned in ancient rhetorical handbooks.60 This is the most obvious type of literature referring to various forms of non-verbal communication. The studies point to connections between the representation of gestures and the social functions of body language in republican and imperial Rome. As van der Blom and Steel have already stressed with regard to republican times, in Roman oratory “debate and the changing of minds very much took second place to the display of power and the articulation of predetermined demands.”61 In his book on Acclamations in Ancient Rome, Aldrete has pointed to the conservative nature of behavioral rules and the significance of oratory in the socialization of members of the aristocracy.62 The primary goal of Roman upper-class education was “to prepare young men for public life,” that is, “to produce effective public speakers” who were in control of both the verbal and non-verbal aspects of their presentations.63 Cicero had already pointed out that the sermo corporis, the “language of the body,” was as important as the orator’s words.64 Quintilian provided detailed instructions on proper body movements, covering the entire body from the head to the feet.65 At the same time, rhetorical teachers warned

60  For an overview of ancient theories see T. Fögen, “Ancient Theorizing on Nonverbal Communication,” 203–16 in LACUS Forum XXVII: Speaking and Comprehending. Edited by R.M. Brend et al. (Fullerton CA: Linguistic Association of Canada and the United States, 2001). 61  H. van der Blom and C. Steel, “Introduction,” 1–7 in Community and Communication. Oratory and Politics in Republican Rome. Edited by C. Steel and H. van der Blom (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 2–3. 62   G.S. Aldrete, Acclamations in Ancient Rome (Baltimore MD and London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1999). 63  Ibid. 3. 64  Cicero, De Oratore 3.222: “est enim actio quasi sermo corporis, quo magis menti congruens esse debet.” 65  Quintilian, Institutio Oratoria, books 3–11.

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against excessive gesticulation, which was seen as counterproductive and harmful to the speaker’s ambition to persuade his audience. Was gesticulation limited to rhetorical handbooks and Roman oratory then? Aldrete strongly argues against such an assumption: the gestures described in the handbooks were actually used by orators and many of them were widespread in Roman society, even among the poor.66 People would see orators, legal advocates, and actors use body language in public that they themselves commonly used and imitated. The evaluation of speakers and actors was a popular form of entertainment.67 The lack of technology to amplify speech and aid hearing is also crucial when dealing with communication in antiquity.68 In a crowded and noisy environment it would have been difficult to hear and understand what a speaker said. Body language provided a visual aid. On the basis of constant experience the public would have been well-trained in interpreting the gestures and responding to them. During the last decades a number of classicists have expanded the study of body language in Greek and Roman literature beyond rhetorical texts. These studies are usually more limited in their scope and more specific thematically. For example, Lateiner has studied the representation of social space and distance in the Odyssey and stressed that all such references are meaningful in Homer’s texts: “Social distance and body position, especially in its vertical plane (e.g., standing tall, hovering over, crouching, and groveling) emphatically signal status and/or disposition.”69 He has shown how use of space and territory constitute an important semiotic code within the plot structure of the Odyssey.70 In another study he has analyzed the nonverbal representation of emotions in Greek epic poetry.71 Barton’s interesting study focuses on the blush in Greek and Roman literature and concludes: “The blush and sensitivity to shame were so inextricably linked in Roman thought that the words pudor and rubor, “shame” and “redness,” were often used together or 66  Aldrete, Acclamations in Ancient Rome, 50. 67  Ibid. 68  Ibid. 74. Aldrete refers to Pliny the Younger, Epistulae 9.34.1–2, who would use a freedman to read out his texts while he himself focused on body language; this reference “implies that some orators actually do have others read their works while they themselves follow along performing the gestures.” 69  D. Lateiner, “Heroic Proxemics: Social Space and Distance in the Odyssey,” TPAPA 122 (1992): 133–63, 135. 70  See ibid. 137. 71  See D. Lateiner, “Affect Displays in the Epic Poetry of Homer, Vergil, and Ovid,” 255–69 in Advances in Nonverbal Communication. Edited by Fernando Poyatos (Amsterdam and Philadelphia PA: John Benjamins, 1992).

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interchangeably.”72 In his introduction to a joint volume on tears and crying, Thorsten Fögen stresses the importance of investigating the literary and social contexts of these phenomena in Graeco-Roman antiquity.73 These and other such studies can provide inspiration for the study of these phenomena in rabbinic literature of the first five centuries.74 A broader approach to body language which explores its significance in various contexts of Roman society is Anthony Corbeill’s study, Nature Embodied: Gesture in Ancient Rome.75 His study analyzes body language in a number of areas such as Roman religious rituals, medicine, mourning, and walking styles. Based on Bourdieu, Corbeill stresses the immense political and social significance of body language in Rome society.76 He argues that body language constituted a veritable “cultural system” reflected in the ancient literary texts: “Gestures provide access to a system of thought and prejudice otherwise not accessible to us—and one often only dimly perceived by contemporaries.”77 In Roman society, personal predispositions and moral values were believed to be “visible, easily detectable signs.”78 Body notions served to “create and reinforce social distinctions”: they helped the political, socio-economic, and intellectual elites to differentiate themselves from other strata of society.79 Especially suspicious were so-called “foreign” gestures which diverted from the behavioral rules governing the elite’s body “and, as a result, the physical demeanor of the right-thinking citizen.”80 People were immediately judged 72   C.A. Barton, “The Roman Blush: The Delicate Matter of Self-Control,” 212–34 in Constructions of the Classical Body. Edited by J.I. Porter (Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press, 1999), 212. On the blush see also D. Lateiner, “Blushes and Pallor in Ancient Fictions,” Helios 25: (1998) 163–89. 73  T. Fögen, “Tears and Crying in Graeco-Roman Antiquity: An Introduction,” 1–16 in: Tears in the Graeco-Roman World. Edited by T. Fögen (Berlin and New York NY: de Gruyter, 2009). 74  See also D. Lateiner, “Nonverbal Communication in the Histories of Herodotus,” Arethusa 20 (1987): 93–119; R.F. Newbold, “Nonverbal Communication in Tacitus and Ammianus,” AncSoc 21 (1990): 189–99. 75  Corbeill, Nature Embodied. 76  See, eg, ibid. 38, 70–1, 109, and 135 with reference to P. Bourdieu, Outline of a Theory of Practice (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977) and idem, The Logic of Practice (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1990). 77  Corbeill, Nature Embodied, 2. 78  Ibid. 79  Ibid. See also M.W. Gleason, Making Men. Sophists and Self-Presentation in Ancient Rome (Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 1995), xxi, who refers to paideia as a “symbolic capital” that had to be displayed in public. 80  Corbeill, Nature Embodied, 4 with reference to Pliny the Younger, Epistulae 8.14.4: “It has been established since antiquity that we should learn from our elders not only with our

14

Introduction

by their contemporaries on the basis of their walking styles, posture, voice, and manner of gesticulation. Even within medicine the gestus, from gerere, “to carry,” was considered revelatory: “this carriage can be read by observers as an indication of internal disposition.”81 The human body and its comportment were seen as a text that could be read.82 Gleason and Gunderson have brought the gender issue into this discussion by emphasizing the performative aspects of maleness in Roman society. One’s self-presentation as a respectable male Roman citizen required a great amount of role-play: gesture, carriage, facial expression, and voice control, “all the arts of deportment necessary in a face-to-face society where one’s adequacy as a man was always under suspicion and one’s performance was constantly being judged.”83 Masculinity was expressed in body language: “Masculinity . . . constituted a system of signs. It was a language that anatomical males were taught to speak with their bodies.”84 Those who diverted from this system would risk being considered androgynous.85 In Hellenistic and Roman times rhetoric was central in defining masculinity under constant scrutiny in public and private contexts. Women “had no place whatever in this performance culture”— except for serving as a negative foil for male demeanor.86 The Roman concern with appearances found its artistic expression in statues and busts of more or less famous males. Since the 1960s art historians have studied how gestures and body language displayed in Greek and Roman art and coinage connote social status.87 Paul Zanker has shown how Roman representations of the intellectual reflected the ideals of their respective time periods.88 The statues, busts, and relief depictions of intellectuals served as icons that displayed the social values of those who commissioned them. In their muteness, their postures, facial expressions, gestures, clothing, and accoutrements were meant to give visual expression to kalokagathia in the ears but also with our eyes the things that we must ourselves do and, in turn, pass on to our descendants.” 81  Ibid. 17. 82  See ibid. 115. 83  Gleason, Making Men, xxii. See also Gunderson, Staging Masculinity, 27: “actio and the theory of performance are vital aspects of the truth of masculine identity at Rome.” 84  Gleason, Making Men, 70. 85  See ibid. 62–5 on signs of androgyny understood in a negative sense in Roman society. 86  Ibid. 160. 87  See especially R. Brilliant, Gesture and Rank in Roman Art. The Use of Gestures to Denote Status in Roman Sculpture and Coinage (New Haven CT: The Academy, 1963) and G. Neumann, Gesten und Gebärden in der griechischen Kunst (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1965). 88  Zanker, The Mask of Socrates.

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sense of both physical and spiritual perfection that others could emulate.89 How influential these public displays of social values were becomes evident in ordinary people’s attempts to imitate them: funerary monuments and sacrophagus reliefs of the middle strata of society depict the deceased as learned, even if he or she was illiterate or semi-literate in real life.90 As Eliav has already pointed out, “[a]nyone walking in a typical city in Palestine during this period—such as Caesarea Maritima, Scythopolis, Samaria, Paneas and Eleutheropolis—would encounter Roman sculpture every step of the way, and there is no reason to believe that major cities in regions heavily populated by Jews, such as Sepphoris or Tiberias, were any different.”91 Such publicly displayed art would have consisted of cult statues and emperors’ statues, whereas busts and (statue-)heads of intellectuals would usually be displayed in the private villas and libraries of wealthy patrons to display the householder’s paideia to his guests.92 A few portraits of Hellenistic philosophers and classical Greek writers have been found in cities of Roman Palestine such as Caesarea.93 These variants of earlier Greek and Hellenistic prototypes have been dated to the first to third centuries CE and were probably imported from oversees.94 Another indication of the valuation of paideia among the non-Jewish population of the Hellenistic cities of Syria-Palestine in the first four centuries CE is the book scroll ( formula) held by the deceased (usually bearded older men or non-bearded younger men) in funerary busts 89  See ibid. 10. 90  See ibid. 267. 91   Y.Z. Eliav, “Viewing the Sculpural Environment: Shaping the Second Commandment,” 411–33 in The Talmud Yerushalmi and Graeco-Roman Culture, Vol. 3. Edited by Peter Schäfer (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002), 415. 92  J. Geiger, Hellenism in the East: Studies on Greek Intellectuals in Palestine (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2014), 30, points to the “well-known” library of Eusebius at Caesarea as an example. On this library see also A. Carriker, The Library of Eusebius of Caesarea (Leiden and Boston MA: Brill, 2003); A. Grafton and M. Williams, Christianity and the Transformation of the Book: Origen, Eusebius, and the Library of Caesarea (Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 2006). 93  Eight busts and heads (originally belonging to statues) of intellectuals have been published so far; on these see R. Gersht, “Roman Copies Discovered in the Land of Israel,” 433–50 in Classical Studies in Honor of David Sohlberg. Edited by Ranon Katzoff et al. (Ramat-Gan: Bar-Ilan University Press, 1996), 445–6; M.L. Fischer, Marble Studies: Roman Palestine and the Marble Trade (Konstanz: Universitätsverlag Konstanz., 1998), fig. nos. 138–140, 178, 186; I. Skupińska-Lovset, Portraiture in Roman Syria. A Study in Social and Regional Differentiation Within the Art of Portraiture (Lódź: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Lódzkiego, 1999), 57–9. 94  See Gersht, “Roman Copies”, 445–6; Skupińska-Lovset, Portraiture in Roman Syria, 57–9.

16

Introduction

and portraits.95 These examples show that rabbis’ non-Jewish contemporaries did not hesitate to present themselves as learned and used visual markers or “props” such as scrolls to indicate Greek learning. Studies of nonverbal communication in the Hebrew Bible and in ancient Jewish literature are still rare.96 As far as biblical texts are concerned, the only comprehensive studies are two doctoral dissertations: Heinrich Vorwahl’s work, Die Gebärdensprache im Alten Testament (1932), and Mayer I. Gruber’s work, Aspects of Nonverbal Communication in the Ancient Near East (1980).97 Vorwahl’s work evinces a certain bias toward the alleged prevalence of gesturing among “Oriental” people.98 Gruber’s perspective is broader, including not only biblical but also Akkadian and Mesopotamian texts. His methodological approach is linguistic. He examines and compares the terminology used for various types of body language in Hebrew and other ancient Near Eastern languages. Accordingly, the references are not studied in their respective literary and social contexts but dealt with cursorily in connection with similar formulas elsewhere. The broad thematic scope of his work (ranging from prayer gestures to greeting postures and expressions of emotions) and the many textual references he provides constitute a basis for future more detailed studies of particular types of body language and nonverbal communication in specific biblical writings. Paul E. Kruger has moved into this direction with a few articles published during the last two decades.99 For rabbinic literature studies of nonverbal communication are similarly scarce. The only scholar who has published a book-length study on this

95  See the examples from Gadara in T.M. Weber, Gadara-Umm Qēs I: Gadara Decapolitana: Untersuchungen zur Topographie, Geschichte, Architektur und der Bildenden Kunst einer “Polis Hellenis” im Ostjordanland (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2002), eg, fig. 63 A–C, 74A, 75C, 76C, 79A. 96   P.E. Kruger, “ ‘Nonverbal Communication’ in the Hebrew Bible: A Few Comments,” JNWSL 24 (1998): 141–64, 142, points to the “logocentric” bias of scholars as a possible reason for the neglect of this area. 97  H. Vorwahl, Die Gebärdensprache im Alten Testament (Berlin: Dr. Emil Ebering, 1932); M.I. Gruber, Mayer Aspects of Nonverbal Communication in the Ancient Near East (Studia Pohl 12/1 [Dissertationes Scientificae de Rebus Orientis Antiqui]. Rome: Biblical Institute Press, 1980). 98  Vorwahl, Die Gebärdensprache, 5; already noted by Kruger, “ ‘Nonverbal Communica­tion’,” 141. 99   P.E. Kruger, “Nonverbal Communication and Symbolic Gestures in Psalms,” BiTr 45 (1994): 213–22; idem, “The Face and Emotions in the Hebrew Bible,” OTE 18 (2005): 651–63.

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s­ubject, with a focus on prayer rituals, is Uri Ehrlich.100 In his book, The Nonverbal Language of Prayer: A New Approach to Jewish Liturgy, Ehrlich deals with aspects of body language associated with the Amidah prayer in Jewish liturgical texts.101 Individual chapters are devoted to the bowing gesture as well as to facial expressions, voice, clothing, and shoes. Ehrlich stresses the “holistic nature” of prayer, which includes a variety of nonverbal elements.102 He notes that variations in prayer rituals existed between Palestine and Babylonia but downplays the impact of neighboring religions.103 Individual prayer gestures are traced in their development from tannaitic sources to the Talmuds and aggadic Midrashim of the early Byzantine period (5th to 6th c. CE). Ehrlich believes that the literary texts “also bear witness to their realia,” that is, the way in which the Amidah was actually recited and ritually enacted by ancient Jews: “Taken together, they reflect differences between periods and places, and even between schools of thought or individuals.”104 Besides the “normative rabbinic ideal” Ehrlich believes that the texts also reflect “actual practice.”105 His approach is both philological and historical, taking other non-rabbinic and non-Jewish sources into account. Ehrlich highlights one particular problem which a study of nonverbal communication in rabbinic texts encounters: rabbis rarely explain the significance of the gestures reflected in rabbinic texts.106 The meaning of a gesture may have been evident to the ancient tradents, editors, audience, and readers but is difficult for modern scholars to extrapolate. The literary contexts and comparative non-rabbinic sources need to be examined carefully to reveal the gestures’ significance in the particular frameworks in which they appear. Most importantly, Ehrlich suggests that the body had a much larger role and significance in Jewish worship and rabbinic halakhah than is commonly assumed.107 This conclusion also accords with Kirshenblatt-Gimblett’s programmatic article on “The Corporeal Turn” in Jewish Studies: “. . . those who took the 100  See also the unpublished study of S. Fogel, The Orders of Discourse in the Study House in Rabbinic Literature of the Land of Israel: Ritual, Organizing Space, and Discipline (Hebr., Ph.D. thesis submitted to Ben-Gurion Univesity of the Negev, Be’er Sheva, 2014) on the use of space in the context of the study house. 101  U. Ehrlich, The Nonverbal Language of Prayer: A New Approach to Jewish Liturgy (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004). 102  Ibid. 3. 103  See ibid. 5 and 199. 104  Ibid. 5. 105  Ibid. 106  Ibid. 6. 107  Ibid. 8.

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Introduction

corporeal turn never left the text behind. Rather, they brought a concern with the body to the text and found new ways to read and think about these texts.”108 Anthropological models and approaches should be combined with careful historical-critical studies using “a wide variety of sources, textual, visual, and artifactual.”109 Besides Ehrlich’s monograph on prayer rituals and two articles on other rituals this combined approach has not been applied to body language in ancient Judaism until now.110 When studying references to nonverbal communication in rabbinic texts Barbara Korte’s methodological considerations in her book, Body Language in Literature, are especially useful.111 In literature body language appears in textualized form and is part of the text’s signifying system. Words can never fully describe actual performances. Due to a text’s limitations, only a selection of the body language that accompanies conversation in real life can be mentioned. Therefore all of the references that do appear must be considered carefully chosen and meaningful.112 References to body language mainly appear in narrative texts and in introductions and comments on speech. Especially in rabbinic texts they tend to be brief and stylized. Sometimes repetitive formulas are used which reappear in various tractates. Body language in texts is not a mere transcription of a performative act. As Gunderson has pointed out, texts “act to construct and to socialize a certain kind of body”; they create a “discursive body” as part of the entire signifying practice of a text.113 This study shall investigate the forms and functions of body language in mostly Palestinian rabbinic texts. If the Mishnah and especially the Talmud and Midrashim are seen as “handbooks” for future generations of scholars, do they provide performative models reinforcing a vision of the ideal sage, how he should walk, talk, and conduct himself? One may argue that just as Roman rhetorical literature was “a full participant in the dialectic of the production, reproduction, maintenance, and recognition of good men and their authority,”114 rabbinic literature created the image of the rabbi in late antique

108  B. Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, “The Corporeal Turn,” JQR 95 (2005): 447–61, 447. 109  Ibid. 453. 110  See U. Ehrlich, “Verbal and Non-Verbal Rituals of Leave-Taking in Rabbinic Culture— Phenomenology and Significance,” JSQ 8 (2001): 1–26; idem, “The Ritual of Lending Shoulders: Distribution and Significance in Talmudic Times,” HUCA 75 (2004): 23–35. 111  Korte, Body Language in Literature, mentioned above. 112  See ibid. 5–7. 113  Gunderson, Staging Masculinity, 4. 114  Ibid. 9.

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and early Byzantine society, an image that depended as much on visual recognition as on verbal discourse. Rabbinic texts’ construction of the habitus of the rabbi does not allow us to reconstruct the actual body language of rabbis in real life. Nevertheless, rabbinic references to nonverbal communication must have been meaningful to the tradents, editors, and their audiences. The shorthand references to rabbis and disciples of sages sitting or standing, keeping a distance, hiding, walking ahead or behind other rabbis, blushing, weeping, and remaining silent would have been understood in the cultural context the tradents lived in. Accordingly, not only the literary but also the social context becomes significant. Body language is used in texts to convey the respective characters’—and through them the tradents’ and editors’—values and attitudes, social status, power relations, attractions and repulsions.115 In this study both the literary and the social contexts of body language mentioned in Palestinian rabbinic sources shall be taken into consideration. As far as the literary context is concerned, the function of a reference to nonverbal communication within its textual context shall be examined: such references can, for example, function as illustrators of verbal statements; they can serve to express the interpersonal relations of the characters involved; or they can stand by themselves as an expression of a halakhic view, sometimes in contradistinction to a verbal rule. Besides the specific literary context, the repetitive use of specific formulas as a kind of shorthand for particular rabbinic behaviors is important. For example, the formulas “X sat before Y,” or “X came before Y,” are used to denote specific contexts in which conversations should be understood. This, then, leads us to the social contexts, power relations, and hierarchies expressed by the use of body language and space. What do the tradents and editors attempt to tell us about group relations, identity, and authority? How do they use references to body language to create the impression of affiliation or hostility? How is nonverbal behavior used emblematically to indicate cultural misunderstandings (eg, between Palestinians and Babylonians, rabbis and Romans)? Is there a development in the use of body language from tannaitic to amoraic texts and a particular affiliation to certain literary forms and genres? The main sources on which this study is based are Palestinian rabbinic documents from the early third to the fifth century CE, that is, literature from late Roman and early Byzantine times. Amoraic documents, especially the Talmuds and Midrashim, mention body language more than tannaitic documents. This 115  Korte, Body Language in Literature, 115 writes: “. . . the portrayal of body language can be strongly influenced by a focalizer’s [i.e., narrator’s] values.”

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Introduction

may partly be the case because they are more discursive and contain more narrative material. It may also be due to the already mentioned general increase in the importance of body language in late antiquity. Babylonian talmudic texts are sometimes used as comparative material, to investigate cultural differences in nonverbal communication. The main cultural context of the Palestinian rabbinic texts is Graeco-Roman culture. Therefore the body language displayed in rabbinic texts is examined within the context of nonverbal behavior reflected in Graeco-Roman literature to determine whether and in what regards rabbis fashioned themselves as similar to and, at the same time, different from Hellenistic, Roman, and Christian intellectuals. My focus will be on the body language associated with the social interaction of rabbis in Palestinian rabbinic documents of late antiquity. I shall not be dealing with prayer and liturgical rituals, an area already covered by Ehrlich;116 with purity rituals, some of which have been dealt with by scholars who studied women’s purity in ancient Judaism;117 with legal rituals which will hopefully elicit separate comparative studies in the future;118 and with mourning rituals which need to be studied within their own context. I shall analyze references to the kind of body language that forms part of rabbis’ communication among themselves and with others and is intrinsic to rabbinic halakhic discourse. This nonverbal communication is represented in relations among rabbinic colleagues, rabbis and their students, rabbis and non-rabbinic Jews, and rabbis and non-Jews. These relations function in a system of concentric circles ranging from social relations among the in-group to relations with increasingly distant out-groups or “others.” The types and functions of the body language reflected in the literary encounters are likely to have varied from one envisioned social context to the next. At the same time, the overall character of rabbinic literature as in-group literature, composed by

116  See Ehrlich, The Nonverbal Language of Prayer. 117  See, eg, L.A. Cook, “Body Language: Women’s Rituals of Purification in the Bible and Mishnah,” 40–59 in Women and Water. Menstruation in Jewish Law and Life (Hanover and London: University Press of New England, 1999). 118  See, eg, R. Rollinger and H. Niedermayr, “Von Assur nach Rom: Dexiosis und ‘Staatsvertrag’—Zur Geschichte eines rechtssymbolischen Aktes,” 135–78 in Rechtsgeschichte und Interkulturalität: zum Verhältnis des östlichen Mittelmeerraums und “Europas” im Altertum. Edited by R. Rollinger et al. (Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 2007); D. Sperber, “Flight and the Talmudic Law of Usucaption: A Study in the Social History of 3rd Century Palestine.” RIDA 19 (1972): 29–42.

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rabbinic scholars for rabbinic scholars has to be taken into account.119 In this context rabbinic body language would serve as a model for later generations of scholars to emulate. The audience and readership were expected to learn from and approximate the ideal of the rabbi constructed by these texts, just as young Roman aristocrats were expected to strive to become a vir bonus. The chapters of this book are arranged thematically. The sequence of chapters moves from external appearance (chapter 1), to full body positioning (chapter 2), to gestures that involve some body parts (chapter 3), to the emotions shown on one’s face (chapter 4), that is, from the most external to the most internal and intimate movements and from the full body to its limbs and smaller parts. Each of the chapters emphasizes a different aspect of rabbinic culture: in the first chapter, one’s appearance conveys identity; in the second chapter, the use of space indicates social class and hierarchy; in the third chapter, gesture becomes an act of communication in itself; in the fourth chapter, one’s face becomes an intimate form of non-verbal expression. Altogether, the chapters highlight the various ways in which rabbinic texts focus on the body and its parts to provide insights into aspects of rabbinic culture and society. The first chapter focuses on the appearance of rabbis in the sense of Goffman’s “presentation of self.”120 Do rabbinic sources suggest that rabbis were recognizable by the way they walked, talked, and clothed themselves? Were descriptions of rabbis’ demeanor—the use of the tallit, tefillin and tzitzit, the beard, hair style, and grey hair—meant to reflect their lifestyle, social values, and identity? How do the described Palestinian rabbinic appearances compare with those of Graeco-Roman intellectuals and Christian clerics? Graeco-Roman authors have emphasized the significance of a man’s selfpresentation in the public sphere.121 Literary descriptions of rabbis’ demeanor will be investigated in this context. The second chapter deals with rabbinic postures and spatial movements. Spatial behavior consists of the maintenance of proximity or distance and 119  On this issue see D.C. Kraemer, “The Intended Reader as a Key to Interpreting the Bavli,” Prooftexts 13 (1993): 125–40. 120  Goffman, Interaction Ritual, 77 describes demeanor as “that element of the individual’s ceremonial behavior typically conveyed through deportment, dress, and bearing, which serves to express to those in his immediate presence that he is a person of certain desirable or undesirable qualities.” On demeanor as a useful research area in the classics see Holoka, “Nonverbal Communication,” 239–41. 121  See, eg, J. Bremmer, “Walking, Standing, and Sitting in Ancient Greek Culture,” 15–32 in A Cultural History of Gesture. From Antiquity to the Present Day. Edited by J. Bremmer and H. Roodenburg (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1991); Corbeill, Nature Embodied, 107–39.

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the arrangement of the body in relation to others with whom one shares a space.122 Standing or sitting, sitting in front or behind others, rising in front of and walking behind someone—all of these postures and movements are highly significant and form patterns in rabbinic literary sources. Often power relationships and hierarchies are expressed by the semiotics of space and territoriality. Proximity is linked to intimacy and friendship, whereas keeping a distance may indicate aversion or fear. Hierarchical seating arrangements are mentioned in a number of contexts in ancient sources. Rabbinic postures and uses of space need to be examined in connection with conventions established in Graeco-Roman and ancient Christian society. Chapter three investigates rabbinic communication through gestures. Gestures were an important aspect of Roman rhetoric and stage acting and followed certain conventions. Besides kneeling and prostration, nodding and spitting, they also include touching behaviors such as embracing, kissing, and supporting someone.123 Gestures are used to denote the relationship between the interlocutors, whether subordination and dominance or equality and friendship. In halakhic contexts gestures can be used to indicate rabbis’ agreement with or rejection of certain views and practices. Since gestures are always linked to cultural norms, rabbinic gestures need to be compared with Graeco-Roman and early Christian gestures to determine similarities and differences. The fourth chapter is dedicated to the analysis of facial expressions. Rabbis are occasionally said to have changed face color, for which various explanations are offered in the texts. In real life the blush is an automatic bodily reaction, but in literature it is always mentioned intentionally and has a specific literary function. Similarly, weeping and laughter appear in particular literary contexts that need to be compared with Graeco-Roman and Christian analogies. The concluding chapter assesses the use of body language from a broader literary and compositional perspective. Can one detect a chronological development and patterns in the use of body language in Palestinian rabbinic texts? Do particular forms of non-verbal communication have particular functions within the respective literary contexts? Are particular literary forms more likely to employ nonverbal communication than others? What is the significance of nonverbal behavior within rabbinic halakhic discourse? The examination of these issues will lead us to a better understanding of the relationship between verbal and nonverbal communication, words and actions in rabbinic

122  Korte, Body Language in Literature, 39. 123  On kinesics and haptics see ibid. 38–9.

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sources. Both were part and parcel of rabbinic self-fashioning and the creation of a rabbinic group identity in late Roman-Byzantine Palestine. The study attempts to introduce scholars of rabbinic texts to a new area of investigation. As such, it should be considered a first step rather than a comprehensive treatment of rabbinic nonverbal communication. Hopefully, other scholars will take up this line of investigation in the future and extend it to other areas such as symbolic actions in legal rituals.

CHAPTER 1

Appearance and Demeanor In an influential article published in 1993 Shaye J.D. Cohen has argued that one could not identify a Jew in antiquity if one saw one in public, since Jews did not wear distinctive clothes or behave in a way that differentiated them from Romans: “Not a single ancient author says that Jews are distinctive because of their looks, clothing, speech, names, or occupations.”1 If the appearance of Jews was not distinctive within the Roman context, perhaps the demeanor and self-presentation of rabbis within Jewish society was? It seems that rabbis wanted to look different from ordinary Jews so that they could be recognized as sages when walking in the street and marketplace. This is what a text in Sifre Deuteronomy indicates: Just as whoever uses fire makes a mark on his body, whoever uses the words of the Torah makes a mark on his body. Just as those who work with fire are recognizable among people, so disciples of sages are recognizable in the market by the way they walk, talk, and wrap themselves [in their cloaks] (Sifre Deut. 343:11).2 In the literary context of this passage the Torah is compared to fire in several regards. One of the points of comparison is the way in which fire and the Torah leave a mark on the body of the person who occupies himself with it: just as fire leaves a burn mark on the skin of someone who comes into contact with it, 1  S.J.D. Cohen, “ ‘Those Who Say They Are Jews and Are Not’: How Do You Know a Jew in Antiquity When You See One?” 1–45 in Diasporas in Antiquity. Edited by S.J.D. and E.S. Frerichs (Atlanta GA: Scholars Press, 1993), 3. Although the focus of the book is on the diaspora, Cohen’s claim seems to apply to Jews within the Roman Empire at large. 2  A parallel to this tradition is transmitted in Avot de Rabbi Nathan version B 31. The Avot R. Nat. B text speaks of a man’s demeanor in general rather than rabbinic scholars in particular: “By three things a man becomes known to mankind: whether he is a decent human being or not; and by the way he walks, by the way he dresses, and by the way he greets (others). And some say: Also by the way he speaks” (translation with A.J. Saldarini, The Fathers According to Rabbi Nathan (Abot de Rabbi Nathan) Version B: A Translation and Commentary [Leiden: Brill, 1975], 185). The references to walking, dressing, and speaking have analogies in Sifre Deut. 343:11, which seems to represent an earlier version. The expansion (decent human being; greeting) and generalization suggest that the ARNB version is a combination of various earlier traditions.

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the Torah is said to change the appearance of a disciple of sages who studies it. Other people will be able to recognize him by his demeanor, that is, by the way he walks, talks, and clothes himself. The ways of walking, talking, and dressing are aspects of one’s demeanor that are also stressed by Roman writers. A respectable male Roman citizen and member of the upper strata of society should be recognizable by the way he walks, talks, and dresses himself. As Fritz Graf has pointed out, the ancients believed “that the outward appearance of a person is an image of the inward personality and character—dress, gestures, walking, any motion, are significant of man’s interior.”3 Especially the Latin biographical writers, satirists, and Stoic philosophers of the first to fourth centuries CE such as Pliny, Suetonius, Seneca, the writers of the Historia Augusta, and Ammianus Marcellinus frequently describe the appearance of individuals, which they considered indicative of the character and personal qualities of the described.4 The many literary references to a person’s gait, clothing, hair style can be considered symptomatic of a “society where the performance of social identity was so important.”5 In the highly visual face-to-face society of the Roman Empire everyone encountered in public and private was keenly observed by his contemporaries who were well-trained in decoding even the most subtle signs of social status, gender, ethnicity, and learning. In such an environment social identities—and aspirations to a particular social status—had to be performed, that is, made visible to observers. The statement in Sifre Deuteronomy 343:11 indicates that rabbis were aware of this phenomenon and eager to play their part. As will be shown in the following, the many texts that describe rabbis as walking, talking, and wrapping themselves in their cloaks “stage” rabbinic identity: they turn the reader into an observer of the performance of a particularly Jewish type of sage consciousness in late antiquity. For students and later generations of scholars it was not sufficient to merely memorize their masters’ sayings: they had to walk, talk, and dress like a rabbi, that is, they had to play the role of a rabbinic scholar in public in a convincing way. In contrast to Latin biographical writers, rabbinic 3  F. Graf, “Gestures and Conventions: The Gestures of Roman Actors and Orators,” 36–58 in A Cultural History of Gesture. From Antiquity to the Present. Edited by J. Bremmer and H. Roodenburg (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1991), 40. 4  E.C. Evans, “Roman Descriptions of Personal Appearance in History and Biography,” HSCP 46 (1935): 43–84, 43–9, argues that these Roman writers’ focus on physical appearance was influenced by the (quasi-)science of physiognomy which had its origins among Greek medical writers but was carried forward by Roman writers such as Polemo (c. 88–145 CE). 5  T. O’Sullivan, Walking in Roman Culture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 8.

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literature is not much interested in individual sages’ appearance, though. What mattered was a distinctive gait and demeanor that indicated a Jewish scholarly identity. The phenomenon that so-called pretenders are criticized for playing the role without providing the content only confirms the boundary-marking functions of rabbinic self-fashioning in antiquity. In this chapter I shall first deal with movements of the body itself and the repeatedly mentioned habit of rabbis walking and talking in the public sphere. As we shall see, this practice was also significant in Graeco-Roman society, especially as far as patrons and clients and philosophical teachers and their students were concerned. Afterwards I shall discuss the use of ritual accessories, clothes, hair styles to fashion a certain image of oneself in public. Depending on the contexts in which they were worn, ritual objects such as tefillin and tzitzit could be used as signs on the body to denote an exceptional form of piety. Even the material they were made of was associated with a certain type of inner disposition. Analogies in Christian society indicate the importance of external signs to mark individual and group identity.

Walking and Talking

In his important book on Walking in Roman Culture, O’Sullivan has stressed the social significance of this activity: “even walking, a trait that is more or less universally human, . . ., can become the means through which one human marks himself as completely different from another” and through which certain sets within society perform their shared identity.6 According to Bremmer, “the gait of males attracted interest all through antiquity.”7 A member of the upper strata of society was expected to be distinguishable in public, to have a recognizable public persona. The particular way in which a man walked was believed to indicate his social status and values. Especially in peaceful times and on the basis of philosophical ideals a slow, leisurely walk was expected of the distinguished male citizen: “In fact, in late antiquity an orderly (kosmion), quiet (hemeron, hesychon) and leisurely (scholaion) but not sluggish gait is the cultural ideal of pagans and Christians alike.”8 In the fourth century CE Ambrose, the archbishop of Milan, wrote: “I do not think it is becoming to 6  Ibid. 2 and 7. 7  J. Bremmer, “Walking, Standing, and Sitting in Ancient Greek Culture,” 15–35 in A Cultural History of Gesture. From Antiquity to the Present Day. Edited by J. Bremmer and H. Roodenburg (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1991), 16. 8  Ibid. 20.

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walk hurriedly . . . [but] a commendable gait is where there is the appearance of authority, the assurance of weight and the mark of dignity, and one which has a calm, collected bearing.”9 Ambrose’s association of a slow and leisurely walk with gravitas, dignitas, and authority can be traced back to the Roman rhetorical writers of the first centuries. Public demeanor was so important to the Romans that Cicero criticized his political opponents by pointing to the way they walked: “. . . we consider many people worthy of our contempt when they seem, through a certain kind of movement or posture, to have scorned the law and limit of nature.”10 A particular gait is associated with legal and natural propriety here. According to Corbeill, the insistence on a certain way of walking “served the maintenance of social boundaries.”11 Cicero and his companions assumed to know what a law-abiding male Roman citizen looked like and how he carried himself. Any digression from this perceived norm was seen as immoral, asocial, or effeminate. A man’s gait identified him as a member of the Roman social, political, and cultural elite and was used as a marker of social boundaries. At the same time, it could be used to exclude people from one’s in-group, as Cicero’s allegation explicitly states. In his discussion of habitus Bourdieu states that people’s ways of walking and speaking shape and signify their social identity.12 A person’s status, including their gender, occupation, and socio-economic background “is political mythology realized, em-bodied, turned into a permanent disposition, a durable way of standing, speaking, walking, and thereby of feeling and thinking.”13 It should be noted that Bourdieu calls such an assumption a “mythology”: it is a way to construct and control the boundaries between social strata, genders, and cultural-ethnic groups that are part of a state or empire. Cicero’s, Ambrose’s, and Sifre Deuteronomy’s texts maintain and perpetuate that myth in order to solidify the social identity of the group the authors and editors belonged to themselves. The claim that all males who belonged to a particular social set, which obviously considered itself elite, followed a certain gait, enabled members of that set to distinguish themselves from women, slaves, minors, males considered effeminate, socially inferior males, and provincials. Teachers of rhetoric 9  Ambrose, De Officiis 1.18.74–75, quoted in Bremmer, “Walking, Standing”, 20. 10  Cicero, De Finibus 5.47, quoted in A. Corbeill, Nature Embodied: Gesture in Ancient Rome (Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press), 107. 11  Corbeill, Nature Embodied, 107. 12  P. Bourdieu, The Logic of Practice (Stanford CA: Stanford University Press, 1990), 71. 13  Ibid. 69–70.

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repeatedly insisted that their students follow their advice and practice a certain way of walking, speaking, and wearing their cloaks. According to Corbeill, such instructions are to be found especially in oratory and philosophical texts: “Quintilian includes numerous references to how the gait conveys thought and intention, and how the speaker is justified in reproaching his opponent for the way he walks.”14 The way of walking was considered the visible expression of one’s character, ideals, and values. Various “codes for walking” existed: whereas slaves and the working class were associated with fast walks and running, members of the elite, including rhetoricians and philosophers, were expected to walk slowly and follow a leisurely path.15 The rabbis who formulated and transmitted the statement in Sifre Deuteronomy, quoted above, must have been aware of the significance which their contemporaries attributed to a man’s demeanor. They seem to have shared the concept that a man’s status, character, and values are recognizable by observing him. Just as Hellenistic and Roman philosophers’ slow walk was considered an expression of their contemplative habit, rabbis believed that their (probably also leisurely and dignified) gait revealed the Torah knowledge that constantly occupied their minds. They gave a rabbinic twist to philosophical ambulatio, the notion of the “mind in motion.”16 There was one important difference, though. All of the Roman writers who recommended the adoption of a leisurely gait belonged to the leisured upper strata of society. Rabbis, on the other hand, seem to have come from various socio-economic backgrounds, and at least some of them followed ordinary professions to maintain their families.17 As such, they would have had to adapt their physical movements to the requirements of their professions, even if it meant running rather than walking slowly.18 One must therefore assume that the statement in Sifre Deuteronomy was either formulated and transmitted by wealthy, aristocratic rabbis or—and this is more likely—constituted an ideal more than reality. The rabbinic tradents and editors were eager to 14  Corbeill, Nature Embodied, 114 with reference to Quintilian, Institutio Oratoria 1.2.31; 5.13.39; 11.3.66, 124, 126, 150. 15  The “running slave” became a literary motif and stock character in theater plays, see O’Sullivan, Walking in Roman Culture, 18. A too slow and “sluggish” walk was associated with women and effeminate males, see ibid. 19. 16  For this term see ibid. 34. 17  On the socio-economic background of rabbis see C. Hezser, The Social Structure of the Rabbinic Movement in Roman Palestine (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1997), 257–66, with reference to further literature on the subject. 18  See, eg, y. Sanh. 3:6(5), 21b: “R. Bina [said]: Zeira was seen running behind an ass on the Sabbath.”

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fashion themselves in accordance with the model provided by Graeco-Roman intellectuals, also followed by Christian clerics, actual differences in socioeconomic status and occupation notwithstanding. In this way they claimed to be distinguishable from other, ordinary, and unlearned Jews.19 Palestinian rabbinic texts do not explicitly mention that rabbis walked slowly, but they provide other hints suggesting that rabbis were recognizable by the way they walked. A statement transmitted in m. Avot 3:7 assumes that a rabbi or disciple of sages could walk and study Torah at one and the same time: “R. Shimon20 says: He who walks on the way and studies and interrupts his study and says: ‘How pleasant is this tree!’, and ‘How pleasant is this newly broken land!’, Scripture reckons it to him as if he had become guilty against his soul.” The Torah study referred to here would have implied the repetition and memorization of Torah interpretations a student had heard from his master. The verb ‫ שׁנה‬can also refer to the rabbinic master’s teaching while walking on the road. In both cases a mental focus on the Torah and a loud declamation are involved. The statement suggests that absolute concentration is necessary, that any distraction by one’s worldly surroundings should be avoided. What is envisioned here is a contemplative walk in which the mind is occupied with another, higher sphere while the body is carrying out ordinary walking movements. Philosophy and walking were closely linked in the ancients’ consciousness: “two major philosophical schools . . . acquired names that either refer directly to walking (the Peripatetics) or to an ambulatory setting (the Stoics).”21 Numerous anecdotes associated philosophers with walking and contemplation, a tradition that had repercussions even in modern European philosophy.22 The Romans allegedly “enabled and promoted this fiction” that philosophical thinking and discussion could best be carried out while walking.23 The mishnaic statement about walking and Torah study must be understood within this context. 19  Ordinary Jews are sometimes said to be running toward rabbis: in y. B.Metz. 8:11, 8d, for example, people are said to have been running to attend to (the family of) a rabbi who had just died; ibid. it is also stated that “all the people are running” to hear R. Yohanan expound in the “study house of R. Benaiah” in Sepphoris. In both cases the term ‫עמא פריין‬ is used, that is, running is associated with ordinary people here. 20  Another version, which Albeck considers the correct one, has R. Ya’aqov, see Albeck ed. ad loc. 21  O’Sullivan, Walking in Roman Culture, 3–4. 22  See ibid. 4. 23  See ibid.

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The possibility of scholarly discussions depended on the choice of one’s walking companions. In antiquity people rarely walked alone. Walks, whether in public or private and whether long or short, were social occasions.24 When they appeared in public, Romans were accompanied by friends, clients, and attendants. Important men were judged on the basis of their entourage, which served as a status symbol: “Romans making their way through the city were assessed not only by how they walked but also by who walked alongside them.”25 Walks served as occasions to carry out conversations with social equals, to advise clients, and to teach students. “The presence of good friends only enhanced the intellectual pretensions of the Roman ambulatio. As bodies moved, conversations advanced.”26 Quintilian advises young men to follow and imitate prominent orators in accordance with the principle “quem sequatur, quem imitetur.”27 The numerous rabbinic references to rabbinic colleague-friends and rabbis and their students “walking on the way” and talking about halakhic matters are evidence of rabbinic self-fashioning in accordance with the Graeco-Roman (literary and cultural) model of walking and talking.28 The reference to walking often serves as a mere narrative introduction or setting for halakhic discussions, encounters, and observations.29 Ambulatio is presented as the proper context in which rabbis had halakhic conversations with other rabbis, advised and instructed their fellow-Jews, and taught the small clusters of students who accompanied them. The process of walking in the company of fellow-scholars is more important than the destination, which is rarely mentioned. As in the case of Cicero, Seneca, and other philosophical walkers, the physical walk was a pose that reflected the active mind of the strollers. By presenting rabbis as walking and talking about Torah-related matters in public, rabbinic literature positions rabbis within the ambulatory culture of late antiquity and fashions them as the Jewish counterparts of Graeco-Roman sages. According to t. Shabb. 17:2–3, one should schedule one’s journey so that it coincides with the travel of other “righteous” persons whom one can join, whereas travel with the “wicked” should be avoided by all means “because the 24  Ibid. 6: “For Cicero, the primary benefit of a stroll is the opportunity for conversation and company.” 25  Ibid. 8. 26  Ibid. 89. 27  Quintilian, Institutio Oratoria 10.5.19. 28  For a discussion of references to rabbis “walking on the way” see C. Hezser, Jewish Travel in Antiquity (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck., 2011), 215–21. 29  See ibid. 219 and the list of examples ibid. 220.

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angels of Satan accompany him” (17:3). Usually rabbis are presented as walking and traveling with one or two of their equal-status colleagues or lower-status disciples. These disciples would have functioned as their entourage, similar to Roman (and probably also Jewish) aristocrats’ clients and slaves. The students who followed a rabbi and carried his utensils were part of his self-­presentation as an eminent and popular intellectual. Similarly Tacitus and Pliny “show that popularity in the early principate was still gauged by the size of a person’s retinue.”30 A sage without followers would not have counted much in the public’s eye. Examples for the combination of walking and Torah discussion are numerous in rabbinic sources from the Mishnah onwards and cannot be discussed in detail here. Usually the reference to rabbis (or rabbis and their students) walking together introduces halakhic questions and statements. For example: “R. Yehudah said: R. Yishmael asked R. Yehoshua when they were walking on the way [‫]כשׁהיו מהלכין בדרך‬: He said to him: Why have they prohibited the cheeses of the gentiles? He said to him: Because they curdle it with rennet from a carcase . . .” (m. Avod. Zar. 2:5). According to a tannaitic tradition in the Yerushalmi, rabbis could be so preoccupied with their discussion that they even forgot to recite the statutory prayers: “R. Yudah said: It once happened [maaseh] that I was walking on the way behind R. Eleazar b. Azariah and behind R. Aqiva and they were occupied with mitzvot . . .” (y. Ber. 1:2[5], 3a). This halakhic focus allegedly kept them from reciting the Shema, while R. Yudah recited it twice. The prominent image of rabbis walking and talking about halakhic matters seems to follow the Roman philosophical model: it presents rabbis as a specifically Jewish type of intellectuals, readily recognizable by their comportment, which would have involved a slow path, concentration on halakhic matters, and loud discussions, acclamations, and recitations. In a mishnaic tradition transmitted in m. Yevam. 16:7, the carrying of a Torah scroll is mentioned as an outward sign of a traveler’s learning. According to the story, a Levite became ill on a journey and died in the inn to which his companions brought him. The halakhic issue in regard to which the story is mentioned here is whether his wife should be allowed to remarry. According to a comment attributed to R. Aqiva, the innkeeper can be considered trustworthy concerning the Levite’s death because he “brought them his staff, and his bag, and the Torah scroll [‫ וספר תורה‬,‫ ותרמילו‬,‫ ]מקלו‬which had belonged to him.” The rabbinic comment turns the Levite into a disciple of sages or sage in their own image, who was believed to not only carry ordinary travel accessories (staff and bag) but also a scroll that identified him as learned in the rabbinic manner. 30  O’Sullivan, Walking in Roman Culture, 71.

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The scroll served as a symbol of learning in Graeco-Roman society as well. A number of funerary images of mainly bearded older men and a few beardless younger men, found at Gadara and dated to the first three centuries CE, include a stylized scroll held in either the left or right hand.31 In late Roman society women were also sometimes depicted as holding a scroll.32 Irrespective of whether the deceased were steeped in Graeco-Roman paideia during their lifetime, the relatives who commissioned these images wanted to create the impression that their family members belonged to the cultured strata of Roman society; that is, the scroll served as a status symbol.33 One may assume that portraits of readily recognizable philosophers did not need such props. At least none of the busts of philosophers and writers found in the Roman province of Syria-Palestine was accessorized with a scroll.34 Their identities, expressed through beards, hair styles, and facial expressions, may have been fairly familiar to people on the basis of the constant recopying of their heads, busts, and statues. The wealthy merchant or innkeeper, on the other hand, who was not commonly considered learned by members of the Roman upper strata of society, had to use stage tools to express his aspiration to be considered part of the cultured segments of Roman society. As Zanker has pointed out, from the late second century CE onwards the “cult of learning” became so strong in the Roman Empire that wide ranges of the population favored the “fashionable ‘intellectual’ look” in their funerary portraits.35 This also entailed the fashioning of a beard, as we shall see below.

31  See T.M. Weber, Gadara-Umm Qēs I: Gadara Decapolitana: Untersuchungen zur Topographie, Geschichte, Architektur und der Bildenden Kunst einer “Polis Hellenis” im Ostjordanland (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag., 2002), fig. 63A–C, 63D–F, 74A, 75C, 76C, 79A. 32  See J. Huskinson, “Women and Learning: Gender and Identity in Scenes of Intellectual Life on Late Roman Sarcophagi,” 190–213 in Constructing Identities in Late Antiquity. Edited by R. Miles (London: Routledge, 1999), 199. 33  Huskinson writes ibid.: “. . . in these mid-third-century portraits it [the scroll] probably simply functioned as a sign that its owner claimed some kind of learning and the social status to go with it, and it was probably gratuitously used.” 34  On these see R. Gersht, Rivka, “Roman Copies Discovered in the Land of Israel,” 433– 50 in Classical Studies in Honor of David Sohlberg. Edited by R. Katzoff et al. (RamatGan: Bar-Ilan University Press, 1996), 445–6; I. Skupińska-Lovset, Portraiture in Roman Syria. A Study in Social and Regional Differentiation Within the Art of Portraiture (Lódź: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Lódzkiego, 1999), 57–9. 35  P. Zanker, The Mask of Socrates. The Image of the Intellectual in Antiquity (Berkeley and Los Angeles CA: University of California Press, 1995), 224.

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In reality, neither Levites nor rabbis and disciples of sages would have normally walked around or traveled with a Torah scroll. Handwritten on parchment, Torah scrolls would have been too heavy, expensive, rare, and ritually valuable to become a customary travel accessory even for “real” scholars. Therefore rabbis are not often presented as carrying scrolls or even owning them, unless they were wealthy or sold Torah scrolls professionally.36 A tradition in y. Ber. 2:3, 4c, which states that R. Yohanan gave his scrolls to another person to hold before he entered a water toilet, does not suggest that rabbis carried such scrolls to toilets on a customary basis. The situation would have been similar for bathhouses, where rabbis are occasionally said to have looked at particular biblical scrolls.37 Rather than describing actual practice, such texts try to create the impression that even in the most inappropriate circumstances, and when following certain physical needs, rabbis’ minds were occupied with the Torah, which was never far from them, wherever they went. Prominent rabbis such as R. Gamliel II are sometimes said to have sat and read biblical scrolls in private accommodations. According to t. Shabb. 13:2, “R. Yose said: An event [maaseh] that R. Halafta went to R. Gamliel in Tiberias and found him sitting at the table of Yohanan b. Nazif. And in his hand was the scroll of Job in translation, and he was reading in it. . . .” It is noteworthy that the Aramaic translation rather than the Hebrew original is associated with private reading here.

Tefillin and Tzitzit

Easier to carry than Torah scrolls were tefillin. The above-mentioned Yerushalmi sugya (y. Ber. 2:3, 4c) discusses the issue of wearing tefillin permanently, not only during prayer times, in great detail, suggesting that some sages may have considered it particularly commendable to wear them on a more or less permanent basis. According to an anonymous Aramaic (and therefore probably amoraic) narrative tradition, “R. Yohanan b. Zakkai did not take the tefillin off, neither in summer nor in winter. And his disciple R. Eliezer followed his 36  On the ownership of scrolls see C. Hezser, Jewish Literacy in Roman Palestine (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001), 145–50. On rabbis as Torah scroll sellers see, eg, y. Mo’ed Qat. 2:3, 81b: “R. Yonah of Bosra had scrolls for sale. . . .” 37  See M. Jacobs, “Römische Thermenkultur im Spiegel des Talmud Yerushalmi,” 219–311 in The Talmud Yerushalmi and Graeco-Roman Culture, Vol. 1. Edited bz P. Schäfer (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998), 286, with reference to y. Kil. 9:4, 32b par. y. Ketub. 12:3, 35a, where R. Hiyya is said to have neglected to greet his colleague in a bathhouse because he had been scanning the book of Psalms with his eyes, i.e., he was distracted.

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practice.” Another rabbi, R. Yannai, is said to have taken off his tefillin during an illness and reapplied them (on a permanent basis) three days after its end. Other rabbis are said to have taken them off during visits to toilets and bathhouses only. According to a story transmitted in Avot de R. Nathan 19 (version B), R. Yehoshua took off his (outer garment) and tefillin when entering the house of a beautiful woman. On the basis of this gesture, his students assumed that he visited a prostitute: “so that nothing clean will enter into something unclean, or so that no one will recognize that you are a Jew” (ibid.).38 While the text suggests that in the presence of non-Jews tefillin would have marked the wearer as Jewish,39 we may assume that in a Jewish context the permanent wearing of tefillin would have marked the wearer as rabbinic or at least as overtly pious. The discussion in the Talmud Yerushalmi indicates, however, that rabbinic opinion was divided on the matter. Some rabbis considered the continuous wearing of tefillin pretentious: “Why did they not attach merit to them [i.e. to wearing them all day]? Because of the pretenders” (y. Ber. 2:3, 4c). Rabbis were also suspicious of anyone who wore their tefillin in an unusual way or showed off tefillin that were made of valuable materials. According to m. Meg. 4:8, One who makes his tefillah circular, [this is] a danger and there is no mitzvah to it. [If] he placed it on his forehead or on the palm of his hand, behold, this is the way of heresy [minut]. [If] he covered it with gold or placed it on his garment sleeve, behold, this is the way of outsiders [hizonim]. The mishnah tries to establish boundaries for the rabbinically acceptable way of wearing tefillin: tefillin and their wearers who depart from this norm are outlawed by being called minim (“heretics”) and hizonim (“outsiders”). The text not only suggests a variety of ways in which ancient Jews were wearing their tefillin and the possibility of using tefillin to exhibit one’s wealth.40 It also indicates that rabbis tried to establish a normative behavior with regard to wearing tefillin to distinguish themselves and their followers from other Jews 38  Translation with Saldarini, The Fathers According to Rabbi Nathan, 127. 39  See Cohen, “ ‘Those Who Say They Are Jews and Are Not’,” 7. 40  Another ostentatious form of wearing tefillin may be alluded to in Matt 23:5, where Pharisees are said to have exhibited tefillin with wide straps (as well as long tzitzit, on these see below). But Matthew may also be criticizing the very practice of using such external markers of Jewish piety.

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who did not follow their recommendations. The Yerushalmi goes even further than the Mishnah by transmitting the following baraita attributed to R. Yose b. Bibi: “[That] tefillin [should be] square [and] black is a halakhah [given] to Moses at Sinai” (y. Meg. 4:8[9], 75c). Like the other texts cited above, the Mishnah indicates that tefillin were an important external marker of a rabbinically defined Jewish identity. The way in which one was wearing one’s tefillin is seen as a distinguishing mark between correct and incorrect Torah interpretations: “Placing tefillin on the forehead or palm would have constituted a more literal interpretation of the Torah than had actually been adopted” by those who formulated this text.41 When being worn all day rather than during prayer only, the tefillin lose their merely ritual function and become external markers of the bearer’s religiosity. The assumption of a direct connection between internal thoughts and values and their public display through the (religious) accessories one wears on one’s body concurs with Roman and early Christian perceptions and practice. Tefillin worn in non-prayer contexts and in particular ways would have functioned as a stigma in Jewish and Roman society. According to Goffman, stigmata are “bodily signs designed to expose something unusual . . . about the moral status of the signifier.”42 In ancient Greek society stigmata were burned into the skin of slaves and had a clearly negative connotation. In a broader sense, however, a stigma refers to any visible difference and special marker of identity, such as a particular type of jewelry, for example, displayed by only one or a few people in a given social setting.43 In the various social settings people make assumptions about others based on personal and physical attributes.44 If some rabbis approached Roman bathhouses wearing tefillin, they would have been “stigmatized” by others as Jewish religious practitioners. If they were wearing tefillin in the marketplace 41   Y.B. Cohn, Tangled Up in Text: Tefillin in the Ancient World (Providence RI: Scholars Press Cohn, 2008), 130. Cohn suggests that rabbinic instructions may merely be following “common practice” here. Irrespective of whether this was the case, which we can no longer establish, the rabbinic authors of the text tried to limit the ways in which tefillin could be produced, traded, and worn. 42  E. Goffman, Stigma: Notes on the Management of Spoiled Identity (London: Penguin, 1993), 1. 43   J.P. Holoka, “Nonverbal Communication in the Classics: Research Opportunities,” 237–54 in Advances in Nonverbal Communication. Sociocultural, Clinical, Esthetic and Literary Perspectives. Edited by F. Peyatos. (Amsterdam and Philadelphia PA: John Benjamins Publishing Company, 1992), 241, uses the term in this broader sense in relation to personal appearance in Graeco-Roman society and with reference to Petronius’s Satyricon. 44  See Goffman, Stigma, 2.

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of Tiberias, their fellow-Jews, including rabbis who were not wearing them, would have deemed them to be overtly pious or ostentatious. In prayer contexts some rabbis may have “stigmatized” Jews who were wearing golden tefillin or attached tefillin to their body in a particular way. In the broader context of Palestinian Jewish society tefillin (their form and material, the way, context, and duration of wearing them) would have served to distinguished between the various subgroups then. A specific (cultural, ethnic, religious) identity is established if a number of individuals adhere to certain commonalities: “These are likely to be expressed through the possession of similar cultural traits, such as language, style of dress, personal adornment, material objects and particular ways of behaving.”45 In Roman, Jewish, and Christian society adornments and personal objects served as clues to their wearer’s character and identity.46 Whether a person was wearing tefillin, amulets, expensive jewelry, cross pendants, or the socalled bulla47—the people he or she encountered would have drawn certain conclusions about the person’s character, values, and identity. For rabbis the wearing of tefillin in non-prayer contexts may have served similar purposes as early Byzantine Christians’ wearing of cross necklaces: to express their religiosity and to sustain divine protection in daily life. Christians seem to have begun wearing cross pendants and necklaces in late antique and early Byzantine times, that is, at the time when the Talmud Yerushalmi was edited.48 While some Christians decided to keep the symbol of the crucified 45  M. Grahame, “Material Culture and Roman Identity: The Spatial Layout of Pompeian Houses and the Problem of Ethnicity,” 156–78 in Cultural Identity in the Roman Empire. Edited by R. Laurence and J. Berry (London: Routledge, 1998), 159. 46  See J.F. Rosten, Personal Adornment and the Expression of Identity in Roman Britain: A Study of the Material Culture of Appearance (unpublished Ph.D. thesis, University of Leicester, 2007); J. Edmondson et al., eds., Roman Dress and the Fabrics of Roman Culture (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2009). 47  The bulla was an amulet worn as a necklace made of leather or gold, depending on the family’s socio-economic status. A bulla was attached to Roman children once their father had recognized them as his proper heirs and indicated his willingness to rear them. It indicated that a child belonged to a certain family and also had apotropaic purposes, see C.B. Horn, “Children’s Play As Social Ritual,” 95–116 in Late Ancient Christianity. Edited by V. Burrus (Minneapolis MN: Augsburg Fortress, 2005), 99: “Shortly after birth or the dies lustralis, the day of purification, the father placed the bulla around the little one’s neck. It was worn on a cord, strap, or chain, and it contained an amulet, which also pointed to the object’s religious purpose as a protective charm against evil.” 48  An example from the fifth century (probably Eastern Mediterranean) is provided by M.C. Ross, Catalogue of the Byzantine and Early Mediaeval Antiquities in the Dumbarton Oaks Collection, Vol. 2 (2nd ed. Washington WA: Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and

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Christ close to their bodies, the Talmud Yerushalmi suggests that some rabbis—and other pious Jews—attached symbols of the Torah to their bodies at all times.49 Even if the early Byzantine context is not explicitly mentioned in the texts, the tradents, editors, readers, and audience would have lived in an environment in which individuals were eager to express their religious identity visually to anyone who would notice and see. Whereas synagogue mosaic floors represented the mixed tastes of the wealthy donors and local communities, individuals could choose to visually display their personal religious identity by wearing tefillin in public or by attaching tzitzit to their overcoats. The very fact that such phenomena are mentioned in Yerushalmi traditions indicates an acute awareness for such identity markers in ancient Jewish society.50 In Matt 23:5 wide tefillin and long tzitzit are mentioned as characteristic accessories of Pharisees and scribes. They are derided as attention-seeking: “All of their works they do in order to be seen [θεαθῆναι] by people.” The gospel text (23:1–12) contrasts outward show with inner conviction and hierarchy with equality, claiming that Jewish religious leaders were “empty vessels” who strove for acknowledgement of their religious superiority in public.51 The fact that scribes and Pharisees (v. 2), wealthy householders and synagogue leaders (v. 6), and rabbis (v. 7) are referred to interchangeably here may be based on the editorial combination of different traditions and the adaptation of pre-70 traditions (Pharisees, scribes) to the gospel editors’ own post-70 times, when rabbis, wealthy aristocrats, and synagogue leaders constituted the upper echelons of Jewish society. The gospel’s criticism of displaying one’s piety through religious objects is reminiscent of the rabbinic criticism of so-called “pretenders” in y. Ber. 2:3, 4c above. Pitarakis has mentioned that “in Byzantine art, saints are rarely depicted wearing pectoral crosses”; while wealthy Christians wore “sumptuous necklaces” with gold pendants, as personal protective devices, “crosses were

Collection, 2005), 15, no. 10, Plate XVII, with references to similar items found in Syria and elsewhere. 49  The physicality of contact between the small cross pendant and the wearer’s skin has been stressed by G. Peers, Sacred Shock: Framing Visual Experience in Byzantium (College Park PA: Pennsylvania State University, 2004), 14: “The physicality of these objects clearly linked vision and touch.” This physicality would also apply to the practice of wearing tefillin, which were strapped even closer to one’s skin. 50  On the close relationship between identity and the body see Rosten, Personal Adornment, 20–22. 51  On the implied accusation of superiority see also T.G. Long, Matthew (Louisville KY: Westminster John Knox, 1997), 259–60.

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often hidden under the vestments of their wearer.”52 Similarly, the Yerushalmi discussion suggests that some rabbis were opposed to the use of tefillin as display items, irrespective of whether they were meant to express the owner’s wealth or piety. The Byzantine analogy goes even further: not only crosses but also phylacteries were worn by early Byzantine Christians. As Pitarakis has pointed out, “Byzantines also wore phylacteries, amulets containing small scrolls or books, independent of other iconographic symbols.”53 Instead of passages from the Torah such Christian phylacteries would contain miniature gospel books and could be combined with cross symbols on wooden staffs.54 Interestingly, these two Christian symbols seem to have combined the functions of Jewish tefillin. Pitarakis refers to “the complimentary roles of the Gospel book [in miniature] and the cross”: while “the former functions as a phylactery, . . . the latter is an object of devotion serving as a support for prayers. But the role of each of these objects could just as easily be inverted.”55 As late as the early eleventh century, a Christian saint by the name of Nilus the Younger is said to have placed a phylacterion on his eyes, lips, and breast when saying his dying prayer.56 That the apotropaic use of phylacteries and crosses was practiced by ordinary Christians in the late fourth and early fifth centuries already is attested by Jerome (c. 347–420 CE). In particular, Jerome criticized “superstitious little women” who allegedly imitated the Pharisees by wearing “the scriptures on their bodies rather than in their hearts.”57 These women seem to have worn the phylacteries as protective devices against various types of harm. The criticism reveals the possible contrast between the wearers’ motivations (protection) and others’ perceptions (superstition). It

52  B. Pitarakis, “Objects of Devotion and Protection,” 164–81 in Byzantine Christianity. Edited by D. Krueger (Minneapolis MN: Augsburg Fortress, 2010), 172. As exceptions she mentions the depiction of a Christian martyr with a cross pendant as “an expression of its owner’s faith” (172) and representations of monks with pectoral crosses “to emphasize their pious behavior and intercessory powers” (173). 53  Ibid. 169. 54  Ibid. she refers to the example of a traveling monk named Elias mentioned in the Syriac monastic history of Thomas, bishop of Marga, written in the ninth century. 55  Ibid. 56  Ibid. with reference to The Life of Nilus the Younger (died 1004 CE), Patrologia Graeca 120.109. 57  Ibid. with reference to Jerome, Commentary on Matthew 23.5–7, Patrologia Latina 26.175.

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also suggests that the Byzantine Christian use of gospel phylacteries was based on Jewish precedents, whether biblical or contemporary or both.58 Tzitzit were another prayer-related “adornment” that would have displayed Jewish identity in mixed public contexts and individual piety in non-prayerrelated Jewish contexts. Shaye Cohen assumes that already in the first century CE, “Jesus, the Pharisees, and presumably other pietists in the land of Israel wore tzitzit in public, tassled fringes affixed to the four corners of one’s garment in accordance with the injunctions of Numbers 15:37–41 and Deuteronomy 22:12.”59 In Roman Palestine, at least in the rabbinic imagination, “tzitzit could serve as a marker to distinguish Jew from gentile . . .,” despite the fact that nonJewish authors never mention them.60 According to Deut 22:12, God instructed every male Israelite to “make fringes on the four corners of your cloak, with which you cover yourself.” The more detailed version in Num 15:37–41 specifies that one of the fringes at each corner should have a thread of blue (v. 38). The fringes are meant to remind their wearer of “all of the commandments of the Lord, and do them” (v. 39). Lev. Rab. 27:2 implies that fringes are applied to a tallit, and Gen. R. 43:9 explains that the blue threat should be made of wool. Midrash Num. Rab. 27:5 specifies that “the fringe must be such as can be seen” and therefore have a certain length. The seeing of the fringes first and foremost applies to the wearer himself: the fringes are supposed to serve as a visual reminder of divine commandments. Therefore the question arises, whether a blind man should be obliged to observe the law of fringes (ibid.). Especially later Midrashim and the Babylonian Talmud emphasize the connection between the fringes and Israelite/Jewish identity. This connection is made most explicit in Song of Songs Rab. 4:2: “Israel[ites] are distinguished through [abstention from] shaving, through circumcision, and through fringes.” All three of these practices are visual markers that allegedly set male Jews apart from gentiles. Lam. Rab. prologue 24 states that Israel is the only nation that observes the commandment of fringes. Bavli Ta’anit 22a transmits a story about a Jewish jailer whom a rabbi met in a market in Babylonia. The jailer explains the lack of fringes on his garment with his need to remain incognito among gentiles: “That the gentiles among whom I constantly move may 58  The Christian use was probably mainly based on biblical texts such as Ex. 13:9 and Deut. 11:18, although the texts are not very clear with regard to the contents and ways of wearing the sacred texts. At least some Christians are likely to have imitated and adapted contemporary Jewish practices. 59  Cohen, “ ‘Those Who Say They Are Jews and Are Not’,” 7. 60  Ibid. 7–8.

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not know that I am a Jew,” so that he can spy on them and know when harsh decrees against Jews are released by the government. Tzitzit are mentioned much less frequently in the Yerushalmi than in the Bavli.61 The biblical commandment to attach show fringes to one’s garment is still upheld: “Everyone who fulfills the mitzvah of the fringes is as if he received the face of the Shekhinah” (y. Ber. 1:2, 3a). The biblically prescribed color blue for one thread on each corner is explained by reference to the color of the sky, which is said to resemble the throne of (divine) glory, which resembles the color of the sapphir stone (ibid.).62 In this passage the tzitzit are given a spiritual meaning beyond the mere fulfillment of a commandment, perhaps in order to motivate fellow-Jews to attach them to their garments. Whereas tefillin, which were linked to prayer times and especially the recitation of the Shema (cf. y. Ber. 2:3, 4b–c), were unanimously seen as a time-bound commandment exempting women (cf. m. Ber. 3:3), the issue was controversial as far as tzitzit were concerned. If the wearing of tzitzit was not a time-bound commandment, there would not be a reason to exempt women. Rabbis seem to have had different opinions on this issue. According to R. Shimon, women were exempt from tzitzit as well, because they were supposed to be worn during the day only (t. Qidd. 1:10). According to R. Laya, tzizit should be attached to garments that are worn both by day and by night (i.e., garments that are not linked to a particular time), irrespective of whether they are worn by men or women (y. Ber. 3:3, 6b).63 The assumption is that garments that are worn during the day only (i.e., which are time-bound) should have tzitzit for men only.64 A (male) minor, once he knows how to wrap himself in his cloak, should be required to wear tzitzit as well (t. Hag. 1:2; y. Sukkah 3:2, 54a).65 The phenomenon that tzitzit are so rarely mentioned in the Yerushalmi and in amoraic Midrashim and that no narrative traditions about rabbis’ practices 61   See the list of references in M. Kosovsky, Concordance to the Talmud Yerushalmi (Palestinian Talmud), Vol. 7 (Jerusalem: The Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities and The Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1999), 43; there are approximately ten times as many references to tzitzit in the Babylonian Talmud. 62  In Midrash Num. Rab. 27:5 this explanation of the color blue is attributed to R. Meir. 63  Par. y. Qidd. 1:7, 61c. 64  A similar discussion appears in b. Menah. 43a. The Bavli transmits a narrative tradition about R. Yudah who allegedly attached fringes to the aprons of women in his household, maintaining that women should wear fringed garments as well. The Bavli subsequently quotes a baraita according to which “All must observe the law of tzitzit, priests, Levites, and Israelites, proselytes, women, and slaves.” 65  Mishnah Sukkah 3:15 requires a minor with this capability to carry a lulav only. But see also b. Arakh. 2b.

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concerning tzitzit are transmitted in these documents may suggest that late antique Palestinian rabbis took the application of tzitzit for granted as far as sages and their followers were concerned. Although they recommended that their fellow-Jews observe the commandment, there is no evidence that they criticized or even ostracized those who did not. As Shaye Cohen has already suggested, Jews who had contact with non-Jews may have decided not to wear fringed garments.66 Especially urban Hellenized Jews are unlikely to have worn garments that marked them as different from their non-Jewish peers. Like tefillin, tzitzit would have served as a marker of Jewish identity in non-Jewish social contexts, but in Roman Palestine their use may have been restricted to Jewish (religious) contexts and/or religiously committed individuals. In Babylonia, on the other hand, tzitzit gained in significance as Jewish identity markers and rabbis emphasized the sinfulness of not showing them off in public.67 It almost seems as if Babylonian rabbis considered the non-observance of the commandment of tzitzit a negation of one’s Jewishness.

Clothing Style

One particular aspect of rabbinic demeanor, mentioned in Sifre Deut. 343:11, was the way in which sages wrapped themselves in their cloaks. The midrashic text does not specify the scholarly wrapping style but implies that it was different from that of ordinary non-rabbinic Jews. In fact, Graeco-Roman society was well aware of different ways of wearing one’s coat. Especially since the basic types of overcoats were limited, individuals would have personalized their dressing style by the materials, colors, and decorations of their overcoats and by the specific ways in which they folded and fastened the cloth around their bodies. Quintilian provided distinct instructions to orators on how they should wear and employ their coats most effectively during a speech: the toga should “sit well upon the shoulders” during the exordium; it should be “allowed to slip back” during the narratio; and it might be thrown back from one shoulder in the argumentatio, to create a special effect; at the end of the speech it may “slip 66  Cohen, “ ‘Those Who Say They Are Jews and Are Not’,” 8. 67  See the statement attributed to Rav Huna in b. Menah. 37b: If a man went out into the street on the Sabbath wearing a garment without tzitzit, he is liable to a sin offering; b. Ned. 25a: the commandment of tzitzit is equal to all other commandments of the Torah; b. Shabb. 32b: 2800 slaves in the world-to-come are promised as a divine reward to someone who observes the commandment of tzitzit.

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loose from us on every side.”68 The toga’s movements were meant to underline the speaker’s concentration and effort and to follow the “emotional and logical contents” of the speech.69 Like the actor on the stage, the orator was supposed to be knowledgeable of the use of props, to which his clothes also belonged: “The correct gestures and appropriate outward appearance are important in creating a favorable impression of the orator with his audience.”70 Quintilian also discusses the type of clothes an honorable upper-class man should wear in public: they should be immaculate and moderate rather than sloppy or extravagant. Altogether, they should be “distinguished and manly (virilis), as, indeed, it ought to be with all men of position (honesti).”71 Gleason has argued that Roman gentlemen—and those who wanted to be considered as such—had to adhere to a certain “code of masculine appearance.”72 The type of overcoat, its material, and the way it was worn was part of the public image a man created for himself. Whereas the toga was the coat of politicians and magistrates, worn by upper-class Romans on official occasions, the pallium/himation associated with the Greek philosopher became increasingly popular as an informal and more relaxed garb in the first centuries CE. It was the typical garment of the intellectual: “. . ., according to Tertullian, this was the garment that made professional intellectuals of all kinds recognizable in public (De Pallio 6.2).”73 The very fact that the church father Tertullian (late second to early third century CE) considered it necessary to write a treatise on the pallium and how it was worn already indicates how important the “right” type of garment and way of wearing it were in ancient society, whether in Carthage, Caesarea, or Rome.74 In this treatise Tertullian defends his choice of the pallium over the toga.75 68  Quintilian, Institutio Oratoria 144–147 and 161. 69  See ibid. 70  Ibid. 44. 71  Ibid. 137. 72   M.W. Gleason, Making Men. Sophists and Self-Presentation in Ancient Rome (Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 1995), 60. 73  Zanker, The Mask of Socrates, 274. 74  See also C. Daniel-Hughes, The Salvation of the Flesh in Tertullian of Carthage: Dressing for the Resurrection (New York NY: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011), 5. Tertullian wrote three other treatises on clothes, see L. Bonfante, “Introduction,” 3–12 in The World of Roman Dress. Edited by J.L. Sebesta and L. Bonfante (Madison WI: University of Wisconsin Press, 2001), 6. 75  Scholars disagree on the purpose of this treatise. According to D.E. Wilhite, Tertullian the African: An Anthropological Reading of Tertullian’s Context and Identities (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2007), 139–40, Tertullian’s defense of the pallium was less an argument in favor

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At the beginning of his argumentation he praises the men of Carthage’s former dress sense: However, in the past you too wore your clothing, tunics, differently: . . . For they did not fall extravagantly over the legs or shamelessly above the knees, they did not fit shortly at the arms nor tightly at the hands. No, in a fourfold suitable form it fitted men (it was not considered easy to divide its folds with a belt). The outer garment, the pallium, itself also quadrangular, was thrown back from both sides and knit around the neck in the bit of a buckle, and so rested on the shoulders (1.1.3–4).76 Tertullian claims that the Romanization of North Africa led to the adoption of the toga as the quintessential Roman dress among the locals (1.2). He compares them to a “chameleon” that changes its appearance in accordance with its surroundings (3.3.3–5), reminding them that otherwise they continue to be attracted to all things Greek (4.1). Among the advantages of the pallium Tertullian stresses the ease with which one can put it on: no specialist is needed to arrange its pleats on the day before use and to help one put on the complex construction at daybreak, preventing a “waste of time in dressing” (5.1.3 and 5.3.1). At the end, Tertullian lets the pallium speak out itself: I dress the first teacher of letters, the first unraveller of the voice, the first sandman of numbers, the grammarian, the rhetor, the sophist, the doctor, the poet, the maker of music, the observer of what is starred, the watcher of what is winged. All liberality of arts is covered by my four tips. These stand below the Roman knights, certainly. But take all ignominy of the master of fighting and the gladiators: they perform in toga! This then, surely, will be the outrage in the maxim ‘from toga to pallium’! (6.2.2–3) The four-cornered pallium is associated with all practitioners of the liberal arts, the peaceful intellectuals in contrast to the warriors here. of a Greek philosophical garb than “a boundary marker of ethnic identity,” upholding the traditional African outfit against the Roman toga. T.C. Brennan, “Tertullian’s De Pallio and Roman Dress in North Africa,” 257–70 in Roman Dress and the Fabrics of Roman Culture. Edited by J. Edmondson and A. Keith (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2008), argues, on the other hand, that Tertullian’s main interest was “to win over the Carthaginian audience to Christianity” (267) by presenting Christians as pallium-wearers (cf. De Pallio 6.2.5). 76   Translation here and below with V. Hunink, Tertullian: De Pallio. A Commentary (Amsterdam: J.C. Gieben, 2005).

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In the eastern provinces of the Roman Empire people would have traditionally worn the Greek pallium. Zanker has pointed out correctly that the Christian adoption of the pallium, recommended by Tertullian, would have been noticeable in the West only: “in the West it meant the adoption of a distinctly intellectual dress.”77 Coon has noted that the pallium’s “adoption by the church hierarchy was reinforced by late antique depictions of Christ, the apostles, and even Moses in the pallium.”78 It linked the church to its Judean origins: “This common cloak of the Mediterranean personified both the universal nature of the church and its specific origins among the charismatic poor of Judea.”79 Jesus and his followers were believed to have worn the pallium in contrast to the toga of Roman government officials in Palestine. The pallium was associated with wisdom and introspection, whereas the toga represented power and authority. Yet even upper-class Romans would wear the pallium in private contexts and outside of official occasions. Cicero criticized the Roman official C. Verres for his allegedly inappropriate dress, wearing the Greek pallium in a workshop context.80 In late antiquity, when the intellectual style became fashionable and clothing rules less strict, a broader section of the Roman population was wearing the more comfortable pallium in public as well. The tallit, mentioned in rabbinic sources, would have equaled the Latin pallium and the Greek himation.81 All three terms refer to a rectangular piece of fabric which was worn over the tunic and wrapped over one’s shoulder/s, covering one or both arms.82 The earliest Jewish depictions of clothes stem from the frescoes of the synagogue of Dura Europos, dated to the third century CE. In the painting of the Aqedah (Binding of Isaac), “Abraham is illustrated in

77  Zanker, The Mask of Socrates, 290. 78   L.L. Coon, Sacred Fictions: Holy Women and Hagiography in Late Antiquity (Philadelphia PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1997), 62. 79  Ibid. 80  Cicero, Verres 4.54–55. On this text see J. Heskel, “Cicero as Evidence for Attitudes to Dress in the Late Republic,” 133–45 in The World of Roman Costume. Edited by J.L. Sebesta and L. Bonfante (Madison WI: University of Wisconsin Press, 2001). 81  See also D. Shlezinger-Katsman, “Clothing,” 362–81 in The Oxford Handbook of Jewish Daily Life in Roman Palestine. Edited by C. Hezser (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 368; L.A. Roussin, “Costume in Roman Palestine: Archaeological Remains and the Evidence of the Mishnah,” 182–90 in The World of Roman Costume. Edited by J.L. Sebesta and L. Bonfante (Madison WI: University of Wisconsin Press, 2001), 183. 82  For the combination of tunic (= undergarment) and pallium/himation (= overcoat) see Matthew 5:40.

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a Hellenistic pallium (white robe).”83 Some other individuals, both laymen and religious leaders, are depicted in the pallium as well. Fine maintains that all of them wear “ ‘normal’ Roman clothing” (besides those who don Persian dress): “It is my sense that these images of biblical characters project the garments worn by Jews at this time in the eastern Empire, including at Dura, into the biblical past.”84 Whether some of the figures have tzitzit attached to their pallium depends on the identification of the depictions.85 Fine thinks that Moses is depicted with tzitzit on his overcoat, which would resemble the rabbinic image of Moses.86 If one accepts this identification, Moses’s “typical Roman garment” would appear in a “judaized” form here.87 A relatively large number of Christian sarcophagus reliefs and other funerary depictions from Rome and Italy of the late fourth and early fifth centuries CE depict Jesus, surrounded by the apostles Peter and Paul, in a pallium thrown over both shoulders, holding an open scroll in his left hand.88 The motif is not based on a Christian text.89 It has been associated with the Roman traditio legis and interpreted as the transfer of a scroll from Jesus to Paul.90 All one can say, however, is that late antique Roman Christians depicted Jesus in the way in which they imagined a Mediterranean Torah-based teacher or rabbi to look like, together with those early Christian apostles who had become most significant for the Roman church. 83  I. Kalimi, Early Jewish Exegesis and Theological Controversy: Studies in Scriptures in the Shadow of Internal and External Controversies (Assen: Van Gorcum, 2002), 42. 84  S. Fine, “How Do You Know a Jew When You See One? Reflections on Jewish Costume in the Roman World,” 19–27 in Fashioning Jews: Clothing, Culture, and Commerce. Edited by L. Greenspoon (West Lafayette IN: Purdue University Press, 2013), 23–4. 85  See J. Magness, Stone and Dung, Oil and Spit: Jewish Daily Life in the Time of Jesus (Grand Rapids MI: Eerdmans Publishing Co., 2011), 237, n. 45, with reference to C.H. Kraeling, The Excavations at Dura Europos, Final Report, Vol. 8, Part 1: The Synagogue (New Haven CT: Yale University Press, 1956), 81–82. 86  Fine, “How Do You Know a Jew When You See One?” 24. 87  Ibid. 25. One might wonder, however, why the tzitzit are not depicted as part of all biblical figures’ garments here. Were the artists or those who commissioned the images aware of the phenomenon that only Jewish Torah scholars, represented by Moses, wore garments with tzitzit? 88  See M.B. Rasmussen, “Traditio Legis Motiv—Bedeutung und Context,” 21–52 in Late Antiquity: Art in Context. Edited by J. Fleischer and J. Lund (Copenhagen: Collegium Hyperboreum and Museum Tusculanum Press, 2001), 21–2. 89  Obviously, Paul is not known to have had any contact with the historical Jesus and is never mentioned together with Jesus and Peter in the New Testament. 90  See Rasmussen, “Traditio Legis Motiv,” 22, where he rejects this interpretation.

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In the late antique Midrash Genesis Rabbah different types of cloaks are associated with Noah’s sons Shem and Japhet, who seem to represent Jews and Romans, respectively. According to the biblical narrative, Ham told his brothers of their drunken father’s nakedness, whereupon “Shem and Japhet took a garment [‫]השׂמלה‬, and laid it upon both their shoulders, and went backward, and covered the nakedness of their father . . .” (Gen 9:23). One garment that the brothers carry together and with which they cover their father’s naked body is envisioned here. The type of garment is not further specified. In Gen. Rab. 36:6 a statement attributed to R. Yohanan has Shem precede Japhet: “R. Yohanan said: Shem started with the mitzvah first and Japhet came and listened to him. Therefore Shem merited a tallit and Japhet merited a paenula [‫פימלא‬, ‫פלוניא‬, ‫]פיוולא‬.”91 The paenula was a traveling coat that was shorter than the pallium and “less bulky”: “It was triangular, closed in front, and had a V-shaped opening for the head.”92 Some men seem to have also been wearing this cloak in the city, instead of the toga, which might explain rabbis’ familiarity with the garment.93 A story and discussion in y. Hag. 1:8, 76d assumes that rabbis themselves were sometimes wearing the traveling cloak (paenula). As in Gen. Rab. 36:6, it is seen as an inferior garment compared with the tallit, at least in ritual contexts. The Yerushalmi discusses the question whether vows may be loosened while wearing the paenula: “What is the law, can one loosen [vows] in a paenula?” The assumption seems to be that the person who loosens people’s vows must be wrapped in a cloak (cf. the story about R. Gamliel’s trip to the Ladder of Tyre, where he wraps himself in his cloak before loosening a person’s vow: t. Pesah. 2:16 par. y. Avod. Zar. 1:9, 40a).94 In a narrative tradition (y. Hag. 1:8, 76d) R. Yehoshua b. Levi is said to have loosened vows while wearing a paenula. According to R. Huna b. R. Yirmeyah, “[it is allowed only] in a case where there is no tallit” (ibid.).

91  The manuscripts vary with regard to the spelling of the loanword. On the identification see M. Jastrow, A Dictionary of the Targumim, the Talmud Bavli and Yerushalmi, and the Midrashic Literature (Jerusalem: Horev, 1985), 1165. 92   G.W. Bowersock et al., eds., Late Antiquity: A Guide to the Postclassical World (2nd ed. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2000), 381. For an image see W. Smith, A Dictionary of Greek and Roman Antiquities (London: Taylor and Walton, 1842), 679. According to Smith, the paenula was usually made of wool, “as a protection against the cold and rain” (ibid.). 93  See Smith, A Dictionary of Greek and Roman Antiquities, 679. 94  Tosefta Pesah. 2:16 merely states ‫ונתעתף‬, without specifying the type of cloak he was wearing; cf. y. Avod. Zar. 1:9, 40a.

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The reason why the tallit was considered superior to the paenula in both of these contexts was the assumed (but not explicitly mentioned) attachment of tzitzit.95 Following biblical instructions, tzitzit could be attached to a fourcornered garment only, which excluded both the triangular paenula and the half-round toga.96 Especially in ritual contexts, where the overcoat served as a prayer-shawl, the tallit (with tzitzit attached to it) was preferable. It is noteworthy, however, that even prominent rabbis are imagined as wearing regular non-fringed Roman overcoats in public and that such travel coats could also be used in ritual contexts as substitutes for the prayer-shawl. Also noteworthy is the implication that before they “wrapped” themselves in a fringed pallium or non-fringed paenula for releasing vows they would have worn some kind of a tunic or undergarment only. This suggests that pragmatic reasons such as weather conditions (the tunic in hot weather) and the durability of the material (the paenula for traveling) would have also determined rabbis’ dress choice. The fringed tallit is generally associated with prayer and Torah study in Palestinian rabbinic sources. According to the Munich manuscript version of Lev. Rab. 28:6, the biblical Mordecai “wrapped himself in his tallit and stood up to pray,” while his disciples were sitting in front of him.97 In a narrative about King David, transmitted in Gen. Rab. 74:15, David “stood up and took off his purple cloak [‫ ]הפורפירן‬and the crown from his head and wrapped himself in his tallit and went to the sanhedrin,” where he addressed rabbis: “My rabbis, I came only to learn, but if you allow me, I shall teach. . . .” The purple cloak and crown denoted his royalty. When entering a meeting of rabbis, however, David is said to have become one of them, first in appearance and then with regard to his practice of teaching. The tallit as a marker of equality among sages is also stressed in Qoh. Rab. 2:22: “each alike is called ‘Rabbi’, each alike is a sage, each alike wraps himself in his tallit.” At the same time, according to a statement attributed to R. Benjamin in Qoh. Rab. 4:1, so-called pretenders could wrap themselves in their tallit and assume the appearance of scholars. As a vision of future messianic times, a statement attributed to R. Aha in the name of R. Huna suggests that “the wicked will wrap himself in his tallit and sit 95  The connection between the tallit and tzitzit is explicitly stated in Lev. Rab. 27:2: “Who made tzitzit for my sake before I gave him a tallit?”. 96  According to Sifre Deut. 234, the toga is exempt from tzitzit, because it did not have four corners. Cohen, “ ‘Those Who Say They Are Jews and Are Not’,” 8, assumes that romanized Jews would have worn the toga to avoid attaching tzitzit. Since even Romans wore the toga only on official occasions in late antiquity, it is more likely that hellenized (and romanized) Jews were wearing the pallium without tzitzit, if they wanted to remain incognito. 97  Other manuscript versions merely state that he “stood up in prayer.”

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with the righteous in the Garden of Eden” (y. Ned. 3:13, 38a). The statement of R. Meir, transmitted at the end of Yerushalmi tractate Berakhot, that “there is no Israelite whom the commandments do not surround: tefillin on his head, and tefillin on his arm, and a mezuzah on his door, circumcision on his flesh, four tzitzit on his tallit—[all of these] surround him” (y. Ber. 9: 5, 14d) likewise presents a rabbinic vision of Israelite society, in which every male Jew conforms to rabbinic notions of Jewish identity. In this vision the ideal male Jew’s internal disposition and practice (Torah observance) is made visible through his body (circumcision), clothing (fringed tallit), accessories (tefillin), and decoration of his home (mezuzah). The term “surround him” (‫מקיפין אותו‬/‫ )מקיפות‬is used for both the divine commandments (mitzvot) and their external markers, which are supposed to serve as reminders and visual aids toward the fulfillment of the Torah. The respective blessings that one is supposed to say when making tzitzit or wrapping oneself in a fringed tallit (cf. y. Ber. 9:3, 14a), endow these items with religious significance and link them to the Torah and covenant. Despite the claim that sages are recognizable by the way they wrap themselves (Sifre Deut. 343:11), rabbinic sources do not specify how exactly rabbis covered their bodies with their overcoats. The claim implies that rabbis and disciples of sages were wearing their tallit/pallium in a particular way so that they would recognize fellow-sages and distinguish themselves from hoi polloi. Other Jews are assumed to have been able to identify rabbis in public by the way they dressed. Such an instant visual recognition would have been important to rabbis if they wanted to be asked for advice or supported and hosted by strangers they met in the marketplace and on the road. Ancient literature and art indicate that the pallium could be worn in a variety of ways. According to Tertullian’s treatise De Pallio, in the past the men of Carthage dressed themselves as follows: “The outer garment, the pallium, itself also quadrangular, was thrown back from both sides and knit around the neck in the bit of a buckle, and so rested on the shoulders” (1.1.4). The pallium was fastened at the neck with a fibula. Tertullian goes on to say that in his own time, at the beginning of the third century CE, the priests of Aesculapius were wearing their mantles this way (1.2.1). Others, probably himself included, simply threw the pallium over their shoulders, “loosely covering oneself” (5.3.1). One . . . may willingly leave the shoulder bare or include it; for the rest it rests on the shoulder, holding up nothing around, tying nothing around, not caring whether the folds are reliable; it is easily arranged and easily rearranged . . . If any undergarment is worn beneath it, the torture of a belt is absent (5.3.2–3).

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According to this description, the pallium was a rather casual garment, hanging loose from one or both shoulders, if worn over a tunic, or belted if worn on its own. Philosophers allegedly wore the pallium alone, in a simple manner and made of coarse material, in imitation of Socrates and “to show their contempt of costly apparel.”98 The simple garb was meant to express the values of contemplation and self-control and to distinguish them from ordinary people: “This seems to have become in process of time the regular dress of the students in the schools of Athens, not marking any degree of proficiency among the scholars, but distinguishing them all, as by an academical costume, from other persons.”99 The later Stoics, Pythagoreans, and Cynics were also eager to distinguish their own schools from others through the colors, materials, and ways of wearing their pallium.100 Zanker has noticed that Epicureans are depicted in a different way from Stoics in Roman art: Epicureans have “the mantle carefully draped about them,” representing the old-fashioned virtues of “an irreproachable citizen”; Stoics, on the other hand, were more crudely dressed, expressing mental focus, self-control, and the denial of pleasure.101 Thus Seneca writes: “For when I put on the right sort of clothes, or walk as I should, or dine as I should, neither the dining nor the clothes nor the walking are good, but the intention I display in them by preserving a measure, in each thing, which conforms to reason.”102 Philosophical values and teachings were supposed to be reflected by the philosopher’s public demeanor and conduct, which served as a figurehead for his school. Especially in late antiquity, when the intellectual “look” had become fashionable among lay people of the middle strata of society, the “real” intellectuals would have tried to adhere to their school’s dress code, criticizing “pretenders,”

98  J. Griffith’s comments in J. Inett, Origenes Anglicanae, Or: A History of the English Church, Vol. 1 (2nd ed. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1855), 218. See also L. Cleland et al., Greek and Roman Dress from A to Z (London and New York NY: Routledge, 2007), 137, “pallium.” 99  Inett, Origenes Anglicanae, 218. 100  T. Dorandi, “Organization and Structure of the Philosophical Schools,” 55–62 in The Cambridge History of Hellenistic Philosophy. Edited by K. Algra et al. (2nd ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 62, writes: “If the expression scholasticai esthētes of which Diogenes Laertius speaks in The Life of Bion really carries the sense of ‘scholars’ (i.e., philosophers’) clothing’, we have a curious testimony that in at least some schools a particular kind of clothing was required or adopted.” 101  Zanker, The Mask of Socrates, 114–6. 102  Seneca, Epistulae Morales 92.11–13.

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to maintain their group identity.103 At the same time they strove for adherents who were willing to imitate their way of life. The Christian author Lactantius (c. 240–320 CE) criticized the view that wisdom should be limited to “the beard and the pallium,” that is, to adult male adherents of certain philosophical schools only. Supporting his argument by reference to Stoics and Epicureans, he maintains that even women, slaves, and the unlearned and poor should be introduced to the “truth,” which, in his case, consisted of the Christian message.104 The rabbis who formulated the statement in Sifre Deut. 343:11 would have been well aware of other intellectuals’ use of dress codes and demeanor to “marketize” their teachings and express their identities. By suggesting that rabbis were distinguishable by the way they dressed, walked, and talked, they asserted rabbis’ position as a particularly Jewish type of intellectual within the ancient marketplace of learning. Within the multiple ways of distinguishing oneself from others not only through the choice of coat and its material105 but also by the way one was styling it, rabbis claimed their particular niche.106 They did not specify how exactly they wrapped themselves in their cloaks 103  Zanker, The Mask of Socrates, 267–76 and 282–4 points to lay people in intellectual garb on funerary reliefs. See also J.L. Maxwell, Christianization and Communication in Late Antiquity. John Chrysostom and his Congregation in Antioch (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 27. 104  Lactantius, The Divine Institutes 3.25. On this text see also G. Giliberti, Cosmopolis. Politics and Law in the Cynic-Stoic Tradition (Pesaro: Edizioni Studio Alfa, 2006), 54: “Epicureans and Stoics had arrived at the idea of equal dignity of men and women, the free and slaves, educated and uneducated, but only in theory: their teaching was in actual fact reserved to those with a ‘beard and pallium’ (to philosophers).” 105  Some scholars have claimed that Jews/rabbis would have been distinguishable from non-Jews in antiquity by adhering to the laws of shatnez, that is, refraining from mixing wool and linen in their garments (cf. Deut 22:11): see, eg, Roussin, “Costume in Roman Palestine,” 182, who points out: “All the textiles found in the Cave of Letters conform to the Halakhic injunction against mixing woolen and linen fibers in the same garment”; see also Shlezinger-Katsman, “Clothing,” 365–6. We do not know whether and to what extent Palestinian Jews observed this biblical rule. At least rabbis may have worn garments made of either linen or wool only, but so would others on the basis of more pragmatic reasons such as the climate conditions and the availability and cost of the material. Usually undergarments were made of linen while the overcoat was made of wool. 106  M. Koortbojian, “Costumes and Their Symbolisms at Rome,” 71–93 in Roman Dress and the Fabrics of Roman Culture. Edited by J.C. Edmondson and A. Keith. (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2008), 77–8, has stressed our lack of knowledge of the “full repertory” of ancient dress codes (partly represented in the form of statues): “There were other costumes that evoked yet other dimensions of social life . . . The divisions of the repertory

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because they did not need to: their contemporaries and generations of disciples would have been socialized into following their example. The intended reader of the Midrash would therefore have understood its meaning automatically. From hindsight we can only hypothesize: perhaps the rabbinic way of wearing the tallit/pallium was traditional, using a fibula, or more formal, using a belt, even when worn over an undergarment; perhaps rabbis covered both of their shoulders while others covered only one. Or their stylistic difference was more nuanced, consisting of the way they would flip a corner of the garment over their shoulder. In any case, what matters is the text’s claim of a specifically rabbinic dress code, irrespective of historical reality and actual practice.

Beard and Hair Style

Besides the pallium, Lactantius mentions the beard as another characteristic emblem of the philosopher and intellectual. In fact, the beard seems to have been favored by men who wanted to look learned and became especially fashionable in late antiquity. As Zanker has noticed with regard to statues and busts, “[d]uring the Roman Empire, the beard became the symbol of the philosopher’s moral integrity.”107 All philosophers wore beards, albeit in different styles: “Already in the third century, it seems, one could recognize what school a philosopher belonged to, and his way of thinking, by the state of his beard and hair.”108 Stoics, Epicureans, and Cynics wore their beards in different ways. The “cultivated appearance” of the Epicureans stood in contrast to the “unkempt and crudely trimmed beard of the Stoics.”109 From the second century CE onwards the “beard of the learned man” became fashionable in wider circles of Roman society.110 Especially in the cities of the Greek East, many aristocrats followed Hadrian’s example: they cultivated their beards to express their philhellenism and devotion to Greek paideia and modeled themselves “after the statues and portraits of well-known Greeks of the past.”111 In the Antonine period beards became increasingly longer and the “classicizing

were numerous, their formats varied, their iconographies diverse” (ibid.). In ancient texts only “the barest suggestions” survive (78). 107  Zanker, The Mask of Socrates, 110. 108  Ibid. 109  Ibid. 116–7. 110  Ibid. 202. 111  Ibid. 220.

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fashion” became “an integral part of the social discourse.”112 In addition to the beard, baldness and “the thinker’s brow” became part of this “popular Zeitgesicht of the intellectual” to which even the emperors’ portraits were assimilated.113 In early Byzantine times some images of Christ show him with a beard and long hair to resemble a charismatic philosopher.114 Busts that display this popular image were also found in Roman Palestine and the Near East.115 Skupińska-Lovset has noted that in the funerary portraiture of Roman Palestine beards “appear and re-appear periodically from the Hadrianic period on,” following the fashions of the eastern Roman Empire.116 The hair style and clothing suggest “cultural identification with the Hellenized way of life,” irrespective of the deceased and their families’ ethnic origin, and may have been adopted by Jews as well.117 The portrait busts of philosophers and intellectuals found in Roman Syria, most of them copies produced in the first century CE, evince the traditional model of the intellectual delineated by Zanker. A bust of Hermarchos (or Metrodoros, a disciple of Epicurus), with a beard and curly hair, has a “high forehead and protruding eyebrow arches intersected by a horizontal furrow, protruding cheek bones and bags under the eyes.”118 The portrait of the tragic poet Moschion, found at Raphia, shows him as “an elderly, bald but bearded man.”119 Fischer writes about this portrait: “In general, it represents the type of the East-Greek-Semitic philosopher of the

112  Ibid. 223. See ibid. 225 fig. 121a–f for portraits of the late Antonine and Severan periods “in the guise of intellectuals.” 113  Ibid. 226. See ibid. 227 fig. 122a–f for more examples of this phenomenon. 114  A more common image of Christ was that of a “Wunderkind” or child intellectual, however: beardless and youthful, yet a teacher of wisdom, see ibid. 291–9. Some scholars have interpreted a marble head found in a church at Gerasa, originally belonging to the statue of Zeus-Asclepios, as a Christian appropriation used to portrait Christ as a philosopher, but the identification is uncertain, see Weber, Gadara-Umm Qēs I, 180, fig. 123B. 115  See, for example, Weber, Gadara-Umm Qēs I, fig. 49, A–D: a funerary portrait of a bald and bearded old man found at Gadara. For similar images from the 2nd to 3rd centuries see fig. 54, 55, 56, 65A–c, 72A–D. The bearded old man portrayed in fig. 63A–c holds a scroll ( formula) in his left hand to underline his learning. Fig. 123C shows the portrait head of the emperor Marcus Aurelius with a beard and curly hair; his wide-open eyes gaze into the distance as if in philosophical contemplation. According to Weber (ibid. 489) this marble work was manufactured in Syria-Palestine at the end of the 2nd century CE. 116  Skupińska-Lovset, Portraiture in Roman Syria, 134. 117  Ibid. 140. 118  Ibid. 58. 119  Ibid.

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Imperial period (. . .).”120 By contrast, the bust of Olympiodoros, an Athenian archon of the third century BCE, found at Caesarea, depicts him as a beardless “energetic man.”121 Late antique rabbis also associated philosophers with beards. According to a story transmitted in Gen. Rab. 11:6, a philosopher asked R. Hoshaiah why the biblical Adam did not already practice circumcision. R. Hoshaiah answered his question indirectly, by way of analogy (“Why do you remove [‫ ]מגלח‬the corners of your head and leave your beard?”), referring to the philosopher’s haircut and long, untrimmed beard. The philosopher is said to have answered that the hair on his head started growing from the time he was born and he had to trim it to keep it neat and tidy. The implication is that the beard started to grow only when he was a grown-up student of philosophy. In the continuation of the story R. Hoshaiah uses this answer to explain the need for circumcision: certain parts of the body were created in a natural state but need adjustment to bring them into proper form. The beard is mentioned numerous times in biblical and rabbinic texts.122 Rabbis imagined their biblical forefathers to have worn beards, and they would have worn beards themselves. Lev 19:27 rules: “You shall not round off [‫]תקפו‬ the corners of your heads [‫ ]פאת ראשׁכם‬and you shall not destroy [‫ ]תשׁחית‬the corners of your beard [‫]פאת זקנך‬.” Mishnah Qidd. 1:7 alludes to this verse and exempts women from compliance with it. Lev 21:5 prohibits baldness and the “removal” [‫ ]לא יגלחו‬of the corners of one’s beard. M. Mak. 3:5 mentions all of these actions (baldness by choice and the cutting off of the corners of one’s hair and/or beard) as grounds for culpability and identifies four transgressions for hair removals and five for the beard, two at each side and one below. Questions arose with regard to the procedures employed for the hair removal (R. Eliezer). The examples suggest that the hair had to be shaved off with a razor or torn out with its roots, that is, removed completely, to constitute transgression. Cutting

120   M.L. Fischer, Marble Studies: Roman Palestine and the Marble Trade (Konstanz: Universitätsverlag Konstanz., 1998), 158 no. 178 (for the image see ibid. 195). 121  Ibid. 180 no. 140. J. Geiger, Hellenism in the East: Studies on Greek Intellectuals in Palestine (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2014), 30, points out that this general should not be confused with the philosopher by the same name from Gaza. See also idem, “Die Olympiodorbüste aus Caesarea,” ZDPV 113 (1997): 70–4. 122  For references to some of these passages see S. Fishbane, The Shtiebelization of Modern Jewry. Studies in Custom and Ritual in the Judaic Tradition: Social-Anthropological Perspectives (Boston, MA: Academic Studies Press, 2011), 133–7.

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off a more or less small part of the hair or beard, that is, trimming it, would not fall into these categories.123 The meaning of the biblical verses (Lev 19:27 and 21:5) is difficult to determine. Does the Torah prohibit Israelite men from shaving off or even cutting parts of their hair? Or were specific hair styles, worn by other ethnic-religious groups, prohibited? Perhaps the verse/s refer/s to particular groups (priests) or circumstances (mourning) only? The prohibition against cutting off the hair at the “corners of your head” has led to the cultivation of long side locks or ear locks (payes) among some Hassidic and ultra-Orthodox groups.124 Should one assume that some ancient rabbis understood the verses similarly and donned side locks? Or that they did not cut their hair (and beard) at all and looked like the long-haired and bearded images of Jesus in some late antique Christian art?125 Mark F. Rooker has pointed out that in the Bible the practices of shaving one’s hair and beard “were associated with pagan mourning rites and thus were to be shunned among the Israelite priesthood.”126 The continuation of Lev 19:27 reads: “You shall not make any cuttings in your flesh for the dead” (19:28), another practice associated with pagan mourning practices. In Lev 21:5 it is priests who are instructed: “They shall not make baldness [‫]לא יקרחה קרחה‬ upon their head and the corners of their beard they shall not shave [‫]לא יגלחו‬, nor make any cuttings in their flesh.” In Deut 14:1, Israelites are advised not to shave their heads (“make a baldness between your eyes”) for the dead, that is, in mourning rituals. Elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible baldness and beardlessness are associated with utter destruction and deprivation. Isa 3:24, describing the state of the godless, specifies that there will be “instead of curled hair baldness”; in describing Moab’s ruin as a punishment for committing idolatry, Isa 15:2 relates: “On all their heads is baldness, every beard is shaven” (see 123  Fishbane assumes that other types of shaving that are not listed in the Mishnah were permitted: “The rabbis only prohibited the razor as a means of shaving. . . .” (ibid. 135). It seems, however, that the razor and some other tools are mentioned in m. Makk. 3:5 as examples of the prohibited complete removal of hair. 124  See S.C. Heilman, Defenders of the Faith: Inside Ultra-Orthodox Jewry (Berkeley and Los Angeles CA: University of California Press, 1992), 22–3 and 107; S. Poll, The Hasidic Community of Williamsburg. A Study in the Sociology of Religion. (New Brunswick NJ: Transaction Publishers, 2009), 66. 125  See, eg, D.R. Cartlidge and J.K. Elliott, Art & the Christian Apocrypha (London and New York NY: Routledge, 2001), 66, who point to examples of fourth-century CE sarcophagus depictions of a bearded and long-locked Jesus. 126   M.F. Rooker, The New American Commentary: Leviticus (Nashville TN: Broadman & Holman Publishers, 2000), 273–4.

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also Jer 48:37). Jer 47:5 reveals the fate of the Philistines: “Baldness has come upon Gaza, Ashqelon is being destroyed . . . How long will you cut yourself?” In Ezek 7:18 baldness, together with wearing sackcloth and trembling, is associated with the end of times (see also Ezek 27:31). Throughout the Hebrew Bible baldness and beardlessness have very negative connotations, then. The prohibition against cutting off the corners of one’s head and beard was probably related to these associations and contexts, advising Israelites to distinguish themselves from idolaters when mourning and from people punished by God.127 The biblical commandment was probably directed against (chosen) baldness and beardlessness, not against trimming one’s hair and beard in general. Completely shaving off one’s hair and beard was prohibited, not trimming (cf. Lev 19:27 and 21:5, which are quite similar in their formulation). Leviticus Rabbah does not comment on Lev 19:27 and 21:5. Rabbinic texts suggest, however, that rabbis were quite familiar with barbers and haircuts, which they associated with Jews and would have frequented themselves. An amoraic story about the biblical Mordecai, transmitted in Lev. Rab. 28:6 in Aramaic, is most instructive in this regard. According to the story, Haman asked Mordecai to put the royal crown on his head, but Mordecai refused to do so without a prior haircut. Since Haman could not find a barber, he produced barber’s tools and trimmed Mordecai’s hair himself, complaining about being reduced to this lowly task. Mordecai reminds him that his father was a “barber and bathhouse attendant” [‫]בלנא וספר‬, from whom he inherited his tools. In the story Haman clearly stands in for Roman officials and the entire setting is romanized. Roman bathhouses, which rabbis liked to frequent, had bathhouse attendants who probably also sometimes offered to cut people’s hair and beard.128 According to a narrative tradition in y. Ber. 2:8, 5c, a haircut and a bath in Hammat Tiberias were the first things R. Yasa wanted when he arrived in the Land of Israel from Babylonia.129 The proverb attributed to R. Abin in Lev. Rab. 14:9, “there is no barber who cuts his own hair,” seems to reflect common 127  That Lev 19:27–28 presents “rules about mourning” has also been stressed by C.M. Carmichael, Law, Legend, and Incest in the Bible: Leviticus 18–20 (Ithaca NY: Cornell University Press, 1997), 129. 128  A bathhouse attendant is also mentioned in y. B. Bat. 4:6, 14c as part of the bathhouse staff, see Jacobs, “Römische Thermenkultur,” 239–40. His functions are not specified there, but they seem to have sometimes included oiling bathers’ bodies and other services, depending on the type of bathhouse and specialization of staff, see 242. 129  According to m. Mo’ed Qat. 3:1, haircuts are allowed even during the festival week for “one arriving from abroad.”

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practice in Roman times. Cutting one’s hair and beard was considered too complicated to carry out on one’s own; therefore men would frequent barbers to receive a proper trim, unless they were wealthy enough to have their private slave hairdressers. According to Carcopino, there were also “innumerable barbershops in the tabernae of the city” and barbers who offered their services in open public spaces.130 In the cities of Roman Palestine rabbis would have encountered similar services. Even rabbis who cultivated beards would have required an occasional trim, and rabbis would not have hesitated to frequent such establishments. A properly grown beard was seen as a sign of male maturity. According to a tradition in y. Ta’an. 4:1, 67b, “R. Huna would remove a thin-bearded man [‫”]זלדקן‬131 and prevent him from reciting the priestly benediction. The subsequently quoted baraita is used to criticize this behavior: if the reciter was well-known in his town, he should be permitted to recite in front of the congregation. A statement attributed to R. Mana supports R. Huna’s view. R. Huna removed the man on a festival day, that is, on a special occasion, “so that people should not say: We saw a minor raising his hands” to give the priestly blessing to the congregation. The discussion shows how important appearance was in the ancient Jewish community. A thinly grown beard, when seen from afar, might suggest that its owner was a minor or at least a relatively young man. Even if the man was a well-known figure within the community and most people would have known his real age, rabbis would not want to risk possible rumors about the man’s immature status, especially on a holiday when nonlocals would have been present. The other extreme was an overgrown beard that had not been trimmed for a long time. Yerushalmi Ber. 1:6, 3b transmits a tannaitic story (maaseh) about R. Eleazar b. Azariah and R. Yishmael, who behaved differently when the time for the recitation of the Shema arrived. Whereas R. Eleazar b. Azariah stood up, R. Yishmael reclined. R. Eleazar compares R. Yishmael’s behavior to that of a man encountered in the marketplace, who is asked: “Why is your beard overgrown [‫ ”?]זקנך מגודל‬and he answers: “It shall be against those who shave,” that is, his long beard is a deliberate revolt against trimming.132 This 130  J. Carcopino, Daily Life in Ancient Rome. The People and the City at the Height of the Empire (London: Penguin, 1991), 176. 131  On this term see Jastrow, A Dictionary of the Targumim, 401. 132  Similarly, R. Eleazar b. Azariah viewed R. Yishmael’s behavior as an affront against himself. This interpretation of the text follows H.W. Guggenheimer, The Jerusalem Talmud, First Order: Zeraim. Tractate Berakhot (Berlin and New York NY: Walter de Gruyter, 2000), 110–1.

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conversation may reflect some (non-rabbinic) Jewish men’s “fundamentalist” understanding of Lev 19:27, which made them refrain from trimming their beards at all. Whereas rabbis criticized an untidy and unkempt appearance,133 they also loathed men who smoothed their hair in public as an expression of selfsatisfaction and vanity. According to Gen. Rab. 22:6, R. Ammi said: The evil inclination [‫ ]יצר הרע‬does not walk at the sides [of the road] but in the middle of the wide open street, and when it sees a man attending to his eyes [i.e, applying make-up], tidying his hair, [and] raising his heel, he says: This one belongs to me! What is the reason? ‘Have you seen a man wise in his [own] eyes? The fool has hope of him’ [Prov 26:12]. This tradition is a good example of the use of body language in rabbinic sources. In the context of this midrash, gestures are used to teach a moral lesson, to exemplify behavior that attracts sin without necessarily being sinful in and of itself. A person’s body language may reveal his self-love and haughtiness. Caring too much for the proper look of one’s hair is interpreted as foolish here. Interestingly, such vanity seems to have been tolerated for young men, however. In Gen. Rab. 84:7 the seventeen years old Joseph is said to have acted like a youth [‫]מעשׂה נערות‬, “attending to his eyes, tidying his hair, and raising his heel.” The same three gestures that are despised in an adult male are tolerated if exhibited by a youngster, although at the age of seventeen Joseph would have been considered relatively mature in rabbis’ perception. In the context of Gen. R. 84:7 the reference to a youthful body language is used to explain the biblical phrasing, “being still a lad” (Gen 37:2). A third occurrence of these gestures appears in Gen. Rab. 87:3, also in connection with the biblical Joseph story. According to Gen 39:6, “Joseph was of beautiful form and beautiful appearance,” which led Potiphar’s wife to “cast her eyes upon” him (39:7). In the midrash this is illustrated by reference to . . . a man who was sitting in the marketplace attending to his eyes, tidying his hair, and raising his heel. He said [in Aramaic]: I am a man. They

133  In Lev. Rab. 5:8 a stupid tenant is described as someone who meets his landlord while his hair is unkempt and his clothes are dirty.

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said to him: If you are a man, here is temptation [or: a wolf or bear, ‫]דובא‬ before you.134 Jump [away from] it [or: strike it].135 People’s reaction to the man can be understood in two different ways, depending on whether the narrative is interpreted as an illustration of the biblical reference to Potiphar’s wife or independently. In the midrashic context, the beautiful Joseph is threatened by temptation from outside. Similarly, the man in the story, who tends to his looks, is threatened by temptation and advised to jump away from it (compare the reference to the “evil inclination” in Gen 22:6). If the story is understood as an independent unit however—and it may well have circulated independently before having been integrated into the midrashic context—the effeminate behavior of the man is the main issue. People who observe him set him a test by which he can prove his masculinity, namely, by striking the wild animal that is in front of him. Effeminate behavior in men and so-called androgyny were much loathed in Roman society.136 Much of the oratorial handbooks’ advice to prospective rhetoricians was to avoid gestures that might indicate androgyny. In public men’s behavior was constantly observed and judged to guarantee adherence to the customarily established male behavioral codes. As Gleason has pointed out, “one’s adequacy as a man was always under suspicion” and had to be proven to others.137 A man’s appearance had to correspond to a “socially sanctioned” ideal of manhood.138 The public acted as an arbitrator whose judgment could shame and humiliate those who deviated from what was expected of a man. Certain gestures associated with women and youths were considered inappropriate for adult males: “those males who did not comply with the rules of the proper gait were designated as effeminates and passive homosexuals.”139 In his Ars Amatoria Ovid instructs young men on how to groom themselves to look attractive to women but not to other men. According to King’s summary of the text, “[t]he key is to absorb enough refinement to separate one’s masculine self from connotations of dirty brutality but not so much as to 134  Jastrow, A Dictionary of the Targumim, 282, translates the term with “temptation” here but notes that the term can also mean “bear” or “wolf.” 135  Albeck ed.: ‫ ;קופצה‬The Venice ed. has ‫קבחניה‬, “strike it,” instead. 136  See M.W. Gleason, Making Men. Sophists and Self-Presentation in Ancient Rome (Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press., 1995), 62–5, on alleged signs of the androgynous. 137  Ibid. XXII. 138  E. Gunderson, Staging Masculinity: The Rhetoric of Performance in the Roman World (Ann Arbor MI: University of Michigan Press, 2000), 61. 139  Bremmer, “Walking, Standing, and Sitting,” 27.

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appear to others as a male vir, ‘hardly a man who wants a man’ (A.A. 1.523–4).”140 Ovid (ibid. 1.505–24) advises his readers not to “curl your hair with tongs” and not to smooth their legs, since “male beauty is better for neglect.” On the other hand, “neatness pleases, a body tanned from exercise.” Men should wear clean shoes and well-fitting clothes and make sure that their fingernails are clean. Their hair and beard should be properly trimmed: “Don’t mar your neat hair with an evil haircut: let an expert hand trim your head and beard” (ibid.). At the end of the passage he warns against over-grooming, a behavior associated with women and homosexuals: “Leave the rest for impudent women to do, or whoever’s the sort of man who needs a man” (ibid.).141 If our translation “attending to his eyes” is correct,142 the implication may be that he applied eye make-up.143 Male eye make-up was not unknown in the Roman world. Not only actors but also men who wanted to impress other men (and women) would paint their eyes. Pliny already noted that “such is the affectation of ornament that they paint their eyes (tinguantur oculi) also,”144 and Juvenal mocked male grooming addicts as follows: “With sooty moisture one his eyebrows dyes, and with a bodkin paints his trembling eyes.”145 Cassius Dio maintains that in the third century CE the emperor Elagabalus sometimes wore eye make-up and female attire to impress young men such as Zoticus from Smyrna: “he painted his eyes, daubing them with white lead and alkanet.”146 He even planned to undergo transgender surgery to win Zoticus as his lover.147 The gesture of raising or swinging one’s heel [‫]ומתלה בעקיבו‬, mentioned thrice in Genesis Rabbah, also needs to be understood as part of the vain man’s dandy-like deportment.148 It is reminiscent of dancers and actors and may well have been part of the (panto)mimes’ repertoire. How this movement could 140   R.J. King, Desiring Rome: Male Subjectivity and Reading Ovid’s Fasti (Columbus OH: Ohio State University Press, 2006), 264–5, n. 79. 141  Translation with A.S. Kline, Ovid: The Art of Love. Ars Amatoria, Book I, at http://poetryin translation.com/PITBR/Latin/Artoflovehome.htm, accessed July 24, 2016. 142  The Albeck ed. of Gen. R. 87:3 reads ‫ ומשׁמשׁם בעיניו‬but many manuscript variants exist, for example, ‫ומשׁמשׁ בעיניו‬. Similar variants exist for the other two Gen. Rab. texts, see Albeck’s apparatus ad loc. 143  J. Neusner, Genesis Rabbah. The Judaic Commentary to the Book of Genesis. A New American Translation, 3 Vols. (Atlanta GA: Scholars Press, 1985), 3: 229, translates: “penciling his eyes.” 144  Pliny, Historia Naturalis 11.56.154. 145  Juvenal, Satires 2.93–95. 146  Cassius Dio, Historia Romana 80.14.4, translation with the Loeb Classical Library edition. 147  Ibid. 80.16.7. 148  See also Jastrow, A Dictionary of the Targumim, 1104.

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be enacted in a sitting position (Gen. Rab. 87:3) is rather difficult to imagine, unless the reference to the man’s “sitting in the marketplace” is merely part of the standard narrative introduction. The heel-lifting gesture described in this context should not be interpreted in the same way as references to a similar but different gesture in the Hebrew Bible and New Testament. In fact, this example shows how important the literary context is for a proper understanding of the meaning of body language. In the Hebrew Bible lifting one’s heel seems to indicate betrayal and enmity. In Ps 41:10 someone deplores his friend’s behavior: “Even my friend, whom I trusted, who ate my bread, has magnified [cf. Ps 55:13] his heel against me [‫הגדיל עלי‬ ‫]עקב‬.” According to the gospel of John 13:18, Jesus allegedly applied the expression to himself and Judas, predicting the latter’s deception of him: “He who eats my bread has raised [ἐπῆρεν] his heel against me.” The Greek verb used in the gospel makes the gesture more similar to the one in Gen. R. and also easier to imagine than the “magnification” of the heel in Ps. 41.149 In contrast to the midrashic text, the raising of the heel clearly indicates opposition here. Both Ps 41:9 and John 13:18 may refer to an intended or actual kicking of the other in contrast to the prior friendship and meal fellowship. The raised heel also appears in Greek sculpture (and in later Roman copies of Greek sculpture), where art-historians distinguish between the so-called Spielbein and the Standbein of a statue. While the Standbein is set firmly on the ground and carries most of the body’s weight, the Spielbein’s heel is slightly lifted into the air to indicate lightness and motion.150 Such a stance obviously constitutes a pose and was commonly used for athletes, gods, and emperors alike. Elkins has pointed to the instability of this stance, exemplified in the Renaissance by Michelangelo’s David, which requires a complex balancing of the body characteristic of athletes and dancers.151 The rabbinic depiction of a vain man’s body language may, to some extent, be modeled after the poses of Greek statues in rabbis’ Palestinian environment. In the context of the midrash, Joseph’s effeminate behavior seems to have been tolerated by rabbis because of his beauty and youthfulness, mentioned in the biblical base texts. At the same time, rabbis considered such gestures 149  On the differences between Ps 41:10, the LXX version, and John 13:18 see M.J.J. Menken, Old Testament Quotations in the Fourth Gospel: Studies in Textual Form (Kampen: Kok Pharos Publishing House, 1996), 123–5. 150  See A.H. Borbein, “Polykleitos,” 66–90 in Personal Styles in Greek Sculpture. Edited by Olga Palagia and J.J. Pollitt (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 72–83. 151  J. Elkins, Pictures of the Body: Pain and Metamorphosis (Stanford CA: Stanford University Press, 1999), 88–9.

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incompatible with the behavior of a grown-up man and believed that vanity could lead to temptation and sinfulness. In all likelihood, they would have agreed with Ovid that male grooming should be limited to cleaning one’s body, wearing proper clothes, and having one’s hair and beard trimmed.152 The emphasis would have been on the good maintenance of the natural body rather than on artificial enhancements brought about by make-up, curling of one’s hair, or other cosmetic procedures. Rabbinic sources suggest that unwashed, unkempt, and untrimmed hair was a sign of mourning, since washing, combing, and trimming one’s hair—just like any other type of body care—was prohibited during that period. In mourning the untrimmed and untended hair would have distinguished Jews from other ethnic groups, such as Egyptians, who shaved or cut their hair as an expression of grief.153 The Mishnah prohibits haircuts during the week into which the Ninth of Av falls, except for Thursdays, in honor of the Sabbath (m. Taan. 4:7). In Gen. Rab. 93:7 the body language of mourning is associated with exile: Describing Joseph’s family’s reaction upon learning about Joseph’s abduction abroad, the midrash states: “Since the day he was exiled I have not washed or combed [my hair] but have been like a mourner.” In Gen. Rab. 98:15 fathers and sons are said to have let their hair grow long at a time of absence from each other, mourning their distance. The context refers to the time of Joshua, when the tribes of Reuven and Gad left their children behind to join the other tribes in the conquest and distribution of the land. The implication is that they had their hair trimmed properly once they were reunited with each other. Similarly, the Ishmaelites are said to have let their hair grow long (ibid.), a behavior that is not further explained. It may refer to their particular ethnic customs or represent a stereotypical image of Arabs promoted by some ancient 152  J. Schwartz, “Material Culture in the Land of Israel: Monks and Rabbis on Clothing and Dress in the Byzantine Period,” 121–37 in Saints and Role Models in Judaism and Christianity. Edited by M. Poorthuis and J. Schwartz (Leiden and Boston MA: Brill, 2004), argues that rabbinic opinions on proper clothing were the direct opposite of Christian monks’ “clothes of poverty” (see 124–8). That rabbis valued expensive clothing and different garments for the Sabbath (128–30) does not mean that every rabbi could afford to wear such clothes, though. In his comparison Schwartz seems to take the rabbinic texts at face value. He does not pay sufficient attention to the entirely different religious ideals and living conditions of rabbis and monks. 153  See Herodotus, Histories 2.36, translated with R.F. Kennedy et al., Race and Ethnicity in the Classical World: An Anthology of Primary Sources in Translation (Indianapolis, IN: Hackett Publishing Company, 2013), 117: “It is the custom for other peoples in mourning to cut their hair especially close, but after a death Egyptians let their hair grow out both on their heads and chins before cutting it in mourning.”

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writers. Interestingly, Roman writers describe Arabs in a similar way. According to Pliny, the Arabs either wear turbans or leave their hair uncut.154 Theodore of Mopsuestia (ca. 350–428 CE) states that “the Saracens shave away the hair of the forehead [cf. the biblical and rabbinic prohibition above] but permit it to grow long behind.”155 According to McKenzie, “Egyptians always represent the people of Canaan and western Asia as wearing long hair and beards, in contrast to the Egyptians themselves.”156 Romans considered long hair “oldfashioned or barbaric,”157 and Paul associated long hair with effeminacy when writing: “Does not nature itself teach you that if a man wears long hair, it dishonors him, but if a woman has long hair, it is her glory?” (1 Cor 11:14–15). In the midrashic context (Gen. Rab. 98:15), the fact that both the Israelites and the Ishmaelites wore long hair at the time of the conquest is considered to have constituted a problem: Israelites could not be distinguished from their enemies until they cried out to the God of their forefathers and asked him to assist them in battle. The underlying assumption is that ethnic groups were identifiable on the basis of their hair styles and that Israelite men’s hair (representing Jewish males in Roman Palestine in late antiquity) was usually trimmed. Rabbis shared this view of a close relationship between hair style and ethnicity with Roman writers and artists who created portrait heads.158 At the same time, they were aware of the possibility that men of different ethnic groups could share the same hair style and become unidentifiable on the basis of their outward appearance. In such a case the words of prayer, that is, the verbal expression of one’s religious particularity serves as a marker of cultural distinctiveness. In the late Midrash Deuteronomy Rabbah, a certain coiffure in which the front is trimmed and the back kept long and curly is directly associated with idolatry:

154  Pliny, Historia Naturalis 6.32.67–68: “The Arabs either wear the mitra [turban] or else go with their hair unshorn, while the beard is shaved, except upon the upper lip: some tribes, however, leave even the beard unshaved” (tr. John Bostock at www.perseus.tufts.edu, last accessed 24 July, 2016). 155  Theodore of Mopsuestia, Commentary on Jer. 10. 156   J.L. McKenzie, The Dictionary of the Bible (New York NY: Touchstone, 1995), 331. 157   J.S. Jeffers, The Greco-Roman World of the New Testament Era: Exploring the Background of Early Christianity (Downers Grove IL: InterVarsity Press, 1999), 43. 158  See E. Gruen, Cultural Identity in the Ancient Mediterranean (Los Angeles CA: Getty Research Institute, 2011), 225: ethnic portraits “deviate substantially in their coiffure, facial hair, or physiognomy from the metropolitan imagery dominant at the time in which they were made (. . .).”

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Is it permissible for an Israelite to round the corners of his head [cf. Lev 19:27]? Thus have sages taught: These things are prohibited because of the ways of the Amorite who trims in front and who makes locks [or: plaits]. What does it mean: He trims in front? This is someone who cuts the corners of his head and makes a ‘handle of locks’.159 What is he liable of? He receives forty lashes. But he who makes locks [or: plaits] lets it grow long only for the purpose of planetary worship [or: idolatry in general], and there is no penalty more severe than for planetary worship [idolatry], for the Holy One Blessed Be He is jealous of it . . . (Deut. Rab. 2:18). Whatever the exact type of hair style alluded to, its association with idolatry incurs the strictest penalties for Jewish men who imitate it. Either the biblical injunction is merely set in an imaginary idolatrous scenery here (in all likelihood Deut. Rab. was edited at a time when Graeco-Roman paganism no longer existed),160 or the rabbis who formulated the text had contemporary non-­ Jewish (Arab?) hair styles in mind. In any case, the text’s harsh criticism against particular coiffures has no analogy in the earlier late antique Palestinian rabbinic sources.

Baldness, Grey Hair, and Wisdom

Zanker has already observed that many ancient statues, busts, and portraits of intellectuals represent them with bald heads: “Another element of the fashionable ‘intellectual look’ is the receding hairline or bald head, suddenly popular in the late second and early third centuries.”161 A philosopher or sage was believed to represent “ancient knowledge,” which made him seem old, even if he was still relatively young: “In the Greek imagination, all great intellectuals were old.”162 This perception continued into late antiquity: “There exists 159  For this translation of ‫ תפיסות קורצין‬see Jastrow, A Dictionary of the Targumim, 1325, who derives the second word from ‫קווצות‬, “curls, locks.” The second half of the sentence can also refer to the long hair in the back of the head, however, in which case the expression might mean that he plaits his locks. 160  On the distinction between amoraic Midrashim and the later Deut. R., which belongs to the so-called Tanhuma-Yelamdenu Midrashim, see M. Bregman, “Midrash Rabbah and the Medieval Collector Mentality,” 196–207 in The Anthology in Jewish Literature. Edited by David Stern (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 196–7. 161  Zanker, The Mask of Socrates, 224. 162  Ibid. 22.

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no portrait of a truly young poet, and certainly not of a young philosopher.”163 Baldness, grey hair, and a frail body were signs of great learning rather than of dementia and decay. Very much in contrast to athletes, whose young and energetic body indicated physical energy, for intellectuals natural baldness and grey hair were marks of honor and mental proficiency. Therefore the wise old man was most often presented seated: “This is an allusion not just to physical weakness, but to the status and authority of the older man within the family (oikos) and the polis.”164 The association of old age with wisdom also has a long tradition in Judaism, from the Hebrew Bible to Jewish Hellenistic and rabbinic texts.165 In rabbinic sources this connection is indicated by the frequent use of the term ‫זקן‬, elder, which is used for accomplished scholars. It is also evident in the phenomenon of attributing markers of old age/wisdom to eminent sages who are still young. For example, in the story about the deposition of R. Gamliel and his replacement by R. Eleazar b. Azariah, related in y. Ber 4:1, 7d, the latter is elevated to a higher status in the rabbinic hierarchy and described as follows: “He was sixteen years old and all his hair had turned grey.”166 His alleged appearance of old age functions as a visual symbol of his great learning here, irrespective of his real age. The rabbis who formulated the story and tried to defend R. Eleazar b. Azariah’s appointment to such an important position used the reference to his grey hair as a means to justify his high status within the rabbinic hierarchy. Just as the term ‫ זקן‬refers to the old man and (rabbinic) elder as well as to the beard, ‫סיב‬/‫סב‬/‫ סבא‬is used for the scholar, elder, old man, and gray hair. This means that in rabbinic terminology wisdom and an aged appearance are closely interlinked. This is made explicit in m. Avot 5:22: “Ben Bag Bag says: Turn it [the Torah] over and over again, for everything is in it. And look into it and turn grey and old over it. . . .” The statement is unlikely to refer to the natural aging process only or to simply praise those who study Torah until they become elderly. Rather, as in the Yerushalmi story about R. Eleazar b. Azariah, the very activity of intensive Torah study seems to be linked to the aging of one’s physical appearance here. Intense mental activity is believed to take a toll on one’s physical body, to deplete it of energy. But this is seen positively, since the body’s decay is a sign of mental achievement. 163  Ibid. 164  Ibid. 53. 165  On the connection between old age and wisdom in the Hebrew Bible see J.A.A. Ajayi, A Biblical Theology of Gerassapience (New York NY: Peter Lang, 2010); on the Wisdom of Solomon see J.J. Collins, Seers, Sibyls, and Sages in Hellenistic-Roman Judaism (Leiden and Boston MA: Brill, 1997), 361. 166  The story has a parallel in y. Ta’an. 4:1, 67d.

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Prov 20:29 already states: “The glory of young men is their strength; the splendor of old men is gray hair,” and we similarly read in 16:31: “A crown of glory is grey hair; on the way of righteousness you find it.” The latter verse is taken up in Gen. Rab. 59:1 in connection with Abraham’s old age (Gen 24:1). The midrash transmits a story about R. Meir, who is said to have walked to Mamla, where he saw that everyone was black-haired, which indicates both youth and lack of Torah study/observance. The rabbi allegedly advised them: “Go and engage in righteousness, and you will merit old age.” Again in connection with Abraham’s old age Gen. Rab. 59:3 has R. Aha comment on Ps 71:18 (“And even until old age and grey hair, God, do not forsake me”): “Are not old age and gray hair identical? Rather, [the meaning is] that if you gave me old age, give me gray hair”—gray hair indicating scholarly achievement. In rabbinic as well as in Roman thinking, wisdom did not come automatically to the elderly. Just as the young could be “old” in knowledge, old men could be unlearned and foolish. Wisdom in the form of Torah knowledge or Graeco-Roman philosophy was seen as an accomplishment that required hard work throughout one’s lifetime.167 Like rabbis, many Roman and Christian writers refer to grey hair as a sign of wisdom.168 According to Plutarch, for example, “nature puts grey hair upon it [the head] as an honorable symbol of the high density of leadership.”169 But such honor had to be earned, as Cicero indicates: “Wrinkles and grey hair cannot suddenly seize upon influence; but when the preceding part of life has been nobly spent, old age gathers the fruits of influence at last.”170 It seems, then, that in rabbinic presentations of the elder earlier biblical and contemporary Graeco-Roman attitudes converge.

Appearance Matters

For rabbis who lived in Roman Palestine in late antiquity appearance mattered. Being aware of the importance that their cultural environment attributed to a man’s demeanor, they claimed that, as Jewish sages, they were distinguishable from their Jewish contemporaries through their gait and dressing style. Rabbis shared the notion of congruence between physical appearance and identity with Roman writers in general and philosophers in particular. They 167  For Roman society, see K. Cokayne, Experiencing Old Age in Ancient Rome (New York NY: Routledge, 2003), 91–2. 168  See ibid. 184, n. 37 for a list of references. 169  Plutarch, An Seni Respublica Gerenda Sit 10 (“Should Old Men Take Part in Affairs of State?”). Translation with Cokayne, Experiencing Old Age, 22. 170  Cicero, De Senectute (“On Old Age”) 18.62.

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claimed that their devotion to Torah study would have left a mark on their bodies, determining the way they walked, talked, and wrapped themselves in their overcoats. Similar triads appear in Roman and early Christian texts. They suggest that in late antique and early Byzantine times social, religious, and cultural identities were expected to be performed in public in front of observers in order to be credible. Rabbis and their disciples would have followed this trend. Since a Torah scholar’s acknowledgment as a “rabbi” depended on the public’s recognition of his identity, this identity had to be made visible to others. Like Graeco-Roman intellectuals, rabbis had to “stage” themselves to be appreciated, to win sympathizers, adherents, and students and to be able to exert influence on their fellow-Jews. Walking and talking like a rabbi was part of this public performance, in which a rabbi’s entourage played an important role. According to Palestinian rabbinic texts, at least the most important rabbis were constantly on the move, accompanied by one or two colleagues or students with whom they talked about halakhic issues.171 The combination of ambulatio and learned conversation are also a significant feature of Graeco-Roman philosophical texts. Rabbis seem to have been eager to style themselves as a particularly Jewish type of ancient intellectual who, like his non-Jewish counterpart, exercised his mind while moving his body, attracting attention and being asked questions by the unlearned while doing so. By literally following their masters, students would not only listen to and memorize his words but also imitate his gait and demeanor to present themselves as scholarly themselves. The adoption of a subtle and nuanced clothing style was part of the performance of male identity in the Roman Empire. While rabbis are said to have worn the tallit/pallium like any other intellectual, they allegedly gave this garment a rabbinic twist by styling it their way. Ancient onlookers, who were welltrained in detecting slight differences in people’s appearance, are assumed to have been able to identify a rabbi by the way he wrapped himself in his coat. Some rabbis’ exhibition of tefillin and/or tzitzit in non-prayer contexts would have facilitated their identification as Jewish religious practitioners, similar to Christians who wore crosses and phylacteries in early Byzantine times. The texts suggest, however, that some rabbis were opposed to such an ostentatious display of their religiosity, especially as far as tefillin were concerned. Even some of the most prominent rabbis are presented as wearing ordinary garments (the tunic and travel coat) in public. For ritual purposes, however, the fringed tallit was clearly preferred. 171  See Hezser, Jewish Travel in Antiquity, 215–21.

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While dress codes serve to establish boundaries, the ideal rarely coincided with reality. On the one hand, not all rabbis would have (always) followed the rabbinic wrapping style. On the other hand, individuals whom some rabbis refused to acknowledge as scholars are said to have dressed like rabbis and the pious, for example, by wearing tefillin and phylacteries all the time. In order to distinguish themselves from them, rabbis declared them pretenders. One may assume that in late antiquity, at a time when education had become fashionable in wider circles of Roman and Christian society and a learned appearance (especially the combination of pallium and beard) was adopted by many lay people, the true intellectuals sometimes had difficulties showing their distinctiveness from hoi polloi. In such situations rabbis’ way of talking and their choice of conversation partners would have defined them in public. With regard to their hair styles and beards, rabbis are not presented as different from any other respectable Roman. There is no indication that ancient Palestinian rabbis interpreted the biblical injunctions against cutting off “the corners” of one’s hair and beard in the way in which some ultra-Orthodox men interpret these texts nowadays. While rabbis were opposed to completely shaving off one’s hair and beard, practices that were associated with certain forms of idolatry and pagan mourning rituals, they were in favor of proper haircuts and beard trims that professional barbers provided. Untrimmed and untended hair was either associated with mourning or considered a sign of negligence. It is possible, however, that some Jewish men refused to have their hair and/ or beard trimmed because they interpreted the biblical commandments in a more literal way or rejected all physical refinements. The other extreme, which rabbis seem to have tolerated for young men only, was a too great attention to one’s physical appearance, a behavior that Graeco-Roman writers associated with effeminacy. The use of artificial beautifiers such as eye make-up, combing or curling one’s hair, and striking a pose in public were behaviors associated with theater artists, imitated by some Roman men to attract women and other men. Such manners were ridiculed by some comedy writers. Rabbis could envision such practices for beautiful young men, such as the biblical Joseph, but considered them incompatible with the status of an adult Jewish male. In addition to the beard, baldness, and grey hair seem to have been among the markers of intellectuals in late antiquity. In fact, old age and wisdom were often associated in earlier Jewish and in Graeco-Roman society. Palestinian rabbinic texts attribute grey hair even to young rabbis as a visual sign of their scholarly accomplishments. The title “elder,” which is so frequently used in rabbinic sources, may have been an honorable title given to an accomplished scholar rather than (or in addition to) indicating the individual’s physical age.

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Young scholars could appear old because they were seen as repositories of centuries-old knowledge. At the same time, elderly people could be seen as simple and foolish if they were unlearned. Like Graeco-Roman philosophers, rabbis considered the true old age of wisdom a personal accomplishment. The ways in which Palestinian rabbinic texts discuss the proper appearance of rabbinic scholars suggest that the tradents and editors were well aware of the attention that their contemporaries paid to male demeanor. With their descriptions and guidelines rabbis claimed their particular niche within the circle of late antique intellectuals. Rabbinic learning was not just a matter of halakhic knowledge but had to be visible on the outside, in the ways in which a sage appeared in public and conducted himself. The readers of rabbinic texts are turned into observers of rabbinic self-fashioning. As actual or aspiring Torah scholars, they are invited to take the featured rabbis as models to imitate. A man who wants to be acknowledged as a rabbi by others must know how to walk and talk like a rabbi and how to style his cloak like a rabbi. Grey hair and a beard are useful too but must be accompanied by Torah knowledge to be considered credible markers of wisdom. While Palestinian rabbinic texts attempt to establish visible markers of rabbinic identity, in reality the boundaries would have been porous: rabbis could easily submerge themselves in Graeco-Roman culture and look like any other intellectual; non-rabbis could pretend to be rabbis or pietists. The sources indicate that individuals’ and groups’ self-fashioning and performance of identity were no less complex undertakings in the highly visual culture of Roman Palestine than in the Roman Empire at large. In contrast to Palestinian sources, the Babylonian Talmud is much more outspoken and authoritative about a particularly rabbinic dress code. According to b. B.Bat. 98a, “R. Yehudah said [that] Rav said: Whoever exalts himself with the tallit of a disciple of sages but is not a disciple of sages cannot gain entry into the precinct of the Holy One, blessed be He.” By implying that sages wore a particular type of tallit that differed from that of ordinary Jews and by prohibiting ordinary Jews from wearing such a garment, the text tries to demarcate the boundaries of the Babylonian rabbinic movement and to deter visual intruders. By contrast, the Yerushalmi merely compares the (ordinary, probably fringed) tallit of someone “appointed for money” to “the saddlebag of an ass” (y. Bikk. 3:3, 65d), without claiming that only sages wore such a garment. It almost seems as if Palestinian rabbis were eager to appear like other Graeco-Roman intellectuals, albeit with a special touch, whereas Babylonian rabbis considered it necessary to mark themselves off from their Jewish and non-Jewish environment in a more comprehensive way.

CHAPTER 2

Posture and Spatial Behavior Rabbinic texts repeatedly use certain formulas and patterns to describe individuals’ relationship to each other within the space they are sharing: rabbis are “sitting and expounding,” students are “sitting before” their masters, rabbis are riding donkeys while others are walking in front of, behind, or next to them; gentile dignitaries “stand up” before sages, to name only a few examples. Social anthropologists use the term proxemics for the study of the use of space that allows physical contact between individuals. Proxemics, can be defined as “the study of people’s use of space as an aspect of culture.”1 How the respective individuals place their bodies in relation to each other within a more or less circumscribed space is part of the non-verbal communication process they are engaged in. Whereas conventional and culturally specific behavioral patterns develop in real life, literary sources employ literary patterns, recurrent ways of describing interactions between the protagonists. According to Michael Argyle, “spatial behavior consists of proximity, orientation, territorial behavior, and movement in a physical setting.”2 Friendly communication is usually carried out by people who are close to each other and face each other. Approaching someone usually indicates the wish to establish a closer contact and communicate, while distancing oneself from someone, turning around, and facing into another direction indicate leave-taking and disinterest. Depending on the context and circumstances, however, another person’s approach can also be seen as a threatening attempt to invade one’s territory. To understand body language properly, it is therefore necessary to examine closely the situation and the relationship between the actors. Since cultures have “definite norms for proximity,” cultural characteristics and differences need to be taken into account.3 Often body language expresses real or assumed power relationships and hierarchies: “Dominance is expressed through spatial behaviour.”4 “Spatial tactics” may be used to place oneself into a dominant position.5 A higher status 1  S.M. Low and D. Lawrence-Zúñiga, “Locating Culture,” 1–47 in The Anthropology of Space and Place. Edited by S.M. Low and D. Lawrence-Zúñiga (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 4. 2  M. Argyle, Bodily Communication (2nd ed. London and New York NY: Methuen & Co. Ltd., 1988), 168. 3  See ibid. 172. 4  Ibid. 175. 5  Low/Lawrence-Zúñiga, “Locating Culture,” 30. © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���7 | doi ��.��63/9789004339064_004

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may be associated with specific spaces such as front seats, podiums, and stages. Physical centrality may also be an important marker of authority.6 Prominent figures may require others to keep a certain distance until they allow them to approach them. They may assume an elevated position vis-à-vis their audience by standing upright while others are sitting, by sitting on a special chair, or by positioning themselves on a podium. In contrast to lower-status persons, they are able to control others’ movements: “A high status person is able to start and stop encounters, and to choose degrees of proximity with greater freedom than low status people can.”7 People who stand, walk, and communicate together are perceived by others as a group: “such groups sustain an identity, a boundary, and common focus of attention. . . .”8 Others may find it difficult to become involved in the conversation unless they are invited to join in. They may consider the group exclusive and arrogant if refusing to interact with them. For the group itself, self-­positioning and patterns of movement serve to establish, express, and maintain its identity. In rabbinic literature, for example, sets of two or three rabbis may be presented together repeatedly to suggest these rabbis’ close relationship as colleague-friends.9 In rabbinic texts the patterns employed in describing the protagonists’ spatial movements are like a code that would have been easily understood by their late antique colleagues but requires contextualization nowadays. For reasons of text economy, all literary references to non-verbal communication are significant, especially those that appear repeatedly.10 Even brief references to spatial movement, which serve as introductions to halakhic statements and discussions, such as “X was sitting before R.Y.” or “R.X. was sitting and expounding,” function as signifiers that convey information about status relationships and hierarchies within rabbinic society. Korte calls such signifiers, which are more common in folk literature than in modern novels, “emblems”: they are 6  S. Ervin-Tripp, “An Analysis of the Interaction of Language, Topic and Listener,” 65–75 in Social Encounters. Readings in Social Interaction. Edited by M. Argyle (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1973), 67. 7  Argyle, Bodily Communication, 176. 8  Ibid. 182. 9  See C. Hezser, The Social Structure of the Rabbinic Movement in Roman Palestine (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1997), 228–31, on small social clusters within the rabbinic movement; eadem, “Rabbis and Other Friends: Friendship in the Talmud Yerushalmi and in GraecoRoman Literature,” 189–254 in The Talmud Yerushalmi and Graeco-Roman Culture, Vol. 2 Edited by ed. P. Schäfer and C. Hezser (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000), 207–10, on friendship groups. 10  B. Korte, Body Language in Literature (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1993), 5.

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“always associated with a specific linguistic community” and understood automatically by its members; understanding these emblems “emphasizes their status as members of a group.”11 Besides signifying power relationships, emblems used in rabbinic texts also serve to underline the insider status of the intended audience and readership. Literary references to body movements can serve as “externalizers” of status, age, and physical weakness.12 If a rabbi is leaning on a disciple or riding an ass, the assumption may be that he is worthy of such support and/or elderly and frail. Distancing behavior may serve as an externalizer for collegial interaction, indicating diverse opinions and hostility. As some of the rabbinic narratives discussed below will show, references to body movements may support or contradict verbal communication: “. . . an entire text can hinge on a tension between body language and the word.”13 This tension may be maintained in the story and its literary context or be resolved by the storytellers or editors in one or another way.

Cultural Misunderstandings

Amoraic storytellers were aware of the differences in interpreting body language that existed between Roman Palestine and Babylonia and used them to provide insights into power relationships among rabbis. The following narrative provides a good example of the cultural specificity of spatial movements: R. Yohanan was leaning on R. Yaaqov b. Idi and R. Eleazar saw him and hid from before him. He [R. Yohanan] said: Behold, this Babylonian has done two things to me: one, that he did not ask after my welfare [i.e., he did not greet me]; and one, that he did not say a teaching in my name. He said to him: This is how they practice it at their place. Zeira did not greet Rabbah, for they fulfill: ‘The young men saw me and hid themselves’ [Job 29:8]. When they went on, he saw a study house. He [R. Yaaqov b. Idi] said to him: Here R. Meir used to sit [and] expound, and he said a tradition in the name of R. Yishmael, but he did not say a tradition in the name of R. Aqiva. He said to him: The whole world knows that R. Meir is 11  Ibid. 50. 12  See ibid. 63. 13  Ibid. 51. On the relationship between verbal and non-verbal communication in a text, see also D. Lateiner, “Heroic Proxemics: Social Space and Distance in the Odyssey”, TPAPA 122 (1992): 133–63, 159 with regard to Homer’s Odyssey.

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a student of R. Aqiva. He said to him: [Similarly] the whole world knows that R. Eleazar is a student of R. Yohanan. [He, i.e., R. Yaaqov b. Idi, asked him:] Is it allowed to pass before a procession in which an idol is carried?14 He said to him: Should one pay honor to it [by bypassing it]? Rather pass it and close your eyes. He said to him: R. Eleazar acted properly when he did not pass before you [because that would have been dishonorable]. He [R. Yochanan] said: R. Yaaqov b. Idi, you know how to appease (y. Ber. 2:1, 4b).15 Both R. Yaaqov b. Idi and R. Eleazar (b. Pedat) were third-generation amoraim and students of R. Yohanan. The reference to R. Yohanan’s “leaning” on R. Yaaqov b. Idi is contrasted with R. Eleazar distancing himself from his teacher here. In the following, this distancing, which would have been unusual for a student in the Palestinian cultural environment, is interpreted in two possible ways: as an affront against a distinguished teacher and senior scholar (by R. Yohanan) and as an expression of humility toward an honored personality (by R. Yaaqob b. Idi). R. Yohanan’s student R. Yaaqov b. Idi is presented as familiar with Babylonian manners. Therefore he is able to view his fellowstudent’s behavior from a different perspective. To convince his teacher of the correctness of his understanding of the situation, he reputedly quoted a biblical verse (Job 29:8). Nevertheless, within the narrative this biblical support is not considered sufficient. In the last part of the story, R. Yaaqov b. Idi provides an analogy: just as bypassing an idol can be seen as an expression of honor by someone who attributes power to it, R. Eleazar’s hiding before his teacher can be understood as a sign of respect toward him. R. Eleazar’s second “transgression” against the norms of Palestinian rabbinic student-teacher relationships, his alleged lack of citing a tradition in his teacher’s name, requires less justification: a mere reference to another student-teacher relationship suffices. For the storyteller, the insult caused by the student’s spatial movement was more serious than a possible verbal objection. The fact that body movements 14  On ‫ אהדורי צילמי׳‬see M. Jastrow, A Dictionary of the Targumim, the Talmud Bavli and Yerushalmi, and the Midrashic Literature (Jerusalem: Horev, 1985), 16. 15  The story has parallels in y. Mo’ed. Qat. 3:7, 83c; y. Sheqal. 2:7, 47a (where R. Yaaqov b. Idi is replaced by R. Hiyya b. Abba); b. Yebam. 96b (only dealing with R. Eleazar’s neglect to cite a teaching in R. Yohanan’s name). On this story see also S. Schwartz, Were the Jews a Mediterranean Society? Reciprocity and Solidarity in Ancient Judaism (Princeton NJ and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2010), 136–9; R. Neis, The Sense of Sight in Rabbinic Culture. Jewish Ways of Seeing in Late Antiquity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 187. Neis stresses the aspect of “visual piety” required of disciples (238).

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in public areas could be seen and (mis)interpreted by everyone, constituting the basis of unfavorable rumors, would have contributed to their significance. The story implies that in Roman Palestine students were expected to approach and greet their teachers when they saw them in the street or marketplace. The student’s walking toward and greeting of his teacher would have been part of the conventions that marked Palestinian student-teacher relationships. If such conventions were not met, especially in an environment where the mutual observance of body language was acute, their relationship might suffer serious damage. The public setting would have functioned like a stage in which student-teacher relationships were enacted and made visible also to those who were not part of the respective rabbi’s close network of colleaguefriends. In the narrative above rabbis’ awareness of the public is expressed in R. Yaaqov b. Idi’s statement: “The whole world knows that R. Eleazar is a student of R. Yohanan.” The narrative also shows that, similar to Romans, rabbis believed in the existence of a close relationship between body movement and inner disposition. A student’s physical support of his teacher reflects his intellectual and emotional support and affinity, whereas his hiding and thereby distancing from his teacher—making himself invisible to him—is, on first glance, seen as an expression of disloyalty. Similarly, Romans believed that one’s attitudes were embodied in one’s gestures and movements: “Our movements give ourselves away.”16 Nevertheless, the body’s movements may be misleading, requiring an alternative interpretation. For properly identifying the inner disposition expressed through spatial movement, an understanding of the cultural context of the actor—rather than the viewer’s own perception—is crucial, as the rabbinic narrative reveals.17 One may assume that the conventions of greeting one’s teacher in public and citing a teaching in his name would have been expected of Graeco-Roman philosophical students in much the same way as they were expected of rabbinic students. As already pointed out in the previous chapter, walking alongside one’s teacher and being seen in conversation with him were motions that

16  A. Corbeill, Nature Embodied: Gesture in Ancient Rome (Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 2004) 110. 17  On this cultural misunderstanding, see also J. Schwartz, “The Patriotic Rabbi: Babylonian Scholars in Roman Period Palestine,” 118–31 in Jewish Local Patriotism and SelfIdentification in the Graeco-Roman Period. Edited by S. Jones and S. Pearce (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998), 126.

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indicated the actors’ relationship toward each other.18 Men were judged on the basis of those “who walked alongside them,”19 just as R. Yaaqov. b. Idi walked with R. Yohanan. Philosophers and rabbis would have been deemed more eminent by the public if they were accompanied and greeted by many followers. The followers were expected to display publicly their support of their intellectual “patron.”20 According to Matthew 23:7, scribes and Pharisees like to be greeted in the marketplace and to be called “Rabbi.” The text may reflect circumstances at the gospel editor’s own time; that is, the scribes and Pharisees may stand in for post-70 CE rabbis.21 Matthew’s allegation may indicate the importance rabbis attributed to the public acknowledgment of their Torah scholarship. Another text in Matthew’s gospel suggests that public greetings served as a means to enact and maintain group identity: “And if you greet only your brothers, what is extraordinary about it? Do not even the gentiles do the same?” (5:47). The implication is that in both Jewish and Graeco-Roman society public greetings were exchanged especially among like-minded people and confirmed the already existing bond between them. One may assume that the lower-status person was expected to extend a greeting to the higher-status individual, just as R. Yohanan expected his student R. Eleazar to greet him first. According to a baraita, “he who greets his master or someone who is greater than he in Torah” may interrupt his recitation of the Shema for that purpose (y. Ber. 2:1, 4b). The use of greetings to bolster group identity was also common in early Christianity.22 The Yerushalmi story serves to instruct Palestinian scholars about possible differences in body language among their Babylonian students. Rather than misinterpreting their behavior and feeling offended, they should try to acknowledge Babylonian cultural differences and understand them on the basis of biblical and rabbinic traditions. At the same time the story underlines the importance of adhering to local customary practice as far as relations 18  See T. O’Sullivan, Walking in Roman Culture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 9. 19  Ibid. 8. 20  On the patronage relationship between rabbis and their students, see Hezser, The Social Structure of the Rabbinic Movement, 329–46. 21  On this issue see also the discussion in A.Y. Reed, “When did Rabbis Become Pharisees? Reflections on Christian Evidence for Post-70 Judaism,” 859–96 in Envisioning Judaism: Essays in Honor of Peter Schäfer on the Occasion of his Seventieth Birthday, Vol. 2. Edited by R. Boustan et al. (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 865–76, who is apprehensive of the equation between Pharisees and rabbis, though. 22  See the discussion in C. Hezser, Jewish Travel in Antiquity (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 128–9.

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between students and teachers were concerned. In Palestine it was customary for students to accompany, support, and to publicly acknowledge their rabbinic masters, to visibly demonstrate the student-teacher relationship to other Jews.

Standing Up Before a Senior Scholar

Another way of acknowledging a senior Torah scholar’s superiority was the custom of standing up before him. The Tosefta specifies: What is this rising about which the Torah spoke: ‘You shall rise up before old age’ [Lev 19:32]? One stands before him and asks after his welfare and answers while within four cubits. What is the honor about which the Torah spoke: ‘And honor the face of an elder’ [ibid.]? One does not stand in his place, and one does not speak in his place, and one does not contradict his word. One behaves toward him in fear and reverence, deals with him in like manner when he comes and goes, and they precede everyone else, as it is said: ‘And I shall give you heads over the people’ [Exod 18:21] (t. Meg. 3:24). In this text particular body movements are associated with honorable behavior toward an elder: rising before him, standing before him, maintaining a distance of up to four cubits from him, and not occupying his place. These physical motions and positions are considered as important as the verbal communication that is supposed to accompany them. Proper behavior toward an elder is presented as a ritual enactment that involves both physical and verbal conventions. In the second half of the ruling, the prohibited body motion (not standing in his place) is the physical equivalent of the prohibited speech act (not speak in his place). What is requested of the person who encounters an elder is deference: to honor him with one’s body and mind, by acknowledging his superior presence, responding to him in an appropriate manner, and always giving him precedence. The very fact that the issue of rising before an elder is discussed in great detail in the Yerushalmi (y. Bikk. 3:3, 65c–d) already indicates that this form of non-verbal communication was of great significance to Palestinian amoraim and the editors of the Talmud.23 Disputes arose as to whether one should rise 23  See also S. Fogel, The Orders of Discourse in the Study House in Rabbinic Literature of the Land of Israel: Ritual, Organizing Space, and Discipline, Hebr. (unpublished Ph.D. thesis, Be’er Sheva: Ben-Gurion University of the Negev, 2014), 208–10.

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before an elder (in the sense of “old man”) or only before someone who fulfills mitzvot; whether one should rise before him twice or only once a day; at what stage one should rise and sit down again. The Israelites’ rising before Moses (Exod 33:8) is presented as a model for later Jews’ rising before the high priest (“[he stands up] from [the moment] when he sees him and until he enters [the Temple] from before him”) and an elder (“[one may sit down again once he has reached the distance of] four cubits,” cf. t. Meg. 3:24 above). An important issue brought up in this connection was whether one should interrupt one’s Torah study to stand up before an elder. On the one hand, “the Torah does not stand up before her son,” that is, before someone who is a Torah scholar (ibid.), which lets Shmuel say: “One does not stand up before an associate [‫]חבר‬.” The associate referred to here was probably envisioned as a Torah scholar of equal or lower status.24 If the haver was a mere student, not rising before him would have been self-evident. The following story tradition, which states that two third-generation amoraim, R. Hila and R. Yaaqov b. Idi, were sitting and rose when they saw Shmuel b. Ba passing by, may have been presented in support of Shmuel’s preceding statement. Shmuel b. Ba is said to have criticized their behavior (rising up before him) on two grounds: because he was not an elder and because they were occupied with Torah study and “the Torah does not stand up before her son.” Yet in the following, particular rabbis are said to have interrupted their Torah study to stand up before elders, a motion considered a mitzvah. An individual by the name Hezeqiah b. Rabbi is said to have been so eager to rise before elders that he would sit in front of the assembly house after finishing his studies for the day; “when he saw elders, he would rise before them” (y. Bik. 3:3, 65c). Since rabbis are presented as incorporations of the Torah, rising before eminent Torah scholars would almost equal rising before the Torah itself, as the following stories illustrate: Yehudah b. Hiyya would go and ask after the welfare of R. Yannai. He would see him from one Sabbath eve to the next. And he would sit down at a certain place so that he could see him and rise up before him. His disciples said to him: Did you not teach us, Rabbi, [that one has to remain standing] in front of an elder [until he is at a distance of] four cubits? He said to them: There is no way of sitting down before Sinai. One time he was delayed. He [R. Yannai] said: It is impossible that Yehudah b. Rabbi 24  On the possible meanings of the terms haver and havurah in the Talmud Yerushalmi, see S.S. Miller, Sages and Commoners in Late Antique ‘Eretz Israel (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006), 252–3.

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should divert from his custom. He said: It is impossible that a [punishing] suffering has come upon this righteous body. We have to assume that we no longer have Yehudah b. Rabbi with us. . . . R. Haninah would hit anyone who did not rise before him. And he would say to him: Do you want to negate the Torah [‫?]מבטלה דאוריתא‬ (y. Bik. 3:3, 65c) The first story presents Yehudah b. Hiyya as a mature rabbi with his own circle of disciples.25 Yet he almost appears in the role of a client of R. Yannai, whom he is said to have honored by rising before him and greeting him every Sabbath eve. Like Hezeqiah b. Rabbi, mentioned in the preceding text, Yehudah b. Hiyya allegedly assumed a sitting position intentionally, so that he could perform the rite of rising up before the eminent scholar when he caught a glimpse of him. The artificiality of the motion of rising from a previously induced seated position and the repetition of the action at fixed intervals (every Sabbath eve) indicate the great value attributed to this ritual. The particular “code of practice” of rising before an elder is discussed in the earlier parts of the sugya: the moment of seeing the elder was specified as the beginning of the body motion and the distance of four cubits as its end. While Yehudah is said to have stood up when he saw the elder, he seems to have remained standing even after he had left, adopting a greater stringency for himself. The answer he allegedly gave his students, “there is no way of sitting down before Sinai,” may sound lofty but indicates how significant the non-verbal and almost ritual veneration of prominent Torah scholars by their junior colleagues (and probably also some members of the public) was in some circles of the Palestinian rabbinic movement. While we do not know whether and to what extent such practices were carried out in real life, the storyteller wants to make us believe that scholars such as R. Yannai deserved such honorific treatment. Yehudah’s rising up before him is presented as a habitual practice, a ritual whose interruption can be explained only by reference to the practitioner’s death.

25  It is uncertain why the title “Rabbi” is not attributed to him here, since he is called “Rabbi” by his disciples. Equally uncertain is to which generation he belonged. If he was imagined as the son of the fifth-generation tanna R. Hiyya or even Rabbi, he would have been a firstgeneration amora like R. Yannai. The special honor he grants R. Yannai and R. Yannai’s addressing him as “son” would be inexplicable then. There were many scholars by the name Hiyya, though, and a Hiyya who was a first-generation amora like Yannai is more likely, in which case Yehudah would have belonged to the second generation of amoraim.

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In the story about R. Haninah (b. Hama), a first-generation amora and contemporary of R. Yannai, the expected behavior of rising up before an elder is even said to have been enforced by physically punishing those who did not comply with it. In both of these stories the “elder” before whom others are supposed to rise up is identified with a prominent rabbi. Whereas the story about R. Yannai might suggest that only the respective rabbi’s followers and students were expected to honor him in this way, R. Haninah allegedly expected everyone who saw him to stand up in front of him. Not complying with this custom is presented as a transgression of the Torah here. As a proof for this allegation, Lev 19:32 is subsequently quoted in the name of R. Simon: “The Holy One, Blessed Be He, said: Before grey hair [‫ ]שׂיבה‬you shall rise up and honor the face of an old man [‫]זקן‬. . . .” While the biblical quote clearly refers to the respect due to people of old age, the rabbinic stories identify the “elder” with eminent rabbis renowned for their expertise in Torah scholarship. Nevertheless, other interpretations of the biblical injunction existed among rabbis as well, as a story about R. Meir shows. In y. Bik. 3:3, 65c this story appears between the stories about R. Yannai and R. Haninah, quoted above: R. Meir, even if he saw an old man who was ignorant [‫]סב עם הארץ‬, he would rise up before him. And he said: It is not for nothing that he has been given a long life. What is remarkable in this story and different from the other traditions integrated in this sugya is that a prominent rabbi is said to have risen before a nonrabbi who is explicitly called an am haaretz, that is, ignorant of rabbinic Torah knowledge. As in Lev 19:32, the body motion of rising up in honor of someone is explicitly associated with old age, irrespective of scholarship here. Old age is seen as a divine reward for righteousness, which the non-rabbinic elderly can possess as well. Such righteousness seems to be valued as much as Torah learning here. The next sugya begins with an “instruction manual” for rising up and sitting down in different contexts and in front of different types of rabbinic honoraries, with a clearly hierarchical structure and significance. The text is a baraita with a parallel in t. Sanh 7:8:26

26  On this text, see also M. Jacobs, Die Institution des jüdischen Patriarchen. Eine quellenund traditionskritische Studie zur Geschichte der Juden in der Spätantike (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1995), 64–9.

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[A] When the patriarch [‫ ]נשׂיא‬enters, all the people stand up before him, and none of them has permission to sit down until he says to them: ‘Sit down’. [B] When the head of the court [‫ ]אב בית דין‬enters, they form rows for him.27 [If] he wants to enter through this one, [he may do so]; [if] he wants to enter through that one, [he may do so].28 [C] When a sage [‫ ]חכם‬enters, one stands up and one sits down, one stands up and one sits down, until he arrives and sits down at his place (y. Bik. 3:3, 65c).29 The text seems to imagine three different settings and three different types of dignitaries, in a descending order. In [A] the patriarch’s appearance before a popular congregation is imagined. In contrast to the Talmud’s previous discussion of the practice of rising before (rabbinic) elders, where practitioners are allowed to sit down once the elder is at a distance of four cubits away from them (see above), no one is allowed to sit down in front of the patriarch until he explicitly tells them to take their seats again. The next section [B] seems to imagine a court setting. Members of the court are supposed to form rows when the head of the court enters. The scenario remains somewhat unspecific and rising is not explicitly mentioned. Would all rows be expected to stand up when the head of the court enters, so that he can choose through which row he wants to pass? Or would only the two rows through which he passes be expected to rise in front of him? Or perhaps only the one row that is closest to him? Since the text is organized in descending order, the second or third interpretation is more likely: whereas everyone has to rise in front of the patriarch, only one or two rows of court members rise in front of the head of the court. The third part [C] seems to envision a rabbinic study session. Here only one person at a time is supposed to rise before the sage in a consecutive order, until he has reached his place. In analogy to the preceding sections one may suppose that a status difference between the entering dignitary and the assembled 27  Cf. t. Sanh. 7:8. On the Yerushalmi text, see Jastrow, A Dictionary of the Targumim, 1542. 28  The Tosefta version differs slightly: “When the head of the court enters, they form two rows for him, [one] from here and [one] from there, until he enters and sits down in his place.” Cf. the parallel in b. Hor. 13b: “. . . they make for him one row from here and one row from there.” Both of these versions reckon with two rows through which the head of the court passes until he reaches his own chair. 29  The Tosefta has a fourth scenario attached here: “Sons of sages and disciples of sages, at times when the masters [or: the public, ‫ ]הרבים‬need them, they jump even over the heads of the people.”

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crowd is assumed here as well. If so, the “sage” would be the rabbinic teacher before whom his disciples would, in turn, rise up and be seated again, until he has reached his position in front of them. The assumption seems to be that he enters from the side or from behind them. In the past this text, which seems to be a composition of diverse parts, has been interpreted as a description of proceedings at a rabbinic sanhedrin, presided over by the nasi, av bet din, and hakham.30 Such a setting is not specified here, however, and there is no reason to assume that one and the same setting is envisioned in the three scenes. In fact, different types of audiences seem to be imagined, ranging from “the people” to court members and eventually disciples in front of their teacher. Furthermore, the ways in which the audiences are arranged in each scene differ from each other: In [A] a bulk of people is imagined as standing in front of the patriarch; in [B] several rows from the back to the front of the room are arranged in a certain distance from each other; in [C] there may be only one row of individuals, which the session’s leader passes. We are not dealing with a one-type-of-arrangement-fits-all scenario here but with a spatial arrangement that takes different leadership figures and audiences into account. The Tosefta’s description of the arrangement of the sanhedrin in t. Sanh. 8:1 is entirely different. The sanhedrin is described as a semi-circle in which all participants were able to see each other, presided by the patriarch in a central position and elders seated at his side.31 That the Yerushalmi editors considered [C] to describe a teaching session also becomes clear from the following story attached to the baraita as an illustration: R. Meir used to teach [and] go to the house of meeting [‫]לבית וועדא‬. And everyone would see him and rise up before him. When they heard this teaching [cf. section C above], they wanted to act before him accordingly. But he went out [and] was angry. He said to them: I have heard that they

30  See H. Mantel, Studies in the History of the Sanhedrin (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1961), 176–9. 31  See also Fogel, The Orders of Discourse, 106–8, on this text. A. Sivertsev, Private Households and Public Politics in 3rd–5th Century Jewish Palestine (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck., 2002), 87, and Jacobs, Die Institution des jüdischen Patriarchen, 65–6, seem to assume that the three office holders presided one and the same assembly. D.M. Goodblatt, The Monarchic Principle. Studies in Jewish Self-Government in Antiquity (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1994), 192, argues that the text in b. Hor. 13b, which calls Shimon b. Gamliel nasi, R. Nathan av bet din, and R. Meir hakham, “is a late Babylonian composition.”

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raise the level of sanctification but they do not lower the level [‫שׁמעלין‬

‫]בקודשׁ ולא מורידין‬.

Clearly a study session is envisioned here. As I have already argued elsewhere, the “house of assembly” could be any building in which people customarily gathered for Torah study.32 The story builds upon the different orchestrations of body movements envisioned in the previous discussion of the Yerushalmi (younger scholars stand up when they see a senior scholar and remain standing until he has reached a distance of four cubits, cf. t. Meg. 3:24) and in the third part of the baraita (each one sits down again as soon as the next one rises, cf. t. Sanh. 7:8). In its present form the story seems to be an editorial construction that highlights the discrepancy. In R. Meir’s statement, the earlier motion is declared preferable: if all students remain standing until their teacher has reached a certain distance (and seated himself), such deportment can be seen as an expression of greater “sanctification” or honor due to him than a consecutive motion of standing up and sitting down, where only one person at a time is standing up in front of him. By placing this statement at the end of the sugya, the editors may have indicated that they shared this view and thereby closed the discussion of proper ways of rising before elders. An issue addressed in a subsequent sugya is the treatment of those who were allegedly “appointed for money,” that is, wealthy individuals with communal positions who were not considered proper Torah scholars in the eyes of some rabbis. At the beginning of the sugya (y. Bik. 3:3, 65d) such individuals are cursed in a statement attributed to R. Mana. With regard to body language, the following statement is particularly relevant: R. Shiyan said: This one who is appointed for money, they do not stand up before him and they do not call him ‘Rabbi’. And the tallit he wears is like the saddlebag of an ass (y. Bik. 3:3, 65d). The implication of the statement is that only individuals renowned for their Torah scholarship deserve others’ honorable treatment of rising before them and calling them “Rabbi.” At the same time the text suggests that wealthy and prominent members of the community, irrespective of their scholarly expertise, expected to be treated in a similar way. The “appointments” mentioned in this statement may have been appointments to particular communal offices.33 Perhaps they included those of the archisynagogue and the head of the local 32  See Hezser, The Social Structure of the Rabbinic Movement, 205. 33  On appointments, see ibid. 79–93.

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court. The populace may have considered it necessary to pay these leadership figures their due respect by rising before them and calling them “Rabbi.” They may have dressed in a similar way as rabbis, pretending to be intellectuals. As we have seen in the previous chapter, the “intellectual look” became particularly fashionable in late antiquity, probably among Jews as much as among Romans. Yet at least some rabbis questioned these individuals’ assumptions and looked through their disguise. In the Yerushalmi R. Shiyan’s statement is followed by a story about R. Zeira and his colleague’s refusal to rise up before them: R. Zeira and one of the rabbis were sitting. One of those appointed for money passed by. Said one of the rabbis to R. Zeira: Let us focus on repeating traditions and not rise before him (y. Bik. 3:3, 65d). The story suggests that even rabbis were expected to rise before the wealthy office holders, who probably considered themselves status superior to them. A refusal to do so would have been seen as a serious insult and may have had certain negative repercussions. Rabbis could not simply refuse to rise before such individuals but needed a reasonable pretext to refrain from doing so. Besides wealth, superior heritage is mentioned as a reason for standing up in front of someone. Gen. Rab. 33:3 transmits a series of stories about R. Yehudah ha-Nasi. In one of them, his relationship to the exilarch Rav Huna is thematized. He allegedly said: “If Rav Huna, the exilarch, comes here, I shall stand up before him [‫]אנא קאים מקומוי‬,34 for he [derives] from [the tribe of] Judah and I from [the tribe of] Benjamin, he [derives] from the male line and I from the female line.” He then learns that Rav Huna has already died and that it is merely his coffin that is brought to the Land of Israel. In the Yerushalmi version of the story (y. Ketub. 12:3, 35a par. y. Kil. 9:4, 32b–c), a different way of marking Rav Huna’s superiority is mentioned. Rather than planning to stand up before the exilarch, the patriarch is said to have wanted to “seat him above me [‫אנא‬ ‫]מותיב לעיל מיני‬,” that is, to allocate him a more prestigeous seat (on hierarchical seating arrangements see below). Both versions of the story are meant to indicate Rabbi’s modesty, which is explicitly mentioned at the beginning of the Yerushalmi version of the story (“Rabbi was very modest”). At the same

34  Other versions are: ‫( מן קדמוי‬Paris ms.), ‫( מן קדמוהי‬printed ed. and Stuttgart ms.), ‫( מן קודמוהי‬Oxford ms.); see Albeck ed. ad loc.

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time, they could represent a polemical (Babylonian?) perspective, claiming that Rabbi acknowledged the exilarch’s superiority over him.35 In the Babylonian version (b. Mo’ed Qat. 25a), it is the third-generation amoraim R. Ammi and R. Assi rather than Rabbi who are alerted of Rav Huna’s arrival in Palestine. In the Babylonian cultural context a different body movement is associated with acknowledging another person’s superiority. R. Ammi and R. Assi allegedly said: “When we were there [in Babylonia], we did not have [a chance] to raise our heads because of him [‫]לדלויי רישׁין מיניה‬. . . .” Raising one’s head in front of someone is presented as a gesture of admiration here. Herman speaks of the “Babylonianization” of the story in the Bavli context.36

Transgression of Official Etiquette

The issue of rising up before a higher authority is also addressed in a series of stories about rabbis’ encounters with Roman dignitaries, transmitted in y. Ber. 5:1, 9a. In all of these stories official etiquette is transgressed to emphasize the superiority of rabbis over Roman officials and religious over political authority: [A] R. Yohanan was sitting [and] reading [or: reciting] in front of a Babylonian synagogue in Sepphoris. An archon passed by and he did not stand up before him. They came and wanted to hit him. He said to them: Leave him alone, he was occupied with the laws of his creator [‫]בנימוסיא דברייה‬. [B] R. Hanina and R. Yehoshua b. Levi went up before the proconsul of Caesarea. [When] he saw them, he stood up before them. They said to him: Before these Jews you are standing up? He said to them: I have seen their angel faces. [C] R. Yona and R. Yose went up to Ursicinus in Antioch. [When] he saw them, he stood up before them. They said to him: Before these Jews you are standing up? He said to them: I saw their faces in a battle and was victorious. [D] R. Abin went up to the emperor. When he went out, he turned his back [on him]. They came and wanted to kill him. And they saw

35  See also Jacobs, Die Institution des jüdischen Patriarchen, 215–6, with regard to the Yerushalmi version. On this story, see also G. Herman, A Prince Without a Kingdom: The Exilarch in the Sasanian Era (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012), 93–5. 36  Herman, A Prince Without a Kingdom, 97.

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two sparks of fire coming out of his neck. And they let go of him (y. Ber. 5:1, 9a). Proper Roman etiquette would have required rabbis to stand up in front of Roman dignitaries and to move away from the emperor backwards, while facing him. That Roman subjects would have been required to stand up before the emperor goes without saying. According to the second-century CE orator Aelius Aristides, “mere mention of the emperor’s name” caused people to rise and “pray to the gods on the emperor’s behalf.”37 With regard to other highstanding officials Hooper writes: “A failure to stand up when approached by other dignitaries was considered an affront and part of a ‘kingly’ attitude.”38 When Roman dignitaries entered the locales of public spectacles, the entire audience was supposed to rise from their seats and acknowledge their presence with an acclamation. According to John Chrysostom, “as the ambitious man who has brought them together enters in the sight of all, they stand up and as from a single mouth cry out. . . .”39 The official protocol of leaving the presence of royalty by moving backwards continued in Muslim and Christian contexts in medieval and modern times and is still practiced at royal courts nowadays.40 It requires those who are given an audience at a royal court to always face the dignitary until they cannot see him or her anymore. Such body movements were part of a comprehensive system of official protocol that regulated the cultivation and maintenance of dignitas associated with the emperor and his representatives. The public performance of acknowledging and bestowing

37  Aelius Aristides, Orationes 26.32, quoted in C. Ando, Imperial Ideology and Provincial Loyalty in the Roman Empire (Berkeley and Los Angeles CA: University of California Press, 2000), 391. 38  F. Hooper, Roman Realities (Detroit MI: Wayne State University Press, 1979), 296. 39  John Chrysostom, De Inani Gloria 4, quoted in Z. Weiss, Public Spectacles in Roman and Late Antique Palestine. (Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 2014), 118. 40  For medieval Muslim society see B. Gruendler and L. Marlow, eds., Writers and Rulers: Perspectives on Their Relationship from Abbasid to Safavid Times (Wiesbaden: Reichert, 2004), 9, describing audiences at the caliph’s palace: “When the visitor departed, propriety demanded that he exit the throne room by walking backwards. In the case of three known palaces, the anti-qibla processional axis forced the visitor to honor the caliph ceremonially with his front and desecrate the qibla with his back as he moved, bowed, and prostrated in fulfillment of court protocol.” The qibla is the required direction of prayer (usually toward Mecca) in Muslim societies. Interestingly, this movement forced the Muslim “figuratively to offend either God or the caliph” (ibid.) and to give priority to the political authority.

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honor on official representatives of the Roman government would have been an ongoing duty of Rome’s provincial subjects, rabbis included.41 In the status-conscious rabbinic society of the Babylonian Talmud, similar leave-taking practices were also required of the students of rabbis, even if their teachers were Palestinian. A text in b. Yoma 53a specifies that a disciple who leaves his master must not turn his face away from him but depart sideways.42 The Babylonian-born R. Eleazar’s relationship with his Palestinian teacher R. Yohanan and Raba’s relationship with R. Joseph are subsequently presented as examples of this practice. When R. Yohanan was about to leave, his disciple R. Eleazar (b. Pedat) would remain standing, his body oriented toward him, with his head bowed, until R. Yohanan had disappeared from his sight; when R. Eleazar wanted to leave, he would walk backwards, until he had disappeared from R. Yohanan’s sight. Raba is even said to have hurt his foot on the door’s threshold when walking backwards out of the room, away from his teacher R. Joseph’s presence. In both Roman and rabbinic society, walking backwards in order to face the presence of the divine was part of various religious rituals. According to the second- to third-century CE Roman historian Herodian’s account, “Elagabalus walked backwards during a procession to keep facing his god.”43 During the Lemuria festival for the dead, the pater familias was supposed to move backwards, casting beans for the lemures as an apotropaic gesture.44 In Judaism, the movement of walking backwards while facing forward was associated with Temple ritual and prayer.45 This movement and orientation expressed “deference and devotion,”46 attitudes that rabbis associated with the divine rather than with wealth and political power.

41  On rabbis’ relationship to the imperial cult see H. Zellentin, “The Rabbis On (the Christianisation of) the Imperial Cult. Mishnah and Yerushalmi Avodah Zarah 3:1 (42b, 54–52c, 51),” 321–57 in Jewish Art in Its Late Antique Context. Edited by U. Leibner and C. Hezser (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016). 42  On this text, see also U. Ehrlich, “Verbal and Non-Verbal Rituals of Leave-Taking in Rabbinic Culture—Phenomenology and Significance,” JSQ 8 (2001): 1–26, 22, and idem, The Nonverbal Language of Prayer: A New Approach to Jewish Liturgy (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004), 123. 43  M. Icks, The Crimes of Elagabalus. The Life and Legacy of Rome’s Decadent Boy Emperor (London and New York NY: I.B. Tauris., 2011), 200. 44  See K.M. McGeough, The Romans. An Introduction (Oxford and New York NY: Oxford University Press, 2004), 198. 45  See Ehrlich, The Nonverbal Language of Prayer, 122–4. 46  Ibid. 124.

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The first and fourth stories (A and D) present rabbis as transgressors of official etiquette, whereas the second to third stories (B and C) have Roman officials act against customary practice. The stories share a number of similarities and can be considered variations on a shared theme. They are arranged in an ascending order, from archon to emperor, as far as the status of the Roman dignitaries is concerned. In all four stories the dignitaries themselves are presented as unusually friendly toward the rabbis, whereas their inferiors (anonymous “they,” probably representing guards or soldiers) try to preserve the established protocol. The first two stories deal with earlier amoraim, the last two with later ones, although not necessarily in a chronological order. The storytellers play with common cultural expectations (official protocol), which are disappointed (the main actors do not behave in accordance with these expectations) and subsequently revealed as inappropriate, since they are based on a merely worldly perception of dignity and authority. This procedure is obvious in the first story (A) already. From the perspective of Roman society, R. Yohanan would have been required to interrupt his Torah reading or recitation of prayer to rise before the passing dignitary. By refraining to act in accordance with Roman protocol, he risks being punished severely (“They came and wanted to hit him”). The matter is resolved by the archon’s alleged change of perception: he is said to have noticed the rabbi’s occupation with religious matters in the service of “his creator,” a formulation that seems deliberately to present the Roman outsider’s perspective. In the second and third stories (B and C) prominent provincial officials are said to have risen before rabbis as soon as they saw them approaching.47 The meetings are said to have taken place in cities (Caesarea, Antioch) that served as seats of the Roman provincial administration. While R. Hanina (b. Hama) and R. Yehoshua b. Levi were first-generation amoraim who would have lived at the beginning of the third century, R. Yona and R. Yose were fifth-generation amoraim of the middle of the fourth century, contemporaries of the Roman military general Ursicinus, who served as magister equitum between 349 and 359 CE and is sometimes associated with the suppression of the so-called Gallus revolt.48 It is obvious at the outset that, in reality, such a reversal of official protocol would never have happened. Both the storytellers and the late 47  The second story seems to be a variant of the first story. They are formulated in much the same way. 48  On this revolt, see the discussion in D. Goodblatt, “The Political and Social History of the Jewish Community in the Land of Israel, c. 235–638,” 404–30 in The Cambridge History of Judaism, Vol. 4: The Late Roman-Rabbinic Period. Edited by S.T. Katz (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 411.

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antique audience of the stories would have been familiar with the body movements and gestures performed in honor of Roman dignitaries. By reversing the customary practice of standing up before political dignitaries and applying it to religious authorities instead, the storytellers express their belief that religious power is superior to political power and deserves greater reverence. The Roman officials’ extraordinary gesture of standing up before rabbis is legitimized by reference to the rabbis’ divine qualities: their faces shine like those of angels; their vision in battle made the general victorious. The rabbis are not presented as Torah scholars here but as the type of “holy men” the Romans would have been familiar with from their own cultural background.49 Not their textual knowledge but visual markers—the appearance of their faces; a vision of them—reveal them as holy in the (imagined) eyes of the Romans. This alleged visual perceptibility of holiness reappears in the fourth story (D). As a Roman subject, R. Abin would never have gotten away with such an affront against the emperor. Understandably, anonymous “they,” probably the emperor’s military entourage (cf. the expected reactions of anonymous “they” in the preceding stories) are said to have wanted to kill him. In the real world, this would have been the proper punishment of a Roman subject whose body language denied the emperor’s authority. As in the preceding stories, the inconsistency between the body language and the situation is resolved by visual “evidence” of the rabbi’s superiority (“they saw two sparks of fire coming out of his neck”). The storytellers seem to have used non-verbal communication and visual assessments of rabbis’ religious potency in encounters with Roman dignitaries because they believed that this was the “language” Romans would have understood. An imagined Roman perspective is appropriated here in order to claim rabbinic Judaism’s superiority over Roman political authority.

Rabbinic Study Sessions

The terminology of “sitting before” a rabbi is repeatedly used in tannaitic sources (‫ היה יושׁב לפני‬,‫ )היינו יושׁבין לפני‬and in the Talmud Yerushalmi (‫הוו יתיבין‬ ‫ הוה יתיב קומי‬,‫ )קומי‬to refer to study sessions in which students were imagined

49  On the cultural context of pagan and late antique Christian “holy men,” see G. Fowden, “The Pagan Holy Man in Late Antique Society,” JHS 102 (1982): 33–59; P. Brown, Society and the Holy in Late Antiquity (Berkeley and Los Angeles: CA University of California Press, 1989); G. Anderson, Sage, Saint and Sophist. Holy Men and Their Associates in the Early Roman Empire (Abingdon: Routledge, 1994).

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to be sitting in front of their teachers.50 The setting may either be a study house (or, less frequently, a synagogue) or remain unspecified. For example, “R. Meir said: We were sitting in the study house before R. Aqiva . . .” (t. Ber. 2:13); “R. Eleazar b. Zadoq said: We were sitting before R. Gamliel in the study house in Lod . . .” (t. Pesah. 3:11); R. Aqiva is said to have had a huge number of students “in synagogues and study houses, sitting and studying, from Antipatris to Banias” (ARNA 21); “Rav was sitting before R. Hiyya the Great . . .,” eating stoned fruit (y. Betzah 4:2, 62c); “R. Bibi was sitting before R. Yasa . . .” and wanted to know for how much longer he should continue his fasting; R. Yasa tells him to wait until they get home (y. Ta’an. 2:13, 66b). In study house (and synagogue) settings an unspecified number of students are assumed to have been sitting before their rabbinic teacher, whereas the majority of references without locations mention one or two students only. As the two Yerushalmi examples show, the setting could be rather informal. What mattered most was that the student received an instruction in a particular matter. The reference to the student’s sitting in front of his master is used to indicate that a learning experience took place. The teacher’s instruction could be initiated by the student’s own action. For example, eating stoned fruit and throwing away the stones which should not be used to light a fire on a holiday (y. Betzah 4:2, 62c); fasting when the Ninth of Av falls on the eve of the Sabbath and having to continue until the onset of the Sabbath (cf. y. Ta’an. 2:13, 66b). It is not only the student who is presented as sitting while learning; the rabbinic master is said to have taught in a seated position as well. Again, repeatedly occurring technical terms are used to indicate such a situation, for example: “Rabbi was sitting [and] teaching [‫ ]יתיב מתני‬R. Shimon his son . . .” (y. Avod. Zar. 4:4, 43d–44a); “R. Yohanan is sitting and expounding [‫]יתיב דרישׁ‬ in the study house of R. Benaiah” in Sepphoris “and everybody is running to hear him” (y. B. Metz. 2:12–13, 8d); “R. Meir was sitting and teaching [‫הוה יתיב‬ ‫ ]דרשׁ‬in the study house of Tiberias . . .” (y. Hag. 2:1, 77b); “R. Mana said: I went to Caesarea and I heard R. Hezeqiah sitting and teaching [‫( ”]יתיב ומתני‬y. Qidd. 2:8, 63a); “Yizhaq b. Shmuel b. Martha went down to Nisibis. He found Simlai, the Southerner, sitting [and] expounding [‫( ”]יתיב דרשׁ‬y. Avod. Zar. 2:8, 41d). As in the case of students, the “sitting” may or may not be associated with specific places (study houses and/or geographical locales). The size of the audience is usually not mentioned and can range from one person only (Rabbi teaching R. Shimon his son, y. Avod. Zar. 4:4, 43d–44a) to an imagined crowd (running 50  For the Talmud Yerushalmi see the entries in M. Kosovsky, Concordance to the Talmud Yerushalmi (Palestinian Talmud), Vol. 4 (Jerusalem: The Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities and The Jewish Theological Seminary of America., 1990), 477–80.

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to hear R. Yohanan, y. B. Metz. 2:12–13, 8d). The verbs ‫מתני‬, “he taught,” and ‫דרשׁ‬, “he expounded” seem to be used interchangeably. What follows is some kind of halakhic teaching or discussion for which the reference to the “sitting” provides the setting. In rabbinic sources sitting (on a chair or bench) is associated with an honorable position, whether based on scholarship or old age or both. Avot de R. Nathan version B 13 transmits a story about R. Eliezer who “was sitting and expounding while his father was standing. He said to him: Father, I cannot sit and expound the teachings of the Torah while you are standing! He stood up and seated him near him. His father said to him: My son, I did not come expecting this honor. . . .”51 R. Eliezer is said to have honored his father by asking him to sit close to him, although his father was not a Torah scholar. This plot detail is probably meant to show that R. Eliezer observed the biblical commandment and honored his parents even when reckoning with the possibility that his father might disinherit him. Rabbis are also said to have been in a seated position when discussing halakhic matters while sojourning away from home. For example, “R. Leiya and associates [‫ ]וחבריא‬were sitting in front of an inn in the evening. They said: Shall we talk words of the Torah?” (y. Ber. 3:5, 6d par. y. Sanh. 10:1, 27d:); “R. Hizqiyah and R. Yaaqov b. Aha were sitting at a place,” when the time for prayer came, discussing whether prayer requires concentration (y. Ber. 2:5, 5a); “Abba b.R. Huna and R. Hisda were sitting [together]” (y. Ber. 2:1, 4b). In these examples equal-status rabbis are said to have been sitting together, wherever they happened to be at that time, discussing matters of halakhah that arose in that setting. In contrast to the student-teacher sessions above, no recurrent formulas are used in these contexts. According to rabbinic sources, halakhic discussions among rabbinic colleagues and rabbis’ instruction of their students also happened while they were walking together, as already mentioned in the previous chapter. For example, R. Eleazar b. Arakh is said to have asked his teacher R. Yohanan b. Zakkai a question concerning the works of the merkavah while they were traveling together (y. Hag. 2:1, 77a); “R. Hiyya the Elder and R. Shimon b. Halafta were walking in the valley of Arbel in the early morning,” when the first rays of dawn give rise to theological speculations (y. Ber. 1:1, 2c par. y. Yoma 3:2, 40b). If rabbis could talk about matters of Torah and halakhah in various postures and in whatever situation they found themselves, why is the above-mentioned recurrent terminology used for study sessions? 51  See A.J. Saldarini, The Fathers According to Rabbi Nathan (Abot de Rabbi Nathan) Version B: A Translation and Commentary (Leiden: Brill, 1975), 103.

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The ways in which ancient Christian meetings and Graeco-Roman school sessions are described in the literary sources may provide an answer to this question. In the gospel of John, Jesus is already said to have sat down with his disciples on a mountain in Galilee to discuss matters with them (John 6:3). The apocryphal Acts of Thomas have “Judas sitting and teaching” in the house of the army captain Siphor (138).52 According to Acts 2:2, the post-Easter community was “sitting” in a house on the day of the Pentecost.53 In the Didascalia Apostolorum, generally dated to the third century CE, seating instructions for Christian assemblies are given: Appoint the places for the brethren with care and gravity. And for the presbyters let there be assigned a place in the eastern part of the house; and let the bishop’s throne be set in their midst, and let the presbyters sit with him. And again, let the laymen sit in another part of the house toward the east. For so it should be, that in the eastern part of the house the presbyters sit with the bishops, and next the laymen, and then the women that when you stand up to pray, the rulers may stand first, and after them the laymen, and then the women also . . . And if anyone be found sitting out of his place, let the deacon who is within reprove him and make him to rise up and sit in a place that is meet for him (12.2.57).54 The text imposes a hierarchical seating arrangement on Christian house meetings. Seats are to be assigned in accordance with the status of the respective sets of participants, from the bishop and presbyters to the laymen and women. A strict segregation between office holders and lay people is suggested even with regard to the space allocation of their seats. The bishop is supposed to 52  Judas is subsequently punished for not rising before the Indian king: “And all they that were there rose up before the king, but he arose not. And Misdaeus perceived that it was he, and took hold of the seat and overset it, and took up the seat with both his hands and smote his head so that he wounded it, and delivered him to his soldiers, saying: Take him away, and hale him with violence and not gently, that his shame may be manifest unto all men” (Acts of Thomas 138). According to Acts of Thomas 131, Siphor prepared a triclinium in his house for Judas to teach therein. On these imagined settings see Adams (2013) 78. 53  On these texts see also E. Adams, The Earliest Christian Meeting Places: Almost Exclusively Houses? (London and New York NY: T & T Clark, 2013), 56; D.L. Balch, “The Church Sitting in a Garden (1 Cor. 14:30; Rom. 16:23; Mark 39–40; 8:6, John 6:3, 10; Acts 1:15, 2:1–2),” 201– 35 in Contested Spaces: Houses and Temples in Roman Antiquity and the New Testament. Edited by D.L. Balch and A. Weissenrieder (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012). 54  Translation with R. Hugh Connolly at www.earlychristianwritings.com; last accessed 24 July 2016.

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take a centrally located seat with the presbyters close to him, perhaps sitting in a circle around him. This description is reminiscent of t. Sanh. 8:1, composed at approximately the same time, where the sanhedrin is described as a semicircle, presided by the patriarch in a central position and elders seated at his side. The meeting envisioned by the Didascalia is a prayer meeting with strict rules for rising up for prayer, in accordance with the church hierarchy. The Didascalia goes on to deal with the case of a latecomer, “whether a man or a woman, who has some worldly honor”. The bishop is instructed not to interrupt his religious practices on behalf of them: “if you are speaking the word of God, or hearing, or reading, you shall not respect persons and leave the ministry of your word and appoint them a place; but remain still as you are and not interrupt your word,” letting others help them find a place (ibid. 12.2.58). Elderly lay people are to be respected, though (cf. R. Meir’s practice in y. Bik. 3:3, 65c above), especially if they are poor: if there is no empty place left, the bishop should provide his own seat to them, even if he has to sit on the ground instead (ibid.). The text indicates the great significance attributed to seating arrangements in the early church. In his study of the spaces in which early Christian meetings for Bible reading, preaching, and prayer are imagined to have taken place, Adams argues in favor of a variety of settings, to also include, for example, outdoor spaces and workshops besides the private and converted houses (the so-called domus ecclesiae) believed to have been meeting spaces by prior scholars.55 In all of these spaces Christians are said to have sat down together for instruction. The descriptions of Christian sessions were probably based on GraecoRoman representations of school settings, which could likewise take place in open spaces or residential buildings. According to Dio Chrysostom, “the elementary teachers sit in the streets with their pupils, and nothing hinders them in this great throng from teaching and learning.”56 A wall painting from Pompeii depicts pupils sitting on a bench in a portico, reading from books or writing tablets.57 Philosophical teaching was imagined in like manner. The famous first-century mosaic of Plato’s Academy from the House of T. Siminius Stephanus in Pompeii has the philosopher and at least three of his disciples and fellow-philosophers sitting on a bench under an outdoor portico shaded

55  See especially chapters 6 to 8 of Adams, The Earliest Christian Meeting Places. 56  Dio Chrysostom, Orationes 20.9, quoted in Adams, The Earliest Christian Meeting Places, 190. 57  See Adams, The Earliest Christian Meeting Places, 191.

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by a tree, while three more are standing close to them.58 Those who are sitting are depicted in a relaxed listening mode: two of them have their elbows propped up, resting their heads on their hands. The figure standing on the left hand side is gesticulating, giving a speech or arguing forcefully. All of the others seem to be looking toward him. Seated representations of philosophers can also be found among ancient statuary. For example, Zanker refers to three seated figures of Epicureans who “sit calmly and quietly in classically balanced poses, the mantle carefully draped about them.”59 Despite their similar pose, there are clear differences in how they are represented, indicating a hierarchical relationship between them. Epicurus himself is depicted as sitting on a “throne” similar to the prohedria or front row seats of theaters, which may represent his “academic ‘chair’,” although he is not represented as giving instruction here: “As early as the time of the Sophists, an especially impressive seat seems to be a sign of the instructor’s special authority and dignity. Plato portrays the Sophist Hippias of Elis giving instruction from a thronos, while his pupils sat around him on stone benches (Prt. 315).”60 In contrast to Epicurus, the other two Epicurean figures are depicted as sitting on rather ordinary seats: “Metrodorus on a backed chair, and Hermarchus on a simple stone block.”61 The comparison shows that even among seated philosophers status differences could be represented through the type of seats they occupied (more on seats below). The examples indicate that educational and contemplative meetings were generally imagined to have taken place while all or some of the participants were seated, irrespective of their settings, whether outdoors or within buildings. The rabbinic use of recurrent phrases referring to students “sitting before” their masters and masters “sitting and teaching” their followers in study houses 58  The mosaic is in the Naples Archaeological Museum. For a photograph see T. Allan, Exploring the Life, Myth, and Art of Ancient Rome (New York NY: The Rosen Publishing Group, 2012), 49. For online access see http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Plato_ Academy_MAN_Napoli_Inv124545.jpg, last accessed on 24 July 2016. G. Bedouelle, An Illustrated History of the Church: The Great Challenges (Chicago IL: Archdiocese of Chicago Liturgy Training Publications, 2006), 18, fig. 17, identifies the seven men as Heraclitus Ponticus; Speusippus; Plato’s nephew; Plato himself; perhaps the person who ordered the mosaic; Eudoxius of Knidus; Senocrates, another disciple; Aristotle. The identifications must remain uncertain, though. 59  P. Zanker, The Mask of Socrates. The Image of the Intellectual in Antiquity (Berkeley and Los Angeles CA: University of California Press, 1995), 114, with reference to fig. 62 (Epicurus), 63 (Metrodorus), 64 (Hermarchus). 60  Ibid. 118. 61  Ibid.

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and in the open air may be a reflection of the traditional ways in which intellectual meetings and discussions were imagined in the Graeco-Roman world. Whether the storytellers, tradents, and editors deliberately styled rabbis in this way or whether they were so steeped in the late antique intellectual culture that such postures would have appeared self-evident to them we do not know. Late antique Christians also adopted the pattern of Graeco-Roman school sessions for their own purposes, including hierarchical seating arrangements.

The Postures of Politicians and Intellectuals

The nature of the assembly and the roles of the assembled would have played an important role with regard to spatial arrangements and positioning. A speech or lecture would have been most effective if the speaker was standing in front of the audience, especially if his stance was elevated on a podium. This would have been the case with political leaders and rhetoricians. In his account of defending in front of an assembly Sextus Roscius of Ameria, who had been accused of murdering his father, Cicero writes: “He [Roscius] finally finished his speech, sat down; I stood up” to defend him.62 In his instructions for the teaching of rhetoric, Quintilian suggests that orators should critically examine their pupil’s sample speeches “with no less care than they would have used, had they been going to stand up to speak themselves.”63 With regard to official political speeches, Sumi notes that “one of the most visually evocative aspects of public oratory in the Roman Republic was the location of the speech—its ‘stage’. . . .”64 The rostra or speaker’s platform in the Roman Forum was located so that both the Senate and the people would be “focusing the gaze . . . toward the speaker standing on the Rostra.”65 Speeches by Roman orators and politicians were public performances that required careful “staging” as far as body position, orientation, and gestures were concerned. Statues also display orators in a standing position. This tradition began with classical Greek statues and continued with Roman copies of the imperial 62  Cicero, Roscio Amerino 60. On Cicero as “the exemplary orator of Rome” see C. Steel, Roman Oratory (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press., 2006), 61. 63  Quintilian, Institutio Oratoria 2.6.1–5. Translation of H.E. Butler at http://archive.org/ stream/institutioorator00quin/institutioorator00quin_djvu.txt, last accessed on 24 July 2016. 64   G.S. Sumi, Ceremony and Power: Performing Politics in Rome Between Republic and Empire (Ann Arbor MI: University of Michigan Press, 2005), 222. 65  Ibid. 223.

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period. For example, Zanker refers to a depiction on an attic amphora from the fifth century BCE, “on which a man is depicted . . . on a podium, in front of him a listener leaning on his staff in the typical citizen stance (fig. 27). Most likely we have here indeed a representation of an orator.”66 An Augustanperiod copy of a statue of the orator Aeschines also displays him standing.67 Similarly, Roman emperors are presented in standing positions. For example, the emperor Caligula is represented “standing in a balanced pose with the weight on one foot and the other drawn slightly back.”68 Trimble notes that “such bodies could be used for any senatorial Roman male.”69 Most importantly: “Imperial portrait statuary was rhetorical in that its purpose was to honor the ruler portrayed.”70 The statues were meant to convey the emperor’s political power and glory. The situation was very different with regard to intellectual figures such as rabbis and philosophers, whose meetings with like-minded colleague-friends and students would have been conducted in a private or semi-private setting. These settings, whether inside a building or outdoors, under a tree or portico, would have involved a relatively small number of participants only. They were meant to stimulate internal discussion and inquiry rather than to propagate certain views to the masses. The way in which rabbinic texts refer to such meetings, using forms of the verb “to sit,” seems to be most suitable for the circumstances envisioned. Such “sittings” or sessions seem to have been imagined as relatively intimate meetings between a rabbi and a relatively small number of students, mostly conducted in private, away from the public’s eye. As the examples above have shown, rabbinic teaching sessions in “study houses” are presented in a rather similar way.71 The same terminology is used if the teaching sessions took place in a synagogue: eg, “R. Meir would teach [and] expound in the synagogue of Hammata every Sabbath night” (y. Sotah 1:4, 16d); “R. Yohanan was sitting and expounding in the great synagogue of Sepphoris” (Pesiq. Rab Kah. 18:5); “R. Berekhiah was sitting and expounding in 66  Zanker, The Mask of Socrates, 45, with reference to 47, fig. 27. 67  Ibid. 46, fig. 26. 68  J. Trimble, “Corpore enormi: The Rhetoric of Physical Appearance in Suetonius and Imperial Portrait Statuary,” 115–54 in Art and Rhetoric in Roman Culture. Edited by J. Elsner and M. Meyer (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 130. 69  Ibid. 70  Ibid. 129. 71  On the terminology see Hezser, The Social Structure of the Rabbinic Movement, 202–3: The term ‫ בית‬could also refer to a room, eg, a room customarily used for study in a particular rabbi’s house or at a particular location. In the Yerushalmi the “house/room of meeting” is used as a synonym for “study house/room.”

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a synagogue” (Lev. Rab. 32:7). The Yerushalmi text that claims that “R. Yohanan is sitting and expounding [‫ ]יתיב דרישׁ‬in the study house of R. Benaiah” in Sepphoris, “and everybody is running to hear him” (y. B. Metz. 2:12–13, 8d) does not divert from this pattern either. The exaggerated claim about his audience is meant to express the rabbi’s eminence. The activities conducted in study houses and synagogues that are associated with rabbis—the reading and interpretation of the Torah, the teaching and discussion of halakhah, prayer (cf. Avot de R. Nathan version A 2 and 6)—were intellectual and religious activities that were quintessentially different from Roman oratory, not only with regard to their purpose but also with regard to their reach, even if some local study houses were able to attract a certain number of non-rabbinic attendees.72 In study houses—and rabbinic meetings in general—everyone was meant to participate according to his abilities. Roman oratory, on the other hand, was based on the social differentiation and spatial separation between the speaker and his audience. The “sitting” of rabbis and their followers may therefore express the general equality of the participants of rabbinic “sessions” before the Torah, an assumption that does not stand in contradiction to the requirement to rise up before “elders” and eminent scholars discussed above. Cribiore has made an interesting observation with regard to the artistic representation of teachers in Roman Egypt: “The mandatory presence of a chair continued to identify male teachers in later art in scenes that appear in Roman sarcophagi of the imperial period: teachers are always portrayed as sitting, while their pupils . . . are standing.”73 In the literary sources from Plato onwards seats are especially mentioned in connection with teachers of advanced education such as philosophy, grammar, and rhetoric: “It is thus conceivable that the presence of chairs was mostly associated with the more stable conditions of schooling beyond the elementary level.”74 Similarly, Christian teachers mentioned in Romans 12:7 would have been seated when reading from scrolls after dinner: “the visual world suggests that these teachers were seated.”75 The 72  Some rabbinic texts suggest that at least some study houses attracted non-rabbis as well: cf. t. Yoma 4:2 (women and children attending study houses on Yom Kippur?); m. Avot 5:14 and Avot de R. Nathan version A 2 (different levels of abilities); y. Hor. 3:4, 48a par. Lev Rab. 5:4 (charity collection; members of the wealthy family of Bar Silani present). 73  R. Cribiore, Gymnastics of the Mind: Greek Education in Hellenistic and Roman Egypt (Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 2001), 31. According to M.B. Roller, Dining Posture in Ancient Rome: Bodies, Values, and Status (Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 2006), 22, the standing posture, especially in a context where others were sitting, was “associated with service, subordination, and instrumentality,” eg, with slaves. 74  Cribiore, Gymnastics of the Mind, 31. 75  Balch, “The Church Sitting in a Garden,” 225.

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seats they were imagined to be sitting on may have been the comfortable highbacked wickerwork chairs that formed part of Roman furniture: “Men shown sitting in one tend to be teachers, authors and philosophers.”76 Such chairs were especially useful when reading from scrolls for long periods of time.77 The Yeshiva Is the term yeshiva, “sitting” or “session,” used for a qualitatively different occasion that was considered to be more organized or even “institutional”?78 A few tannaitic texts use variants of the formula ‫הושׁיבו בישׁיבה‬, “they seated . . . in a session,” but the only person with the title “Rabbi” who appears in this connection is R. Eleazar b. Azariah. The Mishnah transmits three different halakhic statements attributed to R. Shimon b. Azzai that are introduced by the formula: “I received a tradition from the seventy-two elders on the day when they seated R. Eleazar b. Azariah in the session . . .” (m. Yad. 3:5, 4:2 and m. Zevah. 1:3). The reference to “a tradition from the seventy-two elders” is meant to give weight to R. Shimon’s statement. Whether these elders or others “seated” R. Eleazar in a session remains unclear. The “session” envisioned here is not described, but the assumption is that halakhic issues were discussed; that is, it was an occasion for rabbinic scholars’ collegial interaction. In the Palestinian traditions R. Eleazar b. Azariah is not called head or leader of the session. The Talmud Yerushalmi has changed the “seating” into an “appointment”: R. Eleazar is said to have been “appointed in [or: to] the session” (‫מנו את ראב״ע‬ ‫ )בישׁיבה‬in a detailed narrative about R. Gamliel’s so-called deposition (y. Ber. 4:1, 7c–d). This story is very interesting with regard to the ways in which the body movements of “sitting” and “standing” are presented. The story deals with a difference of opinion between the second-generation tannaim R. Gamliel and R. Yehoshua (b. Hananiah), which is “staged” in a house (or room) of meeting 76   A.T. Croom, Roman Furniture (Strout: Tempus, 2007), 117. 77  See ibid. 117, fig. 55: a stone relief from Neumagen, Germany, which shows a teacher and two pupils sitting on wickerwork chairs, the students having tablets in their hand; ibid. 120, fig. 58: a sarcophagus relief from Ostia representing a doctor sitting on a straightbacked chair with a scroll in his hand next to a cupboard with more scrolls on its inner shelves. 78  For an earlier discussion of texts that mention the term see especially D.M. Goodblatt, Rabbinic Instruction in Sassanian Babylonia (Leiden: Brill, 1975), 63–76. Goodblatt notes that “every scholar from Graetz to Beer speaks of the Amoraic yeshivot as the direct ancestors of the Geonic ones” (63).

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(‫)בית הוועד‬, that is, a place where rabbis customarily met to discuss halakhah. R. Gamliel allegedly invited R. Yehoshua’s student, who was confused about R. Yehoshua’s and R. Gamliel’s diverse answers to his question, to repeat his question in the presence of others, with the intention of shaming R. Yehoshua in front of his colleagues.79 Whereas R. Gamliel (and probably also the other attendees of the meeting) are explicitly said to have been sitting—the terminology ‫והיה ר״ג יושׁב ודורשׁ‬ is the same here as in the other texts about rabbinic study house sessions mentioned above—R. Yehoshua’s student and afterwards also R. Yehoshua himself are made to stand up. The student is simply required to stand while asking his question, but in the case of R. Yehoshua the “standing up” is presented as an ordeal. R. Gamliel allegedly asked R. Yehoshua to “stand on your feet” (‫)עמוד על רגליך‬, and the latter is said to have been “standing on his feet” (‫ )עומד על רגליו‬until everyone complained about the procedure. By having to stand up, R. Yehoshua was singled out from among his colleagues, exposed to their gaze and adverse testimonies meant to expose him as a liar. While still seated, he had denied to have held a halakhic opinion that differed from that of R. Gamliel. Eventually everyone stands up as a sign of solidarity with R. Yehoshua and opposition to R. Gamliel. Whether the term “all people” (‫ )כל העם‬refers to non-rabbinic observers or to the rest of the assembled rabbis remains uncertain, but the second option is more likely, especially since “they” are said to have reprimanded R. Gamliel and “appointed R. Eleazar b. Azariah in [or: to] the session” instead. Although Eleazar b. Azariah was a second-generation tanna and contemporary of R. Gamliel and R. Yehoshua, he is said to have been only sixteen years at that time. In the continuation of the story his young age and status as a junior scholar are brought up by the similarly “seated” but not “appointed” R. Aqiva as seemingly incongruous with his advancement. As a solution to the conflict, Eleazar’s superior heritage is cited. It is noteworthy that in the Yerushalmi version neither R. Gamliel nor R. Eleazar are said to have been the “head of the session”; this term is used in the Babylonian version of the story only (b. Ber. 27b–28a) but never appears in Palestinian rabbinic texts. In the Yerushalmi version of the story the assumption seems to be that particular rabbis would temporarily chair collegial discussion sessions. The Yerushalmi sugya continues with a discussion attached to the story that is similarly relevant for rabbinic proxemics: 79  On this story see also Fogel, The Orders of Discourse, 211–3.

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[A] And how many benches [‫ ]ספסלין‬were there? [B] R. Yaaqov b. Sisi said: Eighty benches were there for the disciples of sages, besides those who were standing beyond the fence [‫העומדין‬ ‫]לאחורי הגדר‬. [C] R. Yose b.R. Abun said: Three hundred were there, besides those who were standing beyond the fence.” [D] As has been taught there [cf. m. Yad. 3:5]: On the day when they seated R. Eleazar b. Azariah in the session [‫שׁהושׁיבו את ר’’א בן עזריה‬ ‫]בישׁיבה‬. [E] There it was taught: This teaching R. Eleazar b. Azariah taught before sages in the vineyard in Yavneh. [F] And was a vineyard there? Rather, these are disciples of sages who were arranged in rows as in a vineyard (y. Ber. 4:1, 7d). The discussion indicates that different traditions circulated about the location of the session, the seating arrangements, the attendees, and R. Eleazar’s involvement. Whereas the preceding story is set in a house of meeting, the baraita in [E] talks about the “vineyard in Yavneh.” Later amoraim were also uncertain about the number of benches or seats for attendees [B–C], and even about the attendees themselves: were they disciples of sages [B and F] or sages [E] or both, or are the terms used synonymously? For rabbinic proxemics two aspects of this discussion are particularly interesting: the assumption of seated attendees and others “beyond the fence” who are standing [B–C]; and the reference to parallel “rows” of seats for disciples, arranged like vines in a vineyard [F]. The statements attributed to R. Yaaqov b. Sisi [B] and R. Yose b.R. Bun [C] assume that a limited number of benches were available for disciples of sages, even if both numbers seem to be highly exaggerated. These benches were meant for the inner circle of disciples, whereas others, probably envisioned as less accomplished students and possibly also non-rabbis, had to remain standing outside. The image of the fence suggests a hierarchy between the seated and those who are not only standing but also spatially separated from them through a barrier (fence) and a distance (standing behind them, facing their backs). Perhaps the seated were considered to be actively participating in the session, eg, by being allowed to ask questions or even engage in the discussion, whereas the standing attendees were seen as a passive and silent audience of the proceedings. This first part of the discussion [A–D] clearly deals with a study session. In this interpretation of the baraita [D] and preceding story, R. Eleazar b. Azariah was imagined as a disciple of sages who was allowed to sit down in the inner circle, while R. Gamliel was expelled to the area of those who were standing beyond the fence.

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A study session with named students, seated on benches, and anonymous “strangers” and “others” is mentioned in Plato’s Protagoras. First he describes Protagoras himself, walking in the cloister accompanied by his students and followed by “a train of listeners,” attracted by his voice.80 In another cloister the Greek sophist and contemporary of Socrates Hippias of Elis was sitting and teaching his students: ‘And next did I mark’ [Homer, Odyssey 11.601] as Homer says, Hippias of Elis, seated high on a chair in the doorway opposite; and sitting around him on benches were Eryximachus, son of Acumenus, Phaedrus of Myrrhinous, Andron son of Androtion and a number of strangers,— fellow-citizens of Hippias and some others. They seemed to be asking him a series of astronomical questions on nature and the heavenly bodies, while he, seated in his chair, was distinguishing and expounding to each in turn the subjects of their questions . . . (315b–c).81 Hippias is said to have been sitting on a special chair here, while his students were sitting on benches around him. The position of the anonymous listeners remains uncertain: they may have joined them on the benches or remained standing around them. The students on benches are asking questions that the teacher on his chair answers in turn. That such an arrangement could easily be turned into a “council,” at which several teachers with their circles of students were present, is described by Plato in the following passage: On this, as I suspected that he [Protagoras] wished to make a display before Prodicus and Hippias, and give himself airs on the personal attachment shown by our coming to him, I remarked: Then surely we must call Prodicus and Hippias and their followers to come and listen to us. By all means, said Protagoras.

80  Plato provides a detailed description of their movements: “Nothing delighted me more than the precision of their movements: they never got into his way at all; but when he and those who were with him turned back, then the band of listeners parted regularly on either side; he was always in front, and they wheeled round and took their places behind him in perfect order” (Protagoras 315c). 81  The translation follows Plato, Plato in Twelve Volumes, Vol. 3. Translated by W.R.M. Lamb (Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press; London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1967), available at www.perseus.tufts.edu.

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Then do you agree, said Callias, to our making a session of it, so that we may sit at ease for our conversation? The proposal was accepted; and all of us, delighted at the prospect of listening to wise men, took hold of the benches and couches ourselves and arranged them where Hippias was, since the benches were there already. Meanwhile Callias and Alcibiades came . . . (317c–d). Here one sophist and his students join other sophists and their students by arranging the benches and seats to sit together with them. The impending discussion is described as a “session” (synedrion), in which the teachers can display their wisdom in front of each other and their respective students. This “session” is carried out while all of the participants are sitting together. Both accomplished sophists and students are present at the session. A contrast between the seated and those who are standing around them is also mentioned by Pliny in the description of a speech in defense of Attia Variola delivered in the centumviral court in 106/7 CE. The case allegedly attracted much public interest: One hundred and eighty judges were sitting . . . There was a multitude of advocates on each side; the numerous seats were occupied; and furthermore a dense ring of bystanders filled the large courtroom to a depth of several rows . . . (Pliny, Epistulae 6.33.3–4). Pliny goes on to describe the bystanders, men and women, filling the upper galleries of the courtroom as well (ibid. 6.33.5). Dominik comments: “This scene in the Basilica Iulia, packed with judges, lawyers, supporters, and onlookers, bears testimony to the drama that sometimes accompanied proceedings of the centumviral court.”82 Rabbis may have been familiar with the phenomenon that some Roman court cases attracted large audiences. The statements attributed to R. Yaaqov b. Sisi [B] and R. Yose b.R. Abun [C] in y. Ber. 4:1, 7d resemble Pliny’s description with regard to the distinction between an inner circle of seated “officials” and undefined bystanders behind and/or around them. Pliny’s number of seated judges (180) is in the middle range between the numbers suggested in the rabbinic statements (80 and 300). The Yerushalmi’s comments may well be based on rabbinic reminiscences of Roman court sessions and oratory. Like Pliny, those who formulated these statements tried to create

82  W. Dominik, “Tacitus and Pliny on Oratory,” 323–38 in A Companion to Roman Rhetoric. Edited by W. Dominik and J. Hall (Oxford: Wiley Blackwell, 323–38, 2007), 336.

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the impression that some rabbinic sessions were major events with many participants that attracted a large amount of public interest. In the second part [E–F] of the discussion, a different baraita concerning R. Eleazar b. Azariah is quoted [E], which envisions him at a meeting of sages in the so-called “vineyard” in Yavneh. In the context of the sugya, the baraita is used as a further reference to the session (yeshiva) mentioned in m. Yad. 3:5 [D] but, when seen on its own, it constitutes an alternative tradition concerning Eleazar. The reference to the “rows” of disciples, arranged like vine in a vineyard, is reminiscent of the description of the court setting in t. Sanh. 7:8, quoted above.83 Neither this [E–F] nor the previous part [A–D] of the Yerushalmi’s discussion specifies what was actually taught or discussed at the respective session. Nor is a particular building mentioned. What mattered to later scholars was the mere fact of the seated assembly itself. The talmudic discussion shows that later amoraim were unclear about the type of session at which R. Eleazar b. Azariah was promoted, and speculated about the circumstances. The suggested scenarios were meant to highlight the importance of the meeting. The hierarchical distinction between insiders and outsiders, the large number of disciples, and the “vines in a vineyard” metaphor were all meant to underline the organized nature of the meeting. It is obvious, however, that these are constructions that are only secondarily associated with the story tradition by the editors of the sugya. Elsewhere in tannaitic sources individuals without the title “Rabbi” are said to have been seated in a rabbinic session (‫)ישׁיבה‬: for example, the dyer Menahem b. Signai, who gave testimony (t. Ed. 3:1); Yohanan b. Nuri and Eleazar b. Hisma, who were “seated in the session” by R. Gamliel (Sifre Deut. 16). These texts seem to suggest that occasionally non-rabbinic individuals and advanced students could be asked to participate in rabbinic sessions, if they were able to contribute valuable information. That these sessions were considered to be a circumscribed and rather exclusive domain is also indicated in t. Demai 2:13, where “a sage sitting in a session” (‫ )חכם היושׁב בישׁיבה‬is distinguished from an 83  Goodblatt’s assumption in idem, Rabbinic Instruction in Sassanian Babylonia, 66, that Palestinian sources mean a court when they refer to a “session” (yeshiva) and that R. Eleazar b. Azariah was appointed to the private court of R. Gamliel, see idem, The Monarchic Principle. Studies in Jewish Self-Government in Antiquity (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1994), 253–4, seems to be supported only by the combination of this anonymous (editorial?) comment with t. Sanh. 7:8. Goodblatt’s argumentation is different, though: he identifies seating someone in a yeshiva with “appointing/ordaining elders” (65) and assumes that elders were appointed as members of courts.

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ordinary disciple of sages. Sitting in a session is presented as a special occasion or event (‫ )מעשׂה‬here.84 The space in which the “sitting” (yeshiva) took place remains irrelevant. Whether it happened in a building or outdoors did not matter to the storytellers and tradents. Weissenrieder has observed a similar phenomenon in connection with references to the ekklesia, which is referred to in the sense of a ritual or social practice of gathering: “. . . we have little evidence that in antiquity there was a special space dedicated only to the ekklēsía.”85 Rather, any space where Christians decided to gather would become and be seen as an ekklesia. “The location in which the gathering of the ekklēsía takes place is therefore also the spatial expression of its sociological energies. In this way a house or a place not only belongs to the ekklēsía, rather the ekklēsía is the house or place.”86 Similarly, the amoraic tradents and Yerushalmi editors refrained from associating rabbinic “sittings” with particular buildings and locations. The session could have taken place outdoors or in a private or public building.87 What mattered was the imagined social practice of the seated gathering itself. The ekklesia and yeshiva share the notion of a seated assembly. This posture symbolized the very idea of a gathering.88

Seated Study Sessions Versus Instruction in Daily Life

In both rabbinic literature and Graeco-Roman philosophical writings, references to seated study sessions appear alongside instruction in a variety of everyday life situations. Students are said to have accompanied their teacher while listening to and observing him. Plutarch succinctly describes this contrast between “chaired” sessions and incidental learning in a variety of real life situations at the beginning of the second century CE:

84  Cf. y. Demai 2:3, 22d–23a. 85  A. Weissenrieder, “Contested Spaces in 1 Corinthians 11:17–33 and 14:30: Sitting and Reclining in Ancient Houses, in Associations and in the Space of ekkēsía,” 58–107 in Contested Spaces: Houses and Temples in Roman Antiquity and the New Testament. Edited by D.L. Balch and A. Weissenrieder) Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012), 105. 86  Ibid. 90. 87  Balch, “The Church Sitting in a Garden,” 204–5 and 226–8 suggests that early Christian assemblies could have taken place in peristyle gardens and taverns. 88  Weissenrieder, “Contested Spaces,” 90, for the ekklesia.

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Most people . . . think of course that those are philosophers who sit in a chair and converse and prepare their lectures over their books; but the continuous practice of . . . philosophy, which is everyday alike seen in acts and deeds, they fail to perceive . . . Socrates at any rate was a philosopher, although he did not set out benches or seat himself in an armchair or observe a fixed hour for conversing or promenading with his pupils, but jested with them, when it so happened, and drank with them, served in the army or lounged in the marketplace with some of them . . . He was the first to show that life at all times and in all parts, in all experiences and activities, universally admits philosophy.89 The authors, tradents, and editors of rabbinic texts seem to have adopted both models, that of the perambulating philosopher and that of the more formal study session, and associated them with rabbis. Both philosophical teaching and rabbinic instruction of the first five centuries CE was based on texts. Textual study and instruction seems to have been imagined in a seated position, whether or not an actual text was present. At the same time, teachings were meant to be practiced and applied in daily life. Accordingly, philosophers and rabbis had to show themselves in everyday life situations, engaged with whatever issues and questions came up in particular circumstances. Learning would therefore also take place outside of the study session, by accompanying one’s teacher, listening to what he had to say, and observing his practice. According to Hadot, Plutarch’s text contrasts the Greek idea of philosophy as a way of life with the notion that philosophy is something that can be taught in proper sessions on the basis of books, through exegesis and commentary: “Throughout antiquity, Socrates was the model of the ideal philosopher, whose philosophical work is none other than his life and his death.”90 At Plutarch’s own time this more unregulated form of everyday life learning seems to have gradually been replaced by organized learning sessions that took place at specific times. Interestingly, “benches” and an “armchair” are mentioned in connection with this new form of text-based learning. Plutarch imagines the philosophical teacher to sit in an “armchair” while disciples are sitting on benches. Although no further details are given, such “sittings” are reminiscent of rabbinic depictions of study sessions: disciples are “sitting before” rabbis, suggesting frontal 89  Plutarch, Whether an Old Man Should Engage in Public Affairs 26 (= Vol. 10 of Plutarch, Moralia, Loeb Classical Library edition, 1936). 90  P. Hadot, What is Ancient Philosophy? (Cambridge MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard University, 2002), 38.

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teaching; rabbis are “sitting and expounding”; disciples of sages sit on benches that are arranged in a more or less orderly manner; the session is imagined as a rather exclusive affair, however many students are believed to be present. In both the philosophical and rabbinic context the very reference to “benches” suggests, however, that such sessions could accommodate a certain number of students and scholars, more than the few who accompanied a philosopher or rabbi in his daily-life activities. Although both philosophical and rabbinic instruction would have been mostly oral, the consultation of actual texts, whether in the form of biblical scrolls, Mishnah tractates, or philosophical treatises, would have been easier in a seated position. A number of artistic depictions of seated individuals with book scrolls and tablets in their hands exist from the Hellenistic and Roman periods.91 Zanker points out that from the late Hellenistic age onwards the philosopher’s reputation “rested primarily on his role as interpreter of the classical tradition” and intellectuals are often portrayed accordingly: “For example, a certain Hieronymos, active on Rhodes in the second century BC, had himself depicted, on the doorway of his funerary naiskos, reading and lecturing to a circle of his pupils. Characteristically, he holds an open book roll from which he reads and interprets the text. The role of interpreter is in turn closely linked to that of the educator and counselor.”92 A story in the Tosefta imagines R. Gamliel II “sitting at the table of Yohanan b. Nazif. And in his hand was the scroll of Job in translation, and he was reading in it . . .” (t. Shabb. 13:2). According to t. Meg. 2:5, “R. Meir read [the scroll of Esther] in the synagogue of Tiv’in while sitting and the members of the congregation were sitting. . . .” A story in t. Ber. 4:18 mentions four named elders sitting in the gatehouse of R. Yehoshua and studying Torah together. According to Lev.Rab. 15:4, “Rabbi and R. Yishmael b.R. Yose were sitting and engaging in [the study of] the scroll of Lamentations on the eve of the Ninth of Av at sundown. . . .” In the Yerushalmi story about “R. Yohanan sitting and expounding [Torah] in the study house of R. Benaiah” while “everybody is running to hear him” (y. B. Metz. 2:12–13, 8d), Torah scrolls were probably also imagined to be present. The very term “R.X. was sitting and expounding” might imply that the 91  See, eg, Cribiore, Gymnastics of the Mind, 32, fig. 5–6: an Athenian cup depicting a “sitting woman with a book roll [who] listens to a boy reciting”; Zanker, The Mask of Socrates, 143: depictions of poets sitting on cushioned seats with book scrolls nearby; ibid. 233 fig. 126: funerary statue of the grammarian Epaphroditus sitting “on a raised teacher’s chair” (125), holding a book roll in his left hand, “in which he has been reading (or perhaps reading aloud).” 92  Zanker, The Mask of Socrates, 187.

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expounding rabbi had a biblical scroll in front of him. While only a few rabbis might have owned Torah scrolls themselves, publically owned ones might have been available in late antique synagogues and study houses.93 By the Roman imperial period, that is, in Plutarch’s own time, the teaching of philosophy had become institutionalized: “the teaching of philosophy was taken over by the government” and “municipal philosophical education” was offered.94 In addition, “private philosophy professors . . . opened schools— which sometimes had no successors—in one of the various cities of the Empire.”95 Whereas earlier philosophical training had focused on discussion and argumentation, philosophical schools of the imperial period were mostly scholastic in nature: “instruction would consist in explaining the texts of the ‘authorities’ ”; “the truth was now conceived as faithfulness to a tradition, which originated in ‘authorities’.”96 While I do not claim that rabbinic teaching experienced a similar shift from the tannaitic to the amoraic period, rabbis seem to have been aware of these two different models of intellectual instruction and discussion—the seated teacher in front of his students, perhaps with a scroll in his hand from which he expounded; the teacher perambulating in the marketplace, accompanied by one or two students—and combined them in their sources. Whereas most rabbinic references to seated teaching sessions do not provide a description of the location and circumstances, a few refer to study houses, houses of meeting, and synagogues, that is, to indoor locations, sometimes associated with seats and benches. The locations of Hellenistic and Roman teaching sessions were similarly varied and undefined, as Cribiore has shown. Advanced teaching could take place outdoors, in private accommodation, or in public buildings. Generally speaking, “[g]rammarians and rhetors used the accommodations that their personal circumstances afforded them”97 and that suited the respective numbers of their students. They might teach them at home, rent private space (could the story in y. B. Metz. 2:12–13, 8d imply that R. Yohanan had rented the study house of R. Benaiah in Sepphoris when he was teaching there?), or in “school” buildings that are as difficult to identify archaeologically as study houses and houses of assembly: “In Alexandria, the remains of a limestone 93  See the discussion in C. Hezser, Jewish Literacy in Roman Palestine (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001), 163–5. 94  Hadot, What is Ancient Philosophy, 147. 95  Ibid. 147–8. 96  Ibid. 148–9. 97  Cribiore, Gymnastics of the Mind, 31.

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building dating from the time of Horapollon and located next to the theater and the baths have been identified as perhaps being the site of a school. A central auditorium with the dais for the teacher (or speaker) and seats all around is flanked by two sets of smaller rooms provided with seats.”98 Like synagogues, study houses, and houses of assembly, this building would have been multifunctional.99 The “range of possible scenarios” suggested for Hellenistic and Roman higher education by the literary sources is matched by a similar variety of educational settings in Palestinian rabbinic texts.100

Hierarchical Seating Arrangements

As the text from the Didascalia Apostolorum (quoted above) already indicated, the distribution of seats was an important aspect of spatial behavior, that is, the way in which people “arrange themselves in relation to others.”101 Usually, central seats and seats in the front row are associated with individuals of a higher social status.102 Those who are sitting in the front rows are closer to the action displayed before them: they enjoy a better view and better acoustics, and may have the possibility to interact with the central players. As far as Roman theaters are concerned, the tiered seats were arranged in a half circle around the stage, so that the audience would look down upon the actors.103 Members of the elite would usually be given the front rows of seats within the orchestra, or they were allocated special boxes from which they had an elevated view of the stage.104 As Weiss has pointed out, “. . . the seating arrangements largely reflected a city’s social stratification. The urban aristocracy merited special and honored places . . . The privilege of sitting in the reserved seats derived from their positions as holders of offices and not from an individual’s social status or familial association.”105 The Roman historian Suetonius describes the measures taken by the emperor Augustus to organize the seating arrangements in theaters as follows: 98  Ibid. 34. 99  See ibid. 100  Cribiore ibid. on the Graeco-Roman educational settings. 101  Korte, Body Language in Literature, 39. 102  Cf. Argyle, Bodily Communication, 171. 103  See B.A. Bergner, The Poetics of Stage Space. The Theory and Process of Theatre Scene Design (Jefferson NC: McFarlane & Company Inc., 2013), 86. 104  See R.C. Beacham, The Roman Theatre and its Audience (Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 1991), 256 n. 11; Weiss (2014) 96–7. 105  Weiss, Public Spectacles, 98.

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He corrected the confusion and disorder with which the spectators took their seats at the public games . . . He therefore procured a decree of the senate, that in all public spectacles of any sort, and in any place whatever, the first tier of benches should be left empty for the accommodation of senators . . . He separated the soldiery from the rest of the people, and assigned to married plebeians their particular rows of seats. To the boys he assigned their own benches, and to their tutors the seats which were nearest it . . . Nor would he allow any women to witness the combats of the gladiators, except from the upper part of the theatre, although they formerly used to take their places promiscuously with the rest of the spectators . . . (Divus Augustus 44).106 The hierarchical seating arrangements described here range from the “first tier” seats for senators to the “upper part” seats for women. While male members of the elite were seated closest to the action, women were allocated seats that were as far away as possible, making their observation of the action difficult. In the gospel of Mark, James and John, the sons of Zebedee are said to have asked Jesus to be seated at his right and at his left hand side in the messianic kingdom (Mark 10:35–37). Jesus replies that it is not up to him but to God to allocate such seats (10:40: “for them for whom it has been prepared”). Nevertheless, the other disciples are said to have become angry about the Zebedees’ audacity. This leads to Jesus’s statement about the need for humility: “. . . whoever wants to become great among you shall be your servant, and whoever wants to be first among you shall be your slave” (10:43–44). In Matthew, the Zebedees’ claim is toned down by having their mother ask Jesus on behalf of her sons (Matt 20:20–21), and Luke has turned the tradition into a more general quarrel for supremacy among all disciples (Luke 22:24: “A competition [φιλονεικία] rose among them which of them should be considered greater”). The various versions of the saying that elevates the servant and slave are usually interpreted as the gospel editors’ admonition to members of their own communities, especially their leaders, to refrain from haughtiness and arrogance and to practice modesty instead.107

106  Translation: Suetonius, The Lives of the Twelve Caesars: An English Translation, by J.E. Reed and A. Thomson (Philadelphia PA: Gebbie & Co., 1889), available at www.perseus .tufts.edu. 107  See, eg, T. Roh, Die familia dei in den synoptischen Evangelien: Eine redaktions- und sozialgeschichtliche Untersuchung zu einem urchristlichen Bildfeld (Freiburg and Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2001), 141, for Mark.

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Despite such admonitions, the early church developed a hierarchical leadership structure in the second century CE already, as the pastoral epistles show.108 This hierarchical order is also reflected in the seating arrangements described in Christian literary sources of the third and fourth centuries CE. According to the third-century Didascalia Apostolorum, quoted above, the bishop is supposed to sit on a “throne,” with the presbyters seated on ordinary seats closest to him, while laymen and -women are allocated places in a different part of the building. This arrangement indicates a clear distinction between religious office holders and lay people, with the women in the farthest corners of the building. The church hierarchy seems to replicate the hierarchical structure of Roman society, which ranged from the highest office holders to women, as reflected in the assignment of theater seats.109 In the fourth century both church fathers such of Gregory of Nazianzus and orators such as Libanius were aware of the stratification of the theater audience, providing a social map of Roman society.110 In rabbinic literature hierarchical seating arrangements are only mentioned in connection with the imagined pre-70 sanhedrin and in the Babylonian Talmud, which seems to reflect the situation at the later Babylonian academies of stammaitic times. Mishnah Sanh. 4:3–4 purports to describe the setting and seating arrangements of the sanhedrin before the destruction of the Temple, as post-70 rabbis imagined it.111 Verbs in the past tense are used here to recall a past institution, although its membership is said to have consisted of Torah scholars as they existed in rabbis’ own time: The sanhedrin was like a half-round threshing floor, so that they would have been able to see each other . . .112 And three rows of disciples of sages 108  On leadership structures and offices mentioned in the pastoral epistles see B.S.J. Fiore, The Pastoral Epistles: First Timothy, Second Timothy, Titus (Collegeville MI: Liturgical Press, 2007), 73–82. 109  On the Christian replication of the Roman hierarchical structure see also D. Crouch, The Image of Aristocracy in Britain, 1000–1300 (London: Routledge, 1992), 33: “Lay society as well as the Church must observe the established ranks. And those ranks were borrowed from the society in which the Church had grown up: the stratified bureaucracy of the Late Roman Empire.” 110  See S. Elm, Sons of Hellenism, Fathers of the Church: Emperor Julian, Gregory of Nazianzus, and the Vision of Rome (Berkeley and Los Angeles CA: University of California Press, 2012), 350, with reference to Gregory of Nazianzus, Orationes 4.114 and Libanius, Orationes 11.218. 111  See Hezser, The Social Structure of the Rabbinic Movement, 81–2. 112  Cf. t. Sanh. 8:1.

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were sitting before them. Each of them knows his place. [If] they needed to appoint [lit.: to lay on hands, ‫]לסמוך‬, they appointed from the first [row]. [Subsequently] one from the second [row] proceeded to the first [row], and one from the third [row] proceeded to the second [row]. And they chose another one from the community [‫ ]מן הקהל‬and they would seat him in the third [row]. And he would not sit in the place of the first but sit in the place that was appropriate for him (m. Sanh. 4:3–4). Interestingly, the pre-destruction sanhedrin is imagined in the form of a Roman theater here, an architectural structure with which Palestinian rabbis would have been familiar. As Weiss has pointed out, “[t]he theatre was the most common public building for mass entertainment in the region.”113 Besides the large theaters, medium and small versions, sometimes called odeion or bouleuterion, existed in Roman Palestine.114 In all of these buildings the stage was surrounded by a “semicircular cavea in which the audience sat,”115 consisting of a certain number of rows of seats. While major cities used to have more than one theater, less important ones had one small “multipurpose building for various types of performances and events.”116 Raja notes that the odeion at Gerasa “dated to the second-century AD, a period in which many cities built these civic complexes.”117 This would be the time when the Mishnah tradition circulated. Odeia and bouleuteria were used for meetings of the city council, besides other functions: “The semi-circular bouleuterion was a strong expression of civic power and organisation and it was important to the cities of some standing to possess this building type in order to present themselves as communities with an organised civic community.”118 It is very likely that rabbis used this structure as a model for their image of the sanhedrin as a self-governing institution of the Jewish elite within the context of Hellenistic cities of the East.119 113  Weiss, Public Spectacles, 81. 114  Ibid. 81–2. 115  Ibid. 82. 116  Ibid. 83. For an example of a smaller theater see ibid. 84 fig. 2.7 (Hippos). 117  R. Raja, Urban Development and Regional Identity in the Eastern Roman Provinces, 50 BC– AD 250: Aphrodisias, Ephesos, Athens, Gerasa (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press, 2012), 209–10. 118  See ibid. 210. 119  Ibid. Raja points out that “This building type is found in the regions were Hellenistic traditions and institutions constituted embodied concepts of how a city should represent itself.” These structures continued in the Roman period, especially in the eastern provinces of the Roman Empire to “represent the elite of these communities.” On the Hellenistic influence on Jewish governing bodies in Second Temple times see also

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Mishnah Sanh. 4:4 imagines a process of promotion among disciples of sages within the structure of the sanhedrin. The assumption is that the rows of disciples were arranged hierarchically, with the front row representing the most proficient scholars and the back row the least proficient ones of those seated within the half-circle. Around the three rows of seated scholars another group of people (‫ )הקהל‬is imagined to be standing and waiting to be eventually seated one by one. Promotion of a front row scholar to some kind of unspecified leadership function is said to have had repercussions for all of the others as well; in fact, one of each group gets promoted consecutively and is allowed to move up one row. The three rows are replenished by people from the standing “community,” a term resembling the Greek demos, which may have been used here to indicate the civic function of the envisioned institution. Allen has pointed to epigraphic evidence indicating that at Athens certain “officials were appointed out of the boule” to a variety of other offices, and citizens were appointed to the boule to replenish the body of councillors.120 This process continued in Hellenistic and Roman times in the city councils of the Near East and may have provided a model for the way in which rabbis imagined promotions to offices in the pre-70 sanhedrin.121 It is probably indicative of Palestinian amoraim’s lack of interest in the hierarchical structures of an imagined pre-70 sanhedrin that the only comment on the promotion process, suggested by the Mishnah, is attributed to the Babylonian Rav (y. Sanh. 4:3–4, 22b), who quotes m. Avot 4:15, “be tail to lions, but do not be head to foxes,” and subsequently reverses it: “The proverb says: Be head to foxes but not tail to lions.” The proverb in its mishnaic form suggests that one should rather be a low-level figure (tail) in a group of great people (lions) than the leader (head) of lowly people (foxes).122 The version attributed to Rav, on the other hand, puts the emphasis on leadership and connects the proverb with m. Sanh. 4:4: “For we have learned: If it was necessary to appoint, they appointed [someone] from the first [row].” L.I. Levine, Lee I., Judaism and Hellenism in Antiquity: Conflict or Confluence? (Seattle WA: University of Washington Press, 1998), 84. 120   D.S. Allen, The World of Prometheus: The Politics of Punishing in Democratic Athens (Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 2000), 307. 121   B.H. McLean, An Introduction to Greek Epigraphy of the Hellenistic and Roman Periods from Alexander the Great down to the Reign of Constantine (332 B.C.–A.D. 337) (Ann Arbor MI: University of Michigan Press, 2002), 334, who refers to “the appointment of special financial commissioners,” eg, for the supervision of provincial tax collection, by the city councils. 122  See H. Albeck’s commentary in idem, Six Orders of the Mishnah, Hebr. (Jerusalem: The Bialik Institute and Tel Aviv: Dvir Publishing House, 1988), 4: 372 ad loc.

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As Rubenstein has already pointed out, in post-amoraic times Babylon­ ian rabbinic society seems to have been hierarchically structured and competitive.123 Bavli B. Qam. 117a transmits a probably redactionally constructed narrative about the Babylonian R. Kahana’s arrival in Palestine while R. Yohanan is lecturing to (inferior or junior) rabbis. Resh Laqish, a secondgeneration amora like R. Kahana and R. Yohanan, is said to have alerted R. Yohanan to the arrival of “a lion from Babylonia.” He should therefore be careful in the next day’s session [‫]במתיבתא‬. The next morning, . . . he [R. Kahana] was seated in the first row [‫ ]בדרא קמא‬before R. Yohanan. He [R. Yohanan] said a tradition and he [R. Kahana] did not raise a problem; he said a tradition and he did not raise a problem. He was [therefore] moved back seven rows until he was seated in the last row [‫]בדרא בתרא‬. R. Yohanan said to R. Shimon b. Laqish: The lion you mentioned has become a fox. He [Kahana] said: May it be the will [of God] that these seven rows turn into the seven years mentioned to me by Rav.124 He stood up [and] said to him: Master, start from the beginning again. He [R. Yohanan] said a tradition and he raised a problem. He was seated in the first row [again]. He [R. Yohanan] said a tradition and he raised a problem. R. Yohanan was sitting on seven cushions. Whenever he said a tradition and a problem was raised one cushion was removed from under him until all cushions were removed from under him and he was sitting on the ground [‫]דיתיב על ארעא‬. . . . R. Yohanan, who is said to have been an old man at that time, is said to have felt offended by R. Kahana, especially since he believed that his lips were smiling and he was mocking him. As a consequence of this behavior R. Kahana is said to have died. The story is a good example of the strict hierarchical structure of rabbinic sessions imagined by the later Babylonian storytellers. R. Yohanan is imagined here as having presided over a session in which his younger colleagues were sitting in seven rows with the most proficient ones in the front row, participating in the discussion, and the least accomplished silent ones in the last row, 123   J.L. Rubenstein, The Culture of the Babylonian Talmud (Baltimore MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2003): “A rigid hierarchy, perhaps even a tendency to dynastic succession, characterized the organization of the academy” (2); “We turn now from the Amoraic to the Stammaitic period when we can speak of an academic hierarchy” (90). 124  Rav had advised him not to raise problems before R. Yohanan for seven years, cf. Rubenstein, The Culture of the Babylonian Talmud, 78.

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merely listening to the proceedings. Scholars could be promoted to a front row seat or downgraded toward the back, based on the way they reacted to the presiding rabbi’s statements. Interestingly, the presiding rabbi could be demoted as well: being reduced to sitting on the ground was a huge humiliation, especially if one had been sitting on “seven cushions” beforehand.125 In the continuation of the story R. Kahana is awakened from the dead, called “Master” by R. Yohanan and made his advisor in halakhic matters (b. B. Qam. 117b). At the end, then, the Babylonian scholar is fully reinstated in his honor, and the Palestinian scholar acknowledges his proficiency. Rabbinic Symposia Hierarchical seating arrangements were not limited to public spaces such as the theater, however. They were also part of private meals and banquets: “Space in the triclinium was coded space: the place where one sat signified rank, for the couches, and places on each couch, were hierarchically ordered, culminating in the master’s seat on the right side of the central couch . . . The guests were seated by a designated servant, the nomenclator. . . .”126 Being “degraded” by being allocated an “ignominous” seat, whereas others were upgraded, was considered a grave insult, as Alexidemus’s exclamation to Thales in Plutarch’s Septem Sapientium Convivium indicates.127 Alexidemus decides to leave, remarking that “all you wise men too make it your aim in life to have honor shown you.”128 The Stoic Seneca ridicules those who become angry when being allocated “lowly” seats: “Idiot! What difference can it make what part of the couch you rest upon?”129 In the gospel of Luke, shortly after the reference to competition among his disciples (see above), the Lukan Jesus assigns seats to all of his disciples at his table in the world-to-come: “that you may eat and drink at my table [ἐπὶ τῆς τραπέζης] in my kingdom and sit on thrones [καθήσεσθε ἐπὶ θρόνων] . . .” 125  Sitting on the ground as a sign of defeat and humiliation is mentioned in Isa. 3:26 already. See also Lam. 2:10. 126  Y. Thébert, “Private Life and Domestic Architecture in Roman Africa,” 313–410 in A History of Private Life, Vol. 1. Edited by P. Veyne (Cambridge MA and London: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1987), 369. 127  Plutarch, Septem Sapientium Convivium 148F. 128  Ibid. 149B. Translation with the Loeb Classical Library edition of Plutarch, Moralia, Vol. 2, 1928. 129  Seneca, De Ira 3.37. Translation follows http://www.sophiaproject.org/uploads/1/3/9/5/ 13955288/seneca_anger.pdf, last accessed 24 July, 2016.

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(Luke 22:30, cf. Matt 19:28, where “thrones” but no “table” are mentioned).130 In Luke’s gospel the heavenly table-fellowship is imagined in analogy to Roman banquets, and the seats are envisioned as the “thrones” on which the most eminent politicians and intellectuals are represented in Graeco-Roman literature and art. While referring to the scene as a symposium, Smit assumes that “a royal table” is envisioned by Luke, especially since the meal is expected to take place in the heavenly “kingdom.”131 According to him, the text is reminiscent of biblical and early Jewish references to “the enthronement of the righteous and their share in the rule of the Messiah.”132 Palestinian rabbinic sources show that rabbis were well aware of the significance of the Roman banquet, which they adopted and adapted for their own purposes. Tosefta Berakhot provides instructions for the “order” of meals (t. Ber. 4:8),133 reclining after meals (t. Ber. 5:5), washing hands (t. Ber. 5:6), and offering drinks (ibid.). The context for this discussion is the issue of reciting benedictions over food and wine. By maintaining the basic structure but adding the religious aspects of hand-washings, benedictions, and the Grace after Meals, the Greek and Roman banquet has been transformed into a rabbinically constructed Jewish meal (cf. t. Ber. 4:8): guests are supposed to sit on benches and chairs (‫קתדראות‬, from Greek καθέδρα), until everyone has arrived;134 they wash one hand, receive a cup of wine and recite a benediction over it; they receive appetizers and say a benediction over them; they get up from their temporary seats and recline on the dining couches; they wash both hands; receive another cup of wine and say a benediction over it; they receive more appetizers and say benedictions over them; a person who arrives late, after three appetizers have been served, is not allowed to enter, since the proper meal would already have started by then. Similarly, the Roman meal begins with the gustatio, the tasting of appetizers such as “poor roots, vegetables, fish, and eggs” and moves on to the cena, the proper meal with meat dishes, sometimes extended into the secundae mensae, neither of which is described here.135 The Tosefta text 130  P.-B. Smit, Fellowship and Food in the Kingdom (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 186, stresses that Luke 22:30 with its “eschatological banquet” was probably formulated by the editor/s of the gospel. 131  Ibid. 193–4. 132  Ibid. 193 with references. 133  Par. y. Ber. 6:6, 10d. 134  According to Croom, Roman Furniture, 116, high-backed chairs were called cathedra. See also the discussion below. 135  On the structure and foods served at Roman meals see E. Gowers, The Loaded Table: Representations of Food in Roman Literature (Oxford and New York NY: Oxford University Press, 1993), 17.

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maintains the structure of the Roman meal, but by adding ritual elements and benedictions rabbis have turned it into a Jewish religious ritual.136 In the Tosefta the “order of reclining” is discussed after reference to the Grace After Meals (cf. t. Ber. 5:4). It remains unclear whether the reclining refers to the meal proper, described earlier in the Tosefta (t. Ber. 4:8), to the after-dinner entertainment after the proper cena, or to socializing with drinks independent of a meal. Donahue has pointed out that the Roman convivium “was a meal to which one invited friends—in short, a dinner party,” whereas the Greek symposium, from which it originated, put more emphasis on drinks than food.137 Roller emphasizes, however, that eating and drinking were not separated but combined in the Roman occasions.138 In any case, both the convivium and the symposium provided an opportunity for socializing and conversation among the (generally male) guests.139 In t. Ber. 5:5 a hierarchical seating structure is introduced: What is the order of reclining? At a time when there are two couches, the great[est among them] reclines at the head of the first [couch], the one who is second to him [in greatness reclines] below him. At a time when there are three couches, the great[est] reclines at the head of the central [couch], the one who is second to him [reclines on the couch] above him, the one who is third to him [reclines on the couch] below him. In this way they continued to arrange [even if there were more than three people present].140 What is described here is the rabbinic version of an ancient convivium or symposium, where each participant had his own couch. At Roman banquets the couches could be arranged in a variety of ways, along three sides of a triclinium, 136  That rabbis have maintained the macro-structure of the Roman meal has also been argued by J. Rosenblum, Food and Identity in Early Rabbinic Judaism (Cambridge and New York NY: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 30–32. D.E. Smith, From Symposium to Eucharist: The Banquet in the Early Christian World (Minneapolis MN: Augsburg Fortress, 2003), 6, argues that Roman meals were also not entirely secular but “fall into a middle category,” since it was customary to bring libations and say prayers to the gods. 137   J.F. Donahue, The Roman Community at Table During the Principate (Ann Arbor MI: University of Michigan Press, 2004), 9–10. 138  Roller, Dining Posture, 181: “Eating and drinking were thoroughly intermixed in standard Roman dining practice.” 139  See P. Coutsoumpos, Community, Conflict, and the Eucharist in Roman Corinth (Eugene OR: Wipf & Stock Publishers, 2006), 14. 140  Par. y. Ta’an. 4:2, 68a.

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parallel to each other, or “in the form of a Pi,” depending on the participants, their relationship to each other, the occasion and setting.141 In the baraita the exact arrangement of the couches is difficult to imagine. What is clear, though, is that the text distinguishes between different scenarios and arrangements: in the case of two participants, the higher-status person is to recline, leaning on his left hand arm, on the first and highest couch, while the other person reclines on a couch “below” him. In the case of three participants, the higheststatus person’s couch is supposed to be central while the other two individuals recline on couches “above” and “below” him.142 The arrangement was meant to grant the honor of the greatest comfort to the head of the assembly so that he could converse with the others without having to bend his upper body and head. According to Lieberman, the attendees would recline by leaning their left arm on a pillow, while their legs were outstretched on the dining couch. He assumes that the upper body of the second diner would be located at the feet of the first; the upper body of the third at the feet of the second. If the centrally seated person wanted to speak with the others, they would be required to bend and lift their heads, whereas he could remain in his relaxed position.143 Depictions of symposia were all-pervasive in the ancient world, and rabbis must have been familiar with the phenomenon. Topper refers to hundreds of vases with symposium scenes that have survived.144 Symposia were drinking parties conducted by men of the upper strata of Greek and Roman society at which “citizens of the polis gathered for an evening of wine, conversation, and entertainment. . . .” It was a “ritual of commensality” meant to display and confirm elite identity.145 Topper notes, however, that the vase depictions do not necessarily reflect real life; rather, “the images on the vases present the reclining symposium as an ancient and fundamental part of Hellenic identity.”146 From 141  See K.M. Dunbabin, The Roman Banquet: Images of Conviviality (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 55–58. 142  Croom, Roman Furniture, 48 refers to the lectus medius as the central couch in the back of the room, which served as the place of honor for the status-highest guest. Usually the host would sit on the lectus imus, to the left of the central couch from the perspective of entering the room. A third participant might sit on the lectus summus on the right hand side of the most honorable seat. 143  S. Lieberman, Tosefta Ki-Fshutah, Order Zera’im, Part 1 (2nd ed. Jerusalem: The Jewish Theological Seminary of America., 1992), 75. 144  K. Topper, The Imagery of the Athenian Symposium (Cambridge and New York NY: Cambridge University Press, 2012), 1. Her book contains a large number of images of symposia. 145  See ibid. 1–2. 146  Ibid. 7.

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Classical Greek times onwards philosophers also refer to the practice. In the Phaedrus, for example, Plato has Socrates, Agathon, and Alcibiades reclining with each other, discussing the meaning of the seating arrangements among them.147 Most famous is Plutarch’s Symposium of the Seven Wise Men (Septem Sapientium Convivium), an early second century CE collection of table talks between Plutarch himself and his friends, teachers, and students.148 Klotz and Olkonomopoulou point out: “The Table Talk celebrates enquiry as an all-pervasive activity—so pervasive it can naturally spring up even in the relaxed atmosphere of the symposium, which is seemingly fit for more superficial pursuits.”149 At the symposium various questions on intellectual themes are brought up and discussed with “few absolute answers and no explanation,” offering “different argumentative standpoints.”150 What mattered most was the joint discussion for which the setting of a symposium provided an appropriate background. The “hybridity” of the literary form, combining questions and dialogue with narrative, was typical of the Second Sophistic of the Roman imperial period.151 The rabbis of the Tosefta, who refer to the hierarchical structure of reclining, did not intend to present themselves as Hellenists. Neither did they describe rabbinic and/or Jewish everyday life practices. According to Croom, reclining around tables was feasible “only for those who could afford a large, separate dining-room and who had guests to entertain.”152 In reality, only very few rabbis would have been wealthy enough to be able to organize lavish banquets and symposia, which required villas with triclinia and the respective furniture. In rabbinic sources shared meals among rabbinic colleague-friends are usually presented as much more modest affairs.153 The Tosefta text indicates, 147  Plato, Phaedrus 222c–223b. For a summary of Greek philosophical writing on the symposium see F. Klotz and K. Olkonomopoulou, “Introduction,” 1–33 in The Philosopher’s Banquet. Plutarch’s Table Talk in the Intellectual Culture of the Roman Empire. Edited by F. Klotz and K. Olkonomopoulou (Oxford and New York NY: Oxford University Press, 2011) 13–18. 148  Plutarch, Moralia 146B–164D. On the literary genre, structure, and contents of this text see D.E. Aune, “Septem Sapientium Convivium (Moralia 146B–164D,” 51–105 in Plutarch’s Ethical Writings and Early Christian Literature. Edited by H.D. Betz (Leiden: Brill, 1978), 51–105. 149  Klotz and Olkonomopoulou, “Introduction,” 2. 150  Ibid. 151  See ibid. 12. 152  Croom, Roman Furniture, 46. See also Roller, Dining Posture, 15, who stresses that reclining was associated with otium (leisure) and social privilege. 153  See Hezser, “Rabbis and Other Friends,” 220–1 with references. Rabbis or their students are usually presented as serving the guests themselves. Lavish meals are associated only

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however, that rabbis were well aware of the structure of convivia/symposia and their significance in Greek and Roman intellectual discourse. By adopting this structure literarily for their own “great,” they suggest that “great” Torah scholars deserve the same kind of honor and appreciation that Graeco-Roman symposiarchs receive from their guests.154 If the significance of the philosophical symposium, described by Plutarch, was socializing and intellectual discourse among like-minded “sages,” rabbis are able to use the scenario to present themselves as a comparable Jewish intellectual elite with all of the accoutrements, including hierarchical seating arrangements.155 A hierarchical structure of rabbinic socializing is also indicated in Avot de R. Nathan version A 37, where it is stated: “When someone makes a feast [‫ ]משׁתה‬for his disciples, he should face only the greatest [‫]בגדול‬, but when he expresses anger, he expresses anger only against the least [‫]על הקטן‬.” When socializing with their disciples, rabbis would want to sit close to the most accomplished among them, to be able to conduct interesting conversations. The text may implicitly refer to the arrangement of couches, mentioned above: the most advanced disciples should be placed next to their master, whereas the junior scholars would be placed at a further distance from them. Whereas the former would be able to participate in the conversation, the latter would mostly be reduced to listening only. The verb “reclining” is generally used for more formal socializing among rabbinic colleague-friends. For example, the first-generation tanna R. Zadoq is said to have “reclined before” R. Gamliel on a festival day, when particular types of food were brought before them (y. Betzah 2:8, 61d). Especially in narrative traditions of the Tosefta and tannaitic midrashim the most prominent with prominent rabbis’ feasts on special occasions (eg, wedding feasts on the occasion of their sons’ marriage, see ibid. 221–2). 154  While the term ‫ גדול‬could also be understood in the sense of “oldest” person and is juxtaposed with the term ‫ קטן‬in t. Ber. 5:6 (hand washing), the end of t. Ber. 5:7 (pouring the cup of wine) makes clear that for rabbis, greatness meant expertise in Torah scholarship: “If he [who is supposed to say the Grace After Meals on behalf of the others] wanted to attribute honor to his teacher or to someone greater than him [in wisdom] he is authorized to do so [i.e., to have this person’s cup filled first].” In Roman society, too, seating arrangements followed social status rather than age. On the use of “great” and “small” in connection with status differences among rabbis see also the discussion in Hezser, The Social Structure of the Rabbinic Movement, 302–6. 155  Roller, Dining Posture, 45 notes that some members of the sub-elite present themselves as reclining on their funerary monuments, thus imitating elite practice: “But they put this image to quite different cultural use from the elites themselves.” In dining scenes from Pompeii, sub-elites “put on display a fantasy of elite leisure and luxury” (77).

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rabbis of their generation are said to have “reclined” in the houses of wealthy non-rabbis.156 For example, “R. Gamliel and elders were reclining in the house of Boethus b. Zonen in Lydda . . .” (t. Pes. 10:12); “R. Gamliel and elders were reclining in Jericho . . .” (t. Ber. 4:15); “R. Shimon b. Gamliel and R. Yehudah and R. Yose were reclining in Acco . . .” (t. Ber. 5:2); “R. Tarfon, and R. Aqiva, and R. Yose the Galileen were reclining in the house of Aris in Lydda . . .” (Sifre Deut. 41:2); “R. Eliezer, and R. Yehoshua, and R. Zadok were reclining in the festival hall [‫ ]מסוכים בבית משׁתה‬of the son of R. Gamliel . . .” (Sifre Deut. 38:1). The assumption of these references is that the distinguished rabbis R. Gamliel, R. Shimon b. Gamliel, and their companions were hosted by named or anonymous householders when traveling to particular places and that the family of R. Gamliel organized such banquets themselves, inviting their rabbinic colleague-friends. The “reclining” is reminiscent of the Graeco-Roman institution of the convivium or symposium, mentioned above. The authors of these stories may have wanted to create the impression that these prominent rabbis adapted the Roman custom, although further details of the occasions are not provided. The references to “reclining” usually serve as the settings for halakhic discussions. For example, in the story about R. Tarfon, R. Aqiva, and R. Yose the Galilean, who are reclining in the house of Aris in Lydda (Sifre Deut. 41:2), the discussion focuses on the question whether Torah study or practice is more important. Philosophers also used the setting of the convivium for their questions and disputations, as Plutarch’s Septem Sapientium Convivium indicates. The tradition in Sifre Deut. 38:1 is particularly interesting, since status differences between the attendees of the banquet are addressed in connection with body movements: And once when R. Eliezer, and R. Yehoshua, and R. Zadok were reclining in the banquet hall [‫ ]מסוכים בבית משׁתה‬of the son of R. Gamliel, R. Gamliel mixed the glass [of wine] for R. Eliezer, but he did not want to take it. R. Yehoshua took it. R. Eliezer said to him: What is this, Yehoshua? Is it right that we are reclining and Gamliel, the distinguished rabbi [‫]ברבי‬ stands and serves us? R. Yehoshua said to him: Let him serve. . . . R. Yehoshua explains that even Abraham, the greatest man of his age, served the angels who came to visit him, assuming that they were idolatrous Arabs. R. Zadok even compares R. Gamliel’s service to God who “serves” human beings by making produce grow in the fields. R. Gamliel (II), R. Eliezer (b. Hyrcanos), R. Yehoshua (b. Hananiah), and R. Zadoq were contemporaries and, generally 156  See Hezser, Jewish Travel, 237–40.

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speaking, of equal status. The story is reminiscent of t. Ber. 5:5 (reclining) and t. Ber. 5:6 (mixing a cup of wine and water, starting with the “greatest”). It differs from the description of Roman banquets, however, in that no slaves are mentioned as servants of the (food and) wine. Rather, the most prominent member of the hosting family is said to have served his guests himself. R. Eliezer’s refusal to accept the cup and his reference to R. Gamliel as ‫ ברבי‬indicate that he considered R. Gamliel to be of a higher status than himself and the other dinner guests. R. Yehoshua and R. Zadoq may have shared this assessment but nevertheless allowed themselves to be served, attributing a theological meaning to the practice. While being served by a higher-status person may have been inconceivable in Roman society, in the biblical and rabbinic tradition serving others is presented as a privilege, as the examples of Abraham and God himself, who serves human beings, show. The transgression of the customary Roman etiquette at banquets is resolved by reference to biblical prototypes. Accordingly, R. Gamliel’s high status is not necessarily inconsistent with standing up and serving his guests cups of wine. Similarly, R. Ammi is presented as serving his colleagues in y. Avod. Zar. 2:3, 41a. Only the fact that he had left his boiled wine uncovered prevented him from serving it to his rabbinic guests. An analogy to R. Gamliel’s behavior exists in the gospel of Luke, where Jesus responds to his disciples’ competition for supremacy by saying: “For who is greater, the one who reclines at a table [ἀνακείμενος] or the one who is serving? Is it not the one who is reclining at a table? Yet I am among you like the one who is serving” (22:27). As in the story in Sifre Deut. 38:1, a theological explanation for the higher-status person’s action of serving the others is presented here. In the context of the gospel, Jesus’s response is given a christological meaning.157 In all of the rabbinic traditions mentioned above rabbis are imagined to have followed the Roman custom of reclining at convivia, albeit by changing those aspects that were not suitable and adding others that turned the socializing into a particularly rabbinic occasion. Such rabbinic convivia also seem to have been imagined in Avot de Rabbi Nathan, which cites traditions about “two or three rabbis sitting together” in the marketplace or at a table (cf. Avot de R. Nathan version B 34). What turns such meetings into rabbinic convivia is the discussion of Torah: “R. Eleazar b.R. Zadoq says: Whenever two or three sit and eat at one table and do not speak words of Torah it is as though they had eaten of the sacrifices of the dead . . .” (ibid.).158 If the Torah is not discussed, 157  See P.N. Anderson, The Christology of the Fourth Gospel (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1996), 276: “Jesus extols the greatness of servanthood, portraying himself as the exemplary servant. . . .” 158  Translation with Saldarini, The Fathers According to Rabbi Nathan, 199.

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the meetings are just like Roman banquets, where it was customary to eat sacrificial meat.159

Sitting at Rabbis’ Feet

Whereas rabbis might turn themselves into servants in the company of fellowscholars, they claimed superiority over their unlearned hosts, a superiority that was visualized in their respective sitting positions. A statement attributed to Yose b. Yoezer in m. Avot 1:4 encourages householders to open their houses to sages: “Let your house be a meeting house for sages, and let yourself be covered by the dust of their feet,” assuming that they would offer their seats to sages and sit on the floor themselves. The statement continues, “and drink their words with thirst,” assuming that householders would listen to the sages’ wisdom and learn from them. Avot de Rabbi Nathan version B 11 provides more detailed advice to nonrabbinic hosts who invite rabbis into their houses: “When a sage enters your house, do not behave contemptuously toward him and do not sit with him on a couch or on a bench but make it your custom to sit at his feet on the ground and receive all of his teachings with awe and fear just as you listen to him in the study house. . . .” The fact that this statement is repeated shortly afterwards indicates how important this etiquette was to the editors of the document. Two models for such behavior are referred to: Joshua, who waited for his “master” Moses at the foot of Mt. Sinai, and “men of Jerusalem” who came to ask the prophet Ezekiel for advice and “sat before” him (Ezek 20:1). Although the hosts would have been wealthy and prominent householders, they are supposed to be reminded of their inferiority in Torah study by being delegated to a lower sitting position than rabbis. In Roman society sitting on the ground was associated with slaves, captives, beggars, and women but not with freeborn male citizens, unless they were poor.160 On the reverse side of 159  On the Roman custom of eating sacrificial meat see J. Rüpke, The Religion of the Romans (Cambridge and Malden MA: Polity Press, 2007), 142–3. He refers to 1 Cor 10:25–30, where Paul deals with the question whether Christians should be allowed to eat sacrificial meat: “His recommendation is that everything that is sold on the meat-market may be eaten . . . If, however, you are invited to dinner by a non-believer and explicitly told by someone, another Christian, that the meat is sacrificial, then you should decline to eat it . . . Only when you might offend the conscience of another Christian should you decline the consumption of sacrificial meat.” 160  See G. Davies, “On Being Seated: Gender and Body Language in Hellenistic and Roman Art,” 215–34 in Body Language in the Greek and Roman Worlds. Edited by D. Cairns (Swansea: The Classical Press of Wales, 2005), 233.

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the “Judaea Capta” coins, issued after the destruction of the Temple, a woman sitting on the ground and leaning against a palm tree is meant to represent the destroyed Jerusalem, an allusion to Isaiah 3:26 (“And utterly bereft shall she sit upon the ground”).161 On this background, the rabbinic tradition in Avot de R. Nathan expects non-rabbis, whatever their status in society, to adopt a position of utter humility toward Torah scholars, who compare themselves to Moses and Ezekiel, that is, to biblical figures who were believed to be particularly close to God. The tradition is reminiscent of another narrative, transmitted in Lev. Rab. 9:3, according to which a wealthy householder invited R. Yannai to his house and offered him food and drink. When he questioned his host and found him lacking in Torah knowledge, R. Yannai is said to have called the man a “dog” and asked him: “How have you merited to eat at a table with me?” The man’s reference to his good moral conduct eventually recuperates him. Here, too, Torah scholarship is, at least initially, used as the measuring rod to determine a person’s quality. The resulting value (or lack of it) is displayed visually by allowing him to sit with a rabbi, here envisioned in the form of table-fellowship, or being delegated to a lower position, namely that of a dog, who sits on the floor at his owner’s feet and eats crumbs that have fallen from the table. Again, the implication of the text is that rabbis are the real elite within Jewish society, even if other Jews may be more wealthy and prominent in civic life. These wealthy laymen merit table-fellowship with rabbis only if they follow rabbinic ideals (whether Torah study or derekh eretz). The tradition in Avot de R. Nathan version B 11 mentions the study house as an analogous setting to the householder’s supposed sitting at the rabbi’s feet in his own house. Does the text imply that in the study house, and perhaps also in other teaching sessions, the audience, perhaps including the rabbis’ disciples, would sit on the ground while the rabbi was “sitting and expounding”? Does the reference to students “sitting before” rabbis imply that these students were sitting on the floor while their teacher was sitting on a chair or bench, looking down on them? While Palestinian rabbinic sources rarely specify where rabbis and their disciples were sitting, in settings where the number of seats was limited, this may well have been the case. Levine refers to a story about R. Yohanan studying with R. Hoshaiah in Caesarea, when “students were forced to sit on

161  See T.A. Toulouse, The Captive’s Position. Female Narrative, Male Identity, and Royal Authority in Colonial New England (Philadelphia PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2007), 79. The sitting woman was a common motif on Roman coins, expressing conquests over other people, eg, on the coins of Domitian celebrating his Germanic victories.

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fish-brine barrels when listening to the sages’ lecture.”162 Yet some rabbis seem to have objected to situations in which students had to sit on the floor in front of their seated teachers. In the Bavli, R. Abbahu is said to have referred to King David, who allegedly sat on the floor when teaching.163 Some locations seem to have even required rabbis to bring their own “seats” with them: according to two versions of a tradition transmitted in b. Ned. 49b, R. Yudah carried a pitcher and R. Shimon a basket to the study house to sit upon.

Chairs, Stools, and Benches

Generally speaking, ancient houses, even the villas of the wealthy, would have had much less furniture than modern houses. As McGeough has pointed out, “[c]hairs were not common in Roman houses in the way that they are today. Wealthier homes did have chairs, and these would have been offered to guests out of respect or used by the higher-status household members.”164 Simple stools and folding stools would have been more common than the more comfortable high-backed chairs—they could be carried and assembled when they were needed.165 Rooms in insulae were sparsely furnished to allow for greater flexibility. Ermatinger assumes that insula dwellings with two rooms “would have a small table and two or three chairs”; middle class families with more rooms to call their own might have had a few more chairs available.166 Yet only wealthy families would have owned “more luxurious chairs and couches in order to relax.”167 Wickerwork chairs with semi-circular backs were common. Other chairs and stools were made of wood or semi-precious metals, benches

162   L.I. Levine, Caesarea Under Roman Rule (Leiden: Brill, 1975), 103, with reference to y. Ter. 10:3, 47a. 163  See ibid. 104 with reference to b. Mo’ed Qatan 16b. 164  McGeough, The Romans, 240. 165  Ibid. See also Croom, Roman Furniture, 97: “The stool was the most common form of seating in the Roman world.” On three- and four-legged stools see 106–7; on folding stools see 97–104, with images: they were made of iron (103, fig. 47 and 48) or wood (104). Folding furniture is also mentioned in rabbinic sources. According to y. Shabb. 12:1, 13c, “R. Hamenuna taught the exilarch that it is allowed to disassemble a folding table on the Sabbath,” a view which is subsequently criticized. 166   J.W. Ermatinger, Daily Life of Christians in Ancient Rome (Westport CT: Greenwood Press, 2007), 88. 167  Ibid.

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of wood, bronze or marble, as the evidence from Pompeii and Herculaneum shows.168 In public settings seats seem to have been limited as well. In an interesting study Spigel has examined the seating arrangements in ancient synagogues. There seems to have been a decline in the availability of stone benches from the earlier multi-purpose buildings at Gamla, Masada, and Herodion, which have tiered stone benches along the walls, to late antique synagogues, such as the fifth-century CE synagogue at Sepphoris with “no evidence of permanent stone benches.”169 He nevertheless believes that “despite the lack of material evidence, individual seating was likely used to some degree in many ancient synagogues.”170 Some evidence of stone seats, probably used for men of honor, has survived. Besides such permanent seating options, Spigel reckons with the use of portable wooden chairs and benches.171 Perhaps some synagogue visitors brought their own seats with them.172 Despite the lack of archaeological and literary evidence, such movable seats, especially in the form of folding stools and wooden benches, were also used in Roman public settings.173 Cowell refers to wooden stools used by the working strata of society.174 At the same time, one has to assume that a certain number of people would have had to sit on the floor, “probably on mats of some kind.”175 Most public seating would have consisted of stone benches, for example, in the form of exedrae or semicircular benches, sometimes found in public baths and gymnasia. Lewin refers to a “large semicircular exedra (almost 32m

168   G.S. Aldrete, Daily Life in the Roman City: Rome, Pompeii, and Ostia (Westport CT: Greenwood Press, 2004), 227; Croom, Roman Furniture, 110–14 for benches and 116–23 for chairs and stools. 169   S.S. Spigel, Ancient Synagogue Seating Capacities. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012), 39. 170  Ibid. 40. 171  According to Croom, Roman Furniture, 110, benches “were used in particular in situations where there were large numbers of people to be seated.” See 111, fig. 51, for the reconstruction of a wooden bench from Herculaneum; fig. 52, for bronze benches from the Forum Baths in Pompeii. 172  According to an opinion in b. Shabb. 29b, one may drag a couch, chair, or bench on the Sabbath. 173  Spigel, Ancient Synagogue Seating Capacities, 40, considers y. Ber. 4:1, 7d and y. Ta’an. 4:1, 67d, allegedly referring to “eighty benches in the rabbinic academy at the time of R. Eleazar b. Azariah,” historical evidence. 174   F.R. Cowell, Life in Ancient Rome (New York NY: Perigee Books, 1980), 25. 175  Spigel, Ancient Synagogue Seating Capacities, 41.

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in diameter) facing the harbor” in Tiberias.176 According to y. Eruv. 1:1, 18c, “Rabbi allowed the [building] of an exedra [‫ ]אכסדרה‬at Bet Shearim,” which Rajak associates with “a colonnaded structure with anteroom.”177 According to Vitruvius, exedrae were built in public and private spaces for the conversation and teaching purposes of philosophers, rhetoricians, and other ­intellectuals.178 Whether and to what extent rabbis were able to use such public benches remains uncertain. In view of the general sparseness of seating available in the ancient world in general and in Roman Palestine in particular it becomes clear that being able to sit on a chair or bench was considered a privilege which, according to rabbis, should be granted primarily to prominent Torah scholars. As we have seen above, rabbinic sources tend to mention larger numbers of seats and benches in connection with special occasions only. With regard to ordinary study sessions, seating is mentioned but seats are not. In reality, we may assume that the use and allocation of seats would have depended on their availability and on the respective individuals’ seniority in scholarship. Davies emphasizes that being seated was seen as a “status symbol” in Hellenistic and Roman society: “The ‘high-status chair’ was certainly a concept well-understood and exploited in the Roman world—indeed, it was a feature of Roman public life from early times.”179 Being seated was most significant when others were standing, as the tradition about the “eighty benches . . . for the disciples of sages, besides those who were standing beyond the fence” (y. Ber. 4:1, 7d, above) already indicated. In Roman art the representation of being seated was already significant itself: it lent authority to the seated person.180 Interestingly, the question whether old age or high status should be given precedence, discussed by rabbis in connection with the duty of standing up in front of an elder/scholar (see above), is addressed in Aulus Gellius’s Attic Nights in reference to seating. The governor of the province of Crete, a man of senatorial rank, had come to Athens with his father to visit the philosopher Taurus: “Taurus, having just dismissed his pupils, was sitting before the door of 176  A. Lewin, The Archaeology of Ancient Judea and Palestine (Los Angeles CA: Getty Publications, 2005), 76. 177  T. Rajak, The Jewish Dialogue With Greece and Rome: Studies in Cultural and Social Interaction (Leiden and Boston MA: Brill, 2001), 484. 178  Vitruvius, De Architectura 5.11.2. Cf. Adams, The Earliest Christian Meeting Places, 191, who thinks that Christian teachers would not have been able to use such spaces, since they would have been occupied by Graeco-Roman intellectuals. 179  Davies, “On Being Seated,” 216. 180  Ibid. 218.

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his room, and we stood by his side conversing with him.” When the governor and his father entered, “Taurus arose quietly, and after salutations had been exchanged, sat down again.” Only one seat was at hand and a discussion arose on who should be seated on it, the older man or the political office holder. The solution offered is that in private, the father would be offered the seat, whereas in public, the governor should be seated first.181 In Roman art, different types of seats were associated with different social statuses. For example, the sella curulis appears as a symbol of the status of the praetor or magistrate: “the seat symbolized the imperium of the holder of the office.”182 As the discussion of the texts above has shown, rabbis were well aware of the connection between seats and status and used it to create an image of their own and their most advanced disciples’ superiority within late antique Jewish society.

Standing or Sitting During Prayer

Rabbinic sources do not clearly specify which body stance should be taken when reciting prayers. Whereas Ehrlich assumes that “a standing posture for prayer was virtually a given” in rabbinic times,183 Spigel thinks that the worshippers would have generally remained seated and stood up for the Amidah only: “. . . the fact that the rabbis specifically state that certain prayers—most notably the ‘amidah—must be said while standing, suggests that the default posture was sitting.”184 According to Palestinian rabbinic sources, it seems that rabbis were divided over the correct posture during prayer and probably acted in variant ways themselves. Furthermore, different “default” positions seem to have applied to the respective prayers so that generalizations are impossible. The proper stance at prayer is generally addressed in connection with problematic situations only, especially during travel. Tosefta Ber. 3:10 refers to the possibility that someone “was standing and reciting the Amidah in a [road] station or a large highway,” and an ass, ass driver, or wagon driver passed by. A standing posture was probably the “default” stance when reciting the 181  Aulus Gellius, Attic Nights 2.2.1–9. Eventually, another chair is brought for the father to sit on. 182  Davies, “On Being Seated,” 216. 183  U. Ehrlich, The Nonverbal Language of Prayer: A New Approach to Jewish Liturgy (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004), 9. 184  Spigel, Ancient Synagogue Seating Capacities, 38; U. Ehrlich, “ ‘When You Pray, Know Before Whom You Are Standing’ (B Ber. 28b),” JJS 49 (1998): 38–50, 40–43, on the significance of the standing posture for the Amidah.

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Amidah. According to y. Ber. 4:6, 8c, “R. Yohanan said: I saw R. Yannai standing and praying in the marketplace of Sepphoris. . . .” Yerushalmi Sanh. 1:2, 18c transmits a story about R. Hiyya b. Wawa, who is said to have become angry with the Babylonian Rav Kahana. The latter allegedly stood behind him and prayed for a too long time, thereby preventing him from leaving the place. Yet exceptions to the standing posture were also possible. Mishnah Ber. 4:5 already rules that someone who is riding on an ass but, for whatever reason, cannot descend the animal, may recite the morning Amidah while remaining seated in his place and turn his face toward Jerusalem, if possible.185 While the ideal is to descend and stand up for this prayer, situations in which this may be impossible are taken into account. Therefore, even for the Amidah a standing posture is not absolutely necessary. What matters more is that the prayer is recited in a state of concentration at its designated time. In y. Ber. 4:5, 8b a baraita is quoted: It has been taught [cf. t. Ber. 3:18]: [If] he was riding on an ass, [and] he has someone to hold his ass [during prayer], he descends and prays below. But if not, he prays at his place [i.e., while sitting on the ass]. Rabbi says: In any case he prays in his place, because his heart is relaxed then. R. Yudah b. Pazzi in the name of R. Yehoshua b. Levi: The halakhah is in accordance with Rabbi[‘s opinion]. In the baraita the lack of someone to hold the ass, which might become unruly and prevent concentration, is presented as a reason for the rider to remain seated. The statement attributed to Rabbi in the baraita is striking: according to Rabbi, one should adopt the most comfortable posture during prayer because it enables concentration. Therefore, even without a particular reason, the rider may remain seated while praying. In the Yerushalmi this lenient view is confirmed: the halakhah is said to be in accordance with Rabbi’s opinion. In Mishnah Ber. 1:3, the stricter position for reciting the Shema on the road is said to have been the reclining position: R. Tarfon said: I was coming along the road and reclined to recite [the Shema] according to the words of the House of Shammai, and I put myself in danger before the bandits. They said to him: You were responsible yourself [for what might have occurred to you], for you transgressed the words of the House of Hillel. 185  Ehrlich, The Nonverbal Language of Prayer, 9, does not quote the full passage of the Mishnah and also not t. Ber. 3:18. His discussion is not based on the full evidence.

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The Houses of Hillel and Shammai are said to have differed over the correct stance while reciting the Shema. While the House of Shammai required a reclining position, the House of Hillel ruled that everyone may recite the Shema according to his own manner, that is, in a dangerous situation R. Tarfon could have recited it while standing. By allowing variance in the body position assumed for one of the most important prayers, the House of Hillel’s view resembles that of Rabbi in t. Ber. 3:18 above. The correct body position for reciting the Shema is also at issue in a narrative tradition transmitted in t. Ber. 1:4: An event [maaseh] concerning R. Yishmael and R. Eleazar b. Azariah who were staying at the same place. And R. Yishmael was reclining and R. Eleazar b. Azariah was standing. [When] the time for the recitation of the Shema came, R. Yishmael stood up and R. Eleazar b. Azariah reclined. Said to him R. Yishmael: What is this, Eleazar? He said to him: Yishmael, my brother, they say to one: ‘Why is your beard grown long?’ And he says: ‘It shall be against the destroyers’. I, who was standing, reclined; and you, who were reclining, arose. He [R. Yishmael] said to him: You reclined to fulfill the words of the House of Shammai and I stood up to fulfill the words of the House of Hillel. Another version: [I stood up] so that the students would not see and fix halakhah according to your words. Here the second-generation tannaim R. Yishmael and R. Eleazar b. Azariah are used as examples for the Hillelite (R. Yishmael: standing) and Shammaite (R. Eleazar b. Azariah: reclining) positions concerning the proper body posture for the recitation of the Shema. Both rabbis are said to have changed their body posture for the recitation of the prayer. The alternative version of R. Yishmael’s statement, presented at the end of the baraita, explicitly states that neither of these opinions were fixed so that individual practice could remain diverse. Besides standing and reclining, a seated position could be adopted as well, as t. Ber. 2:13 suggests: “R. Meir said: Once we were sitting in the study house before R. Aqiva, and we were reciting the Shema. . . .”

Synagogue Functionaries Standing Out Among the Congregation

Whereas the texts mentioned above deal with individuals reciting the Amidah or Shema outside of synagogue settings, particular synagogue functionaries such as prayer leaders, Torah readers, and translators are represented as standing while performing their duties on behalf of the congregation. In its detailed

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description of the synagogue in Alexandria,186 which was allegedly built in the style of a basilica, t. Sukkah 4:6 mentions “a wooden platform in the middle, and the chazzan of the congregation stands on it and the banners are in his hand. [When] he began to read [from the Torah], this one would wave the banners, and they answered Amen for each and every blessing. And that one would wave the banners and they answered Amen.” A central, elevated, and upright position of the prayer leader was necessary so that everyone could see him. A bema or raised platform is also a feature of some late antique Palestinian synagogues and some of these structures may have been used by the prayer leader and/or Torah reader.187 Many aspects of the ritual described in t. Sukkah 4:6 remain unclear, however: Is the chazzan or someone else imagined as the Torah reader? Who is supposed to wave the flags that are initially said to have been in the hand of the chazzan, and at which moment exactly? The procedure described here seems to have appeared foreign and exotic to the Palestinian tradents. The entire scenario cannot be considered a trustworthy description but a reflection of Palestinian sages’ amazement at the lavishness of the Alexandrian synagogue building and ritual. The fanciful and visionary character of the description also applies to the “seventy-one golden cathedras [‫ ]קטדראות‬. . . for the seventy-one elders, each one [worth] twenty-five myriads [of golden denars],” mentioned earlier in the text. These elders’ function in the ritual is not further explained. Especially important for this discussion is the following reference to the seated congregation. Worshippers “did not sit mixed,” but were arranged according to their professions. Professions were also taken into account in the seating arrangements for audiences of Roman (amphi)theaters, which may well have been used as a model here.188 For all of its fancifulness, the baraita clearly reckons with a seated position of ordinary synagogue goers, while the leaders of the service were standing. References to public Torah readings and translations of the readings into Aramaic mainly appear in the Talmud Yerushami. For example, “R. Yizchaq 186  The term used is “double colonnade”: ‫דפלסטטון‬, see Jastrow, A Dictionary of the Targumim, 304; it is also used for a synagogue in y. Sukkah 5:1, 55a. 187  On these structures see R. Hachlili, Ancient Jewish Art and Architecture in the Land of Israel (Leiden: Brill, 1988), 182–4, who assumes that the bema in front of an apse found at Bet Alpha, Hammat Gader, and Maoz Hayyim III may have been used for Torah reading. 188  See K.E. Welch, The Roman Amphitheatre: From Its Origins to the Colosseum (Cambridge and New York NY: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 159: “Spectators were assigned to predesignated sections of the cavea . . . based on their degree of dignitas (that is, on the basis of rank and financial means), their profession, religious affiliation, and gender.”

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stood up and read in the Torah [‫ ]קרא באורית‬. . . R. Nathan stood up and completed [‫ ]אשׁלים‬. . .” (y. Sanh. 1:2, 19a). According to y. Meg. 4:1, 74d, “R. Shmuel b.R. Yizchaq went to a synagogue. He saw someone standing and translating [the Torah reading into Aramaic], leaning on a post. . . .” While the standing position would have been customary for the meturgeman, leaning on a post was considered inappropriate. Such a posture symbolized a relaxed stance, whereas humans should stand before the Torah “in fear and trembling” (ibid.). Immediately afterwards another story is transmitted: “R. Haggai said: R. Shmuel b.R. Yizchaq went to a synagogue. He saw Hunah standing and translating. . . .” Hunah’s standing position is not questioned here but his practice of both reading from the Torah and translating it himself is criticized. The texts make sufficiently clear that public prayer leaders, Torah readers, and translators were expected to carry out their tasks while standing in front of the seated congregation. The very phenomenon that their standing position is mentioned in these texts suggests that everyone else was sitting. Is a standing position also assumed for rabbis who preached in synagogues on the Sabbath in late antiquity? When amoraic texts mention rabbis teaching or expounding in synagogues on the Sabbath they usually do not state whether they were sitting or standing. A seated position is more likely, though, since the activity was similar to their expounding the Torah in study houses. In fact, the terminology “R.X. was sitting and expounding” is used in connection with study houses and synagogues. For example, “R. Meir was sitting [and] expounding in the study house in Tiberias” on the Sabbath (y. Hag. 2:1, 77b); “R. Meir would teach [‫ ]הוה יליף‬in the synagogue of Hammata every Sabbath night” (y. Sotah 1:4, 16d). The teaching is never presented as part of the prayer service or said to have followed the public Torah reading ritual. That an audience was not already present but had to be gathered is explicitly stated in y. Sukkah 5:1, 55a, where R. Levi and R. Yehudah b. Nahman are said to have gone to gather a congregation [‫ ]קהלא‬for R. Yohanan, who is then said to have “gone up and expounded” [‫ ודרשׁ‬. . . ‫ ]עאל‬on a Sabbath. Such rabbinic teaching sessions, imagined to have taken place in some synagogues and study houses on Sabbaths, seem to have been separate events rather than part of congregational prayer services. They would not have differed much from rabbis’ activity of expounding Scripture on other days of the week except, perhaps, for attracting a lay audience. Hellenistic philosophers, attracting listeners in public settings, seem to have been the model for this form of rabbinic self-presentation. In his description of Hellenistic philosophers’ teaching, Bénatouïl refers to “the public lectures that the various scholarchs gave (. . .) in the gymnasiums, under the colonnades, or in a hall reserved for courses, the exhedra (Vitruvius, On Architecture 5.11.2). The most charismatic philosophers . . . attracted larger audiences than

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the rest.”189 Similarly, a story in the Yerushalmi refers to “R. Yochanan sitting and expounding [Torah] in the study house of R. Benaiah and everybody is running to hear him” (y. B. Metz. 2:12–13, 8d). Expounding Torah in public settings could serve as an advertisement for the kind of learning rabbis had to offer. With regard to philosophers, Bénatouïl notes that some of the “external ‘auditors’ (akroatai) . . . developed a taste for philosophy and for a particular teacher, becoming his disciples (zēlōtai) for several years.”190 Public visibility was especially important to the teachers of the Second Sophistic, as Copeland has pointed out.191 Especially from the third century CE onwards rabbis seem to have increasingly tried to present themselves as a particularly Jewish type of public intellectual. Amoraic traditions about their expounding the Torah in public may have been part of this image-making activity.

Walking Behind One’s Teacher

As already pointed out in the previous chapter, the way in which individuals walked together in public space was loaded with meanings. Walking was a social activity that had a “performative quality.”192 Literary references to two rabbis or a rabbi and his disciple walking together turn the reader into an observer of rabbis’ self-presentation in public space. Recurrent references to one person riding an ass while another one is walking and to someone walking in front of or behind someone else are meant to disclose information about the respective status relationship between the walkers. At the same time, presenting individuals as riding rather than walking may convey their old age and physical frailty. The very phenomenon of walking together would have indicated to others that the walkers shared something, whether kinship ties, friendship, business interests, or Torah scholarship. As far as rabbis of one and the same generation are concerned, references to two or three rabbis walking together suggest that they were colleague-friends who constituted a cluster within the rabbinic

189  T. Bénatouïl, “Philosophic Schools in Hellenistic and Roman Times,” 415–29 in A Com­ panion to Ancient Philosophy. Edited by M.L. Gill and P. Pellegrin (Oxford and Malden MA: Blackwell Publishing, 2006), 420. 190  Ibid. 191  R. Copeland, “Pre-Modern Intellectual Biography,” 40–61 in The Public Intellectual. Edited by H. Small (Oxford and Malden MA: Blackwell Publishing, 2002), 44–5. 192  O’Sullivan, Walking in Roman Culture, 7.

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network.193 In the case of rabbis of different generations, their walking and traveling together indicate a student-teacher relationship. Besides these more general observations, their body movements and the position of their bodies toward each other add nuances to the literary depiction of their relationship. According to a common description of rabbinic scholars traveling together, one rabbi was riding an ass while another was walking behind him. For example, y. Hag. 2:1, 77a refers to “an event [maaseh] concerning R. Yohanan b. Zakkai who was traveling, riding an ass, and R. Eleazar b. Arakh was walking behind him. . . .” The baraita’s parallel in the Tosefta is even more explicit: R. Eleazar b. Arakh “was driving the ass” behind R. Yohanan b. Zakkai (t. Hag. 2:1). The body language displayed here suggests that the first-generation tanna R. Yohanan was of a higher status than the second-generation tanna R. Eleazar b. Arakh. This allegedly self-evident hierarchical relationship between a senior and junior scholar is challenged in the following verbal exchange between them, however. When R. Eleazar asks R. Yohanan b. Zakkai to teach him a passage from the works of the merkavah, R. Yohanan refuses and maintains that this topic can be taught only to a mature sage able to understand on his own account. When R. Eleazar can provide a major insight, he proves himself to be such a sage. Their conversation now contradicts the body language described earlier in the story, since R. Eleazar’s teaching has indicated his equality in wisdom. To resolve this conflict, the storyteller makes R. Yohanan b. Zakkai dismount his ass and sit under a tree with his travel companion, while the latter continues to talk about the merkavah. At the end of the story, R. Eleazar is not only presented as a fitting conversation partner in matters of mysticism but also praised by the senior scholar (R. Yohanan kisses him on his head). The story shows how body language and verbal discourse can stand in tension with each other (riding while someone equal in wisdom walks behind) and later support each other (sitting with each other and listening to the other’s discourse) within one and the same narrative.194 In the final part of the story the equality among the sages when sitting next to each other is further highlighted by reference to fire from heaven which encircled them and angels who danced before them like wedding guests (ibid.). In Roman society, walking behind someone also indicated that person’s inferiority to the person preceding him. Quintilian’s recommendation, “quem sequatur, quem imitetur,” referring to a student following and imitating an 193  On clusters within a network see Hezser, The Social Structure of the Rabbinic Movement, 238–9. 194  B. Korte, Body Language in Literature (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1993), 51, with regard to modern literature.

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orator, may be understood literally.195 Similarly, clients were expected to accompany their patron in public, to form his entourage and walk “behind his sedan-chair.”196 Slaves were expected to walk behind their masters in the streets.197 Women were meant to walk behind their husbands.198 By presenting students as walking behind their rabbinic masters, rabbinic storytellers and tradents evoked these associations of patronage and slavery. As an alternative elite that generally lacked the political and economic power to have clients and slaves, rabbis present their disciples as a substitute for an entourage that elevated their status within society. References to “walking behind” rabbis are a recurrent pattern in the Tosefta already and continue in the Yerushalmi and amoraic midrashim, eg, “R. Yehudah said: Once I was walking behind R. Aqiva and behind R. Eleazar b. Azariah and the time for reciting the Shema arrived . . .” (t. Ber. 1:2). R. Aqiva and R. Eleazar b. Azariah were second-generation tannaim whereas R. Yehudah seems to have been the third-generation tanna Yehudah b. Ilai, a student of R. Aqiva. According to the baraita, the two senior rabbis had forgotten to recite the Shema, whereas R. Yehudah recited it in time. The inconsistency between the senior rabbis’ failure to recite the prayer and the lower-status scholar’s correct behavior is resolved in the Tosefta by referring to their occupation with “the needs of the community,” whereas the Yerushalmi version of the story explains in a more general way that “they were occupied with mitzvot . . .” (y. Ber. 1:2, 3a). A narrative in Leviticus Rabbah employs body language in a complex way: “An event [maaseh] concerning Rabban Gamliel who was traveling from Acco to Akhziv and Tabi, his slave, was walking in front of him and R. Ilai was walking behind him . . .” (Lev. Rab. 37:3). R. Gamliel’s central position clearly displays him as the status highest member of this group of travelers. In addition, in the continuation of the story, R. Gamliel is said to have been riding an ass, whereas his two companions would have walked with him. Both R. Ilai and the slave Tabi are presented in supporting roles here. By surrounding R. Gamliel, they protect him from approaching robbers. Like R. Eleazar 195  Quintilian, Institutio Oratoria 10.5.19. See O’Sullivan, Walking in Roman Culture, 57. 196  P. Lampe, “Paul, Patrons, and Clients,” 488–523 in Paul in the Greco-Roman World: A Handbook. Edited by J.P. Sampley (Harrisburg PA: Trinity Press International, 2003), 491. 197  R. Tordoff, “Introduction: Slaves and Slavery in Ancient Greek Comedy,” 1–62 in Slaves and Slavery in Ancient Greek Comic Drama. Edited by B. Akrigg and R. Tordoff (Cambridge and New York NY: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 51. 198  See Gen. Rab. 60:14, interpreting Gen 24:61: Rebecca and her maids “followed the man”, “for it is unbecoming for a man to walk behind a woman.”

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b. Arakh, who is said to have been “driving the ass” behind R. Yohanan b. Zakkai (t. Hag. 2:1), R. Ilai may have been associated with this activity here. Tabi, on the other hand, is presented in the role of a travel guide who walks in front of the party to spot any dangers and clear the way for them. A fourth travel companion appears at the end of the story: “When they were leaving Akhziv, someone came to ask about [the annulment of] his vow. . . .” Since R. Gamliel had drunk wine, he allegedly made the person walk behind them until they reached the Ladder of Tyre and the effect of the wine had disappeared. There R. Gamliel descended from his ass, wrapped himself in his cloak, and sat down before dealing with the man’s request. The freeborn travelers’ sequence of walking, with R. Gamliel in front, followed by the younger R. Ilai, and the Jewish layman (in the role of R. Gamliel’s client) trailing them, is imagined by the storyteller and tradents with a clear notion of status differences in mind. Neither the Tosefta (t. Pesah. 2:15–16) nor the Yerushalmi version of the story (y. Avod. Zar. 1:9, 40a) employ body language in such a prominent and explicit way, probably because their emphasis is on other aspects of the story that are more relevant halakhically. In the Tosefta version, R. Ilai is not mentioned at all at the very beginning of the story and the person who wants to be released from his vow is asked to “walk along with us.” The variant versions of the story suggest that the use of body language depended on the context (halakhic or exegetical/homiletic) and thematic focus of the story and perhaps also on the tradents’ or editors’ preferences. On the one hand, the Babylonian Talmud integrates baraitot about Palestinian tannaim traveling with students and younger scholars, maintaining the above-mentioned hierarchical sequence and distinction between riding and walking. For example: “Our rabbis taught: An event [maaseh] concerning R. Yohanan b. Zakkai who was riding on an ass and he was leaving Jerusalem and his disciples were walking behind him . . .” (b. Ketub. 66b); “Our Rabbis taught: An event [maaseh] concerning R. Yohanan b. Zakkai who was riding on an ass when traveling, and R. Eleazar b. Arakh was driving the ass behind him . . .” (b. Hag. 14b, cf. t. Hag. 2:1 above). On the other hand, the Bavli adds new forms of body language to express hierarchical distinctions between Babylonian amoraim of one and the same generation, envisioned as traveling together. A specifically Babylonian constellation is the sequence of rabbinic donkey riders, considered indicative of their status relationship: Rabin and Abaye were traveling on the road and the ass of Rabin got in front of that of Abaye, and he [Rabin] did not say to him: Please procede, master. He [Abaye] said: Since this one has come [back] from the rabbis

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of the West, he has assumed a haughty attitude. When he reached the door of the synagogue, he [Rabin] said to him: Please enter, master. He [Abaye] said to him: And up to now I was not your master? He said to him: Thus said R. Yohanan: One shows honor only at a door that has a mezuzah. [You say:] only where there is a mezuzah, but not where there is no mezuzah. If that is so, [then one could say that in the case of] a synagogue and a study house, where there is no mezuzah, one does not show honor? Rather, you should say: at a door which is suitable for a mezuzah (b. Ber. 47a). The argumentation at the end of the story seems to suggest that higher status rabbis need to be given precedence only at the doorways of Jewish private and public buildings but not on the open road. This discussion is meant to solve the problem created by the body language of Rabin and his donkey at the beginning of the story. Both Rabin and Abaye were fourth-generation Babylonian amoraim. Nevertheless, the story presents Abaye as the higher-status rabbi. Body language and speech are contrasted here. Rabin’s donkey is said to have overtaken that of Abaye. Without the continuation of the story or a context providing more information about these scholars’ relationship to each other, this behavior might not be considered a transgression of unspoken rules: the two were scholars of the same generation, after all; Rabin may not have been able to control his donkey properly.199 The continuation of the story turns this behavior into a serious transgression, however. According to the storyteller, Rabin should have immediately given precedence to Abaye, receding to a position behind him. Abaye is said to have rebuked his colleague and attributed his behavior to Palestinian influences and haughtiness. The reference to the “West” might not have been imaginary only but reflected actual behavioral differences between Palestinian and Babylonian sages of one and the same generation. In Palestinian sources only students are presented as walking behind their teachers. When rabbinic colleagues of the same generation are said to have traveled together, their position vis-à-vis each other is never specified, suggesting that they walked side-by-side. In the Bavli, on the other hand, body language is used to express status differences among rabbis of the same seniority. The Bavli uses body language to introduce subtle status 199  A variant version appears in b. Shabb. 51b–52a: “Levi son of R. Huna b. Hiyya and Rabbah b. R. Huna were traveling on a road, and Levi’s ass went before Rabbah b. R. Huna’s ass. Rabbah b. R. Huna felt aggrieved. . . .” In this story there is an attempt to resolve the conflict by reference to the ass acting on his own account. Levi calls the ass “an ass of evil pursuits.”

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distinctions among rabbinic colleagues. As the conversation between Abaye and Rabin indicates, Rabin should have “honored” the “master” Abaye by having given him precedence on the road. At the end, the conflict among the two sages is resolved by quoting and applying R. Yohanan’s statement. The combination of the transgressive behavior and the resolving discussion seems to be an editorial procedure and attempted harmonization. The story suggests that Babylonian rabbis were much more status conscious than their Palestinian colleagues and used body language to express such distinctions. Another form of expressing distinctions among Babylonian rabbis of the same generation appears in b. Pesah. 53b: “Ulla was riding an ass, R. Abba was walking on his right and Rabbah b. Bar Hanah on his left. . . .” All three rabbis seem to have been third-generation amoraim. By placing Ulla in the centre and making him ride an ass the narrator gives the impression of status differences between these colleagues. At the same time, R. Abba and Rabbah b. Bar Hanah are not presented as walking behind Ulla, as students do, but at his sides, perhaps indicating that, generally, they were all at the same stage of their career. Ulla’s elevation and centrality nevertheless indicates his superiority in the mind of the storyteller. This superiority is also expressed in the following conversation, where Abba and Rabbah b. Bar Hanah are played out against each other. Rabbah b. Bar Hanah allegedly misunderstood Ulla’s citation of R. Yohanan’s view, whereupon Ulla “looked askance at Rabbah b. Bar Hanah.”200 The Bavli’s use of body language to express status differences between rabbis, exemplified by these stories, fits Rubenstein’s emphasis on the rigid hierarchy and combative culture of the Babylonian rabbinate.201

Rabbis As the Centers of Attraction

Another aspect of the spatial interaction between protagonists in literary sources is the question of who approaches whom. As Argyle has already pointed out, “[m]oving into another person’s territory is a special kind of social act.”202 Prominent individuals attract followers like cows attract flies. They do not have to make special efforts to impose their values on others, since these others are already eager to imitate them. In literary sources the prominence 200  On the halakhic issues involved in this text see B.M. Bokser, “Two Traditions of Samuel: Evaluating Alternative Versions,” 46–55 in Christianity, Judaism, and Other Graeco-Roman Cults. Studies for Morton Smith at Sixty. Edited by J. Neusner (Leiden: Brill, 1975), 50–51. 201  See Rubenstein, The Culture of the Babylonian Talmud, 2, 63, and 90. 202  Argyle, Bodily Communication, 171.

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of particular characters can be expressed by having others seek them out and ask them for legal or spiritual advice, financial support, or professional promotion. “Movement towards a person becomes a signal, indicating the desire to interact.”203 The functions of such interactions can be requests for goods, services, or information.204 The person who initiates the encounter is needy of something, whereas the person approached is associated with expertise, financial means, or political power. Rabbinic case stories use repetitive formulas to state that a case was brought before a rabbi (‫ אתא עובדא קומי‬,‫ )בא מעשׂה לפני‬or that someone approached a rabbi with a legal problem (‫ אתא גבי‬,‫ אתא שׁאיל ל‬,‫)אזל שׁאיל ל‬.205 As I have already shown elsewhere, the formula “the case came before” is mostly used when the litigants remain anonymous; in the case of named litigants, usually rabbis or relatives of rabbis, the formula “X. came before R.Y.” is used.206 In these stories rabbis are presented as having attracted other Jews, mostly lay people, and as having been consulted by them on halakhic issues. This consultancy is said to have been carried out on an individual case-by-case basis, with the most prominent rabbis of their generation appearing as advisors in the stories. The move toward the rabbi, usually mentioned after the case description, is followed by the rabbi’s solution to the problem at the end of the story. Viewed as a whole, these narratives present rabbis as prominent figures who drew other Jews toward them, who benefited from their expertise. Similar stories in which others approach individuals to seek advice from them appear in connection with Roman jurists and early Byzantine desert monks. From republican times onwards, jurists transmitted their legal views in the form of responsa, that is, “opinions on questions of law posed by private citizens, jurisdictional magistrates, and judges (. . .), providing assistance to litigants.”207 The traditions circulated in collections and were later integrated into Justinian’s Corpus Juris Civilis, just as rabbinic case stories became part of the Talmud Yerushalmi.208 Interestingly, Cicero criticized the compilation of 203  Ibid. 178. 204  Ervin-Tripp, “An Analysis of the Interaction of Language,” 68. 205  On case stories in Yerushalmi Neziqin see C. Hezser, Form, Function, and Historical Significance of the Rabbinic Story in Yerushalmi Neziqin (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1993), 292–303. On formal issues concerning case stories in the Mishnah see A. Goldberg, “Form und Funktion des Ma’aseh in der Mischna,” FJB 2 (1974): 1–38. 206  Hezser, Function, and Historical Significance, 297. 207  G. Mousourakis, A Legal History of Rome (Abingdon and New York NY: Routledge, 2007), 62. 208  For a comparison between these legal corpora and their development see C. Hezser, “The Codification of Legal Knowledge in Late Antiquity: The Talmud Yerushalmi and Roman

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responsa of particular jurists: “Verbatim, named responsa were included, he says, in order to give the impression that the reason for the consultation was in hominibus, non in re, thus making it seem that the extraction of principles of general application was not possible. . . .”209 Similarly, rabbinic consultations are presented as in hominibus in case stories as originally independent literary forms. The later compilers’ decision to cite such stories for thematic reasons dispelled the focus on individual legal experts. We may assume that both rabbis and Roman jurists competed among themselves for the public’s attention. The advice they gave was not legally binding. Ibbetson points to the “fundamental difficulty” of the jurists’ approach: the advice they gave “was provisional and at risk of being countered by another jurist with better, or perhaps just different, reasoning.”210 The stories that circulated about individual rabbis’ and jurists’ decisions would propagate these legal experts’ wisdom. It should be noted, however, that only rabbinic case stories explicitly state that a case was “brought before” a rabbi or that someone “came and asked” a rabbi; the Roman responsa specify the question instead.211 Nevertheless, we know that jurists were approached by people in public spaces or visited at home with the request to solve their legal problems.212 By claiming that cases were brought before them by lay-Jews and that rabbinic colleagues and their relatives came and asked them for advice, rabbis fashioned themselves in the image of Roman legal advisors whose activities they would have been familiar with on the basis of daily life experience. Another analogy to the claim of sages that they were sought out by their coreligionists can be found in the apophthegmata of the Egyptian desert monks. Lay people and monastic friends are said to have traveled through the desert to visit the monks in their caves and monasteries. For example, Paphnutius writes: “I continued walking into the farther desert, and on the fourth day I came upon a cave. When I approached it, I knocked at the mouth of the cave according to the monastic custom in order that a brother might come out and

Law Codes,” 581–641 in The Talmud Yerushalmi and Graeco-Roman Culture, Vol. 1. Edited by P. Schäfer (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998). 209   R.A. Bauman, Lawyers in Roman Republican Politics: A Study of the Roman Jurists in Their Political Setting (Munich: Beck, 1983), 151, with reference to Cicero, Orat. 2.141. 210  D. Ibbetson, “Sources of Law from the Republic to the Dominate,” 25–44 in The Cambridge Companion to Roman Law. Edited by D. Johnson (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 38. 211  See Hezser, “The Codification of Legal Knowledge,” 589. 212  Ibid. 584.

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I might greet him.”213 The Sayings of the Desert Fathers contain stories according to which people approached particular monks and asked them for advice. For example: “Abba Isaac of Harahu said to me: I visited Abba Sisoes of Petra, the brother of Abba Anthony, and I asked him saying: Tell me a word by which I might live. He said to me: Go, guard these three works and you will live. . . .”214 Sometimes people had to undertake arduous journeys through rough terrain to meet the monk they valued most. Rabbinic stories, on the other hand, locate rabbis in ordinary settlements and major cities. They would have been much easier to reach and approach. Like the monastic stories, they present particular religious experts as the destination of other people’s quests, creating the impression that individual rabbis were able to attract others who sought their guidance in daily life. The impression created by these stories is that of a patron-client relationship between advisor and advisee. Like clients, other Jews are presented as approaching rabbis and asking them for their assistance. As Allen Brent has pointed out, Roman patron-client relationships “arose from a person approaching someone of superior wealth, power, and status for their assistance and protection.”215 Clients would come to their patron’s house and pay respect to them. Cyprian of Carthage criticized political patronage rituals in Roman society: “At the entrance of what proud house each morning as a morning caller did he lay siege?”216 Being requested as a patron bestowed honor and prestige on members of the political elite. The salutatio “required clients to visit their patrons in the mornings to seek requests . . . and to honor the patron. An elite man would gain in social prestige if a stream of people came and went from his house in the morning or, better yet, if a line of waiting clients formed leading out into the street.”217 Rabbis seem to have imitated this phenomenon and transferred it into the religious realm by presenting themselves as the quintessential patrons: they guided their followers in Torah law and gained prestige from being in demand. The ritual of salutatio is also reflected in rabbinic texts in connection with the patriarch and his rabbinic clients.218 In a story transmitted in y. Shabb. 12:3, 213  Quoted in M. Bar-Asher Siegal, Early Christian Monastic Literature and the Babylonian Talmud (Cambridge and New York NY: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 158. 214  Quoted ibid. 38. 215  A. Brent, Cyprian and Roman Carthage (Cambridge and New York NY: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 69. 216  Cyprian, Ad Donatum 11.234–239, quoted ibid. 217  A. Kaiser, Roman Urban Street Networks (New York: Routledge, 2011), 82–3. 218  See Hezser, The Social Structure of the Rabbinic Movement, 419–20.

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13c par. y. Hor. 3:8, 48c members of the households of R. Hoshaiah and Ben Pazzi are said to have “greeted the patriarch every day.” Each family wanted to “go in first,” suggesting a competition and hierarchical relationship among the patriarch’s clients. The Ben Pazzi family is said to have “married into the patriarchate” and claimed precedence over the family of R. Hoshaiah on that basis. To enter the house first and meet the patriarch before anyone else was considered a privilege. One would have been able to have one’s requests granted before another client could express his own. Such individual patron-client relationships and requests for assistance were quite different from the crowds who are sometimes said to have congregated around speakers in public. The Roman model for the speaker who, ideally, attracted a large public audience is the rhetor. As we have already seen above in connection with Pliny’s reference to his defense of Attia Variola (Pliny, Epistles 6.33.3–5), speeches delivered at some Roman public trials could attract large audiences.219 Also outside of the courtroom speeches delivered in public spaces were meant to draw crowds. In his Life of Cato the Elder, Plutarch mentions the Greek intellectual Karneades, who had come to Rome and attracted many listeners.220 He describes Karneades as “highly charismatic, no less impressive in reality than in reputation, and it was he in particular who won large and sympathetic audiences. Like a wind, his presence filled the city with noise, as the word spread about a Greek with an extraordinary ability to amaze his audiences. . . .”221 According to Kraus, “Karneades’ speeches were show-piece orations . . . which demonstrated the priority of argument over substance” and “pleased the Roman youth.”222 If an orator was able to attract a large audience, or was at least presented as attracting a large audience, he was considered more popular and powerful than those who were unable to do so. In the gospels Jesus is presented as attracting large audiences in the Galilee. The gospels mention the “many” who gathered wherever Jesus appeared (see, eg, Mark 2:2; 6:31–32) and followed him (eg, Mark 2:14). When he entered a 219  According to W. Dominik, “Tacitus and Pliny on Oratory,” 323–38 in A Companion to Roman Rhetoric. Edited by W. Dominik and J. Hall (Oxford: Wiley Blackwell, 323–38, 2007), 336, large public interest in speeches given at courtroom trials was not “an isolated occurrence.” 220  Karneades the Sceptic was head of the Platonic Academy in Athens in the middle of the second century BCE. 221  Plutarch, Life of Cato the Elder, 22–23, quoted in C.A. Kraus, “Forging a National Identity: Prose Literature Down to the Time of Augustus,” 315–27 in Literature in the Greek and Roman Worlds: A New Perspective. Edited by O. Taplin (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 311. 222  Kraus, “Forging a National Identity,” 313.

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synagogue, “many” are said to have been impressed by him (Mark 6:1). He allegedly taught “many” in parables (Mark 4:2, 33; cf. 6:35). The emphasis on the large number of Jesus’s adherents can be considered a recurring literary motif that must have been significant for both the tradents and the editors of the texts. By referring to the “many” who followed Jesus, they demonstrated his popularity and influence among his contemporaries. This image of a popular charismatic would have been important for Christian missionary activities. Rabbinic texts occasionally state that “all the people are running” to listen or attend to particular rabbis. For example, in Sepphoris “all the people are running” to hear R. Yohanan expound in the “study house of R. Benaiah” (y. B. Metz. 2:11, 8d). In the same sugya, R. Haninah’s death is said to have drawn a crowd: “R. Yohanan was going up from Tiberias to Sepphoris. He saw a person coming down from there. He said to him: What [is this] noise in town? He said to him: Some rabbi has died, and all the people are running to attend to him. R. Yohanan knew that it was R. Haninah . . .” (ibid.). When “Rabbi was passing Simonia, the people of Simonia came out toward him . . .” (Gen. Rab. 81:2). The “people of Simonia” were probably imagined as local representatives rather than all Jewish inhabitants of the place. The local representatives are said to have approached the patriarch to ask him for advice. References to crowds streaming toward rabbis are rare in Palestinian rabbinic documents even in connection with the most prominent rabbis. This may partly be due to the editors’ attempts to present rabbis as equals with regard to their Torah learning rather than to elevate particularly charismatic individuals, as the gospels do with Jesus. It may also be due to these documents’ emphasis on rabbis’ teaching of small circles of students and discussions among colleague-friends. In general, rabbis are not presented as prominent public speakers but as scholarly experts whose advice was sought by individuals for private purposes (see the case stories mentioned above).

Maintaining a Distance

While rabbinic texts suggest that lay people approached rabbis and asked them for advice, they also indicate that, under certain circumstances, rabbis were keen on maintaining a certain distance between themselves and others. Keeping a distance is recommended for the purposes of self-protection in the case of gentiles and avoidance of competition in the case of (junior) scholars. According to y. Avod. Zar. 2:1, 40c (cf. t. Avod. Zar. 3:4), one should take particular precautions when walking on the road with a gentile as one’s travel companion: the gentile should be kept at one’s right hand side; one should

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carry a sword in one’s right hand to be able to strike when necessary; when walking up or down a steep ascent, one should maintain a certain distance. The latter advice was probably meant as a precaution against being pushed by the gentile, a motion that might result in falling down a steep slope. Rabbis considered all gentiles potentially dangerous, especially strangers met on the road. The text continues to advise rabbinic travelers not to tell gentiles where they were going, lest they might follow and rob them or send robbers after them and then split the spoils.223 Another context in which the maintenance of a certain distance is advised is the relationship between a rabbinic master and his mature student, who is ready to teach and advise others himself. The tannaitic Midrash Sifra transmits a story about the student of R. Eliezer who gave instruction before his master and is punished with his immediate death. This example story is followed by the rule, attributed to R. Eliezer: “Whoever teaches halakhah in the presence of his master is liable to death.” In Lev. Rab. 20:7 a baraita is quoted which states that a student is forbidden to teach before his master until he is twelve mils away from him.224 This rule is followed by a story about R. Tanhum b. R. Yehudah, who was in Hefer and instructed people there (“they asked him and he instructed; they asked him and he instructed”), less than twelve mils away from Sepphoris, where his master R. Mana was residing. He allegedly did not know the rule attributed to Rabbi, that a student may not teach within the radius of twelve mils from his master, and never instructed again. These traditions suggest that providing halakhic instruction in the presence of one’s own teacher was seen as an affront by some rabbis. The student was not supposed to outsmart his master. Rather, his behavior was meant to indicate his master’s superiority in front of all those who were present. If a mature student taught in close proximity to his master, onlookers might not have been able to recognize the status difference between the two scholars. Whereas the ruling attributed to R. Eliezer merely prohibits teaching “in the presence” of one’s master, the rule attributed to Rabbi requires a distance of twelve mils between them. Obviously, rabbis were not unanimous on this issue. Ruth Finnegan has pointed to the “fuzzy” distinction between spatial closeness and distance: “Once one gets beyond actual physical contact distance becomes

223  See Hezser, Jewish Travel, 101, on this story. 224  The text has parallels in y. Shev. 6:1, 36c, y. Git. 1:2, 43c and Pesiq. Rab Kah. 26:7. On the measure of mil, derived from mille (passuum), see Jastrow, A Dictionary of the Targumim, 773: a mil (mile) was 2000 cubits long.

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relative . . .,” so that “we are dealing with a spectrum, not clear-cut contrasts.”225 What seems to have mattered most to rabbis was that their students kept a certain distance, once they started to act and be recognized as rabbis themselves. The distance itself was relative. In his discussion of territorial behavior Michael Argyle speaks about people’s “home territory,” areas of the public space claimed for their habitual interactions.226 Individual rabbis may have considered the particular area in which they were active and where their main sympathizers were located their home territory which they tried to protect against “invasion.” If another scholar set himself up in too close proximity, he may have caused “discomfort or annoyance.”227 This may have been the case especially if the other rabbi was the established rabbi’s own student, whose Torah knowledge incorporated many of his teacher’s views. If he instructed others on the basis of his learning, which partly overlapped with that of his master, he might be considered to “contaminate” the latter’s territory. As the higher-status person the master would have been expected to set the parameters for the spatial relationship between them. The purpose of the texts referred to above is to express the established rabbi’s dominance over his mature student, which allegedly persisted at the time when the student was able to give instruction to others himself. According to Argyle, “[a] high status person is able to . . . choose degrees of proximity with greater freedom than low status people can.”228 The request for greater distance is a one-sided initiative by the dominant person to keep possible intruders to his home territory at bay. Such “spatial tactics” were used “as a strategy and/or technique of power and social control.”229

Protective Circles

Some rabbinic traditions suggest that “spatial tactics” were used to protect lower-status rabbis from their higher-status colleagues’ overbearing behavior. Yerushalmi Ta’anit 3:1, 66c transmits a story about a controversy between R. Yehudah ha-Nasi and R. Pinhas b. Yair concerning Sabbatical Year produce. 225  R. Finnegan, Communicating. The Multiple Modes of Human Interconnection (2nd ed. London and New York: NY: Routledge, 2005), 244. 226  Argyle, Bodily Communication, 181. 227  Ibid. 182. 228  Ibid. 176. 229  Low/Lawrence-Zúñiga, “Locating Culture”, 30.

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The entire sugya is meant to cast Rabbi in a bad light, as being too lenient halakhically. He is presented as permitting the use of Sabbatical Year produce to a poor individual and to be in favor of releasing the restrictions of the Sabbatical Year altogether, against the opinion of R. Pinhas b. Yair and associates. When Rabbi realizes that R. Pinhas does not agree with his view, the relationship between the higher-status patriarch and the rabbi deteriorates. Eventually Rabbi sends messengers to appease R. Pinhas. When they arrive, townspeople (‫ )בני קרתיה‬encircle R. Pinhas to hide and protect him from the patriarch’s messengers, who are expected to threaten him. Only when the messengers explicitly state that Rabbi has sent them to appease R. Pinhas the townspeople recede. At this stage R. Pinhas calls upon his relatives to protect him. Eventually heavenly fire replaces the human protective wall and encircles the rabbi. When the messengers report this incident to the patriarch, he assumes that the rabbi has died.230 Miller has already pointed out that the anonymous townspeople “are not likely to have been official advocates, protectors, or even employees of R. Pinhas, i.e., they are not depicted as members of his household.”231 The presentation of three types of human and divine barriers that encircled and protected the rabbi from the patriarch’s potentially coercive powers seems to have been more important to the storytellers and tradents than the precise identification of the human shield. The townspeople—and later the relatives— function as a protective barrier between the pious rabbi and the patriarch’s emissaries who invade his space and might harm him. At the end, heavenly fire replaces the human shield. The townspeople represent the locals and the relatives the household. These two entities, which form concentric circles around the rabbi, are contrasted with the more distant out-of-town patriarch and his emissaries. At the end, the rabbi’s piety is protected by divine power, represented by heavenly fire. The story is also built upon misunderstanding body language and the need for clarification through actual speech. The townspeople initially surround R. Pinhas because they assume that the messengers bring evil tidings from the patriarch. The very sending of messengers is associated with the patriarch’s coercive power and attempt to control the disagreeing rabbi. Only when this misunderstanding is removed by an explicit statement to the contrary, revealing Rabbi’s wish for appeasement, do the townspeople recede. Yet the rabbi himself continues to feel threatened and tries to replace the townspeople by his relatives. He seems to misunderstand both the messengers’ and the 230  On this story see also Hezser, Jewish Travel, 255 and Miller, Sages and Commoners, 166. 231  Miller, Sages and Commoners, 166.

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townspeople’s behavior, assuming that the latter have abandoned him and given in to the patriarchal emissaries’ demands. At that stage a more powerful heavenly agency is required to ultimately solve the disagreement. Korte emphasizes that “an entire text can hinge on a tension between body language and the word.”232 The initial disagreement between the patriarch’s and R. Pinhas’s opinions lets the reader expect a punitive action. When the messengers appear, this expectation is immediately associated with them. The townspeople may stand in for the audience, which sides with the pious rabbi and would like to protect him. When the messengers reveal the real purpose of their mission, the narrative reaches a turning point. The audience now knows their benign intentions and the townspeople realize that further protection of the rabbi is unnecessary. Now the focus is on R. Pinhas’s continuous misunderstanding. The storyteller does not provide more details about the relatives, whom the rabbi calls to stand in for the townspeople. At this stage the only solution is divine intervention, a symbolic action that can be interpreted in a variety of ways. When the messengers report the encircling fire to Rabbi, the latter assumes that R. Pinhas has died. Yet it remains open whether the fire was meant to protect or consume him or both. The appeasement the messengers were sent out to accomplish is not said to have taken place. Despite his superior power the patriarch was unable to achieve his goals. The halakhic disagreement between him and R. Pinhas remains intact and can be resolved in the world-to-come only, as suggested by Rabbi’s statement at the end of the story. .



The Rabbinic Use of Proxemics to Express Status Relationships

The discussion in this chapter has shown that rabbinic texts employ references to spatial positions and movements mostly to indicate status relationships among rabbinic colleagues, junior and senior scholars, rabbis and nonrabbinic Jews, and rabbis and Roman dignitaries. The connection between spatial relations and social status has also been pointed out by sociologists. Nevertheless, the specific way in which proxemics is practiced and expressed is culturally specific, as stories about misunderstandings between Palestinian and Babylonian sages and fictional transgressions of etiquette have shown. These narratives play with allegedly well-established meanings of certain forms of body language to indicate a disappointment of expectations (misunderstandings) and overt offence (transgressions), understandings which are subsequently reinterpreted and aligned with rabbinic ideals. 232  Korte, Body Language, 51.

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As far as master-disciple relationships are concerned, rabbinic texts suggest that they were very much regulated, that junior scholars had to follow a certain code of practice to express their appreciation of their teacher. Disciples had to acknowledge and greet their teacher in public spaces. They were expected to rise when they saw a senior scholar approach and remain standing until he had passed by. Their close yet inferior relationship to their master was expressed by walking behind him, driving his ass, and supporting him with their body. When they were ready to give instruction to others themselves, they had to maintain a certain distance to their master’s location. These regulations indicate that the rabbinic tradents and editors of the traditions believed that rabbinic hierarchies were embodied and expressed visually through movement and posture in public and private spaces. The ways in which rabbinic hierarchies are expressed are reminiscent of Graeco-Roman and Christian settings. In fact, it seems that both rabbis and church fathers adopted models and patterns from the Graeco-Roman world they were familiar with. One such model is the combination of more formal, seated study sessions and rather informal instruction in daily life. Philosophical schools of Hellenistic and Roman times combined teaching “sessions” with the so-called perambulatio, the walking and talking still practiced in some academic settings nowadays. Rabbis must have been familiar with this dual teaching model and adapted it to their own practice of Torah instruction. Whether and to what extent individual rabbinic teachers actually adhered to this pattern cannot be determined anymore. What matters more is that rabbinic texts use the combination of seated sessions and perambulatio to create the impression that rabbis were a new, Jewish kind of philosophers whose practices bore certain external similarities to those of Graeco-Roman intellectuals. Another model with analogies in Hellenistic and Roman culture is the hierarchical seating arrangement associated with the larger, more organized study sessions that are sometimes called yeshiva, “sitting”. Similar seating arrangements, in which the highest-status individuals are allocated the most central seats with a gradual decline towards the rear, are found in Roman theaters. It seems that both rabbis and Christian writers adopted this model of hierarchical seating when describing rabbinic and Christian sessions (both the yeshiva and the ekklesia seem to have been “happenings” rather than fixed buildings or spaces). The rabbinic notion that the least proficient students and/or the general public would stand behind a fence has analogies in descriptions of philosophical sessions. The greater the distance to the distinguished teachers of wisdom, the lesser was the likelihood to engage in conversation with them. Descriptions of a seated position of rabbis, philosophers, and Christian teachers and their circles of students create the impression of rather small and

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intimate circles. Sitting in more or less close distance to each other enabled them to have conversations and engage in discussions. The image of intellectual study circles stands in contrast to the central and often elevated standing posture of politicians and rhetoricians who gave speeches in front of large audiences. In such a scenario the speaker was keen on propagating his views and winning adherents rather than conducting a conversation and dialogue. The different scenarios also express different power relationships: the Roman elite had actual control over its clients and subjects, whereas rabbis and philosophical teachers had to impress their students and sympathizers with their knowledge. Their status as senior scholars was based on their ability to convince others of their wisdom. Public speakers, on the other hand, could rely on their public offices, property, and political connections. Rabbinic texts also use the setting of the symposium or convivium for their own purposes to envision gatherings of rabbinic colleague-friends. Stoic philosophers had already adapted the elite dinner party to their own requirements and predilections. The more private and informal setting was an ideal context for intellectual conversations. The very notion of the learned dialogue had a close affinity with this setting. The wine and after-dinner entertainment of hoi polloi was substituted by philosophical reflection and Torah discussions. What was maintained, though, was the hierarchical placement of the host and guests on the dinner couches. The symposiarch and senior scholar replaced the holder of the highest political office in the central position allocated to him. Rabbis did not simply imitate Hellenistic and Roman models but changed and adapted them to fit their own circumstances, ideals, and purposes. As in the case of appearance and demeanor, rabbinic proxemics suggests that rabbis fashioned themselves as a particularly Jewish type of intellectuals, who would be recognizable as such by their contemporaries. The hierarchy expressed in rabbinic spatial relations was based on Torah knowledge, however, rather than on public office, rhetorical skill, or philosophical acumen.

CHAPTER 3

Gestures Scholarship on rabbinic literature tends to overlook literary references to gestures that are essential parts of rabbinic narratives and often closely linked to the representation of speech. Gestures constitute an important element of all communication processes and have been studied extensively by sociologists and anthropologists.1 They can support, illustrate, and emphasize statements or contradict them, creating discrepancies between non-verbal and verbal expressions.2 In real life one’s gestures may have an impact on the behavior of others or they may react to others’ behavior toward oneself. Sometimes gestures are automatic bodily reactions rather than the outcome of conscious mental processes.3 In literature, on the other hand, references to gestures are always conscious and meaningful within the respective context of the narrative. They are an expression of the authors’, tradents’, and editors’ awareness of the processes of verbal and non-verbal interaction within their respective cultures and societies. Gestures need to be examined within the particular literary contexts in which they are used. Like other forms of non-verbal communication, some gestures seem to be universal whereas others are culturally-specific or “variations within a theme.”4 Even if the same gesture occurs in different societies or sub-groups, the contexts and meanings may be different. Some of the gestures represented in 1  See R. Finnegan, Communicating. The Multiple Modes of Human Interconnection (2nd ed. London and New York NY: Routledge, 2005), 5. For a survey of the development of the study of gestures see A. Kendon,. Gesture: Visible Action as Utterance (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 62–83, who links the scholarly interest in gestures since the 1930s to the emerging visual culture (film and photography) of the twentieth century. See also K. Thomas, “Introduction,” 1–14 in A Cultural History of Gesture: From Antiquity to the Present Day. Edited by J. Bremmer and H. Roodenburg (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1991), 3–5. 2  That “gestures do not stand alone”, but are part of complex communication processes, has been emphasized by C. Goodwin, “Gesture, Apasia, and Interaction,” 84–98 in Language and Gesture. Edited by D. McNeill (Cambridge and New York NY: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 84. On the relationship between gestures and speech see Kendon, Gesture, 1: “At times they are used in conjunction with spoken expressions, at other times as complements, supplements, substitutes or as alternatives to them.” 3  See Finnegan, Communicating, 23. 4  M. Argyle, Bodily Communication (2nd ed. London and New York: Methuen & Co. Ltd., 1988), 52; Kendon, Gesture, 4, who speaks of “socially shared communicative codes.”

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r­ abbinic sources may have analogies in Graeco-Roman and/or early Christian culture but their meaning may not be the same. For example, Argyle has pointed to the cultural differences in touching behavior and the meaning of touch in different societies.5 Similarly, bowing and prostration are associated with specific contexts (eg, before royalty; in liturgy) and given distinctive interpretations (eg, deference, humility, acknowledgment of inferior status). While members of particular (sub-)groups are expected to be familiar with their own group’s coded kinesic language, “the differences are sufficient to cause a great deal of misunderstanding, rejection, and even violence.”6 Gestures can be defined as “voluntary bodily actions, by hands, head, or other parts of the body, which are intended to communicate.”7 They are expressions of interpersonal relationships and attitudes, such as dominance, aggression, liking, or praise. Especially prominent are hand gestures including touch. Generally speaking, “the person who touches is seen as having enhanced status, assertiveness, and warmth, while the person who is touched is seen as having less.”8 In ancient Christianity touch, such as the laying on of hands on another person’s body, was considered to affect healing or transfer spiritual power. I shall investigate whether and to what extent the gesture of laying on of hands had a similar meaning and significance in rabbinic Judaism. As far as prayer gestures are concerned, Ehrlich has already dealt with them at length.9 Obviously, the full range of real life gestures is not represented in—and cannot be reconstructed from—rabbinic sources.10 The authors, tradents, and editors of the texts would have chosen to represent and transmit only those gestures that were most meaningful in the particular contexts in which they appear. These were probably the gestures that were most coded, that had clearly understood meanings within rabbinic society and perhaps Palestinian Jewish society at large. Due to the generally elliptical style of rabbinic texts, gestures are never described in detail;11 they are rather hinted at through the 5  See Argyle, Bodily Communication, 60–1. 6  Ibid. 68. 7  Ibid. 188. Kendon’s definition of gestures as “visible action as utterance” is more general, see idem, Gesture, 2. 8  Argyle, Bodily Communication, 226. 9  See U. Ehrlich, The Nonverbal Language of Prayer: A New Approach to Jewish Liturgy. (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004). 10  With regard to modern literature, B. Korte, Body Language in Literature (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1993), 44–6 and 94, has already pointed out that gestures are mentioned less often and with less detail in literature than in real life. 11  The lack of detail has also been noted for Roman texts by A. Corbeill, Nature Embodied: Gesture in Ancient Rome (Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 2004), 1, who ­maintains

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use of recurrent terminological conventions expected to be understood by the intended readers of the texts.12 Nevertheless, misunderstandings and variant interpretations may have occurred during the transmission of traditions from one generation to the next, between Palestine and Babylonia, and from an oral to a written context.13 Boegehold assumes that the ancient composer of a text “visualized his characters as they spoke and at the same time had in mind a reader, who read aloud and by means of gesture and stance performed the text.”14 Because ancient readers, “acted out their speech in daily life, they acted out the texts they read as well.”15 Should we assume that the tradents and readers of rabbinic texts performed the mentioned gestures for their audiences to make them visually perceptible? That traditions would have been recited aloud in rabbinic study contexts and when dictated to scribes can be considered self-evident. That this recitation would have been accompanied by body movements is possible and worthy of consideration by modern interpreters of the texts. Gestures played a particularly prominent role in Roman rhetoric. Rhetorical handbooks provided instructions on proper and effective gesticulation to student orators.16 Learning to enact gestures in an appropriate way was not only important for “creating a favorable impression” with one’s audience but also

that this phenomenon heightens the significance of the gestures that are mentioned in the texts. E. Gunderson, Staging Masculinity: The Rhetoric of Performance in the Roman World (Ann Arbor MI: University of Michigan Press, 2000), 2, also points to the difference between literary descriptions of gestures in handbooks and actual performances, which cannot be recovered. He suggests that “[t]he body within these texts needs to be reread, and read as a textualized body” (ibid. 4). 12  In connection with modern drama, S.R. Portch, Literature’s Silent Language. Nonverbal Communication (New York NY: Peter Lang, 1985), 33, refers to the “shared knowledge between actor and audience of the symbolic meaning of various visuals.” 13   F. Poyatos, “The Reality of Multi-Channel Verbal-Nonverbal Communication in Simultaneous and Consecutive Interpretation,” 249–82 in Nonverbal Communication and Translation. Edited by F. Poyatos (Amsterdam and Philadelphia PA: John Benjamins Publishing Co., 1997), 265, refers to the occurrence of “semantically empty gaps,” which may inhibit the decoding of a non-verbal message. See also Portch, Literature’s Silent Language, 153. 14   A.L. Boegehold, When a Gesture Was Expected: A Selection of Examples From Archaic and Classical Greek Literature (Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 1999), 4. 15  Ibid. 7. 16  The rhetorical student was taught to become a “master of his own body,” see Gunderson, Staging Masculinity, 59.

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necessary for persuading others of the validity of one’s arguments.17 In general, orators were advised to avoid the exaggerated gesticulation of theater actors.18 Moderate gestures were believed to communicate self-control and a calm personality to the audience.19 The dignitas an orator was expected to show in public “had to be constantly renewed.”20 Orators would have used a complex system of gestures during their speeches and, probably less consciously, in daily life. Aldrete assumes “that the knowledge and use of formal rhetorical gestures were widespread, even among the poorer classes,” who may have imitated some of the movements.21 We may assume that Palestinian rabbis, especially those who lived in Caesarea and other urban contexts in late antiquity, would have been familiar with the gestures of orators and actors, some of which they and their fellowJews—especially those who had social and business contacts with Greeks and Romans—may have adopted as well.22 On the other hand, gestures are part of specific cultural systems learned during one’s socialization. Accordingly, Palestinian Jews’ gestures would probably have differed at least in some respects from those of local Greeks and Romans in their performance, meaning, and significance. In the following, I shall examine some of the gestures reflected in rabbinic sources in the wider context of Graeco-Roman society.

Prostration and Imperial Protocol

Prostration before higher-status individuals and gods was a Roman custom that appears especially often in connection with court protocol and in pagan 17  F. Graf, “Gestures and Conventions: The Gestures of Roman Actors and Orators,” 36–58 in A Cultural History of Gesture. From Antiquity to the Present. Edited by J. Bremmer and H. Roodenburg (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1991), 44. 18  Obviously, gestures had to be amplified by actors on a stage that was distant from their audience, to increase the visibility of their performances. 19  See Graf, “Gestures and Conventions,” 47; Gunderson, Staging Masculinity, 5. 20   G.S. Aldrete, Acclamations in Ancient Rome (Baltimore MD and London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1999), XVIII. 21  Ibid. 50. 22  Corbeill, Nature Embodied, 8 assumes that “the various peoples that inhabited Roman territory” would have been knowledgeable of the meaning of Roman gestures, both with regard to their performance in real life and in artistic representations. Especially members of the upper strata of provincial society would have been required to evince certain oratorial skills, including gesticulation; see M.W. Gleason, Making Men. Sophists and SelfPresentation in Ancient Rome (Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press., 1995), XXI.

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religious rituals.23 Palestinian rabbinic sources mention the gesture mainly in stories that feature a Roman emperor and in connection with eminent sages. In the Babylonian Talmud, on the other hand, the hierarchical use of the gesture is rare. As Canepa has already pointed out on the basis of his comparison of Roman and Sasanian literature and art, “[w]ith one discrete group of exceptions, there is no evidence from the Sasanian primary sources—including visual material—that genuflection or full prostration was part of any regularized or expected display of fealty or submission in Sasanian court culture.”24 Interestingly, in Roman visual culture prostration (and genuflection) rites are almost exclusively associated with conquered people; that is, they are part of “Roman triumphal art.”25 In literary sources, on the other hand, “many descriptions abound of Romans honoring the emperor with genuflection or prostration.”26 In the context of the Roman city prostration was visualized as the body language of the other, humiliated by Rome. Common Roman viewers were invited to identify with Rome and to rejoice in its victories over other nations. Roman literary sources, on the other hand, reached members of the upper strata of society only, people who were familiar with court rituals. Nixon and Rodgers argue that from the time of Caligula onwards “the practice became more common among the upper levels of society,” especially among those who tried to ingratiate themselves with the ruling aristocracy, so much so that Claudius even prohibited the practice.27 In general, the gestures of (genuflection and) prostration seem to have become customary at the Roman imperial court at least from the first century BCE onwards: “From the time of Julius Caesar on Roman rulers required it from client kings and increasingly expected it from their own subjects.”28 Especially under Diocletian and his successors, “prostration before one’s emperor as lord

23  C.E.V. Nixon and B. Saylor Rodgers, In Praise of Later Roman Emperors. The Panegyrici Latini. Introduction, Translation, and Historical Commentary (Berkeley and Los Angeles CA: University of California Press, 1994), 52: “At Rome both gods and men were recipients of this form of supplication.” 24   M.P. Canepa, The Two Eyes of the Earth. Art and Ritual of Kingship Between Rome and Sasanian Iran (Berkeley and Los Angeles CA: University of California Press, 2009), 151. The only exceptions he mentions are late Pahlavi- and Islamic-era texts in which prostration “appears only as an alternate gesture of respect.” 25  See ibid. 150–1. 26  Ibid. 150. 27  Nixon and Saylor Rodgers, In Praise of Later Roman Emperors, 52, with reference to Cassius Dio, Roman History 60.5.4. 28  Canepa, The Two Eyes of the Earth, 150.

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and master was de rigoeur.”29 The form of the practice (Lat. adoratio, Greek proskynesis), which sometimes also involved kissing the emperor’s garments or shoes, and the set of people expected or allowed to perform (parts of) it seem to have varied from one emperor to the next: “The nature of the practice was still fluid in the sixth century.”30 In late antiquity it became compulsory especially for members of the upper strata of society and for the imperial family itself, that is, for those who were expected to have the most frequent contacts with the emperor in both the private and public domain.31 The medieval midrash Seder Eliyahu Zuta contains a story that may well reflect the circumstances of earlier Roman times, even if (re)formulated later: R. Yose said: Once I was walking in the metropolis of Rome and I saw an emperor riding on a horse with all the dignitaries of Rome. He saw a little Jewish baby covered in sores thrown in the garbage. When he saw her, he got off his horse and bowed down to her. All the Roman dignitaries were angry at him and asked him: To such a humble and filthy [creature] are you bowing down? He said to them: Don’t be so evil, since all nations will bow down to them (Seder Eliyahu Zuta 15).32 Dvorjetski argues at length that “it [is] possible to link the story to the historical actuality in Palestine at the time of Hadrian” and calls the story a baraita.33 Greater caution is advisable, however: in its present form and context the tradition would have served the purpose of the author or editor who compiled the work at a much later time. Lehmhaus cautions against earlier scholars’ “uncritical trust in the historical reliability of the text and a naïve use of realia in order to pinpoint some exact dating.”34 While the midrash was probably composed in the gaonic period (seventh to eleventh century CE), one has to reckon with “subtle strategies of literary transmission, adaptation, and innovation.”35 An 29  Nixon/Rodgers, In Praise of Later Roman Emperors, 52. See also S.P. Kershaw, A Brief History of the Roman Empire: Rise and Fall (London: Constable & Robinson Ltd., 2013), ch. 13, on Diocletian and the Dominate. 30  Canepa, The Two Eyes of the Earth, 150. 31  See Nixon/Rodgers, In Praise of Later Roman Emperors, 52. 32  The story is quoted in E. Dvorjetski, Leisure, Pleasure and Healing. Spa Culture and Medicine in Ancient Eastern Mediterranean (Leiden and Boston MA: Brill, 2007), 325. 33  Ibid. 325–6. 34  L. Lehmhaus, “Between Tradition and Innovation: Seder Eliyahu’s Literary Strategies in the Context of Late Midrash,” 211–42 in Approaches to Literary Readings to Ancient Jewish Writings. Edited by K. Smelik and K. Vermeulen (Leiden and Boston MA: Brill, 2013), 217. 35  Ibid. 211.

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earlier tradition may have been adapted for apologetic purposes: the emphasis on a Roman ruler’s respect for the Jews served the political discourse of the author’s own time and place. The story creates a stark contrast between the Roman emperor on his horse and the destitute Jewish baby in the garbage. The contrast between high and low, power and powerlessness, Romanitas and foreignness, wealth and poverty, male and female gender status could not be greater. Abandoned children were generally used as slaves and prostitutes, if the finder took the trouble to rear them.36 As such, they lacked any status and were non-entities that could be treated in the harshest possible ways. In real life the Jewish origin of the child would not have been recognizable.37 For narrative purposes the Jewishness of the emperor’s antithesis was necessary, though. The intended audience of the tradition would have known that prostration was part of imperial court ritual, usually performed by subjects in front of their ruler. In the story this custom is reversed: the emperor is said to have dismounted his horse and bowed down before the infant. As is customary in rabbinic stories about encounters with Roman emperors and dignitaries, the emperor’s magnanimity is contrasted with his entourage’s insistence on the status quo of Roman social norms and political propriety.38 The story ends with the emperor’s poignant saying, “don’t be so evil, since all nations will bow down to them,” claiming the Jewish nation’s superiority over Romans and all other nations. The statement is probably based on Gen 27:29, where Isaac blesses Jacob with the words, “Let peoples serve you, and nations bow down to you. Be lord over your brothers, and let your mother’s sons bow down to you.” The brother contrasted with Jacob in the biblical narrative is Esau, who usually stands for Rome in rabbinic sources. The idea expressed in the story would have fit the Palestinian rabbinic discourse of late antiquity. According to an exegesis transmitted in Leviticus Rabbah, God said to the Israelites: “I am He who will make kings bow down 36  On child abandonment in ancient Judaism and Roman culture see C. Hezser, “The Exposure and Sale of Infants in Rabbinic and Roman Law,” 3–28 in Jewish Studies Between the Disciplines. Judaistik zwischen den Disziplinen. Papers in Honor of Peter Schäfer on the Occasion of his Sixtieth Birthday. Edited by K. Herrmann et al. (Leiden and Boston MA: Brill, 3–28, 2003), with further bibliographical references. 37  It seems unlikely that baby boys would have been abandoned after their circumcision, which, in any case, was not practiced by Jews only in antiquity. Identifying marks with Jewish symbols would also have been rather unusual. 38  See C. Hezser, “Strangers on the Road: Otherness, Identification and Disguise in Rabbinic Travel Tales of Late Roman Palestine,” in Journeys in the Roman East: Real and Imagined. Edited by M. Niehoff (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, forthcoming).

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to you, as it says: ‘And kings shall be your foster-fathers and their queens your nursing mothers; They shall bow down to you [with their face to the earth and lick the dust of your feet]’ [Isa 49:23]” (Lev. Rab. 27:4). This is followed by the comment that this prophecy has already been fulfilled when “Nebuchadnezzar bowed down to Daniel” (ibid.; cf. Dan 2:46). Palestinian rabbis would have identified the “kings” of the biblical verses with Roman emperors. The association of prostration with adoration and reverence toward an entity that was much higher in status than the one performing the act was also characteristic of Roman society, as outlined above.

Prostration in Front of Eminent Scholars

Some rabbinic narratives use the gesture of prostration to express status differences within Palestinian rabbinic society. They suggest that rabbinic scholars were expected to bow down before their higher-status colleagues. The following story transmitted in Genesis Rabbah is especially relevant in this regard: Our Rabbi repeated words of praise for R. Hiyya the Elder before R. Yishmael b. R. Yose. He [R. Yishmael b. R. Yose] said to him: One day I saw him in the baths and he did not bow down before me [‫]ולא איתכנע מיקומיי‬. He said to him: And why did you not bow down before him? He said to him: I was paying attention to the aggadah of Psalms. When he heard this, he handed over to him two students, and they would go up with him to the steam room so that he would not tarry [there] and get feebleminded (Gen. Rab. 33:3). As tannaim of the fourth generation Rabbi and R. Yishmael b. R. Yose could claim seniority over R. Hiyya, their younger colleague and student. The story creates a contrast between Rabbi’s verbal praise of R. Hiyya and R. Yishmael b. Yose’s reference to his failure in body language. The gesture of bowing down before an eminent scholar is clearly seen as a sign of reverence here. An initial attempt to resolve the inconsistency is made in R. Hiyya’s answer: He was absent-minded and focused on study matters. Since the study and contemplation of religious texts was forbidden in the secular realm of the bathhouse, this answer does not provide a satisfactory solution to the issue. The final sentence expresses the storyteller’s understanding of what was going on: R. Hiyya was prone to absent-mindedness and therefore failed to bow down before his superior. As a precautionary measure, to prevent such a lapse from happening

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again, companions were given to him to remind him that lingering in the hot vapors of the steam room was harmful to his mental health. Rabbi and R. Hiyya the Elder also feature in a passage in the Talmud Yerushalmi in which the gestures of prostration and genuflection are thematized: What is prostration [‫ ?]כריעה‬And what is genuflection [‫ ?]בריכה‬R. Hiyya the Elder performed prostration before Rabbi and he was lame and he was healed. Levi bar Sisi performed genuflection before Rabbi and he was lame and he was not healed (y. Sukkah 5:4, 55c). Rather than explaining the two gestures, the narrative compares their different consequences. R. Hiyya the Elder, who is said to have performed prostration before Rabbi, was healed, whereas Levi bar Sisi’s genuflection did not turn out to be beneficial to him. The story seems to stress the value of prostration before a higher-status scholar and, at the same time, devalue genuflection in the same context. While the editors of the passage advocated the more moderate gesture of prostration before the patriarch, genuflection was probably seen as an exaggerated form of adoration reminiscent of court rituals. Such a gesture might idolize the particular rabbi or Torah scholarship in general. Ehrlich, who discusses the story in the context of prayer gestures, seems to have mistranslated and misinterpreted the text. Instead of distinguishing between prostration and genuflection, he translates ‫ כריעה‬with “kneeling” and is subsequently unable to make sense of the compared practices, suggesting that “This passage is incomplete.”39 He asks: “. . . why were these two sages made lame after their actions? Both kneeling and genuflection are certainly appropriate behaviors in the context of religious activity.”40 In the narrative the emphasis is not on the lameness, which the two junior scholars are said to have shared, but on the healing of R. Hiyya as an outcome of his prostration in contrast to Levi b. Sisi’s continued physical disability. The consequence of the (different!) gestures was not the sages’ lameness but the healing of only one of them. Furthermore, the story itself does not thematize a prayer context. It rather talks about proper and improper behavior of younger scholars toward a senior scholar and patriarch. In this context the storyteller and editors approve of prostration but disapprove of genuflection, which may have been seen as

39  Ehrlich, The Nonverbal Language of Prayer, 35. 40  Ibid.

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appropriate in a liturgical context only.41 Kneeling in adoration of God was not the same as kneeling in front of one’s Torah teacher, however learned and honorable the latter might have been. Furthermore, the gesture of kneeling was associated with political surrender to Rome. Brilliant refers to a Roman coin struck in 72–73 CE that shows the Roman emperor with a lance in his right hand, stretched out over the smaller kneeling figure of a “suppliant Jew,” an image that was meant to symbolize Roman victory and Jewish defeat as the outcome of the first revolt against Rome.42 Palestinian rabbis may have been familiar with such coin imagery and the ways in which Romans used the gesture of genuflection, associated with defeated nations, for imperial propaganda purposes. Interestingly, the mishnah (m. Sukkah 5:4) on which the Yerushalmi comments, as well as the texts preceding and following the story, all deal with the movements of dance. The mishnah refers to a torch dance ritual, performed by “pious men and wonder-workers,” to instrumental music played by Levites in the forecourt of the Temple on the Sukkot holiday. Neither the mishnah nor the baraita preceding our story are critical of the dancing as an expression of spiritual elevation and joy. According to the baraita (cf. t. Sukkah 4:4), R. Shimon b. Gamliel would perform the torch dance in a perfect way, so that none of the torches fell to the ground. In the Yerushalmi version of the baraita the text continues: “And when he would prostrate himself [‫]וכשׁהיה כירע‬, he would stick his toe [or thumb]43 into the ground [‫ ]היה נועץ גודלו בארץ‬and bow down and rise up immediately.” The Tosefta version reads: “And when he prostrated himself [‫]וכשׁהוא משׁתחוה‬, he placed his finger in the earth on the floor [‫]מניח אצבע בארץ על גבי הרצפה‬, bowed and kissed [the ground] and rose up immediately.”44 In its description of R. Shimon b. Gamliel’s participation in the Simchat Bet ha-Shoevah (Festival of Water-Drawing) ritual (cf. t. Sukkah 4:5), the Tosefta is keen on displaying his intense body language befitting the joyful occasion. The editors of the Yerushalmi, on the other hand, may have toned down the movements or used a version of the baraita in which the gestures are less exaggerated. Not only is 41  Ehrlich is wrong in understanding “this passage as a critique of kneeling and genuflection in prayer.” 42  R. Brilliant, Gesture and Rank in Roman Art. The Use of Gestures to Denote Status in Roman Sculpture and Coinage (New Haven CT: The Academy, 1963), 90–1, fig. 2.90. 43  J. Neusner, The Talmud of the Land of Israel. A Preliminary Translation, Vol. 17: Sukkah (Chicago IL and London: University of Chicago Press, 1988), 124, translates: “he would put his finger on the ground.” 44  The tradition has a parallel in b. Sukkah 53a.

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the kissing of the ground missing in this version, but the prostration could be interpreted as a more circumscribed affair, in which the head and upper body were lowered momentarily before straightening up again. After the story tradition discussed above the Yerushalmi goes on to criticize overtly staged movements. According to a statement attributed to R. Abba bar Kahana, “the most worthless person is the dancer [‫]ארכיסטיס‬.”45 Like Roman writers rabbis advocated modesty in body language and detested the exaggerated gestures and movements of dancers and actors. Quick bowing gestures before eminent sages were considered permissible and even laudable, whereas full genuflection was seen as inappropriate and fake. Similarly, Roman rhetorical students were advised not to imitate actors such as mimes and pantomimes. Quintilian and others criticized the move toward theatricality among some rhetoricians.46 Strict distinctions between the body movements of respectable citizens and actors were maintained. Moderate gestures were considered indicative of a moderate and self-controlled personality, whereas exaggeration was detested as far as Roman gentlemen were concerned.47 Most rabbinic references to bowing are instructions on when and how to bow down before the Jewish God in liturgical situations. Since Ehrlich has already discussed prostration in prayer contexts extensively, I shall not dwell on this issue here.48 Warnings against bowing before idols are especially prominent in the Babylonian Talmud49 and in later Midrashim.50 According to a statement attributed to Abbaye in b. Sanh. 61b, Jews may bow down before 45  From Greek ὀρχήστης, “dancer,” see M. Jastrow, A Dictionary of the Targumim, the Talmud Bavli and Yerushalmi, and the Midrashic Literature (Jerusalem: Horev, 1985), 122. 46  See Aldrete, Acclamations in Ancient Rome, 69–73. 47  See Graf, “Gestures and Conventions,” 47. 48  Ehrlich, The Nonverbal Language of Prayer, 29–63. 49  See b. Hor. 4a, however, where a distinction is made between prohibited usual ways of bowing before idols (practiced in Zoroastrian rituals?) and unusual manners of bowing, which are permitted. According to an alternative version, bowing is prohibited only “when the hands and feet are stretched out.” 50  See, eg, the king parable in Exod. Rab. 15:17 where government officials who bow down before a statue of the Roman emperor, made out of the wood of a trampled upon tree originating from the bathhouse, are ridiculed. When they reply that it is not the tree but the image of the king they honor, the nimshal uses the parable as a means to elevate the status of Jews among the nations. The men of Gog (Romans, non-Jews, Byzantine Christians?) will say: In the past we did atrocious things to Israel, “but now we bow down to them” (ibid.). This conclusion resembles the final statement of the story about the emperor’s encounter with the abandoned Jewish baby in Seder Eliyahu Zuta 15, discussed above, where it is claimed that “all nations will bow down to them.”

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other human beings but not before pagan statues and images. In Exod 20:5 Israelites are instructed as follows: “You shall not bow down before them nor serve them, for I, the Lord your God, am a jealous God. . . .” The objects of the Israelites’ possible adoration are further specified in 20:4, encompassing any images of gods, humans, or animals. Bowing in worship of the Jewish God is permissible, though (cf. eg, Exod 4:31; 12:27; 34:8), as is bowing before human beings. According to Exod 18:7, Moses “bowed down and kissed” Jethro, his fatherin-law, when the latter came to visit him. In the biblical Joseph story Jacob is said to have “bowed himself to the ground seven times” (Gen 33:3) when meeting his brother Esau. When Joseph’s brothers came to Egypt, they “bowed down to him [Joseph] with their faces to the earth” (Gen 42:6). In all of these instances bowing down before another human being, whether a Jew or a nonJew, is presented as part of a welcoming ritual to express one’s good will and honor the other. Another biblical context in which prostration is mentioned is thankfulness for a service rendered or a gift received. In Gen 23:7, for example, Abraham is said to have “bowed down to the people of the land, even to the children of Heth” (cf. ibid. 23:12), who gave him a burial place for his deceased wife Sarah.51 David “fell on his face to the ground and bowed down three times” (1 Sam 20:41) and kissed Jonathan, who had saved his life and defended him before Saul.52 Compared with the biblical evidence it seems that Palestinian rabbis used the gesture of prostration in a much more circumscribed way, mostly associating it with prayer and occasionally also with reverence toward the patriarch and eminent sages. In social contexts it features less prominently than the duty of standing up before senior sages, discussed above. Rabbis fictionally subverted (the emperor prostrates himself before an abandoned Jewish infant) and appropriated (junior scholars bow down before their seniors) a Roman court ritual, but they did not fully embrace and integrate it into their own body language. They also advocated moderation, rejecting genuflection even before 51  Interestingly, the medieval Islamic exegete Tufi attests to the phenomenon that “the act of prostration out of thankfulness to the benefactor” was part of the Abrahamic tradition; see L. Demiri, Muslim Exegesis of the Bible in Medieval Cairo: Najm Al-Din Al-Tufi’s (d. 716/1316) Commentary on the Christian Scriptures. A Critical Edition and Annotated Translation With an Introduction (Leiden and Boston MA: Brill, 2013), 49. 52  M. Visser, The Gift of Thanks: The Roots and Rituals of Gratitude (Boston MA and New York NY: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2009), 221, also mentions the episode with David and Jonathan as an example for prostration as a signifier of gratitude in the Bible.

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the patriarch. Such exaggerated gestures were associated with dancers and actors and considered unbecoming of a Torah scholar, who would not want to be accused of hyperbole. Similarly, the male Roman citizen had to show prudence in the way he exposed himself to onlookers who judged his character on the basis of his movements.

The Kiss

In biblical texts the kiss sometimes accompanies prostration when relatives are welcomed (Exod 18:7) and as an expression of gratitude (1 Sam 20:41), as we have seen above. In Palestinian rabbinic sources references to the kiss need to be seen against this background as well as in the context of kissing gestures in Graeco-Roman society. A text in Genesis Rabbah is particularly outspoken about the contexts in which rabbis considered the kiss appropriate: ‘And Jacob kissed Rachel’ (Gen 29:11): All kissing is frivolity [or: triviality, obscenity; Hebr. ‫ ]כל נשׁיקה שׁלתיפלות‬except for three [types]: the kissing of greatness [‫]שׁלגדולה‬, the kissing of separation [‫[ ]שׁלפרקים‬and reunion], and the kissing of parting [‫]שׁלפריישׁות‬. The kissing of greatness: ‘And Samuel took the vial of oil and poured it upon his head and kissed him [i.e., Saul]’ [1 Sam 10:1]. The kissing of separation [and reunion]: ‘And he [Aaron] went and met him [Moses] at the Mountain of God and kissed him’ [Exod 4:27]. The kiss of parting: ‘And Orpah kissed her mother-inlaw’ [Ruth 1:14]. R. Tanhuma said: Also the kissing of kinship [‫]שׁלקריבות‬: ‘And Jacob kissed Rachel’ [Gen 29:11], for she was his relative (Gen. Rab. 70:12).53 According to this passage, rabbis considered the gesture of kissing legitimate and meaningful only in the contexts of kingship rituals, in connection with departures and reunions, and among relatives. Kisses in other contexts are dismissed as insignificant, frivolous, or outright obscene, depending on how one interprets the terminology. 53  The tradition has a later parallel in Exod. Rab. 5:1, where the reference to the legitimacy of kissing among relatives is illustrated by a story, attributed to R. Pinhas, about a brother and sister who were separated when a fire broke out in the brother’s village. When she found out that her brother had survived, the sister “embraced and kissed him,” allegedly being aware of the unusualness of her action.

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By limiting the contexts in which the kiss was considered appropriate, rabbis seem to have rejected other types of kisses that were common in ­Graeco-Roman society. In particular, kissing seems to have played an important role in paganism: “Kissing sacred things such as trees, images, figurines, thresholds and altars—even the table at home—rings, amulets, and many other items—was a trait of Roman religion.”54 It seems that by the fourth century, Christians had adopted the practice, although their religious leaders condemned it: “Christians . . . kissed thresholds of churches, tombs of martyrs, altars and other items related to their acts of worship and were thus in the process of ‘Christianizing’ what previously seems to have been a traditional Roman, ‘pagan’, practice.”55 Church leaders, on the other hand, tried to limit “religious” kissing to the “holy kiss,” the kissing of equal-status fellow-Christians in liturgical contexts, to welcome and acknowledge them as “brethren.”56 Already at the end of his first letter to the Thessalonians Paul instructs his fellow-Christians: “Greet all the brethren with the holy kiss [ἐν φιλήματι ἁγίῳ]” (1 Thess 5:26).57 These gestures have usually been understood by scholars “to be kisses that symbolize the unity of the church.”58 References to the kiss appear especially from Justin Martyr’s writings in the second century CE onwards: in the Eucharist service “it occurred immediately after prayer and before the consecration and distribution of the elements.”59 In the early church “it becomes a sign of peace and reconciliation so that it is often called the kiss of peace or simply peace.”60 The kiss also appears in the context of ordination and is associated with “the infusion of spirit into man.”61 From the church fathers’ writings it becomes clear

54  J. Lössl, The Early Church: History and Memory (London and New York NY: T & T Clark, 2010), 136. 55  Ibid. 56  See ibid. and C. Markschiess, Between Two Worlds. Structures of Early Christianity (London: SCM Press, 1999), 171: “And the clergy shall kiss the bishop, the male laity the laity, the women the women.” 57  For the same formula see also Romans 16:16 and 1 Corinthians 16:20. 1 Peter 5:14 has a slightly different version: “Greet each other with a kiss of love [ἐν φιλήματι ἀγάπης].” 58  S. Benco, Pagan Rome and the Early Christians (Bloomington IN: Indiana University Press, 1986), 81. 59  Ibid. 60  Ibid. 61  Ibid. 83.

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that the Christian kiss was a mouth kiss in which “your lips approach the lips of your brother.”62 Late antique rabbis were probably familiar with both pagan and Christian kissing practices and rejected them. It is particularly noteworthy that the types of kisses legitimized in the above-quoted Genesis Rabbah text are all performed in secular contexts, whether political, social, or family-related. Kissing did not carry any religious significance for rabbis as it did in the religions around them. Only in certain social situations was kissing seen as appropriate, whereas the kissing of objects would have been considered idolatry and the “holy” kiss a deception, if conducted among humans. Whereas the Christian welcoming kiss might fall under the rabbinic rubric of separation and reunion, the kiss believed to infuse the recipient with the Holy Spirit did not have any rabbinic analogies. Rabbis seem to have condoned the kiss of friendship and approval among equals, which the Talmud Yerushalmi associates with collegial interaction among sages. Hanan b. Abba allegedly told his colleagues that when he mentioned Rab’s practice to Shmuel, the latter “kissed me on my mouth” (‫ )ונשׁק על פומי‬as a sign of appreciation for this halakhic information that supported his own opinion (y. Ber. 1:8, 3d par. y. Ber. 4:1, 7a). Elsewhere in the Yerushalmi seven elders, all tannaim of the third generation, who met in Rimon and entered a dispute on a halakhic issue, eventually agreed with R. Yohanan the Sandalmaker’s opinion, whereupon “they stood up from there with a kiss [‫( ”]ועמדו משׁם בנשׁיקה‬y. Hag. 3:1, 78d), that is, they kissed each other in peace upon departing. When R. Eliezer was dying, the contemporary tanna R. Yehoshua is said to have “embraced and kissed him [‫”]והיה מגפפו ומנשׁקו‬ before removing his phylacteries. In this context, too, the embrace and kiss signify reconciliation between the two sages. In the case of teachers and students and sages of different generations a kiss on the head seems to have been considered more appropriate, though. According to a tannaitic tradition in Yerushalmi Hagiga, R. Yohanan b. Zakkai, a tanna of the first generation, “stood up and kissed” R. Eleazar b. Arakh “on his head when he had finished expounding the [biblical] tradition of the merkavah” (y. Hag. 2:1, 77a, cf. t. Hag. 2:1). He had initially refused to teach the passage to the younger scholar, claiming that it could be taught to a wise person only. When Eleazar’s own teaching is approved of by divine powers, Yohanan is ready to acknowledge his wisdom. The kiss on his head provides the final “seal 62  Augustine, quoted in Benko, Pagan Rome, 83. See also N.J. Perella, The Kiss Sacred and Profane: An Interpretative History of Kiss Symbolism and Related Religio-Erotic Themes (Berkeley and Los Angeles CA: University of California Press, 1969), 24.

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of approval” and is followed by a blessing of thanks to God for “a wise man, who knows how to expound” (ibid.). The gesture of the head-kiss appears a few more times in the Yerushalmi. In all of these instances the same formulation is used: “R.X. stood up and kissed him on his head [‫ ונשׁקו על ראשׁו‬. . . ‫]עמד‬.” On all of these occasions the headkiss is given by a senior rabbi in appreciation of a junior scholar’s ­erudition.63 In a baraita about R. Hananiah b. Hananiah, whom his father had destined to become a nazir, “R. Shimon b. Gamliel stood up and kissed him on his head” after listening to his smart halakhic argumentation (y. Nazir 4:6, 53c). A similar yet different baraita appears elsewhere in the same tractate: Shimon the Righteous is said to have met a handsome young man who had taken the Nazirite vow upon himself. When he questioned him about his reasons for destroying his beautiful hair, the man told him that he feared that he might develop a narcissistic personality when looking at his image, whereas the Torah taught him not to take pride in something that did not belong to him and would vanish eventually. Shimon the Righteous is said to have been so amazed by his wisdom that “he embraced him and kissed him on his head and said to him: My son, may people like you become many, who do the will of the Omnipresent in Israel” (y. Nazir 1:6, 51c). The formulation, which obviously had a tannaitic origin, also appears in an Aramaic version in an amoraic story: R. Abba b. Kahana found his colleague “sitting [and] expounding” Scripture. The implication is that he joined the session by sitting down as well. After listening to his colleague’s teaching, he “stood up and kissed” R. Levi “on his head [‫ ונשׁקיה בראשׁיה‬. . . ‫”]קם‬ (y. Hor. 3:8, 48c) in appreciation of his exposition of a passage from Qohelet. Although both R. Abba b. Kahana and R. Levi belonged to the third generation of amoraim (both are known to have been disciples of R. Yohanan), the assumed status difference between the two is emphasized in Abba b. Kahana’s following statement: “He said: You had the merit to say [a teaching] while standing. [Now] you shall have the merit to say [a teaching] while sitting

63  An exceptional case appears in a story in Genesis Rabbah, where a gentile is said to have kissed R. Meir on his head. The story deals with a conversation between a gentile and R. Meir about the redemption of the firstlings of animals (Gen. Rab. 70:7). At the end, when R. Meir has answered all of the gentile’s questions and provided scriptural proof, the gentile is said to have “stood up and kissed him on his head [‫”]עמד ונשׁקו על ראשׁו‬ in appreciation of his teachings. The same formulation is used here as in the Yerushalmi texts where teachers kiss their students on their head as a gesture of praise.

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[‫]זכיתה מימרינה יקימ תזכי מימרינה מיתיב‬.”64 Since R. Levi is already presented as sitting at the beginning of the story,65 this remark is rather odd and may serve to stress R. Levi’s former inferiority. As we have already seen in the ­previous chapter, sitting was seen as an honor befitting advanced Torah scholars only. The head-kiss that these texts associate with senior and junior scholars is reminiscent of fathers kissing their children in appreciation of good b­ ehavior.66 That the body part on which a kiss was placed was relevant in antiquity is already indicated in the Greek Jewish novel Joseph and Aseneth. In 8:4 Joseph rejects Aseneth’s kiss as that of a “strange woman,” unbecoming of “a man who worships God, who with his mouth blesses the living God.” Such a man will “kiss his mother and his sister” only (8:6). Later, when Aseneth has become a “pure virgin,” who has given up idolatry, “Joseph took her by the right hand and kissed it” (20:4), while she was allowed to kiss him on his head. Kisses on the head and hand were chaste kisses exchanged among friends and family members.67 Besides Joseph his brother Levi is said to have kissed Aseneth’s right hand (28:18). Only at their wedding are Joseph and Aseneth presented as kissing each other on their lips (21:6). Rabbis were also conscious of where kisses were placed. A tradition in Genesis Rabbah has R. Shimon b. Gamliel say: “For three things I love the Medians: . . . They do not kiss on the mouth but on the hand . . .” (Gen. Rab. 74:2).68 The rabbi praises the Medians’ good manners here in areas in which his own—Palestinian Jewish and Graeco-Roman—society obviously differed. The context in which the hand-kiss is given is not specified here but the assumption is that on occasions where mouth kisses were given in Roman Palestine the Medes would give hand kisses only, for example, among friends. As we saw above, Hanan b. Abba allegedly told his colleagues that his colleague Shmuel once “kissed me on my mouth” (y. Ber. 1:8, 3d par. y. Ber. 4:1, 7a). In such 64  For this reading see Y. Sussman, ed., Talmud Yerushalmi According to Ms. Or. 4720 (Scal. 3) of the Leiden and Boston MA University Library with Restorations and Corrections (Jerusalem: The Academy of the Hebrew Language, 2001), 1430. 65  The Paris manuscript version of the parallel to the story in Qoh. R. has R. Levi standing— perhaps different versions of the story circulated and the version which portrays him as standing is a later correction. 66  According to Exod. Rab. 1:22, eg, Miriam’s father kissed her on her head because her prophesy had been fulfilled. 67  See, eg, Homer, Odyssey 17.1.35–39: When Telemachus returns home, the maidservants of his family’s household “kissed his head and shoulders in loving welcome.” Then his mother Penelope “flung her arms about her dear son, and kissed his head and both his beautiful eyes.” 68  The tradition has a parallel in b. Ber. 8b.

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a ­situation some rabbis may have preferred hand kisses to the more intimate mouth kisses, which could also be a health hazard, if one of the parties had an infectious disease or defied cleanliness. The kiss that implies the largest social distance was the kiss on another person’s feet. In order to kiss another’s feet a person had to lower him- or herself so much that he/she had to kneel and touch the floor him/herself. This lowering of one’s position was associated with humiliation. In addition, the feet of another human being were the lowest parts of his body which were in constant contact with the dirt of the floor. To open one’s lips to kiss these feet, even if they had been clad in sandals, would have been humiliating and unhygienic. Among the synoptic gospels only Luke has a female “sinner” wash, anoint, and afterwards kiss Jesus’s feet, an action for which Jesus praises her (Luke 7:38–45).69 The action allegedly happened while Jesus sojourned in Simon the Pharisee’s house. Simon is said to have reprimanded him for letting himself be touched by the woman (7:39), who seems to have been imagined as a prostitute. Jesus allegedly replied: “A kiss you have not given me; but since I came in she has not ceased to kiss my feet” (7:45). That a kiss on the mouth or head (but not the feet) might have been expected of an equal-status host becomes clear in the following sentence in which Jesus criticizes his host for not anointing his “head” with oil (7:46).70 Throughout the speech (7:44–46) the feet are juxtaposed to the head just as the female sinner is juxtaposed to the Pharisaic host.71 Head and feet, female sinner and wealthy Jewish host were as far apart from each other as the tradents and editors could imagine. The woman’s actions are subsequently interpreted as an expression of love (agape, 7:47), which was probably seen as the “glue” meant to unite Luke’s socially diverse community. While it would have been undignified for a man to kiss another man’s feet or knees, it seems that such a gesture could also be associated with an “honorable” woman and was seen as a sign of her devotion to her husband in some rabbinic circles. The Babylonian Talmud transmits a story about R. Aqiva and 69  The tradition in Matt 26:6–12 has significant differences: Jesus’s host Simon is a leper, not a Pharisee; the woman is not called a “sinner”; she merely pours oil on Jesus’s head but does not wash and kiss his feet. 70  Likely New Testament examples of the mouth kiss are the Judas-kiss (Mark 14:45 and parallels; note that Judas calls Jesus “Rabbi” here before kissing him) and the kiss Paul allegedly received at the time of his departure for a ship journey (Acts 20:37). On the early Christian understanding of the Judas-kiss as a kiss of betrayal and “paragon of boundary violation” see M.P. Penn, Kissing Christians. Ritual and Community in the Late Ancient Church (Philadelphia PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2005), 114–6. 71  According to J.R. Edwards, The Gospel According to Luke (Grand Rapids MI: Eerdmans Publishing Co., 2015), 230, “The woman who crashed the party has been Jesus’s true host.”

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his future wife, the daughter of his boss Ben Kalba Savua, who is said to have become betrothed to him in secret and sent him off to study Torah for a very long period of time (b. Ketub. 62b–63a).72 When R. Aqiva returned home after his long absence and she went out to meet him, “she fell upon her face and kissed his knees [‫]נפלה על אפה קא מנשׁקא ליה לכרעיה‬.” In the story the ­lowliness of this gesture (which was probably only slightly less humiliating than kissing someone’s feet) is underlined by her refusal—or inability due to poverty—to dress in respectable clothes, her self-comparison with a “beast” (“a righteous man knows the soul of his beast,” Prov 12:10), and the following reference to her husband’s disciples trying to thrust her aside, mistaking her for a beggar. R. Aqiva, on the other hand, defends and praises her behavior, knowing that he owes his and his disciples’ Torah knowledge to her (“Mine and yours are hers”). Although there are stories about R. Aqiva’s initial poverty and his wife’s support of his Torah study in Avot de Rabbi Nathan as well (cf. version B 12: “She suffered along with me during my study of Torah”), the Aramaic version of the story transmitted in the Babylonian Talmud does not have a direct parallel in Palestinian rabbinic documents and is probably an editorial rendition of received traditions about R. Aqiva, his wife, and Kalba Savua, his wealthy father-in-law.73 That the gesture of kissing another person’s feet was an expression of the great status difference between the performer of the action and the receiver of the deed is also evident in the phenomenon that rulers sometimes expected this gesture from their subjects. For example, Xenophon relates that when Cyrus was in the course of conquering Babylon, two local generals who supported him avenged themselves upon the local king and then “kissed Cyrus’s hands and his feet with many tears of joy.”74 Suetonius describes how the emperor Nero turned Tiridates, the king of Armenia, into his client and supplicant. When the latter arrived in Rome, Nero “was seated on a curule chair on the rostra, in a triumphal dress.” When Tiridates approached him, “he permitted him to throw himself at his feet, but quickly raised him with his right hand, and kissed him. The emperor then, at the king’s request, took the turban from his head, and replaced it by a crown, whilst a person of pretorian rank proclaimed in Latin the words in which the prince addressed the emperor as a suppliant. . . .” Later, at the theater, “after renewing his obeisance, Nero seated

72  On this story see also M. Satlow, Jewish Marriage in Antiquity (Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 2001), 31–2. 73  This has also been suggested by Satlow, ibid. 31. 74  Xenophon, Cyropaedia 7.5.32.

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him on his right hand side.”75 The text indicates how important the various aspects of body language (sitting on a special chair on a stage; wearing a triumphal dress; having a client king fall down before him, then lifting him from the ground and kissing him; crowning him; seating him at his right hand sight) were in Roman political discourse. The emperor’s kiss acknowledges his benevolence toward Tiridates by, at the same time, expressing the latter’s inferiority and making him subservient to Nero’s rule. The rabbinic tradents and editors of the above-mentioned Genesis Rabbah passage that mentions “the kissing of greatness” in connection with Israelite kings (Gen. Rab. 70:12) may have been aware of the association of the kissing gesture with Roman emperors. According to Penn, “[t]here are numerous references to kissing the Roman emperor” in Roman literary sources and artistic depictions.76 Emperors who expected their subjects to kiss their knees or feet were criticized, while the kissing of the emperor’s hand seems to have been more common. In both literary and artistic sources the hand kiss appears “as a gesture of submission or appeal for clementia.”77 A refusal to perform this gesture would have been interpreted as a lack of loyalty to the Roman ruler. Besides the emperor, “others in leadership positions” sometimes expected the kiss from those under their authority.78 Whether and to what extent Palestinian Jews and rabbis in particular experienced such rituals remains uncertain. Rabbis would not have considered representatives of Roman rule “great,” however, or performed such a submissive gesture willingly. In a tradition transmitted in the Babylonian Talmud the “kissing of greatness” is applied to Torah sages: “Yehoshafat, king of Judah, when he saw a disciple of sages, would stand up from his throne and embrace and kiss him and call him ‘My master, my master; my Lord, my Lord’ ” (b. Ketub. 103b). The gestures of standing up before and kissing individuals of a superior status are combined here. According to those who formulated and transmitted the tradition, Torah scholarship even exceeded Israelite kingship in its value. Its superiority over foreign, eg, Sasanian political rule was probably seen as self-evident.79 Since the embracing and kissing of idols is not directly mentioned as a prohibited act in Exod 20:5, where bowing down before them and serving them are specified, rabbis discussed whether these gestures fell under the same rubric of 75  Suetonius, The Lives of the Twelve Caesars, Nero 13. 76  Penn, Kissing Christians, 14. 77  Ibid. 78  Ibid. 79  On the relationship between Babylonian sages, the exilarch, and the Sasanian dynasty see especially G. Herman, A Prince Without a Kingdom: The Exilarch in the Sasanian Era (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012), 21–53.

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idolatry (y. Sanh. 7:6, 25b). Did the Torah’s prohibition of idolatry include those who touched and kissed statues of Greek and Roman gods and goddesses? Should such gestures be considered transgressions as serious as slaughtering animals for idolatrous purposes (cf. Exod 22:19)? The Mishnah distinguishes between actions and gestures that can unanimously be considered worship of idols, a category that includes prostration, and others that are debatable, such as embracing, kissing, cleaning, clothing, or bathing in front of an object associated with paganism (m. Sanh. 7:6). In the Yerushalmi’s discussion, the fact that the gestures of embracing and kissing idols are not mentioned in Ex. 20:5 exclude them from the severe punishments imposed on those who actually perform idol worship (y. Sanh. 7:6, 25b). As already mentioned above, the touching and kissing of objects, especially those that had a religious value, was common practice in Roman society. Statues of gods and goddesses were pervasive in the public places of the cities of Roman Palestine.80 Rabbis probably reckoned with the possibility that some of their fellow-Jews occasionally touched, embraced, or kissed some objects more or less consciously.81 They advocated leniency with regard to the proposed consequences of such actions. Elsewhere the Yerushalmi specifies that “one should not put one’s mouth on the mouth of sculptures of human faces which throw forth water [i.e., fountain heads] in the large cities, so that it would not be considered kissing an idol” (y. Kil. 9:2, 32a). One may imagine that people opened their mouth to drink from such fountains. Rabbis advise them to guard their body language lest it could be interpreted in an unfavorable way. Neither in Palestinian nor in Babylonian rabbinic sources are rabbis said to have applied the pagan custom of kissing objects to Jewish religious devices such as Torah scrolls or mezuzot, either directly or indirectly, as is done by some Jews nowadays, eg, by touching a Torah scroll with the edge of a prayer shawl and kissing the prayer shawl afterwards;82 or touching the mezuzah with

80  See Y.Z. Eliav, “Viewing the Sculpural Environment: Shaping the Second Commandment,” 411–33 in The Talmud Yerushalmi and Graeco-Roman Culture, Vol. 3. Edited by P. Schäfer (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002), 415. 81  Kissing the ground of the Land of Israel was distinguished from the practice of kissing objects. A tradition in y. Shev. 4:9, 35c relates that “R. Yose b. Haninah used to kiss the cliffs of Acco. . . .” According to the parallel in b. Ketub. 112a, “R. Abba used to kiss the cliffs of Acco. . . .” This gesture was meant to indicate their love for the Land of Israel. The cliffs of Acco were probably the first part of the Land of Israel seen by travelers who arrived in the port of Acco Ptolemais. 82  On this practice see L. Fine, “The Arts of Calligraphy and Composition, and the Love of Books,” 318–24 in: Judaism in Practice: From the Middle Ages to the Early Modern Period. Edited by L. Fine (Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 2001), 319.

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a fingertip and then kissing the fingertip or vice versa.83 These practices seem to have developed only in medieval times in the context of Jewish mysticism.84 Some sources mention that Isaac Luria and other Safedian Kabbalists kissed the mezuzah.85 Another medieval Jewish custom, practiced by the Haside Ashkenaz, “was the ritual of having young children kiss the Torah scroll after the reading.”86 Such practices would have been rejected by ancient rabbis because they would have reminded them of the “idolatrous” religious practices of their Roman contemporaries.87

Hand Gestures

The “hand” (sg.) and “hands” (pl.) are mentioned thousands of times in rabbinic documents. In Moshe Kosovsky’s Concordance to the Talmud Yerushalmi, for example, thirty-two pages are covered with references to ‫ יד‬in its various grammatical forms and formulaic constructions.88 The references may refer to human hands, the hands of God/heaven or the Torah, are used literally or metaphorically, refer to ordinary practices or specific gestures, and are much more variegated than the movements of any other body part. The Greek term cheironomia refers to the “range of gestures that were made with the hand and fingers.”89 Walton specifies: “The term cheironomia is not found before Lucian and Athenaeus, but the verb from which it comes 83  See R.L. Eisenberg, Jewish Traditions: A JPS Guide (Philadelphia PA, The Jewish Publication Society, 2004), 582. 84  See I. Abrahams, Jewish Life in the Middle Ages. Enlarged, revised, and edited by Cecil Roth (London and New York NY: Routledge, 2005), 168. 85  E.-M. Jansson, The Message of a Mitsvah: The Mezuzah in Rabbinic Literature (Lund: Bokhandeln Arken, 1999), 73. 86  S. Goldin, “Jewish Society Under Pressure: The Concept of Childhood,” 24–44 in Youth in the Middle Ages. Edited by P.J.P. Goldberg and F. Riddy (Woodbridge and Rochester NY: York Medieval Press, 2004), 40; for references see ibid. n. 46. 87  A kiss that appears in the Babylonian Talmud only is the so-called death kiss, cf. b. Ber. 8a and b. Mo’ed Qat. 28a, which is associated with a sudden death. It seems to have been imagined as a divine gesture of extracting the spirit of life from an elderly person. There may be analogies to this idea in Zoroastrian culture, where the angel of death is sometimes compared to a lover, see F.M. Crawford, Zoroaster, NY: Macmillan, 1908), 177. 88  M. Kosovsky, Concordance to the Talmud Yerushalmi (Palestinian Talmud), Vol. 4 (Jerusalem: The Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities and The Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1990), 148–179. 89  Boegehold, When a Gesture Was Expected, 13.

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is used in classical literature to describe the action of someone who gesticulates graphically. . . .”90 Actors and orators employed a complex system of hand gestures that carried particular meanings, either as stand-alone movements or to illustrate or emphasize speech.91 The hand (Lat. manus) also played an important role in legal language, action, and symbolism, especially in marriage and property law (eg, manumissio, emancipatio).92 The gesture of laying on of hands (manus iniectio) appears in ancient legal practice, healing, and religious rituals.93 Conventional forms and styles of hand gestures reappeared in sculpture and figural imagery. For example, the joining of hands is used as a symbol of marriage on Roman sarcophagi.94 The shaking of hands signifies a “friendly greeting” among equals.95 Magistrates are portrayed with their “right arm in rotation from their elbow,” used as a rhetorical device.96 The depiction of philosophers who give instruction sometimes “entails a gesture of the right hand.”97 Hand gestures mentioned in rabbinic sources have to be seen both on the basis of biblical traditions and in the context of Graeco-Roman culture. The “language of hands” is already well represented in the Hebrew Bible. As Staubli and Schroer have noted, the term “hand” (‫ )יד‬appears approximately 1600 times in the Hebrew Bible.98 Altogether, hands are used to “express relationships, moods, and messages,”99 such as the handshake (contractual agreement), the outstretched arm (wealth and charity), and the mighty hand 90   J.M. Walton, The Greek Sense of Theatre. Tragedy Reviewed (2nd ed. London: Routledge, 1998), 51. 91  Graf, “Gestures and Conventions,” 40; Aldrete, Acclamations in Ancient Rome, 8; J. Hall, “Oratorial Delivery and the Emotions: Theory and Practice,” 218–34 in A Companion to Roman Rhetoric. Edited by W. Dominik and J. Hall (Malden MA: Wiley-Blackwell, 2010), 224–7. 92  See already C. Sittl, Die Gebärden der Griechen und Römer (Leipzig: B.G. Teubner, 1890) 129–41. 93  Corbeill, Nature Embodied, 20–1. 94  Ibid. 21. 95  Brilliant, Gesture and Rank, 19, with reference to fig. 1.16, a Hellenistic relief depicting Heracles and king Mithridates: “The handshake, or dextrarum iunctio, physically unites two different beings, whose status vis à vis one another is democratically effected.” 96  Ibid. 69. 97  P. Zanker, The Mask of Socrates. The Image of the Intellectual in Antiquity (Berkeley and Los Angeles CA: University of California Press, 1995), 129. 98  T. Staubli and S. Schroer, Body Symbolism in the Bible (Collegeville, MI: The Liturgical Press, 2001), 150. 99  Ibid.

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(power and authority).100 In the gospels of the New Testament, the gestures of the outstretched hand and touch (see, eg, Mark 1:41; 3:10; 5:26–32; 6:56; 8:22) and the laying on of hands (see, eg, Mark 5:23; 6:5; 7:32; 8:23, 25) are repeatedly employed in healing narratives.101 Yet the hand can also symbolize people’s character traits, expressed by their actions: “And if your hand causes you to stumble, cut it off: it is good for you to enter into life maimed rather than having two hands to go into hell . . .” (Mark 9:43).102 Only some aspects of the rabbinic use of hand movements can be discussed here. Hopefully, more detailed studies of particular hand gestures will be carried out by other scholars in the future. I shall not deal with hand gestures used in prayer and liturgical contexts, since these have already been discussed by Ehrlich, who notes that “the gesture of outstretched hands, so common an accompaniment to prayer in the biblical period . . ., is absent from the rabbinic sources . . . Indeed, attestation to any prevalent customs involving hands is virtually nonexistent. . . .”103 Due to a lack of any rabbinic prescriptions for prayer-related hand gestures, Ehrlich assumes that individual prayer practice, in which intentionality (kavanah) was most important, prevailed.104 The lack of hand gestures in liturgical contexts is more than compensated for by the numerous rabbinic references to hand movements in other—halakhic, exegetical, narrative—contexts, though. A tradition in Genesis Rabbah differentiates between human body parts in terms of control over one’s actions versus inadvertent sensations: R. Levi said: Six things [i.e., body parts] serve a human being, three are under his control and three are not under his control. The eye and the ear and the nose are not under his control: he sees what he does not want [to see], he hears and smells what he does not want [to hear and smell]. The mouth and the hand and the foot are under his control: if he wants, he studies Torah; if he wants, he says something wicked; if he wants, he blasphemes and reviles. The hand, if he wants, he distributes charity; if he 100  See ibid. 150–73, with illustrations. 101  On touch in the healing narratives about Jesus see especially Z. Thomas, Healing Touch: The Church’s Forgotten Language (Louisville KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1994), 14–6, 97–8; on the gesture of laying on of hands see C.D. Robinson, The Laying On of Hands, With Special Reference to the Reception of the Holy Spirit (Ann Arbor MI, ProQuest, 2008), 82–106. 102  The parallel in Matt 18:8 adds the foot to the equation: either the hand or the foot can lead a person to sin and getting rid of it is preferred to going to hell. 103  Ehrlich, The Nonverbal Language of Prayer, 110. 104  Ibid. 119.

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wants, he steals and kills. The foot, if he wants, he goes to synagogues and study houses; if not, he goes to theaters and circuses. And when a person merits it, the Holy One Blessed Be He turns those [body parts] that are under his [i.e. his adversary’s] control out of his control. The mouth: ‘He shall also be blessed’; the hand: ‘And his hand, which he sent forth against him, dried up’ [1 Kgs 13:4]; the foot: ‘My son, do not walk in their way . . .’ [Prov 1:15] (Gen. Rab. 67:3). In its dichotomy between the sensory organs, through which impressions (sights, noises, smells) enter the body from outside, and the organs with which humans interfere with the world and carry out actions, the text resembles Stoic teachings. According to Seneca, the senses “are not proper judges of what is good, and it is a mistake to rely upon them.”105 Like the rabbinic statement the Stoics emphasized the necessity of self-control, so that impressions (eg, the sight of a beautiful person) might not lead to inappropriate actions (eg, adultery), carried out with other parts of one’s body. Whereas Stoic argumentation focuses on the control of pleasures and desires,106 the rabbinic tradents were interested in Torah study and the moral behavior resulting from it. One could argue, though, that there is a similarity to Stoicism even in this regard. According to Brannan, “the Stoics retained Socrates’s insistence that all motivations be analyzed as forms of belief.”107 The midrashic text reckons with the ability of humans to make rational choices between actions that rabbis sanction and others that they disavow. The hand is associated with giving (charity) and taking (another person’s life or belongings) here. This association is the most prevalent one in Palestinian rabbinic sources. The formula, “stretching out one’s hand” is used as a synonym for giving charity to the needy in Lev. Rab. 34:13, where the poor are described as “householders who have come down from [i.e. lost] their property.”108 In answer to the question about the reason of their poverty the (anonymous) midrash replies: “Because they did not stretch out their hands in good deeds [‫]שׁלא פשׁטו ידיהם במצות‬,” fulfilling the will of God (ibid.), that is, those who 105   J.A. Brundage, Law, Sex, and Christian Society in Medieval Europe (Chicago IL: University of Chicago Press, 1987), 19, with reference to Seneca, Epistulae Morales 124.3. 106  See J.B. Gourinat, “Akrasia and Enkrateia in Ancient Stoicism: Minor Vice and Minor Vitue?” 215–47 in Akrasia in Greek Philosophy. Edited by C. Bobonich and P. Destrée (Leiden and Boston MA: Brill, 2007), 247. 107  T. Brannan, “Stoic Moral Psychology,” 257–94 in The Cambridge Companion to the Stoics. Edited by B. Inwood (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 260. 108  The verb ‫ ירד‬is associated with ‫ עניים מרודים‬in Isaiah 58:7, quoted before.

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were able to support them refrained from doing so and caused their downfall. The same expression appears in a different context in Gen. Rab. 28:5, where the ten tribes are compared with the generation of the flood and Benjamin and Judah with Sodom with regard to their iniquity. Whereas the generation of the flood and the Sodomites disappeared completely, descendants of the Israelite tribes survived. This is explained by reference to their (lack of) good deeds: For ‘[the sin of Sodom] that was overthrown as in a moment’ [Lam 4:6]— they did not stretch out their hands to good deeds [‫]לא פשׁטו ידיהם למצוות‬: ‘No hands fell upon her’ [ibid]. R. Tanhuma said: Hand did not join hand [‫]לא חלת יד ליד‬. Those [the descendants of the Israelites] stretched out their hands to good deeds [‫]פשׁטו ידיהם למצוות‬: ‘The hands of women full of compassion [‫ ]ידי נשׁים רחמניות‬have sodden their own children. They were their [the mourners’] food’ [Lam. 4:10] (Gen. Rab. 28:5). Hands feature prominently in this text, both in the biblical intertext from the book of Lamentations and in the rabbinic exegesis. The two gestures of stretching out one’s hands to provide charity and joining hands to overcome poverty together are part of the rabbinic discourse here. A rather extreme prooftext is chosen as an illustration of the Israelites who “stretched out their hands to good deeds.” The compassionate women, mentioned in Lam 4:10, are said to have cooked their own children to provide food for the mourners’ meal. Perhaps rabbis understood the text in a less literal way: the mothers used their last food for others rather than feeding their own children with it. In any case, their compassion with others, expressed through hand gestures, is lauded here. For Babylonian sages the outstretched hand seems to have had another connotation. A trace of this phenomenon appears in a statement attributed to the Babylonian R. Huna in Gen. Rab. 60:15. Commenting on the biblical story of Isaac’s and Rebecca’s first meeting (Gen 24:63–64), when Isaac was walking in a field and saw camels coming, on one of which Rebecca was riding, “R. Huna said: She saw that his hand was stretched out [‫]צפה שׁידה שׁטיח‬.”109 This gesture causes her to dismount the camel and to say to Isaac’s slave: “What man is this who walks in the field to meet us?” (Gen 24:65). The hand gesture, mentioned in R. Huna’s statement, is not part of the biblical text, where Isaac is merely said to have “lifted up his eyes” (ibid. v. 63). What could have caused rabbis to add the hand movement to their retelling of the biblical narrative? One possibility would be to interpret the gesture as a prayer gesture: his hand was stretched out in prayer. This is what the Venice edition and a Yemenite 109  Several manuscripts have the variant ‫שׁטוחה‬.

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manuscript have added. Yet prayer is neither mentioned in the biblical nor in the rabbinic text. It is also possible to interpret the gesture differently, however, as a gesture of greeting or respect. According to Canepa, “. . . the gesture of the raised hand occurs regularly in Sasanian rock reliefs to denote respect or obeisance . . .,” especially of an aristocrat to a king.110 Perhaps Babylonian rabbis expected Isaac to perform such a gesture in front of his prospective wife, so that she would recognize him as a noble man cognizant of social etiquette. Or the outstretched hand was meant as a sign of welcome. In a first-person account transmitted in b. Shabb. 56b, R. Joseph reports that when he was daydreaming in a study session, he saw that “one [an angel?] stretched out his hand and received him [‫]פשׁת ידיה וקבליה‬,” that is, the exilarch, who had been referred to as a penitent in the preceding context. Touching another person with one’s hand and withdrawing that hand was also relevant in the context of teacher-student relationships. A sugya in y. Yebam. 7:3, 8a discusses the question whether Ashkelon should be considered part of the Land of Israel and ritually clean for the purpose of tithing or foreign and unclean, in which case tithes would not have to be separated from the produce purchased there. A few tannaim of the fourth generation (R. Pinhas b. Yair, R. Yishmael b. R. Yose, Rabbi) are said to have voted in favor of Ashkelon’s cleanness (and requirement of tithes) one day and decided to vote to retract their decision (declaring the produce exempt from tithes) the next day. The first decision fit their practice of purchasing wheat in Ashkelon and later eating it at home in the status of heave-offering. At this point “R. Yishmael b. R. Yose withdrew his hand [‫ ידיו‬. . . ‫ ]ומשׁך‬which was leaning on Ben ha-Kappar” (ibid.). When the student did not say anything, he asked: “My son, why did you not say to me: Why did you withdraw your hand?” In such a case he would have answered him and said that his opinions on the matter were conflicting: the day before he had declared something that was unclean clean (i.e., Ashkelon), and now he is about to say that something subjected to Torah law (tithes) is exempt? The implication seems to be that he is inclined to maintain his earlier opinion that tithing the produce is necessary. Is the gesture of withdrawing his hand from his student merely meant to surprise and initiate the latter’s question or does it have a deeper meaning? Perhaps it was meant to indicate that R. Yishmael felt like a bad teacher, undeserving of his student’s support, because of the conflicting viewpoints that went through his mind. Ehrlich has argued that the ritual of rabbis leaning on their disciples’ shoulders was mainly symbolic in meaning, without necessary physical need: “its main signification is one of authoritative dominance. 110  Canepa, The Two Eyes of the Earth, 151.

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By leaning on his disciple while walking the rabbi expresses his superior rank, whereas by lending his shoulder the disciple accepts his master’s authority.”111 The Yerushalmi tradition’s focus on the (withdrawal of the) hand seems to underline this argument: R. Yishmael b. R. Yose is portrayed as merely having placed—and then withdrawn—a hand on his student(‘s shoulder), without indication of a physical weakness or disability. The touch connected teacher and disciple, indicating the teacher’s superiority by the fact that he was the one who initiated the touch and ended it.

The Laying On of Hands

The hand gesture that is most significant in religious contexts is the laying on of hands, which appears in a variety of settings and has a number of meanings, depending on the circumstances. One type of laying on of hands is mentioned in popular healing narratives. In the gospels’ healing narratives Jesus is frequently said to have healed someone by touching him or her with his hand. For example, he is said to have healed a leper in Galilee this way: “he stretched forth his hand and touched him,” while at the same time saying: “You shall be made clean” (Mark 1:41 par. Matt 8:3, Luke 5:13). On another occasion, Jairus, an archisynagogos, is said to have asked him to heal his daughter, “that you come and lay your hands on her, that she may be saved and live” (Mark 5:23 par. Matt 9:18, cf. Luke 8:54). The same healing gesture is also mentioned cursorily in connection with an anonymous group of sick people: “He laid his hands upon a few sick people and healed them” (Mark 6:5). In the synagogue people are said to have wondered about Jesus’s healing proficiency: “From where does he have these [abilities]? What is the wisdom [σοφία] that is given to him that such mighty deeds are done by his hands?” (Mark 6:2). The association between wisdom, superhuman powers, and healing are particularly interesting here. Healings by the laying on of hands are said to have been carried out by the early apostles as well (cf. Acts 4:3, 30; 5:12; 9:41; 14:3). As van der Loos has already shown, the healing power of the hands and especially the right hand was a common belief in antiquity which was also expressed in Graeco-Roman society: “It was said of Aesculapius and Hygieia that they held out their hands to the sick, and a healing force flowed from these hands, whilst Aesculapius touched the diseased eyes, mouth, ears, etc., of those

111  See U. Ehrlich, “The Ritual of Lending Shoulders: Distribution and Significance in Talmudic Times,” HUCA 75 (2004): 23–35, 23.

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who sought healing. . . .”112 The healing was believed to be brought about by the gods who lend their powers to the healers, who functioned as intermediaries between humans and the higher spheres. In Roman popular culture, women “sometimes employed a ceremony of laying on hands, which was a means of transferring the power of a god or goddess for healing or, in the case of childbirth, for a safe delivery.”113 In the Genesis Apocryphon from Qumran Abram is said to have expelled the evil spirit from Pharaoh by laying his hands on the latter’s head.114 According to a story transmitted in Genesis Rabbah, Rabbi was healed from his toothache in a similar way. The long-winded and probably editorially constructed story relates that Rabbi was sitting in front of the synagogue of the Babylonians in Sepphoris when a calf destined for slaughter passed by and cried out for help. When he replied in a sarcastic way, he was punished by God for his heartlessness with a long-lasting toothache. The story about Rabbi’s illness is connected with a story about the exilarch’s transfer to Palestine for his funeral, which is irrelevant here.115 Eventually, Elijah of blessed memory in the disguise of R. Hiyya the Elder came before our teacher [i.e., Rabbi] and he put his hand on his tooth [‫ ]ויהב ידיה על שׁיניה‬and healed him. When R. Hiyya went to Rabbi he said to him: How is your tooth doing? He said to him: Since you laid your hand upon it, it is cured. He said to him: I do not know anything about it. When Rabbi heard this, he paid him honor and brought him in [to his inner circle] . . . (Gen. Rab. 33:3). The story resembles the Graeco-Roman and Christian healing stories mentioned above in that a religious functionary (R. Hiyya) is said to have healed someone (Rabbi) by laying his hand on the diseased part of the patient’s body (his tooth). It is claimed that the biblical prophet Elijah—and ultimately God 112  H. van der Loos, The Miracles of Jesus (Leiden: Brill, 1965), 313–4. 113   G.B. Ferngren, Medicine and Religion. A Historical Introduction (Baltimore MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2014), 59. 114  Genesis Apocryphon (1 QapGen) 20:30, referred to by T. Costa, “The Exorcisms and Healings of Jesus Within Classical Culture,” 113–44 in Christian Origins and Greco-Roman Culture. Social and Literary Contexts for the New Testament. Edited by S.E. Porter and A.W. Pitts (Leiden and Boston MA: Brill, 2013), 121. 115  This part of the story has a parallel in y. Ketub., 12:3, 35a and elsewhere in the Yerushalmi; see M. Jacobs, Die Institution des jüdischen Patriarchen. Eine quellen- und traditionskritische Studie zur Geschichte der Juden in der Spätantike (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1995), 213–7.

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whose intermediary he was—brought about the healing.116 In general, such healing stories are rare in Palestinian rabbinic documents, probably partly because the editors wanted to distinguish rabbis from pagan and Christian healers and healing traditions that circulated about them in late antiquity.117 The late antique “holy man” was renowned for his healing powers.118 While R. Hiyya appears as the representative of Elijah, the third-century CE desert monk Anthony allegedly claimed that his healings were effected by Jesus, so much so that he even refused to let himself be seen by patients, healing at a distance and by prayer only.119 In the third and fourth centuries CE, artistic depictions of Jesus’s healings showed him with an outstretched hand, ready to touch the kneeling patient’s head, an image that had become an iconographic convention by then.120 The storytellers and tradents of the story about Rabbi’s healing by R. Hiyya/ Elijah adopted the late antique healing tradition by, at the same time, rabbinizing it. At the end, the healing of Rabbi’s toothache is presented as a miracle, brought about by God. R. Hiyya’s humility (“I do not know anything about it”) is rewarded with his promotion by the patriarch. The gesture of laying on of hands is down-played by the story. It is merely used as a conventional topos by a storyteller and tradents who did not wish to provide any more details. The healing is presented as a theological rather than a medical issue here.

116  On the rabbinic use of the biblical Elijah figure see K.H. Lindbeck, Elijah and the Rabbis. Story and Theology (New York NY: Columbia University Press, 2010). 117  See C. Hezser, The Social Structure of the Rabbinic Movement in Roman Palestine (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1997), 292–3. On late antique Palestinian rabbis’ avoidance of contact with Christian healers see R. Kalmin, The Sage in Jewish Society of Late Antiquity (London and New York NY: Routledge, 1999), 70, with reference to a story in y. Shabb. 14:4, 14d, according to which a grandson of R. Yehoshua b. Levi was cured by someone in the name of Yeshua Pandira (Jesus). 118  See P. Brown, Society and the Holy in Late Antiquity (Berkeley and Los Angeles CA: University of California Press, 1989), 142. 119   P.H. Görg, The Desert Fathers. Saint Anthony and the Beginnings of Monasticism (San Francisco CA: Ignatius Press, 2011), 41, with reference to Athanasius, Life of Anthony 58.4–5. 120  See B. Baert, L. Kusters, and E. Sidgwick, “An Issue of Blood. The Healing of the Woman With the Haemorrhage (Mark 5.24b–34; Luke 8.42b–48; Matthew 9.19–22) in Early Medieval Visual Culture,” 307–38 in Blood, Sweat and Tears—The Changing Concepts of Physiology From Antiquity into Early Modern Europe. Edited by M. Horstmanshoff et al. (Leiden and Boston MA: Brill, 2012), 315, fig. 1: mural in the catacombs of Saints Peter and Marcellinus, Rome, third century; ibid. 317, fig. 2: detail of the Brescia Casket, Brescia, ca. 360–370. Both images show Jesus’s healing of the woman with the haemorrhage.

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The large majority of rabbinic references to the laying on of hands concern Temple-related sacrificial rituals of pre-70 times.121 Such references are based on biblical prototypes that are taken up and commented upon in the Mishnah, Tosefta, and Talmuds. For example, M. Sanh. 1:3 talks about the laying of hands on a community sacrifice by an unspecified number of elders (‫)סמיכת הזקנים‬, a practice that is already mentioned in Lev 1:4 (“And he shall lay his hand on the head of the burnt offering”) and 4:15 (“And the elders of the congregation shall lay their hands upon the head of the bullock before the Lord”), and the breaking of the heifer’s neck by three judges. The Yerushalmi’s discussion of this mishnah deals with the required number of elders and judges (y. Sanh. 1:3, 19a), an issue that should not further concern us here. More important for the use of hand gestures in a social context is the following sugya: [A] It has been taught: {Laying on of hands [‫[ ]סמיכה‬is done] by three}; the laying on of hands {by elders [‫[ }]סמיכת זקנים‬is done] by three [cf. t. Sanh. 1:1].122 [B] Is not laying on of hands [‫ ]סמיכה‬the same as laying on of hands [‫?]סמיכות‬ [C] There [in Babylonia] they call appointment [‫ ]מנוייה‬laying on of hands [‫]סמיכותא‬. [D] R. Ba said: At the beginning everyone appointed [‫ ]ממנה‬his disciple. For example, R. Yohanan b. Zakkai appointed [‫ ]מינה‬R. Eleazar and R. Yehoshua; and R. Yehoshua [appointed] R. Aqiva; and R. Aqiva [appointed] R. Meir and R. Shimon. He [R. Aqiva] said: R. Meir shall sit first. R. Shimon’s face turned pale. R. Aqiva said to him: Let it be enough for you that I and your creator know your power. [E] They reverted and paid honor to this house [i.e., the patriarchate]. They said: A court which appointed without the knowledge of the patriarch, the appointment is not a [valid] appointment. But a patriarch who appointed without the knowledge of the court, the appointment is a [valid] appointment. [F] They reverted and decreed that a court should not appoint without the knowledge of the patriarch and that the patriarch should not appoint without the knowledge of the court (y. Sanh. 1:3, 19a). 121  See also G. Stemberger, “Die Ordination der Rabbinen—Idealbild oder historische Wirklichkeit?” 89–104 in Ordination—mehr als eine Beauftragung. Edited by K. Huber and A. Vonach (Vienna: Lit Verlag, 2010), 90 (Mishnah and Tosefta) and 93 (Palestinian Talmud). 122  The Yerushalmi transmits a shorter version of this baraita only: “It has been taught: The laying on of hands [by elders] [is done] by three [‫]הסמיכו׳ בשׁלשׁ‬.”

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The focus of this discussion is on appointments of rabbis to a court, probably the court that was headed by the patriarch from the third century onwards. Three stages of development with different ways in which such appointments were conducted are presented here (“At the beginning . . . They reverted . . . They reverted . . .”). Since the initial procedure described in [D] concerns tannaitic times before the patriarchate was established, the “appointments” mentioned there remain unspecified: are appointments to local courts alluded to or, perhaps, appointments to a variety of communal offices? The only aspect that matters in the context of the Yerushalmi’s discussion is that individual rabbinic teachers took the initiative and promoted their students. At the next stage [E] the patriarchate is said to have had supreme power in appointments. The patriarch could veto appointments conducted by the court, either a local court or—more likely—the patriarch’s own rabbinic court which he headed. At the third and final stage [F], with which the sugya ends, the patriarch and court have equal authority in appointments of new members to their ranks. This was probably the situation that the editors of the sugya favored. The composition and functions of the court are not specified. According to Goodblatt, non-Jewish sources confirm that at least by the fourth century CE the patriarch had judicial powers: “A related prerogative of the patriarch was the appointment of judges and other local leaders,” even outside of Roman Palestine.123 According to a law of Theodosius (Codex Theodosianus 16.8.8, 362 CE), the so-called primates of the Jews “are manifestly authorized to pass judgment concerning their religion under the authority of the Most Renowned and Illustrious Patriarchs.”124 The specification of religious matters seems noteworthy here. As I have already argued elsewhere, the Yerushalmi text does not refer to the ordination of disciples to become rabbis.125 Rather, the appointment of rabbinic scholars who already bear the title rabbi to particular communal and/ or judicial offices seems to be alluded to here. What do such appointments have to do with the gesture of laying on of hands, then? The answer must be that, at least as far as Roman Palestine is concerned, there was little connection between the two. The Yerushalmi text explicitly states that appointments are called laying on of hands (smikhah) in Babylonia only [C] and never uses the term in the discussion of Palestinian appointment practices in [D] to [F]. 123   D.M. Goodblatt, The Monarchic Principle. Studies in Jewish Self-Government in Antiquity (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1994), 133–4, with references; S. Schwartz, “The Patriarchs and the Diaspora,” JJS 50 (1999): 208–22. 124  Quoted by Goodblatt, The Monarchic Principle, 134. 125  Hezser, The Social Structure of the Rabbinic Movement, 89–90.

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In Babylonia, appointments of rabbis to specific offices may have been accompanied by the gesture of laying on of hands, perhaps imitating the Christian practice. In Palestinian rabbinic sources the gesture is never associated with appointments, though. T. Sanh. 1:1, partly quoted at the beginning of the sugya, does not mention appointments and reproduces the biblical terminology of ‫סמיכת זקנים‬. The only Palestinian rabbinic text that refers to the gesture of laying on of hands in a rabbinic social setting is m. Sanh. 4:4: And three rows of disciples of sages were sitting before them. Each of them knows his place. [If] they needed to lay on hands [‫]לסמוך‬, they layed hands on one who was sitting in the first [row]. [Subsequently] one from the second [row] proceeded to the first [row] and one from the third [row] proceeded to the second [row]. And they chose another one from the community and they would seat him in the third [row]. And he would not sit in the place of the first but sit in the place that was appropriate for him. I have already discussed this text in some detail in the previous chapter in connection with hierarchical seating arrangements. As already mentioned there, the pre-70 sanhedrin seems to be imagined from the perspective of post-70 rabbis who were familiar with Roman architecture and institutions. For our current discussion it is important to note that the process of promotion is associated with the gesture of laying on of hands. The reason for the use of the verb ‫ סמך‬for promotion to an office seems to be the biblical model. According to Num 27:18–19, God instructed Moses to take Joshua bin Nun, “lay your hand on him [‫]וסמכת את ידך עליו‬, and stand him up before Eleazar the Priest and before the entire congregation, and give him a charge before their eyes.” The rabbis who formulated the mishnaic text used biblical language to describe promotion to the imagined institution of the pre-70 sanhedrin. The reason why Palestinian rabbis generally abstained from associating the gesture of laying on of hands with appointments to offices—especially in late antiquity when individual rabbis seem to have been appointed to communal offices and the patriarchal court—was probably the Christian use of the terminology, which was fraught with Christian theological meaning. Already in the New Testament the biblical gesture of laying on of hands is given a new meaning. In particular, it became associated with the transfer of the Holy Spirit by the apostles, believed to be endowed with this particular ability, to others who were seen as religiously inferior but worthy of being raised to a higher level. Acts 8 deals with a controversy between Peter and

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John as representatives of the Jerusalem apostles, on the one hand, and Simon Magus in Samaria, on the other.126 Having heard that Philip had preached the Christian message in Samaria and that some Samaritans had been baptized as a consequence of his missionary activity, Peter and John arrived and “prayed for them that they might receive the Holy Spirit” (8:15). The text continues: “Then they laid their hands on them and they received the Holy Spirit” (8:17). Simon Magus then tried to obtain this power as well: “Now when Simon saw that through the laying on of the apostles’ hands the Holy Spirit was given, he offered them money, saying: Give me also this power, that on whomever I lay my hands, he may receive the Holy Spirit” (8:18–19). The apostles refuse to give in to his demands, claiming that his monetary offer indicates his spiritual inferiority. The text shows that the tradents and editors were well aware of the possibility that the gesture could be (mis)interpreted as magical. They therefore try to distinguish Christian apostles from magicians who might appropriate their gestures for their own (commercial) purposes. Later in Acts Paul is said to have transferred the Holy Spirit to believers in Ephesus through the gesture of laying on of his hands, with immediately noticeable consequences: “And when Paul layed his hands upon them, the Holy Spirit came on them, and they spoke in tongues and prophesied” (Acts 19:6). 1 Timothy 4:14 connects the laying on of hands with the presbyter’s office and in 2 Timothy 1:6 the gesture is said to have bestowed a “gift of God” on Timothy. By the late second and early third centuries CE the laying on of hands had become a customary gesture in the ordination of bishops, presbyters, and deacons, as evidenced by the Apostolic Tradition attributed to Hippolytus: “In ordination the gesture occurs in conjunction with a prayer for the bestowal of the Holy Spirit.”127 The fourth-century Latin translator of Hippolytus translated the verb χειροτονεῖν with ordinare, so that the gesture of laying on of hands was identified with ordination in Christian circles.128 Tanner points out that, 126  On Simon Magus in Christian and Gnostic tradition see especially R. Bergmeier, “Die Gestalt des Simon Magus in Act 8 und in der simonianischen Gnosis—Aporien einer Gesamtdeutung,” ZNW 77 (1986): 267–75; M. Smith, Studies in the Cult of Yahveh, Vol. 2: New Testament, Early Christianity, and Magic. Edited by Shaye J.D. Cohen (Leiden and Boston MA: Brill, 1996), 140–2; A. Ferreiro, Simon Magus in Patristic, Medieval and Early Modern Traditions (Leiden and Boston MA: Brill, 2005). 127   F.C. Senn, “Laying On of Hands,” 235 in The Encyclopedia of Christianity, Vol. 3. Edited by E. Fahlbusch. (Grand Rapids MI, Michigan: Eerdmans, and Leiden and Boston MA: Brill, 2003). 128  M. Tanner, “Ordination,” 500–2 in The Oxford Companion to Christian Thought. Intellectual, Spiritual, and Moral Horizons of Christianity. Edited by A. Hastings et al. (Oxford and New York NY: Oxford University Press, 2000), 501.

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initially, “only the presiding bishop laid hands on the candidate,” while the Council of Nicaea (325 CE) decreed “that a minimum of three bishops should lay hands on an episcopal candidate.”129 Palestinian rabbis were probably aware of the Christian use of the gesture and its potentially magical connotations. They may have avoided its mention in connection with rabbinic appointments to prevent any association with the Christian meaning of the ritual. Babylonian rabbis, on the other hand, lived at a greater distance from the official church and may therefore have been more inclined to use the verb ‫ סמך‬and the noun ‫ סמיכה‬for rabbinic appointments.130 In fact, the terminology is used several times in the Bavli. For example, an anonymous statement in b. Yoma 87a maintains: “Many sons did Canaan have who were worthy of being appointed [‫]ליסמך‬, such as Tabi, the slave of R. Gamliel, but the guilt of their ancestors caused them [to lose this chance].” The context of this statement focuses on the merits or evilness of the forefathers and the consequences for later generations. The text does not specify to what status Tabi could have been promoted. The assumption probably is that he could have become a full-fledged rabbinic scholar acknowledged as such by rabbis. That one’s lineage was important for rabbinic promotion in Babylonia is also indicated by a statement attributed to R. Nahman b. Isaac in b. Taan. 3a, who claims that R. Yehoshua b. Batira “was called by his own name [Yehoshua] before they appointed him [‫ ”]מקמי דליסמכוהו‬and “by the name of his father [Ben Batira] after they had appointed him [‫]לבתר דליסמכוהו‬.” The importance of lineage for Babylonian sages has already been emphasized by Rubenstein: “narratives suggest that noble lineage was a prerequisite for the highest academic positions.”131 In the Babylonian context the appointment expressed with the verb ‫ סמך‬may well refer to (the Bavli editors’ assumption of the respective individual’s) membership in one of the Babylonian academies.

129  Ibid. 130  For differences between Palestinian and Babylonian rabbis with regard to their attitudes toward paganism and pagan practices see R. Kalmin, Jewish Babylonia between Persia and Roman Palestine (Oxford and New York NY: Oxford University Press, 2006), 119: Palestinian rabbis were keen on “maintaining distance between themselves and forbidden objects of pagan worship”; Babylonian rabbis, on the other hand, did not have to deal with the problem in the same way because “rabbinic settlements in Babylonia tended to be exclusively Jewish, as opposed to the mixed pagan/Jewish character of rabbinic settlements in Palestine.” A similar reasoning can be applied to differences concerning Palestinian and Babylonian rabbis’ attitudes toward Christianity. 131   J.L. Rubenstein, The Culture of the Babylonian Talmud (Baltimore MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2003), 90; see also 151–4.

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Rubenstein always uses the term “appointment” rather than “ordination” for Babylonian sages as well.132 That Babylonian rabbis imagined appointment (‫ )סמיכה‬to a circumscribed group or even institution is also indicated in b. Ketub. 112a, where R. Eleazar is said to have been appointed (‫ )סמכוהו‬and “made to sit in the council [or: circle] of intercalation [‫]אותבוהו בסוד העיבור‬.” His appointment [‫ ]סמיכה‬is subsequently equated with “being inscribed in the register of the House of Israel” [‫ יכתבו‬. . . ‫]ובכתב בית ישׂראל‬. The terminology is based on Ezek 13:8, an invective against false prophets, who are denied such honors. If a sage missed his lifetime opportunity to be appointed, he would not easily get a second chance (cf. b. B. Qam. 80b: “What is the meaning of: ‘If the door has been shut, it will not quickly open [again]’? Mar Zutra said: Appointment [‫)”]סמיכה‬. The Babylonian Talmud even views Palestinian rabbinic society in light of its own appointment practices. According to a narrative transmitted in b. B. Metz. 85a, Rabbi appointed the son of the “righteous” R. Eleazar b. R. Shimon to the status of “Rabbi” [‫]אסמכיה ברבי‬, a formulation that does not have an equivalent in Palestinian rabbinic sources, and entrusted him to one of his relatives. Eventually, he is said to have become a great scholar who sat in Rabbi’s academy (‫)כי גדל אתא יתיב במתיבתא‬. The appointment, which seems to have been based more on his lineage than on his scholarship (he was appointed before being turned into a sage by Rabbi’s relative), is described as a ritual ceremony: “They made you a sage, and a golden cloak they spread over you, and ‘Rabbi’ they called you . . .” (ibid.).133 What is not mentioned here is the gesture of laying on of hands. In fact, a statement transmitted in b. Sanh. 13b, after the discussion of the baraita about the elders’ laying on of hands (t. Sanh. 1:1, see above) emphasizes that for Babylonian sages of the fifth century CE (just as for Palestinian sages, see y. Sanh. 1:3, 19a above) appointment did not involve the actual gesture of laying on of hands: “Rav Aha the son of Raba said to Rav Ashi: Do they actually appoint someone by [the laying on of] a hand? He said to him: [No,] they appoint him 132  See, eg, ibid. 93, 120–1. 133  A Yerushalmi text which mentions the appelation “Rabbi” in connection with a “cloak” and appointment is much less ceremonious and entirely different in its context and meaning. A statement attributed to R. Shein in y. Bik. 3:3, 65d, talks about those appointed for money: “This one who is appointed for money, they do not stand up before him and they do not call him ‘Rabbi’. And the tallit he wears is like the saddlebag of an ass.” As already mentioned in the previous chapter, the implication of the statement seems to be that only individuals renowned for their Torah scholarship deserve others’ honorable treatment of them.

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[‫ ]סמכין ליה‬by [calling up his] name, they call him ‘Rabbi’, and they give him authority to adjudicate monetary cases.” Here, too, the assumption seems to be that the candidate becomes a member of a particular body with communal judicial authority and that those who are already members are inducing newcomers into it.134 The evidence suggests, then, that differences between Palestine and Babylonia did not only concern the terminology (Palestine: ‫;מינוי‬ Babylonia: ‫)סמיכה‬, but also the imagined kind of appointments (Palestine: to a particular patriarchal court or local communal office; Babylonia: to a permanent council or academy with particular judicial functions). Whether Babylonian semikhah ever actually involved the gesture of laying on of hands, so common in the late antique church, remains uncertain.135

The Head Nod

Ehrlich has argued that “Nodding was well known in the rabbinic period as a gesture of thanks or greeting.”136 All except one of his examples of the gesture stem from the Babylonian Talmud, though. In Palestinian sources the head nod appears in a baraita transmitted in t. Sanh. 11:1 and y. Sanh. 8:1, 22d. The Yerushalmi sugya discusses the halakhic requirement that witnesses who know that someone contemplates a serious crime have to warn him of the penalty that awaits him if he carries out the crime. The baraita deals with the possibility that “they warn him and he nods his head [‫”]ומרכין בראשׁו‬: does this gesture mean that he acknowledges the warning and is knowledgeable of the punishment of his planned crime? According to the continuation of the ruling, neither a mere nod nor a brief verbal statement suffices to ensure the judges of his knowledge of the consequences of his intended action. Unless he says, “on the basis of this stipulation I am doing it,” he is exempt. Where major crimes were concerned, the gesture of the head nod would have been much too vague in its meaning to be able to establish criminal liability. It could indicate assent, but what exactly was assented to remained

134  The following discussion in b. Sanh. 13b–14a implies that, under normal circumstances, more than one rabbi would appoint new members to this judicial body. On this text see also Stemberger, “Die Ordination der Rabbinen,” 98–100. 135  Stemberger, “Die Ordination der Rabbinen,” 103, is certainly right in his assumption that the Christian practice of laying on of hands in appointments to church offices was not a continuation of rabbinic practice but directly based on the biblical prototype (Num 27). 136  Ehrlich, The Nonverbal Language of Prayer, 50.

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­uncertain.137 The gesture could also be carried out unintentionally, by individuals who were physically or mentally disabled. The Babylonian Talmud transmits a story about the mute sons of the sister of R. Yohanan Gudgada, who would “nod with their heads and move their lips” whenever Rabbi entered the study house (b. Hag. 3a). They are said to have been cured when Rabbi prayed for them. Mishnah Gittin 7:1 refers to a husband who lost the power of speech and became mute. If others asked him, “Shall we write a divorce document for your wife?,” and he nodded with his head (‫והרכין בראשׁו‬, cf. t. Sanh. 11:1 above), they cannot immediately assume his consent but have to “examine him three times” to make sure that he really wants to divorce his wife. It seems that in halakhic contexts the head nod was an ambiguous sign that did not automatically mean assent or even indicate that the individual who nodded had understood what was said to him. Especially in situations where there was uncertainty about the respective person’s physical and mental capacities, additional precautions had to be taken. The issue is taken up again in y. Ter. 1:1, 40b, in connection with a deaf-mute who separates heave-offering. If he is of a sound mind, can he indicate his intention in writing, so that others can validate it? The case of a divorce document is referred to by analogy here. Can someone who became a deaf-mute later in life divorce his wife by written instructions? Or may the scribe and witnesses act on the basis of his oral instructions only? The anonymous Talmud replies: “[No], even if he nods his head” this is considered sufficient instruction to divorce his wife. The allusion is to m. Git. 7:1, but the Yerushalmi’s version of the rule is much more lenient since a nod repeated three times is not mentioned. This leads to the anonymous reasoning that a deaf mute who can write can provide written instructions to divorce his wife. The discussion continues however, by differentiating between the actions of writing and nodding one’s head. Nodding one’s head is likened to raising one’s voice to be heard by the scribe and witnesses—both being permissible in the case of divorce—whereas writing is not. In this case, should one not expect that both actions (nodding and raising one’s voice) would have to be carried out three times to be considered valid (R. Ezra’s question to R. Mana, cf. the requirement in m. Git. 7:1)? R. Mana disagrees: only nodding one’s head needs to be done three times.

137  A narrative in y. Yoma 1:6, 39b presents another option: when Rab was occupied with prayer and could not answer Rav Kahana’s query about the proper writing of a name, he allegedly used his finger to draw the correct letter in the air. This gesture (finger writing) would have been useful in particular situations only, however, and is not mentioned in other contexts in Palestinian rabbinic documents.

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The long discussion indicates that rabbis were uncertain about the halakhic value of orality, writing, and gestures and inclined to prefer oral statements and gestures to written documents and instructions in certain contexts. In the case of a deaf-mute who understands what he is doing the (repeated) head nod is considered more legally binding as a confirmation of his wish to divorce his wife than written instructions. It was probably the life action in front of the scribe and witnesses that counted most. The head nod could be observed by the witnesses, whereas a document could always be falsified. An entirely different context in which a head nod is mentioned appears in a tannaitic story tradition attributed to Shimon the Just in y. Ned. 1:1, 36d. The first-person account relates that a beautiful young man from the south with golden colored hair once came to visit Shimon. When he saw him, Shimon asked him why he had destroyed his beautiful hair. He tells him that when he saw his image reflected in water, the evil spirit took hold of him and threatened to destroy him. He eventually realized that he had been proud of something that did not belong to him but to God. Thereupon “I [i.e., Shimon the Just] nodded my head and said to him: My son, may [people] like you multiply, who do the will of the Lord in Israel” (ibid.). The story seems to be a rabbinic adaptation of the Graeco-Roman myth of Narcissus, which circulated in a number of different versions in antiquity, being retold by authors such as Ovid, Plutarch, and Pausanias, represented in art and probably also enacted in theater performances.138 The rabbinic narrative provides the gist of the Narcissus story—a beautiful young main falls in love with his own image which he sees reflected in water—but adapts it to rabbinic theological and moral values: the evil spirit causes his self-obsession; he realizes that God is the creator and owner of his physical features; there is no reason to be proud of one’s appearance. Shimon the Just’s head nod is meant as an approval of the young man’s insight into the divine origin of his existence, including his physical appearance. It functions in much the same way as the head kiss that teachers are said to have given their students as an acknowledgement of their halakhic knowledge (see above). The kiss is a more intimate gesture than the nod, however, and probably presupposed a certain familiarity between the giver and receiver. 138  On the development and representation of the Narcissus myth see, eg, C. Zimmerman, The Pastoral Narcissus: A Study of the First Idyll of Theocritus (Lanham MD and London: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 1994), 1–22, with reference to Ovid, Metamophoses 3.339–510. He notes that “Narcissus as a mythological figure is difficult to find in extent literature much before Ovid’s story” (2), which constitutes the source of later retellings of the myth.

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In this story the young man is presented as a stranger to Shimon, a circumstance that rendered the more detached head nod more appropriate. As the examples from Palestinian rabbinic sources show, nodding one’s head forward usually connoted assent. This was also the meaning the gesture had in Graeco-Roman society, in contrast to nodding the head backward, which suggested a denial or rejection of what had been said, much like turning one’s head to the sides to say “No” nowadays.139 In Greek, the verb νεύω meant “to nod,” with ἀνανεύω, “to move the head up and back” ( = No), and κατανεύω, “to nod down” ( = Yes).140 In the Palestinian rabbinic texts above the Hif’il of ‫ רכן‬is used, which also means “to bend,” and it seems to always indicate the downward bend of the head. Elsewhere, especially in the Babylonian Talmud, other more ambiguous verbs can be used as well, such as the form ‫ נענע‬from ‫נוע‬, “to move” or “to shake”: in a vision R. Yishmael b. Elisha sees the Lord of Hosts nod his head to him after he had asked him to be merciful (b. Ber. 7a). A story tradition in b. Eruv. 60b uses the verb ‫ כרכשׁ‬to indicate assent. When the third-generation Babylonian sages Rabbah, R. Joseph, and R. Sheshet were sitting together, “Rabbah nodded his head” in obvious agreement to something R. Sheshet had said. Thereupon R. Joseph scolds them and accuses them of having made a mistake. Similarly, in b. Nid. 42a R. Zeira is said to have told R. Yirmeyah that R. Abin “nodded his head to me in the study house,” when he explained a halakhic issue to him. In the context of halakhic discussions, head nods would indicate agreement with previously quoted opinions then. In the more regulated and institutionalized context of the Bavli a head nod is also presented as an agreement in cases where majority decisions were sought (cf. b. Hor. 3b). Spitting The Mishnah lists spitting among a number of actions that may affect another person and incur the payment of damages, even if they do not cause any physical injuries: [If] he knocks his fellow, he gives him a sela. R. Yehudah says in the name of R. Yose the Galilean: a maneh. [If] he slapped him, he gives him two 139  See Corbeill, Nature Embodied, 7. 140   A.L. Boegehold, “Antigone Nodding, Unbowed,” 19–23 in The Eye Expanded: Life and the Arts in Greco-Roman Antiquity. Edited by F.B. Titchener and R.F. Moorton (Berkeley and Los Angeles CA: University of California Press, 1999), 21, with literary examples.

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hundred zuz; with the back of his hand, he gives him four hundred zuz. [If] he slit his ear, plucked his hair, spat [‫]רקק‬, and his spittle reached him, removed his tallit from him, uncovered a woman’s head in the market, he gives four hundred zuz. This is the general rule: Everything in accordance with his [i.e. the effected person’s] honor (m. B.Qam. 8:6). If one disregards the interspersed statement attributed to R. Yehudah, the amounts of money mentioned in the mishnah increase from approximately 4 zuz (= 1 sela)141 to two hundred zuz, and eventually four hundred zuz; that is, the actions mentioned here are arranged according to the increased severity of the damage they cause. From the modern perspective it may seem strange that spitting is counted among the most severe offences here, despite the fact that it does not cause any physical harm. Like the removal of another man’s tallit and the uncovering of a woman’s head in public, spitting was seen as a public offence that was extremely shameful for the person affected by it. The mishnah rules that the offender has to pay compensation for the injury he caused to the other’s honor. The general rule at the end of the mishnah suggests that the more honorable the affected individual the greater the damage the culprit has to pay. The Yerushalmi comments on the mishnah with a statement attributed to Resh Laqish: “One who puts an elder to shame gives him the full compensation for his shame,”142 followed by a story about “someone [who] insulted R. Yudah b. Haninah. The case came before Resh Laqish, and he fined him a pound of gold” (y. B. Qam. 8:6, 6c). The type of shame or insult is not further specified here.143 As an originally independent tradition, the story may have referred to a verbal insult. As a comment on the mishnah, any of the mentioned physical offenses could be implied here.144 The “pound of gold” mentioned as an appropriate compensation may seem overly generous as far as reality is concerned, but it is meant to indicate the great honor pertaining to a rabbi, which

141  See A. Carmel, Aids to Talmud Study (4th revised ed. Jerusalem and New York NY: Feldheim, 1980) 79. 142  In the parallel version in y. Ketub. 4:8, 28d, this rule is presented as the outcome of a vote taken in Usha. For a synoptic chart of the parallels (including the story) and a discussion of the differences see C. Hezser, Form, Function, and Historical Significance of the Rabbinic Story in Yerushalmi Neziqin (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1993), 36–7. 143  The (Hebrew) halakhic statement uses ‫מביישׁ‬, the (Aramaic) story ‫אקפד‬. 144  In the parallel version in y. Ketub. 4:8, 28d, someone is said to have “insulted an elder and hit him . . . Some say: It was R. Yudah b. Haninah.”

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must not be impaired in any way. The story serves as a warning to prospective offenders rather than providing information about actual penalties. According to Matthew 27:27–31, Roman soldiers mocked Jesus after they had captured him. Behaving like theater actors, they dressed him like a pseudoking, prostrating before him and blessing him (27:28–29). Afterwards, they did the opposite, treating him in a way that was contrary to the honor due to a dignitary: “and they spat at him, took the reed and struck him on his head.”145 The text may be modeled after the description of the suffering servant in DeuteroIsaiah (Isa 50:6), who is also said to have been struck, insulted, and spat at by others. Yet the tradents and editors of the gospel would also have known that “[s]pitting on a person was one of the most grievous insults short of violence” in the Graeco-Roman world.146 Especially spitting into someone’s face was considered despicable and is presented as a prelude to violence in Sophocles’s Antigone: “But the boy glared at him [his father] with savage eyes, spat in his face, and without a word in response drew his twin-edged sword. As his father rushed out in flight, he missed his aim . . .” (lines 1230–1234). In discussing the causes that stimulated anger (ira), according to Roman writers, Anderson points to “iniuria, whether directly inflicted upon the person or indirectly,” which can lead to grief and indignatio.147 Besides verbal insults, “closely related in degree of importance are the slight insults also known as contumeliae, injury to one’s pride rather than a permanent hurt.”148 Spitting was one of these contumeliae. Seneca relates that a young man spat into Diogenes’s face, when he delivered a speech: Someone was insulting you: was it greater than the insult done to Diogenes the Stoic philosopher, when an arrogant young man spat in his face at the very moment he was discoursing on anger? He endured this affront mildly and wisely: ‘I am not, in fact, angry’, he said, ‘but just the same, I am inclined to think I ought to be angry’. But how much better the course adopted by our own Cato! When he was pleading a case, Lentulus, that seditious and turbulent man, as our fathers remember him, g­ athered as 145  In Mark 15:19 the sequence is different: they struck him with a reed, spat at him, then genuflected before him. Matthew may have corrected the sequence of actions to make a clear distinction between the mock honoring of a king and its very opposite. 146   C.S. Keener, The IVP Bible Background Commentary: New Testament (Downers Grove IL: InterVarsity Press, 1993) 127. 147   W.S. Anderson, Essays on Roman Satire (Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 1982), 316. 148  Ibid. 317.

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much thick saliva as he could and spat it in the middle of Cato’s forehead. He wiped it off and said: ‘If anyone says you have no cheek, Lentulus, I’ll tell him he’s mistaken’ (Seneca, De Ira 3.38).149 The passage is quoted in full here because the settings (philosophical session and public discourse) are so similar to those rabbinic literature envisions. Eminent Roman intellectuals are said to have been spat at in the middle of their argumentation. Instead of giving in to their anger, however, they reacted in a smart and humorous way, proving their philosophical superiority to the offenders. Seneca mentions another such case in connection with Aristides: when he was led to execution in Athens, one man “spat in his face.” Instead of becoming angry at him, however, “he merely wiped his face and said with a smile to the magistrate accompanying him: ‘Remind that fellow to avoid opening his mouth so offensively in the future’.”150 That rabbis could be as wise as Roman philosophers in dealing with the indignity of being spat at is suggested by an Aramaic and probably amoraic narrative about R. Meir transmitted in Leviticus Rabbah:151 R. Meir used to sit and expound on Sabbath nights.152 There was a woman sitting and listening to him. [When] his exposition tarried, she waited until he had concluded his discourse. [When] she went home, she found that the lamp had gone out. Her husband said to her: Where have you been? She said to him: I was sitting and listened to an exposition. He said to her: Indeed, you shall not enter here until you go and spit into the face [‫ ]ורוקת באנפי‬of the preacher. They were sitting the first week, the second week, and the third [without anything happening]. Her neighbor said to her: Are you still angry with each other? We shall come with you to the exposition. As soon as he saw them, R. Meir realized [what he had to do] by means of the Holy Spirit.153 He said to them: Is there among you a woman who is capable of whispering [a spell] over an eye? Her neighbor said to her:154 If you go and spit into his face [‫]ורוקת באנפיה‬, you will be permitted to your husband [again]. When she sat down before him, she 149  Translation with J. Davie, Seneca: Dialogues and Essays. A New Translation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 48. 150  Seneca, Consolation to Helvia 13, translated with Davie, Seneca, 179. 151  The story has a parallel in y. Sotah 1:4, 16d. 152  The Yerushalmi version specifies: “. . . in the congregation of Hammata.” 153  The Yerushalmi version adds: “and he pretended to have pain in his eye.” 154  Again, the Yerushalmi version is more explicit: “Pretend to be a charmer. . . .”

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withdrew from him. She said to him: Rabbi, I am not capable of whispering [a spell over] an eye. He said to her: Spit into my face seven times and I shall be cured. She spat into his face seven times. He said to her: Go, tell your husband: You told me [to spit] once; I spat seven times . . .  (Lev. Rab. 9:9). Like the Roman intellectuals mentioned by Seneca, R. Meir is said to have neutralized the negative aspects associated with spitting someone in the face. Rather than becoming angry with the woman (or her husband), he turns the intended insult into a cure to save the face of everyone involved. That the rabbi’s behavior was unusual and carried out for the benefit of the woman and her husband only is emphasized in the continuation of the story: “His disciples said to him: Rabbi, thus they degrade the Torah! Could you not have told one of us to whisper [a spell] for you?” Being spat at by a woman was seen as particularly obnoxious, probably because of the impurity issues involved.155 R. Meir states explicitly that his intention was to restore peace between husband and wife. What would otherwise be regarded as play-acting is presented as a spiritual insight: the solution to the problem was revealed to R. Meir by the Holy Spirit. Through its reference to divine inspiration the story gains a theological and moral character that the anecdotes told by Seneca lack. Yet both Seneca’s text and the rabbinic story emphasize the intellectuals’ superior wisdom in withstanding and even turning around the evil and shameful aspects of being spat in the face by someone while discoursing in front of an audience. In addition to the most obvious significance of spitting at another person as a severe insult, two further aspects of spitting are alluded to here: spitting in a study session or synagogue and spitting as a means of healing an ailing body part. Both of these aspects also appear in connection with the Essenes. Josephus, in his description of the particularities of the Essenes, reports that “they guard against spitting into [their] middles or to the right side.”156 Josephus does not provide an explanation for this behavior. It remains uncertain whether the formulation, “into [their] middles”, relates to a group gathering or to the middle part of one’s body. In his commentary on the text, Mason opts for the latter: “. . . the second qualification, ‘to the right side,’ seems to preclude 155  See G. Hasan-Rokem, Tales of the Neighborhood: Jewish Narrative Dialogues in Late Antiquity (Berkeley and Los Angeles CA: University of California Press, 2003), 74, who suggests that the exchange of bodily fluids between the woman and the rabbi could also be seen as an allusion to sexual intercourse. 156  Josephus, J.W. 2.147. Translation with Steve Mason, ed. Flavius Josephus: Translation and Commentary, Vol. 1B: Judean War 2 (Leiden and Boston MA: Brill, 2008).

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a group context, since it cannot be that it was acceptable to spit on those to one’s left.”157 He points to ancient authors who suggest that spitting into one’s chest or torso or to the right side “were behaviors popularly thought to prevent or cure illnesses, though regarded by critics as superstitions.”158 Similarly, Beall has pointed out that the practice of spitting on the right may have been related to magic beliefs: “Spitting on the right may have been done for good luck (since the right-hand side was associated with good fortune).”159 Mason concludes that, “like some other philosophers, Josephus’ Essenes reject the common practice of spitting for good luck or to ward off disease.”160 The Qumran Manual of Discipline rules that “the man who spits into the midst of the assembly of the many shall be punished for thirty days” (1QS 7:13). In this text a group context is expressly stated. Mason rejects the assumption of an analogy to Josephus’s description: a prohibition on public spitting (. . .) is expected and unremarkable.”161 Yet the severe punishment indicates the importance the Essenes attributed to the avoidance of this practice. Issues of impurity and the possibility of being touched by another person’s spittle are likely to have been a problem here (cf. Lev 15:8: “And if he that has a discharge [of semen] spits upon him that is clean, then he shall wash his clothes, and bathe himself in water, and be unclean until the evening”).162 By threatening any spitter with a thirty-day punishment the Essenes turned the biblical concern about a possible transmission of impurity into a severe crime against the community. According to tannaitic texts, spitting was prohibited on the Temple Mount and seen as “contemptuous” (cf. m. Ber. 9:5, t. Ber. 6:19). Magness assumes that while rabbis may have considered respect for the Temple as a holy place the main reason for the prohibition, in pre-70 times issues of (im)purity may have played a role as well.163 Although we do not know for certain whether the prohibition to spit in the Jerusalem Temple precincts existed in Temple times already, Epictetus mentions an analogous prohibition of spitting (and blowing one’s nose) in pagan temples.164 157  Mason, Flavius Josephus, 117. 158  Ibid. 159   T.S. Beall, Josephus’ Description of the Essenes Illustrated By the Dead Sea Scrolls (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 96. 160  Mason, Flavius Josephus, 117. 161  Ibid. 117–8. 162  See also J. Magness, Stone and Dung, Oil and Spit: Jewish Daily Life in the Time of Jesus (Grand Rapids MI: Eerdmans Publishing Co, 2011), 126. 163  See ibid. 164  Epictetus, Discourses 4.11.32, quoted in Magness, Stone and Dung, 127.

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For the late antique rabbis of the Talmud Yerushalmi, the issue of spitting in a synagogue had become a controversial subject. A sugya in y. Ber. 3:5, 6d discusses spitting among other bodily actions (eg, breaking wind, sneezing, yawning) that might be considered inappropriate and disruptive during prayer. Some of these actions are natural functions that cannot always be avoided. The question is whether spitting should be considered similarly inevitable under certain circumstances, for example, when clearing one’s throat (cf. R. Yohanan’s statement). The anonymous Talmud goes on to differentiate between different forms of spitting, reminiscent of Josephus’s description of Essene prohibitions: “Spitting in front of oneself is prohibited, behind is permitted. To his right is prohibited, to his left is permitted” (ibid.). Magic practices are not necessarily the reason for these rabbinic differentiations. Spitting over one’s shoulder toward the back would have been less noticeable and could not be interpreted as lack of respect for the religious context of the gathering. The right hand side was always held in higher esteem than the left (cf. seating someone at one’s right hand side), therefore spitting toward the left was seen as less disrespectful. The discussion shows that for natural purposes and if carried out in an inconspicuous way, spitting during prayer gatherings was seen as permissible by late antique Palestinian rabbis. Issues of impurity, which may have been relevant to the Essenes, do not play a role in the rabbinic discussion. Then the Yerushalmi transmits the following general statement attributed to R. Yehoshua b. Levi: “Spitting in the synagogue is like spitting into the pupil of [God’s] eye” (y. Ber. 3:5, 6d). The tannaitic prohibition of spitting in the Temple (see above) seems to have been extended to the synagogue here. The statement implies that the synagogue was a holy place where God was more present than elsewhere. Rabbis who shared this notion may have considered all kinds of spitting in synagogues disruptive to the numinous atmosphere of the place. But not all rabbis seem to have had such reservations, as the following story tradition indicates: “R. Yonah would spit and smooth over it [with his foot]” (ibid.). It is not the gesture of spitting but the spittle itself that is out of place in a synagogue and needs to be made invisible. Ehrlich’s categorical distinction between the Yerushalmi, which allegedly prohibits spitting in the synagogue, and the Bavli, which allegedly permits it, fails to take differences of opinion between rabbis and the nuances with regard to spitting into account (see the context of R. Yehoshua b. Levi’s statement above).165 The discussion of the issue in the Bavli (b. Ber. 62b) is also much less unanimous than he purports it to be. While Raba is said to have permitted spitting in the synagogue, Rav Papa objected to this view (ibid.). Both 165  Ehrlich, The Nonverbal Language of Prayer, 166–7.

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the Yerushalmi and the Bavli compare the synagogue with the Temple when discussing the practice, and the extent of the analogy would have determined individual rabbis’ opinion on the issue. Also relevant was the distinction between spitting as a natural need and spitting as an expression of contempt, whether directed against another visitor or the synagogue itself. Obviously, rabbis would not have been willing to tolerate the latter possibility, even if they could not prohibit spitting in the synagogue altogether. According to m. Avod. Zar. 4:5, one can neutralize an idol by knocking against it and destroying parts of it but not by spitting or urinating on it. Only physical destruction, or at least the attempt to destroy the statue, was seen as an effective way to nullify its impact. For both spitting and urination ‫ בפניה‬is used, which can mean “into its face” or merely “in front of it.” Although such actions might be seen as desecration of the idol, the spittle and urine could be removed easily. They did not constitute permanent damage to the statue and might not even be noticed by onlookers. In fact, they could also be interpreted differently. As Cook has pointed out, “[a]pologists like Arnobius emphasize the Greeks’ own blasphemy of their statues”: for example, “with lurid relish [he] gives the details of Pygmalion’s sexual abuse of the statue of Venus (. . .).”166 Many Greek and Roman statues were constantly touched and kissed by visitors and worshippers, as Perry has pointed out: “The ubiquity of statues in Roman society meant that people interacted with them a great deal more than we interact with statues today.”167 Touching statues was part of some religious rituals. Some statues would have been more attractive in this regard than others: “Cicero, for example, reports that the mouth and chin of a bronze statue of Hercules at Agrigentum were worn down by the kisses of worshippers (Cic. Verr. 2.4.94).”168 Both kissing and spitting were gestures carried out with the mouth that might not always have been easy to distinguish. Some overeager admirers might have left residues of saliva on the statues’ faces, body parts, or clothing. Nevertheless, “disrespectful or abnormal interactions were noticed and sometimes punished.”169

166   J.G. Cook, Roman Attitudes Toward the Christians (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 193, with reference to Arnobius, Adversus Nationes 6.21–22. 167   E.E. Perry, “Human Interactions With Statues,” 653–66 in The Oxford Handbook of Roman Sculpture. Edited by E.A. Friedland and M. Grunow Sobocinski. (Oxford and New York NY: Oxford University Press, 653–66, 2015), 654. 168  Ibid. 169  Ibid.

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Analogies to the above-mentioned mishnah (m. Avod. Zar. 4:5) appear in early Christian literary sources. According to Celsus, some Christians tried to “blaspheme and strike” statues of gods but the gods did not take any revenge; that is, their actions were not effective.170 According to Minucius Felix, who wrote at approximately the same time the Mishnah was edited (at the end of second and beginning of third centuries CE), the pagan Caecilius Natalis claimed that Christians would spit on the gods.171 The texts show that pagan critics might identify blasphemy in the ways in which some Christians interacted with the statues of their gods and goddesses. By the third and fourth centuries Christians seem to have carried out “random attacks” and outright iconoclastic actions on statues, especially in the Roman East.172 According to m. Avod. Zar. 4:4, it is up to gentiles, not Jews, to neutralize their own idols: “An Israelite does not neutralize the idol of a gentile.” How gentiles would neutralize their idols is not specified here. The Yerushalmi comments with the following story: [A. Aramaic:] Bar Kappara found a ring with a figure [on it]. A young gentile was running behind him. He struck him, he reviled him. He said to him: Spit on it. But he would not do so. Urinate on it. But he would not do so. [B. Hebrew:] This is what is said: A gentile nullifies his idol and that of his fellow against his will and he who knows the type of his idol (y. Avod. Zar. 4:4, 44a). The story seems to be a bad example of the mishnaic rule, repeated and expanded in [B], because the gentile refuses to spit or urinate on the idol. It only suggests that Bar Kappara acted in accordance with the mishnaic rule, by asking the gentile to carry out the disgraceful actions rather than doing them himself. As specified in m. Avod. Zar. 4:5, Jews cannot neutralize idols by spitting or urinating on them. The reason for this inability may be hinted at in the continuation of the tannaitic rule in [B]: only someone who is knowledgeable of the type of idolatry represented by the idol is able to annul its potency. The story also implies that so-called idolators would have considered spitting and urinating on idols sacrilegious and refrained from doing so. According to Blidstein, “[i]t is the relation between devotee and object that fixes its 170  Origen, Contra Celsum 8.38. 171  Minucius Felix, Octavius 8.3, referred to by Cook, Roman Attitudes, 193, n. 296. 172  M. Prusac, “Presence and the Image Controversies in the Third and Fourth Centuries AD,” 41–56 in Iconoclasm from Antiquity to Modernity. Edited by K. Kolrud and M. Prusac (Farnham and Burlington, Vermont: Ashgate Publishing, 2014), 42–3.

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­sanctity. . . .”173 Even if this is how rabbis thought, the method suggested by m. Avod. Zar. 4:4 and exemplified by the story, that is, to ask gentiles to nullify their own idols, is unlikely to have worked in reality. Blidstein has suggested that a series of narratives in y. Avod. Zar. 3:11, 43b might refer to spitting into the eyes of statues,174 but spitting is not explicitly mentioned and the text seems to suggest a less overt, passive resistance form of avoiding pagan images: [A] Gamliel Zuga was leaning on R. Shimon b. Laqish. They came upon an image [‫]תבניתא‬. He said to him: What is the law with regard to passing before it? He said to him: Pass before it and close your eyes [‫]וסמי עיני׳‬. [B] R. Yitzhaq b. Matenah was leaning on R. Yohanan. They came across an image [at the building] of the boule [‫]צלמ׳ דבולי‬. He said to him: What is the law with regard to passing before it? He said to him: Pass before it and close your eyes. [C] R. Yaaqov b. Idi was leaning on R. Yehoshua b. Levi. They came across a procession of an idol [‫]אדורי צלמא‬. He said to him: Nahum, the most holy man passed by and you, will you not pass by? Pass before it and close your eyes. The verb ‫ סמי‬means “to close” and can also be translated with “to make blind.”175 In the context of the stories it may mean to simulate blindness or hide one’s eyes by putting one’s hand in front of one’s eyes. In all three cases—which are variants on the same theme—the senior scholars offer one and the same solution: closing one’s eyes is sufficient to prevent the image from having an effect on the person who encounters it.176 This pragmatic approach, which was 173   G.J. Blidstein, “The Nullification of Idolatry in Rabbinic Law,” PAAJR 41–42 (1973–74): 1–44, 32. 174   G.J. Blidstein, “R. Yohanan, Idolatry, and Public Privilege,” JSJ 5 (1974): 154–61, 158, who translates: “Pass before it to spit in his eye,” but is aware of the fact that this is not the literal translation. 175  Jastrow, A Dictionary of the Targumim, 999. See also P. Schäfer, “Jews and Gentiles in Yerushalmi Avodah Zarah,” 335–52 in The Talmud Yerushalmi and Graeco-Roman Culture, Vol. 3. Edited by P. Schäfer (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002), 348. Fine’s translation in idem, Art and Judaism in the Greco-Roman World. Toward a New Jewish Ideology (Cambridge and New York NY: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 113–4, “put its eyes out,” does not seem to be correct and does not make any sense. 176  On the perceived effects of vision in antiquity see R. Neis, The Sense of Sight in Rabbinic Culture. Jewish Ways of Seeing in Late Antiquity (Cambridge and New York NY: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 180: “Viewers of idols become idols; hence the refusal to look.”

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much less offensive to pagan worshippers than the spitting allegedly carried out by Christians, would have allowed rabbis to move about in the many areas of Roman Palestine that were pervaded with statuary. As Eliav has pointed out, “[a]nyone walking in a typical city in Palestine during this period—such as Caesarea Maritima, Scythopolis, Paneas, and Eleutheropolis—would encounter Roman sculpture every step of the way and there is no reason to believe that major cities in regions heavily populated by Jews, such as Sepphoris or Tiberias, were any different.”177 Closing or covering one’s eyes was an individual and subjective approach to the issue of pagan imagery, which focused on the image’s effect on oneself rather than on destroying, blemishing, or blaspheming the object. Late antique Palestinian rabbis seem to have realized that they could not do anything against the objects, which did not belong to them; therefore they came up with ways to protect themselves from certain aspects of their pagan environment while, at the same time, continuing to inhabit it. Another aspect of the story about R. Meir and the woman who used to listen to his sermons, transmitted in Lev. Rab. 9:9 (quoted above), is the implication that spitting might serve healing purposes. R. Meir’s instruction to the woman to spit into his eye seven times to heal it seems to be based on popular medicine which overlapped with magic. As Hasan-Rokem has argued: “Both Rabbi Meir and the women seem . . . to assume that . . . spitting is a female occupation. Indeed, spitting is a standard folk medical procedure practiced mainly by women to this day.”178 Yet spitting for healing purposes is also associated with men in Graeco-Roman and Christian sources. Both Roman emperors and Jesus are said to have healed the diseased with their spittle. Suetonius reports that when Vespasian was newly raised to emperorship, he “wanted something which might clothe him in divine majesty and authority.”179 Such an occasion arrived when a poor man who was blind and another who was lame approached him and asked him to heal them, “saying that they were admonished in a dream by the god Serapis to seek his aid, who assured them that he would restore sight to the one by anointing his eyes with his spittle.”180 Although Vespasian first hesitated to perform such an act, doubting the efficacy of the measure, “by the advice of his friends, he made the attempt publicly, in 177  Eliav, “Viewing the Sculptural Environment,” 415. 178  Hasan-Rokem, Tales of the Neighborhood, 73. 179  Suetonius, Divus Vespasianus 7.2. Translated with Suetonius, The Lives of the Twelve Caesars. An English Translation. Edited by J. Eugene Reed and Alexander Thomson (Philadelphia: Gebbie & Co., 1889), available at www.perseus.tufts.edu. 180  Ibid. 7.3.

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the presence of the assembled multitudes, and it was crowned by success. . . .”181 The story is interesting in several regards. Healing by spittle is presented as a medical procedure suggested by a god, yet doubted by the philosophically trained. The healer is authorized by a god to perform the act and its efficacy rests on the sick person’s religious beliefs. Like R. Meir, Vespasian himself does not believe in the healing effects of his spittle. He carries out this folk medical practice (just as R. Meir instructs the woman to spit at him) for extraneous purposes: to show an audience of onlookers that he can claim divine authority (in R. Meir’s case to restore peace between the woman and her husband). Tacitus, who relates the same story, is even more explicit in his emphasis on the miraculous nature of Vespasian’s healing. When Vespasian was in Alexandria, waiting for the sea to settle, “many wonders occurred which seemed to point him out as the object of the favor of heaven and of the partiality of the gods.”182 Tacitus stresses the common people’s “superstitious” beliefs: the blind man allegedly approached Vespasian “by the advice of the god Serapis, whom this nation, devoted as it is to many superstitions, worships more than any other divinity.” Following divine advice, the man “begged Vespasian that he would deign to moisten his cheeks and eyeballs with his spittle.”183 Vespasian, anxious of being unsuccessful, first ridiculed the request. Interestingly, Tacitus reports that he consulted physicians, to find out whether humans could heal such diseases, not sharing common people’s beliefs in Serapis’s interventions. The physicians are said to have remained vague and did not rule out divine healing powers: “such, perhaps, might be the pleasure of the gods, and the emperor might be chosen to be the minister of the divine will.”184 They also advise Vespasian that a failure would merely ridicule the petitioners’ superstitious beliefs. Like Suetonius, Tacitus confirms that, in the end, the healing was accomplished and the emperor’s popular esteem increased. On the one hand, the Roman accounts indicate the contrast between popular beliefs in the gods’ healing powers and their use of humans as intermediaries and educated upper-class people’s doubts and suspicions. The authors and their main protagonist belong to the “rational” side. On the other hand, the tradition suggests a certain overlap between popular, religion-based medicine and physicians, who refrain from ruling out divine intervention in healing. 181  Ibid. 182  Tacitus, Historiae 4.81. The translation follows Tacitus, The History. Translated by Alfred John Church et al. (New York NY: Random House, 1873; reprinted 1942), available on www .perseus.tufts.edu. 183  Ibid. 184  Ibid.

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At the end, the allegedly rational authors confirm that Vespasian’s healing efforts were successful, that the gods were believed to have effected healing through him. In the context of Suetonius’s and Tacitus’s works of imperial history the anecdotes serve to elevate Vespasian’s reputation. They also testify to the phenomenon that “miracles” such as healing through spittle could be functionalized and used for the healer’s own benefit in front of a crowd of believers. The Vespasian and R. Meir stories do not only share the authors’ and main protagonists’ scepticism and eventual instrumentalization of popular healing myths (in the Lev. Rab. story the woman says: “Rabbi, I am not capable of whispering [a spell over] an eye”)—they also share the assumption that the common crowd, whether in Alexandria or in R. Meir’s synagogue, is familiar with and favorably inclined toward magical healing methods. The crowd’s “superstition” allows the main protagonists’ schemes to work, whether to restore the woman’s relationship with her husband or to kindle popular belief in Vespasian’s divinity. In contrast to Vespasian, R. Meir is not presented as a healer, though. He merely helps the woman to fake the healing of his perfectly healthy eye. The rabbinic storytellers and tradents were not interested in the rabbi’s miraculous abilities but in his wisdom, which revealed itself in his ability to find a solution to the woman’s problem. As such, R. Meir resembles the above-mentioned philosophers more than Vespasian. His closeness to God manifested itself in his wisdom, not in his healing power. This difference also becomes evident when comparing the rabbinic use of spittle to that associated with Jesus. A miracle story in Mark 7:31–36 indicates that spittle was not only considered a useful remedy for eye diseases but applied, according to popular belief, for a variety of other ailments as well. According to the story, a deaf and mute man was brought before Jesus, who was asked “to lay his hand on him” (Mark 7:32). The healing was allegedly carried out by a combination of touch, spittle, and speech: “After putting his fingers in the man’s ears and spitting, he touched his tongue. Then, looking up to heaven, he sighed deeply and said to him: Ephphata! that is: Be opened! Immediately, his ears were opened, his speech difficulty was removed, and he spoke clearly” (7:33–35). In contrast to Suetonius and Tacitus, the storyteller claims that Jesus carried out the healing in private and even prohibited talk about it (the so-called Markan secret), probably to distinguish him from other healers who were interested in their reputations. Nevertheless, the story ends with the claim that “the more he would order them, the more they would proclaim it” (7:36). The final effect resembles that of the Vespasian story (and Jesus’s instruction to be silent serves this aim), namely, the popular association of Jesus with divine power, based on his performance of miracles.

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Interestingly, Matthew and Luke do not transmit the story. In fact, Matthew and Luke do not mention spitting and spittle in connection with Jesus’s healings but only as a means of humiliating him that is associated with Jewish high priests and elders (Matt 26:67) and Roman soldiers (Matt 27:30; cf. Luke 18:32: gentiles). They may have avoided references to the practice of healing through the application of spittle because it was ridiculed and considered superstitious in the educated Hellenistic Jewish and Graeco-Roman circles to which they belonged. Besides the story in Mark 7, mentioned above, references to saliva healings are rare in the New Testament.185 Rather than Jewish concerns about impurity through bodily emissions, discussed in various contexts in the Mishnah,186 the Hellenistic rejection of popular magic beliefs seems to have caused this avoidance. Only the editors of Mark’s and John’s gospels seem to have given in to the popular belief in saliva healing and used it in a few miracle stories to appeal to their audiences.187 The discussion has shown that the gesture of spitting, just like the gesture of laying on of hands, assumes different meanings depending on the contexts in which it is mentioned and the associations linked to it. Spitting at someone can be seen as a humiliating offense if carried out by one’s enemy in the public sphere. The humiliating aspect is also present in the halitzah ritual, in which the widow is supposed to spit into the face of her brother-in-law who refuses to enter into a levirate marriage with her.188 Based on these negative associations, spitting into an idol’s face is, under certain circumstances and by some rabbis, considered an effective means of neutralizing its potency. By contrast, spitting in synagogues is prohibited as far as these locales share in the holiness previously associated with the Jerusalem Temple.

185  The only other occurrences are Mark 8:22–26 (healing of a blind man through a combination of spitting into his eyes and laying hands onto them) and John 9:1–7 (healing of a blind man: a mixture made of spittle and earth is applied to the eyes, cf. 9:6). 186  See, eg, m. Sheqal. 8:1 (spittle considered clean/unclean in accordance with the locations in which it was found); m. Ed. 5:1 (spittle of a gentile or leprous woman); m. Kelim 1:3 (spittle of a zav). The discussion about spittle and uncleanness is continued in the Talmuds. 187  See also the discussion of the story in K. Iverson, Gentiles in the Gospel of Mark. “Even the Dogs Under the Table Eat the Children’s Crumbs” (London and New York NY: T & T Clark International, 2007), 62–3. 188  See Deut. 25:5–10 and C. Hezser, “The Halitzah Shoe: Between Female Subjugation and Symbolic Emasculation,” 47–63 in Jews and Shoes. Edited by Edna Nahshon (Oxford and New York NY: Berg Publishers, 2008), 48–52, on spitting as part of the halitzah ritual.

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At the same time the gesture of spitting had positive connotations in healing contexts, at least as far as popular beliefs were concerned. Applying a powerful person’s spittle on ailing body parts was considered an efficacious remedy by common people, whether Graeco-Roman, Jewish, or Christian. Educated Romans as well as rabbinic and Christian tradents and editors considered such practices superstitious, however, and presented them from a critical point of view. Whereas political and religious figures such as Vespasian and Jesus are sometimes presented as saliva healers to emphasize their divinity (or the idea that a divinity acts through them), rabbis refrained from basing their religious authority on popular miracles, emphasizing their wisdom and ingenuity instead (cf. the R. Meir story).

Gestures As Acts of Communication

This chapter has shown that gestures could become acts of communication in themselves, without the need for additional verbal statements. At the same time, their meanings were linked to the particular ways in which they were carried out, the contexts in which they were used, and the background of the individuals who enacted them. The same gesture could have different meanings in different contexts and for different sub-groups of late antique Palestinian society. A gesture could be meaningful for one set of people and meaningless for—or deliberately avoided by—another group. The very fact that pagans and/or Christians attributed specific meanings to certain gestures may have motivated rabbinic tradents and editors to explicitly reject or avoid mentioning them. Rabbis would have known that the gesture of prostration was used in court circles to express reverence toward the Roman ruler and that it was also used in Graeco-Roman religious worship. Rather than rejecting it altogether, rabbinic tradents associate it with Jewish liturgy (prostration before God when reciting the Amidah) and rabbinic scholarship (bowing before a senior scholar). They thereby replace the object of reverence from political authority and “idolatry” to worship of the Jewish God and Torah knowledge. The gesture of genuflection, on the other hand, seems to have been considered too humiliating to be adaptable to rabbinic social contexts. It was associated with slaves and women and therefore unbecoming for freeborn men. The kiss could be practiced in different ways depending on the part of the other person’s body it was placed on. Again, late antique rabbis seem to have been familiar with the use of the kiss in Roman and Christian society. When

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limiting the kiss to social situations rabbis seem to have deliberately avoided its religious connotations evident in Graeco-Roman paganism and Christianity. They advocated the use of the kiss as a kind of social glue, whether in kinship relations, among friends, or in scholarly circles. Rabbinic sources refer to the head kiss given by a senior to a junior scholar in appreciation of the latter’s accomplishments; and to the mouth kiss among equal-status colleaguefriends. As in some Christian circles, the kiss served rabbis to express shared values and group identity, to acknowledge another person’s similarity with oneself. In contrast to some Christians and pagans, Palestinian rabbis did not believe in the magic transfer and acquisition of certain higher qualities or powers through the kiss. Spitting was another gesture involving the emission of bodily fluids that could lead to the transmission of impurity. Spitting on another person was considered a serious offence in Jewish as in Roman society, since it indicated a deliberate rejection of the other as an honorable person. At the same time, in some pagan and Christian circles, spittle was used in healing rituals. Again, rabbinic traditions focus on the social and purity contexts rather than discussing the significance spittle had in popular magic. Like philosophers and church leaders, they would have rejected that significance. Yet ambiguities remained: Could only a practitioner of a Graeco-Roman religious cult nullify the potency of an idol with his/her spittle? Or could the placing of saliva on an idol even be considered worship? Could onlookers easily distinguish between spitting for the purpose of offending or curing another person? Rabbinic traditions play with these ambiguities and use them to express rabbinic values within the wider context of the use of such gestures in late Roman and early Byzantine society. The gesture of laying on of hands, which had important meanings in Christian society, may have been deliberately downplayed and avoided in rabbinic literature. Especially its significance in the context of Christian ordination lacks an analogy in Palestinian rabbinic circles. Babylonian rabbis acknowledged the possible association between ordination and laying on of hands, but they also explicitly disassociated the gesture from rabbinic succession. From the gospels of the New Testament onwards, hands and touch also figure prominently in healing stories. As in the case of ordination, the person who used the gesture was believed to possess a higher spiritual authority. His touch was considered to transmit some of this power and affect the other. As in the case of the kiss and spittle, rabbis distanced themselves from such religious-magical beliefs. They hesitated from bestowing such powers on humans, even renowned Torah scholars. Hand gestures, such as touching or withdrawing one’s hand from

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another, are used in the context of master-student relationships instead, to signal a scholarly connection or ending of that relationship. The ways in which rabbinic texts use and interpret gestures that were practiced in late antique society (prostration and genuflection, kissing and spitting, laying on of hands) indicate the tradents’ and editors’ keen wish to distinguish themselves from what they considered idolatrous practices. By allocating legitimate social significances to these gestures, rabbis neutralized their magical potential, which many of their contemporaries would have believed in.

CHAPTER 4

Facial Expressions Facial expressions are another important aspect of non-verbal communication represented in rabbinic literature. In real life the recognition and readability of facial expressions depends on the close distance between the communicator and the addressee.1 Facial expressions can be observed in face-to-face encounters only. For actors on a stage and speakers on a podium, who act in front of an audience that is spatially removed from them, gesticulation is more important. In literature the closeness between the interlocutors may be implied, but it is the reader for whom a facial expression is mentioned and who is invited to interpret it in the context of the situation and the relationship between the protagonists presented in the text. Like other forms of non-verbal communication, facial expressions and their perceived meanings are culturally specific, gender-specific, and associated with particular time periods.2 They are socially regulated and learned by individuals in the process of their socialization.3 As Lateiner has pointed out, “[a]ncient texts show disparities as well as continuities between ancient and modern presentations and analyses of emotions and their expression.”4 Whereas lamentation is a common and persistent expression of grief, “[t]ears, . . ., vary across cultures, epochs, perhaps different when expressed by Greeks or Romans.”5 Furthermore, “vividly expressed displays” of grief were mostly associated with women in antiquity, whereas men were expected to be experts in self control.6

1  A.L. Boegehold, When a Gesture Was Expected: A Selection of Examples From Archaic and Classical Greek Literature (Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 1999), 6. 2  M. Argyle, Bodily Communication (2nd ed., London and New York NY: Methuen & Co. Ltd., 1988), 52: “Facial expressions may have different effects in different cultures.” 3  A. Kendon, Gesture: Visible Action as Utterance (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 329. 4  D. Lateiner, “Tears in Apuleius’ Metamorphoses,” 277–96 in Tears in the Graeco-Roman World. Edited by T. Fögen (Berlin and New York NY: Walter de Gruyter, 2009), 285. 5  Ibid. 6   Women and grief: A. Corbeill, Nature Embodied: Gesture in Ancient Rome (Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press., 2004), 77; men and self-control: E. Gunderson,. Staging Masculinity: The Rhetoric of Performance in the Roman World. (Ann Arbor MI: University of Michigan Press, 2000), 89.

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In general, however, the ancients “tolerated well-timed and periodic displays of emotions that we (with less mutual trust) cannot.”7 Argyle has stressed that “[t]he face is the single most important area for signaling emotions,”8 and Corbeill sees the face as “the bodily analog of metaphor” that needs to be decoded.9 In ancient society “the scrutiny of faces was not an idle pastime but an essential survival skill,” for example, to determine whether someone was honest and reliable.10 Often a variety of facial expressions existed for expressing a particular emotion and one facial expression could have different meanings, depending on the context and circumstances in which it appeared.11 While the smile is nowadays associated with friendliness, in antiquity “smiling was not a major part (if a part at all) of Roman social semiotics.”12 The movement of the mouth that we nowadays interpret as a smile could express hostility in antiquity, as the aggressive “grin of the Medusa” exemplifies.13 Besides communicating emotions, facial expressions are also used to convey interpersonal attitudes and to comment on particular situations.14 Corbeill notes that Tacitus emphasizes facial expressions as a “shifting signifier” rather than an expression of a fixed character trait.15 For example, the natural blush was understood to indicate honesty and shame as well as the transgression of social rules, and both meanings could be present at one and the same time.16 7  C.A. Barton, “The Roman Blush: The Delicate Matter of Self-Control,” 212–34 in Constructions of the Classical Body. Edited by J.I. Porter (Ann Arbor MI: University of Michigan Press, 1999), 217. 8  Argyle, Bodily Communication, 77; see also 121. Similarly, B. Korte, Body Language in Literature (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1993), 56: the face serves as an “externalizer” of emotions. 9  Corbeill, Nature Embodied, 144. 10   M.W. Gleason, Making Men. Sophists and Self-Presentation in Ancient Rome (Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 1995), 55. 11  P. Ekman and W.V. Friesen, Unmasking the Face: A Guide to Recognizing Emotions From Facial Clues (Los Altos CA: Malor Books, 2003), 11, on the face as a “multisignal system” and a “multimessage system”. 12  M. Beard, Laughter in Ancient Rome: On Joking, Tickling, and Cracking Up (Berkeley and Los Angeles: CA: University of California Press, 2014), 74. 13  M. Clarke, “On the Semantics of Ancient Greek Smiles,” 37–53 in Body Language in the Greek and Roman Worlds. Edited by D. Cairns (Swansea: The Classical Press of Wales, 2005), 38. 14  Ibid. 5. 15  Corbeill, Nature Embodied, 145. 16  See Barton, “The Roman Blush,” 214, and our discussion below.

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Facial expressions may support and underline one’s own speech or stand on their own as an expression of one’s perception of a situation or in reaction to someone else’s speech or behavior.17 The tradents and editors of rabbinic narratives would have visualized their protagonists and expected their readers and audiences to pay equal attention to the described facial expressions and speech.18 Facial expressions were part of ancient Jewish readers’ shared cultural code. They have to be decoded by the modern reader to whom they may be less familiar, depending on the continuity or discontinuity of meanings associated with them. Interestingly, some of the facial expressions that are mentioned in Palestinian rabbinic texts do not seem to have equivalents in Graeco-Roman literature, while certain Graeco-Roman facial expressions are rarely mentioned in rabbinic texts. This can be explained only partly by reference to the different languages of the sources, for Hebrew does have equivalents for some of the Roman terminology. Besides facial expressions, eye movements, such as focusing one’s gaze and staring at someone, are occasionally represented in the narratives.19 The gaze was also important to orators and is dealt with in Roman rhetorical handbooks.20 Since Neis has already dealt with the rabbinic gaze extensively, I shall not discuss eye movements in the framework of this study.21 For a proper understanding of the rabbinic representation of facial expressions the Graeco-Roman context is of crucial importance. At the same time, one has to allow for the possibility that facial expressions, their meanings, and the contexts in which they occurred differed in Palestinian Jewish society.

17   J.P. Holoka, “Nonverbal Communication in the Classics: Research Opportunities,” 237–54 in Advances in Nonverbal Communication. Sociocultural, Clinical, Esthetic and Literary Perspectives. Edited by F. Peyatos (Amsterdam and Philadelphia PA: John Benjamins Publishing Company, 1992), 244. 18  Cf. Boegehold, When a Gesture Was Expected, 4. 19  On eye movements in Graeco-Roman texts see Gleason, Making Men, 56–8; Corbeill, Nature Embodied, 146–7; D. Cairns, “Bullish Looks and Sidelong Glances: Social Interaction and the Eyes in Ancient Greek Culture,” 123–55 in Body Language in the Greek and Roman Worlds. Edited by D. Cairns (Swansea: The Classical Press of Wales, 2005), 123–55. 20   G.S. Aldrete, Acclamations in Ancient Rome (Baltimore MD and London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1999), 7, with reference to Quintilian, Institutio Oratoria 11.3.72–77. 21  See R. Neis, The Sense of Sight in Rabbinic Culture. Jewish Ways of Seeing in Late Antiquity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013).

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The Roman Blush

In Roman society the blush was closely associated with shame and with the transgression of social conventions: “The blush and sensitivity to shame were so inextricably linked in Roman thought that the words pudor and rubor, ‘shame’ and ‘redness’, were often used together or interchangeably.”22 Since the blush occurs naturally and cannot be avoided through self-control, it was seen as an honest expression of one’s awareness of wrong-doing, that is, of shame. In a society in which personal honor was held in high regard, “the blush was, in itself, penalty enough.”23 People who blushed were considered to regret what they had done, to feel honest remorse, and therefore to recognize social conventions and boundaries. Accordingly, the blush did not carry a social stigma but was, on the contrary, seen positively, as the mark of an honest and honorable person. It was also called “color ingenūūs, the free-born, noble, innocent, and sincere complexion.”24 Philosophers such as Seneca remarked that even high-standing personalities could be seen blushing in public: “I know that the blush, too, is like this, spreading suddenly over the faces of even the most dignified men . . . the blush touches even the veteran and the old.”25 References to blushing are very common in Greek and Roman texts, whether poetic, philosophical, or historical in character.26 As Lateiner has pointed out, in literary texts blushing “allows narrators to convey dramatically a person’s psychic and social impasses without explicit psychological analysis, . . ., or even narrative certainty about its interpretation.”27 While a change of face color may be interpreted in multiple ways, Aristotle explains that “people who are ashamed blush, while those in fear of their lives turn pale.”28 According to Ovid, “purple shame [purpureus pudor] appeared on her [the female lover’s] guilty face [conscia ora],”29 and Virgil maintains that Achilles “grew red [erubuit]” before he felt shame.30 22  Barton, “The Roman Blush,” 212, with literary examples. 23  Ibid. 214, with reference to Cicero, Res Publica 4.6.6. 24  Ibid. 215. 25  Seneca, Epistulae Morales 11.2, quoted in Barton, “The Roman Blush,” 214–5. On the blush see also C.A. Barton, Roman Honor: The Fire in the Bones (Berkeley and Los Angeles CA: University of California Press, 2001), 223–8. 26  A search in www.perseus.tufts.edu leads to dozens of references from Plato and Aristotle to Tacitus. 27  D. Lateiner, “Blushes and Pallor in Ancient Fictions,” Helios 25 (1998): 163–89, 163. 28  Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics 4.9. 29  Ovid, Amores 2.5.34, referred to in Barton, “The Roman Blush,” 212. 30  Virgil, Achilles 2.540–541.

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In Hebrew the word ‫אדום‬, “red,” is also used for Edom, who often stands for Rome in rabbinic sources. The Hif’il of the root ‫“( אדם‬to be red”) is used in the sense of “to cause to blush, put to shame” in later Midrashim but not in the Talmud Yerushalmi and amoraic Midrashim. According to Numbers Rabbah 4:20, Edom was called Edom from ‫אדום‬, “red,” “because he made David blush with shame.” Whereas the blush, that is, the reddened appearance of the face, is not a common feature of Palestinian rabbinic texts of late antiquity, other changes of face color do appear (see below). Rabbinic sources also mention shame relatively frequently and in a variety of contexts. That drunkenness was seen by rabbis as a reason for shame is suggested in Gen. Rab. 36:4, commenting on the Noah story, where Noah’s drunkenness leads to his immodesty (cf. Gen 9:21: “And he [Noah] drank of the wine and was drunk; and he was uncovered within his tent”). According to the rabbinic commentary, “he drank without measure, became intoxicated and was put to shame [‫]ונתבזה‬.” Embarrassment and humiliation may be indicated by the gesture of the cast down face in rabbinic sources. In Lev. Rab. 36:3 Ahaz and other “wicked” Israelite kings are criticized by rabbis. According to the midrash, “when the prophet came to rebuke him, he cast down his face [‫]שׁהיה כובשׁ את פניו‬.” The gesture is reminiscent of Isaiah 49:23, where future messianic times are described: the kings of the nations “shall bow down to you with their face toward the earth and lick up the dust of your feet,” whereas “those who wait for me shall not be ashamed.” The religious context of these gestures indicates that for the biblical authors and rabbis, shame was not primarily a social issue but an awareness of wrongdoing before God. Therefore a change of face color, which suggested the transgression of social conventions set up by humans, may not always have been strong enough to express a deep-seated embarrassment before the divine authority and its representatives.

The Shining Face

From an outsider’s perspective, the “shining face” mentioned in connection with some rabbis, that is, a face with an unusually bright color that strikes onlookers as unusual and noteworthy, could be considered a rabbinic equivalent to the Roman blush. Several Yerushalmi tractates transmit a series of two stories about rabbis with shining faces.31 The first story tells of an encounter between R. Yudah b. R. Eliezer and a matron: 31  Y. Shabb. 8:1, 11a par. y. Pesah. 10:1, 37c and y. Sheqal. 3:2, 47c.

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R. Yudah b. R. Eliezer drank four cups [of wine] on Passover night and his head was tied up until the Festival. A matron saw his face shining [‫]אפוי נהירין‬. She said to him: Old man, old man, one of three things applies to you: Either you drank [too much] wine, or you lent on interest, or you raised pigs. He said to her: May the spirit of this woman [i.e., you] expire! I did not do any of these three things. Rather, [Torah] learning is customary for me, as it is written: ‘The wisdom of a person lightens his face [‫( ’]תאיר פניו‬y. Shabb. 8:1, 11a). The story presents a variety of meanings for the unusual appearance of R. Yudah b. R. Eliezer’s “shining” face. The first sentence suggests that his shining face was due to the large amount of wine he drank on Passover eve, in adherence to the prescription of m. Pesah. 10:1. In the rabbi’s encounter with the matron, on the other hand, three possible transgressions are mentioned, which might have caused the shining to occur. All of these suggested actions are moral transgressions from the Jewish or rabbinic point of view. Being a drunkard, engaging in usury, and raising pigs were practices that rabbis would have outlawed themselves. A rabbi who was identified as a drunkard, usurer, or pig breeder would have been likely to feel ashamed. The accusations themselves could make his face “blush,” whether or not he committed such dishonorable deeds. The matron serves as a teaser who confronts the rabbi with what rabbis themselves imagined to be serious misbehaviors. At the same time, a realistic scenario is created. As already pointed out above, strangers did observe the facial expressions of others in public and were likely to comment on unusual appearances. Someone whose face was blushed or shining was considered to have transgressed social norms. The unusual appearance of the face was interpreted as shame about and acknowledgment of one’s misdeeds. The rabbinically constructed matron therefore acted in a plausible way imaginable for any stranger who saw the rabbi’s face. Yet by choosing the matron as a teaser aspects of rabbis’ imagined vulnerability in a Roman environment may also have played a role. Automatic changes of face color (cf. the Roman blush) are usually seen as “submission tokens” expressing compliance with the value system which the teaser represents.32 In our story the values held up by the matron have analogies in rabbinic society, though. Rather than cowering and admitting his wrongdoing, the rabbi speaks up and confronts the matron with his own explanation for his shining face: Torah study makes a person’s face grow bright. The frame (four cups of wine 32  See Lateiner, “Blushes and Pallor,” 169.

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d­ uring the Passover seder; Torah study) presents positive religious reasons for the shining face, whereas the middle part of the story associates the rabbi’s appearance with shame. As such, the story is a good example of the ambiguity involved in interpreting faces and of the problematic link between facial expressions and character. The story that follows the matrona story in the Talmud Yerushalmi entirely disassociates the shining face from shame: R. Abbahu went down to Tiberias. The students of R. Yohanan saw his face shining. They said before R. Yohanan: Has R. Abbahu found a treasure? He said to them: Why? They said to him: His face is shining. He said to them: Perhaps he has heard a new teaching. He went to him. He said to him: Have you heard a new teaching? He said to him: An old tosefta. And they recited over him: ‘The wisdom of a person makes his face shine’ (ibid.). This story seems to be a variant version of the preceding one in which the positive interpretation of the shining face is further elaborated. Within the confines of rabbinic circles—in contrast to the matron as an outsider, the protagonists are R. Abbahu’s teacher R. Yohanan and his fellow-students here— no one would have suspected R. Abbahu of moral transgression and shame. Instead, a worldly and a religious interpretation of his shining face are offered, both of them associating the shining face with joy: joy over material goods (fellow-students) or joy over a religious teaching (teacher). The rabbinic “shining face” also has positive connotations in Genesis Rabbah. As a comment on Gen 48:15 (“And he blessed Joseph and said: The God before whom my fathers Abraham and Isaac walked. . . .”), the midrash transmits a statement attributed to R. Azariah: “R. Azariah said: When Jacob our father blessed Joseph, he [Joseph] went out and his face was shining [‫]ופניו מצהילות‬, and the tribes were saying: [It is] a law of all the people [to be] with those who stand [in high esteem], because he is a king. With those who stand [in high esteem] they [people] are standing.” Joseph’s face is shining after he has been blessed by his father Jacob and his bright appearance was allegedly interpreted by the people as a marker of his superior status and leadership role. The blush is based on psychological and physiological factors: embarrassment and social anxiety cause the blood vessels to open and flood the skin, a process that gives the face a reddish color. A “shining” face, on the other hand, is not a natural phenomenon and difficult to describe in a more specific way. It is a matter of perception rather than a bodily reaction. In rabbinic texts the shining face, associated with prominent rabbis and biblical patriarchs, is

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­ resented as a visual expression of the religious leaders’ wisdom, spirituality, p and closeness to God. The biblical book of Exodus describes Moses’s shining face after his descent from Mount Sinai with the law tablets in his hands: “the skin of his face sent forth beams” (Exod 34:30, cf. ibid. v. 35) in such a scary way that he put on a veil when talking to the congregation.33 In some Hellenistic Jewish texts particular high priests are associated with the “shining” sun and stars. According to Sirach 50:6–7, Simon the son of Onias “was as the morning star in the midst of a cloud, . . . as the sun shining upon the Temple of the Most High, and as the rainbow giving light to the bright clouds.” The apocalypse of 2 Enoch relates the vision of “two men . . . their faces shining like the sun, their eyes like a burning light . . .” (1:6, cf. ibid. 19:1). Philo talks about the “shining” of the Jewish laws which “will obscure all others, just as the rising sun obscures the stars.”34 The terminology of the “shining face” does not appear often in Palestinian rabbinic sources, perhaps because of its association with apocalypticism and gnosticism.35

A Change of Face Color

A number of stories transmitted in the Talmud Yerushalmi and amoraic midrashim mention that the faces of certain tannaitic rabbis turned saffroncolored in particular social situations. Some of these stories have already been mentioned in different contexts above. The story about Rabbi, R. Hiyya, and the (deceased) exilarch Rav Huna is transmitted in the Talmud Yerushalmi and Genesis Rabbah (y. Ketub. 12:3, 35a par. Gen. Rab. 33:3). It begins by stating that Rabbi was very modest with regard to his attitude toward his heritage. He allegedly claimed that if Rav Huna, the exilarch, should come to Palestine, “I would stand up before him” (Gen. Rab.)/“I would seat him above me” (y.).

33  On Moses’s shining face see J. Morgenstern, “Moses With the Shining Face,” HUCA 2 (1925):1–27. 34  Philo, Vita Mosis 2.7.44. 35  On the “shining face” in Christian gnosticism see A. Hilhorst, “The Apocalypse of Paul: Previous History and Afterlife,” 1–22 in The Visio Pauli and the Gnostic Apocalypse of Paul. Edited by J.M. Bremmer and I. Czachesz (Leuven: Peeters, 2007), 9 and 16. The “shining face” of Christ appears, eg, in the Acts of Peter and the Twelve Apostles 6.1 from the Nag Hammadi library, see C.A. Evans, R.L. Webb, and R.A. Wiebe, eds., Nag Hammadi Texts and the Bible. A Synopsis and Index ( Leiden and Boston MA: Brill, 1993) 263.

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When R. Hiyya tells him that Rav Huna has arrived, “Rabbi’s face turned saffron [‫ נתכרכמו פניו‬in both versions].” The verb is related to the noun ‫כרכום‬, “saffron,” so that Jastrow suggests “to look saffron-like” and “to become bronze-colored” as possible translations, besides the more common English phrase, “to turn pale.”36 Whether saffron/ bronze was considered a lighter or darker color than normal depends on the usual skin tones of Jews who lived in the Near East in antiquity. If their regular skin color was a yellowish beige, Near Eastern people may have perceived the flushed face as saffron- or orange-colored, whereas Romans reckoned with a pale face turning pink or red.37 The literary choice of face color may also be due to the naturally occurring shades of the Near Eastern versus the Roman environment: the color of saffron—shades of light brown, yellow, and orange—was probably more common in the Near Eastern environment of the rabbis than shades of red (rubor) or purple (purpureus). In any case, the translation of the Nitpa’el of ‫ כרכם‬with “to turn pale” seems to be based on modern European conventions of expressing shock and embarrassment. Whether and to what extent the rabbinic use of the term “to turn saffron” resembles the Roman blush or modern references to turning pale depends on the specific literary contexts in which the expression appears. In the story about Rabbi, mentioned above, the sequence of the narrated events and the dialogue between Rabbi and his (former) student and younger colleague R. Hiyya, who originated in Babylonia, is important for understanding the patriarch’s change of face color: [A] [B] [C] [D] [E]

Once R. Hiyya the Elder came up to him. He [R. Hiyya] said to him: Behold, Rav Huna is here. Rabbi’s face turned saffron. He said to him: It is his coffin. He [Rabbi] said to him: Go out [and] see who is asking [for you] there.

36  M. Jastrow, A Dictionary of the Targumim, the Talmud Bavli and Yerushalmi, and the Midrashic Literature. (Jerusalem: Horev, 1985), 670. 37  The issue of skin colors in antiquity and the question whether and to what extent the environment determines skin color is hugely controversial in scholarship, as B. Isaac, The Invention of Racism in Classical Antiquity (Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 2004), 158, has already pointed out. In Greek and Roman society stereotypes existed with regard to Egyptians and Ethiopians, for example, whose dark skin tones were associated with negative character traits in some physiognomic works: “The immediate model for all such observations appears to be Polemon’s treatise. He briefly mentions an opposition westeast, but is more interested in the traditional opposition of north and south . . .” (ibid.).

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[F] He [R. Hiyya] went out and did not find anyone, and he knew that he [Rabbi] was angry with him. [G] He did not go up to him for thirty days (y. Ketub. 12:3, 35a).38 Instead of referring to Rabbi’s anger and R. Hiyya’s refusal to visit him for thirty days (cf. [F]–[G]), the Genesis Rabbah version continues differently after R. Hiyya’s exit: “and he considered himself under the minor ban [‫]נזיפותא‬ for thirty days” (Gen. Rab. 33:3). The lengthy continuation of the story, which seems to be a combination of several smaller stories, is not relevant for the discussion here. As already mentioned above, Elijah eventually appears in the guise of R. Hiyya and heals Rabbi’s toothache, which leads to a reconciliation between the two sages. The story deals with a controversy between the Palestinian patriarch and his younger Babylonian colleague R. Hiyya, in which the exilarch Rav Huna functions as a trigger to kindle a variety of sentiments in Rabbi. The main issue here is the status of the patriarch versus the exilarch and, on a broader scale, between Palestinian and Babylonian sages. In Rabbi’s statement preceding his encounter with R. Hiyya he allegedly acknowledged the exilarch’s better pedigree and was ready to show his respect for him through body language. For that reason, the storytellers call Rabbi “modest” at the beginning of the narrative. When R. Hiyya tells him that Rav Huna has arrived, one expects Rabbi to put his plans into practice and to humble himself before the exilarch. At the same time, the exilarch’s visit to Palestine would indicate his acknowledgment of the Palestinian rabbinate and Rabbi as a leadership figure. When hearing the phrase “Rabbi’s face turned saffron” [C], listeners would have become curious about the continuation of the story. In an oral context the sentence would have served to create tension. Rav Huna’s coffin [D] almost seems like an apparition, which matches Rabbi’s change of facial color. Yet no explicit explanation for Rabbi’s saffron-colored face is given: Did he turn saffron in anger because the exilarch had not bothered to visit him in Palestine during his lifetime? Or was he angry with R. Hiyya, who had made him believe that Rav Huna was still alive? Perhaps he was embarrassed about the fact that his expectation was disappointed, that he had waited too long to honor the exilarch during his lifetime? Or all of these issues played a role. Rabbi’s further reaction [E] indicates that he can no longer bear R. Hiyya’s presence and requests the younger rabbi to distance himself from him. In [F] Rabbi’s anger is explicitly mentioned. 38  The story has a parallel in y. Kil. 9:3, 32b. On this story see also G. Herman, A Prince Without a Kingdom: The Exilarch in the Sasanian Era (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012), 93–5.

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In Greek and Roman society anger was seen as a naturally occurring emotion that adults were expected to control through rational thinking.39 Harris points to Philodemus who, in his treatise De ira, “conjures up a physical caricature of the angry man, with his flashing eyes, red face, gnashing teeth, glowering expression and raised voice—a hideous figure for Greeks, who were accustomed to associating physical excellence with moral excellence.”40 Pliny describes the emperor Domitian “with ira in his eye, a womanish pallor spread over his body, and a deep flush on his face to match his shameless expression.”41 The man whose anger was visible on his face and audible through his voice is clearly presented as a negative figure in Graeco-Roman literary sources. Could this negative image of overt expressions of anger also be implied in the rabbinic story? In the story the Palestinian patriarch is not only presented as inferior to the exilarch on genealogical grounds but also outwitted by the Babylonians, who almost play a prank on him: R. Hiyya professes that the exilarch has come to visit Rabbi when he knows that he is dead; the exilarch has his coffin brought to Palestine for burial but did not bother to see the patriarch during his lifetime. Rabbi’s anger also stands in contrast to his alleged humility, mentioned at the beginning of the story, which is already threatened by the following statement about the elders of Bathyra, who resigned from the patriarchate to give way to Rabbi’s ancestor Hillel, an action that Rabbi is unwilling to replicate.42 Although the story is transmitted in Palestinian literary sources, the figure of the patriarch remains ambiguous and the strained relationship between him and the exilarch is made obvious. The expression “to turn saffron” also appears in two other stories in the Talmud Yerushalmi. According to one of them (y. Pe’ah 1:1, 15c par. y. Qidd. 1:7, 61b), the mother of R. Yishmael complained about her son before rabbis, claiming that he failed to honor her in a proper way. He allegedly transgressed the biblical commandment to honor one’s parents. Thereupon “the faces of our rabbis turned saffron [‫]נתכרכמו פניהן‬.” They were stunned about the woman’s allegation and asked themselves: “Should it be possible that R. Yishmael does not pay honor to his parents?” They were either embarrassed about 39  See A.E. Hanson, “ ‘ Your Mother Nursed You With Bile’: Anger in Babies and Small Children,” 185–207 in Ancient Anger: Perspectives from Homer to Galen. Edited by S. Braund and G.M. Most (Cambridge and New York NY: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 192. 40   W.V. Harris, Restraining Rage: The Ideology of Anger Control in Classical Antiquity (Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 2001), 103. 41  Ibid. 255 with reference to Pliny, Panegyricus 48. 42  On this inconsistency at the beginning of the story see also Herman, A Prince Without a Kingdom, 95 n. 104.

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R. Yishmael’s behavior or angry with his mother, who charged her son which such an offense. The story shares the sense of astonishment at a perceived inconsistency (should a fellow-sage fail to honor his mother?) with the story about Rabbi above (Rabbi expected to see the exilarch when his coffin arrived). The expression “to turn saffron” may therefore also express the initial shock experienced in confrontation with something unexpected. In the narrative about R. Yishmael’s mother, an explanation for the contention between mother and son is provided in the ensuing conversation, where the issue of honoring one’s parents is turned upside down: the mother’s honor consists of being allowed to honor her learned son by denigrating herself in front of him. The rather extreme gesture of washing his feet and afterwards drinking the filthy water is mentioned here. The reference to turning saffron also appears in a story about rabbinic appointments mentioned above (y. Sanh. 1:2, 19a). Every teacher is said to have promoted his own students. When R. Aqiva allowed his student R. Meir to be seated first, “R. Shimon’s face turned saffron [‫]נתכרכמו פני‬.” The assumption seems to be that R. Shimon was angry about the fact that R. Meir was given preference and that his teacher obviously failed to recognize his erudition. The issue is resolved by a statement attributed to R. Aqiva, maintaining that he and God are well aware of R. Shimon’s power, even without the public acknowledgement that promotion in the rabbinic hierarchy would have constituted. In the cases discussed so far, rabbis’ faces are said to have turned saffron in anger and embarrassment. A tannaitic story about R. Gamliel and a philosopher in Rome, transmitted in Genesis Rabbah 20:4, suggests that the terminology could also be used to express shame, similar to the Roman blushing, mentioned above. When R. Gamliel could not answer a philosopher’s question about the length of a serpent’s pregnancy, “his face turned saffron” [‫]נתכרכמו פניו‬. In the following, a different term is used: “R. Yehoshua met him and [he noticed that] his face was sand-colored [‫]ופניו חוליינות‬. He asked him: Why is your face sand-colored? He said to him: I was asked a question and was not able to answer.” The two terms are obviously used as synonyms here. The term ‫ חוליינות‬is usually translated with “pale.” It could be based on ‫חול‬, “sand,” that is, the face became sand-colored, or on ‫חלי‬/‫חלה‬, “to be sick,” in which case it would mean “sickly.”43 In any case, an unusual beige or yellowish skin tone seems to be imagined.

43  The latter explanation is given in M. Kosovsky, Concordance to the Talmud Yerushalmi (Palestinian Talmud), Vol. 3 (Jerusalem: The Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities and The Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1984), 550.

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In Genesis Rabbah the term ‫ חולייני‬appears in a story about Rabbi. According to this tradition (Gen. Rab. 63:8), the Roman emperor Diocletian asked Tiberian rabbis just before the onset of the Sabbath to appear before him in Paneas (Caesarea Philippi) in the morning of the first day of the week. The distance between the two cities is eighty-two kilometers, and a journey on foot or riding an ass would have taken several days. The rabbis would not have been able to follow Diocletian’s command without violating the Sabbath. R. Shmuel b. Nahman is said to have encountered Rabbi at the bathhouse, “standing before the colonnade and his face was sand-colored [‫]ופניו חוליינות‬.”44 When he asked him for the reason of his facial expression, he told him about the emperor’s mischievous request. As in the Yerushalmi story about Rabbi and the exilarch, anger and/or embarrassment would have been the reason for this facial expression. In the remainder of the story the rabbis are miraculously saved. In the Talmud Yerushalmi the term ‫ ופניו חולניות‬appears in one tannaitic story tradition only (y. Hor. 3:7, 48a) and is used for a layman rather than a rabbi. The story relates that prominent tannaim went to Antioch in Syria to collect money for sages. When they reached the house of Abba Yehudah, who was renowned for being generous but had recently lost some of his property, “he saw our rabbis and despaired before them. He went home and his face was sand-colored. His wife asked him: Why is your face sand-colored? He said to her: Our rabbis are here and I don’t know what to do.” His wife advises him to sell half of his remaining field and to give the proceeds to the visiting sages. Eventually, he becomes miraculously wealthy again and is praised by sages. As in the case of Rabbi in the midrashic story above, Abba Yehudah’s facial color indicates to a person close to him that he is temporarily out of his wits. This is emphasized by the wife’s question and his honest answer. The admission allows the wife to give her own advice, which eventually saves the family. In a story about R. Eleazar Hisma, transmitted in Lev. Rab. 23:4, all of the emotions suggested so far—anger, embarrassment, and shame—may have been considered responsible for the change of face color. Although the story features tannaim, it is formulated in Aramaic and probably amoraic. When R. Eleazar came to a certain place, locals allegedly asked him whether he was learned enough to recite the blessings accompanying the Shema and to act as prayer leader, but he said he was not, whereupon they became upset and exclaimed: “For nothing they call you ‘Rabbi’!” As a reaction, “his face turned saffron [‫]נתכרכמו פניו‬. He went to R. Aqiva and his face was sand-colored [‫]ופניו חולניות‬. He said to him: What is the matter with you that your face is sand-colored [‫ ?]פניך חולניות‬He told him about the incident. . . .” Eventually, 44  Manuscripts variants are ‫חוליות‬, ‫חלניות‬, and ‫חולניות‬.

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R. Aqiva teaches him and he is able to fulfill the local people’s request, whereupon they give him the surname Hisma, which was probably derived from ‫חסם‬, but whose meaning remains obscure (“bright”? “able to speak”?).45 As in the Genesis Rabbah story about R. Gamliel and the philosopher (Gen. R. 20:4), two synonymous expressions are used for the change of the rabbi’s face color here. The meaning also seems to be similar: a sage was unable to do what others requested of him because he did not possess the necessary knowledge. As a result, he was ashamed of himself, but perhaps also embarrassed and angry about being asked something that lay beyond his expertise (R. Gamliel: a question from the science of nature; R. Eleazar: a liturgical task) and was tangential to rabbinic learning. At the end of both stories, the rabbis have aquired sufficient learning to fulfill the requests and are praised for their knowledge. The stories thereby indicate that rabbis should be knowledgeable of biology and liturgy in order to communicate with non-Jewish scholars (R. Gemliel) and local Jewish communities (R. Eleazar). The shame expressed by the changed face color initiates a turning point in the narratives: the respective rabbi realizes his shortcoming and is subsequently willing to mend it. A colleague provides the knowledge necessary to answer the non-rabbis’ questions (in the case of R. Gamliel: R. Yehoshua; in the case of R. Eleazar: R. Aqiva; cf. the story about Abba Yehudah above, where his wife provides a working solution to his problem). This restitution through additional learning eventually leads to a “happy ending” at which the rabbi’s reputation is restored and even elevated (as is Abba Yehudah’s, who is said to have been “seated with rabbis” [‫ ]והושׁיבוהו אצלם‬at the end). The Babylonian Talmud transmits a very interesting tradition concerning the rabbinic perception of unusual skin colors. In b. Ber. 31b the “normal” or average appearance of a human being is discussed: “When Rav Dimi came [from Palestine], he said: [Such a person is] not [too] tall and not [too] short, not [too] tiny and not [too] strong, not [too] light [colored] and not [too] reddish, not [too] wise and not [too] foolish.” For the skin colors the terms ‫צחור‬ and ‫ גיחור‬are used here, that is, terms that are different from the ones describing unusual face colors in the Palestinian traditions discussed above. R. Dimi was a fourth-generation amora renowned for traveling back and forth between Palestine and Babylonia, that is, someone who would have been familiar with Palestinian traditions. While ‫ גיחור‬is derived from ‫גוחר‬/‫גיחר‬, the ruby stone, and 45  The story is meant to explain the cognomen but this explanation is fictional and its meaning remains uncertain. Some scholars have suggested that, in reality, the cognomen may refer to a locality or craft, see S.J.D. Cohen, The Significance of Yavneh and Other Essays in Jewish Hellenism (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 294 n. 56.

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therefore means “red,” similar to the Latin rubor, the meaning of ‫ צחור‬is less clear, besides the fact that it is meant to express the opposite, that is, a light or pale shade.46 Whereas the term ‫ צחור‬never appears in the Talmud Yerushalmi, the term ‫ גיחור‬is used once in y. Ber. 9:2, 13b: “He who sees an Ethiopian [‫]הכושׁי‬, a person with red skin color [‫]הגיחור‬, someone who is white-spotted [‫]הלווקן‬,47 an extremely tall person or a dwarf says: Blessed be the One who creates human beings in different forms.” From both the Yerushalmi text and Rav Dimi’s statement it is clear that permanent naturally occurring skin colors are referred to here, which were different from the temporary changes of face color expressed by the terms “to turn saffron” and to have a “sand-colored” face. Perhaps the fact that rabbis considered reddish skin the natural skin color of some individuals or ethnic groups prevented them from associating this shade with the transient face color of their fellow-Jews caused by strong emotional reactions.

Weeping Rabbis

Weeping is an emotional reaction that is already mentioned frequently in narrative contexts of the Hebrew Bible, especially in the book of Genesis. When Esau asked his father to bless him, he “lifted up his voice and wept” (Gen 27:38). When Jacob met Rachel for the first time, he is similarly said to have “lifted up his voice and wept” (Gen 29:11: ‫)וישׂא את קלו ויבך‬, after having kissed her. Later, when Esau meets Jacob and his family, “he ran to meet him, and embraced him, and fell on his neck, and kissed him; and they wept” (Gen 33:4: ‫)ויבכו‬. In none of these cases is the weeping presented as an expression of sadness; it rather accompanies moments of great emotional exhilaration and may be accompanied by other indicators of psychological upheaval (the raised voice) or gestures (the embrace and kiss). At the same time, weeping can be associated with mourning: when his brothers had sold Joseph into slavery and told their father Jacob that he was dead, Jacob performed various mourning rituals and “wept for him” (Gen 37:35). A lot of weeping also occurs when Joseph meets and identifies himself to his brothers and father (Gen 45:2, 14, 15; 46:29; 50:1), shedding tears of joy. After his father’s death Joseph is said to have wept

46  Jastrow, A Dictionary of the Targumim, 1273 suggests “glistening, light reddish.” 47  Ibid. 701 Jastrow derives this term from Greek λεύκη, “a kind of elephantinitis.” Another possibility would be to derive it from ‫לווקאי‬/‫ליווקאי‬, Libyan, see ibid. 706.

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when hearing of his father’s request that he should forgive his brothers’ transgression (Gen 50:17).48 These biblical references to weeping patriarchs are taken up and expanded in the amoraic Midrash Genesis Rabbah. Trying to explain why Jacob wept when he met Rachel (Gen 29:11), R. Tanhuma is said to have surmised that he felt regret because he did not bring her a gift (Gen. Rab. 70:12). Alternative reasons for Jacob’s tears, suggested by the midrash, are Jacob’s alleged premonition that Rachel would not be buried together with him and his fear of being accused of immorality (ibid.). All three rabbinic explanations view weeping as the expression of a negative emotion, whether regret, sadness, or shame. In the biblical context, on the other hand, Jacob’s tears may indicate great emotional upheaval and even joy. A similar difference between the biblical text and the rabbinic midrash in understanding the weeping is also evident in the rabbinic interpretation of Esau’s and Jacob’s tears upon meeting each other (Gen 33:4). According to a statement attributed to R. Jannai, Esau tried to bite Jacob, an action that made the former feel pain in his teeth and the latter to feel pain in his neck: “ ‘And they wept’: One wept because of his neck and the other wept because of his teeth” (Gen. Rab. 78:9). In his introduction to the volume, Tears in the Graeco-Roman World, Fögen suggests that scholars should ask the following questions, among others: “Who cries together with whom and for what reason? What does the act of crying exactly look like? By what sort of phenomena, such as facial expressions, gestures and voice, is it accompanied? Where (in what places) does the crying become visible?”49 Although weeping and crying are universal expressions of emotion, their forms, contexts, and reasons are culture-, time-, gender-, and group-specific. These variations would have left traces in the respective ancient literatures. Lateiner has stressed that, in general, “ancient Greek and Roman men were more comfortable in their tears than the contemporary North Atlantic male.”50 The three types of tears evident in the Hellenic world— 48  Obviously, weeping is also associated with lamentation, as D.M. Carr, The Formation of the Hebrew Bible. A New Reconstruction (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2011), 230, has already pointed out: “Certainly mourning and weeping are prominent in Psalm 137 and Lamentations (. . .), often in the form of the weeping of a personified Zion (. . .), motifs that may have been adapted from the weeping goddess of the Mesopotamian lament. . . .” For our discussion only weeping in social contexts is relevant, though. 49  T. Fögen, “Tears and Crying in Graeco-Roman Antiquity: An Introduction,” 1–16 in Tears in the Graeco-Roman World. Edited by T. Fögen (Berlin and New York NY: de Gruyter, 1–16, 2009), 2. 50  D. Lateiner, “Tears and Crying in Hellenic Historiography,” 105–34 in Tears in the GraecoRoman World. Edited by T. Fögen )Berlin and New York NY: Walter de Gruyter, 2009), 109.

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“tears of despair, tears of supplication and tears of joy”51—are also present in the Hebrew Bible, as exemplified above. Is this variety of contexts also present in rabbinic texts, or have the circumstances in which male tears were deemed appropriate changed in Roman times? It seems that in Josephus’s works male weeping is presented in a way that is very similar to other Hellenistic historiographers. Weeping is said to have been used by some men to advance their political goals. For example, Herod is said to have shed tears for the orphaned children of the men he had killed for political reasons (J.W. 1.28.2–3). Herod’s son Antipater, accused of planned patricide, allegedly “cried out with lamentation and weeping, and moved all the rest, and Varus in particular, to commiserate his case,” except for Herod, “whose passion was too strong to permit him to weep, knowing that the testimonies against him were true” (J.W. 1.32.3).52 Agrippa is said to have wept after having delivered a speech to the people trying to prevent them from rebelling against the Romans: “When he had said such things as these he cried over [them], along with his sister, and he halted much of the rush with the tears” (J.W. 2.16.5, 402).53 Mason refers to Cicero’s advice to arouse the audience’s emotions at the end of one’s speech.54 Like other politicians, Herod, Antipater, and Agrippa allegedly used tears as rhetorical devices to advance their respective political goals. Other contexts in which Josephus refers to weeping are laments about those who have been killed and regrets about the destitute situation of their fellowJews. For example, he reports that in Jerusalem crowds made loud weeping sounds to lament those killed by Herod (J.W. 2.1.2). At the time of a famine, when the poor lacked food while “the more powerful had more than enough,” the “sight [of poverty] would justly bring tears into our eyes” (J.W. 5.10.3). When Titus was about to destroy the Temple and Josephus urged his fellow-Jews to surrender to the Romans, he had “tears in his eyes,” and “his voice was intercepted by sobs” (J.W. 6.2.2, cf. ibid. 6.2.3). Yet tears are also associated with effeminate behavior and weakness that is considered detrimental to the courage required of men in wartime situations. When Eleazar gives his speech to convince Jews at Masada to die by collective suicide rather than be enslaved and killed by the Romans, “those that were most effeminate” commiserated for their families. Eleazar “was afraid lest perhaps these effeminate persons 51  Ibid. 52  With the exception of J.W. 2, the translation of Josephus’s works follows W. Whiston at www.earlyjewishwritings.com. 53  Translation with Steve Mason, ed. Flavius Josephus: Translation and Commentary, Vol. 1b: Judean War 2 (Leiden and Boston MA and Boston: Brill, 2008). 54  Mason, Flavius Josephus, 310, with reference to Cicero, De Partione Oratoriae 27.

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should, by their laments and tears, enfeeble those who had heard what he had said courageously” (J.W. 7.8.7).55 As Lateiner has noted, “[t]he Hellenistic protocol for ‘Big Men Do Cry’ included joy at deliverance, grief for comrades killed in war and respect for the mutability of Fortune in general and human fortunes in particular.”56 Like the Hellenistic historiographers, Josephus does not hesitate to present himself and other powerful political figures in tears, if the tears are shed for a proper cause, that is, if they are justified by the political or economic circumstances these individuals face. Weeping for private grievances is seen as effeminate, however, and unsuitable for a distinguished man. Josephus indicates that the public expression of strong emotions was seen as commonplace in Jewish as in Roman society.57 Weeping was expected in many circumstances and often faked to increase the impact of one’s speech. Obviously, in literary contexts weeping and tears always have a rhetorical function to influence the reader’s perception of the character and attitudes of the persons featured in the texts. This is also the case, for example, in a story about Ulla transmitted in Genesis Rabbah: Ulla b. Yishmael went down there [to Babylonia]. When he [i.e., his health] declined, he began to weep. They said to him: Don’t worry, for we shall carry you to the Land of Israel [after your death]. He said to them: And what will it benefit me? For I am losing my jewel [i.e., my soul] in an unclean land [cf. Amos 7:17]? Giving it away in a mother’s embrace [the Land of Israel] is not similar to giving it away in the embrace of a foreign woman [Babylonia] (Gen. Rab. 96, Vatican ms.).58 Ulla b. Yishmael was a third-generation amora who had moved from Palestine to Babylonia and maintained contact with his home country. In this Palestinian narrative his weeping shortly before his death is meant to indicate his continued connection with and valuation of his native country in comparison with his current residence in Babylonia. The weeping triggers a conversation between Ulla and anonymous interlocutors, probably imagined as his students 55  These are just some examples of Josephus’s use of weeping and tears. A study of the expression of emotions in Josephus’s works would be a valuable undertaking. 56  Lateiner, “Tears and Crying,” 121. 57  Ibid. 128, who notes that in Plutarch’s Lives, tears appear 79 times in connection with Romans and 55 times in connection with Greeks, that is, references to weeping seem to have even increased in Plutarch’s Roman sources. 58  Theodor-Albeck ed. p. 1240.

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or colleagues, who immediately understand the reason of his grievance and propose a remedy. Yet Ulla’s response suggests that their offer to transfer his body and bury him in the Land of Israel is not a sufficient solace, that his dissatisfaction with being in a foreign country goes deeper than that: alluding to the prophetic book of Amos, Ulla regrets having to die in Babylonia rather than in his homeland. The story can be seen as a Palestinian rabbinic “propaganda” story stressing the superiority of Palestine over Babylonia (“unclean”) and dissuading rabbinic scholars from moving there lest they should die in a foreign environment. Josephus already indicated that weeping could be used as a rhetorical device by a speaker to manipulate the impact of his speech. In addition, weeping was presented as an audience’s possible reaction to a speech, which is also reflected in Palestinian rabbinic sources: “R. Aqiva expounded the story of the generation of the flood in Ginzakh59 and they [the audience] did not weep. When he mentioned the story of the ravens, they wept” (Gen. Rab. 33:5). The story of the ravens is mentioned in the preceding passage of the midrash: according to 1 Kings 17:6, “the ravens brought him [the prophet Elijah the Tishbite] meat and flesh;” that is, they helped a righteous man to survive when hiding. The audience failed to show the expected reaction when the sad story of God’s punishment of the generation of the flood was told, but they allegedy wept tears of joy when the salvation of a righteous person was mentioned. R. Aqiva’s subsequent quotation of Job 24:20 (“The womb forgets him . . . He shall be no more remembered; and unrighteousness is broken as a tree”) relates to the audience’s reaction (their lack of weeping about the generation of the flood indicated that unrighteousness should better be forgotten) and introduces the subsequent midrashic interpretation of this verse (God’s mercy forgot the unrighteous/the generation of the flood). The text is another example of the phenomenon that references to non-verbal reactions have important functions within the literary structure of rabbinic texts. Even rabbis themselves are said to have wept when reading and commenting upon certain biblical texts. According to an amoraic story transmitted in Lev. Rab. 26:7,

59  Variant versions: Ginzaq, Genizakh. J. Neusner, A History of the Jews in Babylonia: The Early Sasanian Period (Leiden: Brill, 1966), 99, identifies Ginzak with Gazaca in Babylonia. According to A. Neubauer, La Géographie du Talmud (Amsterdam: Meridian Publishing Co. [= reprint of Paris: Michel Lévy, 1868], 1965), 375, Gazaca was located in the north of Media Atropatene in Iran. It seems more likely, though that a Palestinian location is meant here.

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Rabbi used to explain Scripture. When he reached the following passage he would weep: ‘For, behold, he forms mountains and creates wind and tells a human being what he thinks . . .’ [Amos 4:13]: Even things that are irrelevant are recorded for a human being on his [heavenly] tablet. And who writes it? ‘He who makes the morning darkness’ [ibid.]. . . . Rabbi is said to have focused his interpretation of the prophetic text on the Day of Judgment, when even the smallest human deeds were believed to be remembered and assessed for possible divine punishment. Thinking of these issues allegedly put him in a gloomy mood which was expressed by shedding tears. The first part of the midrashic text has a parallel in y. Hag. 2:1, 77a, where it appears in an expanded form: “ ‘For, behold, he forms mountains’ [Amos 4:13]: This is one of six scriptural passages which Rabbi would read and weep,” a statement that is followed by a list of the five other verses from prophetic and historical books of the Hebrew Bible, all of which allude to, or at least can be interpreted to allude to, God’s judgment of evil. The variant versions of the tradition indicate that weeping was not only considered an appropriate behavior for the patriarch but even seen as an expression of his fear of God; that is, it was meant to indicate his piety and humility. According to the rabbinic tradents of the stories about Rabbi (Lev. Rab. 26:7; y. Hag. 2:1, 77a) and R. Aqiva and his audience (Gen. Rab. 33:5), biblical texts and their interpretations had such a strong impact on Jewish speakers and listeners that weeping—in sadness, fear, or joy—was a perfectly adequate reaction. One is reminded here of Rudolf Otto’s philosophy of religion with his emphasis on the numinous dimension of the divine (das Heilige), which elicits fear and trembling (tremendum) among humans.60 In contrast to Otto’s emphasis on experiencing the numinous in nature, however, rabbis associated it with the Hebrew Bible or rather the oral communication of biblical texts and ideas. The image of the weeping rabbi suggests that ancient Torah study and interpretation did not resemble the detached scholarship of modern intellectuals. Rather, rabbis presented themselves as being deeply involved emotionally in the reading and interpretation of Scripture perceived as divine word. The weeping monks of the Apophthegmata Patrum constitute an analogy to the weeping rabbis. As Gilhus has pointed out, “[w]eeping, . . ., was meritorious” 60  See R. Otto, The Idea of the Holy (Oxford and New York NY: Oxford University Press, 1958). On Otto’s philosophy of religion see T.A. Gooch, The Numinous and Modernity: An Interpretation of Rudolf Otto’s Philosophy of Religion (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2000), 118–23.

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among the desert monks, “and the monks had much to cry over: the crucifixion of Jesus; constant awareness of their sins; fear for the demons who continually tempted and tormented the monks; terror of eternal damnation.”61 Barbara Müller has examined the so-called penthos-motif in the literature of the desert and traced the association of tears with spirituality back to the Septuagint and the New Testament.62 She argues that weeping was considered an important part of the ascetic state of mind and considered a virtue in monastic circles.63 Whereas Jesus’s crucifixion and the demons can be ruled out as reasons for rabbis’ tears, rabbis and monks seem to have shared worries over their sins and divine punishment. Weeping was seen as an expression of humiliation before God. For example, St. Anthony, who lived in Egypt in the third and fourth centuries and was a contemporary of the amoraim, writes in one of his letters: “I too, the miserable one, who writes this letter, have . . . been mourning and weeping for most of the time that I have had upon the earth, crying: What can I render unto the Lord for what he had done to me?”64 About his fellowEgyptian monk Abba Arsenius, “it was said that he had a hollow in his chest channeled out by the tears which fell from his eyes all his life . . . When Abba Poemen learned that he was dead, he said weeping: Truly you are blessed, Abba Arsenius, for you wept for yourself in this world. He who does not weep for himself here below will weep eternally hereafter!”65 While weeping seems like a state of mind for the monks, in rabbinic literature it appears as an instantaneous expression of strong emotions. In both cases weeping occurs in a religious context and was seen as a significant expression of individual (and communal) piety. At least to some extent the crying seems to be based on the biblical book of Lamentations. Among the Egyptian desert monks, lamentations seem to have been carried out to an extreme level, just as their ascetic lifestyle was extreme. Rabbis, on the other hand, seem to have been more moderate in their expression of emotions, perhaps because they lived in a Roman environment in which self-control was emphasized by philosophers. 61   I.S. Gilhus, Laughing Gods, Weeping Virgins: Laughter in the History of Religion (London: Routledge, 1997), 68. 62  B. Müller, Der Weg des Weinens. Die Tradition des “Penthos” in den Apophthegmata Patrum (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht, 2000), 87–101. 63  Ibid. 247. 64  S. Rubenson, The Letters of St. Anthony. Monasticism and the Making of a Saint (Minneapolis MN Augsburg Fortress, 1995), 230, Letter 7. 65  Apophthegmata Patrum, Asenius 18.41. Translation following B. Ward, The Desert Fathers: Sayings of the Early Christian Monks (London: Penguin, 2003).

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Even when grieving for the deceased, Seneca advises Lucilius not to grieve “excessively”: “Not grieve at all? That I hardly dare to ask, though I know it would be better.”66 If Stoics urged their fellow-intellectuals to exercise selfcontrol even when mourning their relatives and friends, they would hardly have understood rabbis’ weeping when reading and expounding texts, that is, in a study environment. The rabbinic representation of weeping, therefore, stands in between the excessive weeping of the desert monks and the self-control of the Stoics. Like the Apophthegmata Patrum, rabbinic tradents attribute religious significance to weeping in fear of God; in contrast to the monastic stories, weeping is not presented as a state of mind but as a temporary outburst of spirituality. As we have seen in Josephus’s works already, weeping could be used for rhetorical purposes, for example, in connection with supplications. People who appealed to the court, politicians included, used tears on purpose to achieve a certain goal. As Clarke has pointed out, “appeals to the emotions” were “a stock feature of the peroration,” a tradition that was also followed by Cicero.67 Weeping is “seldom missing in the criminal defences. Politicians scheming for office, hard-hearted provincial governors on trial for misgovernment, are depicted in the most piteous plight.”68 Jewish and Christian supplications to God, accompanied by weeping, may therefore be seen as religious analogies to or adaptations of political and civic pleas. Like the criminal standing before the judge, Jewish and Christian (self-proclaimed) sinners’ remorse was expressed with reference to their tears, which were expected to elicit God’s mercy when judging them. Weeping appears as a sign of repentance in the long cycle of stories about Elisha b. Abuya, who allegedly rebelled against God, transmitted in y. Hag. 2:1, 77c.69 When he fell sick, R. Meir is said to have visited him, urging him to repent: “At that moment Elisha wept and he departed [his life] and died. And 66  Seneca, Epistlae Morales 63, quoted in M. Graver, “The Weeping Wise: Stoic and Epicurean Consolations in Seneca’s 99th Epistle,” 235–52 in Tears in the Graeco-Roman World. Edited by T. Fögen (Berlin and New York NY: de Gruyter, 2009), 237. 67   M.L. Clarke, Rhetoric at Rome: A Historical Survey. Revised and with a new introduction by D.H. Berry (3rd ed. London: Routledge, 1996), 70. 68  Ibid. 69  For a synoptic chart outlining the parallels between the Palestinian and Babylonian versions (b. Hag. 15a–b) of the Elisha b. Abuya story see J.L. Rubenstein, Talmudic Stories: Narrative Art, Composition, and Culture (Baltimore MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1999), 87–9. On Elisha b. Abuya in the Palestinian and Babylonian Talmuds see A. GoshenGottstein, The Sinner and the Amnesiac: The Rabbinic Invention of Elisha Ben Abuya and Eleazar Ben Arach (Stanford CA: Stanford University Press, 2000), 199–232.

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R. Meir was happy in his heart, saying: It seems that my master departed in repentance.” Without any verbal statement by Elisha, his weeping is presented as a sign of teshuvah (repentance) here. In the following story about Rabbi and Elisha’s orphaned daughters, Elisha’s deathbed repentance is not taken into account. When the daughters ask Rabbi for alms, he initially refuses. When they ask him, however, to judge Elisha by his Torah learning rather than his deeds, “Rabbi wept and decreed upon them that they should be maintained” (ibid.). The narrative associates weeping both with the sinner (Elisha) and the human judge (Rabbi) who eventually acknowledges his colleague’s merits and has mercy on him and his surviving relatives. Weeping and tears are associated with rabbis much more frequently in the Babylonian Talmud than in Palestinian rabbinic sources. The Graeco-Roman environment, in which philosophers stressed the necessity of controlling one’s emotions, may have been partly responsible for the relatively moderate representation of weeping rabbis in Palestinian texts. The Bavli is much more voluminous than the Yerushalmi and contains more narrative and exegetical texts. Among the dozens of references to weeping in the Bavli, many are exegetical in nature, commenting on and expanding biblical references to weeping patriarchs. Yet many others mention weeping rabbis, some of them Palestinian rabbis, and the shedding of tears is sometimes presented in a more dramatic way than in the Yerushalmi. Weeping (and laughter) are more prominently used as narrative devices in the Babylonian Talmud, a feature that was probably part of the Babylonian amoraic transmission of traditions already, rather than having been introduced at the editorial stage only. Since my focus is on Palestinian rabbinic literature, only a few examples can be presented in this context. As in Palestinian rabbinic sources, the Bavli presents rabbis as weeping when coming across certain biblical verses and interpreting them. For example, R. Aqiva allegedly wept when reaching the verse about “a charmer, or one who consults a ghost or a familiar spirit, or a necromancer” (Deut 18:11), claiming that their sins have separated humans from God (b. Sanh. 65b). R. Gamliel is said to have wept when he read “He is just, he shall surely live” (Ezek 18:9), saying: “Only one who does all of these things shall live, not [one who does] only one of them” (b. Sanh. 81a). R. Yonatan wept when he read “[For the bed is too short for a man to stretch himself] and the covering too narrow” (Isa 28:20), a text that is part of the prophet’s prediction of divine judgment over Jerusalem. R. Yonatan associates the passage with idolatry as a rival to God. The reference to weeping always introduces a rather pessimistic interpretation of the Bible here, which focuses on sin and divine judgment, even if this is not actually mentioned in the text itself (cf. Ezek 18:9). Most of these texts are prophetic, but weeping is associated with pentateuchal verses as well

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(cf. Deut 18:11). These Bavli traditions are reminiscent of Rabbi’s weeping upon reading Amos 4:13 (Lev. Rab. 26:7 par. y. Hag. 2:1, 77a, above) and may well be Palestinian traditions (they all concern Palestinian tannaim) that were transmitted in Babylonia and included in the Bavli but not in the Yerushalmi. A Bavli narrative about R. Eleazar suggests a variety of possible reasons for the rabbi’s sadness: [A] R. Eleazar was weak. R. Yohanan went to him. He saw that he was lying in a dark room. He revealed his arm and light fell from it. He saw that R. Eleazar was weeping. [B] He said to him: Why are you weeping? Is it because you did not study enough Torah? We have learned: The same is the one who [has learned] much and the one who [has learned] little, if his heart is directed to heaven. Is it because of [lack of] food? Not every person merits two [loaded] tables. Is it because of [the lack of] children? This is the bone of my tenth son. He said to him: On account of this beauty which is going to decay in the earth I am weeping [‫]להאי שׁופרא דבלי בעפרא קא בכינא‬. He said to him: On that account you have a reason to weep. And they both wept. [C] In the meanwhile he said to him: Are your sufferings welcome to you [as trials]? He said to him: Neither they nor their reward. He said to him: Give me your hand. He gave him his hand and he raised him up (b. Ber. 5b). The narrative seems to be a combination of variant traditions about R. Yohanan’s sick-visit to R. Eleazar. [B] and [C] seem like two different continuations of [A] which were eventually combined into one narrative. The opening scene [A] already indicates two possible reasons for R. Eleazar’s weeping: his physical weakness and his poverty (lying in a dark room). The mysterious reference to the shining arm may be a hint at the physical beauty that is destined to turn to dust [B] or the arm that eventually raises R. Eleazar from his suffering state [C]. In modern terms, R. Eleazar’s initial state [A] might be called a depression. In the conversation that ensues [B], R. Yohanan almost functions as a psychotherapist, trying to determine the reason for his colleague’s grief. Three possible reasons for the rabbi’s weeping are suggested—his fear of not having studied enough; his lack of food; his lack of children—but then dismissed: religious devotion counts more than study practice; only few people are wealthy; children may die. The reason on which both rabbis eventually agree [B, end] comes rather unexpectedly, although it may have been hinted at by the r­ eference to

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the shining arm in [A]: the eventual decay of the beautiful human body, that is, the conditio humana itself. With this emphasis on the human state, that humans will eventually die and their bodies decay, a thought that causes both rabbis to break down in tears [B], the story resembles the monastic stories about weeping monks transmitted in the Apophthegmata Patrum (see the quotation attributed to Abba Arsenius above). Like R. Eleazar and R. Yohanan, the monks are sometimes said to have wept together. For example, Abba Arsenius is said to have departed on a journey and fallen seriously ill. His disciples Zoilus and Alexander speculate that, perhaps, they have annoyed their teacher but they cannot remember any disobedience. When they eventually meet him, “they threw themselves at his feet, the old man fell down with them also and they wept together.”70 They are said to have stayed with him until his death. As in the rabbinic story, weeping over oneself is seen as a legitimate behavior in the stories about the desert monks: A brother questioned Abba Poemen . . . The old man told him the following story about Abba Dioscorus: In his cell he wept over himself, while his disciple was sitting in another cell. When the latter came to see the old man he asked him: Father, why are you weeping? I am weeping over my sins, the old man answered him. Then his disciple said: You do not have any sins, Father. The old man replied: Truly, my child, if I were allowed to see my sins, three or four men would not be enough to weep for them.71 Like R. Eleazar, Abba Dioscorus is envisioned to be sitting in a dark and bare room, weeping over his own state.72 Like R. Yohanan, his disciples come to visit him and ask him why he is weeping. Although the reason for the monk’s depressed state is different from the reasons suggested for R. Eleazar and R. Yohanan’s weeping in the Bavli story, weeping over one’s sins is also associated with rabbis elsewhere in rabbinic literature (see above). In both the Bavli 70  Apophthegmata Patrum, Arsenius 15.32, translated with Ward, The Desert Fathers. Joined weeping is also referred to in other monastic stories, see, eg, Macarius the Great 136.34: “He said: Let us weep, brothers, and let tears gush out of our eyes, before we go to that place where our tears shall burn our bodies. They all wept, falling with their faces on the ground and saying: Father, pray for us.” 71  Apophthegmata Patrum, Doulas 55.2, translated with Ward, The Desert Fathers. 72  See also ibid. Poemen 165.6: “. . . the brother left the monastery and he went into a cave and wept there. Now it happened that some brothers were going to see Abba Poemen and they heard him weeping. . . .”

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story and the story about Abba Dioscorus, the rabbi’s/monk’s weeping initiates a dialogue about the possible reasons for his sadness.73 In the dialogue values and beliefs that were of major importance for the rabbinic/monastic community are thematized. At the end of both stories, the weeping is not only legitimized as an entirely appropriate behavior. It is presented as the proper expression of a pious man’s state of mind in view of human sinfulness before God (Dioscorus) and the temporariness of human existence (R. Eleazar and R. Yohanan). Bar-Asher Siegal has pointed to some other similarities between Bavli narratives and the Apophthegmata Patrum.74 She has suggested that Babylonian tradents and editors may have been aware of some of the monastic stories and took over some motifs. The monastic movement was important in the Persian Empire at the time of the composition of the Bavli and stories about the desert monks would have circulated there.75 The result of this cultural encounter was “the closeness of the two literatures in form, genre, style, content, and religious agenda.”76 Although the narrative in b. Ber. 5b features Palestinian rabbis, the story does not appear in Palestinian amoraic documents and is formulated in Babylonian Aramaic.77 In its present form it is clearly a Babylonian rabbinic composition, although it may be based on some formerly Palestinian material. In the framework of this study I cannot discuss all Babylonian rabbinic narratives that feature weeping rabbis.78 Nevertheless, one more tradition deserves to be mentioned here. According to b. Avod. Zar. 20a, [When] R. Aqiva saw the wife of the wicked Turnus Rufus, he spat, laughed, and wept. He spat because she came from a putrefying drop [cf. m. Avot 3:1]; he laughed because in the future she would convert and 73  For the question about the reason of the weeping see also ibid. Silvanus 222.2: “As Abba Silvanus was sitting with the brethren one day he was rapt in ecstasy and fell with his face to the ground. After a long time, he got up and wept. The brethren besought him saying: What is it, Father? . . .” 74  M. Bar-Asher Siegal, Early Christian Monastic Literature and the Babylonian Talmud (Cambridge and New York NY: Cambridge University Press, 2013). 75  See ibid. 201. 76  Ibid. 77  Our result concerning the presentation of weeping rabbis concurs with Bar-Asher Siegal’s observation in eadem, Early Christian Monastic Literature, 98, that there are a number of literary analogies between the Bavli and monastic texts that are not found in Palestinian sources. 78  See, eg, b. Hag. 3b (R. Eliezer); b. Ketub. 66b (R. Yohanan b. Zakkai); b. Qidd. 81b (R. Aqiva); y. B. Qam. 60a (R. Joseph); b. B. Bat. 151a (R. Mattenah); b. Hag. 15b, b. Avod. Zar. 10b, b. Avod. Zar. 18a, and b. Hul. 7b (Rabbi); b. Me’il. 17b (R. Shimon); b. Nid. 52a (rabbis).

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he would marry her; he wept because of this beauty which is going to decay in the earth [‫]בכה דהאי שׁופרא בלי עפרא‬. The reason given here for R. Aqiva’s weeping is formulated in almost the same way as the reason suggested for R. Eleazar’s weeping in b. Ber. 5b (above). Although the R. Aqiva story is formulated in Hebrew, this particular formulation appears in Babylonian Aramaic. It seems to be a (popular?) saying repeated in different contexts, pointing to the perishable nature of physical beauty. The story in b. Avod. Zar. 20a is also interesting because it combines three forms of non-verbal communication: spitting, laughing, and weeping. They appear at the beginning of the story as the rabbi’s reaction to a certain sight, in order to catch the reader’s or listener’s attention. Their meanings are not self-evident but require further explanations which express important rabbinic values: the humble origin of humankind (cf. m. Avot 3:1, where the same expression is used); the value of conversion; and the temporariness of human existence (see also b. Ber. 5b).

The Ambiguity of Laughter

Laughter is not often mentioned in rabbinic sources and is rarely associated with rabbis. It has many meanings and functions in ancient literary sources: laughter can include or exclude, support or criticize, affirm or contest ­hierarchies.79 It can be offensive, ridiculing or at least questioning something that has been said or done. As Corbeill has pointed out, “[l]aughter, even in its apparently innocent form, has long been recognized by theorists as having ‘an unavowed intention to humiliate, and consequently to correct our neighbor, if not in his will, at least in his deed’.”80 Fernando Poyatos refers to the “laughter of mockery, derision, and ridicule,” which is “most offensively displayed with . . . loud orality,” distinguishing it from more harmless forms that “make fun without malice and hostility.”81 The “skeptic laughter of incredulity” can also be an expression of “scorn or disdain.”82

79  See Beard, Laughter in Ancient Rome, 17. 80  A. Corbeill, Controlling Laughter. Political Humor in the Late Roman Republic (Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 1996), 4. 81  F. Poyatos, Nonverbal Communication Across Disciplines: Paralanguage, Kinesics, Silence, Personal and Environmental Interaction (Amsterdam: John Benjamins Publishing Co., 2002), 73–4. 82  Ibid. 74.

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Because of this negative potential of laughter, early Christian writers were generally opposed to it, some of them even associating laughter with Satan.83 In the gospel of Luke, laughter in this world is associated with weeping in the hereafter; that is, it is seen as a sign of sinfulness, whereas weeping in this world is said to lead to eternal laughter: “Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh” (Luke 6:21); “Woe to you who laugh now, for you will mourn and weep” (ibid. 6:25). As Gilhus has pointed out: “Laughter has moved out of the present world and has become a subject of eschatology and apocalypticism, a sign of the joy which will be released at the end of times. The critique of worldly laughter reflected in the sayings from Luke found fruitful ground in the early Church and took root.”84 Whereas weeping was considered an appropriate state of mind within monastic circles (see above), “monastic rules against laughter” were “found everywhere in the Christian world.”85 Laughter is already rare in the Hebrew Bible.86 In the wisdom tradition it is mostly associated with madness and fools.87 In the Torah, laughter appears in a concentrated way only in the story about Abraham and Sarah in Genesis. After being told by God that his elderly wife shall bear a son, “Abraham fell upon his face and laughed, and said in his heart: Shall a child be born unto him that is a hundred years old? And shall Sarah, who is ninety years old, bear?” (Gen 17:17). Laughter is presented as a reaction of disbelief here. Abraham’s thoughts focus on what is (im)possible in nature rather than trusting in divine miracles. His reaction of laughter and disbelief makes a repetition and enforcement of the divine promise necessary (Gen 17:19). Sarah’s reaction is very similar to that of her husband: “And Sarah laughed within herself, saying: After I have grown old shall I have pleasure, my lord being old also?” (Gen 18:12). God was allegedly offended by Sarah’s laughter, saying to Abraham: “Why did Sarah laugh? . . . Is anything too hard for the Lord?” (Gen 18:13–14). Thereupon Sarah is said to have denied her laughter: “Then Sarah denied, saying: I laughed not. For she was afraid. And He said: Nay, but you did laugh” (Gen 18:15). The episode shows the offensive potential of laughter, which can be an expression of disbelief and 83  See J. Gantar, The Pleasure of Fools: Essays in the Ethics of Laughter (Quebec: McGill— Queen’s University Press, 2005), 5. 84  Gilhus, Laughing Gods, 64–5. On the church fathers’ criticism of laughter see ibid. 65–72, with examples. 85  Ibid. 72–3. 86   C.W. Reines, “Laughter in Rabbinic and Biblical Literature,” Judaism 2 (1972): 176–83, 176–8 provides some examples. 87  See Qoh 2:2: “I said of laughter: It is mad;” 7:3: “Vexation is better than laughter; for by the sadness of the countenance the heart may be gladdened;” 7:6 “For as the crackling of thorns under a pot, so is the laughter of the fool; this also is vanity.”

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rejection of something said. In the religious context laughter appears as a natural but inappropriate reaction here. According to Schmid, a shift in the understanding of Abraham’s and Sarah’s laughter is evident in Philo’s writings, namely, “the construction of ‘laughter’ as a sign of ‘spiritual joy’.”88 According to Philo’s interpretation of the biblical story, the child to which Sarah gives birth is “laughter and joy,” something that is expressed by his name, Yitzhaq (“for the name of Yitzhaq, being interpreted, means laughter of soul, and delight, and joy”).89 Virtue is associated with rejoicing and “pious exaltation.”90 Schmidt concludes: “The statement ‘laughter’ is thus the sign of this ‘invisible and spiritual reality’ which is joy, and which, for Philo, is ‘the fairest of possessions’ (Det. 120).”91 Laughter and joy were emphasized by Epicurean philosophers such as Epicurus himself, who writes: “. . . in philosophy enjoyment keeps path with knowledge. It is not learning followed by entertainment, but learning and entertainment at the same time. We should laugh, philosophize, and handle our household affairs and other personal matters, all at the same time. . . .”92 Plutarch criticized the Epicurean understanding of pleasure, however,93 and it is unlikely to be the basis of Philo’s considerations. Yet even Stoics could associate the sage with so-called benign affections (eupatheiai), among them “joy, friendliness, cheerfulness.”94 Diogenes Laertius refers to joy as one of “three emotional states which are good”: “Joy, the counterpart of pleasure, is rational elation.”95 Seneca talks about “true joy” (gaudium) as a “stern ­matter” (res 88  F. Schmidt, “The Plain and Laughter: The Hermeneutical Function of the Sign in Philo of Alexandria,” 188–99 in The Jewish-Greek Tradition in Antiquity and the Byzantine Empire. Edited by J.K. Aitken and J. Carleton Paget (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 193. 89  Philo, Legum Allegoriarum 3.217–218. 90  Ibid. 3.219. 91  Schmidt, “The Plain and Laughter,” 193. 92  Epicurus, Vatican Sayings 27.41, translation with A.A. Long, and D.N. Sedley, The Hellenistic Philosophers, Vol. 1: Translations of the Principal Sources, With Philosophical Commentary (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987). 93  On Plutarch’s criticism of the Epicurean view on pleasure see J. Warren, The Pleasures of Reason in Plato, Aristotle, and the Hellenistic Hedonists (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 83. 94  A. Oksenberg Rorty, “The Two States of Stoicism: Rousseau and Freud,” 243–70 in The Emotions in Hellenistic Philosophy. Edited by J. Sihvola and T. Engbert-Pedersen (Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers, 1998), 243. 95  Diogenes Laertius, Lives of Eminent Philosophers 7.116, translated with R.D. Hicks, Loeb Classical Library edition.

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severa), that has little to do with pleasure and outbursts of laughter. He rather accepts poverty, death, and austerity and focuses on a contemplative life.96 Philo probably knew of these philosophical ideas and was, to some extent, influenced by Stoicism. Yet for him laughter and joy are neither everyday life pleasures (Epicureans) nor a rational high-spiritedness of the mind (Stoics) but spiritual states and expressions of piety, similar—yet contrary to—the rabbinic and monastic state of weeping in face of God’s judgment, discussed above. Unlike Philo, Palestinian rabbis do not present laughter as an expression of a joyful spiritual state. On the contrary, when commenting on the biblical story about Sarah’s laughter, they highlight and expand the offensiveness of her behavior and God’s displeasure with her. Rather than maintaining the biblical understanding of the phrase, “and Sarah laughed within herself [‫”]בקרבה‬ (Gen 18:12), the midrash reads: “And Sarah laughed before her relatives [‫]בקרוביה‬,” that is, others would have noticed her laughter (Gen. Rab. 48:17). The emendation was allegedly made for King Ptolemy (ibid.), probably to explain why God was angry with Sarah. In the continuation of the midrash, Sarah presents herself as becoming pre-menopausal again while stressing Abraham’s old age, that is, she ridicules the divine promise on the basis of her husband’s alleged inability to have children. Rabbis subsequently criticize this allegation: “R. Yudah b. R. Simon said: [The Holy One, Blessed Be He, said]: You [present] yourselves able to give birth and your companions elderly, yet I [God] am too old to perform miracles” (ibid.). This statement seems to criticize women in general who might claim that their husbands are responsible for their childlessness.97 Similarly, God’s alleged response seems to be directed at older childless women rather than at Sarah in particular, who eventually gave birth to a son, according to the biblical narrative. In the same Midrash laughter is presented as a legitimate audience response to the scriptural exposition, however, just as weeping was.98 Gen. Rab. 33:8 lists a number of biblical characters (Noah, Joseph, Moses, Job) who allegedly “fed and sustained” [‫ ]זן ופירנס‬others. With regard to Mordekhai, doubts arise:

96  Seneca, Epistulae Morales 23.4–6, quoted in M. Nussbaum, The Therapy of Desire. Theory and Practice in Hellenistic Ethics (Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994), 400. 97  See also Albeck’s comments ad loc. in the Theodor-Albeck ed. p. 494. 98  Cf. Gen. Rab. 33:5, discussed above: “When he [R. Aqiva] mentioned the story of the raven they wept” tears of joy. On laughter as an audience reaction to theater performances see Beard, Laughter in Ancient Rome, 15.

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[A] Mordekhai fed and sustained—it sounds strange [‫!]אתמהא‬ [B] R. Yudan said: Once he went round to all the wetnurses, but could not find a wetnurse for Esther, and he suckled her himself. [C] R. Berekhiah, R. Abbahu in the name of R. Eleazar: Milk came to him [Mordekhai] and he suckled her [Esther]. [D] When R. Abbahu expounded this [publicly], the congregation laughed [‫( ]נחך ציבורה‬Gen. Rab. 33:8). The image of a man suckling a child was considered funny enough to be perceived as a joke by the audience [D], even if it may not have been meant humorously when rabbis discussed this issue among themselves [B–C]. This seeming incompatibility between the situation (a rabbi expounding Scripture) and the image evoked also appears as the “source of the laughable” in Roman rhetorical handbooks: “For laughter arises in particular when something dishonorable is exposed in a not dishonorable way.”99 Orators are advised to use laughter in a controlled way, to benefit their arguments and gain the audience’s benevolence, avoiding the potentially dangerous aspects of laughter that is unstoppable and/or is turned against the speaker himself. Therefore “the aspiring orator is warned against provoking laughter in a manner which recalls mime-actors too closely.”100 Unlike the church fathers, late antique Palestinian rabbis do not condemn laughter altogether. Neither do they consider it legitimate only as an expression of salvation in the world to come. According to Qoh 3:4, there is “a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.” In certain situations, such as wedding banquets and other festivities, benign forms of laughter would have had their appropriate time and place as expressions of joyfulness. Mishnah Avot 6:5 advises sages to observe “moderation in laughter” [‫]מעוט שׂחוק‬, not prohibiting laughter altogether. A few Palestinian amoraic traditions do present laughing rabbis. According to R. Levi’s view, transmitted at the beginning of Gen. Rab. 6:7, the soul of the deceased is among “three things [that] travel from one end of the world to the other and human beings do not hear it.” This is illustrated by a story about “R. Shmuel, the brother of R. Pinhas b. Hama, who was a poor man who died in 99  E. Rabbie, “Wit and Humor in Roman Rhetoric,” 207–17 in A Companion to Roman Rhetoric. Edited by W. Dominik and J. Hall (Malden MA and Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2007), 210, with reference to Cicero, De Oratore 2.236. 100  C. Steel, Roman Oratory (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 55, with reference to Cicero, De Oratore 2.239, 2.242, and 2.275.

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Sepphoris. And [junior?] colleagues [‫ ]חבריא‬were sitting before him [R. Pinhas b. Hama]. Something came up and they began to laugh [‫]אתת מילה ושׁרון דחכין‬. He said to them: How poor is my brother’s soul! It breaks down cedars, it breaks down oaks, and you are sitting here and do not know!” R. Pinhas b. Hama’s statement is not meant to criticize his colleagues. Their laughter (during a study or discussion session?)101 is mentioned to show that the departure of the souls of the deceased is not perceptible by human beings, not even their relatives, who continue their lives as if nothing is happening. Laughter as a happy disposition, even in old age, as a result of Torah study, is mentioned in Gen. Rab. 59:2. Commenting on the verse, “strength and dignity are her clothing and she laughs to the last day” (Prov 31:25),102 the midrash points to the Torah: “She makes a person laugh to the last day.” Although the following text refers to reward in the world to come, the midrash seems to understand the phrase ‫ ותשׂחק ליום אחרון‬more literally, in the sense that Torah study leads to a happy life, even for the elderly. This is indicated by the reference to Abraham, who was righteous and “merited old age, as it is said: ‘And Abraham was old’ [Gen 24:1].” The Talmud Yerushalmi indicates that in halakhic contexts the laughter of rabbis was ambiguous and difficult to understand. The first example is a story about R. Yohanan, a second-generation amora, and his teacher, the firstgeneration amora R. Hoshaiah (y. Eruv. 5:1, 22b par. y. Sanh. 11:4, 30b), which follows a halakhic statement R. Yohanan transmits in R. Hoshaiah’s name. In y. Sanhedrin the story is formulated as follows: “R. Hoshaiah’s face brightened. He [R. Yohanan] said to him: [Is it because I] need you [i.e. your opinion] that you laugh? [One who] does not need you objected against you. Thirteen years he passed before his master, [until] he did not need him” (y. Sanh. 11:4, 30b). The text is difficult to translate and understand. In his German translation Wewers understands R. Hoshaiah’s laughter as being perceived as offensive by R. Yohanan: “He [R. Yohanan] said to him: If you need to, laugh at yourself; if you don’t need to, object against yourself;” that is, R. Hoshaiah’s laughter would seem to ridicule his own teaching. If his laughter is not justified, R. Hoshaiah

101  The terminology of “sitting before” a rabbi may indicate a study session. Laughter would have been unlikely if a condolence visit were imagined here. 102  In its biblical context, Prov 31:25 refers to the “woman of valor.” Whether she is imagined to laugh “to the last day” (literally), or “at the last day”, that is, at the end of times, remains unclear. Both understandings are possible, but since the context talks about her behavior in this world rather than about the hereafter, the first possibility is more likely. This is also how the rabbis of the midrash seem to have understood the text.

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would have to object against his own teaching.103 The parallel version in y. Eruv. 5:1, 22b may clarify matters. Instead of stating that R. Hoshaiah’s face brightened, this version relates: “He [R. Hoshaiah] raised his eyes and stared at him. He [R. Yohanan] said to him: Why are you staring at me? Are you laughing because I need you? [Someone else] objected against you. Thirteen years he passed before his master [until] he did not need him.”104 In both versions R. Hoshaiah’s facial expression is presented as a reaction to R. Yohanan’s quotation of a teaching in his name. Is R. Hoshaiah delighted about his student’s transmission of his teaching? Or is he astonished about his own teaching, which he no longer holds? Is his laughter seen in analogy to—and perhaps even as an enforcement of—his brightened face (y. Eruv.), expressing his delight in his student’s dependence on him? Or is he laughing at R. Yohanan because he has doubts about his own former view with which some of his colleagues disagree? The way in which Wewers understands R. Yohanan’s reaction to R. Hoshaiah’s facial expression seems to be too rude for a student to talk to his master, especially in view of the following statement that he continued to study with him and depended on his teachings for thirteen years. The variant versions indicate the difficulties involved in understanding facial expressions and in establishing connections between non-­ verbal and verbal communication in rabbinic texts. At the same time, the texts show that the meaning of laughter in a particular context was not self-evident to rabbis and required explanations and specifications, which, unfortunately, are not provided here. The texts do not transmit R. Hoshaiah’s reply. Another talmudic example of the ambiguity of laughter in halakhic contexts is a story about the same R. Hoshaiah and his colleague-friend R. Yudan Nasia, transmitted in y. Qidd. 3:5, 64a: [A] R. Hoshaiah the Great and R. Yudan Nasia were sitting. They said: Let us discuss a topic concerning betrothal. [B] [Someone said:] He who says to a woman: Here is a perutah for you so that you will be betrothed to me when he divorces you, what is the law? [C] They laughed and stood up. [D] R. Yose said: And why did they laugh? 103  G. Wewers, Sanhedrin. Gerichtshof. Übersetzung des Talmud Yerushalmi, Vol. IV/4 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1981), 308 and ibid. n. 48. 104  For this understanding see also J. Neusner, The Talmud of the Land of Israel. A Preliminary Translation, Vol. 12: Erubin (Chicago IL and London: University of Chicago Press, 1991), 145–6.

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[E] Has R. Ba b. Mamal not said: When she is freed, she assumes another mind. And here, when she is divorced, she may assume another mind [and not be willing to be betrothed to the one who gave her the perutah]. The two rabbis’ nonverbal behavior (laughing and standing up, cf. [C]) is presented as a reaction to the halakhic question in [B] but its meaning is unclear: Did they consider the question ridiculous? Did they assume that such a scenario would or should never happen anyway? Or was the answer self-evident to them and should have been obvious to others as well? The question attributed to R. Yose in [D] underlines the ambiguity of their behavior. Again, the non-verbal communication requires explanation but does not receive any. Instead, another rabbi’s opinion on the matter is quoted [E], which relates to the question [B] and could be seen as an indirect answer to it: since a woman may change her mind after her divorce, binding her to oneself with a perutah before the divorce to take effect after the divorce is not advisable. In another context in the Yerushalmi, the so-called simpon, that is, a codicil that establishes a conditional betrothal, is discussed (y. Qidd. 3:2, 63d), especially with regard to “gifts and financial obligations incurred by a man during betrothal if the marriage does not occur.”105 A statement attributed to R. Abbahu in the name of R. Yohanan suggests a formulation for a betrothal agreement “on condition that I give you a certain thing and cause you to enter [marriage with me] on a certain day. And if that day comes and I have not caused you to enter, there will be nothing to me,” that is, the woman does not have any further claim on him (ibid.). After further discussion the Talmud quotes the following case: A case came before R. Abbahu. He said to him: Go [and] give! He said to him: Rabbi, I have not acquired a woman and you tell me: Go [and] give? R. Abbahu said: Never has a man laughed at me except for this one. He retracted and said: If he retracts, he shall give [her the pledge]; if she retracts, she shall give [i.e., return the pledge to him] (ibid.). Although the case is not described here, it seems to concern a man who wants to retract from a simpon without having to give a pledge to the woman he had promised to marry. The man allegedly laughed in reaction to R. Abbahu’s suggestion that he should give the woman the pledged money or gift, claiming 105  M. Satlow, Jewish Marriage in Antiquity (Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 2001), 80.

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that he had not—and no longer planned to—acquire her. R. Abbahu allegedly interpreted the man’s laughter as a rebuke against his decision. A common man laughing at a rabbi’s case decision is presented as unusual here, probably because of the rabbi’s higher status, at least from his own point of view. At the same time, the man’s laughter is said to have led the rabbi to reconsider and amend his ruling to clarify an issue that had remained uncertain: the one who retracts from a conditional betrothal agreement has to suffer the loss of the money or gift that is mentioned in the agreement. To conclude my discussion of the representation of laughter in Palestinian rabbinic sources, a story that creates a dichotomy between weeping and laughter that is similar to late antique Christian views needs to be mentioned. Like the church fathers, the rabbinic tradents of the story assumed that weeping (poverty, affliction) in this world would lead to laughter (eternal joy) in the hereafter: R. Aqiva said: Shimon b. Lagas106 told me: I was gathering plants together with a child from the house of Abtinas, and I saw him weep and I saw him laugh. I said to him: My son, why are you weeping? He said to me: On behalf of the honor of the house of my father which diminished. And why are you laughing? He said to me: On behalf of the honor which is prepared for the righteous in the future to come . . . (y. Yoma 3:9, 41a par. y. Sheqal. 5:2, 49a) The Abtinas-family was considered experts in preparing incense for the Jerusalem Temple (cf. m. Sheqal. 5:1). They would have had a high status as long as the Temple was standing but probably lost at least some of their “honor” together with their Temple-related function after its destruction. According to the story, which has a tannaitic origin (cf. t. Yoma 2:7), this loss will be compensated for in the world to come, when their righteousness will be rewarded. As in some early Christian texts from Luke 6:21 (quoted above) onwards, “weeping” is associated with misfortune in this world, whereas “laughing” signifies the joy that awaits the righteous sufferers in the hereafter. The child’s laughter is presented as a premonition of his family’s eschatological bliss. In the Babylonian Talmud laughter appears relatively frequently in halakhic disputes, where it is used as a non-verbal objection to the rabbinic statement quoted before. Rubenstein has already stressed that the Bavli presents rabbinic discussion sessions as fiercely competitive and combative environments in which rabbis fight against each other to make sure that their own views receive 106  The y. Sheqal. version has “Shimon b. Luga.”

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the highest score.107 In this fight laughter served as a weapon that ridiculed a colleague’s opinion and introduced a verbal objection that the narrators and tradents probably shared. Only a few examples of this literary technique can be presented here. [A] Come and hear: Great is human dignity since it overrides a negative commandment of the Torah. [B] Why? Let him say: There is no wisdom nor understanding nor counsel against the Lord. [C] Rav b. Shava interpreted it before Rav Kahana [to refer] to the ­negative [commandment] of ‘You shall not turn aside [from the sentence which they {i.e., the judges} shall declare unto you . . .]’ [Deut 17:11]. [D] They laughed at him. [E] The negative [commandment] of ‘You shall not turn aside’ is from the Torah! [F] Rav Kahana said: [If] a great man makes a statement, you should not laugh at him [‫]גברא רבה אמר מילתא לא תחיכו עליה‬.108 [G] All the words of the rabbis were based on the negative commandment of ‘You shall not turn aside’; but concerning [human] dignity rabbis permitted [to act] (b. Ber. 19b). This discussion is significant for the legitimation of rabbinic changes to Torah law. What is at issue is the question of whether rabbis can make decisions that contradict the Torah or at least certain negative commandments stated there. According to the anonymous statement at the beginning of the discussion [A], rabbis can act and override any negative commandment if it threatens human dignity.109 Human dignity appears as the measuring rod and criterion on whose basis negative commandments can be disregarded. The anonymous objection in [B] is similarly general: No decision based on human wisdom should act 107  See J.L. Rubenstein, The Culture of the Babylonian Talmud (Baltimore MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2003), 59–64. 108  For the same expression in a different context with different rabbis involved see b. Git. 55b (“they” laughed at R. Shezbi’s statement and Raba reprimands them, supporting and explaining R. Shezbi’s opinion. 109  For example, according to a negative commandment, “you shall not murder” (Exod 20:13). If the object of the negative commandment is a murderer himself, however, could one not say that the dignity of the victims may require the judge to override this negative commandment and punish the murderer with the death penalty?

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against Torah law. In the context of this general discussion Rav b. Shava’s suggestion [C] is more specific: To preserve human dignity, a communal judgment decreed by judges may be overturned. This interpretation allegedly caused the derisive laughter of (anonymous) fellow-scholars [D], who reminded him of the fact that the reference to not turning aside judges’ sentences is part of the Torah [E] and therefore falls under the objection cited in [B]. Rav Kahana’s comment [F] recuperates Rav b. Shava’s interpretation and criticizes the laughter as an inappropriate reaction to the statement of a “great man.” Whether the solution and harmonization offered in [G] are to be considered part of Rav Kahana’s statement or an anonymous editorial addition remains uncertain. In any case, it seems that halakhic action to maintain human dignity is justified here by identifying rabbis with the communal authorities mentioned in Deut 17:11. The text is an example of the dialectical argumentation (shaqla vetaryah) so characteristic of the Bavli. While laughter appears as a nonverbal form of objection, followed by a verbal rebuttal, it is subsequently neutralized by Rav Kahana’s support of Rav b. Shava’s interpretation. The reference to Rav b. Shava interpreting “before” Rav Kahana suggests that status differences existed between them. One may assume that a study session or a discussion between the senior scholar Rav Kahana and younger scholars is envisioned here. Whereas Rav b. Shava is mentioned by name and his interpretation transmitted, his fellow-students or (minor) colleagues who laugh remain anonymous. In this way Rav Kahana’s and (his favored disciple?) Rav b. Shava’s views are highlighted by the editors. Another story about laughter or sneering among junior scholars in the presence of their teacher appears in b. Ber. 39a. A disciple is said to have mocked the practice of his fellow-student while two different versions of their teacher’s reaction are transmitted: [A] Two disciples were sitting before Bar Kappara. They brought before them cabbage, Damascene plums, and chicken. Bar Kappara gave permission to one of them to say a blessing. He jumped up and said a blessing over the chicken. His fellow-student sneered at him [‫]לגלג עליו‬. Bar Kappara was angry. He said: I am not angry with the one who said the blessing; rather, I am angry with the one who sneered. If your fellow-­student is like one who has never tasted meat in his life [and therefore said the blessing over the chicken], on account of what do you sneer at him? [B] He retracted and said: I am not angry with the one who sneered; rather, I am angry with the one who said the blessing. And he said:

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If there is no w ­ isdom here, is there not old age here [i.e., why did the student not consult me before saying the blessing]? [C] A tanna taught: And neither of them finished their year [as a punishment for their behavior]. [D] Did not their difference lie in this that the one who said the blessing thought that [the blessing] over vegetables and chicken is ‘by whose word everything exists’, and therefore he gave preference to what he liked best; and the one who sneered thought that [the blessing] over vegetables is ‘blessed are the fruits of the ground’ [and that over] chicken is ‘by whose word everything exists’, therefore he gave preference to the fruits [of the earth, i.e., the vegetables]. [E] No, everyone [agrees] that [the blessing] over vegetables and chicken is ‘by whose word everything exists’. And this is what they disagree about: one thought that what he liked best should be given precedence; and one thought that cabbage should be given precedence, because it is nourishing. The laughter or sneering directed at a fellow-student in the narrative [A] may be an expression of the fierce competition among equal-status scholars within the Babylonian academic setting. Although the food suggests a shared meal, the students are said to have been “sitting before” their teacher as in a study session. One of the students is said to have been chosen by Bar Kappara to say the blessing, that is, he was given precedence by the teacher. When he had completed the requested action, his fellow-student’s non-verbal reaction is understood as an affront against him which elicits their teacher’s anger. As in the tradition about Rav Kahana above, Bar Kappara initially supports the student who said the blessing (in b. Ber. 19b: the one who presented his interpretation), defending his action as legitimate. The editors of the sugya have attached an alternative version of Bar Kappara’s reaction [B], in which he sides with the student who mocked his companion, reasoning that the one who said the blessing did not consult his teacher first. Whereas the laughter/sneering indicated status anxiety among students in front of their rabbinic master, the reference to (the student’s lack of) wisdom and (required respect for) old age directs the discussion to the status difference between the master and his disciple that was allegedly transgressed. The following anonymous discussion [C–E] treats both students equally, taking both versions of Bar Kappara’s reaction into account. Both students are said to have been punished for their misbehavior [C], whether mocking a fellow student or acting in a precocious way in front of one’s teacher. [D] and [E] try to figure out the reasons for the underlying halakhic differences between

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the students. Did they disagree over the blessing [D] or over their attitude toward the respective foods [E]? The editors seem to have favored the latter possibility, where one student chose to bless his favorite food first whereas the other wanted the blessing to be said over the vegetables because they were more nourishing. The many references to mocking laughter in the Babylonian Talmud suggest that this nonverbal expression was halakhically significant for the Babylonian tradents and editors, much more so than in the Palestinian literary context.110 It was important in the context of status differences and competition within the Babylonian academic setting. At least in the literary context of Babylonian narratives and halakhic discussions, mocking laughter serves to ridicule another scholar’s Torah scholarship and/or general intelligence and thereby questions his legitimacy within the school setting. At the same time, this laughter can back-fire and de-legitimize the offender himself. As we have seen in the examples above, a higher-status rabbi may support the mocked junior scholar and express his anger at the one who sneered at him. In this way, at least literarily, too fierce competition between equals is neutralized and declared unacceptable, at least in the presence of their teacher whom the students should respect most. Some Babylonian Talmudic texts associate mocking laughter with halakhic differences between Palestinian and Babylonian rabbis. The formula, “they laughed at it in the West” (‫)מחכו עלה במערבא‬, appears repeatedly in the Bavli, where it usually follows particular halakhic opinions held by Babylonian sages.111 The reference to a Palestinian collectivity (“they”) indicates that the Babylonian tradents or editors who used the phrase did not know which ­particular Palestinian sage mocked the respective view. This uncertainty about Palestinian opposition is also indicated in b. Sanh. 17b, where the anonymous “they” who “laughed at it in the West” are associated with particular sages: R. Eleazar (b. Pedat, a third-generation amora who was born in Babylonia and studied in Palestine?) or, alternatively, R. Yose b. Hanina (a secondgeneration Palestinian amora). In the second version, which the editors probably preferred, R. Eleazar is said to have “sent a message” from the West, whereas the Palestinian sage R. Yose b. Hanina is identified with mocking laughter. 110  For further instances see, eg, b. Eruv. 48a (R. Yose b. R. Hanina laughing at R. Hiyya); b. Betzah 38b (R. Yohanan, R. Hanina b. Pappi, and R. Zeira, alternatively: R. Abbahu, R. Shimon b. Pazzi, and R. Yitzhaq laughing at R. Abba); b. Menah. 74a (“they” laughed at R. Abba); b. Nid. 27a (R. Bubi and R. Hamenuna laughing at R. Papa); b. Nid. 50b (“they” laughed at R. Zeira). 111  See b. Sanh. 17b; b. Shevu. 26a; b. Shevu. 34b; b. B. Bat. 16b.

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The object of his nonverbal derision is not specified here. Laughter—and other forms of nonverbal communication—represented in the Babylonian Talmud warrant a separate study that would have to take the Sasanian cultural context into account.

The Face As a Window to Rabbinic Values

Greek and Roman literature tends to associate facial expressions with particular personages’ emotions, highlighting their individual character. By contrast, rabbinic literature is a collective literature that presents rabbis as a set of people with a shared interest in Torah study. In this collective context, references to rabbis’ facial expressions assume a different, broader significance. On the one hand, with some facial expressions, there seems to be an overlap between their description and use in rabbinic and Graeco-Roman sources. This is the case with the Roman blush and rabbinic references to the faces of scholars turning “saffron”—or “sand”-colored. In the respective literary contexts, the explicit or implicit reasons for this unintentional change of face color are shame, embarrassment, and anger. The change of face color occurs in social situations, in confrontations with others. In some of these contexts, the respective rabbi’s self-worth is questioned. For example, the patriarch’s facial color changes when he is confronted with the exilarch’s imminent arrival; a disciple’s face “turns saffron” when hearing of a fellow-disciple’s promotion; a rabbi is embarrassed when a philosopher asks him a question he is unable to answer. The descriptions allow the reader to perceive Torah scholars as human beings who were conscious of their respective social status, which was threatened when others seemed to be given precedence over them (exilarch; promoted student), or if they presented themselves as wiser (philosopher). On the other hand, there are descriptions of facial expressions which can be considered purely religious. They serve to express a Torah scholar’s religiosity. This is the case with the “shining face” and the “weeping rabbi.” Although the narrative mentions the shining face in confrontation with an outsider (matron), that is, in a social situation, the outsider’s misinterpretation serves to highlight the facial expression’s “real” reason that is available to insiders only. Unlike the change of face color, the shining face has nothing to do with human emotions. It is rather presented as a kind of internal light that illuminates a person who dedicated his life to Torah study. Similarly, the image of the weeping rabbi was not meant to express his personal sorrow. It rather serves to emphasize the rabbi’s awareness of his insufficient righteousness in

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anticipation of God’s final judgment. This religious facial expression has an analogy in Christian monastic texts. In the context of rabbinic literature, both the “shining face” and the “weeping rabbis” serve to express rabbinic values, namely, Torah study and humility in the face of God. Laughter was neither an unintentional expression of emotions nor an expression of one’s religiosity. Therefore this facial expression does not fit any of the just mentioned categories. In the context of rabbinic study sessions, laughter is always presented as mocking laughter that is considered inappropriate and offensive. Again, the participants’ social status is at issue here. Laughter directed at a status-equal is interpreted as an intentional denigration of that person’s standing within the scholarly community. In the stories, it is the status-higher teacher who reveals the offensiveness of the motion, neutralizes its impact, and relegates the offender to his place. Although facial expressions are generally meant to express the emotions and inner dispositions of individual characters, within the collective context of rabbinic literature they are subservient to broader concerns. Certain facial expressions are used to highlight the religious values of Torah study (shining face) and reverence before God (weeping rabbis). Others are used to indicate competition among scholars (laughter; change of face color). Like other forms of body-language discussed in this study, facial expressions served the tradents and editors to express the significance of—and the ambiguities involved in— establishing and maintaining proper status relationships within the rabbinic movement. At the same time, they help to present rabbis of the “classical” period as role models to be emulated by later generations of Torah scholars.

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Conclusions: Body Language in Rabbinic Literature This study has shown that body language constitutes an important part of the literary self-fashioning of ancient rabbis. The “textualized body” needs to be read in the context of Graeco-Roman and early Christian representations.1 Like other ancient storytellers and authors, the rabbis who composed, transmitted, and edited the texts seem to have visualized their teachers, colleagues, and predecessors.2 They created the image of a particularly Jewish type of intellectual who functioned and competed for adherents within the highly visual and body-conscious environment of late antiquity. Rabbis had to be recognizable by other Jews and distinguishable from other types of intellectuals and “holy” men. Yet they also had to fit into the cultural environment of the Roman province they lived in. As we have seen in the preceding chapters, aspects of non-verbal communication—rabbis’ appearance and demeanor, posture and body movements, gestures and facial expressions—mostly appear in narratives and narrative introductions to halakhic statements and discussions. Since narrative and halakhah, rules and practices are closely interlinked in rabbinic texts, body language can also be relevant halakhically. Rabbis’ behavior and actions were seen as expressions of their halakhic views, theological beliefs, and moral values. Accordingly, any form of non-verbal communication represented in rabbinic texts can be considered as meaningful as a verbal statement. In this chapter I shall look at rabbinic non-verbal communication from a broader perspective, to determine its overall significance, patterns and developments. In literature based on earlier traditions that were transmitted, reformulated, and edited over long periods of time, the significance and interpretation of specific forms of non-verbal communication may have changed from one stage and context to the next. Tradents may have associated different meanings with 1  The term “textualized body” is used by E. Gunderson, Staging Masculinity: The Rhetoric of Performance in the Roman World (Ann Arbor MI: University of Michigan Press, 2000), 2, in connection with classical texts. 2  For the emphasis on visualization see A.L. Boegehold, When a Gesture Was Expected: A Selection of Examples From Archaic and Classical Greek Literature (Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 1999), 4.

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specific gestures or facial expressions than the later editors who integrated these units into larger discursive contexts. In rabbinic literature narratives are often integrated into new halakhic contexts that determine their meanings at the editorial stage. For example, a posture meant to indicate status differences between particular sages within a narrative might be used as an expression of a halakhic view in the larger edited context. Similarly, a narrative reference to body language can be meaningful within a story tradition but insignificant within the thematic discussion of the sugya as a whole. Such changes in the function, meaning, and significance of body language from micro- to macroform and from the various stages of storytelling and transmission to the editorial stages of a text need to be taken into account. Especially interesting is the relationship between verbal and non-verbal communication in a text: non-verbal communication can be used to emphasize and support a statement or to contradict it, or it can be used independently, instead of an utterance, as an expression of a view or disposition.3 The phenomenon that in rabbinic culture verbal utterances and bodily actions could be treated similarly is crucial for our understanding of the rabbinic use of body language. For example, depending on the situation, a nod might indicate agreement and weeping signify a rabbi’s piety. For the storytellers, tradents, and editors who formulated the texts, rabbis’ body movements were as religiously significant as their statements and teachings. They were bodily expressions of their theological, moral, and legal views. Their mention in rabbinic documents allows readers to visualize rabbis’ movements and behaviors, just as disciples were invited to observe and imitate their masters’ practices.

A Chronological Development in the Use of Body Language?

Can we detect a chronological development in the use of body language in rabbinic texts? While some references to non-verbal communication appear in tannaitic traditions and documents already, there is clearly an increase in the number of references and an expansion in the repertoire in amoraic texts. Both the seated study session (“X. was sitting before Y”) and the perambulatio (X and Y “were walking on the way”) appear in tannaitic sources already. These were the two basic contexts in which rabbinic instruction was imagined to have taken place. References to both modes of instruction increase in amoraic sources and amoraic narratives tend to be more detailed than tannaitic traditions. Other types of body language are found in amoraic texts only. 3  See B. Korte, Body Language in Literature (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1997), 34.

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For example, references to rabbis “sitting and expounding” in synagogues are a particularly amoraic feature, as are references to people “running” to listen to a rabbi’s talk. Does this mean that rabbis’ range of activity increased in late antiquity, when they interacted more with the general public and became more popular? Or is it merely a feature of the literary sources, with amoraic sources trying to create the impression that at least some prominent rabbis were public intellectuals with a large following? Although the literary presentation may be a reflection of social reality, to draw a direct link between the two would constitute circular reasoning. Whether there is a development in the representation of body language needs to be investigated for each type of body language separately. What hampers such a survey, however, is the smaller quantity and different literary nature of tannaitic in comparison with amoraic texts. The general increase in all forms of non-verbal communication in amoraic texts may at least partly be due to the fact that amoraic traditions are much more numerous than tannaitic ones and amoraic documents much longer. Furthermore, amoraic Midrashim and the Talmuds contain much more narrative material than the Mishnah, Tosefta, and tannaitic Midrashim, and body language mostly appears in narrative contexts. Therefore facial expressions are mentioned almost exclusively in amoraic traditions, but this phenomenon does not necessarily mean that tannaim did not share the theological idea of a fear of divine punishment (“weeping rabbis”) or feel embarrassment and anger (change of face color) when an equal-status colleague was promoted first. These considerations indicate the near impossibility of establishing clearcut reasons for certain differences in the evidence of body language in tannaitic and amoraic texts. On the one hand, it is tempting to use the analogy of Graeco-Roman literature and argue that the significance rabbis attributed to body language increased in late antiquity. One might argue that rabbis participated in the general late antique phenomenon of a visual display of one’s manliness, whether in the form of the Roman rhetorician or the public intellectual. On the other hand, this need for a public display of one’s status and disposition would have been an ongoing phenomenon with earlier precedents already. The text in Sifre Deuteronomy, quoted at the beginning of this study, suggests that rabbis needed to be visible as Torah scholars within their contemporary Jewish society to gain disciples and followers. Therefore the most reasonable assumption is that the literary use of body language increased and expanded in the amoraic period, alongside non-Jewish Roman and Christian texts, but that it also continued certain trends that are noticeable in the earlier tannaitic sources already.

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Non-Verbal and Verbal Communication in Rabbinic Texts

In rabbinic texts body language can be expressed verbally only. We gain access to non-verbal signifiers through the storytellers’, tradents’, and editors’ verbal description which is based on abstraction, stylization, and choice. As we have seen in the preceding chapters, various types of non-verbal communication are deliberately employed in narratives and disputes to indicate status differences, convey halakhic views, and reflect piety. The mediated and stylized nature of the literary representation of communication applies to the verbal statements as well. Ideas and opinions that might have been expressed orally in some form or other in tannaitic and amoraic times were molded into the new literary contexts by the composers of the texts. As such, both the nonverbal and the verbal communication in rabbinic texts can be considered to be several stages removed from actual practice. References to body language are particularly prominent in rabbinic narratives transmitted in amoraic sources. Body language and its interpretation can be the focal point of the narrative, as is the case in stories about misunderstandings within rabbinic circles (eg, between Palestinian and Babylonian rabbis, teachers, and students) and between rabbis and Romans (ranging from matrons to officials and emperors). Even if the details of the stories must be considered fictitious, the focus on body language reflects the importance attributed to observed behaviors in Jewish and Roman society of late antiquity. Wide-ranging conclusions could be drawn from facial expressions (such as the blushing or shining face), body movements (eg, hiding before someone or supporting someone), and gestures (eg, standing up before someone). In the stories, it is the unusual body language of a rabbi or disciple that requires explanation because it stands at odds with the perceived “normal” behavior expected of a Torah scholar. For example, R.Yudah b. R. Eliezer’s “shining” face is said to have elicited a matron’s comments (y. Shabb. 8:1, 11a); R. Eleazar’s “hiding” before his teacher R. Yohanan is said to have caused the latter’s anger (y. Ber. 2:1, 4b). Similarly, the Roman proconsul’s alleged gesture of standing up before sages led to his inferiors’ mocking remarks (y. Ber. 5:1, 9a). In all of these cases the oddity of the body language in a particular situation requires verbal interpretation and explanation to realign the perceived anomaly with what rabbis considered appropriate. In fact, the non-verbal deviation serves as a hinge that gives rise to comments and discussions that highlight rabbinic behavioral norms (a student should show respect for his teacher in public), values (Torah study makes one’s face “shine”), and beliefs (non-Jews should acknowledge the power of

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the Jewish God and his earthly representatives). Since the meaning of body language, especially when deviating from the norm, is not self-evident, verbal explanations are necessary to establish its meaning. These explanations may vary, especially if the views of different strata of society are contrasted (eg, teacher and student, matron and rabbi, emperor and soldiers), but the emphasis is always given to explanations that match the rabbinic (storyteller’s, tradent’s or editor’s) world view. In one and the same narrative non-verbal and verbal communication can be combined in a complex way, as is the case in the story about the woman who attended R. Meir’s lectures and was subsequently locked out of her home by her husband (Lev. Rab. 9:9). The non-verbal signifiers of “sitting” in a session in which a rabbi expounds Scripture and “spitting,” used in insults and humiliations as well as in magic rituals, are central and constitute a seemingly contradictory scenario. The actual spitting into the rabbi’s face is mentioned at the end of the story only. The preceding statements of the husband, neighbors, and R. Meir reveal the potential meanings of the spitting, from insult to magic spell and medical cure. In the course of the discussion, the husband’s intended meaning is subverted so that the insult is neutralized. R. Meir is able to use the spitting as a device to restore peace between the woman and her husband and to avoid being insulted himself. An aspect of non-verbal communication (spitting) is used here to reveal a rabbi’s sagacity by, at the same time, maintaining the religious “purity” of his preaching environment. Certain non-verbal signifiers are used repeatedly throughout rabbinic literature to introduce halakhic statements, questions, and discussions. They are meant to situate the verbal discussion in the context of rabbinic collegial interaction and instruction of disciples. This is the case with references to rabbis “walking on the way” together, “sitting and expounding,” and students “sitting before” their masters. While the references to these body movements do not add anything to the respective halakhic discussions, the consistent use of this terminology creates a homogeneous context and background. It grounds rabbinic verbal discussions of legal issues in the quintessenial intellectual settings of Graeco-Roman antiquity: the perambulatio and the “school” setting. As Montiglio has recently pointed out, Plato already emphasized “sitting together as the correct posture for the philosophical discussion.”4 This setting was supplemented by philosophers “walking and talking” in colonnades, gardens, marketplaces, and streets. By using these settings Palestinian rabbis presented their halakhic discussions as a particularly Jewish form of intellectual 4  S. Montiglio, Wandering in Ancient Greek Culture (Chicago IL and London: University of Chicago Press, 2015), 174.

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i­ nteraction resembling the disputes and teaching conducted in Graeco-Roman philosophical schools. The repeated use and consistency of these settings create the impression of an informal “institutionalization” of the rabbinic movement, in the sense of shared habitual practices, in late antiquity.5 The non-verbal signifiers of “sitting and expounding,” “sitting before,” and “walking with” are used as literary devices that create the idea of a rabbinic movement that follows homogeneous practices. If rabbis and students with different names belonging to different generations all “sit” and “walk” together while discussing a variety of halakhic matters, they share these habitual practices with each other. Those who composed the documents (and perhaps also the editors of particular sugyot before them) thereby introduce sameness into an otherwise fractured and fragmented collection of halakhic views and disputes. While the halakhic issues and opinions are diverse, the presumed settings remain the same. The sameness of the settings serves to circumscribe the boundaries of rabbinic halakhic activity. The basic terminology of rabbis “sitting and expounding” and students “sitting before” their masters is supplemented by related terms that point in the same direction and posit a consistent setting in which halakhic discussions are supposed to have taken place. The term yeshiva conjures the image of a “sitting” or “session” that was more organized and perhaps larger in scope than the usual student-teacher arrangement. Similarly, the Greek loanword sanhedrin from Greek synedrion literally envisions a “sitting together.” Within the context of Talmudic sugyot the yeshiva and sanhedrin are sometimes associated with the “vineyard in Yavneh” to create the impression of a local and institutionalized setting for rabbis’ halakhic activity. As mentioned above, rabbinic references to the yeshiva resemble Christian references to the ekklesia to denote the habitual practice of religious practitioners’ gatherings for Scripture-based oral discussions, readings, and exegesis.

The Rabbinic Embodiment of Halakhah

In rabbinic texts references to non-verbal communication can be significant halakhically. This aspect is most obvious with regard to the nod and the kiss, which may signal agreement with a particular opinion (for the kiss see, eg, 5  On habitual practices in informal social networks see A. King, The Structure of Social Theory (London and New York: Routledge, 2004), 59: “. . . the system is reproduced not by individuals being determined by or following structure, but by humans in social relations mutually sustaining forms of practice by reference to shared understandings.”

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y. Ber. 1:8, 3d par. y. Ber. 4:1, 7a; for the nod see y. Ter. 1:1, 40b, discussed above). In Babylonian talmudic sources mocking laughter is sometimes used to disqualify a scholar or an entire scholarly community (eg, “they laughed at it in the West”) and to indicate the laughing rabbis’ disagreement with their colleagues’ views (see my discussion in chapter 4 above). In the highly visual culture of antiquity, the observance of behaviors and facial expressions was as significant as listening to verbal statements and speeches. Individuals were judged by others on the basis of their comportment in public which served as an externalizer of their values, views, and ideals. In the literary sources rabbis present themselves as embodiments of the Torah in general and of their individual halakhic opinions.6 The descriptions of rabbis’ non-verbal behaviors serve to instruct future generations of scholars in how to imitate them. By walking, talking, dressing, and comporting himself like a rabbi, the reader, envisioned as a scholar,7 identifies himself with his rabbinic predecessors and becomes part of the thus constructed rabbinic movement. Just as Roman rhetorical handbooks served to create future orators by providing instructions and examples of verbal argumentation and non-verbal conduct, rabbinic texts use a combination of discussions and body language to provide training manuals for future rabbis. Whereas the orator was supposed to be an embodiment of Roman upper-class values, the rabbi was expected to represent the values of the Torah as the Jewish “indigenous” heritage. The notion of rabbis as embodiments of halakhah is also evident in the combination of descriptions of rabbis’ behavior and direct speech, especially in the Talmuds and amoraic Midrashim. The use of so-called example stories within the context of halakhic discussions in Yerushalmi sugyot indicates the significance attributed to actual practice in rabbinic culture of late antiquity.8 In y. B. Metz. 2:11, 8d, for example, the reference to Rav tearing his garment upon hearing that his teacher had died is used in the same way and given the same significance as a direct halakhic statement attributed to Rav would have been. This is made evident by the anonymous statement that “Rav agrees with R. Meir,” that is, with the opinion of R. Meir quoted in a baraita before. Rav’s 6  On rabbis as embodiments of the Torah see J.N. Lightstone, The Commerce of the Sacred. Mediation of the Divine Among Jews in the Graeco-Roman World (New York NY: Columbia University Press, 2006), 104; R. Neis, The Sense of Sight in Rabbinic Culture. Jewish Ways of Seeing in Late Antiquity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 181. 7  See D.C. Kraemer, “The Intended Reader as a Key to Interpreting the Bavli,” Prooftexts 13 (1993): 125–40. 8  On example stories see C. Hezser, Form, Function, and Historical Significance of the Rabbinic Story in Yerushalmi Neziqin (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1993), 303–6.

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action is considered equivalent to a verbal expression of a halakhic opinion. His tearing of his garment is taken to reveal his underlying veneration of his teacher, who should be shown equal honor as a father after his death (on the comparison between one’s rabbinic master and father see m. B. Metz. 2:11). Another example of the halakhic significance of nonverbal communication appears in y. B. Metz. 2:8, 8d.9 R. Yose is said to have been “sitting and teaching” in a building when “a corpse was brought in.” The following description of his reaction implies that his students were divided over what to do: some remained seated whereas others stood up and left. R. Yose “did not say anything” to any of them. His very inaction and silence was considered halakhically significant by the storytellers, tradents, and editors, though. Corpse uncleanness seems to be the halakhic issue addressed by the story: should a rabbinic scholar of a priestly background leave a Torah study session in order to avoid the possibility of contracting corpse uncleanness?10 The answer to the question seems to have been controversial, as indicated by the different student reactions and R. Yose’s refusal to take a stand.11 Silence, explicitly mentioned in texts, always communicates. It communicates “the act of thinking” and “a lack of activity.”12 Silence can have a variety of meanings, indicating ignorance, opposition, defiance, or disinterest as well as hesitation, uncertainty, or acceptance.13 The meanings are always culturally specific.14 In the halakhic context of the Talmud, R. Yose’s silence is an open admission of halakhic ambiguity on the issue underlying the story. In situations of halakhic uncertainty, rabbis may deliberately decide not to take a particular position. By remaining silent the rabbi acknowledges the halakhic legitimacy of either position.15 In rabbinic study sessions and during collegial interactions, silence, laughter, nodding, and other types of behavior would have been readily recognizable by participants sensitized to these forms of non-verbal communication. Rabbinic 9  The story has parallels in y. Ber. 3:1, 6a; y. Naz. 7:1, 56a; y. Kil. 9:2, 32a. 10  See the question preceding the story in y. Ber. and y. Naz.: “What is the law concerning a priest’s becoming unclean for the honor of the Torah?” 11  For a more detailed discussion of the text see Hezser, Form, Function, and Historical Significance, 80–3. 12  See S.R. Portch, Literature’s Silent Language. Nonverbal Communication (New York NY: Peter Lang, 1985), 14. 13  On the various possible meanings of silence see J.V. Jensen, “Communicative Functions of Silence,” ETC 30 (1973): 249–57, 252. 14  H.H. Calero, The Power of Nonverbal Communication. How You Act Is More Important Than What You Say (Los Angeles CA and Aberdeen WA: Silver Lake Publishing, 2005), 60–1. 15  Silence in rabbinic texts is a topic worthy of further study.

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masters required that they be closely observed in addition to being listened to. No priority was given to the verbal over the visual. Halakhah required that it be acted out, and one’s views could be deduced from one’s body language and behavior. The rabbinic tradents’ and editors’ assumption of rabbis’ and their students’ body language as an expression of their halakhic views fits GraecoRoman upper-class writers’ emphasis on self-control over one’s comportment in public. It was the public perception of Torah scholars that made them rabbis by recognizing them as religious authorities.

Rabbinic Self-Fashioning Through Body Language

Literary references to body movements served rabbis to fashion themselves as an “indigenous” intellectual elite within the Palestinian Jewish community and within the larger Graeco-Roman context. In this process they adopted elements of Graeco-Roman body language by, at the same time, exhibiting culture-specific distinctions. Like Graeco-Roman intellectuals, rabbis present themselves as holding more or less formal seated sessions alongside strolling around in public with colleague-friends and students (perambulatio). As in Graeco-Roman (and early Christian) culture, larger sessions are said to have been hierarchically organized with clear divisions between the chair of the session, seated scholars, and a standing audience. Yet the focus of the activity that took place in this framework is presented as entirely different. The Torah and halakhah had no direct analogies in Graeco-Roman culture. Hellenistic philosophers were more concerned with human self-improvement than with interpreting the will of a higher authority, let alone personifying that will. What rabbis and Graeco-Roman intellectuals both strove for, however, were disciples and adherents. A rabbi’s views could be transmitted to later generations and more distant scholars only if he had students and friends who repeated his opinions and related his actions. He would be considered a local religious authority only if he showed himself in public accompanied by his disciples and if he received lay people and answered their questions. A rabbi had to comport himself in public like an intellectual, but an intellectual with a Jewish religious twist. He had to meet the Jewish and non-Jewish public’s expectations with regard to learned men while, at the same time, behaving in a distinctly Jewish religious way. As I have argued in the first chapter, Jews may not have been recognizable on the outside within the Graeco-Roman context, as Shaye Cohen has

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suggested, but rabbis would have wanted to be recognizable as religious authorities within the realms of the Jewish community. In fact, they had to be recognizable in order to elicit respect and influence among their coreligionists. Whether and to what extent rabbis actually adopted certain behavioral patterns that distinguished them as a particular type of Jewish intellectual is impossible to determine. What is obvious, however, is that rabbinic documents such as the Talmud Yerushalmi employ references to non-verbal communication as a means to create the notion of a rabbinic movement that shared certain values and morals and “performed” them in public. Besides the two major ways of teaching and discussing religiously relevant issues with students and colleague-friends, mentioned above, the texts suggest a number of other ways in which rabbinic self-fashioning through demeanor and body movement was carried out. For example, they suggest that rabbis adopted a certain clothing style, wrapping the mantle (tallit/pallium), a garment shared with other intellectuals, in a particular way. While they encouraged all male Jews to don a prayer shawl with fringes when praying, rabbis would have been most likely to follow that advice. Some are said to have been so stringent that they wanted to expand the use of tzitzit and tefillin to other contexts as well. Whereas late antique rabbis do not seem to have interpreted Lev 19:27 in the way some ultra-orthodox Jews interpret it today by exhibiting side locks, they are said to have advocated a neat and manly appearance that included a trimmed beard. Some rabbis are presented as so focused on Torah study that they developed a “shining” face that was observable by outsiders and prone to misinterpretations. Like members of the Christian monastic community, they are said to have broken out in tears when being confronted with sins and the threat of God’s punishment. In both cases the facial expression was deemed to reveal their true character as Torah scholars (shining face) and God-fearers (weeping), which could be misinterpreted as evidence of their own wrong-doings. For insiders, that is, the intended readers of rabbinic texts, weeping represented repentance. It was an external marker of a sage’s reverence of God. In interactions among rabbis the kiss is said to have obtained a special significance. While rabbis rejected pagan and Christian kissing practices that were endowed with magical and spiritual meanings, they allegedly kissed colleagues and students as a way of appreciation, collegiality, and shared identity. The kiss on the head, with which teachers “rewarded” their outstanding students, resembled a father kissing his son, whereas the mouth-kiss among equal-status scholars was an expression of friendship. The different types of kisses that were associated with student-teacher relationships and collegial

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interaction are an example of the rabbinic use of body language to express status differences within rabbinic culture.

Body Language as an Expression of Hierarchical Relationships

Non-verbal communication is often used to express status differences and hierarchies within the rabbinic movement and, less often, between rabbis and nonrabbis or rabbis and Romans. Status differences are mainly expressed through postures and spatial movements in rabbinic texts. For example, students are supposed to acknowledge publicly the presence of their teacher and greet him; students and lay people should stand up in the presence of an eminent scholar and remain standing until he has moved away; study sessions are said to have followed hierarchical seating arrangements; distinctions were made between seated scholars and those standing behind a fence; at private banquets prominent rabbis claimed central positions on the benches; wealthy lay people were allocated seats at rabbis’ feet; high standing Romans were supposed to stand up before rabbis. Especially with regard to lay people and Romans, such rules must be seen as wishful thinking rather than reality. Even students would have transgressed such rules occasionally, as some of the stories imply. References to gestures also sometimes serve to express a hierarchical relation between the mentioned characters. A story in a late midrash (Seder Eliyahu Zuta 15) presents the entirely unrealistic image of an emperor bowing down before a Jewish child to stress the superiority of Jews over Romans and monotheism over paganism. The suggestion that junior scholars should prostrate themselves before senior scholars seems to have been controversial in rabbinic circles. Some rabbis are said to have kissed their best students on the head to express appreciation of their learning. The very fact that the master would have initiated the touch signified his superior power. Similarly, by presenting themselves as leaning on their disciples while walking in public rabbis expressed their connection to younger scholars but also the dominance involved in the teacher-student relationship. By contrast, withdrawing his hand from his student might symbolize growing detachment and distance, an acknowledgment of the impending end of their study relationship. In literature body language reveals the nature of the relationship between the protagonists in a more subtle way than direct speech. It “allows us to assess the power relations between them.”16 Spatial movements and gestures may 16  Korte, Body Language in Literature, 27.

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function as externalizers of interpersonal relations.17 Closeness and distance, approaching and leave-taking, being supported and providing support, sitting or standing, a central or peripheral place, a higher or lower position, initiating and receiving touches—all of these non-verbal signifiers are indicative of the envisioned social hierarchy between the protagonists. Since rabbinic texts are elliptical, adhering to an extreme economy of expression, and highly patterned, their references to body language are all the more important with regard to the image of social relations among rabbis that they provide. By paying attention to descriptions of non-verbal behavior we learn how late antique rabbis wanted to be seen by others, foremost among them future generations of students and scholars, the intended readers of the texts. They try to indicate that rabbinic teachers elicited respect and veneration from their students, lay people, and even Romans, to all of whom they considered themselves superior on the basis of their Torah scholarship. From the rabbinic perspective, the envisioned hierarchy was the direct outcome of their value system in which the Torah and Torah study reigned supreme. This ideal hierarchy seems to have, at least to some extent, imitated Graeco-Roman intellectualism. As an ideal and in its literary form it was unlikely to clash with the real hierarchies of political and economic power that rabbis would have encountered in the provincial environment in which they lived.

The Face as an Indicator of Rabbinic Piety

In rabbinic texts just as in ancient literature in general, facial expressions, whether voluntarily assumed or naturally emerging, could serve to express emotions. In Graeco-Roman literature blushing is commonly associated with shame and remorse over the transgression of social rules and common morality. Although the involuntary change of face color was often seen positively as an external sign of honesty, for sages renowned for their self-control blushing could constitute a problem, as the example of Seneca shows. Riding in a simple carriage he blushed when wealthier people in luxurious carriages passed him on the road.18 As Kaster has pointed out, this was the “wrong” face for a Stoic philosopher keen on showing self-control and critical of a luxurious lifestyle: “His blush is in this respect doubly motivated: the part of him that is not yet sufficiently Stoic feels distress because he is worried about maintaining the face of a conventional gentleman; by implication, the part of him that wants to 17  Ibid. 42. 18  Seneca, Epistulae Morales 87.

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be Stoic feels distress because he realizes that he is not maintaining the face of a sage, to whom the only important thing is the right action of his own mind.”19 A similar dilemma may be evident in the story about R. Yudah b. Eliezer’s encounter with a matron (y. Shabb. 8:1, 11a). The rabbi would have been under pressure to maintain the face of a sage in public. An unusual face color (his “shining face”) could be interpreted as an indication of his awareness—and unwilling admission of—a behavior that was inappropriate for a sage, such as drunkenness or usury. A solution to this dilemma is offered by providing an alternative, “kosher” reason for his facial expression: concentration on Torah study, that is, the very activity a rabbi was renowned for and wanted to make visible in public. In contrast to Seneca, an acknowledgment of a “wrong” emotion or behavior is absent here or rather projected onto the matron. The matron explicitly refers to un-rabbinic actions as the possible reasons for the rabbi’s shining face. Thereby all assumptions of a sage’s misbehavior are projected onto an outsider while the sage’s reputation remains intact. In contrast to modern perceptions, in antiquity men did not lose their face when weeping in public. They were thought to have serious reasons for this display of sadness. This is especially true for Jewish and Christian religious practitioners who feared divine punishment for their sins. The texts that refer to weeping rabbis and monks obviously consider their self-awareness of being a sinner a sign of their piety. While less religiously devoted people might lead a happy life, not paying attention to their wrong-doings, pious individuals are said to have been all too aware of even their smallest transgressions. This awareness of insufficient righteousness would have put them in a melancholic mood, which flashed up every time they were confronted with certain biblical texts that reminded them of the Day of Judgment. The references to their weeping serve to express their very fear of God as a judge of human actions. In the context of rabbinic and monastic literature, weeping rabbis and monks serve as examples of a God-fearing attitude and life style, of leading one’s life under the constant watchful eyes of God. In this context, weeping is not seen as a sign of weakness but of a strong character, eager to lead a God-pleasing life. Like the shining face, weeping is presented as an outward marker of rabbis’ devotion to Torah study and observance: rather than indicating a weakness of character, in rabbinic circles these facial expressions signaled integrity, repentance, and humility.

19  R.A. Kaster, Emotion, Restraint, and Community in Ancient Rome (Oxford: Oxford University Press. 2005), 21.

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The Multivalence of Rabbinic Body Language

Just as in real life, body language referred to in texts may have a number of different meanings. As a signifying system, it is inherently multivalent. The decoding of body language may be part of the text unit (eg, a story) itself, or it may take place at a later stage, when a narrative was integrated into a particular redactional context. There may be an inconsistency between the meaning of a gesture or facial expression at the story level and the way in which later editors interpreted it. As Korte has already pointed out, “[o]ne must also bear in mind that the non-verbal behavior of the characters may have a meaning for the reader that deviates from its significance within the fictional situation.”20 Unless the meaning is explicitly stated, the reader interprets body language just as he or she interprets verbal statements in a text. Since rabbinic texts were transmitted, edited, and interpreted at so many different—and chronologically diverse—levels, variant meanings would have been associated with body language, both in antiquity itself and during the later study of rabbinic texts. Even in the ancient social and cultural context, when storytellers and their audience/readers would have shared knowledge of the meaning of certain gestures, individual perceptions and understandings may have varied. The huge chronological and cultural distance between Roman Palestine and scholars today obviously increases the difficulties involved in decoding the meaning of non-verbal signals. In rabbinic literature body language may be stated and taken as self-evident, or it may be followed by questions or suggestions about its possible meaning. In one of the texts discussed above, the lack of a question about the purpose of a gesture is explicitly mentioned. R. Yose, who was leaning on his student Ben Ha-Kappar, is said to have suddenly withdrawn his hand, severing the connection between the two (y. Yebam. 7:3, 8a). The support that students were supposed to offer their masters, allowing them to lean on their shoulders, was not necessarily associated with the older rabbi’s frailty. It was a visual “performance” of their relationship that involved mutual support as well as status differences. R. Yose b. R. Yishmael’s question—“My son, why did you not say to me: Why did you withdraw your hand?”—draws particular attention to the body movement and its symbolic value. In the context of preceding discussions, the rabbi’s withdrawal of his hand from his disciple’s shoulder stands in analogy to the retraction of his decision concerning Ashkelon’s ritual cleanness. 20  Korte, Body Language in Literature, 27.

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In the stories about R. Yudah b. R. Eliezer’s and R. Abbahu’s shining faces (y. Shabb. 8:1, 11a par. y. Pesah. 10:1, 37c and y. Sheqal. 3:2, 47c), different ­explanations of the unusual facial expression are juxtaposed. The interlocutors, whether a matron or another rabbi’s students, provide “worldly” explanations, whether negative (drunkenness, usury, pig breeding) or positive ones (finding a treasure), whereas the rabbis (R. Yudah b. R. Eliezer himself; R. Abbahu’s colleague R. Yohanan) refer to Torah learning as the only possible reason. The juxtaposition highlights the difference between an ordinary worldly perspective and the rabbinic life style where Torah learning is most important and religious wisdom the highest good. The change of face color in particular elicited a question about its reason. The statement that a person’s “face was sand-colored” is commonly followed by the question, “Why is your face sand-colored?” and the following reference to embarrassment (see, eg, y. Hor. 3:7, 48a). Similarly, references to rabbis weeping are followed by the observer’s question, “Why are you weeping?”— eliciting an explanation (see, eg, b. Ber. 5b). This literary device also appears in the Apophthegmata Patrum and serves to emphasize certain theological views. Like the change of face color and weeping, laughter had multiple meanings. In halakhic contexts rabbinic scholars’ laughter appears as an ambiguous reaction to halakhic views and practices. Laughter was generally seen as an objection that required an explanation, which is presented after the question, “Why did they laugh?” (eg, y. Qidd. 3:5, 64a). Sometimes the questions and explanations are part of story traditions (y. Hor. 3:7, 48a), and sometimes they appear as comments on earlier traditions (y. Qidd. 3:5, 64a). Besides highlighting certain theological and halakhic views, questions about the meaning of a particular type of body language might also be due to later editors’ lack of understanding and need for clarification. For example, in a Yerushalmi text the anonymous questions are asked: “What is prostration? And what is genuflection?” (y. Sukkah 5:4, 55c). The following narrative does not explain the gestures but points to the consequences of performing them in a particular situation. By using the narrative as an answer to the question the editors express their preference for prostration and rejection of genuflection before the patriarch.

Rabbinic Body Language in the Context of Graeco-Roman and Christian Culture

The literary representation of Palestinian rabbinic body language imitates certain aspects of body language in Graeco-Roman and early Christian society

Conclusions: Body Language In Rabbinic Literature

259

by, at the same time, showing significant distinctions. Similarities are most common with philosophical teaching, whereas differences are evident in the case of pagan and Christian rituals. The rabbinic storytellers, tradents, and editors obviously used body language to habituate rabbis as Jewish intellectuals in their Graeco-Roman environment. They also use body language to create boundaries between rabbis and the “idolatrous” practices of pagan and Christian practitioners from whom they were eager to distinguish themselves. Rabbinic literature often mentions the postures of sitting and standing and the spatial movements of walking with or behind someone, behaviors that are also associated with Graeco-Roman philosophical teaching, denoting hierarchically structured relationships among senior and junior scholars. References to hand gestures and facial expressions that were especially used by Roman orators and mentioned in rhetorical handbooks are generally absent. The rabbinic focus is understandable, since rabbis were mostly engaged with teaching more or less small circles of students and socializing with one or two of their colleague-friends rather than addressing large audiences of lay people in public settings. They saw themselves as a particularly Jewish type of intellectual elite in a Near Eastern provincial context in which philosophical schools also operated. Unlike the major philosophical schools they lacked institutional organization,21 but this does not seem to have prevented them from imitating philosophical settings in the oral traditions and literary compendia they produced. Apart from body movements commonly associated with higher level teaching and intellectual discussion, the significance of comportment and demeanor and the idea that one’s values and attitudes should be observable by the public, evident in Graeco-Roman society, seems to have had a huge impact on the Palestinian rabbinic movement as well. Palestinian rabbis wished to be identifiable as Torah scholars among their Jewish coreligionists and presented themselves accordingly, probably to gain sympathizers, students, and influence at the places they lived in and visited. They would have been aware of their Jewish and non-Jewish contemporaries’ expectations concerning intellectuals, the way they walked, talked, and behaved in public. Only by presenting themselves as a particularly Jewish kind of intellectual could they gain respect among their coreligionists and contemporaries. Rabbinic texts allow us to visualize rabbis precisely because they invite the intended readers to imitate rabbis as their role models. Just as Roman rhetorical handbooks served 21  See C. Hezser, “The Torah Versus Homer: Jewish and Graeco-Roman Education in Late Roman Palestine,” 5–24 in Ancient Education and Early Christianity. Edited by M.R. Hauge and A.W. Pitts (London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2016).

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to create the ideal Roman aristocrat, rabbinic texts are meant to create the ideal Torah scholar whose learning is evident in his words, demeanor, behavior and actions. At the same time, descriptions of rabbis’ body movements served to create boundaries, to distinguish them from those they associated with idolatry. For example, rabbis tolerated the kiss in social contexts only, in contrast to pagans, who attributed religious significance to the kissing of statues and images of gods and goddesses, and Christians, who associated the “holy kiss” with spiritual brother- and sisterhood. Rabbis acknowledged the necessity to spit in order to clear one’s throat but they rejected the efficacy of spittle used in magic rituals. Whereas the gesture of laying on of hands was widely practiced in early Christianity in both healing rituals and ordination practices, Palestinian rabbis abstained from ordination by laying on of hands, and rabbinic healing stories involving hand gestures are rare. A similar distinction is observable in connection with prostration and genuflection. Rabbis allowed prostration before eminent sages and the patriarch only and rejected genuflection altogether. The gestures were part of the late Roman and early Byzantine imperial protocol and may have been associated with surrender to Rome. Kneeling was also part of Christian rituals (cf. Acts 20:36: Paul and his fellow-Christians kneel down and pray), a movement meant to denote humility and contrition. Palestinian and Babylonian rabbinic documents sometimes differ in their depictions of non-verbal communication. For example, weeping rabbis appear more frequently in the Bavli than in the Yerushalmi in situations that resemble those associated with desert monks. The Bavli also makes frequent use of deriding laughter in collegial interaction in line with the highly competitive atmosphere of Babylonian study sessions. Unlike the Yerushalmi, the Bavli refrains from associating prostration with social hierarchies, perhaps because it was not part of Sasanian court protocol. Sometimes differences between Palestinian and Babylonian gestures and their meanings are explicitly mentioned in the Yerushalmi (see the discussion about cultural misunderstandings above). A full appreciation of these differences will only be possible when body language in the Babylonian Talmud has been analyzed in the context of both Sasanian culture and possible Palestinian/Graeco-Roman influences.22

22  For the appearance of a Persian gesture of deference in the Babylonian Talmud see G. Herman, “‘Like a Slave Before His Master: A Persian Gesture of Deference in Sasanian Jewish and Christian Sources,” ARAM 26 (2014): 93–100.

Conclusions: Body Language In Rabbinic Literature



261

Body Language and the Creation of a Rabbinic Identity

Within the broader context of “classical” rabbinic literature as a whole, the employment of body language serves the construction of a particularly rabbinic identity. The very repetition of motions associated with rabbinic instruction and collegial interaction, together with subtle distinctions from practices associated with the surrounding Roman-Byzantine society, created the impression of a set of like-minded Torah scholars who were visually recognizable within late antique Jewish society by, at the same time, participating in the widespread appreciation of the public intellectual. In the literature as a whole, references to non-verbal communication become a code that frames halakhic discussions, exegetical statements, and theological ideas and unites disparate views. Although the opinions of many different rabbis are transmitted and are partly contradictory, rabbis allegedly shared the same habitual practices of “walking and talking” and “sitting” with their students and colleagues, wrapping themselves in their cloaks in similar ways, and being internally illuminated by their wisdom. The shared practice of Torah study and teaching is said to have been visible externally in rabbis’ appearance and demeanor, movement in space, gestures, and facial expressions. This emphasis on the public visibility of the values, interests, and concerns of a certain set of people fits the context of late antique Roman-Byzantine society. Just as members of the Roman elite and philosophers were thought to be easily recognizable, rabbis and Christian leaders were eager to fashion themselves as new kinds of philosophers who represented alternative forms of wisdom. In order to be recognized as such and gain adherents, they had to be identifiable in public, at least among their target groups. Therefore they are associated with certain patterns of behavior that were, to some extent, analogous to the self-presentation of Graeco-Roman intellectuals but also characteristically different. The study of body language in rabbinic texts allows us to better understand the literary creation of the notion of a rabbinic movement that was more or less homogeneous, despite internal conflicts and competition. As we have seen, some references to non-verbal communication are used to indicate status differences, hierarchies, and internal competition among scholars. Yet these struggles all happen within the framework of shared practices. According to the literary sources, body language could divide and unite rabbis. Some forms of non-verbal communication distinguished junior from senior scholar, Palestinian from Babylonian, rabbi from non-rabbinic Jew, Jew from non-Jew. Others were meant to project the image of a rabbinic movement with a shared lifestyle and belief in Torah study as the supreme form of wisdom.

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Index of Sources 1

Hebrew Bible

Genesis 9:21 207 9:23 46 17:17, 19 230 18:12 232 18:12–15 230 22:6 58 23:7 158 23:12 158 24:1 65, 234 24:61 132n198 24:63–64 172 24:65 172 27:38 217 29:11 159, 217–8 33:4 217–8 37:2 57 37:35 217 39:6 57 39:7 57 42:6 158 45:2, 14, 15 217 46:29 217 48:15 209 50:1 217 50:17 218 70:12 218 Exodus 4:27 159 4:31 158 12:27 158 13:9 39n58 18:7 158–9 18:21 75 20:5 166 22:19 167 33:8 76 34:8 158 34:30, 35 210 Leviticus 1:4 177 4:15 177 15:8 191

19:27 53–5, 57 19:27–28 55n127 19:28 54 19:32 78 21:5 54–5 Numbers 15:37–41 39 27:18–19 179 Deuteronomy 11:18 39n58 14:1 54 17:11 239 18:11 225–6 22:11 50n105 22:12 39 25:5–10 199n188 1 Samuel 20:41 158–9 1 Kings 13:4 171 Isaiah 3:24 54 3:26 112n125, 121 15:2 54 28:20 225 49:23 154, 207 50:6 188 58:7 171n108 Jeremiah 48:37 55 Ezekiel 7:18 55 13:8 182 18:9 225 20:1 120 27:31 55 Amos 4:13 222 7:17 220

283

Index Of Sources 1.32.3 219 2.1.2 219 2.16.5 219 2.147 190n156 5.10.3 219 6.2.2–3 219 7.8.7 220

Psalms 41:9 60 41:10 60 55:13 60 71:18 65 Proverbs 1:15 171 12:10 165 16:31 65 20:29 65 31:25 234 Job

24:20 221 29:8 72

Ruth 1:14 159 Lamentations 2:10 112n125 4:6 172 4:10 172 Qohelet 2:2 230n87 3:4 233 7:3 230n87 7:6 230n87 Daniel 2:46 154 2

Jewish Hellenistic Literature

2 Enoch 1:6 210 19:1 210 Joseph and Aseneth 8:4 163 8:6 163 20:4 163 21:6 163 28:18 163 Josephus, Jewish War 1.28.2–3 219

Philo Legum Allegoriarum 3.217–218 231n89 Vita Mosis 2.7.44 210n34 Sirach 50:6–7 210 3

Qumran Texts

1QapGen 20:30 1QS 7:13 4

175n114 191

New Testament

Matt 5:40 44n82 5:47 74 8:3 174 9:18 174 18:8 170n102 19:28 113 23:1–12 37 23:5 34n40, 37 23:7 74 26:6–12 164n69 26:67 199 27:27–31 188 27:30 199 Mark 1:41 170, 174 2:2 139 2:14 139 3:10 170 4:2 140 4:35 140 5:23 170, 174

284 Mark (cont.) 5:26–32 170 6:2 174 6:5 170, 174 6:31–32 139 6:56 170 7:31–36 198–9 7:32 170 8:22 170 8:22–26 199n185 8:23, 25 170 9:43 170 10:35–37 107 10:40 107 10:43–44 107 14:45 164n70 15:19 188n145 Luke 5:13 174 6:21 230, 237 6:25 230 7:38–45 164 7:44–46 164 7:47 164 8:54 174 18:32 199 22:24 107 22:27 119 22:30 113 John 6:3 90 9:1–7 199n185 13:18 60 Acts 2:2 90 4:3, 30 174 5:12 174 8 179 8:15 180 8:17 180 8:18–19 180 9:41 174 14:3 174 19:6 180 20:36 260 20:37 164n70

Index Of Sources Romans 12:7 95 16:16 160n57 1 Cor 11:14–15 62 16:20 160n57 1 Thess 5:26 160 1 Timothy 4:14 180 2 Timothy 1:6 180 1 Peter 5:14 160n57 5

Rabbinic Literature

Mishnah Ber. 1:3 126 3:3 40 4:5 126 9:5 191 Pesah. 10:1 208 Sheqal. 5:1 237 8:1 199n186 Sukkah 3:15 40n65 5:4 156 Ta’anit 4:7 61 Meg. 4:8 34 Mo’ed Qatan 3:1 55n129

285

Index Of Sources Yebam. 16:7 31 Git. 7:1 184 Qidd. 1:7 53 B. Qam. 8:6 187 Sanh. 1:3 177 4:3–4 108–9 4:4 110, 179 7:6 167 Μakk. 3:5 Εd.

53, 54n123

5:1 199n186

Avod. Zar. 3:4 7 4:4 194–5 4:5 194 5:4 193 Avot 1:4 120 3:1 228 3:4 233 3:7 29 4:15 110 5:14 95 5:22 64 Zevah. 1:3 96 Yad. 3:5 96, 101 4:2 96 Tosefta Ber. 1:4 127

2:13 88, 127 3:18 126–7 4:8 113–4 4:15 118 4:18 104 5:2 118 5:4 114 5:5 113–4, 119 5:6 113, 117n154, 119 5:7 117n154 6:19 191 Shabb. 13:2 33, 104 17:2–3 30–1 Pesah. 2:15–16 133 2:16 46 3:11 88 10:12 118 Yoma 2:7 237 4:2 95n72 Sukkah 4:4 156 4:5 156 4:6 128 Meg. 2:5 104 3:24 75–6, 81 Hag. 1:2 40 2:1 131, 133, 161 Qidd. 1:10 40 Sanh. 1:1 179, 182 7:8 78–9, 81, 101 8:1 80, 91, 108n112 11:1 184

286 Ed.

Index Of Sources 3:1 101

Avod. Zar. 3:4 140 Palestinian Talmud Ber. 1:1, 2c 89 1:2(5), 3a 31, 40, 132 1:6, 3b 56 1:8, 3d 161, 163, 250 2:1, 4b 72, 74, 89, 247 2:3, 4b–c 40 2:3, 4c 33–4, 37 2:5, 5a 89 2:8, 5c 55 3:1, 6a 251n9 3:3, 6b 40 3:5, 6d 89, 192 4:1, 7a 161, 163, 250 4:1, 7c–d 96 4:1, 7d 64, 98, 100, 123n173, 124 4:5, 8b 126 4:6, 8c 126 5:1, 9a 83–4, 247 6:6, 10d 113n133 9:2, 13b 217 9:3, 14a 48 9:5, 14d 48

Bikk. 3:3, 65c 3:3, 65c–d 3:3, 65d

76–9, 91 75 68, 81–2, 182n133

Shabb. 8:1, 11a 207n31, 208, 256, 258 12:3, 12c 138–9 14:4, 14d 176n117 Eruv. 1:1, 18c 5:1, 22b

124 234–5

Pesah. 10:1, 37c

207n31, 258

Yoma 3:2, 40b 3:9, 41a

89 237

Sheqal. 2:7, 47a 3:2, 47c 5:2, 49a

72n15 207n31, 258 237

Sukkah 3:2, 54a 5:1, 55a 5:4, 55c

40 128n186, 129 155, 258

Betzah 2:8, 61d 4:2, 62c

117 88 88 141 56 64n166, 123n173 114n140

Pe’ah 1:1, 15c

213

Demai 2:3, 22d–23a

102n84

Κil. 9:2, 32a 9:3, 32b 9:4, 32b

167, 251 212n38 33n37, 82

Ta’anit 2:13, 66b 3:1, 66c 4:1, 67b 4:1, 67d 4:2, 68a

Shev. 4:9, 35c 6:1, 36c

167n81 141n224

Meg. 4:3, 74d 4:8(9), 75c

129 35

Ter. 1:1, 40b 10:3, 47a

184 250 122n162

Hag. 1:8, 76d 2:1, 77a

46 89, 131, 161, 222, 226

287

Index Of Sources 2:1, 77b 2:1, 77c 3:1, 78d

88, 129 224 161

Mo’ed Qatan 2:3, 81b 3:7, 83c

33n36 72n15

Yebam. 7:3, 8a

173, 257

Sotah 1:4, 16d

94, 189

Ketub. 4:8, 28d 187n142 12:3, 35a 33n37, 82, 175, 210–2 Ned. 1:1, 36d 3:13, 38a

185 48

Git. 1:2, 43c

141n22

Nazir 1:6, 51c 4:6, 53c 7:3, 56a

162 162 251n9

Qidd. 1:7, 61b 1:7, 61c 3:2, 63d 3:5, 64a

213 40n63 236 235, 258

Β. Qam. 8:6, 6c

187

Sanh. 1:2, 19a 1:3, 19a 3:6(5), 21b 4:3–4, 22b 7:6, 25b 10:1, 27d 11:4, 30b

129, 214 177, 182 28n18 110 167 89 234

Avod. Zar. 1:9, 40a 2:1, 40c 2:3, 41a 2:8, 41d 3:11, 43b 4:4, 43d–44a 4:4, 44a

46, 133 140 119 88 195 88 194

Hor. 3:4, 48a 3:7, 48a 3:8, 48c

95n72, 258 215, 258 139, 162

Babylonian Talmud Ber. 5b 226, 228–9, 258 7a 186 8a 168n87 8b 163n68 19b 238 31b 216 39a 239 47a 134 62b 192 Shabb. 32b 41n67 51b–52a 133n199 56b 173

Β. Μetz. 2:8, 8d 251 2:11, 8d 140, 250 2:12–13, 8d 88–9, 95, 104–5, 130 8:11, 8d 29n19

Pesah. 53b 135

Β. Βat. 4:6, 14c

Sukkah 53a 156n44

55n128

Yoma 53a 85 87a 181

288 Ta’anit 22a 39 Mo’ed Qatan 16b 122n163 25a 83 28a 168n87 Hag. 3a 184 14b 133 15a–b 224n69 Yebam. 96b 72n15 Ketub. 62b–63a 165 66b 133 103b 166 112a 182 Ned. 25a 41n67 49b 122

Index Of Sources Menah. 37b 41n67 43a 40n64 Arakh. 2b 40n65 Nid. 42a 186 Midrashim Avot de Rabbi Nathan A 2 A 6 A 21 A 37 B 11 B 12 B 13 B 19 Β 31 Β 34

95 95 88 117 120, 122 165 89 34 24n2 119

Deuteronomy Rabbah 2:18 63

B. Qam. 80b 182 117a 111 117b 112

Exodus Rabbah 1:22 163n66 5:1 159n53 15:17 157n50

B. Metz. 85a 182

Genesis Rabbah 6:7 233 11:6 53 20:4 214, 216 22:6 57 28:5 172 33:3 82, 154, 175, 210–2 33:5 222, 232n98 33:8 232–3 36:4 207 36:6 46 43:9 39 48:17 232 59:1 65 59:2 234 59:3 65 60:14 132n198 60:15 172

B. Bat. 98a 68 Sanh. 13b–14a 183n134 17b 241 61b 157 65b 225 Avod. Zar. 20a 228 Hor. 3b 186 4a 157n49

289

Index Of Sources 63:8 215 67:3 171 70:7 162n63 70:12 159, 166, 218 74:2 163 74:15 49 78:9 218 81:2 140 84:7 57 87:3 57, 60 93:7 61 96 220 98:15 61–2 Lamentations Rabbah Prologue 24 39 Leviticus Rabbah 5:4 95n72 5:8 57n133 9:3 121 9:9 190, 196, 248 14:9 55 15:4 104 20:7 141 23:4 215 26:7 221–2, 226 27:2 39, 47n95 27:4 154 28:6 47, 55 32:7 95 34:13 171 36:3 207 37:3 132 Numbers Rabbah 27:5

39, 40n62

Qohelet Rabbah 2:22 47 4:1 47 Pesiqta de Rav Kahana 18:5 94 26:7 141n224 Seder Eliyahu Zuta 15 152, 157n50, 254

Sifra Shemini 3, par. 1

141

Sifre Deuteronomy 38:1 118–9 41:2 118 234 47n96 343:11 24, 25, 48 Song of Songs Rabbah 4:2 39 6

Ancient Christian Writings

Acts of Thomas 138 90 Ambrose, De Officiis 1.18.74–75 27n9 Apophthegmata Patrum Asenius 15.32 227n70 18.41 223n65 Doulas 55.2 227n71 Macarius the Great 136.34 227n70 Poemen 165.6 227n72 Silvanus 222.2 228n73 Athanasius, Life of Anthony 58.4–5 176n119 Cyprian, Ad Donatum 11.234–239 138n216 Didascalia Apostolorum 12.2.57 90 12.2.58 91

290

Index Of Sources

Gregory of Nazianzus, Orationes 4:114 108n110 Homer, Odyssey 17.1.35–39 163n67 Jerome, Commentary on Matthew 23:5–7, PL 26.175 38n57 John Chrysostom, De Inani Gloria 4 84n39 Lactantius, The Divine Institutes 3.25 50n104 Origen, Contra Celsum 8.38 194n170 Tertullian, De Pallio 1.1.3–4 43 1.1.4 48 1.2 43 1.2.1 48 3.3.3–5 43 4.1 43 5.1.3 43 5.3.1 43, 48 5.3.2–3 48 6:2 42 6.2.2–3 43 6.2.5 43n75 Theodore of Mopsuestia, Commentary on Jeremiah 10 62n155 7

Greek and Roman Writings

Cassius Dio, Historia Romana 80.14.4 59n146 80.16.7 59n147 Cicero, De Finibus 5.47 27n10 Cicero, De Oratore 2.236 333n99 2.239 333n100 2.242 333n100 2.275 333n100 3.222 11n64 Cicero, De Senectute 18.62 65n170 Cicero, Res Publica 4.6.6 206n23 Cicero, Roscio Amerino 60 93n62 Cicero, Verres 2.4.94 193 4.54–55 44n80 Dio Chrysostom, Orationes 20.9 91 Diogenes Laertius, Lives of Eminent Philosophers 7.116 231n95 Epictetus, Discourses 4.11.32 191n164 Epicurus, Vatican Sayings 27.41 232n92

Aelius Aristides, Orationes 26.32 84n37

Herodotus, Histories 2.36 61n153

Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics 4.9 206n28

Juvenal, Satires 2.93–95 59n145

Aulus Gellius, Attic Nights 2.2.1–9 125

Libanius, Oationes 11.218 108m110

291

Index Of Sources 2.6.1–5 93ν63 5.13.39 28n14 10.5.19 30n27, 132n195 11.3.66 28n14 144–147 42n68 161 42n68

Minucius Felix, Octavius 8:3 194n171 Ovid, Amores 2.5.34 206n29 Ovid, Ars Amatoria 1.505–24 59 1.523–4 59 Ovid, Metamorphoses 3.399–510 185n138 Plato, Phaedrus 222c–223b 116n147 Plato, Protagoras 315 92 99 317 100 Pliny the Younger, Epistulae 6.33.3–4 100 6.33.3–5 139 6.33.5 100 8.14.4 13n80 9.34.1–1 13n68

Seneca, Consolation to Helvia 13 189n150 Seneca, De Ira 3.37 112n129 3.38 188 Seneca, Epistulae Morales 11.2 206n25 23.4–6 232n96 63 224 92.11–13 49 124.3 171n105 Sophocles, Antigone 1230–1234 188 Suetonius, Divus Augustus 44 107

Pliny, Historia Naturalis 6.32.67–68 62n154 11.56.154 59n144

Suetonius, Divus Vespasianus 7.2 196n179 7.3 196n180

Pliny, Panegyricus 48 213n42

Suetonius, The Lives of the Twelve Caesars Nero 13 166n75

Plutarch, An Seni Respublica Gerenda Sit 10 65n169

Tacitus, Historiae 4.81 197n182

Plutarch, Life of Cato the Elder 22–23 139

Vergil, Achilles 2.540–541 206n30

Plutarch, Moralia 146B–164D 116n148

Vitruvius, De Architectura 5.11.2 124, 129

Plutarch, Septem Sapientium Convivium 148F 112n127 149Β 112n128

Xenophon, Cyropaedia 7.5.32 165n74

Quintilian, Institutio Oratoria Books 3–11 11n65 1.2.31 28n14

8

Legal Texts

Codex Thedosianus 16.8.8 178

Index of Subjects Abraham 44, 65, 118–9, 158, 209, 230–2, 234 Academy (Plato’s) 91, 139n220 accessory 33 acclamation 31, 84 acoustics 106 actor 3, 12, 42, 59, 69, 73–4, 86, 106, 149n12, 150, 157, 159, 169, 188, 203, 233 Adam 53 administration 86 adoration/adoratio 152, 154–6, 158 adornment 36, 39 Aelius Aristides 84 Aesculapius 48, 174 affection 231 aggression 6, 148 Agrippa 219 Alexandria 105, 128, 197–8 altar 160 Ambrose 26, 27 am haaretz 78 ambulatio, perambulatio 28, 30, 66, 145, 245, 248, 252 Amidah 17, 125–7, 200 amulet 36, 38, 160 androgyny, androgynous 14, 58 angel 31, 83, 87, 118, 131, 168n87, 173 anger 6, 117, 188–9, 212–5, 240–2, 246–7 anoint, anointment 164, 196 Antipater 219 apocalypticism 210, 230 apostle 44–5, 174, 179–80 apotropaic 36n47, 38, 85 appeasement 6, 143–4 appointment 64, 81, 86, 110n121, 177–9, 181–3, 214 aqedah 44 Arab 10n58, 61–3, 118 archisynagogue 81 archon 53, 83, 86 aristocracy 11, 106, 151 arm 4, 43–4, 48, 115, 163n67, 169, 226–7 armchair 103 artificial, artificiality 61, 67, 77 assembly 76, 80n31, 81, 90, 93, 101–2, 105–6, 115, 191 Athens 49, 110, 124, 139n220, 189 Athlete 60, 64

attire 59 attraction 19, 135 av bet din 80 backward 46, 84–5, 186 bald, baldness 52–5, 63–4, 67 ban 212 banquet 112–4, 116, 118–20, 233, 254 barber 55–6, 67 basilica 100, 128 bathhouse 7–8, 33–5, 55, 154, 157n50, 215 beard 4, 15, 21, 32, 50–7, 59, 61–2, 64, 67–8, 127, 253 bearing 7, 21n120, 27 beauty, beautiful 34, 57–60, 67, 162, 163n67, 171, 185, 226–7, 229 beggar 120, 165 belt 43, 48–9, 51 bema 128 bench 89, 91–2, 98–100, 103–5, 107, 113, 120–4, 254 benediction 56, 113–4 benevolence 166, 233 biography, biographical 25 bishop, archbishop 26, 38n54, 90–1, 108, 160n56, 180–1 blasphemy 193–4 blind, blindness 39, 195, 196–7, 199n185 blush, blushing 12, 19, 22, 204, 206–9, 211, 214, 242, 247, 255 boule 110, 195 bouleuterion 109 bow, bowing 17, 84n40, 85, 148, 152–4, 156–8, 166, 200, 207, 254 breaking wind 192 building 81, 91–2, 94, 101–2, 105–6, 108–9, 123–4, 128, 134, 145, 195, 251 bulla 36 bust 5, 14–5, 32, 51–3, 63 bystander 100 Caligula 94, 151 caliph 84n40 cathedra 113n134, 128 cena 113–4 centrality 70, 135 centumviral court 100

Index Of Subjects ceremony 175, 182 chair 70, 79n28, 89, 92, 95–7, 99, 102–4, 113, 121–5, 132, 165–6, 252 charismatic 44, 52, 129, 139–40 charity 95n72, 169–2 chazzan 128 cheironomia 168 child, children 4n26, 36n47, 52n114, 61, 95n72, 153, 158, 163, 168, 172, 175, 219, 226–7, 230–3, 237, 254 Christ 37, 44, 52, 110n35 christological 119 church 3, 44–5, 52n114, 91, 108, 160, 181, 183, 230 Cicero 1, 11, 27, 30, 44, 65, 93, 136, 193, 219, 224 circumcision 39, 48, 53, 153n37 circus 171 clean, cleanliness 34, 59, 61, 164, 167, 173–4, 191, 199n186, 257 clementia 166 client 26, 30–1, 77, 132–3, 138–9, 146, 151, 165–6 cloak 24–5, 28, 39–41, 44, 46–7, 50, 68, 133, 182, 261 code, coded 9–10, 12, 28, 42, 49–51, 58, 67–8, 70, 77, 112, 145, 147n4, 148, 205, 261 color 40–1, 49, 185, 206–7, 209, 211, 214–7, 242 competition 107, 112, 119, 139–40, 240–1, 243, 261 concentration 29, 31, 42, 89, 126, 256 conditio humana 227 conflict 7–8, 97, 131, 134n199, 135, 261 contact 8–9, 24, 37n49, 41, 45n89, 69, 141, 150, 152, 164, 176n117, 220 contemplation, contemplative 28–9, 49, 52n115, 92, 154, 183, 232 contumelia 188 convention, conventional 7–8, 22, 69, 73, 75, 149, 169, 176, 206–207, 211, 255 convivium 114, 117–9, 146 cosmetic 61 couch 100, 112–5, 117, 120, 122, 123n172, 146 council 99, 109–10, 182–3 Council of Nicaea 181 councillor 110 courage, courageous 219–20 court 8, 79–80, 82, 84, 100–1, 150–1, 153, 177–9, 183, 200, 224, 260 court ritual 155, 158

293 cross 36–8, 66 crowd, crowded 12, 80, 88, 139–40, 198, 219 crown 47, 55, 65, 165–6, 197 crucifixion 223 cry, crying 13, 84, 218, 220, 223 curule chair 165 Cyrus 165 damage 8, 73, 186–7, 193 damnation 223 dancer 59–60, 157, 159 dandy 59 David 47, 122, 158, 207 Day of Judgment 222, 256 deacon 90, 180 decay 64, 226–7, 229 deception 60, 161 decoration 41, 48 deference 75, 85, 148, 260n22 demon 223 deposition 64, 96 derekh eretz 121 desert (monks) 136–7, 176, 223–4, 227–8, 260 desire 136, 171 despair 215, 219 devotion 38, 51, 66, 85, 164, 226, 256 dignitary 69, 79, 83–4, 86–7, 144, 152–3, 188 dignity, dignitas 27, 50n104, 86, 92, 128n188, 150, 234, 238–9 dine, diner, dining 49, 113, 115, 117n155 dining-room 116 Diocletian 151, 152n29, 215 disdain 229 disease, diseased 164, 174–5, 191, 196–8 dishonor, dishonorable 62, 72, 208, 233 distance 7, 12, 19, 21–2, 52n115, 61, 70, 75–7, 79–81, 98, 117, 140–2, 145–6, 164, 176, 181, 201, 203, 212, 215, 254–5, 257 divorce 184–5, 235–6 doctor 43, 96n77 dominance 6, 22, 69, 142, 148, 173, 254 Domitian 121n161, 213 donkey 70, 133–4 drinking 114–5, 214 Dura Europos 4n25, 44 dye, dyer 59, 101 eating 88, 114, 120n159, 173 effeminacy, effeminate 27, 28n15, 58, 60, 62, 67, 219–20

294 Egypt, Egyptian 61–2, 95, 137, 158, 211n37, 223 ekklesia 102, 145, 249 Elagabalus 59, 85 elbow 92, 169 elder 3, 13n80, 64, 65, 67, 75, 76–81, 89, 91, 95–6, 101n83, 104, 118, 124, 128, 154–5, 161, 175, 177, 182, 187, 199, 211, 213 elderly 52, 64–5, 68, 71, 91, 168n87, 230, 232, 234 elevate, elevated 64, 70, 93, 106–7, 128, 132, 140, 146, 157n50, 198, 216 Elijah 175–6, 212, 221 elite 13, 27–8, 39, 106–7, 109, 115, 117, 121, 132, 138, 146, 252, 259, 261 embarrass, embarrassment 8–9, 207, 209, 211–6, 242, 246, 258 emblem 51, 70–1 embrace 158–62, 166–7, 217, 220 emotion, emotional 11–12, 16, 21, 42, 73, 203–4, 213, 215, 217–25, 231, 242–3, 255–6 emperor 15, 52, 59–60, 83–7, 94, 106, 151–4, 156–8, 165–6, 196–7, 213, 215, 247–8, 254 energetic 53, 64 entertainment 12, 109, 114–5, 146, 231 enthronement 113 entourage 30–1, 66, 87, 132, 153 Epictetus 191 Epicurus, Epicurean 49–52, 92, 224, 231–2 equality 22, 37, 47, 95, 131 Esau 153, 158, 217–8 eschatology, eschatological 113, 230, 237 Essene 190–2 Ethiopian 211n37, 217 ethnicity 25, 62 etiquette 83–4, 86, 119–20, 144, 173 Eucharist 160 eupatheia 231 exaltation 231 exedra 123–4 exercise 59, 66 exilarch 82–3, 122n165, 166n79, 173, 175, 210, 212–15, 242 externalizer 71, 204n8, 250, 255 eye 1, 6, 14n80, 31, 33n37, 38, 52, 54, 57, 59, 67, 72, 81, 87, 94, 163n67, 170, 172, 174, 179, 188–90, 192, 195–9, 205, 210, 213, 219, 223, 227n70, 235, 256 eyebrow 52

Index Of Subjects face color 22, 206–8, 210–1, 215–7, 242–3, 246, 255–6, 258 family 29n19, 32, 36n47, 61, 64, 95n72, 118–9, 139, 152, 161, 163, 215, 217, 237 fashion, fashionable 4, 32, 44, 49, 51–2, 63, 67, 82 father 36n47, 46, 55, 61, 89, 93, 124–5, 154, 158, 162–3, 165, 181, 188, 209, 217–8, 251, 253 fear 22, 75, 120, 129, 162, 206, 218, 222–4, 226, 246, 253, 256 feast 117 female 59, 82, 153, 164, 196, 206 feminine 3 fence 98, 124, 145, 254 fibula 48, 51 finger 156, 168, 184n137, 198 fingernails 59 fingertip 168 finger writing 184n137 floor 120–3, 156, 164 folding stool 122–3 folding table 122n165 food 113–4, 117, 119, 121, 172, 219, 226, 240–1 fool, foolish 57, 65, 68, 216, 230 foot, feet 11, 85, 94, 97, 115, 120–1, 154, 157n49, 164–6, 170–1, 192, 207, 214–5, 227, 254 forehead 34–5, 52, 62, 189 frail, frailty 64, 71, 130, 257 fresco 44 friend 30, 60, 70, 73, 94, 114, 116–8, 130, 137, 140, 146, 163, 196, 201, 224, 235, 252–3, 259 friendliness, friendly 6, 69, 86, 169, 204, 231 friendship 22, 60, 70n9, 130, 161, 253 fringes, show fringes 39–41, 47–8, 66, 68, 253 fun, funny 229, 233 funeral, funerary 15, 32, 45, 50n103, 52, 104, 117n155, 175 furniture 96, 116, 122 garden 102n87, 248 Garden of Eden 48 garment 34, 39–43, 45–51, 61n152, 66, 68, 152, 250–1, 253 gathering 102, 146, 190, 192, 249 gaudium 231 gaze 52n115, 93, 97, 205

295

Index Of Subjects gender 7, 14, 25, 27, 128n188, 153, 204, 218 genuflection 151, 155–8, 200, 202, 258, 260 gesticulation, gesticulate 2–3, 11–2, 14, 92, 149–50, 169, 203 gestus 6n31, 11, 14 gnosticism, gnostic 180, 210 gold, golden 34, 36–7, 128, 182, 185, 187 government 40, 44, 85, 105, 157n50 Grace After Meals 113–4, 117n154 gratitude 158n52, 159 greeting 8, 11, 16, 24n2, 73–4, 77, 169, 173, 183 grey hair 21, 63–5, 67–8, 78 grief 61, 188, 203, 220, 226 grievance 220–1 grin 204 grooming 59, 61 guest 15, 112–7, 119, 122, 131, 146 guilt, guilty 29, 181, 206 gymnasium 129 habitus 19, 27 Hadrian, Hadrianic 51–2, 152 hair, hair style 4, 21, 25–6, 32, 51–7, 59, 61–5, 67–8, 78, 162, 185, 187 hair removal 53, 54n123 haircut 53, 55, 59, 61 hairdresser 56 hakham 80 hand 32–4, 43, 45, 52n115, 56, 90n52, 92, 96n77, 104–5, 128, 141, 148, 156, 157n49, 163–183, 187, 195, 198–9, 201–2, 210, 226, 254, 257, 259–60 handbook 3, 11–2, 18, 58, 149, 205, 233, 250, 259 handshake 169 handsome 162 happy 225, 234, 256 Hassidic 54 haughty, haughtiness 57, 107, 134 haver 76 head 4, 11, 15, 47–8, 53–5, 59, 61n153, 63, 65, 83, 85, 90n52, 92, 115, 131, 148, 157, 159, 161–5, 175–6, 183–8, 201, 208, 253–4 head of the court 79, 81–2, 178 heal, healing 148, 155, 169–70, 174–6, 190, 196–201, 212, 260 healer 176, 197–8, 200 health, healthy 4, 155, 164, 220 heel 57, 59–60

heritage 82, 97, 210, 250 Herod, Herodian 85, 123, 219 hiding, hide 19, 72–3, 143, 195, 221, 247 hierarchy 7–8, 21, 37, 44, 64, 91, 98, 108, 111n123, 135, 146, 214, 255 himation 4, 42, 44 holy kiss 160–1, 260 holy man 2, 5, 176, 195 Holy Spirit 161, 179–80, 189–90 homosexual, homosexuality 58–9 honor, honorable 42, 64–5, 67, 72, 75, 77–8, 81, 84n40, 85, 87, 89, 91, 94, 106, 112, 115, 117, 123, 134–135, 138, 151, 156–8, 163–4, 175, 177, 182, 187–8, 201, 206, 212–4, 237, 251 horse 152–3 host 48, 115n142, 118–21, 146, 164 hostility, hostile 6–7, 19, 71, 204, 229 householder 15, 37, 118, 120–1, 171 humiliate, humiliation 58, 112, 151, 164–5, 199–200, 207, 223, 229, 248 humility 72, 107, 121, 148, 176, 213, 222, 243, 256, 260 icon 14 iconoclasm, iconoclastic 194 iconography, iconographic 38, 51n106, 176 idol, idolatry, idolator 7, 54–5, 62–3, 67, 72, 118, 157, 161, 163, 166–8, 193–5, 199–2, 225, 259–60 illiteracy, illiterate 15 imitation, imitate 3–4, 12, 15, 18, 30, 38, 39n58, 49–50, 63, 66–8, 117n155, 131, 135, 138, 146, 150, 157, 179, 245, 250, 255, 258–9 immature 56 immorality, immoral 27, 218 imperium 125 impurity 190–2, 199, 201 inferiority 120, 131, 163, 166, 180 injury 187–8 insula 122 insult 72, 82, 112, 187–8, 190, 248 intimacy, intimate 21–2, 94, 146, 164, 185 Isaac 44, 138, 153, 172–3, 209 Ishmaelite 61–2 Jacob 153, 158–9, 209, 217–8 Japhet 46

296 Jesus 39, 44–5, 54, 60, 90, 107, 112, 119, 139–40, 164, 170n101, 174, 176, 188, 196, 198–200, 223 Jewelry 35–6 John Chrysostom 84 Joseph 57–8, 60–1, 67, 158, 163, 209, 217, 232 journey 30–1, 138, 164n70, 215, 227 joy 156, 165, 209, 217–22, 230–3, 237 Judaea Capta coins 121 Judas 60, 90, 164n70 judge 100, 136, 177–8, 183, 224–5, 238–9, 256 jurist 136–7 Juvenal 59 Kabbalists 168 kalokagathia 14 kinesis, kinesic 22n123, 148 kingship ritual 159 kiss, kissing 22, 131, 152, 156–9, 168, 185, 193, 200–2, 217, 249, 253–4, 260 knee 43, 165–6 kneel, kneeling 22, 155–6, 164, 176, 260 Lactantius 50–1 lamentation 203, 218n48, 219, 223 laugh, laughter 9, 22, 225, 228–42, 243, 250–1, 258, 260 laying on of hands 148, 169–70, 174–83, 199, 201–2, 260 leader, leadership 2–3, 37, 45, 65, 80, 82, 93, 96, 107–8, 110, 127–9, 160, 166, 178, 201, 209–10, 212, 215, 261 learning 16, 25, 31–2, 50, 52n115, 64, 68, 78, 88, 91, 102–3, 130, 140, 142, 208, 216, 225, 231, 254, 258, 260 legal 2, 11–2, 20, 23, 27, 136–7, 169, 185, 245, 248 leisure, leisurely 26–8, 116n152, 117n155 Lemuria 85 Levite 31, 33, 40n64, 156 library 15 linen 50n105 lips 38, 111, 161, 163–4, 184 liturgy, liturgical 17, 20, 148, 156–7, 160, 170, 200, 216 loyalty 166 madness 230 magic, magical 180–1, 191–2, 196, 198–9, 201–2, 248, 253, 260

Index Of Subjects magnanimity 153 make-up 57, 59, 61, 67 malice 229 mantle 48–9, 92, 253 manus iniectio 169 martyr 38n52, 160 masculinity, masculine 3, 14, 42, 58 matron 207–9, 242, 247–8, 256, 258 meal 112–4, 116, 172, 240 meal fellowship 60 Mecca 84n40 medicine, medical 13–4, 25n4, 176, 196–7, 248 merkavah 89, 131, 161 messenger 143–4 messiah, messianic 47, 107, 113, 207 meturgeman 129 mezuzah 48, 134, 167–8 mime 2, 3n13, 59, 157, 233 minor 27, 40, 56 miracle 176, 198–200, 230, 232 misunderstanding 9, 19, 71, 73, 143–4, 148–9, 247, 260 mitzvah 34, 40, 46, 76 mock, mocking 59, 111, 188, 229, 239–41, 243, 247, 250 moderation 158, 233 monastery, monastic 137–8, 223–4, 227–8, 230, 232, 243, 253, 256 monk 38n52, 38n54, 61n152, 136–8, 176, 222–4, 227–8, 256, 260 mood 169, 222, 256 morality, moral 3–4, 13, 35, 51, 57, 121, 171, 185, 190, 208–9, 213, 244–5, 253, 255 mosaic art/floor 3, 37, 91, 92n58 Moses 35, 44–5, 76, 120–1, 158–9, 179, 210, 232 mourner, mourning 11, 13, 20, 54–5, 61, 67, 172, 217, 218n48, 223–4, 230, 233 mouth 84, 161, 163–4, 167, 170–1, 174, 189, 193, 201, 204, 253 Muslim 84 mute 14, 184–5, 198 mystic, mysticism 131, 168 naked, nakedness 46 Narcissus 185 nasi 80 neck 36n47, 43, 48, 84, 87, 177, 217–8 necklace 36–7

Index Of Subjects Nero 165–6 nod, nodding 22, 184–6, 245, 249–51 nose 170, 191 numinous 192, 222 obscene, obscenity 159 odeion 109 offence, offensive 144, 187, 189, 196, 201, 229–30, 232, 234, 243 old age 64–5, 67–8, 75, 78, 89, 124, 130, 232, 234, 240 orality, oral 2, 104, 149, 184–5, 212, 222, 229, 247, 249, 259 oratory, orator 4, 11–2, 28, 30, 41–2, 58, 84, 93–5, 100, 108, 132, 139, 149–50, 169, 205, 233, 250, 259 ordinare 180 ordination 160, 178, 180, 182, 201, 260 ornament 59 overcoat 37, 41–2, 44n82, 45, 47, 48, 50n105, 66 paenula 46–7 paideia 4, 13n79, 15, 32, 51 pallium 42–50, 66–7, 253 palm (of hand) 34–5 pantomime 2, 157 Passover 208–9 pater familias 85 patriarch 79–80, 82, 91, 138–40, 143–4, 155, 158–9, 176–9, 183, 209, 211–3, 218, 222, 225, 242, 258, 260 patron, patronage 15, 26, 74, 132, 138–9 Paul 45, 62, 120n159, 160, 164n70, 180, 260 payes 54 penthos-motif 223 perambulation 145, 245, 248, 252 performance 2–3, 14, 18, 25, 66, 68, 84, 93, 109, 150, 185, 232n98, 257 Peripatetic 29 Persian 45, 228, 260n22 Peter 45, 176n120, 179–80 Pharisee 34n40, 37–9, 74, 164 Philhellenism 51 Philistine 55 phylactery, phylacterion 38–9, 66–7, 161 physician 197 physiognomy 25n4, 62n158 physique 1 pietist 39, 68

297 piety 26, 34n40, 37–9, 72n15, 143, 222–3, 232, 245, 247, 255–6 platform 93, 128 Plato 91–2, 95, 99, 116, 139n220, 206n26, 248 pleasure 4, 49, 171, 197, 230–2 Pliny 12n68, 25, 31, 59, 62, 100, 139, 213 Plutarch 65, 102–3, 105, 112, 116–8, 139, 185, 231 polemical 83 polis 64, 115 political 13, 27, 83–5, 87, 93–4, 125, 132, 136, 138, 146, 153, 156, 161, 166, 200, 219–220, 224, 255 politician 4, 42, 93, 113, 146, 219, 224 poor, poverty 12, 44, 50, 61n152, 91, 120, 143, 150, 153, 165, 171–2, 196, 219, 226, 232–4, 237 popular, popularity 2, 12, 31, 42, 52, 63, 79, 139–40, 174–5, 191, 196–201, 229, 246 portrait 15–6, 32, 51–2, 62–4, 94 praise 2, 43, 64, 131, 148, 154, 163–5, 215–6 prayer 11, 16–8, 20, 31, 33–6, 38–40, 47, 62, 66, 84–6, 89, 91, 95, 125–9, 132, 148, 155, 156n41, 157–8, 160, 167, 170, 172–3, 176, 180, 184n137, 192, 215, 253 precedence 75, 124, 134–5, 139, 240, 242 prejudice 13 presbyter 90–1, 108, 180 prestige, prestigeous 82, 138 pretend, pretender 26, 34, 37, 47, 49, 67, 68, 82, 189n153 priest, priesthood 40n64, 48, 54, 56, 76, 179, 199, 210, 251 proconsul 83, 247 prohedria 92 promotion 110, 136, 176, 179, 181, 214, 242 propaganda 156, 221 propriety 27, 84n40, 153 prostitute 34, 153, 164 prostration 22, 148, 150–1, 153–9, 167, 200, 202, 258, 260 protection 36, 38, 46n92, 138, 140, 144 protocol 84, 86, 150, 220, 260 proxemics 69, 97, 98, 144, 146 proximity 21–2, 69–70, 141–2 pudor 12, 206 punish, punishment 54–5, 77–8, 86–7, 90, 141, 167, 175, 183, 191, 193, 221–3, 238n109, 240, 246, 253, 256 purity 20, 190–1, 201, 248 purple, purpureus 47, 206, 211

298 qibla 84n40 Quintilian 11, 28, 30, 41–2, 93, 131, 157 Qumran 175, 191 reclining 113–19, 126–7 reconciliation 160–1, 212 rejection 22, 148, 186, 199, 201, 231, 258 rejoicing 231 relatives 32, 136–7, 143–4, 159, 182, 224–5, 232, 234 relief 4n26, 5, 14–5, 45, 50n103, 96n77, 169n95, 173 remorse 206, 224, 255 repentance 224–5, 253, 256 repulsion 19 responsa 136–7 reunion 159, 161 reverence 11, 75, 87, 154, 158, 200, 243, 253 rhetoric, rhetorical 1, 3, 11–2, 14, 18, 22, 27–8, 58, 93–5, 146, 149–50, 157, 169, 205, 219–20, 221, 224, 233, 250, 259 rhetorician 1, 28, 58, 93, 124, 146, 157, 246 riding 69, 71, 126, 130–3, 135, 152, 172, 215, 255, 260 right hand 32, 115n142, 140–1, 156, 163, 165–6, 169, 174, 191–2 righteous, righteousness 30, 48, 65, 77–8, 113, 162, 165, 182, 221, 234, 237, 242, 256 rise, rising 22, 75–9, 81–3, 90–1, 210 robber 132, 141 robe 45 role-play 14 Romanitas 153 rostra 93 row 79–80, 98, 100–1, 106–11, 179 royalty 47, 84, 148 rubor 12, 206, 211, 217 run, running 28, 29n19, 88, 95, 104, 130, 140, 194, 246 Sabbath 28n18, 41n67, 61, 76–7, 88, 94, 122n165, 123n172, 129, 189, 215 sacrifice 119, 177 sad, sadness 217–18, 222, 226, 228, 230n87, 256 saffron 210–7, 242 saliva 189, 193, 199–201 salutatio 125, 138 salvation 221, 233

Index Of Subjects sandal 164 sanhedrin 47, 80, 91, 108–10, 179, 249 Saracen 62 Sarah 158, 230–2 sarcophagus 4n26, 45, 54n125, 95, 96n77, 169 Sasanian 151, 166, 173, 242, 260 Satan 31, 230 scribe 37, 74, 149, 184–5 scroll 4, 15–6, 31–3, 38, 45, 52n115, 95–6, 104–5, 167–8 sculpture 15, 60, 167, 169, 196 Second Sophistic 116, 130 seder 209 self-control 49, 150, 157, 171, 203n6, 206, 223–4, 252, 255 self-fashioning 3, 23, 26, 30, 68, 244, 252–3 sella curulis 125 senate, senator, senatorial 93–4, 107, 124 Seneca 25, 30, 49, 112, 171, 188–90, 206, 224, 231, 255–6 sensory 171 sermo corporis 11 sex, sexual 190n155, 193 shame, shameful 12, 58, 90n52, 187, 190, 204, 206–9, 213–6, 218, 242, 255 shatnez 50n105 shave, shaving 39, 53–4, 56, 61–2, 67 Shekhinah 40 Shem 46 Shema 31, 40, 56, 74, 126–7, 132, 215 shining face 207–10, 242–3, 247, 253, 256–8 shoe 17, 59, 152 shoulder 41, 43–6, 48–9, 51, 163n67, 173–4, 192, 257 sight 21, 84–5, 166, 171, 196, 219, 229 silence, silent 7, 19, 98, 111, 198, 251 Simchat Bet ha-Shoevah 156 Simon Magus 180 sin, sinfulness 41, 61, 223, 225, 227–8, 230, 253, 256 skin 24, 35, 37n49, 209–11 skin color/tone 211n37, 214, 216–7 slave 27–8, 31, 35, 40n64, 41n67, 50, 56, 95n73, 107, 119–20, 132, 153, 172, 181, 200, 217, 219 slow, slowly 26–9, 31 smell 9, 170–1

299

Index Of Subjects smile 189, 204 sneezing 192 Socrates 49, 99, 103, 116, 171 soldier 86, 90n52, 107, 188, 199, 248 Sophist 4, 43, 92, 99–100 sorrow 242 spectacle 4, 84, 107 spell 189–90, 198, 248 Spielbein 60 spiritual, spirituality 2, 4–5, 15, 40, 136, 148, 156, 180, 190, 201, 210, 223–4, 231–2, 253, 260 spitting 22, 186–202, 229, 248 spittle 187, 191–3, 196–201, 260 staff 31, 38, 94 stage 11, 22, 25, 32, 42, 66, 70, 73, 93, 106, 109, 150n18, 157, 166, 203 statue 4–5, 14–5, 32, 50–2, 60, 63, 93–4, 104n91, 157–8, 167, 193–5, 260 stigma 35–6, 206 Stoic, Stoicism 25, 29, 49–51, 112, 146, 171, 188, 224, 231–2, 255–6 stool 122–3 study house 17n100, 29n19, 71, 88, 92, 94–5, 97, 104–6, 120–2, 127, 129–30, 134, 140, 171, 184, 186 subordination 8, 22, 95n73 superiority 37, 75, 82–3, 87, 120, 125, 135, 141, 153, 166, 174, 189, 221, 254 superstition, superstitious 38, 191, 197–200 supplication 151n23, 219, 224 symposiarch 117, 146 symposium 113–8, 146 synagogue 4n25, 37, 44–5, 83, 88, 94–5, 104–6, 123, 128–9, 134, 140, 171, 174–5, 190, 192–3, 198–9, 246 Syria 15, 32, 37n48, 52, 215

Temple (Jerusalem) 76, 85, 108, 156, 177, 191–3, 199, 210, 219, 237 temptation 58, 61 territoriality 22 Tertullian 42–4, 48 thanks 162, 183 theater, theatrical 2–3, 28n15, 67, 92, 106–9, 112, 128, 145, 150, 157, 165, 171, 185, 188, 232n98 threat, threaten 39, 58, 69, 143, 185, 191, 213, 238, 242, 253 threshing floor 108 throat 192, 260 throne 40, 84n40, 90, 92, 108, 112–3, 166 thronos 92 toga 41–4, 46–7 tomb 160 tongue 180, 198 tooth, teeth 175, 213, 218 toothache 175–6, 212 touch, touching 22, 37n49, 148, 164, 167, 170, 173–4, 176, 191, 193, 198, 201, 254–5 traditio legis 45 transgender 59 transgression 53, 72, 78, 83, 119, 134, 144, 167, 204, 206–9, 218, 255–6 travel, traveler 30–1, 33, 38n54, 46–7, 66, 89, 118, 125, 131–4, 137, 140–1, 167n81, 216, 233 triclinium 90n52, 112, 114 trim, trimming 54–7, 61 tunic 43–4, 47, 49, 66 tzitzit 21, 26, 33, 34n40, 37, 39–41, 45, 47–8, 66, 253

table 33, 104, 112–3, 116, 119, 121–3, 160, 226 table-fellowship 113, 121 tablet 4, 91, 96n77, 104, 210, 222 Tacitus 31, 197–8, 204 tallit 4n25, 21, 39, 44, 46–8, 51, 66, 68, 81, 182n133, 187, 253 tanned 59 tavern 102n87 tears 13, 165, 217–25, 227, 232n98, 253 teaser 208 tefillin 21, 26, 33–8, 40–1, 48, 66–7, 253

vanity 57, 61, 230n87 vegetable 113, 240–1 Vespasian 196–8, 200 villa 15, 116, 122 vineyard 98, 101, 249 violence 90n52, 148, 188 vir bonus 3, 21 virtue, virtuous 49, 223, 231 voice 9, 14, 17, 43, 99, 184, 213, 217–9 vulnerable, vulnerability 208 vultus 6, 11

unclean 34, 173, 191, 199n186, 220–1, 251 undergarment 44n82, 47–48, 50n105, 51

300 washing 61, 113, 117n154, 214 weakness, weak 4, 64, 71, 174, 219, 226, 256 wealth, wealthy 10, 15, 28, 32–4, 37–8, 56, 81–2, 85, 95n72, 116, 118, 120–2, 138, 153, 164–5, 169, 215, 226, 254–5 weep, weeping 9, 19, 22, 217–30, 232–3, 237, 242–3, 245–6, 253, 256, 258, 260 wife 31, 57–8, 158, 165, 173, 184–5, 190, 215–6, 228, 230 wisdom 44, 50, 52n114, 63–5, 67–8, 100, 117, 120, 131, 137, 145–6, 161–2, 174, 190, 198, 200, 208–10, 230, 238, 240, 258, 261 withdrawing 173–4, 201, 254, 257 witness 183–5 wool 39, 46n92, 50n105

Index Of Subjects worship worshipper 8, 17, 63, 125, 128, 158, 160, 163, 167, 181n130, 193, 196–7, 200–1 wrap, wrapping 24–5, 40–1, 44, 46–8, 50, 66–7, 133, 253, 261 wrinkles 65 Wunderkind 52n114 Yavneh 98, 101, 249 yawning 192 yeshiva 96–102, 145, 249 youth, youthful 52n114, 57–8, 60, 65, 139 Zebedee 107 Zoroastrian 157n49, 168n87