Reflections on Judaism and Christianity in Antiquity 9782807612754, 9782807612921, 9782807612938, 280761275X

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Reflections on Judaism and Christianity in Antiquity

P.I.E. Peter Lang Bruxelles Bern Berlin New York Oxford Wien 

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Dan Jaffé, Rivka Nir and Yaakov Teppler (eds.)

Reflections on Judaism and Christianity in Antiquity

Gods, Humans and Religions Vol. 25

Published with support from: Center for the Study of Relations between Jews, Christians, Muslims in the Open University of Israel ; Bar-Ilan University; Beit-Berl Academic College Cover illustration: The images on the cover are of Abraham Ibn Ezra in a discussion with Christian scholars on matters of translation and commentary (Rouen ca. 1150–1157) Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A CIP catalog record for this book has been applied for at the Library of Congress. This publication has been peer reviewed. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, by print, photocopy, microfilm or any other means, without prior written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved. © P.I.E. PETER LANG s.a. Éditions scientifiques internationales Brussels, 2021 1 avenue Maurice, B-1050 Brussels, Belgique www.peterlang.com; [email protected]

Printed in Germany

ISSN 1377-8323 ISBN 978-2-8076-1275-4 ePDF 978-2-8076-1292-1 ePub 978-2-8076-1293-8 DOI 10.3726/b18348 D/2021/5678/28

Bibliographic Information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data is available online at http://dnb.d-nb.de.

Table of Contents List of Contributors ���������������������������������������������������������������������������  9 About the Editors �����������������������������������������������������������������������������  11 Preface ����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������  13 Introduction �������������������������������������������������������������������������������������  15

Typological Figures for Jesus The ‘Christian’ Message of John the Baptist in the Synoptic Gospels ��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������  25 Rivka Nir The New Jeremiah in the New Testament: Concerning Some Narrative Strategies in Luke �����������������������������������������������������������  71 David (Dmitry) Kopeliovich Moses and Jesus as Bearers of God’s Logos in the Prologue of John and the Question of John’s Christology ��������������������������������  85 Serge Ruzer

Jewish and Christian Identity Would the Christian Paul Consider Himself a Jew? ��������������������  115 Summary of a lecture by Daniel R. Schwartz The Fiscus Judaicus: A Touchstone of Jewish (-​Christian) Identity? ����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������  121 Jonathan Bourgel

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Table of Contents

The Interaction between Christianity and the Rabbis Extra Ecclesiam nulla Salus! Birkat ha-​minim Reconsidered –​ Text and Context ��������������������������������������������������������������������������  151 Dan Jaffé ‘Like Snake Venom’? The Rabbis and Christian Charity �������������  177 Yael Wilfand Rabbi Hanina ben Dosa and his Hasidic Image in Light of Talmudic Tradition (Yerushalmi v. Bavli) ������������������������������������  201 Menachem Ben Shalom The Trial of Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus and the Parting of the Ways ����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������  243 Yaakov Teppler

Early Christian Communities Dating Anti-​Christian Sources in the Babylonian Talmud ���������  291 Barak S. Cohen The Christian Community in Syria (110–​180 CE): The Creation of ‘Syrian Christianity’ �����������������������������������������������������������������  313 Ben Zion Rosenfeld and Arie Levene Were the Early Christians Sectarians? Searching for Sectarianism in the New Testament �������������������������������������������������������������������  331 Eyal Regev

List of Contributors Rivka Nir The Open University of Israel David (Dmitry) Kopeliovich The Open University of Israel Serge Ruzer The Hebrew University of Jerusalem Daniel R. Schwartz The Hebrew University of Jerusalem Jonathan Bourgel Université Laval (Canada) Dan Jaffé Bar-Ilan University Yael Wilfand Bar-​Ilan University Menachem Ben Shalom Achva Academic College Yaakov Teppler Beit Berl College Barak S. Cohen Bar-​Ilan University Ben Zion Rosenfeld Bar-Ilan University

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Arie Levene Bar-Ilan University Eyal Regev Bar-Ilan University

List of Contributors

About the Editors Dan Jaffé is Senior Lecturer of Jewish History at Bar-​Ilan University and chief editor of the collection ‘Judaïsme ancien et christianisme primitif ’, Cerf Edition in Paris. He has published many studies about Rabbinic Judaism, Early Christianity, Jewish Historiography on the Historical Jesus and others. His recent book is Les identités en formation. Rabbis, hérésies, premiers chrétiens (June, 2018). Rivka Nir, researcher and a teacher of Jewish History and Early Christianity at The Open University of Israel. Her publications include: The Destruction of Jerusalem and the Idea of Redemption in the Syriac Apocalypse of Baruch, Society of Biblical Literature, Atlanta, GA, 2003; Joseph and Aseneth. A Christian Book. Sheffield: Phoenix Press, 2012; The First Christian Believer, In Search of John the Baptist, Sheffield, Phoenix Press, 2019. Yaakov Teppler is Lecturer of Jewish Studies in Late Antiquity and Early Middle Ages, former Head of the History Department and now Dean of Students at Beit Berl College, Israel. He is author of Birkat Haminim, Jews and Christians in Conflict in the Ancient World (Mohr-​ Siebeck, Tubingen 2007), and a number of published studies on Rabbinic Judaism and Christianity.

Preface The initiative for this book was born within a study group active under the auspices of the Center for the Study of Relations between Jews, Christians, and Muslims, at the Open University of Israel. This framework draws together Israeli scholars engaged in early Christianity and the relationship between Jews and Christians in Late Antiquity and Early Middle Ages, who assign a prominent place to ‘the Parting of the Ways’ –​an issue of focal concern to current research on these topics –​as well as to the question where and when came into being the boundary line separating between Judaism and Christianity. This book is not monolithic. Rather, it is expressive of different and occasionally even contradictory standpoints, and reflective of the diversity within the research community in Israel, much like in the field of research worldwide. Its contributors are scholars from Israel’s universities, colleges, and research institutes, who were educated under different schools and have forged diverse views, with each contributing his/​her own essay in order to sound together a collective voice that reflects a part of present-​day Israeli research in this area. In ‘Apology of the Author’, which prefaces his book From Jesus to Paul,1 published in Tel Aviv almost eighty years ago, Joseph Klausner wrote: ‘The reader of the present book will find in it a great part of what he cannot find, so it seems to me at least, in any other book concerning that great problem ‘of the relations between Judaism and Christianity’. For my particular viewpoint as a Jew upon these relations is different from that of the Christian investigators who have concerned themselves with primitive Christianity’.2

1 Joseph Klausner, From Jesus to Paul (Hebrew) (Israel: Tel Aviv, 1940). 2 Adapted from the English translation by William F. (Macmillan: New York, 1943).

Steispring

14 Preface

This collection of studies poses a challenge to Klausner’s statement: Is our voice, as Israelis investigating early Christianity, unique and has special features in comparison to non Israelis scholars? Instinctively, we are inclined to think, ‘Yes, it is’. Uniqueness may well apply to Israeli research, if only for the reason that historians are not detached from their own place and time, and are necessarily, even if unaware, influenced by their worldview, life circumstances, and cultural, religious and ideological identity. On the other hand, we all represent a new generation that, alongside the memory and emotional involvement, seeks to examine Christianity and its relations with Judaism with open-​ minded eyes, while striving at scholarly objectivity, abiding by the rules of critical and unbiased research. Therefore, we asked ourselves whether the distance in time, in ethos, in the internal Jewish-​ Israeli discourse, as well as the geographical remoteness from Europe and its complex history, impacted our worldview as researchers (or our views on issues relating to early Christianity). Surprisingly, or not, it transpired that, despite all the above-​noted difference, our opinions are just as divided as those of our Jewish and non-​ Jewish colleagues abroad. The uniqueness of our book, then, lies in that it is the product of an ongoing and oft hard-​probing discourse of Israeli scholars, who have long pondered the matter at hand, while forging independent opinions and a dynamic of mutual influence. The Israeli voice, we are certain, has something to contribute to the debate on issues that currently preoccupy early Christianity research. Whether, as such, it is indeed distinguished by uniqueness, let the educated reader be the judge.

Introduction This book offers twelve essays arranged thematically in four sections. Surveyed below are their main points of concern. Section 1 discusses Typological Figures for Jesus. It opens with The ‘Christian’ Message of John the Baptist in the Synoptic Gospels by Rivka Nir, who writes: ‘John’s message, his call for ‘a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins’, his proclamations about the more powerful one who is to come after him, and his admonitory speeches to those coming to be baptized by him, are, more than anything else, expressive of his identity as a Christian believer. And it is in them that the lines separating the world of ideas and beliefs associated with his figure from those of contemporaneous mainstream Judaism are most clearly observed. She here analyzes the four central topics of John’s message: baptism and repentance, prophecy about the coming one, the call to bear ‘fruit worthy of repentance’, and sermon on ethical and social concerns; focus on the theological dimensions of ‘repentance’, ‘kingdom of heaven’, ‘the coming one’, ‘baptism’, ‘forgiveness of sins’, ‘holy spirit’, ‘the coming wrath’, ‘fruit worthy of repentance’, ‘children of Abraham’, ‘baptism with fire’; and compare these concepts with the Jewish world of ideas and beliefs, on which they drew, and with their reinterpretation in affinity to the Christian world’. In his essay The New Jeremiah in the New Testament: Concerning Some Narrative Strategies in Luke, David (Dmitry) Kopeliovich focuses on the inter-​textual links between the Bible stories about the persecution of the prophet Jeremiah and the Gospel narrative about Jesus. ‘It seems’, he writes, ‘that Jesus’ figure was shaped as a new Jeremiah. Yet, an explicit comparison between Jesus and Jeremiah comes up only in Matthew. Is the silence concerning Jeremiah in the other Gospels to be construed as evidence of indifference to the typological role of this persecuted prophet in shaping Jesus’ figure? Or are there some implicit links between Jeremiah and Jesus in the other Gospels too? To examine this issue, he turns to the story about the cleansing of the Temple, which all four Gospels provide under different forms (Matthew 21:12–​17; Mark

16 Introduction

11:15–​19; Luke 19: 45–​48; John 2:13–​22). In its synoptic versions, the story contains implicit allusion to the Temple speech of Jeremiah (7:11). And moreover, Jeremiah’s words are actually adopted by Jesus. But, it seems the similarity between Jesus and Jeremiah is especially evident in Luke’s version of the story. This can effectively be proven by the contextual, compositional and linguistic arguments, which are here discussed in detail. At the same time, such discussion contributes to a more accurate reconstruction of the Gospel narrative’s redaction development’. Section 1 concludes with Serge Ruzer’s Moses and Jesus as Bearers of God’s Logos in the Prologue of John and the Question of John’s Christology. ‘Focusing on the Johannine Prologue (John 1:1–​ 18)’, Ruzer writes, ‘this article has as its backdrop a broader claim for the centrality of Moses in the Fourth Gospel’s portrayal of Jesus, where the figure of Moses is used as a core point of reference, actually a biblical blueprint, for the Messiah’s life story. This claim was put forward in his earlier Hebrew study coauthored with Yair Zakovitch.1 The peculiarity of John’s persistent employment of this strategy stands out in comparison with the messianic scenarios propagated in such late Second Temple sources as 1 Enoch, 2 Baruch or the Dead Sea Scrolls, which do not explicitly present the Messiah as following a biblical prototype. It is also distinguished vis-​à-​vis the strategies, employed in the search for ‘biblical justification’ in the Synoptic tradition, represented by Matthew, Mark and Luke. This characteristic Johannine emphasis, outlined in the first part of the following discussion, will further on be used to clarify the relation between Jesus and Moses as two bearers of God’s Word/​Logos in John 1:1–​18, and possible repercussions for our appraisal of John’s christology’. Section 2 discusses issues pertaining to Jewish and Christian Identity. It opens with a lecture-​based essay by Daniel S. Schwartz Would the Christian Paul Consider Himself a Jew? ‘Taking its point of departure from some well-​meaning but less-​than-​accurate translations of New Testament texts’, Schwartz argues, ‘this lecture suggests that Paul distinguished between “Judaism,” the religion he left behind upon becoming a believer in Christ (Galatians 1:13–​14), and “Israel,” of which he remained a member by descent (Philippians 3:3–​7; Romans 9–​11). Rather than asserting that Paul continued to view himself as a Jew, i.e., an adherent of

1 See Serge Ruzer and Yair Zakovitch, In the Beginning Was the Word: Eight Conversations on the Fourth Gospel [Hebrew] (Jerusalem: Magnes, 2014), pp. 27–​43; 93–​135.

Introduction

17

Judaism –​an assertion that would require us to assume he either continued to observe Jewish law or thought that law was only a minor element in Judaism –​it appears more warranted to assume he recognized the centrality of law-​observance in Judaism and realized, accordingly, that giving it up meant giving up Judaism’. Another angle on the issue of identity is provided in The Fiscus Judaicus: A Touchstone of Jewish (-​Christian) Identity? by Jonathan Bourgel. ‘One of the first measures taken by Vespasian after the suppression of the Jewish Revolt’, he writes, ‘was the establishment of a head tax imposed on all the Jews throughout the Empire. Liability to this Jewish tax varied under successive Emperors up to the reign of Nerva (96–​98 CE). This evolution had far-​reaching implications for Jews in general, and for the Jewish-​Christian streams in particular. By imposing this levy, the Roman authorities indirectly posed the Jewish-​Christians the twofold question of their identity and their relation to Judaism. The purpose of this paper is to determine the attitude of Jewish-​Christian communities (with special emphasis on those of Judea) toward the Jewish tax throughout its evolution. This survey would not only enlighten on the self-​understanding of Jewish-​Christian communities, but may also contribute to assess the degree of awareness of the Roman authorities about the distinctions between non-​Christian-​Jews, Jewish-​Christians and non-​Jewish-​Christians in late first and early second century CE’. Section 3 discusses The Interaction between Christianity and the Rabbis. It opens with Extra Ecclesiam nulla Salus Birkat Ha-​minim Reconsidered –​Text and Context by Dan Jaffé. ‘Despite the many articles that have been written on Birkat ha-​minim in recent years’, he writes, ‘a great many questions have not yet been satisfactorily resolved. This is notably the case concerning the historical context in which this prayer was introduced. The locus classicus on the subject, espoused by many scholars, considers Birkat ha-​minim to have been formulated under the ethnarchy of Gamaliel II of Yabneh at the end of the 1st century CE. It would have testified to the will of the tannaim to expel Jewish Christians from synagogue worship, and even from the rabbinic community itself, which was then seeking normativity. This paradigm, it seems, now needs to be re-​examined in light of the many studies using a historiographical method that challenges it completely, and are impossible to disregard even though the author of these lines partially agrees with the paradigm’. Another issue in the relations of Rabbis with Christianity is presented in ‘Like Snake Venom’? The Rabbis and Christian Charity by Yael

18 Introduction

Wilfand. ‘This paper’, she writes, ‘focuses on rabbinic texts compiled in Palestine during the first five centuries CE, to inquire: How did rabbis in the Land of Israel view the impact of Christian charity on the lives of Jews in Palestine? More specifically: To what extent do these rabbinic sources see Christian charity as a threat? In “Political and Social Tendencies in Talmudic Concepts of Charity” (Zion,1951), Ephraim E. Urbach claimed that tannaim and amoraim alike rejected Christian charity while advocating Jewish almsgiving due to the competition between these two religions. According to Urbach, any rabbinic emphasis on giving to the poor from the second century CE onward must necessarily be explained in light of Christian almsgiving, writing that “The part played by charity in spreading the influence of Christianity was clear to both Christians and their antagonists.” In this study, she provides a textual analysis that renders little justification for applying Urbach’s theory to second-​and third-​century sources. Interestingly, the corpus of Palestinian rabbinic texts that mentions gentile almsgiving is limited to three passages: one appears in the Tosefta (third century), which seems to refer to gentiles (perhaps Christians) who provided support to indigent Jews; the other two are in a midrashic collection, Pesiqta de Rab Kahana (fifth century). The overall silence of early texts –​including tannaitic material (with the possible exception of one passage from the Tosefta) and the Jerusalem Talmud –​toward Christian charity is remarkable. This pattern may reflect a rabbinic inclination to ignore this religious phenomenon or, perhaps, the limited scope of early Christian almsgiving in Palestine (until the mid-​fourth century). In the latter case, the scale of Christian giving might have been too modest to be considered a threat by the early rabbis. In Pesiqta de Rab Kahana, however, one passage explicitly discusses Christian charity by accusing Christian officials of stealing from tenant farmers in the countryside and then publicly distributing those spoils to impoverished city dwellers, thus corruptly inflating their reputation of being “generous to the poor.” In another chapter of Pesiqta de Rab Kahana, this Midrash twice levies criticism against gentiles who give alms; despite the absence of direct references to Christians, they may well be the unstated subjects of these texts, one of which compares such aid to snake venom. Indeed, by the time this midrash was being edited, Christianity had become the official religion of the Roman Empire and charity, the dominion of Christian bishops. Therefore, it reasonable that Christian charity in Palestine would have become sufficiently visible

Introduction

19

and pervasive to prompt the authors of Pesiqta de Rab Kahana to openly attack Esau as “one who is generous to the poor” (Prov. 28:8, JPS)’. The two studies that follow are assigned to prominent and influential rabbinic figures. First in line is Rabbi Hanina ben Dosa and his Hasidic Image in Light of Talmudic Tradition (Yerushalmi v. Bavli) by Menachem Ben Shalom. ‘This article’, he writes, ‘aims to explore the figure of Rabbi Hanina ben Dosa and to show that, according to early Eretz-​Israeli traditions, his depiction fits the Hasidic phenomena as described here, which, in turn, informs an additional innovation –​Rabbi Hanina ben Dosa, I believe, should not be viewed as a ‘holy man’, but rather as a meek and God-​fearing Hasid. Although an honest appraisal of the ancient Eretz-​Israeli sources proves this, in today’s scholarly discourse, post-​modern literary theories have superseded a direct dialogue with the sources. The term ‘holy man’ was adopted (perhaps inadvertently) by all scholars under the influence of pagan and Christian sources, and, in my opinion, does not exist in the ancient rabbinic texts’. The method adopted in the present article is to separate the Talmudic sources into their various branches, and attribute them to the physical location from which they originated, the period of their emergence, and the experience of their world. Such an approach will enable us to undertake a critical examination of the sources and to extract historical and theological knowledge from sources that are not a priori historiographic sources’. Second in line is Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus. In The Trial of Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus and the Parting of the Ways, Yaakov Teppler writes: ‘At the focus of this paper stands the notion that the “parting of the ways” between Judaism and Christianity was not merely the result of an ideological process, as it is usually presented in the early writings of these religions, but that it was strongly affected by the relationship of the Roman empire to the Jews after the year 70 CE. This paper tests this idea using the unique story of Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus, one of the greatest Jewish sages and leaders of that time, and the strange episode of his trial in a Roman court on a charge of Christian heresy’. The book’s fourth and final section addresses the Early Christian Communities. It opens with Dating Anti-​Christian Sources in the Babylonian Talmud by Barak S. Cohen. ‘Talmudic researchers and historians’, he writes, ‘have often interpreted halakhic statements and ideas expressed by Babylonian amoraim as directed against a Christian community located in the environs of the Babylonian sage who authored the statement or idea. Their logic was that the cultural contact between Jews

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20 Introduction

and Christians in Babylonia led to the halakhic and interpretive innovations through which the rabbis responded to Christianity. These sources served historians as evidence of the spread of Christianity in Sasanian Babylonia, as well as test cases as to how rabbis coped. This article re-​ evaluates seventeen Nehardean traditions in the Babylonian Talmud that have been identified by scholars as anti-​Christian statements. The widespread claim that these statements reflect Babylonian halakhic tradition originating in the amoraic period with the amoraim to whom they are ascribed should be rejected. While it is true that many of these statements exhibit an amoraic literary style, this is not sufficient to prove their Babylonian origins. In my opinion, it is not coincidental that such a large percentage of anti-​Christian statements made by Nehardean amoraim (around 80 per cent) systematically reflect Palestinian tannaitic tradition. The dating of an anti-​Christian source in the Babylonian Talmud requires analysis of the source’s content and cannot be determined based on formalistic criteria alone. The analysis of this group of sources serves as a paradigm for dating anti-​Christian traditions in the Babylonian Talmud in general, as well as their reception in Babylonia’. Next is The Christian Community in Syria (110–​180 CE): The Creation of Syrian Christianity, coauthored by Ben Zion Rosenfeld and Arie Levene. ‘This research’, they write, ‘deals with the dramatic changes within the Christian community in Syria, especially in Antioch, during the years 100–​180 CE, when, despite major difficulties, this community forged a peculiar brand of Christianity characterized by a strong nationalistic and local element. Enabling it was a powerful charismatic leadership and a unique political situation that elevated the prestige and influence of the local religious leadership in the eyes of the local population. Its aftermath was the creation of a new way of life and a crucial shift in the community’s belief system. This process of transformation reached its peak under Tatian, in the latter half of the second century, and simultaneously laid the infrastructure for the establishment of an independent Syrian-​Christian spiritual center in Edessa, as an alternative to Antioch’. Concluding this section and the entire collection is Eyal Regev, who intriguingly asks: Were the Early Christians Sectarians? In addressing this question, he writes: ‘Studies arguing that early Christian communities were sects within Judaism are, in the present article, criticized on several grounds: The sociological models of sectarianism used are usually imprecise; their application is partial; and the evidence provided by New Testament writings for sectarian characteristics is inconclusive. On the

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Introduction

21

other hand, recent studies on Matthew, John, James, and the Pauline churches have argued that the early Christians did not separate themselves from their fellow Jews. Moreover, it seems that the early Christian communities lacked the sectarian features of strict discipline and discrete social institutions. Thus, it is difficult to regard early Christianity as a sectarian movement in the strict sociological sense of the term’.

Typological Figures for Jesus

1

The ‘Christian’ Message of John the Baptist in the Synoptic Gospels1 Rivka Nir The Open University of Israel

The Christian Message of John the Baptist In this paper I intend to prove that the figure of John the Baptist, as reflected in all our available sources, is filtered through a Christian prism. He is depicted not as a Jewish prophet, apocalypticist or ascetic, but as a Christian who reverberates the ideas and beliefs of Christian theology and its core faith in the messiah Jesus. Despite John’s importance as founder of the Christian baptism, as revealer of the messiah in public and as witness to the veracity of his messiahship, he is entirely harnessed to his Gospel role of Jesus’ forerunner and preparer of his way. Examination of the concepts, ideas and worship at the focus of the traditions about John the Baptist and their comparison to the beliefs and ideas of first-​ century CE Jewish world, exposes a clear and solid line of demarcation between Judaism and the world of ideas and beliefs of Christianity from its inception. There is nothing like the proclamations and speeches of John the Baptist, as presented in the sources lying before us, to reflect his figure as a Christian believer. It is only in view of their immanent relation to Jesus and to John’s role in the good news, namely of messenger who heralds the messiah’s coming and prepares his way, that they become intelligible. The overt and covert affinities of John’s words with concepts and ideas current in Judaism, as expressed in the Hebrew Bible, Second Temple sources and 1 This is an abridged version of a chapter in my book: R. Nir, The First Christian Believer. In Search of John the Baptist (Sheffield: Phoenix Press, 2019), pp. 127–​165.

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Rivka Nir

Talmudic literature, are undeniable. Nonetheless, there is a distinct line separating them from their Christian interpretation in the Gospels. John’s message is brief and essentially focused on four issues: baptism and repentance, prophecy about the ‘coming one’, call to bear ‘fruit worthy of repentance’, and sermon on ethical and social concerns.

Baptism and Repentance (Mark 1:4; Matthew 3:2, 11; Luke 3:3) In the earliest Gospel of Mark, John the Baptist steps on the Gospel stage all at once, figuring in the first pericope that introduces the gospel of Jesus, the Son of God. John the Baptist, we are told, ‘appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance (βάπτισμα μετανοιάς) for the forgiveness of sins (εἰς ἄφεσιν ἁμαρτιῶν). And people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to him, and were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins’ (Mark 1:4–​5; Luke 3:3). At the focus of John’s proclamation is baptism associated with repentance (metanoia) and the forgiveness of sins. How are we to understand this baptism, what is the repentance urged by John, and how does it relate to forgiveness of sins? In the present context, the Greek term metanoia may be interpreted in two senses: commonly understood as repentance or remorse,2 it carries the additional meaning of second thought, change of mind or intent, acceptance of another view, or religious conversion. As will be demonstrated, both meanings may shed light on the distinctive features and theological identity of John’s baptism. If we read metanoia according to the first interpretation, we must first clarify the ‘repentance’ or remorse John speaks about. What is one to repent? What are the sins for which repentance would provide forgiveness and who is to forgive them? Dominant in research is the assumption that John’s call for ‘a baptism of repentance’ becomes understandable against the biblical and Second Temple Jewish concept of ‫( תשובה‬teshuvah), which similarly urged people 2 It is indeed so rendered by most translations of the NT: baptism of repentance. J.P. Meier, A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus (New York: Doubleday, 1994), v. II, p. 28; J. Behm and E. Würthwein, s.v. ‘μετανοέω, μετάνοια’, TDNT (Grand Rapids, MI: WM. B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1967), v. 4, pp. 976–​979, 999.

The Christian Message of John the Baptist

27

to turn away from the sinful past and return to faith in God and observance of Torah commands. Thus Behm, for example, summarizes John’s conception of metanoia: What John advances is the ancient prophetic summons for conversion, for a break with the ungodly and sinful past, for turning to God, because God, active in history, turns to man. But the summons is more categorical than it was on the lips of any prophet, for it stands under the urgency of the eschatological revelation of God. The term which John makes his slogan is familiar to his Jewish contemporaries. It is the epitome of their unwearied and manifold exertions to throw off sin and to fulfill the commandments.3 J. Taylor similarly interprets the notion of repentance in John’s preaching as obedience to God and Torah: ‘For John repentance was not a case of exhibiting a good attitude, or of pleading with God for forgiveness, or of expressing belief. It involved obedience to God, which demonstrated one’s true, heartfelt intention. God’s right path was manifested in Scripture. Torah was a fundamental expression of God’s will… returning to the Lord means doing his service. This means living righteously, in obedience to the Law, and doing good’.4 This explanation understands the repentance urged by John in Jewish terms. Is it a justifiable strategy? The term teshuvah is unmentioned throughout the Hebrew Bible. However, the notion of teshuvah from sin, conveyed by the verb ‫שוב‬ (shuv), literally ‘to return’, recurs frequently, especially in prophetic speeches. This verb signifies a renewed and profound turning to God, of both the people at large and the individual, on the assumption that 3 J. Behm and E. Würthwein, s.v. ‘μετανοέω, μετάνοια’, TDNT, v. 4, pp. 1000–​1001; V. Taylor, The Gospel According to St. Mark (London: Macmillan Press, 1966), p. 155; R.L. Webb, John the Baptizer and Prophet: A Socio-​Historical Study (JSNT Sup. 62; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1991), pp. 185–​186. 4 J.E. Taylor, The Immerser: John the Baptist Within Second Temple Judaism (Grand Rapids, MI/​Cambridge: William B. Eerdmans, 1997), pp. 108–​109; R.L. Webb, ‘John the Baptist and His Relationship to Jesus’, in Studying the Historical Jesus Evaluations of the State of Current Research (eds. B. Chilton and C.A. Evans; Leiden-​Boston-​Köln, 1998), pp. 189–​190, 191; Meier, A Marginal Jew, II, p. 28. Repentance is for God in Mark 1:15: G.R. Beasley-​Murray, Jesus and the Kingdom of God (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1986), p. 75; W.D. Davies and D.C. Allison, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel According to Saint Matthew (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1988), I, pp. 305–​306.

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religious and moral sins are the consequence of a wrong attitude toward God, unbelief and deviation from his ways. The biblical teshuvah is consequently a religious and moral transformation in the attitude toward God. At the general national level, it is a cultic-​ritual teshuvah which comes to appease divine wrath over violation of divine will and signifies return to God and the good relations between him and the people of Israel in the past. The concept of teshuvah, most particularly in the prophets, is based on the existence of a ‘covenant’ between God and his people, which has been violated on account of sin. In this sense, teshuvah denotes a radical turning anew to God in order to restore loyalty and obedience to this covenant. Thus, for example, Moore notes: ‘The fundamental conception in the prophets is turning back to the allegiance and obedience of God, corresponding to their conviction that moral as well as religious evils are in their essence a falling away from God and his righteous will’.5 This teshuvah was expressed publicly, by means such as fasting, dressing in sack-​cloth and sprinkling ashes on the head, prayer and confession of sins, and was linked to the sacrificial cult which provided atonement for iniquities. The prophets were critical of the expressions for this teshuvah, whose outward manifestations were not always in accord with internal processes. Rather than external gestures, they demanded a true and profound inner teshuvah. Though their censure did not cancel the superficial rituals, they conditioned teshuvah upon the people’s earnestness in the presence of God and their willingness to turn away from sin. As emerges from Joel (2:12–​13): ‘Yet even now, says the Lord, return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning; rend your hearts and not your clothing. Return to the Lord, your God, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and relents from punishing’.6

5 G.F. Moore, Judaism in the First Centuries of the Christian Era (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1927), I, p. 507; W. L. Holladay, The Root šȗbh in the Old Testament (Leiden: Brill, 1958), pp. 2, 120, 116–​157; H. Dirksen, The New Testament Concept of Metanoia (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America, 1932), pp. 115–​125; J. Behm and E. Würthwein, s.v. ‘μετανοέω, μετάνοια’, TDNT, IV, pp. 982–​986; J.J. Petuchowski, ‘The Concept of “Teshuvah” in the Bible and the Talmud’, Judaism 17 (1968), pp. 175–​185. 6 See Isa 63:17; Dan 9:1–​ 20; Ezra’s prayer 9:4–​ 15; Neh 1:5–​ 11. J. Behm and E. Würthwein, ‘μετανοέω, μετάνοια’, TDNT, v.4, pp. 948–​1022; F. Laubach and

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The verb shuv comes with the preposition ‘to’ (‫ )אל‬and ‘until’ (‫ )עד‬with the object being God, and expresses the demand for a true return to God, who in turn promises his people: ‘Return to me, says the Lord of hosts, and I will return to you’ (Zechariah 1:3).7 At the personal level, the verb shuv expresses change, a new direction in the individual’s relationship with God, encompassing all aspects of life. Sin, which comes to expression in idolatry, moral decline and social injury, is perceived by the prophets as deviation from God’s statutes and ways, and teshuvah as realignment with God’s statutes and ways. People are urged to turn away from evil and return to God in obedience and faith –​judgment awaits those who refuse to return, whereas to those who respond God promises forgiveness, release from the impending judgment, and life.8 It is noteworthy that many of the teshuvah confessions and supplications in Psalms are personal and supplied the pattern and expressions for Jewish prayer. Ezekiel deals with this personal teshuvah: ‘But if the wicked turn away from all their sins that they have committed and keep all my statutes and do what is lawful and right, they shall surely live; they shall not die. None of the transgressions that they have committed shall be remembered against them; for the righteousness that they have done they shall live. Have I any pleasure in the death of the wicked, says the Lord God, and not rather that they should turn from their ways and live? But when the righteous turn away from their righteousness and commit iniquity and do the same abominable things that the wicked do, shall they live? None of the righteous deeds that they have done shall be remembered; for the treachery of which they are guilty and the sin they have committed, they shall die…Therefore I will judge you, O house of Israel, all of you according to your ways, says the Lord God. Repent and

J. Goetzmann, ‘Conversion: ‘ἐπιστρέφω, μεταμέλομαι, μετάνοια κτλ’, NIDNTT (New International Dictionary of the New Testament Theology), I, pp. 353–​359. 7 See, for example Amos 4:6 ff.; Hosea 14:2; Isa 19:22; Mal 3:7; see also Deut 30:2–​ 3: ‘and return to the Lord your God, and you and your children obey him with all your heart and with all your soul, just as I am commanding you today, then the Lord your God will restore your fortunes and have compassion on you, gathering you again from all the peoples among whom the Lord your God has scattered you’; and Deut 30:8–​10. 8 Isa 10:20–​21; Jer 3:22–​23, 18:8, 26:3–​5, 34:15; Zech 1:3–​4; Mal 3:7; Amos 4:6–​8; Hosea 11:5–​6; Ezek 33:9–​11.

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turn from all your transgressions so that they shall not be a stumbling block of iniquity to you’ (18:21–​30). And so does Isaiah (55:6–​7): ‘Seek the Lord while he may be found, call upon him while he is near; let the wicked forsake their way, and the unrighteous their thoughts; let them return to the Lord, that he may have mercy on them, and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon’.9 In the period of the Babylonian exile and return to Zion, teshuvah was interpreted as renewed acceptance of and obedience to Torah commands: ‘And you warned them in order to turn them back to your law. Yet they acted presumptuously and did not obey your commandments’ (Nehemiah 9:29). The spirit of this teshuvah is in line with the Ezra and Nehemiah project to entrench the Torah and its precepts in the life of the people. Summarizing the biblical teshuvah, Michael Fishbane writes: ‘One cannot grasp the notion of teshuvah unless based on the assumption that this covenant (Sinai covenant –​R.N.) is firmly in force, and that we are commanded to return to its observance… The teshuvah is anchored within a system of concepts deriving from the covenant between God and his people… Teshuvah is acceptance of the covenant, given expression in the observance of its provisions’.10 Second Temple Jewish sources, including Talmudic texts that first mention the term teshuvah, do not diverge from the fundamental biblical meaning –​ teshuvah is always God-​oriented, as expounded by Ben Sira: ‘Do not say, “I sinned, and what happened to me?” for the Lord is slow to anger. Do not be so confident of atonement that you add sin to sin. Do not say, “His mercy is great, he will forgive the multitude of my sins,” for both mercy and wrath are with him, and his anger rests on sinners. Do not delay to turn to the Lord, nor postpone it from day to day; for suddenly the wrath of the Lord will go forth, and at the time of punishment

9 See also Ps 51:15[13]: ‘Then I will teach transgressors your ways, and sinners will return to you’. 10 M. Fishbein, ‘Teshuvah’, Enc.Bib. (in Hebrew) (Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1982), VIII, pp. 961–​962; L. Hartman, Into the Name of the Lord Jesus’: Baptism in the Early Church (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1997), pp. 12–​13: ‘In this context, repentance, or returning, meant a resolute rejection of those things in life which controverted God’s will and did not befit those who belonged to his covenant’.

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you will perish’ (Sir 5:4–​7).11 Jewish Hellenistic literature likewise lends expression to this conception of teshuvah: turning away from pagan superstition to the one true God is the central feature of metanoia.12 The teshuvah reflected in these sources is consistently in continuity with the fundamental meaning of the biblical concept: departure from the path of sin, evil deeds and intents, a radical change of behavior, and the return to God and to the Torah and its precepts.13 It is in Talmudic sources, which preserve memories and concepts of the Second Temple period but began to coalesce after the destruction, that the expression ‘to do teshuvah’ (‫ )לעשות תשובה‬first comes up and replaces the simple verb shuv.14 Yet, these sources also retain the fundamental biblical meaning of teshuvah, namely, it is essentially departure from sin, as an inner resolve to pursue it no more, and the return to God.15 According to Talmudic sources, teshuvah is one of the seven things God ‘created before the creation’ (Pesah. 54a, 119a; Ned. 39b). In rabbinic terms, teshuvah is a healing gift (Yoma 76a); a protective shield against divine punishment (Abot 4.11); its magnitude is of such extent that where penitents stand even the wholly righteous cannot stand (Ber. 34b); and one hour of repentance and good deeds in this world is worth 11 Also Sir 17:24–​29: ‘Yet to those who repent he grants a return, and he encourages those whose endurance is failing … Return to the Most High and turn away from iniquity, and hate abominations intensely … How great is the mercy of the Lord, and his forgiveness for those who turn to him’; 18:20–​21: ‘Before judgment, examine yourself, and in the hour of visitation you will find forgiveness. Before falling ill, humble yourself, and when you are on the point of sinning, turn back. Let nothing hinder you from paying a vow promptly, and do not wait until death to be released from it’. 12 Wis. Sol.11:23: ‘But thou art merciful to all, for thou canst do all things, and thou dost overlook men’s sins, that they may repent’. Philo, De Poenit, ii, 405; De Praem. et Poen. ii. 410. 13 The notion of repentance was one of the important components of Second Temple zealot ideology. The process of teshuvah, considered an effective means for hastening redemption, was a distinctive feature of the revolts and every significant riot. See Israel ben Shalom, ‘Processes and Ideology in the Yavneh Period as Indirect Factors for the Bar Kokhba Revolt’, in The Bar Kokhba Revolt: New Studies (Hebrew) (eds. A. Oppenheimer and U. Rappaport; Jerusalem: Yad Izhak Ben Zvi, 1984), pp. 6–​7. 14 For example, Yoma, 8.9; y.Ta’an. 1.1 (63d); b.Sanh. 97b. 15 E.E. Urbach, The Sages: Their Beliefs and Concepts (in Hebrew) (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1975), pp. 408–​409, 462–​471. Dirksen, The New Testament Concept of Metanoia, pp. 135–​145: ‘Rabbinic speculation on repentance –​as is all the doctrine of the rabbis –​is based on the O.T’. (p. 136).

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more than an entire life in the next world (Abot 4.17). Furthermore, God provides teshuvah always and willingly (Pesiq.Rab. 44). The teshuvah was especially associated with the Day of Atonement and its liturgy, as reflected in tractate Yoma (8.8b; Lev.Rab. 29.12); and in the Shemoneh Esreh prayer, there is a special benediction concerning teshuvah as return to God: ‘Lead us back to Thee and we shall return, renew our days of yore. Blessed be Thou, O Lord, who acceptest repentance’. Significantly then, all the reviewed sources follow the bible which provides the foundational teaching on the notion of teshuvah. As noted by Dirkson: ‘The study of the post-​exilic canonical books has demonstrated that their teaching is substantially the same as that of the pre-​exilic O.T. The Apocrypha and rabbinical literature also have the O.T. as basis for their teaching on repentance…We may therefore conclude that what they say about repentance represents the concept in Judaism of the N.T. times’ (pp. 145–​146). Dirkson then attempts to prove that the repentance urged by John is to be understood in the light of teshuvah current in Jewish sources.16 Basing his case on the identical components of teshuvah in all these sources, he identifies its four constituent elements: (1) contrition for sin; (2) confession of sin; (3) amendment of life; (4) penitential works by way of satisfaction for sin (pp. 197, 201). Excluded from this list, however, is one of the major and decisive elements that, to my mind, highlights the separation and difference of the repentance urged by John from its Jewish counterpart: to whom is it minded? In other words, how does God figure in this repentance? Does John anywhere specify that his call for repentance means return to faith in God, to obedience of divine will, to renewal of God’s covenant or allegiance to Torah commands? And where does he say that the sins atoned for by his baptism are deviation from divine worship and God’s covenant? Contrary to Jewish sources, God is entirely unmentioned in John’s proclamation. This, in my view, presses the point that the repentance urged by John cannot be interpreted in light of the teshuvah in the principal Jewish sources. Moreover, John links repentance with baptism. Such a linkage is nowhere found in any Jewish source, whether biblical, Second Temple or early Talmudic

16 Dirksen, The New Testament Concept of Metanoia, pp. 203–​206.

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literature.17 In the principal Jewish sources, repentance, the decision to return to God and adhere to his precepts, is unrelated to baptism –​it is not a precondition for the efficacy of baptism, nor is it the result of baptism. Though Judaism likewise related repentance to atonement and forgiveness of sins, it was not by means of baptism, but rather by the sacrificial cult in the temple, most particularly on Yom Kippur. This repentance was perceived as a condition for the efficacy of sacrifices and obtaining atonement for iniquities: ‘Death and Yom Kippur provide atonement with repentance. Repentance provides atonement for lighter transgressions, for transgressions against positive commandments and negative commandments. But in the case of more severe transgressions it [repentance] suspends [punishment] until Yom Kippur comes and provides atonement’ (m.Yoma 8.8).18 By suggesting an alternative atonement for sins, through baptism rather than cultic sacrifices, John challenges the sacrificial system and contests its necessity and legitimacy. As noted by R. Webb,19 ‘a number of lines of indirect evidence suggest the possibility that John’s baptism functioned, at least implicitly, as a protest against the Temple establishment. It was concluded above that John’s baptism mediated divine forgiveness and John, as “baptizer,” was the mediator of that 17 With the exception of Qumran baptisms. For how the latter relate to John’s baptism, as described in Josephus, See: Nir, The First Christian Believer, pp. 58–60. 18 Webb, John the Baptizer and Prophet, pp. 96–​108; Milgrom, Leviticus 1–​16, p. 857; Gordon J. Wenham, The Book of Leviticus (NICOT; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1979), pp. 26–​28. 19 R.L. Webb, ‘John the Baptist and His Relationship to Jesus’, Studying the Historical Jesus Evaluations of the State of Current Research. B. Chilton & C.A. Evans eds. Brill, Leiden-​Boston-​Köln 1998, pp. 197, 192; J.A.T. Robinson, ‘The Baptism of John and the Qumran Community: Testing A Hypothesis’, HTR 50 (1957), p. 180; E. Ferguson, Baptism in the Early Church (Grand Rapids, MI/​Cambridge: Eerdmans, 2009), pp. 90, 93. For contra, see F. Avemarie, ‘Ist die Johannestaufe ein Ausdruck von Tempelkritik? Skizze eines methodischen Problem’, in Gemeinde ohne Temple/​ Community without Temple (eds. B. Ego et al.; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999), pp. 395–​410. For Taylor (The Immerser, pp. 108–​109), John not only exhorts to keep Torah precepts, he even does not dismiss the temple’s sacrificial system. That the Gospel tradition provides no information on John urging converts to go and sacrifice in the temple, does not rule out that he might have done so. As our information on John is inordinately brief and there is nothing in the baptismal practice to suggest that baptism was a substitute for the temple sacrifices and cult, despite its attendant repentance and atonement, John might have urged his disciples to act according to the Torah with regard to the temple. Given that the Gospels were written primarily for gentiles after destruction of the temple, it is no wonder that his references to the temple were omitted.

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forgiveness. We also observed that this had significant parallel to atoning sacrifices of the Temple cult, and thus John’s baptism functioned as an alternative to those sacrifices’ (p.192). Scholars have made the point that nowhere does the New Testament provide a definition for the term ‘repentance’. To do so is hardly necessary, they explain, because John, Jesus and the apostles presume their audience is familiar with Judaism’s repentance and how forgiveness of sins is dependent on it.20 But, if John’s entirely new linkage of repentance with baptism had indeed been intended in the spirit of Jewish repentance, would it not have required some definition? The context framing John’s proclamation of repentance implies that repentance does not signify a renewed turning to God, as in Jewish sources. Nor does it call for obedience to Torah commands, as assumed by scholars. Rather, it means a radical change in the religious world of the individual, as preparation for the coming of Christ, and the acceptance of faith in him. It is hence already attached to the Christological tendencies of the Gospel.21 This meaning emerges clearly from Matthew’s parallel. Unlike in Mark, where John proclaims in the wilderness ‘a baptism of repentance for forgiveness of sins’, in Matthew (3:2) he proclaims in the wilderness of Judea: ‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven (βασιλεία τῶν οὐρανῶν) has come near’. Matthew detaches repentance from baptism and forgiveness of sins, because for him forgiveness of sins is obtained only through Jesus’ blood and sacrificial death.22 Instead, he attaches repentance to a novel concept –​it functions as preparatory for the coming ‘kingdom of heaven’.

20 G.F. Moore, Judaism, I, p. 518; Dirksen, The New Testament Concept of Metanoia, pp. 130–​135; C.H. Kraeling, John the Baptist (New York: Scribner, 1951), pp. 70–​71; Meier, A Marginal Jew, II, p. 73. 21 D.M. Stanley, ‘The New Testament Doctrine of Baptism: An Essay in Biblical Theology’, Theological Studies 18 (1957), p. 171. 22 Matthew links baptism with repentance only in the contrast he sets up between John’s baptism and the coming one’s baptism, who will baptize in the Holy Spirit and in fire (3:11) and for him only Jesus’ blood can bring about forgiveness of sins (26:28). J.P. Meier, ‘John the Baptist in Matthew’s Gospel’, JBL 99/​3 (1980), p. 388.

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What Is This Kingdom of Heaven? The expression ‘kingdom of heaven’ or ‘kingdom of God’ appears neither in the bible nor in Jewish literature of the Second Temple period. But, as in the case of repentance (metanoia), the idea has its roots in Judaism.23 The biblical God is described as king ruling over his eternal kingdom which encompasses the entire world: ‘The Lord has established his throne in heaven, and his kingdom rules over all’ (Psalm 103:19); ‘They shall speak of the glory of your kingdom, and tell of your power… Your kingdom is an everlasting kingdom, and your dominion endures throughout all generations’ (Psalm 145:11–​13).24 In Jewish Hellenistic literature of the Second Temple period, there is usage of ‘kingdom of heaven’, but always in relation to God’s universal rule without any mind or connection to a messianic kingdom.25 Talmudic literature frequently uses God’s description as king of the world. For instance, in the introductory benediction to numerous prayers ‘Blessed art Thou, O Lord our God, King of the universe’, or ‘Blessed be the name of His glorious kingdom forever and ever’ (included in the Shema recital), or ‘May He establish his kingdom’ in the Qaddish prayer, as well as in the phrase ‘kingdom of heaven’ which appears in relation to the universal dominion of God. To accept ‘the yoke of the kingdom of heaven’ is also frequent in Talmudic literature. Mentioned in connection with the Shema recital (Deuteronomy 6:4; m. Berakot 2.2), it means to ‘acknowledge the God who is One and Unique, and to bear witness that there is no other god’.26 Nonetheless, the idea did not become a central and fundamental feature of Judaism’s eschatological hopes in antiquity, nor does any early Jewish source ever associate this concept with the messiah and some 23 On the myth of divine kingdom in the ancient East, including among the Canaanites and Israelites, see N. Perrin, ‘Jesus and the Language of the Kingdom’ in The Kingdom of God in the Teaching of Jesus (ed. B. Chilton; Philadelphia, PA and London: Fortress Press and SPCK, 1984), p. 99. 24 Ex 15:18; Ps 47:3, 145:13, 146:10; Zech 14:9. G. Von Rad, s.v. ‘βασιλεύς’, TDNT (ed. G. Kittel; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans 1946), I, pp. 564–​571. 25 Wis. Sol. 6:5, 10:10; Tobit 13:1. M. Lattke, ‘On the Jewish Background of the Synoptic Concept “The Kingdom of God” ’, in Kingdom of God in the Teaching of Jesus (ed. B. Chilton; Philadelphia, PA and London: Fortress Press and SPCK, 1984), pp. 83–​84. 26 E.E. Urbach, The Sages, 400; K.G. Kuhn, s.v. ‘βασιλεύς’, TDNT (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1964), I, p. 572.

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transcendent heavenly kingdom.27 As Kuhn comments: ‘Nowhere do we have the thought that the kingdom of the Messiah is the ‫ מלכות השמים‬or that the Messiah by His operation will bring in the ‫ מלכות שמים‬or vice versa. Such a link with the thought of the Messiah is quite impossible in terms of the strict concept of the ‫’מלכות שמים‬.28 The expression ‘kingdom of heaven’ (ἡ βασιλεία τῶν οὐρανῶν) which occurs only in Matthew, or its parallel ‘kingdom of God’ (ἡ βασιλεία θεοῦ), which is used by Mark, Matthew and Luke, is at the center of Jesus’ preaching and his call for repentance: ‘The time is fulfille (πεπλήρωται ὁ καιρός) and the kingdom of heaven is at hand (ἤγγικεν ἡ βασιλεία τοῦ θεοῦ), repent and believe in the gospel’ (Mark 1:15; Matthew 4:17).29 Like the biblical God, Jesus is perceived as ‘king’ of Israel.30 The account of his festive entry into Jerusalem (Matthew 21:1–​11) identifies his messiahship with the royal figure riding on a colt, as envisioned in Zechariah (9:9), and his cross bears the title: ‘Jesus king of the Jews’ (Matthew 27:37; John 19:19). Jesus is king who rules over his kingdom in virtue of being son of God, as claimed by himself: ‘and I confer on you, just as my Father conferred on me, a kingdom’ (Luke 22:29), and God ‘transferred us into the kingdom of his beloved Son’ (Colossians 1:13).31 The coming of Jesus signals the coming of God’s kingdom and certain passages assume the identification of God’s kingdom with Jesus. ‘It is on this decisive fact of the equation of the incarnate, exalted and present 27 Kuhn, s.v. ‘βασιλεύς’, TDNT, I, pp. 574, 572: ‘It must be emphasized first that in relation to the whole Rabbinic corpus ‫ מלכות שמים‬is comparatively infrequent and not by a long way of such theological importance as in the preaching of Jesus’. The Targumim frequently speak of the end of times whereupon the kingdom of God will be revealed: ‘‫’תתגלי מלכותא דיהוה‬. Therefore, in later Jewish theology, kingdom of heaven is distinctly an eschatological conception. Kuhn, s.v. ‘βασιλεύς’, TDNT, I, pp. 571, 573. For review of this idea in the various Jewish sources, see Lattke, ‘On the Jewish Background of the Synoptic Concept “The Kingdom of God” ’, pp. 72–​91. 28 Kuhn, s.v. ‘βασιλεύς’, TDNT, I, p. 574. 29 See further Matt 5:3, 8:11, 11:11, 16:19. G.E. Ladd, Jesus and the Kingdom (London: S.P.C.K., 1966), pp. 42–​43; K.L. Schmidt, s.v. ‘βασιλεύς’, TDNT (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans 1964), I, p. 583. 30 Matt 2:2, 27:11, 29, 37; Mark 15:2, 9, 12, 18, 26; Luke 23:3, 37; John 18:33, 37, 39, 19:3, 14, 19, 21; Schmidt, s.v. ‘βασιλεύς’, TDNT, I, pp. 576, 577–​578. 31 Eph 5:5; Rev 11:15, on the basis of Ps 2:7. Schmidt, s.v. ‘βασιλεύς’, TDNT, I, pp. 577–​ 579; J. Marcus, The Way of the Lord (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1993), pp. 48–​77. In Mark, the title ‘king’ occurs only in the passion narrative, when Jesus reveals his kingship.

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Jesus Christ with the future kingdom of God that the Christological κήρυγμα depends with its understanding of the mission of the Messiah as a ἅπαξ or ἐφάπαξ event, as a unique event which cannot be repeated, as once and for all’.32 As stated by John in Matthew, the appearance of the kingdom of heaven inaugurates the new age, the age of good news. In contrast to the old age, representative of the present sinful world, which is expected to pass away at the end of time, Christ’s ‘kingdom of heaven’ represents the new and pure age established upon his appearance. This kingdom is already discernible upon his manifestation on earth, namely it already exists in the present (Mark 1:15; Matthew 3:2, 10, and also Luke 13:29).33 Indicative of this is Jesus’ reply to the question John addresses him from prison: ‘Are you the one who is to come, or must we wait for another?’ (Matthew 11:2–​6; Luke 7:18–​23). Jesus responds with a citation from 32 Schmidt, s.v. ‘βασιλεύς’, TDNT, I, p. 589. The parallels to Mark 11:10, which acclaims the coming of the Davidic kingdom, refer to Christ’s person, in Matt (21:9) and Luke (19:38); cf. Mark 10:29; Luke 18:29. ‘There is thus linguistic support for the obvious material fact that for Jesus the invading kingdom of God has come into time and the world in His person’, Schmidt, s.v. ‘βασιλεύς’, TDNT, I, p. 589. W.G. Kümmel, Promise and Fulfilment, The Eschatological Message of Jesus (London: SCM Press, 1957) ‘… in Matt. 12.28 also Jesus’ conviction shows itself clearly that the future Kingdom of God had already begun in his activity … and it follows likewise that it is the person of Jesus whose activities provoke the presence of the eschatological consummation and who therefore stands at the center of his eschatological message’ (pp. 107–​108); Marcus, The Way of the Lord, p. 45. Various passages treat the kingdom of God and Christ: no unbeliever ‘has any inheritance in the kingdom of Christ and of God’ (Eph 5:5); at the end-​time ‘the kingdom of the world has become the kingdom of our Lord and of his Messiah’ (Rev 11:15). God and Jesus are bound. Sometimes one is mentioned, sometimes the other. At the same time, Jesus and God usually constitute two close but differentiated entities, and God’s kingdom is embodied in Christ. 33 Scholars are divided on the meaning of the verb ἤγγικεν in Matt 1:2 and Mark 1:15. The question is whether we should read ἐγγίζω as the kingdom ‘has come near’, as does W.G. Kümmel, Promise and Fulfilment, The Eschatological Message of Jesus, pp. 19–​25, 106–​107, or as ‘the kingdom of God has come’, as suggested by C.H. Dodd, The Parables of the Kingdom (Glasgow: Collins, 1978), pp. 36–​40. For the latter meaning, see Mark 1:15; Matt 11:2–​11; Luke 7:18–​30. Perrin, The Kingdom of God in the Teaching of Jesus, pp. 74–​78; A.M. Ambrozic, The Hidden Kingdom, A Redaction-​Critical Study of the References to the Kingdom of God in Mark’s Gospel (Washington DC: The Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1972), pp. 21–​22, 24–​25; J. Bright, The Kingdom of God (Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 1981), p. 197; Beasley-​Murray, Jesus and the Kingdom of God, p. 72; Ladd, Jesus and the Kingdom, p. 107.

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Isaiah which promises future messianic salvation: ‘The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor’ (Luke 4:18–​19). And astonishes his hearers by asserting: ‘Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing’ (4:21). That is, the biblical promise for the glory characterizing the last days and for the coming messianic age is fulfilled now. ‘So Jesus’ reply to the Baptist’s question claims that the acts and the message are to be regarded as a proof of the beginning of the Kingdom of God, and it sees this beginning taking place exclusively in Jesus and his activity. It is shown once more that the proclamation of the good news of the future coming of the Kingdom of God, which was Jesus’ task, receives its particular decisive character through the fact that the person of Jesus by his actions brings about already know what is expected from the eschatological future; thus the real meaning of the eschatological preaching lies just in this, that it points to the actual presence of him who will bring about salvation in the last days’.34 But this kingdom will be fully manifested at the end-​time, at the parousia, when time is fulfilled and Jesus returns,35 and will be entered only by those receiving his gospel, those who believe in him: ‘Truly, I say to you, there are some standing here who will not taste death until they see the Son of Man coming in his kingdom’ (Matthew16:28). That is, his believers will not die and experience the materialization of the kingdom.36 As J. Marcus notes: ‘The “mystery of the kingdom of God,” as it 34 Kümmel, Promise and Fulfilment, p. 111. 35 J. Marcus, The Mystery of the Kingdom of God (Atlanta, GA: Scholar Press, 1986), pp. 51, 53–​56; C.H. Dodd, The Parables of the Kingdom (Glasgow: Collins, 1978), pp. 43–​45; Kümmel, Promise and Fulfilment, pp. 141–​155. 36 Col 1:13. Willoughby C. Allen, Gospel According to St. Matthew (London and New York: T&T Clark, 2000), p. lxix. Matt 25:1; Luke 12:35 ff. Some passages assume a real identification of the kingdom with Christ. Thus, in Mark: ‘Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David!’ Matt (21:9) and Luke (19:39) omit ‘kingdom’, referring only to Jesus Christ: ‘Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!’. The name and gospel of Jesus Christ, or Jesus Christ himself, are equated with the kingdom of God. Whereas Mark 9:1 says ‘there are some standing here who will not taste death until they see that the kingdom of God has come with power’, Matt 16:28 says ‘there are some standing here who will not taste death before they see the Son of Man coming in his kingdom’. Christians await the son of man and Lord as the kingdom of God itself.

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emerges from Mark 9:1, then, is the mystery of a kingdom whose glory is already visible to those who have faith in the risen Christ, but a kingdom which is still subject, and will be subject until its final manifestation at the Parousia, to outrage at the hands of “those outside” ’.37 Fundamental, then, is that the ‘kingdom of heaven’, whose imminence John proclaims, is effectively the kingdom of Christ, and ‘repentance’ means accepting faith in Christ and the redemption he would convey to his believers. Baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins is symbolic of the acceptance of faith in the messiah, of the beginning of life in Christ, and constitutes the condition for entry into his kingdom,38 as comes to expression in the Shepherd of Hermas: ‘They had need… to come up through water that they might be made alive. For ‘they could not’ otherwise ‘enter into the kingdom of God’ unless they put away the mortality of their (former) life (Herm. Sim. IX 16, 2).39 These conclusions are also consistent with the other meaning of metanoia (namely, second thought, change of mind or intent, acceptance of another view, or religious conversion). Accordingly, John’s baptism is a baptism of conversion or change of mind allied to acceptance of faith in Christ. Symbolic of this acceptance is the external act of baptism in water, which constitutes the entry ticket into the kingdom of heaven where believers are promised forgiveness of sins.40 Metanoia, as expressive 37 Marcus, The Mystery of the Kingdom of God, 53; J.H. Thayer, Thayer’s Greek-​English Lexicon of the New Testament (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Book House, 1977), p. 932; K.L. Schmidt, s.v. ‘βασιλεύς’, TDNT, I, p. 584: ‘… opposed to everything present and earthly, to everything here and now. It is thus absolutely miraculous’. 38 A. Nygren, Christ and his Church (London: S.P.C.K., 1957), pp. 52–​53, 70; T.F. Torrance, ‘Aspects of Baptism in the New Testament’, Theologische Zeitschrift 14 (1958), p. 241: ‘He (John) stood on the banks of the Historic Jordan and pointed the way through the water to the Messianic Kingdom, insisting that it had already drawn near and was about to break in with eschatological swiftness and urgency’, and also p. 243 in same. 39 See also Justin, 1 Apol.61. 40 F.W. Danker, A Greek-​English Lexicon of the New Testament and other Christian Literature, s.v. ‘μετάνοια’ (Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press, 2000), pp. 640–​641; H. Merklein, H. Balz and G. Schneider, Exegetical Dictionary of the New Testament, s.v. ‘μετάνοια’ (Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans Publishing House Company, 1981), p. 417; J. Behm and E. Würthwein, s.v. ‘μετανοέω’, TDNT (Grand Rapids, MI: WM. B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1967), IV, pp. 991, 999, 1003–​1007; J. Dupont, ‘Repentir et coversion d’après les Actes des Apôtres’, ScEc (Sciences Ecclésiastiques) 12 (1960), p. 142; J. Wendling, ‘L’appel de Jèsus a la conversion’, Hokhma 27 (1984), p. 10; R.L. Webb, ‘John the Baptist and His

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of acceptance of faith in Jesus Christ, is common in the NT and early Christian sources. Thus, for example, it is in this sense that Paul applies the term when he addresses the elders of the Ephesus community (Acts 20:20–​21): ‘I did not shrink from doing anything helpful, proclaiming the message to you and teaching you publicly and from house to house, as I testified to both Jews and Greeks about repentance towards God and faith towards our Lord Jesus’.41 Religious conversion and baptism are interrelated, as evident in Acts 2:38: ‘Peter said to them, ‘Repent, [or convert your religion] and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ so that your sins may be forgiven; and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit’. This meaning of baptism, as symbolic of religious conversion, emerges from the connection between baptism and repentance in Matthew. Here, John does not proclaim a baptism of repentance (in the genitive) which, like in Mark, may be understood as baptism expressive of repentance.42 Rather, he baptizes ‘in water for repentance’ εἰς μετάνοιαν (in the accusative of result); namely, baptism in water effectively obtains repentance and forgiveness of sins.43 This one-​time act produces the desirable inward change, transforming the individual into a new and pure being, who subscribes to faith in the messiah and whose sins are forgiven.44 John’s

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Relationship to Jesus’, in Studying the Historical Jesus Evaluations of the State of Current Research (eds. B. Chilton and C.A. Evans; Leiden and Boston, MA: Köln, 1998), p. 189; T.F. Torrance, ‘Aspects of Baptism in the New Testament’, Teologische Zeitschrift 14 (1958), p. 241; B. Reicke, ‘The Historical Setting of John’s Baptism’, in Jesus, The Gospels, and the Church, Essays in Honor of William R. Farmer (ed. E.P. Sanders; Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1987), pp. 210–​211. See also Mark 6:12; Luke 24:47; Acts 2:38, 5:31, 19:4; Didache 10:6; Ign. Eph. 10:1. As suggested by R.L. Webb (‘John the Baptist and the Relationship to Jesus’, pp. 186–​187): ‘Baptism of repentance’ means baptism expressing repentance; in Mark, the genitive of metanoias is either descriptive or objective. See also Kraeling, John the Baptist, pp. 120–​22; C.H.H. Scobie, John the Baptist (London: SCM, 1964), pp. 80–​81, 112; Beasley-​Murray, Baptism, pp. 34–​35; H.G. Marsh, The Origin and Significance of the New Testament Baptism (Manchester: University of Manchester, 1941), pp. 40–​43. As noted by E. Ferguson, the conventional Greek construction links a prepositional phrase with the principal noun and not with the genitive-​modifying noun. It follows that baptism, rather than repentance, brings about forgiveness of sins. Early Christians likewise explained that baptism was ‘for’ rather than ‘because’ forgiveness of sins. E. Ferguson, Baptism in the Early Church (Grand Rapids, MI/​Cambridge: Eerdmans, 2009), p. 94. J.D.G. Dunn, Jesus and the Spirit (London: SCM, 1975), p. 15. In Josephus (Ant. 18:117), by contrast, John’s baptism is described not ‘to gain pardon for whatever

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baptism is a baptism of initiation into the new Christian congregation bonded by faith in Jesus. As such, it inaugurates the believer into a new life and promises participation in the kingdom of heaven and forgiveness of sins. This is an all-​embracing and expanded forgiveness of sins, extended to believers by Christ, ‘whom God put forward as a sacrifice of atonement by his blood, effective through faith’, as expounded by Paul (Romans 3:25). Whoever undertakes ‘repentance’ and believes in Christ gains expiation from iniquities and forgiveness of sins. It is thereby that Christ fulfills the angel’s instruction to Joseph: ‘and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins’ (Matthew 1:21).45 The Fourth Gospel provides a figurative expression for the expiatory role of Jesus, naming him ‘the lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world’ (John 1:29). As Thomas points out, ‘The baptismal rite is part of the actions by which one gets ready for the coming of the messiah. It was a baptism of repentance; John’s baptism was a symbol, an external sign for a change of life. It inaugurates the religious conversion, the new life adopted in a new religion. Washing in water is naturally symbolic of this renewal. It also admits into the approaching kingdom: the first act has been done, and the baptized were as of now ready for the divine revelation and received the sign enabling them to be reckoned as ‘members of the kingdom’ and be unafraid of the judgment’.46

John’s Baptism Is a Christian Baptism The baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, which John proclaims in the Gospels, is to be understood not against the background

sins they committed, but as a consecration of the body implying [on condition] that the soul was already thoroughly cleansed by righteousness’. In Mark and Luke, John’s baptism does not condition the efficacy of water baptism on prior repentance and makes no mention of physical purity. It may well be that John’s baptism in Josephus polemicizes with his baptism in the Gospels. 45 See also Luke 24:44–​47. 46 J. Thomas, Le mouvement Baptiste en Palestine et Syrie (150 AV.J.C.–​300 J.C.) (Gembloux: Duculot, 1935), p. 72; Behm and Würthwein, s.v. μετανοέω, TDNT, IV, pp. 1001–​1002; A. Oepke, s.v. ‘βάπτω’ TDNT, I, p. 573; B. Reicke, ‘The Historical Setting of John’s Baptism’, in Jesus, The Gospels, and the Church, Essays in Honor of William R. Farmer (ed. E.P. Sanders; Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1987), p. 219.

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of baptisms common in Judaism, but rather of Christian baptism in the New Testament: 1. Like John’s baptism, also Christian baptism is conducive to forgiveness of sins.47 2. Like Christian baptism, also John’s baptism was an initiatory rite into the new congregation.48 3. Like Christian baptism, also John’s baptism bears sacramental traits, being a concrete physical and external act obtaining results and internal spiritual gifts. A sacrament, as defined by Bultmann, ‘is an act which by natural means puts supernatural powers into effect, usually by the use of spoken words which accompany the act and release those powers by the mere utterance of their prescribed wording’. And according to Schnackenburg: ‘By ‘sacrament’ in this sense is meant an external means and sign through which supernatural powers are mechanically released and conveyed.49 Fundamental to ‘sacrament’, then, is the concept that supernatural powers can, under certain conditions, be attached to natural objects or spoken words which are the vehicles bearing or 47 Acts 2:38, 3:19, 5:31, 10:43, 13:38, 22:16, 26:18. R. Bultmann, Theology of the New Testament (London: SCM Press, 1952), pp. 136–​137; Ferguson, Baptism in the Early Church, pp. 185, 197; B. Chilton, ‘John the Baptist: His Immersion and His Death’, in Dimensions of Baptism: Biblical and Theological Studies (ed. S.E. Porter and A.R. Cross; London: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002), p. 35. 48 Webb, ‘John the Baptist and His Relationship to Jesus’, pp. 194, 205–​206. See also C.H.H. Scobie, John the Baptist (London: SCM Press, 1964), pp. 114–​116; O. Cullmann, ‘The Significance of the Qumran Texts for Research into the Beginning of Christianity’, in The Scrolls and the New Testament (ed. K. Stendahl; London: SCM, 1958), p. 215; M. Goguel, Au seuil l'évangile. Jean Baptiste (Payot, Paris 1928), p. 291; Reicke, ‘John’s Baptism’, pp. 214–​219: ‘In the New Testament, John the Baptist represents the first type of baptism, a unique, nonrecurring ceremony of initiation’ (p. 219). 49 R. Bultmann, Theology of the New Testament, pp. 40, 135; R. Schnackenburg, Baptism in the Thought of St. Paul (trans. from the German; Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1964), p. 105; M. Goguel, The Primitive Church (London: Allen & Unwin, 1964), p. 282; Torrance, ‘Aspects of Baptism in the New Testament’, p. 245; for Meier (Marginal Jew, II, p. 54), to speak of sacrament here is ‘to impose later theological categories on matters that were probably not so clear-​cut or thought out by either the Baptist or the baptized. In many of these discussions the ghost of Catholic-​Protestant debates over sacraments seems to stalk the academic hallways … To burden the Baptist or even an evangelist with such a quastio disputata is hopelessly anachronistic’. But he also concedes: ‘If one wants to call this an “eschatological sacrament” in the sense of a visible ritual symbolizing invisible spiritual change and a sure pledge of salvation in the near future, that is fine!’ (p. 55); Dunn, Baptism in the Holy Spirit, p. 17.

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transmitting these powers. It follows that baptism conducive to repentance, to a transformative spiritual change within the human individual, and washes away the sins, is already of a sacramental character. 4. Like Christian baptism, also John’s baptism carried an eschatological-​ messianic significance –​a ritual of admission into the eschatological community. As such, it may be described as an eschatological sacrament which transformed the baptized into a member of the holy community of the end-​time.50 5. Both baptisms were a one-​time, collective and public act whereby one person baptized others.51 6. Both baptisms became operative upon their proclamation and preaching.52 John, we are told, was ‘proclaiming a baptism of repentance’ (Mark 1:4; Luke 3:3), and the baptism at the focus of the Christian mission likewise depended on its public proclamation and preaching.53 Its central place in the Christian mission emerges from Jesus’ instruction to his disciples to baptize all the nations in the Christian baptism: ‘All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of

50 Bultmann, Theology of the New Testament, p. 39; Bultmann defines John’s baptism as ‘eschatological sacrament’, in Jesus and the Word (London: Collins [Fontana], 1934), p. 26; H. Thyen, ‘Baptisma metanoias eis aphesin hamartion’, in The Future of Our Religious Past (ed. R. Bultmann. Festschrift; New York: Harper & Row, 1971, originally 1964), p. 132: ‘… baptisma metanoias eis aphesin hamartion…characterizes John’s baptism as an eschatological sacrament which effects both repentance and forgiveness’. For J. A. Sint, ‘Die Eschatologie des Täufers, die Täufengruppen und die polemic der Evangelien’, in Vom Messias zum Christus (Vienna: Herder, 1964), pp. 55–​56, it is a ‘quasi-​sacrament’; G.R. Beasley-​Murray, Baptism in the New Testament (Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans, 1962), p. 32; Kraeling, John the Baptist, p. 99; G. Bornkamm, Jesus of Nazareth (London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1960, p. 47), calls John’s baptism an ‘eschatological sacrament’ that was ‘the last preparation and sealing of the baptized for the coming “baptism” of the Messiah’ that would preserved believers from the day of the wrath to come’. 51 Ferguson, Baptism in the Early Church, p. 185; Webb, John the Baptizer and Prophet, p. 180. Jesus’ disciples baptize (John 3:26, 4:1–​2) and this was the practice in the early church (Acts 8:38). 52 Webb, John the Baptizer and Prophet, p. 183. 53 A. Plummer, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel According to St. Luke (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1922), p. 86.

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the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit’ (Matthew 54 28:18–​19). 7. Both baptisms included confession of sins,55 and took place in a river, namely in running or fresh water.56 In fact the baptism proclaimed by John is so clearly Christian that some scholars think it is a late addition inserted into the Gospels of Mark and Luke.57 At the same time, John’s baptism also differs from Christian baptism. The latter is in the name of Jesus Christ or into Christ (Acts 2:38, 10:48, 19:5). Namely, it is baptism consecrated to Jesus or for the sake of the crucified and risen Lord who was exalted by divine power to be messianic king, and seals the candidate as belonging to and under the protection of the Lord.58 Hence, such a baptism can be administered only after Jesus’ 54 See Acts 2:38, 22:16; 1 Cor 1:17. 55 In Second Temple Judaism, confession was strictly attached to sacrificing in the temple, and nowhere does Judaism recognize collective confession linked to baptism. See Y. Baer, ‘Serekh ha-​Yahad’, Zion 29 (1964), p. 12, n. 31. 56 See baptisms in pseudepigraphic writings influenced by Christian theology: T. Levi 2:3; Sib. 4:165–​67, Latin Adam and Eve 29:11–​13. Baptism in running water, called ‘fresh water’, was also common in Judaism for anyone defiled by severe states of impurity: Lev 14:5–​6, 50–​52, 15:13; Num 19:17; Deut 21:4; m. Mikvaot 1.6–​8. There are additional similarities: John’s baptism, like Christian baptism, was capable of exorcising demons. Illustrating the efficacy of John’s baptism to cast off the devil is that Jesus, upon going to the wilderness immediately after his baptism, was able to resist the devil’s temptations and overcome him (Mark 1:13; Matt 4:1–​11; Luke 4:1–​13). Expressive of this element of Christian baptism was uttering the name Jesus, or in the name of Jesus. It is thereby that evil spirits, which are the result of sin, are cast off and the baptized is under the protection of the Lord who guards against demonic influence, namely against sinning; e.g. Col 1:13–​14: ‘He has rescued us from the power of darkness and transferred us in the kingdom of his beloved son, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins’. Both baptisms are distinguished by the unique term βάπτισμα, which occurs only in Christian literature in reference to Christian baptism and does not refer to the baptism of John outside the New Testament. ‘Baptisma was clearly coined to speak of Christian Baptism, but was therefore applied rightly to John’s baptism, for his Baptism was not only into the name of the Coming One, the Christ, but it was the Baptism of Jesus by John which transformed John’s rite of Baptism into Christian Baptism’. Torrance, ‘Aspects of Baptism in the New Testament’, p. 243. 57 M. Dibelius, Die urchristliche Űberlieferung von Johannes dem Täufer (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1911), p. 58; Goguel, Au seuil de l’evangile. Jean Baptiste (Paris: Payot, 1928), p. 290. See critique of this standpoint in Meier, Marginal Jew, II, pp. 53–​54. 58 Beasley-​Murray, Baptism in the New Testament, p. 100.

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baptism, death and resurrection.59 In contrast to John’s baptism in water, 60 only baptism in the name of Jesus can impart the Holy Spirit. How the two baptisms differ comes to expression in the two episodes of Acts about believers in Ephesus who knew only ‘the baptism of John’: ‘Now there came to Ephesus a Jew named Apollos, a native of Alexandria. He was an eloquent man, well-​versed in the scriptures. He had been instructed in the Way of the Lord; and he spoke with burning enthusiasm and taught accurately the things concerning Jesus, though he knew only the baptism of John’ (Acts 18:24–​25). ‘While Apollos was in Corinth, Paul passed through the inland regions and came to Ephesus, where he found some disciples. He said to them, ‘Did you receive the Holy Spirit when you became believers?’ They replied, ‘No, we have not even heard that there is a Holy Spirit’. Then he said, ‘Into what then were you baptized?’ They answered, ‘Into John’s baptism’. Paul said, ‘John baptized with the baptism of repentance, telling the people to believe in the one who was to come after him, that is, in Jesus’. On hearing this, they were baptized in the name of the Lord Jesus. When Paul had laid his hands on them, the Holy Spirit came upon them, and they spoke in tongues and prophesied –​altogether there were about twelve of them’ (Acts 19:1–​6).

59 Acts 22:16: ‘And now why do you delay? Get up, be baptized, and have your sins washed away, calling on his name’. Salvation is only in the name of Jesus (Acts 4:12: ‘There is salvation in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given among mortals by which we must be saved’). Shepherd of Hermas, comm. IV, 3, 1 (LCL, 250); sim. IX 12, 4 f.; Justin Martyr, 1 Apo. 61: 10 (ANF, I, p. 183; 66:1; Barn. 11:11 (LCL, 54); Tertullian, De baptismo, 1 (ANF, III, p. 669); idem, ibid. 4 (ANF, III, p. 671); Ambrose, On the Mysteries, 3.11; J. Chrysostome, Huit Catéchéses Baptismales inédites, II, 25 (SC, 50, 147); St. John Chrysostom, Baptismal Instructions (New York: Newman Press), pp. 9, 16–​20 (trans. P.W. Harkins, 137–​138). 60 See below. John’s baptism differs from the Pauline baptism where the baptized participates in the death and resurrection of Jesus: Rom 6:3–​5; Col 2:12; Gal 3:27; I Cor 12:12–​13. On Pauline baptism in the epistles, see R. Schnackenburg, Baptism in the Thought of St. Paul (trans. from the German; Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1964); Ferguson, Baptism in the Early Church, pp. 146–​165. The Pauline baptism signifies triumph over death and promise for resurrection and new life. This dimension, Bultmann suggests, was added to baptism in the Hellenistic church which understood this initiatory sacrament as analogous to the initiatory sacraments into the mystery religions, where baptism obtained a share in the fate of the deity that died and arose, such as Attis, Adonis or Osiris. Bultmann, Theology of the New Testament, pp. 39, 137–​138, 140; Webb, John the Baptizer and Prophet, p. 171; B. Chilton, Judaic Approaches to the Gospels (Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1994), p. 22; A.Y. Collins ‘The Origin of Christian Baptism’, Studia Liturgica 19 (1989), p. 40.

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These two passages infer that the ‘baptism of John’ is a Christian baptism. The characters involved in both accounts are ‘disciples’ (μαθηταί) and ‘believers’ (πιστεύσαντες), which is how Acts designates Christians,61 and Apollos is described as a Christian evangelizer ‘instructed in the Way of the Lord’, who spoke and taught accurately ‘the things concerning Jesus’.62 In Acts, ‘way’ usually refers to the Christian faith and life-​style63; 61 Acts 6:1, 2, 9:1, 19, 25, 26, 38, 11:26, 29, 13:52, 14:20, 22, 28, 15:10, and more. T.W. Manson, ‘John the Baptist’, BJRL 36 (1903), p. 397; P. Van Imschoot, ‘Baptême d’eau et baptême d’espirit saint’, Ephemerides Theologiae Lovanienses 13 (1936), p. 653; Helmut Flender, St. Luke: Theologian of Redemptive History (Philadelphia, PA: Fortress Press, 1967), p. 126; E. Haenchen, The Acts of the Apostles: A Commentary (Oxford; Basil Blackwell, 1971), p. 556; F.F. Bruce, The Acts of the Apostles (London: The Tyndale Press, 1956), p. 353; Taylor, John the Baptist, p. 72; Scobie, John the Baptist, pp. 132, 187–​202; J.L. Teicher, ‘The Teaching of the Pre-​Pauline Church in the Dead Sea Scrolls. Has A Johannine Sect Ever Existed?’, JJS 4 (1953), p. 143; Goguel, Au seuil l’évangile, p. 104; Beasley-​Murray, Baptism in the New Testament, p. 109; F.J. Foakes Jackson and K. Lake, The Beginning of Christianity, Part I. The Acts of the Apostles (London: Macmillan, 1933), IV, p. 237; F.E. Lupieri, ‘John the Baptist in New Testament Traditions and History’, in ANRW, Teil II: Principat, Band 26.1 (Berlin/​New York: W. de Gruyter, 1992), pp. 444–​ 445; C.K. Barrett, The Acts of the Apostles, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary (London/​New York, 2004), II, pp. 885, 893–​894. D.G. Dunn (Baptism in the Spirit (London: SCM, 2010, pp. 83–​89) distinguishes between ὁι μαθηταί (with the definite article, as referring to Christians and in its absolute form to the entire Christian community of a town or district, and without the article, as not referring to actual Christians. Thus Luke seeks to emphasize that they do not belong to the Ephesus community. 62 Most scholars take Apollos to be a Christian. For the diverse explanations on the extent of his Christianity, see Goguel, Au seuil de l’évangile, p. 10; Foakes Jackson and Lake, The Beginning of Christianity, p. 231;Haenchen, The Acts of the Apostles: A Commentary, pp. 554–​555; Beasley-​Murray, Baptism in the New Testament, p. 110; C.K. Barrett, ‘Apollos and the Twelve Disciples of Ephesus’, in The New Testament Age: Essays in Honor of Bo Reicke (ed. W.C. Weinrich; Macon, GA: Mercer, 1984), p. 29; Barrett, The Acts of the Apostles, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary, II, pp. 884, 887–​888; Käsemann (‘The Disciples of John the Baptist in Ephesus’, Essays on New Testament Themes (London: SCM, 1964, pp. 142–​148) dismisses this explanation. To his mind, Luke intended to describe John’s disciples as incomplete Christians on apologetic grounds, and these passages evidence the existence of a Baptist community in competition with the fledgling church. Luke could not describe such a community without risking John the Baptist’s role of Jesus’ forerunner, as conceived by the church. Also the laying of hands by the apostles is expressive of the effort to ground apostolic authority in the spirit of the Una sancta ideal, like in Acts 8:15–​17. 63 9:2, 19:9, 23, 22:4, 24:14, 22; cf. 2:28, 13:10, 14:16, 16:17. Barrett, ‘Apollos and the Twelve Disciples of Ephesus’, p. 29.

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the title ‘Lord’ may refer to God but here applies to Jesus; and it is likewise with ‘burning enthusiasm’ that Christians should serve the Lord (Romans 12:11).64 As part of his mission, Apollos ventured to Achaia where ‘he powerfully refuted the Jews in public, showing by the scriptures that the Messiah is Jesus’ (Acts 18:25–​28), much like Paul who, while in Rome, was ‘proclaiming the kingdom of God and teaching about the Lord Jesus Christ with all boldness and without hindrance’ (Acts 28:31).65 In the encounter between Paul and the Ephesus disciples, the latter tell him ‘we have not even heard that there is a Holy Spirit’ (19:2). This does not mean they had never heard about it. But rather that they were unaware it already exists in the present, on the conviction that it was to come in the future, as promised by Jesus to his disciples: ‘for John baptized with water, but you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit not many days from now’ (Acts 1:5; John 7:39). These Ephesus disciples, then, were like the Jerusalem disciples before receiving the Holy Spirit at Pentecost (Acts 2:4).66 However, the fact that Priscilla and Achilles, upon hearing Apollos speak boldly in the synagogue, had to explain to him the way of Lord more accurately (18:26), and that the twelve disciples had to submit to another baptism ‘in the name of the Lord Jesus’, is noteworthy. It instructs that the baptism of John was insufficient for becoming completely Christian: his baptism was not in the name of the Lord Jesus, nor did it extend the gift of the Holy Spirit. For Paul, as apparently for Luke, the disciples were incomplete Christians because without the Holy Spirit they did not take part in

64 Barrett, ‘Apollos and the Twelve Disciples of Ephesus’, pp. 29–​30. 65 Goguel, Au seuil l’évangile, p. 103; A. Schweizer, s.v. ‘πνεῦμα’, TDNT (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1968), VI, p. 413. 66 This is no hostile or competitive group to the faithful of Jesus, as evident from their consent to be baptized ‘in the name of the Lord Jesus’ and receive the Holy Spirit upon the laying of hands, becoming more complete Christians. R.E. Brown, The Gospel According to John I–​XII (AB; New York: Doubleday, 1966), pp. LXVII–​LXX; Teicher, ‘The Teaching of the Pre-​Pauline Church in the Dead Sea Scrolls’, pp. 147–​ 148; Ferguson, Baptism in the Early Church, p. 181; W. Wink, John the Baptist in the Gospel Tradition, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1968), pp. 84–​86.; B.W. Badke, ‘Was Jesus a Disciple of John?’, The Evangelical Quarterly 62(3) (1990), p. 196.

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Christ (Romans 8:9).67 He therefore completed their baptism and ‘laid his hands on them’, whereupon the Holy Spirit descended on them. By contrast, Apollos is not re-​baptized because he received the gift of the Holy Spirit. This is implied by the phrase ‘well-​versed in the scriptures’, which denotes the gift of the spirit through which is exposed the Christian meaning hidden within scripture. Likewise the phrase ‘and he spoke with burning enthusiasm and taught accurately the things concerning Jesus’, may refer to the divine spirit.68 The presentation of John’s baptism as an early baptism, anterior to the complete Christian baptism, accords with Luke, the author of Acts, who displays John as forerunner of the messiah and Jesus as superior to him.69 Significantly then, ‘the baptism of John’ is an early Christian baptism preparing the baptized for the coming of the messiah, for baptism in the Holy Spirit and for the coming of the kingdom of heaven. It is inextricably tied to the message about the coming one, whose way he prepares by his proclamation and his baptism.70 As James Dunn notes, ‘John’s water-​baptism is only a shadow and symbol of the Christ’s Spirit –​baptism. The contrast between the two baptisms is the contrast between John and Jesus –​the antithesis of preparation and fulfillment, of shadow and substance’.71 67 Beasley-​Murray, Baptism in the New Testament, pp. 111–​112; Hartman, Into the Name of the Lord Jesus’: Baptism in the Early Church, p. 138; Taylor, John the Baptist, p. 72. In imparting the Holy Spirit the church distinguished between John’s baptism and the complete Christian baptism. B.D. Spinks, Early and Medieval Rituals and Theologies of Baptism (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2006, p. 5) differentiates between John’s baptism as being ‘of ’ or ‘for’ something (namely, repentance) and Christian baptism as being ‘into’ something (Christ or his name). For Ferguson (Baptism in the Early Church, p. 92), they may have been Jesus’ disciples but their instruction was incomplete. 68 Haenchen, The Acts of the Apostles: A Commentary, p. 550; Barrett, ‘Apollos and the Twelve Disciples of Ephesus’, p. 38. 69 A. Ash, ‘John’s Disciples: A Serious Problem’, Restoration Quarterly 45 (2003), pp. 90–​93. 70 Stanley, ‘The New Testament Doctrine of Baptism: An Essay in Biblical Theology’, p. 193; Teicher, ‘The Teaching of the Pre-​Pauline Church in the Dead Sea Scrolls’, p. 147; E. Ferguson, Baptism in the Early Church, p. 181; R. Nir, ‘John the Baptist: the First Christian believer’ (Hebrew), Zemanim 120 (2012), pp. 32–​34. 71 J.D.G. Dunn, Jesus and the Spirit (London: SCM, 1975), p. 19; J.D.G. Dunn, Baptism in the Spirit (London: SCM, 2010), p. 14: ‘John’s ministry was essentially preparatory. John himself did not bring the End. It was the Coming One who would do that. With John the messianic Kingdom has drawn near but it has not yet come. The note of the unfulfilled ‘not yet’ predominates. John is only the messenger who

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‘The One Who Is More Powerful than I Is Coming After Me’ –​about Whom Does John Prophesy? The second issue in John’s message concerns the ‘coming one’. He proclaims: ‘The one who is more powerful than I is coming (ἔρχεται) after me72; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals’ (Mark 1:7–​8). Confronting scholars is this question: who is the one John prophesies to be more powerful, comes after him and renders him unworthy for the role of a slave, namely to untie and remove the sandals of his master when he comes home?73 The prevailing view argues that the identification of the ‘coming one’ with Jesus was introduced later, by the evangelists or the Christian tradition they used, whereas originally this prophecy did not intend Jesus at all, but rather some other eschatological figure, whose arrival was anticipated by first-​century Judaism. Robert L. Webb, who devotes an extensive chapter of his book to anchor this prophecy in the Land-​of-​Israel Jewish world of first-​century CE, provides a comprehensive survey of the different figures associated with eschatological expectation in Second Temple Jewish literature: God, Davidic messiah, messiah of Aaron, Michael/​Melchizedek, Son of man, Elijah. He draws the conclusion that the figure most likely expected by John is God, who comes to judge and return his people, and acts by means of an agent.74 These identification attempts are to be taken as part of the tendency to anchor John the Baptist in contemporary Jewish society and blur his affinity with Christianity and Christ. They are, to my mind, unfounded. makes ready the way, the herald who goes before arousing attention and calling for adequate preparation. His baptism is thus preparatory also. It does not mark the beginning of the eschatological event; it does not initiate into the new age; it is the answer to John’s call for preparedness: By receiving the Preparer’s baptism the penitent prepares himself to receive the Coming One’s baptism. It is the latter alone which initiates the Kingdom and initiates into the kingdom’. 72 Matthew has “ ‘the one who comes after me” ὁ δὲ ὁπίσω μου ἐρχόμενος. 73 On this duty of a slave, see Luke 15:22. A. Plummer, On the Gospel According to St. Luke (ICC; Edinburgh, T&T Clark, 1896), p. 94; Allen, Gospel According to St. Matthew, p. 25; J.A. Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke X–​XXIV (AB; New Haven, CT and London: Yale University Press, 1985), p. 473. See b. Ketub. 96a; b. Kidd. 22b; b. Pes. 4a; Sifre BaMidbar 15:41. 74 Webb, John the Baptizer and Prophet, 1991, pp. 261–​306.

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For one, as Uro writes, we possess no proof for Judaism’s usage of the ‘coming one’ in a messianic context: There has been plenty of discussion whether the ‘coming one’ was a current messianic title in early Judaism. The evidence for such a fixed use of the absolute participle in Messianic contexts is vague, however, and the whole question would hardly have arisen without its appearance in the synoptic gospels.75 For another, supposing we hypothesize that John did indeed prophesy the coming of some eschatological figure inspired by contemporary Jewish expectations for redemption, the text as we have it gainsays this notion. It so closely identifies this figure with Christ that to penetrate it for some anterior layer is, in my judgment, hardly possible.76 Undoubtedly, the tradition reflected in the Gospels, and so understood by early Christians, assumes that the figure John is talking about, whose coming he proclaims, whose way he prepares and whose baptism he prophesies, is Jesus Christ.77 This identification is implied in Luke, where John’s words appear in relation to the messiah (3:15), and made explicit in Acts (19:4), when Paul says: ‘John baptized with the baptism of repentance, telling the people to believe in the one who was to come after him, that is, in Jesus’. It is also explicit in the Fourth Gospel. To the Pharisaic delegates who ask John why he baptizes if he is not an eschatological figure (John 1:24–​25), he replies: ‘I baptize with water. Among you stands one whom you do not know, the one who is coming after me; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandal’ (1:26–​27), whom he then identifies with Jesus Christ: ‘Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world! This is he of whom I said, “After me comes a man who ranks ahead of me because he was before me” … And I myself have seen and have testified that this is the Son of God’ (1:29–​34). This identification also emerges from John’s presentation as ‘the beginning of the good news of 75 R. Uro, ‘John the Baptist and the Jesus movement: What does Q Tells Us?’, in The Gospel Behind the Gospels, Current Studies in Q (ed. R.A. Piper; Leiden: Brill, 1995), p. 240. 76 W. Grundmann, s.v. ‘ἱσχύω’, TDNT, III, p. 399. 77 Beasley-​Murray, Baptism in the New Testament, pp. 32–​33; Davies and Allison, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel According to Saint Matthew, p. 314; S. Mason, ‘Fire, Water and Spirit: John the Baptist and the Tyranny of Canon’, Studies in Religion 21/​2 (1992), pp. 164–​165.

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Jesus Christ the son of God’, and the conjoined verses from Malachi and Isaiah, which make it clear that John prepares the way for Jesus, who, like God, is called kirios.78 Also instructive that this figure intends Jesus is John’s use of the expression ‘the coming one’ (ho erchomenos).79 The expression originally related to God. The notion of ‘God who comes’ is among the central features of biblical teaching about God, bringing together history and eschatology.80 Israel’s entire history, from birth of the nation at Sinai to future-​awaited redemption, is marked by God coming to his people. God came to them in the wilderness and called them to be a nation, becoming their king: ‘The Lord came from Sinai, and dawned from Seir upon us; he shone forth from Mount Paran. With him were myriads of holy ones; at his right, a host of his own… There arose a king in Jeshurun’ (Deut. 33:2, 5). Also the final redemption is frequently described as a divine visit. Zechariah prophesies the day of the Lord when all the nations will be gathered in battle against Jerusalem: ‘Then the Lord will go forth and fight against those nations as when he fights on a day of battle… Then the Lord my God will come, and all the holy ones with him’ (Zechariah 14:3, 5). Isaiah predicts: ‘Here is your God. He will come with vengeance, with the recompense of God. He will come and save you’ (35:4); and ‘he will come to Zion as Redeemer, to those in Jacob who turn from transgression’ (59:20). The coming of God is marked by judgment (Isaiah 26:21, 63:1–​6, 64:1 ff. and elsewhere), after which he will establish his rule among his people: ‘Let the floods clap their hands; let the hills sing together for joy at the presence of the Lord, for he is coming to judge the earth. He will judge the world with righteousness, and the peoples with equity’ (Psalm 98:8–​9, 96:10–​13). Behind this language, Ladd comments, ‘is a distinct theology of the God who comes. God who visited Israel in Egypt to make them his people, who has visited them again and 78 Marcus, The Way of the Lord, pp. 37–​41. 79 Scholars have argued that the ‘coming one’ refers to Jesus because the phrase ‘coming after me’ reflects its New Testament usage for a disciple following his rabbi (e.g. Mark 1:17 (Matt 4:19); Mark 8:34). Grobel draws this conclusion from ‘There cometh one mightier than I after me’, which is to be read on the basis of biblical and Talmudic literature as ‘to walk alongside’ and ‘be my disciple’. Therefore, Jesus was John’s gifted disciple. He did not recognize him as the messiah, but rather as a disciple of greater potential than his. K. Grobel, ‘He that Cometh after Me’, JBL 60 (1941), pp. 397–​401. 80 Ladd, Jesus and the Kingdom, pp. 44–​48.

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again in their history, must finally come to them in the future to judge 81 wickedness and to establish his Kingdom’. This expression is occasionally applied to Jesus. Upon his entry to Jerusalem, the crowd hails him with ‘Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord’ (Mark 11:9 and parallels on the basis of Psalm 118:26), and Matthew adds ‘Hosanna to the son of David’ (21:9).82 In the Fourth Gospel, Martha confesses to Jesus ‘I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, who is coming into the world’ (John 11:27), and Hebrews (10:37), in reference to Christ, states: ‘in a very little while, the one who is coming will come and will not delay’. John sends two of his disciples to ask Jesus whether he is the one ‘to come, or are we to wait for another?’ (Matthew 11:3; Luke 7:19), and Jesus confirms it is he. In Christian circles, and especially in Q, this expression was identified with Jesus.83 Jesus’ identification with the coming one is an additional aspect of his divine identity, which, as already noted, also finds expression in the phrase ‘kingdom of heaven’. Like God, who came in the past and will appear in the future to bring his redemption, so also Jesus is he who comes to establish his kingdom and bring redemption to his believers.84 The term ‘more powerful’ (ἰσχυρότερος) equally grounds the identification of this figure with Jesus.85 Elsewhere in the New Testament, this term comes up in relation to the battle Jesus wages against the devil (Luke 11:14–​22): ‘But if it is by the finger of God that I cast out the demons, then the kingdom of God has come to you. When a strong man, fully armed, guards his castle, his property is safe; but when one stronger than he (ἰσχυρότερος) attacks him and overpowers him, he takes away his armor in which he trusted and divides his plunder’. The strong man

81 Ibid., pp. 47, 103. 82 Kümmel, Promise and Fulfilment, p. 115. 83 J.S. Kloppenborg, The Formation of Q (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1987), p. 51. 84 Ladd, Jesus and the Kingdom, pp. 44–​45. 85 E. Best, The Temptation and the Passion: The Markan Soteriology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1965), pp. 134–​135; E.H. Sheffler, ‘The Social Ethics of the Lucan Baptist (LK 3:10–​14)’, Neotestamentica 24 (1990), p. 24. The title ἰσχυρός, which is how the Sept. renders ‘hero’, ‘mighty’, appears in Isa 11:1–​2 as one of the attributes of the branch of Jesse. See also 1 En. 49:3; this title is attached to messianic figures, see Davies and Allison, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel According to Saint Matthew, p. 315.

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(ἰσχυρός), who guards his house and property, is the devil ruling over the present world (Luke 4:6). But the stronger one is Christ who overpowered and defeated the devil.86

‘I Have Baptized You with Water, But He Will Baptize You with the Holy Spirit’ (Mark 1:8) Contributing to Jesus’ identification with the ‘coming one’ is the latter’s description as baptizing with the Holy Spirit. For scholars seeking to explain John’s message in the context of Judaism’s contemporary beliefs, the possibility that John had originally referred to the ‘Holy Spirit’ is to be dismissed on account of its manifest Christianity. To their mind, John’s original saying had set up the contrast between baptism in water and baptism in fire, which appears alongside baptism in the Spirit in the Q-​source used by Matthew and Luke.87 But for anyone examining John’s sayings in their Christian context, baptism in the Holy Spirit neatly 86 Grundmann, s.v. ‘ἰσχύω’, TDNT, III, p. 400. 87 See R. Bultmann, The History of the Synoptic Tradition: ‘I believe that the original text was only: “he will baptize you with fire” meaning by that the fire of judgement’, pp. 111, 246, 247; Goguel, Au seuil l’évangile, p. 41; Thomas, Le mouvement Baptiste en Palestine et Syrie, p. 70; V. Taylor, The Gospel According to St. Mark, p. 157; E. Best, ‘Spirit Baptism’, NovT 4 (1960), pp. 236–​243; Beasley-​Murray, Baptism in the New Testament, pp. 35–​36; Van P. Imschoot, ‘Baptême d’eau et baptême d’espirit saint’, Ephemerides Theologiae Lovanienses 13 (1936), p. 663; Kümmel, Promise and Fulfilment, pp. 108–​109; according to R. Eisler, The Messiah Jesus and John the Baptist (London: Methuen &Co. 1931), p. 275, the word ‘holy’ in the conjunction ‘Holy Spirit’, is a Christian interpolation into the Nasorean Baptist source. For more scholars, see J.D.G. Dunn, Baptism in the Spirit (London: SCM, 2010), p. 8, and the justified, to my mind, critique of this standpoint, Scobie, John the Baptist, 70. If the reading was originally ‘in the holy spirit and in fire’ the understanding would be in the spirit for the righteous and in fire for sinners, or a dual-​natured baptism –​ purifying as well as destructive. See R. Uro, ‘John the Baptist and the Jesus movement: What does Q Tells Us?’ p. 250. For Best (‘Spirit Baptism’, p. 240), John spoke of πνεύμα, not in the sense of spirit but of wind, therefore John’s original saying about baptism in the spirit and in fire related to the eschatological judgment when the wind will separate between the chaff and the grains and the chaff will burn. For critique of this suggestion, see Webb, ‘John the Baptist and His Relationship to Jesus’, p. 199; R.L. Webb, ‘The Activity of John the Baptist’s Expected Figure at the Threshing Floor (Matthew 3.12=Luke 3.17)’, JSNT 43 (1991), pp. 103–​111. For the various possibilities, see Kloppenborg, The Formation of Q, p. 106; D.S. Dapaah, The Relationship between John the Baptist and Jesus of Nazareth (New York: University Press of America, 2005), pp. 69–​72.

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accords with what he says and with the contrast he sets up between his baptism in water and the coming one’s baptism in the Holy Spirit. For Flusser,88 baptism in the Holy Spirit does not allude to some baptismal rite but should be understood as the spirit conferred in the last days, as predicted by Joel ‘Then afterwards I will pour out my spirit on all flesh’ (2:28/​Heb 3:1). This prophecy came to fulfillment at Pentecost, following Jesus’ death, when the Jerusalem Christians were all ‘filled with the Holy Spirit’ (Acts 2:4).89 That the pouring out of the Spirit on the disciples is called baptism is suggested by Jesus himself. ‘For John baptized with water, but you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit not many days from now’, he tells his disciples as he instructs them to remain in Jerusalem prior to his ascension, and reminds the eleven apostles of this instruction (Acts 1:5). And Peter, on reporting to the Jerusalem church about the conversion and baptism of Cornelius and how the Holy Spirit descended on the latter and his household, says: ‘And I remembered the word of the Lord, how he had said, ‘John baptized with water, but you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit’ (Acts 11:16). The contrast between John’s baptism and baptism in the Holy Spirit also accords with Jesus’ baptism in the Spirit. John’s baptism in water was powerless to confer the Holy Spirit, which is extended only by the complete Christian baptism in the name of Jesus (Acts 2:38, 9:17), and only after his death, as made explicit in the Fourth Gospel: ‘Now he said this about the Spirit, which believers in him were to receive; for as yet there was no Spirit, because Jesus was not yet glorified’ (John 7:37–​39). Namely, it is only after his death, after his baptism in blood on the cross, after his ascension to sit at the right hand of God and be glorified with ‘honor’ (edoxate), that Jesus would grant the Holy Spirit. Baptism with the Holy Spirit is therefore the Christian baptism, which is distinguished by the Spirit given by Jesus after his death and resurrection.90

88 D. Flusser, ‘John’s Baptism and the Judean Desert Sect’, in Judaism and the Origins of Christianity (Hebrew) (Tel Aviv: Sifriat ha-​Poalim, 1979), p. 92; Beasley-​Murray, Baptism in the New Testament, pp. 36–​38. 89 Isaiah (32:15, 44:3) and Ezekiel (36:25–​26, 39:29) are also prophets who liken the giving of the spirit of the latter days to pouring out water. 90 For scholars who see baptism with the Holy Spirit in Mark as Christian, see Bultmann, The History of the Synoptic Tradition, pp. 246, 247; Van P. Imschoot, ‘Baptême d’eau et baptême d’espirit saint’, p. 663; O. Cullmann, Baptism in the New Testament (trans. By J.K.S. Reid; London: SCM Press, 1950), p. 22.

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At John’s baptism of Jesus in the Jordan, the Holy Spirit descends on Jesus and anoints him as Son of God: ‘And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my beloved Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased” (Mark 1:10–​11). Thereupon, the Spirit takes him into the wilderness where he confronts the devil’s temptations and overcomes them. Receiving the spirit is therefore a condition for beginning his public activities. It is in the Fourth Gospel that John explicitly identifies Jesus as he who will baptize with the Holy Spirit: “but the one who sent me to baptize with water said to me,” He on whom you see the Spirit descend and remain is the one who baptizes with the Holy Spirit’ (John 1:33). Moreover, Jesus’ connection with the heavenly Spirit is forged at birth, as his mother Mary conceives through the Holy Spirit (Matthew 1:18; Luke 1:35). The Holy Spirit, then, gives expression to the soteriological messianic aspect of Jesus, extending from his birth until his death and resurrection. It is in the giving of the Holy Spirit that the church perceives the distinction between the baptism of John and the complete Christian baptism which derives from the messianic identity of Jesus.

The Call to ‘Bear Fruit Worthy of Repentance’ –​John’s Speeches in Matthew (3:7–​10) and Luke (3:7–​9, 16–​17) Matthew and Luke integrate an extensive rebuke by John. In this speech he torments and castigates ‘many of the Pharisees and Sadducees’ (Matthew 3:7), or ‘the crowds’ (Luke 3:7), coming to be baptized by him: You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Bear fruit worthy of repentance. Do not presume to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor’; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. Even now the axe is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. ‘I baptize you with water for repentance, but one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to carry his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing-​fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing-​floor and will gather his wheat into the granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire (Matthew 3:7–​12; Luke 3:7–​9, 16–​17).

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Many scholars consider this speech to be the earliest and most authentic component of John’s message, on the grounds that it is ascribed to Q, Matthew and Luke’s early source for the sayings and parables of Jesus, and that it is seemingly without overt Christian traits.91 It is argued that these verses, when read in their own right, may apply to God –​it is he who lays the axe to the roots of the trees and casts into the fire those that do not bear good fruit –​and reflect the figure of John against the background of contemporary Judaism, well before he was associated with Jesus. Accordingly, this furious speech, which warns the people against the judgment, situates John within the prophetic and apocalyptic tradition.92 However, the fact that this speech is interwoven into Q is no evidence for its historical authenticity. Q, despite its earliness, is a hypothetical Christian source reflecting, as do the Gospels we have, theological conceptions and tendencies about the messianic identity of Jesus that were current in the milieu which produced it. Q is not devoid of Christology. Yet, in contrast to the Gospels and Pauline letters, its Christology is implied rather than explicit. As Uro comments: ‘A reference to Q as an old “non-​kerygmatic” block of information compared to more “kerygmatic” Mark is simply no longer possible’.93 For Bultmann,94 the fact that Q ascribes these sayings to John does not mean that he actually said them. This material, in his view, circulated in the tradition of the early church and was put into John’s mouth because Christians wanted something substantial for his preaching of repentance. Kazmierski95 is likewise dismissive of the possibility that these sayings issued from John the Baptist. Though he admits he found 91 Scobie, John the Baptist, p. 60; Webb, ‘John the Baptist and His Relationship to Jesus’, p. 190: ‘There is nothing particularly Christian about John’s message of judgment and repentance, and it does fit well within some strands of Jewish thought of the period’.; Webb, John the Baptizer and Prophet, p. 174; Davies and Allison, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel According to Saint Matthew, p. 301; C.R. Kazmierski, ‘The Stones of Abraham: John the Baptist and the End of Torah (Matt 3:7–​10 par. Luke 3: 7–​9)’, Bib 68 (1987), pp. 23–​24; Meier, A Marginal Jew, II. p. 32. 92 Meier, A Marginal Jew, II, pp. 28–​29. 93 R. Uro, ‘John the Baptist and the Jesus Movement: What Does Q Tells Us?’, p. 233. 94 Bultmann, The History of the Synoptic Tradition, pp. 117, 127. He makes it explicit that in this passage we have a ‘Christian formulation’. 95 Carl R. Kazmierski, John the Baptist Prophet and Evangelist (Collegville, MI: The Liturgical Press, 1996), pp. 110–​114.

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prophetic parallels for the fate of those destined to judgment on the day of the Lord, the tradition about John nowhere alludes to such a radical picture of his preaching, and it is questionable whether his pronouncements about the imminent end and vicious assault on his hearers could really come from him. Building on Bultmann’s suggestion of composite text –​that the text put into John’s mouth is the result of redactional work which conjoined isolated sayings originally ascribed to Jesus but were, in fact, produced by the church –​Kazmierski suggests that John’s saying was originally independent of its present context and its linking with John and baptism is secondary. It presumably arose from the dynamic preaching of the Hellenistic Christian group around Stephan and the evangelist used it to enhance John’s eschatological character.96 As I will attempt to prove, this speech, in its content, character and style, cannot be understood apart from Christ and the Christian gospel. For one, the speech incorporates expressions which are also ascribed to Jesus and are among the parallels that Matthew sets up between Jesus and John. It is addressed to the Pharisees and Sadducees, as is the speech of Jesus (Matthew 16:1-12), the opponents of John as they are of Jesus.97 The expression ‘brood of vipers’ is applied by Jesus to the Pharisees (Matthew 12:34), or to the scribes and Pharisees (23:33): ‘You snakes, you brood of vipers! How can you escape being sentenced to hell?’ And John’s warning that ‘every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire’ appears in Jesus’ parable about the fruit of the tree (Matthew 7:19, 15:13). In whole, John’s speech is marked by anti-​Jewish traits and resonates with other speeches Jesus makes in the Gospels.98 But the ideas at its core are what most attach it to Christ.

96 Thyen, ‘Baptisma metanoias eis aphesin hamartion’, p. 137, n. 26: ‘Matthew 3:7–​10 has been ‘very thoroughly retouched by Christian hands, if not…completely formulated by them’. For S. Schultz (Die Spruchquelle der Evangelisten [Zurich: Theologischer Verlag,1972], pp. 366–​378), all the references to John in Q belong to a later phase of Q formed by Hellenistic Jewish-​Christians in Syria; Wink, John the Baptist in the Gospel Tradition, p. 19; Meier, A Marginal Jew, II, pp. 177–​181. 97 Davies and Allison, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel According to Saint Matthew, p. 303; J.P. Meier, ‘John the Baptist in Matthew’s Gospel’, JBL, 99/​3 (1980), pp. 389–​390. 98 For Wink (John the Baptist, p. 33), this speech is one of the expressions for the assimilation of John and Jesus. Both stand united against the anti-​God front and on the side of the kingdom of heaven. How far Matthew extends this assimilation is observable in his interchanging the Baptist and Jesus traditions.

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The dominant concern of this speech is ‘the wrath (ὀργή) to come’ and how to escape it. The question raised by John is: ‘Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?’

The ‘Coming Wrath’? As used here, the coming ‘wrath ‘ is an eschatological term,99 which the New Testament relates to two future events: the disasters experienced before the end (Luke 21:23) and the last judgment, that Revelation (6:17) designates ‘the day of wrath’. ‘Wrath’ expresses God’s eschatological fury or future judgment, by which he will eradicate sin and evil, and is, in the Hebrew Bible, associated with the day of the Lord.100 It is in this sense that it appears in the NT. The Gospels, Pauline letters and Revelation convey not only the message of grace and mercy, but also of divine wrath –​ ὀργὴ θεοῦ.101 However, in the Gospels, ‘wrath’ is equally an attribute of Jesus and an integral part of his envisaged future: Jesus is the angry lord of the last judgment, who in fury destroys his enemies and casts them into ‘the fiery furnace’ (Matthew 13:42) or ‘the outer darkness (22:13, 25:30).102 It is another divine aspect of Jesus.

How, According to John, Is One to Flee from ‘the Wrath to Come’? The way to escape the coming wrath is to ‘bear fruit worthy of repentance’. Scholars reconcile this with beliefs current in Judaism. Thus for Scobie, the notion that repentance is demonstrated by one’s actions, by the fruits that one bears, reflects precisely a Jewish understanding. ‘John, in his call for repentance’, he writes, ‘was thus very much in line with one of the central beliefs of the Old Testament and of Judaism of his day’.103



99

Particularly when it comes with the verb μέλλοω in the participium praesentiis: ὀργὴ μέλλουσα. G. Stählin, s.v. ‘ὀργή’, TDNT (Grand Rapids, MI: W.M. B. Eerdmans, 1967), V, p. 430. 100 Isa13:9; Zeph 1:14–​16, 2:2; Ezek 7:19. 101 Rom 1:18, 2:5, 8, 3:5; John 3:36; Rev 14:10; Stählin, s.v. ὀργή, TDNT, V, pp. 427–​446. 102 Stählin, s.v. ὀργή, p. 427. 103 Scobie, John the Baptist, p. 81.

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But the fruit worthy of repentance is not a return to the observance 104 of Torah commands, as most have suggested. John’s terminology is clearly Christian. In Gospel symbolism, fruit of the good and bad tree or ‘to bear fruit’ recur as symbols for the observance or non-​observance of faith in Christ. Whoever believes in Jesus bears good ‘fruit’, whoever does not believe in Jesus bears no fruit. Addressing the Pharisees, Jesus says: ‘Either make the tree good and its fruit good, or make the tree bad and its fruit bad, for the tree is known by its fruit’ (Matthew 12:33-37; Luke 6:43–​44). And when warning against false prophets, Jesus says that they are recognizable by their fruits and that the fruit of faith they disseminate is inacceptable: ‘Beware of false prophets who come to you in sheep’s clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves. You will know them by their fruits. Are grapes gathered from thorns, or figs from thistles? In the same way, every good tree bears good fruit, but the bad tree bears bad fruit’ (Matthew 7:15–​17). This notion underpins all Jesus’ parables about the seed, fig, vine and wheat not yielding fruit as against those that do. Thus for example in the parable of the sower (Mark 4:3–​9), Jesus says: ‘Listen! A sower went out to sow. And as he sowed, some seed fell on the path, and the birds came and ate it up. Other seed fell on rocky ground, where it did not have much soil, and it sprang up quickly, since it had no depth of soil. And when the sun rose, it was scorched; and since it had no root, it withered away. Other seed fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked it, and it yielded no grain. Other seed fell into good soil and brought forth grain, growing up and increasing and yielding thirty and sixty and a hundredfold’. And he said, ‘Let anyone with ears to hear, listen!’ 105

Similarly, Jesus curses the fig tree, symbol for Israel’s rejection of faith in him, ‘May no fruit come from you again’, and immediately the fig tree withered (Matthew 21:19; Mark 11:14, 21). In John (15:1–​5), Jesus says explicitly that faith in him is the fruit and whoever rejects him bears no fruit: ‘I am the true vine, and my Father is the vine-​grower. He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit. Every branch that bears fruit he prunes to make it bear more fruit. You have already been cleansed by the word that I have spoken to you. Abide in me as I abide in you. Just as the



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Kazmierski, John the Baptist Prophet and Evangelist, pp. 110–​114. Matt 13:8; this idea is at the basis of the vineyard parable: Matt 21:33–​41; Luke 13:6–​9, 21:29–​31; John 4:30–​38, 12:24.

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branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me. I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing’.106 The good fruit is ’the harvest of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ’ (Philippians 1:11), which Revelation (22:2) equates with the tree of life in Eden ‘with its twelve kinds of fruit, producing its fruit each month; and the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations’.107 It is fruit that yields sanctification and guarantees eternal life (Romans 6:23).

Acceptance of faith in Jesus, according to John’s rebuke, is the fruit worthy of ‘repentance’, of metanoia, of religious conversion, which are essential for escaping the wrath. Release from the wrath is only through Jesus –​‘Jesus, who rescues us from the wrath that is coming’ (1 Thessalonians 1:10; Romans 5:9). Now, if release from wrath is only through Christ, it is crucial whether one rejects Christ or is worthy of him and what he provides. Rejection means being under the wrath, and acceptance means liberation: ‘Whoever believes in the Son has eternal life; whoever disobeys the Son will not see life, but must endure God’s wrath’ (John 3:36). Faith in him obtains the eschatological gift of liberation from wrath.108

Against Who Is the Wrath Targeted? John addresses his question (=who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?) to ‘many Pharisees and Sadducees’ (Matthew 3:7)109 or to ‘the crowds’ (Luke 3:7) coming to be baptized by him, creating the impression that he speaks to the masses.110 The Jews are the prime target of this wrath, as made explicit in Luke (21:23): ‘For there will be great distress

106

F. Hauck, s.v. ‘καρός’, TDNT, III, p. 615. Mark 4:7–​8, 12:2; Matt 3:10, 7:16 ff.; Luke 3:9, 6:43–​44, 20:10 ff.; John 4:36, 12:24, 15:2 ff. 108 Stählin, s.v. ‘ὀργή’, pp. 445–​446. 109 The conjunction of Pharisees and Sadducees as John’s opponents, as they are of Jesus, is found only in Matt (16:1, 6, 11–​12). Meier, A Marginal Jew, II, pp. 30, 76 n. 57. 110 A. Fuchs, ‘Intention und Adressaten der Busspredigt des Täufers bei Mt 3, 7–​10’, SNTU A1 (1976), pp. 66–​68. The speeches in Q were directed at all Israel, at “this generation”: John Kloppenborg, The Formation of Q, p. 167. 107

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on the earth and wrath against this people’. Disaster awaits the entire earth, whereas wrath is restricted to the Jews. Also elsewhere, whenever Jesus talks about the wrath, he intends the Jews.111 Turning the wrath against the Jews lends expression to the anti-​Jewish polemic which characterizes the Gospel of Matthew as a whole. Already in John’s times, the leadership and representatives of the Jewish nation are forewarned of the fatal consequences of their shortsighted policy towards the messiah and his teaching.112 ‘Brood of vipers’, designating the audience of John’s speech, is another indication of the polemical attitude towards the Jews. This designation, which Matthew repeats on two more occasions (12:34, 23:33), comes to emphasize their destructive and dangerous rejection and may allude to their satanic nature, in light of the New Testament identification of the serpent with the devil (Revelation 12:9). This anti-​Jewish stance is further expressed in the imagery of stones and children of Abraham: ‘Do not presume to say to yourselves, “We have Abraham as our ancestor”; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham’. The Jews think that in virtue of their descent, their ancestral right through Abraham and the covenant made with him, they will escape from the destructive fury. No, says John. The ethnic right, even if founded on the covenant, is worthless. Neither descent from Abraham, nor biological descent, nor the covenant with Abraham, which the Jews presume to continue, secure escape from the coming wrath, namely salvation, only faith in Christ.113 The Jews have no advantage as Abraham’s offspring, because all gentiles accepting the faith, bearing ‘fruit’, become the children of Abraham. Abraham is the biblical figure in whom Christian theology grounded its Jewish roots. The making of Abraham, ‘ancestor of a multitude of nations’ (Genesis 17:5), into a symbol for the truly Jewish origin of Christians, is among the key features of Christian theology. Jesus commends the gentile centurion for his faith and tells his followers: ‘Truly I tell you, in no one in

111

Mark 3:5; Luke 14:21; Matt 22:7, 18:34; 1 Thess 2:16: ‘Thus they have constantly been filling up the measure of their sins; but God’s wrath has overtaken them at last’. See Stählin, s.v. ‘ὀργή’, p. 438. 112 Allen, Gospel According to St. Matthew, p. 24. 113 Kazmierski, John the Baptist Prophet and Evangelist, pp. 110–​114. The belief that salvation is related to Abraham also resonates elsewhere in the New Testament: Luke 17:24; John 8:33–​39; Acts 7:2.

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Israel have I found such faith. I tell you, many will come from east and west and will eat with Abraham and Isaac and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven, while the heirs of the kingdom will be thrown into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth’ (Matthew 8:10–​13). Heirs of the kingdom, the Jews, are the stem that does not bear good fruit and is cast into darkness and fire, whereas the gentile converts are the new children of Abraham and are invited to sit with him in the kingdom of heaven. Paul similarly addresses the believers in Antioch with: ‘My brothers, you descendants of Abraham’s family, and others who fear God, to us the message of this salvation has been sent. Because the residents of Jerusalem and their leaders did not recognize him or understand the words of the prophets that are read every Sabbath, they fulfilled those words by condemning him’ (Acts 13:26–​27). The affiliation of Christians with Abraham is particularly prevalent in the Pauline letters.114 Abraham is the father of gentile Christians because his faith was reckoned as righteousness while he was still uncircumcised, so that he could serve as ancestor of all the uncircumcised believers whose faith may likewise be reckoned as righteousness. Hence Abraham is the father of all gentile believers (Romans 4:1–​25) and ‘those who believe are the descendants of Abraham’ (Galatians 3:7–​9). In Romans, Paul, like John, says: ‘For not all Israelites truly belong to Israel, and not all of Abraham’s children are his true descendants’ (9:6–​8). The biological offspring of Abraham, ‘the children of the flesh’, are not God’s children and recipients of the promise of seed (Genesis 13:16, 15:5–​6, 17:2–​10; 22:17–​18). Only ‘the children of the promise are counted as descendants’. Christians are the true children of Abraham that God raised from these stones. They are the good fruit because they are ‘those who believe’. Davies and Allison, summarizing the meaning of Matthew 3:9, write: Given his interest in the Gentile mission and the firm connections between Abraham and the Gentiles in both Jewish and Christian tradition, 3.9 must for him imply criticism of the self –​assurance of the Jews and the acceptance of non-​Jewish Christians. From Matthew’s perspective, God has in fact already raised up new offspring to Abraham: the Gentile Christians.115



114

For example, Rom 4:13–​ 17, 9:6–​ 7; Gal 3:29, 4:21–​ 31; Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke X–​XXIV, p. 465. 115 Davies and Allison, Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel According to Saint Matthew, p. 309.

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What fate awaits those not bearing ‘fruit worthy of repentance’? Even now the axe is laid to the root of the trees. Every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire’. Evoked here is a sense of urgency. The axe already lies on the root of the trees. Judgment has begun. Israel’s prerogative no longer counts. Now at stake is a complete break with the historical promise of salvation extended to Israel.116 Whoever bears no fruit and rejects faith in Christ will be cast into the fire.117 Similarly, Jesus warns against receiving the fruit of faith from false prophets: ‘A good tree cannot bear bad fruit, nor can a bad tree bear good fruit. Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire (Matthew 7:18–​19; Luke 6:43–​44). And in John, Jesus says: ‘ I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing. Whoever does not abide in me is thrown away like a branch and withers; such branches are gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned (15:5–​6).

The Fire of the Last Judgment The fire by which those not bearing fruit would be punished is the fire characterizing the last judgment ‘the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels’ (Matthew 25:41), the fire of hell (Matthew 5:22, 18:9), the fire purging and testing the deeds of everyone (1 Corinthians 3:13,15). In describing judgment day in the last days, biblical prophets frequently use the image of fire. Fire is a cleansing, purgative and refining tool, distinguishing between the righteous gaining life and evildoers sentenced to perish. The day of the Lord is marked by ‘fire and columns of smoke ‘ (Joel 3:3); on this day evildoers are to be punished by fire: ‘See, the day is coming, burning like an oven, when all the arrogant and all evildoers will be stubble; the day that comes shall burn them up, says the Lord of hosts, so that it will leave them neither root nor branch’ (Malachi



116

Kazmierski, John the Baptist Prophet and Evangelist, pp. 110–​114. Goguel, Au seuil l’évangile, 40; R. Eisler, The Messiah Jesus and John the Baptist, pp. 275–​276; Beasley-​Murray, Baptism in the New Testament, pp. 37–​39. ‘Root of the tree’ also occurs elsewhere in the sense of withered roots when there is no ‘good fruit’: parable of the sower, Matt 13:6; parable of the fig tree, Mark 11:20.

117

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3:19). ‘For the Lord will come in fire, and his chariots like the whirlwind, to pay back his anger in fury, and his rebuke with flames of fire. For by fire will the Lord execute judgment, and by his sword, on all flesh’ (Isaiah 66:15–​16). And evildoers would be sentenced to eternal torture by fire: ‘for their worm shall not die, their fire shall not be quenched, and they shall be an abhorrence to all flesh’ (Isaiah 66:24). God will execute the judgment of eschatological destruction by fire on all his enemies (Ezekiel 38:22, 39:6). The God of judgment appears and ‘a stream of fire issued and flowed out from his presence (Daniel 7:10).118 The image of the axe felling the trees likewise alludes to the judgment, as comes through Isaiah (10:33–​34): ‘Look, the Sovereign, the Lord of hosts, will lop the boughs with terrifying power; the tallest trees will be cut down, and the lofty will be brought low. He will hack down the thickets of the forest with an axe, and Lebanon with its majestic trees will fall’. Both images emphasize imminent judgment.119 It is noteworthy that punishment of evildoers by fire also recurs in apocalyptic literature and the Qumran scrolls,120 as well as in the New Testament,121 and the lake of fire in Revelation (19:20) also derives from this tradition. The fire accompanying biblical theophany in general, and judgment day in particular, and serves God as a means to cleanse, purge and refine, for distinguishing the righteous gaining life from the evildoers sentenced to perish, is here associated with Jesus, who is destined to baptize in fire.122



118

There are many biblical references to judgment in fire which may explain John’s words about baptism in fire (Amos 7:4; Isa 31:9, 66:15–​16; Zech 13:9; Mal 3:2). Beasley-​Murray, Baptism in the New Testament, pp. 38–​39. 119 Meier, A Marginal Jew, II, p. 29. That judgment is imminent and one must get ready for it is also a recurrent notion throughout the New Testament: 1 Cor 7:29; Rom 13:12; 1 Pet 4:7; Rev 1:3, 12:10, etc. Allen, Gospel According to St. Matthew, p. 24. 120 1Enoch 90:24–​27; Wis. Sol.15:6; Comm. Rule 2:8; Pesher Habakkuk 2:1; Thanksgiving Sc. 3:27–​32. F. Lang, s.v. ‘πῦρ’, TDNT (1968), VI, 936–​943. 121 E.g. Matt 5:22, 13:40, 42, 50, 25:41; Luke 17:29; 1 Cor 3:13–​15; 2 Thess 1:7–8. 122 See for example Isa 4:4–​5; Amos 7:4; Dan 7:9–​10; Joel 3:1–​5; Zeph 1:14–​18, 3:8; and particularly Mal 3:2–​3, 19; and similarly 1 Cor 3:13–​15; 2 Thess 1:7–​ 8. M. Zer–​Kavod, Haggai, Zechariah, Malachi (Jerusalem: Kiryat Sepher, 1968), p. 159.

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Baptism in Fire The fire of wrath also has ties with baptism in fire which Matthew and Luke position alongside baptism in the Holy Spirit: ‘He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire’.123 As has already been noted, some scholars suggest that baptism in fire was the original baptism in John’s saying. But these two baptisms, in fire and Holy Spirit, are paired and interrelated by giving expression to two central eschatological aspects associated with Jesus: the pouring out of the spirit in the last days and baptism with fire as symbolic of the end-​ time judgment of sinners. Baptism in fire was added on in the context of the eschatological judgment. Jesus baptizes with fire because he actualizes the coming wrath, he is the judge on judgment day124 Alongside God, or in place of God, judge of the world, Jesus officiates as judge of the world.125 He is an ambassador-​like representative of God, as spelled out in Acts (17:31): ‘because he has fixed a day on which he will have the world judged in righteousness by a man whom he has appointed, and of this he has given assurance to all by raising him from the dead’. Christ is also called ‘the righteous judge’ (2 Timothy 4:8); ‘Christ will judge. He is the judge of the living and the dead’ (2 Timothy 4:1; 1 Peter 4:5; Acts 10:42). Like God, ‘His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor and gather his wheat into the barn, but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire’ (on the basis of Malachi 3:19). His affinity with fire is given expression in the image of the reaper who, at the end of days, will reap the wayward and burn them in fire, as against the grains he will gather to his granary (Matthew 13:30; Revelation 14:14–​20).126

123

For baptism in fire, research provides the following suggestions: 1. It signifies the Sinai theophany (Ex 19:18, 20:18; Deut 4:36,5:21, 9:15) or the tongues of fire which appeared to the disciples at Pentecost (Acts 2:3). 2. The two baptisms relate to the two groups responding to John’s call for baptism: those that were baptized and repented received the Holy Spirit, whereas the fire of judgment was imposed on those that were not baptized and did not repent. 3. This expression refers to the enlightenment, illumination and purifying force of grace extended by baptism. Plummer, On the Gospel According to St. Luke, p. 95. 124 M. Öhler, ‘The Expectation of Elijah and the Presence of the Kingdom of God’, JBL 118/​3 (1999), p. 471; Bultmann, Theology of the New Testament, pp. 78–​79. 125 1 Thess 3:13; Rom 3:5, 14:10; 1 Pet 1:17; James 4:12, 5:4; Rev 11:17, 20:11 ff., etc. 126 ‘Baptism in fire’ derives from Dan 7:10; See also: 4 Ezra 13:10; Rev 11:5, 19:15. Kraeling, John the Baptist, 114–​118; Scobie, John the Baptist,68; C.M. Edsman, ‘Le Baptem de feu’, Acta Seminarii Neotestamentici Upsaliensis IX (1940). In searching for

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John’s entire speech is rooted in Christological eschatology. It urges to bear fruit, namely to embrace faith in Christ through the baptism in water proclaimed by John; this baptism opens for the faithful the pathway to the kingdom of heaven where they will escape from the end-​time judgment127; those excluded from this kingdom will be like chaff burnt with unquenchable fire. It thus urges the Jews to religious conversion by insisting that only through faith in Christ will they escape the wrath and judgment of the last days. His faithful he will gather like grains to his granary, whereas his rejecters will burn in unquenchable fire. Significantly then, deliverance from the coming wrath is only through the acceptance of faith in Jesus, namely religious conversion –​metanoia, and the pathway to faith is through baptism: first in water and then in the Holy Spirit and in fire. Nowhere throughout this speech does John mention allegiance to Torah commands, nor the temple and the sacrificial cult, as the way to bear ‘fruit worthy of repentance’. And the ‘fruit’ here, how far removed from its counterpart in Psalms: ‘Happy are those who do not follow the advice of the wicked, or take the path that sinners tread, or sit in the seat of scoffers; but their delight is in the law of the Lord, and on his law they meditate day and night. They are like trees planted by streams of water, which yield their fruit in its season, and their leaves do not wither. In all that they do, they prosper’ (Psalm 1:1–​3). In John’s speech, ‘the fruit worth of repentance’ lies not within ‘the law’ of God but within faith in Christ.

the source for Jesus’ baptism in fire and the role of fire in John’s speech, scholars have suggested the Iranian Zoroastrian religion; see W.H. Brownlee, ‘John the Baptist in the New Light of Ancient Scrolls’, Interpretation 9 (1955), pp. 80–81; D. Flusser, John’s Baptism, Judaism and the Origins of Christianity (Hebrew), pp. 101–​102; L.W. Barnard, ‘Matt. III. 2; Luke III. 16’, JTS 8 (1957), p. 107. This seems to me far-​ fetched. Jesus’ baptism in fire, and the role of fire here, are soundly anchored in the biblical fire and linked to the Malachi chapter which is at the base of this entire tradition. See, for example Goguel, Au seuil l’évangile, p. 41; Thomas, Le mouvement Baptiste en Palestine et Syrie, p. 70, n. 1; Bultmann, The Synoptic Tradition, p. 111, n. 1; p. 246, n. 2; J. Klausner, Jesus of Nazareth [Hebrew] (London: Aleen & Unwin, 1929), p. 256; Beasley-​Murray, Baptism in the New Testament, pp. 37–​38. 127 Stählin, s.v. ‘ὀργή’, p. 444.

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Ethics and Society (Luke 3:10–​14) It is only Luke who interweaves into John’s proclamation a sermon on ethical and social concerns: And the crowds asked him, ‘What then should we do?’ In reply he said to them, ‘Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise’. Even tax-​collectors came to be baptized, and they asked him, ‘Teacher, what should we do?’ He said to them, ‘Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you’. Soldiers also asked him, ‘And we, what should we do?’ He said to them, ‘Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages (Luke 3:10–​14). This passage is composed of three repetitive questions. The crowds, tax-​collectors and soldiers ask John what they should do by way of ‘fruit worthy of repentance’. To the crowds, he tells to share possessions with those who have none; to the tax-​collectors that they should not overcharge, and to the soldiers that they should not extort and exploit.128 Scholars are undecided about the origins of this tradition and whether the speaker could have been John the Baptist. They raise the possibility that this section of the speech was composed by Luke and does not belong to the early tradition in Q, from which Matthew and Luke drew the bulk of John’s speech. Indicative of this is its absence from Matthew’s parallel tradition, which it abruptly interrupts midway, and that its style, subject-​ matter and vocabulary are peculiar to the writer of the Third Gospel.129 These verses are seemingly without discernible Christian traits. They are unmarked by eschatology, unrelated to the messiah’s coming and may be understood against similar ethical demands of biblical prophets (Isaiah 58:7; Ezekiel 18:5–​9).130 Yet, as I attempt to show, this speech is likewise inseparable from the Christian tradition and lends expression to how Luke perceived the ideal social-​ethical image of the early Christian community.

128

In addressing the tax-​collectors and the soldiers, Luke expresses his interest in these two groups. Tax-​collectors: 5:27–32, 7:29, 15:1, 18:9–​14, 19:1–​10; soldiers: 7:1–​10. 129 Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke X–​XXIV, p. 464; E.H. Sheffler, ‘The Social Ethics of the Lucan Baptist (LK 3:10–​14)’, Neotestamentica 24 (1990), pp. 23, 28. On the suggestions offered for the origins of this tradition, see Meier, A Marginal Jew, II, pp. 40–​42. 130 Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke X–​XXIV, p. 465.

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Luke’s John is no longer the prophet in the desert, ‘the voice of one crying out in the wilderness’, who ‘was clothed with camel’s hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and ate locusts and wild honey’ (Mark 1:3–​6). Rather, he is already presented as a Christian preacher, an evangelist prototype, who ventures into ‘all the region around the Jordan’, preaches ‘the good news’ (euēggelizeto, Luke 3:18, 1:77–​78),131 and delivers speeches that, in their content and messages, recall the speeches of Jesus.132 The Greek verb euaggelizomai is a technical term for Christian preaching centered on Christ and ‘the good news’, which for Luke, also contains the moral principles which were to underpin life within the early Christian community: emphasis is on the importance of charity, negation of material wealth, elimination of the gap between rich and poor, and distribution of property between those who have and the less fortunate. And Luke’s Gospel repeatedly urges its addressees to part with their assets and give to the poor.133 For example, ‘from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt’ (6:29); rather than lavish attention on washing the cup, Jesus says: ‘give for alms those things that are within’ (11:41), ‘sell your possessions, and give alms. Make purses for yourselves that do not wear out, an unfailing treasure in heaven’ (12:33), and ‘when you give a banquet, invite the poor’ (14:13); and the rich man, we are told, ends his life in hell because he failed to provide for the pauper Lazarus (16:19–​30). Much in the spirit of John’s speech, Acts depicts the early church as a property-​sharing community: ‘All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need’ (2:44–​45); ‘Now the whole group of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one claimed private ownership of any possessions, but everything they owned was held in common’ (4:32). Even if this tradition preserves real

131

For Wink (John the Baptist, p. 32), this verb implies the Christian gospel of salvation: ‘Luke makes him the first preacher of the Gospel’; Sheffler, ‘The Social Ethics of the Lucan Baptist (Lk 3:10–​14)’, p. 23: ‘a type of ‘missionary preacher’. 132 Sheffler, ‘The Social Ethics of the Lucan Baptist (LK 3:10–​14)’, p. 22: ‘John’s ethical preaching is viewed to be along the same lines as that of Jesus’. 133 Luke 6:29, 11:41, 12:33, 14:13, 21, 15:19–​30, 18:22, 19:8 and Acts neatly fits in with these ideals of communalism (2:45, 20:33–​35). Sheffler, ‘The Social Ethics of the Lucan Baptist (LK 3:10–​14)’, pp. 31–​32. Although, all the verses where Jesus calls to sell the property and give charity the focus is on the sale of the assets and not on giving of charity.

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historical traits, the idyllic picture depicted by Luke reflects, before all else, his own views. Similarly, he describes Tabitha as ‘devoted to good works and acts of charity’ (Acts 9:36), Cornelius as ‘a devout man who feared God with all his household; he gave alms generously to the people’ (10:2, 4, 31), and Paul reminds the elders of Ephesus to support the weak and remember the words of Jesus ‘It is more blessed to give than to receive’ (20:35). John the Baptist is a voice for the evangelist’s views. The call to ‘bear fruit worthy of repentance’ goes beyond the acceptance of faith in Christ. It also strives at building a Christian ‘welfare community’ which is mindful of the weak and distributes its material assets and wealth with absolute equality.134 This, according to Luke, is how John gives ‘knowledge of salvation to his people by the forgiveness of their sins’ (Luke 1:77).135

Concluding Comments John’s message, as we have it, is inextricably tied to the Christian gospel and distinctly separated from the beliefs prevalent in the principal Jewish sources of the first-​century CE. Within the Gospels, concepts such as ‘repentance’, ‘kingdom of heaven’, ‘the coming one’, ‘baptism’, ‘forgiveness of sins’, ‘holy spirit’, ‘the wrath to come’, ‘fruit worthy of repentance’, ‘children of Abraham’, are all interpreted in a Christian sense. The strictly God-​oriented teshuvah/​repentance, the allegiance to Torah commandments and temple cult, the expectation for a national, earthly and historical redemption, which were the underpinnings of Jewish society in the Second Temple period, are in John’s message replaced by faith in Jesus Christ, as the pathway to a personal transcendent redemption that would occur at the end-​time and beyond history. It is on account of his Christian message and his call to embrace faith in Christ as the only path to salvation, that John the Baptist merits the title of first Christian believer.



134

Sheffler (‘The Social Ethics of the Lucan Baptist’, p. 30) takes these verses to be a Midrash on καρπὸν ἀξιον τῆς μετανοίας. 135 Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke X–​XXIV, p. 465.

2

The New Jeremiah in the New Testament: Concerning Some Narrative Strategies in Luke David (Dmitry) Kopeliovich The Open University of Israel

It is well known that biblical heroes are sometimes used by later authors as models for shaping new, postbiblical characters. In other words, these Bible characters are prototypes of their ‘descendants’.1 Such typological strategy is based on the theological assumption that human history is directed by God who has a very specific purpose in the sequence of events. God connects between the past, present and future and creates some typological recurrence in history. From this perspective, past events are especially important since they do not end their role after they happen, but continue to exist, turning into the pattern for the future. In Jewish medieval commentary, this approach has been called ‘The fathers’ acts are a sign for the children’(‫)מעשה אבות סימן לבנים‬. This idiom is based on the early Midrash: ‘The Holy One, Blessed be He, said to Abraham: “Let go and make a path for your sons”. You find that everything written concerning Abraham is also written concerning his sons’ (Gen. R. 40:6); ‘The Holy One, Blessed be He, said to him: “Sit down. You are a sign for your sons” ’ (Gen. R. 48:7) and later: ‘The Holy One, Blessed be He, gave

1 This phenomenon is found in the Bible itself: for example, the story of crossing the Jordan in Joshua 3 is similar to the story of crossing the Sea of Reeds in Exodus 14, and Joshua resembles Moses; the people of Gibeah behave like the people of Sodom (cf. Judges 20 and Genesis 19); Mordecai from the book of Esther, promoted by the Persian king, looks like a ‘remake’ of Joseph from the book of Genesis (cf. Mordecai’s parade riding on the horse and Joseph’s parade riding in the king’s chariot) etc.

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a sign to Abraham: everything which has happened to him, is going to happen to his sons’ (Tanh., Leh Leha 9). From the philological point of view, this phenomenon can be identified with one of the most prominent expressions of intertextuality, when a later text leans on an early one and creates both explicit and implicit links to it. Through these links, the author of the later composition reacts to the early one, interprets it and, at the same time, gives the reader some basis for understanding his own text. One can say that the new author ‘updates’ the old composition, reshaping its plot or characters but situating them in different circumstances and giving them other names. Metaphorically speaking, he puts new wine in old bottles.2 One of the most prolific fields for the usage of Bible typology patterns is the New Testament narratives. Many studies have been devoted to this topic. For example, scholars have written about the analogy between John the Baptist and Jesus, on the one hand, and the biblical Elijah and Elisha, on the other.3 In addition, the connection between Jesus and 2 Regarding the intertextuality in the biblical narratives, see, for example M. Fishbane, Biblical interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1985); Y. Zakovitch, An introduction to Inner-​Biblical Interpretation (in Hebrew; Even Yehuda, Reches Publishing House Educational Projects Ltd., 1992); Y. Zakovitch, Through the Looking Glass: Reflection Stories in the Bible (in Hebrew; Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad Publishing House Ltd., 1995); Y. Zakovitch, Inner-​biblical and Extra-​ biblical Midrash and the Relationship between Them (in Hebrew; Tel Aviv: Am Oved, 2009); G. Marquis, Explicit Literary Allusions in Biblical Historiography (The Pentateuch and Former Prophets) (in Hebrew; PhD diss., Jerusalem: The Hebrew University, 1999); about the intertextuality between the biblical and extra-​biblical narratives see, for example S.A. White, ‘In the steps of Jael and Deborah: Judith as Heroine’, in ‘No One Spoke Ill of Her’: Essays on Judith, SBL, Early Judaism and its Literature 2 (ed. J.C. VanderKam; Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1992), pp. 5–​ 16; A. Roitman and A. Shapira, ‘The Book of Judith As “Reflection Story” of the Book of Esther’, Beit Mikra 179 (2004), pp. 127–​143 (in Hebrew); D. Kopeliovich, ‘Intertextuality in Jewish Literature of the Second Temple Period’, Moed 19 (2009), pp. 54–​80 (in Hebrew); D. Daube, ‘Typology in Josephus’, JSS 31 (1980), pp. 18–​ 36; S.H.D. Cohen, ‘Josephus, Jeremiah, and Polybius’, History and Theory 21 (1982), pp. 366–​381. 3 R.E. Brown, ‘Jesus and Elisha’, Perspective 12 (1971), pp. 86–​104; P. Hinnebusch, Jesus, the New Elijah (Ann Arbor, MI: Servant Books, 1978); D.G. Bostock, ‘Jesus as the New Elisha’, The Expository Times 91 (1980), pp. 39–​41; T.L. Brodie, Luke the Literary Interpreter: Luke-​Acts as a Systematic Rewriting and Updating of the Elijah-​Elisha Narrative in 1 and 2 Kings (PhD diss., Rome: Pontifical University of St. Thomas Aquinas, 1981); T.L. Brodie, The Crucial Bridge: The Elijah-​Elisha Narrative as an Interpretative Synthesis of Genesis-​Kings and a Literary Model for the Gospels (Collegeville: A Michael Glazier Book, The Liturgical Press, 2000); W. Roth,

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Moses (especially in Matthew) has drawn the attention of researchers.4 5 The figures of David and Solomon are also mentioned in this context. At the same time, it has been proved that the infancy narratives in Matthew and Luke are based on the Bible model of the birth story (the stories about the Patriarchs, Moses, Samson and Samuel).6 Among the potential candidates for the role of Jesus’ prototype, Jeremiah occupies an important place. There are at least two factors which could connect between these two individuals. First, Jeremiah was the prophet of the new covenant between God and the people of Israel, and the expression ‘new covenant’ (‫( ;ברית חדשה‬ἡ) διαθήκη καινή) itself first appears in the book of Jeremiah (31:30–​33). It is obvious that the concept of new covenant (the future New Testament) had shaped the consciousness of the New Testament authors who connected this concept to Jesus and his message. Second –​ and more crucial for our research, Jeremiah, whose prophecies anticipated doom and destruction par excellence, was persecuted by his own people, from the elite of society (kings, high-​rank officials, priests and prophets) down to the common people. They threaten Jeremiah, beat him, imprison him, sue him and seek his death (Jer. 11:21; 18:18; 20:1–​3; 26). The scroll of his prophecies is destroyed (36), and he is accused of treachery and sent to the pit where he nearly drowns (37–​38). Since in his prophecy Jeremiah often denounces the Temple, it is natural that the priests head the struggle against the prophet. In this respect, the similarity between Jeremiah and

Hebrew Gospel: Cracking the Code of Mark (Oak Park, IL: Meyer Stone Books, 1988); D. Miller and P. Miller, The Gospel of Mark as Midrash on Earlier Jewish and New Testament Literature, Studies in the Bible and Early Christianity 21 (Lewiston: The Edwin Mellen Press, 1990). 4 W.D. Davies, The Setting of the Sermon on the Mount (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1964); W.A. Meeks, The Prophet-​King: Moses Traditions and the Johannine Christology, NovTSup 14 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1967); Miller and Miller, The Gospel of Mark as Midrash on Earlier Jewish and New Testament Literature, pp. 87–​ 113; D.C. Allison, The New Moses: A Matthean Typology (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1993). 5 Davies, The Setting of the Sermon on the Mount, pp. 74–​77; Miller and Miller The Gospel of Mark as Midrash on Earlier Jewish and New Testament Literature, pp. 261–​293. 6 R.E. Brown, The Birth of the Messiah: a Commentary on the Infancy Narratives in the Gospels of Matthew and Luke, The Anchor Yale Bible Reference Library (New York: Daubleday, 1977); M.M. Bourke, ‘The Literary Genus of Matthew 1–​2’, CBQ 22 (1960), pp. 160–​175.

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Jesus is especially evident. The case-​study story discussed in the present paper is directly related to this theme. However, before we begin the discussion, let us make one preliminary remark. Despite the importance of Jeremiah’s typological role in shaping Jesus’ image in the Gospel narrative, we have recently witnessed only one comprehensive study on this theme: Jeremiah in Matthew’s Gospel: The Rejected Prophet Motif in Matthean Redaction by M. Knowles.7 From this title, it clearly follows that Knowles engages just with Matthew’s Gospel. And it is no accidental choice. This is the only Gospel to mention Jeremiah explicitly: by citing twice from the book of Jeremiah (Mt. 2:17–​18; 27:9–​108) and by identifying him with Jesus (16:13–​14): ‘Now when Jesus came into the district of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples: “Who do men say that the Son of man is?” And they said: ‘Some say John the Baptist, others say Elijah, and others Jeremiah or one of the prophets (Ἱερεμίαν ἢ ἕνα τῶν προφητῶν)” ’. A similar scene appears in the other Synoptic Gospels; however, they do not mention Jeremiah (cf. Mk 8:27–​28; Lk. 9:18–​19). In Knowles’s opinion, Jesus in Matthew is described as the new Jeremiah, since the basis of Matthew’s story is the Deuteronomistic conception of Jewish history which emphasizes the motif of rejected prophet (cf. 2 Kgs 17:13–​14; Neh. 9:26; 2 Chron. 7 M. Knowles, Jeremiah in Mathew’s Gospel: The Rejected Prophet Motif in Matthean Redaction, JSNTSup 68 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1993). Noteworthy are two earlier papers which treat the question of Jeremiah’s typology in the New Testament narratives: H. Kremers, Der leidende Prophet: Das Prophetenbild der Prosaüberlieferung des Jeremjabuches und seine Bedeutung unnerhalb der Prophetie Israels (PhD diss., Göttingen, 1952); see also: H. Kremers, ‘Leidensgemeinschaft mit Gott im Alten Testament: Eine Untersuchung der “biographischen” Berichte im Jeremiabuch’, EvT 13 (1953), pp. 122–​140); C. Wolff, Jeremia im Frühjudentum und Urchristentum, Texte und Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der altchristlichen Literatur 118 (Berlin: Akademie-​Verlag, 1976). 8 Actually the second citation (‘Then was fulfilled what has been spoken by the prophet Jeremiah, saying, “And they took the thirty pieces of silver, the price of him on whom a price had been set by some of the sons of Israel, and they gave them for the potter’s field, as the Lord directed me” ’) has nothing to do with the book of Jeremiah and is based on Zechariah’s prophecy (11:12–​13). In some versions of Matthew’s text, the name of Zechariah appears instead of Jeremiah. Nonetheless, there are researchers who support the version with Jeremiah’s name. See for example: J.W. Doeve, Jewish Hermeneutics in the Synoptic Gospels and Acts (Assen: Van Gorcum, 1954), pp. 185–​ 186; Knowles, Jeremiah in Mathew’s Gospel: The Rejected Prophet Motif in Matthean Redaction, pp. 52–​81; W.D. Davies and D.C. Allison, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel According to Saint Matthew, ICC, vol. III: Commentary on Matthew XIX–​XXVIII (Edinburgh: T. and T. Clark Ltd., 1997), pp. 568–​571.

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36:15–​16). Through this conception, the redactor of the first Gospel wants to explain the Second Temple destruction in 70 AD. Now, the question is whether the silence in the other Gospels concerning Jeremiah is evidence of indifference to the typological role of this persecuted prophet in shaping Jesus’ figure? Or are there some implicit links between Jeremiah and Jesus in the other Gospels too? In order to answer this question, let us turn to a story which appears under different forms in all the four Gospels (Mt. 21:12–​17; Mk 11:15–​19; Lk. 19:45–​ 48; Jn 2:13–​22): the story about the cleansing of the Temple.9 There are some differences between the four versions of the story in terms of content and style. Of major importance for us is that the synoptic versions of the story include implicit allusion to Jeremiah. Let’s look at the main points of the plot. Jesus enters the Temple and expels the sellers and buyers10; he then overturns the tables of the money-​changers and the seats of those who sold pigeons.11 After this action, Jesus addresses them angrily, saying: ‘Is it not written: “My House shall be called a house of prayer for all the nations”? But you have made it a den of robbers’ (Mk 11:17).12 This is a synoptic version. However, in the Fourth Gospel, Jesus says other words: ‘Take these things away; you shall not make my Father’s house a house of trade’. According to two of the Synoptics (Mark and Luke), the people’s leaders (first and foremost, the chief priests and the scribes) are abused by Jesus’ speech and seek to destroy him, but do not succeed in their plans. Luke adds that, at that time, Jesus was teaching daily in the Temple, and the chief priests, the scribes and the principal men of the people couldn’t stop him. Matthew’s story is slightly different: 9 This research is based on one chapter from the PhD thesis: D. Kopeliovich, ‘A Prophet is not without honor except in his own country and in his own house’ (Matt. 13:57): the motif of Jeremiah’s persecution by the people of Israel in the biblical and early extra-​ biblical narrative, and its function in the shaping of the narrative in the Gospels (PhD diss., Jerusalem: The Hebrew University, 2012). 10 This is Matthew’s and Mark’s version. Here Luke mentions the sellers only, whereas John also talks about the oxen, sheep and pigeon sellers; Jesus, in his version, makes a whip of cords and drives all of them out of the Temple. 11 This detail also appears in Matthew’s and Mark’s versions, but it is absent in Luke’s story. John adds that Jesus poured out the coins of the money-​changers. Mark has another addition: Jesus ‘would not allow anyone to carry anything through the Temple’ (11:16). 12 There are some textual differences in this verse between Mark, Matthew and Luke (for example Matthew and Luke don’t read ‘for all the nations’), but this is irrelevant to the discussion here.

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after Jesus speaks in the Temple, the blind and the lame come to him, and he heals them. When the chief priests and the scribes see Jesus’ miracles and hear the children crying out in the Temple: ‘Hosanna to the son of David’, they are angry with Jesus and reproach him. Jesus answers them with a verse from Psalms and leaves the city. In John’s version of the story, Jesus argues with the Jews (οἱ Ἰουδαῖοι) about the Temple and promises to raise it up within three days after its destruction. This serves as a sign of his authority, licensing him to cleanse the Temple. The Jews do not believe him because they cannot understand that the Temple, in Jesus’ words, is an allegory of his body. But when Jesus is raised from the dead, his disciples remember his words and believe this. In other words, John turns the story into a kind of theological treaty. After sketching the main points of the story, let us ask: what makes Jesus so aggressive? There are a few possible explanations.13 On the one hand, Jesus’ action looks like fulfillment of Zechariah’s prophecy (14:21): ‘And there shall no longer be Canaanites in the house of the Lord of hosts on that day’. The word ‘Canaanite’ (‫ )כנעני‬can be interpreted here, and in some other places in the Bible, as a trader. For example: ‘… whose merchants (‫ )סחריה‬were princes, whose traders (‫ )כנעניה‬were the honored of the earth’ (Isa. 23:8). The meaning of the word under discussion becomes understandable from the parallelism: ‫​כנעניה‬//‫( סחריה‬cf. also Hos. 12:8

13 This question has been widely discussed. We will mention here a few recent researches whose contribution to the discussion seems very important: E.P. Sanders, Jesus and Judaism (Philadelphia, PA: Fortress Press, 1985), pp. 61–​76; C.A. Evans, ‘Jesus’ Action in the Temple: Cleansing or Portent of Destruction?’, CBQ 51 (1989), pp. 237–​270; C.A. Evans, ‘From “House of Prayer” to “Cave of Robbers”: Jesus’ Prophetic Criticism of the Temple Establishment’, in The Quest for Context and Meaning: Studies in Biblical Intertextuality in Honor of James A. Sanders (eds. C.A. Evans and S. Talmon; Leiden and New York, Köln: E.J. Brill, 1997), pp. 417–​442; A.Y. Collins, ‘Jesus’ Action in Herod’s Temple’, in Antiquity and Humanity: Essays on Ancient Religion and Philosophy. Presented to Hans Dieter Betz on His 70th Birthday (eds. A.Y. Collins and M.M. Mitchell; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001), pp. 45–​61. See also the following commentaries: R.E. Brown, The Gospel According to John (I –​ XII): Introduction, Translation, and Notes, AB 29 (New York: Doubleday, Company, Inc., 1966); J.A. Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke (X–​XXIV): Introduction, Translation, and Notes, AB 28A (New York: Doubleday, Company, Inc., 1985); Davies and Allison, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel According to Saint Matthew; J. Marcus, Mark 8 –​16: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 27A (New Haven, CT and London: Yale University Press, 2009).

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and Prov. 31:24).14 So, expecting the Eschaton, Jesus expels the sellers and buyers and fulfills the biblical prophecy. Moreover, Zechariah’s words can be interpreted not only as a prophecy, but also as a real imperative: one cannot tolerate the traders in the Temple because their presence in the holy place profanes it.15 Indeed, Jesus addresses them with an invective speech and condemns their sin. The connection with Zechariah’s prophecy is more evident in John’s version of the story: here Jesus emphasizes that the sellers turned the Temple into a house of trade (οἶκον ἐμπορίου).16 However, it is known that the presence of traders and money-​changers in the Temple buildings was accepted and even necessary in those days. It is there that people coming to Jerusalem for the festival sacrifice could buy an animal for offering and thereby avoid the need to bring it from home. In addition, they could change their money there, if necessary. So, Jesus’ behavior appears to be very odd and inappropriate, if his purpose was strictly to prevent trade in the Temple.17 Therefore, some interpret��ers prefer to explain Jesus’ action as protest against the corruption of the traders. In other words, it was not the trade itself that made Jesus so angry, but rather the deception and fraud which very often accompanied those transactions.18 This explanation draws attention to the implicit use of Jeremiah’s prophecy in Jesus’ speech according to the Synoptic version. When Jesus says: ‘But you have made it a den of robbers’ (Mt. 21:13; Mk 11:17; Lk. 19:46), he alludes to Jeremiah’s reproach (7:11):

14 The Canaanites and the Phoenicians were known in the ancient world as professional traders. This fact explains the metaphoric use of the name ‘Canaanite’ for the trader. Although it is possible that Zechariah originally used this word in the literal meaning, we can see that the Aramaic Targum already interpreted it metaphorically (cf. also the Ibn Ezra commentary for the verse under discussion). 15 The above-​mentioned detail, which appears in Mark’s version (11:16), can support this interpretation: ‘And he would not allow anyone to carry anything through the Temple’, for Jesus’ opposition to this habitual practice could reflect his principal demand to remove the profane activities from the Temple (cf. m. Ber. 9:5: ‘A man should not enter the Temple Mount with his staff or while wearing his shoes or with his money belt or with dusty feet nor should he make it a short cut…’). 16 Nevertheless, it should be said that Zechariah’s prophecy is not mentioned in the Gospels story. Therefore one can assume that this story doesn’t depend directly on the prophecy, but rather reflects a later stage in the development of the motif, whose supposed beginning can be found in Zechariah. 17 See Sanders, Jesus and Judaism, pp.63–​65. 18 See Evans, ‘Jesus’ Action in the Temple: Cleansing or Portent of Destruction?’, pp. 243–​264.

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‘Is My house, where on My name is called, a den of robbers (‫;מערת פרצים‬ 19 σπήλαιον λῃστῶν ) in your eyes?’ In his prophecy, Jeremiah condemns the people of Israel of inconceivable hypocrisy: they commit terrible crimes and then dare come to the Temple to make a sacrifice. They are sure that the Temple is a guarantee of their invulnerability. Jeremiah strongly rejects this view and contends that the Temple will not save the sinners. It seems that Jesus also expels the traders from the Temple in order to express his aversion to hypocritical service and emphasize the futility of such service (indeed, he repeatedly condemns leaders of the people, especially the Pharisees and the scribes, of hypocrisy). It is noteworthy that in the same place Jesus explicitly quotes Isaiah’s prophecy using the introductory expression (formula): ‘Is it not written (γέγραπται): “My House shall be called a house of prayer for all the nations”?’.20 So, Jesus uses Isaiah as the biblical text, but adopts Jeremiah’s words as his own reproach.21 One can understand Jesus’ words in such a way: the Temple is intended to be a house of prayer, as it is written in the Bible, but you profaned this holy place and turned it into a den of robbers. Consequently, in the Synoptic Gospels Jesus is presented as a new Jeremiah. Moreover, this new Jeremiah doesn’t limit himself to invective speech, but really takes steps to stop the profanation and expels the profaners. It may perhaps be a symbolic action that hints at the future destruction of the Temple (overturning of the tables) and exile of the people (expulsion of the traders). Jesus disrupts the Temple service, which could symbolize the ceasing of the service after the destruction.22 If this interpretation is correct, Jesus behaves like one of the prophets who are often sent to perform some symbolic action. In particular, his behavior corresponds to 19 This Greek expression appears in the Septuagint translation of Jer. 7:11, and is used by Jesus. 20 Mathew and Luke omit the concluding expression ‘for all the nations’ (about this omission see Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke (X –​XXIV): Introduction, Translation, and Notes, p. 1261; Davies and Allison, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel According to Saint Matthew, p. 133). 21 For discussion of this issue, see Knowles, Jeremiah in Mathew’s Gospel: The Rejected Prophet Motif in Matthean Redaction, pp. 173–​176; Davies and Allison, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel According to Saint Matthew, pp. 139–​140; Marcus, Mark 8 –​16: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, pp. 783–​784. 22 See Sanders, Jesus and Judaism, pp. 61–​76.

The New Jeremiah in the New Testament

79

the symbolic activity of Jeremiah (e.g. Jer. 13:1–​7; 18:1–​4; 19:1–​2; 27:1–​ 3; 32:6–​14; 43:8–​9). Nevertheless, there is also an evident difference between Jesus and the biblical prophets in this respect: the Bible explicitly labels the prophetic action as symbolic and explains its meaning, whereas in the Gospel story, we do not find these elements. Therefore, we can hardly prove the hypothesis under discussion. But if we compare this story with the story of Jeremiah’s conflict with the Temple establishment following the prophet’s speech (Jer. 7:1–​15; 26), we can see that Jesus’ aggression makes this conflict sharper. However, only in two of the Gospels (Mark and Luke) do we find the description of Jesus’ persecution by this establishment following the expulsion of the traders. The priests and the scribes (and the principal figures, according to Luke’s version) want to destroy Jesus but are unsuccessful. It seems that Jesus is described here as one of the persecuted prophets in general, and as Jeremiah, in particular. The similarity between Jesus and Jeremiah at this point is more evident in Luke’s story. Let’s look at the context of the expulsion story in Luke. When Jesus enters Jerusalem and before he comes to the Temple, he begins to weep over the future destruction of the city: ‘Would that even today you knew the things that make for peace! But now they are hid from your eyes. For the days shall come upon you, when your enemies will cast up a bank about you and surround you, and hem you in on every side, and dash you to the ground, you and your children within you, and they will not leave one stone upon another in you; because you did not know the time of your visitation’ (Lk. 19:42–​44). In this passage, there are some allusions to Jeremiah. First, in Second Temple Jewish traditions, Jeremiah was perceived as one who laments over Jerusalem. The first evidence of this tradition is the Septuagint translation of the book of Lamentations (Eha) which twice explicitly ascribes the book to Jeremiah: in the title ΘΡΗΝΟΙ ΙΕΡΕΜΙΟΥ and in the prosaic introduction: ‘And it came to pass, after Israel was taken captive, and Jerusalem made desolate, that Jeremiah sat weeping, and lamented with this lamentation over Jerusalem, and said…’. This tradition is further developed and shaped in the Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha (cf. for example 4 Baruch (Paralipomena Jeremiae Prophetae) 2–​3) and in rabbinic literature (cf. Targ. Lam. 1:1; b. B. Bat. 15a). Second, the close succession of the two episodes, namely the expulsion story and the lamentation over Jerusalem, is very meaningful for the comparison between Jesus and Jeremiah. As has already been noted,

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the quotation from Jer. 7:11 links the appearance of Jesus in the Temple to Jeremiah’s temple speech. But before this speech, we also find a bitter prophecy about the destruction of Jerusalem, and this prophecy includes a call to weep over the heavy disaster (Jeremiah 6, especially verse 26). Third, according to Jeremiah 26, the priests, prophets and all of the people arrest Jeremiah after he concludes his prophesy (which is actually a short version of the Temple speech), and want to put him to death. According to Mark and Luke, a similar attempt is made by Jesus’ enemies after his action in the Temple. However, the three-​stage composition (the lamentation over Jerusalem; Jesus’ arrival at the Temple and his accusatory speech; the attempt of Jesus’ enemies to destroy him) is found only in Luke, and seems to hinge on the sequence of events described in Jeremiah. It is only in Luke’s version that Jesus is persecuted by three groups of enemies, i.e. by the priests, the scribes and the principal men (Mark and Matthew mention the chief priests and the scribes only; John tells that Jesus argues with the Jews). Similarly, in the story about Jeremiah’s persecution, following his Temple speech, there are three groups of persecutors: the priests, the prophets (the false prophets according to the Septuagint) and all of the people (Jeremiah 26:7–​8). Let us compare the groups of enemies in the two stories. Concerning the first group, namely the priests, there is full correspondence between Jeremiah’s story and Jesus’ story. It is quite natural that the priests, as the Temple administrators, take care of the service and the order in their domain of responsibility. They perceive both Jeremiah and Jesus as real offenders of the sacred place. But what about the prophets and the scribes, is there any correspondence between them? Let’s look at Jer. 8:10. The Masoretic text reads as follows: ‫​כהן כלה עשה שקר‬-‫​גדול כלה בצע בצע מנביא ועד‬-‫כי מקטן ועד‬..., namely: ‘For from the smallest to the greatest they are all greedy for gain; priest and prophet alike, they all act falsely’. This segment is absent in the Septuagint, but of particular interest is its translation in the Targum of Jeremiah: ‫ארי מן זעירא ועד רבא כולהון אנסי ממון מספר ועד כהן כולהון עבדי שקר‬. We see that the translator substituted the scribe (‫ )ספר‬for the prophet. This choice was probably influenced by the mention of scribes two verses earlier: ‫איכה תאמרו חכמים אנחנו ותורת ה ’ אתנו אכן הנה לשקר עשה עט שקר ספרים‬,

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namely: ‘How can you say: “We are wise, and we possess the law of the 23 Lord”? Assuredly, for naught has the pen labored, for naught the scribes’. However, the same substitution occurs in Tg. Jer. 23:11 where the Septuagint translates literally: προφήτης, ‘prophet’. Although the Targum of Jeremiah was made relatively late (approximately the fourth century A.D.),24 it possibly absorbed more ancient traditions, even those which were shaped in the late Second Temple period. Actually, we can find the tendency to look at the prophets as the scribes already in the book of Chronicles (cf. for ­example 1 Chron. 29:29; 2 Chron. 9:29; 12:15; 13:22 etc.). Of course, the rabbinic tradition developed and strengthened this tendency (cf. b. B. Bat. 14b-​15a). On the other hand, the scribes are not very different from the sages, and both terms designate the Tora teachers in the rabbinic tradition (as a matter of fact, we find this identification already in the Bible, cf. Ezra 7:6). Then, in the Talmud, the sages are described as successors of the prophets: ‘From the day that the [First] Temple had been destroyed, the prophecy was taken from the prophets and given to the sages’ (b. B. Bat. 12a). In addition, the Gospels link the sages with the prophets, sometimes implicitly. Matthew says that ‘the scribes and the Pharisees [really the predecessors of the Mishna teachers] sit on Moses’ seat’ (23:2). One should remember that in the Jewish and early Christian traditions, Moses was perceived as the supreme prophet, ‘the father of the prophets’. Further in this chapter, it is told that the prophets, the sages and the scribes are sent by God to the people, and that they will be persecuted by the latter (23:34). At the same time, Jesus accuses the contemporary scribes and Pharisees of hypocrisy and persecution of those whom God sends, making them similar to the ‘false’ prophets in Jeremiah (23:14–​36; cf. Jer. 8:10; 23:11–​14; 26: 7–​8, 11; 28). So, it seems there is some continuity from the ‘false’ prophets in the Bible to the scribes and the sages in the Gospels. Concerning the third group of persecutors, at first glance there is no correspondence between the Jeremiah story, where all the people (‫)כל העם‬ are mentioned, and Luke who talks of the principal men (οἱ πρῶτοι τοῦ 23 Cf. the commentary of Rashi to the word ‫ ספרים‬in this verse: ‫נביאכם‬, namely ‘your prophet(s)’. 24 See R. Hayward, The Targum of Jeremiah, Translated, with a Critical Introduction, Apparatus, and Notes, The Aramaic Bible (The Targums) 12 (Wilmington, NC: Michael Glazier, Inc., 1987), pp. 34–​38.

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λαοῦ). Nevertheless, if we look at the Greek translation of Jeremiah, we find the expression πᾶς ὁ λαὸς which includes the same element as Luke’s designation: (οἱ πρῶτοι) τοῦ λαοῦ, literally ‘the people (leaders)’. One can suppose that at this stage, Luke was interested in emphasizing the responsibility of the people’s leadership for the persecution of Jesus. However, later –​in the story of Jesus’ arrest and trial –​he also mentions the people (τὸν λαὸν) among those who take part in the persecution of Jesus (cf. Lk. 23:13). Incidentally, here we encounter another category of leaders which is distinctive of Luke: the rulers (τοὺς ἄρχοντας). It is noteworthy that the same word is used by the Septuagint for translating the Hebrew ‫ השרים‬in Jer. 26:11; 12:16.25 Let’s return to Jesus’ lamentation in Luke. In addition to the general similarity in the motif of weeping over Jerusalem, there are discernible textual parallels between this lament and Jeremiah’s prophecies.26 For example, Jesus’ statement that Jerusalem knows not ‘the things that make for peace’ (τὰ πρὸς εἰρήνην) is reminiscent of Jeremiah’s reproach (Jer. 6:14; 8:11): ‘And they healed offhand the breach of My people, saying “Peace, peace”, but there is no peace’ (‫​נקלה לאמר שלום שלום‬-‫​שבר עמי על‬-‫וירפאו את‬ ‫)ואין שלום‬. And the Septuagint translates Jer. 6:14 as: εἰρήνη εἰρήνη καὶ ποῦ ἐστιν εἰρήνη, namely: ‘ “Peace, peace”, but where is peace?’. Also, the phrase ‘the time of your visitation’ (τὸν καιρὸν τῆς ἐπισκοπῆς σου) seemingly depends on the prophetic expression ‫עת פקדתך‬, particularly in the

25 The role of ‘all the people’ in Jeremiah’s trial story is unclear. On the one hand, they take part in the persecution of Jeremiah together with the priests and the prophets, and demand to put him to death (Jer. 26:7–​9). But on the other hand, at a later stage of the story, they turn into the judges and, like the rulers, conclude that Jeremiah is innocent (Jer. 26: 11–​16). On this issue, see for example G. Brin, The Prophet in his Struggles: Studies in Four Biographical Narratives in the Prophetic Literature (in Hebrew; Raanana: Mif ’alim Universitaim, 1983), pp.72–​73; R.P. Carroll, Jeremiah: A Commentary, OTL (London: SCM Press Ltd., 1986), p. 517; W. McKane, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Jeremiah, ICC, vol. II: Commentary on Jeremiah XXVI–​LII (Edinburgh: T. and T. Clark, 1996), p. 662. 26 See Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke (X –​XXIV): Introduction, Translation, and Notes, pp. 1255, 1258–​1259.

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83

case of Jeremiah (cf. Isa. 10:3; Jer. 6: 1527; 8:1228; 10:15; 46:21; 50:2729; 30 51:18). Our investigation of the Gospel story about the cleansing of the Temple shows that only Luke sought to describe Jesus as a new Jeremiah. On the basis of the Synoptic hypothesis which assumes the dependence of Matthew and Luke on Mark, we can try to reconstruct the following redaction development:

–​ the motif of persecuted prophet and implicit allusion to Jeremiah is already found in Mark’s version of the story, however there is here no systematic and consistent attempt to shape Jesus’ figure according to Jeremiah’s pattern; –​ Matthew doesn’t focus on the persecuted prophet motif and, after the story at issue, he adds the episode of Jesus’ healing of the blind and the lame; Jesus’ dispute with the chief priests and the scribes concerns the children crying out in the Temple: ‘Hosanna to the Son of David!’ (21:15). It seems that for Matthew it was important to emphasize the messianic component of Jesus’ person (although the people call him a prophet, too, cf. 21:11). The same tendency is evident in the preceding scene, i.e. Jesus’ arrival at Jerusalem when the people follow him and also cry: ‘Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest!’ (21:9)31; –​ Luke reinforces the links between Jesus and Jeremiah, creating the three-​stage composition (the lamentation over Jerusalem; Jesus’ arrival at the Temple and his accusatory speech; the attempt of Jesus enemies to destroy him) and highlighting both the motif of persecuted prophet and the prophet who weeps over Jerusalem. 27 According to the Septuagint reading, whereas in the Masoretic text we read here ‫בעת‬ ‫פקדתים‬, namely ‘at the time when I visit (i.e. punish) them’. 28 This verse is absent from the Septuagint. 29 In the last two verses, the Septuagint reads καιρὸς ἐκδικήσεως αὐτῶν, namely ‘time of their retribution’. 30 There is one more expression in Jesus’ lamentation which is similar to prophetic usage. When Jesus describes the future destruction of Jerusalem, he mentions a bank which the enemies will build (καὶ παρεμβαλοῦσιν οἱ ἐχθροί σου χάρακά σοι); cf. Isa. 29:3; Jer. 6:6; Ezek. 4:2; 26:8. However, the Septuagint reading in Jer. 6:6 doesn’t include this expression, so the comparison between Luke and Jeremiah in this respect becomes problematic. 31 See Davies and Allison, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel According to Saint Matthew, p. 142.

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These conclusions can contribute to the redaction criticism research of the Synoptic Gospels. However, it is necessary to examine other episodes in Luke in order to develop a more comprehensive picture of his narrative strategies, and to substantiate our hypothesis on the implicit analogy between Jesus and Jeremiah in the third Gospel. Such investigation would most likely uncover Luke’s systematic attempt to shape Jesus’ figure as a new Jeremiah. But that is a subject for future study.

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Moses and Jesus as Bearers of God’s Logos in the Prologue of John and the Question of John’s Christology1 Serge Ruzer The Hebrew University of Jerusalem

It is true that the Synoptic narrative also offers an explicit comparison between Jesus and Moses in the foundational Transfiguration episode, related with minor variations in Matthew, Mark and Luke (Matt 17:1–​9; cf. Mark 9:2–​10; Luke 9:28–​36)2: And after six days Jesus took with him Peter and James and John his brother, and led them up a high mountain apart. 2 And he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his garments became white as light. 3 And behold, there appeared to them Moses and Elijah, talking with him.4 And Peter said to Jesus, ‘Lord, it is well that we are here; if you wish, I will make three booths here, one for you and one for Moses and one for Elijah’. 5 He was still speaking, when lo, a bright cloud overshadowed them, and a voice from the cloud said, ‘This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to him’. 6 When the disciples heard this, they fell on their faces, and were filled with awe. 7 But Jesus came and touched them, saying, ‘Rise, and have no fear’. 8 And when they lifted up their eyes, they saw no one but Jesus only. 9 And as they were coming down the mountain, Jesus commanded them, ‘Tell no one the vision, until the Son of man is raised from the dead’. 1 Another version of this study has been incorporated as Chapter 7 in my book Early Jewish Messianism in the New Testament: Reflections in the Dim Mirror (Jewish and Christian Perspectives Series 36; Leiden: Brill, 2020). 2 English quotations from both the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament throughout this article follow –​sometimes with slight modifications –​the Revised Standard Version.

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The general reference in this episode to the shining face of Moses 3 coming down from Mt. Sinai is clear, and it is aided here by the Markan-​ Matthean mention of the six days and of the disciples’ awe/​fear, referring to the same biblical episode (Exod 24:13–​16; 34:29–​31)4: So Moses rose with his servant Joshua, and Moses went up into the mountain of God. 14And he said to the elders, ‘Tarry here for us, until we come to you again; and, behold, Aaron and Hur are with you; whoever has a cause, let him go to them’. 15 Then Moses went up on the mountain, and the cloud covered the mountain. 16 The glory of the LORD settled on Mount Sinai, and the cloud covered it six days; and on the seventh day, he called to Moses out of the midst of the cloud…. 34:29: When Moses came down from Mount Sinai, with the two tables of the testimony in his hand as he came down from the mountain, Moses did not know that the skin of his face shone because he had been talking with God. 30 And when Aaron and all the people of Israel saw Moses, behold, the skin of his face shone, and they were afraid to come near him. 31But Moses called to them; and Aaron and all the leaders of the congregation returned to him, and Moses talked with them.5

Jesus seems also to have been presented –​though without explicit mention of Moses’ name –​as replaying additional important elements of the latter’s biography, e.g., in Matt 4:2 (‘and he fasted forty days and forty nights’; cf. Mark 1:13 and Luke 4:2, where no fasting is mentioned), and in Matt 2:13–​15 (the rescue of the newborn Jesus, the flight to Egypt).6 Matthew is, as a rule, more inclined to introduce additional

3 Cf. 2 Cor 3:13–​4:4. See Joseph A Fitzmyer, ‘Glory Reflected on the Face of Christ (2 Cor 3:7–​4:6) and a Palestinian Jewish Motif ’, Theological Studies 42.4 (1981), pp. 630–​644; George H. van Kooten, ‘Why did Paul include an Exegesis of Moses’ Shining Face (Exod 34) in 2 Cor 3?’ in The Significance of Sinai: Traditions about Sinai and Divine Revelation in Judaism and Christianity (ed. George J. Brooke, Hindy Najman and Loren T. Stuckenbruck; Leiden: Brill, 2008), pp. 149–​182. 4 See William D. Davies and Dale C. Allison, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel According to Saint Matthew (Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 1988–​1997), vol. 2, pp. 693–​694. 5 For relevant discussion, see, for example, J. Philip Hyatt, Commentary on Exodus (New Century Bible; London: Oliphants, 1971), pp. 326–​327; William H. Propp, Exodus 19–​40: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (The Anchor Bible; New York: Doubleday, 2006), pp. 620–​621. 6 See Davies and Allison, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary, vol. 1, pp. 259–​265. Cf. Philip L. Shuler, ‘Philo’s Moses and Matthew’s Jesus: A Comparative Study in Ancient Literature’, Studia Philonica Annual 2 (1991), pp. 86–​103.

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Mosaic references into the common Synoptic tradition. However, even in the most explicit Moses-​centered Transfiguration episode, reference to Moses is accompanied by one to Elijah; moreover, in fact, this is Elijah, on whom the Synoptic narrative focuses immediately following the Transfiguration.7 The coupling of the two –​the greatest prophet of the past and the prophet of the last days –​is clearly inspired here by the ending of the Prophetic section of the Hebrew Bible (Mal 3:22–​24)8: Remember the law of my servant Moses, the statutes and ordinances that I commanded him at Horeb for all Israel. Behold, I will send you Elijah the prophet before the great and terrible day of the LORD comes. And he will turn the hearts of fathers to their children and the hearts of children to their fathers, lest I come and smite the land with a curse.9

In a sense, this coupling is indicative of the attitude of the Synoptic tradition as a whole (including the Book of Acts penned by the author of Luke): Various key elements in Jesus’ life story are explicitly portrayed there as relating to and/​or based –​mutatis mutandis –​upon a number of key biblical protagonists. Thus, proclaiming his central message of the Kingdom, Jesus is presented in Luke 4:14–​21 as the new Isaiah.10 And Matthew, who as noted willingly increased the number of references to Moses, related Jesus alternatively to Elijah (also outside the Transfiguration episode, e.g., Matt 16:14), to Jeremiah (Matt 16:14), to Jonah (Matt 12:39–​41), to Isaac (Matt 1:1), and of course most prominently, to David (e.g., Matt 1:1–​17; 22:41:45 and pars.). The compilers

7 See Justin Taylor, ‘The Coming of Elijah, Mt 17,10–​13 and Mk 9,11–​13: The Development of the Texts’, Revue Biblique 98 (1991), pp. 107–​119; Davies and Allison, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary, vol. 2, pp. 714–​716. 8 Cf. Davies and Allison, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary, vol. 2, pp. 697–​698. 9 For a discussion of the possibly editorial character of this passage, see Andrew E. Hill, Malachi: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (The Anchor Bible; New York: Doubleday, 1998), pp. 363–​366. See also Stephen Chapman, ‘A Canonical Approach to Old Testament Theology? Deuteronomy 34:10–​12 and Malachi 3:22–​24 as Programmatic Conclusions’, Horizons in Biblical Theology 25.2 (2003), pp. 121–​145; Elie Assis, ‘Moses, Elijah and Messianic Hope: A New Reading of Malachi 3, 22–​24’, Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 123.2 (2011), pp. 207–​220. 10 See Robert L. Brawley, ‘The Identity of Jesus in Luke 4:16–​30 and the Program of Luke-​Acts’, in Luke-​Acts and the Jews: Conflict, Apology, and Conciliation (Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1987), pp. 6–​26. But cf. Hans Conzelmann, The Theology of St. Luke (Philadelphia, PA: Fortress Press, 1961), p. 193.

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of the Synoptic tradition did not hesitate to present their protagonist as not only repeating the biographical and thought patterns of biblical prototypes, but as also taking their achievements a step further and transcending their limitations –​the characteristic strategy of simultaneously conversing with ancient biblical narratives and ‘upgrading’ them discerned already within the Bible itself.11 An illuminating example of such a balance between establishing a link and polemical upgrading is found in Acts 2:22–​36, where Jesus is presented as both following the Davidic pattern and superseding David.12 John’s approach stands out as substantially different from that of the Synoptic tradition, which he seems to have known and consciously reworked.13 First, the scope of biblical characters vis-​à-​vis whom Jesus’ messianic image is built is drastically reduced here. As for explicit references, Jonah and Jeremiah are not mentioned at all. Elijah is referred to in relation only to John the Baptist, not to Jesus, and negatively –​it is claimed that John the Baptist is not someone like Elijah (John 1:21, 25). David, who could hardly have been completely overlooked because of the messianic connection, is mentioned only once and in passing in a discussion of how Jesus, who is believed to have come from Galilee and not from Bethlehem, does not fit the messiahship based on the Davidic prototype (John 7:40–​ 43).14 Abraham features prominently in John 8:31-​47 as the father of the Jewish nation, but no attempt is made to compare his life story with that of Jesus. Actually, John’s narrative shows explicit interest in only one biblical figure to provide the core point of reference for contriving Jesus’ messianic biography –​the foundational prototype of Moses,15 whose name appears in the Fourth Gospel thirteen

11 See Yair Zakovitch, ‘Mirror Images: Another Angle for Evaluating the Dramatic Personae of the Biblical Narrative’, Tarbiz 54 (1984), pp. 165–​176 (in Hebrew); David D. Kopeliovich, ‘Intertextuality in Second Temple Jewish Literature: The Book of Esther and Its Mirror Images’, Mo’ed 19 (2009), pp. 54–​80 (in Hebrew). 12 Cf. Serge Ruzer, Mapping the New Testament: Early Christian Writings as a Witness for Jewish Biblical Exegesis (Leiden: Brill, 2007), pp. 116–​122. 13 See, for example, Norman Perring and Dennis C. Duling, The New Testament: An Introduction (2nd edition; San Diego, CA: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1982), pp. 332–​ 335; Raymond E. Brown, The Gospel According to John (I–​XII) (The Anchor Bible; Garden City, NY: Doubleday), p. xliv. 14 It is instructive that the author seemingly takes no interest in repudiating the doubt. 15 See Serge Ruzer and Yair Zakovitch, In the Beginning Was the Word: Eight Conversations on the Fourth Gospel (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 2014), pp. 29–​32.

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times –​much more often than in any one of the other three canonical 16 Gospels. In this context, it is instructive that John not only creates the time frame in which Jesus’ crucifixion coincides with the offering of the Passover lambs but also introduces additional subtle references to the Exodus story, distinguishing his narrative from the Synoptic tradition.17 For example, he mentions hyssop in John 19:29 (‘A bowl of vinegar stood there; so they put a sponge full of the vinegar on hyssop and held it to his mouth’) –​in a clear reference to the crucial episode from the Exodus narrative (Exod 12:22–​23, 46): Take a bunch of hyssop and dip it in the blood which is in the basin, and touch the lintel and the two doorposts with the blood which is in the basin; and none of you shall go out of the door of his house until the morning. 23 For the LORD will pass through to slay the Egyptians; and when he sees the blood on the lintel and on the two doorposts, the LORD will pass over the door, and will not allow the destroyer to enter your houses to slay you.

Another Torah decree from the same foundational episode (Exod 12:46: ‘you shall not break a bone of it’) is also –​idiosyncratically –​ invoked by the Fourth Gospel in the context of crucifixion (19:31–​36): Since it was the day of Preparation, in order to prevent the bodies from remaining on the cross on the sabbath (for that sabbath was a high day), the Jews asked Pilate that their legs might be broken, and that they might be taken away. 32 So the soldiers came and broke the legs of the first, and of the other who had been crucified with him; 33 but when they came to Jesus and saw that he was already dead, they did not break his legs. 34 But one of the soldiers pierced his side with a spear, and at once there came out blood and water. 35 He who saw it has borne witness -​-​his testimony is true, and he knows that he tells the truth -​-​that you also may believe. 36For these things took place that the scripture might be fulfilled, ‘Not a bone of him shall be broken’.

Most astonishingly, looking for a biblical proof-​text for the crucifixion, John, unlike the Synoptics, does not invoke motifs from prophets or from Psalms but insists on finding it in the Torah. A somewhat peculiar result of this search is the comparison of the bronze serpent Moses lifted 16 In Matthew seven times, in Mark eight, in Luke ten. 17 For John’s implicit modeling of Jesus’ atoning death on Isaac’s Aqedah, see Ruzer and Zakovitch, Eight Conversations on the Fourth Gospel, pp. 45–​59.

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up in the desert according to Num 29:9 to crucified Jesus (John 3:14): ‘And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of man be lifted up’. It seems, however, that expounding Jesus’ messianic vita as grounded in that of Moses, the Fourth Gospel does this mainly vis-​à-​vis the foundational features of Moses’ biography, summarized in the Torah’s final statement (Deut 34:10–​12): And there has not arisen a prophet since in Israel like Moses, whom the LORD knew face to face, none like him for all the signs and the wonders which the LORD sent him to do in the land of Egypt, to Pharaoh and to all his servants and to all his land, and for all the mighty power and all the great and terrible deeds which Moses wrought in the sight of all Israel.

In this majestic summary, Moses is presented, first, as God’s mouthpiece, the prophet who throughout his career declared God’s word revealed to him ‘face to face’, and, second, as one who performed unheard of miracles and wonders.18 Let us start from the second trademark element of Moses’ portrait as summed up in the programmatic depiction of Moses’ mission at the end of Deuteronomy –​miracles and wonders as sure indications of his mission being ordained by God –​and its application via reworking to Jesus in the Fourth Gospel. Here also the author of John clearly departs from the Synoptic tradition: While all four canonical Gospels share the inherited memory of Jesus as a miracle worker,19 the narrative function of the miracles in John is the opposite of that in Matthew, Mark and Luke. If the success of Jesus’ miraculous deeds is often presented there as conditioned on the faith of those present (see, e.g., Matt 9:2, 22, 29–​30, 15:22 and pars.), in John, Jesus’ miraculous powers are viewed as conditioning people’s belief in him having been sent by God.20 This is epitomized in the complaint against the unbelieving Jews in John 12:37: ‘Though he had done so many signs (σημεῖα) before them, yet they did not believe in him’ (cf. John 9:16, 10:24–​25, 36–​38). The same idea is expressed on the 18 For the suggestion that this final accord actually represents a later editorial input, see, for example, Samuel R. Driver, Deuteronomy (The International Critical Commentary; Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 1895/​1973), p. 425. 19 See, for example, David Flusser, ‘The Son’ in his Jesus (Jerusalem: Magnes, 2001), pp. 113–​123. 20 Cf. Brown, The Gospel According to John (I–​XII), p. 126.

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positive side in John 2:23: ‘Now when he was in Jerusalem at the Passover feast, many believed in his name when they saw the signs (σημεῖα) which he did’.21 This peculiar Johannine interpretation of Jesus’ miracles seems to have been tailored to correspond to the Torah’s understanding of the meaning of the wonders performed through the agency of Moses (Exod 14:31): ‘And Israel saw the great work which the LORD did against the Egyptians, and the people feared the LORD; and they believed in the LORD and in his servant Moses’. Indeed, the Synoptic tradition also tells us about requests put to Jesus to give a ‘sign from heaven’ (see Matt 16:1, Mark 8:11, Luke 11:16, cf. Luke 23:8). This evidently bears witness to a traditional anticipation that a charismatic figure, following in the footsteps of Moses, will provide such signs as proof of God’s approval of his mission. Important reservations with regard to this anticipation are also attested as early as in Deuteronomy 13.22 It should not surprise us then that in the Synoptic tradition Jesus is not only angered by the request but argues that these are not the miracles which constitute a truly decisive sign of prophetic calling –​with possible exception of the prophet Jonah (Matt 12:38–​41, cf. Matt 16:4, Luke 11:29–​30).23 In light of such a backdrop it deserves notice that in the Jesus miracle stories in the Synoptic Gospels no attempt is made to create a link to Moses –​most tellingly, the Synoptic tradition does not present Jesus’ miracles as a ‘series of wonders’, which would indicate a parallel with the wonders of the Exodus from Egypt. The word ‘sign’ (σημείον) appears there mostly in the singular; the only two instances where it is featured in the plural (σημεία) do not pertain to Jesus. In Mark 16:17, it is Jesus’ disciples who are promised that after their master’s resurrection they will be given the power to perform miracles and wonders. In Matt 24:24 (=Mark 13:22; Luke 24:24), Jesus tells –​ obviously addressing the concerns expressed in Deuteronomy 13 –​that in 21 See Brown, ibid. 22 Deuteronomy 13:1–​3 ‘If a prophet arises among you, or a dreamer of dreams, and gives you a sign or a wonder’,2 and the sign or wonder which he tells you comes to pass, and if he says, ‘Let us go after other gods’, which you have not known, ‘and let us serve them’,3 you shall not listen to the words of that prophet or to that dreamer of dreams; for the LORD your God is testing you, to know whether you love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul’. See Driver, Deuteronomy, pp. 150–​152, 23 See discussion in Davies and Allison, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary, vol. 2, pp. 351–​358.

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the future ‘false messiahs and false prophets will arise and show signs and 24 wonders, to lead astray, if possible, the elect’. In contrast, the Fourth Gospel pointedly portrays the miracles performed by Jesus as belonging to a whole set of wonders. Thus, having related the miracle at Cana in Galilee (John 2:1–​11, John’s exclusive tradition), the Gospel adds an editorial remark presupposing a Moses-​like sequel (John 2:11): ‘This, the first of signs,25 Jesus did at Cana in Galilee, and manifested his glory; and his disciples believed in him’. Already here, in the programmatic inception of the wonders’ sequel, the Moses-​like rationale for their performance is spelled out ‘… and manifested his glory; and his disciples believed in him’. Likewise, the passage that might have constituted the initial ending of the Gospel summarizes the sequel of the wonders as the core issue of the composition (John 20:30–​31)26: Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of the disciples, which are not written in this book; but these are written that you may believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that believing you may have life in his name.

No wonder that scholars have viewed the bulk of the Fourth Gospel as belonging to a source they branded the Gospel of Signs.27 In contradistinction to the Synoptic narrative, John also attempts to establish a link between specific elements of the narrative about Jesus as a miracle worker, inherited from the earliest strata of Christian tradition, and wonders/​signs given through Moses. The explicit strategy of this kind is exemplified in the Fourth Gospel’s treatment of the story relating the feeding of the multitude with a few loaves of bread and a few fish. The narrative in John 6:1–​14 reiterates the story found in the Synoptics (see Matt 14:13–​21, Mark 6:32–​44, Luke 9:10–​17), but here a connection to Exodus through discussion of the sign of the manna is established (John 6:26–​41).28 Some less explicit moves in this direction may also be 24 Ibid., vol. 3, p. 352. 25 Other mss: ‘the beginning of signs’. 26 Meaning before Chapter 21 would be added by a later editor. See Raymond E. Brown, The Gospel According to John, vol 2: XIII–​XXI (The Anchor Bible; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1970), pp. 1077–​1082. 27 See, for example, Robert T. Fortna, The Gospel of Signs: A Reconstruction of the Narrative Source Underlying the Fourth Gospel (London: Cambridge University Press, 1970). 28 See Ruzer and Zakovitch, Eight Conversations, p. 36.

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discerned. For example, John’s already mentioned original contribution to the list of Jesus’ miracles, turning water into wine at Cana, which opens the Fourth Gospel’s sequel of wonders (John 2:1–​11) –​resonates with the sign that opened the series of the Ten Plagues in Egypt (Exod 4:9, cf. Exod 7:1–​24)29: If they will not believe… or heed your voice, you shall take some water from the Nile and pour it upon the dry ground; and the water which you shall take from the Nile will become blood upon the dry ground.

The negative sign of punishment –​ namely, turning the waters of the Nile into blood and thus rendering them undrinkable –​ is therefore ‘upgraded’ here into a positive miracle of turning water into wine, which is of course better than water.30 The traditional character of such strate��gies of Bible-​oriented mimicry, containing polemically flavored aspects, has been highlighted above. One notes that in our case John’s move is well served by a characteristic metaphorical interchangeability between wine and blood as attested, inter alia, in Gen 49:11: ‘… he washes his garments in wine and his vesture in the blood of grapes (‫’)דם ענבים‬.31 The idea that the general outline of the messianic scenario, at least in its core elements –​ signs and wonders included –​ will follow the pattern of the redemption from Egypt, would feature prominently in later rabbinic sources, according to which the Messiah will therefore be a kind of second Moses. This idea is expressed in a succinct formula with a multiple attestation: ‘Last redeemer is like the first one (‫כגואל‬ ‫’)הראשון כך גואל האחרון‬.32 The passage from Kohelet Rabbah, a Palestinian midrash that underwent a later redaction under Babylonian influence,33

29 30 31 32 33

Ibid., p. 34. Cf. ibid., pp. 35–​36. Cf. Deut 32:15: ‘and of the blood of the grape you drank wine (‫’)ודם ענב תשתה חמר‬. For example, Kohelet R. 1.1, Ruth R. 5.6, Pesiqta d. R. Kahana 5.1, Numbers R. 11.2. See Reuven Kiperwasser, ‘Midrashim on Kohelet: Studies in Their Redaction and Formation’ (Ph.D. dissertation, Bar-​Ilan University, 2005), pp. 243–​274; ‘Early and Late in Kohelet Rabbah: A Study in Redaction-​Criticism’, Iggud –​Selected Essays in Jewish Studies (2008), pp. 291–​312 (in Hebrew). This later redaction is betrayed, inter alia, by the appearance of the distinctive Babylonian protagonists, Rav and Shmuel (see Kohelet R. 7.8). The passage under discussion, however, features two early Palestinian sages and thus retains its Land of Israel flavor.

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contains a number of more specific elements of the tradition in 34 question : R. Berachiah said by name of r. Isaac: ‘Last redeemer will be like the first one: as it is said about the first one “So Moses took his wife and his sons and set them on an ass” (Exod 4:20), so it is said about the last one “[Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he,] humble and riding on an ass” (Zech 9:9). As the first redeemer brought down the manna, as it is said “Behold, I will rain bread from heaven for you” (Exod 16:4) so also the last redeemer will bring down the manna as it is said “The land will be covered with wheat” (Ps 72:16). And as the first redeemer raised (the waters of) the well (Num 21:16 ff) so the last redeemer will also do, as it is said “A fountain shall come forth from the house of the LORD and water the valley of Shittim” (Joel 4[3]‌:18)’.

The similarity between the first and the last redeemer pertains here, firstly, to details of their biographies. Both use an ass at key moments of their careers: Moses on his way to Egypt to inaugurate the series of wonders that would eventually bring about Israel’s redemption from the ‘house of bondage’ (Exod 4:20), and the Messiah when entering Jerusalem (Zech 9:9).35 Parallel traditions, such as the one attested in the earlier Pesiqta d. R. Kahana, apply the biographical similarity to the periods of ‘concealment’ of both Moses and Messiah (the former with ref. to Exod 5:20 ff and the latter with ref. to Daniel 12).36 Another dominant element of the suggested similarity concerns the wonders performed 34 Kohelet R. 1.1. 35 Cf. Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem in Matt 21:1–​9; Mark 11:1–​10; Luke 19:28–​38; John 12:12–​16. 36 Pesiqta de R. Kahana (ed. Mandelbaum) 5.1 (cf. Ruth R. 5.6): R. Berakhiah in the name of R. Levi: The last redeemer is like the first one. As the first redeemer revealed himself to them and then hid from them again, so the last redeemer first reveals himself to them and then hides himself again. For how long does he hide himself? R. Tanhuma in the name of R. Hama son of R. Hosha’ya …: for forty five days. It is written (Daniel 12: 11–​12) ‘And from the time that the continual burnt offering is taken away, and the abomination that makes desolate is set up, there shall be a thousand two hundred and ninety days.12 Blessed is he who waits and comes to the thousand three hundred and thirty-​five days’. What is this additional period? These are forty five days when the Messiah revealing himself to them will again be hidden from them. Where to does he lead them? Some say to the Judean desert, others –​to the desert of Sihon and Og, as it is written (Hosea 2:16), ‘Therefore, behold, I will allure her, and bring her into the wilderness …’ And those who believe in him, will eat mallow and the roots of the broom, as it is written (Job 30:4) ‘They pick mallow and the leaves of bushes, and to warm themselves the roots of the broom’. And those who do not believe in him, will go to the nations of the world and will be killed by them. R. Isaac son of Maryan said: at the end of forty-​five days the Holy blessed be

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by Moses and destined to be performed –​mutatis mutandis –​by the Messiah. According to this motif, the Messiah will give the manna to those living in the days of the last redemption (with ref. to Ps 72:16) as well as the waters, coming abundantly from under the Temple, which will quench the children of Israel’s thirst like the waters of Moses’ well (with ref. to Joel 4:18). One notes that the expression ‘the last redeemer is like the first one’ is brought forward as a fixed formula ascribed to the early Amoraic teachers R. Isaac (Kohelet R.) and R. Levi (Pesiqta d. R. Kahana), which may, in principle, indicate its early provenance. Still, the nature of our rabbinic evidence makes it impossible to determine with certainty how early this tradition actually became rooted in Jewish messianic thought. However, in light of the Fourth Gospel’s Moses-​centered narrative strategies, one may suggest that in John we have a response –​and thus a first-​century witness –​to an early provenance of this idea.37 ***** As for the other salient feature of Moses’s mission –​delivering God’s word to the people of Israel –​the emphasis on the Messiah’s function as the ultimate bearer of God’s logos, God’s Torah, definitely stands out as John’s core strategy. In the Synoptic narrative, the emphasis is on Jesus providing the ultimate interpretation of the Torah and the Prophets (see, for example, Matt 5:17–​48; Luke 24:25–​27, 44–​47)38 –​something in the line of the Qumranic last days’ ‘Interpreter of the Torah’.39 As distinct from it, John seems to highlight –​most prominently in the famous He will reveal himself to them and give them the manna. Why is it so? Because (Eccl 1:9) ‘There is nothing new under the sun’. And this is also what was meant (Hosea 12:10) ‘I am the LORD your God from the land of Egypt; I will again make you dwell in tents, as in the days of the appointed feast’. 37 Another early evidence of this pattern may be discerned in the original layers of the Passover Haggadah, where (future) messianic salvation is repeatedly juxtaposed to the celebrated Exodus from Egypt. 38 The literature on Jesus’ being presented as the ultimate Interpreter of the Torah in the Sermon on the Mount is vast. See, for example, Hans D. Betz, The Sermon on the Mount: A Commentary on the Sermon on the Mount, Including the Sermon on the Plain (Matt 5:3–​7:27 and Luke 6:20–​49 (Semeia; Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1995), pp. 166–​197; Ruzer, Mapping the New Testament, pp. 11–​99. 39 For example, 4QFlorilegium col. 1; cf. Damascus Document 6. Cf. John J. Collins, ‘Teacher and Messiah? The One Who Will Teach Righteousness at the End of Days’, in The Community of the Renewed Covenant (ed. Eugene Ulrich and James Vanderkam; Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1994), pp. 193–​210.

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Johannine Prologue but also elsewhere –​Jesus’ role as revealing new, previously unheard of, elements of God’s Word. It might be expected that this line would involve clear elements of supersession with regard to Moses, supersession only hinted at in the Synoptic Transfiguration episode.40 The strategy of supersession seems indeed to be at the heart of the Prologue –​John 1:1–​18 –​a programmatic opening passage ostensibly designed to provide a hermeneutical key to the whole composition41: In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God (Ἐν ἀρχῇ ἦ ὁ λόγος καὶ ὁ λόγος ἦν πρὸς τὸν θεὸν καὶ θεὸς ἦν ὁ λόγος). 2 He/​It was in the beginning with God; 3 all things were made through him/​it, and without him/​it was not anything made that was made (Πάντα δἰ αὐτοῦ ἐγένετο καὶ χαρίς αὐτοῦ ἐγένετο οὐδὲ ἕν ὅ γέγονεν). 4 In him/​it was life, and the life was the light of men (ἐν αὐτῷ ζωὴ ἦν καὶ ἡ ζωὴ ἦν τὸ φῶς τῶν ἀνθρώπων). 5 The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it….9 The true light that enlightens every man was coming into the world (Ἧν τὸ φῶς τὸ ἀληθινόν ὃ φωτίζει ηάντα ἀνθρωπον ἐρχόμενον ἐις τὸν κόσμον). 10 He/​ It was in the world, and the world was made through him/​it, yet the world knew him/​it not (ἐν τῷ κόσμῳ ἦν καὶ ὁ κόσμος δἰ αὐτοῦ ἐςένετο καὶ ὁ κόσμος αὐτοῦ οὐκ ἔγνω). 11 He/​It came to his/​its own home, and his/​its own people received him/​it not (εἰξ τὰ ἴδια ἦλθεν καὶ οἱ ἴδιοι αὐτὸν οὐ παρέλαβον). 12 But to all who received him/​it, who believed in his/​it name, he/​it gave power to become children of God (ὅσοι δὲ ἔλαβον αὐτόν ἔδωκεν αὐτοῖς ἐξουσίαν τέκνα θεοῦ γενέσθαι τοῦς πιστεύουσιν εὶς τὸ ὄνομα αὐτοῦ); 13 who were born, not of blood nor of the will of the flesh nor of the will of man, but of God (ὅ οὐκ ἐξ αἱμάτων οὐδὲ ἐκ θελήματος σαρκὸς οὐδὲ ἐκ θελήματος ἀνδρὸς ἀλλἀ ἐκ θεοῦ ἐγεννήθησαν). 14 And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth; we have beheld his/​its glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father (καὶ ὁ λόγος σάρξ ἐγένετο λαὶ ἐσκήνωσεν ἐν ἡμῖν λαὶ ἐθεασάμεθα τὴν

40 See Brown, The Gospel According to John (I–​XII), pp. 35–​36. 41 Opinions vary with regard to whether the Prologue was from the beginning designed as the introductory declaration of the Gospel, or its main parts had had an earlier existence, detached from the Jesus-​centered messianic outlook. For the latter opinion, see, for example, Brown, The Gospel According to John (i–​xii), p. lxix, who argues that the Prologue ‘was once an independent hymn which has been adapted to serve as the Introduction to the Gospel’. Even if we agree with Brown, the supposition that the Prologue was ‘tailored to provide a hermeneutical key’ remains valid, reflecting the ‘stage of adaptation’.

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δόξαν αὐτοῦ δόξαν ὡς μονογένοῦς παρὰ πατρός πλήρης χάριτος καὶ ἀληθείας).16 And from his/​its fullness have we all received, grace upon grace (χάριν ἀντὶ χάριτος). 17 For the Torah was given through Moses (ὅτι ὁ νόμος διὰ μωυσέως ἐδόθη); grace and truth came through Jesus the Messiah (ἡ χάρις καὶ ἡ ἀλήθεια διὰ Ἰησοῦ χριστοῦ ἐγένετο). 18 No one has ever seen God (θεὸν οὐδεὶς ἐώρακεν πώποτε); the only Son, who is in the bosom of the Father, he has made him known (μονογενὴς υἱὸς ὁ ὤν εἰς τὸν κόλπον τοῦ Πατρὸς εἰκεῖνος ἐξηγήσατο).42

The mighty Ἐν ἀρχῇ (‘in the beginning’, Hebrew: ‫ )בראשית‬that opens the Prologue, and reappears in John 1:2 is complemented here by recurrent mention of God θεὸς, the notable use of ἐγένετο (‘came into being’, Hebrew: ‫ ויהי‬,‫ )היה‬in John 1:3, and the light-​darkness imagery in John 1:4–​5. Whatever the additional channels of influence might have been,43 the combined evidence of these features points to the opening section

42 If verses 1–​14 do indeed speak –​as the following discussion indicates –​of the primordial logos revealed throughout history and eventually through the Messiah, the neutral ‘it’ seems preferable to the RSV ‘he’. 43 For alternative interpretations of the Prologue in terms of a hymn to Wisdom –​ either rooted in or detached from the Jewish matrix –​see Charles H. Dodd, The Interpretation of the Fourth Gospel (Cambridge: Cambridge University, 1953), p. 275. Rudolph Bultmann (The Gospel of John: A Commentary [Oxford: Blackwell, 1971]) has argued that the Prologue functioned originally as a pre-​Christian Aramaic poetic discourse having as its ultimate source an Oriental Gnosticism. Other scholars saw in the Prologue a reflection of an originally Christian myth. See, for example, Ernst Käsemann, ‘Aufbau und Auliegen des johanneischen Prologs’, in Libertas Christiana: F. Delekat Festschrift (München: Kaiser, 1957), p. 86; Ernst Haenchen, ‘Probleme des johanneischen ‘Prologs’, ZTK 60 (1963), pp. 306–​307. For a review of hymn-​related perceptions of the Prologue, see Peder Borgen, ‘Observations on the Targumic Character of the Prologue of John’, New Testament Studies 16 (1969/​ 70): 288–​299. For a possible Aramaic Forlage, see Charles F. Burney, The Aramaic Origins of the Fourth Gospel (Oxford: Clarendon, 1922); Matthew Black, An Aramaic Approach to the Gospels and Acts (Oxford: Clarendon, 1967). For a Gnostic pastiche (without claiming a direct literary connection), see Edwin M. Yamauchi, ‘Jewish Gnosticism? The Prologue of John, Mandaean Parallels, and the Trimorphic Protennoia’, in Studies in Gnosticism and Hellenistic Religions (eds. R. Van den Broek and M. J. Vremaseren; Leiden: Brill, 1981), pp. 467–​497; Michel Waldstein, ‘The Providence Monologue in the Apiocryphon of John and The Johannine Prologue’, Journal of Early Christian Studies 3.4 (1995), pp. 369–​402; James H. Charlseworth, ‘Lady Wisdom and Johannine Christology’, in Light in a Spotless Mirror: Reflections on Wisdom Traditions in Judaism and Early Christianity (eds. James H. Charlseworth and Michael A. Daise; Faith and Scholarship Colloquies; Harrisburg: Eisenbrauns, 2003), pp. 92–​133; Peter M. Phillips, The Prologue of the Fourth Gospel (JSNT Suppl. 294; London: T & T Clark, 2006), pp. 110, 127, 137–​139.

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of the Torah creation narrative (Gen 1:1, 2–​5) as the passage’s focus of 44 reference. Jesus the Messiah is portrayed further on in the Prologue as the ultimate bearer –​ ‘incarnation’ –​ of the logos, God’s creative and revelatory Word that has been revealing the light of God’s truth since the days of creation.45 To buttress this general scheme, the author by necessity had to relate to what must have been viewed by his intended audience as the greatest revelation of God’s Word in the history of Israel –​ the giving of the Torah through Moses, the acknowledged bearer of God’s Word.46 One should remember that throughout most of the Torah its message is presented as God’s Word, logos (‘and God said’, ‘and God spoke’).47 The tradition of the Aramaic Targum, unhappy with anthropomorphisms, more than once preferred –​ starting from Genesis 1:3 that describes the creation of light through God saying ‘let there be light’ –​ to translate those phrases as ’and there was a word (‫ ממרא‬,‫ )מימרא‬from God’.48 The equation between Moses’ Torah and God’s light was also firmly established in the broader Jewish tradition, all the way from its biblical

44 See, for example, Gary Anderson, ‘The Interpretation of Genesis 1:1 in the Targums’, The Catholic Biblical Quarterly 52(1) (1990), pp. 21–​29. For arguments for a Semitic Forlage of the Prologue, see, for example, Charles F. Burney, The Aramaic Origin of the Fourth Gospel (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1922). 45 Cf. Jörg Frey, ‘Licht aus den Höhlen? Der „johanneische Dualismus“ und die Texte von Qumran’, in Kontexte des Johannesevangeliums: Das vierte Evangelium in religions-​und traditionsgeschichtlicher Perspektive (eds. Jörg Frey and Udo Schnelle; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004), pp. 117–​203; Geurt H. van Kooten, ‘ “The true light which enlightens everyone” (John 1:9): John, “Genesis”, the Platonic notion of the “true, noetic light”, and the allegory of the cave in Plato’s “Republic” ’, in The Creation of Heaven and Earth (ed. Geurt H. van Kooten; Leiden and Boston, MA: Brill, 2005), pp. 149–​194. 46 On the dominance of the Sinai revelation motif in the Prologue, see Jacques Bernard, ‘Lectures des v. 9–​13 du Prologue de Jean’, Graphè 10 (2001): Prologue de Jean, pp. 71–​7; George J. Brooke, ‘The Temple Scroll and the New Testament’, in Temple Scroll Studies (ed. George J. Brooke; JSP Suppl. 7; Sheffield: JSOT, 1989), pp. 186–​188. 47 A parallel avenue of thought had emphasized the Wisdom as God’s intermediary in both creation and revelation, eventually equaling Wisdom with the Torah. See, for instance, Prov 8:22 ff; 3:19–​20; Ben Sira 24:1–​10, 23–​25; Gen. R. 1.1. 48 On the targumic tradition as key to understanding John 1:1–​3, see Anderson, ‘The Interpretation of Genesis 1:1 in the Targums’.

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to its rabbinical layers.49 In the biblical account God’s logos has therefore two basic functions –​the means of creating the world and the vehicle of God’s revelation. It deserves notice that only the latter function is linked in the Torah to Moses, and it is only it that features in the Prologue, where the logos is firmly equated with God’s light, the light of God’s revelation. As for the logos’ function as a go-​between in the creation of the world, it remains on the margins of the Prologue, which focuses instead on the creation of the light/​revelation of truth.50 Establishing Jesus’ credentials as one through whom a new logos has now been revealed is accomplished in the Prologue by means of a balancing act, characteristic of the polemical reworking of foundational biblical narrative patterns.51 It is thus repeatedly emphasized (John 1:14 and 17) that the true core of the Torah revealed through Jesus is ‘grace/​mercy and truth’ ἡ χάρις καὶ ἡ ἀλήθεια –​ the same ultimate attributes of God that were announced at the crucial moment of the Sinai revelation. The author of the Prologue clearly refers here to Exod 34:6, which reads: ‘The LORD passed before him, and proclaimed, “The LORD, the LORD, a God merciful and gracious (‫)רחום וחנון‬, slow to anger (‫)ארך אפים‬, and abounding in mercy (‫ )חסד‬and truth/​faithfulness (‫’ ”)אמת‬.52 Moreover, the attributes of grace and mercy featuring here –​ and in the Prologue –​seem to have been singled out by early Jewish tradition as the foundational ones for describing God’s dealing with Israel (Joel 2:12–​13): ‘Yet even now’, says the LORD, ‘return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning; 13 and rend your hearts and not your garments’. Return to the LORD, your God, for he is gracious and merciful (‫)חנון ורחום‬, slow to anger (‫)ארך אפים‬, and abounding in mercy (‫)ורב חסד‬, and repents of evil.

Like John, Joel also ignored the ‘measure of judgement’ in the second part of the Exod 34:7 passage: ‘… but who will by no means clear the guilty, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children and the 49 See, for example, Prov 6:23: ‘For the commandment is a lamp and the Torah a light (‫)ותורה אור‬, and the reproofs of discipline are the way of life’; cf. b. Megillah 16b. For a discussion of the issue, see Ruzer and Zakovitch, Eight Conversations on the Fourth Gospel, pp. 93–​134. 50 The long trajectory of the idea that Torah acted as an intermediary in creation finds its paradigmatic expression in the very beginning of Genesis Rabbah. 51 See n. 11 and the discussion there. 52 Cf. LXX: πολυέλεος καὶ ἀληθινὸς. See also Propp, Exodus 19–​40 , pp. 610–​611.

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children’s children, to the third and the fourth generation’. Anyway, by highlighting ‘truth (faithfulness) and mercy’ the Prologue defines the character of Jesus’ revealing mission as that of the second Moses –​more exactly, as finally realizing what had been already promised to Moses.53 Yet the Prologue makes it clear that in Jesus we are dealing with an upgraded replay of Moses. The statement that ‘no one has ever seen God’, ignoring polemical claims to the contrary elsewhere in the Torah itself,54 clearly refers to the famous description of how Moses was denied seeing God’s face/​glory in Exod 33:18–​23: ‘But’, he said, ‘you cannot see my face; for man shall not see me and live’. And the LORD said, ‘Behold, there is a place by me where you shall stand upon the rock; and while my glory passes by I will put you in a cleft of the rock, and I will cover you with my hand until I have passed by; then I will take away my hand, and you shall see my back; but my face shall not be seen’.

The Gospel therefore suggests that Moses’ unrealized aspiration was now fulfilled by Jesus (John 1:18: ‘No one has ever seen God; the only Son, who is in the bosom of the Father, he has made him known’), thus establishing Jesus’ superiority over his celebrated predecessor.55 One wonders whether the author understood inability to see God’s face as the lack of a proper understanding of the nature of ‘grace and truth’. Anyway, in a characteristic balancing act, the Fourth Gospel presents the new Torah/​ God’s Word delivered by Jesus as highlighting core elements of that of Moses –​thus performing supersession through retaining the intrinsic link between the two. Another instructive example of this strategy may be discerned in Jesus’ words in John 13:34–​35: A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another; even as I have loved you, that you also love one another. By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.

The ‘new commandment’ here is, of course, nothing but an elaboration on Lev 19:18: having become one of the core tenets of late Second

53 Cf. Brown, The Gospel According to John (I–​XII), p. 36. 54 See Exod 33:11; Deut 34:10. 55 Cf. an attempt in the opposite direction by the author of the second-​century BCE Exagoge to elevate Moses beyond a competing visionary, this time Enoch; see Andrei Orlov, ‘In the Mirror of the Divine Face: The Enochic Features of the Exagoge of Ezekiel the Tragedian’, in The Significance of Sinai, pp. 183–​199.

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Temple Judaism,56 the commandment to love your neighbor as yourself 57 it is now supplied with Jesus’ interpretation and authority. To better appreciate John’s aspiration to establish the proper relation between Moses and the Messiah as two outstanding agents of God’s Torah/​revelation, it should be viewed against the backdrop of other strategies employed in similar contexts. Thus, somewhat similar to the Johannine Prologue, the opening paragraph of 1 Enoch establishes the perspective of Enoch’s all-​encompassing vision the climax of which pertains to the final redemption, mentioning in passing the Sinai event as a foundational mid-​point58: The words of the blessing of Enoch, with which he blessed the elect and the righteous, who would be present on the day of tribulation at (the time of) the removal of all the ungodly ones. 2 …and he saw and said, ‘(This is) a holy vision from the heavens which the angels showed me: and I heard from them everything and I understood. I look not for this generation but for the distant one that is coming. 3 I speak about the elect ones and concerning them’. And I took up with a parable (saying): The God of the universe, the Holy Great One, will come forth from his dwelling, 4 and from there he will march upon Mount Sinai and appear in his camp emerging from heaven with a mighty power. And everyone shall be afraid, and Watchers shall quiver, and great fear and trembling shall seize them unto the ends of the earth… 7 and the earth shall be rent asunder, and all that is upon the earth shall perish, and there shall be a judgement upon all (including) the righteous. 8 But to all the righteous he will grant peace, he will preserve the elect, and kindness shall be upon them. They shall all belong to God and they shall prosper and be blessed; and the light of God shall shine on them. 9 Behold, he will arrive with ten million of the holy ones in order to execute judgment upon all. He will destroy the wicked ones and censure all flesh on account of everything that they have done, that which the sinners and the wicked ones committed against him.

56 See David Flusser, ‘Love’, in his Jesus (Jerusalem: Magnes, 2001), pp. 81–​92; Ruzer, Mapping the New Testament, pp. 35–​99. 57 Cf. Brown, The Gospel According to John (XIII–​XXI), pp. 612–​614. 58 The English follows the translation by E. Isaac in The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, vol. 1: Apocalyptic Literature and Testaments (ed. James H. Charlesworth; New York: Doubleday, 1983), pp. 13–​89, with minor amendments.

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The passage from the Parables section (1 Enoch 48), however, glosses over Sinai and Moses completely, jumping from the phase preceding the creation of the world to the endgame of messianic salvation59: Furthermore, in that place I saw the fountain of righteousness, which does not become depleted and is surrounded completely by many fountains of wisdom. All the thirsty ones drank (of the water) and became filled with wisdom. (Then) their dwelling places become with the holy, righteous and elect ones. 2 At that hour, that Son of Man was given name in the presence of the Lord of Spirits, the Head of Days. 3 Even before the creation of the sun and the moon, before the creation of the stars, he was given a name in the presence of the Lord of Spirits. 4 He will become a staff for the righteous in order that they may lean on him and not fall. He will be the light of the Gentiles and he will become the hope of those who are troubled in their hearts. 5 All who dwell upon earth shall fall down and worship before him; they shall glorify, bless and sing the name of the Lord of Spirits. 6 For this reason, has he been chosen and concealed in the presence of (the Lord of the Spirits) before the creation of the world, and for eternity. 7 And he has revealed the wisdom of the Lord of Spirits to the righteous and the holy ones, for he has preserved the lot of the righteous because they have hated and despised this world of unrighteousness…For they will be saved in his name and it is his good pleasure that they have life… 8 In those last days, the kings of the earth and the mighty ones shall be humiliated on account of the deeds of their hands. Therefore, on the day of their anguish and affliction, they will not (be able to) save themselves. …10 On the day of their affliction, there shall be an obstacle on the earth and they shall fall and not rise again, nor anyone (be found) who will take them with his hands and raise them up. For they have denied the Lord of the Spirits and his Anointed. Blessed be the name of the Lord of Spirits.

The absence of Moses’ name and, tellingly, the establishment of the Torah’s linkage not to Sinai but rather to the primordial or, more exactly, pre-​creation phase of God’s inner thought is not less striking in the rabbinic midrash, also presupposing an overarching perspective of salvation from the days of creation all the way to messianic redemption (Gen. R. 1.4)60:

59 Characteristically, Moses’ name does not appear in 1 Enoch at all. 60 The English translation follows that in The Midrash Rabba, tr. and notes by Isidore Epstein (ed. H. Freedman and Maurice Simon; London: Soncino Press, 1977), with minor amendments.

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‘In the beginning God created’ (Gen 1:1). Six things preceded the creation of the world (‫)בראשית‬: some of them were actually created, while the creation of the others was already contemplated. The Torah and the Throne of Glory were created…The creation of Patriarchs was contemplated, for it is written… [The creation of ] Israel was contemplated, as it is written… [The creation of ] the Temple was contemplated, for it is written…The name of Messiah was contemplated, for it is written…61

Other traditions attest to a tension between the first revelation of the Torah and that (of its interpretation) in the times of the last redemption, and the Dead Sea Scrolls’ early evidence is definitely illuminating here. Thus, the Damascus Document presents the new eschatological understanding of the Torah using the strong language of ‘digging the well (with the Torah previously covered with sand) anew’ (CD 6)62: {And the land was ravaged because they preached rebellion against the commandments of God given by the hand of Moses and} of his holy anointed ones (‫)במשיחו [במשיחי] הקודש‬, and because they prophesied lies to turn Israel away from following God. But God remembered the Covenant with the forefathers, and he raised from Aaron men of discernment and from Israel men of wisdom, and he caused them to hear. And they dug the Well (‫ויחפורו‬ ‫)את הבאר‬, the well which the princes dug, which the nobles of the people delved with the stave (Num 21:18). The Well is the Torah (‫)הבאר היא התורה‬, and those who dug it were the converts of Israel who went out of the land of Judah to sojourn in the land of Damascus. God called them all princes 61 Jacob Neusner (Judaism and Its Interpretation of Scripture: Introduction to the Rabbinic Midrash [Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2004], pp. 30–​31; ‘Genesis Rabbah, Theology of ’, in Encyclopaedia of Midrash I: Biblical Interpretation in Formative Judaism [ed. Jacob Neusner and Alan J. Avery-​Peck; Leiden: Brill, 2005], p.110) suggested that the editorial project of Genesis Rabbah was to a large extent informed by the need –​ in the late fourth to early fifth centuries –​to repel the claims of a renewed upsurge of Christianity. Cf. Visotzky, ‘Genesis in Rabbinic Interpretation’, pp. 579–​591. However, even if present elsewhere in Genesis Rabbah, this polemical anti-​Christian posture is conspicuously absent from the description of the details of the messianic scenario we have been discussing. See also Howard A. David, Polemics and Mythology: A Commentary on Chapters 1 & 8 of Bereshit Rabbah (Ph.D. dissertation; Brandeis University, 1992), p. 150, who argues that polemics may have been directed toward a Jewish audience that might have held ideas overlapping with those of ‘outsiders’ –​as in the case of the ‘six preexisting things’ motif, which is tailored to refute –​at least, in the parallel in Seder Eliyahu Rabba –​the idea of God having ‘co-​ workers’. See also Marc Hirshman, A Rivalry of Genius: Jewish and Christian Biblical Interpretation (Albany, NY: SUNY Press, 1996). 62 The English translation follows The Dead Sea Scrolls, translated and edited by Geza Vermes (4th edition; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995).

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because they sought him, and their renown was disputed by no man. The Stave is the Interpreter of the Torah of whom Isaiah said, He makes a tool for his work (Isa 54:16); and the nobles of the people are those who come to dig the Well with the staves …that they should walk in all the age of wickedness –​ and without them they shall find nothing –​ until he comes who shall teach righteousness at the end of days (‫להתהלך במה בכל קץ הרשיע‬ ‫)וזולתם לא ישיגו עד עמד יורה הצדק באחרית הימים‬. None of those brought into the Covenant shall enter the Temple to light his altar in vain…. They shall take care to act according to the exact interpretation of the Torah during the age of wickedness (‫)לעשות כפרוש התורה לקץ הרשע‬. They shall separate from the sons of the Pit, and shall keep away from the unclean riches of wickedness acquired by vow or anathema or from the Temple treasure (‫… )להבדל מבני השחת ולהנזר מהון הרשעה הטמא בנדר ובחרם ובהון המקדש‬They shall distinguish between clean and unclean, and shall proclaim the difference between holy and profane. They shall keep the Sabbath day according to its exact interpretation, and the feasts and the Day of Fasting according to the finding of the members of the New Covenant in the land of Damascus (‫)באי הברית החדשה בארץ דמשק‬.63

Informative also is the distant echo surfacing in the late midrashic compendium Otzar Midrashim64: In future, the Holy One blessed be He is going to sit in the Garden of Eden and teach (‫ )להיות יושב בגן עדן ודורש‬and all the righteous sitting in front of Him, while all members of His heavenly entourage standing (beside Him) … He will then explain to them the contents of the new Torah (‫דורש להם טעמי‬ ‫ )תורה חדשה‬which the Holy One blessed be He is going to give to them (in the eschaton) through the Messiah (‫)שעתיד הקדוש ברוך הוא ליתן להם ע"י משיח‬.

Rabbinic traditions likewise bear witness to a pattern where this is not the Messiah or the biblical super-​hero Enoch, who is presented as greater than Moses in revealing the ultimate Torah, but rather role models of the rabbinic milieu itself. Here is r. Eliezer, son of Hyrcanus (Abot de Rabbi Nathan B 13)65: Then, r. Eliezer (son of Hyrcanus) sat and interpreted more teachings than were spoken to Moses on Sinai (‫ר' אליעזר יושב ודורש דברים יותר ממה שנאמר‬ ‫ )למשה בסיני‬and his face was radiant like the light of the sun and rays (of 63 See discussion in Ruzer, Mapping the New Testament, pp. 220–​221. 64 Ed. Judah D. Eisenstein (New York, 1928), p. 414. 65 For an English translation, see S.J. Saldarini (tr. and notes), The Fathers According to Rabbi Nathan (Abot de Rabbi Nathan) (New Haven, CT: Yale University, 1971), pp. 52–​53.

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light) went forth from him like those that went forth from Moses and no one knew whether it was day or night (‫ופניו מאירות כאור החמה וקרנותיו יוצאות‬ ‫)כקרנותיו של משה ואין אדם יודע אם יום הוא ואם לילה‬. Rabbi Joshua and Rabbi Simeon ben Nathan’el went and said to Rabban Johanan ben Zakkai: Come and see Rabbi Eliezer sitting and interpreting more teachings than were spoken to Moses on Sinai (‫)ר' אליעזר יושב ודורש דברים יותר ממה שנאמר למשה בסיני‬ and his face was radiant like the light of the sun and rays (of light) went forth from him like those that went forth from Moses and no one knew whether it was day or night (‫ופניו מאירות כאור החמה וקרנותיו יוצאות כקרנותיו של משה ואין‬ ‫)אדם יודע אם יום הוא ואם לילה‬. Rabban Johanan ben Zakkai came up behind him and kissed him on the head and said: Blessed are you Abraham, Isaac and Jacob because this man came from your loins (‫אשריכם אברהם יצחק ויעקב‬ ‫)שיצא זה מחלציכם‬.

And here is r. Akiba –​though this time without the explicit revelatory attribute of the shining face (b. Menahot 29b)66: R. Yehudah said that Rav had said: When Moses ascended to heaven, he found there the Holy blessed be He sitting and binding crowns to the letters (of the Torah) (‫)שיושב וקושר כתרים לאותיות‬. Moses asked: Master of the Universe, for whose sake (‫ ?)מי מעכב על ידך‬He answered: after a number of generations there will rise a man, Akiba son of Joseph will be his name, who will interpret every dot and dot as piles and piles of halakhic rulings (‫שעתיד‬ ‫)לדרוש על כל קוץ וקוץ תילין תילין של הלכות‬. Moses said: Master of the Universe, do show him to me. Told him: turn around and go (‫)חזור לאחורך‬. Moses went and sat (in r. Akiba’s beit ha-​midrash) in the last eighth row (‫בסוף‬ ‫)שמונה שורות‬, and did not understand a word from what they were saying (‫)ולא היה יודע מה הן אומרים‬, and felt powerless (‫)תשש כחו‬. Bu then r. Akiva switched to another point and the disciples asked him: Rabbi, where from did you get it (‫ ?)מנין לך‬He answered: this is what Moses had received at Sinai (‫)הלכה למשה מסיני‬. This calmed Moses down (‫)נתיישבה דעתו‬.

Whatever place we assign to John’s ‘supersessionist’ stance vis-​à-​vis Moses on the scale of similar attempts outlined above –​it actually seems to belong to the conservative part of the spectrum –​this Moses-​centered focus of the Johannine portrait of Jesus as a messianic figure clearly reflects a broader Jewish matrix. It should therefore prompt us to be more skeptical with regard to the assumption –​sometimes raised in the research but not supported by any explicit evidence in the text of the Fourth Gospel –​about the author’s decisive turn to the Greek audience.67 66 Translation by the author. 67 See, for example, the claim put forward in the studies by Jörg Frey, assembled in his Hebrew volume The Gospel According to John: From the Jews and for the World

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Moreover, this focus should inform our evaluation of John’s christology or, in other words, the type of divinization of Jesus we encounter in the Prologue and elsewhere in the Fourth Gospel.68 Whereas the exact intention of the author may evade us, the general impression is that according to him the ‘divine aspect’ of Jesus the Messiah derives from him being the end-​of-​times bearer of God’s logos, which had been ‘God…with God’. In this context, one may note that the nomination ‘God=θεός’ as applied to the logos is attested in Philo’s elaboration on the creation of the world, where the logos is called ‘second God’ (δεύτερος θεός).69 Moreover, according to Philo, the one who delivers (is a bearer of ) God’s logos, Moses, may also rightfully be called θεός (God/​divine), besides and in distinction from God himself, for whom the definite form (ὁ θεός) should be reserved70: What more shall I say? Has he not also enjoyed an even greater communion with the Father and Creator of the universe, being thought unworthy of being called by the same appellation? For he also was called the god (θεός) and king of the whole nation, and he is said to have entered into the darkness where God (ὁ θεός) was; that is to say, into the invisible, and shapeless, and incorporeal world, the essence, which is the model of all existing things, where he beheld things invisible to mortal nature; for, having brought himself and his own life into the middle, as an excellently wrought picture, he established himself as a most beautiful and godlike work (θεοειδὲς ἔργον), to be a model for all those who were inclined to imitate him. And happy are they who have been able to take,

(Beersheba: Ben-​Gurion University of the Negev Press, 2014) (in Hebrew). See also Jörg Frey, ‘Heiden –​Griechen –​Gottes kinder: Zu Gestalt und Funktion der Rede von den Heiden im 4. Evangelium‘, in Die Heiden: Juden, Christen und das Problem des Fremden (ed. Reinhard Feldmeier and Ulrich Heckel; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1994), pp. 228–​268. Cf. Malcolm Lowe, ‘Who Were the ‘Ioudaioi’?’ Novum Testamentum 18.2 (1976), pp. 101–​130; Adele Reinhartz, Befriending the Beloved Disciple: A Jewish Reading of the Gospel of John (New York: Continuum, 2001); Johannes Beutler. Judaism and the Jews in the Gospel of John (Rome: Pontificio Istituto biblico, 2006). 68 Unlike, for example the Epistle to the Hebrews or that to the Colossians, where Jesus’ sublime stance is elaborated vis-​à-​vis the angels. 69 Philo, Questions and Answers in Genesis 2.62. 70 Philo, On the Life of Moses, 1158–​159 (English translation by C. D. Yonge from The Works of Philo: Complete and Unabridged [New Updated Edition; Peabody, Massachusetts: Hendrickson Publishers, 1993/​1997]). Philo here seems to be trying to cope with the fact that in Exod 7:1 Moses is called ‫( אלהים‬LXX: θεόν).

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or have even diligently labored to take, a faithful copy of this excellence in their own souls…

In line with this understanding of Moses’ elevated status,71 acquired thanks to his conjunction with God’s word, Philo also provides a more general concept –​pertaining to humanity as a whole –​of what may be called the incarnation of the logos72: Why does Scripture say, as if (speaking) of another God (δεύτερος θεός), ‘in the image of God He made man’ and not ‘in His own image’? Most excellently and veraciously this oracle was given by God. For nothing mortal can be made in the likeness of the most high One and Father of the universe but (only) in that of the second God, who is His Logos. For it was right that the rational (part) of the human soul should be formed as an impression by the divine Logos, since the pre-​Logos God is superior to every rational nature. But He who is above the Logos (and) exists in the best and in a special form –​ what thing that comes into being can rightfully bear His likeness? Moreover, Scripture wishes also to show that God most justly avenges the virtuous and decent men because they have a certain kinship with His Logos, of which the human mind is a likeness and image.

I would argue that in the light of such evidence,73 the focus on Moses in the Fourth Gospel indicates that the christology propagated in John might have had traditions about Moses’ elevated/​divine status, derived from his conjunction with the logos, as its reference point. They are therefore to provide the key to the understanding of John’s ‘christological enterprise’. This pertains not only to the Prologue but also to the sayings of the kind ‘I and the Father are one’ and ‘the Father is in me and I am in

71 This status is what seems to make Philo suggest at the end of his Life of Moses that having been united with God’s logos Moses did not (could not?) die, but was transformed into the pure nous (Life of Moses 2.288): ‘And some time afterwards, when he was about to depart from hence to heaven, to take up his abode there, and leaving this mortal life to become immortal, having been summoned by the Father, who now changed him, having previously been a double being, composed of soul and body, into the nature of a single body, transforming him wholly and entirely into a most sun-​like mind’. 72 Questions and Answers in Genesis 2.62 on Gen 9:6. English translation by Yonge (see n. 69). 73 Cf. Moses’ divinization in the second-​century BCE Exagoge by Ezekiel the Tragedian; see Andrei Orlov, ‘In the Mirrow of the Divine Face: The Enochic Features of the Exagoge of Ezekiel the Tragedian’, in The Significance of Sinai, pp. 183–​199. Note, inter alia, the discussion of Enoch’s and Moses’ shining faces there.

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the Father’ (John 10:30, 38).74 Should we then, against the claims to the contrary, rather brand John’s position as ‘low christology’? We seem to have a clear indication that the Gospel writer himself was aware of other possible interpretations of Jesus’ divine status; he, however, pushed his readers in the direction of Moses-​like logoization –​ not only in the Prologue, but also throughout his composition, most prominently in the complicated discourse in John 10:30–​36: ‘I and the Father are one’. 31 The Jews took up stones again to stone him. 32 Jesus answered them, ‘I have shown you many good works from the Father; for which of these do you stone me?’ 33 The Jews answered him, ‘It is not for a good work that we stone you but for blasphemy; because you, being a man, make yourself God’. 34 Jesus answered them, ‘Is it not written in your Torah, “I said, you are gods”? 35 If he called them gods to whom the word of God came (and scripture cannot be broken), 36 do you say of him whom the Father consecrated and sent into the world, “You are blaspheming,” because I said, “I am the Son of God” ’?

We note that John’s predilection for Moses and his Torah as the point of reference is again demonstrated here –​ the author chooses to present the quote from Psalm 82:6 (‘I say, “You are gods, sons of the Most High, all of you” ’, ‫ )אני אמרתי אלהים אתם ובני עליון כלכם‬as coming from ‘the Torah’. The verse from the psalm also provides exegetical backing for a characteristic switch from ‘God’ to the ‘Son of God’ terminology in Jesus’ speech. So, first, we have the accusation representing, as it were, the possibility of a different, more daring, avenue of divinization, and then we have a denial, channeling the discourse in the direction of collective divinization –​ similarly to John 1:12–​13 –​applied to those who have been recipients of God’s word.75 One may compare the narrative ploy used here to the one

74 Cf. Brown, The Gospel According to John (I–​XII), pp. 407–​408. 75 Cf. discussion in Brown, The Gospel of John (I–​XII), pp. 10–​11. It deserves notice that while angels are defined as ‘sons of God’ in Philo, with whom it means that they are incorporeal spirits not fathered by a man (Quaest. Gen. 1.92), he is far from limiting the appellation to heavenly beings alone. Philo suggests, appealing to Deut 14:1 and 32:18, that all those who have knowledge of the uniqueness of God are called ‘sons of the one God’, whereas those ‘who are yet unfit to be called a son of God, should submit themselves to the Logos, to God’s first-​born, who holds the eldership among the angels’ (De Confusione linguarum 145 ff.).

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appearing in the Book of Acts, where a pretty convincing accusation is 76 brought against Paul, only to be repelled (Acts 21:20–​24) : 20

And when they heard it, they glorified God. And they said to him, ‘You see, brother, how many thousands there are among the Jews of those who have believed; they are all zealous for the Torah, 21 and they have been told about you that you teach all the Jews who are among the Gentiles to forsake Moses, telling them not to circumcise their children or observe the customs. 22 What then is to be done? They will certainly hear that you have come. 23 Do therefore what we tell you. We have four men who are under a vow; 24 take these men and purify yourself along with them and pay their expenses, so that they may shave their heads. Thus, all will know that there is nothing in what they have been told about you but that you yourself live in observance of the Torah’.

Excursus The appellation ‘god’ is applied to Jesus in writings roughly contemporaneous with the Fourth Gospel in what seem well-​established formulas, e.g. in the letters of Ignatius of Antioch, ca 110 (To the Ephesians 0–​1): ‘…by the will of the Father and Jesus Christ, our God…you are imitators of God; and it was God’s blood that stirred you… ’. Whatever the meaning of the usage by Ignatius –​he does not clarify the issue and makes no reference to Moses –​there is no reason to suppose automatically that it overlaps that of John’s Prologue. How then should the only instance in the Fourth Gospel, the famous Thomas episode, where this appellation seems to be applied to Jesus, be interpreted? We read in John 20:24–​29: Now Thomas, one of the twelve, called the Twin, was not with them when Jesus came. 25 So the other disciples told him, ‘We have seen the Lord’. But he said to them, ‘Unless I see in his hands the print of the nails, and place my finger in the mark of the nails, and place my hand in his side, I will not believe’. 26 Eight days later, his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. The doors were shut, but Jesus came and stood among them, and said, ‘Peace be with you’. 27 Then he said to Thomas, ‘Put your finger here, and see my hands; and put out your hand, and place it in my side; do not be faithless, but believing’. 28Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my 76 Cf. Johannes Munck, The Acts of the Apostles: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (The Anchor Bible; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1967), p. 211.

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God! (ὁ κύριός μου καὶ ὁ θεός μου)” 29Jesus said to him, ‘Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet believe’.

The appearance of ὁ θεός in this context may in principle be viewed as reflecting a broader process of Jesus’ divinization, attested, e.g., in Ignatius, and thus detached from the Johannine strategies. However, if we strive to comprehend it in a specifically Johannine fashion, a problem arises: Since it is the link to the logos that provides Johannine Jesus with a divine, Moses-​like but greater status, what is the inner logic in calling ‘God’ the resurrected Jesus? In other words, how is Jesus’ resurrection connected to him being the bearer of God’s logos?77 Was it in line with Philo’s suggestion that Moses, as one to whom God spoke face to face, did not die?78 It is an attractive possibility, though I would suppose that in order to indicate such an interpretation the Gospel should be expected to have provided some further elaboration. Another possibility would be to interpret ὁ κύριός μου καὶ ὁ θεός μου or, at least, ὁ θεός μου, as not addressing Jesus at all but rather as expressing astonishment about God’s great wonder –​the resurrection of his anointed one (something like ‘o my God!’). This was, for example, the interpretation offered in late fourth century by a most sensitive writer, Theodore of Mopsuestia, who dedicated a whole book to the various levels of conjunction between the Messiah and the logos at various stages of the former’s life.79 Theodore states unequivocally that it could not have been expected of Thomas, who had just touched the body of Jesus and had not yet been taught that the risen one was divine, to call the latter ‘God’.80 Against the common understanding that regarded Thomas’ skepticism as a sign of weak faith, Theodore contextualizes his behavior as conduct that

77 Cf. Brown, The Gospel According to John (XIII–​XXI), pp. 1026–​1027, who ignores this completely. 78 See Philo, The Life of Moses II, 288–​292. 79 Theodore of Mopsuestia, Commentary on the Gospel of John, Syriac text, ed. and Latin trans. J.-​M. Vosté, CSCO Scriptores Syri 4.3 (Paris, 1940); English trans., M. Conti, Theodore of Mopsuestia: Commentary on the Gospel of John (Downers Grove, IL, 2010). Cf. Brown, The Gospel According to John (XIII–​XXI), pp. 1026, where he states: ‘There is no tendency among modern scholars to follow Theodore’. 80 Commentary on John 358.3–​11, Eng. 166. Interestingly enough, this exegetical dichotomy lingers in modern scholarly exegesis.

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is most realistic and adequate at this stage, since objectively, he was not 81 yet able to discern the divine nature present in Christ.

Conclusion The fashion with regard to whether high christology is attested already in the earliest writings composed by Jesus’ followers or reflects a later, more developed, phase of the Christian tradition in the making has repeatedly changed over the last few decades. Whereas the beginning of this period was distinguished by the trend postponing the foundational stages of the divinization or even ‘messianization’ of Jesus,82 lately the reverse tendency has undergone a certain renaissance. Among its several forceful expressions there are, inter alia, the studies by Richard Bauckham,83 and (to give a very different example) a relatively recent book by Daniel Boyarin.84 In Israeli scholarship, this interpretation was propagated by Joshua Ephron and in the work of his disciples, of which the 2015 Hebrew article by Rivka Nir is an illuminating example.85 This does not at all mean that the other tendency has completely died away; but characteristically even scholars who still vote for a gradual nature of the process leading up to a developed heavenly image of Jesus –​absent, according to them, in the earliest strata of nascent Christian literature –​see the Fourth Gospel as already representing that high christology. Their position may be seen validated in light of, first and foremost, the majestic Johannine Prologue, which appears to establish an identity of sorts between Jesus the Messiah and God’s logos. Studies by Jörg Frey provide a salient example of such an approach: Frey both discerns in 81 See discussion in Aryeh Kofsky and Serge Ruzer, ‘Hermeneutics of Progressive Development in Theodore of Mopsuestia’s Commentary on John in Syriac’, Parole de l’Orient 40 (2015), pp. 275–​286. 82 See, for example, the telling title of Paula Fredriksen’s study From Jesus to Christ: The Origins of the New Testament Images of Christ (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2000). 83 See, for example, Richard Bauckham, Jesus and the God of Israel: God Crucified and Other Studies on the New Testament Christology of Divine Identity (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdman, 2008) 84 Daniel Boyarin, The Jewish Gospels: The Story of the Jewish Christ (New York: New Press, 2012). 85 Rivka Nir, ‘John the Baptist in the Fourth Gospel: Ideal Witness to Jesus, God and Man’, Cathedra 158 (2015), pp. 27–​50 (in Hebrew)

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John the high christology and –​unlike Bauckham and Boyarin –​states emphatically that this was a new development absent in the Synoptic tradition.86 In fact, Frey’s argument is two-​pronged: He claims that the innovative introduction of high christology in John was accompanied by the decisive turn of the writer away from a Jewish projected audience to a gentile (Greek) one. I have not been convinced by arguments for such a dramatic change of the message and especially the intended audience in John. I argued that the fact that the Gospel’s author builds Jesus’ portrait in constant reference to Moses is of utmost importance for approximating his position.87 In other words, if we want to follow the author of John, the nature of Jesus’ divinization –​or, to put it differently, logoization –​should be evaluated vis-​à-​vis possible developments in similar directions in the perceptions of the figure of Moses. The answer to the question ‘Should we then brand John’s position as “low christology” ’ seems therefore to be in the affirmative.

86 See n. 67. 87 And not, say, to the angels on high as in the New Testament Epistles to the Hebrews and to the Colossians.

Jewish and Christian Identity

4

Would the Christian Paul Consider Himself a Jew? Summary of a lecture by Daniel R. Schwartz The Hebrew University of Jerusalem

This schematic lecture’s point of departure was the apparent difficulty experienced by various translators in rendering some plain Pauline texts concerning Jews and Judaism.1 Thus, for the example that first piqued my curiosity, the German Einheitsübersetzung has Paul relate in Galatians 1:13 to ‘wie ich früher als gesetzestreuer Jude gelebt habe’, and in the next verse to the way that ‘in der Treue zum jüdischen Gesetz’ he surpassed his contemporaries. But the Greek has no such specific reference to law in either verse. Rather, it refers to Ioudaïsmos, ‘Judaism’, which we normally take to be much more general. Luther, whose canonical German translation was replaced by the Einheitsübersetzung, had no trouble about using ‘Judentum’ in both verses; why did the Einheitsübersetzung deviate from that obvious and traditional translation? It is not difficult to understand this move in light of the fact that the Einheitsübersetzung strove, in the wake of Vatican II, to improve relations between Christians and Jews, and to strengthen Christians’ awareness of the continuity between Judaism and Christianity. In that context, it was considered desirable to avoid teaching that Paul, in becoming a believer in Christ, underwent a complete break with Judaism.2 Rather, when it comes to a passage in which Paul speaks clearly of his ‘former life’ in

1 For a first stab at some of the issues broached in this lecture, see my ‘Paul, the Jews, and Well-​Meaning Translation: At What Price Einheit?’ Theologische Zeitschrift 69 (2013), pp. 372–​384. 2 See, in general, the Päpstliche Kommission für die religiösen Beziehungen zu dem Judentum’s Richtlinien und Hinweise für die Konzilerklärung ‘Nostra Aetate,” Art. 4 (Trier, 1976).

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Ioudaïsmos, this translation of Gal 1:13–​14 suggests that he broke with only one aspect of being Jewish –​adherence to Jewish law. The thesis that Paul continued to consider himself a Jew is reflected in numerous scholarly versions of his statements about himself, versions that also, often enough, deviate from what Paul actually says. Two examples: Ed Parish Sanders: ‘He was Jewish and regarded himself as the Jewish apostle to the Gentiles in the last days. He states his own identity explicitly in Rom 9:2–​5…’3 Peter Wick: ‘Im Philipperbrief (Phil 3,3–​7) spricht Paulus über seine Herkunft. Er besitzt im Bezug auf seine jüdische Abstammung alle Vorzüge, um als Jude unter Juden stolz darauf sein zu können’.4 However, just as Gal 1:13–​14 makes no reference to ‘Gesetz’, Rom 9:2–​5 and Phil 3:3–​7 make no reference to ‘Jews’. The former passage refers to ‘Israelites’ (Rom 9:4), who are said to be Paul’s ‘brethren’ or ‘kinsmen by race’; in the latter passage Paul identifies himself as ‘of the people of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew born of Hebrews; as to the law a Pharisee’, but not as a Jew. Similarly, at Rom 11:1 Paul emphasizes that he is an Israelite, a descendant of Abraham, and a Benjaminite –​but says nothing about being a Jew. These passages, which all refer to kinship and descent, employ so many other terms that it might seem that Paul was studiously avoiding ‘Jew’. If we wonder why he might do that, two possibilities suggest themselves, and they are very different from one another. The first, which resonates well with a good deal of modern scholarship, is that Paul took Ioudaios to mean ‘Judean’, and since he was from the Diaspora, he did not consider himself to be one.5 A Jew of the Diaspora could live ‘in Judaism’ (or even ‘in Judeanism’), as Paul says he once did, but he could not be a

3 E. P. Sanders, ‘Paul’s Jewishness’, in Paul’s Jewish Matrix (ed. T. G. Casey and J. Taylor; Rome: Gregorian and Biblical Press, 2011), pp. 51–​74. Sanders is, of course, the author of a very major work dedicated to localizing Paul with the Jewish world of his time: Paul and Palestinian Judaism (Philadelphia, PA: Fortress, 1977). 4 P. Wick, Paulus (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2006), p. 31. 5 For this assessment of Ioudaios, see esp. S. Mason, ‘Jews, Judeans, Judaizing, Judaism: Problems of Categorization in Ancient History’, Journal for the Study of Judaism 38 (2007), pp. 457–​512.

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Judean.6 But since Paul did not have another similar word in Greek, in contrast to us, who have both ‘Judean’ and ‘Jew’, he could do no more than simply avoid using Ioudaios with regard to himself. According to this explanation, Paul would have called himself a Jew had he had such a word available, for he would have held that the fact that he now believed in Christ did not put an end to his being a Jew. The other possibility is that Paul took Ioudaios to mean ‘adherent of the Jewish religion’, and that he distinguishes between that religion, which he terms Ioudaïsmus just as we term it ‘Judaism’, on the one hand, and his descent (Wick’s ‘Herkunft, Abstammung’), which was Israelite, on the other. According to this explanation, Paul, having become a believer in Christ, no longer considered himself an adherent of Judaism, a Ioudaios, although he did maintain, of course, the Israelite descent with which he was born. Since the Holocaust, it has been very popular to choose, in effect, the former explanation, and scholars such as Sanders and Wick, who use ‘Jew’ when Paul did not use Ioudaios, are simply doing what –​so this explanation posits –​Paul himself would have done had his Greek vocabulary included a word like our English ‘Jew’. Scholars who follow this route are basically following the path blazed by Johannes Munck, in his Christus und Israel: Eine Auslegung von Röm. 9–​11 (København: Munksgaard, 1956)7; by focusing on Rom 9–​11, which emphasizes God’s continuing love for Israel and even argues that the move of the gospel to the Gentiles was only in order to make Israelites jealous, Munck pointed the way to emphasizing Paul’s continued belonging to Israel. But in the decades since Munck wrote a territorial state has replaced the Jewish people as the referent of ‘Israel’, and so it was only natural for scholars, as others, to move on to using ‘Jew’ instead, thus resulting in translations such as those by Sanders and Wick cited above. 6 This is not to say that other Ioudaioi in the Diaspora would not have been content to be understood as Judeans. But I suspect that, as Paul, others too might have preferred to be understood as what we call Jews, adherents of Judaism, because as ‘Judeans’ they would by definition be second rate in comparison with Judeans in Judea. Cf. my ‘Humbly Second-​Rate in the Diaspora? Philo and Stephen on the Temple and the Tabernacle’, Envisioning Judaism: Studies in Honor of Peter Schäfer on the Occasion of his Seventieth Birthday (2 vols.; ed. R. S Boustan et al.; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 1, pp. 81–​89. 7 In English: Christ and Israel: An Interpretation of Romans 9–​ 11 (Philadelphia, PA: Fortress, 1967).

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This development, however, required and requires scholars to explain how Paul could go on considering himself a Jew, given his polemics against Jewish law, and it left them with only two options. The first is to relegate adherence to Jewish law to the margins of what being a Jew meant, for Paul, so he could hold that giving it up need not impinge upon the basic and general self-​definition as a Jew, whether because that focused on other religious values or because it was simply taken to refer to his pedigree. The second is to deny that Paul gave up observance of Jewish law, or, more generally, to deny that whether or not he went on observing it for this or that reason, he lost his respect for it as a significant part of his religion. In my opinion, both of those options are problematic. The first, which is basically the one taken by the Einheitsübersetzung in Galatians 1, ascribes to the law a role that is much less significant not only than the role ascribed to it by rabbinic tradition, and by Josephus, but also by Paul himself: if Christ is ‘the end of the law’ and so it makes sense to contrast Christ and faith with Moses and law (Rom 10:3–​6), then the law is not simply one aspect of being Jewish among many. It is what being Jewish is all about. But the second option involves interpreting such polemic anti-​legal passages as Galatians 3 as if they were meant only for Gentile readers, while Jews were of course expected to go on observing the law. That is a well-​meaning way of neutralizing, in the post-​Holocaust era, a vehement polemic that otherwise teaches Christians that Jews are violating God’s will by persisting in observing Jewish law despite the coming –​and atoning death –​of Christ. But I find it very difficult to think that Paul could have written so angrily about the law in Gal 3, without himself noting that he meant his words for non-​Jews alone, and then gone on taking the law seriously.8 If neither of those options is satisfactory, then that which required them becomes doubtful. What required them was the notion that Paul continued, despite his new faith in Christ, to consider himself a Jew, or, more accurately: that he would have considered himself a Jew, had he had such a word available, so scholars such as Sanders and Wick are justified when they use it in representing Paul’s notions. The other option, 8 This is apart from another objection raised by S. Ruzer, that Paul’s addressees always included Jewish Christians too, whether directly or only by implication; see his ‘Paul’s Stance on the Torah Revisited: Gentile Addressees and the Jewish Setting’, in Paul’s Jewish Matrix (above n. 3), pp. 81–​84.

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which appears to be more compelling, is that he would not have gone on considering himself a Jew, namely, that he distinguished quite clearly between his origin, as an Israelite, and his current status as believer in Christ. While the former went together naturally, as a default, with being a Jew, Paul in fact came to view that only as his ‘former life in Judaism’, whereas now he lives ‘in Christ’.9 Apart from clarifying Paul’s understanding of his own post-​conversion identity, and of the relationship of Judaism to belief in Christ in his eyes, namely, the suggestion that he now understood himself as an Israelite but not as a Jew, this explanation of Paul’s distinction between ‘Ioudaios’ and ‘Israel’ has an implication for the more general question: Did Paul, or his contemporaries, recognize ‘Judaism’ as a religion the way we do, as something that may be identified apart from other aspects of one’s being, such as one’s descent, and adopted or rejected at will? But examining that would take us back to the second century BCE (2 Macc 2:21; 8:1; 14:38) and to a much broader dossier. Here I have confined myself to calling for an accurate reflection of Pauline nomenclature about his identity and for a willingness to draw the apparent conclusions about his own self-​understanding.

9 For this common Pauline notion, see Sanders, ‘Paul’s Jewishness’, pp. 64–​68.

5

The Fiscus Judaicus: A Touchstone of Jewish (-​Christian) Identity1 Jonathan Bourgel Université Laval (Canada)

One of the first measures taken by Vespasian2 after the suppression of the Jewish Revolt was the establishment of a head tax imposed on all the Jews throughout the Empire. This impost consisted of a redirection of the annual half-​shekel offering (‫ )מחצית השקל‬which the Jews had formerly paid for the upkeep of the Temple in Jerusalem. Aside from the financial burden it represented, this levy was particularly offending and humiliating since it was devoted to the rebuilding of the temple of Jupiter on the Capitoline Hill.3 The Jewish tax is referred to by different names in ancient sources: Whereas Josephus4 and Appian5 merely call it ὁ φόρος (tribute), Suetonius6 refers to the Fiscus Iudaicus (which actually points to the fiscal office in Rome into which the funds were paid, rather than 1 This paper is a slightly revised version of a chapter that appeared in my book in French D’une identité à l’autre? La communauté judéo-​chrétienne de Jérusalem entre les deux révoltes juives contre Rome (66–​135/​6 EC) (Collection Judaïsme ancien et Christianisme primitif; Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 2015), pp. 105–​25. 2 According to Josephus (War 7:218), the edict concerning the Jewish tax was promulgated in the third year of Vespasian (from 1 July 71 to 1 of July 72 CE). Cassius Dio’s report is slightly different (RH 66:7:2), and implies that the tax was levied immediately after the destruction of the Temple. 3 The temple of Jupiter Capitolinus burnt down during the course of the civil war in 69 CE (Suetonius, Life of Vitellius 15:5). 4 War 7:218. 5 Syriacus Liber 50:252; see: Menahem Stern¸ Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism. Volume 2: From Tacitus to Simplicius (Jerusalem: The Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1980), p. 179. 6 Life of Domitian 12:2.

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to the tax itself ).7 Cassius Dio8 and Origen9 call this tax τὸ δίδραχμον. Lastly, in official Egyptian documents, which relate to the collection of the Jewish tax, we find the wordings τιμή δηναρίων δύο Ἰουδαίων (‘the price of two Denarii of the Jews’) and Ἰουδαικὸν τέλεσμα (‘tax of the Jews’).10 Given this, Victor A. Tcherikover proposes that Denarii duo Judaeorum was the official name for the Jewish levy.11 Liability to this Jewish tax varied under successive Emperors up to the very end of the first century CE, and there was some degree of evolvement up to the reign of Nerva. As will be shown, this evolution had far-​ reaching implications for Jews in general, and for the Jewish-​Christian streams in particular. By imposing this levy, the Roman authorities indirectly posed the Jewish-​Christians the twofold question of their identity and their relation to Judaism. The purpose of this paper is to determine the attitude of Jewish-​Christian communities (with a special emphasis on those of Judea)12 toward the Jewish tax throughout its evolution. This survey should not only be enlightening as to the self-​understanding of 7 See: Mireille Hadas-​Lebel, Jérusalem contre Rome (Paris: Cerf, 1990), p. 230; Martin Goodman, ‘The Meaning of ‘Fisci Iudaici Calumnia Sublata’ on the Coinage of Nerva’, in eds. Shaye J. D. Cohen and Joshua J. Schwartz (eds.), Studies in Josephus and the Varieties of Ancient Judaism: Louis H. Feldman Jubilee Volume (AJEC 67; Leyden: Brill, 2007), pp. 81–​9 (83). 8 RH 66:7:2. 9 Ad Africanum 14 (PG 11, col. 81–​2). 10 These documents will be discussed below. 11 Victor A. Tcherikover and Alexander Fuks (eds.), Corpus Papyrorum Judaicorum (3 vols.; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1957–​64) vol. 1, pp. 80–​2; vol. 2, pp. 108–​36; pp. 204–​8; vol. 3, pp. 17–​18. 12 The question of the definition of Jewish-​Christianity is controversial and much debated. Various criteria have been proposed to define this phenomenon, such as Jewish ethnicity, Jewish praxis or theological and doctrinal specifics. It is beyond the scope of this paper to present a detailed review of this issue. See among others: Joan E. Taylor, ‘The Phenomenon of Early Jewish Christianity: Reality or Scholarly Invention’, VC 44 (1990), pp. 313–​34 (314); James Carleton Paget, ‘Jewish Christianity’, in William Horbury, William D. Davies and John Sturdy (eds.), The Cambridge History of Judaism. Vol. III: The Early Roman Period (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1999), pp. 731–​75 (733–​34); Matt Jackson-​McCabe, ‘What’s in a Name? The Problem of Jewish Christianity’, in Matt Jackson-​McCabe (ed.), Jewish Christianity Reconsidered: Rethinking Ancient Groups and Texts (Minneapolis, Fortress Press, 2007), pp. 7–​38; Daniel Boyarin, ‘Jewish Christianity: An Argument for Dismantling a Dubious Category (to which is Appended a Correction of my Border Lines)’, JQR 99, 1 (2009), pp. 7–​36. By ‘Jewish-​Christians’ I mean those Christian communities of Judea that were led by Jesus’ relatives up to the Bar-​Kokhba Revolt

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Jewish-​Christian communities, but also contribute to assess the degree of awareness of the Roman authorities about the distinctions between non-​ Christian-​Jews, Jewish-​Christians and non-​Jewish-​Christians in the late first-​early second century CE.

The Fiscus Judaicus under the Reigns of Vespasian and Titus Josephus writes that towards the very end of the Jewish revolt: On all Jews, whersoever resident, he (Vespasian) imposed a poll-​tax of two drachms, to be paid annually into the Capitol as formerly contributed by them to the Temple at Jerusalem.13

Literally taken, this statement implies that the people liable for the new impost were the same as those paying for the Temple tax. As we shall see though, both groups of taxpayers did not entirely coincide, in other words, the Jewish tax was not completely identical with the former Temple levy. According to religious prescriptions, every Jew of twenty years and up owed the half-​shekel tax,14 but Josephus fixes the upper age limit for liability at fifty.15 Besides, the Mishnah states that women, minors and slaves were exempt from payment of the tax.16 Although Vespasian did not enlarge the sum to be paid by the Jews,17 he expanded the fiscal base of this new tax. A papyrus from Arsinoe18 and potsherds

13 14 15 16 17 18

(the chief community being in Jerusalem) inasmuch as they were of Jewish stock and observed (at least to some extant) Jewish customs. In this respect, Eusebius writes that up to this time, the ‘whole Church (of Jerusalem) consisted of Hebrews (συνεστάναι γὰρ αὐτοῖς τότε τὴν πᾶσαν ἐκκλησίαν ἐξ Ἑβραίων πιστῶν)’ (HE 4:5:2, [eds. Edward Schwartz and Theodor Mommsen; Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1903], GCS 2/​1, pp. 308–​9); further he states that down to this period, all the bishops were ‘from the circumcision (οἱ πάντες ἐκ περιτομῆς)’ (HE 4:5:4, [GCS 2/​1, p. 309]). War 7:218. Trans. Henry St. J. Thackeray, Josephus III (LCL 210; London: Heinemann; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1928), pp. 567–​69. Exod. 30:14. According to Neh 10:32 the Temple tax amounted to one-​third of a shekel. See also: Philo, On Monarchy 2:3. Ant. 3:196. m. Shek. 1:6. The sum of two denarii that was required for the payment of the Jewish tax, was equivalent to a Temple half-​shekel (which itself was worth two Attic drachmae). CPJ 421; this papyrus contains a list drawn up by a local official (an amphodarches) of the inhabitants of a quarter in Arsinoe who were liable to the Jewish tax.

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from Edfu19 in Egypt, that span a period from 71/​72 to 116 CE, demonstrate that the tax was exacted from every Jew, male and female alike, free men (including Roman citizens20) and slaves alike. Moreover, the lower limit for liability to the Jewish tax was lowered to the age of three, while the upper limit was raised to the age of sixty or sixty-​two.21 Thus, the change introduced by Vespasian consisted of expanding the fiscal base for the Jewish tax to include all the members (from the age of three to sixty or sixty-​two) of the households of the Jews who had previously paid the Temple dues. The fact remains that, up to the reign of Domitian, the liability to the tax was not determined according to criteria of Jewishness; as Lloyd A. Thompson has noted, Vespasian’s decree ‘was an opportunistic measure motivated by fiscal considerations’.22 In the same vein, Paul Foster wrote that the institution of the Fiscus Judaicus ‘represented only a single part of an overall economic strategy to bring prosperity and financial stability to the people of Rome, and, hence, to protect Vespasian’s own position’.23 There is reason to think that, for practical reasons, the Roman authorities appealed to the Jewish communities who were previously in charge of collecting the Temple dues,24 in order to determine the list of persons liable to the new impost. As a result, the fiscal base for the Jewish tax was formed by the same households as had previously paid the half-​shekel to the Temple in Jerusalem (as implied by War 7:218).

19 CPJ 160–​229. These ostraka were used as receipts for payments of the Jewish tax. 20 See for instance: CPJ 162; 174. 21 Scholarly opinion is divided about the upper limit of the Jewish tax in the days of Vespasian; on this issue see: Tcherikover and Fuks (eds.), Corpus Papyrorum Judaicorum, vol. 2, p. 114; Colin J. Hemer, ‘The Edfu Ostraka and the Jewish tax’, PEQ 105 (1973), pp. 6–​12 (7, n. 10); Margaret H. Williams, ‘Domitian, the Jews and the ‘Judaizers’ –​a Simple Matter of Cupiditas and Maiestas?’, Historia 39 (1990), pp. 196–​211 (198, n. 10). 22 Lloyd A. Thompson, ‘Domitian and the Jewish Tax’, Historia 31 (1982), pp. 329–​ 42 (333). 23 Paul Foster, ‘Vespasian, Nerva, Jesus, and the Fiscus Judaicus’, in David B. Capes, April D. DeConick, Hellen K. Bond and Troy A. Miller (eds.), Israel’s God and Rebecca’s Children. Christology and Community in Early Judaism and Christianity. Essays in Honor of Larry W. Hurtado and Alan F. Segal (Waco: Baylor University Press, 2007), pp. 303–​20 (308). 24 m. Shek. 2:1. See: Thompson, ‘Domitian and the Jewish Tax’, 333; Anthony J. Saldarini, Matthew’s Christian-​Jewish Community (CSHJ; Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1994), p. 145.

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Accordingly, in order to know whether the Christians were required to pay the Jewish tax immediately after its establishment, it must be asked whether they paid Temple dues prior to the Jewish War. It is indubitable that Christians of pagan origin were not liable to the payment of this tax. The Mishnah states clearly: ‘If a gentile or a Samaritan paid the shekel, it is not accepted of them’.25 We shall therefore limit our inquiry to those Christian communities whose members were of Jewish origins. It is to be assumed that those of them who moved away from the Temple cult ceased to pay the half-​shekel tax; the Hellenists for instance, whose leader Stephen had spoken against the Jerusalem Sanctuary,26 certainly refused to pay the Temple dues. Contesting the legitimacy of this levy was not uncommon in the late Second Temple period; a saying ascribed to Rabban Yohanan b. Zakkai implies that not all Jews paid the tax even while the Temple stood.27 The pericope of the Temple tax (Matt. 17:24–​ 27) attests that there were Christians who carried on paying the half-​ shekel due. When they reached Capernaum, the collectors of the temple tax [οἱ τὰ δίδραχμα λαμβάνοντες] came to Peter and said, ‘Does your teacher not pay the temple tax?’ He said, ‘Yes, he does’. And when he came home, Jesus spoke of it first, asking, ‘What do you think, Simon? From whom do kings of the earth take toll or tribute? From their children or from others?’ When Peter said, ‘From others’, Jesus said to him, ‘Then the children are free. However, so that we do not give offense to them [Ἵνα δὲ μὴ σκανδαλίσωμεν αὐτούς], go to the sea and cast a hook; take the first fish that comes up; and when you open its mouth, you will find a coin; take that and give it to them for you and me’ (NRSV).

The exact provenance of this pericope (occurring only in Matthew28) remains a moot issue. While some assume that it corresponds to an actual

25 m. Shek. 1:5. 26 Acts 7:47–​50. 27 Mekhilta, Ba-​Hodesh 1 (ed. Horovitz-​Rabin; Jerusalem: Bamberger and Wahrman, 1960; repr. of Frankfurt, 1931, p. 203): ‘You were unwilling to pay “Shekel” to Heaven (i.e. the half-​shekel to the Temple), a beka per head, now you have to pay fifteen shekels in the kingdom of your enemies …’; trans. Alexander Carlebach (‘Rabbinic References to Fiscus Judaicus’, JQR 66 [1975], pp. 57–​61, [57]). 28 A similar account is found in Epistula Apostolorum 5 (second century); see: Donald A. Hagner, Matthew 14–​28. Word Biblical Commentary. Vol. XXIIIb (Dallas: Word Books, 1995), p. 510.

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occurrence in the life of Jesus,29 others argue that it merely addresses the 30 question of the first Christians’ liability to the half-​shekel tax. At any rate, the common scholarly view holds that it reflects the actual situation prior to the destruction of the Temple.31 This view is based on the implied analogy between the ‘kings of the earth’ and the Divine King of Israel, where the parallelism is understood to mean that since the children of the earthly kings are free from paying levies, God’s children should also be exempted from paying a tax levied in God’ s name.32 Thus, it is generally assumed that this story deals with the annual half-​shekel Temple tax that was seen as being paid to God. Discussion on the Temple tax was frequent in the Late Second Temple Period. The annual half-​shekel due had been established in the late Hasmonean period, probably at the instigation of the Pharisees33; as a relatively recent institution, it was still disputed within Jewish circles in the first century CE. The Dead Sea sect, for instance, understood the half-​shekel as being required only once in a

29 See for instance: John D. M. Derrett, ‘Peter’s Penny: Fresh Light on Matthew xvii 24–​7’, in John D. M. Derrett (ed.) Law in the New Testament (London: Darton, Longman and Todd, 1970), pp. 247–​65. 30 See for instance: David Flusser, ‘Mt. xvii 24–​7 and the Dead Sea Sect’, Tarbiz 31 (1961), pp. 150–​56 (150) (Hebrew). 31 See for instance: Hendrik Van Der Loos, The Miracles of Jesus (NovTSup 9; Leiden: Brill, 1968), 680–​81; William Horbury, ‘The Temple Tax’, in Charles F. D. Moule and Ernst Bammel (eds.), Jesus and the Politics of his Day (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984), pp. 265–​86 (271); David Daube, ‘The Temple Tax’, in Appeasement or Resistance? And Other Essays on New Testament Judaism (Berkley, CA.: University of California, 1987), pp. 39–​58 (53–​54); Donald J. Verseput, ‘Jesus’ Pilgrimage to Jerusalem and Encounter in the Temple: A Geographical Motif in Matthew’s Gospel’, NT 36 (1994), pp. 105–​21 (109–​14). Nonetheless, certain scholars argue for the pericope of the Temple tax as a Matthean composition; see for instance: Neil J. McEleney, ‘Mt. 17.24–​27. Who Paid the Temple Tax? A Lesson in Avoidance of Scandal’, CBQ 38 (1976), pp. 178–​92 (182–​84); Ulrich Luz, Matthew 8–20. A Commentary, trans. James E. Crouch (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2001), pp. 414–15. 32 Whereas some scholars hold that that the ‘sons’ refer to all Israel (Flusser, ‘Mt. xvii 24–​7 and the Dead Sea Sect’, p. 151), other consider it should be understood as Jesus and his disciples (Derrett, ‘Peter’s Penny’, pp. 253–​55). 33 On this point, see: Jacob Liver, ‘The Half-​Shekel Offering in Biblical and Post-​ Biblical Literature’, HTR 56 (1963), pp. 173–​98; Flusser, ‘Mt. xvii 24–​7 and the Dead Sea Sect’, pp. 152–​53; Horbury, ‘The Temple Tax’, pp. 277–​82; Eyal Regev, The Sadducees and Their Halakhah: Religion and Society in the Second Temple Period (Jerusalem: Yad Ben-​Zvi, 2005), p. 136 (Hebrew).

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lifetime.34 Similarly, the Sadducees considered that it was not to be paid 35 annually. Matt. 17:24–​27 should be understood in the context of this intense discussion about the Temple tax36 and it is noteworthy that its author instructed the members of his community to comply with the payment of the half-​shekel due. Likewise, there is reason to assume that the members of the Jerusalem church (with the exception of the Hellenists) under the successive leadership of Peter and James carried on paying the Temple Tax. There is abundant evidence in the Book of Acts for the great importance of the Temple in the eyes of this community, for the first Christians of Jerusalem considered the Sanctuary to be not only their place of prayer, but also their venue for preaching.37 Furthermore, Acts (15.5) refers to Pharisees who joined the Mother Church not long after its foundation. Robert A. Wild has rightly stressed that these Pharisees are seen as having been influential

34 John M. Allegro, ‘An unpublished fragment of Essene halakhah (4Q ordinances)’, JSS 6 (1961), pp. 71–​73. 35 See: Regev, The Sadducees and Their Halakhah, pp. 132–​39. 36 The insertion of the pericope of the Temple tax in the Gospel of Matthew (usually dated to the end of the first century CE) raises a perplexing question: what was the relevance of this account after the destruction of the Temple? Several scholars have proposed that Matthew was using this story to address the knotty question of the Fiscus Judaicus. According to Hugh Montefiore, this passage is based on an earlier tradition (possibly related to Jesus’ position on the Temple tax) that was later adapted to meet the needs of the Jewish-​Christian community. By inserting the Temple tax story, then, Matthew sought to instruct the members of his community to pay the Jewish tax; ‘Jesus and the Temple Tax’, NTS 10 (1964–​65), pp. 60–​71 (64–​65). See also: Johann Weiss, Die Schriften des Neuen Testaments (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1906), vol. 1, p. 323; Saldarini, Matthew’s Christian-​Jewish Community, pp. 143–​47; Martin Hengel and Charles. K. Barrett, Conflicts and Challenges in Early Christianity (Harrisburg, PA.: Trinity Press, 1999), p. 37; Paul Foster, Community, Law, and Mission in Matthew’s Gospel (WUNT 2.177; Tübingen: Mohr-​Siebeck, 2004), pp. 254–​55; idem, ‘Vespasian, Nerva, Jesus, and the Fiscus Judaicus’, pp. 312–​15. This opinion, though, has been rejected by many scholars; see for instance: William D. Davies and Dale C. Allison Jr., A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel According to Saint Matthew. Vol. II: Commentary on Matthew VIII–​XVIII (Edinburg: T. & T. Clark, 1991), p. 740; Luz, Matthew 8–​ 20, p. 415; Donald A. Hagner, Word Biblical Commentary Vol. 33b, Matthew 14–​28 (Dallas, Word, 2002), p. 510. 37 Acts 3:1; 5:20–​21; 42; 21:15–​26; see: Daniel K. Falk, ‘Jewish Prayer Literature and the Jerusalem Church in Acts’, in Richard Bauckham (ed.), The Book of Acts in its Palestinian Setting (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1995), pp. 267–​301.

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in the Jerusalem Church,38 and it is to be assumed that they were not likely to have tolerated any refusal to pay the Temple tax. Accordingly, it is most probable that the heirs of the Jerusalem Church became liable to the Jewish tax after the suppression of the Great Revolt. In theory, every Jewish-​Christian community that had carried on paying the half-​shekel to the Jerusalem Sanctuary until it was destroyed, was required to pay the impost to the temple of Jupiter Capitolinus after the Roman victory.

The Administration of the Fiscus Judaicus under Domitian It is usually agreed that some significant changes were introduced by Domitian both in the assessment of liability to the Jewish tax and in the way it was collected.39 Our main source on this issue is Suetonius, who reports: Besides other taxes, that on the Jews was levied with the utmost rigour, and those were prosecuted who without publicly acknowledging that faith yet lived as Jews, as well as those who concealed their origin and did not pay the tribute levied upon their people (vel improfessi Iudaicam viverent vitam vel dissimulata origine imposita genti tributa non pependissent). I recall being present in my youth when the person of a man ninety years old was examined before the procurator and a very crowded court, to see whether he was circumcised.40

It appears then, that Domitian extended the requirement to pay the poll-​tax to the Fiscus Iudaicus. As noted above, in the days of Vespasian (and apparently under the reign of Titus), the fiscal base of the Jewish tax was grounded on the roughly same communities (and the same households) as had previously been paying the Temple dues to the Jerusalem Sanctuary. However, this method of assessment of liability (which did

38 Robert A. Wild, ‘The Encounter between Pharisaic and Christian Judaism: Some Early Gospel Evidence’, NT 27 (1985), pp. 105–​24 (114). 39 In this respect, the documents from Edfu indicate that a change of terminology occurred during the reign of Domitian, so that somewhere between 89 and 92 CE the original name of the tax τιμή δηναρίων δύο Ἰουδαίων was replaced by Ἰουδαικὸν τέλεσμα. Tcherikover suggests that this modification may reflect a reform in the central administration of the Fiscus Judaicus (Corpus Papyrorum Judaicorum, vol. 2, pp. 112–​13). 40 Life of Domitian 12:2; trans. John C. Rolfe in Suetonius, Volume II (LCL 38; Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 1950), pp. 365–​67.

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not rest on defined criteria of Jewishness) could not take into consideration the subsequent internal developments within Judaism. The Jewish world was in constant evolution, and oscillated between an influx of proselytes on the one hand, and the apostasy of some Jews by birth on the other.41 There must have been a point after the establishment of the Fiscus Iudaicus when liability to the Jewish tax as defined by Vespasian ceased to correspond to the changes within the Jewish communities, all the more since, the trauma caused by the destruction of the Temple certainly led many Jews to apostasize. One can assume that the apostates from Judaism contested their liability to the Jewish tax. Similarly, many Gentiles who adhered to varying extents to the Jewish faith were certainly not registered as tax-​payers for the Fiscus Iudaicus. It is clear that, at some point, the Roman authorities became aware of this general evolution, which they would naturally consider a large-​ scale fiscal evasion. It seems likely that Domitian’s financial difficulties prompted him to investigate more closely the extent of the requirement to pay the tax to the Fiscus Iudaicus. Here it is significant that Suetonius links the rigorous exaction of the Jewish tax to the emperor’s acute need of money.42 Domitian had increased military pay and was faced with heavy expenditures,43 while the building constructions he had undertaken were a further large financial burden. In this context, it has been argued with reason that the reconstruction of the Capitoline temple44

41 In this connection, Josephus refers on several occasions to apostate Jews like Tiberius Iulius Alexander (War 2:487–​98; Ant 20:100) or Antiochus from Antioch (War 7:46–​62); see: John M. G. Barclay, ‘Who was considered an apostate in the Jewish Diaspora’, in Graham N. Stanton and Guy G. Stroumsa (eds.), Tolerance and Intolerance in Early Judaism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), pp. 80–​ 95 (87–​88). Likewise, Martial alludes to the efforts of a certain Menophilius to hide his circumcision most likely in order to conceal his Jewish origins (Epigrammata 7:82; see: Menahem Stern¸ Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism. Volume 1: From Herodotus to Plutarch [Jerusalem: The Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1974], pp. 524–​25). 42 Life of Domitian 12:1. 43 Carol H. V. Sutherland suggests that this measure was taken in 83–​84 CE, as a result of the Chattan War (‘The State of the Imperial Treasury at the Death of Domitian’, JRS 25 [1935], pp. 150–​62 [159]). 44 The temple of Jupiter Capitolinus was destroyed again in a great fire in 80 CE (Suetonius, Life of Titus 8:7) and rebuilt by Domitian in 82 CE (Suetonius, Life of Domitian 5:1–​2). According to Jerome, the renovated Temple was inaugurated in 89 CE (Chronicle, ed. Helm, 191a).

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had a definite impact on Domitian’s administration of the Fiscus Iudaicus, which was certainly regarded as the ‘most appropriate source of funds for the rebuilding of the temple’.45 Domitian’s efforts to increase the revenues of the Fiscus Iudaicus therefore led him to redefine the criteria of liability to the Jewish tax in order to expand its fiscal base. Thus, Vespasian’s decree was now interpreted in an extreme fashion: the tax fell not only on the same communities as had previously been paying the Temple dues, but also on every individual regarded as a Jew (and as such liable for taxation) according to broader criteria of Jewishness. As already mentioned, Suetonius reports that Domitian pursued, as part of his hunting down of tax evaders, the persons who vel improfessi Iudaicam viverent vitam vel dissimulata origine imposita genti tributa non pependissent. The question of the identity of these individuals has been widely discussed by scholars46 and this statement is usually taken to refer to two different categories of people. The first category, which included those who, without publicly acknowledging it, lived a Jewish life, may refer to gentiles who had adopted the Jewish way of life to various degrees, i.e., full-​fledged converts and Judaizers.47 These people were most probably identified as Jews because they observed customs like circumcision, Sabbath and abstention from pork, which constituted distinguishing Jewish marks in the eyes of the Romans.48 The second category, which comprised those who concealed their Jewish origins, is taken by most scholars to refer to assimilated Jews by birth who had left Judaism and consequently had ceased to pay tax to the Fiscus Iudaicus. As Suetonius’ own testimony suggests, circumcision was regarded as a hallmark of Jewishness and thus of liability to the tax.

45 Ian A .F. Bruce, ‘Nerva and the Fiscus Judaicus’, PEQ 96 (1964), pp. 34–​45 (39, n. 34). See also: Thompson, ‘Domitian and the Jewish Tax’, p. 339; Williams, ‘Domitian, the Jews and the “Judaizers” ’, p. 204 (n. 53). 46 For a status quaestionis of the debate on this issue, see: Marius Heemstra, The Fiscus Judaicus and the Parting of the Ways (WUNT 2.277; Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2010), pp. 32–​66. 47 According to Heemstra, Christians of pagan stock fell into this category (The Fiscus Judaicus and the Parting of the Ways, pp. 42–​54). 48 We learn from Juvenal (c. 60–​130 CE) that it was not rare for pagans to partake in Jewish customs (such as the Sabbath and abstention from eating pork) (Saturae 14:96–​106; see: Stern¸ Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism. Volume 2, pp. 102–​103).

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Thompson though considers it most unlikely that qui improfessi Iudaicam viverent vitam can refer to proselytes. His assertion is grounded on Cassius Dio’s account of the execution of Flavius Clemens at the end of Domitian’s reign, where the accusation brought against him was that of ἀθεότης, ‘a charge on which many others who drifted into Jewish ways were condemned’.49 Thompson has inferred hence that the Gentile converts were condemned on the charge of atheism and could not therefore also be judged for evasion of the Jewish tax. Furthermore, in his opinion, the exaction of the Jewish tax from proselytes and God-​fearers would have involved ‘a virtual legalization of conversion to Judaism and that by an emperor who, as is well known, took very severe measures against conversion and Judaizing on the part of Roman citizens’.50 He concludes thus, that the persons intended by Suetonius were Jewish apostates and non-​Jewish but circumcised peregrines. His conclusion has been seriously challenged by Peter Schäfer, who argues that, in the days of Domitian, the charge of atheism was not by itself a juridical crime, but was used by the emperor as a political expedient to get rid of potential rivals.51 Likewise, Margaret H. Williams qualifies Thompson’s assertion and presupposes that the charge of ‘maiestas’ (under which the charge of atheism fell and which led to death penalty) only concerned people belonging to the ‘highest echelon of the Roman society’, while the charge of fiscal evasion was relevant to more humble proselytes.52 It should be added that Thompson’ s interpretation of qui improfessi Iudaicaim viverent vitam as referring to Jewish apostates who ‘had attracted the attention of informers… by behavior such as abstention from pork, which could be construed as Jewish life’53 needs to be further questioned; it would appear 49 HR 67:14:2. Trans. Earnest Cary in: Dio Cassius, Roman History, Vol. VIII, Books 61–​70 (LCL 176; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1968), pp. 348–​49. 50 Thompson, ‘Domitian and the Jewish Tax’, p. 335. 51 Peter Schäfer, Judeophobia: Attitudes toward the Jews in the Ancient World (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1997), p. 114. 52 Williams, ‘Domitian, the Jews and the “Judaizers” ’, pp. 207–​208. Her opinion has been accepted by Miriam Griffin (‘The Flavians’, in Alan K. Bowman, Peter Garnsey and Dominic Rathbone [eds.], The Cambridge Ancient History. Vol. XI. The High Empire, A. D 70–​192 [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000], pp. 1–​83 [75, n. 377]). It has been seriously challenged by Martin Goodman (‘The Fiscus Iudaicus and Gentile Attitudes to Judaism in Flavian Rome’, in Jonathan Edmondson, Steve Mason and James Rives [eds.], Flavius Josephus and Flavian Rome [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005], pp. 167–​77 [169]). 53 Thompson, ‘Domitian and the Jewish Tax’, p. 335.

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on a priori grounds very improbable that Jewish apostates continued to observe the Mosaic dietary laws. In an attempt to resolve the alleged contradiction raised by Thompson, it may be proposed that the statements of Suetonius and Cassius Dio refer to two different stages of Domitian’s reign. In order to illustrate the harshness of the levy of the Jewish tax under Domitian, Suetonius reports that, in his youth (when he was an adulescentulus54), he witnessed the examination of a ninety-​year-​old man before a procurator and a very crowded court, to see whether he was circumcised. Jean Juster presumes that this testimony dates back to 85 CE.55 However, the attack on people who, like Flavius Clemens, had adopted ‘Jewish customs’56 occurred some ten years later, toward the very end of Domitian’s reign (95 CE). In the light of this, it may be proposed that Domitian’s policy evolved as his investigations progressed: his earlier pursuit of fiscal evaders became a campaign against proselytes as he realized the extent of Jewish (and possibly Christian) influence on Roman society. At any rate, it appears that Domitian extended the criteria of liability for the Jewish tax: not only was every person of Jewish descent (whether observant of the law or not) required to pay it, but also those who observed customs regarded as Jewish (whether of Jewish origins or not).57 It seems that at least some of the Christian communities were affected by those developments58; and it needs to be asked here whether Domitian’s harsh administration of the Fiscus Judaicus is to be related to his supposed harassment of the Christians towards the end of his reign. Evidence for

54 Life of Domitian 12:2. 55 Jean Juster, Les Juifs dans l’Empire Romain: leur condition juridique, économique et sociale (2 vols.; Paris: Geuthner, 1914), vol. 2, p. 284 (n. 4). A roughly similar conclusion is reached by Brian W. Jones (The Emperor Domitian [London: Routledge, 1992], p. 118). 56 RH 67:14:2. 57 Circumcised pagans fell into this category, see: Thompson, ‘Domitian and the Jewish Tax’, p. 331; Heemstra, The Fiscus Judaicus and the Parting of the Ways, p. 58. 58 See inter alia: Paul Keresztes, ‘The Jews, the Christians, and Emperor Domitian’, VC 27 (1973), pp. 1–​ 28 (5–​ 6); Thompson, ‘Domitian and the Jewish Tax’, p. 340; Werner Stenger, ‘Gebt dem Kaiser, was des Kaisers ist...!’, in Eine sozialgeschichtliche Untersuchung zur Besteuerung Palästinas in neutestamentlicher Zeit (Francfort: Athenäum, 1988), pp. 97–​98; Silvia Cappelletti, The Jewish community of Rome: from the second century B.C. to the third century C. E (Leyden and Boston, MA: Brill, 2006), p. 127; Heemstra, The Fiscus Judaicus and the Parting of the Ways, pp. 58–​63.

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this persecution has been sought in a number of sources that describe the unrest that beset Christian communities all over the Roman Empire. For instance, the First Letter of Clemens to the Corinthians (1:1; 7:1) would allude to the distress of the Christians of Rome.59 Similarly, the Book of Revelation60 and Pliny’s writings61 would attest to the tribulations of the Christian communities of Asia and of Bithynia-​Pontus. Lastly, the preface to the Acts of St Ignatius, which describes the distressing predicament of the Church of Antioch toward the end of the first century CE is often cited as evidence for the alleged persecution of Christians by Domitian.62 However, scholars like Brian W. Jones have stressed the paucity and the questionable reliability of these sources.63 In fact, clear mention of widespread religious oppression under Domitian is only to be found in the later writings of the Church Fathers.64 Although there is no convincing evidence of full-​scale persecution in the days of Domitian, the distress expressed in the above-​mentioned sources concurs with several Jewish writings reflecting disquiet among the Jews during this period.65 Taken 59 Keresztes, ‘The Jews, the Christians, and Emperor Domitian’, pp. 20–​21. 60 It is widely held that numerous passages in the Book of Revelation hint at current persecution under Domitian; Paul Keresztes quotes for instance Revelation 6:9; 7:14; 12:11; 20:4 (‘The Jews, the Christians, and Emperor Domitian’, VC 27 [1973], pp. 1–​28 [pp. 23–​24]). See also: Heemstra, The Fiscus Judaicus and the Parting of the Ways, pp. 105–​33. 61 Pliny’s letters (10:96:6) reveals that in 112 CE there were individuals claiming that they had ceased to be Christians ‘some three, others many, and one twenty years earlier’, hence it has been inferred that in the nineties of the first century CE pressure had been exerted on the Bithynian Christians to make them recant their faith. See for instance: Keresztes, ‘The Jews, the Christians, and Emperor Domitian’, p. 23. 62 Franz Xaver von Funk (ed.), Opera patrum apostolicorum, vol. 2 (Tübingen: Laupp, 1881), p. 260. See for instance: Stéphane Gsell, Essai sur le Règne de L’Empereur Domitien (Rome: L’Herma di Bretschneider, 1967), p. 306. 63 Jones, Domitian, pp. 114–​17. See also: Leonard L. Thompson, The Book of Revelation. Apocalypse and Empire (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990), p. 175; Warren Carter, John and Empire. Initial Explorations (New York and London: T & T Clark, 2008), p. 39. 64 Tertullian (Apology 5:4 [PL 1 col. 293–​294]), Melito of Sardis (HE 4:26:9 [GCS 2/​1, p. 386]) and Eusebius (HE 3:17–​18 [GCS 2/​1, pp. 230–​32]) considered Domitian to be the second persecutor of the Church (after Nero). See also: Paulus Orosius, Historiae Adversum Paganos, Libri VII, 10 (Hildesheim: G. Olms Verlagsbuchhandlung 1882; Reprinted 1967), p. 463; Sulpicius Severus, Chronicles II, 31 (ed. C. Halm, CSEL 1:85). 65 A passage from Deuteronomy Rabbah (2:24) relates that, while Rabbi Eliezer, Rabbi Joshua and Rabban Gamaliel were in Rome, the Senate issued a decree according to

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together, these accounts support the view that Jews and Christians felt very uneasy under the rule of Domitian. These disturbances were certainly (at least partially) linked to the Roman authorities’ inquiries conducted as part of their harsh campaign against fiscal evasion.66 It seems that the Christian communities of Judaea were also affected by these troubles. Interestingly, Eusebius links his account of the persecution under Domitian to a statement ascribed to Hegesippus, which describes the questioning of Jesus’ relatives by the emperor himself.67 He reports that the grandsons of Jude (Jesus’s brother) were summoned by Domitian after they had been denounced to him as descendants of David. However, when he finds that, in spite of their royal descent, they were humble peasants and that their expectations were set exclusively on a heavenly kingdom, Domitian dismisses them and orders ‘the persecution of the Church’ to be stopped. Although the legendary features of this story are undeniable, its nucleus is likely to be based on memories of real events.68 In this account, Domitian asks Jude’s grandsons three questions: The first, which bears on their Davidic descent and the third, which deals with the nature of Jesus’ kingdom, reflect political considerations, for Jewish eschatological expectations were a chief cause of political unrest. Domitian’s second question is rather different: Then he (Domitian) asked them (Jude’s grandsons) how much property they had, or how much money they controlled, and they said that all they

which ‘there were to be no more Jews left in the world’ within thirty days. A God-​ fearing senator informed the rabbis of the order and assured them that ‘the God of the Jews’ would interfere to save them, and twenty-​five days later he committed suicide in order to prevent the enforcement of the decree. The Babylonian Talmud (Avodah Zarah 10b; Ned 50b) reports that a senator named Keti’ah bar Shalom was put to death for having surpassed by his arguments ‘an emperor who hated the Jews’, and who intended to wipe out the Jews. Before being executed, Keti’a bequeathed all his goods to ‘Rabbi Akiva and his colleagues’. These accounts have been ascribed to the time of Domitian, see: E. Mary Smallwood, The Jews under Roman Rule (Leyden: Brill, 1976), pp. 382–​83; Cappelletti, The Jewish community of Rome, pp. 134–​35. 66 In this regard, Paul Foster has stressed that ‘the oppressive revenue-​raising methods’ were regularly employed under Domitian, even against non-​Jews; ‘Vespasian, Nerva, Jesus, and the Fiscus Judaicus’, p. 309. 67 HE 3:19–​20 (GCS 2/​1, pp. 232–​34). 68 On the historical reliability of this account, see: Richard Bauckham, Jude and the Relatives of Jesus in the Early Church (Edinburg: T.&T. Clark, 1990), p. 99.

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possessed was nine thousand denarii between them, the half belonging to each, and they stated that they did not possess this in money but that it was the valuation of only thirty-​nine plethra of ground on which they paid taxes and lived on it by their own work. They then showed him their hands, adducing as testimony of their labour the hardness of their bodies, and the tough skin which had been embossed on their hands from their incessant work. 69

True, the issue of payment of taxes to Rome was also political for it raised the question of loyalty to Caesar70; but the narrative here seems rather to depict a tax audit. Richard Bauckham has rightly noted that ‘the size of their (Jude’s grandsons) smallholding … is so precisely stated that perhaps this too is accurate tradition’.71 At this point, a question needs to be asked: what were the actual grounds for the arrest and questioning of Jude’s grandsons? The Roman persecution of persons of Davidic lineage is a recurrent theme in the extant fragments of Hegesippus’ work. Thus, he reports that similar pursuits occurred also during the reigns of Vespasian,72 and Trajan.73 By itself, this data is not implausible for, as mentioned above, hopes for the coming of a Davidic messiah were considered to be a political threat to the Roman order. It is noteworthy though that while Vespasian and Trajan led persecution of the Davidic line ‘in order that none of the royal race might be left among the Jews’, Domitian is reported to have freed Jude’s grandson in spite of their admitting being of David’s lineage.74 Their unexpected liberation is all the more surprising given Domitian’s reputation for cruelty toward Christians. I believe that the original tradition was based on an authentic memory of the arrest of Judean Jewish-​Christians leaders (Jude’s grandsons?) suspected of fiscal evasion and of their subsequent release; at a later stage, Hegesippus inserted the story of the persecution of David’s descendants for apologetic reasons, his main concern being to emphasize that the leaders of the Jerusalem church were of Davidic origin. As we have seen, investigations of suspected tax evaders were not rare under Domitian rule. There is no 69 HE 3:20:2–​ 3 (GCS 2/​ 1, pp. 232–​ 35). Trans. by Kirsopp Lake in Eusebius, Ecclesiastical History, Books 1–​5 (LCL 153; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1975), pp. 237–​39. 70 See: Matt 22:16–​22; Mark 12:13–​17; Luke 20:20–​26; War 2:117–​118; Ant 18:4. 71 Bauckham, Jude and the Relatives of Jesus in the Early Church, p. 104. 72 HE 3:12 (GCS 2/​1, p. 228). 73 HE 3:32:3–​4; 6 (GCS 2/​1, pp. 268–​70). 74 HE 3:20:4 (GCS 2/​1, p. 234).

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explicit mention of the Fiscus Judaicus in our account, but if as Suetonius 75 put it, the Jewish tax ‘was levied with the utmost rigour’, it is then likely that Jude’s grandsons were also referring to the Jewish tax when they claimed, as part of their plea that that they both paid ‘the taxes (τοὺς φόρους)’.76 Thus, our account bears testimony to the Judean Christians’ uneasiness faced with the local Roman authorities’ inquiries, probably related to the brutal tax collections, including that of the Jewish tax, at this time. At any rate, it is clear that the members of the Jewish-​Christian Churches of Judea were expected to pay the Jewish tax under Domitian as they were of Jewish stock and observant (at least to some extant) of the Jewish customs77; as we have seen meeting one of these criteria was then enough to be liable to the Jewish tax. The discharge of Jude’s grandsons means that the latter were regarded as innocent of any infringement of Roman law, including evasion of the payment of the Jewish tax.

Nerva’s Reform of the Fiscus Judaicus This turbulent period came to an end with Domitian’s assassination on 18 September 96 CE.78 The Roman senate chose Marcus Cocceius Nerva to succeed him. Nerva sought to distance himself from his predecessor79 and therefore accepted the senatorial decree of damnatio memoriae levied against Domitian.80 Likewise, the inscriptions on his minting (libertas publica; providentia senatus) reflect his desire to clear himself of the abuses of Domitian. One of the first decisions he took (by autumn 96) directly affected the administration of the Fiscus Judaicus. This reform was publicized by the minting of coins bearing the inscription Fisci Iudaici calumnia sublata S. C.81 Although the precise translation of this phrase is uncertain, it should not in any way be taken to refer to the mere abolition

75 Suetonius, Life of Domitian 12:2. 76 HE 3:20:2 (GCS 2/​1, p. 234). 77 See supra n. 12. 78 Suetonius, Life of Domitian 14:16. 79 John D. Grainger, Nerva and the Roman Succession Crisis of AD 96–​99 (London: Routledge, 2003), p. 52. 80 Life of Domitian 23:2; HR 68:1:1. 81 Harrold Mattingly, Coins of the Roman Empire in British Museum (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1966), vol. 3, pp. 15–​19, nos. 88, 98, 105–​106.

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of the tax;82 such an interpretation is untenable, since the tax contin83 ued to be paid at least up to the third century CE. Recently, Martin Goodman has proposed that the Jewish tax was temporarily cancelled by Nerva and was later reestablished by his successor Trajan.84 However, I tend to agree with James C. Paget that if Nerva’s coinage celebrated the abolition of the tax, the legend would have read Fiscus Judaicus sublatus.85 Rather than suppressing the Fiscus Judaicus, Nerva thoroughly reformed it. First and foremost, his reform was aimed at putting an end to abusive collection of the Jewish tax.86 Scholars generally interpret calumnia as referring to the false accusations brought by informers against alleged tax-​evaders. The very fact that Nerva’s measure was so highly advertized, shows that the phenomenon of denouncement had become an endemic scourge toward the end of Domitian’s reign. Nerva’s measure is further attested by Cassius Dio, who reports that the new emperor prohibited the bringing of accusations ‘of maiestas or of adopting the Jewish mode of life’.87 Furthermore, Nerva is reported to have amnestied all those who were on trial for lèse-​majesté (maiestas), recalled those who had been banished and put to death numerous informers. Cassius Dio’s statement implies that not only false accusations, but all denunciations whether true or false were proscribed. There is sufficient reason to presume that 82 This interpretation, proposed by Frederic W. Madden (History of the Jewish Coinage and of Money in the Old and New Testament [1864; Reed. New York: Ktav Publishing House, Inc., 1967], p. 198) and Paul Petit (Histoire générale de l’Empire romain. I: Le Haut-​Empire [27 av. J.-​C. –​161 apr. J.-​C] [Paris: Seuil, 1974], p. 164) is today dismissed by most authors. 83 See: HR 66:7:2; Origen, Ad Africanum 14; Appian, Syriacus Liber 50:252. According to Foster, the Jewish tax may have subsisted up to the reign of Julian the Apostate (361–​363 CE); ‘Vespasian, Nerva, Jesus, and the Fiscus Judaicus’, pp. 315–​19. 84 Martin Goodman, ‘The Fiscus Iudaicus and Gentile Attitudes to Judaism in Flavian Rome’, p. 176; idem, ‘The Meaning of ‘Fisci Iudaici Calumnia Sublata’ on the Coinage of Nerva’, p. 88. 85 James C. Paget, The Epistle of Barnabas: Outlook and Background (WUNT 2.64; Tübingen: Mohr-​Siebeck, 1994), p. 26. 86 See for instance: Michael S. Ginsburg, ‘Fiscus judaicus’, JQR 21 (1930–​31), pp. 281–​ 91 (290); E. Mary Smallwood, ‘Domitian’s Attitude toward the Jews and Judaism’, CP 51 (1956), pp. 1–​13 (4–​5); Thompson, ‘Domitian and the Jewish Tax’, p. 329; Heemstra, The Fiscus Judaicus and the Parting of the Ways, p. 72. 87 HR 68:1:2 (LCL 176, pp. 360–​61): ‘τοῖς δὲ δὴ ἄλλοις οὔτ ἀσεβείας οὔτ Ἰουδαϊκοῦ βίου καταιτιᾶσθαί τινας συνεχώρησε’. Menahem Stern has convincingly shown that the term ἀσεβείας here renders the Latin word maiestas (Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism, vol. 2, p. 385).

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Nerva not only put an end to the abuses related to the exaction of the Jewish tax but also restricted the criteria for liability to it. At the end of his narrative of the Jewish War, Cassius Dio writes: From that time forth it was ordered that the Jews who continued to observe their ancestral customs should pay an annual tribute of two denarii to Jupiter Capitolinus.88

I agree with Martin Goodman’s proposition89 that Cassius Dio has back-​dated his definition of the Jewish tax to 70 CE. In fact, this testimony can hardly refer to a period anterior to Nerva’s reign. As we have already seen, the liability to the Jewish tax under Vespasian and Titus was grounded on the earlier fiscal base of the Temple tax, and later on Domitian gave a much broader definition of the Gens Iudaeorum, which went beyond the framework of the population of observant Jews. Accordingly, it is very likely that Dio’s statement actually reflects Nerva’s reform of the Jewish tax, and Goodman has noted that the implicit disapproval of Domitian’s abuses expressed by Suetonius suggests that a change in the administration of the Fiscus Iudaicus had occurred at least by the time of the composition of De Vita Caesarum in the early 120s CE.90 Nerva’s abrogation of the calumnia aimed at not only putting an end to the activity of the informers, but also releasing the victims of Domitian’s abuses from payment. More generally, his reform consisted of reducing the fiscal base of the Fiscus Judaicus. Although Thompson is probably right in saying that Cassius Dio is not quoting from a decree but explaining the situation in his own words,91 it turns out that liability to the Jewish tax was henceforth based on two inseparable criteria: Jewish descent and observance of Jewish customs. In theory, this measure was to release certain groups of individuals from payment of the Jewish tax, namely gentile God-​fearers and Jewish apostates.92 88 HR 65:7:2. Trans. Cary (LCL 176, pp. 271). 89 Martin Goodman, ‘Nerva, the Fiscus Judaicus and Jewish Identity’, JRS 79 (1989), pp. 40–​44 (41). Goodman, though, has recently changed his opinion on this question, see: Goodman, ‘The Fiscus Iudaicus and Gentile Attitudes to Judaism in Flavian Rome’; idem, ‘The Meaning of ‘Fisci Iudaici Calumnia Sublata’ on the Coinage of Nerva’. 90 Goodman, ‘Nerva, The Fiscus Judaicus and Jewish Identity’, 41. 91 Thompson, ‘Domitian and the Jewish Tax’, 333. 92 See for instance: Smallwood, The Jews under Roman Rule, p. 385; Thompson, ‘Domitian and the Jewish Tax’, p. 334; Goodman, ‘Nerva, the Fiscus Judaicus and Jewish Identity’, p. 41.

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Goodman assumes though, that this measure caused practical problems to the Roman authorities, since assessment of liability to the tax became harder to determine: because numerous gentiles had adopted Jewish customs without considering themselves Jews, it was difficult for the fiscal administration to distinguish observant Jews from mere Judaizers. He supposes accordingly that the Jews, in order to be taxed, were required to make an official statement of their Jewishness to the Roman administration.93 Such a declaration, which meant registering as taxpayers to the Fiscus Iudaicus, would have been the only way to obtain freedom of worship. Thus, although the Jewish tax was made optional, it became a public license for the right of the Jews to live by their own rules. In this context, we may note that Tertullian writes that the public reading of the Prophets on the Sabbath was a vectigalis libertas, a liberty granted to the Jews in return for taxation.94 In the light of this, Goodman has proposed that Nerva’s reform established a new definition of Jewish identity: ‘a Jew was anyone who volunteered to pay the Fiscus Judaicus to the Roman State’.95 A further observation on Nerva’s reform of Jewish tax should be made. It now appears that the change he introduced in the administration of the Fiscus Iudaicus was not merely a liberal gesture aiming at correcting Domitian’ abuses, but also represented an attempt to confine Judaism to ethnic Jews.96 Indeed, the limitation of the liability to the Jewish tax 93 Goodman, ‘Nerva, the Fiscus Judaicus and Jewish Identity’, p. 41. 94 Tertullian, Apology 18:9 (PL 1, col. 381). 95 Goodman, ‘Nerva, the Fiscus Judaicus and Jewish Identity’, p. 42. See also: Foster, ‘Vespasian, Nerva, Jesus, and the Fiscus Judaicus’, p. 311. 96 Martin Goodman considers that the re-​definition of liability to the Fiscus Iudaicus led to a new awareness of the notion of a proselyte on the part of the Roman authorities (Goodman, ‘Nerva, the Fiscus Judaicus and Jewish Identity’, pp. 43–​44).

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to Jews by birth who practised Judaism openly resulted in denying gentiles (as well as Jewish apostates) the privileges which the payment to the Fiscus Iudaicus granted to Jews. Similar measures taken by various later emperors served the same purpose of ensuring the privileges conferred on the Jews, on the one hand, and stamping out Jewish proselytism, on the other. Thus, Antoninus Pius’ rescript (c. 138 CE),97 which allowed Jews to circumcise only their own sons, followed the same policy: inasmuch as circumcision was seen as a formal act of conversion, this edict established that one could become a Jew only by birth.98 Although Nerva’s reform was not a formal prohibition of conversion to Judaism, it guaranteed the Roman authorities effective control over the spread of this religion. It seems reasonable that payment of the Jewish tax was accepted only from those who took up the full commitment of Jewish law and, as such, considered themselves and were considered Jews. As a result neither gentile sympathizers nor Jewish apostates were protected by the exclusive religious rights granted to the Jews. This redefinition of the fiscal liability as resting only upon Jews who observed Jewish law had far-​reaching implications for the various Christian streams. One of the more important privileges accorded to the Jews by the Roman authorities was the exemption from participation in the imperial cult.99 The acts of worship of the official cults were indubitably considered by Jews (and Christians alike) to be idolatry and as such they were absolutely incompatible with monotheistic faith. Dispensation from these was all the more significant, since the imperial cult was used as an expedient for establishing the allegiance of the inhabitants of the empire to the emperor. While the Temple stood, the offering of daily sacrifices on behalf of the emperor represented the expression of the loyalty of the Jewish people to Rome.100 The defeat of 70 CE did not affect this privilege, since the religious freedom



97

Modestinus, Corpus Juris Civilis, Digesta 68:8:11. For a discussion on this issue see: Benjamin Isaac, ‘Roman Religious Policy and the Bar Kokhba War’, in Peter Schäfer (ed.), The Bar Kokhba War Reconsidered: New Perspectives on the Second Jewish Revolt against Rome (Tübingen: Mohr-​Siebeck, 2003), pp. 37–​ 54 (50–​51). Septimius Severus (193–​211 CE) was to follow the same policy towards Judaism; see: Jonathan Bourgel, ‘The Samaritans in the Eyes of the Romans: The Discovery of an Identity’, Cathedra 144 (2012), pp. 7–​20 (11–​17) (Hebrew). 99 Smallwood, The Jews under Roman Rule, p. 137. 100 Philo, Legatio ad Gaium 317; Josephus, War 2:197; Against Apion 2:77–​78. 98

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of the Jews was maintained by the Roman authorities. It can be assumed, though, that following Nerva’s reform, only those observant Jews who were subject to the Fiscus Iudaicus were exempted from participation in the official and imperial cults. Thus, unless Christians declared themselves liable to the Jewish tax, they would be required to perform these acts of worship when officially called upon. It has been argued that Christians from the province of Asia were forced to conform to the practices of the imperial cult as early as the reign of Domitian, and that evidence for this is to be found in the Book of Revelation.101 Even if we accept this assumption, it seems that the exemption from the imperial cult given to the Jews was not touched by Domitian. E. Mary Smallwood has noted that neither classical nor Jewish sources indicate that Domitian enforced the imperial cult on the Jews.102 Thus, there is a reasonable case for supposing that this persecution would have affected only Christians of Gentile origin who refused to worship the emperor, and were consequently condemned for ‘atheism’. Furthermore, as stated above, these pursuits were not likely to be part of a planned persecution of Christians, but rather derived from the great importance Domitian attached to the practice of the imperial cult.103 The question of the status of the Christians as such in the eyes of Roman law is first documented in Pliny the Younger’s correspondence with Trajan in the year 112 CE.104 Pliny, at that time governor of Bithynia-​ Pontus, asked the emperor for instructions about the legal investigation of Christians, since he himself had never attended such a trial. In the first place, he questions Trajan as to whether someone who had repented could be pardoned, and whether the very profession of Christianity was criminal in itself, or only the misdeeds inherent in this belief. Following this, Pliny describes the way he had investigated the individuals suspected of Christianity. If the accused had admitted that they were Christians but refused to recant, he



101

See: Donald McFayden, ‘The Occasion of the Domitianic Persecution’, AJT 24 (1920), pp. 46–​66 (64); Keresztes, ‘The Jews, the Christians, and Emperor Domitian’, p. 24. This proposition has been largely rejected by recent scholars; see for instance: J. Christian Wilson, ‘The Problem of the Domitianic date of Revelation’, NTS 39 (1993), pp. 587–​605; Steven J. Friesen, Imperial Cults and the Apocalypse of John: Reading Revelation in the Ruins (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), p. 143. 102 Smallwood, ‘Domitian’s Attitude toward the Jews and Judaism’, p. 6. 103 Both Suetonius (Life of Domitian 13:4) and Cassius Dio (HR 67:4:7) reports that Domitian insisted on being called ‘Master’ and ‘God’. 104 Epistles 10:96; see: Adrian N. Sherwin-​White, The Letters of Pliny: A historical and social commentary (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1966, reprinted 1985), pp. 691–​710.

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sentenced them to death, unless they were Roman citizens, in which case they were sent to Rome. The people who denied the charge or acknowledged that they had been Christians in the past but were no longer, were subjected to a test: they were required to invoke the gods and to make offerings of wine and incense before images of them and the emperor. They were further required to blaspheme Jesus Christ in order to prove that they were not Christians. Finally, Pliny mentions Christian practices reported to him by former Christians, which he considers to be simply an ‘absurd and extravagant superstition’. In his rescript, Trajan confirms Pliny’s way of prosecuting the people accused of Christianity: while those who insisted that they were Christians were to be executed, those who denied the accusation were to demonstrate their innocence by invoking the gods.105 Thus, it appears that the profession of Christianity in itself was a crime in the eyes of the emperor. It has rightly been maintained that the fact that this issue arose less than two decades after Nerva redefined the liability to the Fiscus Iudaicus is not coincidental.106 There is reason to think that the limitation of the Jewish tax to professing Jews contributed to increase the awareness of the Roman authorities concerning the distinction between Jews and Christians. In this respect, it is noteworthy that the question of the sacrifices to the emperor was pivotal in Pliny’s prosecutions of the Christians. In the eyes of the Roman authorities, only the Jews were exempted from imperial cult obligations, by virtue of their payment of the Jewish tax. The Christians, inasmuch as they did not pay the levy to the Fiscus Iudaicus, were obligated to participate in the worship of the emperor. However, even though Nerva’s reform led to a certain degree of acknowledgment by the Roman power of the legal difference between Judaism and the Christian movement, it seems unlikely that this evolution significantly affected the situation of the Christians of gentile origins. In fact, being neither Jewish by birth nor observing Jewish customs,107 the latter were probably never considered liable to the Fiscus Iudaicus (even under Domitian) and were never granted the religious liberty afforded to the

105

Epistles 10:97; see: Sherwin-​White, The Letters of Pliny, pp. 710–​12. Salo W. Baron, A Social and Religious History of the Jews. Volume 2: Ancient Times to the Beginning of the Christian Era: The First Five Centuries (New York and London: Columbia University Press, 1967), p. 106; Martin Goodman, ‘Diaspora reactions to the destruction of the Temple’, in James D. G. Dunn (ed.), Jews and Christians (WUNT 66; Tübingen: Mohr-​Siebeck, 1992), pp. 27–​38 (33–​34). 107 According to Joan E. Taylor, by the beginning of the second century, ‘many, if not most, Christian communities were favoring the Pauline attitude to the law’, that is 106

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Jews. While their refusal to worship the emperor laid gentile Christians open to accusation of ‘atheism’ under Domitian, they were condemned on the charge of Christianity for a similar offence in the days of Trajan. In contradistinction, it is very likely that the redefinition of the Fiscus Iudaicus had far-​reaching implications for the Christians of Jewish origin. By making the Jewish tax optional, Nerva compelled the latter to determine their own position vis-​à-​vis Judaism. There is a reasonable case for supposing that those Christians, who wished to sever their links with the Jewish denomination, were reluctant to declare themselves as Jews to the fiscal authorities. The fact remains, though, that their refusal to be registered as taxpayers to the Fiscus Iudaicus deprived them of the religious rights granted to their fellow Jews, since in the eyes of the Roman government they had ceased to be Jews. On the other hand, the Jewish-​ Christians who declared themselves liable to the Jewish tax continued to enjoy the privileges and exemptions that were given to the Jewish people; in fact, from the vantage point of the Roman authorities, they were Jews in all respects. However, it would be misleading to think that those Christians who acknowledged their liability to the Fiscus Iudaicus merely sought to avail themselves of the right of observing their religious practices. It seems more likely that the latter continued to regard themselves as Jews and consequently made an official statement of their Jewishness to the Roman administration. The case of the Jewish-​Christian Church of Jerusalem may be relevant to our study. Marius Heemstra has recently argued that following Nerva’s reform, the members of the Jerusalem church ceased to be regarded as Jews by the Roman authority.108 He reached this conclusion abandoning Jewish praxis; ‘The Phenomenon of Early Jewish-​Christianity: Reality or Scholarly Invention?’, p. 318. In this respect, it is noteworthy that the Christian practices depicted by Pliny are different from the customs that were considered typically Jewish by the Romans (like circumcision, Sabbath observance and abstention from pork). Thus, Pliny recounts that the Christians were accustomed to meet on a stated day (most likely Sunday) before dawn and to sing a hymn to ‘Christ’ as if to a God, while they also bound themselves by oath not to commit specific crimes (like theft or adultery). When this was over, they separated and then reassembled to share a common meal (Epistles 10:96:7). 108 Heemstra, The Fiscus Judaicus and the Parting of the Ways, pp. 81–​82; idem, ‘The fiscus Judaicus: Its Social and Legal Impact, and a Possible Relation with Josephus’ Antiquities’, in Peter J. Tomson and Joshua Schwartz (eds.), Jews and Christians in the First and Second Centuries: How to Write Their History (CRINT 13; Leiden: Brill, 2014), pp. 327–​47 (329; 337; 342).

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from the comparison of the above-​mentioned account of the arrest and questioning of Jude’s grandsons under Domitian (80–​96 CE) and the story of the martyrdom of Symeon, the son of Clopas, (James’ successor in the leadership of the Jerusalem Church) in Trajan’s reign (98–​116 CE). While Jude’s grandsons were arrested because they were of David’s race, Symeon was denounced as ‘a descendant of David and a Christian’.109 According to Heemstra, theses texts reflect a change in the legal status of the Jewish-​Christians that has been brought about by Nerva’s reform. Since they were no longer regarded as Jews, they were deprived of their religious rights and could be condemned as Christians. It is noteworthy though that Eusebius reports two slightly different accounts of Symeon’s execution, both ascribed to Hegesippus: 1. After Nero and Domitian tradition says that under the Emperor whose times we are now describing persecution was raised against us sporadically, in some cities, from popular risings. We have learnt that in it Symeon, the son of Clopas, whom we showed to have been the second bishop of the church at Jerusalem, ended his life in martyrdom. The witness for this is that same Hegesippus, of whom we have already quoted several passages. After speaking of certain heretics he goes on to explain how Symeon was at this time accused by them and many days was tortured in various manners for being a Christian, to the great astonishment of the judge and those with him, until he suffered an end like that of the Lord. But there is nothing better than to listen to the historian who tells these facts as follows. ‘Some of these (that is to say the heretics) accused Simon the son of Clopas of being descended from David and a Christian (ὡς ὄντος ἀπὸ Δαυὶδ καὶ Χριστιανοῦ); and thus he suffered martyrdom, being a hundred and twenty years old, when Trajan was emperor and Atticus was Consular’. The same writer says that his accusers also suffered arrest for being of the royal house of the Jews when search was made at that time for those of that family. And one would reasonably say that Symeon was one of the eyewitnesses and actual hearers of the Lord on the evidence of the length of his life and the reference in the Gospels to Mary the wife of Clopas whose son the narrative has already shown him to be.110



109

HE 3:32:3 (GCS 2/​1, pp. 268–​69). HE 3:32:1–​4 (GCS 2/​1, pp. 266–​69). Trans. Lake (LCL 153; pp. 273–​75).

110

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2. The same writer (s.c. Hegesippus) says that other grandsons of one of the so‑called brethren of the Saviour named Judas survived to the same reign after they had given in the time of Domitian the testimony already recorded of them in behalf of the faith in Christ. He writes thus: ‘They came therefore and presided over every church as witnesses belonging to the Lord’s family, and when there was complete peace in every church they survived until the reign of the Emperor Trajan, until the time when the son of the Lord’s uncle, the aforesaid Simon the son of Clopas, was similarly accused by the sects on the same charge [ἐπὶ τῷ αὐτῷ λόγῳ] before Atticus the Consular. He was tortured for many days and gave his witness, so that all, even the consular, were extremely surprised how, at the age of one hundred and twenty, he endured, and he was commanded to be crucified’.111 According to the first statement, certain heretics brought a charge against Symeon before the governor Atticus, on the ground that Symeon was ‘descended from David and a Christian’. This latter accusation would appear to demonstrate that the Roman authorities identified Symeon (and consequently his whole community) as a Christian. However, the mention of this particular in Hegesippus’s original text is found on closer scrutiny to be subject to serious objections. In the first place, it is noteworthy that, in his second account of Symeon’s martyrdom, Hegesippus does not refer to the accusation of Christianity, but merely states that the charge brought against Symeon was the same as that brought against Jude’ s grandsons i.e. that he was a descendant of David. Secondly, Hegesippus reports that Symeon’s accusers were also arrested as belonging to David’s lineage when a search was made for the descendants of the king. This may imply that, according to Hegesippus, the main reason for this harassment was the pursuit of the descendants of David. Lastly, it should be noted that, apart from HE 3:32:3,112 the word ‘Christian’ never occurs in the writings ascribed to Hegesippus, but the Jerusalem congregation is usually referred to as the ‘church’.113 Although this latter argument is not decisive on account of the fragmentary state of the material of Hegesippus known to us, it strengthens our impression that the accusation of Christianity



111

HE 3:32:5–​6 (GCS 2/​1, pp. 268–​69). Trans. Lake (LCL 153, p. 275). GCS 2/​1, p. 268. 113 HE 2:23:3 (GCS 2/​1, p. 166); 3:32:6 (GCS 2/​1, pp. 268–​70). 112

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brought against Symeon in HE 3:32:3,114 is a later insertion, probably to be ascribed to Eusebius himself. Indeed, it is significant that the account of Symeon’s martyrdom has been cited by Eusebius in order to illustrate Trajan’s persecution of Christians.115 Thus, there is reason to think that he has slightly re-​arranged Hegesippus’ narrative (by inserting the accusation of Christianity) in order to make it more relevant to his own text. Inasmuch as this tradition can be regarded as historically accurate, it seems reasonable to infer that Symeon was executed as a local leader on a charge of political subversion. In my opinion, therefore, it cannot be concluded on the basis of the accounts of Symeon’s martyrdom that, from Nerva’s time, the members of the Jerusalem church were regarded as Jews but as Christians by the Roman authority. In fact, the contrary seems more likely. Eusebius recounts that, following the suppression of the Bar-​Kokhba revolt (c. 135/​6), the emperor Hadrian promulgated a decree, which forbade Jews to dwell in Jerusalem and its vicinity, so that, the city was emptied of its Jewish population and colonized by heathens. Interestingly enough, Eusebius suggests that this edict entailed a deep transformation within the Church of Jerusalem, which lost its Jewish character and was from then on composed of ‘Gentiles’.116 It is obvious that the Roman authorities bracketed the Jewish-​Christian minority with the Jewish majority, and expelled them from Jerusalem. On the other hand, it is remarkable that the Christians of gentile origins were allowed to dwell in the city. By reversing the Roman criterion of Jewish identity as formulated by Goodman (from 96 CE onward a Jew was anyone who volunteered to pay the Jewish tax),117 it can be proposed that one of the factors that led the Roman authorities to the conclusion that the Jewish-​ Christians of Jerusalem were Jews, derived from the fact that they had remained liable to the Fiscus Iudaicus. If this supposition is correct, then it follows that the members of this community regarded themselves as Jews and as such had made an official statement of their Jewishness to the Roman administration. All in all, it is certainly the case that, as Foster puts it: ‘Nerva’s reforms of the fiscus Judaicus not only introduced changed perceptions about Jewish identity, but perhaps contributed to creating a firmer boundary between

114

GCS 2/​1, p. 268. HE 3:32:1–​2 (GCS 2/​1, pp. 266–​68). 116 HE 4:6:3–​4 (GCS 2/​1, pp. 306–​308). 117 Goodman, ‘Nerva, the Fiscus Judaicus and Jewish Identity’, p. 42. 115

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Jews and Christians and perhaps made Christians more identifiable as a 118 separate religious group within the empire’. But the fact remains that even following Nerva’s reign there were still Jewish-​Christian communities considered to be Jews by the Roman authorities (like the Jerusalem Church up to the suppression of the Bar-​Kokhba revolt). Actually, it turns out that Nerva’s reform brought about significant differences in the legal status of the Christians, for only those of them who paid the Jewish tax were protected by the religious rights that were granted to Jews, while the rest were exposed to prosecution and punishment. It may be proposed that, following Nerva’s reform of the Fiscus Iudaicus, a Jewish-​Christian was a Christian who paid the Jewish tax.119



118

Foster, ‘Vespasian, Nerva, Jesus, and the Fiscus Judaicus’, p. 315. This definition would of course be relevant only for those Christian communities living within the borders of the Roman Empire.

119

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6

Extra Ecclesiam nulla Salus! Birkat ha-​minim Reconsidered –​Text and Context Dan Jaffé Bar-Ilan University

State of Research Despite the many articles that have been written on Birkat ha-​minim in recent years, a great many questions have not yet been satisfactorily resolved. This is notably the case concerning the historical context in which this prayer was introduced.1 The locus classicus on the subject, espoused by many scholars, considers that Birkat ha-​minim was formulated under the ethnarchy of Gamaliel II of Yabneh at the end of the first century CE. It would have testified to the will of the tanaim to expel Jewish Christians from synagogue worship, and even from the Rabbinic community itself, which was then seeking normativity. According to this line of reasoning, Birkat ha-​minim forms a liturgical curse based on the model of self-​exclusion. This strategy of exclusion would be related to historical circumstances posterior to the destruction of the Temple in 70 and would correspond to the socio-​religious normalization that the tanaim were gradually setting up at the time, the final purpose being to rebuild Jewish society around their own halakha. If this is the case, then 1 This chapter is a slightly modified version of my paper : « Hors de la Synagogue, point de Salut ! Contribution à l’étude des relations entre Rabbis et judéo-chrétiens: l’exemple de la Birkat ha-minim », in D. Jaffé (ed.), Juifs et chrétiens aux premiers siècles. Identités, dialogues et dissidences, Cerf, Paris, 2019, p. 339–362. As J. Lieu noted in ‘ “The Parting of the Ways”: Theological Construct or Historical Reality?’, in Neither Jew nor Greek? Constructing Early Christianity, London and New York, T&T Clark, 2002, pp. 25, ‘We need not retread the ground to show how uncertain it is when this prayer [Birkat ha-​minim DJ] was introduced, how widely it was used and precisely what effect it would have had’.

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Birkat ha-​minim would have been an essential component in the gradual 2 break between Jews and Christians. This paradigm, it seems, now needs to be re-​examined in light of the many studies using a historiographical method that challenges it completely, and that are impossible to disregard even though the author of these lines partially agrees with the paradigm. According to the new school of thinking, one cannot affirm that there was a separation between Jews and Christians at such an early period as that of Gamaliel II of Yabneh. To the extent that we can speak of a Parting of the Ways, it could not have happened before the fourth century. Between these two periods (second to fourth centuries), the borderlines between Jews and Christians were very fluid and diverse relations existed between the members of these two religious traditions.3 In this vein, one of the principal methodological approaches of the collection of texts edited by Annette Yoshiko Reed and Adam Becker consists in taking into consideration the points of intersection and the sites of interaction as well as the dynamics of interchangeability between Jews and Christians from the time of the Bar-​Kokhba revolt until the emergence of Islam. For these authors, Judaism and Christianity cannot be defined as monolithic entities until a much later period than the 1st and 2nd centuries. Regional and cultural points of intersection between Jews, Christians, Jewish Christians, and Judaizers are their focus of attention. The idea is to uncover the reciprocal influences of these two traditions until the end of Antiquity and even until the late Middle Ages.4 Let us add to complete the picture, the thorny question of the role and status of the tanaim in Jewish society 2 The bibliography being extensive, we will confine ourselves to citing a few of the most recent studies: Y. Y. Teppler, Birkat ha-​minim. Jews and Christians in Conflict in the Ancient World, Tübingen, Morh Siebeck, 2007 and our text, D. Jaffé, Le judaïsme et l’avènement du christianisme. Orthodoxie et hétérodoxie dans la littérature talmudique Ier-​IIe siècle, Paris, Cerf, 2005, pp. 409–​418; D. Jaffé, Le Talmud et les origines juives du christianisme. Jésus, Paul et les judéo-​chrétiens dans la littérature talmudique, Paris, Cerf, 2007, pp. 121–​135. 3 See D. Boyarin, Border Lines: The Partition of Judaeo-​Christianity, Philadelphia, University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004, a work that strongly influenced research in this area. The author has since reassessed some of his theses in D. Boyarin, ‘Rethinking Jewish Christianity: an Argument for Dismantling a Dubious Category (to which is Appended a Correction of my “Border Lines”)’, Jewish Quarterly Review 99 (2009), pp. 7–​36. 4 Cf. The Ways that Never Parted: Jews and Christians in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages, in A. H. Becker and A. Y. Reed (eds.), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2003.

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after the destruction of the Second Temple. This widely debated question has also been the subject of reassessment in recent years; the predominant (and somewhat positivist if not apologetic) view long considered the tanaim to be the leaders of Jewish society after 70, but this notion has been widely questioned. It is not unusual to see scholars claim that the power of the tanaim was insignificant and that they exercised nearly no influence in the Jewish world. In a study on social fragmentation and the plurality of opinions among the Sages as well as the state of relations with their communities, Catherine Hezser argues that they did not constitute a unified organization. Likewise, no institutional structure permitted gatherings between them. They maintained relations only with a limited group of peers and had no awareness of the existence of other Sages. They represented a loose network and not a corporate group. In addition, this social fragmentation did not allow for establishing a uniform halakha but rather one for each Sage or each study center (beit ha-​midrash). In this way, the Sages kept alive a variety of traditions that were harmonized later in the literary construction of the redactors of the Talmud.5 The arguments in favor of dating Birkat ha-​minim to a late period can be succinctly grouped into three points: 1. No formal liturgical organization within synagogues is known to us before the Middle Ages.

5 C. Hezser, ‘Social Fragmentation, Plurality of Opinion, and Nonobservance of Halakhah: Rabbis and Community in Late Roman Palestine’, in Jewish Studies Quarterly 1 (1993/​1994), pp. 234–​251. C. Hezser, The Social Structure of the Rabbinic Movement in Roman Palestine, Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 1997. On the status of the Sages in Jewish society, see the studies by S. J. D. Cohen, ‘The Place of the Rabbi in Jewish Society of the Second Century’, in L. I. Levine (ed.), The Galilee in Late Antiquity, Cambridge, Harvard University Press, 1992, pp. 157–​173; S. J. D. Cohen, ‘Were Pharisees and Rabbis the Leaders of Communal Prayer and Torah Study in Antiquity? The Evidence of the New Testament, Josephus, and the Church Fathers’, in W. G. Dever and J. E. Wright (eds.), The Echoes of Many Texts –​Reflections on Jewish and Christian Traditions. Essays in Honor of Lou H. Silberman, Atlanta, GA, Brown Judaic Studies, 1997, pp. 99–​114; S. J. D. Cohen, ‘The Rabbi in Second-​Century Jewish Society’, in W. Horbury and W. D. Davies, J. Sturdy (eds.), The Cambridge History of Judaism. The Early Roman Period, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1999, vol. 3, pp. 922–​977. For an opposite approach, see A. Oppenheimer, ‘The Status of the Sages in the Mishnaic Period: From Model Figures to National-​ Spiritual Leadership’, in I. Gafni (ed.), Kehal Israel. Jewish Self-​Rule Through the Ages, Jerusalem, Zalman Shazar Press, 2001, pp. 85–​102 [in Hebrew].

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2. In considering however that Birkat ha-​minim was proclaimed in an ancient period, it was not a sufficiently effective weapon in excluding the deviant movements. 3. The minim represented in this prayer of exclusion cannot be peremptorily located and defined. Note that this last point is important for at least two distinct reasons: one has to do with identity and the other with history. It is hard to state with any certainty the identity of the minim targeted by this curse, since the min does not refer to a distinct heterodox movement, so it is hard to maintain that it refers mainly or exclusively to Jewish Christians. This is what brought Reuven Kimelman to argue that the min present in the synagogue would not have felt specifically targeted by the Birkat ha-​ minim.6 Similarly, we cannot say if Birkat ha-​minim was a curse against Jewish Christians or against a broader category, which included this group among others. In addition, because of their late character, the fragments of this prayer found in the Cairo Geniza cannot be considered irrefutable proof; they all go back to the nineth or tenth century of our era. In other words, the older versions of this prayer are not known (notably from the period of Rabban Gamaliel II, when this curse was purportedly put into effect).7 There is then every reason to reexamine the question, taking into consideration the methodological limits with which we are dealing. Talmudic literature reflects the realia historica of older periods to an extent that remains to be cautiously ascertained. Even though this study will not examine the Christian sources that are also generally taking in consideration on this topic, it is worth emphasizing that one has to be equally circumspect in their use, since they do not in face necessarily refer to the Birkat ha-​minim. Having said this, the fourth century texts are much more reliable.

6 Cf. R. Kimelman, ‘Birkat Ha-​Minim and the Lack of Evidence for an Anti-​Christian Jewish Prayer in Late Antiquity’, in A. Baumgarten, E. P. Sanders, and A. Mendelson (eds.), Jewish and Christian Self Definition. Aspects of Judaism in the Graeco-​Roman Period, Philadelphia, PA/​London, SCM, 1981, vol. II, pp. 226–​244; 391–​403. 7 Cf. the studies by Ruth Langer: U. Ehrlich –​R. Langer, ‘The Earliest Texts of the Birkat Haminim’, Hebrew Union College Annual 76 (2005), p. 63–​112; R. Langer, Cursing the Christians. A History of the Birkat HaMinim, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2012, pp. 16–​65.

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Rabbinic Sources Knowing that we have no reference to Birkat ha-​minim dating to the time of Rabban Gamaliel, the first mention to consider is from Tosefta, Berakhot 3, 25–​268: ‫שמונה עשרה ברכות שאמרו חכמים כנגד שמנה עשרה אזכרות שבהבו ליי בני אלים‬ ‫כולל של מינים בשל פרושין ושל גרים בשל זקנים ושל דוד בבונה ירושלם אם אמר אלו‬ ‫לעצמן ואילו לעצמן יצא עונין אמן אחר ישראל המברך ואין עונין אמן אחר כותי המברך‬ ‫עד שישמע את כל הברכה‬ The Eighteen Benedictions which sages ordained correspond to the eighteen invocations of the Tetragrammaton in [the psalm] Ascribe to the Lord … (Ps. 29). One inserts the blessing for the minim (heretics) in the blessing for the perushin (sectarians), and [the blessing] for the guerim (proselytes) in [the blessing] for the zeqenim (elders), and [the benediction] for David in ‘Builder of Jerusalem’. If he recited each of them separately he has fulfilled his obligation. One may respond ‘Amen’ to an Israelite who recites a benediction, but he may not respond ‘Amen’ to a Samaritan who recites a benediction, unless he has heard the entire benediction.

This passage sets out to highlight the symbolism of the number eighteen that corresponds to the number of blessings in shemone-​esre. This is a fundamental number insofar as it is likened to the eighteen mentions of the divine name in psalm 19. Thus, even though the number of blessings exceeds eighteen, the prayer continues to be referred to as shemone-​esre (meaning eighteen). This passage does not refer to any blessing as being anterior to another other, but notes the most widely used formulations by its redactors. In this context, the Birkat ha-​minim constitutes one of the blessings of the liturgy called shemone-​esre. We should note the juxtaposition of the three blessing categories. The Birkat ha-​minim is associated with the blessing of the perushin (‫)פרושין‬, meaning the separatists or the dissidents. These are not to be associated with the Pharisees of the late Second Temple period. The minim are therefore included in a broader group, that of the perushin. From the standpoint of the chronology specific to the order of the blessing, this passage does not teach us anything substantial. We do not know which blessing comes before which, just as we ignore if the Birkat ha-​minim is in any way distinct from the other blessings, if it has a particular liturgical character, or if it was introduced 8 Jacob Neusner (trans.), The Tosefta, Berakhot 3, 25–​26, Hendrickson Publishers, MA, 2002, p. 21.

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into shemone-​esre at a later period. Is this blessing, for example, one of the blessings recited by a Samaritan that must be heard in their entirety in order to respond amen?9 As far as our discussion here is concerned, the most significant element in this passage is the relationship established between the ‫מינים‬ (minim) and the ‫( פרושין‬perushin = separatists), which naturally leads us to conclude that the ‫( מינים‬minim) are also considered separatists, just like the ‫( פרושין‬perushin). At this point, it is hard to say more concerning the origin or the identification of the minim.10 The above passage from the Tosefta is relayed by two later Palestinian versions in the Jerusalem Talmud. These two versions, which differ considerably, discuss the order and content of the benedictions in shemone-​ esre. They are found respectively in TJ Berakhot 2, 4, 5a and TJ Berakhot 4, 3, 8a (= TJ Taanit 2, 65c):

9 Although it cannot be demonstrated with certainty, the term ‫( כותי‬Samaritan) may well have replaced the ‫( מין‬min), as is the case several times in the Mishnah (see for example Para 3:3; Yadaim 4:8; Berakhot 9:5). We have no textual variant, however, to support this conjecture; in fact, in the manuscripts of Vienna and Erfurt, and in the editio princeps, we find the term ‫( כותי‬Samaritan). See on this subject the discussion by J. Le Moyne, Les Sadducéens, Paris, Gabalda, 1972, pp. 99–​100. J. Marcus, ‘Birkat Ha-​Minim Revisited’, New Testament Studies 55 (2009), pp. 523–​551, argues that the passage in the Tosefta implies that the term ‫‘ מינים‬heretic’ is a late addition to the Birkat ha-​minim; he nonetheless traces the curse back to the Yavneh period. 10 Certain scholars, like J. Derenbourg, ‘Mélanges rabbiniques’, Revue des études juives 14 (1887), p. 31, have argued that ‫( פרושין‬perushin = separatists) is a mistake and the term should read ‫( פושעין‬posh’in = unbelievers). This passage would then be giving an indication concerning the character of the minim. There is no convincing evidence to support such a correction, which has been criticized by S. Lieberman, Tosefta Ki-​ Fshutah, Jerusalem, JTS Press,1992, vol. 1, pp. 53–​54; see also the comments by L. Finkelstein, The Pharisees and the Men of the Great Synagogue, New York, JTS Press, 1950, pp. 33, n. 119 [in Hebrew] as well as the analyses by D. Henshke, ‘Parashat ha-​Ibbur and the Blessing of the Apostates’, in J. Tabory (ed.), From Qumran to Cairo: Studies in the History of Prayer, Jerusalem, Orhot Press, 1999, pp. 75–​102 and particularly pp. 90–​102 [in Hebrew]. It is also worth reading A. Schremer, ‘Wayward Jews: minim in Early Rabbinic Literature’, Journal of Jewish Studies 64 (2013), pp. 242–​263. Schremer notes (p. 261): ‘As Saul Lieberman (whom Boyarin apparently followed) explains, the Hebrew word ‫ פרושין‬is plural, nomen agentis of root p.r.s, and its meaning is therefore “separatists”. The Tosefta, accordingly, refers to Jews who separated themselves from the community, and it rules that one include the benediction (i.e. curse) concerning the minim within the benediction concerning these “sectarians” ’.

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And it was taught concerning this: One includes the references regarding the minim and the wicked (‫ )ושל רשעים‬in the blessing ‘Who humbles the arrogant’ (‫)מכניע זדים‬. [And one includes references] to the proselytes (‫ )גרים‬and the elders (‫[ )זקנים‬in the blessing ‘Trust of the righteous’ (‫])במבטח לצדיקים‬. [And one includes reference] to David [in] ‘Who rebuilds Jerusalem’.

The second version has the following passage concerning the number of benedictions in shemone esre: Rav Huna said: ‘And if someone will say to you that there are seventeen tell him that the rabbis at Yavneh established a [blessing] concerning the minim. R. Eleazar b. R. Yosse objected before R. Yosse, ‘Lo it is written, “The God of glory thunders” [Ps 29: 3] [in the psalm there is yet another invocation of God’s name]’. He said to him, ‘It was taught, They insert the references to the minim and the sinners (‫ )ושל פושעים‬in the blessing concerning the arrogant [the twelfth], and the references to the elders (‫ )זקנים‬and the proselytes (‫ )גרים‬in the blessing concerning the righteous (‫[ )במבטח לצדיקים‬the thirteenth], and the reference to David in the blessing concerning the rebuilding of Jerusalem [the fourteenth] [T. 3:25]. We have enough invocations [in the Psalm] for each and every one of these subjects.11

These two Palestinian passages are posterior to the Tosefta and may be an extrapolation on it. The formulation regarding the minim is expanded: the benediction of the minim is related to the benediction of the wicked (‫ )רשעים‬in the first texts and to the sinners (‫ )פושעים‬in the second. Thus, although we cannot presume to identify the minim from these passages, it is clear that they represent a proscribed group, evidently regarded by the redactors as personae non gratae.12 Mention should also be made of 11 Jacob Neusner (trans.), The Talmud of the Land of Israel, vol. 1, pp. 78 and 150–​151 respectively. Slightly modified translation. 12 Note that the expression ‫( ברכת המינין‬Birkat ha-​minin) is mentioned in T Taanit 1, 10 (ed. S. Lieberman, p. 326) with regard to fast days when a leader inserts six or seven additional benedictions between the seventh and eighth benediction of shemone-​esre. Thus, the text informs us in the name of Sumkhos that the seventh benediction, the one that ‘humbles the arrogant’, is identified with the ‫( ברכת המינין‬Birkat ha-​minin), even though it does not seem to present any affiliation with it. In addition, the expression ‫( ברכת המינין‬Birkat ha-​minin) appears only in the Vienna manuscript, not in the Erfurt or London manuscripts or in the editio princeps. It remains to be seen what liturgical formula this ‫( ברכת המינין‬Birkat ha-​minin) refers to. Finally, it should be noted that, according to J. Marcus, ‘Birkat Ha-​Minim Revisited’, pp. 545–​548, the Birkat ha-​minim is to be understood not so much as a curse against the minim but as a curse coming from the minim. Thus, the Birkat ha-​minim would have been originally a curse against the Qumran sectarians or any other group that the Rabbis considered deviant. Marcus claims however that the Jewish Christians are the minim

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the absence of the perushin or sectarians (‫ )פרושים‬in these two texts from the Jerusalem Talmud, which are replaced by the categories of sinners (‫ )פושעים‬and the wicked (‫)רשעים‬. The perushin, or sectarians (‫)פרושים‬, do not appear in the Genizah versions either.13 It is worth noting that there is a Babylonian tradition cited in Megilah 17b runs along the same lines. The question taken up is the modalities according to which the order of the benedictions of shemone-​esre were composed. This no doubt late tradition reports that once the judgment of the wicked (‫ )רשעים‬has been accomplished, we consider that the minim are destroyed (‫ )כלו המינים‬and with them the arrogant (‫)זדים‬. The passage continues in the same vein, explaining that once the minim are destroyed, the horn of the righteous rises (‫וכיון שכלו המינים מתרוממת קרן‬ ‫)צדיקים‬. Thus mention is made of several categories: minim, reshaim and zedim¸ or heretics, the wicked, and the arrogant. As Teppler has noted, this passage does not add anything new to the problem of the Birkat ha-​ minim (according to the afore-​mentioned Palestinian versions). We could even say that it only reinforces the question of the origin of the Birkat ha-​minim by revealing the version known in Babylonia at the time of the redaction of this Talmudic passage. This version can by no means be regarded as the original version of the Birkat ha-​minim.14 It is also worth noting the statement in the second passage: Rav Huna said: ‘And if someone will say to you that there are seventeen, tell him that the rabbis at Yavneh established a [blessing] concerning the minim’, which relates a tradition attributed to Rav Huna (a second-​generation Babylonian amora) speaking of the state of ignorance of a person who does not know the exact number of benedictions in shemone-​esre. It is probably a reference to the ignorance involved in introducing the Birkat ha-​minim into shemone-​esre. Now, it is clearly stated that the Birkat ha-​ minim was established in Yavneh by the Rabbis.15 Despite this, we are par excellence. There would be then a reverse process at work here: using a tradition coming from a hated group to turn it back against this group. According to Marcus, the aim of the Rabbis would have been to create a situation of eclecticism the better to join all the groups to be excluded into a single movement, using their own weapons against them. 13 See, Ehrlich and Langer, ‘The Earliest Texts of the Birkat Haminim’, pp. 69–​80; Langer, Cursing the Christians. A History of the Birkat HaMinim, pp. 187–​195. 14 Cf. Teppler, Birkat ha-​minim, pp. 103–​104. 15 The Palestinian version in the Jerusalem Talmud is perhaps preferable to the Tosefta despite the fact that it is older. See the explanations provided by Teppler, Birkat

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provided with no indications whatsoever that could help us in any way identify the minim. In the same treatise of Berakhot, there is a discussion of the benedictions for which no mistake in their recitation or omission is tolerated. The passage from the Jerusalem Talmud, Berakhot 5, (3), 4, 9c lists in the name of Rabbi Joshua ben Levi the three benedictions that must not be skipped by the prayer leader. They are: –​ ‘Who resurrects the dead’ (‫)מחיה המתים‬, the deliberate omission of which is suspicious because the leader may be a min who, in accordance with Sadducean beliefs, does not believe in the resurrection of the dead. –​ ‘Who humbles the arrogant’ (‫)מכניע זדים‬, the deliberate omission of which is suspicious because the leader could be a min with heterodox beliefs. –​ ‘Who rebuilds Jerusalem’ (‫)בונה ירושלים‬, the deliberate omission of which could indicate that the leader is a heterodox min who does not believe in the rebuilding of the temple in Jerusalem and the coming of the Messiah (perhaps a Samaritan or a Jewish Christian). We have here what were to the Sages of the Talmud three deviant approaches, expressive of heterodox beliefs. The next part of the passage provides us with the first narrative elements about the liturgical recitation of the Birkat ha-​minim: Samuel the younger went before the ark and skipped ‘Who humbles the arrogant’. When he finished he turned and looked at them [in the congregation to see what they would say]. They said to him, ‘The sages did not take into account one such as you’.

This passage speaks of the fateful omission of the Birkat ha-​minim made by Samuel ha-​qatan. It illustrates what was evoked in the previous passage. Because of such an omission Samuel ha-​qatan could be suspected of being a min. The omission is capital because it appears in the twelfth benediction, the one that is related precisely to the minim.16 The

ha-​minim, p. 100–​101 as well as E. Fleischer, ‘On the Beginnings of Obligatory Prayer in Israel’, Tarbiz 59 (1990), pp. 397–​492 and especially p. 436, n. 101 [in Hebrew]. 16 See L. Vana, ‘La Birkat Ha-​Minim est-​elle une prière contre les judéo-​chrétiens?’, in N. Belayche and S. C. Mimouni (ed.), La formation des communautés religieuses dans

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historical context is that of a public prayer recited from memory and there is every reason to suppose that the leader of services was deliberately chosen for his ability to pray on behalf of the congregation. In other words, Samuel ha-​qatan was regarded as the most suitable to lead public prayers, so his omission is necessarily suspicious. But nonetheless, and against all expectations, the Sages do not suspect him of belonging to one of the groups of minim. This passage elaborates on the Mishnah in Berakhot 5:3 that speaks of silencing a leader who errs in the recitation of the blessings of shemone-​ esre. A leader who errs may not refuse to be replaced by another leader. But the Mishnah does not make any specific mention of the Birkat ha-​minim. In the development on this passage made in the Jerusalem Talmud, the latter appears in the form of the reference to ‘who humbles the arrogant’ (‫)מכניע זדים‬. Even though the Mishnah states that the leader who errs in reciting one of the benedictions must be interrupted and replaced, this is not what happens with Samuel ha-​qatan. One can assume that he was given special treatment because of his position as a learned man and the fact that he was credited with the original formulation of the blessing (according to the Babylonian version). And so he is not suspected of being a min. However, since the latter category was mentioned solely in the Babylonian version, one could draw the conclusion (from reading the Jerusalem Talmud alone) that the rule was not applied to him only because of his rank.17 On the basis of Berakhot 5: 3, the practice of le monde gréco-​romain, Turnhout, Brepols, 2003, p. 201–​241 and particularly p. 225, where she argues, albeit without any tangible proof, that it is not so much a question of an omission on Samuel ha-​qatan’s part as of an ‘-​effacement’ or ‘-​annulation’. Thus, according to Vana, from one year to another, Samuel ha-​qatan would have effaced or annulled the terms of the Birkat ha-​minim that no longer suited him. In addition, Vana unsuccessfully tries to show that the Birkat ha-​minim is not so much a curse as an oath, the goal of which is to guarantee the unity and cohesion of the community. But, Vana’s argument notwithstanding, the fact that the Patristics testifies to Jewish Christians in the synagogue in the fourth century does not prove that the rabbis did not exclude them. It only shows that the rabbis’ power was not coercive enough and that they did not possess sufficient authority in the eyes of the minim whom they intended to exclude. 17 We might add that the Birkat ha-​minim is one of the benedictions for which an error or omission is not tolerated and so it is not the only one to be characterized in this way. As for Samuel ha-​qatan, the few sources we have on him (and it is questionable whether we can draw any historical conclusions from them) tell us that he was a Hasid, a man of righteous deeds whose death was regarded as a tragedy. Cf. Teppler, Birkat ha-​minim, p. 90–​99; M. Hirshman, ‘Shmuel ha-​Katan’, in I. Gafni,

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silencing the leader who errs in reciting shemone-​esre, can be read as a way of testing the prayer leader. If he refuses to stop leading the prayers, there is reason to suspect him of belonging to the reviled group of minim. It may be that, having no other more coercive means of investigation, the liturgical practice served as a means of selection to differentiate between those who were part of the normative group and those who were excluded from it. But, as pertinent as these conclusions may be, they are not, however, explicitly stipulated in the text. Which brings us to an examination of the passage regarded as a crucial element in the thorny issue of the Birkat ha-​minim; that is, the following baraita from the Babylonian Talmud, Berakhot 28b-​29a: .‫ שמעון הפקולי הסדיר שמונה עשרה ברכות לפני רבן גמליאל על הסדר ביבנה‬:‫תנו רבנן‬ ‫ כלום יש אדם שיודע לתקן ברכת המינים? עמד שמואל הקטן‬:‫אמר להם רבן גמליאל לחכמים‬ ?‫ אמאי לא העלוהו‬.‫ והשקיף בה שתים ושלוש שעות ולא העלוהו‬.‫ לשנה אחרת שכחה‬.‫ותקנה‬ ‫ בברכת המינים ​– מעלין‬,‫ טעה בכל הברכות כולן ​– אין מעלין אותו‬:‫והאמר רב יהודה אמר רב‬ ‫ אמר‬.‫ וניחוש דלמא הדר ביה‬.‫ דאיהו תקנה‬,‫ שאני שמואל הקטן‬.‫ חיישינן שמא מין הוא‬,‫אותו‬ .‫ טבא לא הוי בישא‬:‫ גמירי‬,‫אביי‬ Our rabbis have taught on Tannaite authority: Simeon Happaquli in Yavneh laid out the eighteen benedictions before Rabban Gamaliel in proper order. Said Rabban Gamaliel to the sages, ‘Does anyone know how to ordain Birkat ha-​minim?’ Samuel the younger went and ordained it. A year later he forgot it and for two or three hours he attempted to recover it. But they did not remove him. But did not R. Judah say in the name of Rab, ‘If someone made an error in any of the benedictions, they do not remove him, but if he did so in the Birkat ha-​minim, they do remove him, suspecting that he too is a min [or is sympathetic to them]. The case of Samuel the younger is different, because he himself was the one who had ordained the benediction. But should they not take account of the possibility that he had reverted [and was no longer trustworthy]? Said Abaye, ‘There is a tradition that a good man does not turn bad’.18

A. Oppenheimer, and M. Stern (eds.), Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple, Mishna and Talmud Period. Studies in Honor of Shmuel Safrai, Jerusalem, Yad Izhak ben-​Zvi Press, 1993, p. 165–​172 [in Hebrew]; M. ben Shalom, Hassidut and Hassidim in the Second Temple Period and in the Mishnah Period, Tel-​Aviv, Hakibbutz hamehuchad Publishing, p. 279–​280 [in Hebrew]. 18 Cf. Berakhot 28b–​29a, Jacob Neusner (trans.), The Talmud of Babylonia, I: Tractate Berakhot, p. 205. See also Meguila 17b–​18a where the first part of this tradition is repeated in the form of a baraita introduced by the word tanya. As for understanding what role Simeon Happaquli had, knowing that the members of the Great Sanhedrin (the generation of the return from the Babylonian exile, during the period of Persian occupation of Judea) had already introduced the eighteen blessings, a compromise

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This text is capital in that it describes how the shemone-​esre was formed and in what context Birkat ha-​minim was composed. It also gives us an indication of a possible dating of the benediction since it speaks of Gamaliel II of Yavneh and no longer of the ‘sages of Yavneh’ as in the Jerusalem Talmud.19 It is a baraita that is recounted in the Babylonian Talmud and whose provenance is unknown. The crucial issue to elucidate is whether we are dealing with a baraita introduced by ‫ תנו רבנן‬that can be traced back to an older tradition from the Tannaitic period or is it a text that corresponds (by its style) to a different baraita, from a later period, and that teaches us about the founding period of the Rabbinic movement? In other words, is this a text that is nearly contemporaneous with its redaction or one whose narration is expressed only in the terminology of remote times though it does not date as far back?20 is proposed: the prayer would have been composed by the members of the Great Assembly, forgotten and then reintroduced at a later date by Simeon Happaquli. Interestingly, in Berakhot 33a, shemone-​esre is also traced back to the member of the Great Assembly. According to Simon Mimouni, there is no contradiction between Berakhot 28b–​29a an Berakhot 33a. The first passage from the tanaim puts a tradition in order. The second passage, of Amoraitic origin, establishes a tradition. These two texts pertain to two distinct periods and correspond to different objectives. See S. Mimouni, “La ‘Birkat ha-​Minim” ; une prière juive contre les judéo-​chrétiens’, Revue des sciences religieuses 71 (1997), p. 278 (=S. Mimouni, Le judéo-​christianisme ancien. Essais historiques, Paris, Cerf, 1998, p. 165). 19 The variants in the different manuscripts do not provide us with any substantial information in this regard. The term ‫( מינים‬minim) appears in the medieval manuscripts of Christian Europe. The Florence and Oxford manuscripts mention ‫מלשינים‬ (malshinim = informers), the Soncino edition (1484) mentions ‫( זדים‬zedim = arrogants), and the Vilna edition mentions ‫( צדוקים‬tsadoqim = Sadducees). 20 N. Cohen, ‘The Nature of Shimeon ha-​Pekuli’s Act’, Tarbiz 52 (1983), pp. 548–​ 555 [in Hebrew], maintains that there is reason to read Rabban Gamaliel’s question (‘Does anyone know how to ordain Birkat ha-​minim?’) as rhetorical, knowing that the Birkat ha-​minim already existed and was re-​ordained by Samuel ha-​qatan. Cohen also maintains that it was ordained again as a result of the critique of the sages concerning the first version of the Birkat ha-​minim ordained by Simeon Happaquli. As Teppler observes in Birkat ha-​minim, p. 89, n. 48, this approach is not new. See also N. Cohen, ‘What was new about what Samuel ha-​qatan introduced in Birkat ha-​ minim?’ Sinaï 94 (1984), pp. 57–​70 [in Hebrew], who shows that the word ‫ כלום‬in the Talmud introduces a rhetorical question. We would have to agree with M. Hirshman, ‘Shmuel ha-​Katan’, p. 171 who sees a literary exaggeration in the two or three hours that Samuel ha-​qatan spends trying to remember the benediction. This leads him to prefer the version in the Jerusalem Talmud to the one in the Babylonian. A solution to this question was suggested by L. H. Schiffman, ‘At the Crossroads: Tannaitic Perspectives on the Jewish-​Christian Schism’, in E. P. Sanders, A. I. Baumgarten, and A. Mendelson (eds.), Jewish and Christian Self-​Definition. Aspects of Judaism in

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Günter Stemberger, in a study of the Birkat ha-​minim, considers the second option more plausible, adding that Rabban Gamaliel II is mentioned in the texts as being very fervent about the practice of the prayer, when, strangely enough, no Talmudic source mentions Rabban Gamaliel II as wanting to introduce the Birkat ha-​minim or ardently fighting for it to be recited regularly.21

the Graeco-​Roman Period, Philadelphia, PA and London, SCM, 1981, vol. 2, p. 350, n. 196, who explains that the first part of the baraita takes place in the Yavneh academy where R. Gamaliel looks for a tana to ordain the Birkat ha-​minim. The second part of the baraita, on the other hand, which takes place the following year, shows that Samuel ha-​qatan’s amnesia is to be understood in a liturgical context where he is the leader of the congregation. 21 G. Stemberger, ‘Birkat ha-​minim and the separation of Christians and Jews’, in B. Isaac and Y. Shahar (eds.), Judaea-​Palaestina, Babylon and Rome: Jews in Antiquity, Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2012, p. 75–​88 and especially p. 80. E. K. Broadhead, Jewish Ways of Following Jesus. Redrawing the Religious Map of Antiquity, Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2010, p. 290, mentions the difficulty but concludes less radically, ‘Thus, the 12th Benediction appears in the literature of the Talmudic period (4th to 5th century C.E), but it is projected onto an earlier period’ (the emphasis is ours). It is worth nothing that the oldest and most widely accepted thesis is very different from Stemberger’s. Indeed, many scholars have maintained that the text in Berakhot 28b–​29a is evidence of the initiative that R. Gamaliel took in establishing the Birkat ha-​minim. This is the case for Jocz J., The Jewish People and Jesus Christ. The Relation between Church and Synagogue, London, S.P.C.K, 1949; Y. Elbogen, Der jüdische Gottesdienst in seiner geschichtlichen Entwicklung, Hildelsheim, G. Olms, 1962, pp. 232–​279; M. R. Wilson, Our Father Abraham: Jewish Roots of the Christian Faith, Michigan, 1989, pp. 64–​68; S. Kanter, Rabban Gamaliel II: The Legal Tradition, Ann Arbor, Brown Judaic Studies, 1980, pp. 9–​10; Schiffman, ‘At the Crossroads: Tannaitic Perspectives on the Jewish-​Christian Schism’, p. 150 who clearly states: ‘Despite some ingenious claims to the contrary, the Gamaliel of our baraita is Rabban Gamaliel II of Yavneh in the post-​destruction period’ (the emphasis is ours); S. Katz, ‘Issues in the Separation of Judaism and Christianity after 70 C.E.: A Reconsideration’, Journal of Biblical Literature 103 (1984), pp. 53–​76 and especially p. 63 where the authors notes: ‘According to b. Ber. 28b–​29a R. Gamaliel II, R. Yohanan ben Zakkai’s successor at Yavneh, was vexed by the increase in heresy in the Jewish community and asked for the composition (or adaptation) of a prayer against the heretics. This was supplied by R. Samuel the Small at some time between 85 and 95’; P. Alexander, ‘ “The Parting of the Ways” from the Perspective of Rabbinic Judaism’, in J. D. G. Dunn (ed.), Jews and Christians. The Parting of the Ways A.D 70 to 135, Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 1992, pp. 1–​25 and especially p. 7 where he judiciously and cautiously writes: ‘Bavli Berakhot 28a–​29b is given as a baraita which claims to report events at Yavneh in the late first century C.E. It should be noted, however, that the baraita is found only in the Bavli […] But the precise connection of the Birkat ha-​minim with Shmu’el ha-​Qatan and with an editing of the synagogue liturgy at Yavneh in the time of Gamliel II is attested only in comparatively late strata of Rabbinic Literature. This

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All that can be concluded at this stage is that the Babylonian tradition in Berakhot 28b-​29a is intent on tracing the promulgation of the Birkat ha-​minim to the ethnarch Rabban Gamaliel II of Yavneh. We do not know if the Babylonian redactors of the baraita knew a tradition that is unknown to us today or if this Babylonain passage represents an attempt to interpret older Palestinian texts. The only way to acquire a clearer idea in this regard is to gain a better understanding of the baraita in Berakhot 28b-​29a. For this purpose, we will be concentrating on developing two perspectives: the first purely historical, the second textual. In a study published in 2003, David Instone-​Brewer examines the context of the eighteen benedictions and of the Birkat ha-​minim prior to the destruction of the Second Temple. In his opinion, the terms highlighted (in italics) in the following passage, ‘Simeon Happaquli in Yavneh laid out the eighteen benedictions before Rabban Gamaliel in proper order. Said Rabban Gamaliel to the sages’, are a later addition, made for the purpose of attaching the tradition to Rabban Gamaliel II and the sages of Yavneh, whereas, without them, the passage may well be referring to Gamaliel I who lived during the last generation before the destruction of the Second Temple. Instone-​Brewer also point out that Simeon Happaquli and Samuel ha-​qatan are the only ones to be mentioned in the Birkat ha-​minim and cannot easily be dated because they appear very rarely in the sources or in relation to narratives prior to 70. This leads him to conclude that Samuel ha-​qatan, being traditionally thought of as a disciple of Hillel the elder (according to Cant. Rabba 8:13), may have lived in the time of Gamaliel I –​that is, during the period of the last generation before the destruction of Jerusalem. This argument is supported by the fact that Simeon Happaquli and Samuel ha-​qatan are not called ‘Rabbi’, a title that appears after 70, or earlier for priests as a title of

fact should be borne constantly in mind in reconstructing the history of the benediction, and too much weight should not be placed on the uncorroborated testimony of Bavli Berakhot 28b–​29a’. We accept without qualification Alexander’s emphasis on approaching the Bavli’s testimony with prudence and circumspection. In a similar vein, see P. Tomson, ‘The Wars against Rome, the Rise of Rabbinic Judaism and of Apostolic Gentile Christianity, and Judaeo-​Christians: elements for a synthesis’, in P. Tomson and D. Lambers-​Petry (eds.), The Image of the Judaeo-​Christians in Ancient Jewish and Christian Literature, Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2003, pp. 1–​31 and especially p. 14 where he observes: ‘Consequently, the reformulation of the birkat ha-​ minim appears to represent an initiative by Rabban Gamaliel to shut out Christians from the Jewish community.”

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distinction. In the same vein, Instone-​Brewer argues that the Birkat ha-​ minim should be dated to before the destruction of the Second Temple in Jerusalem and, additionally, that it targeted Sadducee priests rather than Jewish Christians.22 The twelfth benediction of shemone-​esre (the Birkat ha-​minim) constitutes a liturgical innovation; it is to be understood as the ultimate criterion defining who can be part of community prayer and who is to be excluded from it. Anyone suspected of minut (heterodoxy) can no longer pronounce this prayer because, in so doing, he’d effectively be cursing himself and his community. As a result, he finds himself progressively and indirectly excluded from collective prayer and, accordingly,

22 Cf. D. Instone-​Brewer, ‘The Eighteen Benedictions and the Minim before 70 CE’, in Journal of Theological Studies NS, 54 (2003), pp. 25–​44 and idem, Traditions of the Rabbis from the Era of the New Testament. Prayer and Agriculture, Cambridge, Eerdmans Publishing Co, 2004, vol. I, pp. 109–​115. Without dwelling too much on the arguments of this scholar, it should be noted that he makes no distinction between the dating of these texts and proceeds as if each source is historical per se. One of the most well-​known approaches to dating the Birkat ha-​minim remains David Flusser’s. According to this eminent scholar, the Birkat ha-​minim preceded the advent of Christianity, which is why the term ‫(נוצרים‬Christians) was originally absent. It only appears in the fourth century in the Palestinian versions. According to Flusser, the Birkat ha-​minim would have been established at the end of the Second Temple period by the Pharisees against the sectarian Essenes, regarded as separatists. The Christians would have been targeted much later, in the second century (See D. Flusser, ‘4QMMT and the Benediction against the Minim’, Tarbiz 61 (1991), pp. 333–​374 [in Hebrew] (= Judaism of the Second Temple Period. Qumran and Apocalypticism, Jerusalem, Magnes Press, 2007, vol. 1, pp. 70–​118). As Adiel Schremer has brilliantly demonstrated, the Essenes considered themselves separatists. Schremer rightfully directs two basic criticisms against Flusser’s thesis, which are, briefly summarized, as follows: (1) As Chanoch Albeck has shown, the vast majority of traditions related to the Birkat ha-​minim date to post-​70 periods. (2) Ezra Fleischer’s studies on the construction of the Shemome-​esre prove that the attestations connected to this prayer go back to after the destruction of the Second Temple. Hence, it is problematical to claim that the Birkat ha-​minim existed before the birth of rabbinic Judaism. On the other hand, Schremer’s analysis is not convincing when he argues that the Birkat ha-​ minim is an anti-​Roman rabbinic discourse, vilifying the pride and self-​glorification of Rome (See A. Schremer, Brothers Estranged. Heresy, Christianity, and Jewish Identity in Late Antiquity, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2010, pp. 57–​59). D. Boyarin, ‘Once again Birkat Hamminim Revisited’, in S. C. Mimouni and B. Pouderon (eds.), La croisée des chemins revisitée. Quand l’Eglise et la ‘Synagogue’ se sont-​elles distinguées ? Actes du colloque de Tours 18–​19 juin 2010, Paris, Cerf, 2012, p. 99 seems to accept Flusser’s thesis while considering that the inclusion of the term ‫‘ מינים‬heretic’ dates to the third century, at the time of the Tosefta’s redaction.

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from the community. This element is fundamental to an understanding of the phenomenon of the passive exclusion of the minim. Thus, the Birkat ha-​minim tells us about the approach of the sages with regard to the heterodox [heretics] (minim). It was not a matter of ostracizing them by official decree. This would have required formulating laws against an indistinct sector of Jewish society that may have otherwise been applying itself to the observance of Jewish rites. A system had to be established that would enable a gradual albeit systematic exclusion and that would ultimately proceed, albeit reluctantly, from the choices of the very person whose exclusion was being sought. Concretely, a min attending synagogue would not have been willing to curse himself by reciting the prayer; thus, he’d end up excluding himself from the instituting group, without the group having to pronounce a direct measure against him. Considering the mentality of the time, the individual or group denounced as fractionist and even secessionist –​that is singularized as a min –​would no longer feel capable of pronouncing such a curse. Thereby, without any other formal measure of exclusion, the min would be marginalized and rejected.

Is the Birkat ha-​minim of Yavneh Origin? Does the fact that the promulgation of the Birkat ha-​minim only appears in the Babylonian Talmud necessarily invalidate its Yavneh origin? If we assume that this benediction does in fact date back to the Sages of Yavneh, a number of important questions remain to be addressed. What was the nature and scope of their influence on Jewish communities, and on the minim themselves, given that the latter purportedly feared the Sages and their prescriptions. And what was the status of Gamaliel II within the Sanhedrin.23 These questions take on all their interest if we assume –​in agreement with an important historiographic outlook –​that the rabbinic movement was relatively limited in the times of Gamaliel II. According to Teppler, the ethnarchy of Gamaliel II was sufficiently well established and had sufficient vigor and influence for the Birkat ha-​ minim to be officially proclaimed at its instigation. Unlike the school of Yohanan ben Zakai, the institution of Gamaliel II brought together 23 On this question, see our book: Il Talmud e le origini ebraiche del Cristianesimo. Gesù, Paolo e i Giudeocristiani nella Litterarura Talmudica, Milan, 2008, pp. 51–​56.

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the conditions that enabled the establishment of the Birkat ha-​minim. Yavneh at the time of Gamaliel II was recognized as the supreme institution to which halakhic questions were put from throughout the Diaspora. During his many travels, Gamaliel II worked to establish his leadership in a variety of places. Teppler goes so far as to maintain that Rabban Gamaliel II enjoyed official recognition from Rome for his different activities. Thus the picture that Teppler paints of Rabban Gamaliel II is of a man with full authority, benefitting from the official recognition of the Palestinian Jewish community as well as Roman institutions.24 In diametric opposition to Teppler, Stemberger sees the rabbinic movement of the Yavneh period as a weak group with little influence, not very well known among laymen. According to this view, the establishment of shemone-​esre and the promulgation of the Birkat ha-​minim did not reach beyond the restricted circle of tanaim and their followers. Stemberger also questions the place of the synagogue in Jewish communities in the first centuries. Picking up previously advanced arguments, he explains that synagogues are nowhere mentioned in evidence uncovered

24 Teppler, Birkat ha-​minim, pp. 125–​131. This tendency to maximize the power and status of the tanaim is part of an approach mainly represented by Israeli historiography, notably by Gedaliah Alon, Shmuel Safrai and Aharon Oppenheimer. Teppler is prone to accepting sources without taken sufficient care to examine their historical relevance. Witness the acerbic treatment that the Babylonian Talmud reserves for R. Gamaliel II (Berakhot 27b–​28a); cf. R. Goldenberg, ‘The Deposition of Rabban Gamaliel II: an Examination of the Sources’, Journal of Jewish Studies 23 (1972), p. 167–​190 (= W. S. Green (ed.), Persons and Institutions in Early Rabbinic Judaism, Missoula, Scholars Press, 1977, pp. 9–​47). For a different approach within Israeli historiography, see Y. Shahar, ‘Talmudic Yavneh –​Two Generations, then Eternal Glory’, in M. Fischer (ed.), Yavneh, Yavneh-​Yam and their Neighborhood. Studies in the Archaeology and History of the Judean Coastal Plain, Tel-​Aviv, Kibutz Palmachim Press, 2005, pp. 129–​131 [in Hebrew]. The author maintains that the Babylonian Talmudic version concerning R. Gamaliel II mainly reflects the view that the Babylonian redactors had of Yavneh. There is an abundance of critical literature on these questions, so we will confine ourselves to citing only Daniel Boyarin who develops Shahar’s approach in more radical perspectives. See D. Boyarin, ‘A Tale of Two Synods: Nicaea, Yavneh, and Rabbinic Eccesiology’, in L. I. Levine (ed.), Continuity and Renewal. Jews and Judaism in Byzantine-​Christian Palestine, Jerusalem, Yad Izhak ben-​Zvi Press, 2004, pp. 301–​332 [in Hebrew]; idem., Border Lines. The Partition of Judaeo-​Christianity, pp. 151–​201. According to Boyarin, the Yavneh assembly is but a historical myth, a later literary construction, dating to the 4th and 5th centuries. We will not discussion the thesis of this book, which has been the object of much criticism. We will simply state that we are absolutely not convinced by Daniel Boyarin’s conclusions.

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by archaeological sources before the late third and early fourth centuries, even though prayers and the reading of the Torah were already part of Jewish ritual. Consequently, even if we make the assumption that the Birkat ha-​minim was successfully established by Gamaliel II of Yavneh, the absence of synagogues would have limited its impact.25 The protagonists mentioned in the baraita in Berakhot 28b-​29a are all tanaim from the same generation –​Simeon Happaquli, Samuel ha-​ qatan and Rabban Gamaliel II. The text tells us that the redactor of the Birkat ha-​minim is himself suspected of having become a min, because of his (possibly deliberate) omission. One could assume therefore that the Babylonian redactors were relating a tradition according to which the minim were sufficiently influential in the Jewish world for one of the disciples of Rabban Gamaliel to be the target of suspicion. One may conjecture therefore that the context related by this baraita is that of a spread of the minim and their interference, eventually even amongst the Sanhedrin themselves. This takes on even more significance if we read this baraita in light of the passages of Tosefta Chullin 2:22–​24 that relates stories about Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus and about Rabbi Eleazar ben Damma, both of whom had dealings with a min called Jacob, a disciple of Jesus.26 25 Stemberger, ‘Birkat ha-​minim and the separation of Christians and Jews’, pp. 82–​83. Ruth Langer maintains that the fact that shemone-​esre is in Hebrew and not in Greek or Aramaic, the languages of commoners, meant that only the rabbinic elites could pray in this language. Langer argues that the common people must have had recourse to a translation: R. Langer, ‘Early Rabbinic Liturgy in its Palestinian Milieu: Did non-​Rabbis know the Amidah ?’, in A. Avery-​Peck, D. Harrington and J. Neusner (eds.), When Judaism and Christianity Began: Essays in Memory of Anthony J. Saldarini, Leiden, Brill, 2004, vol. 2, pp. 423–​439. However, not understanding a language does not prevent people from using it for prayer or from saying “amen” to a benediction. In this case, the literacy of the masses is a moot question. 26 We have discussed these passages and different approaches to them in numerous articles. See, in particular, D. Jaffé, ‘Les relations entre les Sages et les judéo-​chrétiens durant l’époque de la Mishna : R. Eliézer ben Hyrcanus et Jacob le min, disciple de Jésus de Nazareth’, in S. Trigano (ed.), Le christianisme au miroir du judaïsme, Pardès 35 (2003), pp. 57–​77; idem, ‘Les mouvements des dissidents aux Sages du Talmud et la rupture entre le judaïsme et le christianisme’, Foi et vie. Cahiers d’études juives 31 (2005), pp. 7–​19; idem, ‘La recomposition de la société juive après 70. Normativité et déviance : le cas des judéo-​chrétiens et des amei-​ha-​aretz’, in J.-​M. Chouraqui, G. Dorival, C. Zytnicki (eds.), Enjeux d’histoire, jeux de mémoire. Les usages du passé juif, Paris, Vrin, 2006, pp. 263–​274; idem, ‘Représentations et attraits du christianisme dans les sources talmudiques. Propositions d’un nouveau paradigme’, in D. Jaffé (ed.), Studies in Rabbinic Judaism and Early Christianity. Text and Context, Leiden/​Boston, MA, Brill, 2010, pp. 45–​66; idem, ‘Arrested by Minuth: The

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Without delving into these capital texts here, it should be noted that these passages appear in the Tosefta and are picked up, extrapolated, and embellished in the versions related in the Babylonian Talmud.27 Now, in both these cases, it would not occur to anyone to doubt the anteriority of these two passages, mainly because of their mention in the Tosefta. Can we assume that the baraita of Berakhot 28b-​29a would also be an element in this textual corpus, even though this baraita only appears in the Babylonian version? Otherwise put, the fact that it appears only in the Bavli need not prevent us from seeing it in a much older historical context.28 It is worth noting that the passages of the Tosefta about Jacob the min are themselves picked up in the Bavli. One may assume then that we are dealing with the same historical context, some of which are found narrated in the ancient Palestinian corpuses (the Tosefta) and others only in the Bavli. Also, it is clear that the issue of the Birkat ha-​minim dates back to the period of the tanaim, since the redactors of the Tosefta Berakhot 3:25 mention the benediction. In addition, this tradition is related in the Palestinian version of Berakhot 4, 3, 8a in the controversy between R. Eleazar ben R. Yosse and R. Yosse. We are therefore dealing with similar content presented in different ancient Palestinian versions all related to the Birkat ha-​minim. Our idea of reading these texts as a coherent corpus rather then as scattered passages with no internal unity leads us to the conclusion that the Birkat ha-​minim is of tannaitic Palestinian origin.29 Jewish-​Christians as Represented in Talmudic Aggadah’, Revue Biblique 120 (2013), pp. 441–​458. For the story with R. Eliezer ben Hyrcanus and Jacob the min, see Avodah Zarah 16b-​ 17a. For the story with R. Eleazar ben Dama and Jacob the min, see Avodah Zarah 27b; TJ Sabbath 14, 4, 14d-​15a (=Avodah Zarah 2, 2, 40d-​41a); Avodah Zarah 27b. 28 We propose a reading grid close to that of J.D.G. Dunn, The Partings of the Ways between Christianity and Judaism and Their Significance for the Character of Christianity, London, Trinity Press International, 1991, pp. 230–​243. Daniel Boyarin was of the opinion that the Birkat ha-​minim dates to the fourth or fifth century (Boyarin, Border Lines. The Partition of Judaeo-​Christianity, p. 68). However, as S. S. Miller rightfully observes (in ‘Roman Imperialism, Jewish Self-​Definition, and Rabbinic Society: Belayche’s Judaea-​Palaestina, Schwartz’s Imperialism and Jewish Society, and Boyarin’s Border Lines’, Association for Jewish Studies Review 31 [2007], p. 353): ‘This may very well be, but he fails to note that the source has been either reported or formulated (which of the two needs to be argued) in B. Berakhot 28b-​29a as a tannaitic baraita’. 29 See the clarifying comments by S. Friedman, Talmudic Studies. Investigating the Sugya, Variant Readings and Aggada, New York/​Jerusalem, Jewish Theological Seminary, 27

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Another important point to take into consideration is the fact that we cannot necessarily conclude, simply on the basis of the mention of the baraita in the Babylonian Talmud (Berakhot 28b-​29a) in the form of ‫תנו‬ ‫( רבנן‬tanu rabanan), that we are dealing with a late Babylonian baraita.30 As Shamma Friedman judiciously observed, ‘A comparison needs to be made between baraitot in Babylonian Talmud with the languages of the tanaim, and not only when considering baraitot that have obvious parallels in similar sources but also with regard to baraitot from the Babylonian Talmud that have no parallels. The latter must be compared to the stylistic elements, literary structure, and halakhic contents that are found in the old (tannaitic) sources in order to determine whether they belong to categories that correspond to the tanaim or whether they are post-​tannaitic creations’. On this basis, we can prudently consider that the baraita from Berakhot 28b-​29a is an extrapolation from older tannaitic sources. If the content of a baraita found exclusively in the Babylonian Talmud corresponds in a number of criteria to older tannaitic sources, there is reason to assume, as Friedman has shown, that this baraita dates to the period of the tanaim.31

2010, pp. 389–​432 and especially p. 392 [in Hebrew]. In Friedman’s opinion, there is no reason to doubt an Aggadic text from the Bavli charged with political or realistic elements. It needs rather to be put back into the historical context of its day. We would like to thank our colleague Menahem ben Shalom for a fruitful exchange on this subject and for his bibliographical indications. 30 See the very stimulating study by our colleague Barak S. Cohen, ‘In Quest of Babylonian Tannaitic Traditions: The Case of ‘Tanna D’bei Shmuel’, Association for Jewish Studies Review 33 (2009), pp. 271–​303 on the baraitot mentioned in the two Talmudim by Samuel, a first-​generation Babylonian amora. 31 S. Friedman, ‘Towards a Characterization of Babylonian Baraitot: “ben Tema” and “ben Dortai” ’, in Y. Elman, E. B. Halivni, Z. A. Steinfeld (eds.), Neti’ot Ledavid. Jubille Volume for David Weiss Halivni, Jerusalem, Orhot, 2004, pp. 200–​203 and p. 201 for the citation [in Hebrew] (= Studies in Tannaitic Literature: Methodology, Terminology and Content, Jerusalem, The Bialik Institute, 2013, pp. 272–​275 and p. 273 for the citation). According to B. S. Cohen, when the name amora is included in the baraita: ‘The name of the reciting amora is included not because he composed the halakhah but because in this particular case the amora in front of whom the baraita was recited responded directly to the content. In instances where the same baraita was recited without a response, it is included in the talmudic record without any notation as to who recited it or in front of whom it was recited. This explains why these baraitot are sometimes found elsewhere in the Bavli introduced by the usual terms, “‫ ”תניא‬or “‫תנו‬ ‫( ’ ”רבנן‬the emphasis is ours). See B. S. Cohen, “ ‘Amoraic Baraitot” Reconsidered. The Case of Tanei Tanna Kameh’, AJSR 39 (2015), pp. 1–​28. We thank Barak Cohen

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In our opinion, our baraita should not be considered a late Babylonian creation simply based on the argument that a parallel passage of Palestinian origin does not exist. There is, in addition, no conclusive concrete proof of the Babylonian origin of this baraita.32 We have no analogy between our baraita and a purely Babylonian context, or with a passage attributed to a Babylonian amora, not to say with laws that would derive from the Sasanian corpus.33 Also, the realia historica and the halakhic context of our baraita are found in the Tosefta Chullin 2:20–​21 where it is a question of a policy of ostracism toward minim. We might add that this baraita serves as an interpretive or complementary support to Berakhot 5:3 in the case when a prayer leader errs in reciting the prayer. Consequently, our baraita can only be understood in juxtaposition to this passage from the Mishna.34 It is a known phenomenon in Talmudic

for allowing us to read his article before publication and to have shed light on many issues involved in Talmudic research on the Babylonian pseudo-​baraitot. In this context, we reject the argument of Boyarin, ‘Once Again Birkat Hamminim Revisited’, pp. 92–​93: ‘The baraita (tannaitic source) quoted in the Babylonian Talmud bears virtually no evidentiary value for events on the first century. First of all, even so-​called genuine tannaitic stories (i.e. ones attested in tannaitic compilations) contain much that is legendary about events at Yavneh, at the least a century earlier than their formulation into baraitot. Secondly, this particular baraita is only attested in the Babylonian Talmud, a text whose redaction was no earlier than the sixth century and perhaps as late as the seventh. There is no other source for this story anywhere. Third, this particular story bears the stamp of legend’. […] ‘The alleged citation of the baraita thus cannot be dated any earlier than late in the third century at the earliest (and by my lights only securely to an even later time) and hardly constitutes reliable historical witness to the formulation of birkat hamminim at Yavneh, two centuries earlier’. 33 See Y. Elman, ‘Returnable Gifts in Rabbinic and Sassanian Law’, Irano-​Judaica 6 (2008), pp. 139–​184; S. Greengus, Laws in the Bible and in Early Rabbinic Collections: The Legal Legacy of the Ancient Near East, Eugene, Cascade Books, 2011, pp. 114–​121; D. Henshke, Festival Joy in Tannaitic Discourse, Jerusalem, Magnes Press, 2007, pp. 13–​14, n. 48 [in Hebrew]. 34 Contra Ch. Albeck, Mehkarim Babaraïta ve-​Tosefta veyehasan leTalmud, Jerusalem, Mosad haRav Kook, 1964, p. 32 [in Hebrew]; Ch. Albeck, Introduction to the Talmud, Babli and Yerushalmi, Tel-​Aviv, Devir Press, 1969, pp. 34–​35 [in Hebrew]. Albeck maintains that the halakha contained in a baraita is a later creation than the mishna that is attributable to it. As B. S. Cohen has demonstrated recently (‘ “Amoraic Baraitot” Reconsidered. The Case of Tanei Tanna Kameh’, pp. 1–​28, it is often the opposite that it represented, namely, that the succinct halakha presented in the mishna is a summary of the halakha that is found in the baraitot of the Tosefta or of the two Talmudim. On the latter point, see J. Hauptman, ‘Mishnah As a Response to “Tosefta” ’, in S. J. D. Cohen (ed.), The Synoptic Problem in Rabbinic Literature, 32

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literature that many baraitot in the Babylonian Talmud contain older Palestinian traditions that are found in the Tosefta or in the Jerusalem Talmud. Only linguistic and stylistic differences appear among these baraitot that have been retouched by later Babylonian redactors.35

The Question of minim Although this is not the place to delve into the meaning of the indisputably ambiguous term minim, we must at least address the question of whom was being targeted when the Birkat ha-​minim was formulated.36 According to R. Kimelman, although the term underwent a later semantic

Providence, Brown Judaic Studie, 2000, pp. 13–​34. See also the very thorough study of Pesahim by S. Friedman, Tosefta Atiqta. Pesah Rishon. Synoptic Parallels of Mishna and Tosefta Analysed with a Methodological Introduction, Ramat-​Gan, Bar-Ilan Press, 2002, pp. 46–​50 [in Hebrew]. 35 See S. Friedman, ‘The Baraitot in the Babylonian Talmud and their Parallels in the Tosefta’, in D. Boyarin, S. Friedman, M. Hirshman, M. Schmelzer, and I. Tashma (eds.), Atara L’Haim. Studies in the Talmud and Medieval Rabbinic Literature in Honor of Professor Haim Zalman Dimitrovsky, Jerusalem, Magnes Press, 2000, p. 163–​201 (= Studies in Tannaitic Literature: Methodology, Terminology and Content, pp. 149–​194 [in Hebrew]); B. Katzoff, ‘The Relationship Between the Baraitot in the Tosefta and Their Talmudic Parallels. The Evidence of Tractate Berachot’, Hebrew Union College Annual 75 (2004), pp. 1–​24; Y. Elman, Authority and Tradition: Toseftan Baraitot in Talmudic Babylonia, New York, Yeshiva University Press, 1994, pp. 48–​52; Y. Elman, ‘Orality and the Transmission of Tosefta Pisha in Talmudic Literature’, in H. Fox (ed.), Introducing Tosefta: Textual, Intratextual and Intertextual Studies, Hoboken, KTAV, 1999, pp. 123–​ 180 and particularly pp. 128–​ 129; D. Rosenthal, ‘The Transformation of Eretz-​Israel Traditions in Babylonia’, Cathedra 92 (1999), pp. 7–​ 48 and particularly pp. 18–​24 [in Hebrew]. 36 The bibliography on the minim being very extensive, we will confine ourselves to citing the following studies: S. T. Katz, ‘The Rabbinic Response to Christianity’, in S. T. Katz (ed.), The Cambridge History of Judaism. The Late Roman Rabbinic Period, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2006, vol. 4, pp. 259–​298; P. Alexander, ‘Jewish Believers in Early Rabbinic Literature (2nd to 5th Centuries)’, in O. Skarsaune and R. Hvalvik (eds.), Jewish Believers in Jesus. The Early Centuries, Peabody, Hendrickson, 2007, pp. 659–​ 709; Schremer, ‘Wayward Jews: minim in Early Rabbinic Literature’, pp. 242–​263. Also see the very interesting article by J. Schwartz, ‘How Jewish to be Jewish? Self Identity and Jewish Christians in First Century CE Palestine’, in B. Isaac and Y. Shahar (eds.), Judaea-​Palaestina, Babylon and Rome: Jews in Antiquity, Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2012, pp. 55–​73.

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evolution, in Talmudic literature of the tannaitic period, it always refers 37 to Jews. As many critics have already noted, min or minim are generic terms that define a doxa (in our context, we are dealing with a deviant religious belief or an erroneous interpretation of Scripture) that departs from Rabbinic norms. The minim form a group that stands apart and that is regarded as deviant by the institutional majority. Of course, it is important to understand what we mean by institution and by min, knowing that heterodoxy can only be defined in relation to a given orthodoxy.38 It should be noted in the first place that the Palestinain versions of the Tosefta and the Jerusalem Talmud mention only ‫ של מינים‬and not the Birkat ha-​minim. More details are given in the later versions that figure in the Babylonian Talmud (and the Midrash Tanhuma on Leviticus 2). If we consider that the Birkat ha-​minim was directed against Christians, then we have to speak in terms of different Christians, and opt for the Jewish Christians who were still part of Jewish society at the time when the Birkat ha-​minim was instituted. This hypothesis corresponds to the tannaitic dating that we are proposing for the Birkat ha-​minim, since, as we have underscored, texts about the tanaim speak of fights with the Jewish Christians. It is easy to see why the Birkat ha-​minim would have constituted an insuperable obstacle for Jewish Christians, leading to 37 Cf. Kimelman, ‘Birkat ha-​minim and the Lack of Evidence for an Anti-​Christian Jewish Prayer in Late Antiquity’, pp. 226–​244, 391–​403. M. Goodman, ‘The Function of Minim in Early Rabbinic Judaism’, in P. Schäfer (ed.), Geschichte-​Tradition-​ Reflexion. Festschrift für Martin Hengel zum 70, Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 1996, vol. 1, pp. 501–​510 showed that the approach of the sages differed from the approach of Orthodox Christianity in being ‘interior’, which explains why they cultivated a very vague notion of minut [heterodoxy]. In the same vein, see also M. Goodman, ‘Modeling the “Parting of the Ways” ’, in The Ways that Never Parted, pp. 119–​129. In this same volume, see the article by A. Tropper, ‘Tractate Avot and Early Christian Succession Lists’, in The Ways that Never Parted, pp. 177–​188 and idem. Wisdom, Politics, and Historiography. Tractate Avot in the Context of the Greco-​Roman Near-​East, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2004, pp. 224–​240. Tropper analyzes the differences between Avot and the Apostolic succession and between Christian heresiology and the treatment of the minim by the Rabbis. The author maintains that these differences proceed from social structures. Whereas the tanaim preached among groups of disciples, the Church Fathers sought to spread their “proto-​orthodox” beliefs’. 38 See our studies, D. Jaffé, Le judaïsme et l’avènement du christianisme. Orthodoxie et hétérodoxie dans la littérature talmudique Ier-​IIe siècle, pp. 25–​64; Le Talmud et les origines juives du christianisme. Jésus, Paul et les judéo-​chrétiens dans la littérature talmudique, pp. 132–​135.

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their expulsion de jure if not de facto. As we have said above, but it is worth repeating, at a time when the Sages were trying to reduce relations between Jewish and pagans as much as possible, and when they were doing everything possible to unite the people around them, under their exclusive leadership and according to their halakha, the individual or group denounced as fractionist and even secessionist, that is singularized as a min, would no longer feel capable of pronouncing such a curse. Thereby, without any other formal measure of exclusion, the min would be marginalized and rejected.39 This is supported by the baraita of Berakhot 28b-​29a with regard to the fear manifested toward Samuel ha-​qatan, even though he was the author of this curse. It is specifically stated that, ‫( חיישינן שמא מין הוא‬he was suspected of being a min), in other words, the atmosphere of suspicion was such that even he could be suspected of being a min.40 Elucidating the origins of the Birkat ha-​minim requires taking a close look at how it is formulated. Some critics assume, for example, that the structure of the curse existed from its origins, and this would have enabled its oral transmission, and even perhaps its written transmission.41 Even though the thesis of the elaboration of shemone-​esre in the Yavneh period seems to the most convincing, it is still hard to deliver a conclusive opinion on the question. An important element to consider in this discussion

39 See W. Horbury, ‘The Benediction of the minim and Early Jewish-​ Christian Controversy’ Journal of Theological Studies 33 N.S (1982), pp. 19–​61 (= Jews and Christians in Contact and Controversy, Edinburgh, T&T Clark, 1998, pp. 67–​110); L. H. Schiffman, ‘La réponse de la halakha à l’ascension du christianisme’, in S. Trigano (ed.), Le christianisme au miroir du judaïsme, Pardès 35 (2003), pp. 13–​30. 40 Note that the term ‫( נוצרים‬Christians) does not appear in the passages from the Talmud but only in the texts of the Genizah dating to later periods. See U. Ehrlich and R. Langer, ‘The Earliest Texts of the Birkat Haminim’, pp. 63–​112. It is not easy to understand why the term does not appear in the Babylonian Talmud, knowing that its redactors could have used it with no repercussions to fear. On the other hand, it is understandable that it does not figure in medieval versions of Christian Europe. 41 Teppler, Birkat ha-​minim, pp. 73–​132. For his part, Ezra Fleischer maintains that the shemone-​esre as a whole was established in the Yavneh period (E. Fleischer, ‘On the Beginnings of Obligatory Jewish Prayer’, Tarbiz 59 (1989/​1990), pp. 397–​441 [in Hebrew].

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remains the Palestinian version of the Birkat ha-​minim from the Genizah, published by Salomon Schechter in the later nineteenth century, which includes the term ‫( נוצרים‬notsrim=Christians).42 However, as Stemberger rightfully notes, this version is not necessarily the original one.43 On the other hand, it’s hard to follow him when he maintains that the Jewish Christians pray in separate places (like in their own homes) to avoid the liturgical self-​cursing. Indeed, it is impossible to conclude, based on the motifs that seem to have belonged to (Jewish)-​Christians discovered during archaeological excavations, that there were specific places of prayer that belonged to them.44 It seems more likely that they saw themselves as Jews and continued praying in synagogues and other places where the Torah was read. Thus, although it is hard to emit a detailed opinion on the impact of the Birkat ha-​minim, there is reason to suppose that the Jews who believed that Jesus was the messiah would have had difficulty continuing to pray in synagogues.45 The Birkat ha-​minim is to be contextualized therefore in the period of the tanaim when Judaism was about to progressively undergo a

42 S. Schechter, ‘Genizah Specimens’, Jewish Quarterly Review 10 (1898), pp. 655–​659, text on p. 657. D. Boyarin, ‘Once Again Birkat Hamminim Revisited’, pp. 91–​ 105, follows in the footsteps of P. Van Der Horst, ‘The Birkat Ha-​minim in Recent Research’, The Expository Times 105 (1994), pp. 363–​368 (= Id., Hellenism-​Judaism-​ Christianity: Essays on their Interaction. Contributions to Biblical Exegesis and Theology, Leuven, Peeters, 1998, pp. 113–​124) and argues that the Birkat ha-​minim dates back to the fourth century and addresses Christians. These scholars do not, however, sufficiently justify their assertions. 43 Stemberger, ‘Birkat ha-​minim and the separation of Christians and Jews’, p. 85. 44 Cf. our study: D. Jaffé, ‘Les Synagogues des amei-​ha-​aretz. Hypothèses pour l’histoire et l’archéologie’, Studies in Religion/​Sciences religieuses 32 (2003), pp. 59–​82. 45 Some scholars have refused to see a relationship between the minim of the twelfth benediction and the followers of Jesus; for a radical position, see J. Maier, Jüdische Auseinandersetzung mit dem Christentum in der Antike, Darmstadt, Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1982, who identifies the minim as Jews who reject rabbinic authority and adopt a syncretist and assimilationist attitude. For an opposite viewpoint, see B.-​Z. Binyamin, ‘Birkat ha-​minim and the Ein Gedi Inscription’, Immanuel 21 (1987), pp. 68–​79. We would tend more toward a much more nuanced thesis along the lines, for example, of Broadhead, Jewish Ways of Following Jesus. Redrawing the Religious Map of Antiquity, p. 295, when he writes: ‘A curse against Jewish Christians is more likely, but consistent use of a standard curse is difficult to demonstrate’.

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hermeneutic revolution that would have consequences on its structure and its rituals. At this point, one cannot say more about this question without reviewing the conclusions that many researchers have already drawn.46

46 We are planning to reexamine this subject, taking a very close look at Christian sources with an eye out for any reactions to the Birkat ha-​minim. In a similar vein, we have shown the polemics between the Sages of the Talmud and Justin Martyr, with each side answering the other on common subjects. See D. Jaffé, ‘Adversus Iudaeos : la loi et les observances dans le Dialogus cum Tryphone Iudaeo’, in S. Morlet, O. Munnich, and B. Pouderon (eds.), Les Dialogues Adversus Iudaeos. Permanences et mutations d’une tradition polémique. Actes du colloque organisé les 7 et 8 décembre 2011 à l’université Paris-​Sorbonne, Paris, Institut d’études augustiniennes, 2013, pp. 49–​65. We mention the recent book of Michal Bar-​Asher Siegal, Jewish-​Christian Dialogues on Scriptures in Late Antiquity. Heretic Narratives of the Babylonian Talmud, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, although unfortunately, we have not been able to introduce it in this article.

7

‘Like Snake Venom’? The Rabbis and Christian Charity1 Yael Wilfand Bar-​Ilan University

Introduction2 In the Greco-​Roman world, the poor were not viewed as a group that deserved special support on the basis of their abject circumstances. In contrast, following the Tanakh, Jewish texts from the Second Temple and rabbinic periods emphasize the importance of supporting the indigent. With roots in that same scriptural heritage, Christianity devoted special attention to the poor from its inception. Furthermore, Christian charity has been identified as one of the catalysts for the expansion of Christianity within the Roman Empire; however, it has also been argued that ‘it is likely that the majority of Christian charity was directed towards Christians’ and ‘early Christian communities simply did not have the resources to carry out wide-​scale public charities –​at least, not

1 Pes. K. 2:5, Mandelbaum, p. 23. 2 In this article, I expand on a select passage from my book: Poverty, Charity and the Image of the Poor in Rabbinic Texts from the Land of Israel (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2014), pp. 207–​216. Since submitting this paper early in 2016, much scholarship has been published on rabbinic charity, including my Hebrew monograph The Wheel that Overtakes Everyone: Poverty and Charity in the Eyes of Sages in the Land of Israel (Tel-​Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad, 2017), which incorporates some of the ideas that appear here. In the final preparation of this publication, I returned to this work early in 2021, during the COVID-​19 pandemic; therefore, I had limited access to libraries. As a result, I may have missed some recent publications.

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until after Constantine’.3 By that time, almsgiving had become a principal mechanism for establishing Christianity and its leaders in the Empire. Numerous scholars have analyzed the centrality of Christian clergy, bishops in particular, in the collection and distribution of alms, especially from the fourth century onward: Alms were the responsibility and gift of the bishop, whose eloquence was essential to their successful collection and whose moral authority was enhanced, but also opened up to criticism, through their distribution. The bishop usually retained a personal hand in this distribution which formed a bond of patronage or leadership with the principal beneficiaries [...].4

Peter Brown argues for the existence of a ‘general consensus in all regions of the Roman and the post-​Roman world of the fourth, fifth, and sixth centuries, that the primary duty of the bishop was the care of the poor’.5 Brown stresses that bishops gained power by supporting the poor, thereby expanding their ‘networks of patronage and protection’.6 Considering this background, the current study asks: How did the rabbis in the Land of Israel view the impact of Christian charity on the lives of Jews in Palestine? More specifically: To what extent do rabbinic texts perceive of Christian charity as a threat? This paper opens with a discussion of the sources examined here and the methodology behind their selection, which is followed by an analysis of Ephraim E. Urbach’s hypothesis that from the second century onward rabbinic advocacy for supporting the poor stemmed from tensions with Christianity, then a close reading of several rabbinic texts that mention gentiles who give alms, to ascertain when and how these sources approach Christian charity. On the basis of this evidence, I claim that, whereas fifth-​century rabbinic texts from the Land of Israel explicitly 3 Steven C. Muir, ‘ “Look How They Love One Another” Early Christian and Pagan Care for the Sick and Other Charity’, in Religious Rivalries in the Early Roman Empire and the Rise of Christianity (ed. Leif E. Vaage; Waterloo, Ontario: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 2006), pp. 213–​231 (227). 4 Richard Finn, Almsgiving in the Later Roman Empire: Christian Promotion and Practice (313–​450) (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), p. 88. 5 Peter Brown, Poverty and Leadership in the Later Roman Empire (Hanover, NH: University Press of New England, 2002), p. 45. 6 Brown, Poverty and Leadership, pp. 78–​79: ‘The care of those who were vulnerable to impoverishment on all levels of urban society, and not only the care of the destitute, was crucial to the consolidation of the power of the bishop as a local leader’.

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censure Christian charity, earlier Jewish sources are generally silent on this subject.

Texts and Methodology This paper focuses on rabbinic texts compiled in Palestine during the first five centuries of the Common Era. To trace developments in rabbinic thinking about Christian giving, I categorize rabbinic texts that were compiled up to the mid-​fifth century in the Land of Israel according to the time and place of their composition. Later sources, even those that cite early sages, may reflect the conditions and attitudes of subsequent generations and therefore should be treated with extra caution. Tannaitic texts represent the earliest stage in this study: the Mishnah, the Tosefta and the tannaitic midrashim which were compiled prior to Constantine’s conversion and the legalization (and ultimate adoption) of Christianity by the Roman Empire. The impact of Christian charity at that formative stage is unclear. From the corpus of amoraic texts, the Palestinian Talmud was edited circa 360–​370 CE, after Christianity had become an officially recognized religion but before it was instituted as the Empire’s state religion (in 380 CE).7 By that time, Christian charity had been established and bishops, along with other Christian clergy, were active in the realm of almsgiving. Classical amoriaic midrashim –​Genesis Rabbah, Leviticus Rabbah and Pesiqta de Rab Kahana –​were compiled and edited in the mid-​or possibly late fifth century, when Christian charity had become well integrated within the Roman Empire.8 It is significant, therefore, to

7 Leib Moscovitz, ‘The Formation and Characters of the Jerusalem Talmud’, in The Cambridge History of Judaism: Volume Four: The Late Roman Period (ed. Stevan T. Katz; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), pp. 663–​677 (671–​672). 8 Mordecai Margulies, Midrash Wayyikra Rabbah: A Critical Edition Based on Manuscripts and Genizah Fragments with Variants and Notes (in Hebrew; New York: The Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1993), XXXIII, claims that Leviticus Rabbah and these two other amoraic midrashim were compiled no later than the mid-​fifth century; Burton L. Visotzky, Golden Bells and Pomegranates: Studies in Midrash Leviticus Rabbah (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003), p. 2, offers that these midrashim were edited by the close of the fifth century; Avigdor Shinan, ‘The Late Midrashic, Paytanic, and Targumic Literature’, in The Cambridge History of Judaism: Volume Four: The Late Roman Period (ed. Stevan T. Katz; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), pp. 678–​698, dates Genesis Rabbah to circa 425 CE, and both Leviticus Rabbah and Pesiqta de Rab Kahana to circa 450 CE; see Myron B. Lerner, ‘The Works

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closely examine each passage that addresses gentile almsgiving in order to 9 situate each one within its historical context.

Urbach’s Theory: Early Rabbinic Charity as a Response to Christian Charity Contemporary scholarship has not yet determined how Judaism and Christianity affected one another during the early centuries of the Common Era or what metaphor would best describe their interactions.10 Some researchers emphasize Jewish disputes with Christians (or Jewish-​ Christians) as a key element for understanding tannaitic and amoraic rabbinic sources. They contend that this literature is saturated with implied debates with Christianity that must be uncovered before accurate readings can be achieved. Other scholars highlight the relative absence of direct references to Christianity in the tannaitic corpus, leading to their assertion that the Christian impact on rabbis and the reciprocal influences between these two communities only become pertinent in later texts, and thus in later centuries. Scant attention has been directed to the themes of poverty and charity by adherents to either of these scholarly positions, with the notable exception of Urbach who, in an article ‘Political and Social Tendencies in

of Aggadic Midrash and the Esther Midrashim’, in The Literature of the Sages: Second Part: Midrash and Targum: Liturgy, Poetry, Mysticism: Contracts, Inscriptions, Ancient Science and the Language of Rabbinic Literature (eds. Shmuel Safrai, Zeev Safrai, Joshua Schwartz, Peter J. Tomson; Assen: Royal Van Gorcum and Fortress Press, 2006), pp. 133–​229 (149), for a later dating of Leviticus Rabbah and Pesiqta de Rab Kahana. 9 I do not include Avot of Rabbi Nathan (hereafter ARN) here, though it has long been considered an authentic tannaitic composition by many scholars and others have treated it as a Palestinian amoraic source. Since it was edited as late as the seventh or eighth century, this collection is outside the bounds of this study. Even if it contains remnants of tannaitic material, a systematic method for filtering later additions from early traditions has not yet been devised. And see Menahem Kister, ‘Prolegomenon’, in Avoth de-​Rabbi Nathan: Solomon Schechter Edition: With References to Parallels in the Two Versions and to the Addenda in the Schechter Edition (in Hebrew; New York: The Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1997), pp. 7–​41 (11–​13). Similarly, I do not use other ‘minor tractates’ due to the late timing of their completion. 10 For a survey of scholarly views on this issue, see Adiel Schremer, Brothers Estranged: Heresy, Christianity, and Jewish Identity in Late Antiquity (New York: Oxford University Press, 2010), pp. 3–​14.

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Talmudic Concepts of Charity’ (Zion, 1951), claimed that tannaim and amoraim alike rejected Christian charity while advocating Jewish almsgiving due to the competition between these two religions. According to Urbach, any rabbinic emphasis on giving to the poor from the second century CE onward must necessarily be explained in light of two factors: socio-​economic hardships in the period immediately following the destruction of the Second Temple and during the third century, and Christian almsgiving.11 Interestingly, few scholars have revisited Urbach’s thesis on rabbinic almsgiving.12 Urbach’s contention that Christian charity had already assumed a prominent role in Palestine by the second and third centuries CE is based on Adolf Harnak’s study: The Expansion of Christianity in the First Three Centuries.13 Following Harnak, Urbach writes: ‘The part played by charity in spreading the influence of Christianity was clear to both Christians and their antagonists’.14 Although Urbach presents several rabbinic passages that refer to Christian charity,15 his claim is primarily based on comparatively late texts, including the Babylonian Talmud and late rabbinic (and even select medieval) midrashim.16 Even in cases where Palestinian parallels exist, Urbach often favors these later sources. I address Urbach’s methodology in greater detail in my comparison of the Babylonian Talmud parallel to an amoraic midrash (below). Since

11 Ephraim E. Urbach, ‘Political and Social Tendencies in Talmudic Concepts of Charity’ (in Hebrew), Zion 16 (1951), pp. 1–​27 (especially 15–​16). 12 For example, Visotzky, Golden Bells and Pomegranates, pp. 122–​123, presents a different picture of Christian and Jewish almsgiving, writing that: ‘Jews were well known throughout the Roman empire for providing for the less fortunate among them. At this time, Christian bishops emulated the Jews in the establishment of a charity apparatus to help the poor’. However, Visotzky’s analysis focuses exclusively on Leviticus Rabbah, without the other texts studied by Urbach. See also Alyssa M. Gray, ‘Redemptive Almsgiving and the Rabbis of Late Antiquity’, JSQ 18 (2011), pp. 144–​ 184 (148–​149). For a general discussion of Urbach’s approach to Christianity and Judaism, see Schremer, Brothers Estranged, pp. 6–​9 and the references there. 13 Urbach, ‘Political and Social Tendencies’, p. 16, n. 107. For an English translation of Urbach’s reference, see: Adolf Harnack, The Expansion of Christianity in the First Three Centuries (trans. and ed. James Moffatt; London: Williams & Norgate, 1904), 1.181–​249. 14 Urbach, ‘Political and Social Tendencies’, Summary, p. II. (With the exception of the summary, all translations of quotations from Urbach’s article are mine). 15 Including most of the texts discussed in this paper. 16 See Urbach, idem, pp. 15–​17. See the references in n. 105.

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his preferred sources were composed when Christianity ruled the Roman Empire and also had a presence in Babylonia, it is hardly surprising that they include contentious attitudes toward Christian charity. In this study, I provide a textual analysis that renders little justification for applying Urbach’s theory to second-​and third-​century sources. Moreover, I argue that the relative silence of early texts with regard to Christian almsgiving calls into question whether such charitable activity had an influential role in Palestine during that period or whether the rabbis of that era might have perceived avoidance as their most effective response to Christian charity.

The Evidence The corpus of Palestinian texts that mention gentile almsgiving is limited to three passages: one appears in the Tosefta and seems to refer to gentiles (perhaps Christians) who provided support to indigent Jews; the other two are in Pesiqta de Rab Kahana, with the first evaluating the phenomenon of gentiles who give alms (which has two sections) and the second focusing explicitly on Christian charity. While the fact that only three passages –​one tannaitic and two amoraic, found in two compositions –​directly engage the subject of gentile almsgiving constricts our ability to assess early rabbinic approaches to such charity, especially with Christian involvement, I would claim that these sources are adequate to gain a clear picture of the rabbinic reaction toward Christian almsgiving in the fifth century.

Tosefta Soṭah The Tosefta provides the first relevant source: ‫ ואין נוח בעולם‬,‫ התחילו הגוים להתרבות וישר' להתמעט‬,‫משרבו מקבלי צדקה מן הגוים‬ 17 .‫לישראל‬

17 This version follows the Erfurt Codex. However, compare it with the Vienna Codex, which presents an alternate version. On the preference for the version transmitted in the Erfurt Codex here see, Saul Lieberman, Tosefta Ki-​Feshutah: A Comprehensive Commentary on the Tosefta (in Hebrew; New York: Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1955), VIII, p. 756.

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When [the number of those who] received alms (tzedakah) from the gentiles increased, the gentiles were beginning to grow and Israel was becoming reduced. Thus, it is not easy for Israel in the world. (t. Soṭ. 14:10, Lieberman 238)

As Saul Lieberman has written, rabbinic texts do not explicitly exclude Jews from accepting alms from gentiles.18 However, according to this tosefta, at a certain point, increasing numbers of Jews started to receive alms from gentiles, a phenomenon that was correlated to the decline of Israel and to the growth of gentiles (changes that may indicate number or status) and rising discomfort among Jews in the world.19 The correlation between stature and receiving gifts described in this tosefta reflects Greco-​Roman norms (and the standards in other ancient societies as well), where the capacity for giving donations and supporting others would elevate a benefactor’s societal rank, whereas dependence on others for one’s basic needs led to reduced standing.20 The provision of sustenance could also be associated with the acceptance of new concepts. A later rabbinic text, Genesis Rabbah, links hospitality to promotion of a specific belief: .‫ ברכון‬.‫ ומשהיו אוכלין ושותין הוה אמ' לון‬.‫אברהם היה מקבל את העוברים ואת השבים‬ ‫ אמר לו הקדוש ברוך‬.‫ ברוך אל עולם שאכלנו משלו‬.‫ ואמ' לון‬.‫ מה נאמר‬.‫והוון אמרין ליה‬ ‫ מעלה אני עליך כאילו אתה‬.‫ לא היה ניכר שמי בעולמי והיכרתיני בבריותיי‬.‫ אברהם‬.‫הוא‬ . . .‫שותף עמי בבריתו של עולם‬ Abraham regularly received travelers. After they ate and drank, he would tell them: ‘Bless’. They would say to him: ‘What should we say?’ And he would respond: ‘Bless the God of the world that from whom we ate’. The Holy one blessed be He told him: ‘Abraham, my name was [previously] unknown in my world, but [now that] you have made me known among my creatures, I consider you as my partner in the creation of the world’. (Gen. R. 43:7, Theodor-​Albeck, p. 421)21 18 Lieberman, Tosefta Ki-​Feshutah, VIII, p. 756. Compare Urbach, ‘Political and Social Tendencies’, p. 26. 19 Even though this text does not explicitly mention Jews as the recipients of alms, their participation can be inferred from its wording (‘from the gentiles’). Moreover, since this passage appears in a chapter that primarily discusses Jewish practice, it can logically be deduced that this statement also refers to Jews. Later generations of Jewish commentators have interpreted it as a reference to Jews who received alms from gentiles. 20 See, Gregg E. Gardner, ‘Giving to the Poor in Early Rabbinic Judaism’ (Ph.D. diss., Princeton University, 2009), p. 141 and references therein. 21 See also Gen. R. 49:4, Theodor-​Albeck, p. 502; Gen. R. 54:6, Theodor-​Albeck, p. 583.

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In this text, feeding strangers is the backdrop for both generosity and 22 advocacy for new ideas. Although t. Soṭ. 14:10 does not overtly mention Christians, the possibility that it alludes to Christian charity should not be entirely dismissed. Indeed, a much later rabbinic text –​Avot of Rabbi Nathan (ARNA, Chapter 2, Schechter 14) –​describes the minim (probably a reference to Christians) as having attracted new members by providing for individuals in need who subsequently joined their community. According to that source, the minim enlarged their community by supplying food, clothing and other material benefits.23 Our ability to identify whether the gentiles mentioned in the Tosefta are Christian depends on the dating of this passage. Urbach claims that this tosefta ‘reflects the situation at the end of the second century or perhaps in the beginning of the third’, adding that, at that time, ‘the small sect that was born from Israel, emerged as a rising power, growing and multiplying in the Land of Israel and in the Roman Empire’.24 However, establishing the precise time of authorship for this passage is quite difficult, given that the Tosefta is an anthology whose teachings cover multiple centuries, with material that predates the Mishnah to writings that were composed well after the Mishnah’s completion.25 If this tosefta refers to Christians rather than gentiles and predates the early fourth century (when Christianity rose to power in the Roman Empire), it would prompt interesting queries, such as: Did the rabbis in the Land of Israel perceive Christian charity as a force that undermined 22 See Albert I. Baumgarten, ‘The “Outreach” Campaign of the Ancient Pharisees: There is no such thing as a Free Lunch’, in Judaea-​Palestina, Babylon and Rome: Jews in Antiquity (eds. Benjamin Isaac and Yuval Shahar; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012), pp. 11–​28. 23 Hans-​Jürgen Becker, Avot de-​ Rabbi Natan: Synoptische Edition beider Versionen (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006), p. 50. Saul Lieberman, ‘Notes on Chapter I of Midrash Koheleth Rabbah’, in Studies in Mysticism and Religion: Presented to Gershom G. Scholem on his Seventieth Birthday by Pupils Colleagues and Friends (eds. E. E. Urbach, R. J. Zwi Werblowsky, and Ch. Wirszubski; Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1967), pp. 163–​179 (174; Hebrew section), cites a description by the pagan author Lucian (c. 125 –​after 180 CE) of an individual’s rise to wealth and subsequent conversion to Christianity in response having received charitable gifts from Christians. 24 Urbach, ‘Political and Social Tendencies’, p. 24. 25 Shamma Friedman, ‘The Primacy of Tosefta to Mishnah in Synoptic Parallels’, in Introducing Tosefta: Textual, Intertextual and Intertextual Studies (eds. Harry Fox and Tirzah Meacham; Hoboken, N.J: Ktav, 1999), pp. 99–​121 (101, 106).

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Jewish life in Palestine before Constantine? To what degree were the nascent Christian communities in Palestine seen as a threat by the author(s) of this teaching? Since many scholars agree that ‘early Christian communities simply did not have the resources to carry out wide-​scale public charities –​at least, not until after Constantine’,26 it is difficult to verify whether the tannaim would have viewed Christian charity as a menace. This challenge is made more acute given that this is the singular teaching about gentile charity in tannaitic sources (whose dating remains uncertain) and its subject remains open to speculation.

Pesiqta de Rab Kahana The first of our amoraic texts assesses the impact of gentile giving on the political and economic conditions of Israel and gentiles alike. This midrash appears in a chapter that addresses exaltation and humiliation, especially vis-​á-​vis Israel and the nations, including a reference to ‘Esau the wicked’ (‫)עשו הרשע‬, here a symbol of Christian Rome.27 This selection from the midrashic collection, Pesiqta de Rab Kahana, presents interpretations of Prov. 14:34: .‫צְ דָ קָ ה ְתרֹומֵ ם־ּגֹוי וְ חֶ סֶ ד לְ א ִֻּמים חַ ּטָאת‬ Righteousness exalts a nation, but sin is a reproach to any people. (NRSV)28

In this scholarly translation, tzedakah (‫ )צדקה‬denotes ‘righteousness’ and ḥesed (‫ )חסד‬refers to a ‘reproach’ or ‘disgrace’, read as ‘a rare homonym of the very common ḥesed, “kindness” ’.29 According to this 26 Muir, ‘Look How They Love One Another’, p. 227. 27 Pes. K. 2:5, Mandelbaum, p. 17. In amoraic texts, the names Esau (‫ )עשו‬and Edom (‫ )אדום‬often refer to the Roman Empire (which ultimately adopted Christianity) and sometimes to Christianity itself. See Carol Bakhos, ‘Figuring (out) Esau: The Rabbis and Their Others’, JJS 58 (2007), pp. 250–​262, for studies that address this issue and for a discussion of the need to exercise caution when interpreting the symbolism implied by the name Esau, which may refer to Rome and, later, to Christian Rome. Nevertheless, the identification of Esau with Christian Rome in this midrash seems sound. 28 Translations of the Hebrew Bible are based on NRSV or JPS, following the rendering that best reflects the rabbinic reading of a given citation. All translations of rabbinic texts are my own. 29 Michael V. Fox, Proverbs 10–​31: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (The Anchor Yale Bible 18B; New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009), p. 587.

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understanding, the word ḥaṭāʾt (‫ )חטאת‬is translated as ‘sin’. However in this midrash, typical of rabbinic usage, tzedakah denotes ‘alms’, ḥesed refers to ‘kindness’ or ‘charity’, and ḥaṭāʾt is usually explained as ‘sin’, except in one case where it is seen as a ‘sin-​offering’. This singular reading suggests that, despite its typically negative connotations, ḥaṭāʾt may also convey a positive meaning. Thus, on the basis of this midrash, this verse may be rendered as: Almsgiving (tzedakah) exalts a people and the kindness-​charity (ḥesed) of nations is a ḥaṭāʾt (sin or sin-​offering). (Prov. 14:34)

Since this understanding resonates with the content of our midrash, it is included in translations that follow. This passage from Pesiqta de Rab Kahana presents multiple readings of Prov. 14:34, but not all of them refer to charity given by gentiles. Therefore, only the section that is relates to our discussion is considered here: .‫ ר' אליעז' ור' יהוש' ורבנין‬.)‫ ) צדקה תרומם גוי וחסד לאומים חטאת (משלי יד לד‬A( ‫ חסדים הן חטאים‬,‫ וחסד לאומים חטאת‬.'‫ אילו ישר‬,‫ צדקה תרומם גוי‬,'‫ ) ר' ליעזר א‬B( .‫ שהן מתייהרין בהן‬,‫לאומות‬ ‫ הנייה היא לאומות‬,‫ וחסד לאומים חטאת‬.'‫ אילו ישר‬,‫ צדקה תרומ' גוי‬,'‫ ) ר' יהוש' אמ‬C( .‫העולם בשעה שישר' חוטאין שהן חוזרין ומשתעבדין בהן‬ ‫ חסד שאומות העולם‬,‫ וחסד לאומים חטאת‬.'‫ אילו ישר‬,‫ צדקה תרומם גוי‬,'‫ ) ורבן גמל' או‬D( .)‫ וחטאך בצדקה פרוק (דניאל ד כד‬,‫עושין חטאת הוא להם שכן דניאל אומ' לנבוכדנצר‬ .‫ אבל חטאים הם לאומות העולם‬,'‫ אילו ישר‬,‫ צדקה תרומם גוי וחסד‬,'‫ ) ר' לעזר בן ערך או‬E( ‫ שהוא נותן צדקה‬,‫ ) אמ' רבן יוחנ' בן זכיי רואה אני את דברי לעזר בן ערך מדבריכם‬F( .‫וחסד לישר' וחטאים לאומות העולם‬ (A) ‘Almsgiving (tzedakah) exalts a people and the kindness-​charity (ḥesed) of nations is a ḥaṭāʾt (sin or sin-​offering)’ (Prov. 14:34). Rabbi Eliezer, Rabbi Yehoshua and [other] rabbis [on this verse]: (B) Rabbi Eliezer says: ‘ “Almsgiving (tzedakah) exalts a people” refers to Israel; “and the kindness-​charity (ḥesed) of nations is a ḥaṭāʾt (sin)” means that charity from the nations is a sin because they boast through it [their giving]’. (C) Rabbi Yehoshua says: ‘ “Almsgiving (tzedakah) exalts a people” refers to Israel; “and the kindness-​charity (ḥesed) of nations is a ḥaṭāʾt (sin)” means that it is a benefit for the nations of the world when Israel sins because they (the nations) have subdued them (the people of Israel)’.

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(D)  And Rabban Gamliel says: ‘ “Almsgiving (tzedakah) exalts a people” refers to Israel; “and the kindness-​charity (ḥesed) of nations is a ḥaṭāʾt (sin-​offering)” means that charity given by the nations of the world [functions as] a sin-​offering for them. As when Daniel says to Nebuchadnezzar: “Redeem your sin by charity” (Dan. 4:24, JPS)’. (E) Rabbi Elazar ben Arakh says: ‘ “Almsgiving (tzedakah) exalts a people and kindness-​charity (ḥesed)” refers to Israel, but sins are for the nations of the world’. (F) Says Rabban Yohanan ben Zakkai: ‘I prefer the opinion of Elazar ben Arakh over yours because he assigns “almsgiving (tzedakah)” and “charity (ḥesed)” to Israel and sins to the nations of the world’. (Pes. K. 2:5, Mandelbaum, pp. 20–​21)

The structure of this text resembles m. Abot 2:9, where Rabban Yohanan ben Zakkai poses two questions to five students. After each question, the students’ replies are listed, followed by a comment from Rabban Yohanan ben Zakkai, stating his preference for the opinion of Rabbi Elazar ben Arakh over the others. However, this midrash only mentions three of the five students from the Mishnah: Rabbi Eliezer, Rabbi Yehoshua and Rabbi Elazar ben Arakh. This passage also includes Rabban Gamliel, who is not otherwise known as a student of Rabban Yohanan ben Zakkai. Two of the four readings of Prov. 14:34 in this midrash overtly consider gentiles who give charity, and they articulate contrasting views of such provisions. Rabban Gamliel casts this action in a positive light, comparable to a sin-​offering that would atone for their sins: And Rabban Gamliel says: ‘ “Almsgiving (tzedakah) exalts a people” refers to Israel; “and the kindness-​charity (ḥesed) of nations is a ḥaṭāʾt (sin-​offering)” means that the charity which the nations of the world give [functions as] a sin-​offering for them. As when Daniel says to Nebuchadnezzar: “Redeem your sin by charity” (Dan. 4:24, JPS)’ (Pes. K. 2:5, Mandelbaum, pp. 20–​21).

According to Rabban Gamliel, charity serves as a means of atonement for gentiles. However, in the version of this midrash that appears in the Babylonian Talmud, this same verse is used to depict almsgiving by gentiles as a sin: ‫נענה ר' יהושע ואמר צדקה תרומם גוי אלו ישראל דכ' מי כעמך ישראל גוי אח' וחסד‬ ‫לאמים חטאת כל צדקה וחסד שאומות העולם עושי' חטא הו' להם שאין עושין אלא כדי‬ .'‫שתמשך מלכות' שנ' להן מלכ' מלכי ישפ' עלך וחטאת' בצד' פרו' וגו‬

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Rabbi Yehoshua responded and said: ‘ “Almsgiving (tzedakah) exalts a people” refers to Israel, for it is written [in Scripture]: “And who is like Your people Israel, a unique nation on earth.” (2 Sam. 7:23, JPS). “And the kindness-​ charity (ḥesed) of nations is a ḥaṭāʾt (sin)” means that any almsgiving (tzedakah) or kindness-​charity (ḥesed) that the nations of the world perform is a sin, since they only do it to prolong their dominion, for it was told to them [by Daniel]: “Redeem your sins by beneficence and your iniquities by generosity to the poor; then your serenity may be extended” (Dan. 4:24)’. (b. B. Bat.10b)30

Here Rabbi Yehoshua cites the verse from Daniel to suggest that the gentiles are aware that almsgiving secures an extension of their rule, thus motivating their performance of this deed. In Pesiqta de Rab Kahana, however, gentile almsgiving is not described as a sin by Rabban Gamliel, but rather by Rabbi Eliezer who links it to arrogance: Rabbi Eliezer says: ‘ “Almsgiving (tzedakah) exalts a people” refers to Israel; “and the kindness-​charity (ḥesed) of nations is a ḥaṭāʾt (sin)” means that charity from the nations is a sin, since they boast about themselves through it’. (Pes. K. 2:5, Mandelbaum, p. 20)

According to this view, inappropriate motivation can undermine the merit of an otherwise righteous act before God. Rabbinic and Christian texts alike, praise almsgiving performed without garnering approval and sometimes criticize those who acted for the sake of honor.31 This rebuke of Jewish practice in the Gospel of Matthew illustrates such a critique: Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them; for then you have no reward from your father in heaven. So whenever you give alms, do not sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, so that they may be praised by others. (Matt. 6:1–​2 NRSV)

Indeed, honor and pride were associated with giving in the Greco-​ Roman world: Nonetheless, whether we are considering philanthropy, euergetism (doing good deeds), public benefactions and various sponsorships (e.g., doles, feasts, festivals and games, buildings), or gifts from a patron to a dependent client,

30 Citations from the Babylonian Talmud follow Ms. Munich 95, with some full spellings rather than abbreviated forms. 31 See, for example, y. Pe’ah 8:9, 21b; y. Sheq. 5:6, 49b.

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the evidence overwhelmingly suggests that the majority of people undertak32 ing these things did so for the acclaim they would receive.

Considering this environment, it is unclear whether Rabbi Eliezer’s saying refers to gentiles in general or whether it implies Christian giving? When assessing this ambiguity, it is crucial to consider the context: while Rabbi Eliezer was active following the destruction of the Temple and prior to Christianity’s rise to power, the earliest appearance of this teaching is in a fifth-​century midrashic compilation. While it is plausible that this collection incorporates older material that was in circulation well before the fifth century (such as Rabbi Yehoshua’s interpretation, which echoes ideas from tannaitic midrashim),33 each component of Pesiqta de Rab Kahana was deliberately situated in its literary framework, rendering a distinctive structure that shapes their meaning. Any analysis of Rabbi Eliezer’s reference to gentiles should therefore be contextualized accordingly. It is well-​documented that Greco-​Roman norms for giving did not vanish with the rise of Christianity. As Paul Veyne remarks, in the fourth century and later, the affluent continued to donate vast sums to their cities as well as to the Church, in exchange for the conferral of public honors: In the fourth century the aristocrats of Rome and the notables of the municipalities continued to be euergetai. ‘They vie with one another in exhausting their patrimony in order to embellish their city’, wrote the pagan Symmachus. Municipal life changed so little, indeed, that the Fathers of the Greek Church are among our richest sources for the history of euergetism. The Christian notables did not lag behind those who had remained pagan, for the same obligations, formal or moral, were binding on both sets –​with some differences, however. A Christian euergetēs could not be expected to build a temple. . . . The Christian notables were charitable and built churches.34

Therefore Rabbi Eliezer’s teaching may be a generalized claim against this pattern of Roman giving. However, it is also conceivable that his interpretation is actually a latent counter to Matthew’s judgment against 32 Muir, ‘Look How They Love One Another’, p. 225. 33 Rabbi Yehoshua’s notion that gentiles benefit from the sins of Israel because such transgressions grant them the power to rule over Israel appears in Sifre Deuteronomy, 42, Finkelstein, p. 90. 34 Paul Veyne, Bread and Circuses: Historical Sociology and Political Pluralism (London: Penguin Books, 1990), p. 26.

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Jewish giving that was performed in public and accompanied by honors. With respect to this Christian critique, the midrash turns the tables by claiming that Christian giving was conducted for the sake of honors. In such an inter-​religious context, the opinions of both Rabban Gamliel and Rabbi Yehoshua in Pesiqta de Rab Kahana may be attempts to explain how Christians attained power over Israel. Through this lens, Rabbi Yehoshua attributes Christian Rome’s ascendance over Israel to his own people’s sins; whereas Rabban Gamliel offers that their charities atone for their transgressions and enable them to rule. Rabban Gamliel’s opinion appears in a late midrash that explicitly associates the gentiles in Prov. 14:34 with Christians by referring to them as Esau (‫)עשו‬35: ‫ שנאמר צדקה תרומם גוי (משלי יד‬,‫מנין אתה אומר צדקה שהגוים עושים תולים חטאיהם‬ .‫ צדקה שעשה עשו היא גרמה לו שקבל מלכות יותר‬,)‫לד‬ On what basis do you state that the alms given by gentiles suspends [punishment for] their sins? For it is said [in Scripture]: ‘Almsgiving (tzedakah) exalts a people’ (Prov. 14:34), Esau’s performance of almsgiving enabled him to receive an extra [period] for his reign. (Shir HaShirim Zuta 1:15)

This teaching explicitly states that the charity of Esau is the reason for his extended ruling. It is difficult to determine whether Rabban Gamliel’s teaching in Pesiqta de Rab Kahana is intended to convey this same message. Returning to the conclusion of that fifth-​century midrash, we see that Rabban Yohanan ben Zakkai favors the view that almsgiving and charity are reserved for Israel alone, while the actions of the gentiles are condemned as sins: Rabbi Elazar ben Arakh says: ‘ “Almsgiving (tzedakah) exalts a people and kindness-​charity (ḥesed)” refers to Israel, but sins are for the nations of the world’. Says Rabban Yohanan ben Zakkai: ‘I prefer the opinion of Elazar ben Arakh over yours since he assigns “Almsgiving (tzedakah) and charity (ḥesed)” to Israel and sins to the nations of the world’. (Pes. K. 2:5, Mandelbaum, p. 21)

35 Shir HaShirim Zuta is a midrashic collection that has not yet been definitively dated, but its authorship may be late rabbinic or even medieval. See Zvi Meir Rabinovitz, Ginzé Midrash: The Oldest Forms of Rabbinic Midrashim According to Geniza Manuscripts (in Hebrew; Tel-​Aviv: The Chaim Rosenberg Scholl for Jewish Studies Tel-​Aviv University, 1976), p. 252, who suggests an earlier time of authorship in comparison to S. Schechter, who dated this midrash to the ninth century.

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This passage suggests a polemical tone, though without any outright mention of Christians. While the midrash cited above does not specify the beneficiaries of gentile almsgiving, a later section of this discussion of Prov. 14:34, now among amoraim, identifies the recipients as Jews: ,‫ שמעתה מההיא מרגליתה די הוה רב הונא דריש על הדין פסוקא‬,‫ר' זעורה שלח לר' זעיר‬ '‫ אמ' ליה צדק' תרומ‬.‫ אמ' ליה אין‬,)‫צדקה תרומם גוי וחסד לאומים חטאת (משלי יד לד‬ ‫ חסד שאומות העולם עושין מותקן הוא להן כריסה של‬,‫ וחס' לאומ' חטאת‬.'‫ אילו ישר‬,‫גוי‬ 36 .‫חכינה‬ 37 Rabbi Zeorah sent [a message] to Rabbi Zeira : ‘Have you heard this “pearl” (precious idea) that Rav Hunah expounded on the verse: “Almsgiving (tzedakah) exalts a people and the kindness-​charity (ḥesed) of nations is a ḥaṭāʾt (sin)” (Prov. 14:34)? He told him: ‘Yes’. He said to him: ‘ “Almsgiving (tzedakah) exalts a people” refers to Israel; “and the kindness-​charity (ḥesed) of nations is a ḥaṭāʾt” means that charity that the nations perform is stored for them [for Israel]38 like snake venom’. (Pes. K. 2:5, Mandelbaum, p. 23)

According to this text, for Israel, gentile charity is analogous to snake venom. Thus, accepting their charity is toxic for Jews, even when the gift itself is not inherently problematic. The phrase ‘snake venom’ is also found in the Palestinian Talmud (y. Ḥag. 2:1, 74b), in one of the explanations of Rabbi Elisha ben Abuyah’s transformation.39 According to this tale, while she was pregnant with him, Elisha’s mother walked by houses of idolatry (idolatrous temples) and their scent permeated her body ‘like snake venom’, implying that this exposure harmed him in utero. Such poison may therefore have a deleterious effect in the realm of fate and, in this case, commitment to Jewish life.

36 According to Michael Sokoloff, A Dictionary of Jewish Palestinian Aramaic (Ramat-​ Gan: Bar-​Ilan University Press, 2nd edn, 2002), p. 200, the Aramaic word ‫ חכינה‬is a loan from the Greek term echidna. 37 The manuscripts contain several variants on the rabbis’ names. 38 Here the midrash says ‘to them’ rather than ‘Israel’, yet the biblical example that follows and the later understanding of this same midrash in the Tanuhma clearly likens alms given by a gentile to poison for Israel. 39 Much has been written about Elisha ben Abuyah; see, for example, Alon Goshen-​ Gottstein, The Sinner and the Amnesiac: The Rabbinic Invention of Elisha Ben Abuya and Eleazar Ben Arach (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2000).

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By the fifth century, the snake had become a symbol for both good and 40 evil in Christianity, as Yiannis E. Meimaris and Kalliope I. Kritikakou-​ Nikolaropulou explain: It is well known that snakes and serpents represent powers of evil, but it is also true that the snake has a good Christian meaning as a symbol of wisdom and prudence (Gen. 3:1; Matt. 10:16). It may also be an allusion to the brazen serpent of Moses as a type of crucified Christ. (John 3:14)41

In the context of Pesiqta de Rab Kahana, Rav Hunah’s ‘pearl’ may communicate a latent challenge to Christian charity when its impact had become evident. Interestingly, this teaching is ascribed to Rav Hunah, a prominent Babylonian amora who lived in area where Jews encountered Syriac Christianity, which placed an emphasis on the serpent as both a symbol of Christ and a source of healing.42 According to our midrash, however, for Jews, accepting charity from gentiles is a sin that would infect them like venom from a snake. While the midrashim on ‘almsgiving (tzedakah) exalts a people’ do not explicitly mention Christians, another passage in Pesiqta de Rab Kahana criticizes Christian charity quite openly:

40 For example, snakes appear in the ornamentation on Christian tombstones from Zoar (Byzantine Zoora; today’s Ghor es-​Safi, Jordan). As Yiannis E. Meimaris and Kalliope I. Kritikakou-​Nikolaropulou, Inscriptions from Palaestina Terta: Vol. Ia: The Greek Inscriptions from Ghor es-​Safi (Byzantine Zoora) (Athens: National Hellenic Research Foundation, Research Centre for Greek and Roman Antiquity, 2005), p. 14, write: ‘Snakes or serpents are commonly depicted on the tombstones … . They are attested on ca. 50 stelae dated between the last quarter of fourth and the first half of the fifth century (AD 385–​453)’. See also Yael Wilfand, ‘Serpent or Furled Sail: An Analysis of the Ships in the Madaba Map’. Eastern Christian Art in its Late Antique and Islamic Contexts 10 (2014–​2016), pp. 113–​124. 41 Meimaris and Kritikakou-​ Nikolaropulou, Inscriptions from Palaestina Terta: Vol. Ia, p. 14. About the healing power of the brazen serpent according to Christian interpretations, see for example, Chrysostom, Homily 27 on the Gospel of John: ‘Now if the Jews, by looking to the brazen image of a serpent, escaped death, much rather will they who believe in the Crucified, with good reason enjoy a far greater benefit. For this takes place, not through the weakness of the Crucified, or because the Jews are stronger than He, but because God loved the world, therefore is His living Temple fastened to the Cross’. This translation follows Philip Schaff, trans. and ed., A Select Library of the Nicene and Post-​Nicene Fathers of the Christian Church: Vol. 14 (First Series; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1983), p. 94. 42 See, for example, Paulus Bedjan, ed., Homiliae selectae Mar-​ Jacobi Sarugensis (Parisiis: O. Harrassowitz, 1907), III, p. 306.

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‫ זה‬,‫ ואיזה הוא חונן דלים‬.)‫מרבה הונו בנשך ובתרבית לחונן דלים יקבצנו (משלי כח ח‬ ‫ כגון אילין אפוטרופיא דנפקין לקריית' ובזין‬,‫ ועשו הרשע לא עושק דלים הוא‬.‫עשו הרשע‬ .‫לאריסייה ועלין למדינתה ואמרין כנשון מיסכנייה ואנן בעיי מעבד עמהון מצוה‬ ‘He who increases his wealth by loans at discount or interest –​amasses it for one who is generous to the poor’ (Prov. 28:8, JPS). And who is the ‘one who is generous to the poor’? This is Esau the wicked. But does not Esau the wicked oppress the poor? [He behaves] like those administrators who go out to the villages and rob tenant farmers, [then] enter the city saying: ‘Assemble the poor, [for] we want to give them alms’. (Pes. K. 10:1, Mandelbaum, p. 161)

This text posits that, despite being lauded for ostensibly caring for the indigent, Esau actually robs the rural poor only to distribute his plunder as alms for the urban poor. By parceling out these alms in public, Esau thereby builds his reputation as the ‘one who is generous to the poor’. However, such almsgiving is a sin since Esau in fact ‘oppresses the poor’. That is to say, despite being enacted in the guise of charity, his generosity cloaks theft and deceit. In contrast to the previous passages from Pesiqta de Rab Kahana that treat gentile charity in general terms even though they probably allude to Christians, here we see a direct critique of Christian almsgiving, where those who dispense alms are labeled as Esau. It is noteworthy that, before the rise of Christianity, Rome had no interest in appearing ‘generous to the poor’.43

The Babylonian Talmud In his analysis of the Pesiqta de Rab Kahana midrash, with its multiple interpretations of Prov. 14:34, Urbach favors its parallel version in the Babylonian Talmud (B. Bat. 10b). Urbach divides its listing of tannaim into two groups: the disciples of Rabban Yohanan, who were making general comment on Greco-​Roman giving, and the later tannaim (Rabbi Elazar Hammoda‘i –​who only appears in the Bavli version –​and Rabban Gamliel), who were addressing Christian charity. Let us now look at this midrash from the Bavli, which I would claim reflects intensive editing intended to convey the agenda of the those who shaped the Babylonian Talmud rather than the perspectives of early 43 Compare, A. Büchler, Studies in the Period of the Mishnah and Talmud (in Hebrew; trans. Ben-​Zion Segal; Jerusalem: Mossad Harav Kook, 1967), p. 144, who reads all the texts discussed above as concerning Roman (and not Christian) charity.

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Palestinian views. Here too, the baraita follows the format of m. Abot 2:9. Whereas its version in Pesiqta de Rab Kahana concludes with Rabban Yohanan ben Zakkai expressing his preference for the opinion of the last student in the series, in the Bavli this baraita is framed by attributions to Rabban Yohanan, who opens by posing a question to his students and closes according to the pattern set by the Mishnah: ‫ ) תני' אמר להן רבן יוחנן בן זכאי לתלמידיו בניי מהו שאמר הכתוב צדקה תרומם גוי‬A( ‫וחסד לאמים חטאת‬ ‫ ) נענה ר' אליעזר ואמר צדקה תרומם גוי אלו ישר' דכת' מי כעמך ישראל גוי אחד בארץ‬B( '‫וחסד לאומי' חטא' אלו אומות העולם שכל צדקה וחסד שעושי' חט' הו' לה' שאין עושי‬ . . . '‫אותו אל' להתגד' בו שנ' די ליהוון מהקרבי' ניחוחין וגו‬ '‫ ) נענה ר' יהושע ואמר צדקה תרומם גוי אלו ישראל דכ' מי כעמך ישראל גוי אחד וחס‬C( ‫לאמי' חטא' כל צדקה וחסד שאומות העולם עושי' חטא הו' להם שאין עושין אלא כדי‬ '‫שתמשך מלכות' שנ' להן מלכ' מלכי ישפ' עלך וחטאת' בצר' פרו' וגו‬ '‫ ) נענה ר"ג ואמר צדקה תרומם גוי אלו ישראל דכ' מי כעמך ישראל גוי אחד בארץ וחס‬D( ‫לאו' חט' כל צדקה וחסד שאומות העולם עוש' חט' הו' להן שאין עושי' אל' להתייהר‬ . . . ‫בו‬ '‫ ) אמ' ר"ג עדיין צריכי' אנו למודעי ר' אלעז' המוד' או' צדקה תרומם גוי אלו ישראל דכ‬E( '‫מי כעמך ישראל וחסד לאומים חטאת כל צדקה וחסד שאומות העולם עושי' חט' הו' לה‬ ‫שאין עושי' אל' לחרף אותנו בו שנ' ויבא ויעש כאש' דבר כי חטא' ליי לא שמע בקולו‬ ‫ ) נענה ר' נחוני' בן הקנ' ואמר צדקה תרום גוי וחסד אלו ישראל לאומים חטאת אלו‬F( ‫אומות העולם‬ ‫ ) אמר רבן יוחנן בן זכאי נראין דברי ר' נחונ' בן הקנ' מדברי ומדבריכ' שהוא נותן צדקה‬G( ‫וחסד לישראל ולאומו' חטאת‬ (A)  It is taught in a tannaitic tradition, Rabban Yohanan ben Zakkai asked his disciples: ‘My sons, what is [the meaning of ] the Scriptural verse: “Almsgiving (tzedakah) exalts a people and the kindness-​charity (ḥesed) of nations is a ḥaṭāʾt (sin).” (Prov. 14:34)?’ (B) Rabbi Eliezer responded and said: ‘ “Almsgiving (tzedakah) exalts a people” refers to Israel, for it is written [in Scripture]: “And who is like Your people Israel, a unique nation on earth.” (2 Sam. 7:23, JPS). “And the kindness-​charity (ḥesed) of nations is a ḥaṭāʾt (sin)” refers to the nations of the world because any almsgiving (tzedakah) and kindness-​ charity (ḥesed) that they perform are sins, for they only do it for self-​ aggrandizement, as it is written [in Scripture]: “So that they may offer pleasing sacrifices [to the God of Heaven and pray for the life of the king and his sons].” (Ezra 6:10, JPS)’.

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(C) Rabbi Yehoshua responded and said: ‘ “Almsgiving (tzedakah) exalts a people” refers to Israel, for it is written [in Scripture]: “And who is like Your people Israel, a unique nation on earth.” (2 Sam. 7:23, JPS). “And the kindness-​charity (ḥesed) of nations is a ḥaṭāʾt (sin)” means that any almsgiving (tzedakah) and kindness-​charity (ḥesed) that the nations of the world perform is a sin because they only do them to prolong their dominion, for it was told to them [by Daniel]: “Redeem your sins by beneficence and your iniquities by generosity to the poor; then may your serenity be extended.” (Dan. 4:24)’. (D) Rabban Gamliel responded and said: ‘ “Almsgiving (tzedakah) exalts a people” refers to Israel, for it is written [in Scripture]: “And who is like Your people Israel, a unique nation on earth” (2 Sam. 7:23, JPS). “And the kindness-​charity (ḥesed) of nations is a ḥaṭāʾt (sin)” means that any almsgiving (tzedakah) and kindness-​charity (ḥesed) that the nations of the world perform are sins, for they only do it in order to boast about them [...]’. (E) Rabban Gamliel said: ‘We still need [to hear from] the Moda‘i’. [Rabbi Elazar] Hammoda‘i says: ‘ “Almsgiving (tzedakah) exalts a people” refers to Israel, for it is written [in Scripture]: “And who is like Your people Israel, a unique nation on earth” (2 Sam. 7:23, JPS). “And the kindness-​ charity (ḥesed) of nations is a ḥaṭāʾt (sin)” means that any almsgiving (tzedakah) and kindness-​charity (ḥesed) that the nations of the world perform are sins because they only do it in order to reproach us, for it is written [in Scripture]: “And now the Lord has brought it about, and has done as he said, [because all of you sinned against the Lord and did not obey his voice. Therefore] this thing [has come upon you].” (Jer. 40:3, NRSV)’. (F) Rabbi Nehuniah ben Haqqanah responded and said: ‘ “Almsgiving (tzedakah) exalts a people and charity-​kindness” refers to Israel; “nations is a ḥaṭāʾt (sin):” refers to the nations of the world’. (G) Rabban Yohanan ben Zakkai said: ‘I prefer the opinion of Nehuniah ben Haqqanah over both mine and yours because he assigns “Almsgiving (tzedakah) and charity-​kindness (ḥesed)” to Israel, but sins to the nations of the world’. (b. B. Bat. 10b)

In this baraita, Rabbi Eliezer, Rabbi Yehoshua, Rabban Gamliel and Rabbi Elazar Hammoda‘i view gentile charity as a sin on the basis of the motivations that prompt its bestowal. Rabbi Nehunia ben Haqqanah does not even acknowledge that charity or good deeds could be carried out by gentiles, to

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whom only sins are attributed, while charity is Israel’s exclusive realm,44 (in Pesiqta de Rab Kahana, this same opinion was articulated by Rabbi Elazar ben Arakh). The baraita in the Bavli concludes with Rabban Yohanan ben Zakkai’s acceptance of that position, not only over his disciples’ interpretations but also over his own. At that point, the stam (editorial stratum) of the Talmud continues by quoting another opinion by Rabban Yohanan ben Zakkai: ‫ כך צדקה‬46‫ א' רב' יוחנן בן זכאי כש' שחטא' ואש' מכפר' על ישראל לעולם הבא‬45'‫דתני‬ .‫מכפרת על אומות העולם בעולם הזה‬ It is taught in a tannaitic tradition, Rabban Yohanan ben Zakkai said: ‘Just as sin-​offerings and guilt-​offerings atone for Israel in the world to come, so does charity atone for the nations of the world in this world’. (b. B. Bat. 10b)

It is hardly surprising that this teaching, which portrays gentile charity in a positive light, is cited here in the name of Rabban Yohanan ben Zakkai. Over time, rabbinic texts transformed Rabban Yohanan into a prototypical pacifist who articulates moderate positions toward Rome. The culmination of this metamorphosis appears in Avot of Rabbi Nathan, where he states that gemilut ḥasadim (generally translated as ‘acts of loving kindness’, ‘benevolence’ or ‘charity’) can serve as a substitute for offerings at the Temple not only for gentiles, but also for Jews.47 The initial stages of this changing depiction of Rabban Yohanan ben Zakkai are in the Babylonian Talmud.48 44 Rabbi Nehunia ben Haqqanah is cited in Pesiqta de Rab Kahana in a midrash on ‘almsgiving (tzedakah) exalts a people’ but not in the context of the discussion of Rabban Yohanan ben Zakkai and his students; neither is Rabbi Nehunia’s interpretation there related to almsgiving by gentiles. 45 The term ‫ דתניא‬is absent from several manuscripts (Oxford Opp. 249 [369], Escorial G-​I-​3, and Vatican 115). 46 The words ‘for the world to come’ (‫ )לעולם הבא‬occur in Munich 95, Florence II-​I-​9, and Hamburg 165. Oxford Opp. 249 [369] and Escorial G-​I-​3 contain the phrase ‘in this world’ (‫ )בעולם הזה‬instead. Neither of these phrases appears in Paris 1337 or in the printed editions. 47 See ARNA 4 (Shechter 21); ARNB 8 (Shechter 22). Urbach, ‘Political and Social Tendencies’, p. 6, used this text from ARN to explain the views of the historical Rabban Yohanan ben Zakkai. Compare, Robert Branan Becknell, ‘Almsgiving, the Jewish Legacy of Justice and Mercy’ (Ph.D. Diss., Miami University of Ohio), pp. 484–​486. 48 Discussions of this transformation have been presented by: Joshua Efron, ‘Bar-​ Kokhva in the Light of the Palestinian and Babylonian Talmudic Traditions’, in The Bar-​Kokhva Revolt: A New Approach (in Hebrew; ed. Aharon Oppenheimer and Uriel Rappaport; Jerusalem: Yad Izhak Ben Zvi, 1984), pp. 47–​105 (89–​102); Menachem Ben Shalom, Hassidut and Hassidim: In the Second Temple Period and in the Mishnah Period (in Hebrew; Tel-​Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad, 2008), pp. 266–​275.

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Indeed, the passage from the Bavli considered here presents two opposing baraitot whose conflicting opinions are both attributed to Rabban Yohanan: the first categorizes gentile charity as a form of sin whereas the second understands it as atonement for their sins, free from negative connotations. The placement of these two contradictory views by one sage led Urbach to claim that Rabban Yohanan had altered his perspective as a result of the historical events that occurred in his lifetime, namely the destruction of the Temple and the suffering of his people that followed.49 However, in the passage from Pesiqta de Rab Kahana (cited above), Rabban Gamliel is the proponent of positive attitudes toward gentiles, not Rabban Yohanan. Since that Palestinian text offers no indication that Rabban Yohanan ben Zakkai was positively inclined toward almsgiving by gentiles, neither does it mention (or explain) any shift in his position. In the Babylonian sugya, these two baraitot, each with its own approach to gentile charity, has a distinct role. They precede (and therefore foreshadow) a debate between two amoraim over the permissibility of accepting charity from the mother of the King of Persia; thus, this pair of baraitot cannot be fully understood in isolation from that literary context. Whereas Urbach reads later tannaitic stances as reflections of early Palestinian responses to Christian charity, I would suggest that the Babylonian context of the first baraita disqualifies it as a representation of Palestinian tannaitic opinion.50 Furthermore, if the first baraita in this

49 Urbach, ‘Political and Social Tendencies’, pp. 5–​6. See also Jacob Neusner, A Life of Yohanan ben Zakkai: Ca.1–​80 C. E. (Leiden: Brill, 1970), p. 183; and Becknell, ‘Almsgiving’, p. 487, who explains that the students convinced Rabban Yohanan ben Zakkai: ‘It seems that Johanan did genuinely change his interpretation as a result of the exegesis of his disciples’. 50 There are also other signs of Babylonian expansion of these baraitot: for example, the phrase ‘Rabban Gamliel said: “We still need [to hear from] the Moda‘i” ’ (’‫אמ‬ ‫ )ר”ג עדיין צריכי ’ אנו למודעי‬does not occur in tannaitic literature but it is found in three additional places in the Babylonian Talmud (Ḥul. 92a; Meg. 15b; Shab. 55b). In Palestinian amoraic texts it occurs once, though with slightly different wording (‫ )אמרו עד עכשיו צריכין אנו למודעי‬and without mention of Rabban Gamliel, in Genesis Rabbah 98:4 (Theodor-​Albeck, p. 1253). Since 2015, when I wrote this article, a comprehensive analysis of Bavli Baba Batra 10b–​11a was published by Alyssa M. Gray, ‘The People, Not the Peoples: The Talmud Bavli’s “Charitable” Contribution to the Jewish-​Christian Conversation in Mesopotamia’, The Review of Rabbinic Judaism 20 (2017), pp. 137–​167. She shows how this sugya offers responses to Mesopotamian Christianity.

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sugya represents an indirect argument with Christianity, it may reflect a 51 Babylonian setting rather than early second-​century Palestine. Thus, in contrast to Urbach’s position, I would posit that the corpus analysed here signals neither a rejection nor an acceptance of Christian charity by the early rabbis, nor does it convey a tannaitic rivalry with Christianity.

Conclusion The fifth century midrashic collection, Pesiqta de Rab Kahana, explicitly discusses Christian charity, accusing Christian officials of stealing from tenant farmers in the countryside and publicly distributing those spoils to impoverished city dwellers, thus corruptly inflating their reputation of being ‘generous to the poor’. Other passages in this midrash levy criticism against gentiles who give alms; despite the absence of direct references to Christians, they may well be the unstated subjects of these texts, one of which compares their aid to snake venom. Though we cannot be sure that these teachings refer to Christian charity, their positions within a fifth-​century midrash (and specifically within a chapter that discusses Esau) reinforces that possibility. By this time, Christianity had become the official religion of the Empire and charity the dominion of Christian bishops. The tosefta analyzed above remarks that the growing number of Jews who were receiving alms from gentiles had a negative impact on Israel’s stature in the world. Unfortunately, we cannot date this statement with confidence nor can we ascertain whether it refers to Christian charity. Nevertheless, the overall silence of early texts, including the Yerushalmi and tannaitic material (with the possible exception of that tosefta) toward Christian charity is remarkable. That pattern may originate with a rabbinic inclination to ignore this phenomena or the limited scope of early Christian almsgiving in Palestine (until the mid-​fourth century). In the latter case, the scale of Christian giving may have been too modest to be considered a threat by the early rabbis. Over the past two decades a number of scholars have asserted that the Christianization of Palestine, especially in its rural areas, was a slower process than had previously been thought. This gradual transition may 51 The context for this baraita has now been demonstrated by Gray, ‘The People, Not the Peoples’; for a more general discussion, see Naomi Koltun-​Fromm, ‘A

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explain the late appearance of discourse about Christian charity. For example, Doron Bar writes: [I]‌n the rural sectors, where a population resided that assimilated sociological, technological and religious innovations at a far slower pace, the dominant religion penetrated far more gradually. Moreover, vast areas of rural Palestine, such as Galilee and Samaria, had an absolute Jewish or Samaritan majority. The influence of Christianity in these regions was therefore limited and came at a much later stage than in the pagan settlement areas. [I]‌t appears that the Christianization process lasted throughout the entire Byzantine period and was not ‘accomplished' until many years after the consolidation of the map of holy sites.52

Mordechai Aviam delineates precise boundaries between Christians and Jews in the Upper Galilee.53 Thus, that region bears no evidence of heterogeneous settlements that would suggest direct engagement among Jews and Christians.54 In other areas, the status quo had shifted by the late fifth century.55 Jewish-​Christian Conversation in Fourth-​Century Persian Mesopotamia’, JJS 47 (1996), pp. 45–​63. 52 Doron Bar, ‘The Christianisation of Rural Palestine during Late Antiquity’, Journal of Ecclesiastical History 54 (2003), pp. 401–​421 (405–​406). See also Mordechai Aviam, ‘Christian Galilee in the Byzantine Period’, in Galilee through the Centuries: Confluence of Cultures (ed. Eric M. Meyers; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1999), pp. 281–​300 (283–​284): ‘Thus far there are no archaeological remains in the Galilee of Christianity prior to the fourth century C.E. However, it is very clear that some of the first Judeo-​ Christian groups were located in Jewish Galilee during the second and third centuries C.E. All of the Galilee finds are from no earlier than the fifth century C.E., and they represent concrete evidence for the vast development of Christianity in the fifth and especially during the sixth century C.E.’; Mordechai Aviam, Jews, Pagans and Christians in the Galilee: 25 Years of Archaeological Excavations and Surveys: Hellenistic to Byzantine Periods (Rochester, NY: University of Rochester Press, 2004), pp. 9–​21. In the Land of Israel, the Byzantine period ended with the Muslim conquest in 636 CE. 53 Aviam, ‘Christian Galilee’, pp. 297–​298: ‘In the Upper Galilee there is a sharp borderline between Jewish and Christian communities. East of an imaginary line stretching from Fassuta in the north to Baqa in the center to Rama in the Beit Kerem Valley, not one church has been identified; however, thirty or more synagogues have been identified. West of the same line, the remains of more than fifty churches and monasteries were identified [...] but not even one site with substantial remains of a synagogue was found’. 54 Regarding the Golan, see Zvi U. Ma’oz, ‘Comments on Jewish and Christian Communities in Byzantine Palestine’, PEQ 117 (1985), pp. 59–​68. 55 Aviam, Jews, Pagans and Christians, p. 203: ‘In the Lower Galilee, no border between Christians and Jews could be distinguished. On the contrary, Jewish settlements

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The evidence for Christian life varies significantly, depending on location, as Aviam notes, ‘At Sepphoris, Christian remains have been evident for a long time’.56 Settlement patterns in the vicinity of Christian holy sites resemble this description of Sepphoris. If these assessments are accurate, the likelihood that Palestinian Jews would have regularly approached Christians for charitable support prior to the mid-​fourth century depended on where they lived.57 By the mid-​fifth century, however, Christian charity in Palestine became sufficiently visible and pervasive to lead the authors of midrash Pesiqta de Rab Kahana to openly attack the ‘one who is generous to the poor’ (Prov. 28:8, JPS).

were scattered throughout the region … Churches and monasteries were built in the Lower Galilee close to Jewish villages mainly where Christian cult centers developed’. 56 Aviam, ‘Christian Galilee’, p. 297. 57 However, Benjamin Isaac, ‘Jews, Christians and others in Palestine: The Evidence from Eusebius’, in Jews in a Graeco-​Roman World (ed. Martin Goodman; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), pp. 65–​74 (73), writes: ‘The overwhelming majority of villages had a mixed population: pagan, Jewish, Christian, and Samaritan. Eusebius would have considered this the norm and found it worth mentioning only if a settlement was purely Jewish, Christian, or Samaritan; purely pagan settlements would have been of no interest to him. This, if true, is important. Jews and gentiles would have lived side by side both in cites and in the countryside’. See also the remark by Andrew S. Jacobs, ‘Visible Ghosts and Invisible Demons: The Place of Jews in Early Christian Terra Sancta’, in Galilee through the Centuries: Confluence of Cultures (ed. Eric M. Meyers; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1999), pp. 359–​375 (361): ‘Given the relatively close distances in Palestine in this period, however, it is possible that even a village made up entirely of Jews would never be too far from the habitations, and thus the “visibility”, of Christians, Gentiles, or Samaritans’.

8

Rabbi Hanina ben Dosa and his Hasidic Image in Light of Talmudic Tradition (Yerushalmi v. Bavli)* Menachem Ben Shalom Achva Academic College

Introduction and General Background to Research In the last few decades, most scholars have depicted the Hasidic figure of R. Hanina ben Dosa as a prototype of the Hasid, the miracles maker, similar to Jesus, performing a transition stage between Judaism and Christianity. Part of these opinions will be presented here. In 1922, Adolph (Avraham) Büchler has sketched the image of the Hasids and the activists in the Second Temple and Mishnaic period. Büchler attempted to delineate and define the special character of the Hasids relative to the world of the Sages, in terms of the former’s exemplary deeds, religious world view, and singular proximity to God. Büchler expanded the discussion on Hasids and Hasidism and asserted that despite their differences from the Sages, Hasidic halakhah took root and was influential to halakhah.1 Following Büchler’s general approach, E.E. Urbach, S. Safrai, G. Vermes and D. Herman have considered Hasids and Hasidism in their social, religious and ideational-​halakhic contexts, without direct reference to historical events. In Urbach’s opinion, from the days of the Second Temple onward, the term ‘Hasidism’ denoted certain religious circles in Judaism, that differed from one another, but shared particularly high standards in the observance of religious and ethical commandments. 1 A. Büchler, Types of Jewish Palestinian Piety (London: Oxford Press, 1922).

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According to Urbach, we are unable to ascertain accurately the date of the so-​called ‘first’ Hasids in rabbinic literature. The unusual ethics of these people were characterized by strict observance of the relations between people and avoidance of anything that might lead to transgression. Next are the Hasids and activists who were distinguished by their good deeds and miracles. These did not belong to the circles of Sages and the men of halakha; there was even a certain opposition between them. In Urbach’s opinion, the Hasids were not the creators of the early halakha, and there is no proof that they were the Sages of the pre-​Tannaitic period. In the Mishnah they are recalled as being separate from the other Sages. They differ from the type of pietistic Sage in the manner of Hillel; they are not the typical Hasid who proclaims: ‘Mine is yours and yours is yours’ (m. Avot 5:10). According to Urbach, the Pharisaic strain in Hasidic conduct became prevalent only in the periods of the Amoraim, although it commenced in the days following the destruction of the Second Temple.2 Safrai maintains that the ‘first’ Hasids lived at the end of the Second Temple period and during the Mishnaic period, and were distinct from both the Hasids of the Hasmonean Revolt and from the Sages. According to Safrai, these Hasidism differed from the latter regarding a number of halakhot, and observed a number of additional restrictions, but not relating to the rules of purity. Regarding a number of matters, the Sages had misgivings about the Hasids and their practices, and it is possible that they scrutinized them and their halakhot in the way that they scrutinized the heretics. In Safrai’s opinion, the social and cultural milieu from which these Hasids emerged was the same that gave rise to the first ‘Hasids’ (quotation marks my addition) of Jesus.3 G. Vermes also found an affinity between the charismatic religious personality of Jesus and the Jewish Hasids of his time, using the character of Rabbi Hanina ben Dosa as an archetype.4 To sum up, Vermes and Safrai’s main assumptions are:

2 E.E. Urbach, The Sages (in Hebrew; Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1970), pp. 331–​ 339; pp. 476–​480; D. Herman, Early Hasidim (in Hebrew; Ph.D. diss., Ramat Gan: Bar-Ilan University, 1987). 3 S. Safrai, ‘Teaching of Pietists in Mishnaic Literature’, JJS 16 (1965), pp. 15–​33; S. Safrai, In Times of Temple and Mishna (in Hebrew; Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1996), pp. 518–​539. 4 G. Vermes, Jesus the Jew (London: Collins, 1973); W.R. Telford, ‘Major trends and Interpretative Issues in the Study of Jesus’, in Studying the Historical Jesus: Evaluations

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1. The Hasidim are not an integral part of the society of the Sages. 2. The Hasidim are exceptional individuals whose special deeds in the religious realm are emulated by the Sages. 3. In the Talmudic sources, the Hasidim are portrayed as men of deeds –​people with miraculous abilities, representing a change from their portrayal in the Tannaitic sources. Bokser’s work relies on these assumptions of Safrai and Vermes.5 To these assumptions he adds a discussion relating to the change in Rabbi Hanina ben Dosa’s image in Amoraitic sources. Only in these later sources, according to Bokser, and not in the early Tanaitic sources, immerge the image of Rabbi Hanina ben Dosa as a miracles maker. Yet, Bokser, like Vermes and Safrai, does not distinguish between the Eretz Israeli and the Babylonian sources. Thus, he did not pay attention to the different between the Yerushalmi and the Babylonian Talmud in this issue. In contrast to Safrai, Vermes and Bokser, a few Israeli scholars, among such as G. Alon, Y. Baer, Y. Efron and I. Ben Shalom have suggested another direction concerning the Hasidic phenomena. The thesis of this paper follows these scholars and develops further their direction. Alon claimed that the Mishnaic period should be viewed as a continuation of the Second Temple period, during which the ethical and halakhic foundations of the earlier period were internalized. Therefore, the influence of Pharisean Hasidism of the Temple period is important and perhaps even decisive in shaping the normative halakhah and the experience and consciousness of the people during the Mishnaic period.6 Y. Baer claimed that the first Hasids were at the center of the national religious movement that was the core of the Hasmonean revolt. These bands assisted in founding the Hasmonean kingdom and planned to fulfill in it, their idealist plan for complete redemption, while waiting expectantly for an ingathering of the exiles and universal –​national repair of the world, relying on the exceptional attributes of sanctification of the

of the State of Current Research (eds. B.D. Chilton and C.A. Evans, Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1994), pp. 49–​53. 5 B. Bokser, ‘Wonder –​Working and the Rabbinic Tradition the Case of Hanina Ben Dosa’, JSJ, 1 (1985), pp. 42–​92. 6 G. Alon, The Jews in Their Land in the Talmudic Age, Vol. I (in Hebrew; Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad, 1984), pp. 479–​536.

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individual through purification, mitzvot (commandments) and chari7 table acts. Efron’s contribution, continuing in the direction of Alon and Baer, was to make a complete distinction between the texts, both canonized and apocryphal. Efron stated that not only were the Hasidim not set apart from the rebels at any stage of the rebellion, but that the development of the Hasmonean state was ardently supported by the Hasidim, including teachers and instructors who expanded their scope of social and religious activity, through establishing close ties to the popular ranks and by combining Torah study with labor. In the opinion of Efron, militant Hasidism and its tradition made fertile the field in which Pharisean halakhah germinated during the Second Temple period, and had an important role in its formation.8 I. Ben Shalom demonstrated that in the halakhot of the School of Shammai, it was the early Hasidic –​zealous halakhah that grew out of Ezra’s reform and the Hasmonean rebellion. In addition, Ben Shalom also showed to what extent the opposition movement to Rome was influential, beginning with Pompey’s conquest and until the Bar-​Kokhba revolt.9 The thesis I present is a critique of the studies of Safrai, Vermes and Bokser, as well as many other influential scholars.10 This thesis is based on Alon, Baer, Efron and I. Ben Shalom’s studies. According to my point of view, Hasidism is the highest rung in the halakha and world view of the Pharisees and their successors the sages. The term ‘Hasid’ originates in the Bible, referring to those who in their 7 Y. Baer, Israel Among the Nations (in Hebrew; Jerusalem: the Bialik Institute, 1955), pp. 36–​ 38; pp. 55–​ 57; Y. Baer,‘ The Persecution of Monotheistic Religion by Antiochus Epiphanes’ (in Hebrew), Zion, 33 (1968), pp. 101–​105. 8 Y. Efron, Studies on the Hasmonean Period (in Hebrew; Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad, 1980), pp. 15–​62 and particularly pp. 27–​34; Y. Efron, Studies on the Hasmonean Period (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1987), pp. 14–​142. 9 I. Ben Shalom, The school of Shammai and the Zealots’ Struggle against Rome (in Hebrew; Jerusalem: Yad Izhak Ben-​Zvi, 1994), particularly pp. 76–​106; pp. 157–​ 230; pp. 303–​316. 10 S.L. Davies, Jesus the Healer, Possession, Trance and the Origin of Christianity (New York: Bloomsbury, 1955); L. Bieler, Theios Aner (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftl Buchges, 1967); D.L. Thied, The Charismatic Figure as Miracle Worker (Montana: Missoula, 1972); E.V. Gallagher, Divine Man or Magician? Celsus and Origen on Jesus (Chicago: Scholars Press, 1982); C.R. Holladay, Theios Aner in Hellenistic Judaism (Montana: Missoula, 1977).

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pure piety are faithful to the Torah, and reverently loyal to God. The biblical Hasid is the humble and righteous man who walks the paths of truth, justice and law.11 The thesis I propose in this article relies on two basic methodological rules. First, it is crucial to separate the Talmudic sources to their various branches, and to attribute them to the physical location from which they originated, the period of their emergence and the experience of their world.12 Such an approach will enable us to undertake a critical examination of the sources and to extract historical and theological knowledge from sources that are not a priori historiographic sources. The second methodological rule is that rabbinic traditions may include early material. This argument relies on highly respected Talmudic scholars who claim that the first mishnaic collections were edited already during the Second Temple Period, and reflect the Pharisean stream in the Second Temple period. Of late, this literature has been enriched by the monumental study of Y. Zusman, who deals with oral tradition in terms of both content and its manner of transmission.13

11 This is the central conclusion arising from my research, and it relies on the image of Hasidism and Hasids as portrayed in Talmudic portrayals of the Pharisees during the Second Temple period and their successors, and of the Sages who carried on the tradition in the mishnaic period. In the writings and the deeds of many Sages, I found components of halakhic Hasidism as defined in Talmudic literature itself. See, M. Ben Shalom, Hasidut and Hasidim in the Second Temple period and in the Mishna Period (in Hebrew; Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad, 2008). See for example: Deut. 33.8; II Sam. 22–​26; Mic. 7.2; Jer. 3.12; Prov. 2.8; Ps. 4.4; 16.10; 30.5; 31.24; 50.5; 79.2; 86.1; 145.10; 148.14; 149.9. See also, Y. Kaufman, The History of the Israeli Faith (in Hebrew; Jerusalem: the Bialik Institute and Dvir Publishing House, 1976), vols. I–​IV. 12 On the methodological problems of using the Babylonian Talmud for the Land of Israel, see: Sh. Friedman, ‘Historical Aggada in Babylonian Talmud’, in: Shaul Liberman Memorial Volume (ed. Sh. Friedman; in Hebrew; Jerusalem and New York: The Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1993), pp. 119–​163; Sh. Friedman, ‘Uncovering Literary Dependencies in the Talmudic Corpus’, in: The Synoptic Problem in Rabbinic Literature, Brown Judaic Studies 326 (ed. S.J.D. Cohen; Providence-​Rhode Island: Brown University, 2000), pp. 35–​57. 13 J. Zusman’,Oral law’, Talmudic Studies (in Hebrew; Jerusalem: Magnes press, 2005), pp.209–​384; J.N.H. Epstien, Proegomena Ad Litteras Tanaiticas (in Hebrew; Jerusalem: Magnes Press and Dvir Publishing House, 1957) pp. 25–​58; Ch. Albek, Introduction to the Mishna (in Hebrew; Jerusalem: the Bialik Institute, 1967), pp. 63–​ 87; A. Goldberg, ‘Tanaim from Rabi’s generation’ (in Hebrew; Jerusalem: The World

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Examining the evidence while using these two methodological rules challenges the scholarly consensus of Safrai, Vermes and Bokser, and leads to a different understanding of the Hasidic phenomena. This understanding will be shortly discussed below.14 In the days of the Hasmonean revolt, there appeared for the first time a congregation of Hasids that juxtaposed the values of Torah against those of Hellenism, which had infiltrated the nation’s higher echelons. The congregation of Hasids constituted the hard core of the rebel camp, giving themselves over to Torah and zealous towards the covenant. This congregation joined Mattathias and his sons from the outset of the rebellion, and became the central and stable core of the rebel camp. The Hasids in the rebellion are referred to in the Book of Daniel as ‘Saints of the Most High’, reminiscent of the prevailing view in rabbinic literature that Hasidism constitutes the highest rung on the ladder of human holiness, and rouses the Divine spirit, ‘ruah hakodesh’, which will be followed by the resurrection of the dead and the redemption, as described in the baraita of R. Pinhas ben Yair (mSotah 9:15). Honi the Circle Maker is also described in this spirit, as a son who atones for his sins before God and makes a direct appeal to Him for rain (mTa’anit 3:8). In response to Antiochus’s edicts of annihilation, the Hasids placed themselves first among the masses that rebelled against their oppressors –​internal and external –​and defended the legacy of the patriarchs and the Torah. Yosse ben Yoezer of Zereda, mentioned in mAvot 1:4 as a member of one of the first ‘pairs’ in the chain of the Oral Law’s transmission, sacrificed himself for sanctification of God’s name during the period of the edicts based on the aggadic tradition (Gen. R. 65:27, Theodor–​Albeck, p. 741). The sayings of Yosse ben Yo`ezer and Yosse ben Yohanan, his study partner, convey a Hasidic tone that exemplifies the values of tzedakah and brotherhood to all those created in God’s image, and in which every person’s home was to be a meeting place for the Sages and a dwelling place for the Torah Yosse ben Yo`ezer and Union of Jewish Studies 7/​c, 1977), pp. 83–​94. In contrast to J. Neusner, ‘History Transcended: The Mishnaic Uses of the Past’, in: The Christian and Judaic Invention of History (ed. J. Neusner; Atlanta: AAR, 1990), pp. 157–​170; I did not see it fitting to engage in this article in a debate with Neusner. One might disagree with the thesis I present, based on and in response to the work of the great Talmudic scholars, but debate is the life force of scholarship. 14 For a comprehensive discussion see my book: M. Ben Shalom, Hasidut and Hasidim, pp. 24–​28; pp. 14–​149.

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Yosse ben Yohanan declared that the land of non-​Jews and glass vessels were impure (yShabb. 1:6, 3d). These decrees are evidence of zealotry, and are fitting for the circumstances of the revolt and the struggle against the heathen kingdom, according to the visions of Daniel (2:7) and the legacy of Mattathias (Macc. 2:42). These Hasids were very strict in observing the rules of purity and impurity in order to sanctify themselves and ascend on the scale of Pharisaism. This explains their tendency to distinguish themselves between the heathen kingdom and those active in the struggle against the kingdom as a step towards redemption. Within the array of contending forces in Jewish society, the Hasmonean rebellion elevated the image of the Hasid, the disciple of the Sages who arises from the ranks of the masses and identifies with them. It is fair to assume that the Essenes, as they were described by Josephus (Antiq. Jud. 13: 171–​174, Bell. Jud. 2:117–​165.),15 and Philo of Alexandria (Quod omnis probus Liber 12:75), and mentioned first during the period of Jonathan the Hasmonean, were close to the Pharisaic Hasidim, and perhaps had even branched-​off from the latter, for reasons unbeknownst to us.16 Ethical principles resembling those of Pharisaic 15 S. Mason, ‘What Josephus Says about the Essenes in his: Judean War’, I-​II, Orion. Mscc.huji.ac.il. 16 In contrast to my view, the prevalent and accepted method of many of the Qumran scholars maintains that Yonatan, who composed for Alexander Blas, became an enemy of the Hasids, and he is the Wicked Priest, while the Hasids who split off from him are the Essenes. See: G. Vermes, ‘The Essenes and History’, JJS, 32 (1981), pp. 18–​31. A number of scholars have adopted the approach of Vermes, with variations: See: F.M. Cross, The Ancient Library of Qumran and Modern Bible Studies (New York: the Haskell Lectures, 1958), pp. 135–​153; P. Winter, ‘Two Non-​Allegorical Expressions in the Dead Sea Scrolls’, PEQ, 91 (1959), pp. 38–​46; R. de Vaux, Archaeology and the Dead Sea Scroll (London: British Academy, 1973), pp. 116–​117; G. Jeremias, Der Lehrer der Gerechtigkeit (Göttignen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1963), pp. 36–​78; H. Stegemann, Die Entstehung der Qumrangemeinde (Bonn: Rheinischen Friedrich-​Wilhelms University, 1971); J. Murphy –​O’Connor, ‘The Essenes and their History’, RB 81 (1974), pp. 215–​244; H. Eshel, ‘Teacher of Righteousness’, Or L’Yaakov, Studies in Bible and the Judean Desert Scrolls, in memory of Y. Licht (in Hebrew; Jerusalem\Tel Aviv: the Bialik Institute and & Tel Aviv University, 1997), p. 203, who claims that in the instance in question, the Wicked Priest attempted to kill the Teacher of Righteousness and his supporters on the Yom Kippur, which, according to the calculations of the Teacher of Righteousness –​ but not of the Wicked Priest –​fell during the period of Yonatan the Hasmonean (pp. 207–​201) This identifies Yonatan with the Wicked Priest. Eshel believes that the reality described in the essay ‘Teacher of Righteousness’, is the period when Yonatan

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Hasidim can be discerned in Early Christianity, as delineated in the Gospels. These sources, however, had already been influenced by the Septuagint and the literature of Hellenistic Judaism, and their theological –​Christological aim altered the substance of Christian Hasidism and the image of the perfect Hasid as embodied in Jesus.17 In the sayings and deeds of Shimon ben Shatah, Yehudah ben Tabai, and Shmaya and Avtalyon, the zealous, idealist spirit of pious Hasidism from the period of the Great Revolt had already been internalized, with an emphasis on love of labor combined with Torah study and an abhorrence of any taint of theft and power. The spirit of Hasidism also prevails in the sayings and deeds of Hillel and Shammai (mAvot 1:12–​19), and in the ‘schools’ they founded which followed in their footsteps. In no place, however, do I claim that Hasidism was an organized movement. This is not stated in the article, or in any other place. Five central halakhic realms, from which various halakhot and customs branch out, are related to Pharisean Hasidism. All are united by the common denominator of intense striving towards reducing impurity and sin, and expanding the realm of sanctity (kedushah) in order to get as near as possible to the image of man reflected in the Book of Daniel, and to bring it near to the reign of God in the world. The five areas, related closely to one another, are: 1. Religious zealotry, that aims to reduce idolatry on earth in order to expand the boundaries of the sacred and to realize the prophetic aims of redemption. The halakhah of the zealots was given concrete expression in the defiant struggle against the Hellenistic and Roman regimes in Eretz-​Israel and their allied Hellenistic cities; it was this halakhah that propelled the resistance movement against Rome. 2. Social radicalism, through, striving to prevent theft and exploitation, while increasing acts of loving-​kindness. At the foundation of was appointed High Priest, following his rule of Michmash. During the same period, most of the people did not follow the Teacher of Righteousness or the Wicked Priest, but another anonymous high priest who ruled in Jerusalem while Yonatan, identified with the Wicked Priest, ruled in Michmash. In my opinion, this is as good an estimation as any. 17 This conclusion is based on the discussion in: M. Ben Shalom, Hasidut and Hasidim (Chapters 3 and 4). As for the difference between Jewish and Christian Hasidism, see the discussion of Rabbi Hanina ben Dosa’s prayer for the sick, below.

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these halakhot is the goal of minimizing self-​love and the dependence on capital transactions in the system of human relations, defined as: ‘Mine is yours and yours is yours’ (mAvot 5:10). The School of Shammai, it has been seen, particularly emphasized the halakhot of shmitah and prevention of theft, through halakhot that gave expression to the Hasidic approach which was an outgrowth of the early halakha. 3. Fear of sin, Refraining from sin and the attempt to avoid it entirely in order to bring about a reality of holiness and unadulterated faith in God. The resulting halakhot are: a. Observing the laws of bodily purity and impurity on which spiritual ascendancy on the Hasidic scale are contingent. The Hasids’ observance of the laws of purity and impurity was not exceptional; these rules were observed by Pharisees in general. However, if we assume that the School of Shammai was close to Hasidism, elaborating its laws and reflecting its spirit, we would not be mistaken in asserting that the Hasids observed the laws of purity and impurity scrupulously. b. The trespass offering for doubtful guilt (asham talui) and the Nazarite offering. These offerings are intended to atone in advance for sins committed unwittingly. At their basis are humility and modesty. c. Laws of fasting. Formulated by the congregation of Hasids in the Hasmonean camp and took root in normative halakhah. Only those who fear sin and are clean of it can bring about rainfall. The reliance on the Patriarchs and their deeds stems from their complete absolution from sin. 4. Total unadulterated faith. Those who fear sin and strive to prevent it believe in God with no reservations. This relates to the preparation before prayer, aimed to remove all barriers between man and God, and to direct the heart to heaven. The fear of sin leads to, complete, unreserved faith. 5. Extreme, Sabbath observance, including avoidance even of work-​ related thoughts on the Sabbath. In this case, the Hasidic halakhah is also tied to the notion that property is immaterial and that all people are equal before their Creator on the Sabbath. Radical Sabbath observance is reflected in the halakhot of the School of Shammai and feeds from early halakhah. Interestingly, it is those who zealously observe these laws without distinction between intent and deed (as defined by Shammai) who lobby for a siege

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on Shabbat. The purpose of the war is to fight paganism and relies 18 upon the laws of zealotry. This portrait of the Hasidic phenomena has not been put forth by now, and herein lies precisely what I believe to be its contribution. This article aims to explore the figure of Rabbi Hanina ben Dosa and to show that according to the early Eretz Israeli traditions his description fits the Hasidic phenomena as described here. Thus, an additional innovation is that Rabbi Hanina ben Dosa, I believe, should not be viewed as a ‘holy man’, but rather as a meek and God-​fearing Hasid. Although an honest consideration of the ancient Eretz-​Israeli sources prove this, in today’s scholarly discourse, post-​ modern literary theories have superseded a direct dialogue with the sources. The term ‘holy man’ was adopted (perhaps inadvertently) by all the scholars under the influence of pagan and Christian sources,19 and in my opinion, does not exist in the ancient rabbinic texts. See, for example, the Amoraic interpretation of the deeds of Honi the Circle Maker in the Jerusalem Talmud (Ta’aniyot 83:5, 66d).

Rabbi Hanina ben Dosa and His Hasidic Character R. Hanina ben Dosa appears only once in the company of R. Yohanan ben Zakkai. He is not mentioned in regard to any event relating to the great rebellion, and it is not clear to us if and when he was associated with the circle of R. Yohanan ben Zakkai.20 We know that he lived and was active during the time of Rabban Gamliel de-​Yavneh, even though he is not mentioned in the stories of the Bet Midrash. R. Hanina b. Dosa lived in ‘Arab in the Galilee. His extraordinary attributes and his exceptional personality were well-​known. Although he is not referred to explicitly in any halakhot, his deeds correspond to all the components of Hasidic halakhah (with the exception, perhaps, of zealous halakhot) as defined in halakhot of the Talmudic literature in general, and in the Yerushalmi in 18 See M. Ben Shalom, Hasidut and Hasidim, pp.175–​177. Regarding the laws of Sabbath, see I. Ben Shalom, The school of Shammai, pp. 88–​93; pp.172–​175. 19 Davies, Jesus the Healer; Bieler, Theios Aner; Thied, The Charismatic Figure as Miracle Worker. 20 bBerakhot 34b; and since in this source a deed is mentioned, which in the Yerushalmi is attributed to the son of R. Gamliel, one suspects that there was a switch. And in fact the reference is to the same deed, making it difficult to make a determination. See attached appendix.

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particular. It is important to note that R. Hanina ben Dosa is not mentioned in any source as a Hasid. Indeed, the title of ‘Rabbi’ identifies him with the sages.21

Sayings mAvot 3:9 Hanina ben Dosa said: He whose fear of sin takes precedence over his wisdom, his wisdom endures; but he whose wisdom takes precedence over his fear of sin, his wisdom does not endure. He used to say: He whose deeds exceed his wisdom, his wisdom endures; but he whose wisdom exceeds his deeds, his wisdom does not endure. He would say: If the spirit of one's fellows is pleased with him, the spirit of God is pleased with him; and if the spirit of one's fellow is not pleased with him, the spirit of God is not pleased with him.

This saying can be divided into three sections: 1. Wisdom –​Torah knowledge –​does not exist without the fear of sin. In other words, the upholding of the Torah is conditional to the prior abolition of all sin, since the Torah cannot be upheld and Torah study cannot be carried out in sin, in hubris, or in an application other than for its own sake. The goal of Torah study is complete release from material possessions so that a person can cleave to God.22

21 Rabbi Hanina Ben Dosa lived in ‘Arab in the Galilee, 12 km. north of Sepphoris. The title ‘Rabbi’ contradicts the views of Urbach, Safrai, and Vermes, who considered the Hasidim as distinct from the sages. It is clear that in the edited Talmudic sources, R. Hanina ben Dosa is perceived as part of the society of sages. 22 The Maharal states that ‘man from his material side bears no association whatsoever with holy Torah, and only due to the fear of sin, his self is reduced to nothing (my emphasis) and connects with the root of the soul of the Holy One, who gives the Torah and its wellspring’. See Ben Shalom, Hasidut and Hasidim, pp. 245–​246. Fear of sin is an attribute of Hasidism according to the paradigm of Rabbi Pinhas ben Yair in a baraita at the end of ySotah (9:15), whose source is in yShabbat 1:3, 3c. Fear of sin means avoidance of all sin from the outset. For a discussion and arguments, see: M. Ben Shalom, Hasidut and Hasidim, pp. 179–​182; pp. 432–​439. The use of the Maharal’s statement here is meant to give concrete form to a precise, elucidated version of the statements of R. Hanina ben Dosa, which are compatible with the statements of many tana’im that relate to purifying oneself from sin by means of

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2. Wisdom –​the Torah –​does not exist without deeds of loving-​ 23 kindness. In other words, Torah study is conditional upon deeds of loving-​kindness and cannot exist without its students being connected to society and working to improve it. This connection is germane to deeds of loving-​kindness. We have already seen that deeds, in accordance with the paradigm of R. Pinhas ben Yair. And just as we are permitted to make use of contemporary scholars, and to rely on their determinations, we may also rely on the commentaries of other scholars in our interpretations of ancient sages, see, for example, mAvot 1:12–​14; 2:4 See also Shimon ben Netan-​el (mAvot 2:13; 2:9); R. Yossi HaCohen HaHasid (mAvot 2:12); R. Eliezer (mAvot 2:10; Bereshit Rabbah, 41, p. 397); R. Zadok (mAvot 4:5); R. Elazar bar Zadok (sifrei Akav, eds. Finkelstein –​Horowitz, New York: The Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1969), pp. 113–​114, and in greater detail, in the following note. 23 In Talmudic literature a ‘deed’ is an act of loving-​ kindness performed by one person for another, whether in the private or public realm. On ‘acts of loving-​ kindness’, see Mekhilta de Rabbi Yishmael, Masekhet Amaleqed (Horowitz–​Rabin, Jerusalem: Vahrman Books, 1970), p.198; S. Lieberman, tPeah 4:18–​21 (in Hebrew; New York: The Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1955–​1985), pp. 60–​61; S. Lieberman, Tosefta ki-​fshutah Peah, A Comprehensive Commentary on the Tosefta (in Hebrew; New York: Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1955), p. 191. The debate over whether deed takes precedence over Torah study, and without it study should not be conducted, as opposed to Torah study bringing about deed and taking precedence over deed in the world of the sages was discussed in the attic of Beit ‘Aris in Lod (yPesah 3:7, 30b) and in similar sources. In this source, it is determined that study takes precedence over deeds of loving-​kindness, according to the opinion of R. Aqiva v. R. Tarfon. See Alon, The Jews in Their Land, pp. 499–​501; Safrai, In Times of Temple and Mishna, pp. 529–​-​530. However, even after this, important sages such as R. Yehudah bar Ilai and R. Yehudah HaNasi followed R. Tarfon and the ways of R. Hanina ben Dosa and R. Elazar ben Azaryah (mAvot 3:17). R. Elazar ben Azaryah’s saying corresponds to that of R. Hanina ben Dosa. See Ben Shalom, Hasidut and Hasidim, pp. 296–​300; pp. 307–​309; pp. 453–​454. Deeds of loving-​ kindness bring about atonement and bring a person closer to God, as seen in the saying of R. Lazar b. R. Yosa, in tPeah, 4:18–​21: ‘From whence is it known that tzedaqah and deeds of loving-​kindness are a great peace and a great mediator between Israel and its Father in heaven’, as it is said: ‘Thus saith the Lord: Do not come upon an inn, etc.’ Kindness refers to deeds of loving-​kindness. Compassion is tzedaqah, which teaches that tzedaqah and deeds of loving-​kindness (bring about) great peace between Israel and their Father in heaven. The same can be learned from the same Tosefta regarding King Monbaz. See my discussion regarding King Monbaz (yPeah 1:1, 15h), M. Ben Shalom, Hasidut and Hasidim, pp. 192–​197. Monbaz, through his deeds, removed the divider between himself and his Father in Heaven. Deeds of loving-​kindness between man and his fellows lead to the removal of sin. For another viewpoint on the term ‘people of deeds’, see G.B.A Sarfatti, ‘Pious Men of Deeds and the Early Prophets’ (in Hebrew), Tarbiz, 26 (1957), pp. 142–​153. Compare Büchler, Types of Jewish Palestinian Piety, pp. 82–​86. Compare also Safrai, In Times of Temple and Mishna, pp. 529–​532.

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the Hasidim are also known as ‘people of deeds’ and it is they who 24 perform deeds of loving-​kindness. 3. ‘If the spirit of one’s fellow is not pleased with him, the spirit of God is not pleased with him’. This implies that a person, who arranges his relations with his fellows in a proper manner, refraining from exploitation, and performing through his deeds charitable acts and mutual aid, avoids sinning in the first place, and therefore the spirit of God is pleased with him. From a structural standpoint, one might view the saying as follows: a person who fears sin on the individual and personal level is a person of deeds on the communal level, a servant of society who works to improve it. Therefore, the fact that he fears sin and shuns sinful acts by his deeds pleases the spirit of God. And as Honi HaM’agel states in the Yerushalmi, ‘You will be delivered because your hands are clean’, that is, on the merit of fulfilling mitzvot (commandments) and performing good deeds, which you have been doing all your life, of you Scripture says: ‘Your mother and father shall rejoice, and your children shall be joyous’ (yTa’anit, 3:8, 67b). R. Hanina ben Dosa’s saying teaches us that: 1. Fear of sin takes precedence over Torah study and serves as a protective mechanism that leads one to cleave to God. Fear of sin takes precedence over the upholding of all the mitzvot and this is the main attribute of Hasidism.25 2. There is a parallel between fear of sin and ‘deed’. A person is cleansed of his sins first and foremost through his deeds of loving-​ kindness in the realm of society, deeds that relate to the interdependence between two people. A ‘deed’ performed by one person on behalf of another, then, takes precedence over upholding all the mitzvot and over the content of Torah study. This attribute of Hasidism that strives for the betterment of society took root in normative halakhah and determinations were made by which this behavior could be measured. However, in essence, it has no measure or limit.26 The parallel between ‘deed’ and fear of sin is 24 See Ben Shalom, Hasidut and Hasidim, a discussion of fear of sin and people of deeds, pp. 245–​246, and particularly the discussion relating to Hillel the Elder, pp. 167–​171. 25 M. Ben Shalom, Hasidut and Hasidim, pp. 245 –​246, n. 136–​137. 26 Compare mPeah 1:1, and tPeah 4:19–​21, with mPeah 8: 5–​8. This source reflects the reality that existed before the destruction of the Temple since it is part of the

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confirmed by mSheqalim 5:6: ‘The (way of the) secret chamber of those who fear sin is that one contributes in secret, and poor people, sons of good families earn from it in secret’. This shows that in time of the Temple, those who feared sin gave alms to the poor in secret.27

• Halakhot and Deeds in the Social Realm Although all of R. Hanina ben Dosa’s deeds are presented in the aggadah and not in the halakhic genre, they are a suitable source for halakhic standards. mSotah 9:15: ‘When R. Hanina ben Dosa died, people of deed ceased to exist’. From this we learn that in the baraita of tractate Sotah, R. Hanina ben Dosa is defined as the last person of deeds. This definition of a person of deeds corresponds to R. Hanina’s above sayings and his actions were compatible with them.

Fear of Sin We have seen that R. Hanina ben Dosa was a sin-​fearing man and we have determined that it is an attribute of Hasidism to regard fear of sin as taking precedence over other mitzvot.

early collections that were compiled before the destruction, as has been proven by Y.N. Epstein in his book: Introduction to Tanaim Literature (in Hebrew; Jerusalem –​ Tel Aviv: Magnes press –​Dvir Publishing House, 1957), pp. 25–​27; Ch. Albek, Introduction to the Mishna, pp. 63–​87; see also, S. Lieberman tShkalim; p. 211; S. Lieberman, tKi-​fshutah, Shkalim, p. 695. The tana’im who survived the war of destruction, and at their head R. Yohanan ben Zakkai, brought the volumes of edited mishnayot and the proceedings of the bet din dating from before the destruction of the Temple to the ‘Beit Havaad’ (Sanhedrin) in Yavneh, where they were used as precedents. We have found evidence of this in tractate Eduyot. Josephus Flavius testifies that when the Sadducees came to power, they upheld the opinions of the Pharisees. Many members of the aristocracy and the high priesthood followed the Sadducees. Thus, the influence of the Pharisees in the Temple was great, whereas the Sadducees were forced to operate according to the Pharisaic views. Therefore, the testimony about ‘the secret chamber’ in the Temple is reasonable, as found in mSheqalim. See Josephus, Ant’, vol. 18, 11–​23. 27 Ben Shalom, Hasidut and Hasidim, pp. 245–​246.

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Prayer A. yBerachot 5:1, 9a28 It is said of R. Hanina ben Dosa that he was standing and praying, and a lizard came and bit him, and he did not desist from his prayer. They went and found that lizard dead, flung at the mouth of his den. They said: woe to the person who is bit by a. Woe to the lizard that bit R. Hanina ben Dosa… His students said to him: 'Rabbi! You didn't feel it?' He said to them: 'I swear that I was concentrated in my prayer, and this is why I did not feel it'.

This aggadic story has two parts: 1. R. Hanina ben Dosa stood in his prayer, a lizard came along and bit him, and he did not interrupt his prayer. The lizard was found dead at the entrance to his hole. 2. The question of the students and the response of R. Hanina ben Dosa are presented to interpret the story and to infuse it with its true meaning. The story relies on the words of mBerakhot 5:1: ‘One does not stand to pray except with utmost seriousness. The early Hasidim would pause for an hour to pray in order to properly direct their hearts to the Divine. Even if a king were to greet a Hasid and even were a snake crouched at his heel, he would not stop’. In other words, R. Hanina ben Dosa is upholding the halakhah of the early Hasidim by which a person does not stop his prayer when a snake is crouched at his heel. His response to his students contains the explanation as to why he did not feel the snake bite. His prayer, directed to heaven, is what enabled him not to feel, and what killed the snake. His prayer, full of intention and concentration, caused him to be cleansed of all of his sins

28 And parallels in, S. Lieberman, tBerakhot 3:5, pp. 16–​17; S. Lieberman, tKi-​fshutah –​ Berakhot, pp. 46–​47; Tanhuma VaEra 4; A. Shinan, Shemot Rabbah, VaEra, 3:12 (in Hebrew; Tel-​Aviv/​Jerusalem: Dvir Publishing House, 1984), pp. 135–​136. The Tanhuma version is originally Palestinian, but it was expanded and diluted under the influence of the Bavli. The version in Shemot Rabbah is a Palestinian tannaic version, whereas the Tosefta version is closer to that of the Yerushalmi. The Mishnah presents the deeds of the early Hasidim in order to give a concrete example of the meaning of earnestness and sincerity in prayer. The Hasidim would prepare themselves for about an hour before prayer in order to properly direct their thoughts and emotions heavenwards. The deeds of the Hasidim are the highest rung of devotion to the Creator in prayer and the Mishnah portrays them as examples to others.

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before God. The snake died because it bit R. Hanina ben Dosa, who had shaken off all sin. The killing of the snake is not the result of R. Hanina’s intention or initiative. He does not even notice that the snake bites him and dies. From this we learn that his shaking off of all sin in his prayer was a result of total effacement in prayer. This is the quality of humility, which leads to fear of sin, according to the paradigm of R. Pinhas ben Yair, for whom humility precedes fear of sin; only a person who has reached the rung of humility can ascend to the rung of fear of sin, which precedes the rung of Hasidism. The Palestinian story correlates entirely with the simple story and its halakhic and symbolic content. S. Safrai rightly claims29 that the teachings of the Hasidim were absorbed into normative halakhah in this mishnah. However, in his opinion, when the case involves saving a life, the halakhah should not be upheld literally, and the Hasidic teaching, which R. Hanina ben Dosa was following in this story, in fact contradicts the accepted norms in the community of sages. Safrai’s conclusion, it appears, is based on the attempts of the amora’im in both the Yerushalmi and the Bavli to resolve the contradiction between the Mishnah at its literal level and the story of Hanina ben Dosa, on the one hand, and the prevailing halakhah. A similar example is found in the Yerushalmi (ibid.): ‘R. Acha said, that is what is said for Jewish kings, but for non-​Jewish kings, one returns the greeting. R. Huna in the name of R. Yossei taught [in reference to a] snake, but ruled [in reference to a] scorpion’. Another example is bBerakhot 32b-​33a. This is also the realistic (medical) explanation –​spelled out clearly in the Yerushalmi (ibid.) –​that if a person bitten by a snake reaches a source of water before the snake, the snake will die, but if the snake arrives first, the person will die. The interpretation of R. Yitzkhak ben Elazar in the Yerushalmi also intends to make the miracle in the story compatible with medical reality by clarifying that God created a spring under the feet of R. Hanina ben Dosa during his prayer, enabling him to reach water before the snake did, and live. However, it appears that the story of R. Hanina ben Dosa in the Yerushalmi (without interpretive additions) corresponds to the Mishnah, which sets the highest threshold for a person’s cleaving to God during prayer, namely the attribute of Hasidism. In other words, if a person directs his heart to Heaven, he can cleave to God such that he can be shaken free of all sin and then he 29 Safrai, In Times of Temple and Mishna, pp. 518–​539.

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will have no fear, not from a snake, and not from the authorities, because they will be unable to harm him. The story of R. Haninaben Dosa speaks to the Mishnah and is intended to infuse it with substance and reinforce it. The story teaches that R. Hanina ben Dosa lived up to the ideal of the early Hasidim in his fear of sin and his intention in prayer; therefore he reached God and the snake did not harm him. This is an ideal to be fulfilled by every Jew; however in reality, an ordinary person does not achieve this state, and therefore does not endanger himself and is not killed, with the exception of three transgressions which it is considered a mitzvah to avoid.30 In contrast to the version in bBerakhot 33a reads as follows: The Rabbis taught how in a particular place there was a lizard and it harmed the other creatures. They came and told R. Hanina ben Dosa. He said to them: ‘Show me its den'. They showed him its den. He placed his heel at the entrance of the den, and the lizard emerged, bit him and died. He took it on his shoulder and brought him to the House of Study. He said to them, ‘Look, my sons. It is not the lizard that kills, but sin that kills'. At that moment, they said, ‘Woe to a person bitten by a lizard. And woe to a lizard struck by Hanina ben Dosa'.

This version in the Bavli has a shared element with the one that appears in the Yerushalmi; however, it was expanded and diluted, losing any internal significance that could arise from the text itself (without the accompanying interpretation). In the Bavli, the relationship between the Hasidic halakhah in the Mishnah and the story is removed. R. Hanina ben Dosa was not praying, and therefore the element of intention in prayer does not exist in the story. Once the narrative’s connection to prayer and the related idea of intention is eliminated, the meaning embodied in it and in R. Hanina’s response to his students in the Palestinian story is lost.31

30 See Maimonides, Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Tefilah 24:15: ‘He should direct his heart away from all the thoughts and see himself as he is standing before the Shekhina’. Compare the interpretation of R. Shlomo Sirilio, yBrakhot 5:1, 9a; see also Bereshit Rabbah, VaYishlah 42, p. 995; S. Lieberman, tKi-​fshutah, Berakhot, p. 46. 31 His students said to him: ‘Rabbi, you didn’t feel it’. He said to them ‘I swear that I was concentrated in my prayer, and this is why I did not feel it’. Thus, the Bavli links the source in the Yerushalmi to its own narrative expansion whereby R. Hanina went to the snake’s den at his own initiative.

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In the baraita in the Bavli, R. Hanina ben Dosa approaches the snake’s den at his own initiative. He places his heel at the opening in order to fulfill the words of the Mishnah [‘even if a snake is crouched at his heel’] so that the snake will bite him and die. R. Hanina and his students are aware of the virtue of killing snakes, and therefore his students call to him for help. His response in the Bavli as to the reason that the snake dies (‘it is not the lizard that kills, but sin that kills’)32 is dissociated from the body of the story itself, since it does not explain what led R. Hanina 32 The snake as a symbol of sin is already embedded in the story. It is not the concrete snake that kills, but the symbolic one that represents sin, as in the Garden of Eden story. Could there be a latent discourse for the purpose of presenting a contrast to early Christianity? See yShabbat 4:4 14d and parallels in bShabbat 116b: ‘It is told of R. Elazar ben Dama that he was bitten by a snake. Ya’akov of Kfar Sama came to help using the name of Jesus ‫ פנ (ט) [ד] ירא‬to cure him, but R. Ishmael did not let him. He said to him: ‘I’ll bring a sign that will heal him’. Before he could bring the sign, ben Dama died. R. Ishmael said to him: ‘Joy unto you, ben Dama, that you left the world in peace, without pulling down the walls of the sages’. As it is written: ‘He who pulls down a wall may be bitten by a snake’ (Eccl. 10:8). The issue, however, is not that he was bitten by a snake, but that in the world to come, he will not be bitten by a snake (Sifrei Naso. 15, p. 21. The source reflects the strict approach of R. Ishmael towards the Jewish cults of the early Christian period. Compare tHullin II 22–​23 (Zuckermandel, Jerusalem: Wahrmann Books, 1963), p. 503; yAvodah Zarah, 40d 41a; Kohelet Rabbah I-​VI (Hirschman, Jerusalem: the Schechter Institute, 2016), pp. 58–​59; notes and bibliography, part 3, pp. 81–​84, where the midrashic version is close to that of the Bavli. See also bAvodah Zarah 27b. Munich Mss. and the printed editions, where he appears as Ya’akov Ish Kfar Sikhnai (Sikhnin). In Tosefta b. Hullin 22–​23, halakhah 24, Kfar Sama also appears, but in the context of the confrontation between Rabbi Akiva and Ya’akov Ish Kfar Sikhnin. Since a historical Kfar Sama has not been identified, one might conjecture that ‘Sama’ is a reference to Sakhnin. In a tannaic version, Ya’akov of Kfar Sama sought to cure Rabbi Elazar ben Dama in the name of Jesus, or by means of another vow using his name, and to bring proof from the Torah, and R. Ishmael prevented him from doing so in order to save his soul and give him life in the world to come. The attacking snake symbolizes Satan, the source of death. A person who pulls down a wall of the sages takes down a wall around the Torah, the source of life, and therefore he is bitten by a snake, the source of death. In the New Testament, the symbolism is reversed: Jesus is the source of life, and the reason for life. Those who believe in him knew not the taste of death, and will be granted eternal life, while Jews, the children of Satan, worship the lie and are the servants of carnal sin, eternalized in the Torah of Moses. Satan is the father of murder, like the snake in the book of Genesis. See, for example, John 7; 8: 42–​50; Matthew 16:28; Epistle to the Jews 11:8–​22. In the eyes of Rabbi Ishmael, the use of Jesus’ name in healing will bring eternal death and thus the symbols are reversed. See also: D. Schwartz ‘What Should He Have Said “And live by them?’ ” Sanctity of Life and Martyrdom, Studies in Memory of Amir Yekutiel (eds. I. Gafni and A. Ravitzki; in Hebrew; Jerusalem: Shazar, 1992), pp. 69–​83, which includes many bibliographic

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ben Dosa to be cleansed of all sin, and therefore able to kill the snake. This version confirms the one in the Mishnah –​on which the Bavli relies –​that included several interpretations, as well as a story about R. Hanina ben Dosa’s fear of sin and unlimited humility, which led him to cleave to God during prayer, to the point where he did not even feel that he killed the snake that had bitten him. The plan that he adopts –​walking to the snake’s den and bringing the dead snake to the Bet Midrash as a sign of his fear of sin –​exemplifies that his awareness of the virtue of killing snakes is due to this very attribute. However, what is missing in this version is the necessary association between fear of sin and the annulment of self-​ pride, which feature so prominently in the Yerushalmi version, by which his humility leads to the fear of sin through his intention in prayer and his cleaving to God.33 The Mishnaic version in the Bavli appropriately internalizes the lesson of the deadliness of sin, and the life-​giving quality of fear from sin. However, it dissociates the content from the form, and retroactively changes the meaning of the story. At the center of the story in the Bavli is the virtue of R. Hanina ben Dosa in killing the lizard and redeeming the masses. Yet, the reason for his virtue –​the fear of sin –​is not embedded in the body of the story itself, appearing only in the interpretation. This is one of the stages in the transformation of R. Hanina ben Dosa into a miracle worker, as he is portrayed in the literature of the Babylonian Talmud.34

references. See: J. Efron, Formation of the Primary Christian Church (in Hebrew; Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad 2006), pp. 207–​211. See above n. 17 and 31. 34 Compare G. Vermes, ‘Hanina ben Dosa’, JJS, 23 (1972), pp. 28–​50. Vermes sees R. Hanina ben Dosa’s performance of miracles as deriving from his nickname, ‘man of action’. His popular activity in the Galilee leads Vermes to believe, like Safrai, that R. Hanina ben Dosa is a popular Hasid close to Jesus’ circle, to the extent that he neglects the laws of purity and impurity (p. 37). Vermes noted that the Yerushalmi version lacks any reference to the performance of miracles (p. 35), and therefore, he prefers the Bavli version. Vermes weaves together a tapestry of sources in order to create a consistent picture that reflects his world. Indeed, in the Bavli, R. Hanina ben Dosa’s reputation as a miracle worker is already established. On the character of the snake as embodying sin, and the ability of Jesus and his disciples to kill it, see also Mark 16:18; Luke 10:19; Apostles 28:3–​8. It is important to emphasize that despite the similar motif, an essential difference, based on Christian theology, distinguishes between the students of Jesus and R. Hanina ben Dosa. The ability to withstand snake bites stems from the essence of Jesus as an entity in which sin can take hold, and as a divine entity that is itself the source of healing and the banishing of evil. R. Hanina ben Dosa, on the other hand, was purified of sin through his deeds and 33

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The later story, presented in Tanhuma VaEra,35 expanded on and diluted the Yerushalmi, and even drew on the Bavli, although its basic version is the Palestinian one. The story linked the snake to political authority by representing the evil ruling power as a snake.36 Although it is clear that the Yerushalmi and the Tanhuma versions differed, Safrai did not hesitate to claim, on the basis of the Tanhuma, that R. Hanina ben Dosa responded to his students after they had fled from the snake and that he did not interrupt his prayer. However, there is no indication of this in the Yerushalmi, which relates that the students ran from the snake, or that they were present at the time that the snake bit R. Hanina ben Dosa. It is clear from the Yerushalmi that R. Hanina’s response appears in this version only. Safrai applied the story in Tanhuma to the miracle performed for R. Hanina ben Dosa in the Yerushalmi in which ben Dosa behaved in contradiction to prevailing halakhah although his students conformed to it.37 Perhaps, the motif in the Tanhuma version, the flight of the students, who were present during the incident (and not free of sin, like their teacher), was influenced by the motif of Jesus’ students abandoning him, before the crucifixion.38

35 36

37

38

intention in prayer, making him close to God, and so the snake that bites him dies. R. Hanina ben Dosa is similar to the archetype of the Jewish Hasid who draws close to God, but remains in the human realm, such as the image of the Hasid in the Book of Daniel. The image of the Hasid, free of all sin, derives from a Jewish source common to the New Testament and to Talmudic sources; but, in the Christian texts, its essence was altered completely. See also S.L. Davies, Jesus the Healer; L. Bieler, Theios Aner; D.L. Thied, The Charismatic Figure as Miracle Worker; E.V. Gallagher, Divine Man or Magician?; C.R. Holladay, Theios Aner in Hellenistic Judaism. See also A. Shinan, Shemot Rabbah, VaEra, 9:3, p. 209. On this subject see Y. Frenkel, Reflections upon the Spiritual World of the Legend (in Hebrew; Tel Aviv: CET, 1981), pp. 23–​25; Y. Frenkel, ‘Prominent Patterns in the History of the Tradition of the Text’, Seventh World Congress of Jewish Studies (in Hebrew; Jerusalem: 1977), pp. 57–​58. See Safrai, In Times of Temple and Mishna, p. 515, n. 70. The midrash in Tanhuma weaves together the Bavli and the Yerushalmi using a narrative, indicating its later origin. Our method, in contrast to that of Safrai, considers each source separately, as regards both textual analysis and the resulting confusion. In order to support his position, Safrai maintained that the narrative in the Yerushalmi was adapted in such a way that the story of the miracle would not contradict prevailing halakhah (pp. 30–​ 31). Safrai’s eclectic method is problematic. There is no indication that the editors of the Yerushalmi adapted the original story to prevailing halakhah, since they invoked the amoraic interpretation to explain the miracle. Indeed, the story concerns not a miracle but a person who is completely free of sin, and thus he does not feel the snake at all, nor is he unaware of its bite. For example: Mark 14:50. And parallel examples.

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B. mBerakhot 5:5 When one prays and makes a mistake, it is a bad sign. And if he is leading the prayer, it is a bad sign for his congregation, since a person's sender is like him. They said of R. Hanina ben Dosa that he would pray for the sick and say: ‘this one will live and this one will die'. They said to him: ‘How do you know?' He said to them: ‘If my prayer flows from my lips I know that it is accepted, and if it does not, I know that he [the sick person] is devoured'.

In the haggadi story of the Mishna, R. Hanina ben Dosa prays for the sick. If his prayer, ‘flows from his lips’, they are redeemed, but if not, they are ‘devoured’. The expression ‘flowing from the lips’ indicates that the prayer is accepted. Here as well, the story relates to intention in prayer. Who prays and makes a mistake, did not focus and did not achieve total effacement in order to reach God. It is not R. Hanina ben Dosa who redeems the sick; God is the healer. R. Hanina ben Dosa prays for the sick, and if his prayer ‘flows’ it is a sign that he directed his prayer with utmost devotion to his Creator. His virtue is not in the story of the miracle, but in his intention in prayer,39 as in the following story in yBerakhot: 39 See Rashi on the verse ‘If the prayer flows …’: ‘If my prayer is arranged in a consecutive flow from my lips, and I do not fail and my supplication arises from my heart to my mouth—​everything I want to elaborate on in supplication. “Devoured”—​devoured to death’. See Z. Ben Haim, Hebrew and Aramic the Samaria Version (in Hebrew; Jerusalem: The Academy of the Hebrew Language Press, 1977), vol. 1–​-​5, p. 704; See also, Kahut, Aruch Hshalem, ‘‫ ’טרף‬pp. 3–​23; See B. Ratner, The Love of Zion and Jerusalem (in Hebrew; Vilna: Romm, 1907), on yBerakhot, p. 136, where he invokes Seffer Hamanhig, ‘If your prayer was intentioned, you will be informed that your prayer was heard’. Compare, S. Lieberman, tBerakhot 3:21, p.17, and S. Lieberman, tKifshuta, Berakhot, p. 47; prayer that emanates from utmost seriousness and Torah is the preparation that should precede prayer. For a more recent source, see S. Naeh, ‘Creates the Fruit of Lips a Phenomenological Study of Prayer according to Mishna Berakhot 1:3; 5:5’, Tarbiz, 43 (1994), pp. 185–​218; Naeh proves that, according to most of the manuscripts, the correct version of the Mishnah is: ‘If my prayer flowed naturally from my lips’. Naeh states that prayer that ‘flows naturally’ flows simply from the supplicant’s mouth and this shows that it is accepted. The supplicant does not infuse his prayer with emotional or conscious intentionality, rather his prayer ‘flows’ spontaneously. It appears, however, that Naeh did not notice that the common denominator between intention in prayer in the first mishnah in the chapter, and the naturally flowing prayer in the fifth chapter, is the unconditional connection to the Divine, such that the individual becomes effaced. This interpretation is expressed in the baraitot adjoined to the mishnah in the Jerusalem Talmud. Natural flow of the prayer is a result of successful intention in prayer. It is clear that R. Hanina ben Dosa prepared himself before prayer so that his prayer would be intentioned. Naturally flowing prayer does not contradict supplicant prayer, as Naeh claims (p. 218 and

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‘R. Gamliel’s son, it is told, fell ill, and he sent two men of learning to R. Hanina ben Dosa in his city. He said to them “Wait for me while I go upstairs.” He went up and descended. He said to them: “I am certain R. Gamliel’s son has been relieved of his illness.” They concluded. At that moment, he [the son] asked to eat’. This short Palestinian story supports the Mishna. R. Hanina ben Dosa’s prayer in the attic is related, by implication, to Elijah’s prayer for the healing of the widow’s son. However, it is not parallel in all its details.40 R. Hanina ben Dosa conducts an intimate conversation with God in the attic.41 From his announcement, we learn that his prayer flowed from his mouth. The two men of learning focus on the moment of the announcement, with the healing for R. Gamliel’s

n. 165). Habit of the tongue in prayer is the same dialectical aspect which dissociates the intention of the supplicant from the deeds of God, as is the case with the prayer of Judah the Maccabee and in the short prayer of R. Eliezer. The manner in which the act of prayer is performed indicates only whether the intention of the supplicant was fulfilled and constitutes a sign that his prayer was desired by God, and that he is desired by God. It is therefore a good sign for him. Prayer that does not flow naturally heralds rejection of the supplicant and his prayer before God. The same is stated by the amora’im in the Yerushalmi (5:5, 9d). 40 The prayer of R. Hanina ben Dosa is reminiscent of the prayer of Elijah the prophet in the attic (I Kings 17: 17–​24), and the image of the prayer of Elisha for the son of the Shunamite woman (II Kings 4: 32–​37). The prayer in the attic is only described in the imagination of the person who overhears the story and is familiar with the Biblical narrative, through which he senses the intimate feeling of the Hasid’s closeness to the Divine. The prayer of the Hasid from Kfar Imi is molded in this image (yTa’anit 1:4, 64b) (Kfar Imi is located six km [3.6 miles] northeast of Mount Tabor). Jesus’ prayer for the healing of the centurion’s son (John 4:46–​54) is also created in this image. In the case of Jesus, however, faith in him and his divine being is the source of salvation for the sick and for the miracle. In the Yerushalmi, on the other hand, R. Hanina ben Dosa knows whether the sick person was healed or devoured based only on the degree to which he cleaves to God and his intention in prayer. The savior, however, can only be God. Compare also with Urbach, The Sages, pp. 126–​ 127; Sarfatti, Pious Men of Deeds and the Early Prophets, p. 133, 144. Sarfatti notes the paradigm of the deeds of the prophets, from which the stories of the Hasidim derive, without mentioning the change in historical and theological construct. Compare also Vermes, ‘Hanina ben Dosa’, pp. 31–​32. 41 In my opinion, there are three facts that hint at the intimate discussion: (1) Prayer in the attic, in the manner of Elijah and Elisha; (2) devotion in prayer that caused the prayer to be so familiar to the person reciting it that he would not be distracted; (3) the intimate discussion is not really a discussion with the Creator since prophecy no longer exists and God does not speak with human beings. The intimate discussion is hinted at, in the action of the Hasid, who clings to God in his prayer.

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son.42 There is no miracle here, and not even a positive act of healing, as in the act of Elijah. The narrator does not describe the prayer at all. It exists as a possible scenario only in the consciousness of the listener. The prayer of the Hasid focuses on the Heavens. Its acceptance brings relief to R. Gamliel’s son. bBerakhot 34b presents the same baraita with only slight changes. However, in the Bavli baraita, an interpretation of R. Hanina prayer is presented: ‘Upon his descent he said to them “Go, since his shirt is warm.” They said to him “Then you are a prophet.” He said to them “I am not a prophet (or the son of a prophet), but thus have I learned from tradition, that when my prayer flows from my lips, I know it is accepted, and if not, I know that it is devoured.” ’43 This barait already expands the interpretation of the story, whose goal is to provide an answer for what is implied in the narrative and to state that R. Hanina ben Dosa’s act is not one of prophecy, but only a practical fulfillment of the words of the Mishnah. In other words, his prayer was accepted and R. Gamliel’s son was cured as a result. While it may be inferred from the story that R. Hanin ben Dosa possessed active powers of healing like those of the prophets, the narrator teaches us what occurred, based on the utterances of R. Hanina: R. Hanina prayer was accepted and the redemption was God’s work.44 42 See M. Jastrow, Dictionary of the Targumim, the Talmud Bavli and Yerushalmi, and the Midrashic Literature (New York: The Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1950), s.v. ‫סיימו‬. In other words, the students noticed the moment of the conclusion of the prayer. The intention directed towards this moment and hour builds and sets the pace of the dramatic chain of events; it also confirms the success of R. Hanina ben Dosa’s prayer, and thus the hour when R. Gamliel’s son emerges from danger and the moment of his recovery. On time as allocated for different purposes, compare for example: bSanhedrin 38b, the hours of a man’s life from the moment he is created to his departure for the Garden of Eden. See also Mark 14:35–​41, the appointed hours of Jesus’ suffering. 43 Copied from Munich Mss. 95. In Dikdukei Sofrim, the words: ‘Not the son of a prophet’, are missing, although they appear in the Leiden manuscript and in the Munich manuscript. 44 The phrase ‘I am not a prophet, nor the son of a prophet’, is taken from Amos 7:14. Amos, a dresser of sycamore trees from Tekoa, was sent on his mission, from among the flock, by God. In other words, he had no special powers and was not a professional prophet, but a messenger who spread the word of God. That is the true mission of the prophet. The phrase, is recalled in relation to the student who was taught by R. Eliezer, yGittin 1:2, 43c: ‘It was taught by R. Eliezer that Nadav and Avihu died because they taught in the presence of Moses. It is told of a student who taught in

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In the Bavli, this baraita appears next to another story found only in the Babylonian Talmud: ‘It is told that R. Hanina ben Dosa went to study Torah from R. Yohanan ben Zakkai, and Yohanan ben Zakkai’s son, may his memory be for a blessing, fell ill. Hanina prayed for mercy for him, that he should live. He placed his head between his knees, and asked for mercy for him, and he lived. R. Yohanan ben Zakakai said, “If Ben Zakkai had not placed his head between his knees45 for the whole day, they would not have watched over him.” His wife said: “Is Hanina the presence of R. Eliezer, his teacher. He (R. Eliezer) said to Eema Shalom, his wife, that he [the student] would not see the end of the Sabbath [that he would die before the Sabbath was over?], and he indeed died before the Sabbath ended. His students said to him: “Rabbi, are you a prophet?” He said to them, “I am not a prophet, nor the son of a prophet, but I have been taught that every student who teaches halakhah in the presence of his teacher must die,” ’ See the similarity to this source: yShevi’it, 6:1, 36c; Margaliot, Vayikra Rabbah 26, p. 459; bEruvin, 63a. On variations in different versions, see A. Eilon, The Symbolization of the storys’ cpmponents (in Hebrew; Masters diss.; Jerusalem: The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1982), pp. 24–​27. See also Y.D. Gilat, R. Eliezer Ben Hyrcanos (in Hebrew; Tel Aviv: Dvir Publishing House, 1968), pp. 284–​285. In this source, R. Eliezer, first and foremost, uses tradition that was passed to him. His knowledge of the future springs from the fact that the student transgressed explicit traditional imperatives and as a result, was sentenced to die. His words were intended to prevent any implied illusion that he possessed prophetic powers. The prophetic paradigm exists in the image of the Hasid, but in a world in which there is no prophecy, but rather devoted adherence to the halakhah. R. Eliezer cannot be understood to have prophetic capabilities. The story appears in the context of the world of devotion to and transmission of the Oral Law, which began with the members of the Great Assembly. But in the parallel story in bBerakhot 34b, relating to the healing of R. Gamliel’s son, the phrase ‘I am not a prophet’, etc. is added to R. Hanina ben Dosa’s statements, although not in the context of Torah and kabbalah, but in a story relating to prayer and healing, in order to cleverly hint at the existence of a miracle worker in the image of the prophet in an age when prophecy did not exist. The above-​mentioned story in the Bavli is almost identical to the one in the Yerushalmi and the addition of the phrase perhaps suggests the beginning of the above-​mentioned development by which R. Hanina ben Dosa became a miracle worker in the Bavli aggadic tradition. The image of a Hasid, an integral part of which is the performance of prayer. The intention directed towards this moment and hour builds and sets the pace of the dramatic chain of events; it also confirms the success of R. Hanina ben Dosa’s prayer, and thus the hour when R. Gamliel’s son emerges from danger and the moment of his recovery. On time as allocated for different purposes, compare for example: bSanhedrin 38b, the hours of a man’s life from the moment he is created to his departure for the Garden of Eden. See also Mark 14:35–​41, the appointed hours of Jesus’ suffering. 45 See different versions in the text, Mss. Munich 95, Firenze. See Dikdukei Sofrim, bBerakhot 34b, pp. 187–​188, which reads: ‘Placed his head between his knees’, instead of ‘buried’; here as well, the image is borrowed from Elijah’s supplication

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greater than you?” He replied: “No, but he is as the king’s servant, and I 46 am as the king’s minister.” ’ Essentially, the subject, prayer for the heal��ing of the sick, is similar to that of the former story. A number of details are added, however, and signs of ‘Bavli processing’ can be discerned. First, this is the only source, which provides evidence that Hanina ben Dosa was a student of R. Yohanan ben Zakkai, although it does not report where and when he studied with ben Zakkai. Was it when ben Zakkai was living in the Galilee in Hanina ben Dosa’s city?47 Or perhaps the term ‘went to’ (‘‫ )’ירד‬means that he went to R. Yohanan in Yavneh after the destruction. According to the Palestinian sources, it may be inferred that R. Hanina ben Dosa never left his town, while in Bavli aggadic sources he is not associated with any real geographical location. It is therefore doubtful that he was a student of R. Yohanan ben Zakkai.48 The question asked by R. Yohanan’s wife, ‘Is Hanina greater than you?’ embodies a reworking of the Bavli motif, which is not present in any of the Palestinian sources –​ that of hierarchy in Torah study and in closeness to God. The characteristics of the Hasidim are emphasized in their modesty and fear of sin,

on Mt. Carmel (I Kings 18:35). See Vermes’ article, ‘Hanina ben Dosa’, pp. 31–​32, n. 162; and Sarfatti, Pious Men of Deeds and the Early Prophets, p. 132. 46 The king’s servant and one of the king’s household—​one of God’s intimate relations. Like a person at God’s side (Daniel 7:13–​14). Honi HaM’agel is like the son before his father. See also the Septuagint, in which the terms ‘household member’ and ‘servant’ are used interchangeably, for example: Gen. 24:9; Is. 53:4. The Hasid is the son-​servant before God, but the term ‘king’s minister’, as opposed to ‘master’s servant’ is already an interpretive addition to the hierarchy and functions vis-​a-​vis God. The king’s minister stands first among the wise men, while the servant’s role and function are informal. This hierarchical order was originally added in the Bavli. It may be subtly founded on the saying of Simeon ben Shatah to Honi HaM’agel in mTa’anit 3:8 ibid.: “If you were not Honi HaM’agel, I would decree a ban on you.” But the Mishnah contains no hierarchy in terms of standing before God. This is an interpretive addition to the baraita in the Bavli. On the expansion of Babylonian beraitot, see Ben Shalom, Hasidut and Hasidim, pp. 253–​262. 47 mShabbat 22:3; 16:7. See below the discussion of Sabbath laws of R.Yohanan ben Zakkai. According to the Mishnah, ben Zakkai lived in the city of ‘Arab in the Galilee, but this fact is not mentioned in the Yerushalmi or in other sources. 48 The only Palestinian source which suggests that R. Hanina ben Dosa left his city is the legend of his vow that brought the angels to Jerusalem (Kohelet Rabbah 1:1, discussed below). Safrai believes that R. Hanina ben Dosa went to R. Yohanan ben Zakkai while the latter was residing in the Galilee. See Safrai, In Times of Temple and Mishna, pp. 521–​525, in which he makes use of late sources. The Bavli version contains no substantial details, and the name of the city and the time frame are unknown.

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as sons transgressing before their Creator. The term ‘as a king’s servant’ in 49 the Bavli replaces the term ‘as a son sinning against his father’.

C. bYebamot 121b50 The Rabbis taught: there is a story of Nahonya the ditch digger's daughter, who fell into a large pit. They went and told R. Hanina ben Dosa. One hour passed and he said ‘Shalom' [she's safe]. A second hour passed and he said ‘Shalom' [she's safe]. In the third hour he told them that she had emerged. He said to her, ‘Who lifted you out?' She said to him: ‘A male goat came to me, with an old man leading it'. They said to him: ‘You are a prophet'. He responded: ‘I am not a prophet, nor the son of a prophet. Rather, the sons of a righteous man will find their fall in his occupation ’.

The goat mentioned here symbolizes the ram of the binding of Isaac and the old man leading it represents the image of God’s messenger. In his prayer, R. Hanina ben Dosa makes atonement and saves Nahonya’s daughter.51 In the Yerushalmi, the core of this baraita is attributed to

49 See above n. 33. Regarding the hierarchy among Torah scholars, see, for example, bKetubot 62b–​63a, the story of Rabbi Aqiva’s ascent. This story links his greatness in Torah to the number of students he has and the extent of his wealth. See also bPesahim 49a–​b; B. Metzia 42b; B. Qama 117a. See also M. Beer, The Babylonian Amoraim, Aspects of Economic Life (in Hebrew; Ramat Gan: Bar-Ilan University press, 1982), the chapter entitled ‘Economic Mobility’. See also M. Ben Shalom, Historical Topics in Avoth Derabbi Natan (in Hebrew; Masters dissfre Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University, 1987), pp. 29–​51; pp. 124–​125. 50 Munich Mss. 95. Parallel in b B. Qama 141a, with light stylistic variation, which may be the story’s original source. Nahonya the ditch digger (Hofer Shihin), is mentioned in mSheqalim 5:1. This mishnah is an ancient text dating to the end of the Second Temple period. Nahonya was apparently responsible for digging wells for pilgrims. See also S. Lieberman, t B. Qama 6:5, p. 22, where we find that he would dig in the public realm for public use, an activity appreciated by the sages. The phrase ‘digger of ditches and caves’ is intimately linked to the bringing about of rains and the fear of sin, which is also linked to the ability to bring rains. For a discussion of Honi HaM’agel, see M. Ben Shalom, Hasidut and Hasidim, pp. 147–​149. See also elaborations of the Yerushalmi regarding the site. According to the Aggadah, his son died in a drought. Are catastrophes, in the life of a Hasid intended to fashion an aggadic symbolic motif meant to challenge faith? Compare Y.N. Epstein, Introduction to Tanaim Literature, pp. 338–​389. 51 Compare Gen. R. 56:13 Theodor –​Albeck, pp. 605–​606.

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Pinhas ben Yair.52 Despite the signs of interpretive elaboration53 typical to the Bavli, the baraita is placed in its natural setting –​a popular agricultural environment. R. Hanina ben Dosa’s prayer is based on his fear of sin. Nahonya the ditch digger honors God through water. His deeds are charitable acts for the sake of the community. Rainfall at the appointed time is a symbol of peace between God and man. Atonement leads to rainfall. Those who fear sin bring on the rains and deal in ditch and cave digging. Rainwater collected in pits, ditches and caves is the rain brought on by Honi HaM’agel. The rescue of Nahonya’s daughter represents the rectification of distortions and the rendering of justice.54 52 See yDemai 1:3 22a, where speculations are exchanged by the amora’im. See bShabbat 112b. See also, M. Ben Shalom, Hasidut and Hasidim, pp. 435–​440. 53 Two things bring the hermeneutical evolution to light: a) The addition of the phrase: ‘I am not a prophet, nor the son of a prophet’, which hinted at a prophet who performs miracles, as seen above, in the healing of R. Gamliel’s son, the discussion, n. 30. As seen above in the story of the lizard that bit R. Hanina ben Dosa, where the differences between the Yerushalmi and the Bavli were discussed: both the community, which calls upon R. Hanina to be saved, and R. Hanina himself are aware of the power of redemption through his prayer and his fear of sin. At this point his humility wanes. In the story in question, he comes of his own accord to save Nahonya the ditch digger’s daughter, in contrast to Pinhas ben Yair in the story in yDemai 1:3, 23a, where he comes to offer condolences to the Hasid, and in seeing the other’s suffering, saves him. As we wished to show above, there is a secondary processing in creating R. Hanina ben Dosa as a miracle worker. Regarding elaboration on the aggadic questions in the Bavli, which rely on an ancient Palestinian core, see Sh.Y Friedman, ‘Historical Aggada in Babylonian Talmud’, in Shaul Liberman Memorial Volume (ed. Sh.Y Friedman, in Hebrew; Jerusalem-​New York: The Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1993), pp. 119–​163. 54 The term ‘‫‘( ’שלום‬Shalom’) is intended to make peace and atone for sins between an individual and the Creator. It is also one of God’s names. It is very likely that someone, who is free of sin is tied to God and his name. Such are the stones of the altar that bring peace between Israel and their Father in Heaven. S. Lieberman, tB. Qama 7:6, p. 28; S. Lieberman, ki-​fshutah, pp. 65–​67; Horwitz-​Rabin, Mekhilta de Rabbi Yishmael, p. 244; Mekhilta She-​b-​Torat Cohanim, 10:8, 92b; Epstein Melamed, Mekhilta de Rabbi Shimon bar Yohai, p. 157. Similarly, deeds of loving-​kindness also create peace between Israel and God, as seen above n. 36. It is to be assumed that R. Hanina ben Dosa’s utterance of ‘Shalom’ in the story is a term used in prayer and request for atonement. The divine name may also be embedded therein, as in bBerakhot 55b: ‘Mighty in heaven, resides in courageousness, you are peace and your name is peace’ )‫)אדיר במרום שוכן בגבורה אתה שלום ושמך שלום‬. In: Margaliot, Vayikra Rabbah, 9:9 p. 190: ‘R. Yudan bar Yosef used to say: “Shalom” is great, as the name of the Holy One Blessed be He is “Shalom”, as it is written “and [he] named it YHWH Shalom” (Judges 6:24). R. Tanhum in the name of R. Yudan said ‘and so one is forbidden from inquiring as to the well-​being of another (‫ )לשאול לשלום חברו‬in a filthy place’.

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Tithing yDemai 1:3; 22a R. Hanina ben Dosa was sitting and eating on a Sabbath eve. The table collapsed before him. [His companions] said to him, 'What is the meaning of this?' She [his wife] said to him ‘I borrowed some spices from my neighbor and did not tithe them'. He remembered his stipulation [which he had made before the Sabbath started and which would allow him to separate on the Sabbath those tithes already designated] and the table regained its upright position by itself.55

This story demonstrates that R. Hanina ben Dosa upheld the requirement to tithe everything eaten in his house, as was the practice among those who strictly observed the taking of tithes, together with practices relating to purity and impurity. His table was like an altar of atonement. The eating of tithed food at his table was a requirement of his purity and his Hasidic attributes. The collapse of the table is a sign of purity and atonement that did not exist prior to taking the tithes. ‘Repairing’ a wrong related to a commitment to take tithes brought about the restoration of the table.56

The source of this name for God appears in the Bible, and although it is introduced in a new context during the period of the amora’im, the possibility of its early origins should not be dismissed. Compare also, Safrai, In Times of Temple and Mishna, pp. 528. 55 The mishnah in Avot is based on Psalms 104. In Bavli Hagiga 27: a: ‘a wooden altar three cubits high and two cubits long having inner corners and its length and its wall were of wood (Ezek.: 41). And spoke to me, this is the table that stands before God, which started as an altar and ended as a table. Both R. Yohanan and Resh Lakish said, in the days of the Temple, the altar atones for man, now the table atones for him’. It is clear from all the references we have seen that date from after the destruction of the Temple, that tana’im and amora’im gave a symbolic role to the table, which should be pure and a place for conducting Torah learning. Regarding the fact that the act of eating unconsecrated food in a state of cleanness is dependent on the paying of the tithe as he sees fit. See: mHagigah 2:7; mAvot 24:4–​7; mDemai 2:2–​4. In other words, those who eat unconsecrated food in a state of cleanness are not allowed to take from an Am ’Haaretz, because he is not tithed, nor are they permitted to eat with him; for this reason they put a trustee in charge of the tithes. 56 Ostensibly, it could be claimed that the failure of R. Hanina and his wife to tithe is meant to teach us only that they did not fulfill the social convention regarding tzedaqa and hesed. However, hullin may not be eaten in purity without taking tithes (This contradicts the view of Safrai, who believes that the Hasidim did not uphold the laws of purity as the sages did, and perhaps, as the early Christians, the followers

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• Faith

bTa’anit 24b R. Yehuda in the name of Rav57 said, 'Every day a voice emerges and says the whole world is sustained on account of my son Hanina, for whom a kav of carobs is sufficient'.58

This statement portrays R. Hanina ben Dosa as someone for whom a small quantity of carobs is sufficient for a week’s fare and a person who has no enduring problems because he places his trust in God. Consequently, the entire world is fed. In other words, it is by virtue of his superior, flawless faith that the entire world is nourished. This statement also reflects the extent of R. Hanina ben Dosa’s poverty.59

of Jesus did. S. Safrai, In Times of Temple and Mishna, pp. 510–​511; p. 517. The table represents, not by chance, the altar of atonement. Therefore, the table that R. Hanina ben Dosa sets before God must be pure. Sources on this topic abound, for example: Num. 4:7; Psalms 23:6; mAvot 3:3; Sifra Emor 18:4, 104b; bBerakhot 55a, 55b; b B. Qama 12b; bBeitza 21a; bMenahot 6a; bHagiga 27a, 97a. The table is where those partaking of a meal eat in purity, even in groups. See: A. Oppenheimer, ‘Benevolent Societies in Jerusalem’, in Jerusalem in the Second Temple Period (eds. A. Oppenheimer, A. Rappaport and M. Stern; in Hebrew; Jerusalem: Yad Izhak Ben-​ Zvi, 1980), pp. 184–​185. 57 Some of R. Yehuda’s traditions in the name of Rav are the traditions of Sura introduced from Palestine by Rav. These rumors preserve authenticity. For example, in the discussion conducted with the elders of Batirah in bPesahim 66b presents, an explanation is given for why Hillel’s teaching was forgotten that corresponds with the tradition of the Palestinian story. In contrast, the version regarding the conventions of study for children, instated by Shim’on ben Gamla, seems late and secondary. Compare Y. Efron, The Hasmonean Kinkdom and Simon Ben Shatah (in Hebrew; Ph.D. Diss., Jerusalem: The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1961), pp. 298–​303. 58 A kav is a literary measure that denotes food for the poor. Carob was a simple and readily available fruit in Palestine. R. Shimon bar Yohai and his son fled to a carob cave, yShevi’it 9:1, 38b. See also bBerakhot 37b; bHullin 86a; b B. Batra 90b, 91b; bShabbat 33b, 155a; bTa’anit 23a. 59 Regarding R. Eliezer’s faith, see Ben Shalom, Hasidut and Hasidim, pp. 225–​228 and notes. It appears that the term here reflects more on R. Hanina’s poverty (by virtue of which the world receives food and miracles occur on his behalf ), rather than the complete lack of concern that characterizes people of faith whose unreserved trust and conviction, protect them from worrying about the future, as seen in the case of R. Eliezer and R. Elazar HaModa’i in the Palestinian sources.

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Kohelet Rabbah 1:1 It is told of R. Hanina ben Dosa that he saw his townspeople bringing nedarim (vows) and nedavot (donations) to Jerusalem. He said: ‘Everyone is bringing nedarim and nedavot to Jerusalem and I am bringing nothing’. What did he do? He went to the desert area outside of his city where he saw a stone, which he shaved, shaped and chiseled and polished, and he said ‘I have to bring it to Jerusalem’. He wanted to hire workers and five people came by and he told them ‘You are going to bring this stone to Jerusalem for me’. They said to him: ‘give us five rocks and we will bring them to Jerusalem’. He wanted to give them something but he had nothing at the time. They left him and went on their way. God delivered to him five angels in human form. He said to them: ‘You are going to bring this stone’. They said to him: ‘Give us five rocks and we will bring your stone to Jerusalem. But help us with your own hand and fingers’. He offered his hand and fingers and they found themselves standing in Jerusalem. He wanted to pay them and did not find them. He entered the Chamber of Hewn Stones (seat of the Sanhedrin). They said to him ‘It appears that the heavenly servants brought your stone to Jerusalem’. And they read to him the following text: ‘If you see a man who is quick in his labors –​he shall sit before kings (‘melachim’' (‫ ְמלכִ ים‬Read it as shall sit before angels (‘malachim’ ‫’)מַ לְ אָ כִ ים‬.60

In the aggadah, R. Hanina ben Dosa’s image appears in a popular context. He is unable to bring nedarim and nedavot to Jerusalem. He chisels a stone from the outskirts of his city. The stone as a replacement for nedarim and nedavot represents purity from sin. It may be that the source of the stone –​the desert-​like outskirts of the city –​bear the same meaning of purity from sin that the desert had for the ancestors of Israel.61 When he is unable to pay the laborers because of his impoverished circumstances, God delivers five angels in the form of laborers. R. Hanina chisels the stone himself. On the basis of this narrative, some assume that he was a stonecutter. In any event, he is placed in a worker’s milieu and angels come to him in the form of laborers.62

60 Compare Shir HaShirim Rabbah 1:1, copied from Mss. Vatican 291.12. See: Hirschman, Kohelet Rabbah, I-​VI, pp. 2. A commentary to Chap. 1, pt. 1. 61 Horowitz -​Rabin, Mekhilta de Rabbi Yishmael, Beshalah, p. 163. The stones are apparently like altar stones, whose purpose is to atone and to instill peace between man and God. 62 The image of the angels that looked like five people who came to replace the laborers relies on the saying ‘If you see a man who is quick in his labors (before God), he shall sit before angels’. The aggadah is set in the popular context of R. Hanina ben Dosa’s world. The man who is cleansed of all sin is the one who shall sit before angels.

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In the group of Bavli aggadot (bTa’anit 24b-​25a), which opens with Rav’s above statement, the image of R. Hanina ben Dosa as a popular miracle-​working tzadiq had already been formed. This image had already become dissociated from his actual environment and no connection remains between his fear of sin and the miracles he brings about, or those that occur to him due to his poverty and outstanding attributes. bTa’anit 25a: His wife said to him, ‘Pray that some of what is stored up for the righteous in the world-​to-​come be given to you now’. He prayed –​they threw him the leg of a gold table. She saw in a dream that everyone (all the righteous in the world-​to-​come) was eating at a table with three legs, and they (he and his wife) were eating at a table with two legs. She said: ‘Pray that they take it [the leg] away’. He prayed and it was taken back.63

In this story, as in all the stories in the Tosafot, R. Hanina ben Dosa’s wife plays an important role in the drama.64 She is unable to cope with the poverty and asks her husband to receive in this world something of what awaits the righteous in the world to come. She recognizes the righteousness of her husband and believes that both of them deserve some recompense that will lessen their suffering in this world. R. Hanina obeys her wishes. After he prays, a leg is sent from heaven, from a golden table Compare: A. Hyman, The History of Tanaim and Amoraim (in Hebrew; Jerusalem: Pri Haaretz Institute, 1986), vols. I-​III, s.v. Hanina ben Dosa. Ta’anit, Malter, pp. 110–​111. 64 R. Hanina ben Dosa’s wife occupies an important place in the Bavli aggadah. Her role is to reinforce the dramatic tension. It may be that the core of the character of ben Dosa’s wife, can already be seen in the aggadah in yDemai 1:3, 22a, where the borrowing of the untithed spice from the neighbor serves as a second element in the story of R. Hanina’s purity. It is possible that the table leg relies on the same narrative core. In the Bavli story, however, the relationship between the observance of tithing laws and R. Hanina ben Dosa’s righteousness and fear of sin was lost. There, the reason for his righteousness depends only on his poverty and his acceptance of his lot. His righteousness relies on the statement that opens the entire collection of stories (‘the entire world is nourished for R. Hanina my son, for whom a kav of carobs is sufficient’). Yet, the granting of a monetary reward to R. Hanina ben Dosa ostensibly overshadows his humility, since he agrees to have compassion on his wife and receive the reward in her stead. In the Bavli story, the woman turns into the central image in the drama and in the dilemma that she presents, while the image of R. Hanina ben Dosa changes and takes on a personal aspect that is distinct in the area of gemilut hasadim and tzedaqah. Regarding the image of Hasidic women portrayed with their husbands, particularly in the Bavli aggadic tradition, see Safrai, In Times of Temple and Mishnah, pp. 526–​29. 63

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at which the righteous eat in the world to come. In the end, she gives up the golden leg and the momentary gain for the sake of the world to come. By lessening their suffering in this world, they diminish the level of their righteousness in the next world, where, as a consequence, their table is lacking a leg.65 In the dramatic tension of the closed aggadic story in the Bavli, the woman represents earthbound reality. The gold leg of the table she receives from heaven during her husband’s prayer is meant to compensate for her suffering and to give them immediate recompense for his Hasidism. Yet, the ethical choice she makes following her dream shows that she prefers the idealistic solution –​a complete table in the world to come. It appears that R. Hanina ben Dosa chose to satisfy her so that she could make the choice of her own free will. Nonetheless, despite the idealistic path she chooses, in the Bavli version, the social and class tension is maintained in the woman’s deliberations. She wants their table in the world to come to be no less than that of all the other righteous persons, and thus her ethical decisions also stem from materialistic motives. In the complete and closed Bavli version, R. Hanina ben Dosa is presented as someone whose desires are accommodated by God. Yet, the entire narrative drama is focused on his personal needs.66 He is presented as a miracle-​making tzadiq, but the reason for his righteousness and his Hasidism rests entirely with his poverty.67 The group of stories relies on the above statement of Rav and reinforces it. The Bavli narrative created 65 Compare Y. Fraenkel, Paths of the Aggadah and the Mishna (in Hebrew; Givataim: Masadah Press –​Yad la-​Talmud, 1991), pp. 278–​280. Fraenkel draws our attention to the various closed aggadic traditions, but he does not take into consideration the halakhic and ethical differences between the various traditions and their contextual interrelations. 66 R. Hanina ben Dosa halts the rains because of his personal travel needs since he has not yet reached his home (bTa’anit 24b). Compare above with the discussion on rain invoking Hasidim. R. Hanina appears as a miracle maker who controls the rains. However, any causality of halakhic significance has vanished from the story. 67 R. Hanina ben Dosa’s poverty, is clearly developed only in the Bavli, or in late Palestinian sources. There is probably a certain grain of historicity in these sources. He is not mentioned in the early Palestinian sources. It is likely that his image as living in poverty is part of the shaping of the special character of the tzadiq who is learned in miracles. However, more than any other factor, R. Hanina ben Dosa’s literary shaping in these sources is what influenced modern scholars, who viewed him as a member of Jesus’ circle. See, for example, Safrai, In Times of Temple and Mishna. pp. 523–​24. See also Vermes, ‘Hanina Ben Dosa’, pp. 28 –​50, n. 31.

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a dramatic tension between the earthly and the real, on the one hand, and the ideal and unreserved faith on the other, by means of the woman’s character. The intimate relationship between R. Hanina ben Dosa and God on account of his fear of sin, disappears entirely in this aggadic collection in the Bavli. In this tractate, the formation of R. Hanina’s character as a miracle maker who possesses the power and righteousness to bring about miracles and to help people is completed. R. Hanina ben Dosa is aware of his power to bring about miracles, and therefore the humility, which is a prerequisite for his fear of sin, disappears. It may be that the image of the table and the leg was taken from the core of the Palestinian story (yDemai 1:3, 22a), but the connection to tithing was already omitted in the Bavli version. The special image of R. Hanina ben Dosa’s wife at his side also appears in the following story: Every Friday the wife of R. Hanina ben Dosa would heat the oven by burning smoke-​producing fuel because she was ashamed [to have it known that she had nothing to bake for the Sabbath]. Her [malicious] neighbor said to her, ‘I know that these people have nothing; let me go and see what’s in there’. She went and found the oven full of bread and the kneading trough full of dough. She called out to her: ‘Madam, madam, bring your shovel, for your bread has been charred’.68

In the aggadah at hand, the dramatic tension is expressed through the evil neighbor who knows that there is nothing in the oven of R. Hanina’s wife. Such a neighbor appears variously in aggadic literature in the Bavli.69 The Sabbath miracle performed for R. Hanina ben Dosa’s wife before the eyes of her evil neighbor is a reward for the woman’s suffering and embarrassment due to her poverty. She underscores the social and psychological aspects of the suffering inherent in poverty. R. Hanina ben Dosa is present only implicitly in the story, as the husband of the woman who benefits from a miracle on the basis of his merit. A tosefet stam included in the Talmud in the name of the tanna70 reflects the interpretive opinion that already characterizes R. Hanina ben Dosa 68 Ben Shalom, Hasidut and Hasidim, pp. 259–​263; Ta’anit, Malter, pp. 110–​111. 69 For example: bSanhedrin 107a; Ketubah 103a, 63a; B. Metzia 44b; Qiddushin 49a. The evil neighbor is usually, embodied in the image of the curious woman, which is used as a dramatic psychological mechanism to represent public opinion. 70 Compare Ch. Albeck, Introduction to the Talmud (in Hebrew; Tel Aviv: Dvir Publishing House, 1969), pp. 19–​50, particularly pp. 44–​50.

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as a miracle worker. Once again there is no reference to fear of sin. The aggadic system already has an independent literary existence that reflects a Babylonian social reality and a sophisticated psychological view that builds the dramatic tension in the short story and brings it to its peak.

Sabbath Laws yBerakhot 4:a, 7c: ‘Already when the asses were sent from ‘Arab to Zipori, they said: “R. Hanina ben Dosa began observing the Sabbath in his city.” This literary addition is appended to the tannaic and amoraic discussion on the addition to the Sabbath (‘tosefet Shabbat).71 R. Hanina ben Dosa observed an addition to the Sabbath similar to that stipulated by ancient halakhah. The asses that arrived on the Sabbath eve from ‘Arab to Zipori, a three-​hour walk, already announced that upon their departure, R. Hanina ben Dosa ceased working. In other words, it should be assumed that R. Hanina ben Dosa began observing the Sabbath before noon, thus taking away many hours from the profane and adding them to the sacred. As seen above, the goal of the addition to the Sabbath is to expand the boundaries of the sacred and to prevent any possible desecration of the holy day. The source of this halakhah is an ancient, Hasidic, zealous halakhah that was upheld in its most extreme form by R. Yosei HaCohen HeHasid.72 This ancient halakhah penetrated normative halakhah, an observation made by many, as is proven by this text from the Yerushalmi.

71 Compare yTa’anit 4:1, 67c; Gen. R. 10:8, Theodor-​Albeck, p. 84; Pesiqta Rabbati 23, Ramash, 116a. See: L. Ginsberg, A Commentary on the Palestinian Talmud, III (in Hebrew; New York: The Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1941), pp. 161–​ 164. the distance between ‘Arab and Zipori is approximately 12 kilometers, a two hour walk. 72 Compare mSukkot 5:5, tSukkot 4:11–​12; Josephus, Bell. Jud., 4:9–​12. Exaggerated observance of Sabbath laws does not suit the members of Jesus’ circle. See, for example, Mark 2:23. Jesus’ disciples pick ripe wheat on the Sabbath, which completely contradicts Jewish law in general, and even more so, that of the Pharisaic trend. Jesus is the master of the Sabbath and as such, he can fill the Torah with its ‘true’ content, which it had never contained.

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Summary We have seen that R. Hanina ben Dosa is a Hasid and a God-​fearing man of action, who fastidiously takes tithes,73 observes ‘tosefet Shabbat’, and cleaves to God in his prayer, since in his humility, he is free of all sin. He lives in the city of ‘Arab in the Galilee, in a popular, agricultural environment, amidst animals and laborers.74 This portrayal is clearly reflected in the Mishnah and in the Yerushalmi. These sources preserve the halakhah as well as a narrative whose content and form reflect symbolic significance. No zealous halakhot were found to be related to R. Hanina ben Dosa. He reached the level of Hasidism and upheld the laws of the sages at its highest level, according to the paradigm of R. Pinhas ben Yair, who established the manner of the ascent on the rungs of Hasidism that is dependent on physical-​ritual purity, which leads to spiritual purity and dissociation from all sin. No miraculous acts are involved. This paradigm appears in the deeds, teachings and behaviors of key Pharisean Sages, and therefore, does not deviate from normative halakha, but rather reflects its highest expression. We do not know what he did during the war that led to the destruction of the Temple. Like other tana’im, he was in contact with R. Gamliel in Yavneh. But only one Talmudic source, the Bavli, cites him in the company of R. Yohanan ben Zakai, a reference whose historicity should be looked upon with some skepticism. Could his absence from Yavneh, under the leadership of R. Yohanan Zakai, be for reasons similar to those 73 And it follows, fastidiously upholds the laws of ritual purity, since one cannot eat hullin in purity without tithing, and it is therefore clear that he is not a simple man. 74 Many of the sages operate among the popular stratum, and join together with those groups in their activities in the Bet Hamidrash. Some of the wealthy sages such as R. Tarfon also work on behalf of the masses. Nonetheless, the Talmudic sources themselves describe R. Hanina ben Dosa as operating strictly within a rural milieu and being in touch with the common people. This is the case with respect to material, which relates that R. Hanina ben Dosa already stopped work in his town ‘Arab. This is also the case with the rescue of the daughter of Nahonya the ditch digger. This is also the case, in the episode of the angels who appear to be workers and bring R. Hanina ben Dosa’s sacrifice to the Temple. Even if there is no real truth in these narratives, there is a certain consciousness here because the sources themselves shaped the actions of R. Hanina ben Dosa in a rural environment. The city of ‘Arab itself, where he lived, was merely a large rural center. It is difficult to place R. Hanina, as well as other sages, in a stoic bet midrash cut off from contact with broader sectors of the population. His image was that of an ordinary Jewish Torah scholar and not that of a philosopher.

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of a large number of other sages? The sources do not allow us to answer this question. We found a second layer of baraitot in the Bavli75 which rely on the Palestinian source, though they may be parallel baraitot. In some of them76 the precise connection between form and content, which characterizes the original Palestinian version, has been lost. The baraita in the Bavli expanded and diluted the original version such that it lost the halakhic meaning arising from the narrative text. This stage is characterized by the addition of interpretive Babylonian elements so that the character of R. Hanina ben Dosa undergoes a noticeable change; it is transformed and reshaped, retaining the character of the sin-​fearing Hasid reflected in the commentary, while adopting the image of the miracle worker with prophetic abilities, as reflected implicitly in the narrative text. The third layer of R. Hanina ben Dosa stories in the Bavli (Ta’anit 24b-​25a) is entirely a creation of the Bavli that is completely free of any relation with the Palestinian version. This layer is devoid of realism. At its center R. Hanina ben Dosa is portrayed as a tzadiq who possesses signs and can work miracles. All that remains at this level is a dim remnant of his special faith and poverty, reflected in R. Yehuda’s saying in the name of Rav. At this level, the dramatic qualities of the closed Babylonian aggadah integrate the realities of Babylonian society into the aggadah by using the character of the wife; she stands at her husband’s side in a sophisticated psychological drama, which underscores the social and existential dilemmas of the suffering of poverty, as opposed to the burning idealism embodied in the miracle performed for the tzadiq in the world-​to-​come, showing the true and complete recompense reserved for the righteous in that future time.77 However, a sin-​fearing Hasid is not a prophet or a 75 The baraitot that deal with the healing of R. Gamliel (bBerakhot 34b) and the rescue of Nahonya the ditch digger’s daughter (bYebam 121b) are closer to the Palestinian source, but they already have an open, interpretive addition, as we attempted to prove above. 76 The baraitot dealing with R. Hanina ben Dosa and the lizard (bBerakhot 33a) and the rescue of R. Yohanan ben Zakai’s son, were already expanded upon and widely taught. Y. Fraenkel sees the story of the lizard as an entirely separate narrative version. See above, n. 36, and references therein. 77 bTa’anit 25a; the stories relating to R. Hanina ben Dosa’s neighbor, who elongated the beams of the roof; the kindling fuel of his daughter’s candle which turned from vinegar into oil and lasted for the entire Sabbath. The story of the goats that brought bears on their horns is a late story, which is not backed by the more reliable manuscripts.

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miracle worker, but rather a person very close to God in his fear of sin, in his continual teshuvah, and in his highly intentioned prayer. R. Hanina ben Dosa’s survival of the snake bite underscores the teachings of the early Hasidim; it is a specific, exceptional incident that could only have been experienced by someone who has reached the level of Hasidism. The image of the Hasid is that of a person deeply rooted in the world of Torah, which places acts of loving-​kindness and fear of sin before Torah study and all other mitzvot. The image of R. Hanina ben Dosa as portrayed in late Bavli sources has taken root; moreover it has been internalized by many scholars, hence, he is perceived as a miracle worker with prophetic abilities.78 This is the basis for the work of Safrai and Vermes, which deals with R. Hanina ben Dosa the Hasid’s proximity to the image of Jesus and the first apostles. Early Christianity indeed used the foundations of Pharisean Hasidism, but completely changed both its didactic and theological meaning, as we have attempted to prove on the basis of an analysis of the early Palestinian sources, while at the same time comparing them with sources from the Babylonian Talmud.79 It is the fashion of the day in historiography to discuss biography and theoretical literature that deals with biographical writing. The topic of the article, however, is not biography, but rather, Hasidism, as reflected in the sayings and deeds of Rabbi Hanina ben Dosa, and its various representations in the different sources. I never claimed that the Talmudic sources It was probably copied in the Middle Ages under the indirect influence of the animal stories of R. Pinhas ben Yair. Compare Ta’anit, Malter, pp. 110–​111. See pp. 12–​21 above, regarding the image of R. Hanina ben Dosa as a miracle worker based on the model of the Bavli, and its importance in his portrayal as part of the popular group of Hasidim closely associated with Jesus’ circle. Compare also L. Jacobs, ‘The Concept of Hasid in the Biblical and Rabbinic Literature’, JJS, 8 (1957), pp. 152–​153. 79 Safrai often relates to Avot d’Rabbi Natan as a tannaitic source, and to short post-​ amoraic sources whose editing was late. For example, Midrash Shmuel, Seder Eliahu Rabbah, and Seder Eliahu Zuta. However, in our opinion, Avot d’Rabbi Natan is a compiled, late post-​Talmudic tractate that relies on both Palestinian and Bavli sources. See M. Kister, Studies in Avot de-​Rabbi Natan, Text, Redaction and Interpretation (in Hebrew; Jerusalem: The Hebrew University of Jerusalem –​Yad Izhak Ben-​Zvi, 1998); Ben Shalom, Historical Topics in Avoth Derabbi Natan; Y. Efron, in: The Bar-​ Kokhva Revolt, A New Approach (eds. A. Oppenheimer and A. Rappaport, in Hebrew; Jerusalem: Yad Izhak Ben-​Zvi 1984), pp. 97–​102. A consistent failure to classify sources based on their physical and chronological origin, on the one hand, and their interwoven nature on the other, leads to different results in text analysis and conclusions. See above, n. 14. 78

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are historiographic. Nor, in my opinion, is such claim made in the article. During the period following the destruction of the Temple, over 90 % of the sources regarding Jewish society can be found in the Talmudic literature. Work with these sources indeed must rely on principles specific to this literature. The text, the reading of the text, and its analysis, take precedence over theoretical interpretation that relies on theoretical paradigms from the areas of anthropology, sociology, and post-​modern literary criticism. The modern scholar is not necessary preferred over the ancient scholar, and the text must be considered on its own merit. The main principle in my work is that when there are two ostensibly similar texts, or ostensibly similar deeds that touch on the world of theological images, whether Christian or pagan, the essence of the difference must be clarified, and this is what I did in the article.

Talmud Yerushalmi, Berachot 5:1, 9a: ‘It is said of R. Hanina ben Dosa that he was standing and praying, and a lizard came and bit him, and he did not desist from his prayer. They went and found that lizard dead, flung at the mouth of his den. They said: woe to the person who is bit by a. Woe to the lizard that bit R. Hanina ben Dosa… His students said to him: “Rabbi! You didn’t feel it?” He said to them: “I swear that I was concentrated in my prayer, and this is why I did not feel it.” ’

yBerakhot: ‘R. Gamliel’s son, it is told, fell ill, and he sent two men of learning to R. Hanina ben Dosa in his city. He said to them “Wait for me while I go upstairs.” He went up and descended. He said to them: “I am certain R. Gamliel’s son has been relieved of his illness.” ’

Talmud Bavli, Berakhot 33a: ‘The Rabbis taught how in a particular place there was a lizard and it harmed the other creatures. They came and told R. Hanina ben Dosa. He said to them: “Show me its den.” They showed him its den. He placed his heel at the entrance of the den, and the lizard emerged, bit him and died.’ He took it on his shoulder and brought him to the House of Study. He said to them, “Look, my sons. It is not the lizard that kills, but sin that kills.” At that moment, they said, “Woe to a person bitten by a lizard. And woe to a lizard struck by Hanina ben Dosa.” ’

bBerakhot 34b: ‘Upon his descent he said to them “Go, since his shirt is warm.” They said to him “Then you are a prophet?” He said to them “I am not a prophet (or the son of a prophet), but thus have I learned from tradition, that when my prayer flows from my lips, I know it is accepted, and if not, I know that it is devoured.” ’

Appendix Talmud Yerushalmi, Berachot 5:1, 9a: ‘It is said of R. Hanina ben Dosa that he was standing and praying, and a lizard came and bit him, and he did not desist from his prayer. They went and found that lizard dead, flung at the mouth of his den. They said: woe to the person who is bit by a. Woe to the lizard that bit R. Hanina ben Dosa… His students said to him: “Rabbi! You didn’t feel it?” He said to them: “I swear that I was concentrated in my prayer, and this is why I did not feel it.” ’

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‘It is told that R. Hanina ben Dosa went to study Torah from R. Yohanan ben Zakkai, and Yohanan ben Zakkai’s son, may his memory be for a blessing, fell ill. Hanina prayed for mercy for him, that he should live. He placed his head between his knees, and asked for mercy for him, and he lived. R. Yohanan ben Zakakai said, “If Ben Zakkai had not placed his head between his knees for the whole day, they would not have watched over him.” His wife said: “Is Hanina greater than you?” He replied: “No, but he is as the king’s servant, and I am as the king’s minister.” ’

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bBerakhot 34b: ‘Upon his descent he said to them “Go, since his shirt is warm.” They said to him “Then you are a prophet?” He said to them “I am not a prophet (or the son of a prophet), but thus have I learned from tradition, that when my prayer flows from my lips, I know it is accepted, and if not, I know that it is devoured.” ’ ‘It is told that R. Hanina ben Dosa went to study Torah from R. Yohanan ben Zakkai, and Yohanan ben Zakkai’s son, may his memory be for a blessing, fell ill. Hanina prayed for mercy for him, that he should live. He placed his head between his knees, and asked for mercy for him, and he lived. R. Yohanan ben Zakakai said, “If Ben Zakkai had not placed his head between his knees for the whole day, they would not have watched over him.” His wife said: “Is Hanina greater than you?” He replied: “No, but he is as the king’s servant, and I am as the king’s minister.” ’

yBerakhot: ‘R. Gamliel’s son, it is told, fell ill, and he sent two men of learning to R. Hanina ben Dosa in his city. He said to them “Wait for me while I go upstairs.” He went up and descended. He said to them: “I am certain R. Gamliel’s son has been relieved of his illness.” ’

yBerakhot: ‘R. Gamliel’s son, it is told, fell ill, and he sent two men of learning to R. Hanina ben Dosa in his city. He said to them “Wait for me while I go upstairs.” He went up and descended. He said to them: “I am certain R. Gamliel’s son has been relieved of his illness.” ’

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The Trial of Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus and the Parting of the Ways1 Yaakov Teppler Beit Berl College

In his ‘concluding and final remarks’ of the instructive study, The Fiscus Judaicus and the Parting of the Ways, Marius Heemstra writes the following: In summary, there are a number of important and remarkable aspects with regard to the debate about the parting of the ways. First of all, there does not seem to be a clear definition of the issue. On the one hand, there are scholars trying to answer the question ‘when did Judaism and Christianity become mutually exclusive or totally distinct from each other?’, on the other hand, there are scholars investigating the question ‘when did all interaction between Christianity and Judaism cease?’. Furthermore, representatives of the latter group seem to suggest that because we can still observe interaction between Christianity and Judaism in the fourth century (and possibly beyond) there was no early break and there is no point in looking for one.2

The evident remark of Heemstra that ‘there does not seem to be a clear definition of the issue’ could explain many difficulties in the scholarly debate in what I would define as an unsynchronized discourse of this

1 Some aspects of the relationship between Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus and the Yavnehh leadership were presented at the SBL international conference (Vienna 2007). A narrow aspect of this discussion appears in my book: Birkat Haminim: Jews and Christians in Conflict in the Ancient World (Trans. Susan Weingarten) (Tübingen: Mohr-​Siebeck, 2007). It should be noted that the leading hypothesis presented here was neither developed nor discussed in that book. 2 Marius Heemstra, The Fiscus Judaicus and the Parting of the Ways (Tübingen: Mohr-​ Siebeck, 2010), p. 232.

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issue. Thus it can be reasonably assumed that ‘a clear definition’ might in 3 itself be a matter of controversy between scholars, and that this might be one of the reasons for the wide range of suggestions concerning the period and the dating of the ‘parting of the ways’. In addition, diverse views and perspectives, and even sometimes one’s own personal convictions, might also have had their effect on the key question whether the parting of the ways took place somewhere between the end of the first century and the fourth CE be it regarded as a long, almost inconspicuous process over a lengthy period of time, or an abrupt rift that was caused by either eternal or external forces at a particular point of time. In this latter regard, Heemstra gives us a direction that is both powerfull and persuasive: (1) he suggests the strong influence of a powerful third party hovering between Judaism and (Jewish) Christianity, i.e. Rome and its policy of the Fiscus Judaicus4 and the implications thereof, and (2) that as a result of this policy, Heemstra pinpoints the break between Judaism and (Jewish) Christianity at the closing decade of the first century CE.5 Heemstra’s conclusions are for this paper a kind of ‘portal’ through which l intend pursuing my arguments, and to endeavor to place them in this arena of fascinating possibilities.6 In the discussion below, I will suggest yet another direction which l consider to be an additional and important outcome of Heemstra’s conclusions. My proposal is that, that the ‘parting of the ways’ was the result of efforts that were made by the leadership of mainstream Judaism, from the last decade of the first century CE, to comply with the Roman post-​revolt policy; that is to vigilantly avoid any act or to oppose any idea that could be interpreted by the

3 See, for example Goodman’s view regarding the difficulties of the research: Much of the disagreement in modern scholarship about when, how, why, and indeed whether, the ways of Judaism and Christianity parted in antiquity derives from confusion about differences of perspective. M. Goodman, ‘Modeling the “Parting of the Ways” ’, in id. Judaism in the Roman World (Leiden: Brill 2006), p. 175. 4 The ‘Jewish Tax’ (also the definition of the administration) which was levied by the Emperor Vespasian on the Jews in the Roman Empire, after the suppression of the ‘Great Revolt’ (66–70 CE), and that was relentlessly imposed by his successor Domitian. See Suetonius, De Vita XII Caesarum, Domitianus 12.1–​2. 5 By 96 CE, the year when Nerva replaced Domitian as Emperor, this policy had reached its zenith. 6 It seems to me that Heemstra was the first to demonstrate unambiguously that the Fiscus Judaicus and its implications should be considered as the essential key for the understanding of the ‘parting of the ways’ –​which l regard as the third party theory.

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watchful Roman authorities as a political and/​or religious disturbance. I will further show difference between Heemstra’s conclusions and my own proposal, and in order to give added credence to my claim, l will use the enigmatic figure of the great Jewish tanna –​Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus, as an example of this policy of the mainstream Judaism leadership in occupied Judaea against any potential disturbances. While Jewish Christianity could be cited as a ‘potential disturbance’ so could politically motivated ‘disturbances’ involving also religious elements as is clearly evidenced in the case of Rabbi Eliezer. As these ‘disturbances’ play a key element in this paper, it will be necessary to identify and clarify what kind of ‘disturbances’ are meant in this context, whether they required silent or active measures to be taken by the Jewish leadership in that period of time, and what effect they had on the ‘parting of the ways’ between Rabbinical and Christian Judaism.

The Roman Concept of Political and Religious disturbances It seems quite obvious that the best evidence and the most authentic information we can obtain about political and religious disturbances as they might be seen and interpreted as such in the eyes of the Roman authorities in that period can be found in a few references in the writings of the controversial Jewish historian of that time –​Josephus Flavius, who died somewhere towards the end of the first century CE. The importance of Josephus’ testimony is not because his books were written primarily and deliberately as propaganda on behalf of his patrons of the Flavian dynasty, but also because he was intimate with the nuances of their policies toward the Jews. One can also assume that if Josephus lived until around the year 100, he even had the opportunity to witness the crucial changes of the Roman emperor Nerva (96–​98) regarding Jews and Christians in general, and the policy of the Fiscus Judaicus in particular after the reign of Domitian (81–​96), the third and the last of the Flavian dynasty, and the resultant new definitions of Judaism in this context.7 The most conspicuous references to ‘disturbances’ from a Roman perspective are found in Josephus’ first book ‘The Jewish War’.8 This kind 7 See below. 8 De Bello Judaico; (= Jos. Bell).

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of evidence was integrated into the core of his work, not only to tell the story of the Jew’s hopeless revolt against the mighty Empire, but, and even more importantly, to describe the circumstances that led to the war and to its disastrous consequences for the Jews. Indeed, Josephus spares no effort to tell his readers in intimate detail how the Jews, including himself, were dragged into this catastrophe. He blames a variety of causes –​on the one hand, the corrupt Roman officials and on the other, the Jewish extremists. These latter consisted of several parties, either in groups or individuals, as for example the Jewish Zealots or the ‘Fourth Philosophy’ as Josephus designated them, or radical leaders like Menahem ben Judah and his chain of rebellious ‘troublemakers’ –​active from the days of king Herod (37–​4 BCE) onwards. All the above was part of the continuous unrest that eventually led to the war. In addition, among these were according to Josephus, individuals who saw themselves as prophets or kings or even messiahs, and whom he blamed as leading astray the miserable Jews by persuading them that they could fight and defeat the Romans. Here are a few examples dating from the days of the Roman procurator Felix (52–​60 CE): Besides these there arose another body of villains, with purer hands but more impious intentions, who no less than the assassins ruined the peace of the city. Deceivers and impostors, under the pretence of divine inspiration fostering revolutionary changes, they persuaded the multitude to act like madmen, and led them out into the desert under the belief that God would there give them tokens of deliverance.9

This paragraph comes after the description of the Sicarii, and speaks about a particular group whom Josephus defined as a ‘villains’. The opening sentence ‘there arose another body’ and the juxtaposition of these two descriptions illustrates the ideological proximity of these two ‘groups’. But the main characteristic of the latter is presented with the words: ‘deceivers and impostors, under the pretence of divine inspiration’. Therefore, in the eyes of the Romans this was very problematic since the people seemed to be prepared to obey not only a (‘pretense’) divine authority but to follow these activists ‘like madmen’. The use of these ‘harsh words’ in describing these opponents of Rome is apparently to mark clearly how close they were to endangering the boundaries surrounding the Roman Peace (Pax Romana), the policy that was striving to keep the peace and, even 9 Jos. Bell. II 13 4 258–​259.

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more importantly, stability in the empire. Acting against Rome was in itself a prescription for extinction and ruin especially when perpetrated by groups motivated by (false) divine inspiration. Further to this description above, Josephus adds another story in order to reinforce the idea that he (or his patrons) are interested in spreading: A still worse blow was dealt at the Jews by The Egyptian impostor. A charlatan, who had gained for himself the reputation of a prophet, this man appeared in the country, collected a following of about thirty thousand dupes, and led them by a circuitous route from the desert to the mount called the mount of Olives. From there he proposed to force an entrance into Jerusalem and, after overpowering the Roman garrison, to set himself up as tyrant of the people, employing those who poured in with him as his bodyguard.10

The above story is much more specific than our previous illustration. Here we are told about an individual, who remains unnamed but is cited by the appellation, an Egyptian impostor (a false prophet). The background to this story is the Mount of Olives, from which the false prophet wants to lead his followers into an attack on the city of Jerusalem. In the previous story, Josephus had already defined any action against Rome as ‘madness’; he is now demonstrating that there are other kinds of madness (although at this juncture he does not explicitly mention this term) that could happen when the leader of these dupes presents himself as a prophet. Here again, a senseless act of aggression against the might of Rome by persons deluded by the machinations of a false prophet who insists that he is ‘divinely’ inspired. A similar narrative appears in Josephus’ Jewish Antiquities11 in a story with characteristics somewhat alike the last excerpt from Josephus. This account takes place in the time of the Roman procurator Cuspius Fadus (44–​46), where again we have a false prophet (‘magician’ in Josephus’ words), but this time we are given a name, Theodas, who persuaded the majority of the masses to take up their possessions and to follow him to the Jordan River. He stated that he was a prophet and that at his command the river would be parted and would provide them an easy passage. With this talk he deceived many.12

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Jos. Bell. II 13 5 261. 11 Antiquitates Judaicae; (= Jos. Ant.) 12 Jos. Ant. XX 5 1 97–​98.

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In this case the heavenly inspired madness is to be even more visible. Theodas promises his deceived followers that he will repeat the miracle of the prophet Elijah (2 Kgs. 2:8) as well as the miraculous act of Moses (Exod.14:21), without even detailing these previous miraculous acts. Pretending to imitate what Moses and Elijah did is not just the action of a demented individual, but clearly smacks of an act of a rebellious nature against the ruling power, as if they were the embodiment of the Egyptian king Pharaoh. Yet it would appear that these stories of false leaders who led their followers repeatedly to catastrophic consequences, by their pretense of carrying the word of God and acting in his name, were in reality the forerunners to the real thing: the climax scene of the entire Josephus’ Jewish War –​the burning and destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem in the year 70 CE by Titus. Josephus, in his transparent attempt to clear Titus, his patron, of the blame of deliberate intent to destroy the Temple, even he in the last scene of the tragedy hints that the final disaster could have been perhaps prevented, if it were not for the notorious interference of the false prophets; a fact not ‘unknown’ in his and the Romans perspective: Others perished amidst them, and out of all that multitude not a soul escaped. They owed their destruction to being deluded by a false prophet who had on that day proclaimed to the people in the city that God commanded them to go up to the temple court, to receive there the tokens of their deliverance. Numerous prophets,13 indeed, were at this period suborned by the tyrants to delude the people, by bidding them await help from God, in order that desertions might be checked and that those who were above fear and precaution might be encouraged by hope. In adversity man is quickly persuaded; but when the deceiver actually pictures release from prevailing horrors, then the sufferer wholly abandons himself to expectation. Thus it was that the wretched people were deluded at that time by charlatans and pretended messengers of the deity; while they neither heeded nor believed in the manifest portents that foretold the coming desolation, but, as if thunderstruck and bereft of eyes and mind, disregarded the plain warnings of God.14

13 This is a very rare use by Josephus of the term ‘prophet’ when referring to people in the late antiquities. In most cases he uses this word only for the biblical figures. See D.E. Aune, ‘The Use of προφήτης in Josephus’, JBL 101 (1982), pp. 419–​421. 14 Jos. Bell. VI 5 2 285–​288.

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Here, in this final episode of the destruction of the Temple, Josephus has need to explain the horrible death of so many people, including the women and children, who were caught between the burning fire and the furious Roman soldiers.15 Reluctant to put the blame on the Roman troops and especially on their commander Titus, Josephus accuses again the false prophets, who led these innocent people to their death while promising them help (deliverance) from God. Once more, we are confronted with people acting out of character as a result of following these deceivers. Josephus, an author of sophistication uses his artistry to try to convince his readers of the magnitude and inconceivability of their deeds, by offering his readers so-​called ‘psychological’ excuses, which seem to be the only plausible explanation to these act of rebellion. This also serves Josephus’ own aim to apportion blame for the tragedy of the Jewish people on a few individuals, who had the power to persuade and entice the ‘innocent’ multitudes to their fatal destiny, through convincing them that they spoke in the name of the divine and promising that they would be delivered from their adversity by the true God. This pattern of explanation Josephus consistently repeats. However, these accounts and their subsequent lessons were not just directed at the Jews in Judaea or elsewhere in the Empire but also at many other ethnic or religious entities throughout the Roman empire. At this period, Rome, as a matter of fact, was much bothered for the future stability of the Pax Romana, and Josephus, but not only him, had defined the source of this instability be it in connection with the past or for that matter with the future as being inspired by the Jewish Scriptures. At this juncture, it should be noted that Josephus never puts the blame solely on the Jewish rebels and their leaders. Indeed, he spares no effort in accusing consistently some of the Roman procurators in Judaea, especially the last three.16 Nevertheless, the latter could never have been regarded as the single explanation of this fanatical and zealous revolt, as Josephus comprehended it, or for the only explanation for the ‘madness’

15 Josephus mentions 6000 people, but although this number of people at that scene looks exaggerated, the importance for Josephus is obviously to purify Titus from this blame. 16 See also the Roman historian, Tacitus, Annales XII 52; Historiae V 9–​10. P. Bilde, ‘The Causes of the Jewish War according to Josephus’, JSJ 10 (1979), pp. 182–​185; 188–​189.

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that ensued. The answer has to emanate from the well-​rooted conviction of the people that there would be divine intervention which would bring about the immediate fulfillment of the Biblical prophecies of redemption and salvation. However, Josephus was too sophisticated an historian to leave this difficulty unsolved. At the end of his description of the last carnage on the Temple mount he proclaims: But what more than all else incited them to the war was an ambiguous oracle (χρησμός ἀμφίβολος), likewise found in their sacred scriptures, to the effect that at that time one from their country would become ruler of the world. This they understood to mean someone of their own race, and many of their wise men went astray in their interpretation of it.17

This important insight only serves to emphasize Josephus’ general message that this oracle that is found in the sacred scriptures could explain the reasons for the Jewish tragedy in the near past, but that they further understood it to mean that someone of their own race, could be a real threat in the present or in the near future to the dominant power . Furthermore, since this biblical inspiration is always present in the scriptures, one can assume that even if the Great Revolt was indeed suppressed, some of the reasons for its inception, even the most inflammable ones, would not just sink into oblivion. And, thus if the Jews could still be motivated by this oracle, then undoubtedly another revolt could break out soon enough. However, this is where Josephus’ ingenuity comes into play. Since there was no way he could disregard the biblical text,18 he attempts to weaken its impact by first calling it an ambiguous oracle and secondly, by suggesting an alternative explanation. The question is, of course, on whose behalf is Josephus talking? Can Josephus be considered as a legitimate interpreter of biblical prophecies? We don’t really know the true answer. Josephus tells us himself, in a kind of self-​confessional about his internal conflict of whether to give himself up into the hands of the Romans or whether to commit suicide. Within this account, he relates that ‘suddenly there came back into his mind those nightly dreams, in which God had foretold to him the impending fate of the Jews and the destinies of the Roman sovereigns’. As a ‘receiver’ of God’s words, Josephus places himself on the

17 Jos. Bell. VI 5 4 312–​313. 18 The exact biblical text to which Josephus refers to is not clear. See D. Aune, Prophecy in Early Christianity and the Ancient Mediterranean World (Grand Rapids MI: Eerdman Publishing Company, 1983), pp. 120–​141.

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same level as the prophets. And more precisely –​as a true prophet of his time, at least when compared with the false prophets that he has already mentioned above. Not only has God foretold him concerning the future of Rome and the Jews, but Josephus himself has been accorded also both the skill and the legitimacy to interpret God’s words: He was an interpreter of dreams and skilled in divining the meaning of ambiguous (ἀμφιβόλως) utterances of the deity; a priest himself and of priestly descent, he was not ignorant of the prophecies in the sacred books.19

Josephus is intentionally using here also the word ambiguous. Since God speaks in signs or through specially chosen people, Josephus emphasizes the fact that he is not only of priestly descent but a few sentences later he announces that thou[God] hast made choice of my spirit to announce the things that are to come. The biblical prophecies regarding the ‘Chosen’ were not only a main concern of Josephus, but apparently of the Romans too. It may be that in reality the reason that Josephus places such emphasis on the Jewish interpretation of the ‘Chosen’ is that he has an ulterior motive. The fact is that the (true) ruler of the world is the Roman emperor and any other thought is subversive. Such concerns as the above also appear in the writings of other Roman historians. For example, Tacitus describes the beginning of the Jewish Revolt in his Histories, and like Josephus before him, as mentioned above, he blames the misconduct of the Roman procurators Antonius Felix and Gessius Florus for the outbreak of the war.20 Furthermore, while describing the Jewish side at that period, Tacitus talks about mysterious signs that had been misinterpreted by the Jews, in the same way as in the Josephus account: Some few put a fearful meaning on these events, but in most there was a firm persuasion, that in the ancient records of their priests was contained a prediction of how at this very time the East was to grow powerful, and rulers (rerum potirentur), coming from Judaea, were to acquire universal empire.21

In this case there is not one from their country as in Josephus’, but people from Judaea. Their goal was the same according to Tacitus, to rule the world. Tacitus evident words to acquire universal empire had no other 19 Jos. Bell. III, 8 3 (351–​354). 20 Tacitus, Historiae, V 13. 21 Ibid.

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intention but to illuminate a potential threat to the Roman Empire, or in other words, the Jewish rejection of the ‘true’ interpretation of the ‘signs’, that the future rulers of the world would be (as they actually were) the Roman emperors Vespasian and Titus. So while in the first place, Tacitus affirms the misrule of the last Roman governors as a factor in the Great Revolt; nevertheless, his known hostility towards the Jews leads him to consider the Jewish threat to the Pax Romana as a much greater menace (even though he does not make mention of the scriptures and its promise of a redeemer). The difference between Josephus and Tacitus about the interpretation of the prediction (one vs. people) should not be underestimated. Josephus says that the prediction is found in their sacred scriptures, while Tacitus talks about the ancient records of their priests. If Tacitus took the idea from Josephus, he undoubtedly adapted it to coincide with popular Roman notions, especially to their well-​known faith in the Sibylline prophecies.22 Another important Roman historian, Suetonius, expresses the same idea in his treatise The Lives of the Twelve Caesars: A firm persuasion had long prevailed through all the East, that it was fated for the Empire of the world, at that time, to devolve on some (profecti rerum potirentur) who should go forth from Judaea. This prediction referred to a Roman emperor, as the event showed; but the Jews, applying it to themselves, broke out into rebellion.23

The similarity between the Roman authors and Josephus about an individual, or some persons from Judaea or from the East who will rule the world needs no further expansion at this juncture. While Josephus is definitely speaking from a Roman perspective, yet he is also trying to convince his Jewish readers that he speaks from a Jewish perspective, and as mentioned above, he sees himself as authorized to do so. It seems though, that Josephus was really trying to place himself as a bridge of reason between the Roman rulers and occupied Judaea, when his concern, as well as his patrons’, was to prevent any misconception that might emerge from ‘wrong’ interpretation of the signs, and especially those of 22 See Suetonius, De Vita XII Caesarum –​Julius Caesar LXXIX; Plutarch, Cicero, XVII 7. See R. Buitenwerf, Book III of the Sibylline Oracles and its Social Setting (Leiden: Brill, 2003), p. 107. 23 Suetonius (ibid.) –​Vespasianus, IV.

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the scriptural prophecies. Furthermore, dealing with prophecies and divinations was by no means alien to the Romans, and there are numerous references in Roman literature to the enormous significance they used to attribute to omens and predictions, and to how central it was even among the nobility and high ranked officials. And even if Tacitus and Suetonius were influenced in that particular matter from Josephus’ words about the misinterpretation of some Jewish idea, they nevertheless expressed a clear Roman rendering to that specific prediction about the future and present rulers of the world. To sum up: here is the list of problematic phenomena, or incidences, as Josephus presented them: 1. Deceivers and impostors, under the pretence of divine inspiration … led them out into the desert under the belief that God would there give them tokens of deliverance … those who seem to obey only a (‘pretense’) divine authority which cause people to follow them ‘like madmen’. 2. The Egyptian impostor… led people from the wilderness to the Mount of Olives … to force an entrance into Jerusalem. 3. The magician Theodas… persuaded people to follow him to the River Jordan… to divide the river (like Moses and Elijah). 4. A false prophet who led people to the Temple at the last scene… and that there they should receive the tokens of their deliverance. 5. The ambiguous oracle … likewise found in their sacred scriptures. One from their country would become ruler of the world (a notion that was repeated by Tacitus and Suetonius). It seems that Josephus was trying to convince his readers, especially the Jews among them, that there would be horrible consequences if the Romans notice that somebody dared to raise again this dangerous interpretation of the scriptures. Repeated terms like false prophets, divine inspiration, miraculous signs of liberty or redemption, the Temple and Jerusalem, were the elements that Josephus employed in his explanations of the past to his warnings for the future. Through him, it was as if Rome was warning the entire empire, that actions of and talks about rulers of the world, leaders under imaginary divine inspirations, fake prophets or even messiahs, would not be tolerated. No wonder then, that the vigilant and watchful eyes of the Romans were focused on the Jews, especially those in Judaea. The list outlined in Josephus of false prophets, people

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who regarded themselves as kings in their own eyes as well as those who demonstrated signs and performed so-​called miracles, and, subsequently, unleashed ‘mad’ ideas, were seized on as problems that could endanger the huge but delicate fabric of the ethnic groups, tribes and nations that flourished in the provinces of the Roman empire. Judaea was not a marginal isolated province in the imperial structure and the loud uproar that came from rebellious Judaea in the first century could have had a troublesome resonance all over the empire. This was the reason, I believe, to the alertness and diligence of the Roman authorities to what was happening within the circles of Jewish leadership, both civil and religious. The legal status of the Jews in the Roman empire, that was in later times known as ‘Religio Licita’24 could have been in danger at any time after the Great Revolt was suppressed, but especially during the reign of the Flavian dynasty.

The Messianic Challenge –​Jesus and Christianity In this section, I will discuss the figure of Jesus as an example of the ‘upheavals’ in Judaea in relation to the way that the Romans might have regarded them in the light of our discussions in the previous section. The issue of the ‘historical Jesus’ is irrelevant here, but we will concentrate only on the figure that appears in the scriptures as the evangelists have chosen to present him, that of Christ. Jesus’ coming was in of itself the fulfillment of biblical prophecies but it is also a consummation of the prophecy of his contemporary John the Baptist, who is said to have been related to the prophet Elijah, whether through reminiscence or reincarnation.25 John was believed to be the one who brings the good news (based on Isaiah 52:7), as well as the messenger who anticipates and announces the coming of the Messiah and prepares the way before him (based on Malachi 3:1). Jesus appears in the New Testament in his threefold mission as king, priest and prophet. Each of these three is known in the Jewish ancient

24 It should be noted that this phrase was not used as an officially legal term by the Romans. The source for it is Tertullian’s Apologeticum 21.1, i.e. not before the second half of the second century CE. 25 See Mt. 11:14.

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tradition as an individual (or someone) who is (are) anointed with oil 26 ( .)‫ משוּח‬This ritualistic and symbolic appointment to each of these func��tions was evolved over a long process and eventually led to the exclusive definition of The Anointed One or as in the Hebrew origin The Messiah (‫)המשיח‬.27 Jesus’ kingship is demonstrated especially in the story of his entrance into Jerusalem towards what was soon to be the highlight and last dramatic act of his mission. Fulfilling the biblical prophecy (Zech. 9:9), Jesus enters the city as the king of the House of David. Yet when all the city of Jerusalem asked who he was they were answered by the multitude that welcomed him that This is Jesus, the prophet from Nazareth of Galilee. (Mt. 21:2–​5).This scene is a clear illustration of how the prophetic dimension in Jesus’ mission is interwoven with the kingship one. Furthermore, the presence of these two dimensions demonstrates that both functions are regarded as having the same level of significance and importance in the representation of Jesus’ image. On the other hand, looking through the scriptures it would appear that Jesus is presented more frequently as a prophet than as a king. A few examples will suffice to illustrate this point: (1) The fact that the populous generally recognize him as a prophet (2) The fact that Jesus predicts the last scene of his earthly mission, i.e. his Passion, and (3) when he delivers his apocalyptic prophecies about the end of days and his second coming. According to Matthew, Jesus’ mission begins in the Galilee with his famous Sermon on the Mount where he predicts that those who are poor in spirit will ascend to the kingdom of heaven and those who mourn will surely be comforted etc. (5:3–​10). Addressing an anonymous crowd, these first utterances give credence to the prophetic nature of his message. In many places in the gospels, in what appear to have been random

26 There are numerous references in the Bible to the anointment of kings, including non-​Jewish kings like Hazael king of Syria (1 Kgs. 19:17). Cyrus king of Persia is called by Isaiah the Lord’s Anointed One (Isa. 45:1). There are also many references to anointed priests ever since Aaron, the first priest, and his descendants. Anointed prophet appears only once, when god ordered Elijah to anoint Elisha as prophet in his place (1 Kgs. 19:16). This title applies also to sacred objects like the Tabernacle as well as many kinds of altars. 27 From Hebrew –​‫ משוּח‬the one who is anointed with oil is ‫משיח‬, which later became the Anointed One, in English transliteration messiah.

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occasions, Jesus is referred to as a prophet by the common people. For example, when Jesus raises the dead son of the widow at Nain, the crowd at the scene respond to his miraculous act according to Luke: And they glorified God, saying, ‘A great prophet has risen up among us’ (Lk. 7:16). In the narrative concerning the Samaritan woman by the well she says to Jesus after a short exchange of words ‘I perceive that You are a prophet’ (Jn. 4:19). And finally, in the account of the miracle of feeding the five thousand people, they respond by saying that ‘This is truly the Prophet who is to come into the world’. (Jn. 6:14). The miraculous act is presented here as a sign of the prophetic spirit. The signs play a significant role in the comprehensive story of Jesus in the New Testament. The Pharisees who wish to find a reason to accuse him ask for a sign (Mt. 12:38 etc.) The only sign Jesus gives them is by delivering an enigmatic reference from the biblical story of the Prophet Jonah, by which he meant to hint at his own predetermined destiny, to be executed and laid in the grave just as Jonah was confined inside the great fish. These signs bring us to the most momentous prophetic role that Jesus participated in, namely, the apocalyptic predictions about the end of days that he delivered to his disciples on the Mount of Olives.28 These prophecies form an integral part of the synoptic gospels29 and were spoken by Jesus in front of the city of Jerusalem but not within the city. There he was also requested for a sign, this time by his disciples, to which he responded at length and in detail. Jesus is taken into custody at Gethsemane on the Mount of Olives, and is handed over to the Sanhedrin, the Jewish court of law on the charge of being a (false) prophet, and subsequently is brought before Pilate’s court on a charge of being a (false) king. The testimony brought against him in the Sanhedrin was ‘We heard Him say, “I will destroy this Temple made with hands, and within three days I will build another made without hands” ’. (Mk. 14:55–​58). Thus from the Jewish perspective, Jesus’ prophetic figure is considered in this context as a negative role, not to say a destructive one. And yet after Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection, when he is met by two persons in Amaus who did not recognize him, in

28 Known also as the Olivet Discourse or The Little Apocalypse. 29 Mt. 24; Mk. 13; Lk. 21.

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relating to Jesus about the events that have just happened in Jerusalem, they declare ‘concerning Jesus of Nazareth, who was a Prophet’ (Lk. 24:19). The gospels which were written in the last few decades of the first century CE, used the same elements that Josephus employed in this matter when he wrote his books, approximately at the same time. However, both in the New Testament and in Josephus writings the prophetic figures are represented as contrasting figures: The true prophet on one hand (Jesus; Josephus himself ) and, on the other hand, the false prophets. In the Little Apocalypse, false Christs and false prophets are referred to side by side when Jesus is warning about the future. These false prophets of course, are just negative attempts at imitating the role of Jesus, the Prophet Messiah himself. How extensive was Christianity by the end of the first century?30 If we rely on the famous correspondence between the Roman emperor Trajan and Pliny the Younger, the governor of Bytnia-​Pontus, concerning the prosecution of so-​called Christians,31 it becomes quite clear that not only had Christianity spread in Judaea and beyond but had penetrated deep into the empire and was being regarded as an acknowledged faith. Half a century has passed since the story which was recorded in the Acts of the Apostles, about Gallio, the Roman proconsul of Achaia, who dismissed the charge that the Jews had pressed against Paul, accusing him of persuading ‘men to worship God contrary to the law’ (Acts 18:13). Gallio’s words to the Jewish accusers were: ‘if it is a question of words and names and your own law, look to it yourselves; for I do not want to be a judge of such matters’ (Acts 18:15). These words apparently reflected the reluctance of the Romans at that time to discriminate between divergent views and opinions within Judaism, unless they could be interpreted as a threat to the stability of the empire. This lack of attention by the Roman authorities at this period to be aware of the derisive arguments and intense debates besetting ‘authentic Judasim’ provides us with a significant landmark, namely, that we have no real idea about the scale of awareness of the Roman authorities, even if we were to confine ourselves to Judaea only, of ‘the Jesus phenomenon’. It may well be that to his followers Jesus 30 The text that follows is written, mindful of the debate as to what kind of Christianity was being practiced at this period of time. We could, therefore rephrase this question and ask: ‘how many Jews believed in Jesus’ or ‘what percentage might be termed “Jewish-​Christians”?’ However the intention of the initial question remains intact. 31 On this correspondence see below.

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was considered the true prophet and promised king but since we only have the New Testament to verify these facts and since it is not regarded as trusted, authentic historical evidence, it can play only a very limited part in our discussion.32 However, whatever the Romans were aware of at this period, the phenomenon of messianism was apparently not that important especially if we compare the period following the Jewish revolt. By then, not only had the Romans become more vigilant toward new ideologies and unsolicited activities, but it seems that also the Jews themselves had adopted a much more watchful attitude from reasons that later will be discussed at length. Suffice to say that Christianity, especially Jewish-​Christianity, was probably caught somewhere in the middle.

Jews and Judaism in Roman Eyes after the Great Revolt Roman policy towards the Jews was very austere. Beside the harsh measures that the Romans took against the defeated rebels in Judaea, the victorious emperor, Vespasian, also imposed the ‘Fiscus Judaicus’33 which consisted of two denarii that had to be paid every year to the Capitol, just ‘as they used to pay to the Temple at Jerusalem’.34 While the latter was included in the general measurs imposed on the defeated Jews of Judaea and received no particular recognition during the reign of Titus, Vespasian’s heir, in the final period of the Flavian dynasty, the ‘Fiscus Judaicus’ suddenly finds significance. The evidence for this appears in Suetonius description of Domitian, where he stresses: Besides other taxes, that were levied on the Jews with the utmost rigour, there were those who without publicly acknowledging that faith yet lived as Jews (improfessi Iudaicam viverent vitam), as well as those who concealed their origin and did not pay the tribute levied upon their people, these Jews, they were prosecuted. I recall being present in my youth when a man of ninety years old was examined before the procurator in a very crowded court, to see whether he was circumcised.35

32 It is widely accepted that the mention of Jesus in Josephus’ Antiquities, also known as the ‘Testimonium Flavianum’ (Ant. XVIII) is a late interpolation to the original text. 33 Above n. 4. 34 Jos. Bell. VII 6 6 (218). Also, Dio Cassius 66.7.2. 35 Suetonius, Domitianus XII.

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The Fiscus Judaicus was worthy of mentioning in the time of Domitian because (1) many of his actions were taken as a result of his financial problems, and (2) because tough measures were deemed appropriate against the Jews since the echoes of the revolt had not yet calmed down. These might have been the reasons why the Jews were such ‘easy prey’ for the emperor’s greed and that Suetonius chose to precede his story on the Fiscus Judaicus with Domitian’ financial difficulties that were in reality the result of his lavish lifestyle. Furthermore, it was not just the Jews who were affected but also his own citizens were subjected to harsh, not to say insane, policies: He had no hesitation in resorting to every sort of robbery. The property of the living and the dead was seized everywhere on any charge brought by any accuser. It was enough to just allege any action or word derogatory to the majesty of the prince. Estates of those in no way connected with him were confiscated, if but one man came forward to declare that he had heard from the deceased during his lifetime that Caesar was his heir.

No wonder that in the time of Domitian, Jews could easily be exposed to the emperor’s caprice even more than other Roman citizens. Yet, at the same time, we can also assume that due to his disturbed personality and his incessant need for cash, Domitian cared nothing for the distinction that was made between ‘mainstream’36 Jews and Jewish-​Christians. However, when it came to Pagan-​Christians, i.e. those of Roman origin, the case seems to have been entirely different. While there is no unequivocal record to persecutions of Pagan-​Christians in the time of Domitian, the only clear evidence of any harsh measures taken against them is Suetonius’ account about the steps taken against evaders of the Fiscus Judaicus. As mentioned above, Suetonius speaks about two categories of evaders: The first is ‘those […] who without publicly acknowledging that faith yet lived as Jews’, and the second is ‘those who concealed their origin’. Although these two categories stem as a result of the special tax imposed on the Jews, in the eyes of the Roman officials they regarded the evaders as: (1) those who lived as Jews, but were not of Jewish origin, and (2) those who were indeed ethnic Jews. Another Roman historian,

36 I am fully aware to the vagueness of this term but for this study mainstream Judaism means the Jews (the majority) who did not accept Jesus of Nazareth as the anointed Messiah.

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Cassius Dio, furthers our understanding of the first category, in his story concerning the execution of the consul Flavius Clemens. Clemens was Domitian’s cousin,37 and according to Suetonius was executed ‘suddenly and on very slight suspicion’.38 Cassius Dio though, specifies that ‘the charge brought against them both39 was that of atheism, a charge on which many others who fell into Jewish ways were condemned’, and adds that ‘some of these were even put to death’.40 However, neither Suetonius nor Cassius Dio mention Christianity, or any kind of messianism, as the real reason for the punishment that was imposed on this couple, who were considered as members of the highest rank of Roman aristocracy. The clarification of the Christian characteristics of that ‘atheism’ might be found in Eusebius’ Church History, where he writes that in the fifteenth year of Domitian reign, Flavia Domitilla ‘was exiled with many others to the island of Pontia in consequence of testimony pertaining to Christ (εἰς χριστὸν μαρτυρίας)’.41 No doubt that the interest of Eusebius in the above story was its function as a role model of martyrdom. However, this interpretation is not enough to shake off the supposition that the ‘atheism’ of Clemens and Domitilla was in reality that of Christianity. Conversion of (pagan) Romans to Christianity in Domitian’s reign could not have been simply disregarded. The exchange of Roman deities for a belief in Jesus, a messianic Jewish figure, regarded as both a king and prophet by his followers, and who had been executed by the Roman authorities themselves, surely, must have been considered as serious offense. In addition, Tacitus terms it as ‘hatred against mankind’, when blaming the Christians for the great fire in Rome in the time of Nero (54–​68).42 Since Tacitus wrote these words in his Annales apparently in the time of the emperor Trajan, and they were surely a reflection of the attitude towards Christianity at that time. All this changed when Domitian was assassinated in the year 96 and a new emperor, Nerva, took his place. The famous coin of Nerva with the 37 38 39 40 41 42

Flavia Domitilla was also a niece of Domitian. Suetonius, Domitianus XV. Clemens and his wife Flavia Domitilla. Cassius Dio, Hist. Rom. LXVII, 14. 1–​2. Eusebius, Hist. Eccl. III, 18.4. Tacitus, Annales XV, 44.

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legend ‘fisci Iudaici calumnia sublata’ (‘abolition of malicious prosecution 43 in connection with the Jewish tax’) is evidence of a dramatic change of policy. As far as the Fiscus Judaicus was concerned, the tax was only collected from those who were recognized as Jews according to their religious affiliation instead of the ethnic one.44 The difference between Jewish-​ Christians and Pagan-​Christians was not important anymore since both of them were considered Christians. The Jewish-​Christians were from that point of time exempted from the Fiscus Judaicus but they also lost their status as Jews, which meant that they, nor their religious practice, was legally protected. Thus these former Jewish-​Christians could now be exposed to the charge of ‘atheism’ as it was in the time of Domitian toward the Pagan-​Christians. Why then did Nerva change the Roman policy regarding the Fiscus Judaicus so that this distinction between these two kinds of Christianity was created? The transition from one imperial dynasty to another was always liable to bring about dramatic changes.45 Yet, we must still ask ourselves, how can we be sure that this change of policy not only with regard to the tax but also to the overall legal status of the Jews in the empire was exclusive to the time of Nerva and not in the time of his predecessor or earlier?

Jewish Sages in Rome The answer to this question has to be sought in both Jewish and Christian sources which describe or allude to contacts between Jewish personalities and Romans in the period under discussion. The Jewish sources have many references about encounters with Roman authorities that recount travels of the Jewish sages to Rome from the end of the first century and the beginning of the 2nd.. The participants in these voyages were from the first and the second generations of the Tana’im, belonging to the school of Yavneh, the famous costal city traditionally known as the place where the moderate Jewish leadership began to mould a new identity for Judaism. While the city of Rome is not always mentioned in

43 On the interpretation of the calunia see M. Goodman, ‘Nerva, the Fiscus Judaicus and Jewish Identity’, JRS 79 (1989), p. 41. 44 Heemstra, Fiscus (above n. 2), p. 172. 45 Goodman, ‘Nerva, the Fiscus Judaicus and Jewish Identity’, p. 40.

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the descriptions of these leaders travels overseas, we can assume that the almost all of them ended at the capitol of the empire. A few Tannaitic sources, however, do mention Rome: We read in the Mishnah about a conversation that the Elders had in Rome.46 In the Tosefta, the Elders in Rome appear in association with Rabban Gamaliel47 and likewise in the Mishnah where The Elders and Rabban Gamaliel ‘were sailing a ship’.48 Another story in the Tosesfa mentions Rabbi Joshua as visiting Rome.49 In the Sifre we read the sages traveling to Rome are actually named: Rabban Gamaliel, Rabbi Joshua ben Hananiah, Rabbi Eleazar ben Azariah and Rabbi Akiva.50 In the Sifra, it also stresses that ‘Gamaliel and the Elders were sailing a ship’ and later gives the above three in exactly the same order.51 The identical list of sages is found in the Mishnah,52 where we read a story of those Elders headed by Rabban Gamaliel, who came from Brundisium (Heb. ‫)פרנדיסין‬.53 Another Italian city, Puteoli, (Heb. 54)‫ פיטיוליס‬appears in this connection in the above mentioned Sifre passage. A close study of these travelogues offers some incredible conclusions. Scholars since Graetz deduced that the sages had in reality made two journeys to Rome.55 A major reason for this assumption is that we learn from our sources that there are two separate lists of participants. The participants of the first journey were Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus, Rabbi Joshua ben Hananiah and Rabban Gamaliel. Since they are mentioned in that order we can assume that Rabbi Eliezer was the leader of the group, however he is not among the participants of the second journey, and his place is taken by two others: Rabbi Eleazar ben Azariah and Rabbi Akiva. 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55

m. Abod. Zar. 4:7. t. Bes 2:12. m. Ma‘as 2:9. Cf. m. Shab.16:8; t. Shab.13:14. t. Hor.2:5. Sifre, Deuteronomy, Ekev 43. Sifra, Emor XVI, 102:3. m.‘Erub. 5:1. Originally an ancient Italian harbor city, today Brindisi. The main ancient harbor for the city of Rome (See Acts 28:13–​14). Today Pozzuoli. H. Graetz, Judische-​Geschichtliche Studien III, MGWJ 1 (1851–​1852), pp. 192 ff; S. Safrai, ‘The Visits of the Sages of Yavnehh in Rome’ (R. Bonfil et.al., ed.), in Scritti in Memoriam di Umberto Nahon (Jerusalem: S. Mayer, R. Cantoni, 1978), pp. 151–​ 167. (In Hebrew).

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Here too there is an importance to the order in which they appear, and in this case Rabban Gamaliel is mentioned first and he is followed by Rabbi Joshua, then Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah and finally Rabbi Akiva. Two facts are conspicuous in these lists: When Rabbi Eliezer is cast as leader of the Elders, Rabban Gamaliel is at the end of the list; but when the latter opens the list Rabbi Eliezer does not even appear. Regarding these voyages, two questions need to be asked: (1) Why would those Rabbis want to make this long, difficult and dangerous trip from oppressed Judaea to triumphant Rome in the first place, and probably more than once? And (2) Was the absence of Rabbi Eliezer from the second trip more than circumstantial? The answer to the latter question might depend on the first but, actually, it has much more relevance for the understanding of the subject matter. A reference to the first question might have been alluded to in one of the apocryphal New Testament books, a fact that has already been acknowledged by many scholars in the past, namely, the Acts of John (Acta Iohannis). In this controversial source, there is a story about the emperor Domitian who wanted to expel the Jews from Rome, and that some ‘courageous people’ among them sent the emperor a letter saying: O Domitian, Cæsar and king of all the world, as many of us as are Jews entreat you, as suppliants we beseech of your power not to banish us from your divine and benignant countenance; for we are obedient to you, […] But there is a new and strange nation, neither agreeing with other nations nor consenting to the religious observances of the Jews, uncircumcised, inhuman, lawless, subverting whole houses, proclaiming a man as God, all assembling together under a strange name, that of Christian. These men reject God, […] At all this the king, being affected with rage, ordered the senate to publish a decree that they should put to death all who confessed themselves to be Christians.56

In their ‘letter’, the Jews’ response to Domitian’s alleged plot was first to declare that they themselves were obedient to the emperor, and secondly to put the blame on others whom they called ‘Christians’. These latter were accused by the Jews for of separatism, messianism, atheism and generally speaking of misbehavior. This may indicate that the 56 Acta Iohannis XX, M. Bonnet (ed.), Acta Apostolorum Apocrypha, II.1 (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1959 [1898]). On the history of this book see: E. Junod and J.-​D. Kaestly, Acta Johannis. Textus alii, commentarius, indices (Corpus Christianorum, Series Apocryphprum, II [Turnhout: Berpols, 1983]).

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accusations of the Jews against the Christians in the Acts of John could be seen as not specifically relating to Domitian’s policy, but more to his successor’s Nerva, because in the days of Domitian, Jewish-​Christians were not executed for being Christians. They could only be persecuted by the fiscus Judaicus officials for evading the tax by using the excuse of not exactly being Jews. It was only Pagan-​Christians who were in danger of the death penalty in Domitian reign since they were regarded as being Atheists. In any case, we can see that this was an attempt made by the Jews to define Christianity, as either arising from Jewish or of pagan origins; that they were indeed a separate group of people, and that much effort was made by them to distance themselves from this (Christian) sect by proclaiming that the latter were not Jewish, pointing out that they were uncircumcised. In Domitian’s time this was the method used by the fiscus Judaicus officials to seek for the tax evaders, as is evidenced by the story in Suetonius about ‘those who concealed their origin (as Jews)’. He recollects regarding that kind of tax evader, personally observing, ‘the person of a man ninety years old being examined before the procurator in a very crowded court, to see whether he was circumcised’. The Jewish accusation in this ‘letter’ that the ‘Christians’ are uncircumcised may suggest that the letter does not refer to Jewish-​Christians at all because the latter were definitely circumcised. If this was the case why then would the Jews bother to approach the emperor in the first place? Since both under Domitian and Nerva, it was only Christianity of pagan origin that was in danger of persecution. The answer to this difficulty is that this ‘letter’ is reflecting the traditional Christian theology concerning the non-​necessity of circumcision for the Jew (and obviously for the non-​Jew too),57 and thus may be the reason why this detail was deliberately inserted into the text. In any case, even if there was no letter like this in reality, it is certainly a true reflection of that period. The Jews had every reason to distance themselves from Jewish-​Christianity. Furthermore, the reason for the Jews to put so much effort in declaring that those Christians were not Jews was that those very Christians themselves had not recognized themselves as such. In the time of Nerva it was definitely worthwhile to be recognized by the Romans as a Jew rather than a Christian.

57 ‘But he is a Jew, which is one inwardly; and circumcision is that of the heart’. Rom. 2:29.

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As discussed above, the sensitive time after the revolt put the Jews not only in Judaea but probably all over the empire at risk of losing their rights or their legal status. This could have been an evident consequence of the revolt. The fact that the Romans had other considerations in mind, like imposing the special tax on the Jews, could not be taken as an assurance for immediate future policy. What the Romans were really concerned about we do not know, however, we can assume that the more sensitive the Romans were in the last third of the first century concerning the Jews, the more vigilant the Jewish leadership had to be, not to enrage the Romans in a way that would bring even harsher measures against them. Therefore, there can be no doubt that their immediate interest was to stabilize the relationship with Rome. It is very likely that in the background there was always the spirit of the edict of emperor Claudius (41–​54 CE) which is cited by Josephus Flavius, that ‘the Jews who are in the entire world […] (are permitted) to keep their ancient customs’. This was under the condition quoted in this edict, that they should not ‘show a contempt of the religious observances of other nations’.58 This edict was issued by the emperor to ‘the rest of the world’ and regarding the Jews ‘in the entire world’, after the conflict between Jews and Greeks in Alexandria. The constant attention that the Jews were under during the first century was unquestionably deepened and strengthen after the Great Revolt, and it was obviously so when Josephus wrote his books which from many perspectives reflected the official policy of Rome. It is clear then, why a responsible and vigilant Jewish leadership must have been on guard and with ever watchful eyes first and foremost on their own ethnic and religious territory. Jewish-​Christianity, along with other phenomena of messianism, separatism, seclusion and zeal, had become a serious threat to the delicate fabric of relations with the Roman authorities. This is the reason that we should trust the Acts of John as a genuine testimony or at least as a true reflection of the reality of the situation at that time. At this juncture we are returning to the second question about the reasons for the absence of Rabbi Eliezer from the second trip to Rome. It would seem that something very critical happened between the first and second journey to cause a change in the leadership and allow the position 58 Jos. Ant. XIX 290.

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of Rabban Gamaliel to be recognized by the Roman authorities. At the same time it has to be noted that we are told in the Talmud that Rabbi Eliezer was ousted from his position of leadership as a result of a halakhic debate.59 Therefore, we can propose that the acceptance and recognition of Rabban Gamaliel and the ousting and rejection of Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus must be connected. This will be discussed in the next chapter.

Rabban Gamaliel the 2nd and Rome Rabban Gamaliel’s rise to leadership is obscure. After the rebellion, leaders of the Second Temple period disappeared without a trace and an alternative leadership begins to form in an unofficial manner at Yavneh, possibly centered on the person of Rabban Yohanan ben Zakkai, although this is far from certain. The actual moment when the leadership changed from ben Zakkai to Gamaliel is also unclear. We don’t even know the amount of the public support for this leadership,60 or whether it was acknowledge by the Roman authorities. It is also impossible to evaluate if Rome recognized this leadership de jure,61 as a category of some sort of autonomous rule or if Rome just supervised and restricted62 a de facto recognized leadership.63 What is clear is that public recognition was the result of a long slow process that finally developed under the patronage of Rome. And what 59 See below. 60 A. Oppenheimer, ‘Rabban Gamaliel of Yavnehh and his Circuits of Eretz Israel’, in Between Rome and Babylon (Tübingen: Mohr-​Siebeck, 2005), 144–​155. 61 The first to suggest this choice was J.N. Derenburg, Essai sur L’histoire et la Geographie de la Palestine (Paris 1867; repr. Farnborough: Gregg International, 1971), pp. 310–​311. 62 We know of restrictions on judicial authority, for example on capital punishment. See S. Lieberman, ‘Roman Legal Institutions in Early Rabbinics and Acta Martyrium’, JQR 35 (1944), pp. 1–​57; M. Smallwood, The Jews under Roman Rule (Leiden: Brill, 1976), pp. 149; A. Oppenheimer, ‘Jewish Penal Authority in Judaea’, id. Between Rome and Babylon (above n. 60), pp. 182–​173. 63 It seems more plausible that the Romans would have trusted king Agrippa II to be the leader of Judaea after the Great Revolt (to which he objected), but Agrippa apparently passed away soon after the end of the revolt and no other choice remained for another client king. This could be a reason for the assumption that the Roman choice of the Gamaliel dynasty was a calculated gamble that they decided to take, and the fact that Gamaliel II was known to be close to the Romans suggested that this gamble had paid off.

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seems to be even more apparent is that the tannaitic literature tended to emphasize the position of Rabban Gamaliel as the leader of his time, and as a result, to give a firm basis to the legitimacy of his dynasty. We might also assume that there was a necessity, perhaps even as far as the time of the patriarchate of Rabbi Yehudah haNasi, to build in the literature a convincing explanation for the transfer of power from ben Zakkai to Rabban Gamaliel. The leadership of Rabban Gamaliel was approved by the Romans possibly in the days of Trajan. The Mishnah informs us that Rabban Gamaliel ‘went to receive authority [permission](‫ )ליטול רשות‬from the Roman governor in Syria’.64 Although the meaning of this statement is not completely clear,65 it might indicate an approval of the leadership66 of Rabban Gamaliel by the Roman governor in Antioch, or alternatively, a silent authorization for an internal Jewish leadership in the province. The question, however, should be why would Trajan agree to a Jewish leadership in the first place, and at what price. In the light of the political situation at this time it would seem that there was justification for such a change in the Roman attitude towards the Jews in Judaea. The war was over, and the decline of the Flavian dynasty that had put down the rebellion in Judaea opened up the possibility for a new policy that would better suit the Pax Romana. On the other hand, there was the inherited hostility of Trajan towards the Jews. The emperor was the adopted son of his predecessor Nerva, but his natural father, Marcus Ulpius Traianus, was the commander of Legion X (Fretensis) under Vespasian in Judaea between 67–​70 CE. Trajan’s natural father was very close to the Flavian family and no doubt that his attitude to the Jews was affected by his father’s military service as well as his loyalty to the Flavians.67 On the 64 m.‘Ed. 7:7. 65 This phrase was discussed by many scholars. See for example: G. Alon, The Jews in their Land in the Talmudic Age (ed. & trans. G. Levy), vol. I (Magnes: Jerusalem 1980), pp. 120–​121; E. Schürer, The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ, A New English version, revised and edited by Gesa Vermes et al. (Edinburgh, 1973), p. 526, n. 4. 66 Alon, ibid. Josephus Flavius quotes a letter from Lucius Antonius, The Quaestor of Asia, to the magistrates and the senate of Sardis which approves privileges of authority of the Jewish community there. Jos. Ant. 14, 10, 17 (235). See also, A.C. Johnson et al. (Trans. Ed.), Ancient Roman Statutes, repr. (Clarck, NJ: Lawbook Exchange, 2003). 85. 67 See M. Goodman, ‘Trajan and the Origins of Roman Hostility to the Jews’, Past & Present 182 (2004), pp. 22 ff.

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other hand there is no reason to think that Trajan was not interested in peace and stability in the region. Therefore, this might have led him (1) to maintain contacts with Jewish representatives,68 and (2) to approve of a moderate Jewish leadership but not without caution and suspicion. The price for the imperial recognition was apparently that the leaders of the Jews in Judaea, whoever they might have been, would adhere to the spirit of the Pax Romana, in other words would be responsible for keeping the peace and guarding the stability in one of the stormiest trouble spots in the empire.

Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus The only reasonable explanation to the absence of Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus from the second journey to Rome must be based on this background described above. It would seem that he had no place in this kind of leadership. The leadership was compelled to sacrifice its greatest sage on the altar of change. His excommunication and tragic exclusion from the leadership was the result of this process of change. It seems that between the first and second journey to Rome, during the interval Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus had somehow become a persona non-​grata in Rome. But why? And by whom? The question here is whether the absence of Rabbi Eliezer from the second voyage to Rome was an internal Jewish decision or a response to a direct Roman demand. The Jewish sources tell us in a few but well-​known stories about the disharmony within the leadership to which Rabbi Eliezer belonged together with the others who were mentioned above. As I will show later, there was more than one 68 In Acta Hermaisci (V.A. Tcherikover and A. Fuks, Corpus Papyrorum Judaicarum, vol. II, 157), Trajan is accused by the advocate of the Alexandrian delegation that his council is filled with Jews. This is not the place to discuss the legendary nature of this story, however, but it might reflect the inconvenience of some elements to the recognition of Trajan of the Jewish leadership. Furthermore, despite the authenticity problem of this source, it surely demonstrates that Jewish leaders did have continuous contacts with the Roman authorities. Musurillo suggests that the historical background of this story is the early days of Trajan’s reign, before 113 CE. See H.A. Musurillo: The Acts of the Pagan Martyrs (Acta Alexandrinorum). (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1954), pp. 164–​ 168; comp. W. Weber, ‘Eine Gerichtsverhandlung vor Kaiser Traian’, Hermes, L (1915), pp. 76 f. See also A. Hartmann, ‘Judenhass und Märtyrertum: Zum kulturgeschichtlichen Kontext der Acta Alexandrinorum’, A. Hartmann und G. Weber (Hg.), Zwischen Antike und Moderne.Festschrift für Jürgen Malitz zum 65. Geburtstag (Speyer 2012), p. 132.

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reason for the exclusion of this dominant Rabbi from the inner circle of the leadership –​halakhic and political, reasons within the Jewish leadership but also external ones –​toward the Roman authorities. And not only this, but quiet surprisingly our sources present us with a sensational story in which Rabbi Eliezer is directly confronted with Roman authority, and is indicted with the charge of a Christian heresy. This raises a further question about the role of the Christian ‘disturbance’ within this sensitive equation. And, finally, what we might term the main issue here is what role was played by (Jewish) Christianity in this fragile fabric of relations between the Roman authorities and this group of prominent Jewish sages who are endeavoring to find their way in the turbulent and critical time after the calamities of the Great Revolt. It seems to me that answers to these questions might shed light on the structure of relations of this triangle, and that some of these might be found in the story of the trial of Rabbi Eliezer in a Roman court on a charge of Christian heresy.

The Trial This well-​known story is as sensational as it is strange. The plot unfolds in three major sources,69 but our discussion will utilize the version from the Tosefta.70 The story goes that Rabbi Eliezer was arrested for sectarianism (‫)מינות‬, and that they took him up to the Bema to be judged. The ruler said to him: A sage such as you associating himself with these matters!? He said to him: I have trust in the judge. The ruler thought that he was speaking of him, but 69 t. Hul 2:24; b. Abod. Zar. 16b-​17a; Eccl. R. 1: 8 (ed. Hirshman, pp. 75–​77). 70 The old debate whether the time of the Tosefta is earlier or later to the Talmud has never been decided, and I feel it would be too presumptuous to decide which of the sources is ‘closer’ to the truth. As mentioned above, there are important excerpts from other sources embedded within the Babylonian source that could shed more light. I tend to believe that even in Baraitot of the Babylonian Talmud, more than a kernel of truth can be traced. Different methods of examining this story have been employed during the years regarding the details narrated in these three major sources. Schwartz and Tomson describe the methods at length while explaining their own, that compares all the three traditions ‘in their redactional contexts, discerning the respective redactors’ interventions, and all of this within the context of a close reading of the different versions’, J. Schwartz and P.J. Tomson, ‘When Rabbi Eliezer Was Arrested for Heresy’, JSIJ 10 (2012), pp. 148–​149, and n. 9. See also D. Jaffé, Le judaïsme et l’avènement du christianisme: Orthodoxie et hétérodoxie dans la littérature talmudique Ier-​IIesiècle (Paris: Cerf, 2005), pp. 117–​128.

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he meant his Father in Heaven. He said to him: Since you trust me, I also have said: Is it possible that these gray hairs would err in such matters? Dimus [= Dimissus]! Behold, you are dismissed. When he had left the Bema, he was troubled that he had been arrested for sectarianism. His disciples came in to comfort him, but he was inconsolable. Rabbi Akiva came in and said to him: Rabbi, I will say before you a word; perhaps you will not be troubled. He said to him: Say! He said to him: Perhaps one of the sectarians said something to you of sectarianism, and it caused you pleasure. He said to him: By heaven, you have reminded me. Once I was walking in the marketplace of Tsippori, and I found there Yacakov, the man of Kefar Sikhnin, and he recounted a saying of sectarianism in the name of Yeshu the son of Pantiri,71 and it caused me pleasure, and I was arrested by/​for the words of sectarianism, for I violated that which is written in the Torah, ‘Keep her ways far away from you, and don’t come near the opening of her house, for she has brought many victims down!’ [Prov. 5:8]. (t.Hul. 2:24)

This seemingly sensational story72 needs little additional explanation; we are presented with a sage, one of the finest halakhic adjudicators of his time, who is brought to trial by the Roman authorities in a Roman court of law on a charge of Christian heresy.73 Apart from the trial itself and from the general discussion attached to the Baraita, a wider area of conflict opens up. The confrontation is not just based on a simple two sided legal disputation between a judge and an offender. This confrontation has three sides, three different spheres of interest. A triangle made up 71 See Boyarin’s extensive explanation on this name, D. Boyarin, Dying, p. 154, n. 27. See also, D. Rokeach, ‛Ben Stada is Ben Pantera–​Towards the Clarification of a Philological-​Historical Problem’, Tarbiz 39 (1969), pp. 8–​19 (in Hebrew); D. Jaffé, ‘The Virgin Birth of Jesus in the Talmudic Context: A Philological and Historical Analysis’, Laval théologique et philosophique, 68(3) (2012), pp. 577–​ 592. The Babylonian Talmud, however, mentions the name Yeshu ha-​Notsri instead of the son of Pantiri, but this is a very late adaptation, even if it is a correct one. 72 This story was thoroughly investigated by many scholars over the years, since R. Travers Herford, Christianity in Talmud and Midrash (London: Williams & Norgate, 1903), and H.L. Strack, Jesus, die Häretiker und die Christen nach den ältestenjüdischen Angaben (Leipzig: Hinrichs; Berlin: Schriften d. Inst. Judaic, 37, 1910), until the recent Schwartz and Tomson (above, n. 70), pp. 145–​181. 73 The meaning of ‫ מינות‬as Christianity, at least in earlier sources such as the Mishnah, Midrashei Halacha and Baraitot in the Talmuds, is discussed at length and in detail in my book, Birkat haMinim (above n. 1). In this case, however, it is quite clear that the source speaks of Jewish-​Christianity. See also Boyarin, Dying, p. 27, n. 22. An opposite view regarding the meaning of minut was presented recently by A. Schremer, Brothers Estranged: Heresy, Christianity, and Jewish Identity in Late Antiquity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), p. 16.

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of, (1) the Roman authority,(2) the reviving Jewish leadership in Yavneh and (3) the burgeoning Jewish-​Christian sect. In the middle of this tripartite structure is placed the tragic figure of Rabbi Eliezer. It is on this triangular background, this alignment of forces, that I suggest we judge the story of Rabbi Eliezer. Thus this story functions as an illustration of how the ideology of Yavneh and its leaders was created and instituted, and furthermore, gives us the most genuine representation of ‘the parting of the ways’.

Eliezer ben Hyrcanus vs. the Yavneh Leadership Rabbi Eliezer is sometimes called in our sources ‫שמותי‬.74 This nickname has two possible derivations: (1) that it came from translating the word shamoti as though it was derived from Shamta75 (Aramaic: boycott).76 According to this explanation the nickname expresses Rabbi Eliezer’s standing after being ostracized; (2) shamoti be can also be explained as a follower of the School of Shammai, in which case this would indicate that Rabbi Eliezer followed that school of thought. Thus we could even suggest that this nickname might be referring to both possibilities. Our sources connect several of the rulings of Rabbi Eliezer to the School of Shammai even though Rabbi Eliezer did not follow this school of thought in all cases. However, for the sake of clarity it is important to note that at the outset of the rebellion, at the time of the disturbances that finally led up to the revolt, Rabbi Eliezer is seen as belonging to the zealous approach, in other words, those that wanted rebellion, and this was a characteristic of the School of Shammai. The sources also show how the argument in the year 66 CE between the Schools of Hillel and Shammai led to the victory of the School of Shammai and the ruling of the Eighteen Decrees77 for the separation and severance of relationships between Jews and Gentiles. This would seem to support the theory that these regulations also led to the termination of the sacrifice that was offered for the welfare of the emperor and the Roman people. This incident is engraved strongly on the historical memory of the nation by the 74 b. Shab. 130b; Nid. 7b; y. Sheb. 9, 39a. 75 b. m. Qat. 16a. 76 M. Sokoloff, A Dictionary of Jewish Babylonian Aramaic of the Talmudic Period (Ramat Gan: Bar-​Ilan University Press, 2002), 1163. 77 m. Shab. 1:4.

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saying ‘that day was as harsh for Israel as the day on which the Golden Calf was made’. The result of the victory of the extremist movement over the moderates was that once they took control the rebellion against Rome became inevitable. If the above discussion in the Babylonian Talmud is accepted, Rabbi Eliezer would seem to have belonged to this extreme group.78 The School of Shammai ceased to exist, at least as an active school, after the revolt; most of its leaders were either killed or taken into captivity. Of those who survived some like Rabbi Eliezer were for a short while integrated into the new leadership. It is hard to imagine that these people, despite the personal and national tragedy that they had undergone, would completely give up their hopes for freedom. In the aftermath of the rebellion during the period of Yohanan ben Zakkai when the Roman rule was extremely harsh and the force of the tragedy still loomed over the people there were no disputes recorded between extremists and moderates and certainly there is no evidence of them in the written sources. However, the process that finally brought Rabban Gamaliel to power indicates that there remained remnants of extremist ideology and policies of aggression. It is not clear if the belligerent policies of the extremists were intended to renew the struggle as of now we have no written accounts of such things. Nevertheless, the process of building up a society without a Temple and devoid of its associated rituals raised serious disputes in relation as to which traditions and halakhot from the Temple period should endure. Our sources do indicate that disputes did exist between Rabban Gamaliel and Rabbi Eliezer but they were even more vehement between Rabbi Joshua, who belonged to the School of Hillel and Rabbi Eliezer. In many of these discussions Rabbi Eliezer’s outlook is controversial; he wanted to continue the old traditions, among which were the preservation of the Temple rituals and the halakhot connected with them so as to preserve the sanctity of Jerusalem. We will give two examples: the first is a disagreement on an issue that belonged to the Temple period.

78 Martin Hengel claims that ‘Eliezer ben Hyrcanus, who could himself be called a “Zealot” among learned Jews, was quite convinced that the destruction of Rome was a precondition for the coming of the rule of God’. M. Hengel, The Zealots (trans. D. Smith, 2nd edition, Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1989), pp. 108–​109.

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It has been further taught: ‘Rabbi Eliezer had a vineyard in its fourth year east of Lydda at the side of Kefar Tabi, and Rabbi Eliezer had a mind to declare it free to the poor, but his disciples said to him, Rabbi, your colleagues have already taken a vote on it and declared it permitted’. Who are his ‘colleagues’? –​Rabban Yohanan b. Zakkai79

The regulations for the crop of a vineyard in its fourth year states that for the first three years after planting, the grapes are forbidden for consumption and in the fourth year they are sanctified. Therefore, in the fourth year they must be taken to Jerusalem and eaten there. If the grapes themselves cannot be transported they can be redeemed by payment and the money used to buy fruit to be eaten in the city. However, the halakha fixed a radius around Jerusalem of a day’s journey in each direction which could be used instead of actually coming into the city. Rabbi Eliezer’s vineyard was within this radius but he wanted to give the grapes to the poor so they could bring the fruit to Jerusalem and enjoy them there and thus fulfill the obligations of the fourth year. The reaction of Rabbi Eliezer’s students to this, as the source shows, indicate that they pointed out to him that this ordinance had been repealed, and that it was his own teacher Rabbi Yohanan ben Zakkai that had revoked this tenet. Rescinding this kind of ordinances is extremely logical when considering the period; it was no longer practical to continue specific halakhot connected to the Temple or general ones connected to Jerusalem in view of the new situation of the city in those days. To ben Zakkai are attributed several more retractions of ordinances connected with the Temple.80 It seems that the attempts of Rabbi Eliezer, who had belonged to the School of Shammai, was to try and safeguard the old traditions possibly indicating the hope for a return to the old ways. Rabban Gamaliel’s ‘reformation’ went in the other direction, his was a realistic understanding of the new situation and he worked for a comprehensive solution to the circumstances in which he found the nation. This would then have obviously brought him into conflict with the more conservative elements. The second example of the conflict between Rabbi Eliezer and the other sages is connected with the ‘Red Heifer’.

79 b. Bes. 5a. 80 Baraita to b. Rosh. Hash.. 31b.

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[A cow] if it was born from the side, and the hire [of a harlot] and the price [of a dog] (Deut. 23:19) –​it is invalid. Rabbi Eliezer declares valid, for it is written, you will not bring […] Whereas the Heifer was not brought into the Temple.81

In the discussion of the Red Heifer there was a ruling that if such a calf was born by a caesarean operation the calf was invalid. In opposition to this accepted view of the sages Rabbi Eliezer considered a calf born in such a way to be valid. His explanation was ‘‫ ’אין זו באה לבית‬the calf itself does not enter the Temple82 precinct as it is sacrificed on the Mount of Olives and only the ashes are sprinkled in front of the Temple. Rabbi Eliezer’s ruling in fact correlates to the biblical stipulation ‘Thou shalt not bring [them] into the House of the Lord’ (Deut. 23:18). However, his ruling simply did not suit the ‘spirit of the times’. Rabbi Eliezer had a tendency to lean towards the idealistic rather than the realistic, hence his careful attention to the laws of purity, the Temple and Jerusalem regardless of the reality of the times he was living in. It is exactly this example that brings us back to Rabbi Eliezer’s trial, a sage under the alleged suspicion of heresy. The story in our source is told in such a way that the actual act of heresy is related almost as an afterthought, after Rabbi Akiva reminded Rabbi Eliezer of the exchange of words with Ya‘aqov the heretic from the village of Sekhania. In this exchange, that appears only in the Babylonian Talmud and Midrash Kohelet Rabbah versions, the Christian asks an extremely provocative question. This conversation is missing in the version of the Tosefta. Perhaps the words of the heretic were deliberately omitted as a reaction of the Tosefta. Schwartz and Tomson suggest that there might have been a ‘independently circulating tradition’ that included the exchange of words between the Rabbi and the heretic.83 If this assumption is correct we can wonder about the purpose of these words. Ya‘aqov the heretic puts forward a question that forces consideration of the necessities of daily life in the sanctity of the consecrated precinct. The Temple and its holy laws are subjected to a question of the banal needs of man. The Christian heretic is thus making fun of the laws of the Torah and the sanctity of

81 m. Par 5:3. 82 Following Numbers 19, the Red Heifer was slaughtered and burnt outside the camp, and it was there also that they put the ashes needed for the purification ritual. 83 Joshua Schwartz and Peter J. Tomson (above n. 70), p. 157.

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the Temple but for some reason this causes Rabbi Eliezer to ponder the question put, possibly due to his intense feelings towards the Temple and its rituals. Rabbi Eliezer wished to preserve exactly those laws, traditions and Halakhot that in reality could not stand against the tide of reform that swept the new leadership of a nation devoid of its Temple. The problem is that the alleged exchange of words regarding the Temple might be considered inappropriate in an atmosphere when discussions about the Temple could have been seen as dangerous. But this was not a matter of being caught because of Christian ideas. If there was a problem, at least according to the Babylonian Talmud version, it was the forbidden issue of the Temple. Other disputes between Rabban Gamaliel and those that like him held to the new ideas, and Rabbi Eliezer and his opinions, might likewise be connected to this trend, even if they are not directly connected to halakhot on the subject of holiness. The Mishnah exemplifies: ‘Rabbi Eliezer said: he that makes his prayer a fixed task, his prayer is no supplication’.84 Much later, Babylonian sages seem to have difficulties in understanding the meaning of this statement and the Talmud present us with different suggestions.85 However, in the light of the above analysis of Rabbi Eliezer’s ideology and beliefs, I would suggest a different reading: The background story to this saying of Rabbi Eliezer is perhaps the fixing of the Shemone Esre prayer in the days of Rabban Gamaliel at Yavneh.86 Did Rabbi Eliezer see in ‘set prayers’ the affixing of an alternative to sacrifices in the Temple?87 Is his saying an expression of the fear that fixing the prayers might distance the hopes of seeing the Temple built again in the

84 m. Ber.4:4. 85 b.Ber. 29b. See recent publications: S.C. Reif, Judaism and Hebrew Prayer (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge 1993), pp. 109, 358–​359, n. 50; R. Langer, To Worship God Properly, Hebrew Union College: Cincinnati 1993), pp. 110–​ 113; R.L. Eisenberg, What the Rabbis Said (Greenwood: Oxford 2010), 233. 86 b. Ber. 28b-​29a. 87 In her enlightened analysis Ruth Langer stresses that ‘[the sages] had to define their liturgical replacements in connection to and in opposition to the Temple’ (Ibid. p. 5). Yet she emphasizes that it was ‘an expression of temporal equivalence rather than of substitution or replacement’ (p. 6). I think that the ambiguity of the sages reflects some kind of lip service to the hope to revive the ideal past in the foreseeable future. The much later saying in the Babylonian Talmud, that ‘prayers were instituted to replace the daily sacrifices’ (b. Ber. 26b) can be seen as a final acceptance of the reality of that equation.

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near future? It is hard to know. Yet reading it this way is not far from illustrating Rabbi Eleazar’s views, especially if we examine this saying in reference to the other sayings and opinions attributed to him. Discussions of this kind abounded in the early period of Yavneh and are prevalent throughout the various sections of the Talmudic literature. The climax of this drama, the point where all the divergences came to a head, was the dispute over Achnai’s oven. A fateful disagreement registered in no uncertain terms as a precursor of the ‘times of change’. It has been taught: On that day R. Eliezer brought forward every imaginable argument, but they did not accept them. He said to them: ‘If the halakha agrees with me, let this carob-​tree prove it!’ Thereupon the carob-​tree was torn a hundred cubits out of its place –​ others affirm, four hundred cubits. ‘No proof can be brought from a carob-​tree’, they retorted. Again, he said to them: ‘If the halakha agrees with me, let the stream of water prove it!’ Whereupon the stream of water flowed backwards –​ ‘No proof can be brought from a stream of water’, they rejoined. Again, he urged: ‘If the halacha agrees with me, let the walls of the schoolhouse prove it’, whereupon the walls inclined to fall. But R. Joshua rebuked them, saying: ‘When scholars are engaged in a halachic dispute, what have ye to interfere?’ Hence, they did not fall, in honor of R. Joshua, nor did they resume the upright, in honor of R. Eliezer; and they are still standing thus inclined. Again, he said to them: ‘If the halacha agrees with me, let it be proved from Heaven!’ Whereupon a Heavenly Voice (‫ )בת קול‬cried out: ‘Why do ye dispute with Rabbi Eliezer, seeing that in all matters the halacha agrees with him!’ But Rabbi Joshua arose and exclaimed: ‘It is not in heaven’. (Deut. 30:12). What did he mean by this? Rabbi Jeremiah said: As the Torah had already been given at Mount Sinai; we pay no attention to a Heavenly Voice, because Thou hast long since written in the Torah at Mount Sinai (Ex. 23:3): ‘After the majority must one incline’.88

This well-​known and thoroughly discussed legendary89 debate is presented as the ultimate showdown. The aim of the story is to stress, both didactically and declaratively, that the world order has changed. On the one hand, you have 88 b. B. Mes.59a. See also y. M. Qat., iii, 1; 10c. There are some important differences in the two versions but with no effect on our discussion. See in-​depth comparative analysis between the two versions in A. Gutmann, ‘The Significance of Miracles for Talmudic Judaism’, HUCA 20 (1947), pp. 379 ff. 89 The literary structure of this story is built in a legendary way to intensify the magnitude of the principals the authors or the redactors want to deliver. In this case I would follow Shaye Cohen’s view that ‘Some […] disputes […] are the artificial creations of editors or redactors, but most are real’. S.J.D. Cohen, ‘The Significance of Yavnehh’, HUCA 55 (1984) (repr. 1984), 65. In my opinion, a grain of truth is obvious.

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the charismatic personality of Rabbi Eliezer, who is presented as a man who is able to perform miracles with the forces of nature abiding by his word, and to bring forth a voice from heaven that calls out in defense of his ruling. And, on the other hand, the moderate leadership who are attempting to formulate rulings in a harsh new reality. In my opinion, there is no doubt that there is more than a grain of truth –​perhaps not in the exact scenario that is depicted here, but in the reality that this narrative reflects, that the new leadership headed by Rabban Gamaliel made a stand against the dangers of a charismatic leadership that was not prepared to accept the opinions and policy of the majority. In this legend Rabbi Eliezer is presented as obedient and faithful to no human authority. This kind of position was unquestionably a dangerous one, which quiet easily could be interpreted as a further threat to the already delicate relations with the Roman authorities. Indeed it was felt that these were the kind of people that could spark off anti-​Roman hostility and once again lead the country into war and ruin. The moderate leadership was well aware of Rome’s intelligence network and their sensitivity to charismatic and messianic leaders, and they were well aware of Roman capability to stamp out such trouble spots. The sanctions against Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus can only be understood against this background of moderation versus radicalism,90 as well as the phenomena of uncontrollable unnatural forces. The following Talmudic story shows one of these aspects rather sharply: It is further related of R. Eliezer that once he stepped down before the Ark and recited the twenty-​four benedictions [for fast days] and his prayer was not answered. R. Akiva stepped down after him and exclaimed: Our Father, our King, we have no King but Thee; our Father, our King, for Thy sake have mercy upon us; and rain fell. The Rabbis present suspected [R. Eliezer], whereupon a Heavenly Voice was heard proclaiming. [The prayer of ] this man [R. Akiva] was answered not because he is greater than the other man, but because he is ever forbearing and the other is not.91

A heavenly voice is involved in this Talmudic legend as in the previous passage, but this time it is the voice of the sages that mark the boundaries. In this case Rabbi Eliezer and Rabbi Akiva do not cross these lines with their prayers for rain, but the former’s pleading is nevertheless not accepted 90 This is not of course related to the modern meaning of rationalism, whatever it might be, but a convenience definition of a careful Jewish policy towards the Romans. Miraculous ­figures –​if they were Jews, were seen as dangerous in Roman eyes, as explicitly shown in Josephus writings. 91 b. Ta‘an.25b.

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because he is not ‘forbearing’ like Rabbi Akiva, his student and colleague. This passage in the Babylonian Talmud is yet another illustration of Rabbi Eliezer’s problematic personality; again, he is presented here as a very strict halakhic figure, and in some cases much more stringent than his colleagues.92 Thus the lesson here is that only a moderate attitude can change the verdict of God as in the case, we have quoted above.93 This very significant source is showings us once again that even if Rabbi Eliezer is represented as a man with a powerful personality, who can employ supernatural acts, his way is not always acceptable even (and especially) in heaven.94 92 See, for example BT Bava Kama 84a: ‘R. Eliezer said: eye for eye literally refers to the eye [of the offender]’. An interesting question is put next to Rabbi Eliezer’s ruling: ‘Could R. Eliezer be against all those Tannaim’? It seems to me that the editor chose this question not unintentionally, although he actually settles this question instantly. 93 The Babylonian Talmud marks the lines in a late reference regarding human interference in cosmic orders: ‘R. Johanan said: Three keys the Holy One blessed be He has retained in His own hands and not entrusted to the hand of any messenger, namely, the Key of Rain, the Key of Childbirth, and the Key of the Revival of the Dead’ (b. Ta‘an.2a). A rare exception is the famous story of Honi (Onias) the Circle-​drawer whose prayer for rain was answered after he had drawn a circle and prayed from within. The response of Simeon ben Shetah’, one of the heads of the Sanhedrin, to this miraculous practice is interesting: ‘Simeon b. Shetah’ sent to him [saying], ‘Hadst thou not been Honi I had pronounced a ban against thee! But what shall I do to thee?—​thou importunest God and he performeth thy will, like a son that importuneth his father and he performeth his will’ (Mishnah Taanit iii, 9). Honi’s interference in the orders of the heaven should not be tolerated, but to end with a ban, if it was not the unique person like Honi. This Mishnahic lesson seems to be applied in the case of Rabbi Eliezer. See S.C. Reif, Judaism and Hebrew Prayer: New Perspectives on Jewish Liturgical History (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), p. 107. See also, R. Patai, ‘The “Control of Rain” in Ancient Palestine: A Study in Comparative Religion’, HUCA 14 (1939), pp. 251–​286. Another example of very exceptional people who were permitted to perform supernatural powers because of their modesty, like Hanina ben Dosa who said after he had successfully prayed for the healing of Rabban Gamaliel’s son: ‘I am neither a prophet nor the son of a prophet, but I learnt this from experience. If my prayer is fluent in my mouth, I know that he is accepted: but if not, I know that he is rejected’ (BT Berachot 34b). Here Hanina ben Dosa, who had reputation of being able to perform miracles, is publically underestimating his abilities. This is apparently the spirit of the traditional idea about whose supernatural acts could be accepted and whose not. 94 A. Guttmann (Miracles, above n. 89) argued that ‘the Sages outlawed miracles as a deciding factor in legal disputes’. See the response of A.I. Baumgarten, ‘Miracles and Halakah in Rabbinic Judaism’, JQR 73 (1983), pp. 238–​253. This debate between these scholars is about inherent Jewish tendencies, while in this discussion I stress that at least in some (major) cases, the sages view was very much influenced by their connections with the Roman authorities.

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Here too we see a deliberate diminution of Rabbi Eliezer’s image, even if it is sometimes presented in a very genteel manner. All the above factors might be seen as reasons for the banishment of Rabbi Eliezer. All of them in turn might explain the story of the absence of Rabbi Eliezer from the second journey to Rome. This was not only the result of internal policies but the necessity for a foreign policy to ensure the survival of the nation within an hostile empire, and to gain recognition of the new leadership. Yet the ban imposed on Rabbi Eliezer, so we are told, was a hard and painful experience for all. Rabbi Akiva is said to have informed Rabbi Eliezer of the decision while wearing the sackcloth of bereavement; and legend has it that all the world suffered from the fury of the banished rabbi. Thus the Talmud tells us that, in order to enhance the impression of this unusual measure taken against such a great sage, that while Rabban Gamaliel was at sea and caught up in a bad storm, an enormous wave appeared and was about to drown him, he said ‘this is apparently to repay for Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus’ so he stood up and said ‘great God in heaven above what I did was not for me or my family but in your honour so there would be no quarrel in Israel’ at which the storm abated and the sea calmed. The authority of Rabbi Eliezer did not fade despite the ban but continued seemingly supported by the powers above. It seems that there was some kind of a necessity to continue to have a powerful adversary, and even though the ban had been administered somehow it was not a ‘fait accompli’ and he was certainly not ignored. Sages continued to seek the rulings of Rabbi Eliezer. However, it was the didactic power of the story of Achnai’s Oven that convinced the majority, just as ‘it is not in heaven’, that the rule of the majority must hold sway but ‘after the majority one must incline’ we can be in little doubt that the new leadership understood the indispensable need for a unified approach. We might yet consider a further symbolic aspect to this legendary story of the sea voyage and the imminent drowning of Rabban Gamaliel. The question is did the author intend us to interpret it in this manner? The effect of Rabbi Eliezer’s anger confronts Rabban Gamaliel at sea, exactly on what is considered to be his second journey to Rome, the very one that Rabbi Eliezer did not participate in. His independent character, his charismatic personality, his teachings and rulings by which Rabbi Eliezer was endeavoring to preserve the extreme ideology of the School of Shammai, all these certainly made him an unwanted obstacle in a leadership that was based on consensus. This journey may have been

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undertaken simply as a one of the processes of receiving some kind of recognition that it was Rabban Gamaliel and his companions who were now the nation’s leaders, and in order to achieve this concession from Rome they had to make certain sacrifices that would ensure the future of the nation –​that sacrifice was Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus.95

The Trial from a Roman Perspective Let us now return again to the trial of Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus: The order in which the story is laid out does not go beyond Pliny’s description detailed previously. The judicial procedure seemingly described in both the Jewish sources and in Pliny’s letter to Trajan does not go beyond the first stage of a hearing. In fact, there is no reason to go beyond this stage as logically there is no need to produce evidence when deliberating on the subject of faith, since a denial of that belief suffices especially if the accused is refuting (his or her) God’s anointed Messiah. Christian history knows no bounds when it comes to praising those that refused to deny their faith, especially those that forfeited their own lives on that principle. In fact, by refusing to repudiate their faith and by actually sacrificing themselves they cast themselves in the role of the martyr, refusal to renounce their faith was in itself an ‘act of the faith’. As a result of this it seems that believing Christians remained faithful by non-​ denial.96 This procedure found in Pliny’s letter and in the judicial inquiry of Rabbi Eliezer, was it seems the method for determining if someone was a Christian or not. Judging Christians was a straight forward procedure of inducing the accused to deny the belief. Furthermore, it also proves that this procedure was new in this period and it commenced in the two year reign of the emperor Nerva and continued, particularly in the days 95 Opposition to the notion that Rabban Gamaliel himself was responsible for Rabbi Eliezer’s banishment is found in M. Aberbach, ‘Did Rabban Gamaliel II impose the ban on Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus?’, JQR 54 (1964), 201–​207. His view is following Ginzberg’s doubt of the whole story. See Louis (Levi) Ginzberg, Commentary on Talmud Yerushalmi, vol. II (New York: Ktav Pub. House 1971), 40 (In Hebrew). 96 The basic inspiration for this central characteristic in Early Christianity (and later) is in the teaching of Jesus himself to his disciples: ‘Whosoever therefore shall confess me before men, him will I confess also before my Father which is in heaven. But whosoever shall deny me before men, him will I also deny before my Father which is in heaven […] And he that taketh not his cross, and followeth after me, is not worthy of me. He that findeth his life shall lose it: and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it’. Matthew 10:33–​39.

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of Trajan, his adopted son. It seems also that only in the time of Trajan there was a clear policy against the Christians as such, and not as part of the pursuit after the evaders of the fiscus Judaicus as in the days of Domitian. The latter also persecuted those ‘who drifted into Jewish ways’ as Cassius Dio testifies, but there it points to converted Romans, while if they became Christians we remain unclear as to their fate. According to Suetonius it was sheer greed that motivated Domitian and that his motive was mainly raise money. But whatever the reason for Domitian’s actions against the Jews, according to Suetonius, Domitian was always chasing after tax evaders, and for this purpose he made constant use of informers (delatores). Informers were apparently a widespread practice in Rome. Obviously, it was not a very popular practice among the citizens of Rome that even Domitian himself forbade the use of informers at the beginning of his reign, but soon, as Suetonius stresses, ‘he did not long persevere in this course of clemency and justice’.97 Trajan’s reply to Pliny stresses particu�� larly that ‘anonymously posted accusations ought to have no place in any prosecution (of Christians)’. This instruction, or recommendation, is yet another piece of evidence of how widespread denunciation was, even in the inconsistent pursuit after Christians in the days of Trajan. Pliny’s report to the emperor on his judicial procedure against Christians does not explain how they were brought to his court of justice, but one can assume with high degree of certainty that the accused had been given away by informers. This could be the case with Rabbi Eliezer. According to the Tosefta, the last sentence that the Roman judge said to the accused before acquitting him, was ‘Is it possible that these gray hairs would err in such matters?’ The Hebrew word that was translated ‘gray hairs’ is ]‫הסיבו[ת‬. If we compare this usage to to another reference in the Tosefta (Nega’im 1b) the meaning is unquestionably ‘elders’ or ‘old men’. In any case, the entire sentence may allude to the fact that Rabbi Eliezer was brought before the Judge after he had been extradited or arrested as a result of informers. The question is were the Jewish elders definitely involved in his incarceration? Schwartz and Tomson claimed recently that ‘the only option that the story posits is that Rabbi Eliezer was denounced by pagans’. At first glance there could not be another reasonable option, as they correctly posit it: ‘it seems inconceivable that the backdrop to the Rabbi Eliezer story, in any of the versions, would have been that he was denounced,

97 Suetonius, Domitianus, IX.

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anonymously or not, by other Jews’.98 And indeed, if we place the singularly distinguished character of this sage against the story and then judge for ourselves, the answer might appear quite simple: Rabbi Eliezer is said to have been the most appreciated student of Rabban Yohanan ben Zakkai who said of him ‘[he] is like a plastered cistern which loses not a drop [of water]’, and that his wisdom alone ‘would outweigh them [the sages] all’.99 And indeed, Rabbi Eliezer is described in our sources as the most famous teacher of his generation and that hundreds of his rulings have been preserved. He is quoted in the entire Talmudic literature more frequently than any of his colleagues and contemporaries. After his death in tribute to his great learning it was said of him ‘when Rabbi Eliezer died, the Torah-​ scroll was hidden away’.100 Taking these references into account it is hard to imagine such a sage could be accused of being a follower of any kind of heresy.101 So again we are left with the main question what was the charge against Rabbi Eliezer that brought him to face this Roman court? As we follow the story we can assume that the sin attributed to Rabbi Eliezer is as he himself says: ‘I transgressed the words of the Torah: ‘Remove thy way far from her’ (Proverbs 5:8)’. The Babylonian Talmud adds a reminder that is also given in Avot de Rabbi Nathan, that ‘’Remove thy way far from her’ means ‘from heresy’,102 which would then imply that Rabbi Eliezer had transgressed a rabbinic ban by simply being involved in a discussion with Ya‘aqov. Nevertheless, according to the narrative it would seem that Rabbi Eliezer is accused of violating the Roman law, and if this wasn’t so there would be no story, as all the sources are adamant about the fact that the trial took place in a Roman court. Yet the supposed ‘confession’ of Rabbi Eliezer, or his recollection of the event with the aid of his disciple Rabbi Akiva, refer to breaking a ban ruled by the sages; namely, that the sages were worried about connections with Christians and had passed this ruling, and therefore, the actual profanity then is against the ruling passed by the sages of whom Rabbi Eliezer was

98

J. Schwatz and P.J. Tomson, ‘When Rabbi Eliezer was Arrested for Minut’, JSIJ 10 (2012), p.178. 99 m. Ab. 2:8. 100 b. Sot. 49b. 101 This notion is widely accepted ever since the beginning of modern research. See H. Strack, Jesus die häretiker und die Christen nach den Ältesten Jüdischen Angaben (Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs, 1910), p. 23, n. 4. 102 An in depth discussion on this warning, see: Teppler, Birkat Haminim (above n. 1), pp. 279–​282.

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a principal member! In other words, this is not, as it is represented in the sources, a Roman prerequisite but an internal affair pertaining to Jewish practice in the Yavneh period. To try and simplify things it is impossible to find circumstantial written proof that Jewish people that communicated with Christian heretics were liable to be reprimanded due to the sporadic persecution of the Christian sect. As to the connection between the Roman judge who admonishes Rabbi Eliezer and the intrusion of the Christian heretic Ya‘aqov, there are remaining questions to be asked. Even if Rabbi Eliezer is called to account for violating an internal Jewish ordinance, would it be a matter for a Roman judge? Were the Romans forbidding Jews to meet with other Jews, who happened to believe in Jesus as the anointed messiah? And the most importantly was it really just an internal Jewish matter, as Rabbi Eliezer himself is said to declare, utterly detached from the Roman context? And yet, the triangle that is presented in this story would not allow us to see this merely within Jewish context. Obviously the ruling and prohibitions regarding connections with Judeo-​ Christians came from the circle of the Jewish sages, but there can be no doubt that one of the main reasons for this was their vigilance to the danger that could come from the Roman authorities, especially in the time of Trajan, who was not particularly partial to the Jews to say the least.103 Saul Lieberman, the great Talmudist, offers an interesting idea which coincides with the leading argument of this paper. Here is his conclusion in relation to Rabbi Eliezer’s answer to the Roman Judge: R. Eliezer’s answer was evasive. The straightforward answer should have been a flat denial. Perhaps he refused to give a direct reply because of his fear of additional questions. If the Rabbi had allowed a discussion to develop the judge might have asked him for the reasons of his excommunication. It might have involved an explanation of the intimate internal affairs of the academies. Had R. Eliezer refused to answer this question, once it was asked, the charge would naturally be confirmed.104

This statement that links the trial of Rabbi Eliezer and his excommunication from the inner circle of the sages is crucial. Although it is rather speculative to guess what Rabbi Eliezer was thinking, this link is



103

See M. Goodman, ‘Trajan and the Origins of Roman Hostility to the Jews’, Past & Present 182 (2004), p. 22 ff. 104 Lieberman, Legal Institutions (above n. 62), p. 22.

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reasonable when we take into account the obvious threat that the opinions and thoughts of such an important personage might hold could be a danger to the sensitive relationship between the mainstream yet unstable Jewish leadership and the vigilant Roman authorities at the turn of the century. We know of course, that up to a certain point of time, encounters between Jewish sages and Jewish Christians did take place on an intellectual level105 (as between Jewish sages and themselves). And with this in mind, I think that it would be more appropriate to consider this story as a silhouette of a situation at a time when these encounters106 were suddenly discouraged and their details not documented in their entirety, or that some sages –​who happened to be known as opponents of Rabban Gamaliel in crucial or problematic rulings –​may have seen themselves somewhat above and beyond those restrictions, immune by their status in the leadership, or by their independent and charismatic nature. And in any case, regardless of the true event, that was what the editor, or the redactor, wanted to show us.



105

It should be born in mind that the many descriptions of encounters should be read distinctively. For example, many of the references in the Babylonian Talmud begin with a redactor opening sentence: ‘A certain min said to (a named Rabbi [“‫אמר ליה‬ ‫ )]”ההוא מינא‬. b. Ber. 10a; 56b; 58a; Sab. 152b; ‘Erub 101a; Suk. 48b; Yeb. 102b; Sanh. 31b; 38b-​39a; 91a;106b. The redactors work and the distance of this Talmud from the actual events make these stories questionable. Other descriptions of such encounters in the Tanaitic sources are more reliable. 106 We should notice that stories of encounters between sages and minim are limited to the second generation Tanaim, where they stopped, since we don’t find descriptions in this spirit in the third-​forth generations, and even later (taking into account the dubious nature of the stories in the Babylonian Talmud). The encounters were renewed not early than the third century CE. Comparison of the conversations between Yavnehan sages with Christians on one hand, and third century’s sages on the other hand, shows that the latter was a real intellectual debate. The former kind of intellectual encounter was more of a polemic nature. Boyarin explicitly stresses that ‘the story beautifully illustrates the hypothesis that of simultaneous rabbinic attraction to and repulsion from Christianity’ (Dying, p. 27). This important remark is a precise demonstration of the complexity of the intrinsic Jewish confusion regarding the messianic trend. Boyarin refers to Baumgarten’s view about the positive attitude of the Pseudo-​Clementine writings towards the Pharisees as a possible explanation of the close relations between mainstream sages and Jewish Christians. I accept this explanation as convincing. See A.I. Baumgarten, ‘Literary Evidence for Jewish Christianity in the Galilee’, in The Galilee in Late Antiquity, ed. L.I. Levine (New York: Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1992), pp. 39–​50.

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The Function of the Trial’s Story within a Broader Framework All the above-​mentioned episodes of Rabbi Eliezer’s life, his independent personality that put him on many occasions in opposition to Rabban Gamaliel and his adherence to the remnants of the obsolete zealous ideology of the School of Shammai, all these must by their very nature shed a new light on the story of the trial. As far-​fetched as this story might be seen, this is exactly the kind of the message it would want to deliver. Of all the sages, it is Rabbi Eliezer who is put as an example. And the lesson is that there are limits even beyond which a great sage cannot go. And when it’s a charismatic halakhic leader such as Rabbi Eliezer, the lesson must be sharp and long lasting. There are issues that in certain moments should be buried deep, and there are moments that need responsibility,107 not adventurousness.108 In this case, chatting with (Christian) heretics, apparently motivated by your own self-​confidence and charisma, still lay within those forbidden ranges, that even a sage of his dimension cannot get into. Immunity, even if you have an exceptionally charismatic personality, so it seems, doesn’t mean anything, if it does not willingly harnessed itself to the common goal, and all the episodes that we have discussed above have shown that that was not the case with our hero. It can thus be seen that this story goes far beyond the confines of the framework of the discussion in which it is presented. In fact, the story is a device, it was formulated as the corner stone that when placed where it is, paves the way for the ousting of Rabbi Eliezer from the collective leadership. The story of the trial and the tale of his banishment are two anecdotes that when entwined form a corner stone and raison d’etre for the foundation and existence of the Yavneh leadership. Under the direction of Rabban Gamaliel, the traditions of the School of Hillel imbued the heart of the new leadership that formed the majority, and, as we have seen ‘after the majority one must incline’. The story of Rabbi Eliezer and his trial clearly illustrates how the destiny of anyone, no matter who they might be or how great they are, who dares to cross the boundaries set by the consensus leadership can lead

107

See analysis of the story of the ban from a modern legal point of view, E.N. Cahn, ‘Authority and Responsibility’, Columbia Law Review 51 (1951), pp. 838–​851. 108 See M. Weber, On Charisma and Institution Building (ed. & intro. S.N. Eisenstadt; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1968).

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him into serious difficulty. In this case, having what might have seemed as an innocent yet forbidden conversation with a Christian, Rabbi Eliezer crossed that line. This kind of independence that was perhaps strengthened by its adherence to an ideology that should have elapsed in the process of creating a new identity, eventually led to the tragic result of the banishment of this great sage. By analyzing the story of the trial in this broader framework, I submit that we also gain a better understanding of the personal tragedy of Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus which thus allows us to comprehend all the more the structure and base of the founding of what we call ‘the Yavneh leadership’. The didactic part of the story renders for us a clearer picture of the attempt at the creation of a more moderate Jewish leadership under Roman auspices. Thus, the story of the trial of Rabbi Eliezer is just one of the basic components for expounding the founding of a legitimate leadership under Roman patronage.

Conclusion In all this stories, three characteristics of Rabbi Eliezer stand out: (1) A charismatic, antagonistic figure, who derives his authority from an independent and personal interpretation of the scriptures. (2) A Halakhic sage who supports the extreme ideology of the School of Shammai, and (3) a Jewish leader who makes intellectual contacts with (Jewish) Christians. All the above, and with Josephus warnings about dangerous characters kept in mind, all are in accord with the fear of the Jewish mainstream leadership of losing control, not only from an internal Jewish threat on the Pax Romana, but as a result of the hard response of the empire should it feel threatened. From this point of view, there is a strong connection between the trial of Rabbi Eliezer in a Roman court and his excommunication from the leadership and the sages circle as a result of the debate on Akhnai Oven. Rabbi Eliezer’s attraction to certain aspects of Christianity was a challenge not only to the sages rulings and their warnings against Jewish-​Christians, but also a provocation to the Roman policy against the Christians that existed from the days of the emperors Nerva-​Trajan and onwards. And all these are centered on a certain point in our history. The new Jewish leadership was concerned with an unwanted identification with messianism, and probably tried to push the Roman emperor Nerva to see the Jewish-​Christians as a separate entity, and which resulted in Nerva

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changing the fiscus Judaicus policy. This eventually led to a new definition of Judaism as a religious affiliation, not an ethnic one, a view which certainly was represented and defended by the mainstream rabbinical circle. The consequence was an immediate separation between Rabbinical Jewry and Jewish-​Christianity, with the stringent policy of the Roman empire in the background. It’s true that the religious ‘parting of the ways’ of the two streams or schools grew from the same roots even though their values were very close. Scholars of the last decades have suggested that the latter could or even should have been a matter of a very long process, however the presence of a third party, its political context and the nature of its involvement, was a very crucial element. It is also essential that it should be born in mind that at least part of the separation process was due to administrative issues, such as the fiscus Judaicus, which should be regarded as an accelerator of other social processes. Finally, we have the Pax Romana and its implications on the control of Rome over occupied Judaea and the Jewish status in the empire, as well as the Jewish leadership of Yavneh that was more than ready to pay the ‘tax’ in order to exclude the messianic, (potentially) rebellious and suspected extreme elements from within. There is no doubt in my mind that the Jewish leadership was no less anxious to adapt to the Roman policy against Christianity from the days of the emperors Nerva-​Trajan, and the trial of Rabbi Eliezer, with the assumption that he was brought to the Roman court as a result of informers (after he had been excommunicated by his colleagues, and perhaps even extradited by them) was indeed a genuine and sharp manifestation of this attitude. Another step but more of a self-​defense measure was the fixing of Birkat Haminim by Shemuel Ha’Qatan in the court of Rabban Gamaliel109 with its intention to exclude Jewish-​Christians from the synagogues and from their communities. Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus with his ideology endangered the stability of the Jewish fabric in that crucial and critical point of time. Not only did he breached the prohibition to have contacts with Christians, but also he was apparently very close to the radical ideology of the zealots –​not to mention his alleged opposition to the consensus of the majority of the sages, as well as his so-​called super-​natural powers and his uncontrolled charisma. His trial on the charge of sectarianism (Christianity) in

109

b. Ber. 28b-​29a.

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a Roman court is not only a proof and testimony to the ‘parting of the ways’, as thoroughly discussed above, but also significant evidence to the crucial role played by the Roman empire in this matter. The parting of the ways was not just religious Jewish initiative, and not an extended historical process, but a political, calculated, realistic and surviving step, for the continuance of the existence of Judaism under the Roman rule, after the Great Rebellion and the destruction of the Second Temple. It was a swift and even abrupt move, under the patronage of Rome, with the Jewish authorized leadership making decisions in relation to the Roman conquerors, without whose presence in these equations –​history would have developed in a completely different way.

Early Christian Communities

10

Dating Anti-​Christian Sources in the Babylonian Talmud* Barak S. Cohen Department of Talmud Bar-​Ilan University

Introduction Talmudic researchers and historians have often interpreted halakhic statements and ideas expressed by Babylonian amoraim as directed against a Christian community located in the environs of the Babylonian sage who authored the statement or idea. Their logic was that the cultural contact between Jews and Christians in Babylonia led to the halakhic and interpretive innovations through which the rabbis responded to Christianity. These sources served historians as evidence of the spread of Christianity in Sasanian Babylonia, as well as test cases as to how rabbis coped.1 This assumption is found in the research of Jacob Obermeyer,

* Since the preparation of this paper, I have benefited immensely from the help and encouragement of my colleague at Bar-​Ilan University, Dr. Dan Jaffé, who has fostered this study in every way possible. I wish to also thank Prof. David Henshke of Bar-​Ilan University who helped me clarify some of the issues in this article. 1 On the formation of an independent Jewish identity and the status of the rabbinic class in light of the struggle with the various streams of Christianity and other sects during the first centuries C.E. see mainly: A. Schremer, ‘Seclusion and Exclusion: The Rhetoric of Separation in Qumran and Tannaitic Literature’, in S.D. Fraade, A. Shemesh, and R.A. Clements (eds.), Rabbinic Perspectives: Rabbinic Literature and the Dead Sea Scrolls: Proceedings of the Eighth International Symposium of the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Associated Literature, 7–​9 January

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William Bacher, Travis Herford, Jacob Neusner, Ephraim Urbach, Naomi 2 Koltun-​Fromm, and most recently, Daniel Boyarin (see below). Nehardean amoraim of the third and early fourth centuries (Samuel, Mar Uqba, ‘Be Rav Shila’, R. Sheshet, R. Nahman and Amemar) are associated with around twenty instances of halakhot and aggadot that scholars have identified as reflecting anti-​Christian polemics, making this one of the largest concentrations of such material in the Babylonian Talmud. However, the evidence supporting the notion that these statements reflect Babylonian ideas has not been properly evaluated. It was often based on a priori assumptions or unproven interpretations of the sources. Analysis of these sources demonstrates that these statements are in reality closely related to Palestinian tannaitic tradition, and are not later Babylonian halakhic or ideological innovations at all. Amoraic halakhic rulings or theological ideas which have been identified as anti-​ Christian, are at times no more than a quote, sometimes in a new literary form, of a Palestinian idea originating in the tannaitic period. In other cases, what seemed to scholars to be a Babylonian innovation is actually a collection of tannaitic rulings originally contained in different literary compositions. On occasion, the Babylonian amora adds to an earlier Palestinian halakhah, but this does not change the essential Palestinian character of the halakhah.3 These are essentially Palestinian statements used by Babylonian amoraim to combat Christianity, and therefore their origins should be dated to an earlier Palestinian period, and not the later

(Brill: Leiden, 2003), pp. 141–​145; C. Hayes, ‘ “The Other” in Rabbinic Literature’, in C.E. Fonrobert and M.S. Jaffee (eds.), The Cambridge Companion to the Talmud and Rabbinic Literature (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 243–​269; D. Jaffé, ‘Arrested by Minuth: The Jewish-​Christians as Represented in Talmudic Aggadah’, Revue Biblique 120 (2013): 441–​458. 2 For specific examples, see below in the notes. Here I will cite just two examples from Daniel Boyarin’s research which are not discussed below: D. Boyarin, ‘Hellenism in Jewish Babylonia’, in C.E. Fonrobert and M.S. Jaffee (eds.), The Cambridge Companion to the Talmud and Rabbinic Literature (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), pp. 336–​363; ibid., ‘The Legends of the Jews: On Theological Contacts between the Babylonian Rabbis and the Church Fathers in Late Antiquity –​A Model and A Case Study’ (Hebrew), Jewish Studies 47 (2010): 25–​34. 3 The closest example of the phenomena is the collection of ‘amoraic baraitot’ transmitted by amoraim in the Talmudim. See B.S. Cohen, ‘In Quest of Babylonian Tannaitic Traditions: The Case of ‘Tanna D’bei Shmuel’, AJS Review 33 (2009): 271–​303; ibid., ‘ “Amoraic Baraitot” Reconsidered: The Case of Tannei Tanna Kameh’, AJS Review 38 (2015): 1–​28.

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Babylonian one. This finding concurs with a conclusion I reached in a separate piece of research, that the cultural contact between Nehardean rabbis and Christians occurred only indirectly, through the interaction Babylonian amoraim had with Palestinian sages, their literature and their traditions.4 Scholars have noted the deep impact that Palestinian tradition had on the halakhic rulings and the patterns of thinking and behavior of Babylonian amoraim.5 Scholars have posited that this impact can be detected as early as the second century and the beginning of the third centuries C.E.6 This study confirms this finding by examining a different aspect of the material. By analyzing what scholars have identified as

4 See B.S. Cohen, ‘ “In Nehardea Where There are No Heretics”: The Purported Jewish “Response to Christianity” in Nehardea (A Re-​Examination of the Talmudic Evidence)’, in Dan Jaffé (ed.), Studies in Rabbinic Judaism and Early Christianity: Text and Context (Brill: Leiden, 2010), 27–​44. 5 This phenomenon is manifested mainly in literature connected with Rava, a fourth generation sages from Mahoza. See: Z. Dor, The Teachings of Eretz Israel in Babylon (Hebrew; Tel-​Aviv: D'vir, 1971); J.N. Epstein, Introduction to Amoraic Literature: Babylonian Talmud and Yerushalmi (Hebrew; Jerusalem: Magness, 1962), 79; E. Urbach, Ha-​Halakhah—​Mekoroteha Ve-​Hitpathuta (Givataim: Yad Latalmud, 1984), 214–​216; A. Kosman, ‘ “Shitta” As a Method of Study –​Its Formation and Pattern of Acceptance in the Academies of Eretz Israel and Babylon’ (Hebrew) Sidra 7 (1991): 120–​122; Goldberg, ‘Palestinian Law in Babylonian Tradition, As Revealed in A Study of Perek Arvei Pesahim’ (Hebrew) Tarbiz 33 (1964): 340, n. 4; I. Gafni, The Jews of Babylonia in the Talmudic Era: A Social and Cultural History (Jerusalem: Zalman Shazar, 1990) (in Hebrew), p. 108 and n. 82; P. Hyman, ‘From Tiberias to Mehoza: Redactorial and Editorial Processes in Amoraic Babylonia’, JQR 93 (2002): 117–​148; Y. Elman, ‘Rava and Palestinian System of Midrash Halakha’, in I.M. Gafni (ed.), Center and Diaspora: The Land of Israel and the Diaspora in the Second Temple, Mishna and Talmud Periods (Hebrew) (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press2004), pp. 217–​242; B.S. Cohen, ‘Was There Really a Rava II? (A Re-​Examination of the Talmudic Evidence)’, JQR 103 (2013): 276–​280; ibid., For Out of Babylonia Shall Come Torah and the Word of the Lord from Nehar Peqod: The Quest for Babylonian Tannaitic Traditions (Boston, MA: Brill, 2017), pp. 20–​27. On this influence in non-​halakhic matters see: See: S.J.D. Cohen, ‘Patriarchs and Scholars’, PAAJR 48 (1981): 85; R. Kalmin, Jewish Babylonia: Between Persia and Roman Palestine (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), p. 10; ibid., Migrating Tales: The Talmud’s Narratives and Their Historical Context (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2014); D. Boyarin, ‘ “The Legends of the Jews”: On Theological Contacts Between the Babylonian Rabbis and the Church Fathers in Late Antiquity –​ A Model and a case Study’ (Hebrew), Jewish Studies 47 (2010): 27. 6 For recent research on this subject, and a reevaluation as to how widespread it was see: Cohen, ‘In Quest of Babylonian Tannaitic Traditions: The Case of ‘Tanna D’bei

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anti-​Christian sources in the Babylonia, this paper again concretizes how large a role Palestinian tradition played in shaping the rabbinic movement in Babylonia.

Late Babylonian Halakhic Traditions? The methodology employed by scholars in dating the anti-​Christian polemics in the Babylonian Talmud has oftentimes been problematic. Seventeen statements made by Nehardean amoraim were identified by scholars as rabbinic responses to Christianity, six of them halakhot and eleven aggadot.7 This collection of amoraic statements, covering five generations of amoraim –​Samuel, Mar Uqba, ‘Be Rav Shila’, R. Sheshet, R. Nahman, and Amemar8 –​is one of the largest collections of statement posited by scholars to be directed against Christianity. Typically scholars dated the tradition based on the introductory ascription –​‘R. X said’. To scholars this formula implied that the statement is amoraic and originated with the rabbi to whom it is ascribed.9 Even more radical are cases in which an amora ascribes a statement (identified as anti-​Christian) to a specific tanna, ‘R. X said in the name of [a Palestinian tanna] [amar X mishme/​mishum (a Palestinian tanna)]’. Because the material was not

Shmuel’, pp. 271–​303; ibid., ‘ “Amoraic Baraitot” Reconsidered: The Case of Tannei Tanna Kameh’, 1–​28. 7 Berakhot 12a; Pesahim 56a; Pesahim 118a (=Makkot 23a); Megillah 11a; Sukkah 52b; Hagigah 14a; Gittin 45b; Bava Batra 25a; Sanhedrin 70a; Sanhedrin 98b; Avodah Zarah 7b; Avodah Zarah 17a; Avodah Zarah 48a; Hullin 13a; Genesis Rabbah 6:3 (ed. Theodor-​Albeck, pp. 42–​43). The story of R. Sheshet and the heretic (‫ )מין‬found on Berakhot 58a exhibits signs of being later, and should be dated to the post-​amoraic period. See: J. Frankel, The Aggadic Narrative Harmony of Form and Content (Tel-​Aviv: Hillel ben Haim, 2001), pp. 209–​212 (Hebrew). 8 My focus on statements attributed to Nehardean amoraim serves merely as a test case. As far as my general approach on the question of reliability of the ascription of these sources to these amoraim, see B.S. Cohen, ‘ “Shmuel said: Hilkheta”: The Halakhic Rulings of Shmuel in the Two Talmudim’ (Hebrew), JSIJ 12 (2013): 25–​26. 9 The same conclusion was made with regard to halakhic sources in the Babylonian Talmud transmitted in the name of an amora using the terms, ‘R. X taught (‫תני רב‬ ‫‘ ’)פלוני‬It was taught in the house of X (‫ ’)תנא דבי רב פלוני‬or ‘A tanna taught in front of X’ )...‫)תני תנא קמיה ד‬. For a reevaluation of this claim see B.S. Cohen, ‘The Tannei Rav Peloni Baraitot in the Babylonian Talmud: From Recitation to Ascription’, Journal of Ancient Judaism 12 (2021): 122-​147.

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introduced by the terms used in the Babylonian Talmud to cite tannaitic material (‘tanya’, ‘tanu rabbanan’) or due to the lack of a precise parallel in tannatic compositions (full or partial), scholars posited that the content of the material originated in a later period in Babylonia. These conclusions need to be questioned. The phrase ‘R. X said’ does not testify that the statement necessarily originated with X or even within his circle of scholars. In many cases, the sage to whom the statement is ascribed is quoting a tannaitic source (with parallels in tannaitic compositions) or a statement with a tannaitic core and an amoraic addition.10 This is all the more likely when the amora explicitly ascribes the statement to an early tanna using the phrase, ‘We hold [this as a tradition] (nakitinan)’ or explicitly ascribes the idea to a tanna using the formula, ‘R. X said in the name of [a tanna]’. The latter formula is common in the Babylonian Talmud when the amora does not cite a tannaitic source in its entirety (as is the case in baraitot introduced by the terms tanya or tannu rabbanan),

10 This phenomenon is expressed in a variety of ways in the Babylonian Talmud and different explanations have been offered as to why it occurs. See mainly: I. Lewy, ‘Keta’im Mimishnato shel Abba Shaul’, in Mesilot Letorat Hattanaim (trans. A.Z. Rabinovitz; Tel-​Aviv: Karmiel Press, 1968), p. 97; A. Weiss, Lekheker Hatalmud (New York: Feldheim, 1954), p. 97; ibid., Studies in the Literature of the Amoraim (Hebrew) (New York: Horeb, 1962), p. 7, n. 19; H. Albeck, Mekhkarim Babraita UbaTosefta Veyachasan LaTalmud (Jerusalem: Mosad Harav Kuk, 1970), pp. 32, 52 and n. 2, 137; ibid., Introduction to the Talmud, Babli and Yerushalmi (Hebrew) (Tel-​ Aviv: D’vir, 1969), p. 45; E.Z. Melamed, Halachic Midrashim of the Tannaim in the Babylonian Talmud (Hebrew) (Jerusalem: Magness, 1988), pp. 6, 16, 24–​29; ibid., An Introduction to Talmudic Literature (Hebrew) (Jerusalem: Sha’are Rakhamim, 1973), p. 273; J. Hauptman, Development of the Talmudic Sugya (Lanham 1988); ibid., ‘The Three Basic Components of the Sugya: The Tannaitic Passages, the Amoraic Statements and the Anonymous Commentary’ (Hebrew), in A. Amit and A. Shemesh (eds.), Melekhet Mahshevet: Studies in the Redaction and Development of Talmudic Literature (Ramat-​Gan ,2011), pp. 39–​53; Y. Sussman, ‘ “Torah Shebe’al Peh”—​Koho Shel Kotzo Shel Yod’, Meḥkarei Talmud 3 (2005): 272–​273; M. Kahana, ‘The halakhic idrashim’, The Literature of the Sages (eds. S. Safrai, Z. Safrai, J. Schwartz, P. Tomson; Part II; Assen: Van Gorcum Fortress Press, 2006), pp. 60–​-​61 ,n. 260. At times it seems that the amora was familiar with the baraita which expresses an identical opinion, as was noted by D. Halivni, Sources and Traditions: A Source Critical Commentary of the Talmud, Seder Moed From Yoma to Hagiga (Hebrew) (New York and Jerusalem, 1975), p. 132, n. 3; ibid., Sources and Traditions: A Source Critical Commentary of the Talmud, Tractate Shabbath (Hebrew) (Jerusalem: Magness, 1982), p. 169, n. 5.

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but rather paraphrases a tannaitic halakhah or idea.11 In such cases the lack of a precise parallel in a tannaitic composition does not imply a late Babylonian origin for the statement. Rather, the lack of a precise parallel may be a result of the statement’s character and the way it is interwoven into the talmudic passage. Analysis of the content of these statements and comparison with earlier Palestinian halakhah demonstrates that the overwhelming majority of them (thirteen out of seventeen) accord with or at least reflect earlier Palestinian halakhah.12 A scholar wishing to identify the sources or origins of anti-​Christian amoraic statements in the Babylonian Talmud must closely examine their content and components, and not rely on formalistic criteria connected to the introductory terms, their literary forms or other external considerations.13 11 See: W. Bacher, Tradition und Tradenten in den Schulen Palästinas und Babyloniens (Leipzig: Fock, 1914), p. 94, 105, n. 5; Albeck, Mekhkarim, 56; Melamed, Halachic Midrashim, 79. Concerning the term “‫ ”נקיטינן‬see: W. Bacher, Die Exegetische Terminologie der Jüdischen Traditionsliteratur (Leipzig, 1899), pp. 127–​ 128; G. Dalman, Aramäisch-​Neuhebräisches Handwörterbuch zu Targum, Talmud und Midrasch, Frankfurt 1922, 277; J. Levy, Wörterbuch über die Talmudim und Midraschim, vol. 3 (Darmstadt, 1963), p. 437; M. Jastrow, A Dictionary of the Targumim, the Talmud Babli and Yerushalmi, and the Midrashic Literature, vol. 2 (New York, 1971), p. 932; M. Sokoloff, A Dictionary of Jewish Babylonian Aramaic of the Talmudic and Geonic Periods (Ramat-​Gan and Baltimore, 2002), p. 773. 12 For a detailed list, see the appendix. 13 Such as a parallel between an idea expressed in Syriac Christian literature (such as Aphrahat) and an amoraic statement. In my opinion, before such a comparison can be made, one must locate the source of the statement within the internal world of the rabbinic bet midrash in Babylonia (influenced by Palestinian tradition) and not search for external influences (see C. Hayes, Between the Babylonian and Palestinian Talmuds: Accounting for Halakhic Difference in Selected Sugyot from Tractate Avodah Zarah [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997], pp. 17–​20). For a more recent treatment see J. Kulp, ‘Reading the Bavli with Monks and Zoroastrians’, Prooftexts 33 (2013): 387. On p. 385 Kulp correctly notes that there is not concrete evidence in the Babylonian Talmud that the sages were familiar with any form of Syriac Christianity, as was noted explicitly by Becker, ‘Scholasticism’ (below), 102. Cf. M. Bar-​Asher Siegel, Early Christian Monastic Literature and the Babylonian Talmud (Cambridge, 2013). In general, scholars are now more cognizant of the problem of a simple model of ‘influence’ between one culture and another. See: D. Boyarin, ‘Hellenism in Jewish Babylonian’, in C.E. Fonrobert and M.S. Jaffe (eds.), The Cambridge Companion to the Talmud and Rabbinic Literature (Cambridge: Cambridge university Press, 2007), p. 349; M. Satlow, ‘Beyond Influence: Toward a New Historiographic Paradigm’, in A. Norich and Y.Z. Eliav (eds.), Jewish Literatures and Cultures: Context and Intertext (Providence: Brown Judaic Studies, 2008), pp. 37–​54; A. Becker, ‘The Comparative Study of “Scholasticism” in Late Antique Mesopotamia: Rabbis and the East Syrians’, AJS Review 34 (2010): 106; Y. Kiel, ‘Penitential Theology in

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Analysis of Sugyot I now examine a few of the cases in which a statement transmitted by a Babylonian amora is reflective of earlier Palestinian tradition. B.T. Megillah 11a: ‘And it came to pass [vayehi] in the days of Ahashverosh’ (Esther 1:1): Rav said: [The word vayehi means] there was ‘voi’ [trouble]. This is what is written, ‘And there you shall sell yourselves to your enemies for slaves and for bondwomen, and no man shall buy you’ (Deuteronomy 28:68). And Samuel said: ‘I will not reject them, neither will I abhor them to destroy them utterly’ (Leviticus 26:44). ‘I will not reject them’ in the days of the Greeks; ‘neither will I abhor them’: –​in the days of Vespasian; ‘to destroy them utterly’ –​in the days of Haman; [‘to break my covenant with them’ –​ in the days of the Romans;]14 ‘for I am the Lord their God’ –​in the days of Gog and Magog.

In the verse from Leviticus, God promises Israel not to break His covenant with their forefathers and wipe them out during their exile.15 Samuel’s (first half of the third century) midrash on the verse does not essentially change its literal meaning. Rather, it merely concretizes God’s promise by illustrating particular examples from the past, employing a tripartite structure in reference to the ‘kingdoms’.16 In his fourth century sermon ‘Demonstration on Persecution’, Aphrahat cites this verse as part of a theological claim reported to him by a Jewish sage17:

14



15 16 17

East late Antiquity: Talmudic, Zoroastrian, and East Christian Reflections’, JSJ 45 (2014): 558. J. Tabory, ‘The Proems of Rav and Shemuel to the Midrash on Megillat Esther’ (Hebrew), in D. Golinkin, M. Benovitz, M.A. Friedman, M. Schmelzer, D. Sperber (eds.), Torah Lishma: Essays in Jewish Studies in Honor of Professor Shamma Friedman (Jerusalem: JTS Press, 2007), p. 397, demonstrated that the words in brackets were not originally part of Samuel’s statement. The parallel in Esther Rabbah 4:4 (ed. Tabori-​Atzmon, 9) is a later reworking of the Babylonian midrash. See Tabori, ibid., p. 399. Cf. E. Segal, The Babylonian Esther Midrash: A Critical Commentary, vol. 1 (Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1994), p. 308. For a discussion of this covenant see: J. Milgrom, Leviticus 23–​27: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (New-​York; Doubleday, 2001), 2338–​2351. On the tripartite or quadripartite structure of three or four kingdoms see: Tabory, ‘The Proems of Rav and Shemuel’, pp. 393–​396. Demonstration 21:2.

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Then I also questioned him concerning words from the law and the prophets. I said, you thus hope, that even though you are scattered, God said to Israel: ‘Even in the lands of your enemies I have not abandoned them, and my covenant which is with them has not been annulled’ (Lev. 26:44).18 Again I said to him, Very good is that which I hear from you, that God is with you.

In light of this parallel, Naomi Koltun-​Fromm identified the midrash as being a Babylonian reworking of a similar midrash attributed to Samuel in Esther Rabbah 1:1 (ed. Tabori-​Atzmon, 9) or of a Palestinian Targum.19 In her opinion, it was Samuel’s midrash or a later version of it, which was brought by a Jew in front of Aphrahat about a century after Samuel’s own period.20 Albert Baumgarten also dates Samuel’s midrash to the amoraic period, but used a different justification. His claim was based on the similarity between Samuel’s midrash and another baraita introduced by the term, ‘it was taught in a baraita )‫ ’)במתניתא תנא‬identified by Hanokh Albeck as containing halakhot from the amoraic period.21 However, neither Koltun-​Frumm nor Baumgarten noted that the midrash already appears in the tannaitic composition Sifra Behukotai 2:8 (ed. Weiss, 112c):

18 The verse that Aphrahat quotes is freely translated from the Bible, a common phenomenon in his writings. See: R.J. Owens, ‘Aphrahat as A Witness to the Early Syriac Text Of Leviticus’, in P.B. Dirksen and M.J. Mulder (eds.), The Peshitta: Its Early Text and History (Leiden: Brill, 1988), pp. 40–​43. 19 On this midrash and targum see: M. Maher, Targum Pseudo-​Jonathan: Leviticus Translated with Notes, Minnesota 1994, p. 208 and n. 85; M. McNamara, Targum Neofiti 1: Leviticus Translated, with Apparatus, Minnesota 1994, p. 109 and n. 36. 20 N. Koltun-​ Fromm, ‘A Jewish-​ Christian Conversation in Fourth-​ Century Mesopotamia’, JJS 47 (1996): 54–​56. I am not convinced that this should even be construed as a parallel between the two compositions. Aphrahat relates to a simple reading of the verse, and there is thus no reason to conclude that he was familiar with any rabbinic midrash on it. The same verse is also cited in a similar context in Qumran literature. See D. Flusser, ‘The Dead Sea Sect and Pre-​Pauline Christianity’, Scripta Hierosolymitana 4 (1965), p. 237; S. Hultgren, From the Damascus Covenant to the Covenant of the Community: Literary, Historical and Theological Studies in the Dead Sea Scrolls (Leiden: Brill, 2007), p. 474; J.M. Baumgarten and D.R. Schwartz, ‘Damascus Document’, in J.H. Charlesworth (ed.), The Dead Sea Scrolls: Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek Texts with English Translations (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), p. 13. 21 A. Baumgarten, ‘The Politics of Reconciliation: The Education of R. Judah the Prince’, in E.P. Sanders, A. Baumgarten, and A. Mendelson (eds.), Jewish and Christian Self-​ Definition, vol. 2 (Philadelphia, PA: Fortress Press, 1981), p. 383, n. 6 cites Albeck, Mekhkarim Baraita, pp. 48–​60.

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‘I will not reject them’ –​in the days of Vespasian. ‘Nor will I abhor them’ –​ in the days of the Greeks. ‘To destroy them utterly’ –​in the days of Haman. ‘For I am the Lord their God’ –​in the days of Magog.

Samuel refers to the same kingdoms referred to in the Sifra, but switches the order of ‘Greeks’ with ‘Vespasian’.22 So too the baraita (‫ )במתניתא תנא‬that follows in the Babylonian Talmud is nearly identical to that in the Sifra, with only minor differences.23 The content of this derashah is not Babylonian. Rather it is an earlier Palestinian midrash cited in the Babylonian Talmud by Samuel using the introductory term, ‘Samuel said’.24 B.T. Makkot 23a (=Pesahim 118a): [And] R. Sheshet said in the name of R. Elazar b. Azaryah: Anyone who despises the festivals, it is as if he worships idols, as it is written (‫)דכתיב‬, ‘You shall not make molten gods for yourselves’ (Exodus 34:17), and it is written after (‫)וכתיב בתריה‬, ‘Observe the Festival of Unleavened Bread’ (v. 18).

Scholars have viewed this tradition as anti-​Pauline, part of the struggle which began in post-​destruction Yavne to oppose the annulment of commandments, foremost of which were circumcision and the festivals (see below).25 The amora, R. Sheshet (third generation), ascribes the statement to R. Elazar b. Azaryah, a tannaitic sage from Yavne, using the formula, ‘X said in the name of (mishme de) Y’.26 This formula is usually 22 See Tabory, ‘The Proems of Rav and Shemuel’, pp. 396, 398, and 395–​396 concerning possible reasons such a change occurred. 23 See J. N. Epstein, Mevo’ot Lesifrut Hatannaim) Jerusalem-​Tel-​Aviv: Magness, 1957), p. 692. 24 Concerning the frequency of this phenomenon and various explanations for it, see the literature cited above, n. 10. 25 J. Guttmann, ‘Ueber Zwei Dogmengeschichtliche Mischnastellen’ MGWJ 42 (1898): 343; J. Tabory, Jewish Festivals in the Time of the Mishnah and Talmud (Hebrew), Jerusalem 2000, 77; Z. Safrai, Mishnat Eretz-​Israel: Tractate Avot With Historical and Sociological Commentary (Hebrew) (Jerusalem: Lipshitz College, 2013), pp. 200–​201. 26 There are five instances in the Babylonian Talmud in which R. Sheshet transmits a tannaitic tradition in the name of R. Elazar b. Azaryah using this formula. All five are found in a collection of five derashot that appears here and in B.T. Yevamot 4a. See: Bacher, Tradition und Tradenten, p. 105; ibid., Die Agada der Babylonischen Amoräer (Hildesheim: Olms, 1967), p. 78. For a discussion of the relationship between these parallels see: D. Halivni, Sources and Traditions: A Critical Commentary on the Talmud Tractates Sanhedrin-​Horayot (Hebrew) (Jerusalem: Magness, 2012), pp. 290–​292.

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found in the Babylonian Talmud to note that X did not hear the tradition 27 directly from R. Y, as in cases in which there is a large chronological gap between the amora citing the tradition and the tanna whom he cites.28 Both Isaac Hirsch Weiss and William Bacher viewed this tradition as a late amoraic interpolation whose tannaitic origins are doubtful.29 This was based on a number of literary phenomena which they viewed as raising suspicions as to the tannaitic authenticity of the tradition. These include the deviation from the typical terms used for citing tannaitic traditions (tanya, tannu rabbanan), the Aramaic elements of the statement (‫ וכתיב בתריה‬, ‫ )דכתיב‬and the fact that the midrash, based on the juxtaposition of verses, does not have a parallel in tannaitic compositions. However, as I have shown in my earlier research, literary considerations such as these are not sufficient to date tannaitic material presented by an amora in one of the talmudim.30 We must distinguish between the liter��ary style and particular language of these statements, which at times were reworked in Babylonia, and their halakhic content. This is especially true with statements opening with the formula, ‘X said in the name (mishum/​ mishmeh) of Y’ where a Babylonian amora quotes a Palestinian tanna. These are usually not word for word quotes of tannaitic sources.31 Rather, they often refer to a stance or rule reported in the name of the tanna. In such instances the wording may be Babylonian, and even in Aramaic,

27 See B.S. Cohen, ‘On Rashi’s Interpretation of One Talmudic Rule in the Babylonian Talmud (‘amar rav peloni mishmeh de-​rav almoni’) (Hebrew), in A. Cohen (ed.), Rashi and His Disciples (Ramat-​Gan: Bar-​Ilan University Press, 2013), pp. 93–​109 and the bibliography cited there. The formula relates to how the statement was transmitted from X to Y without any connection to the hierarchical relationship between the two. See Cohen, ibid. 28 See: Cohen, ‘On Rashi’s Interpretation of One Talmudic Rule in the Babylonian Talmud (‘amar rav peloni mishmeh de-​rav almoni’); Bacher, Tradition und Tradenten, pp. 104–​106; R. Kalmin, ‘Quotation Forms in the Babylonian Talmud: Authentically Amoraic, or a Later Editorial Construct?’, HUCA 59 (1988): 137, n. 36 and 257–​262. 29 I. Weiss, Dor Dor Vedorshav, vol. 2 (Jerusalem-​Tel-​Aviv: Ziv, 1962), p. 215; Bacher, Tradition und Tradenten, p. 105 n. 5. 30 See Cohen, ‘In Quest of Babylonian Tannaitic Traditions: The Case of ‘Tanna D’bei Shmuel’, 271–​303; ibid., ‘Amoraic Baraitot’ Reconsidered: The Case of Tannei Tanna Kameh’, 1–​28. 31 See: Cohen, ‘On Rashi’s Interpretation of One Talmudic Rule in the Babylonian Talmud (amar rav peloni mishmeh de-​rav almoni)’, 93–​109 and the bibliography cited there.

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and thus there will be no identical parallel in tannaitic compositions or baraitot in the Palestinian Talmud. But the content is tannaitic. In this particular case, R. Sheshet’s midrash ascribed to R. Elazar b. Azaryah is found with minor differences in the Mekhilta De-​Rabbi Shimon b. Yohai, Ki Tisa 34:17 (ed. Epstein-​Melamed, p. 222, based on Midrash Hagadol32): ‘You shall not make molten gods for yourselves’ ‘Observe the Festival of Unleavened Bread’ –​From here they said: All who despise the festivals, it is as if they have become attached to idolatry’.

Despite the differences in style and language, the content of the midrash is identical to R. Sheshet’s midrash, including its basis on the juxtaposition of verses. Moreover, historians and modern talmudic scholars have shown that R. Sheshet’s midrash in the name of R. Elazar b. Azaryah is part of a larger web of tannaitic sources directed against Palestinian Christianity from the tannaitic period: Paul opposed the observance of the Sabbath and the festivals (Gal. 4:10; Col. 2:16). Traces of the Jewish-​Christian dispute concerning the festivals are found in the Midrash… The sharp condemnation by the sages of ‘he who despises the festivals’ (Avot 3:12; Pes. 118a) is probably directed against the Christian heretics, and probably because of them the observance of the Sabbath and the festivals was stressed so strongly in Erez Israel.33

32 See Midrash Hagadol Exodus 34:17 (ed. Margaliot, 711); Mekhilta de-​Rabbi Shimon b. Yohai, Ki Tisa 34:17 (ed. Hoffman, 163); Sifre Numbers 112 (ed. Horowitz-​Rabin, 121, n. 3, s.v hamehalel). In the Epstein-​Melamed edition, R. Sheshet’s derashah does not appear in the body of the text, but it is cited in n. 13. I should emphasize that this derashah which denounces one who ‘despises the festivals’ has parallels in tannaitic compositions (see below). Even if this was a later addition to the Mekhilta based on R. Sheshet’s derashah in the Babylonian Talmud, this does not change the essence of my conclusion. 33 M.D. Herr, ‘Jewish Festivals’, Encyclopaedia Judaica, vol. 6 (Detroit: Macmillan Reference USA in association with Keter Publication House, 2007), p. 769. See also: W. Bacher, Aggadot Hattanaim, vol. I/​1 (Jaffo: A. Eitan & S. Shoshani, 1921), pp. 142–​143, n. 3; J. Mann, ‘The Observance of the Sabbath and the Festivals in the First Two Centuries of the Current Era According to Philo, Josephus, the New Testament, and the Rabbinic Sources’, The Collected Articles of Jacob Mann, vol. 1 (Gedera: M. Shalom, 1971), p. 57, n. 2; E.E. Urbach, The World of the Sages: Collected Studies (Hebrew) (Jerusalem: Magness, 2002), pp. 103–​104; idem, The Sages –​Their Concepts and Beliefs (Hebrew) (Jerusalem: Magness, 1998), pp. 263–​264.

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The tradition cited by R. Sheshet in the name of R. Elazar b. Azaryah, which denounces one who ‘despises the festivals’ is even found in Mishnah, Avot 3:11: R. Elazar HaModai says: One who profanes sacred things, and one who despises the festivals…and one who breaks the covenant made with our father, Abraham… he has no part in the world to come.34

The same tradition also appears in Sifre Numbers, Shelah 112 (ed. Horowitz, 121): ‘For he has despised the word of the Lord’ –​this is one who shows arrogance towards the Torah. ‘And he has broken His commandment’ –​this is one who breaks the covenant in the flesh. From here R. Elazar Hamodai said: One who profanes sacred things, and one who despises the festivals…and one who breaks the covenant made with our father, Abraham… he is worthy of being rejected from the world [to come].

The tradition cited by R. Sheshet in the name of a tanna who lived during the Yavne period may have undergone some literary and stylistic modifications, but it remains a faithful reflection of an anti-​Christian tannaitic polemic from the first centuries C.E.35 B.T. Bava Batra 25a: And even R. Ishmael held that the Divine Presence is everywhere, as it was taught in the house of R. Ishmael: How do we know that the Divine Presence is everywhere? As it says, ‘Behold the angel speaking to me went out and another angel went out towards him’ (Zechariah 2:7) –​it does not say ‘after him’, rather ‘towards him’. This shows that the Divine Presence is everywhere… And even R. Sheshet holds that the Divine Presence is everywhere, for R. Sheshet said to his servant: Point me in any direction except east [not

34 See also P.T. Pesahim 6:2 (33b); Avot de-​Rabbi Natan, version A, Ch. 25 (ed. Schechter, 82). 35 This is true even if R. Sheshet’s derashah was brought in the Babylonian Talmud for reasons different than the original reasons that led to its creation in Palestine. See for instance P.T. Pesahim 6:2 (33b) where R. Yirmiyah (fourth generation) explains the ‘one who despises the festivals’ as a reference to one who does not eat proper meals during the day, and thereby diminishes the celebration of the festival (see also: D. Henshke, Festival Joy in Tannaitic Discourse [Hebrew] [Jerusalem: Magness, 2007], 41–​42).

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because the Divine Presence is not there]36 but rather because heretics37 taught (to face east).

The blind amora R. Sheshet holds that in principle one can pray facing any direction, even east. His request to be directed in any direction but east is explained in light of the custom of the ‘heretics (‫ ’)מינים‬a group identified by some scholars as Christians, to pray facing that direction: Christianity in Egypt and in Western countries accepted in the second century a prayer-​orientation to the east, taking into account the widespread practice in prayer among the Gentiles who had become Christians, and in the third century it became universal in the Christian world even in eastern countries… Rav Sheshet…told his servant to position him for prayer facing whichever direction he pleased, but he excluded the east, ‘because the sectarians teach this’. In light of the observations that we made above, there can be no doubt as to who the sectarians were that gave such instructions.38

The notion ascribed to R. Sheshet that the Divine Presence is everywhere as well as his request to face any direction during prayer but east both contradict tannaitic tradition which demands one face Jerusalem while praying.39 Scholars explained this halakhic shift in Babylonia as a rabbinic response to Jewish-​Christians who were accustomed to facing

36 The words in brackets are not found in MS Oxford Opp. 249 (369), Paris 1337 and early printed editions. 37 A single textual witness the Venice printed edition reads ‘the disciples of Jesus’ instead of heretics (‫)מינים‬. This version was likely created as a result of Rashi’s interpretation of the term ‘minim’ (s.v demoru ba mine): ‘These are the disciples of Jesus who instruct to pray to the east”. Concerning the influence that Rashi’s commentary had on the talmudic text and on the Venice printed edition see: A. Ahrend, Rashi’s Commentary on Tractate Megilah (Hebrew) (Jerusalem: Mekitze Nirdamim, 2008), pp. 80–​82 and n. 251–​258; ibid., Rashi’s Commentary on Tractate Rosh Hashana: A Critical Edition (Hebrew) (Jerusalem: Mosad Bialik, 2014), pp. 77–​78. 38 Urbach, The Sages, 62–​63. For an additional possibility as to the identity of the ‘heretics’ who pray facing the east see: Cohen, ‘In Nehardea Where There are No Heretics’, 39. To the bibliography cited there in n. 36, add: Y. Elman, ‘Who are the Kings of the East and West in Ber 7a? Roman Religion, Syrian Gods and Zoroastrianism in the Babylonian Talmud’, in S.J. Cohen, J.J. Schwartz (eds.), Studies in Josephus and the Varieties of Ancient Judaism: Louis H. Feldman Jubilee Volume (Leiden: Brill, 2007), pp. 71–​76 39 See Sifre Deuteronomy 29 (ed. Finkelstein, 47); Tosefta Berakhot 3:14–​15 (ed., Lieberman, 15–​16); P.T. Berakhot 4:5 (8b-​c). See also D. Henshke, ‘The Direction of Prayer –​Towards the Temple Or Towards Other Directions?’ (Hebrew), JSIJ 12 (2014): 14–​20.

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Jerusalem during prayer40: ‘The tendency of some sages to deny a standard direction to face during prayer, justifying their stance with ‘the Divine Presence is found in every direction’ was a response to claims made by Jewish-​Christians’.41 Underlying this theory is the assumption that a halakhic statement ascribed to a certain sage originated with that sage. Only with this assumption can the conclusion be drawn that the halakhah was refashioned in Babylonia as an anti-​Christian response. This conclusion should be rejected. I will begin by analyzing the various historical layers from which this source is composed. Neither the sentence that precedes R. Sheshet’s statement, ‘And even R. Sheshet holds that the Divine Presence is everywhere’ nor the continuation which explains his refusal to face east, ‘not because the Divine Presence is not there…’ likely originated with R. Sheshet. Uri Erlich and David Henshke demonstrated that the location of the Divine Presence was discussed by tannaim and amoraim without any connection to the laws of prayer. The connection between the two topics, the direction of prayer and the location of the Divine Presence, postdates R. Sheshet.42 The post-​amoraic anonymous Babylonian editor (the stam) used the third person to ascribe the notion that ‘the Divine Presence is everywhere’ to R. Sheshet, and was thus forced to explain why R. Sheshet refused to face east. According to the stam, R. Sheshet’s refusal to face east was a response to the ‘heretics’. The length of the statement, ‘Not because the Divine Presence is not there but rather because…’ as well as the many differences in the versions

40 The fourth century church father Epiphanes denounced Elchasai for forbidding facing the east during prayer and instructing worshippers to face Jerusalem (Epiphanius, panarion, 19, 3,4,5). See: A.F.J. Klijn and G.J. Reinink, Patristic Evidence for Jewish-​ Christian Sects (Leiden: Brill, 1973), p. 159; F. Williams, The Panarion of Epiphanius of Salamis, Book 1 [Sects 1–​46] (Leiden: Brill, 1987), p. 46. Elchasai founded and subsequently headed a first century Jewish-​Christian group. See: G.P. Luttikhuinzen, The Revelation of Elchasai (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1985), pp. 1–​37. Urbach located additional evidence of this custom among Jewish-​Christians in Irenaeus’s description of the Ebionites (second century): ‘They bow to Jerusalem as it if was the house of the Lord’. The respect accorded to Jerusalem was manifested, according to scholars, in the direction of prayer to Jerusalem. See also: S. Pines, ‘Hayehudim Hanotzrim Bame’ot Harishonot shel Hanatzrut al pi Makkor Hadash’, Proceedings of the Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 2 (1969): 17; P. Luomanen, Recovering Jewish-​Christian Sect and Gospels (Leiden: Brill, 2012), p. 19. 41 Urbach, The Sages, 48. 42 U. Erlich, The Non-​Verbal Language of Jewish Prayer (Hebrew) (Jerusalem: Magness, 1999), p. 71; Henshke, ‘The Direction of Prayer’, pp. 10–​15.

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preserved in manuscripts are phenomena associated with late additions to 43 the Babylonian Talmud. It seems, therefore, that the amoraic material in this passage consists only of R. Sheshet’s instruction to his servant to point him in any direction but east. So why then did R. Sheshet refuse to face east during prayer? The answer can be found explicitly in a baraita in Yerushalmi Berakhot 4:5 (8b): R. Jacob b. Aha said: They teach there: It is permitted to turn in any direction [during prayer] except for east. R. Yose bar Abun said: Originally, ‘Their backs were towards the Sanctuary of the Lord and their faces eastward and they would bow east to the sun’ (Ezekiel 8:16).

R. Jacob b. Aha is a Palestinian amora of Babylonian origin, of the same generation as R. Sheshet.44 In the Yerushalmi, he frequently uses the term, ‘They teach there (‫ ’)תניי תמן‬to transmit baraitot taught in Babylonia that have parallels in tannaitic compositions.45 According to the above baraita, one can face any direction during prayer except east. J.N. Epstein writes about this baraita, ‘This is similar to R. Sheshet… like R. Yose bar Abun in the Yerushalmi’.46 Thus this is an older halakhic tradition, observed by R. Sheshet,47 which is a response to the biblical 43 See Sh. Friedman, ‘A Critical Study of Yevamot X with A Methodological Introduction’, in H.Z. Dimitrovsky (ed.), Texts and Studies (New York: The Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1977), pp. 303, 306. 44 See: A. Hyman, Toldot Tannaim Veamoraim, vol. 2 (London: Express, 1910), p. 774; H. Albeck, Introduction to the Talmud, Babli and Yerushalmi (Hebrew) (Tel Aviv: D’vir, 1969), pp. 249–​250. 45 See: J.N. Epstein, Introduction to the Mishnaic Text (Hebrew), vol. 1 (Jerusalem: Magness, 2000), pp. 891–​892. On R. Ya’akov b. Aha’s use of the term, see: L. Moscovitz, The Terminology of the Yerushalmi: The Principal Terms (Hebrew) (Jerusalem: Magness, 2009), p. 602; M. Assis, A Concordance of Amoraic Terms Expressions and Phrases in the Yerushalmi (Hebrew), vol. 3 (Jerusalem and New York: The Jewish Theological Seminary, 2010), p. 439, n. 609. 46 Epstein, Introduction, vol. 2, p. 892. See also: L. Ginsberg, A Commentary on the Palestinian Talmud (Hebrew), vol. 3 (New York, 1914), pp. 372–​373; D. Henshke, ‘Directing Prayer Towards the Holy Place: The Plain Meaning of the Mishnah and Its Echoes in Talmudic Literature’ (Hebrew), Tarbiz 80 (2013): 25, n. 88; ibid., ‘The Direction of Prayer’, p. 17. 47 The term ‘They taught there (‫ ’)תניי תמן‬is used to cite a baraita transmitted in Babylonia: Epstein, Introduction to the Mishnaic Text, 891–​892; Moscovitz, The Terminology of the Yerushalmi: The Principle Terms, 602; Assis, A Concordance of Amoraic Terms Expressions and Phrases in the Yerushalmi, 439, n. 609. However, this

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‘heretics’ in Ezekiel who prayed towards the sun.48 The same prohibition based on Ezekiel 8:16 appears in Mishnah, Sukkah 5:2. The mishnah describes the priestly refusal to face east during the festival procession leaving the Temple and going down to the Silwan spring, the culmination of the Simhat Bet Hashoevah ritual.49 In sum, in Babylonia R. Sheshet observed an older tradition, known as a tannaitic halakhah, not to pray facing east. There is no proof here that R. Sheshet refused to face east as a response to Christians, and the testimony of a contemporary amora in the Yerushalmi testifies that R. Sheshet was simply observing a tannaitic halakhah. B.T. Gittin 45b: R. Nahman said: We hold (A1): A Torah scroll written by a heretic should be burned; (A2) Written by a Gentile –​should be buried; (B1) Found in the hands of a heretic –​should be buried; (B2) Found in the hands of a Gentile: Some say it should be buried and others say: They may read from it.

The first section of R. Nahman’s statement (A1) was read by scholars as a response to the reality that R. Nahman faced in the fourth century.50 The presence of Jewish-​Christians in R. Nahman’s geographical environs forced him to establish a new halakhic norm concerning Torah scrolls

does not offer evidence as to its dating. Examination of baraitot in the Yerushalmi introduced with this term and comparison with the halakhah found in tannaitic compositions demonstrates that the overwhelming majority of them accord with tannaitic halakhah, or at least with halakhot from the first generation of Palestinian amoraim. Thus eighteen of the twenty-​eight such baraitot (70 % of the total number of baraitot) cited by Epstein accord with Palestinian halakhah (pp. 891–​897). This holds true for all of the baraitot cited by R. Yaakov b. Aha in the Yerushalmi. See Cohen, For Out of Babylonia Shall Come Torah, pp. 166–​185. 48 Sun worship existed in Judea in late neo-​Assyrian times, as well as in the ancient near east in general. See, for instance: M. Greenberg, Ezekiel: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, vol. 1 (New-​York: Doubleday, 1983), p. 172; R. Kasher, Ezekiel: Introduction and Commentary [Heb.], vol. 1 (Jerusalem: Magness, 2004), p. 253. R. Sheshet’s behavior is also related to his blindness. Tosefta Berakhot 3:14 (ed. Lieberman, 15), exempts a blind person from facing Jerusalem while praying. See: Ginsberg, A Commentary, vol. 3, p. 389; Erlich, The Non-​Verbal Language, p. 71. 49 See Erlich, The Non-​Verbal Language, 77–​78; Ze’ev and Shmuel Safrai, Mishnat Eretz Israel: Tractate Sukkah with Commentary (Hebrew) (Ramat-​Gan: Bar-​Ilan University Press, 2011), pp. 254–​256. 50 T. H. Herford, Christianity in Talmud and Midras (New Jersey: Reference Book Publication, 1966), pp. 157–​160; J. Neusner, A History of the Jews in Babylonia, vol. 1 (Leiden: Brill, 1966), pp. 13–​15.

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written by Jews who had converted to Christianity. Again, the underlying assumption made by scholars is that if the talmudic tradition ascribes a statement to an amora (‘R. Nahman said’) and there is no explicit parallel in a tannaitic composition, the statement originated with the sage to whom it is ascribed. The problem with this assumption in this particular case is that proper attention was not paid to the introductory term, ‘We hold [as a tradition] (‫’)נקיטינן‬.51 In the Babylonian Talmud this term introduces an early halakhic tradition held by the amora who cites it. Thus R. Nahman himself acknowledges that the tradition did not originate with him.52 Comparison of the halakhah’s content with halakhot found in tannaitic compositions supports R. Nahman’s use of the term. The statement is composed of two parts: Both halves open with the more serious case (‘a Torah scroll written by a heretic’) and proceed with a less problematic one (‘written by a Gentile’).53 According to the halakhah cited by R. Nahman, ‘A Torah scroll written by a heretic must be burned’ out of fear that the heretic wrote it for idolatrous ends.54 In contrast, a Torah scroll written by a Gentile need only be buried in accordance with the tannaitic halakhah, ‘We require the writing to be for its own sake [for the sake of being a Torah scroll] and there was no such [intention in this case]’.55

51 The term was omitted by Neusner, History, vol. 1, p. 13. 52 W. Bacher, Die Exegetische Terminologie der Jüdischen Traditionsliteratur (Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs, 1899), pp. 127–​128; G. Dalman, Aramäisch-​Neuhebräisches Handwörterbuch zu Targum, Talmud und Midrasch (Frankfurt: J. Kauffmann, 1922), p. 277; J. Levy, Wörterbuch über die Talmudim und Midraschim, vol. 3 (Berlin: Harz, 1924), p. 437; M. Jastrow, A Dictionary of the Targumim, the Talmud Babli and Yerushalmi, and the Midrashic Literature, vol. 2 (New York: Pardes, 1950), p. 932; M. Sokoloff, A Dictionary of Jewish Babylonian Aramaic of the Talmudic and Geonic Periods (Ramat-​Gan & Baltimore: Bar-​Ilan University Press, 2002), p. 773. 53 This was noted by G. Alon, Toldot Hayehudim Be’eretz Israel Bitkufat Hamishnah Ve’hatalmud, vol. 1 (Tel-​Aviv: Hakibutz Hame’ukhad, 1969), p. 182, n. 310. 54 Herford, Christianity, pp. 158–​159; D. Halivni, Sources and Traditions: A Source Critical Commentary on Seder Nashim (Hebrew) (Tel-​Aviv: Dvir, 1968), p. 556, n. 1. See also: A. Liechtenstein (ed.), Hidushei Haritva Hameyuhasim Lerabenu Yom Tov Ben Rabbi Avraham Alashvili: Masekhet Gitin, vol. 1 (Jerusalem: Mosad Harav Kuk, 1980), p. 344, s.v. amar rav nahman. 55 See Hidushei Haritva Hameyuhasim Lerabenu Yom Tov Ben Rabbi Avraham Alashvili: Masekhet Gitin, vol. 1, Jerusalem 1980, 344, s.v. amar rav nahman. On this tannaitic halakhah see: Urbach, Sages, 323–​324.

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The halakhah demanding the burning of a Torah scroll written by a heretic is found in Sifre Numbers Naso 5, 16 (ed. Kahana, p. 47 and parallels)56: R. Ishmael says: The scrolls of heretics: What should be done with them? He should cut out the mentions [of God’s name] and burn the rest. R. Akiba says: He should burn it all, for it was not written in holiness’.

Saul Lieberman and more recently Adiel Schremer, showed that the phrase, ‘the scrolls of the heretics’ here and in the parallel tradition in Tosefta Shabbat 13:5 (ed. Lieberman, 58), refers to Torah scrolls written by heretics. This also explains the reason provided by R. Akiba –​‘for they were not written in holiness’.57 The disqualification of a Torah written by a heretic also accords with a halakhah found in a baraita in the Babylonia Talmud, in the continuation of the passage from Gittin: ‘R. Hamnuna son of Rava of Pashrunia taught: A Torah scroll, tefillin or mezuzot written by a Gentile…-​-​are disqualified’. If a Torah scroll written by a Gentile is disqualified, all the more so would be one written by a heretic. The same can also be derived from baraita in P.T. Gittin 4:6 (87a) (and in the parallel in same passage from BT Gittin cited above58) which prohibits purchasing a scroll from a Gentile lest he wrote it himself: ‘It was taught: A Gentile selling scrolls, tefillin and mezuzot –​it is prohibited to purchase them from him’.59 It is possible that R. Nahman’s statement is a reformulation of a tannaitic tradition, one that may even contain some additions. Nevertheless, the prohibition certainly did not originate with R. Nahman; it is based on a tradition documented in a number of tannaitic compositions.

56 Tosefta Shabbat 13:5 (ed. Lieberman, 58); Yerushalmi Shabbat 16:1 (15c); Bavli Shabbat 116a. 57 S. Lieberman, Tosefta Kifshuta: Seder Mo’ed, vol. 3 (New York: JTS Press, 1993), p. 206, n. 16; A. Schremer, Brothers Enstranged: Heresy, Christianity, and Jewish Identity in Late Antiquity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), pp. 85–​86, and pp. 198–​199, n. 112. See also: J. Schwartz, ‘The Book’s the Thing: Roll versus Codex and the Marketing of Judaism and Christianity’, Jerusalem and Eretz-​Israel 8–​9 (2013), p. 9. 58 See Halivni, Sources and Traditions: Nashim, p. 557, n. 6. 59 From the Yerushalmi we can see that the non-​Jew wrote the scroll.

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Summary and Conclusions Analysis of the seventeen Nehardean traditions in the Babylonian Talmud that have been identified by scholars as anti-​Christian demonstrates that for the most part they reflect Palestinian halakhic tradition. The widespread claim that these statements reflect Babylonian halakhic tradition originating in the amoraic period with the amoraim to whom they are ascribed should therefore be rejected.60 While it is true that many of these statements exhibit an amoraic literary style, this is not sufficient to prove their Babylonian origins. In my opinion, it is not coincidental that such a large percentage of anti-​Christian statements made by Nehardean amoraim (around 80 per cent) systematically reflect Palestinian tannaitic tradition. The dating of an anti-​Christian source in the Babylonian Talmud requires analysis of the source’s content and cannot be determined based on formalistic criteria alone. The analysis of this group of sources serves as a paradigm for dating anti-​Christian traditions in the Babylonian Talmud in general, as well as their reception in Babylonia. The existence of a relatively large collection of anti-​Christian statements ascribed to Nehardean amoraim raises again the question of the presence of Christians in Nehardea and its environs during the second and third century C.E. In a separate study I raised some doubts as to the evidence presented by scholars as to the presence of Christians in Nehardea or Pumbedita during this period. My analysis led to the conclusion that there is not only a lack of evidence as to the existence of Christians in Nehardea, but that these statements were created under Palestinian influence, and not necessarily as a direct response to the atmosphere faced by those who transmitted them.61 The Nehardean dependence of Palestinian halakhic tradition is well-​documented even in the literature produced by the Nehardean sages who lived before the beginning of the ‘talmudic period’ –​Avuha De-​Samuel, R. Shila and Levi (around one hundred halakhic tradtions). So too the collection of baraitot attributed in both Talmudim to Samuel, ‘Tanna De-​Bei Samuel’/​ 60 The discussion of Nehardean amoraim is a test-​case, and therefore the reliability of the ascription of these statements to this group of amoraim is not relevant to my conclusions. As far as my general approach to the reliability of ascriptions in the Babylonian Talmud see: Cohen, ‘Samuel Said’, pp. 25–​26. 61 Cohen, ‘In Nehardea Where There are No Heretics’, pp. 29–​44.

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‘Tannei Samuel’, (around fifty baraitot) exhibits a strong connection to 62 Palestinian tannaitic halakhah. Together, this leads to the conclusion that the anti-​ Christian polemic statements attributed to Nehardean amoraim are part of this broader phenomenon, and that they were not directed specifically at Christians who shared actual geographical space with these rabbinic sages.63 Of course, the connection of these statements with Palestinian tradition does not entirely rule out the possibility that they were used by Nehardean amoraim as refutations of actual Christians living in their environs. My intention in this article was merely to call into question the certainty that some scholars expressed as to the evidence that can be gleaned from these statements. A positive answer as to the question of the existence of a Christian community in second and third century Nehardea and other Jewish towns in the north parts of Babylonia still requires further research.

Appendix A list of Anti-​Christian Statements Issued by Nehardean Amoraim and their Parallels In Early Palestinian Literature

62 see B. Ratner, ‘Mishnato shel Levi ben Sisi’, in Z. H. Izkovask (ed.), Zikaron LeAvraham Eliyahu: Lekh’vod HaRav Hachakham Hamephoar Avraham Eliyahu Harkavi (Peterburg: Z.H. Izkovarsky, 1909), pp. 117–​18; Cohen, ‘Tanna D’bei Shmuel’, 271–​303. 63 It should be noted that the presence of Christian communities in northern Mesopotamia during the Sasanian period is known only from the first half of the fourth century onwards. See mainly: J. Labourt, Le Christianisme dans L’Empire Perse sous la dynastie Sassanide (Paris: V. Lecoffre, 1904), pp. 18 ff.; A. Christensen, L’Iran Sous les Sassanides (Osnabruck: Otto Zeller, 1936), pp. 261–​262; S. Brock, ‘Christians in the Sasanid Empire: A Case of Divided Loyalties’, in S. Mews (ed.), Religion and National Identity: Studies in Church History XVIII (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1982), p. 3; J.P. Asmussen, ‘Christians in Iran’, CHI 3 (1983), pp. 925, 931; R.N. Frye, The History of Ancient Iran (Munchen: Beck, 1984), p. 309. For an overview of the spread of Christianity in northern Mesopotamia, see: R.L. Mullen, The Expansion of Christianity: A Gazetteer of its First Three Centuries (Leiden: Brill, 2004), pp. 55–​59; F. Trombley, ‘Overview: The Geographical Spread of Christianity’, in M.M. Mitchell and F.M. Young (eds.), The Cambridge History of Christianity, vol. 1 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), pp. 309, 311; S.A. Harvey, ‘Syria and Mesopotamia’, The Cambridge History of Christianity, pp. 351–​365.

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1. Berakhot 12a: A halakhic statement made by R. Judah in the name of Samuel accords word for word with a ‘tanya nami hakhi’ baraita found in the continuation of the passage, as well as a parallel in P.T. Berakhot 1:5 (3c). For analysis see: Cohen, ‘In Nehardea Where There are No Heretics’, 36–​41. 2. Sukkah 52b: A midrashic statement originating with the Palestinian amora R. Simon Hasida (second generation, see Albeck, Introduction, 191) and found in a dialogue with R. Sheshet of Nehardea. For analysis see: Urbach, Sages, 619, n. 44. Pesahim 56a: Testimony concerning a halakhic practice in Nehardea based on a tannaitic baraita found there and in Sifre Deuteronomy 6:31 (ed. Finkelstein, 53). For analysis of the tradition see: D. Halivni, Sources and Traditions: A Source Critical Commentary on the Talmud: Tractates Erubin and Pesahim (Hebrew) (Jerusalem: Jewish Theological Seminary, 1982), pp. 440–​441 and n. 17. 3. Pesahim 118a=Makkot 23a: A midrash stated by R. Sheshet in the name of R. Elazar b. Azaryah, with a parallel in Mekhilta De-​ Rabbi Shimon b. Yohai 34:17, (Epstein-​Melamed, 222), based on Midrash Hagadol. Parallels are found in Mishnah Avot 3:11; Sifre Numbers 112 (ed. Horowitz, 121). 4. Megillah 11a: A midrash stated by Samuel, identical to a baraita found there as well as a parallel in Sifra Behukotai 2:8 (ed. Weiss, 112c). 5. Gittin 45b: A halakhic statement by R. Nahman which accords with the halakhah found in a variety of tannaitic sources: Sifre Numbers Naso 5:16 (ed. Kahana, 47); Tosefta Shabbat 13:5 (ed. Lieberman, 58); a baraita in P.T. Gittin 4:6 (87a). 6. Bava Batra 25a: A custom of R. Sheshet that accords with the halakhah found in a baraita in Yerushalmi Berakhot 4:5 (8b). 7. Sanhedrin 70a: A midrash by Rav and Samuel which is the expansion of a similar idea appearing in Genesis Rabbah 36:25 (ed. Theodor-​Albeck, 341). See Albeck’s note, n. 2; A. Mirsky, Midrash Tannaim Lebereshit, Jerusalem 2001, 100–​101. 8. Sanhedrin 98b: ‘Be R. Shila’ interpret Genesis 49:10 according to its simple meaning, without any interpretive addition of their own. For analysis of the source see: D. Rokéah, Justin Martyr: Dialogue with Trypho the Jew (Translated from Greek with Introduction and Commentary) (Hebrew) (Jerualem: Magness,

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2005), pp. 149–​150 n. 718; N. Levine, ‘On Talmudic Name Wordplay: A Literary Device and its Significance’ (Hebrew), JSIJ 12 (2013): 57–​58. 10. Avodah Zarah 7b: A halakhic statement by Samuel, based on R. Ishmael’s opinion from the Mishnah. His opinion also accords with a halakhah found in Tosefta Hullin 2:21 (ed. Zuckermandel, p. 503). See: S. Lieberman, Tosefeth Rishonim: A Commentary Based on Manuscripts of the Tosefta and Works of the Rishonim and Midrashim in Manuscripts and Rare Editions (Hebrew), vol. 2 (Jerusalem and New York: JTS Press, 1938), p. 227; Urbach, The World of the Sages, p. 166. 11. Hullin 13a: A halakhic statement by R. Nahman, which the Talmud interprets in accordance with R. Yohanan’s statement there. For analysis of the source see: Herford, Christianity, 79; Urbach, Sages, 489; ibid., ‘Shitat Hasovlanut shel R. Menahem Hame’iri –​Mekora Umigbalote’a’, in M.D. Herr, J. Frankel (eds.), Studies in Judaica, vol. 1 (Jerusalem: Magness, 1998), p. 374; R. Kalmin, ‘Christians and Heretics in Rabbinic Literature of Late Antiquity’, HTR 87 (1994): 166. 12. Genesis Rabbah 6:3 (ed. Theodor-​Albeck, 42–​43): A midrash by R. Nahman which accords with a Palestinian midrash brought elsewhere in Genesis Rabbah, 2:3 (ed. Theodor-​Albeck, 16–​17). See: M. Avi-​Yonah, In the Days of Rome and Byzantium (Hebrew) (Jerusalem: Mosad Bialik, 1970), p. 149. 13. A doubtful case: Hagigah 14a: A midrash cited by Samuel in the name of Rav. For analysis see: Rokéah, Justin Martyr, 293–​294 n. 713. It is unclear whether this is Palestinian material from Rav’s period or a midrash which originated with Rav in the amoraic period. In either case, it did not originate with Samuel in Nehardea.

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The Christian Community in Syria (110–​180 CE): The Creation of ‘Syrian Christianity’ Ben Zion Rosenfeld and Arie Levene

Syrian Christians in Turmoil (110–​150 CE): Historical Background Historical background and historical processes undoubtedly contributed to the creation of Syrian Christianity’s unique way of life in the centuries to follow. In the abstract to his book, Tatian’s Diatessaron, W. L. Petersen argued and claimed: ‘Few epochs in the history of Christianity are more important or obscure than the second century’.1 This claim seems correct, particularly when analyzing the development of Syrian Christianity during this period. Most scholars dealing with this subject agree that the reason for the lack of information about Syrian Christianity is a consequence of the efforts to minimize the role and the contribution of Syrian Christianity in the development of the religion. The reason for such efforts is based on the perception that Syrian Christianity is considered heresy,2 mainly because its development deviated from the evolution of mainstream Christianity and was characterized by local and oriental motives. Vööbus explained it in this way: ‘The conception of the Church, as conceived by Syrians, moves along independent avenues’.3 In order to understand the development of this unique branch of Christianity it is essential to analyze the historical background and the environmental 1 W.L. Petersen, Tatian’sDiatessaron –​Its Creation, Dissemination, Significance, and History in Scholarship (Leiden: Brill, 1994), pp. 1–​9. 2 W. H. C. Frend, The Rise of the Monophysite Movement, Chapters in the history of the church in the fifth and sixth centuries (Philadelphia, PA: Fortress Press, 1984), pp. 275–​276. 3 A. Vööbus, ‘History of Asceticism in the Syrian Orient. A Contribution to the History of Culture in the Near East’ (Subsidia; Leuven, 1988), pp. 109–​130.

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conditions, both external and internal, surrounding Syrian Christianity during the second century. Through the first decade of the second century, the Christian community in Syria, mainly in Antioch, suffered various difficulties due to an unstable relationship among its members. Internally, several opposition groups challenged the leadership of Ignatius. They wanted to lead the community, mainly to impose their belief system on the rest of its members.4 The first and more known was a group composed of Jewish Christians. This group, in spite of becoming a minority at the turn of the second century, still challenged the Gentile Christian members and the leadership.5 Another group had a Docetic ideology (-​Δοκηταί), and Ignatius mentions their presence in his epistle to the Christians in Smyrna: Ταῦτα γὰρ πάντα ἔπαθεν δι᾿ ἡμᾶς, ἵνα σωθῶμεν · καὶ ἀληθῶς ἔπαθεν, ὡς καὶ ἀληθῶς ἀνέστησεν ἑαυτόν, οὐχ ὥσπερ ἄπιστοί τινες λέγουσιν, τὸ δοκεῖν αὐτὸν πεπονθέναι, αὐτοὶ τὸ δοκεῖν ὄντες · καὶ καθὼς φρονοῦσιν, καὶ συμβήσεται αὐτοῖς, οὖσιν ἀσωμάτοις καὶ δαιμονικοῖς. (For He suffered all these things for our sakes; and He suffered truly, as also He raised Himself truly; not as certain unbelievers say, that He suffered in semblance, being themselves mere semblance. In addition, according as their opinions are, so shall it happen to them, for they are without body and demon-​like).6 4 Ignatius was the Christian group leader in Antioch (c. 110 CE). In his days, the Christian community gradually transformed from a voluntary church society into a more institutionalized community with a Mono-​Episcopal ruling structure. Ignatius and his followers made an effort to strengthen the non-​Jewish group and recruited outsiders by focusing on the normative aspects. There is a debate among scholars regarding the authenticity of several letters attributed to Ignatius. The majority of scholars believe that only seven letters, such as the letter to the Romans, are authentic. See C. P. H. Bammel, ‘Ignatian Problems’, JTS, 38 (1982), pp. 62–​70; W. R. Schoedel, Ignatius of Antioch: A Commentary on the Letters of Ignatius of Antioch (Hermeneia Series; Philadelphia, PA: Fortress, 1985), pp. 3–​7; Th. Camelot, Ignace d’Antioche, Lettres (Sources Chrétiennes 10 bis Paris, 1998) ; B. Ehrman, The Apostolic Fathers, Volume 1: I Clement, II Clement. Ignatius. Polycarp. Didache (Harvard: Loeb Classical Library, 2003), pp. 203–​213. 5 On Jewish sects that were a part of Christians such as Ebionites and Nazarenes see: R. A. Pritz, Nazarene Jewish Christianity: From the End of the New Testament Period until Its Disappearance in the Fourth Century (StudiaPostbiblica 37, Jerusalem and Leiden, 1988), pp. 9–​111; A. Marjanen, and Luomanen, P. (eds.), A Companion to Second-​ Century Christian Heretics (Leiden: Brill, 2005), pp. 249–​313. 6 Ignatius, Epistle to the Christians of Smyrna, Chap. 2: 1.

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A reflection of the problems confronting the Christian community in Antioch is found in Ignatius’s prayers for the unity and the sake of the community, which he wrote just before his martyrdom and appears in his epistle to the Romans: Μνημονεύετε ἐν τῇ προσευχῇ ὑμῶν τῆς ἐν Συρίᾳ ἐκκλησίας, ἥτις ἀντὶ ἐμοῦ ποιμένι τῷ θεῷ χρῆται. μόνος αὐτὴν Ἰησοῦς Χριστὸς ἐπι σκοπήσει7καὶ ἡ ὑμῶν ἀγάπη. (Remember in your prayers the church, which is in Syria, which hath God for its shepherd in my stead. Jesus Christ alone shall be its bishop –​He and your love.)

In addition to the internal struggle of the oppositional groups within the community, external groups, as will be described below pressured the Christians and their leadership. In the beginning of the second century, the Christian group in Antioch had intensive contacts with several local groups. Some of these ties were very interactive and influenced the development of the unique character of local Christianity. Later on, the pressure from these external contacts played a major factor in the process of their expulsion toward the eastern regions of the province. A close-​ knit contact circle was the large and very stable Jewish community, an important and ancient community that lived and was active in the city.8 Many sources, such as Second Maccabees,9 7 Ignatius, Epistle to the Christians of Rome, Chap. 9:1. 8 C.H. Kraeling, ‘The Jewish Community at Antioch’, Journal of Biblical Literature, 51 (1932), pp. 130–​160; G. Downey, Ancient Antioch (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1963), pp. 39, 77, 87, 91; L. Roth-​Gerson, The Jews of Syria as Reflected in the Greek Inscriptions (Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 2001), pp .28–​51; R.C. Hill, Reading the Old Testament in Antioch (Leiden, Brill, 2005), pp. 2–​3; L.V. Rutgers, Making Myths: Jews in Early Christian Identity Formation (Leuven, Peeters: 2009), pp. 25–​40. For a regional review, see. P. A. Harland, Dynamics of Identity in the World of the Early Christians: Associations, Judeans, and Cultural Minorities (London: T & T Clark/​Continuum, 2009), pp. 101, 104–​122. On Roman Syria in general, see F. Millar, The Roman Near East: 31 BC–​AD 337 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1993), index, s.v. Syria; K. Butcher, Roman Syria and the Near East (Los Angeles: Getty and the British Museum Press, 2003), pp. 84–​90, 94–​96, s.v. Jews, Antioch; M. Sartre, The Middle East Under Rome, trans. C. Porter and E. Rawlings (Cambridge: Belknap and Harvard University Press, 2005), pp. 322–​ 335, s.v. Antioch. 9 II Maccabees 4: 36, 38. J. A. Goldstein, II Maccabees, A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, The Anchor Bible (New York: Doubleday, 1983), p. 298. He mentions that there is an opinion that identifies Antioch with Riblah, where Jews have been exiled in the destruction of the First Temple (586 BCE), and

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Josephus,10 the New Testament,11 other Christian sources,12 and rabbinic 13 literature testify to this. In most periods, the Roman authorities were tolerant toward the Jews, except when Jews were involved in political events.14 An important community element in Antioch, the Jews had significant influence on the development of the Christian group there.15 The

10

11 12

13

14 15

from that time there were Jews in Antioch. See also R. Doran, 2 Maccabees: A Critical Commentary, edited by Harold W. Attridge (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press), 2012, p. 113, 118. Josephus: B 7:43: ‘Τὸ γὰρ Ἰουδαίων γένος πολὺ μὲν κατὰ πᾶσαν τὴν οἰκουμένην παρέσπαρται τοῖς ἐπιχωρίοις, πλεῖστον δὲ τῇ Συρίᾳ κατὰ τὴν γειτνίασιν ἀναμεμιγμένον ἐξαιρέτως ἐπὶ τῆς Ἀντιοχείας ἦν πολὺ διὰ τὸ τῆς πόλεως μέγεθος: μάλιστα δ’ αὐτοῖς ἀδεᾶ τὴν ἐκεῖ κατοίκησιν οἱ μετ’ Ἀντίοχον βασιλεῖς παρέσχον’ (‘The Jewish nation is widely scattered among the inhabitants of countries all over the world and mainly in Syria because of its proximity, and, due to the size of the city, large numbers of them live in Antioch, where the kings, after Antiochus (-​Epiphanes), had allowed them to live in untroubled tranquility’). See also, A, 12, 119–​125; A, 17, 23–​25; B, 3, 29; B, 2, 478–​479; B, 7, 41–​62, 103–​111; Against Apion 2:33, 39. In addition, see A. Schalit, A Complete Concordance to Flavius Josephus (Leiden: Brill, 1968), 116–​117, s.v. Συρία. Acts 11: 19–​30; 13: 1–​4; 14: 26–​27; 15: 22. W.A. Meeks and R.L Wilken, Jews and Christians in Antioch in the First Four Centuries of the Common Era (Missoula, 1978), pp.13–​22; P. W. Harkins, The Fathers of the Church: Discourses Against Judaizing Christians, trans. P. W. Harkins (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1979), p. 68. He quotes John Chrysostom on the strength of Jewish community in Antioch; W. Van der Horst (ed.), Japhet in the Tents of Shem –​Studies on Jewish Hellenism in Antiquity (Leuven: Peeters, 2002), pp. 109–​118; M. Murray, ‘Christian identity in the Apostolic Constitutions: Some Observations’, in Z.A. Crook and P.A. Harland (eds.), Identity and Interaction in the Ancient Mediterranean: Jews, Christians and Others. Essays in Honor of Stephen G. Wilson (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2007), pp. 179–​194, esp. pp. 191–​194; Harland, Dynamics of Identity in the World of the Early Christians, esp. pp. 104–​121. Mishna: Shevi’it 6: 2, 6; Ma’asrot 5: 5; Halla 4:7, 8, 11; Orla 3: 9; Rosh Hashana 1: 4; Baba Kama 7:7; Avoda Zara 1: 8; Ahilot 18: 7; Tosefta: Pe’ah 4: 6; Demai 1: 4(!); Terumot 2: 10, 11, 13; Shevi’it 4:12; 7: 10; Ma’asrot 3: 14; Halla 2: 5, 6; Orla 1: 8; Ta’anit 2: 11; Rosh Hashana 1: 17; Shekalim 2: 3; Ketubot 3: 1; Avoda Zara 2: 8; 3: 18; 4: 2, 13; 7: 2; Kelim-​Baba Kama 1: 5; Midrash Tanaim, Devarim 26:3, Hoffman ed., 172; See also Jerusalem Talmud [= Jer.], Horayot 3:6, 48:1. Josephus B 7: 100–​103, 109. R. Cameron and M. P. Miller (eds.), Re describing Christian Origins (SBL; Leiden: Brill, 2004), pp. 1–​41, 451–​497; B. T. H. Romeny, ‘Hypotheses on the Development of Judaism and Christianity in Syria in the Period after 70 C.E.’, in H. Van de Sandet (ed.), Matthew And the Didache: Two Documents from the same Jewish-​Christian Milieu? (Assen: VanGorcum, 2005), pp. 13–​33; T.A. Robinson, Ignatius of Antioch and the Parting of the Ways (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2009), pp. 134–​139.

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natural proximity and the mutual foundations of faith, together with the constant competition on recruiting believers to their communities caused a growing tension between both communities from as early as the last quarter of the first century. Because of regional and political events, the tension grew into a major hostility, especially during sensitive periods. This hostile relationship reached a peak during the first half of the second century, because of two conspicuous political events: the uprising of the Diaspora communities (115–​117 CE), and the Bar Kokhba revolt (132–​ 135 CE). During the uprising of the Diaspora, the Jewish community in Antioch, in contrast to Jewish communities in Egypt, North Africa, and Mesopotamia, did not rise up against the Roman authorities.16 As a result, Antioch became a city of refuge to Jews from all over the Diaspora, a fact that strengthened the tension between Jews and Christians in the city. Twenty years later, this phenomenon repeated during the Bar Kokhba revolt. Jewish refugees gathered in the streets of Antioch and blamed the Christians for forsaking them during the war against Roman authorities.17 The outcome of the events mentioned above put constant pressure on the Christian community in Antioch. The last contact circle that influenced the Christian group in Antioch was the wider population there and the Roman authorities. Since the last quarter of the first century the Christians endured extreme difficulties because, unlike the Jews, they were not recognized as a religion (Religio Licita) until Christianity became the state religion (325 CE). The Roman government frequently persecuted them, mainly because they presented a new hierarchy of values that supported issues such as the freedom of slaves and other new customs in the realm of matrimony. These values threatened Roman society’s serenity of life and its hedonism.18 The Christians were accused of hating humankind, in large part because they 16 M. Ben Zeev (Pucci), Diaspora Judaism in Turmoil, 116/​117 CE: Ancient Sources and Modern Insights (Leuven: Peeters, 2005), pp. 93–​101; M. Ben Zeev (Pucci), ‘The Uprising in the Jewish Diaspora’, in Katz S.T. (ed.), Cambridge History of Judaism, vol. 4. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), pp. 93–​103. 17 S. Yevin, Milhemet Bar Kokhba (Jerusalem: Mossad Bialik 1952[Hebrew]), pp. 176–​ 179; Y. Yadin, The Rediscovery of the Legendary Hero of the Last Jewish Revolt against Imperial Rome (London/​ Jerusalem: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1971), pp. 137; M. Mor, Bar-​Kokhba Revolt: Its Extent and Effect (Jerusalem: Yad Yitzhak Ben Zvi, 1991 [Hebrew]), pp. 98–​190. M. Mor, The Second Jewish Revolt, The Bar Kokhba War, 132–​136CE (Leiden: Brill, 2016), pp. 146–​288. 18 Roth-​Gerson, The Jews of Syria as Reflected in the Greek Inscriptions, pp. 23–​25; J. Henderson, The Apostolic Fathers (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003),

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lived by a strict ethical code, neglected their civil duties (for example, they resisted army drafts and had many children) and held in disdain the traditions of Roman pagan culture.19 Tacitus, in The Annals, 5:44, calls Christianity a ‘mischievous (exitiabilis, fatal) superstition’.20 The negative attitude against Christians continued until the second century as can be seen in the letters of important figures in the Roman administration such as Pliny the Younger (61–​113 CE), the Governor of Bithynia (110–​113 CE). In his routine correspondence with the emperor, Pliny wrote about his concern that regular citizens (Omnis Ordinis) would join Christianity, and about his efforts to persuade Christians to curse Christ and sacrifice to the Hellenistic Gods, as a last option to avoid death.21 In the years to come, the records confirm that Christians were persecuted, and most scholars agree that during the reigns of Antonius Pius (138–​161 CE) and Marcus Aurelius (161–​180 CE) the persecutions against Christians gradually increased. The evidence suggests that during the second century the Christian community in Syria, mainly in Antioch, suffered many difficulties. Its weak leadership –​mainly due to the absence of charismatic figures after Ignatius’s martyrdom –​without a doubt made it difficult for the community to face the massive challenges that stood in the way of the Christians of Antioch throughout that period.22

19

20

21 22

pp. 206–​207; E. Ferguson, Backgrounds of Early Christianity (3rd edn; Grand Rapids, Michigan: Eerdmans, 2003), pp. 251–​318, 583–​620. A.N. Sherwin-​White, ‘The Early Persecutions and Roman Law Again’, JTS 3(2) (1952), pp. 199–​ 213; G.E.M. De Ste–​ Croix, Why Were the Early Christians Persecuted?’, Past & Present, 26 (1963), pp. 6–​38; T.D Barnes, ‘Legislation Against the Christians’, JRS 58 (1968), pp. 32–​50; H. Musurillo, The Acts of the Christian Martyrs (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972), pp. lviii–​lxii. R.L. Wilken, The Christians as the Romans Saw Them (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1984), pp. 48–​50; R.E. Van Voorst, Jesus Outside the New Testament: An Introduction to the Ancient Evidence (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2000), pp. 39–​ 52; A. Schremer, Brothers Estranged Heresy, Christianity and Jewish Identity in Late Antiquity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), pp. 71, 87–​88. G. Vallée, The Shaping of Christianity: The History and Literature of its Formative Centuries (100–​800) (New York: Paulist, 1999), p. 104. R.M. Grant, Second Century Christianity: A Collection of Fragments (Westminster, John Knox Press, 2003), pp. 22–​23. Eusebius in Ecclesiastical History mentioned the names of Ignatius successors as bishops in the first half of the second century, including Eros, Cornelius and Hero, but the fact that so little is known of their activity as bishops, strengthens the assumption regarding a crisis in the Christian community in Antioch.

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An indication of the difficulties of the leadership of the community were expressed in Ignatius’s request from Polycarp, the bishop of Smyrna,23 located 750 kilometer northwest of Antioch, to intervene in the process of the elections of a successor to Ignatius as evident in the epistle to Polycarp: Πρέπει, Πολύκαρπε θεο μακαριστό τατε, συμβούλιον ἀγαγεῖν θεο πρεπέστατον καὶ χειροτονῆσαί τινα, ὃν ἀγαπη τὸν λίαν ἔχετε καὶ ἄοκνον, ὃς δυνήσεται θεοδρόμος καλεῖσθαι. τοῦ τον καταξιῶσαι, ἵνα πορευθεὶς εἰς Συρίαν δοξάσῃ ὑμῶν τὴν ἄοκνον ἀγάπην εἰς δόξαν θεοῦ.24 (It becometh thee, most blessed Polycarp, to call together a godly council and to elect someone among you who is very dear to you and zealous also, who shall be fit to bear the name of God’s courier –​to appoint him, I say, that he may go to Syria and glorify your zealous love unto the glory of God.)

The constant pressure within the community and at the same time from the community’s external contact circles as elaborated above brought the beginning of a wave of migration of Christians from the Hellenistic metropolis toward the eastern regions of the province. A local population characterized these regions with a strong national and local orientation expressed by a denunciation of the Roman administration, mainly due to a major and constant influence from the regions that were ruled by the Parthians, Rome’s enemies. In this period, we soon witness a turning point in the status of Syrian Christianity and Syrian Christians, a turning point that was the aftermath of a unique political situation and due to the presence of a local charismatic leader, Tatian the Assyrian.25 As stated above, during the years 110–​150 CE, the Christian community in Antioch suffered various difficulties. Its weak leadership, mainly due to the absence of charismatic figures, was not able to cope with the internal and external challenges that stood in front of it.

23 A. Roberts and J. Donaldson (eds.), The Ante-​Nicene Fathers: Translations of the Writings of the Fathers down to A.D. 325 (Edinburgh: T & T Clark; Grand Rapids, Michigan: Eerdmans, 1996), pp. 39–​44; M. Holmes, ‘Polycarp of Smyrna, Letter to the Philippians’, Expository Times, 118(2) (2006), pp. 53–​63. 24 Ignatius, the epistle to Polycarp, Chap. 7:1–​3. 25 M. Slee, The Church of Antioch in the First Century CE: Communion and Conflict (London: Sheffield Academic Press, 2003), pp. 30–​31.

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On the Edge of a Turning Point: 150–​180 CE From around 150 CE, we witness the beginning of a positive turning point in the status of Syrian Christians in the eyes of the public in Syria and in the eyes of its own believers. As mentioned above, until the middle of the second century, Christianity in Syria was considered a marginal and a negative element within Hellenistic society. The members of the community were occupied with their own daily survival, amid severe persecutions with no ability to become significant players in the social formation in Syria. From that point, we suddenly witness a sharp metamorphosis in the status of Christianity in Syria. From a persecuted community that was forced out of the urban heart of the Hellenistic metropolis, we see a gradual process of strengthening itself and the power of the alternative center that was developing in the east. To begin to understand this sudden change, it is essential to analyze the socio-​political situation in the province of Syria in that period. During the reign of Antoninus Pius and during the days of Marcus Aurelius, the Roman army faced the ongoing attempts of the Parthian forces to change the status quo and conquer Roman territories in the eastern parts of the Syrian province.26 The Roman legions sent to fight the Parthian attacks were constantly accompanied by a mob of slaves, soldiers’ families and household members, and therefore, the enormous amount of necessary livestock became a fertile ground for the transportation of a plague. Sickness, which soon killed hundreds of thousands of people all over the Roman Empire, started primarily in Syria.27 This event had a major influence on the belief system of the public, and as a consequence, on the development of Christianity, and Syrian Christianity in particular. According to several scholars reviewing this subject, the number of casualties in the Roman Empire reached a rate of 25 to 33 percent of the population. The epidemic and the following loss of life resulted in the collapse of the social structure that existed until then. Therefore, people found themselves without a social framework and turned from their 26 F.A. Lepper, Trajan’s Parthian War (London, Oxford University Press, 1948), pp. 36–​ 41; M. Ben-​Zeev (Pucci), ‘The Revolt during the Days of Trajan’, in U. Rapaport (ed.), Judea and Rome-​Jews Revolts (Tel-​Aviv, 1983 [Hebrew]), pp. 185–​204, 378–​381. 27 S. E. Phang, ‘The Families of Roman Soldiers (First and Second Centuries AD): Culture, Law, and Practice’, Journal of Family History, 27:4, 2002, pp. 290–​313.

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natural environment.28 At that time, the Christian communities were a tempting option to replace the preceding social institutions. The disintegration of the local and familial institutes helped reduce resistance to the Christians and made it easy for Syrians to move into the open arms of Christianity. In addition, Cyprian, the bishop of Carthage (c.250 CE), wrote about another phenomenon that was an outcome of the plague. The tragic results of the plague shook the foundations of the belief system among the masses, especially in terms of the causes of the plague. In contrast to the pagan sages and Hellenistic philosophers’ superficial explanations for the outbreak of the plague, Christian leaders gave the masses appropriate explanations (immoral behavior, disbelief in Christ) as reasons for the plague. In addition, Christianity gave the masses hope for salvation and a better future in Christ’s revelations.29 Another thesis that can explain the intensified flow of believers toward Christianity in the days of the plague can found in the writings of Dionysius, Bishop of Alexandria (247–​264 CE).This thesis is based on understanding the decentralized structure of the Christian community’s network. Around the middle of the second century, there was a positive surge in the status of the Christian community’s network. This was due mainly to the decline of the Roman administrative system and its inability to provide a sense of security and welfare to its citizens.30 Consequently, that became a significant factor in the social economic system of the empire. Good communication among communities enabled resources to be diverted to

28 R. Stark, The Rise of Christianity: A Sociologist Reconsiders History (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1996), pp. 74–​75. R.P. Duncan-​Jones, ‘The Impact of the Antonine plague’, Journal of Roman Archaeology, 9 (1996), pp. 108–​136; R. Sallares, ‘Plague’, R.S. Bagnall, K. Brodersen, C. B. Champion, A. Erskine, and S. R. Huebner (eds.), The Encyclopedia of Ancient History, vol. 9 (Chichester: Wiley-​ Blackwell, 2013), pp. 5343–​5344. 29 Ibid., p. 76 30 M.L. White, ‘Social Networks: Theoretical Orientation and Historical Applications’, Semeia, 56 (1991), pp. 23–​26; D.C. Duling, ‘The Jesus Movement and Social Network Analysis’. Part 1: The Spatial Network’, Biblical Theology Bulletin 29(4) (1999), pp. 156–​175; D.C. Duling, ‘The Jesus Movement and Social Network Analysis. Part 2: The Social Network’, Biblical Theology Bulletin, 30(1) (2000), pp. 3–​ 14; B. H. Erickson, ‘Networks and Linkage: Cultural Aspects’, in J.N. Smelser, and B.P. Baltes (eds.), International Encyclopedia of the Social and Behavioral Sciences, vol. 15 (Oxford, Pergamon Press, 2001), pp. 10507–​10511; J. Wilkes, ‘Changes in Roman Provincial Organization A.D. 193–​337’, Cambridge Ancient History, 2 (2005), pp. 705–​713.

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distressed areas. This communal network is most visible during disasters such as the plague. G. H. Hamel referred to the ancient Christians as ‘pioneers of a new society’.31 He claimed that Christian benevolence was different from Hellenistic benevolence, and carried a new message that challenged the norms that were acceptable in Hellenistic society. In addition, although agreeing that benevolent Christian roots were strongly entwined with Jewish tradition, Hamel stressed that Christians took benevolence one step further than the Jews by preaching to Christians to implement total benevolence, even giving all of one’s belongings to help the needy: In the new community envisioned by Christians, the rich, holding their riches from God, were asked to provide relief to the poor, whereas the poor were required to pay back their respect and thanks to God alone, at least in theory: God alone was truly philanthropic.32

W. H. C. Frend claims that the stability of Christianity, particularly Syrian Christianity facing the horror of the plague and taking the place of a nonfunctioning Roman administration, brought about a turning point and a fortification in the status of Christianity in Syria and all over the Roman Empire.33 This tragic situation was evidently the beginning of the turning point of Christianity, particularly Syrian Christianity, as Stark mentioned: It served as a revitalization movement that arose in response to the misery, chaos, brutality of life in the urban Greco-​Roman world . . . Christianity revitalized life in Greco-​Roman cities by providing new norms, and new kinds of social relationships able to cope with many urgent urban problems. To cities filled with homeless and impoverished, Christianity offered charity as well as hope. To cities filled of newcomers and strangers Christianity offered an immediate basis for attachments. To cities filled with orphans and widows, Christianity provided a new expanded sense of family. And to cities faced with epidemics, fires and earthquakes, Christianity offered effective nursing services.34 31 G.H. Hammel, Poverty and Charity in Roman Palestine, First Three Centuries C.E. (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1990), pp. 229. 32 Ibid., 231–​241. 33 W.H.C. Frend, The Rise of Christianity (Philadelphia, PA: Fortress Press, 1984), p. 180. 34 R. Stark, The Rise of Christianity: A Sociologist Reconsiders History (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1996), pp. 161.

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A Turning Point Syrian Christianity’s influence on the public was growing, while the efficiency of the Roman administration was decreasing. This opened a window of opportunity for charismatic leaders, such as Tatian the Assyrian (110–​172 CE), to introduce an alternative theological agenda that confronted Hellenistic culture and a theological system that was at the time the formal empire culture.35 Tatian had considerable influence on the development of Syrian Christianity.36 Under his leadership the Christians in Syria, excluding those in Antioch, soon adopted a different flavor of Christianity characterized by a strong local orientation, extreme asceticism, and absolute denunciation of Roman beliefs and way of life.37 Tatian’s intensive activity led to the spread of Syrian Christianity toward the eastern regions of Syria. This area was traditionally under great political and theological influence of the east, and with fundamental hostility toward Rome and the Hellenistic way of life. Under his leadership, Syrian Christianity merged Christian principles with mystical and ascetic factors that penetrated into Syrian society from the eastern religions or from ancient Syrian beliefs. Tatian, in sharp contrast from his mentor Justin Martyr’s apologetic ideology, desired to cut all ties between Hellenism and Christianity. The desire of Syrian Christians to demolish any Hellenistic elements in their belief system in their daily life described accurately by Vööbus: ‘That kind of spirit shows itself in whatever direction we look. In fact, autonomy is the hallmark, which stares us in the face of all of these sources. Syrian gnosis is the least Hellenized of all’.38 It is essential to analyze meticulously the sharp distinction between Tatian and his mentor Justin (110–​165 CE), their attitude towards 35 H. Lietzmann, A History of the Early Church, Vol. 1: The Beginning of the Christian Church (James Clarke Company, 1960), pp. 98-​–​99; Frend, The Rise of Christianity, pp. 174–​175; O. F. Esler, The Early Christian World.(London and New York: Routledge, 2004), pp. 536–​537. 36 S. Abou-​Zayd, Ihidayutha: A Study of the Life of Singleness in the Syrian Orient from Ignatius of Antioch to Chalcedon 451 AD (Oxford: Aram Society for Syro-​ Mesopotamian Studies, 1993), pp. 6–​10; C. McCarthy (trans.), Saint Ephrem’s Commentary on Tatian’s Diatessaron: An English Translation of Chester Beatty Syriac MS 709 (Journal of Semitic Studies Supplement, Book 2) (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994), pp.9–​77. 37 Frend, The Rise of Christianity, pp. 178–​183. 38 Vööbus, History of Asceticism in the Syrian Orient, pp.194.

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Greeks, Hellenist culture, and its belief system.39 This analysis is important because it represents and explains two opposing attitudes within ancient Christianity toward external influences and Hellenistic influences in particular; attitudes are of major importance to the development of Christianity, especially Syrian Christianity. Theologically, it is clear, that contrary to Justin’s apologetic attitude that desired to build a bridge between Christianity and Hellenism, Tatian consolidated an offensive worldview against Hellenistic philosophy as expressed in his composition ‘Oratio ad Graecos’ (Discourse to the Greeks).40 What was the root cause of the difference between the mentor and his devoted pupil? and where Tatian found the courage to confront the current state religion, Hellenism, while being a member of a persecuted minority? The answer to the first question based on each man’s origin. Justin, in spite of growing up in Palestine (Nablus), was originally Hellenistic until he took on the Christian way of life41 As such, it is only logical to assume that during this time he tried to find a common denominator between Christianity and Hellenistic belief. This would enable Christianity to exist beside the Hellenistic belief system and even to assimilate one into the other. This ideology continued to develop in the second half of the second century, mainly because of the strengthening of Christianity. Consequently, this caused an extreme change in the way that Christianity taught the Church Fathers. From a rational and restrained theological course, Christianity endured a metamorphosis toward a more independent course that emphasizes the emotional dimension. Scholars refer to this kind of work as apologetic. D. Rokeach defines apologetics as writings of self-​defense of an individual or a community that aimed toward an external object. In addition, Rokeach argues that Christian apologists stood on the boundary between Christianity and Hellenism, and searched for contact points, in order to reach coexistence or even points of agreements between the hostile publics.42 As one of the first apologists

39 About Justin and the school he has established in Rome, see: H. Musurillo, The Acts of Justin Martyr (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972), 74. 40 Roberts and Donaldson, The Ante-​Nicene Fathers, pp. 61–​83. 41 H. Lietzmann, A History of the Early Church, Vol. 1: The Beginning of the Christian Church (James Clarke Company, 1960), pp. 186. 42 D. Rokeach, Dialogue with Trypho the Jew (Trans. to Hebrew, Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 2005), pp. 1–​3

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of Christianity,43 and without a doubt one of the experts in Hellenistic philosophy, after wandering for years between the different Hellenistic philosophical schools prior converting to Christianity44 Justin placed his school in Rome.45 Justin preached his apologetic ideology, mainly in favor of compromising with the Hellenistic way of life, as witnessed in his well-​known work: ‘Dialogus Cum Tryphone Iudaeo’ (written between 155–​160 CE) that demonstrates his ideology. H. Lietzman argues that Justin’s ideology is a combination of the philosophical notions that were common in the second century together with the Old Testament, which from Justin’s point of view was the beginning of Christianity: It is obvious that Justin’s Christianity divided into two halves. One is a philosophical religion, which clothes Greek ideas and conceptions in a loose Biblical garment, which in the end issues in man’s self-​redemption ethically conceived; the second aspect is that of the unreasoned faith of the Church in which words of Jesus, sacramental mysticism, and Church life combined to form an active unity.46

Regarding Justin’s ideology, Christianity and Hellenism can live together in coexistence and harmony. In his attempts to justify his notion as stated, Justin demonstrated three principles. The first theory is the ‘borrowing theory’. According to which Hellenistic philosophers borrowed essential principals of their agenda from the Old Testament. Consequently, there are similarities between Christianity and Hellenistic philosophy in accordance with Justin’s unshakable assumption that the Old Testament was the foundation of Christian belief. The second theory used by Justin to justify his agenda is the Daemons theory. In his opinion, the non-​moral elements that can found within the Hellenistic philosophical agenda are the results of the evil impersonation of demons. In this argument, Justin explains the moral gap that exists between Christianity and the Greek way of life, but in the meantime takes away the responsibility from Hellenism for its normative status, 43 G. Vallee, The Shaping of Christianity: The History and Literature of its Formative Centuries (100–​800) (New York: Paulist, 1999), pp. 62–​65. Justin converted to Christianity in Ephesus, after being deeply impressed of local Christian’s willingness to give their life, for their beliefs. 44 Rokeach, ‘Dialogue with Trypho the Jew’, pp. 56–​57. 45 H.G. Snyder, ‘Above the Bath of Myrtinus: Justin Martyr’s “School” in the City of Rome’, The Harvard Theological Review, 100(3) (2007), pp. 335–​364. 46 Lietzmann, A History of the Early Church, pp. 185.

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and gives hope for the moral rehabilitation of the Greek way of life and coexistence with Christianity. The third theory that Justin brings is the ‘Seed Corn of the Logos’ (Logos Spermatikos). The entire logos were located in Jesus himself. In his gracious way, he provided the seed of the logos to both Jews and Greek philosophers. Those seeds are seeds of truth that contain the principles of true knowledge and true way of life. Therefore, even Hellenistic philosophers carry within themselves the essence of Christ, and therefore carry the chance for salvation.47 If so, Justin tried to create harmony between Greek philosophy and Christianity. Those attempts, besides being theological, were a result of a logical and sober perspective of the political reality at that time. Justin assumed that an improved relationship with the current state religion would contribute to and upgrade the status of Christianity among the masses.48 In sharp contrast to his mentor, Tatian was born in eastern Syria, near Mesopotamia. This border region was traditionally hostile to the Roman authorities, mainly due to its location on the boundaries of the Parthian empire. In addition, Hellenism influenced it theologically, in contrast to the big cities in the west like Antioch. The inhabitants of this region kept their local orientation, preserving the local language, Aramaic, and retaining a mixture of mystical elements in their belief system.49 The above factors brought about the creation of a separatist environment as described below: The earliest extant sources of Syrian Christianity reveal a powerful spirit of self-​consciousness looking towards independence. This longing is imprinted on every page of historical record. That which stands at the very forefront of Tatian’s thought is profoundly instructive in this connection. It his dislike, nay hatred, for everything bearing a Greek or Roman label.50

In spite of being a devoted pupil of Justin’s, Tatian deviated from Justin’s apologetic ideology and was extremely hostile to Roman authorities and a Hellenist orientation. The basic principal in his ideology was the denunciation of anything revealing a theological or cultural 47 Vallee, The Shaping of Christianity, pp. 63–​64. 48 R.M. Grant, Greek Apologists of the Second Century (Philadelphia, PA: Westminster Press, 1988), p. 110. 49 Roberts and Donaldson, The Ante-​Nicene Fathers, pp. 61–​63. 50 Vööbus, History of Asceticism in the Syrian Orient, pp. 194.

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Hellenistic characteristic. His work, The Diatessaron, is a Syrian-​Aramaic 51 combination of all four gospels, written with clear ascetic orientation. A conspicuous example is the replacement of John the Baptist’s food from ‘Grasshoppers and Honey’ to ‘Milk and Honey’, which is a vegetarian diet, and therefore considered more ascetic.52 Several scholars explain that the purpose of editing The Diatessaron by Tatian was to demonstrate the unity of Christianity, in contrast to Hellenistic philosophical beliefs that many times opposed one another.53 In contrast to The Diatessaron, which expressed aloofness from a Greek lifestyle, Tatian’s second well-​known work, ‘Oratio Ad Graecos’, is already a declaration of war against the Hellenistic lifestyle. In this work, Tatian built his argument against the Greeks systematically. His basic argument is against the Hellenistic assumption that philosophy is more ancient than Christianity. To reject this argument Tatian leans on the Jewish roots of Christianity: Moses ... will be shown to have been many years older than the taking of Troy, and far more ancient than the building of Troy, or than Tros and Dardanus. To demonstrate this I will call in as witnesses the Chaldeans, the Phoenicians and the Egyptians…54 Therefore, from what has been said it is evident that Moses was older than the ancient heroes, wars, and demons. And we ought rather to believe him, who stands before them in point of age, than the Greeks, who, without being aware of it, drew his doctrines from a fountain.55

Afterwards Tatian continues to demonstrate his argument about the unity of belief that exists in Christianity in contrast to the multiple cults of Hellenistic philosophers: God alone is to be feared. He who is not visible to human eyes, nor comes within the compass of human art. Only when I am commanded to deny Him, will I not obey, but will rather die than show myself false and ungrateful. Our

51 W.L. Petersen, Tatian’sDiatessaron –​Its Creation, Dissemination, Significance, and History in Scholarship (Leiden: Brill, 1994), pp. 1–​9; T. Baarda, Essays on the Diatessaron (Kampen: Kok Pharos, 1994), pp. 20–​23, 77. 52 Abou-​Zayd, Ihidayutha: A Study of the Life, pp. 9–​15. 53 T. Baarda, Essays on the Diatessaron (Kampen: Kok Pharos, 1994), p. 22. 54 Oratio Ad Graecos, Chap. 36. 55 Ibid., Chap. 40.

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God did not begin to be in time: He alone is without beginning, and He 56 Himself is the beginning of all things.

In addition to the arguments above, Tatian reveals the absurdness that exists in Hellenistic philosophy. Tatian states that every philosopher demonstrates his agenda, mainly to narrow his associate philosophers and in the meantime increases his value among the high social classes in Roman society: Wherefore be not led away by the solemn assemblies of philosophers who are no philosophers, who dogmatize one against the other, though each one vents but the crude fancies of the moment. They have, moreover, many collisions among themselves; each one hates the other; they indulge in conflicting opinions, and their arrogance makes them eager for the highest places.57

Another argument that Tatian addresses to Hellenistic philosophers is their lack of belief in the resurrection, as the Christians do: And on this account we believe that there will be a resurrection of bodies after the consummation of all things . . . And, although you regard us as mere triflers and babblers, it troubles us not, since we have faith in this doctrine.58

The question that arises after reviewing Tatian’s agenda toward the Roman authorities and Hellenistic way of life is how Tatian did and his adherents dare to declare war against the rulers of the province and their belief system? The assumption underlying this article is that the answer to this question can found in analyzing the political arena in Roman Syria during Tatian’s days. As demonstrated above, there was gradual erosion in the status of the governing abilities of Roman authorities mainly because of their poor handling of the plague. In this environment the self-​confidence of Syrian Christians, which often took the place of Roman authority, grew and enabled charismatic individuals such as Tatian to rise up and challenge the Roman authorities, their belief system, and their lifestyle. Tatian’s period represents a crucial turning point of Christianity toward triumph in the regions of eastern Syria and Mesopotamia.59 In 56 57 58 59

Ibid., Chap.6. Ibid., Chap.3. Ibid., Chap. 6. Abou-​Zayd, Ihidayutha: A Study of the Life, pp. 10-​–​13; Irenaeus, Contra Haereses, I, 26.1; Eusebius, HE, IV, 29, 4–​6. In a retrospective point of view, Tatian considered a

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the next decade, is surprising that the ideology and the way of life that was represented by Tatian and his adherents pervaded into the heart of the Hellenistic metropolis, not clandestinely, but as a systematic treatise, expressed by the head of the Antiochean Christians, Theophilus (115–​ 181 CE),60 the community bishop since around 169 CE. Analyzing Theophilus’s well-​known work ‘Ad Autolycum’ (Theophilus to Autolycus) reveals the same critical attitude as found in Tatian’s writings against the Hellenistic belief system, although lacking essential components of Tatian’s doctrine, such as extreme asceticism and avoidance of marriage.61 In his work, Theophilus criticizes Hellenistic beliefs and the way of life to his Hellenistic associate Autolycus. Theophilus, using the technique of the evolving attitude, proves, as far as he is concerned, the ‘Antiquity of Christianity’, as a continuation of Moses’s Old Testament is actually the basis of Christianity62: Frend summarizes Theophilus’s main texts by saying that Theophilus’s notion was that: ‘Greek literature was useless. Plato was held to ridicule. Like Tatian, he scorned the immorality of the Pagan Gods and stigmatized the “theft” by otherwise discordant philosophers of truths enunciated by the Hebrew prophets’.63 The interesting fact in Theophilus’s activity is the lack of fear when he criticized the pagan-​Hellenistic philosophy within the heart of the Hellenistic metropolis. This fact proves the continuing decline of the Roman authorities influence, and more important, the increasing self-​ confidence of Syrian Christians and their leaders at the end of the second century.

heretic, mainly because he had practiced the life style of encrinites that were a group of people abstained from flesh and wine, and from marriage, and therefore considered heretic. 60 Roberts and Donaldson, The Ante-​Nicene Fathers, pp. 87–​88. 61 Abou-​Zayd, Ihidayutha: A Study of the Life, pp. 133; McCarthy, Saint Ephrem’s Commentary on Tatian’s Diatessaron, p. 32; Esler, The Early Christian World, pp. 542–​544. 62 Ad Autolycum, Book III, Chap. XXII. 63 Frend, The Rise of Christianity, pp. 252.

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Conclusion The article explains the unique development of Syrian Christianity during the years 110–​180 CE. The article main’s aim is to show that in this short period, Syrian Christianity endured a tremendous metamorphosis. From a persecuted community in the heart of the Roman-​ Hellenistic metropolis, it overcame its compelled expulsion from the urban Hellenistic metropolis, and managed to establish, in a very short period, the foundations of a competitive center in the east of the empire. At the end of this period, the Christians not only are led by charismatic figure as Tatian, who managed to create a new kind of Christianity, but they also succeeded in influencing Christian communities that survived within the Hellenistic metropolis, to adopt motives from their way of life, especially the denunciation of Hellenism. Under his leadership, Syrian Christianity moved from theological defense to theological offense toward their contact circles in the province of Roman Syria. The benefit of this research is that it combines the political, theological, and sociological factors that brought the major change in the development of Syrian Christianity. The outcome of the events described in this article was the spurring of the separation process between Hellenism and Syrian Christianity, and the beginning of the creation of an independent Syrian Christian center as a substitute to the Christian center in Antioch. A. S. Atiya described this process accurately: ‘Edessa was thus gradually growing into a stronghold of Syrian tradition, while Antioch was increasingly Hellenized’.64 This process of departing from the Hellenistic world will become even stronger toward the third century and will be led by Bar-​Dissan the Mesopotamian, one of the most admired figures in Syrian Christianity.65

64 A.S. Atiya, A History of Eastern Christianity (London: Methuen, 1968), pp. 249. 65 H.J.W. Drijvers, East of Antioch: Studies in Early Syriac Christianity (London, Variorum Reprints, 1984), pp. 3–​ 5; Marjanen and Luomanen, Second-​Century Christian Heretics, pp. 160–​184; H.J.W. Drijvers, The Book of the Laws of Countries: Dialogue on Fate of Bardaisan of Edessa (Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press, 2007), pp. 5–​30.

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Were the Early Christians Sectarians? Searching for Sectarianism in the New Testament* Eyal Regev

Studies that argue that early Christian communities were sects within Judaism are criticized in the present article on several grounds: The sociological models of sectarianism used are usually imprecise; their application is partial; and the evidence provided by New Testament writings for sectarian characteristics is inconclusive. On the other hand, recent studies on Matthew, John, James, and the Pauline churches have argued that the early Christians did not separate themselves from their fellow Jews. Moreover, it seems that the early Christian communities lack the sectarian features of strict discipline and discrete social institutions. Thus, it is difficult to regard early Christianity as a sectarian movement in the strict sociological sense of the term. Two leading figures in the social-​scientific study of the New Testament declared in the 1980s that the view that early Christianity was a sect within Judaism had become ‘a commonplace’.1 Since then, a growing number of scholars have adopted this view. Consequently, different groups and communities reflected (whether directly or implicitly) in the New Testament gospels and epistles2 are usually regarded as having departed from Jewish

* This article is an expansion and update of Eyal Regev, “Were the Early Christians Sectarians,” Journal of Biblical Literature 130.4 (2011), pp. 771–​793. 1 John H. Elliott, A Home for the Homeless. A Social-​Scientific Criticism of I Peter, Its Situation and Strategy (Minneapolis: Fortress, 19902 [1981]), p. 74; Wayne A. Meeks, The Moral World of the First Christians (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1986), p. 98. 2 Some of the studies discussed in what follows treat first century Christianity as a somewhat cohesive movement. It is more appropriate, however, to concede that the different communities reflected in the NT texts and other documents dated to the late first century CE (such as early layers of the Didache) defy a clear-​cut classification *

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society (but not necessarily from the Jewish religion, i.e., the later ‘parting of the ways’) already in the initial phases of early Christianity. In the present article, I will question this popular assertion by showing that the sociological concept of a sect is in truth far narrower than many New Testament commentators have assumed. I will begin with a critical survey of the studies that established this consensus, discussing the different models of sectarianism they employed and the consistency with which these models were applied to the New Testament, whether regarded as a conglomerate of sources or specific, individual texts. I will then point to the absence of three social phenomena in many New Testament texts, phenomena that I will argue are essential for the existence of sectarianism: First, most of the early Christian communities did not segregate themselves from their Jewish peers; second, they did not demand total allegiance from members of the community, and did not enforce strong social sanctions; and third, they lacked a fixed social organization and institutionalization. The question at stake is not a mere matter of semantics. By examining whether the community (or ideology) reflected in a given gospel or epistle was a sect –​or at the very least, displays a sectarian worldview –​I am in truth questioning whether the author perceived his group or close associates as a distinct social body apart from the larger Jewish society. This is indeed a key issue in understanding the social character of the first-​century early Christian communities and their relationship to the surrounding Jewish community. However, our discussion should not be limited to the Jewish-​ Christians and their relationship with fellow Jews. Given the blurred distinctions between the so-​called ‘Jewish’ and ‘Gentile’ Christianity, as well as the probability that many communities were mixed,3 this question is also relevant to many of the New Testament writings.

and can by no means be regarded as a monolithic and coherent movement. They differ, for example, about Jesus’ role and character, as well as the status of non-​ Jews. See the summary of James Dunn, Unity and Diversity in the New Testament (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1977). 3 Gal 2:11–​14; Raymond E. Brown, ‘Not Jewish Christianity and Gentile Christianity but Types of Jewish/​Gentile Christianity’, CBQ 45 (1983), pp. 74–​79; Philip F. Esler, Community and Gospel in Luke-​Acts (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), pp. 30–​45. On the Pauline communities as regarded by both Paul and his opponents as within the boundaries of Judaism, see E.P. Sanders, Paul, the Law and the Jewish People (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983), pp. 171–​206, esp. 174, 192. In Romans, Paul argues for the integration of the Gentile believers within the Jewish people. The

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Examining the sectarian character of the early Christians communities is an integral part of the scholarly attempt to understand the emergence and development of early Christianity within/​in relation to ancient Judaism. To be sure, the task demands a detailed textual and social-​scientific analysis of each of the New Testament texts, separately. The following discussion, by contrast, merely aims to set out general methodological considerations relevant to such attempts. It does so by pointing to several social trends common to many of the relevant texts, which previous scholars have either downplayed or outright neglected.

The Sect Model in New Testament Scholarship: A Critical Appraisal The following survey will analyze the use of five different approaches to the understanding and designation of the term ‘sect’ in New Testament scholarship: (1) the absence of a social-​scientific model; (2) Troeltsch’s model; (3) Werner Stark’s model; (4) Wilson’s model(s), and; (5) Rodney Stark and Bainbridge’s model.

The Absence of a Social-​Scientific Model (Free/​Common Use of the Term ‘sect’) The titles of several articles take for granted that early Christianity was a sect. They do not provide any definition of sectarianism, and do not discuss the actual sectarian character of the early Christian communities.4 The meaning of the term ‘sect’ is thus rendered general and obscure,

Gentile mission was meant to pave the way to Israel’s final salvation (Rom 11:1–​ 32). According to the parable of the broken branches (Rom 11:17–​21), the Gentile Christians are the wild olive shoot that was grafted on a (Jewish) olive tree, thus sharing the rich (Jewish) root. Hence, the Gentile Christians are incorporated into Israel. In Rom 9–​11 Paul includes the non-​Jewish Christian covenant theology within ‘Israel’, which is an insider Jewish designation. See James D.G. Dunn, The Theology of Paul the Apostle (Grand Rapids and Cambridge: Eerdmans, 1998), pp. 504–​532. 4 Jean Danilou, ‘Christianity as a Jewish Sect’, in A. Toynbee (ed.), The Crucible of Christianity: Judaism, Hellenism, and the Historical Background to the Christian Faith (London: Thames and Hudson, 1969), pp. 275–​282; Wayne A. Meeks, ‘The Man from Heaven and Johannine Sectarianism’, JBL 91 (1972), pp. 44–​72; T.L.

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perhaps as a common designator for a group or movement with a distinc5 tive ideology or self-​definition. Other articles characterize the early Christian belief system as sectarian without providing a sociological definition in support of their use of the term, although their discussion shows some knowledge of the scholarship on the subject on the part of their authors.6 According to Stanton, for example, Matthew represents ‘a somewhat beleaguered minority ‘sect’ cut off from its roots’.7 Clearly, however, such use of the term is not at all helpful for demonstrating the sectarian aspects of early Christianity.

Donaldson, ‘Moses Typology and the Sectarian Nature of Early Christian Anti-​ Judaism: A Study in Acts 7’, JSNT 12 (1981), pp. 27–​52. 5 Meeks’ sole reference to sectarianism is his claim that ‘the sociology of religion has not yet developed theoretical categories adequate for describing the formation of a “sect” of the sort we are discovering in the Johannine group’ (‘Man from Heaven’, 70). In a footnote, however, he admits that his use of the term sect is ‘somewhat different from the classic definition’ of Weber and Troeltsch, and justifies his reservations regarding ‘the special problems of an adequate definition’ by referring to Peter Berger, ‘The Sociological Study of Sectarianism’, Social Research 21 (1954), pp. 467–​485. In fact, Berger introduced a new definition of sectarian ideology—​the belief that the spirit is immediately present—​and an innovative classification of sect types that may prove useful for understanding John. 6 Francis Watson, Paul, Judaism and the Gentiles: A Sociological Approach (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986), pp. 38–​40, refers to hostility, alienation, and separation as the markers of a sect, and seems to build on Esler (see below); Christopher Rowland, Christian Origins: An Account of the Setting and Character of the Most Important Messianic Sect of Judaism (London: SCK, 1985), esp. p. 65; David C. Sim, The Gospel of Matthew and Christian Judaism: The History and Social Setting of the Matthean Community (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998), pp. 108–​123; David Rensberger, ‘Sectarianism and Theological Interpretation in John’, in F.F. Segovia (ed.), ‘What is John?’ Volume 2. Literary and Social Reading of the Fourth Gospel (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1998), pp. 139–​156. David A. deSilva, ‘The Revelation to John: A Case Study in Apocalyptic Propaganda and the Maintenance of Sectarian Identity’, Sociological Analysis 53.4 (1992), pp. 375–​395, mentions occasional sociological definitions of sectarianism, but without applying them. 7 Graham N. Stanton, ‘The Gospel of Matthew and Judaism’, BJRL 66 (1984), pp. 264–​ 284 (here 274, cf. 277, 282). Cf. D. Moody Smith, ‘Johnnine Christianity: Some Reflections on Its Character and Delineation’, NTS 21 (1974–​1975), p. 224.

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Troeltsch’s Church-​Sect Model According to Ernest Troeltsch’s so-​called ‘church-​sect model’, the church accepts both man’s sinful nature and the ‘relative’ laws of the social order and the state, thus becoming an integral part of both of the latter. The sect, by contrast, refuses to accept the world as it is. It seeks instead to replace the church’s sacramental means of salvation with redemption through complete faith.8 Troeltsch listed several general characteristics of a sect: (1) it is a voluntary community; (2) it is independent of the world, or even opposes it; (3) it separates the religious life from the economic struggle by means of the ideal of poverty and frugality (or even charity, which leads to communism); (4) it is critical of ‘official’ spiritual guides and theologians; (5) it conditions entry into the community on conscious conversion; (6) it aims at religious equality of the laity; (7) it emphasizes personal service and cooperation; and (8) it aspires to personal, inward perfection. Meeks, referring to Troeltsch’s church-​sect model, declares that early Christianity was ‘sectarian’ because ‘the organizing centre of the group’s identity consisted of a constellation of beliefs and patterns of behavior that were not, as a whole, shared by other groups of Jews’. He goes on to explain that the early Christians ‘drew the boundaries of the sacred community differently and more narrowly than did the established leaders in Jerusalem’, and pointed to baptism (i.e., ritual initiation) as ‘a major step toward sectarianism’. He further asserts that early Christianity ‘has a very particularistic ethos’ of separation from the world, since the world is on the road to damnation.9

8 Ernest Troeltsch, The Social Teachings of the Christian Churches (London/​ New York: George Allen & Unwin/​ Macmillan, 1931 [German: 1911]), vol. 1, pp. 331–​339. Some of those who use Troeltsch also refer to the works of Max Weber. However, Weber’s conception of a sect was different from Troeltsch’s, and he rarely contrasted it with a ‘church’. Cf. W.H. Swatos, ‘Weber or Troeltsch? Methodology, Syndrome and the Development of Church-​Sect Theory’, JSSR 15.2 (1976), pp. 129–​144; David J. Chalcraft, ‘The Development of Weber’s Sociology of Sects: Encouraging a New Fascination’, in idem (ed.), Sectarianism in Early Judaism: Sociological Advances (London: Equinox, 2007), pp. 26–​51. 9 Meeks, Moral World, pp. 98–​99, 103. On p. 100, he also refers to Berger’s definition of a sect in relation to the world (‘Sociological Study of Sectarianism’) and to the definition provided by Bryan Wilson in his Magic and the Millennium: A Sociological Study of Religious Movements of Protest among Tribal and Third-​World Peoples (London: Heinemann, 1973).

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Esler maintained that ‘Luke’s community is sectarian within the terms of Troeltsch’s typology’ since it was autonomous, and had a separate identity vis á vis Judaism.10 The sectarian characteristics to which he points include his own conclusions regarding Luke’s exclusive commitment to the ecclesia, as well as the lack of simultaneous allegiance to the synagogue. In addition, he refers to hints that early Christian communities were despised by and excluded from the synagogue, which would seem to indicate an irrevocable split between the two.11 Some of these assertions by Meeks and Esler will be disputed below, but more important for our purpose is to question their sociological definition of a sect. The use of Troeltsch’s church-​sect model for defining a sect is problematic for several reasons. First, later sociologists of religion have criticized this model as historically confining and religiously specific: The very notion of a church and the organizational and doctrinal characteristics of the sect are, they argued, relevant mainly to medieval Christianity.12 The contradicting dimensions of the church-​sect are too broad and imprecise, and therefore cannot serve as a cross-​cultural model.13 Second, as several New Testament scholars have argued, the entire concept of a monolithic church does not fit pre-​70 c.e. Judaism, which was pluralistic and contained within it conflicting groups and divergent currents.14

10 Esler, Community and Gospel in Luke-​Acts, pp. 48–​49, 54, 57. On pp. 47–​49, 233–​ 234 he also refers to Weber and Wilson. 11 Ibid., pp. 54–​56. For similar uses of Troeltsch, see R.A. Markus, ‘The problem of Self-​Definition: From Sect to Church’, in E.P. Sanders (ed.), Jewish and Christian Self-​Definition, Volume One: The Shaping of Christianity in the Second and Third Centuries (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1980), p. 2; Jarl Fossum, ‘Social and Institutional Conditions for Early Jewish and Christian Interpretation of the Hebrew Bible with Special Regard to Religious Groups and Sects’, in M. Sæbø (ed.), Hebrew Bible/​Old Testament: The History of Its Interpretation, Volume 1: From the Beginnings to the Middle Ages, Part 1: Antiquity (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1996), pp. 239–​255. 12 Wilson, Magic and the Millennium, pp. 12–​16; idem, ‘The Sociology of Sects’, Religion in Sociological Perspective (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 1982), pp. 89–​91, 101. 13 Benton Johnson, ‘On Church and Sect’, American Sociological Review 28 (1963), pp. 539–​ 549; idem, ‘Church and Sect Revisited’, JSSR 10 (1971) pp. 124–​137; Alan W. Eister, ‘Toward a Radical Critique of Church-​Sect Typologizing’, JSSR 6 (1967), pp. 85–​90. 14 L. Michael White, ‘Shifting Sectarian Boundaries in Early Christianity’, BJRL 70.3 (1988), pp. 10–​15; Bruce Malina, ‘Patron and Client: The Analogy Behind Synoptic

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Third, Meeks, Esler, and others did not examine the relevant literary-​ historical evidence in light of the church-​sect model. Instead, they merely used a limited number of general examples to illustrate its applicability. They did not, for example, conduct an in-​depth analysis of the relationship between the early Christian communities and ‘mainstream’ Judaism (e.g., the high priests and the Pharisees), and did not refer to the specific sectarian characteristics listed by Troeltsch. The fitness of the model, it would seem, was simply taken for granted.15

Scroggs’ Use of Werner Stark Scroggs offered the first detailed attempt to define the early Christians as sectarians, although his discussion was limited to Jesus and his direct disciples.16 Scroggs’s theoretical framework is eclectic, referring as it does to the works of Wilson and others as well, but it relies mainly on Werner Stark’s volume Sectarian Religion.17 Scroggs lists six major sectarian characteristics, supported by evidence from the gospels: (1) the sect is a voluntary association; (2) it begins as a protest movement; (3) it rejects the view of reality as taken for granted by the establishment; (4) it is egalitarian; (5) it offers love and acceptance to those within the community; and (6) it commands a total commitment from its members. Thus, according to Scroggs, Christianity began to emerge as sect in the period when Jesus taught his disciples.

Theology’, Forum 4/​1 (1988), p. 15; Torrey Seland, ‘Jesus as a Faction Leader. On the Exit of the Category “Sect” ’, in P.W. Bøckman and R.E. Kristiansen (eds.), Context (Trondheim: Tapir, 1987), pp. 198, 208; Bengt Holmberg, Sociology and the New Testament: An Appraisal (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990), p. 91. 15 Meeks himself raises doubts regarding the applicability of the church-​sect model and whether debates concerning laws and rituals actually led to social separation. As he concedes, there was wide variation in practice among other Jews as well as internal Christian disputes (Moral World, p. 100). While he uses the terms ‘sect’ and ‘the Jesus sect’, he then clarifies that it is not exactly a sect, but also a meeting club or school, admitting that it is hard to classify it sociologically (ibid., pp. 119–​120). 16 Robin Scroggs, ‘The Earliest Christian Communities as Sectarian Movement’, in J. Neusner (ed.), Christianity, Judaism, and Other Greco-​Roman Cults (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1975), vol. 2, pp.1–​23. 17 Werner Stark, The Sociology of Religion, A Study of Christendom. Vol. 2: Sectarian Religion (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1967).

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Scroggs’s work has been cited extensively as proof of the sectarian character of early Christianity, and his study provides an important contribution to the social-​scientific study of the New Testament. However, his analysis is methodologically premature. To begin with, his reliance on W. Stark’s portrayal of sectarianism is problematic, and far from promising: Stark’s study is replete with historical allusions, but lacks a definition of a sect. It has been criticized for its classification of sectarianism in terms of doctrine and degree of institutionalization, and therefore has not gained acceptance among sociologists.18 Furthermore, Scroggs’s use of Stark is somewhat selective and idiosyncratic.19 He fails, for instance, to mention Stark’s discussion of the sectarian ‘depreciation of everything that is in, and belongs to, the world’, and of the sect as a ‘religiously conceived élite’, which probably does not fit the earliest Jesus Movement.20 At the same time, Scroggs rephrases Stark’s portrayal of the sectarian characteristics to reduce their radical social character, thus allowing them to correspond more easily to the social features of the gospels.21 Moreover, the passages from the gospels to which Scroggs points in support of several of his sectarian characteristics are not convincing. The ‘rejection of the establishment’s view of reality’, for example, is evidenced

18 Wilson, Magic and the Millennium, pp. 15–​16, nn. 9–​10, and the studies cited there. In fact, Stark does not differ dramatically from Troeltsch (cf. Stark, Sociology of Religion, pp. 60, 83–​93, 159). He sometimes makes erroneous convictions, such as ‘true radical sects have nothing that can properly be called common or collective worship’ when referring to the Quakers (ibid., p. 126). 19 See S.C. Barton, ‘Early Christianity and the Sociology of the Sect’, in F.B. Watson (ed.), The Open Text (London: SCM Press, 1993), p. 144: ‘[T]‌he idea of a sect itself is described in a very general and monolithic way so that it is hardly surprising that the early church can be described as sectarian, especially when one begins to suspect that the characteristics of the ideal type have been taken from early Christianity in the first place’. 20 Stark, Sociology of Religion, pp. 93, 98–​111. 21 Stark does not refer to egalitarianism, but to ‘anti-​authoritarianism’ (ibid., pp. 115, 120); not to the refutation of reality, but to the creation of ‘counterculture’ (pp. 128–​ 158) or the ‘rejection of the social reality’ (p. 51); and not just to protest, but to a ‘conflict society’ (p. 129 and passim). Moreover, love and acceptance are not defined as sectarian characteristics, and are mentioned merely in relation to an infrequent inference to ‘emotionalism’ (p. 133). Scroggs’s occasional references to some of the characteristics discussed by Wilson nonetheless lack at least four of the essential features he lists (discussed below). See Bryan Wilson (ed.), Patterns of Sectarianism (London: Heinemann, 1967), pp. 23–​24.

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merely by the general rejection of the gospels by outsiders (e.g., community, family), or early Christians’ hostility on account of the failure of their mission. Scroggs, however, does not point to an active rejection of major Jewish social institutions, notions of morality, covenant by law, etc.22 Scorggs is similarly unsuccessful in demonstrating egalitarianism,23 and his references to the disciples’ total commitment is rather general.24 In fact, Scroggs even appears to contradict himself, stating that ‘Jesus does not seem to have tried to create cadres of people to withdraw from the world…he attempted to found no close organization which would further rigidly the boundaries between the establishment and the outcasts’.25 Indeed, recent studies have argued that the earliest ‘Jesus movement’ was not a sect but a faction, and that early Christianity became a sect only in later phases.26

Wilson’s Sect Model(s) In his ‘An Analysis of Sect Development’, Bryan Wilson, the most influential sociologist of sectarianism, identified nine sectarian characteristics according to patterns of self-​conception and social organization: (1) association is voluntary; (2) membership is determined by sect authorities and contingent upon some claim of personal merit, such as knowledge of doctrine or affirmation of a conversion experience; (3) exclusiveness

22 Scroggs, ‘Earliest Christian Communities’, pp. 14–​15. See also the criticism of Holmberg, Sociology and the New Testament, pp. 90–​91. 23 Scroggs (‘Earliest Christian Communities’, p. 18) refers to the rhetorical aphorisms of Gal 3:28 and Mark 10:43–​44, but acknowledges the hierarchal structure of the Jerusalem church. 24 Scroggs, ‘Earliest Christian Communities’, p. 20. He refers here to taking up one’s cross and ascetic behavior, such as selling one’s possessions. These features probably applied to only a few of Jesus’ followers, however. See Gerd Theissen, Sociology of Early Palestinian Christianity (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1978), pp. 8–​16. Scroggs also refers to general ‘ethical injunctions’ rather than to the social coercion of the early Christian communities. To be sure, from a sociological perspective, Scroggs’s assertion regarding the ‘total commitment to a totally different lifestyle’ is not identical to a total commitment to a social institution or leadership (that is, a sectarian one). See Jack T. Sanders, Schismatics, Sectarians, Dissidents, Deviants. The First One Hundred Years of Jewish-​Christian Relations (London: SCM Press, 1993), pp. 115–​116. 25 Scroggs, ‘Earliest Christian Communities’, p. 13. 26 Seland, ‘Jesus as a Faction Leader’, pp. 197–​211; Bruce Malina’, A Conflict Approach to Mark 7’, Forum 4.3 (1988), pp. 3–​30. See also articles by Elliott, discussed below.

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is emphasized, and expulsion is exercised against those who contravene doctrinal, moral, or organizational precepts; (4) self-​conception is of an elect group or gathered remnant, possessing special enlightenment; (5) personal perfection is the expected, standard aspiration; (6) there is acceptance, at least as an ideal, of ‘the priesthood of all believers’; (7) there is a high level of lay participation; (8) there is an opportunity for the member to express his commitment spontaneously; and (9) there is hostility or indifference towards the surrounding society.27 In subsequent publications, Wilson lists additional (and, at times, somewhat parallel) characteristics: (10) a sect is a protest group; (11) it claims a monopoly on complete religious truth28; and (12) it claims to provide better access to salvation than is elsewhere available.29 This characterization of sectarianism was applied fully and successfully to the Qumran sects, and therefore it is appropriate to employ it in the study of Second Temple Judaism.30 Unfortunately, no New Testament scholar has used this specific, more detailed model in his own research. Several scholars, however, used more simplified and general characterizations listed by Wilson, aiming simply to demonstrate the sectarian character of certain New Testament texts.31 In his Sects and Society, Wilson defined a sect as follows: (1) a clearly defined community; (2) minimal diversity and/​ or rigid patterns of 27 Bryan Wilson, ‘An Analysis of Sect Development’, American Sociological Review 24 (1959), pp. 3–​15 (here 4), reprinted in Wilson, Patterns of Sectarianism, pp. 22–​45. 28 Bryan Wilson, ‘The Sociology of Sects’, idem, Religion in Sociological Perspective (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 1982), pp. 91–​93. On protest, see also Wilson, Magic and the Millennium, p. 12. 29 Bryan Wilson, The Social Dimensions of Sectarianism: Sects and New Religious Movements in Contemporary Society (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1990), p. 47. On the methodological limitations of this specification of sectarian characteristics which are based on later Christian historical experience, see Wilson, ‘The Sociology of Sects’, pp. 95–​96, 101–​110; idem, Magic and the Millennium, pp. 9–​11. 30 John W. Martens, ‘A Sectarian Analysis of the Damascus Document’, in S. Fishbane and J.N. Lightstone (eds.), Essays in the Social Scientific Study of Judaism and Jewish Society (Montréal: University of Concordia, 1990), pp. 27–​46; Eyal Regev, Sectarianism in Qumran: A Cross-​Cultural Perspective (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2007), pp. 39–​42. 31 Margaret Y. MacDonald, The Pauline Churches: A Socio-​ Historical Study of Institutionalization in the Pauline and Deutro-​Pauline Writings (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), pp. 34, 39, mentions Wilson’s work, arguing for the sectarian character of early Christianity, but without actually discussing it.

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conduct; (3) active contention against every other organization of values and ideas, as well as against every other social context possible for its adherents; (4) not only an ideological unit, but a social unit, which seeks to enforce behavior among those who accept its beliefs; (5) utilization of every occasion to draw the faithful apart from the rest of society, and into the company of each other; and (6) a protest group, which develops its own distinctive ethic, beliefs, and practices against the background of the wider society.32 In his groundbreaking study of 1 Peter, A Home for the Homeless, Elliot defines 1 Peter’s community as a sect on the basis of this last definition. In his rather short discussion on the subject, Elliott argues that 1 Peter represents: (1) a community separated from the rest of society through a voluntary termination of, and conversion from past familial, social, and religious ties (1 Pet 1:3–​5, 10–​12, 18–​21; 2:4–​10); (2) a community defined by strict internal discipline (1:22; 2:1; 3:8; 4:7–​11: 5:1–​5); (3) a community that aims to contend vigorously with any encroachment by, or infiltration of, outside forces (1:14–​16, 18–​21; 2:11; 3:9, 13–​17; 4:1–​ 6, 12–​19; 5:8–​9); and (4) a community characterized by an ethic that prescribes religious allegiance, ‘fear’ (1:17, 2:17; cf. 3:6, 14), and ‘obedience’ (cf. 2:8; 3:20; 4:17) to the will of God alone (2:15; 3:17; 4:2, 19).33 In his dependence on Wilson’s abridged definition of a sect, Elliott omits several important characteristics listed in Wilson’s original and more detailed description, namely conditional admission, exclusivity, and expulsion, all of which are lacking in 1 Peter (Elliot also neglects other characteristics, such as personal perfection, lay participation, and the monopoly over truth, which, it may be argued, are present in 1 Peter). Even more significant is Elliot’s over-​emphasis of the idea of separation. Indeed, although the addressees adhere to a distinctive religious ethos, and are experiencing social tensions with and alienation from the 32 Bryan Wilson, Sects and Society: A Sociological Study of the Elim Tabernacle, Christian Science, and Christadelphians (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1961), p. 1. Wilson admits that ‘throughout this study, a minimal definition of sect has been adopted, a definition broadly conforming to popular usage’ (ibid., p. 325; cf. 3); that at least two out of the three sects discussed in this book bear ‘denominational tendencies’ (pp. 10, 326; cf. 58, 328–​330, 332–​333); and that he prefers the designation ‘minority religious movements’ (e.g., pp. 326, 331, 342). 33 Elliott, A Home for the Homeless, p. 75. For a discussion of the characteristics of separation (referring to 1 Pet 1:14; 2:11; 4:1–​4), see also ibid., pp. 82, 102, 108, 119, 135. For self-​election and elitism (1 Pet 1:1 2:4–​10), see ibid., pp. 121–​129.

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surrounding society –​they are called ‘aliens and exiles’ (2:11) –​there is almost no sign of social separation. On the contrary, their behavior is guided by the premise that the Gentiles ‘may see your honorable deeds and glorify God when He comes to judge’. The addressees are also required to accept relevant governmental authority, and to ‘honor everyone’.34 Furthermore, 1 Peter represents a Christian community that, while distinguishing itself from the Gentile realm and turning its back on idolatry, deceit, envy and lust,35 also has no explicit relationship, and hence no conflict or tension, with the Jewish realm, either. It sets itself apart from pagan society alone (see below on separation and the Pauline churches). Interestingly, this quasi-​sectarian approach towards the Gentile world is regarded by Elliott as exceptional within the New Testament,36 a position that, in itself, may imply a belief in the non-​sectarian tendency of the early Christians. Stanley applies Wilson’s model to Revelation, arguing that the author’s worldview corresponds to the characteristics of voluntary association; the monopoly over truth; an ideology of protest; exclusivity; and a demand for total allegiance. However, he neglects at least two of Wilson’s sectarian characteristics: admission based on some kind of merit, and the use of sanctions and/​or expulsion.37 Stanley’s references to exclusivity and separation (i.e., the call to come out of Babylon due to its sins in Rev 18:4, and the adulation of virginity in Rev 14:4), as well as to the demand for total allegiance (e.g., pointing to the suffering of the believers in Rev 13:10) are not a conclusive enough foundation on which to rest such strong claims. In truth, Revelation can be read as a protest against the Gentile, idolatrous world using Jewish apocalyptic imagery, and the kind of intra-​Jewish debate typical of a Jewish sect plays only a marginal role.38 34 1 Pet 2:12–​14, 17; 1 Pet 3:8–​17; David Balch, Let Wives Be Submissive: The Domestic Code in I Peter (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1981), pp. 86–​95, 109, 119–​121 35 Elliott, A Home for the Homeless, 119. Cf. 1 Pet 1:14; 2: 1 11–​12; 4:2–​4. 36 1 Peter, according to Elliot, ‘is the only New Testament writing which systematically and thematically has addressed the issue of Christian alien residence within the structures of society’ (ibid., p. 13). 37 John E. Stanley, ‘The Apocalypse and Contemporary Sect Analysis’, SBL Seminar Papers 1986, pp. 412–​ 415. Stanley refers to Wilson, ‘The Sociology of Sects’, pp. 91–​92, 95, and defines sectarianism similarly to Wilson in his ‘Analysis of Sect Development’, where these two omitted characteristics are also discussed. 38 On the characteristic of protest against the Gentiles, cf. Rev 2:6, 14–​15, 20; 11:2; 20:7. Cf. 21:24, 26. See Adela Yarbro Collins, Crisis & Catharsis: The Power of

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Revelation also lacks the articulation of explicit rules of discipline and social conduct, or certain imprints of social organization that are essential for its identification as a sect (see below). In two overlapping articles, Elliott made an important attempt to demonstrate that after the death of Jesus, the ‘Jesus Movement’ gradually began to adopt the features and strategies of a Jewish sect that remained outside ‘the corporate body of Israel’.39 In defining a sect, Elliott discusses Troeltsch, Weber, and others, but relies upon the model Wilson outlines in his Sects and Society, discussed above.40 He lists twenty-​one sectarian features found in New Testament writings, although he does not specify how they are related to the social-​scientific theory (admittedly, they do fit Wilson’s model). In what follows, I will dispute the New Testament attestations that Elliott offers for four of the sectarian features that he lists, features that I hold to be essential for any characterization of a sect. It is my belief that many of these passages are irrelevant while a few do not represent early Christianity as a whole. In the second half of this article, I will proffer contrary evidence to support my arguments, thereby demonstrating the non-​sectarian tendencies of the early Christians. Enforcing behavior by threat of expulsion and excommunication.41 In defense of this characteristic, Elliot refers to the sanction in Matt. 18:15–​ 17, which is indeed exceptional within the NT. Nonetheless, the sanction is less decisive than it seems, for the following reasons: (1) it relates to the biblical command of admonition (Lev 19:17); (2) the directive to shun (note: not expel) a transgressing member of the community applies Apocalypse (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1984), pp. 84–​110. Inter-​Jewish polemic is implied only in Rev 2:9–​10; 3:9 (and 11:8), but some maintain that these passages actually reflect intra-​church conflicts, e.g., David Frankfurter, ‘Jews or Not? Reconstructing the Other in Rev 2:9 and 3:9’, HTR 94 (2001), pp. 403–​425. 39 John H. Elliott, ‘The Jewish Messianic Movement: From Faction to Sect’, in P.F. Esler (ed.), Modeling Early Christianity: Social-​Scientific Studies of the New Testament and Its Context (London and New York: Routledge, 1995), pp. 75–​95; idem, ‘Phases in the Social Formation of Early Christianity from Faction to Sect: A Social-​Scientific Perspective’, in P. Borgen et al. (eds.), Recruitment, Conquest and Conflict. Strategies in Judaism, Early Christianity and the Greco-​Roman World (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1998), pp. 273–​313. 40 Elliott, ‘Phases’, pp. 275–​278, 280–​281, 285, referring to Wilson, Sects and Society, 1; idem, Magic and the Millennium, pp. 19 [sic], 21–​26, 58. 41 Elliot, ‘Jewish Messianic Movement’, p. 83; idem, ‘Phases’, p. 294.

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mainly to the interpersonal relations between two individuals, since the stubborn transgressor, should ‘be to you (sing., soi) as a Gentile and tax-​ collector’, whereas communal discipline is mentioned merely in passing42; (3) the comparison with parallel regulations in the Qumran scrolls shows that Matthew’s initial concern is with forgiveness and repentance, not judgment. He is interested in convincing and not convicting, and the community has moral influence but lacks disciplinary power.43 True, Elliott mentions 1 Cor 5:9–​13, Paul’s exhortation to separate oneself from adulterous and idolatrous Christians. But here, too, the intention is self-​segregation, such as avoiding communal meals with such persons, and not an institutional sanction against members. This contention also applies to the total avoidance of any contact with false apostles, discussed in 2 John 10–​11. Finally, Elliott’s references to the derogatory assertions in 1 Tim 1:20 and 6:3 are irrelevant, since they lack any social bearing. Drawing members apart from the rest of society by requiring termination and separation from previous associations and loyalties, insisting on exclusive allegiance and total commitment.44 None of the passages to which Elliot refers point to social boundaries or behavioral restrictions.45 As we shall see below, although the general call for separation from ‘the world’ (James 1:27; 1 John 2:15–​17) might seem to fulfill that description, it does not, in truth, denote social segregation from outsiders. Rather, Matt. 22:21 and par. refer to the submission to Rome, or any other government.46 So, too, whereas Eph. 4:17–​5:20, 1 Thess. 4:1–​8, and Col. 3:1–​17 are moral exhortations, urging the desertion of past, Gentile (read: immoral) 42 Several commentators rejected the view that the passages refer to expulsion from the community, since such an act is anomalous to both the immediate context of these verses as well as to Matthew’s ethos of forgiveness. Cf. Ulrich Luz, Matthew 8–​20 (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2001), pp. 450–​457. 43 Timothy R. Carmody, ‘Matt. 18:15–​17 in Relation to Three Texts from Qumran Literature (CD 9:2–​8, 16–​22; 1QS 5:25–​6:1)’, in M.P. Horgan and P.J. Kobelski (eds.), To Touch the Text. Biblical and Related Studies in Honor of Joseph A. Fitzmyer, S.J. (New York: Crossword, 1989), pp. 141–​158. 44 Elliott, ‘Jewish Messianic Movement’, p. 82; idem, ‘Phases’, p. 293. 45 Elliot refers to Acts 4:12; James 4:7–​8; 1 Pet 2:17; 4:1–​4; 5:8–​9. For 1 Peter and Revelation, see above. 46 For such a general conclusion regarding early Christianity, see Christopher Bryan, Render to Caesar: Jesus, the Church and the Roman Superpower (New York: Oxford University Press, 2005).

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ways, they do not speak of avoiding social contacts with outsiders (see also below). Rigid patterns of conduct: Perfection. Elliott lists numerous textual passages that he claims express the requirement of behavioral perfection.47 However, among all the citations provided, only one –​Matt. 5:48 –​is relevant, and even so its meaning is general and obscure.48 The rest (1 Thess. 4:1–​8; Eph. 5:2–​3; 2 Cor. 6:14–​7:1; 1 Pet. 1:14–​16) do not demand perfection, or distinctive moral restrictions, but rather holiness –​namely, a belief in Jesus and a rejection of the Gentiles’ way of life (i.e., the adherence to a Jewish ethos). There is no description of a set of strict and distinctive communal rules of conduct (e.g., submission to the authority of sect officials and decisions), nor of taboos beyond those which would already have been self-​evident for Jews. Unquestionably, a sect would have required more. A defined social (and not merely ideological) unit: A clearly defined community, perceived by its members as an identifiable social, organized entity. Elliott does mention inclusive membership and behavioral norms, but his references are limited to several self-​designations, none of which are actual names: ecclesia; the ‘household of God’; the ‘body of Christ’; ‘Israel of God’; and the derogatory title used by outsiders, Christianoi.49 These do not attest to an organized body, only to aspired-​to religious sensibilities. In what follows, I will attempt to show that these self-​designations, which attest to the lack of a formal and clear-​cut name for the new Christian movement, simultaneously underpin its undefined social character. A large number of New Testament scholars have based their assertion that the early Christians were a sect on Wilson’s Magic and the Millennium. Here Wilson introduced a model of conversionist and

47 Elliott, ‘Jewish Messianic Movement’, p. 83; idem, ‘Phases’, p. 294. 48 W.D. Davies and Dale C. Allison, The Gospel According to Saint Matthew (ICC; Edinburgh: Clark, 1988), vol. 1, pp. 560–​563. Note that the verse is ‘the fitting final culmination of all of 5.21–​48’, and refers to moral perfection, which in itself has many different meanings (e.g., unblemished, scrupulous in observing the law, wise.). Davies and Allison prefer to interpret it as unrestrained love. Rom 12:2 alludes to perfection, but does not actually require it. James 1:26 and 4:8 relates to idolatry. 1 John 3:2 and passim do not demand holiness, but argue that the believers are God-​like. 49 Elliott, ‘Jewish Messianic Movement’, p. 81; idem, ‘Phases’, p. 291.

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revolutionist ‘responses to the world’, in particular the different ways 50 these responses are employed to overcome evil. For Wilson, this model aimed to overcome methodological difficulties and provide a much more flexible approach to the study of ‘new religious movements arising among less-​developed peoples’.51 Wilson’s ‘responses’ were criticized as too general, abstract, and flexible to be applied to early Christianity, since they do not deal with the organizational aspects of the movement but merely reflect the strategy of the deviant group.52 In fact, Wilson does not discuss sectarianism per se, but rather New Religious Movements in general.53 Hence, demonstrating that a certain text or movement corresponds with one of Wilson’s ‘responses’ cannot suffice for evidence of its sectarian character, since a conversionist or revolutionist movement is not necessarily a sect in the sociological sense of the term.54

50 Wilson, Magic and the Millennium, esp. pp. 18–​ 30. See Elliott, Home for the Homeless, p. 102; idem, ‘Jewish Messianic Movement’, 83; idem, ‘Phases’, p. 295; Esler, Community and Gospel, pp. 49–​50, 58–​60; idem, ‘Introverted Sectarianism at Qumran and in the Johannine Community’, in The First Christians in their Social World: Social Scientific Approaches to New Testament Interpretation (London /​ New York: Routledge, 1994), pp. 70–​91; MacDonald, Pauline Churches, pp. 34–​35, 80; Fernando F. Segovia, ‘The Love and Hatred of Jesus and Johnnine Sectarianism’, CBQ 43 (1981), pp. 271–​272; Howard Clark Kee, Community of the New Age: Studies in Mark’s Gospel (Macon: Mercer University Press, 1983), pp. 162–​163; J. Andrew Overman, Matthew’s Gospel and Formative Judaism: The Social World of the Matthean Community (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1990), pp. 107, 112; Petri Luomanen, ‘The “Sociology of Sectarianism” in Matthew: Modeling the Genesis of Early Jewish and Christian Communities’, in Christopher Tuckett, et al. (eds.), Fair Play: Diversity and Conflict in Early Christianity (Leiden: Brill, 2002), pp. 109–​113; Craig K. Koester, Symbolism in the Fourth Gospel (2nd ed.; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003), p. 281 with further references. 51 Wilson, Magic and the Millennium, 1. 52 Pieter F. Craffert, ‘An Exercise in the Critical Use of Models: The ‘Goodness of Fit’ of Wilson’s Sect Model’, in J. Pilch (ed.), Social Scientific Models for Interpreting the Bible (Lieden: Brill, 2001), pp. 36–​42; Ekkehard W. Stegemann and Wolfgang Stegemann, The Jesus Movement: A Social History of Its First Century (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1999), pp. 150–​151, 191–​192, 242–​243, 285. 53 ‘Where the term “sects” is employed in this discourse, its use is not technical, but is in general continuity with popular usage, even though that usage is sometimes extremely loose’ (Wilson, Magic and the Millennium, p. 31). 54 New religious movements may not be sectarian (or ‘world-​denying’) but rather ‘world-​ accommodating’ or ‘world-​affirming’. See Eileen Barker, New Religious Movements: A Practical Introduction (London: HMSO, 1992), p. 27.

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Stark & Bainbridge’s Model According to Stark and Bainbridge, ‘a sect is a religious group in a state of tension with the surrounding environment’. Sects manifest this tension when they reject integration into the social order, and instead develop a separate sub-​culture that stresses rather rigid behavioral requirements for their members. Stark and Bainbridge point to three elements that characterize this sub-​cultural deviance or tension: (1) antagonism: the notion that only the sect’s own religion is legitimate; (2) separation: the fact that relations with outsiders are discouraged (in extreme cases, sects separate themselves completely from the social life of the surrounding society and retreat into geographical isolation); and (3) difference: the enforcement of norms that are dramatically distinct from those of the surrounding society, and a rejection of the normative standards accepted by society at large.55 The advantage of this model lies in its simplicity and applicability to any given culture. Furthermore, it is not, like Troeltsch’s, and to a lesser extent Wilson’s, dependent on a certain historical phenomenon. Rather, Stark and Bainbridge stress the role of separation in sectarian ideology –​although it is important to note that Wilson regards separation as an essential characteristic of sectarianism, as well.56 Yet, while antagonism and difference were certainly typical of the early Christian belief-​system, I do not believe that separation was also present. Fuglseth’s Johannine Sectarianism in Perspective is perhaps the only study that examines any of the New Testament texts in light of Stark and Bainbridge’s model. Fuglseth concludes that the gospel of John does not reflect a sect, since ‘the Gospel as a whole still announces a willingness to stay within the parent body’. He maintains that unlike the case of the Qumran sects, in John there is no evidence of tension, 55 Rodney Stark and William Sims Bainbridge, The Future of Religion: Secularization, Revival and Cult Formation (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1985), pp. 23, 49–​60. For applying this model to the Qumran sects, see Regev, Sectarianism in Qumran, pp. 34–​39; Cecilia Wassen and Jutta Jokiranta, ‘Groups in Tension: Sectarianism in the Damascus Document and the Community Rule’, in David J. Chalcraft (ed.), Sectarianism in Early Judaism. Sociological Advances (London: Equinoxm 2007), pp. 205–​245. 56 ‘All sects … maintain separation from the world, although the forms of separation vary’ (Wilson, ‘Introduction’, in Patterns of Sectarianism, p. 9.) Separation is also stressed in Wilson, ‘An Analysis of Sect Development’, pp. 10–​12.

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detachment, or a complete break from the surrounding Jewish society 57 and the Temple. Fuglseth regards John’s community as a cult, following Stark and Bainbridge’s model of a cult as a religious group that is novel both in practice and belief, and that, while it may turn into a new religion, nonetheless accommodates itself to the outside world.58 It therefore seems that none of the attempts to demonstrate that the early Christians were sectarians is successful. The reason, I suggest, lies not only in the use of inaccurate models or a flawed use of Wilson’s model(s), but in the inappropriateness of the sect model to the NT evidence.

The Lack of Sectarian Characteristics in Early Christianity The New Testament texts do not demonstrate several social features that, according to Wilson and Stark-​Bainbridge, are essential for the classification of a sect: social separation, discipline and sanctions, and fixed social organization. Due to the vast amount of relevant material and the limitations of space, my use of literary evidence and scholarship is partial and selective. Thus, the forgoing discussion aims to be illustrative rather than definitive.

Social Separation General Observations Several basic non-​separatist tendencies recur in both the gospels and Acts. For instance, Jesus’ disciples were sent out not only to evangelize, but also to stay wherever they found acceptance (Mark 6:7–​10; Luke 10:1–​9). Jesus, his disciples, and the later apostles preached in the local synagogue; when their preaching was deemed blasphemous, they were banished from certain of them.59 Significantly, this exclusion was not

57 Kåre Sigvald Fuglseth, Johannine Sectarianism in Perspective: A Sociological, Historical, and Comparative Analysis of Temple and Social Relationships in the Gospel of John, Philo, and Qumran (Sup. NT 119; Leiden: Brill, 2005), here pp. 316–​317. For a bibliographic survey on the question of sectarianism in John, see ibid., pp. 6–​21. 58 Ibid., pp. 52–​53, 360–​374. Cf. Stark and Bainbridge, Future of Religion, pp. 24–​35, 249–​250. 59 Attendance: Mark 1:39; Matt 9:35; 12:9; 13:54; John 6:59; 18:20; Acts 13:5; 18:4 and passim. Punishment: Mark 13:9; Luke 12:11; Acts 22:19; 26:11. Cf. Acts 9:2; 2

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voluntary, but forced. Members of the Lukan or Matthean communities were ‘painfully excluded from the synagogue’, and experienced a ‘trauma of separation from Judaism’.60 Nonetheless, this exclusion and trauma did not result in social withdrawal: Christians continued to worship at Jewish synagogues in subsequent generations.61 In addition, despite the high priests’ persecutions of Jesus and the apostles, Luke and John acknowledge them as the legitimate leaders of the Jews. Indeed, Luke does not specifically condemn the high priest(s), but rather places a vague, ambiguous blame on the Jewish people and their leaders. Joseph Caiaphas and Ananias, the high priest who prosecuted Paul, are treated with more than a modicum of honor.62 Matthew63 Several patterns of social interaction and the tendency toward acceptance of society at large can be discerned in the gospel of Matthew. While it is widely recognized that Matthew is attempting to distance his audience from the Pharisees and scribes,64 he nonetheless continues to regard these groups as the legitimate leaders of the Jews (5:20). Matt. 23:2–​3 acknowledges their authority backhandedly, saying ‘Practice and observe

Cor 11:23–​25. Exclusion: John 9:22; 12:42; 16:2. Cf. Luke 6:22; Acts 13:50; 18:6–​7 19:9; Esler, Community and Gospel, pp. 55–​57. 60 Esler, Community and Gospel, 69; cf. ibid., pp. 65–​67; Stanton, ‘The Gospel of Matthew and Judaism’, p. 274. See also Wayne A. Meeks, ‘Breaking Away: Three New Testament Pictures of Christianity’s Separation from Jewish Communities’, in J. Neusner and E.S. Frerichs (eds.), To See Ourselves as Others See Us: Christians, Jews, and ‘Others’ in Late Antiquity (Chico: Scholars Press, 1985), p. 114. 61 Paul preached in the synagogues not long after he himself beat believers there (Acts 18:4; 22:19; 26:11). For fourth century evidence, see Robert. L. Wilken, John Chrysostom and the Jews (Berkeley and London: University of California Press, 1983), pp. 79–​80. 62 Jon A. Weatherly, Jewish Responsibility for the Death of Jesus in Luke-​ Acts (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1994). Caiaphas is granted a prophecy in John 11:49–​52. John 18:15–​16 also mentions that one of Jesus disciples was ‘known to the high priest’. Paul respected Ananias even after the latter struck him on his mouth in Acts 23:2–​5, and Jesus also seems to respect the authority of the high priest in John 18:22–​23. 63 John Kampen's recently published Matthew within Sectarian Judaism (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2019) deserves a separate discussion. 64 Sim, Gospel of Matthew and Christian Judaism, pp. 121–​124.

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whatever they tell you, but not what they do’.65 In truth, Matthew 23 seeks to undermine his audience’s regard for the Pharisees’ traditional, established leadership in order to legitimate his own group instead.66 Hence, it seems that the Pharisees enjoy certain religious credibility among Matthew’s audience.67 While the use of the pronoun ‘your/​their’ in describing synagogues (12:9; 13:54) may imply the existence of Christian alternatives to the Jewish ones,68 the flogging of the Matthean members (10:17; 23:34), which could only have occurred in non-​Christian synagogues, shows that the Christians continued to pray among Jews (see above). The detailed exposition of the practices and social dynamics in the synagogue (6:2, 5; 23: 5–​6) also attests to a familiarity with the local (i.e., non-​Christian) synagogues.69 Finally, the Galilean ‘crowds’ that Jesus approaches are usually presented as neutral or good-​willed, and treat John the Baptist and Jesus as prophets. Although they are not committed followers of Jesus, they are not condemned by Matthew. These ‘crowds’ may symbolize the Jewish community Matthew hopes to lure away from their false leaders. According to such an interpretation, Matthew views the Jewish people as potential recruits, and thus wishes to maintain close contact with certain of them.70 Furthermore, Matthew refers to civil-​judicial institutions in

65 See Mark Alan Powell, ‘Do and Keep What Moses Says (Matthew 23:2–​7)’, JBL 114 (1995), pp. 419–​435. Jesus’ disciples are urged to pay the Temple tax in order to avoid giving offence (Matt. 17:24–​27), thus expressing a conciliatory attitude towards fellow Jews and actually acknowledging a pharisaic regulation. 66 Anthony J. Saldarini, Matthew’s Christian-​ Jewish Community (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1994), pp. 40, 46, 52, 64; Benedict T. Viviano, ‘Social World and Community Leadership: The Case of Mathhew 23:1–​12, 34’, JSNT 39 (1990), pp. 3–​21, who also concludes that Matthew’s critique of early rabbinic titles attests to close interaction. 67 Anders Runesson, ‘Rethinking Early Jewish-​ Christian Relations: Matthean Community History as Pharisaic Intergroup Conflict’, JBL 127.1 (2008), pp. 95–​ 132, here 120, 124–​128. 68 Sim, Gospel of Matthew and Christian Judaism, p. 147. 69 Runesson, ‘Matthean Community History as Pharisaic Intergroup Conflict’, pp. 117–​119, 121–​124. 70 Saldarini, Matthew’s Christian-​Jewish Community, pp. 37–​40, 43, 232, n. 50. Cf. Matt. 4;25; 5:1; 7:28; -​8:1; 13:1–​15, 34, 36; 14:5; 15:30–​31; 21: 8–​9, 46; 22:33; 23:1.

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the context of personal disputes, which suggests that his audience is an 71 integral part of the larger social system. Saldarini aptly concludes that Matthew’s community, much like that of the early rabbis, ‘sought not to form a new sect, but to gather the disparate groups and forms of Judaism into one fold’.72 For Saldarini, ‘it is clear that Matthew’s group is part of the Jewish community…. Even though he uses the expression ‘your/​their synagogue’, this does not mean that he and his group are cut off from the Jewish community. Those passages which suggest hostility prove that Matthew’s group is in conflict with the Jewish community, not totally separate from it…. The similarity, competition, and conflict among and within these groups must be explained as part of a long-​lasting and complex relationship’.73 Runesson goes even further, concluding that in their initial form, ‘the Mattheans were not taking a sectarian stance’, but were rather Pharisees who believed in Christ and were engaged in a process of internal conflict and gradual separation from their leaders.74

71 Matt. 5:22–​23, 25, 40. Nothing in the context of these passages suggests that Matthew urges his readers to shun the legal institutions of the larger society (pace Overman, Matthew’s Gospel, 107–​108). Rather, he mentions these juristic procedures to warn his readers against immoral behavior. 72 Anthony J. Saldarini, ‘Delegitimation of Leaders in Mathew 23’, CBQ 54.4 (1992), pp. 663–​664. He also states that Matthew’s group is ‘part of the larger Jewish community’, that is to say, shares the same sense of identity and culture (Matthew’s Christian-​Jewish Community, p. 87). 73 Saldarini, Matthew’s Christian-​Jewish Community, p. 46. See also ibid., p. 43. Saldarini refers to the Matthean group as a sect or ‘sectarian’ in the common use of the term (ibid., pp. 48, 49, 93, 100, 116, 198) and concludes that the Mattehan group ‘functioned as a reformist movement or sect within Judaism’ (ibid.,. p. 114) without noticing that the two cannot be equated. However, on pp. 87, 115, Saldarini acknowledges a rather flexible use of the term ‘sect’, focusing on conflict and cohesion, and on pp. 108–​116, he relates sectarianism (referring to Stark and Bainbridge) with deviance. Luomanen, ‘Sociology of Sectarianism’, pp. 129–​ 130; idem, Entering the Kingdom of Heaven: A Study on the Structure of Mathew’s View of Salvation (WUNT 2/​ 101; Tübingen: Mohr, 1998), pp. 263–​265, 273–​275, acknowledges certain sectarian characteristics but nevertheless also does not regard Matthew’s group as a sect per se. He instead applies Stark and Bainbridge’s definition of a cult as a deviant religious organization with novel beliefs and practices. 74 Runesson, ‘Matthean Community History as Pharisaic Intergroup Conflict’, pp. 116–​117. He refers to Matthew’s attitude towards the Temple and ‘civil religion’. However, Later on, Runesson (ibid,, pp. 126–​129) further argues that Matthew’s final (post-​70 CE) strata represents a sect in relation to the Pharisees, although he is unable

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John It is commonly argued that John introduces social tension between the Johnnine community and mainstream Judaism as portrayed by the synagogue. Some have deduced that the Johannine community was gradually alienated from Judaism and the Jewish community,75 while others have argued for its sectarian character.76 There are, however, several indications that the gospel reflects a community that did not aim to segregate itself from other Jews. Martyn, who introduced the widely held thesis of the expulsion of the Johannine community from the synagogue (John 9:22; 12:42; 16:2), stressed that this situation was imposed upon its members, and was not voluntary. In its earliest phase, the Johnnine community assumed that confessing a belief in Jesus was perfectly compatible with continued membership in the synagogue, and thus did not consider itself a socially distinct entity.77 Martyn also pointed to interactions between the Johannine members and other Jews.78 Although some have pointed to John’s ‘reconceptualization’ of the Temple,79 he basically introduces a positive, accepting view of it, one that

75 76 77 78

79

to demonstrate his claim and merely draws on a very general church-​denomination typology. E.g., Raymond E. Brown, The Community of the Beloved Disciple (New York: Paulist Press, 1979), pp. 40–​43, 63–​68; Raimo Hakola, Identity Matters. John, the Jews and Jewishness (SNT 118; Leiden: Brill, 2005). Meeks, ‘Man From Heaven’: Esler, ‘Introverted Sectarianism at Qumran and in the Johannine Community’. J. Louis Martyn, History and Theology in the Fourth Gospel (third edition; Louisville and London: Westminster John Knox, 2003 [1968]), pp. 46–​66, esp. 47, 69, 152–​ 153. See also Fuglseth, Johannine Sectarianism, pp. 74–​82, 314–​317, 359. John 10:20; Martyn, History and Theology, 90–​ 98. Rienhartz, who challenged Martyn expulsion theory, still acknowledged that the gospel testifies to ‘ongoing social contacts’ or ‘social relationship’ with the Jewish community. In arguing that the passages of the expulsion from the synagogue merely served as an explanation for the experience of separation from the Jews, Rienhartz actually implies that the origin of this separation resulted from that expulsion. See Adele Rienhartz, ‘The Johannine Community and its Jewish Neighbors: A Reapprisal’, in ‘What Is John?’ Volume 2, pp. 111–​138, esp. 121–​128, 133, 135. [see bib. details in n. 6 above] Mary L. Coloe, God Dwells With Us: Temple Symbolism in the Fourth Gospel (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 2001); Alan R. Kerr, The Temple of Jesus’ Body: the Temple Theme in the Gospel of John (London and New York: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002).

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also draws on its symbolism. In John, Jesus’ activities in the Temple and the synagogue are emphasized (18:20; cf. his acts in the Temple 2:14; 4:21; 5:1, 14; 8:2, 20; 10:22), as are his explicit acknowledgments of the Temple’s sanctity (2:17; 14:2). Indeed, unlike the synoptic gospels, when Jesus teaches he does so exclusively in the synagogue (6.59) and in the Temple (7:14, 28; 8.20); the latter is the locus of Jesus’ open manifestation. Also unlike the synoptic gospels, Jesus does not suffer confrontations in the synagogue, nor anticipate the Temple’s judgment and destruction. It seems that John uses the symbolism and special constructs of both the Temple and the synagogue to explore the identity of Jesus and those who believe in him.80 Moreover, Fuglseth has stressed that while John 2:21 and 4:21–​24 imply the transference of the Temple, they do not declare its replacement. The sacrificial cult is not explicitly superseded, and the contexts of these two passages (2:16; 4:22) acknowledge the Temple’s validity. Similar transference is also evidenced in Philo (a non-​sectarian author who upheld the Temple practices), whereas in the Qumran writings, the Temple is explicitly replaced.81 It is important to note that John’s many antagonistic references to ‘the Jews’ do not testify to any detachment from Judaism or Jewish society on his part,82 since they usually refer strictly to Jewish authorities who were hostile towards those who professed belief in Jesus rather than to the Jewish people as a whole.83 In fact, John also contains many neutral and positive references to ‘the Jews’,84 as well as several positive references to ‘Israel’, which is an insider’s self-​designation. From this we may conclude that the Gospel was also addressed to the people of Israel, and

80 Judith Lieu, ‘Temple and Synagogue in John’, NTS 45 (1999), pp. 51–​69. 81 Fuglseth, Johannine Sectarianism, pp. 117–​284. 82 Pace Adele Reinhartz, ‘Jews and Jews in the Fourth Gospel’, in R. Bieringer et al. (eds.), Anti-​Judaism and the Fourth Gospel (Assen: Van Gorcum, 2001), pp. 213–​228 and the studies cited by von Wahlde and Ashton (see next note). 83 Urban C. von Wahlde, ‘The “Johannine Jews”. A Critical Survey’, NTS 28 (1982), pp. 33–​60; John Ashton, ‘The Identity and Function of the IOUDAIOI’, NT 27 (1985), pp. 40–​75. 84 For example, Jesus proclaims the gospel to all Jews (18:20); John’s Jesus is remarkably Jewish (4:9, 22); Salvation is from the Jews (4:22); Many Jewish leaders recognized Jesus as a messiah (12:42). See Lars Kierspel, The Jews and the World in the Fourth Gospel: Parallelism, Function, and Context (WUNT 2.220; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006), pp. 63–​75.

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not just the Johannine community.85 Moreover, the terms ‘the Jews’ and ‘the world’ are used interchangeably, when ‘the Jews’ mainly illustrate the world’s rejection and persecution of Jesus and his followers. Clearly, then, the Jews are not described exclusively as antagonists; on the contrary, John universalizes the opposition to Christians, applying it to the entire Roman Empire –​Jews and Gentiles alike.86 Finally, despite the theological distance between Jesus and ‘the world’, John does not demand a renunciation of this world. In fact, the disciples are sent into ‘the world’ (3:16–​17; 17:18; 20:21), just as Jesus and his disciples act within ‘the world’, as well (17:13–​18). They do not advocate for or uphold social separation. Indeed, Fuglseth concluded that John does not reflect a sectarian stance, since the gospel’s level of exclusiveness and segregation was lower than in the Qumran community. Rather, John aims at accommodation to the surrounding culture.87 For Ling, the Johannine community is a religious virtuoso that maintains an alternative social structure while nonetheless remaining within society’s institutional boundaries.88 James The letter of James, which has recently been acknowledged as granting important insight into the early Jewish-​Christian social stance, calls upon its addressees to remain unstained (aspilon) and unblemished by ‘the world’ (James 1:27; 2:5; 3:6; 4:4). At first glance, this seems to reflect a sectarian segregation.89 However, ‘the world’ is used in the general theological sense of the ‘ungodly’, and does not intend to condemn a particular 85 Jesus is revealed to Israel (1:31), and to Nathanael the Israelite (1:47); Jesus is acknowledged by Nicodemus, a teacher of Israel (3:10); Jesus is designated ‘the king of Israel’ (1:49; 12:13). See Francis J. Moloney, ‘The Jews’ in the Fourth Gospel: Another Perspective’, Pacifica 15 (2002), pp. 16–​36, 21–​23. 86 Kierspel, The Jews and the World, pp. 166–​179. 87 Fuglseth, Johannine Sectarianism, pp. 357–​360, 369–​374. On the Johannine attitude toward outsiders, see ibid., pp. 285–​319. 88 Timothy J.M. Ling, The Judaean Poor and the Fourth Gospel (SNTSMS 136; Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 2006), pp. 152–​165, 206. Ling contested, Esler, ‘Introverted Sectarianism at Qumran and in the Johannine Community’, for his use of the sectarian model as well as a simplistic generalization of the relationship with Jews and Judaism. 89 For example, Robert W. Wall, The Community of the Wise: The Letter of James (Valley Forge, PA: Trinity Press International, 1997), pp. 14–​15.

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practical, social, or economic engagement with outsiders.90 ‘The world’ is in fact an ethical construction, a system of meaning distinct from God’s. In its Hellenistic sense, ‘friendship with the world’ means being in agreement with this system (in James 2:23, for example, Abraham is a ‘friend of God’). In James, it denotes living in harmony with the values and logic of the world, namely rivalry, competition, and murder, or disobedience to God in general. Renouncing friendship with the world does not mean opposing interaction with certain people or groups, but rather turning away from lust, jealousy, etc.91 Nor, for that matter, does the call to be ‘pure and undefiled… unstained by the world’ (1:26-​27) require social separation, or involve any kind of social relations. Rather, it requires one to bridle one’s tongue and ‘care for orphans and widows’ –​that is, to engage in moral behavior (cf. the call to refrain from anger in 1:19–​21). The language of purity is clearly not one of ritual observance (e.g., in 3:17 ‘wisdom’ is described as pure!). The call to ‘cleanse your hands… and purify your hearts’ (4:8), for instance, uses purity language in a figurative sense (i.e., ‘worldview language’), thus referring to the act of self-​humility (5:9–​10) and not to actual bodily practices or boundaries.92 Purity is not, therefore, used to draw sociological boundaries around the community, distinguishing insiders from outsiders.93 James does not discourage involvement with the world, but rather close cultural interaction with its values. It is also noteworthy that there is no indication in James of hostility between the author/​addressees and other Jews.94

90 Darian Lockett, ‘ “Unstrained by the World”: Purity and Pollution as an Indicator of Cultural Interaction in the Letter of James’, in R. Webb and J.S. Kloppenborg (eds.), Reading James with New Eyes: Methodological Reassessments of the Letter of James (London: T&T Clark, 2007), pp. 49–​74, esp. 58–​59. For example, the ‘world of iniquity’ (3:6) is equated with unrighteous speech, and is defiling (ibid., p. 60). 91 Luke Timothy Johnson, ‘Friendship with the World and Friendship with God: A Study of Discipleship in James’, in Brother of Jesus Friend of God: Studies in the Letter of James (Grand Rapids and Cambridge: Eerdmans, 2004), pp. 202–​220, esp. 210–​ 216; Lockett, ‘Unstrained by the World’, pp. 58–​59, 64, 68. 92 Lockett, ‘Unstrained by the World’, pp. 55–​59, 66–​67, 68–​70; Richard J. Baukham, James: Wisdom of James, Disciple of Jesus the Sage (London: Routledge, 1999), p. 146. 93 Baukham, James, 180; Lockett, Purity and Worldview in the Epistle of James (London: T&T Clark, 2008), Chapter. 5. 94 David Hutchinson Edgar, Had God Not Chosen the Poor? The Social Setting of the Epistle of James (JSNTSup 206; Sheffieldm Sheffield Academic Press, 2001), p. 230.

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Lockett concludes that James’ call to create and maintain boundaries does not imply that the identity of James’ readers is secured merely through the act of defining themselves over and against their enemies, or ‘outsiders’. ‘The overall stance toward the surrounding culture need not, as others have argued, be indicative of sectarian separation’, writes Lockett. ‘Where James highlights particular points of separation from the world… there are indications of broader cultural accommodation…. Thus James ought not be read as prompting sectarian separation from the world but only the specific separation from particular alien values embodied in the ambient culture’.95 Similarly, according to Johnson, ‘there is absolutely no indication in James that Christians are expected to observe ritual separation from other people or from any class of objects that are regarded as ‘impure’. Nor does James ever suggest that Christians flee the customary social structures and seek or establish alternative lifestyles. On the contrary…he envisages Christians taking full part in the affairs of the world: commerce, landowning, judging owning and distributing possessions, having houses for hospitality’.96 Paul’s Letters Meeks points to Paul’s ‘language of separation’, namely terms used to distinguish community members from those who do not belong, are non-​believers, do not acknowledge God, or are not righteous. However, Meeks does qualify this definition by arguing that the ritual boundaries were both ambiguous and flexible in accordance with different social and

The social stance of James can be illustrated by its resemblance to 4QInstruction, a pre-​Qumranic –​and non-​sectarian –​wisdom text. Both incorporate traditional sapiential wisdom concepts, admonitions, and exhortations with an eschatological understanding of the world. See Darian Lockett ‘The Spectrum of Wisdom and Eschatology in the Epistle of James and 4QInstruction’. Tyndale Bulletin 56.2 (2005), pp. 131–​148. For the pre-​sectarian character of 4QInstruction, see John Strugnell and Daniel J. Harrington, Qumran Cave 4.XXIV: Sapiential Texts, Part. 4Qinstruction (Mûsār Lĕ Mēvîn): 4Q415ff. With a re-​edition of 1Q26 (DJD 34; Oxford: Clarendon, 1999), pp. 22–​36; Matthew J. Goff, The Worldly and Heavenly Wisdom of 4QInstruction (STDJ, 50; Leiden: Brill, 2003), pp. 219–​232. 95 Lockett, ‘Unstrained by the World’, pp. 58, 73–​74. The same approach may be applied to the feeling of hatred toward the world expressed in 1 John 2:15–​17. 96 Johnson, ‘Friendship with the World’, p. 212. For commerce, see James 4:13–​16.

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religious circumstances.97 MacDonald follows Meeks in stressing that ‘the Pauline communities engaged in the process of separating themselves from those who did not accept their views of saving events that occurred in Christ’.98 Although MacDonald acknowledges that Paul preaches to the entire world, and calls upon all mankind to respond to evil, he does not, she concedes, advocate a total social separation from that world.99 Nonetheless, she still regards his attitude as sectarian. MacDonald recognizes that these Pauline characteristics do not accord with the sectarian requirement of separation from wider society. Her solution to this contradiction is to argue that since Pauline Christianity was a conversionist sect (i.e., a movement, according to Wilson, that seeks the emotional transformation of the member), in order to succeed in its missionary enterprise it had to accommodate to the larger world. Conversionist Pauline Christianity was therefore ‘willing to enter into dialogue with others and, indeed, present itself as a distinctive and attractive alternative to other groups vying for allegiance’, thus transforming itself from a sect into ‘a more church-​like organization or “denomination” ’.100 Yet, comparative evidence on modern sects engaged in intensive evangelism invalidates MacDonald’s theory. For example, the Mormons in the 1830s (before the establishment of a separate commonwealth in Utah) attempted to form separate self-​sufficient unit-​communities.101 So,







97

Wayne Meeks, First Urban Christians: The Social World of the Apostle Paul (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1983), pp. 94–​103, 169. Cf. 1 Cor 8:1–​ 13; 10:23–​28. Meeks (ibid., p. 100) furthermore states that ‘social intercourse with outsiders is not discouraged’. 98 MacDonald, The Pauline Churches, pp. 32, 39. On refraining from evil behavior, see Rom 1:18–​32; 12:2; 1 Cor 5:9–​13; 2 Cor 6:14–​18; Gal 1:3–​5; 1 Thess 4:3–​5. On social separation, see 1 Cor 3:3; 5:1–​5; 6:1–​11. 99 MacDonald, The Pauline Churches, 41–​42. On Paul’s call to all the nations, see Rom 1:8–​15; 1 Cor 9:19–​23. On finding accommodation with the world, see 1 Cor 5:10; 7:12–​16; 8; 10:23–​33. 100 MacDonald, The Pauline Churches, pp. 39–​40, following Wilson, ‘Analysis’, in Patterns of Sectarianism, pp. 36–​39, 41; and Wilson, Magic and the Millennium. Note however, that MacDonald goes further than Wilson, since the latter merely mentions a tension between the aim for separation and the desire for social respectability, but does not conclude that this may lead to integration into a denomination as opposed to the preservation of sectarian boundaries (see Wilson, Patterns, p. 41). 101 Thomas F. O’Dea, The Mormons (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1957), pp. 41–​56. On early Mormon prostelyzing throughout the world, see ibid., pp. 2, 25, 41–​42, 45, 51, 71, 78, 85, 90–​91, 135.

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too, did Jehovah’s Witnesses attempt to insulate their members against potential sources of ideological ‘contamination’ by keeping contacts with unbelievers to a minimum.102 Interestingly, MacDonald acknowledges that ‘it is impossible to determine against what, if anything, members [of the Pauline churches] were protesting with respect to society at large. It is impossible, for example, to arrive at definite conclusions about whether or not the members of the Pauline sect felt that they had been estranged by political powers, or whether they were burdened by problems involving economic security or social mobility’.103 Indeed, Meeks asserts that the Pauline churches dealt with strictly internal matters, and not with their relationship with the Jews: ‘The identity of the Pauline groups was not shaped by having once been within a Jewish context…. Sociologically…the Pauline groups were never a sect of Judaism. They organized their lives independently from the Jewish associations of the cities where founded and…had little or no interaction with Jews’.104 Nonetheless, it seems that Meeks and MacDonald overemphasized the separatist character of the Pauline communities to begin with. In Rom 12:14–​13:10, for example, Paul encouraged good citizenship and social harmony with wider society, calling upon his readers to integrate into their surroundings. Furthermore, Paul’s orders regarding the setting of social boundaries in 1 Cor c­ hapters 5, 7–​8 actually attest to his attempt to underscore the weakness of the social boundaries upheld by the Corinthians, and their conformity with their (Gentile) social environment.105



102

James A. Beckford, The Trumpet of Prophecy. A Sociological Study of Jehovah’s Witnesses (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1975), p. 89; Alan Rogerson, Millions Now Living Will Never Die: A Study of Jehova’s Witnesses (London: Constable, 1969), pp. 181–​183. On their practice of door-​to-​door evangelism, see Beckford, Trumpet of Prophecy, pp. 7, 10–​13, 32, 39, 162–​164, 185. 103 MacDonald, The Pauline Churches, p. 38. 104 Meeks, ‘Breaking Away’, pp. 106–​107. Cf. William Horbury, Jews and Christians in Contact and Controversy (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998), p. 12, where he states, ‘Paul himself writes to defend the terms on which he accepted Gentiles, rather than deliberately to separate Christians from the community of Israel’. 105 Edward Adams, Constructing the World: A Study in Paul’s Cosmological Language (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2000), pp. 85–​104, 184–​220. Adams (ibid., p. 245) rightly criticized MacDonald’s application of Wilson’s sectarian responses to the world.

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Early Rabbinic Literature The early rabbinic halakhah reflects a relatively tolerant approach toward the Jewish-​Christians, although they were regarded as heretical Jews.106 Two stories in Tosefta Hulin attest to surprising aspects of the relationship between the two movements. (1) R. Elazar ben Dama was bitten by a snake and Jacob of Cephar Sama came to cure him ‘in the name of Jesus ben Pantera, but R. Ishmael did not allow it’. R. Elazar therefore looked for a proof that the healing would work. (2) R. Eliezer was accused by the Roman governor of heresy (namely, of being a Christian). He then recalls that when he was walking in Sepphoris, he had discussed with a Jewish Christian from Cephar Schinin a certain midrash of Scripture in the name of Jesus ben Pantiri, which R. Eliezer later reconsidered as ‘words of heresy (minuth)’. These stories, dated approximately to the beginning of the second century C.E., show that Jewish Christians did have occasional contacts with some Jews and even rabbis –​although such contacts were discouraged by other rabbis. Other, more lax Jews probably had even more intense ties with them.107 The evidence presented above demonstrates what Judith Lieu called ‘the avoidance of drawing the boundaries along more tangible social and cultural lines’, and demonstrates that ‘Jews and Christians behaved as if there were no rigid boundaries to separate them, and… [that they] shared a common culture’.108 Prerequisites, Discipline and Sanctions According to Wilson, ‘the individual member’s commitment to the sect must be total’.109 Early Christian believers were expected to be

106

Lawrence H. Schiffman, ‘At the Crossroads: Tannaitic Perspectives on the Jewish-​ Christian Schism’, in E.P. Sanders, et al. (eds.), Jewish and Christian Self-​Definition, Volume Two: Aspects of Judaism in the Graeco-​Roman Period (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1981), pp. 115–​156. 107 T. Hulin 2:22–​24 (ed. Zuckermandel, 503) and par.; Jack T. Sanders, Schismatics, Sectarians, Dissidents, Deviants. The First One Hundred Years of Jewish-​Christian Relations (London: SCM Press, 1993), pp. 61–​63. 108 Judith Lieu, Christian Identity in the Jewish and Graeco-​Roman World (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), pp. 133, 307. 109 Wilson, ‘An Analysis of Sect Development’, p. 13. Wilson (ibid., 4; Sects and Society, p. 1) lists conditional affirmation of membership, the enforcement of exclusiveness and expulsion, and contention against every other organization of values and ideas.

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highly committed to Jesus’ teachings and to believe in Christ despite the potential for persecution and the risk of execution. Yet the practical requirements of members remain vague. Converts, for instance, were accepted into the early Christian communities without special qualifications (apart, of course, from the belief in Christ). Sinners, tax-​collectors, Gentiles, and eunuchs were all admitted without further examination, in a manner opposed to the sectarian selective-​admission process described by Wilson.110 Only after their conversion, in fact, were members expected to go through ‘the basic teachings about Christ’ and received ‘instructions about baptisms, laying on of hands, resurrection of the dead, and eternal judgments’ (Hebrews 6:1–​2). Significantly, commitment was not enforced through rules and prohibitions. While the moral exhortations are extensive, there is relatively slight evidence of the existence of special rules of conduct and communal discipline.111 For example, rites of atonement or repentance, which enhance sectarian communal discipline and social cohesiveness,112 are rare. And, although redemption is central to the early Christian religious ethos,113 such confessions of sins are prescribed or ritualized on a regular basis almost only in the baptism of converts.114 Slightly later, however, confessions became prevalent in the Didache, which outlines several ways in which a member can repent of his or her sins.115





110

Eyal Regev, ‘Moral Impurity and the Temple in Early Christianity in Light of Qumranic Ideology and Ancient Greek Practice’, HTR 79.4 (2004), pp. 383–​411, 402–​09. See also Didache 12.1. 111 The requirement to abandon pagan ways (2 Cor 6:14–​7:1; Eph 4:20–​32; Col 3:5–​ 15; 1 Pet 4:3–​5) was certainly important, not to mention difficult, but nonetheless did not distinguish non-​Jewish converts from the non-​Christian Jews. Other moral vices are ‘universal’. See Meeks, The Origins of Christian Morality (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993), pp. 67–​69. 112 On the quest for atonement and other such rites as sectarian characteristics, see Regev, Sectarianism in Qumran, 74–​80 and passim. 113 Mark 1:5, 15; Matthew 3:6; 1 Cor 15:3; Acts 3:19; Heb 6:1–​2; 10; Rev 2:4. 114 Acts 2:38; 19:18; 22:16 (cf. also Luke 3:3 and par.). The only traces of regular prescription of confession in the NT are James 5:16 and 1 John 1:9. 115 Didache 4.3, 14; 14.1. Didache’s requirements of members also include fasting (8.1, note that fasting is quite rare in the NT, cf. Mark 2:19–​20) and frequent meetings (16.2). For other, later sources on repentance, see Meeks, Origins of Christian Morality, pp. 124–​125.

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As described in the New Testament, a community’s moral standards are not strictly enforced. Evidence of sanctions brought against transgressors and heretics is far from abundant, and the sanctions described seem somewhat feeble.116 Paul, for example, warns that failure to follow the moral commandments will result in divine punishment.117 In fact, however, sanctions against deviating members of a community stand in opposition to Jesus’ teachings, such as ‘judge not, lest you be judged’.118 Given the abundance of references to false prophets in the New Testament and the Didache, which attests to a crisis and conflict between competing authorities in the early Christian congregations,119 one might have expected a much more intensive enforcement of discipline and obligations of loyalty. Social Organization: Name, Leaders, Institutions According to Wilson, a sect is a group with an organizational structure, leadership, and attendant social institutions. Movements that lack these features may show sectarian ideological tendencies, but they cannot be defined as sects, since they are not social groups in the full sociological meaning of the term. Unlike the sectarian tendency towards minimal diversity and rigid patterns of conduct, the organizational structure (and religious worldview) of the early Christian

116

Social avoidance: Matt 18:18 (for reservations, see nn. 42–​43 above); 1 Cor 5:5; 16:22 (perhaps mere rhetoric); Titus 3:10; 1 Tim 1:20. Admonition: 2 Cor 2:5–​10 (note the forgiveness shown to the transgressor); 2 Thess 3:14; 1 Tim 5:20; 2 John 10–​11. The severity of these sanctions remains quite questionable and most of them are found in Deuterpauline and Pastoral Epistles, hence relatively late. Cf. Meeks, First Urban Christian, 130–​131. Note that there is no evidence of expulsion of members. According to Abraham J. Malherbe, Social Aspects of Early Christianity (Philadelphia: Fortress, 19832), pp. 108, 110, the exclusion from the assembly meeting at home in 3 John 9–​10 does not represent an official action, and Gaius’ hospitality does not indicate any claim to authority. Furthermore, in the gospel of John (as well as in the other gospels) there is no establishment of norms and sanctions governing interaction with outsiders and with society at large. See Fuglseth, Johannine Sectarianism, 51. 117 Gal 6:6–​9. Compare Mark 9:42–​48; Heb 10:26–​31; Did 16. 118 Luke 6:37//​Matt 7:1; cf. Luke 6:41//​Matt 7:3–​5; James 4:11–​12; Meeks, Origins of Christian Morality, pp. 119–​120. 119 Mark 13:5–​6, 21–​22; Matt. 7:15–​23; 1 Cor 12:3; 14:37–​38; 2 Cor 11:13–​15; 2 Tim 2:18; Jude 4: 8–​16; 1 John 4:1–​5; 2 Pet 2; Didache 6.1; 11.2, 5; 16.3. Cf. Gal 2:4–​5; Acts 20:30; David E. Aune, Prophecy in Early Christianity and the Ancient Mediterranean World (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1983), pp. 222–​230.

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movement as a whole was highly heterogeneous, comprised of extremely 120 diverse communities. The tenuousness of the various early Christian groups’ social organization is attested to by the fact that they did not have a formal, exhaustive name. The term Christianoi, which refers to those who follow or believe in an executed messiah, first emerged as a derogatory word used by its opponents, and was adopted as a self-​designation only at a relatively later stage.121 The other self-​designations –​ ekklēsia,122oikos,123 hagioi,124hodos,125 etc. –​are merely descriptive and not nominative, referring to the character of the community or movement but without using a proper name. More importantly, several New Testament texts attest to a low level of social organization –​in particular, weak regulation of social relations –​ which is uncharacteristic of a sect. The Markan community, for example, ‘offers nearly no evidence of organization’.126 Matthew negates the notion of an authority structure (Matt. 20:25–​27; 23:8–​12), and established leadership is limited to prophets and scribes (Matt. 13:51–​52: 23:34).









120

Fredrick Bird, ‘Early Christianity as an Unorganized Ecumenical Religious Movement’, in A.J. Blasi et al. (eds.), Handbook of Early Christianity. Social Science Approaches (Walnut Creek: Altamira, 2002), pp. 225–​246. Compare Wilson, Sects and Society, p. 1, discussed above. 121 Acts 11:26; 26:28; Tacitus, Annals 15.44.2; Suetonius, Nero 16; Ernst Haenchen, The Acts of the Apostles. A Commentary (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1971), p. 368, n. 3; Harold B. Mittingly, ‘The Origins of the Name Christiani’, JTS 9 (1958), pp. 26–​37; Justin Taylor, ‘Why Were the Disciples First Called ‘Christians’ at Antioch? (Acts 11, 26)’, RB 101 (1994), pp. 75–​94. Bickerman argues that this was a self-​designation. See Elias J. Bickerman, ‘The Name of the Christians’, HTR 42 (1949), pp. 109–​124. For Christianoi as a self-​designation, see 1 Pet 4:16; Didache 12.4. The self-​designation Christianismos first appears in Ignatius from Antioch (e.g., Philad. 6.1). Cf. Lieu, Christian Identity, pp. 250–​253. 122 Meeks, First Urban Christians, pp. 75, 108; Stegemann and Stegemann, The Jesus Movement, pp. 262–​264, 273, 281, 446. Although he refers to ekklēsia, several times, Matthew does not have a distinctive name for his group. See Saladarini, Matthew’s Christian-​Jewish Community, p. 116. 123 Eph 2:19; 1 Tim 3:15; Stegemann and Stegemann, The Jesus Movement, p. 277. 124 E.g., Rom 15:25; 2 Cor 1:2; Meeks, First Urban Christians, p. 85. 125 Acts 18:25–​26; 22:4; 24:14; Cf. Henry J. Cadbury, ‘Names for the Christians in Acts’, in F.J. Foakes Jackson and K. Lake (eds.), The Beginnings of Christianity, Part I: The Acts of the Apostles (London: Macmillan, 1933), vol. 5, pp. 375–​393. 126 Kee, Community of the New Age, p. 152.

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Hence, ‘the Matthean group had not yet developed formal institutions, 127 such as a publicly recognized leadership’. Von Campenhausen concluded that in the Pauline churches, there was no office apart from Paul’s quasi-​office of apostolate (which, it should be noted, Paul plays down). Only in the post-​apostolic third generation do we see the beginning of an interplay between spiritual power and official authority. Elders, for example, are mentioned in Acts, 1 Peter, James, and Revelation, but bishops and deacons are missing (although they are mentioned later in the Deutero-​Pauline and Pastoral Epistles, which present a more profound sense of social organization and office).128 MacDonald also maintained that ‘there is no mention of the existence of formal officers in Paul’s letters’, ascribing this fact to the ‘freedom of charismatic leadership’ and concluding that the Pauline churches represent ‘loosely organized, charismatic beginnings’.129 Further institutionalization occurred on account of the transformation from itinerant to resident leadership in the later Deutero-​Pauline and Pastoral Epistles, in which more socially conservative patterns of ethical instruction (especially the ‘household codes’) were developed.130 Finally, another indication of the loosely organized character of early Christian communities is the fact of their having been based on house-​ churches and hospitality: ‘The early church’, writes Malherbe, ‘did not own buildings specifically constructed for its religious activities. It met primarily



127

Saladarini Matthew’s Christian-​Jewish Community, 91. Overman, Matthew’s Gospel, pp. 113–​124 discusses ‘institutionalization’ in Matthew, but merely points to the implicit roles of scribes, prophets, and missionaries. 128 Hans Von Campenhausen, Ecclesiastical Authority and Spiritual Power in the Church of the First Three Centuries (London, Adam and Charles Black, 1969), pp. 77–​84, 107–​119, 294–​297. Von Campenhausen does not view early Christian communities as a sociological entity, and claims that the Spirit that governs it does not act within the framework of a particular church order or constitution. See also Malherbe, Social Aspects, pp. 89–​90. Note that Didache 11:9–​12 and 15:1–​2 indicates the replacement of charismatic leaders (apostles, prophets and teaches) with hierarchical functionaries that may be dated to the end of the first century CE. 129 MacDonald, The Pauline Churches, pp. 57, 235; Meeks, First Urban Christians, pp. 134, 136. Cf. 1 Cor 12. Although MacDonald (ibid., pp. 52–​58) stressed that ‘a fluid and complex network of leaders’ is described in the Pauline letters, Stegemann and Stegemann (The Jesus Movement, p. 279) explained that ‘the designations of certain functions are probably used in the Pauline letters only in a figurative sense’. 130 David Horrell, ‘Leadership Patterns and the Development of Ideology in Early Christianity’, Sociology of Religion 58.4 (1997), pp. 323–​341.

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in the homes of some of its members’.131 Public assemblies of the entire 132 community were probably rare occasions, such as for the Eucharist.

Comparisons with the Qumran Sects and the Essenes The Community Rule and the Damascus Document found at Qumran, along with Josephus’ descriptions of the Essenes, provide descriptions of the sectarian notions and practices absent in the New Testament. Both the Qumran sects and the Essenes shun the Temple as morally impure, or else had restrictions regarding its attendance.133 By contrast, many New Testament authors stress that Jesus and the apostles attended the Temple regularly, and imply a positive appreciation of the Temple cult through their use of sacrificial metaphors.134 Unlike the early Christians, the Qumran sects and the Essenes mandated strict social separation from outsiders (e.g., rules against sharing meals) and established clear restrictions on marriage and commerce.135 The Qumran sects, the Essenes, Jesus, and the disciples all treated wealth negatively; only in the scrolls and among the Essenes, however, do we see practical restrictions related to wealth and its accumulation.136 Finally, the scrolls set out an abundance of sanctions against and punishment of members who had transgressed, all of which attest to the existence





131

Malherbe, Social Aspects, pp. 60–​112 (here, 68). Cf. MacDonald, The Pauline Churches, pp. 58–​59; Saldarini, Matthew’s Christian-​Jewish Community, pp. 191, 100–​102. 132 Rom 16:23; 1 Cor 11:20; 14:23. 133 Ant. 18.19; Lawrence H. Schiffman, ‘Community without Temple: The Qumran Community’s Withdrawal from the Jerusalem Temple’, in B. Ego et al. (eds.), Gemeinde ohne Temple. Community without Temple (Tübingen: Mohr, 1999), pp. 269–​284; Eyal Regev, ‘Abominated Temple and A Holy Community: The Formation of the concepts of Purity and Impurity in Qumran’, DSD 10.2 (2003), pp. 243–​278. 134 For example, Albert L.A. Hogeterp, Paul and God’s Temple (Leuven: Peeters, 2006); Eyal Regev, ‘Temple Concerns and High Priestly Persecutions from Peter to James: Between Narrative and History’, NTS 56.1 (2010), pp. 64–​89 and references. On John, see above. 135 1QS 5:13–​20; 6:13–​23; CD 6:14–​15; 13:15–​17; 20:2–​8; War 2.139–​142. 136 Eyal Regev, ‘Wealth and Sectarianism: Comparing Qumranic and Early Christian Social Approaches’, in F. Garcia Martinez (ed.), Echoes from the Caves: Qumran and the New Testament (STDJ 85, Leiden: Brill), pp. 211–​230. The communal ownership of wealth in Acts is a notable exception.

Were the Early Christians Sectarians?

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of communal discipline –​something that hardly resembles the New 137 Testament approach to sinners.

Conclusions Once agreement is reached on a strict and precise sociological definition of a sect following the criteria set forth by Wilson and Stark-​ Bainbridge, we are forced to conclude that none of the numerous studies discussed above is successful in demonstrating the sectarian character of early Christianity. This failure derives from a combination of factors: 1) the use of inadequate sociological models; 2) partial or inconsistent application of available sociological models; and, most importantly, 3) insufficient New Testament evidence of sectarian characteristics. The early Christian communities undoubtedly held a distinctive religious worldview and a sense of exclusivity and solidarity (as stressed by Elliott and others). They shared the sectarian characteristics, delineated by Stark-​ Bainbridge, of antagonism and difference (viz. rituals). Early Christianity may thus be characterized as a ‘divergent revitalization movement which arises out of an established, religiously defined cultural system, with which it shares a symbolic worldview’.138 Yet I suggest that such assertions do not, in truth, indicate that the early Christians were sectarians. Rather, they merely stress that the early Christians shared certain important features that are also typical of sects. The evidence collected above –​which is illustrative rather than conclusive –​points to the absence of certain other features that are essential to the creation and survival of any sect: social separation, communal discipline and sanctions, and social organization and institutionalization. Although some communities probably displayed stronger sectarian tendencies then others, it seems clear that many early Christians in truth regarded themselves as an integral part of the larger Jewish society, and did not attempt to create a distinct social system. Despite their own religious beliefs and rituals, they nonetheless maintained conventional social interaction with non-​Christian Jews. True, they may have regarded themselves as not of the world, but the NT evidence suggest that they were, after all, in the world (cf. John 17:14–​18). Such a unique pattern of behavior is typical

137

See the penal codes in 1QS and the Damascus Document in 1QS 6:24–​7:25, 8:20–​ 9:1; CD 14:18–​22; 4QDa 10 i-​iii and par. Cf. War 2.143–​146. 138 White, ‘Shifting Sectarian Boundaries’, p. 17.

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of cults, which usually boast distinctive beliefs and rituals but are not, like sects, dissenting, segregated groups, and are sometimes loosely organized.139 Indeed, in another article I pointed to the similarities between the early Christian communities and cults or New Religious Movements.140 The numerous yet unsuccessful attempts to apply the sect model to the New Testament are revealing. They demonstrate the pre-​supposition of many scholars that, since the early Christians held distinctive and revolutionary religious beliefs (i.e., Jesus as Christ and the inclusion of gentiles), they must have stood apart from wider Jewish society. The inadequacy of the sect model, however, calls this assumption into question, and demonstrates that the early Christian communities had a more intimate social relationship with their Jewish environs than a plain reading of the New Testament’s polemical discourse would suggest. The lack of social segregation, disciplinary sanctions, and fixed social organization is instructive in additional sense: If my analysis is correct, the evidence collected here suggests not only that the early Christians communities were not sects in the pure sociological sense of the term, but also that they were still in the early process of social formation and institutionalization. This fluid social organization of the early Christian communities may have been closely related to the reluctance of many of them to dissociate themselves from the Jewish society at large. By focusing here on what the early Christians were not, I hope to encourage scholars to reevaluate their understanding of this movement’s relationship with the Jewish society and to acknowledge that the early Christians had close social interaction with other Jews. Of course, these are preliminary results, and in no way exhaust the textual evidence and vast amount of research on the subject. The validity of the present conclusions should be tested further through a detailed examination of each individual text as well as alternative social-​scientific models.

139

Roy Wallis, ‘The Cult and Its Transformation’, in R. Wallis (ed.), Sectarianism. Analyses of Religious and Non-​Religious Sects (London: Peter Owen, 1975), pp. 35–​ 49. There are indeed several different definitions of a cult, e.g., Stark and Bainbridge, Future of Religion, pp. 24–​35, 249–​250. For the early Christian communities as cults, see Rodney Stark, The Rise of Christianity (San Francisco: HarperCollins, 1997), pp. 29–​47. For the application of this model to John and Matthew, see Fuglseth, Johannine Sectarianism in Perspective, pp. 52–​53, 360–​374; Luomanen, ‘The “Sociology of Sectarianism” in Matthew’. 140 Eyal Regev, “Early Christianity in Light of New Religious Movements,” Numen 63 (2016), pp. 483–​510.

Gods, Humans and Religions While most traditional world religions seem to face a fundamental identity and cultural crisis, signs are indicating that there is a universal need for new spiritual demands and revival, new awakenings of religious practices and feelings. What are the facts beyond these movements? Is there a new human religiosity in the making? This series will try to bring together witnesses, thinkers, believers and non-believers, historians, scientists of religion, theologians, psychologists, sociologists, philosophers and general writers, from different cultures and languages, to offer a broader perspective on one of the key issues of our new world civilisation in the making. Series editors: Alberto Fabio Ambrosio and Elisabeth A. Diamantopoulou Series Titles N° 26 – Daniel Laliberté & Georg Rubel (dir.), Bible – Pastorale – Didactique/ Bible – Pastoral – Didactics. “Animatio biblica totius actionis pastoralis”. « La Parole de Dieu est à l’oeuvre en vous, les croyants » (1Th, 2,13)/“God’s Word is at Work in You Who Believe”, 2019, ISBN 978-2-8076-0935-8 o N 25 – Dan Jaffé, Rivka Nir and Yaakov Teppler (eds.), Reflections on Judaism and Christianity in Antiquity, 2021, ISBN 978-2-8076-1275-4 o N 24 – Elisabeth-Alexandra Diamantopoulou & Louis-Léon Christians (eds.), Orthodox Christianity and Human Rights in Europe. A Dialogue Between Theological Paradigms and Socio-Legal Pragmatics, 2018, ISBN 978-2-8076-0420-9 o N 23 – Jean-Pierre Van Halteren, Ces Chrétiens qui ne croyaient pas en JésusChrist. Un Christianisme appelé « Géométrie » au Moyen Âge, 2017, ISBN 978-2-8076-0225-0 o N 22 – Gürkan Çelik, Johan Leman & Karel Steenbrink (eds.), GülenInspired Hizmet in Europe. The Western Journey of a Turkish Muslim Movement, 2015, ISBN 978-2-87574-275-9

No 21 – Dibudi Way-Way, Mission en retour, réciproque et interculturelle. Étude sur la présence chrétienne africaine en Belgique, 2014, ISBN 978-287574-188-2 o N 20 – Alexis B. Tengan (ed.), Christianity and Cultural History in Northern Ghana. A Portrait of Cardinal Peter Poreku Dery (1918-2008), 2013, ISBN 978-2-87574-114-1 o N 19 – Rik Pinxten, The Creation of God, 2010, ISBN 978-90-5201-644-3 No 18 – Christiane Timmerman, Johan Leman, Hannelore Roos & Barbara Segaert (eds.), In-Between Spaces. Christian and Muslim Minorities in Transition in Europe and the Middle East, 2009, ISBN 978-90-5201-565-1 o N 17 – Hans Geybels, Sara Mels & Michel Walrave (eds.), Faith and Media. Analysis of Faith and Media: Representation and Communication, 2009, ISBN 978-90-5201-534-7 o N 16 – André Gerrits, The Myth of Jewish Communism. A Historical Interpretation, 2009, ISBN 978-90-5201-465-4 o N 15 – Semih Vaner, Daniel Heradstveit & Ali Kazancigil (dir.), Sécularisation et démocratisation dans les sociétés musulmanes, 2008, ISBN 978-90-5201- 451-7 No 14 – Dinorah B. Méndez, Evangelicals in Mexico. Their Hymnody and Its Theology, 2008, ISBN 978-90-5201-433-3 No 13 – Édouard Flory Kabongo, Le rite zaïrois. Son impact sur l’inculturation du catholicisme en Afrique, 2008, ISBN 978-90-5201-385-5 No 12 – Astrid de Hontheim, Chasseurs de diable et collecteurs d’art. Tentatives de conversion des Asmat par les missionnaires pionniers protestants et catholiques, 2008, ISBN 978-90-5201-380-0 o N 11 – Alice Dermience, La « Question féminine » et l’Église catholique. Approches biblique, historique et théologique, 2008, ISBN 978-90-5201378-7 o N 10 – Christiane Timmerman, Dirk Hutsebaut, Sara Mels, Walter Nonneman & Walter Van Herck (eds.), Faith-based Radicalism. Christianity, Islam and Judaism between Constructive Activism and Destructive Fanaticism, 2007, ISBN 978-90-5201-050-2 o N 9 – Pauline Côté & T. Jeremy Gunn (eds.), La nouvelle question religieuse. Régulation ou ingérence de l’État ? / The New Religious Question. State Regulation or State Interference?, 2006, ISBN 978-90-5201-034-2

No 8 – Wilhelm Dupré, Experience and Religion. Configurations and Perspectives, 2005, ISBN 978-90-5201-279-7 o N 7 – Adam Possamai, Religion and Popular Culture. A Hyper-Real Testament, 2005 (2nd printing 2007), ISBN 978-90-5201-272-8 o N 6 – Gabriel Fragnière, La religion et le pouvoir. La chrétienté, l’Occident et la démocratie, 2005 (2nd printing 2006), ISBN 978-90-5201-268-1 o N 5 – Christiane Timmerman & Barbara Segaert (eds.), How to Conquer the Barriers to Intercultural Dialogue. Christianity, Islam and Judaism, 2005 (3rd printing 2007), ISBN 978-90-5201-373-2 o N 4 – Elizabeth Chalier-Visuvalingam, Bhairava: terreur et protection. Mythes, rites et fêtes à Bénarès et à Katmandou, 2003, ISBN 978-905201-173-8 o N 3 – John Bosco Ekanem, Clashing Cultures. Annang Not(with)standing Christianity – An Ethnography, 2002, ISBN 978-90-5201-983-3 o N 2 – Peter Chidi Okuma, Towards an African Theology. The Igbo Context in Nigeria, 2002, ISBN 978-90-5201-975-8 o N 1 – Karel Dobbelaere, Secularization: An Analysis at Three Levels, 2002 (2nd printing 2004), ISBN 978-90-5201-985-7

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