Texts and Studies in Ancient Judaism

Edited by
Maren Niehoff (Jerusalem)
Annette Y. Reed (New York, NY)
Seth Schwartz (New York, NY)
Moulie Vidas (Princeton, NJ)

184
 Torah, Temple, Land
Constructions of Judaism in Antiquity

Edited by

Markus Witte, Jens Schröter,

and Verena M. Lepper

Mohr Siebeck
Markus Witte, born 1964; Dr. theol.; Professor of Exegesis and Literary History of the Old
Testament at the Faculty of Theology, Humboldt University Berlin.

Jens Schröter, born 1961; Dr. theol.; Professor of Exegesis and Theology of the New
Testament and Ancient Christian Apocrypha at the Faculty of Theology, Humboldt Uni-
versity Berlin.

Verena M. Lepper, born 1973; Dr. phil.; Curator of the Egyptian and Oriental Papyrus
Collection, Egyptian Museum and Papyrus Collection, National Museums, Berlin, SPK
& Honorary Professor at Humboldt University Berlin.

ISBN 978-3-16-159853-1 / eISBN 978-3-16-159854-8

DOI 10.1628/978-3-16-159854-8
ISSN 0721-8753 / eISSN 2568-9525 (Texts and Studies in Ancient Judaism)
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 Table of Contents

Abbreviations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . VII

Markus Witte, Jens Schröter, Verena Lepper

Introduction������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 1

Peter Schäfer
Judaism or Judaisms: The Construction of Ancient Judaism����������������������� 9

Benedikt Hensel
Debating Temple and Torah in the Second Temple Period:
Theological and Political Aspects of the Final Redaction(s)
of the Pentateuch����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 27

Sebastian Grätz
The Golah, the Temple, and the Torah in the Book of Ezra: Biblical
and Religious-Historical Perspectives on Judah and Jerusalem
in Postexilic Times ������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 49

Stefan Schorch
“Mount Gerizim is the house of God and the dwelling place for
his glory”: The Origins and Early History of Samaritan Theology ������������� 61

Karel van der Toorn

The Religion of the Elephantine Jews��������������������������������������������������������� 79

Charlotte Hempel
The Dead Sea Scrolls: Challenging the Particularist Paradigm������������������� 91

John J. Collins
Jewish Communities in the Dead Sea Scrolls ��������������������������������������������� 105

Robert Kugler
Finding “Judaism” in Documentary Papyri: The Case of the
Petitions from the Herakleopolis Archive ��������������������������������������������������� 117
VI Table of Contents

Lutz Doering
Torah and Temple in Judean Pseudepigrapha: From Jubilees to
Fourth Ezra and Second Baruch ����������������������������������������������������������������� 137

Gabriele Boccaccini
What Does the Forgiving Jesus Have to Do with the Unforgiving
Enoch? Forgiveness of Sins in the Enochic Traditions ������������������������������� 157

Maren R. Niehoff
Constructing Temple and Torah in Philo of Alexandria�������������������������������173

Martin Goodman
Paul as Persecutor and the History of Judaism ������������������������������������������� 189

Adela Yarbro Collins

What Sort of Jew Is the Jesus of Mark?������������������������������������������������������� 197

René Bloch
Jew or Judean: The Latin Evidence�������������������������������������������������������������229

Werner Eck
Die – fast – unsichtbare jüdische Diaspora im Westen des
Imperium Romanum vor der Spätantike����������������������������������������������������� 241

Shaye J. D. Cohen
Jews and Judaism in Antioch as Portrayed by John Chrysostom
and the Rabbinic Sages ������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 257

Catherine Hezser
The Contested Image of King David in Rabbinic and Patristic
Literature and Art of Late Antiquity ����������������������������������������������������������� 277

List of Contributors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 299

Index of Sources . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 301
Index of Modern Authors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 307
Index of Names and Subjects . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 313
 Abbreviations

Abbreviations in this volume generally follow the guidelines in The SBL Hand­
book of Style, 2nd ed. (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2014). References to papyrological
editions conform to the “Checklist of Editions of Greek, Latin, Demotic, and
Cop­tic Papyri, Ostraca, and Tablets” (http://papyri.info/docs/checklist). Addi-
tional abbreviations:
Gesenius W. Gesenius, Hebräisches und Aramäisches Handwörterbuch über das Alte Tes­
tament, 18th ed. (Heidelberg: Springer, 2013)
GLAJJ M. Stern, Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism, 3 vols. (Jerusalem:
Is­rael Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1974–1984)
IAM J. G. Février et al., eds., Inscriptions antiques du Maroc (Paris: Centre National
de la Recherche Scientifique, 1966–)
IJO D. Noy et al., eds., Inscriptiones Judaicae Orientis, 3 vols. (Tübingen: Mohr
Sie­beck, 2004)
ILJug A. Šašel and J. Šašel, eds., Inscriptiones Latinae quae in Iugoslavia ... repertae
et editae sunt, 3 vols. (Ljubljana: Narodni Muzej, 1963–1986)
JIWE D. Noy, ed., Jewish Inscriptions of Western Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge Uni­
versity Press, 1993–)
MekI Mekilta de-Rabbi Ishmael
OED Oxford English Dictionary
TAD B. Porten and A. Yardeni, Textbook of Aramaic Documents from Ancient Egypt,
4 vols. (Jerusalem: Hebrew University, 1986–1999)
 Introduction

The Holy One, blessed be he, has acquired five acquisitions:

one acquisition is the Torah,
one acquisition are the heavens and the earth,
one acquisition is Abraham,
one acquisition is Israel,
one acquisition is the Temple.
(m. ’Abot 6:10)

This volume goes back to a conference held at the Theological Faculty of the
Humboldt University of Berlin in October 2018 with the title “Torah, Temple,
Land: Ancient Construction(s) of Judaism.” It brings together articles which
ad­dress the constellations of ancient Judaism between continuity and change,
from the Persian up to the Roman period, by way of a series of case studies
from leading experts in their fields who cover a wide range of perspectives.
In doing so, diverse forms of Judaism come to the fore which have evolved in
different geographical areas: in Elephantine, Samaria, Jerusalem and Judea,
in Qumran as well as in Alexandria. Distinctive political, cultural, and social
constellations are associated with each of these, in which Jewish communities
developed their own conception of themselves and how they were perceived by
the outside world. Judaism saw itself confronted with the distinctive contexts
and challenges presented by the Persian Empire, Egypt, Greek culture, the Im-
perium Romanum, and, not least, by emerging Christianity.
Ancient Judaism existed, therefore, in a world which was permanently
changing in terms of political, social, and religious parameters. Judaism itself
was also subject to constant processes of change, both of its self-perception and
its external perception. What was deemed to be “Judaism” or “Jewish” was flu-
id and often contested with a need for constant renegotiation. In the following,
“Judaism” and “Jewish” are, therefore, not to be understood as designations for
religious communities with a clearly defined profile, but as heuristic categories
to be filled with content in different periods of time and diverse religious, so-
cial, and political constellations. As a consequence, current developments in
research on ancient Judaism, which highlight the diversity and fluidity of the
categories “Judaism” and “Jewish,” are taken into account and refined.
Specifically, the individual articles in this volume reflect on a range of cate-
gories for describing Judaism and critically evaluate our ability to characterize
ancient religious communities in different historical situations in these terms.
The contributions are framed against the background of recent research on (re-)
constructions of ancient Judaism. The central questions tackled by the speakers
2 Introduction

and discussions at the abovementioned conference, as well as by the articles

brought together here, were, or respectively are: which factors make it possible
to speak of stability or continuity with regard to “ancient Judaism”? How does
this relate to change and discontinuity? How may Jewish communities have
experienced this relationship themselves in different locations in the Persian,
Hellenistic, and Roman periods and coped with experiencing instability caused
by political tensions or changing cultural constellations? And, last but not least,
the question of whether and to what extent “Judaism” can be conceived as a
(consistent) religious and cultural community with stable characteristics. One
particular heuristic line of enquiry poses the question of how different Jewish
groups in the period from about 500 BCE up to about 200 CE dealt with the
factors of Torah, Temple, and land. These three fundamental pillars for per-
ceptions of the emergence and formation of Israel as God’s people are central
in the search for understanding what was regarded as “Judaism” in antiquity –
both as a mode of self-perception and in the perceptions of outsiders.
This volume aims to shed light on the complexity which can be assumed for
ancient Judaism by exploring the significance of the relationship of Torah, the
Temple in Jerusalem as a place where heaven and earth meet, and the “holy” or
“promised” land as the dwelling place of God’s people. This relationship can
range from a strict obligation to the Torah, on the one hand, to placing other
writings – such as apocalyptic texts – in a central or complementary position,
on the other hand. It can be characterized by the conviction that the Jerusa-
lem Temple is the only legitimate holy place for the cult of the God of Israel
or reflect practices and texts that suggest the God of Israel can be worshiped
in another temple in another land. For the Samaritan tradition the site of the
sanctuary excludes Jerusalem. It can range from the conviction that the land of
Israel, known variously as Israel, Judah, and Judea, was given by God, even if
it was also lost under the rule of the Assyrian, Babylonian, Persian, Greek, and
Roman Empires, up to the conception that life in a Greek polis, including the
adaptation of Greek language and culture, is a legitimate and appropriate form
of existence for worshipers of the God of Israel. For this reason, the institutions
of Torah, Temple, and land, regardless of their significance for ancient (and,
of course, for present-­day) Judaism, do not in any way lead to a consistent im-
age of Judaism or a “common Judaism” (E. P. Sanders). On the contrary, it is
precisely the attitude towards these central factors and the creation-theological
and historical-theological aspects connected with these that show the diversity
of the religious, social, and cultural options which characterize ancient Juda-
ism.
Against this background, this volume contributes to the scholarly debate
on determining what we mean by “ancient Judaism” and its cultural and so-
cial dimensions, from the disciplinary perspectives of classical, religious, and
theological study based on primary texts from the Hebrew Bible, Samarian / Sa-
maritan sources, papyri from Elephantine and Herakleopolis, the Qumran texts
 Introduction 3

and the so-called Enochic writings, from the works of Philo of Alexandria and
the New Testament, epigraphic sources from the Imperium Romanum as well
as rabbinic and patristic texts. In the following we offer a brief summary of the
political and social framework and highlight the pertinent larger context of the
discussion.

Alexander the Great’s campaign, which led him from Macedonia up to the In­
dus and which ended the dominance of the Persians in the eastern Mediterra-
nean area, fundamentally changed the cultures of the Middle East, including
those of Israel / Palestine and Egypt. The tremendous speed of Alexander’s con-
quests had a particularly drastic effect on the southern Levant. Noteworthy is
his capture of the Phoenician trading city of Tyre, which, in marked contrast to
the fate of Jerusalem, the Babylonian king Nebuchadnezzar II (605–562 BCE)
ultimately failed to conquer. Alexander’s campaign brought about the com-
plete collapse of the Persian Empire, which had been a stable regulatory force
for his Jewish subjects. Under Persian rule, a significant degree of political
and religious autonomy was granted which resulted in a cultural and religious
restoration of Judaism. Alexander’s sudden death in 323 BCE in Babylon, the
city declared by him to be the capital of his imperium, as well as the battles for
succession that followed his death led to the founding of separate monarchies
in Mesopotamia / Syria, Asia Minor, Egypt, and Macedonia. These events have
left manifold traces in the collective memory of ancient Judaism and played a
major role in the transformation of Israelite-Jewish society.
Since the end of the fourth century BCE, Judah had found itself to be at
the intersection of conflicts between the kingdoms of the Seleucids in Meso-
potamia and Syria and the Ptolemies in Egypt. Within only a century, Judah
was the site of six wars between the Ptolemies and the Seleucids, and Jerusa-
lem, including its Yahweh-Temple, was conquered several times. Parts of the
land were ravaged, sections of its population deported, and religious autonomy
weakened. The following aspects were at least as efficacious as these direct
consequences for the land and the central holy places of the Jews: (1) the ex-
periences of varying political and tax systems; (2) the advance of the Greek
language which supplanted Aramaic as the lingua franca in the eastern Medi­
terranean; (3) the spread of Greek cults, myths, and schools of philosophy,
in particular Stoicism and Epicureanism; (4) the dealing with pagan religious
conceptions, including the constantly expanding ruler cult and divine worship
of the dead, and subsequently even of living kings and emperors, already in the
Hellenistic-Roman period; (5) the encounters with a Greek way of life, with
Greek, and later, Roman technology as well as the construction of Greek and
Roman cities with their theaters, grammar schools, and schools for ephebi in
the whole of the Mediterranean area.
The battles of the Hasmoneans in 167 BCE against the attacks by the Se-
leucid king Antiochus IV Epiphanes on the religious autonomy of Judah led to
4 Introduction

a conflict between pro- and anti-Seleucid circles within Judaism. This conflict
brought with it notable economic crises in Israel / Palestine, culminating in the
recovery of a religious and political independence and in the establishment of
a Judean kingdom for the first time since 587 BCE. Although lacking Davidic
or Zadokite legitimation, this Hasmonean kingdom developed into a dynasty
which reigned in Judah for about a hundred years. Hasmonean rulers yielded
political power over the Jerusalem priesthood and saw themselves as rulers
over the only “true Israel,” as opposed to the Samarian / Samaritan community
which likewise worshiped Yahweh. For the Judean population, the Hasmonean
reign signified an autochthonous Hellenistic monarchy which was character-
ized by a cultural upswing, intense building activity, a geographical expan-
sion as well as considerable violence towards Jewish groups who subscribed
to different political and religious orientations both within and, as shown by
the conflicts with Samaria and Edom / Idumea, also beyond the borders of the
Hasmonean state.
In addition to the political and cultural impact of the appearance of the
short-lived imperium of Alexander, the subsequent Diadochi empires as well
as the Hasmonean kingdom led to a noticeable increase of the Jewish diaspo-
ra. Following the deportations in the Assyrian and Babylonian periods, Jew-
ish communities which cultivated their own cultural and religious traditions
had emerged in northern and southern Mesopotamia, Persia, and in the whole
of Egypt. In the Hellenistic period, Jewish communities developed across the
whole of the Mediterranean area. In particular, the Egyptian diaspora grew
rapidly, initially following the deportations under Ptolemy I Soter (367 / 366–
283 / 282 BCE) in 301 BCE and later through the influx of further Jews. The
city of Alexandria, founded in the Nile Delta by Alexander the Great, devel-
oped into the cultural metropolis par excellence of the Hellenistic period. Al-
exandria also became a center of particular attraction for Jewish people. By
the third century BCE, the majority of Jews no longer lived in Syria-Palestine,
but in the diaspora. Moreover, they no longer spoke predominantly Aramaic or
Hebrew, but Greek.
Local differences and multilingualism became a characteristic part of Jew-
ish existence at this time. What is more, certain parameters of Jewish “identi-
ty” had already evolved with the establishment of the provinces Samaria and
Yehud by the Persians in the sixth century BCE; these distinctive communities
became more firmly established in the Hellenistic period and characterized Ju-
daism both in the mother country and in the diaspora. These distinctive identi-
ties drew on a number of developments: (1) the Torah in the form of the Pen-
tateuch, the Shema Israel (Deut 6:4–5) and the Decalogue (Exod 20; Deut 5)
at the center, irrespective of theological tensions within the Pentateuch and the
existence of a Judean alongside a Samaritan Pentateuch (in different versions);
(2) the concept that Yahweh is the one and only God, who created the world,
who preserves it and directs the paths of history and who is to be worshiped
 Introduction 5

without image; (3) the awareness of Israel as God’s chosen people; (4) the
concentration of the cult on the Temple in Jerusalem which did not exclude the
existence of other holy places sacred to Yahweh on the Samaritan / Samarian
Mount Gerizim and in Leontopolis in Egypt, as well as the establishment of
synagogues; and (5) the rites of circumcision, the Sabbath, prayers, fasting, and
the giving of alms – religious acts that could be maintained independently of
location, as well as the adherence to the laws governing purity and diet.
These five factors – the written Torah, monotheism, election as the chosen
people, the Temple as well as circumcision and observing the Sabbath – were
interpreted and practiced in different ways, both in the Israelite-Palestinian
mother country and the diaspora, already in Persian times and, more intensely,
in the Hellenistic period. Different groupings and tendencies emerged within
Judaism, which represented different positions, both towards the pagan Greek
culture and, beginning with the Maccabean period, also in the attitude towards
the Jerusalem kingdom and to the high priest. This process continued more
intensely in the Roman period. Therefore, what Jewish “identity” meant in
antiquity can hardly be expressed as a common denominator. The social life
and religious practices of Jewish communities in Palestine under Roman, and
particularly Herodian, rule should be taken into account just as much as those
in the Roman colonies, in metropolises like Alexandria and Antioch and the
capital Rome. For Jewish communities, the confrontation with Hellenistic cul-
ture and Roman politics constituted a continuous challenge between the poles
of adaptation and resistance. This led to diverse forms of political, cultural,
and religious kinds of reception and integration, which had a lasting influence
on both the self-perception and the external perception of “the” Judaism. This
“history of intertwining” that is evident both in Israel / Palestine and in the di-
aspora can be described in terms of “correlation between the center and the
periphery,” “identity formation from within and without,” “rest and motion”
and “arts of the weak” which lead to an attempt at integration on equal terms.

In recent research, this differentiation of Judaism has sometimes led to avoid

speaking of “Judaism” in the singular in the Hellenistic-Roman period, but of
“Judaisms.” The plural refers to various strands of Judaism represented, for ex-
ample, by a Jerusalem, a Samarian, an Egyptian, and a Qumran Judaism. Even
this classification still seems to be too undifferentiated with regard to the dif-
ferent groups and geographical regions. The question of the self-perception and
external perception of ancient Judaism, represented by different Jewish groups,
plays a central role here: are there overlapping features of Judaism alongside
the diversity of Judaism? Can we speak of a Jewish “identity” with regard to
either self-perception or external perception? The different political, cultural,
social, and temporal contexts in the Israelite-Palestinian mother country and in
the different centers of the Jewish diaspora, in particular in Egypt (Elephantine,
Alexandria, and Leontopolis), have to be taken into account when answering
6 Introduction

these questions, as do the interdependencies between these contexts and cen-

ters. Against the background of this geographical aspect, the term “land” with-
in the thematic triad of the conference and this volume is explained.
In addition to archaeological and epigraphic records as well as a small num-
ber of pagan texts, important sources on the historical description of Judaism
in the period concerned are Jewish writings which originated in different plac-
es and in different languages during the Persian and Hellenistic-Roman peri-
ods. Much of this material reached the form in which it found its way into the
Hebrew Bible and the Septuagint during these centuries. Together with non-­
biblical writings such as the papyri found on the island of Elephantine on the
Nile, the vast majority of Jewish-Hellenistic writings not included in the Bible,
and the Dead Sea Scrolls, they attest to different literary genres, that is, histo-
riographic, prophetic-mantic, cultural-ritual, sapiental-didactic, juridical, ad-
ministrative, calendrical, and apocalyptic texts. This demonstrates how ancient
Judaism maintained its cultural self-perception in the wake of crises and muta-
tions, each dealing in their own way with central institutions such as kingdom,
Temple, land, and sacred writings. In particular the factors of (1) Torah, with
its concentration on worshiping the one God Yahweh and the standardization
of Jewish identity, (2) Temple, and (3) land appear as stabilizing factors and as
indicators for Jewish self-perception.
Emerging Christianity constituted a special kind of religious and social chal-
lenge to ancient Judaism. From the beginning, Christianity incorporated the
Israelite-Jewish writings and traditions into the basic stock of its lore, inter-
preted them, however, in its own way. This led to a further transformation of
Jewish lore, which was now passed down and interpreted in two ways – in
Christian and in Jewish lore. The cooperation, coexistence, and also conflict
between Judaism and Christianity led to the concentration of rabbinic Judaism
on the Hebrew (and Aramaic) writings, on the one hand, and to the translation
of Jewish and Christian texts into Syrian, Coptic, Armenian, and Arabic in the
Christian tradition, on the other hand. Even the Septuagint, originally a Jewish
translation, was now passed down by Christians and became the first part of
the Christian Bible, the “Old Testament.” Furthermore, what is important is the
interpretative redaction (Fortschreibung) of Jewish writings by Christians: rel-
evant examples of this are the Martyrdom of Isaiah, the Fourth Book of Ezra,
and the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs.
The relationship of Judaism and Christianity in antiquity cannot be compre-
hended with the model of one or more “parting(s) of the ways.” The processes
relating to this are considerably more complex and have led to diverse forms of
“attraction and repulsion” (P. Schäfer). For Judaism, this involved a profound
reorientation, concerning the attitude to its own writings and traditions. This
is shown by the emergence of the Christian and the Jewish Bibles, into which
the authoritative writings of the respective religious communities found their
way. The complex processes leading to the collection of these writings reveal
 Introduction 7

that both in Judaism and Christianity and over a long time authoritative writ-
ings were neither clearly delimited as to their extent nor in their wording. The
emergence of the Jewish and the Christian Bibles sheds light, therefore, on the
diversity of ancient Judaism and ancient Christianity and on the multifaceted
processes of their relationships.

The conference to which this volume goes back was supported financially by
the Berlin Excellence Cluster Topoi, which has since been discontinued, and
by the ERC-Grant Elephantine. We would like to thank the responsible bodies
for awarding the funding which made it possible to hold the conference. Janina
Skóra has earned a great deal of credit for the organizational preparation and
realization of the conference, for which she has our sincere thanks. We thank
the speakers for making their lectures available for publication and who also
took the discussions during the conference into account for the printed version
and waited for the publication with great patience. We thank our staff in Ber-
lin, Veronika Einmahl, Florian Leng­le, Lucas Mueller, Brinthanan Puva­nes­
waran, and Katharina Vetter, for their support in reading the corrections and
for compiling the index; thanks to Matthias Müller (Berlin) for preparing the
camera-ready copy. Finally, we would like to thank the editors of the series
“Texts and Studies in Ancient Judaism” for their acceptance of the volume and
the staff at Mohr Siebeck publishing house for the great assistance during the
publication process.

Berlin, August 2020 Markus Witte, Jens Schröter, Verena Lepper

 Judaism or Judaisms
The Construction of Ancient Judaism

Peter Schäfer

In the last of his works and presumably not long before his death, Flavius Jo-
sephus, the historian of ancient Judaism, wrote about the proper constitution
of the Jews. The work is called Contra Apionem (“Against Apion”) and it was
written during the last years of the Roman emperor Domitian, that is, not long
before 96 CE. It is a comprehensive apology of the Jewish people, claiming
that Moses lived long before the Greek legislators and that therefore the Jewish
laws are much older and more original than the Greek laws. Therein, more than
twenty years after the destruction of Jerusalem and the Temple, the famous
Jewish historian – who in Rome enjoyed the favor and support of the Flavian
emperors – compares the forms of government known at his time: monarchy,
oligarchy, and democracy. He comes to the conclusion that none of these is
appropriate:
Our lawgiver, however, was attracted by none of these forms of polity, but gave to his consti-
tution the form of what – if a forced expression be permitted – may be termed a “theocracy”
(θεοκρατία), placing all sovereignty and authority in the hands of God.1

The theocracy as the typical and uniquely Jewish form of government was
so important to Josephus that he invented the Greek word for it, calling it “a
forced expression.” He then continues that Moses immediately convinced the
Jewish people of the virtues of this constitution and presented them their God
as One (εἷς), uncreated (ἀγένητος), immutable, of unsurpassable beauty, in the
nature of his essence unrecognizable (ἄγνωστος), but made known to us by his
power (δύναμις).2 The unconditional acceptance of the Law led to an admira-
ble harmony (ὁμόνοια) among the Jews, who are united in their opinion about
God and cultivate the same way of life.3 And then Josephus explains how this
theocracy, God’s sole sovereignty, is maintained on earth:
Could there be a finer or more equitable polity than one which sets God at the head of the
universe, which assigns the administration of its highest affairs to the whole body of priests,
and entrusts to the supreme high priest the direction of the other priests? […] Could there
be a more saintly government than that? Could God be more worthily honored than by such

1 Josephus, C. Ap. 2.165.

2 Josephus, C. Ap. 2.167.
3 Josephus, C. Ap. 2.179–181.
10 Peter Schäfer

a scheme, under which piety is the end and aim of the training of the entire community, the
priests are entrusted with the special charge of it, and the whole administration of the state
(πολιτεία) resembles some sacred ceremony? 4

Josephus’s theocracy is in fact a hierocracy, a government of priests, with the

Temple at its center: “One Temple for the one God (εἷς ναὸς ἑνὸς θεοῦ) […],
common to all as God is common to all.” 5 The triad “One God – One Temple –
One People” is the central idea of his theocracy, and he propagates this idea
not just as some faint echo of a long forgotten past or the ideal concept of some
remote future but as the forever valid and forever practiced form of explicitly
Jewish government.
It remains a mystery and a matter of dispute what prompted Josephus to lay
out the design of the Jewish state toward the end of his life and under the em-
peror Domitian (who enforced the fiscus Judaicus) – the same Josephus who
in his earlier works Antiquitates and De bello Judaico drew a very different
picture of discord and strife among the Jews of Judea and who blamed the un-
compromising theocratic doctrine of the Zealots in particular for the destruc-
tion of the Jewish Temple and nation.6 For our purpose here the observation
is important that the old and wise – or naïve or crazy (whatever one prefers) –
Josephus drafted his vision of a theocratic polity the way he did, that it was ab-
solutely clear to him that there was and always will be a Jewish nation or state
or ethnos, with the Temple at its center, with the priests at its head, and with
its people following in perfect harmony the Law of Moses, that is, the Torah.
What Josephus does not explicitly emphasize is the fact that the Temple stands
in Jerusalem and that Jerusalem is the capital of Judea, but this is a matter of
course and refraining from spelling it out is probably the only concession he
made in his long exposition to his Roman friends. From this perspective, Jose-
phus’s outline of the perfect Jewish state looks like the blueprint for the topic
of the conference and ensuing book, summarized by the organizers under the
keywords Torah, Temple, Land.
But things are not that simple. Josephus’s theocracy with its unifying triad
of “One God – One Temple – One People,” designed at the very end of the Sec-
ond Temple period and the transition to rabbinic Judaism, may well formulate
an ideal picture or even an evolving consensus, yet it is highly questionable
to what extent it was accomplished throughout the turmoil of ancient Jewish
history. There was certainly a tendency in ancient Judaism towards unification
and integration,7 but there were, just as certainly, strong opposing tendencies
towards diversity, multiplicity, variety, discord. These tendencies could not be

4Josephus, C. Ap. 2.185, 188.

5Josephus, C. Ap. 2.193. Josephus constructs this remarkable sentence without a verb, and
in the following explanation he uses the present and future tenses.
6 On this, see in more detail P. Schäfer, “Theokratie: Die Herrschaft Gottes als Staatsver-

fassung in der jüdischen Antike,” in Politik und Religion: Zur Diagnose der Gegenwart, ed.
F. W. Graf and H. Meier (Munich: Beck, 2013), 199–240, here 226 ff.
 Judaism or Judaisms 11

ignored after the full publication of the so-called Apocrypha and Pseudepigra-
pha in German translation by Emil Kautzsch (1900) 8 and in English transla-
tion by Robert Henry Charles (1913).9 George Foot Moore’s famous Judaism
in the First Centuries of the Christian Era: The Age of the Tannaim (1927) 10
marks the pinnacle and at the same time the end point of a view that regards
the Mishnah as the climax of normative Judaism and is still convinced that it
can downplay the Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha as peripheral phenomena of
some aberrant and bizarre sects. And, of course, the discovery of the Qumran
literature made such certainties completely untenable. Finally, the question of a
full acknowledgment of Second Temple diversity became further complicated
by New Testament scholarship. In view of what they regarded the proprium of
the New Testament message, New Testament scholars neatly distinguished be-
tween legalistic and apocalyptic branches within Second Temple Judaism, ele-
vating the New Testament to the legitimate heir of the apocalyptic branch and
demoting rabbinic Judaism to the mere continuation of the legalistic branch.
Some of them, particularly in Germany, even went as far as to label the period
of rabbinic Judaism as “Spätjudentum” (“late Judaism”), a term clearly meant
in a derogatory sense to mark the end of a genuine Judaism that was ultimately
superseded by Christianity.
The tendency towards emphasizing diversity and multiplicity gained mo-
mentum in the second half of the twentieth century, primarily in North Ameri-
can scholarship. And it is almost ironic that the most outspoken and influential
agent of the idea of a variety of Judaisms as opposed to a uniform Judaism was
a scholar not of Second Temple literature in the narrower sense of the word,
but of rabbinic Judaism: Jacob Neusner (1932–2016), the “most published man
in human history,” as the New York Times called him.11 Neusner was a colorful
personality, to say the least, and, to quote Schiller’s Wallenstein: “the view of
his character sways to and fro in history.” Quite a few people have had their
personal history with Neusner, and I am definitely among them. Neusner de-
veloped his theory of the many Judaisms in a constant dialogue with and in-
fluenced by no less colorful a scholar than the historian of religion Jonathan
Z. Smith (d. 2017), and it is probably the theoretical underpinning provided by

7 S. Schwartz, “How Many Judaisms Were There? A Critique of Neusner and Smith on

Definition and Mason and Boyarin on Categorization,” Journal of Ancient Judaism 2 (2011),
208–238.
8 E. Kautzsch, Die Apokryphen und Pseudepigraphen des Alten Testaments, 2 vols. (Tü­

bin­gen: Mohr Siebeck, 1900).

9 R. H. Charles, The Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha of the Old Testament in English, 2

vols. (Oxford: Clarendon, 1913).

10 G. F. Moore, Judaism in the First Centuries of the Christian Era: The Age of the Tanna­

im, 3 vols. (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1927–1930).

11 S. Magid, “Is It Time to Take the Most-Published Man in Human History Seriously,”

Tablet Magazine, August 23, 2016, https://www.tabletmag.com/sections/arts-letters/articles/

take-jacob-neusner-seriously.
12 Peter Schäfer

Smith that paved the way for a broader reception of Neusner’s ideas in North
America and beyond.12 In his essay “Fences and Neighbors: Some Contours
of Early Judaism,” Smith had marked the sea change in the field of religious
studies as follows:
As the anthropologist has begun to abandon a functionalist view of culture as a well-articu-
lated, highly integrated mechanism and has slowly turned to accepting the sort of image set
forth by F. E. Williams of culture as a “heap of rubbish,” a “tangle,” a “hotch-potch,” but
partially organized, so we in religious studies must set about a similar dismantling of the
old theological and imperialistic impulse toward totalization, unification, and integration.13

Neusner would never have said this in these words, but he was definitely deter-
mined to dismantle the old theological impulse (probably less the imperialistic
one) toward totalization, unification, and integration. He not only propagated
many Judaisms, but carried this view ever further to the extreme by arguing,
in the words of Seth Schwartz, “for the nearly monadic self-enclosure of the
various Judaisms.” 14 During his long and tiresome analyses of many texts of
rabbinic Judaism he came to the conclusion that each and every one of them
presents a self-enclosed and quasi-autonomous entity, a “system” or rather a
“Judaic system” or “Judaism,” and that it is the combination of all these “sys-
tems” that we call “rabbinic Judaism.” First, I was impressed by these analyses,
in particular as long as they were devoted to the system of the Mishnah, just as
I was and still am impressed by Smith’s furor against totalization, unification,
and integration, not least since I had come to similar conclusions through my
work on Hekhalot literature. It made sense to me that the Mishnah has a taxon-
omy that is different from, for example, the midrashim – yet, to give another
example, not so much from the Tosefta, and I was less prepared to follow him
when he insisted that the Tosefta is essentially a commentary on the Mishnah.
In 1984, for the first time I gave a lecture about the status quaestionis of re-
search on rabbinic literature,15 in which I extended my observations about the

Suggested by Schwartz, “How Many Judaisms” (see n. 7), 211 f.

12

J. Z. Smith, “Fences and Neighbors: Some Contours of Early Judaism,” in Approaches

13

to Ancient Judaism, ed. W. S. Green, vol. 2 (Missoula, Mont.: Scholars Press, 1980), 1–25,
here 20; repr. in id., Imagining Religion: From Babylon to Jonestown (Chicago: University
of Chicago Press, 1982), 1–18, here 18.
14 Schwartz, “How Many Judaisms” (see n. 7), 212.
15 Published two years later: P. Schäfer, “Research into Rabbinic Literature: An Attempt to

Define the Status Quaestionis,” JJS 37 (1986), 139–152. The article triggered a debate with
Chaim Milikowsky; see his “The Status Quaestionis of Research in Rabbinic Literature,”
JJS 39 (1988), 201–211, and my response “Once again the Status Quaestionis of Research
in Rabbinic Literature: An Answer to Chaim Milikowsky,” JJS 40 (1989), 89–94. My orig-
inal article and Milikowsky’s response were reprinted in Rabbinic Texts and the History of
Late-Roman Palestine, ed. M. Goodman and P. Alexander (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2010), 51–65, 67–78, and a response by the two of us, delivered at a conference of the British
Academy, was added: P. Schäfer and Ch. Milikowsky, “Current Views on the Editing of the
Rab­binic Texts of Late Antiquity: Reflections on a Debate after Twenty Years,” ibid., 79–88.
 Judaism or Judaisms 13

Hekhalot literature to rabbinic literature proper and questioned Neusner’s con-

cept of the individual works of rabbinic literature as stable and almost monad-
ic entities, providing fixed frames of reference “within which closed systems
can be worked out and placed in chronological relation to one another.” 16 My
main examples were the relationship between Mishnah and Tosefta (a detailed
comparison of individual tractates of the Tosefta reveals that the relationship is
more complex than Neusner assumed and different even with respect to differ-
ent tractates), the two major manuscripts of Midrash Genesis Rabbah (which
are sometimes so dissimilar that what I called the “redactional identity of the
work” becomes debatable), and the relationship between Genesis Rabbah and
the Jerusalem Talmud (which on closer examination makes the boundaries of
these two “works” highly disputable). Neusner regarded this as a fundamental
attack on his newest approach to rabbinic literature (after his earlier biograph-
ical approach had failed) and poured out his wrath not only on me but also on
some of my students and on my German teacher Arnold Goldberg (who had
nothing to do with this, but whose attempt to apply modern linguistic methods
to rabbinic literature made him, in Neusner’s eyes, our model and master in our
conspiracy of dissolving the stability of rabbinic “works”).17 He did so in an ar-
ticle published in 2004 under the title “Three Generations of Post-War Study of
Judaism in Germany: Goldberg, Schaefer, Houtman and Becker and the Demo-
lition of Historical Judaism.” 18 I am not going to discuss this article here in any
detail and will limit myself to quoting the abstract summarizing the content:
German academic anti-Judaism – theological contempt for the religion set forth out of Scrip-
ture by the rabbinic sages of antiquity – begins with Martin Luther and survives the Third
Reich. That is shown by the nihilistic representation of Rabbinic Judaism in post World-
War II German scholarship, which denies to Judaism a determinate textual corpus, a syn-
chronic venue, a diachronic context. Three generations – Arnold M. Goldberg, his disciple,
Peter Schaefer, and Schaefer’s disciples, Alberdina Houtman and Hans-Juergen Becker –
have systematically denied to Judaism the possibility of historical study as a culture in dia-
logue with a particular social order. The outcome of the German academic tradition is a reli-
gion without determinate texts, religious texts out of all context and texts without contents:
the nullification of Judaism as a fact of history and culture.

There lies a certain irony in the fact that the most fervent propagator of the idea
of many Judaisms in antiquity, including, to emphasize this again, rabbinic
Judaism, accuses the “Goldberg-Schaefer School,” as he later calls us, of frag-
menting rabbinic Judaism up to the point of its nullification. I did indeed go
a step further than Neusner when I questioned the notion of stable boundaries

16 Schäfer, “Research into Rabbinic Literature” (see n. 15), 150.

17 That Goldberg’s linguistic turn characterized the last phase of his scholarly work and
that my students and I never followed him in this direction did not bother Neusner either.
18 J. Neusner, “Three Generations of Post-War Study of Judaism in Germany: Goldberg,

Schaefer, Houtman and Becker and the Demolition of Historical Judaism,” Religion 34
(2004), 315–330.
14 Peter Schäfer

between the works of rabbinic literature (although, to be sure, I never main-

tained that this applies in the same manner to all rabbinic works) and by this
challenged Neusner’s last resort of “determinate texts,” islands, so to speak, in
the vast ocean of rabbinic literature that can be visited, explored, and compared
with each other. However, I did not do so in order to further fragmentize or at-
omize (one of the words he uses) the construct of a larger Judaism. Quite the
contrary: works with unstable and overlapping boundaries do not necessarily
dissolve in formless chaos (or a “heap of rubbish,” “tangle,” or “hotch-potch,”
as Jonathan Smith calls it), but need “something” broader or more compre-
hensive (whatever that is) that tends again toward unification and integration.
Ultimately, I would thus conclude this part of my presentation as follows: The
dynamic notion of “Judaisms” set up against the all too self-assured and stat-
ic idea of the one and only “Judaism” can serve as a useful heuristic tool to
understand the complexities of our field and to recognize the pitfalls in our
endeavor to discuss them, but the invention of “Judaisms” is certainly not the
philosopher’s stone that solves the problems of our profession once and for all.
With this, however, the debate on Judaism and Judaisms is by no means
over. In 2007, Josephus scholar Steve Mason published an article titled “Jews,
Judaeans, Judaizing, Judaism: Problems of Categorization in Ancient Histo-
ry,” 19 in which he revived the earlier debate in new and more far-reaching
terms. Mason is, as he describes himself on the website of Toronto’s York Uni-
versity, a “historian of the ancient eastern Mediterranean world, under Roman
rule,” 20 with, I might add, a strong philological bias; Seth Schwartz somewhat
pointedly calls him a “straightforward positivistic empiricist.” 21 Briefly sum-
marized, Mason takes the earlier notion of “Judaisms” as opposed to “Judaism”
much further and argues that there was not only no such thing as a normative
“Judaism” or many different “Judaisms,” but that there was no “Judaism” at all
in antiquity, if we understand Judaism, as we usually do, as a religion. Accord-
ing to Mason the reason for this is that there was no such thing as “religion” in
antiquity. The Greek, Latin, and Hebrew terms used in our sources – Ἰουδαῖος,
Judaeus, and ‫ – יהודי‬are not to be translated as “Jew,” but simply mean “Ju-
dean,” that is, a member of an ethnic group, the ethnos Judea. Thus, he con-
cludes that “there was no category of ‘Judaism’ in the Graeco-Roman world,
no ‘religion’ too, and that the Ioudaioi were understood until late antiquity as
an ethnic group comparable to other ethnic groups, with their distinctive laws,
traditions, customs, and God. They were indeed Judaeans.” 22

19 S. Mason, “Jews, Judaeans, Judaizing, Judaism: Problems of Categorization in Ancient

History,” JSJ 38 (2007), 457–512.

20 Since 2015 he has held the Chair in Ancient Mediterranean Religions and Cultures at

the Faculty of Theology and Religious Studies of the University of Groningen, The Nether-
lands.
21 Schwartz, “How Many Judaisms” (see n. 7), 222.
 Judaism or Judaisms 15

The linguistic evidence is further complicated by the fact that the Second
Book of the Maccabees introduces the Greek term Ἰουδαϊσμός for the first time
as a counter term to Ἑλληνισμός, the fashionable Greek way of life adopted
by the “Hellenists,” the Hellenistic Jewish fraction in Jerusalem which was so
eager to participate in the competitions in the gymnasium.23 Accordingly, as a
countermeasure against Ἑλληνισμός, Judas Maccabee admitted to his rebel-
lious army only those who “had remained ἐν τῷ Ἰουδαϊσμῷ,” 24 and “in former
times, when there was no mingling with the Gentiles,” the elder Razis “had
been accused of Ἰουδαϊσμός, and he had most zealously risked body and life on
its behalf.” 25 Mason argues that these two opposing terms should not be trans-
lated as “Hellenism” versus “Judaism” or “Greek way of life” versus “Jewish
way of life,” but rather that both terms are to be understood in a dynamic sense
as the activities of “Hellenizing” and “Judaizing,” the promotion of Greek and
Jewish ways of life.26
Although Mason is correct in pointing out that the term Ἰουδαϊσμός some-
times can have a dynamic and active connotation, this does not apply to all
the, incidentally very few, attestations in pre-Christian literature (in the case of
the elder Razis this may be true, but in the case of Judas Maccabee’s army it
doesn’t make much sense to understand those who “had remained ἐν τῷ Ἰου­
δαϊσμῷ” as people who “had remained in Judaizing” instead of those who “had
remained in Judaism”). Secondly and more importantly, even if Ἰουδαϊσμός
has an active component, this activity is always directed towards something,
namely, the distinctively Jewish way of life. As John J. Collins has put it:
But even if we grant the active connotation of these words [Ἑλληνισμός and Ἰουδαϊσμός],
they can hardly be emptied of cultural content. Hellēnismos still implies a concept of an
entire culture that was being advocated, and conversely Ioudaismos is not simply agitation,
even anti-Hellenistic agitation, but the advancement of the ancestral way of life of the Ju-
deans.27

Mason’s claim that there was no “Judaism” in antiquity since there was no “re-
ligion,” I would argue, is a meaningless and empty reduction of both “Judaism”
and “religion.” Mason seems to belong to those classical philologists who are
driven by an antireligious or antitheological bias because they are motivated by
a modern, post-Enlightenment idea of religion as something entirely separated
from the ethnic identity of the group practicing it.28 True, “no one should ever

22 Mason, “Jews, Judaeans, Judaizing, Judaism” (see n. 19), 457 (the abstract of his ex-

tensive paper).
23 2 Macc 4:13 ff.
24 2 Macc 8:1.
25 2 Macc 14:38.
26 Mason, “Jews, Judaeans, Judaizing, Judaism” (see n. 19), 467 f.
27 J. J. Collins, The Invention of Judaism: Torah and Jewish Identity from Deuteronomy to

Paul (Oakland, Calif.: University of California Press, 2017), 13.

28 Mason, “Jews, Judaeans, Judaizing, Judaism” (see n. 19), 480 ff.
16 Peter Schäfer

uncritically apply the category ‘religion’ to the Jews,” as Seth Schwartz cau-
tions us,29 but even more true, no one should ever apply the modern perception
of religion to the Jews of antiquity. The distinction between “ethnos” and “re-
ligion” is a modern development, and in Judaism it was Moses Mendels­sohn
in particular who, in his famous pamphlet Jerusalem,30 introduced a strict and
clear-cut separation between “state” and “religion” and reduced the essence
of Judaism to the “ceremonial law” with its peculiar customs and habits. This
artificial distinction did not last long even in modern Judaism, not least in Men-
delssohn’s own family. Certainly in antiquity, but also in most of its history
up until the present, Judaism was always both an ethnicity and a religion – an
“ethno-religion” as Shaye Cohen has called it 31 – suspended between the two
extreme poles of the spectrum, sometimes gravitating more to one of the two
poles and sometimes more to the other, but rarely – if ever – completely aban-
doning one in favor of the other.32 Hence, the terminological debate on the
translation of Ἰουδαῖος kicked off by Mason is misleading and does not help us
understand the category of “Judaism” in antiquity.
Another question that also arises from the debate on “Judaism” in antiqui-
ty is whether Judaism turned from ethnicity into religion at a certain point in
history. I am not going to discuss this here in detail but will confine myself to
confessing that I regard this question as equally fruitless as the debate about
the translation of Ἰουδαῖος. Shaye Cohen has argued that the shift from ethnos
to religion was marked by the possibility of conversion, that is, the implemen-
tation of a ritual by which a non-Jew could enter the community of the Jews.
Since this possibility (not only for individuals but even for entire nations such
as the Idumeans and Itureans) is aptly documented in the Maccabean period,
we can firmly date it.33 I fully agree that conversion is a characteristic feature
of religion and does not simply denote the transition from one ethnos to anoth-
29Schwartz, “How Many Judaisms” (see n. 7), 228.
30M. Mendelssohn, Jerusalem oder über religiöse Macht und Judenthum (Berlin: Mau­
rer, 1783).
31 S. Cohen, The Beginnings of Jewishness: Boundaries, Varieties, Uncertainties (Berke-

ley: University of California Press, 1999), 109–139. See also C. Baker, “A ‘Jew’ by Any Oth-
er Name?,” Journal of Ancient Judaism 2 (2011), 153–180, here 172: “But in what universe
is the English term ‘Jew(s)’ not also an ‘ethnic’ signifier? Certainly not in the one we current-
ly inhabit and for which historiographers attempt to produce coherent knowledge about the
past. By what calculations or justifications is the term made to inhere exclusively in the ‘re-
ligion’ of ‘Judaism’? […] In other words, how was or is Jewish ‘religion’ ever not ‘ethnic’?”
32 See also Schwartz, “How Many Judaisms” (see n. 7), 223, 230, 232, aptly summarized

on p. 238: “Judaism cannot be now and never could be subordinated to the categories of re-
ligion or ethnicity or nation or culture. […] it has always been all of them, though, […] not
always in precisely the same proportions.”
33 S. Cohen, “Religion, Ethnicity, and ‘Hellenism’ in the Emergence of Jewish Identity

in Maccabean Palestine,” in Religion and Religious Practice in the Seleucid Kingdom, ed.
P. Bilde et al. (Aarhus: Aarhus University Press, 1990), 204–223. He further developed his
ideas in his monograph mentioned in n. 31.
 Judaism or Judaisms 17

er, but I do not think that conversion is the first religious component of Juda-
ism, that is, the component that for the first time marks the transition of ancient
Judaism from ethnos to religion. Judaism was no doubt an “ethno-religion”
long before the Maccabean period, simply because the ethnic part cannot be
neatly separated from the religious part and vice versa. The fact that conver-
sion becomes highly visible in the Maccabean period does not mean that it was
invented there, and even less that there was no religion in Judaism before the
Maccabees.
In the last part of my paper I will focus on certain features regarded as cen-
tral to ancient Judaism from within as well as from without, that is, from the
point of view of observers from other nations, in particular Greeks and Ro-
mans. If we look at the available evidence, it immediately becomes clear that
it is almost always the Torah that stands at the center of the taxonomy of what
constitutes Judaism. As we have seen, in Josephus’s triad “One God – One
Temple – One People” the Torah (the Law, in Greek: νόμος) forms the cantus
firmus of everything he describes: the great lawgiver Moses gave the Law to
his people who served the one God in his Temple and duly followed all the
laws and precepts laid down in the Torah. Scholars are divided on the ques-
tion of when the Torah gained the status of a more or less uncontested identity
marker of Judaism, but I think all agree that the authority of the Torah is crucial
for the reform of Ezra and Nehemiah during the Persian period after the return
from exile. According to the Book of Nehemiah, the priest Ezra brought the
“book of the Law of Moses” in a solemn ceremony before the assembly of the
people gathered in Jerusalem and read from it in front of the people:
He read from it facing the square before the Water Gate from early morning until midday, in
presence of the men and the women and those who could understand; and the ears of all the
people were attentive to the book of the law (‫)ספר התורה‬. The scribe Ezra stood on a wooden
platform that had been made for the purpose. […] And Ezra opened the book in the sight of
all people; and when he opened it, all the people stood up. Then Ezra blessed the Lord, the
great God, and all the people answered Amen, Amen, lifting up their hands. Then they bowed
their heads and worshiped the Lord, with their faces to the ground.34

Here the Law of Moses is publicly installed as “the normative expression of

the Judean way of life” 35 in both its political and religious components: it is the
Law of the ethnos of the people of Judea that is ordained by God and accept-
ed by the people in a thoroughly religious ceremony. Whatever the historical
reliability of the scene described in the Book of Nehemiah, from now on the
Torah becomes the ancestral Law of the Jews, in the Hellenistic period called
τὰ πάτρια νόμιμα, “the laws of (their) fathers.” When Antiochus III, prede-
cessor of the infamous Antiochus IV Epiphanes who triggered the Maccabean
revolt, took possession of the province of the Jews, he granted them the per-
mission: “All the members of the (Jewish) nation (ἔθνος) shall have a form of
34 Neh 8:3–6.
35 Collins, The Invention of Judaism (see n. 27), 60.
18 Peter Schäfer

government in accordance with the laws of their fathers (κατὰ τοὺς πατρίους
νόμους),” 36 and this can refer only to the Torah of Moses in its political and
religious dimensions. It was precisely this permission whose abrogation the
Jewish Hellenists in Jerusalem requested from Antiochus IV:
They [the Hellenistic party] informed him [the king] that they wished to abandon the laws
of their fathers (τοὺς πατρίους νόμους) and the corresponding constitution (πολιτεία) and to
follow the king’s laws and adopt the Greek way of life (τὴν Ἡλληνικὴν πολιτείαν).37

But how common and generally accepted was the Torah in this religious-po-
litical sense in antiquity? I will discuss two extremely different examples, the
Jews of Elephantine and rabbinic Judaism after the destruction of the Tem-
ple. Elephantine was a military colony protecting the southern border of Egypt
against the Nubians. Probably as early as around 650 BCE, Jewish mercenar-
ies joined the colony and received permission by the Egyptians to build their
own Temple, in which sacrifices were offered to the Jewish God, who is called
YHW (Yahu). We know all this from the discovery of a hoard of Aramaic pa-
pyri dated to the fifth century BCE. Their cult apparently included also female
deities, among them Anat-Yahu, which supports the theory that the Yahu of
Elephantine had a consort. Hence, the Jewish cult practiced at Elephantine is
anything but normative, which is also evident from the fact that the Jews of
Elephantine had a Temple cult, more than a hundred years after the Josianic re-
form with the centralization of the cult of the one God in his only Temple in Je-
rusalem and precisely at the time when Ezra and Nehemiah tried to implement
the Torah as the universally valid norm for all the Jews in the Persian Empire.
Of particular interest for our purpose is the so-called Passover papyrus, a
letter (dated 419 BCE) containing a decree of the Persian king Darius con-
cerning the celebration of Passover, conveyed to the Jewish community at Ele-
phantine by a certain Hananiah. We do not know who this Hananiah is, but he
seems to be some official of the province of Judah, possibly even the Hananiah
who was the commander of the fortress in Jerusalem and may have replaced
Nehemiah as governor of Judah.38 In any case, the main purpose of the letter
was to communicate the correct dates for the celebration of Passover and the
Festival of Unleavened Bread (Mazzoth) according to the legislation of the To-
rah. The letter also hints at some unspecified conflict with the Egyptian priests
of Khnum, the ram-god and official lord of the region whose Temple was ad-
jacent to the Jewish Temple. We do not know what triggered the conflict, but
it may well have been the sacrifice of the paschal lamb or ram 39 as part of the
Passover ritual that displeased the Egyptian priests. And we do know from

Josephus, A. J. 12.142.
36

Josephus, A. J. 12.240.
37
38 Neh 7:2; see P. Schäfer, Judeophobia: Attitudes toward the Jews in the Ancient World

(Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1997), 125.

39 Num 28:19.
 Judaism or Judaisms 19

another letter that nine years after the Passover letter, open conflict broke out
and the Jewish Temple was destroyed by the Egyptians. However, the Persian
government backed the Jews and punished the Egyptians along with their Per-
sian accomplices and, this is most remarkable for our context, the Elephantine
Jews turned to the Persian governor of Judah and the Jerusalem high priest to
request permission to rebuild their Temple, that is, they asked the Persian and
Jewish authorities of the site where the allegedly sole Jewish Temple existed.
Their first petition remained unanswered, and only after a second petition was
their request granted in a memorandum issued jointly by the governor of Judah
and the son of the governor of Samaria. I am not going to address the question
of why the governor of Samaria is involved here; for our purpose it is crucial
what exactly the permission entailed: the Jews of Elephantine were allowed
to rebuild their Temple “on its site as it was formerly, and they shall offer the
meal-offering and the incense upon that altar just as formerly was done.” 40
This permission is odd – a Jewish Temple with meal-offering and incense,
but without sacrifices – and scholars are divided about what caused this restric-
tion: a concession to the sensibilities of the priests of the Egyptian ram-god
Khnum or to the claim of the Jerusalem priests that their Temple is the only
legitimate Temple of the Jewish ethnos. I believe both factors played a role
here. With the reduced Jewish Temple cult at Elephantine, the Persian gover-
nor of Judah hoped to resolve the long-standing conflict between the Jews of
Elephantine and the Egyptians and at the same time to support the authority
of the Jews of Jerusalem. In any case, it becomes clear from the whole affair
that the Jews of Elephantine regarded themselves and were regarded by their
Jerusalem brethren as members of the Judean ethnos – though with quite dif-
ferent customs and a different understanding of their Jewish identity. We do not
know much about their other customs and ritual practices – they seem to have
celebrated the Sabbath, yet no mention of circumcision is made in the extant
documents – however, I caution against rashly concluding that they did not
have a copy of the Torah in their possession.41 First, what has survived from
the Jewish colony at Elephantine is certainly by accident, and we cannot con-
clude from the remaining evidence what was not part of their Jewish way of
life. And second, the process of establishing the Torah of Ezra and Nehemiah
as the legitimate Torah of the Jewish ethnos was a complicated process and
was certainly not completed at all Jewish communities simultaneously; in other
words, the Jewish Temple at Elephantine proves that different perceptions of
the essence and range of the “ancestral laws” still existed.
Now I will offer a few words about the concept of the Torah in rabbinic
Judaism, the Judaism guided by the rabbis as the self-appointed leaders of the
Jewish people after the destruction of the Temple (70 CE) and after the loss of
political autonomy. There can be no doubt that the rabbis still regarded what
40 Schäfer, Judeophobia (see n. 38), 131.
41 Collins, The Invention of Judaism (see n. 27), 49.
20 Peter Schäfer

was left of their Israel as an ethnos, the nation of Israel, distinguished from
other nations, the “nations of the world,” as they called them. And there can be
no doubt either that the rabbis were well aware of the fact that they were set
apart from the other nations by a way of life commanded them by their God –
who was different from all the other gods of the nations – in the Torah, hence
by a “religion.” Since there was no longer any Temple cult, the Torah was ele-
vated to a hitherto unprecedented status. Following the Torah according to the
instruction of the rabbis became the predominant identity marker of Judaism,
unfolded and detailed in the rabbis’ vast literary output (Mishnah, Talmud,
Midrash).
In the famous tractate Pirqe Avot (“Sayings of the Fathers”), usually regard-
ed as formulating the very essence of rabbinic Judaism (whether historically
correct or not), the rabbis establish their understanding of the Torah’s transmis-
sion from the moment of revelation:
Moses received Torah from (Mount) Sinai and transmitted it to Joshua. Joshua to the Elders,
the Elders to the prophets, and the prophets transmitted it to the men of the Great Assembly.42

In other words, Moses received the Torah on Mount Sinai, presumably from
God, and opened a chain of transmission: from him to his successor Joshua
(who led the people of Israel into the Promised Land), to the Elders (the lead-
ers of the tribes), to the prophets, and to the members of the Great Assembly
(whatever institution this is). The chain of transmission then continues with
some mysterious, historically uncertain individuals, until it reaches the post-70
rabbis and climaxes in R. Yehudah ha-Nasi, the Patriarch of the house of Gam-
liel and the editor of the Mishnah (around 200 CE). What is conspicuously
absent from this chain is the priesthood with Aaron at the top. And this is
certainly not by coincidence: The rabbis establish themselves as the exclusive
heirs of Moses who have superseded the priests. To be sure, the priests still
exist, but they do not play any significant role; the Torah with all its implica-
tions is the Torah of the rabbis. And this bold claim is by no means expressed
only in Pirqe Avot; in fact, I would maintain that it imbues all their writings.
This is not to say that the Mishnah and the other rabbinic texts do not mention
the priests and the laws governing the Temple cult. On the contrary, they do,
and the rabbis duly expect the rebuilding of the Temple. But they were very
patient with regard to this expectation, to say the least, and quite happy with
the leading role they were gradually and ever more successfully acquiring. And
I do not think that the future Temple cult, reserved for the end of days, could
ever be properly organized according to the rules preserved in rabbinic litera-
ture. Quite the opposite, I have argued elsewhere 43 that precisely by discussing

m. ’Avot 1:1.
42

P. Schäfer, “Rabbis and Priests, or: How to Do Away with the Glorious Past of the Sons
43

of Aaron,” in Antiquity in Antiquity: Jewish and Christian Pasts in the Greco-Roman World,
ed. G. Gardner and K. Osterloh, TSAJ 123 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 155–172.
 Judaism or Judaisms 21

the Temple laws the rabbis made clear that they, and not the priests, are now
the masters of the Torah, including the precepts governing the Temple cult.
Extending their authority over the Torah in the widest possible sense, it is the
rabbis and their interpretation of the Torah (and not Josephus’s) that succeeded
in shaping Judaism up until the modern period, surviving even Enlightenment
and secularization.
The concept of Torah as an identity marker is closely linked to the idea of the
one and only Jewish God. I am not going to address here the thorny question
of when and how this idea became the norm – if it ever prevailed – but there
can be no doubt that the exile played an important role in consolidating it and
that in the Hellenistic period it was more or less taken for granted. When the
Hellenistic party in Jerusalem tried to reshape the Temple cult, they aimed at
identifying the unique Jewish God (often described as unknown, invisible, and
aniconic) with the Highest Heaven and the Zeus Olympios, thereby redeem-
ing him from his Jewish characteristics and assigning him a firm place in the
Greek Pantheon. As early as around 300 BCE the Greek historian Heca­taeus of
Abdera wrote about the Jews that they “had no images whatsoever of the gods
made for them, being of the opinion that God is not in human form” and con-
cluded from this and from the Jewish sacrifices that their “way of life […] was
somewhat unsocial and hostile to foreigners (ἀπάνθρωπόν τινα καὶ μισόξενον
βίον).” 44 Misanthropy (μισανθρωπία) and xenophobia (μισοξενία), based on
their belief in one God and on their religious customs, would become the trade-
mark of the Jews according to the Greeks and later on the Romans. The no-
tion of an aniconic God, incomprehensible for the Greeks and Romans, led to
all kinds of speculations, among them the offensive idea that the Jews in fact
worshiped an ass in their Temple and were covering up this detestable custom
through the myth of an invisible God. This legend appears around 200 BCE
and finds its malicious climax in the version transmitted by Diodorus Siculus,
the first-century BCE Greek compiler of earlier historical writings. According
to Diodorus:
Antiochus [IV], called Epiphanes, on defeating the Jews had entered the innermost sanctuary
of the god’s Temple [in Jerusalem], where it was lawful for the priests alone to enter. Finding
there a marble statue of a heavily bearded man seated on an ass, with a book in his hands, he
supposed it to be an image of Moses, the founder of Jerusalem and organizer of the nation,
the man, moreover, who had ordained for the Jews their misanthropic and lawless customs.
And since Epiphanes was shocked by such misanthropy against all humankind, he had set
himself to break down their traditional practices.45

Similar obnoxious legends developed around the alleged xenophobia of the

Jews, and here it is again Antiochus IV around whom these legends were cre-

44 Hecataeus, Aegyptiaca, cited in Diodorus Siculus 40.3.4; cf. Schäfer, Judeophobia (see

n. 38), 35.
45 Diodorus Siculus 34–35.1.3.
22 Peter Schäfer

ated and again Apion who transmitted them.46 According to this legend Antio-
chus did not find Moses in the Temple sitting on an ass, but a man sitting before
a table laden with the most lavish and delicious food. The man told him that
he was a Greek, captured by the Jews, locked up in their Temple and forced to
eat as much as he could in order to be fattened according to the “unutterable
law of the Jews” (legem ineffabilem Judaeorum). When he was fat enough,
they would kill him, “sacrifice his body with their customary ritual,” partake
of his flesh, and swear an “oath of hostility to the Greeks” (ut inimicitas contra
Grae­cos ha­berent). The story concludes with the Greek telling the king that the
day of his slaughter had almost arrived and imploring him to rescue him and
“to defeat this Jewish plot upon his life-blood.” It goes without saying that the
king immediately took action, rescued the poor Greek and issued his decrees
persecuting the Jews and putting an end to this hateful people once and for all.
The motif of “cannibalistic conspiracy” that started with the Jews would have
a long history – most famous is probably the coniuratio Catilinae, the conspir-
acy of Catiline – and would later be transferred to the Christians.
Among the specific Jewish customs, it is the triad of circumcision, Sabbath,
and abstinence from pork that constitutes the most visible and best document-
ed boundary marker of the Jews in their relationship to other nations. All three
customs are ethno-religious markers in the sense discussed above; all three
are of different origin but became the most significant identity markers in the
Hellenistic period.
I begin with circumcision. Within the tension between ethnos and religion,
circumcision is the strongest ethnic boundary marker, as the Bible explicitly
says: “If any male who is uncircumcised fails to circumcise the flesh of his
foreskin, that person shall be cut off / excised (‫ )כרת‬from his kin; he has bro-
ken my covenant” (Gen 17:14). But since it is a ritual sealing the covenant of
God with Abraham and the people procreated by him, it is at the same time
thoroughly religious. The Greeks disapproved of circumcision, and it was one
of the major goals of the Jewish Hellenists in Jerusalem to abolish it. Since
the athletic games in the stadium, a major element of the Greek way of life,
were held naked, the Jewish Hellenists even went so far as to undergo surgery
aimed at restoring their foreskin, a procedure called epispasmos: “So they built
a gymnasium in Jerusalem, according to Gentile custom,” says the author of
the First Book of the Maccabees, “and removed the marks of circumcision, and
abandoned the holy covenant.” 47 Accordingly, the prohibition of circumcision
played an important role among the decrees issued by Antiochus IV.48 Uncir-
cumcised boys were forcibly circumcised,49 and women who had their children

46 Josephus, C. Ap. 2.91–96; cf. Schäfer, Judeophobia (see n. 38), 62 f.

47 1 Macc 1:14 f.; see also Josephus, A. J. 12.241.
48 1 Macc 1:48.
49 1 Macc 2:46.
 Judaism or Judaisms 23

circumcised were put to death.50 The Second Book of the Maccabees tells the
gruesome story of two women who had circumcised their children: “They pub-
licly paraded them around the city, with their babies hanging at their breasts,
and then hurled them down headlong from the wall.” 51
Hence it comes as no surprise that the Greeks and Romans regarded cir-
cumcision as the most prominent identity marker of the Jews. When Emperor
Domitian implemented the harsher enforcement of the levy of the fiscus Ju­
daicus, he had men publicly examined who were suspected of avoiding pay-
ment of the tax. “I recall being present in my youth,” remembers the Roman
historian Suetonius, “when the person of a man ninety years old was examined
before the procurator and a very crowded court, to see whether he was circum-
cised.” 52 The historian who, in his famous digression on the Jews, “most vehe-
mently and aggressively connects circumcision and Jewish separateness” 53 is
Tacitus (d. 120 CE). The Jews, as he summarizes their “base and abominable
customs,” eat and sleep apart from us Romans, and they “adopted circumcision
to distinguish themselves from other peoples by this difference. Those who are
converted to their ways follow the same practice, and the earliest lesson they
receive is to despise the gods, to disown their country, and to regard their par-
ents, children, and brothers as of little account.” 54
The Sabbath, the day of rest, has its origin – according to the priestly source
of the Bible (P) – in the act of creation: when God had finished the creation
of heaven and earth, he rested on the seventh day (Gen 2:2). In the Decalogue
version of the biblical Book of Exodus this is the reason why Israel is expected
to rest on the seventh day as well (Exod 20:8–11). Whenever this law was in-
troduced, there can be no doubt that it gained importance during and after the
exile. And again, it reached its status as a significant identity marker during the
Hellenistic period. Accordingly, the profanation of the Sabbath was among An-
tiochus IV’s infamous decrees 55 and was eagerly heeded by the “enlightened”
Jewish Hellenists.56 At the very beginning of the Maccabean uprising against
the king’s and his Jewish accomplices’ policies, the insurgent Jews would be
slaughtered by the Seleucid army because they did not defend themselves on a
Sabbath. Mattathias and his friends, however, learned their lesson and decided:
“Let us fight against anyone who comes to attack us on the Sabbath day; let us
not all die as our kindred died in their hiding places.” 57

50 1 Macc 1:60.
51 2 Macc 6:10.
52 Suetonius, Dom. 12.2; cf. Schäfer, Judeophobia (see n. 38), 113.
53 Schäfer, Judeophobia (see n. 38), 98.
54 Tacitus, Hist. 5.5.2; cf. Schäfer, Judeophobia (see n. 38), 98.
55 1 Macc 1:46.
56 1 Macc 1:43.
57 1 Macc 2:41.
24 Peter Schäfer

The Greeks and Romans were well aware of this fatal Jewish obsession with
the Sabbath,58 but with the pragmatic change of heart of the Maccabees, the in-
dustrious Romans were more appalled by the alleged Jewish idleness reflected
in their day of rest. The Roman philosopher Seneca (d. 65 CE) complains “that
their practice [of the Sabbath] is inexpedient (inutiliter), because by introduc-
ing one day of rest in every seven they lose in idleness almost a seventh of their
life.” 59 And Tacitus tops this by saying: “They claim that they first chose to rest
on the seventh day (only) because that day ended their toils; but after a time
they were led by the charms of indolence (inertia) to give over the seventh year
[the so-called Sabbath year] as well to inactivity.” 60 And yet despite all these
negative connotations associated with Jewish customs – in particular the obser-
vance of Sabbath, the abstinence from pork, and circumcision – it was precise-
ly in the second half of the first century CE that Judaism gained considerable
appeal among educated Romans. In fact, it may well be that the blunt aversion
of Roman authors to the Jews and their strange customs was due in no small
part to increasing proselytizing tendencies in the Roman upper class. This is at
least how Juvenal, the last and greatest of the Roman satirists (d. 130 CE), sees
it, combining all the prominent identity markers of Judaism:
Some who have had a father who reveres the Sabbath,
worship nothing but the clouds, and the divinity of heavens,
and see no difference between eating swine’s flesh, from which their father abstained, and
that of man;
and in time they take to circumcision. […]
For all which the father was to blame, who gave up every seventh day to idleness,
keeping it apart from all the concerns of life.61

Here we have it all, Sabbath, the invisible God, abstinence from pork, circum-
cision. The starting point of the decline that has befallen the Roman nation,
threatening the validity of its ancestral laws, is the Sabbath’s power of attrac-
tion, and the end point of this fatal development is circumcision, the irrevers-
ible conversion to Judaism.
And finally, just a few words about the abstinence from pork, since in most
sources it is treated together with circumcision and the Sabbath. The prohibi-
tion of eating pork is emphasized in Deuteronomy (Deut 14:8) as well as in
the priestly source (Lev 11:7) and is again reinforced, as we could see already,
during the Hellenistic and Roman periods. Immediately after recounting the
story of Jewish ass worship, Diodorus goes on to report Antiochus IV’s imme-
diate actions against the misanthropic and xenophobic Jews:

58 Agatharchides of Cnidus, cited in Josephus, C. Ap. 1.209–211; cf. Schäfer, Judeophobia

(see n. 38), 83.

59 Quoted in Augustine, Civ. 6.11; cf. Schäfer, Judeophobia (see n. 38), 86.
60 Tacitus, Hist. 5.4.3; cf. Schäfer, Judeophobia (see n. 38), 87.
61 Juvenal, Sat. 14.96–106; cf. Schäfer, Judeophobia (see n. 38), 79.
 Judaism or Judaisms 25

He [Antiochus] sacrificed before the image of the founder [Moses sitting on an ass in the
Temple] and the open-air altar of the God a great sow, and poured its blood over them. Then,
having prepared its flesh, he ordered that their holy books, containing the xenophobic laws,
should be sprinkled with the broth of the meat; […] and that the high priest and the rest of
the Jews should be compelled to partake of the meat. Rehearsing all these events, his friends
strongly urged Antiochus to make an end of the race completely, or, failing that, to abolish
their laws and force them to change their ways.62

Eating pork is seen here as the most extreme perversion of the Jewish religion;
hence, once the Jews eat pork, they renounce their xenophobic and misanthrop-
ic laws and finally become like any other nation.63 Taken up by Apion, the Lat-
in satirists, and, most influentially, by Tacitus,64 the triad of the prohibition of
pork, the observance of the Sabbath, and circumcision as the most striking fea-
tures of the Jewish ethno-religion enters the canon of Western “civilization.”
Summarizing, I developed my topic in several steps. Having started with
Josephus’s vision of Jewish theocracy, I reviewed the growing tendency in
Jewish Studies scholarship in the second half of the twentieth century to ques-
tion the concept of a unified and integrated Judaism in antiquity. Primarily in
the United States a movement gained momentum that split Judaism into many
Judaisms. The most recent offshoot of this debate denied Judaism any religious
component and suggested that the Jews were just an ethnos and that therefore
Judaism or even Judaisms are meaningless terms. I argued strongly in favor of
Judaism denoting both an ethnicity and a religion (not only in antiquity but up
to the present). In the next step I surveyed several features central to ancient
Judaism: Torah (here I contrasted two different examples, Elephantine and rab-
binic Judaism), the Jewish God, and the often-combined triad of circumcision,
Sabbath, and abstinence from pork.
Looking from a bird’s eye view, we observe a growing trend moving from a
great diversity of competing features defining the self-image of ancient Juda-
ism towards ever more visible and accepted identity markers in the postexilic
period. This trend, however, was by no means a linear development from a cer-
tain point in history to its ultimate climax; rather, it was a complex movement
in various and competing directions. The original inner diversity was gradually
limited by internal conflicts and the perception of the Jews from the outside.
This process of narrowing down the identity markers gained force in the Helle-
nistic period, peaking during the Maccabean crisis. Another major step in this
development was reached after 70 CE under the impact of rabbinic Judaism.
So, in the end, Josephus got it right, at least in a certain sense. Under the last
representative of the dynasty of Flavian emperors, which was closely connect-

62 Diodorus Siculus 34–35.1.4 f.; cf. Schäfer, Judeophobia (see n. 38), 67.
63 Schäfer, Judeophobia (see n. 38), 67.
64 With a different emphasis: the Jews do not eat pork in remembrance of their expulsion

from Egypt, but by doing so “they commemorate and enforce their disastrous habits which
make them hateful to the gods of any civilized nation” (Schäfer, Judeophobia [see n. 38], 75).
26 Peter Schäfer

ed with the demise of Judaism as an autonomous political and religious entity,

he developed his ideal of a Jewish Temple state, governed by the Torah and the
priests. History has proved him wrong with regard to Temple and priests, but
his triad “One God – One Temple – One People” survived in its rabbinic inter-
pretation: “One God – One Torah – One People.”
 Debating Temple and Torah
in the Second Temple Period
Theological and Political Aspects
of the Final Redaction(s) of the Pentateuch1

Benedikt Hensel

1. Introduction
As recent scholarship has increasingly recognized, the exilic and early post­
exilic period has had a major impact on the theological and literary history of
the Hebrew Bible, while shaping other central identity markers, such as the
institution of the central temple and the Torah. Most research assumes that
Judean Golah groups primarily determined the historical-theological devel-
opments in this so-called formative period. It is within this period that Israel
develops – and here I am taking up the helpful distinction of Julius Wellhausen,
which he established in Prolegomena to the History of Israel 2 – from “ancient
Israel” of the preexilic monarchy to “Judaism” of the postexilic period, or – as
Reinhard G. Kratz has re-worded it in a modern adaptation of Wellhausen’s
approach – from “historical” to “biblical Israel.” 3
While I fully agree with the impact of the early postexilic period on these
formative processes – and with the general hermeneutical key that Wellhau-
sen provides us in his distinction of the two modes of Israel for the studies
of the Hebrew Bible –, I doubt the limitation to the Judean Golah. This is a
historical picture, which is clearly influenced by the interpretation of history
within the Hebrew Bible. A growing number of scholars has come to recognize
1 This article is the result of a broader project entitled “The History of the Pentateuch:

Combining Literary and Archaeological Approaches,” funded by the Swiss National Science
Foundation (Sinergia project CRSII1 160785). The project­– a joint venture of the universi-
ties of Zurich, Lausanne and Tel Aviv – is directed by Konrad Schmid (Zurich), Christophe
Ni­han and Thomas Römer (Lausanne), and Israel Finkelstein and Oded Lipschits (Tel Aviv).
I wish to thank Dr. Kenneth Brown (University of Mainz) for his helpful comments and for
improving my English.
2 See J. Wellhausen, Prolegomena to the History of Ancient History (Cleveland: World

Publishing Company, 1965).

3 See, e. g., R. G. Kratz, Historical and Biblical Israel, trans. P. M. Kurtz (Oxford: Oxford

University Press, 2015); id., The Composition of the Narrative Books of the Old Testament,
trans. J. Bowden (London: T & T Clark, 2005).
28 Benedikt Hensel

that a multiplicity of Yahwistic groups existed inside and outside Judah in the
postexilic period.4 The Yahwistic group in the province and region of Samaria,
with its cultic center at Mount Gerizim, is certainly the most prominent group.
These Samarian Yahwists – later known as “Samaritans” – have returned to
a position of focal interest in Hebrew Bible research in recent years. Signifi-
cant work along these lines includes the recent monographs on the Samaritans
by Mag­nar Kartveit (2009),5 Jan Dušek (2012),6 Gary N. Knoppers (2013),7
Rein­hard Pummer (2016),8 Raik Heckl (2016),9 Benedikt Hensel (2016),10 and
Da­ny Nocquet (2017),11 while a long-desired critical edition of the Samaritan
Pentateuch is currently under way under the responsibility of Stefan Schorch
(2018).12
Despite this growing sensibility towards the Samaritans in Biblical Studies,
little attention has been given to the role of this group during the formative pe­
4 On the phenomenon of Yahwistic diversity in the Second Temple period, see my article

“Yahwistic Diversity and the Hebrew Bible: State of the Field, Desiderata and Research
Perspectives in a Necessary Debate on the Formative Period of Judaism(s),” in Yahwistic Di­
versity and the Hebrew Bible: Tracing Perspectives of Group Identity from Judah, Samaria,
and the Diaspora in Biblical Traditions, ed. B. Hensel, D. Nocquet, and B. Adamczewski,
FAT 2 / 120 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2020), 1–44. For comprehensive overviews, see D. V.
Edelman, “Cultic Sites and Complexes beyond the Jerusalem Temple,” ibid., 82–103; P. R.
Davies, “Monotheism, Empire, and the Cult(s) of Yehud in the Persian Period,” in Religion in
the Achaemenid Persian Empire: Emerging Judaisms and Trends, ed. D. V. Edelman, A. Fitz-
patrick-McKinley, and P. Guillaume, Orientalische Religionen in der Anti­ke 17 (Tübingen:
Mohr Siebeck, 2016), 24–35; J. Frey, “Temple and Rival Temple: The Cases of Elephantine,
Mt. Gerizim, and Leontopolis,” in Gemeinde ohne Tempel: Zur Substitu­ie­rung und Transfor­
mation des Jerusalemer Tempels und seines Kults im Alten Testa­ment, Ju­den­tum und frühen
Christentum, ed. B. Ego, A. Lange, and P. Pilhofer, WUNT 118 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck,
1999), 171–203.
5 M. Kartveit, The Origin of the Samaritans, VTSup 128 (Leiden: Brill, 2009).
6 J. Dušek, Aramaic and Hebrew Inscriptions from Mt. Gerizim and Samaria between

Antiochus III and Antiochus IV Epiphanes, CHANE 54 (Leiden: Brill, 2012). Dušek concen-
trates primarily on the Gerizim inscriptions. In two of the study’s three chapters, however,
he seeks to identify the YHWH-worshipers of Mount Gerizim (pp. 65–118 [chap. 2]) and to
outline a history of the southern Levant between Antiochus III and Antiochus IV (pp. 119–­
151 [chap. 3]).
7 G. N. Knoppers, Jews and Samaritans: The Origins and History of Their Early Relations

(New York: Oxford University Press, 2013).

8 R. Pummer, The Samaritans: A Profile (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2016).
9 R. Heckl, Neuanfang und Kontinuität in Jerusalem: Studien zu den hermeneutischen

Stra­tegien im Esra-Nehemia-Buch, FAT 104 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016).

10 B. Hensel, Juda und Samaria: Zum Verhältnis zweier nach-exilischer Jahwismen, FAT

110 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016).

11 D. Nocquet, La Samarie, la Diaspora et l’achèvement de la Torah: Territorialités et

in­ternationalités dans l’Hexateuque, OBO 284 (Fribourg: Academic Press Fribourg; Göttin-
gen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2017).
12 The first volume of this edition has been published in 2018: S. Schorch, ed., The Samar­

itan Pentateuch: A Critical Editio Maior, vol. 3: Leviticus (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2018).
 Debating Temple and Torah in the Second Temple Period 29

riod.13 On the one hand, this may be due to the fact that compared with other
sources, evidence of the Samaritans is meager in the Hebrew Bible. Modern
scholarship has mainly followed the narration of Josephus and certain biblical
traditions – especially the Deuteronomistic and Chronistic views of history, in
which the history of Israel essentially takes place in Judah, with its exclusive
center in Jerusalem, while the territory of the former Northern Kingdom plays
no role after 722 and 587 BCE.14 On the other hand, most modern scholars still
suggest that there were serious religious conflicts and economic and political
rivalries between Judah and Samaria that covered the whole Second Temple
period – starting with the erection of the sanctuary on Mount Gerizim, which is
identified as rival sanctuary. Some biblical texts do imply such a scenario (such
as Ezra 4:1–5, 6 ff.; Neh 1–6; 2 Kgs 17:24–41),15 with Josephus’s Antiquitates 16
explicating it for the postexilic, especially for the Persian period.
All of this would seem to imply that there was little substantial contact be-
tween the groups – that is, that the Samarians were not involved in the exilic
and postexilic expansion of the biblical text.
In recent years, however, we have found ourselves in the fortunate position
of witnessing an extensive enlargement of the primary source material that
documents the culture of the Samarian region, largely due to the archaeologi-
cal excavations on Mount Gerizim,17 the discovery of Samarian coins from the
13 A few exceptions can be named here, however, esp. R. Heckl, “Die Rolle Samarias

bei der Entstehung des Judentums: Auf dem Weg zu einer neuen Sicht der nachexilischen
Ge­schichte Israels,” BZ 62 (2018), 1–31; and B. Hensel, “Die Bedeutung Samarias für die
formative Periode der alttestamentlichen Theologie- und Literaturgeschichte,” SJOT 32.1
(2018), 20–48, with several fundamental considerations on the possible significance of Sa-
maritanism and its possible influence in the formative period (both with discussion of recent
literature). See also the volume by M. Kartveit and G. N. Knoppers, eds., The Bible, Qumran,
and the Samaritans: Proceedings of the Research Group “Samaritan Studies” at IOSOT,
Stellenbosch 2016, Studia Samaritana 10 / SJ 104 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2018), that comprises
several in-depth studies on certain (postexilic) biblical texts showing possible Samarian in-
volvement.
14 It was already lamented by Weippert in 1993 that reconstructions of the history of

Israel in the twentieth century followed this specific biblical view, which he fittingly called
“Sub-Deuteronomism” (M. Weippert, “Geschichte Israels am Scheideweg,” TRu 58 [1993],
71–103, the term on p. 73). From today’s perspective one may also add the Chronistic view
amongst this reception history, which Schmid most recently termed “Sub-Chronicism” (cf.
K. Schmid, “Overcoming the Sub-Deuteronomism and Sub-Chronicism of Historiography in
Biblical Studies: The Case of the Samaritans,” in Kartveit and Knoppers, The Bible, Qumran,
and the Samaritan [see n. 13], 17–29, esp. 19).
15 For an overview of how these texts influenced tradition and research, see Hensel, Juda

und Samaria (see n. 10), 12 f. (with further literature).

16 For essential reading on this subject, see R. Pummer, The Samaritans in Flavius Jose­

phus, TSAJ 129 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009).

17 The most important publication volumes of the excavation: Y. Magen, H. Misgav, and

L. Tsfania, Mount Gerizim Excavations, vol. 1: The Aramaic, Hebrew and Samaritan In­
scriptions, trans. E. Levin and M. Guggenheimer, Judea and Samaria Publications 2 (Jerusa-
30 Benedikt Hensel

Persian period, the bullae and papyrus finds in Wadi ed-Daliyeh, Adam Zertal’s
survey results in the Samarian region,18 and the significant progress made in
editing the sources 19 and placing them in cultural and religious history.20 With

lem: Israel Antiquities Authority, 2004); and Y. Magen, Mount Gerizim Excavations, vol. 2:
A Temple City, Judea and Samaria Publications 8 (Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority,
2008).
18 See A. Zertal, The Manasseh Hill Country Survey, vol. 1: The Shechem Syncline; vol. 2:

The Eastern Valleys and the Fringes of the Desert, CHANE 21 / 1–2 (Leiden: Brill, 2004–
2008).
19 The full edition of the Samaria papyri has been available since 2007 thanks to J. Dušek,

Les manuscrits araméens du Wadi Daliyeh et la Samarie vers 450–332 av. J.-C., CHANE 30
(Leiden: Brill, 2007). The nearly 400 inscriptions from Mount Gerizim in Aramaic, Hebrew,
and Greek have been available in the editio princeps since 2004: Magen, Misgav, and Tsfa-
nia, Mount Gerizim Excavations, vol. 1 (see n. 17). The Samarian coins have been available
in a well-edited book by Meshorer and Qedar since 1999 (Y. Meshorer and S. Qedar, Samar­
ian Coinage, Numismatic Studies and Researches 9 [Jerusalem: Israel Numismatic Society,
1999]). More recent finds in Y. Ronen, “On the Chronology of the Yehud Falcon Coins,”
Israel Numismatic Research 4 (2009), 39–45. The seventy-two coins from the Persian pe-
riod found at the sanctuary on Mount Gerizim are also potentially instructive. Regrettably,
Magen has to date only been able to provide a very rough characterization of the coins and
provides photographs of only twenty-six coins. He describes in a preliminary report on the
excavations sixty-nine of the seventy-two coins (the other three were not identifiable) in a
very rough and imprecise way (see his brief paragraph in Y. Magen, “The Dating of the First
Phase of the Samaritan Temple on the Mount Gerizim in the Light of the Archaeological
Evidence,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Fourth Century B. C. E., ed. O. Lip­schits, G. N.
Knoppers, and R. Albertz [Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2007], 157–211, here 179 f.).
Pictures of a total of twenty-six coins from the Persian period can be found in the same article
on pp. 207–211 (fig. 27–29); cf. id., Mount Gerizim Excavations, vol. 2 (see n. 17), 196–199
(fig. 7, 19). The clay impression seals from Wadi ed-Daliyeh are published and analyzed in
M. J. W. Leith, Wadi Daliyeh, vol. 1: The Wadi Daliyeh Seal Impressions, DJD 24 (Oxford:
Clarendon, 1997). A selection of the clay impression seals was first published in F. M. Cross,
“The Papyri and Their Historical Implications,” in Discoveries in the Wâdi ed-­Dâliyeh, ed.
P. W. Lapp and N. L. Lapp, AASOR 41 (Cambridge, Mass.: ASOR, 1974), 17–29. The seals
published in E. Stern, “A Hoard of Persian Period Bullae from the Vicinity of Samaria,”
Michmanim 6 (1992), 7–30, probably come from the same find. The most recent publication
on this topic is O. Keel, Corpus der Stem­pelsiegel-Amulette aus Palästina / Israel von den
Anfängen bis zur Perserzeit, vol. 2: Von Bahan bis Tell Eton, OBO.SA 29 (Fribourg: Aca-
demic Press Fri­bourg, 2010), 340–379. Only the excavation publications (see Magen’s main
publications mentioned in n. 17, also id., The Samaritans and the Good Samaritan, Judea
and Samaria Publications 7 [Jerusalem: Is­rael Antiquities Authority, 2008]) still omit various
absolutely essential details such as the strati­graphy data. A desideratum is still the official
publication of “a dozen Greek inscriptions” (4th–2nd / 1st cent. BCE) that Magen mentioned
in a short footnote of his excavation publication (Magen, Misgav, and Tsfania, Mount Geri­
zim Excavations, vol. 1 [see n. 17], 13; Meerson in a later article speaks of “five Greek in-
scriptions from the Hellenistic era ever found on Mount Gerizim,” see M. Meerson, “One
God Supreme: A Case Study of Religious Tolerance and Survival,” JGRChJ 7 [2010], 32–50,
here 32). I was able to publish one of those inscriptions in B. Hensel, “Cult Centralization
in the Persian Period: Biblical and Historical Perspectives,” Sem 60 (2018), 221–272, here
 Debating Temple and Torah in the Second Temple Period 31

a view to these sources now available to us, it is possible to look beyond the
historical scenarios proposed in the biblical and non-biblical literature and, by
doing so, to cast doubt on the apparent certainties that research holds to be true.
Hence, in the following I will address the question of the significance of
Sa­marian Yahwism in the Second Temple period, focusing on a possible Sa-
marian involvement in the formation of the Pentateuch. In particular, the article
will focus on two particular pentateuchal traditions regarding cult centraliza-
tion, that is, one expressed in the Deuteronomy and one in the Priestly writings
(P). This analysis uncovers a crucial debate on the two important postexilic
institutions of the temple and the Torah, which, in turn, could help us to under-
stand the processes surrounding the final redaction(s) of the Pentateuch. The
insights of this study also provide an evaluation of the relatively new theory
about a so-called Common or Inclusive Torah (the Pentateuch understood as a
Judean-­Samarian coproduction), suggesting several necessary changes, correc-
tions and modulations.

2. The Sixth to Second Century BCE:

Mutual and Creative Contacts
I have dealt with the relationship of Judah and Samaria in a monograph pub-
lished in 2016.21 Building on the discussions there, I would argue that describ-
ing the relations between Samarians and Judeans first in terms of competition

236–239. This inscription (on a sundial) could be a “little sensation” as it is the first attesta-
tion of Samaritans in Egypt (the donator of the sundial on Mount Gerizim clearly designates
himself as “Ptolemaios […] of Egypt” [lines 2–3] besides the [often polemical] mentions of
Samaritans by Josephus). I maintain that the inscription also mentions a Samaritan sanctuary
in Egypt (αγιων, line 3; but the line is broken after this word).
20 For a classification of the iconographic traditions on the Samarian clay bullae, see the

excellent study in almost monographic dimensions by S. Schroer and F. Lippke, “Beobach-

tungen zu den (spät-)persischen Samaria-Bullen aus dem Wadi ed-Daliyeh: Hellenisches,
Per­sisches und Lokaltraditionen im Grenzgebiet Yehûd,” in A “Religious Revolution” in Ye­
hûd? The Material Culture of the Persian Period as a Test Case, ed. C. Frevel and K. Pysch­
ny, OBO 267 (Fribourg: Academic Press Fribourg; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht,
2014), 305–390. A comparative paleographic study of the Gerizim inscriptions was pub-
lished by Dušek in 2012 (Dušek, Inscriptions [see n. 6]). For a critical review of the finds
at the Mount Gerizim excavations as well as their placement in religious history, see J. K.
Zangenberg, “The Sanctuary on Mount Gerizim: Observations on the Results of 20 Years of
Excavation,” in Temple Building and Temple Cult: Architecture and Cultic Paraphernalia
of Temples in the Levant (2.–1. Mill. BCE); Proceedings of a Conference on the Occasion of
the 50th Anniversary of the Institute of Biblical Archaeology at the University of Tübingen
(28–30 May 2010), ed. J. Kamlah, ADPV 41 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2012), 399–418; and
Hensel, “Cult Centralization” (see n. 19), 227–239; id., Juda und Samaria (see n. 10), 35–76
(with particular reference to the often neglected city on Mount Gerizim).
21 See Hensel, Juda und Samaria (see n. 10), and (with additional considerations) id.,
32 Benedikt Hensel

and then as separation are inadequate. I suggest instead an alternative model of

mutual contacts for the period between the sixth and the second centuries BCE,
which can be summarized as follows:
(1) In postexilic times two independent Yahwistic communities existed
within the two provinces Samaria and Judah, each with distinct contours, but
sharing a (predominantly) monotheistic Yahwism. The archaeological findings
from Mount Gerizim suggest the comparatively early existence of a Samarian
temple on Gerizim, showing that – already in the Persian period and also in
the Hellenistic period, there were two sanctuaries devoted to the biblical God
in the land of Israel. Taking all the findings together it is highly probable that
a cult, even an aniconic one, was in place on Mount Gerizim that was large-
ly comparable to that in Jerusalem.22 Both communities saw themselves as
self-standing denominations of “Israel” in the postexilic period.
(2) Samarian-Judean relations were in fact not constantly marred by bitter
conflict, but rather reflected a state of parallel coexistence. This is especially
true for the Persian period, not least because the two groups of YHWH-wor-
shipers dwelled in different provinces. It was not before the late fourth or third
century BCE that relations between Judah and Samaria slowly began to sour –
initially due to political and economic rivalries resulting from the unification of
Judah and Samaria into one larger province, meaning that two official Yahwist
sanctuaries were – for the first time – forced to compete for the favor of the
Ptolemaic and Seleucid potentates.23 In the later historical development, this
potential conflict increasingly affected both groups of YHWH-worshipers. The
Jewish polemic against Samaritan YHWH-worshipers serves as an indication
for existing tensions and conflicts between both denominations of “Israel.” Po-
lemics against the Gerizim community are attested outside the biblical canon
only from the second half of the second century BCE, and then dramatically
increased in the frequency of attestation and in the nature and variety of po-
lemical statements. Corresponding religious conflicts between Samaritan and
Jewish YHWH-worshipers most likely developed in the course of the fourth
and third centuries. I recently adjusted these datings from my previous works
(there: 3rd / 2nd cent.) as the plausible origin of Samarian-Judean conflicts.24
Seeing the biblical evidences that witness different polemical traditions and
therefore different redactional circles (esp. Ezra 4:1 ff.; Chr; 2 Kgs 17:24–41),
the critical notion towards the Samarians could have circled in Judean scribal

“On the Relationship of Judah and Samaria in Post-Exilic Times: A Farewell to the Conflict
Paradigm,” JSOT 44 (2019), 19–42.
22 On the operations of the cult on Mount Gerizim, and especially how they can be in-

ferred from the inscriptions and the remains of animal bones and ashes, see Hensel, Juda und
Samaria (see n. 10), 40, 54–58.
23 For the details, see Hensel, Juda und Samaria (see n. 10), 218–229, and id., “Cult Cen-

tralization” (see n. 19), 253 f.

24 See Hensel, “Cult Centralization” (see n. 19), 251 f.
 Debating Temple and Torah in the Second Temple Period 33

groups before it actually resulted in a more conflict-driven Samarian-Judean

relationship for which there is no external evidence before the late second cen-
tury BCE. Eventually, this resulted in the separation between the communities
of Mount Gerizim and Mount Zion. From the end of the second century BCE,
the formation of group-specific characteristics in both Israelite communities,
as well as contrasting demarcation strategies, can be discerned.25
For the time prior to this parting of ways, however, it is important to note
that the material culture of both provinces reveals a high degree of mutual in­
fluence on a cultural-historical level.26 The commonalities between the groups
are such that they cannot only have their basis in the shared cultural past of
Israel and Judah in monarchical times. Rather, they allow the conclusion that
regular interactions must have taken place between the two cultic communi-
ties across the full gamut of human activity. The two Yahwistic groups were in
continuous contact with each other, interacting with each other on diverse lev-
els (though especially among religious elites and scribes). As far as we know
from the Elephantine correspondence TAD A 4.7–4.9 (407 BCE), the religious
or literate elites were at least in semi-regular contact with each other.27 Thus,
the Samaritan-Judean relations were not disrupted by deep conflicts, but rather
predominantly shaped by the coexistence of both communities.
(3) These observations lead to another point that cannot be stressed enough:
in the Second Temple period, the Gerizim community was of immense cultural,
religious and religio-political significance. Given the prosperity and impor-
tance of the Samarian province and the relatively large number of YHWH-wor-
shipers among the population in comparison to Judah, it is even possible to
infer that the Samarians were the more important group in play here, and that
far from declining, their significance grew during the Hellenistic period. The
extensive expansion of both the city and the temple on Mount Gerizim in the
third century, and again around 200 BCE,28 may serve as evidence for this in-
terpretation.

25 On this, see S. Schorch, “The Construction of Samari(t)an Identity from the Inside

and from the Outside,” in Between Cooperation and Hostility: Multiple Identities in Ancient
Judaism and the Interaction with Foreign Powers, ed. R. Albertz and J. Wöhrle, Journal of
Ancient Judaism Supplements 11 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2013), 135–149;
Pum­mer, The Samaritans (see n. 8), 128–131; and Knoppers, Jews and Samaritans (see n. 7),
172–174.
26 For a detailed analysis of all the evidence referenced here, see Hensel, Juda und Sa­

maria (see n. 10), 35–162; and G. N. Knoppers, “Aspects of Samaria’s Religious Culture
during the Early Hellenistic Period,” in The Historian and the Bible: Essays in Honour of
Lester L. Grabbe, ed. P. R. Davies and D. V. Edelman, LHBOTS 530 (London: T & T Clark,
2010), 159–174; id., Jews and Samaritans (see n. 7), esp. 103–109.
27 A comprehensive description of the contacts and interactions between Judah and Sa-

maria is given by Hensel, Juda und Samaria (see n. 10), 163–229.

28 For this city, see Magen, Mount Gerizim Excavations, vol. 2 (see n. 17).
34 Benedikt Hensel

3. Observations in Deuteronomy and the Priestly Writings:

A Necessary Modification of the Theory
of a Common Torah
If we start from this main observation of mutual and creative contacts as a plau-
sible historical scenario for the Second Temple period, this sheds new light on
the formation of the Hebrew Bible. We know that Samaritans use essentially
the same Torah (or Pentateuch) as Judeans do, with only a few differences to
which I will come back later. Against the backdrop of the Samarian-Judean
relations outlined here, it seems unlikely that the Samarian YHWH-worshipers
followed a purely Judean Torah from the Hasmonean period onwards,29 as is
still assumed by many scholars. In fact, there are good grounds for conclud-
ing that both groups participated in the formation of the Pentateuch – at least
in the time of its supposed finalizing, in the late Persian period – thereby cre-
ating what might be termed a “Common Pentateuch” or a “Common Torah,”
which reflects the interest of both, the Judean and the Samarian group. The
main idea is that this shared form of the Torah is not only a result of compro-
mise between several influential Judean groups, but is mainly a reflection of
what I call “binnen-israelitische Ausdifferenzierungsprozesse” 30 (which can be
roughly translated as “negotiating processes within Israel”), which included
also the Samaritans.31

29 See C. Nihan, “The Torah between Samaria and Judah: Shechem and Gerizim in Deu-

teronomy and Joshua,” in The Pentateuch as Torah: New Models for Its Promulgation and
Acceptance, ed. G. N. Knoppers and B. M. Levinson (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2007),
187–223; and R. Pummer, “The Samaritans and Their Pentateuch,” ibid., 237–269, for the
fundamental questions, insights and critics on this traditional paradigm.
30 Hensel, Juda und Samaria (see n. 10), 312 (for details on this matter, see ibid., 302–

349).
31 That the Torah in this sense is a “compromise document” or “common Pentateuch”

(meaning: a Samarian-Judean coproduction of the Persian period) is currently proposed

among others by Nihan, “The Torah between Samaria and Judah” (see n. 29); Pummer, “The
Samaritans and Their Pentateuch” (see n. 29), 239–247; B. Hensel, Die Vertauschung des
Erst­geburtssegens in der Genesis: Eine Analyse der narrativ-theologischen Grundstruktur
des ersten Buches der Tora, BZAW 423 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2011), 290–314, esp. 305–312;
id., Juda und Samaria (see n. 10), 170–178; T. Römer, “Cult Centralization and the Publi-
cation of the Torah between Jerusalem and Samaria,” in Kartveit and Knoppers, The Bible,
Qumran, and the Samaritans (see n. 13), 79–92. All these models are, however, very dif-
ferent in how they detail the historical setting, that lead to this Common Torah, or how this
“compromise” is precisely to be interpreted (for a detailed overview of the research, see
Hen­sel, Juda und Samaria [see n. 10], 187–194). To my knowledge, the first scholar who
did interpret the Pentateuch as Sa­maritan-Judean coproduction is Diebner, who – already
in the 80s (!) – developed the idea of a “Kompromissdokument,” which was mainly shaped
(ac­cording to his interpretation) by Samaritan interests; see B. J. Diebner, “Genesis als Buch
der antik-­jüdischen Bibel: Eine unhistorisch-kritische Spekulation,” DBAT 17 (1983), 81–98.
The whole theory of a Common Torah is not uncontested, see, e. g., R. G. Kratz, Historisches
 Debating Temple and Torah in the Second Temple Period 35

Of major interest to all parties in the postexilic period is of course the legit-
imation of the respective religious center. So in the following I will detail the
idea behind the Common Torah, as I understand it, on the basis of two particu-
lar pentateuchal traditions regarding centralization, which can be seen to have
taken their final shape within this Samarian-Judean debate.

3.1 Deut 11:29–30 and Deut 27*

The Book of Deuteronomy features a distinctive concept of cult centralization.
Deuteronomy 12 and related texts allow only one central shrine as the legiti-
mate place for sacrificial offerings. This one maqom (“place”) is not located or
named within the whole book, but because of the supposed origin of the first
edition of Deuteronomy in late monarchic or early exilic Judah, this place is
usually assumed to refer to the temple in Jerusalem. Yet while Jerusalem is
never named in Deuteronomy, Mount Gerizim is mentioned twice: the public
ceremonies in Deut 11:26–32 and 27:1–26 are localized on Mount Gerizim and
Mount Ebal, with Mount Gerizim being the mount of blessing (cf. Deut 11:29;
27:4 SP; 27:12). Additionally, the erecting of an altar on Mount Gerizim 32 is
explicitly mentioned in Deut 27:4 SP. The alternative reading “Mount Ebal” in
the Masoretic Text is arguably a later, polemical correction.33

und biblisches Israel: Drei Überblicke zum Alten Testament (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck,
2013), 243 f.
32 On the altar in Deut 27, see R. Müller, “The Altar on Mount Gerizim (Deuteronomy

27:1–8): Center or Periphery?,” in Centres and Peripheries in the Early Second Temple Peri­
od, ed. E. Ben Zvi and C. Levin, FAT 104 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), 197–214.
33 As is now commonly accepted, the reading of “Mount Gerizim” in Deut 27:4 SP

(‫ )הרגריזים‬represents the original reading. Several witnesses support this reading: Papyrus
Gies­sen 19 (αργαριζ[ι]μ), Vetus Latina La19 a (Garzin), the Samareitikon (αργαρζιμ). The
reading ‫ בהרגרזים‬is now also supported by a Dead Sea Scrolls fragment of Deut 27:4 b–6, dat-
ing to the late second / first century BCE (J. H. Charlesworth, “What Is a Variant? Announcing
a Dead Sea Scrolls Fragment of Deuteronomy,” Maarav 16 [2009], 201–212, 273–274; for a
critical examination of the fragment whose provenance is not entirely clear, see U. Schattner-­
Rieser, “Garizim versus Ebal: Ein neues Qumranfragment samaritanischer Tradition?,” Early
Christianity 1 [2010], 277–281). The Masoretic Text reads in Deut 27:4 ‫יבל‬ ַ as do most
ָ ‫הר ֵע‬,
of the witnesses to the Septuagint. For the textual evidences of the “Ger­izim” and “Ebal”
reading, see Hensel, Juda und Samaria (see n. 10), 176–178. On the ideological change from
“Gerizim” to “Ebal” (MT), see also Müller, “Altar” (see n. 32), 199–202, 212–214; Kart-
veit, Origin (see n. 5), 300–309; S. Schorch, “The Samaritan Version of Deuteronomy and
the Origin of Deuteronomy,” in Samaria, Samarians, and Samaritans: Proceedings of the
7th International Conference of the Société d’Études Samaritaines, Papa (Hungary), ed.
J. Zsengellér, Studia Samaritana 6 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2011), 23–37, here 28; A. Schenker,
“Le Seigneur choisira-t-il le lieu de son nom ou l’a-t-il choisi? L’apport de la Bible grecque
ancienne à l’histoire du texte samaritain et massorétique,” in Scripture in Transition: Essays
on Septuagint, Hebrew Bible, and Dead Sea Scrolls in Honour of Raija Sollamo, ed. A. Voiti-
la and J. Jokiranta, JSJSup 126 (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 339–351, here 349 n. 33; Pummer, “The
Samaritans and Their Pentateuch” (see n. 29), 245; Nihan, “The Torah between Samaria and
36 Benedikt Hensel

There is a broad consensus amongst scholars that both references to Mount

Gerizim are to be identified as redactional, part of a multilayered interpolation
from the Persian period, added to the original legal corpus of Deut 12–26, 28*
just before the final redaction of the Pentateuch. Research in this line is con-
nected with the studies of Christophe Nihan,34 Gary N. Knoppers,35 and Rein-
hard Müller.36 This view has recently also been put forward in the monumental
commentary on Deuteronomy by Eckart Otto, published in 2016 ff.37
One implication of this theory is that the Jerusalem-centered Deuteronomy
has been opened up by these additions for a concession towards the Samarian
sanctuary.38 It is observed by these scholars that within this redactional layer,
Deut 27:4–8*, which specifies the erection of the altar on Mount Gerizim, is
unmistakably reminiscent of the altar law in Exod 20:24–26,39 which on its
site tolerates a multiplicity of altars by stating that “in every place, where I [sc.
YHWH] cause my name to be remembered I will come to you and bless you”
(Exod 20:24 b). It is now assumed that through this allusion to Exod 20 a nar-
rative “backdoor” is opened to see Mount Gerizim as another legitimate sanc-
tuary. The altar in Deut 27:4–8 is thereby understood as a figurative depiction

Judah” (see n. 29), 187–223; Dušek, Inscriptions (see n. 6), 90 f. E. Eshel and H. Eshel, “Dat-
ing the Samaritan Pentateuch’s Compilation in the Light of the Qumran Biblical Scrolls,” in
Emanuel: Studies in Hebrew Bible, Septuagint, and the Dead Sea Scrolls in Honor of Ema­
nuel Tov, ed. M. P. Shalom et al., VTSup 94 (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 215–240, here 218, rely on
the originality of the “Ebal” reading.
34 See Nihan, “The Torah between Samaria and Judah” (see n. 29), 190–193.
35 G. N. Knoppers, “The Northern Context of the Law-Code in Deuteronomy,” HeBAI 4

(2015), 162–183.
36 Müller, “Altar” (see n. 32), 202–213.
37 See E. Otto, Deuteronomium 12–34, 2 vols., HThKAT (Frei­burg im Breisgau: Herder,

2016–2017), 1.1133 and 2.1930–1933; cf. also his other publications: “Das Deuteronomium
zwischen Tetrateuch und Hexateuch,” in Das Deuteronomium im Pentateuch und Hexateuch:
Studien zur Literaturgeschichte von Pentateuch und Hexateuch im Lichte des Deuteronomi­
umrahmens, FAT 30 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000), 156‒233, here 203 f.; id., “Born out of
Ruins: The Catastrophe of Jerusalem as Accou­cheur to the Pentateuch in the Book of Deuter-
onomy,” in The Fall of Jerusalem and the Rise of Torah, ed. P. Dubovský, D. Markl, and J.-P.
Sonnet, FAT 107 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), 155–168, here 156. Already Albrecht Alt
was convinced, that Deut 27 has to be interpreted as a late addition, cf. A. Alt, “Die Heimat
des Deuteronomiums,” in Kleine Schriften zur Geschichte des Volkes Israel, vol. 2 (Munich:
Kaiser, 1953), 250–275.
38 For a different view, see Schorch, “Samaritan Version” (see n. 33), 26–29, who main-

tains that Deut 11 and 27 are part of the original layers of Deuteronomy, which as a whole he
interprets as a Northern document from around the mid-eighth century BCE. Yet, the theory
has several serious exegetical shortcomings (for details, see B. Hensel, “Deuteronomium
12,13–19: Zur Lokalisierung des einen Maqom,” BN NF 182 [2019], 9–43) and the histori-
cal problem that the Mount Gerizim sanctuary was (most likely) not erected before the fifth
century BCE.
39 For the comparison of Deut 27 and Exod 20, see Knoppers, “Northern Context” (see

n. 35), 180 f.
 Debating Temple and Torah in the Second Temple Period 37

of the sanctuary on Mount Gerizim.40 This allowed, according to Nihan, “the

coexistence of both cultic sites, despite the centralization law.” 41
I would like to modify this view in several respects: On the one hand, it is
likely that both mentions of Mount Gerizim here are Persian-period redactional
interpolations, as Deut 27:4–8 breaks the original context of Deut 12–26, 28*
and thereby transfers the place of the ceremony from Transjordan (Moab) –
which is mentioned in the immediate context in Deut 26:1, 16–19; 27:1–3 and
28:69 – to Mount Gerizim inside the land (Deut 27:4, 8). But I doubt the plau-
sibility of a dual mode of argument concerning cult centralization. Effectively
this implies a specific hierarchy, with Deuteronomy’s central shrine in Jerusa-
lem being the “real temple,” and Mount Gerizim being just another shrine to
be summed up amongst the “several shrines” from the older altar law of the
Exodus tradition.42
Such a hierarchy cannot be inferred from Deut 27, however, because – and
in contrast to vv. 4 and 8 – Deut 27:5–7 43 does not just cite the altar law, but
also shows clear parallels to the centralization law in Deut 12 (see Deut 27:7:
‫ואכלת ׁשם וׂשמחת לפני יהוה‬, which parallels Deut 12:7, 12, 18; ‫ׁשם‬, “there,” Deut
27:7 // 12:7; ‫מזבח יהוה‬, Deut 27:6 // 12:27; 16:21; 26:4).44 Mount Gerizim is thus
explicitly identified with the sanctuary alluded to in Deut 12. What is avoided
here is the so-called centralization formula (“the place [‫ ]מקום‬that YHWH has
chosen [‫ ”]בחר‬45). I maintain that this is purposeful, as the redactor did not want
to make it impossible to identify Jerusalem as the one maqom. By adding Deut
11 and 27, Mount Gerizim becomes a possible, but not an exclusive interpre-
tation of the unlocalized maqom of Deuteronomy, of the same rank – if you
like – as Jerusalem’s temple.
Of further importance is the compositional emphasis Mount Gerizim gets,
as the public ceremonies mentioned in Deut 11:26–32 and 27:1–26 on Mount
Gerizim and Mount Ebal bracket the central legal collection (Deut 12–26,

40 To be clear here, Deut 11 or 27 does not mention any kind of sanctuary, just an altar. But
given the evidence that in later days the mentioning of “Mount Gerizim” in Deut 27:4 was
purposely changed to “Mount Ebal” (see below), this might be taken as indication that Deut
11 and 27 were understood as a kind of etiology of the Samarian sanctuary.
41 Nihan, “The Torah between Samaria and Judah” (see n. 29), 216. On Deut 27, see also

Knoppers, “Northern Context” (see n. 35), 162–183, with similar observations.

42 See, e. g., Knoppers, Jews and Samaritans (see n. 7), 209, who states: “the altar of Deut

27:5–7 could be understood simply as one instantiation of the altar legislation presented in
Exodus.”
43 Following Müller, “Altar” (see n. 32), 210, the vv. 5–7 are within vv. 1–8 probably the

youngest redactional layer.

44 On the parallels, Müller, “Altar” (see n. 32), 210 f.
45 The centralization formula of Deuteronomy appears twenty-one times in Deuteronomy

(in a short and a long version): Deut 12:5, 11, 14, 18, 21, 26; 14:23, 24, 25; 15:20; 16:2, 6, 7,
11, 15, 16; 17:8, 10; 18:6; 26:2; 31:11.
38 Benedikt Hensel

28*).46 Deuteronomy 27:11–13 transfers the ceremony of blessing in Deut 28,

where it was originally located in Moab (Deut 28:69), to the inside of the land:
on Mount Gerizim. Moab becomes in this way, as Eckart Otto formulated it, “a
gateway station on the way to Mount Gerizim” (“eine Durchgangsstation auf
dem Weg zum Berg Garizim”).47 The Samarian sanctuary becomes the actual
destination of Deuteronomy. With Mount Gerizim standing at such strategic
positions, it seems clear that the interpolation is not only a concession towards
Samarian interests. It is also and even more so an acknowledgment of the im­
portance of the Northern sanctuary. This suggests that Samarian leaders or
scribes were able to promote their interests subtly, but effectively, through the
common redaction of Deuteronomy.

3.2 The Priestly Writings

Within the pentateuchal traditions the Priestly document also seems to bear
several concessionary strategies. Certain strands of the Priestly traditions,
amongst them the texts that address and describe the wilderness cult, have
proven secondary in character (compared to the Priestergrundschrift [Pg]) and
seem to stem from the early Persian era.48 These texts could therefore possibly
reflect Judean-Samarian relations of this very period. It is striking that these
strands explicitly affirm the importance of Northern and Southern cultic col­
laboration in a centralized and ideally unified imagination of a pan-Israelite
Yahwistic cult with even a shared high priest (see esp. Exod 28).49 It is remark-
able, though, that the question how this “unity” is to translate into reality is left
open: In the Priestly writings, the sanctuary, called the “tent of meeting” (‫אהל‬
‫)מועד‬, is portable, effectively promoting a significantly less centralized view
of the Israelite cult than Deuteronomy. Depending on the historical setting to
which one assigns P, this either purposely avoids identifying the sanctuary with
one specific site.50 It could also legitimize the multiplicity of Yahwistic shrines
within the land.51 I am mainly thinking here of a negotiation between the two

46For a similar observation, see Knoppers, “Northern Context” (see n. 35), 162–183.
47Otto, Deuteronomium 12–34 (see n. 37), 2.1930.
48 For the discussions around the dating of P materials, see, e. g., R. Achenbach, Die Voll­

endung der Tora: Studien zur Redaktionsgeschichte des Numeribuches im Kontext von Hexa­
teuch und Pentateuch, BZABR 3 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2003), 443–556.
49 On this issue, see C. Nihan and J. Rhyder, “Aaron’s Vestments in Exodus 28 and Priest-

ly Leadership,” in Debating Authority: Concepts of Leadership in the Pentateuch and the

For­mer Prophets, ed. K. Pyschny and S. Schulz, BZAW 507 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2018),
45–­67.
50 See M. Douglas, Leviticus as Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), 90–

98; see also C. Nihan, “Cult Centralization and the Torah Traditions in Chronicles,” in Du-
bovský, Markl, and Sonnet, The Fall of Jerusalem (see n. 37), 253–288, for the discussion.
51 See B. J. Diebner, “Gottes Welt, Moses Zelt und das salomonische Heiligtum,” in Lec­

tio difficilior probabilior? L’exégèse comme expérience de décloisonnement, ed. T. Römer,

DBAT Beiheft 12 (Heidelberg: Esprint, 1991), 127–154.
 Debating Temple and Torah in the Second Temple Period 39

“central sanctuaries” at Jerusalem and Mount Gerizim. The possibility that

both Northern and Southern groups might claim to be the rightful heirs of the
centralized cult of the wilderness period is left open by P. In my interpretation
this constitutes a concessive text strategy, respecting and promoting both Ju-
dean and Samarian interests.
This concessive nature of P remains true even if one agrees with the thor-
oughly developed theory of Julia Rhyder that the Priestly writings seemingly
favor the Southern (Judean) perspective.52 I personally think Rhyder’s obser-
vations on the centrality discourse in P are accurate, as P envisages (albeit in a
very subtle way) an ideal hierarchy between south and north: for example, the
organization of the tribes around the sanctuary has the tribe of Judah at the first
place in Num 1–10 (Num 2:3); the appointment of the Judean leader Nahshon
for the march across the wilderness (Num 2 and 10, etc.; cf. Exod 6:13–26);
the commandment that the camp of Judah must “set out first on the march”
(‫לצבאתם ראשׁנה יסעו‬, Num 2:9); the image of Judean leaders taking charge of
the wilderness cult, with only the assistance of Northerners, in texts like Exod
6:13–26; 31:1–11; Num 2 and 10.
This hierarchy reflects Judean hopes of grandeur and importance, probably
because they had little of either in reality. But – and this is the decisive point
I am going to make here – while favoring the Southern cult over the North-
ern, Samarian tradition is not discarded or de-legitimized within the overall
concept of P. These tendencies in the late Priestly texts suggest that Judean
scribes responsible for the Priestly traditions were able to subtly promote their
(Southern) interests, thereby asserting Judah’s right before all other tribes. The
sanctuary on Mount Gerizim is thereby not opposed but included in the imagi-
nation of a mobile tent shrine.

4. Temple and Torah:

Some Conclusions on a Judean-Samarian Debate
in the Formative Period
This brief sketch of the recent discussion, which could easily be supplemented
by further examples from the Pentateuch, indicates that the issue of Samari-
an involvement in the Hebrew Bible and the Pentateuch is significantly more
complex than previously assumed. On that basis, the following provisional
conclusions and viewpoints can now be articulated regarding the question of
Samarian involvement in the formative period, especially in the formation of
the Torah:

52 For details on the Northern and Southern collaboration in the P materials, see the re-

cently published PhD thesis by Julia Rhyder: Centralizing the Cult: The Holiness Legislation
of Leviticus 17–26, FAT 134 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2019).
40 Benedikt Hensel

(1) Contrary to the current majority view, the formation process of early
Judaism(s) reflects less an innovative achievement of an elite group of Judean
exiles than a complex and multilayered process of negotiation between diverse
groups. This thesis leads to the corollary that the late texts of the Hebrew Bible
reflect this debate. With regard to the religious and cultural-historical achieve-
ments of the postexilic epoch (here: temple and Torah), certain texts react to
the parallel developments of these groups.
(2) The pentateuchal traditions referenced here imply a relationship between
Judeans and Samarians in which the two provinces coexisted side by side in
the Persian period and appear to have understood their relation not in terms
of competition (not even around the erection of the sanctuary on Mount Ger-
izim in the fifth century) 53 but of concordance. The Common Torah promotes
a pan-Israelite imagination of “Israel” (including Judah and Samaria) and is
created as a normative account or a narrative presentation of the characteris-
tics and criteria common to all groups of the “Israelite” cultural spectrum. The
Torah is formulated in such a way that each group can find their interests rep-
resented, by leaving gaps when it comes to specific cultic issues. The specific
group could fill in the gap in the context of their respective community.54 In the
examples presented here this concerns the location of the legitimate cultic site,
which is never specified in Deuteronomy, the Priestly writings and the overall
Pentateuch. The Common Torah represents the status quo of the late Persian
period, when the redaction and publication of the Pentateuch was probably
finalized.55
(3) The unity of Israel promoted in this way in the Pentateuch is by nature an
idealized discourse, rather than a reflection of historical socio-cultic realities.
It is hardly conceivable that there were real attempts to establish a common
Israelite cult with one common central sanctuary.
(4) The current discussion of Samarian involvement in the formation of the
pentateuchal traditions needs to take the complex negotiation process of Ju-

On the dating of the temple into the first half of the fifth century BCE, see Magen,
53

Mount Gerizim Excavations, vol. 2 (see n. 17), 167–170; id., “Dating” (see n. 19), 176 f.;
for criticism, see Dušek, Inscriptions (see n. 6), 3 (second half of the 5th cent.). For some
considerations that the sanctuary could be older, see Hensel, Juda und Samaria (see n. 10),
43–47, and J. Dušek, “Mt. Gerizim Sanctuary: Its History and Enigma of Origin,” HeBAI 3
(2014), 111–133, esp. 128 f.
54 My preliminary thoughts on the hermeneutics of the Common Torah / Pentateuch in

Hen­sel, Juda und Samaria (see n. 10), 170–194 (venturing from there I changed my view
in several details – especially the role and concept of centralization within the different
pentateuchal traditions of centralization), here also with more examples besides P and Deu-
teronomy and the concessive strategies (especially within the Joseph-Judah narrative Gen
37–­50 [pp. 183–187], and a discussion of the evidence from Qumran manuscripts, bearing
significant Samaritan features [pp. 173–176, 244–247]).
55 See, e. g., C. Nihan, “The Emergence of the Pentateuch as ‘Torah,’” RC 4.6 (2010),

353–364.
 Debating Temple and Torah in the Second Temple Period 41

dean-Samarian interests more seriously. It is not just by small redactional ad-

ditions or glossae that Samarian interests are here and there added to a more
or less predominantly Judean text. This was originally presumed for Deut 11
and 27: Mount Gerizim is added to the list of other legitimate sanctuaries. The
distinctive point my thesis makes here, is that the emphasis on unity, conces-
sions or collaboration does not mean that the scribes imagined total “equal­
ity” between Samaria and Judah. As could be demonstrated, Deuteronomy’s
redactional additions articulate specific Samarian interests, which Judeans had
to or wanted to agree to – at least in the time of concordance; and the Priestly
writings promoted Judean interests and implied a certain Judean-Samarian hi-
erarchy in cultic issues.56
(5) Outside the Torah, this compromise was disputed. What is more, the
mainly Judean traditions of the Nevi’im and Ketuvim show rather different
opinions, like when in the Deuteronomistic History (Josh – Kgs) clearly Jeru-
salem is pointed out as the only legitimate maqom – a view that is even further
sharpened in Ezra-Nehemiah and Chronicles.57 Also, the “Israel” imagined in

56 For a further example, where Samarian or Judean interests are promoted under the

surface for the “Concessive Torah,” see my reading of the Joseph-Judah narrative Gen 37–50
(Hensel, Juda und Samaria [see n. 10], 183–187). I interpret this narrative (at least at its
latest redactional layer) as an ideological text of negotiating Samarian-Judean interests from
the Persian period. Joseph (i. e., Samaria) is the blessed firstborn and thus privileged amongst
his brothers in Israel. A key passage in my reading is Gen 50:15–21, where it is stated that
Joseph / Samaria is responsible for the survival of whole Israel (and thus also for Judah).
Judah, on the other hand, the Davidic tribe (!), does never receive an explicit blessing. This
is also true for the whole Torah (no explicit blessing is stated in Deut 33, too). But, as a sort
of compensation, Judah receives “political power” amongst his brothers, cf. Gen 49:8–12.
57 The Book of Ezra-Nehemiah in its present form seems to display strong anti-Samarian

“hermeneutics,” in a way that it de-legitimizes the Northern YHWH-worshipers and their

sanctuary (see Hensel, Juda und Samaria [see n. 10], 283–366, esp. 363–365, for the details;
cf. also id., “Ethnic Fiction and Identity-Formation: A New Explanation for the Background
of the Question of Intermarriage in Ezra-Nehemiah,” in Kartveit and Knoppers, The Bible,
Qumran, and the Samaritans [see n. 13], 135–150; and Heckl, Neuanfang [see n. 9]). This
is especially visible in the interpolated (and in itself multilayered) addition of Ezra 4:1–24
in the context of the temple-restoration narrative Ezra 5–6. Chronicles on the other hand,
combines a certain Jerusalem-centered interpretation of Deuteronomy and the tabernacle
of P. Chronicles purposely dismisses the concessive concept in Deuteronomy by combining
the election of Jerusalem in the Former Prophets with the election of the one maqom in
Deuteronomy, and presents the temple of Jerusalem as the only legitimate representation
of this cultic site. For both concepts of delegitimization of the Samarian sanctuary see in
detail B. Hensel, “Ezra-Nehemiah and Chronicles: New Insights into the Early History of Sa-
mari(t)an-Jewish Relations,” Religions 11.98 (2020), 1–24. On the concept of centralization
in Chronicles, and this concept receives its Vorlage in Kings by combining it (and thereby
changing it) with the concepts from P and Deuteronomy, see Nihan, “Cult Centralization”
(see n. 50), 253–288; and C. Nihan and H. Gonzalez, “Competing Attitudes toward Samaria
in Chronicles and Second Zechariah,” in Kartveit and Knoppers, The Bible, Qumran, and the
Samaritans (see n. 13), 93–114.
42 Benedikt Hensel

Ezra-Nehemiah is not the pan-Israel from the Pentateuch, but an exclusivist

concept comprising only the Judean returnees from exile.58 On the other hand,
the Common Torah is also consistent with various postexilic texts, in partic-
ular from the prophetic tradition, which nourished hopes of the restoration of
all Israel following the exile (see, e. g., Jer 30:3, 8–9; 31:27–28, 31–34; Ezek
34:23–21; 37:15–28; Obad 18–21; Isa 11:11–16; Jer 3:18; Zech 9:9–13; 10:6–
10). The discourse surrounding the definition of “Israel” 59 and whether it did or
did not include Samaria shows that the external borders of “Israel” – together
with its internal structures and distinctions – were still undergoing a process
of negotiation at this time. Apparently, for Judah there was no getting around
Samarian Yahwism during this period – at least for the time being.60
(6) Most likely, the souring of relations between Samaria and Judea in the
Hellenistic era lead to giving up on the concessionary character of this Torah.
A historical echo of this process is very likely the Ezra narrative with its focus
on the Judean Torah, which is bound to Jerusalem within the literary world, as
only Ezra, the Aaronite priest, and Judean scribes attest to its legitimacy – the
Samarian version is illicit within this ideological construction.61 What actually
happened historically is that, in the process of Samarian-Judean estrangement,
each group added group-specific textual layers to their versions of the Torah,
emphasizing especially the legitimacy of their respective cultic center by slight
textual changes. The Judean layers (which later lead to the Masoretic Text)

58 On the postexilic conceptions of “Israel” within Ezra-Nehemiah, see for details K. Wein­­

gart, Stämmevolk – Staatsvolk – Gottesvolk? Studien zur Verwendung des Israel-Na­mens im

Alten Testament, FAT 2 / 68 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014), 67–94; Hensel, Juda und Sa­
ma­ria (see n. 10), 302–349; and M. Häusl, “Einleitung: Begründungen für die Neukonsti­
tu­ierung des nachexilischen Israel,” in Denkt nicht mehr an das Frühere! Begründungs­res­
sour­cen in Esra / Nehemia und Jes 40–66 im Vergleich, ed. M. Häusl, BBB 184 (Göttingen:
Van­denhoeck & Ruprecht, 2018), 9–31, esp. 19–22.
59 For the processes of constructing Israelite identity, see now the excellent volumes by

E. Ben Zvi and D. V. Edelman, eds., Imagining the Other and Constructing Israelite Iden­
tity in the Early Second Temple Period, LHBOTS 591 (New York: Bloomsbury, 2015); and
E. Bons and K. Finsterbusch, eds., Konstruktionen individueller und kollektiver Identi­tät,
vol. 1: Altes Israel / Frühjudentum, griechische Antike, Neues Testament / Alte Kirche, Bib­
lisch-­Theologi­sche Studien 161 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2016).
60 The identification of “Israel” with its denomination “Judah” became the prevalent term

in religious history and politics from the Hasmonean time onwards (at the latest); see also
M. Böhm, “Wer gehörte in hellenistisch-römischer Zeit zu ‘Israel’? Historische Vorrausetzun­
gen für eine veränderte Perspektive auf neutestamentliche Texte,” in Die Samaritaner und
die Bibel: Historische und literarische Wechselwirkungen zwischen biblischen und samarita­
ni­schen Traditionen, ed. J. Frey et al., SJ 70 / Studia Samaritana 7 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2012),
181–­202.
61 Cf. R. Heckl, “The Composition of Ezra-Nehemiah as a Testimony for the Competition

between the Temples in Jerusalem and on Mt. Gerizim in the Early Years of the Seleucid Rule
over Judah,” in Kartveit and Knoppers, The Bible, Qumran, and the Samaritans [see n. 13],
115–132, here 123; Hensel, Juda und Samaria (see n. 10), 304–306.
 Debating Temple and Torah in the Second Temple Period 43

included the textual change of Deut 27:4 from “Gerizim” to “Ebal,” which is
then taken up by the even later addition of Josh 8:30–35 MT.62 The change in
Deut 27:4 effectively dismisses the positive connotation of the altar building
on Mount Gerizim in Deut 27 and the concessions made towards the Samarian
worshipers, when Deut 27 was added to Deut 12–26, 28*. The change is made
after the main redaction of the Torah. The anti-Samarian change of Mount Ger-
izim / Mount Ebal could be interconnected with the change from the past tense
‫( בחר‬qatal) in reference to the “chosen place” in Deut 12* and in the central-
ization formula to the formula’s future in the Masoretic Text (‫ יבחר‬/ Q). Adrian
Schenker has shown that the use of the past tense is supported in Greek man-
uscripts, which are unrelated to the Samaritan traditions and may reflect the
original reading of the Deuteronomy.63 Where the original past tense allowed
the identification of the unnamed maqom with either Jerusalem or Mount Ger-
izim, the later change to the future tense in the Judean textual tradition makes
it very clear that only Jerusalem is the chosen place. The Hebrew ‫ יבחר‬points
explicitly and exclusively to the election of Jerusalem and Judah reported –
outside Deuteronomy – in the Books of Samuel and Kings.64 Jerusalem is ex-
clusively interpreted as “the place that I will choose” – Mount Gerizim is de-­
legitimized.65 The Samarian layer expands the Ten Commandments, by adding
after Exod 20:17 and Deut 5:18 a mélange of texts taken from Exod 13:11 a;
Deut 11:29 b; 27:2 b–3 b, 4 a SP, 5–7,66 which all emphasize the legitimacy of
Mount Gerizim as the place that YHWH has chosen. By these changes, Mount
Gerizim, respectively Mount Zion, were interpreted as the only legitimate rep-
resentation of the one cultic place in Israel. The Hasmonean destruction of
Mount Gerizim is a tangible manifestation of this interpretation process.

62 On Josh 8:30–35, see Nihan, “The Torah between Samaria and Judah” (see n. 29), 217–

222; for the secondary character of Josh 8, cf. Müller, “Altar” (see n. 32), 214.
63 See Schenker, “Le Seigneur” (see n. 33), 339; cf. Schorch, “Samaritan Version” (see

n. 33). Differently Heckl, who pleads for the yiqtol of the Masoretic Text as the original
reading, see R. Heckl, “Überlegungen zu Form und Funktion der Zentralisationsformel im
Konzept des samaritanischen Pentateuchs, zugleich ein Plädoyer für die Ursprünglichkeit der
masoretischen Lesart,” ZABR 23 (2017), 191–208.
64 See, e. g., 1 Kgs 14:21; cf. Ps 78:68, or the election of the dynasty of David, king of

Ju­dah, in Jerusalem.
65 On the hermeneutics of the changes from ‫ בחר‬to ‫יבחר‬, see Hensel, “Deuteronomium

12,13–19” (see n. 38), esp. 18–23, 35.

66 See Pummer, Josephus (see n. 16), 25 f., for a discussion of the text.
44 Benedikt Hensel

5. Research Perspectives:
Considering Hexateuch Redactions
and Possible Pre-Persian Samarian Scribal Involvements
We need to imagine for the Samarians a more active role in the formative
period of early Judaism, especially in the formation of the Torah and the pro-
cess of developing central religious ideas, such as the notion of cult central-
ization. It is also open for discussion if one should reckon with a Samarian
influence on the Hexateuch. The final chapter of Joshua can be named here,
Josh 24, where the promulgation of the law for all Israel (meaning: Judah and
Samaria) is situated in Shechem, at the foot of Mount Gerizim.67 Although
nearly every possible dating has been proposed for this concluding narrative
that contains Joshua’s farewell address after the conquest of the land, the as-
sumption that this chapter is a postexilic text has increased significantly in
recent scholarship.68 If Thomas Römer is right that Josh 24 with its prominent
Northern “Samaritan” location was created in order to produce a Hexateuch in
the Persian period, and to integrate the Book of Joshua into the Torah,69 then
this work could probably also be seen as a Judean-Samarian coproduction. In
this scenario, Hexateuch and Pentateuch could be understood as competing
book-conceptions. Although the idea of a Hexateuch could not be materialized
in the end in a Torah containing six scrolls, the postbiblical traditions about
Joshua amongst the Samaritans remained popular, as the Samaritan Chronicles
of Joshua demonstrate.70 Eckart Otto has a comparable concept of competing
Hexa- and Pentateuch ideas in mind that propose to competing concepts of “Is-
rael” in the Persian period: a “klein-judäische Lösung” (i. e., the Pentateuch)
and a “groß-israelitische Lösung” (i. e., an “Israel” imagination that comprises
Judean and Samarian interests).71 I am not (yet) convinced that Otto is right in
seeing the Pentateuch (especially the core of Deuteronomy) as a Judean-only
document (“klein-­judäisch”) regarding my observations above. But the issue

67See the recent treatment of the text by Schmid, “Overcoming” (see n. 14), 23–29; Rö­
mer, “Cult Centralization” (see n. 31), 89 f.; id., “Das doppelte Ende des Josuabuches: Ei­ni­ge
Anmerkungen zur aktuellen Diskussion um ‘deuteronomistisches Geschichtswerk’ und ‘He­
xateuch,’” ZAW 118 (2006), 523–548.
68 A plead for a Persian dating offer, e. g., Schmid, “Overcoming” (see n. 14), 29, the

works of Thomas Römer cited in this article, and Nihan, “The Torah between Samaria and
Ju­dah” (see n. 29), 193–199.
69 See Römer, “Das doppelte Ende” (see n. 67), 523–548; see also T. Römer and M. Z.

Brettler, “Deuteronomy 34 and the Case for a Persian Hexateuch,” JBL 119 (2000), 401–419.
70 See I. Hjelm, Jerusalem’s Rise to Sovereignty: Zion and Gerizim in Competition, JSOT

Sup 404 (London: T & T Clark, 2004), 195–210.

71 See Otto, Deuteronomium 12–34 (see n. 37), 1.1132 f.; in a similar way R. Achenbach,

“Pentateuch, Hexateuch und Enneateuch: Eine Verhältnisbestimmung,” ZABR 11 (2005),

122–154, who differentiates between a “Hexateuch” redactor and a later “Pentateuch” re-
dactor.
 Debating Temple and Torah in the Second Temple Period 45

of hexateuchal and pentateuchal redactions with regard to a possible Samarian

involvement definitively needs further investigation.72
What is more, prior research is right to look at the possible Samarian in-
volvement in Persian-period redactional processes. But what I identify as a
major task for future studies is to pay more attention to Samarian contributions
prior to this period. One key insight of Samaritan studies is that there was far
more ethnic and cultural continuity of Northern groups after 722 BCE than the
biblical narratives imply. It is mainly the recent works of Knoppers that should
be acknowledged for highlighting this in the available sources.73 Whilst there
were of course a number of disasters and upheavals in the region as a result
of the Assyrian conquest, their outcomes were not fundamentally dissimilar to
those which Judah is assumed to have undergone some 150 years later when it
was also conquered. It is only in the historical reflections of certain Old Tes-
tament texts that the North is said to have disappeared completely. Thus, it is
possible that the so-called Northern tradition was not simply adapted by the
Judeans after 722 BCE, as commonly held. Further Samarian involvement in
the shaping of their tradition long after this date is plausible.
To give just one short example from the traditions mentioned here: I remain
skeptical if the first edition of the Deuteronomy (the “Ur-Deuteronomy”) really
does promote pure Judean interests as is commonly presumed.74 Even in the
72 For a recent overview of the Hexateuch / Pentateuch debate, see S. Germany, “The

Hexa­teuch Hypothesis: A History of Research and Current Approaches,” CurBR 16.2 (2018),
131–156, esp. 142–143 (“The Theory of a ‘Redactional Hexateuch’”); and R. Albertz, “The
Recent Discussion on the Formation of the Pentateuch / Hexateuch,” HS 59 (2018), 65–92,
esp. 79–82.
73 Cf. G. N. Knoppers, “Revisiting the Samaritan Question in the Persian Period,” in Ju­

dah and the Judeans in the Persian Period, ed. M. Oeming and O. Lipschits (Winona Lake,
Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2006), 265–289; id., “Cutheans or Children of Jacob? The Issue of Samar-
itan Origins in 2 Kings 1,” in Reflection and Refraction: Studies in Biblical Historiography
in Honour of A. Graeme Auld, ed. R. Rezetko, VTSup 113 (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 223–239,
the core findings of which can now be found in id., Jews and Samaritans (see n. 7), esp. 103–­
109. In my study I added further material, archaeological evidence and perspective to his
observations, see Hensel, Juda und Samaria (see n. 10), 91–102 (“Ethnische und kulturel­le
Kontinuität im Norden: archäologische und demographisch-soziologische Aspekte”).
74 This is mainly the case because of the historical connection of Ur-Deuteronomy’s core

Deut 12* (and related texts) with Josiah’s cultic reform in the late monarchic era of Judah (cf.
2 Kgs 22–23*), which was originally proposed by de Wette already in the nineteenth century
and had major impact on critical research of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries (the
impact of this theory on recent research is beyond the scope of this article, but see the very
detailed discussions provided by M. Pietsch, Die Kultreform Josias: Studien zur Religions­
geschichte Israels in der späten Königszeit, FAT 86 [Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013], 1–23,
160–430, and Otto, Deuteronomium 12–34 [see n. 37], 1.1188–1191; for the debate about
the historicity of Josiah’s reform, see, e. g., C. Uehlinger, “Was There a Cult Reform under
King Josiah?,” in Good Kings and Bad Kings, ed. L. L. Grabbe, JSOTSup 393 [London:
T & T Clark, 2007], 297–316). Another important reason for assuming a Judean background
of Deuteronomy is the possible connection of the arrangement of Deuteronomy (esp. Deut
46 Benedikt Hensel

presumably oldest core, Deut 12:13–19, the one maqom is not mentioned nor
named.75 Ur-Deuteronomy does not transmit an exclusivist Judean perspective.
There is a lot that should be debated here – especially regarding what can be
said about the historicity of the presumed cultic reforms in the late monar-
chic era, and regarding the interrelation of Deuteronomy with the so-called
Deuteronomistic History (Josh, Sam, and Kgs), to which Deuteronomy later
was subsequently linked, and which features a significantly Jerusalem-centered
perspective on cultic affairs.76 I addressed the whole discussion in a recent arti-
cle.77 Despite many open questions there, I propose that already Deut 12:13–19
demonstrates a certain awareness or willingness to integrate Samarian interests
within the idea of centralization that might have developed in the time of late
monarchy, or – a date to which I am more inclined to – in the early exilic peri-
od.78 In the time of the Ur-Deuteronomy, the Samarian maqom in mind would
not be Mount Gerizim. It would have to be examined, which Northern sanc-

13:2–­10* and 28:20–44*) and the Assyrian Vassal Treaties, which would situate the origins
of Deuteronomy in the mid / late sixth century BCE – a rather impactful and convincing (yet,
not uncontested: see, e. g., R. G. Kratz, “The Idea of Cultic Centralization, and Its Supposed
Ancient Near Eastern Analogies,” in One God – One Cult – One Nation: Archaeological and
Biblical Perspectives, ed. R. G. Kratz and H. Spieckermann, BZAW 405 [Berlin: de Gruyter,
2010], 121–144) theory put forward, namely, by Otto in his works (see his fundamental
work: E. Otto, Das Deuteronomium: Politische Theologie und Rechtsreform in Juda und As­
sy­­rien, BZAW 284 [Berlin: de Gruyter, 1999], 15–90). A third reason are the literary connec-
tions of Deuteronomy with the Former Prophets, which are interpreted literary-historically
as one major literary work (“Deuteronomistisches Geschichtswerk” in Noth’s terminology;
on Noth’s impact on research, see U. Rüterswörden, ed., Martin Noth – aus der Sicht der
heu­tigen Forschung, Biblisch-Theologische Studien 58 [Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirche­ner
Ver­lag, 2004]). As Joshua – Kings promote a Jerusalem and Judah-centered perspective, this
view is presupposed for Deuteronomy (even if the book does not mention Jerusalem explic-
itly).
75 The general notion that the central place in Deuteronomy is unnamed and therefore not

necessarily to be identified with Mount Zion / Jerusalem has been legitimately stressed in the
last couple of years; see, e. g., Nihan, “Cult Centralization” (see n. 50), 254 f.; Müller, “Altar”
(see n. 32), 197 f.; A. C. Hagedorn, “Placing (a) God: Central Place Theory in Deuteronomy
12 and at Delphi,” in Temple and Worship in Biblical Israel, ed. J. Day, LHBOTS 422 (Lon-
don: T & T Clark, 2005), 188–211; Hensel, Juda und Samaria (see n. 10), 176–183. For a
detailed analysis of Deut 12:13–19 and what option for identification with Jerusalem the text
offers or how it strategically codes the description of the place, so that Samarian and Judean
interests can be met here, see my article “Deuteronomium 12,13–19” (see n. 38).
76 On the first edition of Deuteronomy, see now R. Achenbach, “Überlegungen zur Rekon­

struktion des Urdeuteronomiums,” ZABR 24 (2018), 211–254.

77 See Hensel, “Deuteronomium 12,13–19” (see n. 38).
78 The most common dating is into the late monarchic period. Newer approaches opt for

a neo-Babylonian or early-Persian dating, see, e. g., Kratz, “Idea” (see n. 74), 121; and Juha
Pakkala’s works (e. g., “Deuteronomy and 1–2 Kings in the Redaction of the Pentateuch and
Former Prophets,” in Deuteronomy in the Pentateuch, Hexateuch, and the Deuteronomistic
History, ed. K. Schmid and R. Person, FAT 2 / 56 [Tübingen: Mohr Sie­beck, 2012], 133–162).
 Debating Temple and Torah in the Second Temple Period 47

tuary the centralization law of Deuteronomy is referencing to. Bethel offers a

fundamental, albeit archaeologically hardly provable option for this.79 Another
possibility would be that the authors were creating an imagined center for the
Israelites – after the downfall of the Northern and Southern kingdoms in order
to preserve group identity.80 At the latest, however, with the erection of the
sanctuary at Mount Gerizim it is clear that Deut 12 and related texts are under-
stood as one – but not exclusive – reference to Mount Gerizim.
The concept of Ur-Deuteronomy, which I would like to call concessive, is
even kept up when Deuteronomy was successively linked with the first editions
of the Former Prophets (esp. Sam – Kgs),81 which on their side present a very
Jerusalem-­centered view. Deuteronomy is at every stage of the Fort­schrei­
bung left open for Samarian contexts, respectively: despite the deepened con-
nections with (Joshua –) Samuel – Kings’ Jerusalem perspective, Deuteronomy
does not adapt these specifications. Within Deuteronomy the identification of
the maqom with the temple in Jerusalem remains (also and especially because
of the qatal of the centralization formula) always a possible, but at no time an
exclusive interpretation.

79 That Bethel was intact after 722 BCE is proposed by E. A. Knauf, “Bethel: The Isra-

elite Impact on Judean Language and Literature,” in Oeming and Lipschits, Judah and the
Judeans (see n. 73), 291–349; id., “The Glorious Days of Manasseh,” in Data and Debates:
Essays in the History and Culture of Israel and Its Neighbours in Antiquity, ed. H. M. Nie-
mann, K. Schmid, and S. Schroer, AOAT 407 (Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2013), 251–275, here
273. Referencing Knauf’s proposal and with literary-critical consequences for the Bethel
episodes of the Jacob cycle, see U. Becker, “Jakob in Bet-El und Sichem,” in Die Erzväter in
der biblischen Tradition: Festschrift Matthias Köckert, ed. A. C. Hagedorn and H. Pfeiffer,
BZAW 400 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2009), 159–185; see also Davies, “Monotheism” (see n. 4),
31–33. On the missing archaeological evidences for the sixth to fourth century BCE, see
I. Finkelstein and L. Singer-Avitz, “Reevaluating Bethel,” ZDPV 125.1 (2009), 33–48. But
see now O. Lipschits, “Bethel Revisited,” in Rethinking Israel: Studies in the History and
Archaeology of the Ancient Israel in Honor of Israel Finkelstein, ed. O. Lipschits, Y. Gadot,
and M. J. Adams (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2017), 233–245, with a presentation of
yet unpublished findings at E. P. 915, that may indicate activity in Bethel after 722 BCE. I
interpret Bethel as a “Samarian” site for the time after 722 BCE and until the building of
Mount Gerizim as new Samarian main sanctuary, see Hensel, “Cult Centralization” (see
n. 19), 254–257.
80 On this aspect of centralization, see Kratz, “Idea” (see n. 74); C. L. Crouch, The Making

of Israel: Cultural Diversity in the Southern Levant and the Formation of the Ethnic Identity
in Deuteronomy, VTSup 162 (Leiden: Brill, 2014), 133–139.
81 On the (possibility of) different and independent origins of Deuteronomy and the Deu­

ter­onomistic History, see K. Schmid, “Deuteronomy within the ‘Deuteronomistic Histories’

in Genesis – 2 Kings,” in Schmid and Person, Deuteronomy in the Pentateuch (see n. 78),
8–­30.
 The Golah, the Temple, and the Torah
in the Book of Ezra
Biblical and Religious-Historical Perspectives
on Judah and Jerusalem in Postexilic Times

Sebastian Grätz

1. Introduction
The Book of Ezra offers an impressive testimony of biblical historiography of
the postexilic period. It begins with the turning point of exile, the Cyrus edict,
and concludes with the application of the Torah to the so-called mixed marriag-
es. According to this, men who married “foreign women” would have mixed
the “holy seed” (‫ )זרע הקדש‬in an unlawful way (Ezra 9:2). The overarching
nar­rative, therefore, runs from the divinely ordained homecoming of a group
of exiles to Judah and Jerusalem to a Torah-defined religious-political congre-
gation, which inhabits the corresponding area. One will hardly go wrong if one
regards the narrated sequence of events in the Book of Ezra as primarily theo-
logically oriented historiography: The interest of the authors in the individual
parts of the book becomes too clear. Nevertheless, one can assume that the ba-
sic structure of the book contains information that mirrors historical data. Thus,
it will be historically plausible that there were returning emigrants from Bab-
ylonia in Persian times, that the temple, which the Babylonians had destroyed
according to 2 Kgs 25, was rebuilt, and that there was (later on) a written doc-
ument relevant to religious law, the “Torah of Moses.” Whether the events
described can also be reconciled with the timeline presented by the naming of
different Persian kings is, however, no longer as certain. In the following, the
respective religious-theological dimensions of three important terms and ideas
of the Book of Ezra will be evaluated against a possible historical background.

2. The Golah

The term “Golah” is always used determined in the Book of Ezra: ‫הגולה‬. Thus,
the language usage from Jer 28–29 and the Book of Ezekiel is employed. Here,
the determined term stands for the group of persons who were deported from
Judah to Babylonia. A specific theological meaning could be gained from
50 Sebastian Grätz

Jer 29 as the exiled persons (‫ )הגולה‬are announced to return after seventy years
of imprisonment. The form of address of the fictitious letter has the effect that it
is the addressees of the letter itself who are also to be led back ‒ although after
seventy years an individual return is rather unlikely. However, the term “Go-
lah” is a collective that is to be understood in the same way: 1 it is the group, not
the individual, who might have vague hopes of returning home. The fictional
letter, therefore, aims at a continuity between the deportees and those who will
return home after seventy years. This is important for our question because the
Book of Ezra also assumes such continuity: those who are the subject of the
Book of Ezra are those who come from exile and are thus identified by the term
“Golah” with those who were previously exiled. The theological continuity
with the preexilic “Israel” 2 would thus be unbroken from the postexilic per-
spective of the Book of Ezra ‒ an important point of view both for the concept
of the renewed temple building and for that of the Torah of Moses to which one
will have to return.
An essential part of the Book of Ezra are different lists, from which the long
list of returnees in Ezra 2 stands out. First, in vv. 1‒2 an identification of the
Golah with Judah, Jerusalem and Israel takes place:
Now these were the people of the province who came from those captive exiles (‫)הגולה‬
whom King Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon had carried captive to Babylonia; they returned to
Jerusalem and Judah, all to their own towns. They came with Zerubbabel, Jeshua, Nehemiah,
Seraiah, Reelaiah, Mordecai, Bilshan, Mispar, Bigvai, Rehum, and Baanah. The number of
the Israelite people […].3

Analogous to Jer 29, those who were deported into exile are identified with
those who have now returned. The final verse of the following long list of ep-
onyms and population groups (v. 64) finally defines them as congregation or
community (‫)קהל‬. So, the Golah forms the ‫ קהל‬of Israel. The use of this term
in the Book of Exodus (Exod 12:6) and the desert period (Num 10 ff.), which
designates the people’s congregation, will be just as little accidental as the
number of the twelve Golah leaders named in v. 2.4 The first two persons men-
tioned, Serubbabel and Jeshua, appear even more frequently in the course of
the Book of Ezra as the governor and the (high) priest. Whether the Nehemiah
mentioned in third place should be identified with that of the book of the same
name is unclear, but conceivable: He no longer appears in the following list and

See Gesenius (18th ed.), s. v.

1

After the decline of the Northern Kingdom the term “Israel” was used primarily in a
2

theological sense in order to label the unity of God’s people. See on this issue, e. g., R. G.
Kratz, Historical and Biblical Israel: The History, Tradition, and Archives of Israel and Ju­
dah (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016), 79 f.
3 All biblical quotes follow NRSV.
4 See A. H. J. Gunneweg, Esra: Mit einer Zeittafel von Alfred Jepsen, KAT 19 / 1 (Güters­

loh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 1985), 51.

 The Golah, the Temple, and the Torah in the Book of Ezra 51

therefore remains (like other name bearers) functionless in this context.5 On

the other hand, the name Bigvai appears again in the continuation of the list,
namely, in v. 14, and then again in the context of the list of repatriates in Ezra
8:14. The name Bigvai is very probably of Persian origin: According to the
dictionary of Gesenius, the original form *Bāgoy is of Persian origin,6 whereas
Ran Zadok suggests the original Persian name Baga-vahya.7 The name form
Bagohi (‫ )בגוהי‬is also found in Elephantine (TAD A 4.7:1; A 4.9:1).8 One of the
leaders thus bears a name which cannot be of preexilic origin, but which is Per-
sian. This simple observation suggests the question of the identity of the Golah
defined in Ezra 2: A possible match of the names mentioned in Ezra 2 with pre­
exilic eponyms is apparently not intended. When considering the lay names in
Ezra 2:3‒20, it is first of all noticeable that with a few exceptions no unambig-
uous YHWH-names can be found. “El” as theophoric element is also not rep-
resented at all. On the other hand, names of Akkadian and Persian etymology
appear next to West Semitic ones.9 While these names outside of the Books of
Ezra-Nehemiah (partly also in Chronicles) do not occur otherwise in the Old
Testament, it is to be observed that these names are attested in such or similar
form in Elephantine or the Murašû archives from Nippur. This shows that the
names in Ezra 2 reflect a multiethnic environment, as is also the case in the
external evidence.10 Consequently, the long list could have contained authentic
names of Persian immigrants ‒ Greek names are missing. According to Ezra 2,
these would then have constituted the “people of Israel,” who, thus, came com-
pletely from the Babylonian diaspora and would have identified themselves in
a completely new way without a direct genealogical connection to preexilic
times. The term “Golah” thus forms the link between the deported preexilic
Israel and the repatriated postexilic Israel; at least from a religious-theological
point of view they represent the same group ‒ although historically this does
5 The same applies to Seraiah, whose name is mentioned in Ezra 7:1 as the name of the

father of Ezra, and to Reelaiah, Mordecai, Bilshan, Mispar, Baanah, and finally Rehum, a
name which, however, in Ezra 4:2, occurs in a completely different context again.
6 See Gesenius (18th ed.), s. v.
7 See R. Zadok, The Jews in Babylonia during the Chaldean and Achaemenian Periods:

According to the Babylonian Sources, Studies in the History of the Jewish People and the
Land of Israel Monograph Series 3 (Haifa: University of Haifa, 1979), 41, 113.
8 See A. M. Bortz, Identität und Kontinuität: Form und Funktion der Rückkehrerliste

Esr 2, BZAW 512 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2018), 117‒125, 283; Arah (< Bab. Arāḫ [?]), Ater
(< Bab. [?] Ēṭiru), Bigvai (see above), Zattu (< Pers. Zātu-vahya; see W. Hinz, Altiranisches
Sprachgut der Nebenüberlieferungen, Göttinger Orientforschungen 3 / Iranica 7 [Wies­baden:
Harrassowitz, 1975], 278), Azgad (< Bab. Ašgandu < Pers. Žganda), possibly also Ne­koda,
Mehida, Peruda.
9 See Bortz, Identität (see n. 8), 232‒237.
10 See Bortz, Identität (see n. 8), 234‒236. On Elephantine, see esp. B. Porten and A. Yar­

deni, Textbook of Aramaic Documents from Ancient Egypt: Newly Copied, Edited and Trans­
lated into Hebrew and English, vol. 4: Ostraca and Assorted Inscriptions (Winona Lake,
Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1999), 194.
52 Sebastian Grätz

not have to be the case at all. It is, hence, a question of establishing a status
quo, as is, above all, evident from Ezra 2:62:
These looked for their entries in the genealogical records (‫ יחש‬hitpael), but they were not
found there, and so they were excluded from the priesthood as unclean […].

The present “examination” 11 therefore represents the status report of the Go-
lah / Israel, which is authoritative for the authors of the Book of Ezra. Israel is a
quantity determined both ethnically (by the concrete personal names) and theo-
logically (by the term “Israel” itself), which historically has very little to do
with the preexilic Israel to which it refers. The altogether twenty-one laymen
who are mentioned by name and are probably to be understood as eponyms,
as well as the fifty-eight persons belonging to the temple personnel who are
named, form the core of this Israel. It becomes clear that the Israel of the Book
of Ezra lends this label to itself and exclusively, as “invented tradition,” so to
speak. This refers to the establishment of a tradition associated with a seem-
ingly fitting past.12 In particular, the claim to exclusivity makes it clear that the
use of the Golah and Israel traditions by the group in question (or the author
of the text) may have been created or instrumentalized for an at least imagined
competitive situation. This competitive situation clearly shines through in the
course of the report on temple construction.

3. The Temple

From the beginning, the Book of Ezra has been pervaded by references to
the Persian kings, be it through their naming as authority (Ezra 4:3), through
the dating of the narrative after these kings (1:1; 4:24; 6:15; 7:1) or through
royal announcements and letters reproduced in the “original” wording (1:1‒4;
4:6‒24; chap. 6–7; 7:12‒26). In the light of the history of religion, there exists
a close connection between ruler and sanctuary. The Bible itself provides good
examples with Solomon’s temple building (1 Kgs 6‒8) and various restoration
measures as reported, for example, by the kings Jehoash (2 Kgs 12) and Josiah
(2 Kgs 22).13 Ancient oriental sources also know the king as a builder within
the framework of numerous text genres.14 Above all, Babylonian texts report of
the close connection of the gods to the king, who also suggest the appropriate

See Bortz, Identität (see n. 8), 196‒204.

11

On this issue, see E. Hobsbawm, “Introduction: Inventing Traditions,” in The Invention

12

of Tradition, ed. E. Hobsbawm and T. Ranger (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,

1986), 1‒14, here 1‒3. B. Becking, Ezra-Nehemiah, HCOT (Leuven: Peeters, 2018), 23,
employs the term “claimed tradition”: “fragments of history and memories on the past were
transformed into a story that served as a legitimation of the deeds and doings of Esra.”
13 See P. Dubovský, The Building of the First Temple: A Study in Redactional, Text-Criti­

cal and Historical Perspective, FAT 103 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2015), 32‒39.
14 See Dubovský, The Building of the First Temple (see n. 13), 14‒28.
 The Golah, the Temple, and the Torah in the Book of Ezra 53

building projects to the king. This can be seen in particular in the numerous
building inscriptions of Nabonidus and ‒ not least ‒ also in the Cyrus cylinder,
which here completely follows the paths of Babylonian traditions.15 The king
does not act at his own discretion, but “on command” (ina qibât) of the gods.16
Ezra 1:1‒3 is not too far away from this diction when God “commands” (‫פקד‬
‫ )על‬King Cyrus to build the temple in Jerusalem:
In the first year of King Cyrus of Persia, in order that the word of the LORD by the mouth
of Jeremiah might be accomplished, the LORD stirred up (‫ עור‬III) the spirit of King Cyrus
of Persia so that he sent a herald throughout all his kingdom, and also in a written edict de-
clared: “Thus says King Cyrus of Persia: The LORD, the God of heaven, has given me all
the kingdoms of the earth, and he has charged me to build him a house at Jerusalem in Judah.
Any of those among you who are of his people – may their God be with them! ‒ are now
permitted to go up to Jerusalem in Judah, and rebuild the house of the LORD, the God of
Israel ‒ he is the God who is in Jerusalem […].”

The so-called Cyrus edict, which opens the Book of Ezra, draws on the Go-
lah concept from Jer 29 and refers probably to Deutero-Isaiah concerning
the choice of Cyrus as world ruler and temple builder probably. In particular,
the use of the root ‫ עור‬III (“awaken”) is relevant there in connection with the
“awakening” of Cyrus: The so-called Cyrus oracle in Isa 44:24‒45:7 also con-
nects the election of Cyrus with royal ideological terminology (“shepherd,”
44:28; “anointed one,” 45:1) and the commission to Cyrus to build the temple
(44:28).17 Now, in the Book of Ezra the king does not build himself, but his
mandatary, the Golah. Ezra 1:3 explicitly states that the building of the sanc-
tuary is the responsibility of the group emigrating from Babylonia to Judea,
which acts on behalf of the divinely chosen builder.
Ezra 4:1‒4 now explicitly mentions for the first time the opponents of the
Go­lah:
When the adversaries of Judah and Benjamin heard that the returned exiles were building a
temple to the LORD, the God of Israel, they approached Zerubbabel and the heads of fam-
ilies and said to them, “Let us build with you, for we worship your God as you do, and we
have been sacrificing to him ever since the days of King Esar-haddon of Assyria who brought
us here.” But Zerubbabel, Jeshua, and the rest of the heads of families in Israel said to them,
“You shall have no part with us in building a house to our God; but we alone will build to the
LORD, the God of Israel, as King Cyrus of Persia has commanded us.” Then the people of
the land discouraged the people of Judah, and made them afraid to build […].

15 See A. Kuhrt, “The Cyrus Cylinder and Achaemenid Imperial Policy,” JSOT 25 (1983),
83‒97, here 87.
16 See F. Wetzel and F. Weissbach, Das Hauptheiligtum des Marduk in Babylon, Esagi­

la und Etemenanki, Ausgrabungen der Deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft in Babylon 7 (Osna-

brück: Zeller, 1967), 42 f.
17 See, e. g., J. Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah: A Commentary, OTL (London: SCM, 1989),

74 f.
54 Sebastian Grätz

First of all, it is noticeable that the term “Israel” is avoided as a term that de-
fines a group. Only in relation to God’s predication “God of Israel” the term is
used. Instead, the enemies of “Judah and Benjamin” prevent the temple from
progressing. “Judah and Benjamin” is, for example in 1 Kgs 12, a term for
the Southern Kingdom in clear (warlike) demarcation to the Northern King-
dom, the political Israel. It therefore seems probable that the opposition from
Ezra 4 is located in the former Northern Kingdom, the contemporary province
of Samaria.18 As is well known, the YHWH-worshipers on Mount Gerizim
also called themselves “Israel.” 19 The legitimacy of the temple building by the
Golah is therefore not determined by the fact of the YHWH-worship, but by
the royal order ‒ or by the logic of the Cyrus edict from Ezra 1: commanded
by God himself.
Interestingly, the Cyrus edict is quoted again in the course of the Book of
Ezra: In Ezra 6:3‒5 a memorandum (‫ )דכרונה‬is reproduced which refers to an
edict of King Cyrus. Verses 2* and 3 read as follows:
A record. In the first year of his reign, King Cyrus issued a decree: Concerning the house of
God at Jerusalem, let the house be rebuilt, the place where sacrifices are offered and burnt
offerings are brought; its height shall be sixty cubits and its width sixty cubits […].

In contrast to Ezra 1, this reproduction of a royal order knows no connection

between the building of the temple and the Golah as well as the entire literary
context of the so-called Aramaic Chronicle in Ezra 5:1‒6:18. Here it is the
‫ יהודאין‬and especially their “elders” who are entrusted with the building of the
temple.20 A distinction between immigrants and residents is not made. Only in
the Aramaic transitional part, Ezra 6:15‒18, before the text changes back into
Hebrew in Ezra 6:19, the idea of a Golah (vv. 16, 19) working exclusively on
the temple building reappears again: temple consecration (Aramaic) and Pe­
sach feast (Hebrew) are celebrated again exclusively by exactly this group.
Nevertheless, it appears that the Aramaic Chronicle in its original form does
not (yet) know or ignore the Golah-oriented concept from Ezra 1‒4.
The temple building itself is described only very sparingly in the context
of the Aramaic Chronicle: The completion is reported in Ezra 6:15, the di-
mensions of the temple only in the context of the just mentioned memoran-
dum in Ezra 6:3‒4 (textually partly corrupted).21 The concern of the Aramaic
Chronicle is also less the temple building itself, but the description of God’s
providential action (Ezra 5:5) also by means of the rulers of this world. So it is
finally King Darius who, in a letter in Ezra 6:6‒12 (not uninfluenced by Deu-

18 See B. Hensel, Juda und Samaria: Zum Verhältnis zweier nach-exilischer Jahwismen,

FAT 110 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), 290‒292.

19 See Hensel, Juda und Samaria (see n. 18), 79‒83.
20 See S. Grätz, “Die aramäische Chronik des Esrabuches und die Rolle der Ältesten in

Esr 5‒6,” ZAW 118 (2006), 405‒422, here 407 f.

21 See the commentaries.
 The Golah, the Temple, and the Torah in the Book of Ezra 55

teronomistic diction),22 not only approves the building of the temple, but also
specifically promotes it.
However, Ezra 3 refers more clearly to the construction itself. After the re-
port about the altar building at the place of its predecessor (Ezra 3:3) and the
beginning of the offering of sacrifices (vv. 3‒6 a), the section Ezra 3:6 b‒13
now looks at the temple building itself:
But the foundation of the temple of the LORD was not yet laid. So they gave money to the
masons and the carpenters, and food, drink, and oil to the Sidonians and the Tyrians to bring
cedar trees from Lebanon to the sea, to Joppa, according to the grant that they had from King
Cyrus of Persia. In the second year after their arrival at the house of God at Jerusalem, in
the second month, Zerubbabel son of Shealtiel and Jeshua son of Jozadak made a beginning,
together with the rest of their people, the priests and the Levites and all who had come to
Jerusalem from the captivity. They appointed the Levites, from twenty years old and upward,
to have the oversight of the work on the house of the LORD. And Jeshua with his sons and his
kin, and Kadmiel and his sons, Binnui and Hodaviah 23 along with the sons of Henadad, the
Levites, their sons and kin, together took charge of the workers in the house of God. When
the builders laid the foundation of the temple of the LORD, the priests in their vestments
were stationed to praise the LORD with trumpets,24 and the Levites, the sons of Asaph, with
cymbals, according to the directions of King David of Israel; and they sang responsively,
praising and giving thanks to the LORD, “For he is good, for his steadfast love endures for-
ever toward Israel.” And all the people responded with a great shout when they praised the
LORD, because the foundation of the house of the LORD was laid. But many of the priests
and Levites and heads of families, old people who had seen the first house on its foundations,
wept with a loud voice when they saw this house, though many shouted aloud for joy, so that
the people could not distinguish the sound of the joyful shout from the sound of the people’s
weeping, for the people shouted so loudly that the sound was heard far away.

The similarities of this section with the tradition of the construction of the tem-
ple of Solomon in the chronicles are clear: From the transport of the materials
from Lebanon and the liturgy to the date there are numerous parallels (1 Chr
22:3 f.; 2 Chr 2:7, 15; 3:2; 5:3). The text apparently attaches great importance
to the fact that the new building corresponds to its predecessor. To represent it,
only one passage and its parallel are quoted:
Ezra 3:11: […] and they sang responsively, praising and giving thanks to the LORD, “For he
is good, for his steadfast love endures forever toward Israel.” And all the people responded
with a great shout when they praised the LORD, because the foundation of the house of the
LORD was laid.
2 Chr 5:13 f.: […] and when the song was raised, with trumpets and cymbals and other mu-
sical instruments, in praise to the LORD, “For he is good, for his steadfast love endures

22 See Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah (see n. 17), 127: “it would therefore not be hypercrit-

ical to conclude that the royal reply […] is a free composition elaborated on the historical
basis of a confirmation on the Cyrus rescript issued during the reign of Darius.”
23 Cf. Ezra 2:14; see L. Fried, Ezra: A Commentary (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press,

2015), 112.
24 See Fried, Ezra (see n. 23), 117.
56 Sebastian Grätz

forever,” the house, the house of the LORD, was filled with a cloud, so that the priests could
not stand to minister because of the cloud; for the glory (‫ )כבוד‬of the LORD filled the house
of God.

Ezra 3 clearly reflects here through the interaction with 2 Chr 5 the restoration
of the original state of the sanctuary, which will be inhabited again by the di-
vine ‫ ‒ כבוד‬even if this is explicitly stated neither here nor in Ezra 6.
Beside intertextual touches, another aspect might be important, to which es-
pecially Lisbeth Fried drew attention: The juxtaposition of shouting and crying
in Ezra 3:13 could have a religious-historical background.25 Claus Ambos sees
typical rites de passage in the Mesopotamian building rituals he examines in
connection with temple renovations or new constructions. The rituals stand,
so to speak, at the transition from a destroyed sanctuary to a newly found-
ed or erected sanctuary. In these rituals, the lament in particular has a fixed
place, which accompanied the ritual with special lament singers.26 The lament
mourns the (still) absent deity. Possibly the liturgical framework of the temple
foundation described in Ezra 3 can be interpreted in this way. In any case the
retrospective view is constitutive for the transition ritual, as Ambos empha-
sizes: “It is important to point out that temple building rituals did not serve to
ensure the transition to a new status, but rather the return to an old, desirable
state.” 27 The text of Ezra 3:6 b‒13 is therefore not so much about the celebra-
tion of a new building, but above all about the return to the original shrine.
Thus, the text of Ezra 3:11 quotes the hymn from 2 Chr 5:13 to document the
return to the original status.
The temple building, like the idea of the Golah in Ezra 1‒3, is hence close-
ly linked to the preexilic time of Judah. The competing group mentioned in
Ezra 4 is excluded from temple building. Behind this group one could probably
assume the YHWH-worshipers from Samaria. The close connection between
the Golah and the temple could be an invented tradition again. For neither the
Aramaic Chronicle of the Book of Ezra nor the Book of Haggai, which also
thematizes the temple construction, know this exclusive connection of the Go-
lah and the (re)building of the temple.28 Rather, the tradition has its starting

25 See Fried, Ezra (see n. 23), 184‒187, and also ead., “The Land Lay Desolate: Conquest

and Restoration in the Ancient Near East,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Neo-Babylonian
Period, ed. O. Lipschits and J. Blenkinsopp (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2003), 21–54,
here 42–47, where she suggests the Mesopotamian kalû ritual as a possible background: “A
kalû priest makes offerings and sings lamentations as long as the old temple is being demol-
ished and the new temple is being constructed” (44).
26 See C. Ambos, Mesopotamische Baurituale aus dem 1. Jahrtausend v. Chr. (Dresden:

ISLET-Verlag, 2004), 45–58.

27 Ambos, Mesopotamische Baurituale [see n. 26], 46: “Es ist wichtig, darauf hinzuwei­

sen, daß gerade Tempelbau-Rituale nicht dazu dienten, den Übergang in einen neuen Status,
sondern vielmehr die Rückkehr in einen alten, als erstrebenswert geltenden Zustand zu ge­
währleisten.”
28 On the mentioning of Zerubbabel and Joshua in the Book of Haggai, see M. Hallaschka,
 The Golah, the Temple, and the Torah in the Book of Ezra 57

point in the proclamation of Deutero-Isaiah, in which Cyrus is the executive

organ between the will of YHWH and its execution. Therefore, in the story of
the Book of Ezra, he also acts as the patron of the sanctuary to be built by the
Golah commissioned by him. The same might be true for the third concept.

4. The Torah

The chapters Ezra 1‒6 show, as already mentioned, a quite prophetic-theolog-

ical trait: Besides the already mentioned reception of motifs from the Books
of Jeremiah and Deutero-Isaiah in Ezra 1:1‒4, in Ezra 5:1(, 2); 6:14 also the
prophets Haggai and Zechariah appear as companions of the temple building.
In Ezra 6:18 (Aram.) the “book of Moses” (‫ )ספר משה‬is mentioned for the first
time and only once for Ezra 1‒6 as a written document, although its inaugura-
tion is actually reserved for Ezra 7. Historical conclusions can hardly be drawn
from this; rather it is probable that the Ezra story beginning in Ezra 7 originated
literarily separately from the preceding context.29 Nevertheless, the text Ezra
7‒10 also makes use of the topos of the benevolent Persian ruler. Interestingly,
the connection between the royal order and the Torah seems even closer than it
was in the building of the temple, since even the terms are brought into agree-
ment: Ezra 7:12‒26 reproduces an alleged (Aramaic) letter of the great king
Artaxerxes, which concludes in v. 26 with the following words to Ezra:
All who will not obey the law (‫ )דת‬of your God and the law (‫ )דת‬of the king, let judgment be
strictly executed on them […].

Research has racked its brains about what exactly the “law of the king” is,
what exactly the “law of God” is, and how these two variables relate to each
other.30 This cannot be discussed here. It should suffice to point out, first, that
the preceding Hebrew-language context in Ezra 7:1‒11, especially in the tran-
sition from vv. 10 (Heb. ‫ )תורת יהוה‬and 12 (Aram. ‫)דתא די־אלה‬, suggests that
the “law” of Ezra will be nothing other than the Torah 31 and that, secondly, this

Haggai und Sacharja 1‒8: Eine redaktionsgeschichtliche Untersuchung, BZAW 411 (Berlin:
de Gruyter, 2011), 133‒135.
29 See the commentaries and J. Pakkala, Ezra the Scribe: The Development of Ezra 7‒10

and Nehemiah 8, BZAW 347 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2004), 23‒32.

30 See on the debate of the thesis of the so-called “Reichsautorisation” and its conse-

quences, e. g., K. Schmid, “The Persian Imperial Authorization as a Historical Problem and
a Biblical Construct: A Plea for Distinctions,” in The Pentateuch as Torah: New Models for
Understanding Its Promulgation and Acceptance, ed. G. N. Knoppers and B. M. Levinson
(Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2007), 23–38.
31 Of course, the meaning of Aram. ‫ דת‬which goes back to Pers. data (“law”) does not

coincide with Heb. ‫תורה‬. It seems that the translation ‫ דת‬juridifies the term ‫תורה‬, in a sense
comparable to the translation νόμος in the Septuagint. The reported divorces in Ezra 9‒10 “in
accordance with the Torah” (‫כתורה‬, Ezra 10:3) seem to mirror a juridical / legal understanding
58 Sebastian Grätz

also corresponds to the logic of the patronage of the Persians over the projects
of the Judeans according to Ezra 1‒6. As in the construction of the temple, the
legislation is also closely connected with the will of the king. This phenom-
enon is also known, for example, from the Code of Hammurabi (5.10 ff.), the
reform of Josiah (2 Kgs 22 f.), and in the Letter of Aristeas.32 However, even
in Ezra 7 it is not the king himself who tackles the measures, but again a man-
datary: Ezra, who is, of course, a member of the Golah.
Moreover, according to Ezra 7:1‒10 Ezra himself is not only delegated by
the king to handle the Torah according to Ezra 7:25–26 as “law book,” but also
qualified for it by his priestly descent, which leads directly back to the arch-
priest Aaron (Ezra 7:5) and his qualities as ‫ ס ֵֹפר‬/ ‫( ָס ַפר‬7:6, 11, 12). This term is
probably best to translate as “scribe,” for Ezra is sketched in the story of Ezra
and in Neh 8 in a corresponding way: Ezra does not write down the law, but he
interprets it, applies it (Ezra 9‒10), and finally presents it to the assembled con-
gregation (Neh 8).33 For the law itself, of course, does not come from Ezra, but
from Moses ‒ that is, ultimately from God, as Ezra 7:6 (‫ )תורת משה‬and Ezra 10
(‫ )תורת יהוה‬make clear. Ezra ‒ as an Aaronite ‒ and the Torah therefore stem
from Mount Sinai, the immediate presence of God and his message to Moses.
Like the Golah and the Temple, the Torah is thus not “new” but time-honored,
even preceding the Temple, and in the perspective of the narrative probably
also predominant.
The biblical Ezra himself is intimately linked to the teachings of the Torah,
with the traits of an invented tradition again emerging: Equipped with out-
standing political (authorized envoy of the Great King), cultic (Aaronite), and
cultural-religious (‫ספר מהיר‬, Ezra 7:6) characteristics, only the Ezra figure ful-
fills the requirements of leadership qualities. As in the cases of the Golah and
the Temple, the Torah is anchored in preexilic times. Just as Ezra 1‒6 defines
who belongs to the Golah and who may build the temple, Ezra 7‒10 (Neh 8)
defines who is authorized to use and teach the Torah.

5. Summary

The Book of Ezra presents the postexilic history of Judah and Jerusalem from
a theological and chronological point of view. Three milestones are named:
The returnees, the temple and the Torah. The framework of the narrative is
the Persian sovereignty, which not only forms the outer frame of the event,

of the Torah. See J. Blenkinsopp, Judaism: The First Phase; The Place of Ezra and Nehemi­
ah in the Origins of Judaism (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2009), 221‒227.
32 On this parallel to Ezra 7, see esp. S. Grätz, Das Edikt des Artaxerxes: Eine Untersu­

chung zum religionspolitischen und historischen Umfeld von Esr 7,12‒25, BZAW 337 (Ber-
lin: de Gruyter, 2004), 204‒207.
33 See Fried, Ezra (see n. 23), 302 f.
 The Golah, the Temple, and the Torah in the Book of Ezra 59

but which is divinely chosen and through which God directs the fate of Judah
and Jerusalem ‒ a perspective which Deutero-Isaiah also takes on and which
is also present in the text of the cylinder of Cyrus in the history of religion.
The Persian rulers, however, do not only serve the demonstration of the divine
providence, but they also legitimize the respective actors in the Book of Ezra:
The Golah and its temple, Ezra and the Torah. Behind these focal points of the
narrative, there are historical facts: There have been homecomers from Baby-
lonia in Persian times ‒ probably the list in Ezra 2 even keeps some names of
these homecomers; there has been the construction of a sanctuary in Jerusalem;
the Torah was very probably designed editorially in this time. However, the as-
sociation of these events with an exclusive group acting according to royal and
divine will seems more to reflect the view of the authors of the Book of Ezra.
They see in the Israel defined by them the exclusive heir of a preexilic entity
Israel, which now cultivates the traditions of the temple and the Torah. Above,
the term “invented tradition” has been used. This means the establishment of
a new tradition associated with a suitable past: the Golah and preexilic Israel,
the Golah and temple building, Ezra and the Torah of Moses. Already the look
into the Aramaic Chronicle of the Books of Ezra and Haggai shows, however,
that these invented traditions are not shared everywhere even within the Bi-
ble. This probably allows conclusions to be drawn about the differentiation of
the respective political and theological positions. The emphasis on exclusivity
historically and ideologically makes one think of a competitive situation, at
least perceived as such, which the Book of Ezra wants to encounter and for
which the northern neighbor from Samaria is the first possible candidate: Its
self-designation as Israel, its sanctuary on the Gerizim and its care of the Torah
are processed by the Book of Ezra point by point as religious and politically
illegitimate, so to speak.
 “Mount Gerizim is the house of God
and the dwelling place for his glory”
The Origins and Early History of Samaritan Theology1

Stefan Schorch

The Samaritans are an Israelite sect which separated from Judaism in the late
second century BCE, but the break had more ancient roots.2 Even if Jews and
Samaritans often lived as neighbors, and although they continued to share many
elements of their common Israelite heritage, the two sects had been deeply di-
vided by their beliefs and respective religious cultures. A set of principal be-
liefs which appears in several of the earliest Samaritan prayers from the fourth
century CE, amongst them the following by the poet Amram Dare,3 illustrates
this ambivalent relationship between Judaism and Samaritanism (Amram Dare
4:29–33): 4
‫לית אלה אלא אחד‬ There is no God but one,
‫לא נבי הך משה נביה‬ There is no prophet like Moses,
‫ולא כתב הך ארהותה קדישתה‬ There is no writ like the Holy Torah,
‫ולא סגדה אלא ליהוה‬ and there is no worship but to YHWH,
‫קדם הרגריזים בית אל‬ Facing Mount Gerizim, the House of God.

While this text, like several others from the fourth century CE onwards, dis-
plays the fundamental similarity between Judaism and Samaritanism in terms

1 Thanks to Matthew Chalmers (Northwestern University, Evanston, Ill.) for his helpful

comments and careful editing of this article.

2 S. Schorch, “The Construction of Samari(t)an Identity from the Inside and from the Out-

side,” in Between Cooperation and Hostility: Multiple Identities in Ancient Judaism and the
Interaction with Foreign Powers, ed. R. Albertz and J. Wöhrle, Journal of Ancient Judaism
Supplements 11 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2013), 135–149.
3 For Amram Dare, see A. Tal, “Samaritan Literature,” in The Samaritans, ed. A. D. Crown

(Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1989), 413–467, here 452–453.

4 The Samaritan liturgy was edited by A. E. Cowley, The Samaritan Liturgy, 2 vols. (Ox-

ford: Clarendon, 1909). An edition of the Samaritan prayers, including the orally transmit-
ted reading, a Hebrew translation, and a commentary focusing mainly on their language,
was prepared by Z. Ben-Ḥayyim, The Literary and Oral Tradition of Hebrew and Aramaic
amongst the Samaritans, vol. 3 / 2: The Recitation of Prayers and Hymns (Jerusalem: The
Academy of the Hebrew Language, 1967). In the following, Samaritan prayers are quoted
from the latter edition, and according to the name of the respective author, that is, Amram
Dare, Marqe, and Ninna (see below).
62 Stefan Schorch

of strict monotheism, the central role of Moses’s prophecy, the Torah as holy
scripture, and God’s one central sanctuary, it also shows perhaps the most im-
portant difference between the two rival groups, and certainly the most conten-
tious: the localization of the most holy place for Israel, which for the Samari-
tans is at Mount Gerizim.
Amram Dare’s poems, together with those of Marqe and Ninna, form the
oldest layer of Samaritan religious poetry, a corpus of around sixty poems com-
prising the classical core of Samaritan liturgy.5 Moreover, together with the
oldest layers of the midrashic collection Tebat Marqe (“Marqe’s ark”), also dat-
ing to the fourth century CE,6 they are the earliest extant sources for Samaritan
ideology, or Samaritan theology, in the proper sense of the word.7 Although the
Samaritan Pentateuch and the older versions of the Samaritan Targum predate
this Samaritan religious poetry, they are much less suitable sources for Samar-
itan theology, due to the following reasons.
The Samaritan Pentateuch, especially the several textual features which
seem to set it apart from the Masoretic Text in terms of religious concepts,
pre­dates the break between Samaritans and Jews in the late second century
BCE. As is clear from the Septuagint, the Dead Sea Scrolls, and further textual
witnesses of the biblical text from the Hellenistic period, none of these textual
divergencies originate in Samaritan ideology or in a Samaritan quest to change
the text of the Pentateuch in accordance with Samaritan beliefs. In other words,
the Samaritan Pentateuch is not a Samaritan text in terms of its origins.8
The earliest preserved Samaritan text in the strict sense of the word is the
Samaritan Targum, which seems to have emerged from the first century CE
onwards.9 However, since the Samaritan Targum presents an extremely literal
translation,10 it basically reproduces the text of the Samaritan Pentateuch. It
therefore provides very few insights into Samaritan theology. Samaritan theol-
ogy thus first appears in the Samaritan Aramaic literature of the fourth century

5Tal, “Samaritan Literature” (see n. 3), 450–455.

6A short overview is provided by Tal, “Samaritan Literature” (see n. 3), 462–465.
7 John Macdonald, in his pioneering study The Theology of the Samaritans (London:

SCM, 1964), attributes all six books of Tebat Marqe to Marqe’s authorship and therefore
dates them consequently to the fourth century CE (see ibid., 42–43). This assumption is not
in line with the evidence, especially the differences in linguistic usage attested in different
books, which demonstrates “that only the first book and several parts of the second were
transmitted in the language that can be safely ascribed to Marqe’s times,” as concluded by
Tal, “Samaritan Literature” (see n. 3), 465, on the basis of Ben-Ḥayyim’s research.
8 See S. Schorch, “The So-Called Gerizim Commandment in the Samaritan Pentateuch,”

in The Samaritan Pentateuch and the Dead Sea Scrolls, ed. M. Langlois, CBET 94 (Leuven:
Peeters, 2019), 77–97.
9 Tal, “Samaritan Literature” (see n. 3), 444–449.
10 S. Kohn, “Die samaritanische Pentateuchübersetzung nach der Ausgabe von Petermann

und Vollers,” ZDMG 47 (1893), 626–697, here 686; P. Kahle, Textkritische und lexikalische
Bemerkungen zum samaritanischen Pentateuchtargum (Leipzig: Drugulin, 1898), 7–8.
 The Origins and Early History of Samaritan Theology 63

CE, that is, in the Samaritan liturgical poetry and in Tebat Marqe,11 although it
should be noted that these sources exhibit a rather consistent conceptual frame-
work, probably as the result of prior development.
In the following, I would like to explore the extent of this conceptual frame-
work with a special focus on the Samaritan concepts associated with Mount
Gerizim, the main point of Samaritan difference in opposition to Judaism. De-
spite its fundamental importance for Samaritan identity, the topic still awaits
a systematic treatment. Only one comprehensive and systematic treatment of
Samaritan theology has been published so far, by John Macdonald in 1964.12
The book is pioneering, but it also suffers from several significant shortcom-
ings. Besides his sometimes erroneous use of Samaritan sources,13 Macdonald
aimed to demonstrate that the Samaritan religion is “Northern Israelite religion
developed, modified and substantially expanded with the aid of Christianity.” 14
This particularly misleading perspective not only led him to reconstruct the
Samaritan concept of Moses in Christological terms,15 but also seems to have
induced distinct underestimation of the central role of Mount Gerizim as the
central sanctuary within the Samaritan world view. Macdonald regards it, in his

11 Alan D. Crown argues that the Samaritans remained Jews until the third century CE,

drawing inter alia on the observation “that there is no identifiable trace of a Samaritan liturgy
until the time of Amram Darrah [sic!] in the fourth century CE” (A. D. Crown, “Redating the
Schism between the Judaeans and the Samaritans,” JQR 82 [1991], 17–50, here 37). But the
emergence of Samaritan Hebrew and of a specifically Samaritan Torah in the late second /
first century BCE, the emergence of the Samaritan Targum in the first century CE as well as
numerous indications in Jewish sources from the late Second Temple period seem to provide
a firm basis for the conclusion that the split between Samaritans and Jews took place in the
late second century BCE; cf. Schorch, “Samari(t)an Identity” (see n. 2), 135–138.
12 Macdonald, Theology of the Samaritans (see n. 7). In fact, the first “Samaritan theolo-

gy” was published by Wilhelm Gesenius: De Samaritanorum theologia ex fontibus ineditis

com­mentatio: Iesu Christi natalitia pie celebranda Academiae Fridericianae Halensis et
Vi­te­bergensis consociatae civibus indicunt prorector et senatus (Halle: Renger, 1822). Abra-
ham Tal, in his appreciation of Gesenius as the “first Samaritanologist,” demonstrated that
the latter, distinguishing himself “by his investigations in Samaritan theology and liturgical
literature […], has carried his research far beyond any of his predecessors” (A. Tal, “The
First Samaritanologist: Wilhelm Gesenius,” in Biblische Exegese und hebräische Lexiko­
graphie: Das “Hebräisch-deutsche Handwörterbuch” von Wilhelm Gesenius als Spiegel und
Quel­le alttestamentlicher und hebräischer Forschung, 200 Jahre nach seiner ersten Auflage,
ed. S. Schorch and E.-J. Waschke, BZAW 427 [Berlin: de Gruyter, 2013], 139–152, here
146). It is also obvious, however, that Gesenius, despite laying out the fundamentals of a
Samaritan theology, could not yet produce a comprehensive treatment, both with respect to
the scope of his study as well as with regard to the sources that were at his disposal.
13 See for an example n. 6 above.
14 Macdonald, Theology of the Samaritans (see n. 7), 419.
15 Most prominently in chap. 22 of his work, which bears the title “Moses and Christ”

(Macdonald, Theology of the Samaritans [see n. 7], 420–446).

64 Stefan Schorch

analysis of the “Samaritan creed,” as secondary, possibly more recent, and in

any case less fundamental than other elements.16
As the following study will demonstrate, however, the contrary seems to be
the case. Belief in Mount Gerizim is so closely intertwined with the other basic
tenets of Samaritan religion, and it has been so influential in shaping Samaritan
hermeneutics and theology in all its facets, that there seems to be no reason to
view it as of lesser importance. On the contrary, Mount Gerizim is without any
doubt one of the central concepts of Samaritan theology.
Since Samaritan theology relates to, and relies on the Samaritan Pentateuch,
however, some introductory remarks with regard to the distinctive features of
this text seem required.

1. Mount Gerizim in the Samaritan Torah

According to the Torah, the central sanctuary of the Israelites was chosen by
God “to establish his name there” (‫לשכן שמו שם‬, Deut 12:11, etc.). While Ju-
daism identifies this holy center with Jerusalem, Samaritans recognize it as
Mount Gerizim, situated at the southern outskirts of Nablus, that is, ancient
She­chem.
From a textual perspective, there is an obvious difference between these two
identifications.
Jerusalem is never mentioned in the Torah, at least not explicitly. Thus, the
Jewish connection of Jerusalem with the chosen-place concept as established
in Deuteronomy is created only through texts outside the Pentateuch, most
prominently in 2 Chr 6:5–6:
‫א־ב ַח ְר ִּתי ְב ִעיר ִמּכֹל ִׁש ְב ֵטי יִ ְׂש ָר ֵאל ִל ְבנֹות ַּביִ ת ִל ְהיֹות ְׁש ִמי‬
ָ ֹ ‫ת־ע ִּמי ֵמ ֶא ֶרץ ִמ ְצ ַריִ ם ל‬
ַ ‫אתי ֶא‬ ִ ‫הֹוצ‬
ֵ ‫ן־הּיֹום ֲא ֶׁשר‬ ַ ‫ִמ‬
‫ירּוׁש ַלםִ ִל ְהיֹות ְׁש ִמי ָׁשם וָ ֶא ְב ַחר ְּב ָדוִ יד ִל ְהיֹות‬
ָ ‫ל־ע ִּמי יִ ְׂש ָר ֵאל׃ וָ ֶא ְב ַחר ִּב‬
ַ ‫א־ב ַח ְר ִּתי ְב ִאיׁש ִל ְהיֹות נָ גִ יד ַע‬
ָ ֹ ‫ָׁשם וְ ל‬
‫ל־ע ִּמי יִ ְׂש ָר ֵאל׃‬
ַ ‫ַע‬
Since the day that I brought my people out of the land of Egypt, I have not chosen a city from
any of the tribes of Israel in which to build a house, so that my name might be there, and I
chose no one as ruler over my people Israel; but I have chosen Jerusalem in order that my
name may be there, and I have chosen David to be over my people Israel.17

Therefore, the Jewish identification of Jerusalem as the holy center of Israel is

achieved only through paratexts to the Torah. The Samaritan identification of

Macdonald, Theology of the Samaritans (see n. 7), 54: “We can well understand belief
16

in God, in his prophet and law, being fundamental from earliest times, but belief in the sacred
mountain?”
17 A shorter version of this verse is found in the parallel account in 1 Kgs 8:16 MT. The

Septuagint has the long version as attested in 2 Chr 6:5–6. English translations of the biblical
texts are generally quoted here according to NRSV, occasionally with adaptation by the au-
thor, especially in the case of variants in the Samaritan Pentateuch.
 The Origins and Early History of Samaritan Theology 65

the chosen place with Mount Gerizim, on the other hand, is present in the To-
rah, most prominently in the Samaritan version:
(1) According to the Samaritan text of Deut 27:4, the altar to be erected by
the Israelites immediately after their crossing the Jordan into the promised land
is to be built on Mount Gerizim, not on Mount Ebal:
‫ בהר‬:‫והיה בעברכם את הירדן תקימו את האבנים האלה אשר אנכי מצוה אתכם היום בהר גריזים [נה״מ‬
‫עיבל] ושדת אתם בשיד׃ ובנית שם מזבח ליהוה אלהיך מזבח אבנים לא תניף עליהם ברזל׃‬
So when you have crossed over the Jordan, you shall set up these stones, about which I am
commanding you today, on Mount Gerizim [MT: Mount Ebal], and you shall cover them with
plaster. And you shall build an altar there to the LORD your God, an altar of stones on which
you have not used an iron tool. (Deut 27:4–5 SP)

(2) Within the Samaritan Pentateuch, this same passage is repeated in Exod 20
and Deut 5, inscribing the veneration of Mount Gerizim into the Ten Com-
mandments in both of their occurrences.18 Thus, from the Samaritan perspec-
tive, the election of Mount Gerizim as the holy center of Israel is part and par-
cel of the Torah itself, as opposed to the Jewish Torah. And within the narrative
of the Pentateuch, as presented by the Samaritan version, the divine order to
establish the center of Israel’s worship on Mount Gerizim is among the laws
revealed on Mount Sinai.
While the meaning of the distinctive features is clear in these two cases, one
further textual variant of the Samaritan Pentateuch relating to Mount Gerizim
is more complex. In the centralization formula occurring first in Deut 12:5, and
repeated no less than twenty-one times in this book, the Samaritan Pentateuch
reads “the place which the Lord your God chose” (‫)בחר‬, instead of the Mas-
oretic “will choose” (‫)יבחר‬. The exact reference point for the Samaritan past
tense is unclear, and therefore which event the text has in mind remains open.
Samaritan midrashic exegesis aims to fill this gap. The results can be observed
already in the earliest layers of the Samaritan liturgical poetry, as well as in the
Samaritan midrashic collection Tebat Marqe.

2. Aboriginal Determination of Mount Gerizim

as the Holy Center of Israel
According to a Samaritan tradition found in Tebat Marqe, Mount Gerizim was
prepared by God to house the sanctuary of Israel since the first days of the
world, that is, the period of creation (Tebat Marqe II:57): 19

18 For a detailed analysis, see Schorch, “Gerizim Commandment” (see n. 8).

19 Tebat Marqe is quoted here following the edition of Z. Ben-Ḥayyim, Tibat Marqe: A
Col­lection of Samaritan Midrashim, Edited, Translated and Annotated [in Hebrew] (Jerusa-
lem: Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1988).
66 Stefan Schorch

‫ואנון ארבעה מערים מעתדים מן יומה תליתה מכפלתה לזכותה והרגריזים למשכנה והר ההר לכהנתה‬
‫וטור נבא לנביותה‬
Four caves were prepared at the third day (of the creation): Machpelah for the righteous,
Mount Gerizim for the tabernacle, Mount Hor for the priesthood, and Mount Nebo for the
prophecy.

This statement not only links four pillars of Samaritan-Israelite identity and
four different places, but additionally claims that these connections were pre-
determined by God at the third day of the creation account, that is, the day
when God created the surface of the earth (Gen 1:9–13):
‫ֹלהים ַלּיַ ָּב ָׁשה ֶא ֶרץ‬
ִ ‫י־כן׃ וַ ּיִ ְק ָרא ֱא‬
ֵ ‫ּיַּב ָׁשה וַ יְ ִה‬
ָ ‫ל־מקֹום ֶא ָחד וְ ֵת ָר ֶאה ַה‬
ָ ‫ֹלהים יִ ָּקוּו ַה ַּמיִ ם ִמ ַּת ַחת ַה ָּׁש ַמיִ ם ֶא‬
ִ ‫אמר ֱא‬ ֶ ֹ ‫וַ ּי‬
‫יׁשי׃‬ ֶ ‫ֹלהים ִּכי־טֹוב׃ […] וַ יְ ִה‬
ִ ‫י־ע ֶרב וַ יְ ִהי־ב ֶֹקר יֹום ְׁש ִל‬ ִ ‫ּול ִמ ְקוֵ ה ַה ַּמיִ ם ָק ָרא יַ ִּמים וַ ּיַ ְרא ֱא‬
ְ
And God said, “Let the waters under the sky be gathered together into one place, and let the
dry land appear.” And it was so. God called the dry land Earth, and the waters that were gath-
ered together he called Seas. And God saw that it was good. […] And there was evening and
there was morning, the third day.

Three sites are explicitly expressed in the Torah. Machpelah served as burial
place for Abraham (Gen 23; 25:9–10), who was the righteous one par excel-
lence according to Samaritan tradition.20 Mount Hor is where the prototypic
priest Aaron died according to Num 20:28, and is thought to be the site of his
burial. At Mount Nebo the prophet Moses died (Deut 34). The biblical text
identifies the burial place as a cave only in the first case, but the concept is con-
ferred on the other two cases by analogy.
The fourth case, a cave at Mount Gerizim serving as the hiding place for the
tabernacle, is obviously without reference in the Torah, even if the Samaritan
Pentateuch identifies Mount Gerizim as the place of the central sanctuary (see
above). The tradition is not unique to Tebat Marqe, however, but known from
other sources too. The earliest parallel appears in Josephus’s description of
an event that happened during the governorship of Pontius Pilate (26–36 CE)
(A. J. 18.85): 21
Οὐκ ἀπήλλακτο δὲ θορύβου καὶ τὸ Σαμαρέων ἔθνος· συστρέφει γὰρ αὐτοὺς ἀνὴρ ἐν ὀλίγῳ
τὸ ψεῦδος τιθέμενος κἀφ᾿ ἡδονῇ τῆς πληθύος τεχνάζων τὰ πάντα, κελεύων ἐπὶ τὸ Γαριζεὶν

20 In Tebat Marqe II:44 (MS ‫)ש‬, Abraham is referred to as “foundation of righteousness”:

‫“( מה דאמר מקדם לארשה דזכותה לזרעך אהב ית ארעה‬as he had said earlier to the foundation
of righteousness, ‘To your offspring I will give this land’ [Gen 12:7]”). In a more general
sense, the expression can also refer to Abraham, Isaak, and Jacob; see A. Tal, A Dictionary of
Samaritan Aramaic, HdO 1 / 50 (Leiden: Brill, 2000), 229–230, s. v. ‫זכי‬.
21 The Greek text of Josephus is quoted according to B. Niese, ed., Flavii Josephi ope­

ra, vol. 4: Antiquitatum Judaicarum libri XVI–XX (Berlin: Weidmann, 1890). The English
translation is taken from L. H. Feldman, Josephus, Jewish Antiquities, vol. 8: Books 18–19,
LCL 433 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1965). For a detailed analysis of this
passage, see R. Pummer, The Samaritans in Flavius Josephus, TSAJ 129 (Tübingen: Mohr
Siebeck, 2009), 236–238.
 The Origins and Early History of Samaritan Theology 67

ὄρος αὐτῷ συνελθεῖν, ὃ ἁγνότατον αὐτοῖς ὀρῶν ὑπείληπται, ἰσχυρίζετό τε παραγενομένοις

δείξειν τὰ ἱερὰ σκεύη τῇδε κατορωρυγμένα Μωυσέως τῇδε αὐτῶν ποιησαμένου κατάθεσιν.
The Samaritan nation too was not exempt from disturbance. For a man who made light of
mendacity and in all his designs catered to the mob, rallied them, bidding them go in a body
with him to Mount Gerizim, which in their belief is the most sacred of mountains. He assured
them that on their arrival he would show them the sacred vessels which were buried there,
where Moses had deposited them.

Here, Josephus seems to report a tradition known among the Samaritans in the
first century CE, according to which the sacred vessels were buried at Mount
Gerizim. This tradition echoes Tebat Marqe, which postdates Josephus by at
least three centuries.
The core motif that the sacred vessels were buried in a cave can even be
traced back to the middle of the second century BCE. Second Maccabees 2:4–5
reads as follows:
ἦν δὲ ἐν τῇ γραφῇ ὡς τὴν σκηνὴν καὶ τὴν κιβωτὸν ἐκέλευσεν ὁ προφήτης χρηματισμοῦ
γενηθέντος αὐτῷ συνακολουθεῖν ὡς δὲ ἐξῆλθεν εἰς τὸ ὄρος οὗ ὁ Μωυσῆς ἀναβὰς ἐθεάσατο
τὴν τοῦ θεοῦ κληρονομίαν καὶ ἐλθὼν ὁ Ιερεμιας εὗρεν οἶκον ἀντρώδη καὶ τὴν σκηνὴν καὶ
τὴν κιβωτὸν καὶ τὸ θυσιαστήριον τοῦ θυμιάματος εἰσήνεγκεν ἐκεῖ καὶ τὴν θύραν ἐνέφραξεν.
In that text it is also (written) that the prophet (Jeremiah) – upon the occurrence of a divine
oracle – ordered (some people) to follow him with the Tabernacle and the Ark (of the Cov-
enant), when he went out to the mountain from which Moses, after ascending it, viewed the
inheritance of God. And Jeremiah, after going there, found a cave-like house and brought
into it the Tabernacle and the ark and the altar of incense, whereupon he blocked the way to
the door.22

Samaritan tradition adapted this motif to a different historical and geographical

setting. In light of Josephus’s report quoted above, this reception and adaption
must have been accomplished already by the middle of the first century CE.23
New in Tebat Marqe, however, compared to the Jewish sources for this mo-
tif as well as the Samaritan tradition quoted by Josephus, is the claim that this

22 English translation according to D. R. Schwartz, 2 Maccabees, CEJL (Berlin: de Gruy-

ter, 2008). Further parallels to this story within Jewish literature are listed ibid., 160.
23 The parallelism between the Jewish application of the motif of the hidden sacred in

2 Macc 2 and its Samaritan variant as reported in Josephus’s Antiquitates, as well as the prob-
able dependency of the Samaritan reception of the motif on its earlier Jewish application,
may explain why, according to the Antiquitates, it was Moses who had hidden the vessels at
Mount Gerizim. The name of Moses perhaps appears in Josephus’s report of the Samaritan
tradition as a remnant of the older variant of the motif, according to which the vessels were
hidden in a cave at Mount Nebo. Collins’s suggestion, on the basis of the Antiquitates, that
there was once a Samaritan tradition claiming that Moses hid the vessels, is unfounded, as
demonstrated by Kalimi and Purvis; see M. F. Collins, “The Hidden Vessels in Samaritan Tra-
ditions,” JSJ 3 (1972), 97–116; I. Kalimi and J. D. Purvis, “The Hiding of the Temple Vessels
in Jewish and Samaritan Literature,” CBQ 56 (1994), 679–685. Moreover, as the Pentateuch
leaves no doubt that Moses never entered the Land of Israel, it seems highly unlikely that
such a tradition ever could have emerged among either Jews or Samaritans.
68 Stefan Schorch

cave had already been prepared and determined for its ultimate purpose during
the creation of the world. Mount Gerizim’s role as the central place of the Isra-
elite cult had been predetermined since the beginning.
Most obviously, this Samaritan modification of the motif relies on the con-
cept that Mount Gerizim itself was from the outset the chosen and holy moun-
tain, a view commonly acknowledged in the early Samaritan prayers as well
as in Tebat Marqe.
In the continuation of the list of basic principles in Amram Dare’s already
quoted prayer, Mount Gerizim is designated as (Amram Dare 4:34):
‫]…[ הרגריזים בית אל‬ […] Mount Gerizim, the House of God,
‫בחורה קדישה דמע דיבשתה‬ the chosen, the holy, the choicest land.

Like in the Samaritan adaptation of the motif of the vessels hidden at Mount
Gerizim, this verse creates a clear connection between Mount Gerizim, the
emergence of the “dry land” (‫ )יבשתה‬during creation, and its being holy (‫)קדיש‬.
Mount Gerizim is the choicest (‫ )דמע‬elevated land, being chosen (‫ )בחור‬by
God.
The aspect of being chosen and being choicest falls within the Samaritan
concept of the “choicest things” (‫)דמעין‬, as expressed in Tebat Marqe II:45:
‫שבעה דמעין אנון בעלמה קשטה בחרון ואפרש יתון לאלהותה אורה ושבתה והרגריזים ואדם ותרי לוחי‬
‫] והרגריזים דמע מקדש שם יתה משרוי לכבודה‬...[ ‫אבניה ונביה רבה משה וישראל‬
Seven choicest (creations) exist in the world, which the True One chose and set them apart
for his divinity: the light, the Sabbath, Mount Gerizim, Adam, the two stone tablets (of the
Ten Commandments), the great prophet Moses, and Israel. […] Mount Gerizim is the choic-
est sanctuary, which God had chosen as dwelling for his glory.

From the context it is clear that these “choicest things” were appointed already
at their very beginning, that is, with the creation. Another passage from Tebat
Marqe says explicitly that Mount Gerizim was holy from the outset (Τebat
Marqe ΙΙ:44):
‫טורה טבת קדש מכל טוריה מן ריש בראשית אתחיל בקדש‬
The good mountain is the holiest of all mountains, and its holiness began from the beginning
of the act of creation.

Therefore, that Mount Gerizim would subsequently become the holy center of
Israel was predetermined at the moment of creation.
In this regard, a significant difference emerges compared to the concept of
the aboriginal election of Jerusalem found in early Jewish midrashim. When
the Samaritan version of the motif refers to the aboriginal election of Mount
Gerizim, it refers to a rather spacious natural landmark. The Jewish version of
the motif refers to the foundation of the temple, a built structure erected at a
specific spot (Gen. Rab. 3:4): 24

24 Midrash Bereshit Rabbah is quoted from J. Theodor and C. Albeck, eds., Bereschit
 The Origins and Early History of Samaritan Theology 69

‫ר׳ ברכיה בשם ר׳ יצחק ממקום בית המקדש נברא האור הה״ר והנה כבוד אלהי ישראל בא מדרך הקדים‬
‫וקולו בקול מים רבים והארץ האירה מכבודו אין כבודו אלא בית המקדש היך דאת אמר כסא כבוד מרום‬
‫מראשון מקום מקדשנו‬
R. Berekiah said in R. Isaac’s name: The light was created from the place of the Temple, as
it is said, And, behold, the glory of the God of Israel came from the east; and His voice was
like the sound of many waters; and the earth did shine with His glory [Ezek 43:2]. Now, “His
glory” is nought else but the Temple, as you read, Thou throne of glory, on high from the be­
gin­ning, Thou place of our sanctuary [Jer 17:12].

Accordingly, when light was created the place of the Jewish temple was al-
ready determined. It is the sanctuary yet to be built that provides the place its
special status, in clear distinction from the Samaritan conception that the place
itself is holy.

3. Mount Gerizim and the Creation of Adam

The concept that Mount Gerizim was chosen and holy from the very beginning
of the world connects closely to another association that contributes to the spe-
cial rank of Mount Gerizim, namely, the creation of men from dust taken from
Gerizim (Tebat Marqe II:44):
‫אדם דברא יתה אלה מן עפר טורה טבה אדם דמע בריאתה וטורה טבה דמע דיבשתה‬
Adam, whom God created from the dust of the good mountain, is the choicest creature, and
the good mountain is the choicest elevated land.

The motif of Adam created from dust taken from the place of the sanctuary is
also found in Jewish midrashim from late antique Palestine, for example, in
this passage from Bereshit Rabbah (Gen. Rab. 14:8):
‫ממקום כפרתו נברא היך מה דאת אמר אמר מזבח אדמה תעשה לי‬
He [sc. Adam] was created from the place of his atonement, as you read, An altar of earth
thou shalt make unto me [Exod 20:24].

While the basic claim of the Samaritan text from Tebat Marqe and the Jewish
text from Bereshit Rabbah may seem the same, namely, that Adam was creat-
ed from earth taken from the place of the sanctuary, the underlying exegetical
arguments are quite different.
The Jewish variant of the motif rests on the keyword ‫“( אדמה‬earth”). Thus,
Adam was created “of dust from the earth.” This is interpreted as a reference to

Rab­ba mit kritischem Apparat und Kommentar, Einleitung und Register, second printing,
with additional corrections by C. Albeck (Jerusalem: Wahrmann, 1965); the English trans-
lation is quoted from H. Freedman and M. Simon, Midrash Rabbah Translated into English
with Notes, Glossary and Indices, 10 vols. (London: Soncino, 1951). For further references,
see L. Ginzberg, The Legends of the Jews, 6 vols. (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society
of America, 1909–1938), 5.73 n. 16.
70 Stefan Schorch

‫“( מזבח אדמה‬altar of earth”), which in turn is understood as a reference to the

temple in Jerusalem, the future sacrificial cult of which is indicated by ‫מקום‬
‫“( כפרתו‬the place of his [sc. Adam’s] atonement”). Adam, therefore, depends
on a link to the cultic service in order to endure. Bereshit Rabbah states this
explicitly in a contiguous midrashic unit closely related to the first (Gen. Rab.
14:8):
‫אמר הקב״ה הריני בוראו ממקום כפרתו והלווי יעמוד‬
The Holy One, blessed be He, said, “Behold, I will create him from the place of his atone-
ment, and may he endure!”

The Palestinian Talmud expresses the same idea, in a somewhat different form
(y. Naz. 7:2, 56 b): 25
‫ אמ׳ הלואי ייברא ממקום המזבח‬.‫מלא תרווד אחד נטל הק׳ב׳ה׳ ממקום המזבח וברא בו אדם הראשון‬
.‫ וכת׳ מזבח אדמה תעשה לי‬.‫ הדא הוא דכת׳ וייצר יי׳ אלהים את האדם עפר מן האדמה‬.‫ותהא לו עמידה‬
‫ אף כאן מזבח‬.‫מה אדמה שנ׳ להלן מזבח‬.
The Holy One, blessed be he, took a spoonful of dirt from the place of the altar, and with it
created the first man. He said, “May he be created from the place of the altar and so endure.”
And it is written, An altar of earth you shall make for me [Exod 20:24]. Just as “earth” stated
later on refers to earth of the altar, so earth stated here refers to earth of the altar.

The Jewish adaptation of the motive, therefore, stresses that ever since his
creation Adam’s existence depends on the cult. Adam needs the cult (and not
only atonement, as the version from Bereshit Rabbah seems to imply) in order
to endure.
Samaritan sources from late antiquity also link Adam and the cult, but in a
very different way (Marqe 10:69–72):
‫צעורה מן עפר‬ Form from dust
‫וכלה ברי בגללה‬ everything was created on their behalf,
‫צריך כל דמן אדם‬ every descendant of Adam needs
‫משתעבדין לך‬ to be subservient to you.

Marqe’s prayer substantiates cultic service with the view that God created the
world on men’s behalf,26 even though the first man was formed from dust him-
self. Thus, in Marqe’s view, the cultic service depends on the existence of men,
and not vice versa. The persistence of men depends on the cult, as implied in
the Jewish adaptation of the motif. Accordingly, the biblical text in Gen 2:7,

25 The original is quoted from the transcription of MS Leiden as printed in P. Schäfer

and H.-J. Becker, eds., Synopse zum Talmud Yerushalmi, vol. 3: Ordnung Nashim, TSAJ 67
(Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998). The English translation is quoted according to J. Neusner,
ed., The Talmud of the Land of Israel: A Preliminary Translation and Explanation, vol. 24:
Nazir, CSHJ (Chicago: University of Chicago, 1985).
26 This idea appears frequently in the corpus under scrutiny here, that is, the early liturgi-

cal texts and Tebat Marqe (e. g., II:1). It is also well known from early Jewish sources, both
Hellenistic and rabbinic; see Ginzberg, Legends of the Jews (see n. 24), 5.67–68 n. 8.
 The Origins and Early History of Samaritan Theology 71

according to which Adam was formed from dust from the ‫“( אדמה‬earth”), is
not understood as a reference to ‫“( מזבח אדמה‬earthen altar”) in the Sinaitic
altar law.
In the same vein, Adam’s creation from the dust of Mount Gerizim does not
express the pre-determination of the cultic service, but rather Adam’s endow-
ment as one of the seven choicest creations (Tebat Marqe II:45; see above). In
other words, Adam’s status as one of the choicest creations is expressed in the
fact that he was created from dust taken from the choicest part of the earth,
that is, Mount Gerizim. Tebat Marqe outlines this in more detail (Tebat Marqe
II:44):
‫ויצר יהוה אלה׳ את האדם עפר מן האדמה מן עפרה טבה דמן טורה טבה וביתה דאדם מתרבי ביד קשטה‬
‫דו דמע מכל בוראיה וכל דמע אמסיר לקדשה לית לפגול לגוה נמי כל דמע דידמע באדי אנשים על שמה‬
‫קדשה מתחיל ומתיקר וכן גויתה דאדם דמע מכל בורא מכן לא אתנסבת אלא מאשר אתקדם טורה טבה‬
‫דמע מכל טוריה מן ריש בראשית עבדה נצובה‬
The LORD God formed man from the dust of the earth [Gen 2:7], from the good dust of the
good mountain. The house of Adam is exalted by the True One, for he is the choicest of all
the creatures. And like all the choicest things appointed for the holy, imperfection has no
share in it. Every offering that is offered by men for the sake of the holy name is empowered
and glorified. Such is the body of Adam, the choicest of all creature(s), since he was only
taken from what preceded him: “the good mountain,” the choicest of all the mountains. And
like every chosen thing offered to holiness, there is no flaw in it. Every chosen thing offered
by men to the holy name becomes exalted and glorified. Similarly, the body of Adam, the
choicest of all creature(s), was only taken from what preceded him: the good mountain, the
choicest of all the mountains. At the beginning of IN THE BEGINNING [i. e., in the seven
days of creation] the Creator raised it up.

Thus, according to this passage from Tebat Marqe, just as an offering has to
be flawless to be appropriate as a gift for the deity, so also Adam’s body was
necessarily flawless to be exalted and glorified by God. This flawlessness was
guaranteed, since Adam was formed from dust taken from Mount Gerizim, that
is, from the best part of the world.
The closest parallel to this view from Jewish sources seems to be Philo’s
interpretation of the creation of Adam’s body (Opif. 136–137): 27
ἐκεῖνος δ’ ὁ πρῶτος ἄνθρωπος ὁ γηγενής, ὁ παντὸς τοῦ γένους ἡμῶν ἀρχηγέτης, ἑκάτερον
ἄριστος ψυχήν τε καὶ σῶμα γεγενῆσθαί μοι δοκεῖ […] τεκμηριώσαιτο δ’ ἄν τις τὴν μὲν
τοῦ σώματος εὐμορφίαν ἐκ τριῶν, ὧν ἐστι […] δεύτερον δέ, οὐκ ἐκ τοῦ τυχόντος μέρους
τῆς γῆς ἔοικεν ὁ θεὸς χοῦν λαβὼν τὸν ἀνθρωποειδῆ τοῦτον ἀνδριάντα πλάττειν ἐθελῆσαι
μετὰ τῆς ἀνωτάτω σπουδῆς, ἀλλὰ διακρίνας ἐξ ἁπάσης τὸ βέλτιστον, ἐκ καθαρᾶς ὕλης τὸ
καθαρώτατον καὶ διηθημένον ἄκρως, ὃ πρὸς τὴν κατασκευὴν μάλιστα ἥρμοζεν· οἶκος γάρ
τις ἢ νεὼς ἱερὸς ἐτεκταίνετο ψυχῆς λογικῆς, ἣν ἔμελλεν ἀγαλματοφορήσειν ἀγαλμάτων τὸ
θεοειδέστατον.

27 The Greek text is quoted according to L. Cohn, ed., Philonis Alexandrini opera quae

su­persunt, vol. 1 (Berlin: Reimer, 1896); the English translation is quoted from D. T. Ru­
nia, Philo of Alexandria, On the Creation of the Cosmos according to Moses: Introduction,
Trans­lation and Commentary, PACS 1 (Leiden: Brill, 2001).
72 Stefan Schorch

That first human being who was born from the earth, the original ancestor of our entire
kind, seems to me to have come into existence as most excellent in both body and soul […].
Evidence for the excellent form of his body can be gained from three considerations, of
which […] the second is, it is not likely that God took clay from any part of the earth which
he happened to come across when he wished to mould this statue in the form of a human be-
ing with the outmost care, but rather that he separated out the best part from the entire mass,
taking from pure matter the purest and utmost refined part which was especially suited for
the construction. For it was built as a home or holy temple for the rational soul, which it was
to carry around as the most god-like of images.

Thus, as in the Samaritan sources quoted above, God’s choice of the best mate-
rial is the reason for Adam’s elevation as opposed to the other living creatures.
But while in Philo’s case the best material is selected by God from the different
parts of the earth, Samaritan sources state that the best material is only to be
found at Mount Gerizim, due to its antecedent appointment for the divine.

4. Antediluvian Sacrifices at Mount Gerizim

In connection with the aboriginal election of Mount Gerizim, and as its con-
sequence, the Samaritan tradition postulates that Mount Gerizim was the holy
center of worship since the days of Adam (Tebat Marqe II:47):
‫אדם סגד לידה ואנוש קרא בשם יהוה עליו וחנוך חכמה ורחט לידה ונח בנה מדבח וקעם עלויו ושבח‬
‫למרה דעלמה‬
Adam worshiped towards it [i. e., Mount Gerizim], and Enosh called the name of the Lord
[Gen 4:26] at it, and Enoch knew it and rushed towards it, and Noah built an altar and stood
on it and praised the Lord of the world.

Most prominently, the very first proper sacrifice according to the Torah, name-
ly, the one offered by Abel according to Gen 4, took place at Mount Gerizim
(Tebat Marqe II:48):
‫להאן אנדה אבל מנחתה אלא לאתרה דעליו השכינה‬
Where did Abel bring his offering, if not at the place where God’s presence dwells?

In a similar vein, a roughly contemporary Jewish midrash stresses that Abel

offered at the site of the future Jewish temple (Gen. Rab. 22:7):
,‫ ר׳ יהושע דסיכנין בשם ר׳ לוי שניהן נטלו את הקרקעות ושניהם נטלו המיטלטלין‬,‫ויקם קין אל הבל וגו׳‬
‫ אין‬,‫ וזה אמר בתחומי ויהי בהיותם בשדה‬,‫ זה אמר בתחומי בית המקדש ניבנה‬,‫ועל מה היו אותן הדינים‬
‫ מתוך כן ויקם קין וגו׳‬,‫ זהו שנאמר ציון שדה תחרש‬,‫שדה אלא בית המקדש‬
Cain rose up against his brother Abel etc. [Gen 4:8]. R. Joshua of Siknin said in R. Levi’s
name: Both took land and both took movables, but about what did they quarrel? One said,
“The Temple must be built in my area,” while the other claimed, “It must be built in mine.”
For thus it is written, And it came to pass, when they were in the field [ibid.]: now “field”
refers to nought but the Temple, as you read, Zion [i. e., the Temple] shall be plowed as a
field [Mic 3:12].
 The Origins and Early History of Samaritan Theology 73

Both the Samaritan and the Jewish text share the same motif – Abel offers at
the place of the sanctuary – but the rationale provided by each for this local-
ization are different. According to the Jewish midrash, the site is expected to
house the future temple. In other words, the place is not yet a special cultic site.
According to the Samaritan source, on the other hand, God’s Shekinah already
dwells at the place.

5. Mount Gerizim, the Flood, and Noah’s Altar

Another feature of Mount Gerizim in Samaritan theology is its elevation, un-

derstood not just in a symbolic, but in a physical way. Samaritan traditions
claim that due to its height, Mount Gerizim was the only mountain not covered
by the waters of the flood. It was therefore the only part of the earth that did not
become ritually impure after the flood from the dead bodies found in the water
(Tebat Marqe III:33):
‫מי מבולה לא אמטה בה ולא אביד בה נפש למטמהתה‬
The water of the flood did not reach it, and no men died there and made it impure.

Confirmation of both the specifically Samaritan context of this story and its an-
tiquity comes from a Jewish source, preserved in the midrash Bereshit Rabbah
(Gen. Rab. 32:10):
‫ עבר בהדן פלאטנוס וחמתיה‬,‫והמים גברו וגו׳ [ויכסו כל ההרים הגבוהים] ר׳ יונתן סלק למיצלייה לירושלם‬
‫ אמר ליה לא טב לך מצלי בהדן טורא‬,‫ אמר ליה למיצלייה בירושלם‬,‫ אמר ליה להן את אזיל‬,‫חד שמריי‬
‫ נתעלמה הלכה‬,‫ אמר ליה דלא טף במוי דמבולא‬,‫ אמר ליה למה הוא בריך‬,‫בריכא ולא בייתה קיקלתא‬
‫ אמר ליה אין מטוריא רמיא הוא‬,]‫ [אמר ליה הין‬,‫ אמר ליה חמריה ר׳ תרשני ואני משיבו‬,‫מר׳ יונתן לשעה‬
‫ ואין ממכייא הוא לא אשגח ביה קריא‬,‫]…[ הא כת׳ ויכסו כל ההרים הגבוהים‬
And the waters prevailed [and all the high mountains were covered, Gen 7:19]. Rabbi Yona-
tan was going up to pray in Jerusalem, and he passed by the palatinus [i. e., Mount Gerizim].
A Samaritan (‫ )שמריי‬saw him and said, “Where are you going?” [Rabbi Yonatan] said to him,
“To pray in Jerusalem.” [The Samaritan] said, “Is it not preferable for you to pray at this
blessed mountain rather than at that dunghill?” [Rabbi Yonatan] said to him, “Why is [Mount
Gerizim] blessed?” [The Samaritan] said to him, “Because it was not inundated by the waters
of the Flood!” Rabbi Yonatan was momentarily at a loss to reply, so his donkey-driver said,
“Rabbi, permit me and I will answer him.” [Rabbi Yonatan] said, “Do so.” [The donkey-­
driver] said [to the Samaritan], “If [you claim that Mount Gerizim] is one of the high moun-
tains then scripture says, All the high mountains […] were covered [Gen 7:19], but [if you
claim that Mount Gerizim] is one of the low ones, then scripture ignored it completely!” 28

28 English translation from D. M. Grossberg, “On Plane Trees and the Palatine Hill: Rabbi

Yishmael and the Samaritan in Genesis Rabbah and the Later Palestinian Rabbinic Tradi-
tion,” in Genesis Rabbah in Text and Context, ed. S. Kattan Gribetz, D. M. Grossberg, M.
Him­melfarb, and P. Schäfer, TSAJ 166 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), 195–212, here 203.
74 Stefan Schorch

This passage shows that Jews in late antiquity were not only aware of the motif
that the dead bodies in the water of the flood polluted the earth, but also of its
Samaritan application as proof for the sanctity and purity of Mount Gerizim.
Moreover, the story also seems to imply that the motif was not known to have
been applied with regard to Jerusalem, since Bereshit Rabbah presents the mo-
tif as distinctively Samaritan.
As a consequence of this tradition, Samaritan sources claim that the altar
that Noah built immediately after the flood, according to Gen 8, was found on
Mount Gerizim (Tebat Marqe III:34):
‫וכד הוה דן אתרה מכלל בכל הדה אתא נח ובלש קדושה ועבד עובד בהלה קדיש לית בה מום ונסב מכל‬
‫בהמאתה דכיאתה כי לא יכל יעבד דכי באתר טמא דהוא חכם דכל אתריה המלת טמא מן אבדן כל היקום‬
And since this place was perfect in every respect, Noah came and was seeking his holiness
and performed a ritual which was perfectly holy without any blemish. And he took from all
the pure animals, and he would not have been able to act in purity in an impure place, since
he knew that all places were impure from the death of all living being.

Accordingly, the Samaritan tradition localizes the altar explicitly mentioned in

the Torah at Mount Gerizim.

6. The Altar(s) of Abraham and Jacob

In light of the extensive tradition described so far treating Mount Gerizim as

the holy place since the creation, it will hardly come as a surprise that the Sa-
maritan tradition also locates every legitimate holy place, altar or offering in
the account of the pre-Sinaitic period at Mount Gerizim. This is particularly
true of places related to Abraham and Jacob.
With respect to Abraham, two biblical traditions have to be mentioned: the
altar built at Shechem (Gen 12) and the altar on Mount Moriah built on the
occasion of the binding of Isaak (Gen 22). For the former, Tebat Marqe II:44
reads as follows:
‫מה דאמר מקדם לארשה דזכותה לזרעך אהב ית ארעה דאה ובנה תמן מדבח ולהאן בנה מדבחה אלא‬
‫לכון בית חיולה‬
As he did say in the beginning to the first of the righteous: To your offspring I will give this
land, and he built an altar there [Gen 12:7]. And where did he build the altar, if not towards
Mount Gerizim.

Similarly, the altar of Isaak’s supposed sacrifice at Mount Moriah is in fact

built on Mount Gerizim (Tebat Marqe II:47):
‫מכן אמיר עליו דמות אברהם ויכן נח מזבח ויבן שם אברהם את המזבח כמה דעבד נח בקשט אברהם‬
‫כן עבד‬
 The Origins and Early History of Samaritan Theology 75

Therefore, it is said about Noah just in the same way as about Abraham: And Noah built an
altar [Gen 8:20] – And Abraham built there the altar [Gen 22:9]. As Noah did it in a truthful
way, Abraham did it in a truthful way.

Moreover, the place at which Jacob saw a ladder leading towards heaven and
set up a pillar, according to Gen 28, is identified with Mount Gerizim. Conse-
quently, several names appearing in this story became designations for Mount
Gerizim, especially Bethel, Luz, and “gate of heaven” (‫)שער השמים‬, for exam-
ple in Tebat Marqe II:50:
‫השני בית אל כי האל הגבור והנורא מגן ועזר למי בו יאמנו ושם אתו מקלט הפליטה לכל השהבים אל‬
‫האלהים יהוה‬
The second (name of Mount Gerizim) is Bethel, since the mighty and awesome God is a
shield and a support for those who trust him. He made it a shelter for refuge for all who re-
turn to God, the Lord.

As can be observed in this last case, the identification of a place from the bibli-
cal tradition with Mount Gerizim is not unidirectional, but involves a complex
intertextual dynamic. On the one hand, the biblical site receives a geographi-
cal setting familiar to the reader within the horizons of the sacred geography
of the Samaritan community. On the other hand, however, Mount Gerizim is
qualified theologically. In this case, the role of Bethel for Jacob within Gen 28
is conferred on Mount Gerizim, which thereby becomes qualified as a place of
refuge and divine revelation.
Thus, since Samaritan tradition emphasizes Mount Gerizim as the only holy
place of Israel both from a historical as well as from a systematic perspective,
it becomes associated with all the attributes found in the biblical stories about
holy places, as the following passage articulates (Tebat Marqe II:48):
‫הוא ביתה דאלהים ומשרוי כבודו לא שכינה אלא עליו הך דאמר לשכינו תדרשו ולא דבח אלא לכבונה‬
‫ולא קרבן אלא עליו ולא תרומה אלא לידה ולא נדבה ולא מעשר ולא ראשית ולא פדיון ולא תתקבל ברכה‬
‫לבר מנה לעלם דהוא אתר שכינה דקשטה ומשרוי כבודה רבה‬
(Mount Gerizim) is the house of God and the dwelling place for his glory. There is no divine
presence but on it, as is said, Unto his habitation shall you seek [Deut 12:5], and there is no
sacrifice but towards it, and there is no offering but on it, and there is no gift but at it, and
there is no willing offering, and no tithe, and no firstfruit, and no ransom. And blessing is
never received except from it. Because it is the place of the divine presence of the True One,
and the encampment of the great glory.

7. The Eschatological Dimension of Mount Gerizim

The Samaritan concept of history discerns three different periods. Mount Ger-
izim plays a pivotal role in each of them: 29

29 A detailed analysis of this tradition is provided in H. G. Kippenberg, Garizim und Syn­

76 Stefan Schorch

(1) The period of divine favor (ra’uta) extended from the time of the cre-
ation up to the entrance into the promised land. During that period, all Israel
had focused on Mount Gerizim, which bestowed blessing and divine favor.
(2) The period of divine disfavor ( fanuta) began with the split between
those Israelites who left Mount Gerizim and, under the leadership of the priest
Eli, inaugurated a schismatic cultic site in Shiloh (and later in Jerusalem), and
the remainder of the people, who truthfully remained at the true sanctuary un-
der increased pressure.
(3) The period of renewed divine favor (ra’uta) inaugurated by the Taheb,
a future “prophet like Moses” 30 who will reinaugurate the sacrificial cult on
Mount Gerizim and at the same time turn it into the center of political power,
as expressed in one of the liturgical poems of Amram Dare (16:33–41):
‫טובי תהבה‬ Happy is the Taheb,
‫וטובי תלמידיה דדמין לה‬ and happy are his disciples which are like him.
‫וטובי עלמה כד ייתי‬ Happy is the world when he comes,
‫דו נגד עמה שלמה‬ who brings with him the peace,
‫וגלי לדחותה ומדכי‬ and reveals the period of divine favour,
‫להרגריזים בית אל‬ and expurgates Mount Gerizim, the House of God,
‫ותלי רגזה מן ישראל‬ and removes the wrath from Israel.
‫ואלה יהב לה נצחן רב‬ God gives him a great victory,
‫ומגיח בה לכל עלמה‬ and fights through him against the whole world.

Thus, the importance of Mount Gerizim as the one and only holy place is not
restricted to the past and the present. It also has an imminent future dimension,
in terms of eschatology.

8. Sacral Geography and Direction of Prayer

Within Samaritan tradition, the centrality of Mount Gerizim has textual and
conceptual dimensions. But it is also inscribed into the physical world, de-
termined by sacral categories and conceptualized as a sacral geography. The
world as seen by the Samaritan community is centered around Mount Gerizim.
This can be observed at numerous excavated Samaritan synagogues from late
antiquity, which are generally directed towards Mount Gerizim and demon-
strate the direction of prayer.
This situation is also reflected in many Samaritan written sources. In many
cases, these are based on midrashic exegesis of specific texts from the Torah,
as in the following passage (Tebat Marqe II:46):

agoge: Traditionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zur samaritanischen Religion der aramä­i­

schen Periode, RVV 30 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1971), 238–254.
30 A detailed analysis of the Samaritan traditions on the Taheb is provided in F. Dexinger, Der

Taheb: Ein “messianischer” Heilsbringer der Samaritaner, Kairos. Religionswissenschaft­

liche Studien 3 (Salzburg: Müller, 1986).
 The Origins and Early History of Samaritan Theology 77

‫בליש אתרה דבחרה אלה שעתה דחזתה מרחיק אתפנה אליו וצלה וכד חסל מן צלותה תלא עיניה ולא‬
‫תלא עיניה אלא מן סגוד דהוה זבן צפרה קעום מצלי ולהן הות צלותה אלא לכבון הרגריזים‬
(Abraham) went for the place which God had chosen, and when he saw it from afar, he turned
his face towards it and prayed, and when he finished his prayer, he lifted up his eyes [Gen
22:4], and he did not lift up his eyes but from prayer, because it was in the morning, and he
was standing and prayed. And to where was the direction of his prayer, if not towards Mount
Gerizim?

The direction of prayer towards Mount Gerizim is also present in the liturgy, as
in the following prayer composed by the Samaritan poet Marqe (1:1–3):
‫אדיק עלינן מרן‬ Look upon us, Lord,
‫לית לן לאהן ניפך אפינן‬ We have nothing to turn our face to
‫אלא לידך דאת רחמן‬ but to you, the merciful.

Turning the face towards Mount Gerizim is a literary topos in this prayer, aim-
ing at the reciprocity of a face-to-face connection with God. A new stage is
reached in the eleventh century, with the introduction of a prayer at the be-
ginning of the liturgy which accompanies the act of turning the face towards
Mount Gerizim.31 As a consequence, a focus on the direction of prayer, which
used to be an embedded habit, became an expressive and performative act.

9. Mount Gerizim and Samaritan-Jewish Polemics

At least from the Samaritan perspective, Mount Gerizim is the central point of
contention between Samaritans and Jews.32 According to the Samaritans, the
Jews left the legitimate holy place for an illegitimate one (Tebat Marqe II:48):
‫הוא אתר שכינה דקשטה ומשרוי כבודה רבה וילה למחלפי קשטה בשקרה דבחרו לון אתר סגרה לבר‬
‫מנה‬
(Mount Gerizim) is the place of the divine presence of the True One, and the encampment of
the great glory. Woe to those who exchanged the truth for a lie, when they choose for them-
selves a different place.

Thus, while Samaritans and Jews share the concept of one holy center, the re-
spective cultural semantics connected to that concept are completely different.
This rupture is even intensified by an element inherent to the concept itself.
Since a single one holy center is a requirement, there cannot be two. There is

31 See S. Schorch, “An Unknown and Unique Samaritan Arabic Introductory Prayer by

Abū l-Ḥasan al-Ṣūrī (11th Century),” in The Samaritans in Historical, Cultural, and Linguis­
tic Perspectives, ed. J. Dušek, Studia Samaritana 11 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2018), 131–162.
32 From the perspective of the Jewish tradition, there is at least one further topic of similar

pivotal importance, namely, the Kutim problem, that is, whether or not the Samaritans can
legitimately be regarded as part of Israel, or whether they should be regarded as foreigners.
78 Stefan Schorch

no intermediate position. Thus, the shared concept, combined with two mutu-
ally exclusive cultural semantics, creates a sharp distinction between the two
communities.

10. Conclusion

The earliest sources for Samaritan theology appear in the fourth century CE,
namely, the first stages of Samaritan liturgical poetry and Samaritan midrash.
This does not mean that Samaritan theology originates at that time. Rather,
the available evidence indicates that at least the roots of Samaritan theology
go back to the joint Israelite culture that predates the break of the late second
century BCE. One clear indication of this is the parallel appearance of several
of the above described motifs connected to Mount Gerizim in Jewish sourc-
es, albeit related to the temple in Jerusalem. Alternative explanations for such
shared motifs and concepts, such as that one side adopted them from the other
after the break between the two communities, seem much less probable, espe-
cially due to considerable divergence in the oral and literal cultures of the two
sides indicated by the application of different scripts and oral varieties of He-
brew and Aramaic. It is clear that the veneration of Mount Gerizim has been a
fundamental and central tenet of Samaritan theology since its emergence, and
is conceptually related to every different aspect of Samaritan identity.
 The Religion of the Elephantine Jews
Karel van der Toorn

The discovery of the Elephantine Jews occurred more than hundred years ago.
It caused a sensation. The Aramaic papyri and potsherds that came to light
during the first decade of the twentieth century documented the existence of a
group of Jewish men and women that had lived in the deep south of Egypt all
through the fifth century BCE. Never before had scholars come across such
early records of Jewish history. Aside from a few Hebrew inscriptions from
Jerusalem and other places, there were no written remains from the people of
the Bible outside the Hebrew Bible. The Elephantine papyri promised direct
and unbiased access to a Jewish community as it had been in real life. Scholars
flocked to the new finds. The sheer number of publications on the papyri be-
tween 1905 and 1915 conveys a sense of the excitement that characterized the
early days of Elephantine studies.1
A full century has passed since Eduard Sachau’s edition of the Elephantine
papyri in 1911.2 Over the past hundred years, other discoveries have made the
headlines. The Dead Sea Scrolls, found in 1947, had the greatest impact. Yet,
despite major new finds from the world of the Bible, the interest in Elephan-
tine is still very much alive. For a time it seemed the definitive monograph had
been written when Bezalel Porten published his Archives from Elephantine
(1968). As it turned out, Porten’s study was the start of a stream of follow-up
publications. Elephantine studies continue to flourish in the twenty-first centu-
ry. Counting monographs only, the secondary literature is expanding by almost
one book a year.3 An important impetus for the ongoing investigations is the
time frame of Elephantine. All the papyri are from the Persian period. That is
1 For a selective list of the secondary literature until 1912, see H. Anneler, Zur Geschichte

der Juden von Elephantine (Bern: Drechsel, 1912), 151–155.

2 E. Sachau, Aramäische Papyrus und Ostraka aus einer jüdischen Militär-Kolonie zu

Elephantine (Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1911).

3 See, e. g., A. Joisten-Pruschke, Das religiöse Leben der Juden von Elephantine in der

Achämenidenzeit (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2008); A. F. Botta, The Aramaic and Egyptian

Legal Traditions at Elephantine (London: T & T Clark, 2009); A. Azzoni, The Private Lives
of Women in Persian Egypt (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2013); A. Rohrmoser, Götter,
Tempel und Kult der Judäo-Aramäer von Elephantine, AOAT 396 (Münster: Ugarit-Verlag,
2014); H. Nutkowicz, Destins de femmes à Éléphantine au Ve siècle avant notre ère (Paris:
L’Harmattan, 2015); G. Granerød, Dimensions of Yahwism in the Persian Period: Studies in
the Religion and Society of the Judean Community at Elephantine, BZAW 488 (Berlin: de
Gruyter, 2016).
80 Karel van der Toorn

precisely the era that biblical scholars have come to regard as crucial in the for-
mation of ancient Judaism. This contribution takes a fresh look at Elephantine,
paying special attention to the religious life of the Jewish community.

1. A Temple Community

On the east bank of the Nile, right across from Elephantine, lies the city of
Aswan, known in antiquity as Syene. This was the place where, throughout
the fifth century BCE, two groups of Arameans lived. The one group had its
roots in Babylonia, the other in what once had been the kingdom of Hamath in
Syria. Just like the Jews, the Arameans served as military men in the pay of the
Persians. Each of these groups lived in a separate quarter. These quarters were
built around a temple. The temple of Yaho dominated the Jewish neighbor-
hood, whereas the Babylonian Arameans had their houses in proximity to the
temples of Nabu and Banit, and the Syrians lived around the temples of Bethel
and the Queen of Heaven.4
Many if not all of the foreign communities in Persian Egypt had temples for
their ancestral gods. Religion was important to them. Military life came with
dangers. And living abroad gave new meaning to the gods of the ancestors. The
places of worship provided access to the gods and cemented the cohesion of
the community. They were an embodiment in timber and stone of their identity
as a people in the diaspora. In the eastern Nile delta, the Arab soldiers had a
shrine for their goddess Han-Ilat.5 In Memphis, the Aramean community from
Babylonia had a temple for Nabu. One text speaks about the priests of the tem-
ples in the plural implying there were other Aramean temples in Memphis.6 A
funerary stele for a certain Anan, “the priest of Baal,” might be interpreted as
evidence for a Baal temple in Memphis.7 The presence of a temple for Yaho at

4 For the temple of Yaho, see B. Porten and A. Yardeni, Textbook of Aramaic Documents

from Ancient Egypt, 4 vols. (Jerusalem: Hebrew University, 1986–1999) [henceforth referred
to as TAD], A 4.7 and A 4.8 The references to the Aramean temples are nearly all from the
so-called Hermopolis papyri, see TAD A 2.1:1; A 2.2:1, 12; A 2.3:1; A 2.4:1. Note also the
inscription identifying a sarcophagus as belonging to “She’il, the priest of Nabu, who dwells
forever (‫ )יתב תקמא‬in Syene” (TAD D 18.1).
5 See I. Rabinowitz, “Aramaic Inscriptions of the Fifth Century B. C. E. from a North-­

Arab Shrine in Egypt,” JNES 15 (1956), 1–9. The texts have been reedited as TAD D 15.1–4.
6 TAD C 3.5:11 has a reference to silver paid by ‫כמרן בבתי אלהיא‬, “priests in the temples

of the gods” (Memphis papyrus).

7 See A. Dupont-Sommer, “Une stèle araméenne d’un prêtre de Ba‘al trouvée en Égypte,”

Syria 33 (1956), 79–87; see also TAD D 21.17. Noël Aimé-Giron made a rapid examination
of the stele in 1926 at an Egyptian antiquities dealer who said it was found at Saqqara (Mem-
phis), see his Textes Araméens d’Égypte (Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale,
1931), 107–108. André Dupont-Sommer bought the stele thirty years later from an antiqui-
ties dealer in Paris, “[p]ar un hasard peu ordinaire” (Dupont-Sommer, op. cit., 80).
 The Religion of the Elephantine Jews 81

Elephantine, and of temples for Nabu, Banit, Bethel, and the Queen of Heaven
at Syene, then, is part of a pattern.8
Since temples for foreign gods were part of a pattern among the various di-
aspora communities, there is reason to reconsider the traditional bias against
the Elephantine Jews. Many authors have implied the Yaho temple at Elephan-
tine was unique to the Jewish community of the island. It was proof of their
isolation.9 But the Elephantine temple was less unusual than commonly grant-
ed. About hundred kilometers north of Aswan lies the town of Edfu (‫טבה‬, in
Aramaic). Like Syene and Elephantine, it was a city with a fortress.10 From the
Persian period onward, there had been a Jewish community living there. Ara-
maic documents from the third century BCE indicate there were several priests
in the community – the term is ‫כהן‬, as in Elephantine and in the Bible. The most
plausible explanation is that the colony at Edfu, like that of Elephantine, had a
temple.11 In the Ptolemaic era, there was another Jewish temple at Leontopolis.
Had it been erected as a rival to the Jerusalem temple, as Josephus intimates? 12
Such it must have looked like from the perspective of the normative Judaism
of later times. Given the presence of Jewish temples in Elephantine and Edfu,
however, the Leontopolis sanctuary may in fact have been just another Jewish
temple in Egypt. The presence of a Yaho temple at Elephantine, at any rate,
was hardly unique.13
Both the Elephantine ostraca and the earliest papyri mention the temple.
They refer to it as “the House of Yaho” or simply as “the Temple.” 14 The phrase
“House of Yaho” combines the common Semitic word for “habitation” with the
name of the deity. It characterizes the temple as the dwelling place of the god

8 Note also the reference to two “Magians” who acted as witnesses to a house document

a Jew wrote for his wife, see TAD B 3.5:24. It is not clear whether the term ‫ מגׁשיא‬serves as a
term of ethnicity or as a reference to the priestly class these men belonged to. If the latter is
the case, this would be an indication of a Zoroastrian cult among the Iranians of Elephantine
Island.
9 So, famously, Julius Wellhausen, who characterized the Elephantine Jews as a “vestige

of Hebraism from before the Torah” (J. Wellhausen, Israelitische und jüdische Geschichte,
7th ed. [Berlin: Reimer, 1914; repr., Berlin: de Gruyter, 1958], 176).
10 See the expression “in Edfu the fortress” (‫ )בטבה בירתא‬in TAD D 1.17:3.
11 The document mentioning priests is TAD C 3.28:85 (“Yohanan the priest”), 113 (“She-

lemyah the priest”), 114. For an insightful discussion of the evidence, see S. Honigman,
“Jewish Communities in Hellenistic Egypt,” in Jewish Identities in Antiquity: Studies in
Memory of Menahem Stern, ed. L. I. Levine and D. R. Schwartz, TSAJ 130 (Tübingen: Mohr
Siebeck, 2009), 117–135, esp. 121–123.
12 See Josephus, B. J. 7.420; A. J. 13.62–73.
13 See the observations by R. G. Kratz, Historical and Biblical Israel: The History, Tradi­

tion, and Archives of Israel and Judah, trans. P. M. Kurtz (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2015), 137–147, esp. 143.
14 See TAD D 7.18:2–3 (‫)בית יהה‬. For references to the temple in early papyri, see TAD

A 3.3:1 (Padua letter, second quarter 5th cent. BCE: ‫ ;)]ב]ית יהו‬D 1.6 frag. B (Padua letter, first
half 5th cent. BCE: ‫ ;)באגורא‬D 4.9:1 (first half 5th cent. BCE: ‫)]בי]ת יהו‬.
82 Karel van der Toorn

of the Jews. The term commonly translated as “temple” has a Babylonian pedi-
gree. The Aramaic word ‫ אגורא‬is an adaptation of the Babylonian term ekurru,
which is based on Sumerian ekur, meaning “mountain house.” It was the name
of a famous temple in southern Mesopotamia and conveys the idea that the
gods inhabited a place elevated above human dwellings. By the fifth century
BCE, the ‫ אגורא‬was mainly the current term for a prestigious religious build-
ing.15 A description from 407 BCE implies that it had been – the temple was in
ruins at the time – a monumental building. This was not a roadside chapel but
a palace with a courtyard surrounded by a heavy wall.16
The temple of Yaho not merely symbolized the god’s presence at Elephan-
tine Island, but served as its material guarantee. This is where Yaho lived. The
phrase “Yaho the god who dwells in Elephantine” echoes the biblical phrase
“Yahweh of hosts who dwells on Mount Zion.” 17 The Jews of Elephantine
practiced a local cult of Yahweh the way worshipers all over the east Mediter-
ranean honored their gods under local forms.18 At Elephantine, the Jews were
not cultivating memories of the temple in Zion, as some have speculated.19 Nor
did they long back for Samaria as the true dwelling place of Yaho. Yaho had a
real presence down in Egypt, in his temple on the island. The temple was not
a forerunner of the synagogue, a meeting place for religious Jews, but the true
abode of the god. If they wanted to meet him, to beseech his favors, or make
him a witness to their solemn declarations, this is where they went. Somehow,
some way, this is where their god was physically present.
Precisely because the god inhabits the temple, it is first of all a place of wor-
ship. The term “worship” should not be confused with spiritual exercises and
meditations designed to cultivate feelings of devotion. Worship was not con-

15See DNWSI, 9, s. v. ’gwr1; CAD E, 70–72; AHw, 196, s. v. Ekur and ekurru.
16See TAD A 4.7:9–13 //A 4.8:8–12. For the archaeological remains of the temple, see
C. von Pilgrim, “XII. Der Tempel des Jahwe,” MDAI Kairo 55 (1999), 142–145.
17 The Aramaic expression is ‫( יהו אלהא ׁשכן יב בירתא‬TAD B 3.12:2), see the variant ‫יהו‬

‫( אלהא (זי) ביב בירתא‬TAD B 3.3:2; B 3.5:2; B 3.10:2; B 3.11:2). The expression is reminiscent
of the biblical phrase ‫ יהוה ׁשכן בציון‬and its variants (e. g., Isa 8:18; Joel 4:17, 21). Compare
also the expression “Nabu residing forever in Syene” (‫נבו יתב תקמא בסון‬, TAD D 18.1).
18 See the discussion by P. K. McCarter Jr., “Aspects of the Religion of the Israelite Mon-

archy: Biblical and Epigraphic Data,” in Ancient Israelite Religion: Essays in Honor of
Frank Moore Cross, ed. P. D. Miller, P. D. Hanson, and S. D. McBride (Philadelphia: Fortress,
1987), 137–155, esp. 139–143.
19 So Porten, who argues that the Elephantine temple was orientated toward Jerusalem

in token of the abiding loyalty of the community to the sacred center, see B. Porten, “The
Structure and Orientation of the Jewish Temple at Elephantine: A Revised Plan of the Jewish
District,” JAOS 81 (1961), 38–42; so also J. Frey, “Temple and Rival Temple: The Cases of
Elephantine, Mt. Gerizim, and Leontopolis,” in Gemeinde ohne Tempel / Community without
Temple: Zur Substituierung und Transformation des Jerusalemer Tempels und seines Kults
im Alten Testament, antiken Judentum, und frühen Christentum, ed. B. Ego, A. Lange, and
P. Pilhofer, WUNT 118 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999), 171–203. For a critique, see Gra-
nerød, Dimensions of Yahwism (see n. 3), 116–124.
 The Religion of the Elephantine Jews 83

cerned with worshipers but with the god. As the divine patron of the commu-
nity, the deity was entitled to what A. Leo Oppenheim has called “the care and
feeding of the gods.” 20 The root metaphor of the temple cult is the ceremonial
of the royal court. The temple is god’s palace and the priests are his servants.
Priests at Elephantine came from high-ranking families. Temple stewards as-
sisted them, performing most of the daily chores.21 Through rites of feeding,
fumigation, clothing, and obeisance, the temple staff acted out the belief that
god dwelled in the sanctuary, leading the life of a sovereign. Most of the daily
worship consisted of offerings and sacrifices. In keeping with the prominence
of the sacrificial cult, the temple is on occasion referred to as the “altar house.” 22
This is the place where the Jews brought their vegetal offerings, burnt incense
and sweet reeds, poured out their libations, and presented the holocaust offer-
ings.23 On special occasions, the temple hosted a sacrificial banquet for the
community. At Elephantine, such a banquet was known as the ‫מרזח‬. The word
was common in Palmyra, occurs two times in the Hebrew Bible, and is found
once in the Elephantine ostraca. Participants in the ‫ מרזח‬banquet paid a fee to
cover the costs of the festivities. The meal of plenty with a liberal distribution
of fermented drink united the worshipers with their god in joint revelry.24

20 See A. L. Oppenheim, Ancient Mesopotamia: Portrait of a Dead Civilization, rev. ed.

completed by E. Reiner (Chicago: University of Chicago, 1977), 183–198.

21 For the priests, see, e. g., the references to “Uriyah and the priests of Yaho the God” in

TAD A 4.3:1, 12, and to “Yedanyah and his colleagues the priests” in TAD A 4.7:1. For the
temple steward Ananyah son Azaryah, see TAD B 3.2 (451 BCE). Ananyah son Azaryah was
presumably the brother of Menahem son Azaryah, married to Shelewah (TAD A 3.7; B 2.9:17
[420 BCE]; B 3.8:44 [420 BCE]; C 3.13:10–19). The word for priest is ‫כהן‬, a specifically
Jewish term as opposed to the designation ‫ כמר‬used for priests of Egyptian or Aramean gods.
For the term ‫לחן‬, see DNWSI, 573, s. v. lḥn2 (“certain type of temple servant”); CAD A / 1,
294–296, esp. the discussion on p. 296; S. A. Kaufman, The Akkadian Influences on Aramaic,
AS 19 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1974), 66 and n. 176. For a seventh-century
BCE occurrence of lḥn in Phoenician, see F. M. Cross, “Inscriptions in Phoenician and Other
Scripts,” in Ashkelon, vol. 1: Introduction and Overview (1985–2006), ed. L. E. Stager, J. D.
Schloen, and D. M. Master (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2008), 333–372, esp. 343–344.
It is clear that the word ‫ לחן‬was not distinctly Jewish, witness also the occurrence of the term
for an Aramean temple steward (‫לׁשרה לחנא‬, TAD D 21.2).
22 TAD A 4.9:3: ‫בית מדבחא‬.
23 For references to the offerings in the Jewish temple at Elephantine, see esp. TAD

A 4.7:25–28 //A 4.8:25–27; A 4.9:9–11; A 4.10–11; C 3.13.

24 For the ‫ מרזח‬ostracon, see TAD D 7.29. For references to the ‫ מרזח‬in Palmyra, see

D. R. Hillers and E. Cussini, Palmyrene Aramaic Texts (Baltimore, Md.: Johns Hopkins,
1996), 386–387. The Hebrew texts are found at Jer 16:5 and Amos 6:7. For a study of the
‫ מרזח‬institution, see M. S. Smith, The Ugaritic Baal Cycle, vol. 1: Introduction with Text,
Translation and Commentary of KTU I.I–I.2 (Leiden: Brill, 1994), 140–144, with references
to further literature. Although the term ‫ מרזח‬does not occur in Papyrus Amherst 63, there are
several references to banquets in the temple, see, e. g., cols. xiii 1–10; xv 1–3; xvi 9–12. For
an edition of the papyrus, see K. van der Toorn, Papyrus Amherst 63, AOAT 448 (Müns­ter:
Ugarit-Verlag, 2018).
84 Karel van der Toorn

Although the temple of Yaho was situated at the edge of the Jewish quarter,
it had a central place in the life of the community. The Jews were a temple
community. The Jew from the Nile Delta who was writing to his son on a mis-
sion to Elephantine, sent his greeting “to the temple of Yaho.” In like manner,
Arameans in Memphis, writing to their family in Aswan, sent their greetings to
the sanctuaries of Nabu and Banit and, in a different letter, to the sanctuaries
of Bethel and the Queen of Heaven. In all instances, it is clear the greetings
are addressed to the communities that patronized these temples. But it is strik-
ing that the greetings are not to “the Jews,” nor to “the Babylonians,” or “the
Syrians,” but to the temples of their gods.25 It suggests that these communities
took their identity from their religious orientation. On occasion, the leader of
the Jewish community presented himself as a “priest.” 26 The word he used is
the Hebrew term ‫ כהן‬rather than the more common noun ‫כמר‬, employed for the
priests of Khnum and the priests of the Babylonian gods in Syene and Mem-
phis.27 The fact that the political leader was a priest fits with the concept of a
temple community. The same pattern prevails in connection with the Egyptians
of Elephantine Island. The temple of Khnum was responsible for the collection
of the harvest tax to be paid to the Persians. The priests of Khnum were the
leaders of the local community.28
As several scholars have pointed out, religion today is not exactly the same
thing as religion in earlier times; so much so that one could make the argument
that religion is a misnomer when it comes to the beliefs and ritual practices of
the ancients.29 Although it will prove to be as good as impossible to eradicate
the notion of religion as a conceptual category, it is important to be aware of
the fact that religion has not always been something private but used to perme-
ate societies in all their fibers to the degree where no one saw it as a separate

25 “[Greetings to the t]emple of Yaho in Elephantine” (TAD A 3.3:1); “Greetings to the

temple of Bethel (‫ )בית בתאל‬and the temple of the Queen of Heaven (‫( ”)ובית מלכת ׁשמין‬TAD
A 2.1:1); “Greetings to the temple of Banit (‫ )בית בנת‬in Syene” (TAD A 2.2:1; 2.4:1); “Greet-
ings to the temple of Nabu (‫( ”)בית נבו‬TAD A 2.3:1). The interpretation of the temple greeting
as a periphrastic blessing addressed to the recipient of the letter is unnecessary, contra F. M.
Fales, “Aramaic Letters and Neo-Assyrian Letters: Philological and Methodological Notes,”
JAOS 107 (1987), 451–469, esp. 455–456 (“The well-being of the temple of DN to PN1
from PN2”); Fales’s interpretation has been adopted by D. Schwiderski, Handbuch des nord­
westsemitischen Briefformulars: Ein Beitrag zur Echtheitsfrage der aramäischen Briefe des
Esrabuches, BZAW 295 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2000), esp. 146–149.
26 See TAD A 4.8:1.
27 See TAD A 4.5:3, 8 (Khnub); A 4.7:5 //A 4.8:4 (Khnub); A 5.4:2 (Egyptian priest);

B 2.7:15 (Khnum?); C 3.5:11 (“the priests in the temples”); D 5.10:2; D 18.1:1 (Nabu); D 18.2 a;
D 23.1.1:9.
28 See C. J. Martin, “The Demotic Texts,” in The Elephantine Papyri in English, ed. B.

Por­ten et al. (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2011), 276–384, esp. the introduction
(pp. 276–287), and texts nos. 1–3.
29 See B. Nongbri, Before Religion: A History of a Modern Concept (New Haven: Yale

University Press, 2013).

 The Religion of the Elephantine Jews 85

field of human culture. The phenomenon of temple communities illustrates the

pervasive presence of religion. The fact that the leadership of these communi-
ties consisted of priests is telling of the porous boundary between the sacred
and the secular. In our eyes, the leader of the Jewish community at Elephan-
tine was more an administrator than a priest. In terms of his political role, this
is true. But the ties between the leading family in the Elephantine colony and
the priests were strong. And when the occasion demanded it, the leader would
present himself as a priest.30 The interpenetration of the sacred and the secular
also meant that the temple served a variety of functions, many of which are not,
or not exclusively, religious. Aside from being a place of offerings and prayer,
the temple also did duty as the public square of the community. It was a meet-
ing place and a kind of town hall. Some scribes may have been working out of
the temple.31 And the temple was the place to go to when litigation led to the
imposition of an oath – a common outcome when there was no evidence other
than the contradictory statements of the two opponents.

2. The Oath at Elephantine

The practice of the judicial oath illustrates the extent to which religion put its
stamp on public life at Elephantine – as it did elsewhere in the ancient world.
The oath is at home in a time with a strong belief in divine retribution. In cas-
es where the evidence did not allow judges to reach a verdict of guilty or not
guilty, the defendant was ordered to swear his innocence “by” or “before” the
gods. Perjury would have dire consequences. In order to make the juror realize
the seriousness of the situation, the oath ceremony could be followed by an
ordeal. The juror would be exposed to a danger he could only survive by the
grace of the gods; the consumption of a sacred substance with potentially le-
thal effects; submersion in the river, stones tied to the feet; or a variety of other
tests. In most cases, the risks involved would be enough to put the fear of god
into anyone even marginally guilty. They preferred to pay a penalty rather than
to risk perjury. At Elephantine, nobody took the oath unless there was a court
order. Was this because the oath involved a fee people were reluctant to pay? 32
Or did the oath involve an ordeal of sorts? We don’t know. Fact is that records
30 See esp. TAD A 4.8:1.
31 See E. Cussini, “Witnesses in Aramaic Legal Documents and Inscriptions,” in Witness­
ing in the Ancient Near East: Proceedings of the Round Table Held at the University of
Verona, ed. N. Bellotto and S. Ponchia, Acta Sileni 2 (Padua: SARGON Editrice e Libreria,
2010), 191–224; E. Cussini, “The Career of Some Elephantine and Murašû Scribes and Wit-
nesses,” in In the Shadow of Bezalel: Aramaic, Biblical, and Ancient Near Eastern Studies in
Honor of Bezalel Porten, ed. A. F. Botta, CHANE 60 (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 39–52.
32 An Akkadian wisdom text from Ugarit mentions the fee for the oath: šukun kaspī ša

mā­mīti itti ilī teleqqe, “Deposit the money for the oath: you will get it back from the gods”
(W. G. Lambert, Babylonian Wisdom Literature [Oxford: Clarendon, 1960], 116 [line 1]).
86 Karel van der Toorn

of an oath obligation reckon with the possibility that the defendant might “turn
away from” the oath.33 Refusal to take the oath automatically entailed the obli-
gation to fully indemnify the opponent.
While the judges imposed the “oath of litigation” at their court in Syene,
for the oath itself both accuser and accused would go to the temple. The oath
was “a declaration by gods” made by the one litigant to the other. The god was
not the recipient of the declaration but its witness. The oath was made “by” or
“upon” the god, and addressed “to” the accuser.34 One text refers to the pres-
ence of four “attendants.” They were most likely acting as witnesses, each
party having the right to bring two witnesses.35 The defendant would normally
swear by his or her own god. For a Jew, that would normally be Yaho “the god
in Elephantine the fortress,” or, more simply, “Yaho the god.” 36 Sworn in the
temple, in the presence of Yaho, the oath settled the matter. It was now in the
hands of a god whose faculties of perception and powers of retribution far ex-
ceeded the resources of human justice.

3. The Gods of the Elephantine Jews

The Elephantine Jews worshiped Yaho as their ancestral god. Their temple was
the “House of Yaho,” they took their oaths by Yaho, and they gave extra force
to their assertions with the phrase “by the life of Yaho.” 37 The three Israelite
psalms of Papyrus Amherst 63 are addressed to Yaho and echo the religious

33 The Aramaic expression is ‫תוב מן‬, see TAD B 7.1:5. Compare the parallel Akkadian

expressions ištu māmīti târu and ašar ilāni târu, see CAD T, 257–258.
34 For the “oath of litigation,” ‫מומא נפרת‬, see TAD B 8.9:5, a papyrus from Memphis. For

the oath as “a declaration by gods,” ‫מקריא על אלהן‬, see TAD B 7.2:6. For gods as witnesses
of the oath, see the following expressions: “You swore to me (‫ )לי‬by Yaho (‫ )ביהו‬the god in
Elephantine the fortress” (TAD B 2.2:4); “And an oath to him was imposed upon me, and I
swore to him (‫( ”)לה‬TAD B 2.3:24); “Then an oath came upon you and you swore to me (‫)לי‬
about them (‫ )עליהם‬by Sati (‫ )בסתי‬the goddess” (TAD B 2.8:4–5); [an oa]th to you (‫ )לך‬by
Yaho (‫ )ביהו‬the god that [I] did not steal fish [from you]” (TAD B 7.1:4); “I will declare to you
(‫ )לך‬upon (‫ )על‬Herem-Bethel the god” (TAD B 7.2:7–8); “Oath ([‫ )מומ[אה‬which NN1 swore
to (‫ )ל‬NN2 by (‫ )ב‬He[rem the go]d in the sanctuary and by (‫ )ב‬Anat-Yaho” (TAD B 7.3:1–3).
35 See TAD B 7.2:8, 10. The earlier translation of the term as “avengers” (so A. Cowley,

Aramaic Papyri of the Fifth Century B. C. [Oxford: Clarendon, 1923], 21, comments to no. 7,
line 8) is based on the reading ‫ נקמן‬/‫נקמיא‬. The new Porten / Yardeni edition of the text in TAD
B 7.2 has established that the reading must be ‫מקמן‬/‫מקמיא‬. Derived from verb ‫קום‬, ‫ מקם‬refers
to someone standing in attendance, in our case attending (and witnessing) the oath ceremony.
The fact that the juror (and his opponent) is positioned “between (‫ )בין‬the four attendants”
suggests that each party was entitled to bring two witnesses.
36 See TAD B 2.2:4 (464 BCE) and B 7.1:4 (413 BCE).
37 The expression is attested in the Clermont-Ganneau collection, nos. 14, 20, 41, 56, 152

(TAD D 7.16), 174, 185, and collection X 16 and Join 8, see H. Lozachmeur, La collection
Clermont-Ganneau (Paris: de Boccard, 2006), and esp. the discussion on pp. 528–529.
 The Religion of the Elephantine Jews 87

orientation encountered in the ostraca and the papyri.38 In the religion of the
Elephantine Jews, Yaho had a unique place. But he was not the only god they
venerated. A document from 400 BCE shows that the temple at Elephantine
accommodated two other gods beside Yaho. This is the list of names of all
those who contributed money, each person two shekel, for Yaho the god. Ac-
cording to a summary at the end, the money will go to Yaho, Eshem-Bethel,
and Anat-Bethel.39 The account does not specify the purpose of the money,
but the context suggests it served religious ends and that Eshem-Bethel and
Anat-Bethel are gods. Papyrus Amherst 63 contains an oracle by, and a song
to, Eshem-Bethel. There can be no doubt, then, that it is indeed the name of a
god. Anat-Bethel is a goddess. Her name occurs in two Assyrian texts of the
seventh century as the consort of the Syrian god Bethel. Eshem-Bethel and
Anat-Bethel were apparently theoi sunnaoi, “gods in residence,” in the Yaho
temple at Elephantine.40 Other Elephantine papyri mention two other gods, in
addition to Yaho, Eshem-Bethel, and Anat-Bethel. The documents in question
are oath texts. A papyrus dated in 401 BCE is a promissory note to make a judi-
cial declaration “upon Herem-Bethel the god.” 41 The other text is undated, but
on the basis of the script and the people mentioned most likely from the late
fifth century too. This time the oath is “by He[rem the go]d in the sanctuary and
by Anat-Yaho.” 42 Anat-Yaho looks like a variant of Anat-Bethel and must refer
to a goddess. Herem or Herem-Bethel is qualified as “the god” or “the god in
the sanctuary.” The occurrence of Herem-Bethel as the lover of Nanay in the
Amherst papyrus proves that Herem-Bethel is really the name of a god, and not
a reference to “the sacred property” of Bethel.43
If the temple at Elephantine resembled the temples elsewhere in the east
Mediterranean and west Asian world of the time, the presence of the gods who
lived there must have been embodied by symbols. The usual form of such a
symbol represents the god in the image of a human being, an animal, or an
object. Israelite religion has often been thought of as the exception to this rule.
The cult of Yahweh would have been aniconic. This school of thought turns the
Israelites into the Protestants of the past. There is room for suspicion, though. It

38 See Van der Toorn, Papyrus Amherst 63 (see n. 24), 165–175.

39 See TAD C 3.15, esp. lines 1 and 123–128.
40 For references to Eshem-Bethel in Papyrus Amherst 63, see col. xvi 1, 14, 15. For the

Assyrian references to Anat-Bethel, see SAA 2, nos. 5.4.6; 6.467. The term theoi sunnaoi is
borrowed from M. Weippert, Historisches Textbuch zum Alten Testament (Göttingen: Van-
denhoeck & Ruprecht, 2010), 477.
41 See TAD B 7.2:7–8.
42 See TAD B 7.3:3. For Menahem son of Shallum, see TAD D 3.17:1–2; B 2.10:18 (416

BCE); B 3.13:13 (402 BCE); B 4.6 (400 BCE); C 3.13:46–47 (after 411 BCE); D 1.13 (late 5th
cent.). For Meshullam son of Nathan, see TAD D 3.17:9.
43 For the reference to Herem-Bethel in the Amherst papyrus, see col. xvii 14. For the

interpretation of Herem as “sacred property,” now to be abandoned, see K. van der Toorn,
“Ḥerem-Bethel and Elephantine Oath Procedure,” ZAW 98 (1986), 282–285.
88 Karel van der Toorn

is likely the portable shrine known as the ark contained an image that was later
substituted by a copy of the Torah.44 In the religious practice of Samaria (the
Northern Kingdom), Yahweh’s presence was symbolized by an image of a bull-
calf (the “calves” of Bethel and Dan, satirized in the story of the golden calf)
or through a bethel.45 Against this background, the presence of material sym-
bols of the gods in the Elephantine temple is a plausible scenario. In the one
description that we have of the temple, in the 407 BCE petition to the Judean
governor, there is no reference to divine images, unless they were included in
“the furniture and other things that were there” or “the gold and silver basins
and other things that were in that temple.” 46 Several scholars have argued that
the collection account of 400 BCE implies there had been images. They argue
that the money divided between Yaho, Eshem-Bethel, and Anat-Bethel was in
fact for the production of new images or symbols of these gods. Ernst-Axel
Knauf was the first to suggest this; other scholars have followed him.47 It is,
all things considered, a distinct possibility. Without material symbols of the di-
vine presence, a temple cannot function. Jews of Elephantine would normally
take the oath by Yaho.48 The occasional oath by other gods (Herem or Herem-­
Bethel, Anat-Yaho) is probably related to the circumstance that there was no
cult symbol of Yaho available at the time. It is no coincidence that the texts
that mention the oath by Yaho are all from before the temple destruction in
410 BCE, whereas the cases of an oath by other gods are from the final decade

44 See the observations in K. van der Toorn, “The Iconic Book: Analogies between the

Babylonian Cult of Images and the Veneration of the Torah,” in The Image and the Book:
Iconic Cults, Aniconism, and the Rise of Book Religion in Israel and the Ancient Near East,
ed. K. van der Toorn, CBET 21 (Leuven: Peeters, 1997), 229–248, esp. 241–242. See also the
reference to the ark (‫ )ארן‬of Bethel in Papyrus Amherst 63, col. ix 3, and see the comments
in Van der Toorn, Papyrus Amherst 63 (see n. 24), 135.
45 See 1 Kgs 12:25–33; Exod 32; and N. Wyatt, “Calf,” DDD, 180–182. For the bethel,

see Gen 28:10–22.

46 See TAD A 4.7:9–13 //A 4.8:8–12. The two quotations translate the Aramaic phrases

‫( אׁשרנא ואחרן זי תמה הוה‬A 4.7:11–12) and ‫ומזרקיא זי זהבא וכסף ומנדעמתא זי הוה באגורא זך‬
(TAD A 4.7:12, cf. A 4.8:1). For the meaning of ‫אׁשרנא‬, see J. Tavernier, Iranica in the Achae­
menid Period (ca. 550–330 B. C.): Lexicon of Old Iranian Proper Names and Loanwords
At­tested in Non-Iranian Texts, OLA 158 (Leuven: Peeters, 2007), 437 (4.4.8.1). See also
TAD C 3.13, a cumulative list of memoranda drawn up by the temple administration not
long before the destruction. It lists such implements and materials as bronze and silver cups,
sweet-smelling reeds, and costly instruments used for libations.
47 E. A. Knauf, “Elephantine und das vor-biblische Judentum,” in Religion und Religions­

kontakte im Zeitalter der Achämeniden, ed. R. G. Kratz, Veröffentlichungen der Wissen-

schaftlichen Gesellschaft für Theologie 22 (Gütersloh: Kaiser, 2002), 179–188, esp. 185;
Rohrmoser, Götter, Tempel und Kult (see n. 3), 197; C. Cornell, “Cult Statuary in the Judean
Temple at Yeb,” JSJ 47 (2016), 1–19, esp. 15. There is no need to assume a one-to-one re­
lation between the money raised for the three deities, and the actual costs involved in the
production of these symbols, contra Knauf, op. cit., 185.
48 See TAD B 2.2:4 (464 BCE) and B 7.1:4 (413 BCE).
 The Religion of the Elephantine Jews 89

of the fifth century. Without the cultic presence of the god, the oath by Yaho
would have been a hollow gesture.

4. Conclusion

The Aramaic documents from Elephantine allow us a privileged view of the

religious practices of a Jewish community in Persian Egypt. There is no reason
to assume that this group was highly exceptional. On the contrary, the response
to their letters to the leadership in Jerusalem and Samaria, extant in a memo-
randum supporting the reconstruction of the Yaho temple on the island (TAD
A 4.9), suggests the diaspora community was seen as mainstream. Its religion
might be called an early form of Judaism. However, it does not conform to the
image of Judaism as it developed a few centuries later. Apparently, then, some
of the defining aspects of Judaism – such as monotheism, aniconism, and Torah
veneration – came to full fruition only after the Persian period.
 The Dead Sea Scrolls
Challenging the Particularist Paradigm1

Charlotte Hempel

Our vantage point, over seven decades after the initial discoveries at Khir-
bet Qumran, offers an excellent opportunity to explore the significance of the
Dead Sea Scrolls found at that site for our understanding of Judaism in the late
Second Temple period. While parts of the corpus have been explored since the
1950s, the entirety of the preserved material became fully accessible only since
the close of the twentieth century.2 Several aspects of the literature and the geo-
graphical context where the Scrolls were discovered contributed to an initial
view that this was an important but rather idiosyncratic collection of texts that
goes back to an ancient Jewish group of people who had turned their backs
on the Judaism beyond. Scholars hoped that the diligent study of this material
would bring us closer to this group, but ultimately expected it to reveal very
little of significance about Judaism beyond Qumran. The latter could almost be
imagined as a foil for anything expressed in the Scrolls.3 Let me refer to two
exceptions to this view. In an almost monograph-sized contribution to the pro-
ceedings of a Qumran congress in Madrid, Hartmut Stegemann argues that the
Qumran movement belonged to what he identified as “the main Jewish union
in late Second Temple times.” 4 In addition, in his contribution to a volume that

1 I gratefully acknowledge the support for this research by the award of a Leadership

Fellowship for a project on “Ezra’s Legacy and the Dead Sea Scrolls: Law and Narratives of
Exclusion” by the Arts and Humanities Research Council (AHRC). I also benefitted greatly
from discussions of versions of this paper in Berlin and at St Andrews.
2 See, e. g., D. Stökl Ben Ezra, Qumran: Die Texte vom Toten Meer und das antike Juden­

tum, Uni-Taschenbücher 4681 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016).

3 For recent overviews, see G. J. Brooke and C. Hempel, eds., The T & T Clark Companion

to the Dead Sea Scrolls (London: Bloomsbury, 2019); J. J. Collins, Beyond the Qumran Com­
munity: The Sectarian Movement of the Dead Sea Scrolls (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans,
2009); Stökl Ben Ezra, Qumran (see n. 2); and G. G. Xeravits and P. Porzig, Einführung in
die Qumranliteratur: Die Handschriften vom Toten Meer (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2015).
4 H. Stegemann, “The Qumran Essenes: Local Members of the Main Jewish Union in

Late Second Temple Times,” in The Madrid Qumran Congress: Proceedings of the Interna­
tional Congress on the Dead Sea Scrolls, Madrid, 18–21 March 1991, ed. J. C. Trebolle Bar-
rera and L. Vegas Montaner, STDJ 11 (Leiden: Brill, 1992), 83–166, esp. 138–166; see also
id., The Library of Qumran: On the Essenes, Qumran, John the Baptist, and Jesus (Grand
Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1998).
92 Charlotte Hempel

pays tribute and assesses his earlier work, Ed Sanders recently revisited the
notion of “common Judaism” 5 and concludes by highlighting practices and
commitments shared by ancient Jews such as the worship of the God of Israel,
the Hebrew (and Greek) Bible with its account of God’s relationship with his
people, the law of Moses, and an identification with Jewish history.6 Elsewhere
Sanders drew attention to commonalities between the movement behind the
Scrolls and Palestinian Judaism.7
The notion that the Dead Sea Scrolls and the people responsible for them
shed light on a very particular community and its secrets continues to grab our
imagination. And to a certain extent this is justified. This paper will move be-
yond this notion and explore a range of areas where the Dead Sea Scrolls, and
the movement responsible for curating 8 them, are emerging as less special and
different from their ancient Jewish contemporaries. I will argue that a great
deal of what was new and particular to us, both modern scholars and readers
of the Scrolls, may not have been as unusual for scholars and their followers
in antiquity. Such an analysis does not diminish but rather magnify the impor-
tance of this material and the wider social, cultural, and historical milieu it
illuminates. To fully understand the broader context reflected in the texts and
represented by the people behind the Dead Sea Scrolls is to shed light on the
seminal period during which the Hebrew Bible / Old Testament took shape and
which gave rise to early Christianity and early Judaism.
In order to fill in the gaps relating to the movement behind the Scrolls,
scholars would – and still do – turn to accounts in the classical sources that
speak of several Jewish sects and identify the Scrolls community with the Es-
senes. While there are a number of striking correspondences between the evi-
dence of, particularly, Josephus, Philo, and Pliny the Elder and the movement
that was associated with the site of Qumran from the early first century BCE,
it is also clear that each author had their own Tendenz in reporting on the Es-
senes.9 In what follows I will, therefore, prioritize the evidence of the Scrolls

See E. P. Sanders, Judaism: Practice and Belief, 63 BCE – 66 CE, corr. ed. (London:
5

SCM, 1994).
6 E. P. Sanders, “Common Judaism Explored,” in Common Judaism: Explorations in Sec­

ond-Temple Judaism, ed. W. O. McCready and A. Reinhartz (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2008),

11–23, esp. 23.
7 E. P. Sanders, “The Dead Sea Sect and Other Jews,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls in Their

Historical Context, ed. T. H. Lim et al. (Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 2000), 7–43.
8 On the idea of curated communities, see C. Hempel, “Curated Communities: Refracted

Realities at Qumran and on Social Media,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls and Ancient Media Cul­
ture, ed. T. B. Williams et al., STDJ (Leiden: Brill, forthcoming).
9 For a convenient presentation of the major sources, see G. Vermes and M. Goodman,

The Essenes according to the Classical Sources, Oxford Centre Textbooks 1 (Sheffield: JSOT
Press, 1989). For analysis, see T. S. Beall, Josephus’ Description of the Essenes Illustrat­
ed by the Dead Sea Scrolls, SNTSMS 58 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988);
R. Bergmeier, Die Essenerberichte des Flavius Josephus: Quellenstudien zu den Essenertex­
 The Dead Sea Scrolls 93

themselves. A number of pieces of this body of evidence suggest the Scrolls

tell of a bigger story.

1. Textual Pluriformity

The discoveries to come out of Qumran include manuscripts of the emerging

Hebrew Bible and the movement’s rule texts, such as the Community Rule or
Serek Hayaḥad, in substantially different witnesses.10 This textual pluriformity
is, as I have argued elsewhere, shared by fluidity between a range of manu-
scripts from Qumran, only some of which were to become biblical and helps us
appreciate the scribal mind-set of the movement.11 As has been noted already
by, among others, Reinhard Kratz, we come across comparable pluriformity
already within the Hebrew Bible itself such as in the law codes of Exodus and
Deuteronomy.12 A consequence of this pluriform textual picture was the recent
further elevation of the value of both the Septuagint 13 and the Samaritan Pen-
tateuch14 as witnesses to the biblical text, including where they diverge from
what was to become the Masoretic Text (MT). A prime example regarding the
textual value of the Septuagint is the case of the text of Jeremiah with at least
one and possibly two manuscripts from Qumran attesting an ancient Hebrew

ten im Werk des jüdischen Historiographen (Kampen: Kok Pharos, 1993); Collins, Beyond
the Qumran Community (see n. 3), 122–165; S. Mason, “Essenes and Lurking Spartans in
Jo­sephus’ Judean War: From Story to History,” in Making History: Josephus and Historical
Method, ed. Z. Rodgers, JSJSup 110 (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 219–261; and J. E. Taylor, The
Essenes, the Scrolls, and the Dead Sea (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012).
10 For discussion, see E. Ulrich, “The Bible in the Making: The Scriptures Found at Qum-

ran,” in The Bible at Qumran: Text, Shape, and Interpretation, ed. P. W. Flint, Studies in the
Dead Sea Scrolls and Related Literature (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2001), 51–66; C.
Hempel, Qumran Rule Texts in Context: Collected Studies, TSAJ 154 (Tübingen: Mohr Sie­
beck, 2013), 271–299; and ead., The Community Rules from Qumran: A Commentary, TSAJ
183 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2020).
11 See Hempel, Qumran Rule Texts (see n. 10), 271–284; ead., “Reflections on Literacy,

Textuality, and Community in the Qumran Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Is There a Text in This
Cave? Studies in the Textuality of the Dead Sea Scrolls in Honour of George J. Brooke, ed.
A. Feldman, M. Cioată, and C. Hempel, STDJ 119 (Leiden: Brill, 2017), 69–82. See also A.
Teeter, Scribal Laws: Exegetical Variation in the Textual Transmission of Biblical Law in the
Late Second Temple Period, FAT 92 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014).
12 See, e. g., R. G. Kratz, “Biblical Scholarship and Qumran Studies,” in Brooke and Hem­

pel, Companion to the Dead Sea Scrolls (see n. 3), 204–215.

13 Cf. E. Ulrich, The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Developmental Composition of the Bible,

VTSup 169 (Leiden: Brill, 2015), 229–249, and E. Tov, The Greek and Hebrew Bible: Col­
lected Essays on the Septuagint, VTSup 72 (Leiden: Brill, 1999).
14 See R. T. Anderson and T. Giles, The Samaritan Pentateuch: An Introduction to Its

Origin, History, and Significance for Biblical Studies, RBS 72 (Atlanta: Society of Biblical
Literature, 2012), and Ulrich, Dead Sea Scrolls (see n. 13), 215–227.
94 Charlotte Hempel

Vor­lage of the Septuagint of Jeremiah (4QJer b, d). The caves at and near Qum-
ran also preserved four manuscripts which attest a text form of Jeremiah that
is closer to a proto-MT (2QJer and 4QJer a, c).15 As far as the Samaritan Penta-
teuch is concerned, 4QpaleoExod m preserves a text of Exodus that resembles
a pre-Samaritan text type.16 Consequently, the evidence of the biblical manu-
scripts from Qumran represent not only the earliest biblical manuscripts we
have, but also text forms that testify to scribal traditions which would later part
company.17 Emanuel Tov adds a further category of biblical manuscripts which
he labels “unaligned.” 18 However, the pluriform textual evidence sits uneasily
with an aspiration to alignment.19 An alternative hypothesis is advocated by
Eu­gene Ulrich who operates with a model of variant literary editions of the
same book.20 In light of this broader picture painted by ancient manuscripts of
the emerging Bible, there is no reason to believe that the evidence from Qum­
ran was unique in attesting a textual picture that, to our sensibilities, is remark-
ably pluriform.21

15 Cf. A. Lange, Handbuch der Textfunde vom Toten Meer, vol. 1: Die Handschriften bib­

lischer Bücher von Qumran und den anderen Fundorten (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009),
297–324; id., “7.2.1 Ancient Manuscript Evidence,” in Textual History of the Bible, vol. 1 B:
Pentateuch, Former and Latter Prophets, ed. A. Lange and E. Tov (Leiden: Brill, 2017),
514–518; E. Tov, Textual Criticism of the Hebrew Bible, 2nd ed. (Minneapolis: Fortress,
2001), 319–327; and id., Greek and Hebrew Bible (see n. 13), 363–384. For a recent nuanced
analysis of the evidence, see also H.-J. Stipp, “A Semi-empirical Example for the Final
Touch­es to a Biblical Book: The Masoretic Sondergut of the Book of Jeremiah,” in Insights
into Editing in the Hebrew Bible and the Ancient Near East: What Does Documented Evi­
dence Tell Us about the Transmission of Authoritative Texts?, ed. R. Müller and J. Pakkala,
CBET 84 (Leuven: Peeters, 2017), 295–318.
16 Lange, Handbuch, vol. 1 (see n. 15), 64–66; id., “2.2.1 Ancient, Late Ancient, and Early

Medieval Manuscript Evidence,” in Lange and Tov, Textual History of the Bible, vol. 1 B (see
n. 15), 22–59; and D. Longacre, “A Contextualised Approach to the Hebrew Dead Sea Scrolls
Containing Exodus” (PhD diss., University of Birmingham, UK, 2014), 114–119.
17 For further illustrative examples, see S. W. Crawford, Scribes and Scrolls at Qumran

(Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2019), 221–223, as well as J. C. VanderKam, The Dead Sea
Scrolls and the Bible (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2012).
18 See Tov, Textual Criticism (see n. 15), 116–117, and Lange, Handbuch, vol. 1 (see n. 15),

1–32.
19 Cf. Ulrich, Dead Sea Scrolls (see n. 13), 25–27.
20 Ulrich, Dead Sea Scrolls (see n. 13), 8–9, and id., “Variant Editions of Biblical Books

Revealed by the Qumran Scrolls,” in Reading the Bible in Ancient Traditions and Modern
Editions: Studies in Memory of Peter W. Flint, ed. A. B. Perrin, K. S. Baek, and D. K. Falk,
EJL 47 (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2017), 13–33.
21 See further Hempel, “Reflections on Literacy” (see n. 11).
 The Dead Sea Scrolls 95

2. Location – Location – Location

Our concept of Qumran has for a long time had a narrow geographical focus –
almost an archetypal remote place. Such a perception is already espoused in
Pliny’s account of a withdrawn and unique people (gens sola).22 Recent re-
search paints much wider vistas and suggests we need to allow for a more
widespread network of localized manifestations of the movement. This trend
is captured well in the title of John Collins’s recent monograph, Beyond the
Qumran Community.23 Thus, the literary riches and the movement associated
with them are today recognized as having originated at a geographical site, or
more likely sites, other than Qumran before some of them arrived at Qumran.
The particularity of the site has been challenged from three directions.
First, some distinctive archaeological features have now been discovered
elsewhere. As is well known, over one thousand individual dining dishes were
recovered from a room at the site of Qumran known as the Pantry (Locus 89).24
For a long time, this evidence for individual dining dishes was considered dis-
tinctive at a time when food was commonly served from larger bowls which
were shared.25 However, the distinctiveness was diminished partially when
around 3,000 individual bowls were discovered in water installations in Has-
monean Jericho.26 Recently, Yonatan Adler argued that the ritual immersion
pools which began to emerge in the first half of the first century BCE in both
Judea and Galilee are Jewish responses to the Hellenistic hip bath.27 Rath-
er than supporting a personal hygiene regime, Jewish ritual immersion pools
(miqva’ot) were used for full body immersion in order to achieve ritual puri-
fication. Between eight and ten miqva’ot have been identified at the relatively
small site of Khirbet Qumran – a remarkably large number in such a confined
22 Pliny the Elder, Nat. 5.73, and see R. A. Kraft, “Pliny on Essenes, Pliny on Jews,” DSD

8 (2001), 255–261, and Taylor, Essenes (see n. 9), 131–140.

23 For details, see n. 3 above.
24 See J. Magness, Debating Qumran: Collected Essays on Its Archaeology, Interdisci-

plinary Studies in Ancient Culture and Religion 4 (Leuven: Peeters, 2004), 99.
25 Cf. J. Magness, The Archaeology of Qumran and the Dead Sea Scrolls (Grand Rapids,

Mich.: Eerdmans, 2002), 116–126.

26 See R. Bar-Nathan, “Qumran and the Hasmonaean and Herodian Winter Palaces of

Jer­icho: The Implication of the Pottery Finds for the Interpretation of the Settlement at Qum-
ran,” in The Site of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Archaeological Interpretations and Debates, ed.
K. Galor, J.-B. Humbert, and J. Zangenberg, STDJ 57 (Leiden: Brill, 2006), 263–277; ead.,
Hasmonean and Herodian Palaces at Jericho: Final Reports of the 1973–1987 Excavations,
vol. 3: The Pottery (Jerusalem: IAA, Institute of Archaeology, The Hebrew University of
Je­rusalem, 2002), 198. See R. Hachlili, “Communal Meals at Qumran Revisited,” RevQ 28
(2016), 215–256, who has noted a relationship in the chemical composition of the clay from
which the pottery was produced on both sites.
27 Y. Adler, “The Hellenistic Origins of Jewish Ritual Immersion,” JJS 69 (2018), 1–21.

See also D. S. Fatkin, “Invention of a Bathing Tradition in Hasmonean Palestine,” JSJ 50

(2019), 155–177, here 174.
96 Charlotte Hempel

context.28 Recent years have also revealed remains of – on Adler’s reckoning –

around 850 stepped pools in Judea as well as in Galilee, mostly from the first
century BCE until 135 CE.29 The great majority of these pools have been found
in Judea with a particular concentration in Jerusalem. While precise figures
are debated, the overall trend of a mushrooming of such installations almost
contemporaneously with the early communal occupation at Qumran seems un-
contested.30 The evidence highlights the need to integrate the evidence from
Qumran into contemporary trends regarding the construction of ritual immer-
sion pools in late Second Temple Judea.
Qumran revealed a sizeable cemetery with around 1,200 individual graves,
oriented with the head in the south.31 For some time, this burial practice in in-
dividual rather than family graves and the lack of grave goods was considered
a peculiar feature of the Qumran site and the people who were associated with
it. However, similar burial practices have now been uncovered at a number of
sites including at Khirbet Qazone, Ein el-Ghuweir and Bet Zafafa in Jerusalem.
The cemetery at Ein el-Ghuweir, a site discovered when the highway running
along the western shore of the Dead Sea was built in the 1960s 32 and located
nine miles to the south of Qumran, is small.33 The most striking discovery
comes from Khirbet Qazone in southern Transjordan, modern Jordan, where
around 3,500 graves dating between the first and third centuries CE were exca-
vated as part of a Nabatean cemetery.34

28See D. Mizzi, “Archaeology of Qumran,” in Brooke and Hempel, Companion to the

Dead Sea Scrolls (see n. 3), 17–36, here 27.
29 Cf. Y. Adler, “The Myth of the ’ôṣār in Second Temple-Period Ritual Baths: An Anach-

ronistic Interpretation of a Modern-Era Innovation,” JJS 65 (2014), 263–283.

30 For a study problematizing the scholarly evaluation of stepped pools with a particular

focus on Galilee, see R. G. L. M. Bonnie, “Studying Stepped Pools and Jewish Water Rituals
in Galilee, Northern Israel,” Fossa 51 (2016), 17–25.
31 Magness, Archaeology of Qumran (see n. 25), 163–187, and Mizzi, “Archaeology of

Qum­ran” (see n. 28), 20, 26.

32 Cf. R. Hachlili, Jewish Funerary Customs, Practices and Rites in the Second Temple

Period, JSJSup 94 (Leiden: Brill, 2005), and Magness, Archaeology of Qumran (see n. 25),
216–217, 29–30.
33 For discussion and further literature, see J. Taylor, “The Regional Context of the Dead

Sea Scrolls,” in Brooke and Hempel, Companion to the Dead Sea Scrolls (see n. 3), 97–108,
esp. 102–103; P. Bar-Adon, “Another Settlement of the Judean Desert Sect at ‘Ain el-Guweir
on the Dead Sea,” BASOR 225 (1977), 2–25; Magness, Archaeology of Qumran (see n. 25),
210–225; R. Hachlili, “The Qumran Cemetery: A Reconsideration,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls
Fifty Years after Their Discovery, 1947–1997, ed. L. H. Schiffman, E. Tov, and J. C. Vander-
Kam (Jerusalem: IES, Shrine of the Book, Israel Museum, 2000), 661–672; and B. Zissu,
“Odd Tomb Out: Has Jerusalem’s Essene Cemetery Been Found?,” BAR 25 (1999), 50–55, 62.
34 See K. D. Politis, “The Discovery and Excavation of the Khirbet Qazone Cemetery and

Its Significance Relative to Qumran,” in Galor, Humbert, and Zangenberg, The Site of the
Dead Sea Scrolls (see n. 26), 213–219.
 The Dead Sea Scrolls 97

Moreover, we note the significance of the discovery outside of the Scrolls of

an inscription in the Cryptic A script which was first identified in texts found at
Qumran. Thus, the word ‫“( אדוני‬lord”) and the first letter of the following word
(“I have returned”) are written in Cryptic A script on a lime stone cup that was
discovered in a fill above a miqveh outside the Zion Gate in Jerusalem.35
Alongside evaluating the discovery of archaeological and scribal features
outside of Qumran that were once considered distinctive, it is worth remem-
bering that the texts have always suggested a geographical spread. This is most
clearly attested in the well-known accounts of camps in the Damascus Docu-
ment (CD 12:22–14:18).36 In addition, the Community Rule and the Damas-
cus Document include references to smaller scattered gatherings.37 Both doc-
uments include brief notices on small groups which under certain conditions
require the presence of a priest.38 The key passages read as follows:39
1QS 6:1–7: (1) With these (rules) (2) they shall conduct themselves in all their dwelling
places everyone who is found (there) each with their fellow. Those of inferior rank shall obey
(their) superiors in matters of work and money. And together they shall eat, (3) and together
they shall pray and together they shall exchange counsel. And in every place where there are
found ten people for the communal exchange of counsel a priest must be (4) found. They

35 S. Pfann, “The Mount Zion Inscribed Cup: Preliminary Observations,” in New Studies

in the Archaeology of Jerusalem and Its Region: Collected Papers, ed. D. Amit, O. Peleg-­
Barkat, and G. D. Stiebel (Jerusalem: IAA, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Institute of
Archaeology, 2010), *44–*53.
36 For references to parallels in copies of the same document from Qumran Cave 4 (4Q266,

4Q267, and 4Q268), see C. Hempel, The Laws of the Damascus Document: Sources, Tra­
ditions and Redaction, STDJ 29 (Leiden: Brill, 1998; repr., Atlanta: Society of Biblical Lit-
erature, 2006), 105–140. For overviews, see L. Goldman, “Damascus Document (D),” in
Brooke and Hempel, Companion to the Dead Sea Scrolls (see n. 3), 306–309, and C. Hempel,
“Damascus Document,” in The Eerdmans Dictionary of Early Judaism, ed. J. J. Collins and
D. C. Harlow (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2010), 510–512.
37 See the chapter on “Rewritten Rule Texts” in Hempel, Qumran Rule Texts (see n. 10),

136–150.
38 For discussion, see J. J. Collins, “The Yahad and ‘The Qumran Community,’” in Bibli­

cal Traditions in Transmission: Essays in Honour of Michael A. Knibb, ed. C. Hempel and
J. Lieu, JSJSup 111 (Leiden: Brill, 2006), 81–96; Collins, Beyond the Qumran Community
(see n. 3); C. Hempel, “Interpretative Authority in the Community Rule Tradition,” DSD
10 (2003), 59–80; S. Metso, “Whom Does the Term Yahad Identify?,” in Hempel and Lieu,
Bib­lical Traditions in Transmission, 213–235; and A. Schofield, From Qumran to the Yaḥad:
A New Paradigm of Textual Development for the Community Rule, STDJ 77 (Leiden: Brill,
2009).
39 English translations are my own. This material has parallels in a number of Cave 4

manuscripts. The small number of distinctive readings do not impact on the argument here.
The Cave 4 evidence can be accessed with textual notes in P. S. Alexander and G. Vermes,
Qumran Cave 4, vol. 19: Serekh Ha-Yaḥad and Two Related Texts, DJD 26 (Oxford: Claren-
don, 1998), and Hempel, Community Rules from Qumran (see n. 10). See also S. Metso, The
Community Rule with Translation, EJL 51 (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2019), and
Schofield, From Qumran to the Yaḥad (see n. 38).
98 Charlotte Hempel

shall sit before him each according to his rank and thus they shall be asked for their counsel
regarding any matter. And when they prepare the table to eat or the new wine (5) to drink, the
priest shall stretch out his hand first to bless the first fruits of the bread and the new wine. (6)
And in every place where there are ten there shall be present a person who studies the law
continually day and (7) night one replacing the other.
CD 13:2–3: And in a place of ten there shall not be lacking a priest who is knowledgeable in
the book of hagu. All of them shall obey him.

A comparable statement is found at the end of one of the two annexes to the
Community Rule, the Rule of the Congregation (1QSa), which refers to shar-
ing new wine and bread as well as to gatherings of up to ten people referred to
in similar terms as in 1QS 6.40 It is difficult to imagine that this cross-compo-
sitional thematic correspondence is entirely fortuitous. I have suggested else-
where that these small-scale gatherings, described in almost identical terms
both in the Damascus Document and the Community Rule, are remnants of an
embryonic stage of social interaction.41 A gradual development on the basis of
fellowship groups with shared interests is likely to have preceded many of the
much more complex community structures attested elsewhere in our texts.42 In
other words, the small-scale gatherings refer to places where torah was studied,
prayers were shared, and the scriptures 43 were debated. Such a shared purpose
was not peculiar to the movement associated with the Community Rule but is
reflected already in the latter strands of the Hebrew Bible as well as ancient
synagogues as indicated by the Theodotus inscription.44
In addition to explicit references to some kind of geographical spread in
the description of the movement, including in the Community Rule, another
fundamental consideration is the revised chronology of the communal occu-
pation of the site of Qumran. Whereas the original excavator of the site, Ro-
land de Vaux, had dated the beginning of a communal occupation of the site
to around 150 BCE,45 such a dating is not – on closer inspection – supported
by the archaeological remains. Particularly the coins, as well as analyses of
the pottery, suggest that this date should be pushed forward from 150 BCE to

40 It is noteworthy, however, that the pertinent verb to refer to meeting (‫ )יעד‬in 1QSa 2:22

never occurs in 1QS.

41 Hempel, Qumran Rule Texts (see n. 10), 79–105.
42 Cf., e. g., the material on communal meetings including the admission of new members

and the Penal Code in 1QS 6:8–7:25 and parallels.

43 On the complexity of the emerging scriptures the section 1 above.
44 See esp. Ps 1:2; Josh 1:8, and Hempel, Qumran Rule Texts (see n. 10), 285–299. Fur-

ther, J. S. Kloppenborg Verbin, “Dating Theodotos (CIJ II 1404),” JJS 51(2000), 243–280,
and M. Popović, “Reading, Writing, and Memorizing Together: Reading Culture in Ancient
Judaism and the Dead Sea Scrolls in a Mediterranean Context,” DSD 24 (2017), 447–470.
45 R. de Vaux, Archaeology and the Dead Sea Scrolls: The Schweich Lectures 1959 (Ox-

ford: Oxford University Press, 1973).

 The Dead Sea Scrolls 99

90–70 BCE.46 Since a highly developed manuscript of the Community Rule

dates from around 100–75 BCE, this later date challenges our reading of the
text as reflecting a group exclusively associated with the site of Qumran. More-
over, the Community Rule includes the penalty of expelling a member who has
been in the council of the community for a full ten years before betraying the
community.47 This suggests that the picture painted in this manuscript, copied
at around the point of the (re-)settlement at Qumran, does not mirror a fledgling
community. In short, wherever the fledgling phase of the movement occurred,
it was not at Qumran.

3. Temple

Another widely held axiom that has recently been challenged is the view that
the movement, some members of which moved to Qumran, had turned its back
on the Temple. While acknowledging passages in the Scrolls that are critical of
the Temple, Martin Goodman stresses the prevalence, beginning already with
the biblical prophets, of inner-Jewish debates on the need to balance the role of
the cult with other expectations.48 Moreover, Daniel Falk has demonstrated that
references to offerings of the lips likely developed as part of a Temple liturgy
rather than representing a “replacement” of it.49
Moreover, Jerusalem and the Temple remain ubiquitous points of reference
over and above other places in the literary texts from Qumran. This has been

46 See Magness, Archaeology of Qumran (see n. 25), 47–72; B. Callegher, “The Coins of

Khirbet Qumran from the Digs of Roland de Vaux: Returning to Henri Seyrig and Augus-
tus Spijkermann,” in The Caves of Qumran: Proceedings of the International Conference,
Lu­gano 2014, ed. M. Fidanzio, STDJ 118 (Leiden: Brill, 2017), 221–235; and D. Mizzi,
“Qumran Period I Reconsidered: An Evaluation of Several Competing Theories,” DSD 22
(2015), 1–42.
47 See Collins, Beyond the Qumran Community (see n. 3), 166–208; T. Elgvin, “The Ya-

had is More Than Qumran,” in Enoch and Qumran Origins: New Light on a Forgotten Con­
nection, ed. G. Boccaccini (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2005), 273–279; and J. Nati,
“The Community Rule or Rules for the Community: Contextualising the Qumran Serakhim,”
in Sibyls, Scriptures, and Scrolls: John Collins at Seventy, ed. J. Baden, H. Najman, and E.
Tigchelaar, JSJSup 175 (Leiden: Brill, 2017), 916–939.
48 M. Goodman, “The Qumran Sectarians and the Temple in Jerusalem,” in The Dead Sea

Scrolls: Texts and Context, ed. C. Hempel, STDJ 90 (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 277–287. See also
W. Horbury, “The Aaronic Priesthood in the Epistle to the Hebrews,” in Messianism among
Jews and Christians: Biblical and Historical Studies (London: Bloomsbury T & T Clark,
2016), 260–288, here 265.
49 D. K. Falk, Daily, Sabbath, and Festival Prayers in the Dead Sea Scrolls, STDJ 27 (Lei­

den: Brill, 1998), 218. For the earlier view, see, e. g., G. Klinzing, Die Umdeutung des Kul­
tus in der Qumrangemeinde und im Neuen Testament, SUNT 7 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck &
Rup­recht, 1971).
100 Charlotte Hempel

demonstrated, for instance, by George Brooke in a spatial reading of the bibli-

cal commentaries known as the pesharim.50

4. Judaism at Qumran

A key objective I am hoping to deliver with my observations is to gauge the

extent to which elements of a broader Jewish culture, discourse, and thinking
are present at Qumran – not an easy task given we know very little about what
Judaism more broadly conceived looked like.51 However, given the substan-
tial amount of ancient Jewish primary texts to have emerged from Qumran, I
am certain that this cache is as good a source as any – and better than most –
for digging and sifting for late Second Temple Judaism. A number of scholars
have attempted something along these lines with respect to legal issues. Yaa-
kov Sussman, for instance, offered an assessment of 4QMMT’s legal debate
as predating the partisan positions of Sadducees and Pharisees recorded in the
Mishnah.52 Sussman’s intervention offered a more chastened approach than
bolder hypotheses such as the suggestion put forward by Lawrence Schiffman
that the authors of 4QMMT and the movement behind the Scrolls should be
identified as Sadducean.53 Beyond such a moderating effect of Sussman’s argu-
ment, it is exciting to reflect further on literary connections between the legal
positions in 4QMMT and later rabbinic literature and consider how and where
these commonalities may have materialized. I have suggested elsewhere that
what we have in 4QMMT is couched in a framework of formal legal debate
that precedes later Tannaitic attributions to particular rabbinic authorities. I
ar­gue that before the custom of attributing positions to particular rabbis had
become established, groups of Jews are likely to have debated contested or
noteworthy halakic topics and the scriptures.54

50 G. J. Brooke, “Room for Interpretation: An Analysis of Spatial Imagery in the Qumran

Pesharim,” in Hempel, Dead Sea Scrolls (see n. 48), 309–324.

51 In addition to the contributions by Stegemann and Sanders discussed and cited in nn.

4–7 above, see also G. Stemberger, “Was There a ‘Mainstream Judasim’ in the Late Second
Temple Period?,” Review of Rabbinic Judaism 4 (2001), 189–208.
52 Y. Sussman, “Appendix 1: The History of the Halakha and the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in

Qum­ran Cave 4, vol. 5: Miqṣat Ma‘aśeh ha-Torah, by E. Qimron and J. Strugnell, DJD 10
(Ox­ford: Clarendon, 1994), 179–206. For the characterization of the halakic position behind
4QMMT as non-Pharisaic, see M. Kister, “Studies in 4QMiqṣat Ma‘aśeh ha-Torah and Relat-
ed Texts: Law, Theology, Language, and Calendar” [in Hebrew], Tarbiz 68 (1999), 317–371.
53 L. H. Schiffman, “The Place of 4QMMT in the Corpus of Qumran Manuscripts,” in

Reading 4QMMT: New Perspectives on Qumran Law and History, ed. J. Kampen and M.
Bern­stein, SBL Symposium Series 2 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1996), 81–98, and id., The
Court­yards of the House of the Lord: Studies on the Temple Scroll, ed. F. García Martínez,
STDJ 75 (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 123–147, 299, 425–439.
54 See C. Hempel, “4QMMT and Comfortable Theories,” in Hempel, Dead Sea Scrolls
 The Dead Sea Scrolls 101

5. Human Pegs

Much ancient literature, including the Hebrew Bible and the Scrolls, has a
strong tendency to elevate individuals to heroic accomplishments and promote
a founder narrative.55 As far as the Scrolls are concerned the heroic human peg
to whom most major achievements – both literary and communal – used to be
credited is “the” or “a” Teacher of Righteousness. In fact, this figure occurs
only rarely in the manuscripts. The Teacher is found in the opening and closing
lines of the Admonition of the Damascus Document (CD 1:1 and 20:32), where
he is promoted as the leading voice in the early history of the movement behind
the Damascus Document and in the pesharim. Even where we come across the
designation it is allusive, scripturally based (Joel 2:23) and, at times, apparent-
ly synonymous with the cipher “Interpreter of the Law” (CD 6) – a phrase that
occurs much more frequently than “Teacher of Righteousness.” 56 Close analy-
sis of the evidence has led to something of a backlash against attributing such a
dominant role to the Teacher of Righteousness in recent research.57 Moreover,

(see n. 48), 275–292; ead., “4QMMT in the Context of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Beyond,”
in Interpreting and Living God’s Law at Qumran: Miqṣat Ma῾aśe Ha-Torah, Some of the
Works of the Torah (4QMMT), ed. R. G. Kratz, Scripta antiquitatis posterioris ad ethicam re-
ligionemque pertinentia 37 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2020), 117–136; and V. Noam, “From
4QMMT to Rabbinic Halakhah,” ibid., 139–161.
55 See H. Najman, Seconding Sinai: The Development of Mosaic Discourse in Second

Temple Judaism, JSJSup 77 (Leiden: Brill, 2003), and ead., “Configuring the Text in Biblical
Studies,” in A Teacher for All Generations: Essays in Honor of James C. VanderKam, ed.
E. F. Mason et al., JSJSup 153 (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 3–22.
56 See M. A. Knibb, “Interpreter of the Law,” in Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls, ed.

L. H. Schiffman and J. C. VanderKam (New York: Oxford University Press, 2000), 383–384.
On the past and eschatological contexts of these titles in the Dead Sea Scrolls, compare J. J.
Collins, The Scepter and the Star: The Messiahs of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Other Ancient
Literature (New York: Doubleday, 1995), 112.
57 Cf. F. García Martínez, “Beyond the Sectarian Divide: The ‘Voice of the Teacher’ as

an Authority-Conferring Strategy in Some Qumran Texts,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Trans­
mission of Traditions and Production of Texts, ed. S. Metso, H. Najman, and E. Schuller,
STDJ 92 (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 227–244; M. Grossman, “Roland Barthes and the Teacher of
Righteousness: The Death of the Author of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in The Oxford Handbook
of the Dead Sea Scrolls, ed. T. H. Lim and J. J. Collins (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2010), 709–722; A. K. Harkins, “Who Is the Teacher of the Teacher Hymns? Re-examining
the Teacher Hymns Hypothesis Fifty Years Later,” in Mason et al., A Teacher for All Gener­
ations (see n. 55), 449–467; J. Jokiranta, “Qumran – The Prototypical Teacher in the Qumran
Pesharim: A Social-Identity Approach,” in Ancient Israel: The Old Testament in Its Social
Context, ed. P. F. Esler (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2006), 254–263; and L. T. Stuckenbruck, “The
Teacher of Righteousness Remembered: From Fragmentary Sources to Collective Memory
in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Memory in the Bible and Antiquity: The Fifth Durham-Tübingen
Research Symposium (Durham, September 2004), ed. S. Barton, L. T. Stuckenbruck, and B.
Wold, WUNT 212 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007), 75–94.
102 Charlotte Hempel

most of the heavy lifting in the movement in leading the movement is ascribed
to priests, with and without genealogical labels, the ‫משכיל‬, and the ‫מבקר‬.58

6. Conclusion

In sum, the literary quality of our sources, the much wider geographical spread
of the movement, the diverse and rich place of Jerusalem and the Temple in
the texts, the taking down a peg of human pegs like the teacher cumulative-
ly suggest that the contents of the Qumran Caves document an extensive and
diverse social and literary phenomenon. This larger framework invites us to
think of places, people, and ideas that reflect a much richer intellectual, social,
and cultural life than traditionally associated with a dissident group that had
parted from that life. We could add the publication of technical astronomical
and calendric lore,59 liturgy,60 and apotropaic 61 texts that enrich our sense of a
broader Judaism underpinning the more limited tip of a sectarian iceberg.
Some of the most attention-grabbing hypotheses in Qumran studies are
based on a smoking gun approach. A parade example is the so-called separation
passage in 4QMMT. The key phrase “we have separated from the majority of
the peo[ple / s]” in 4Q397 14–21 7–8 (C 7) is fragmentary.62 Elitzur Bar-Asher
Siegal has proposed the attractive reconstruction of a plural “the majority of

58 Cf. Hempel, Qumran Rule Texts (see n. 10), 25–45, 193–227.

59 See J. Ben-Dov, Head of All Years: Astronomy and Calendars at Qumran in Their An­
cient Context, STDJ 78 (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 44–47; S. Stern, “The ‘Sectarian’ Calendar of
Qumran,” in Sects and Sectarianism in Jewish History, ed. S. Stern, IJS Studies in Judaica
12 (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 39–62; and J. C. VanderKam, Calendars in the Dead Sea Scrolls:
Measuring Time, Literature of the Dead Sea Scrolls (London: Routledge, 1998), 46–47.
60 See D. K. Falk, “Liturgical Texts,” in Brooke and Hempel, Companion to the Dead Sea

Scrolls (see n. 3), 423–434.

61 See P. S. Alexander, “The Demonology of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in The Dead Sea

Scrolls after Fifty Years: A Comprehensive Assessment, ed. P. W. Flint and J. C. VanderKam,
vol. 2 (Leiden: Brill, 1999), 331–353; G. Bohak, Ancient Jewish Magic: A History (Cam-
bridge: Cam­bridge University Press, 2008); E. Eshel, “Apotropaic Prayers in the Second
Temple Pe­riod,” in Liturgical Perspectives: Prayer and Poetry in Light of the Dead Sea
Scrolls, ed. E. Chazon with R. Clements and A. Pinnick, STDJ 48 (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 69–
88; A. Feldman and F. Feldman, “4Q147: An Amulet?,” DSD 26 (2019), 1–29; id., “4Q148
(4QPhylactère U): Another Amulet from Qumran?,” JSJ 50 (2019), 197–222; and A. Feld-
man, “On Amulets, Apotropaic Prayers, and Phylacteries: The Contribution of Three New
Texts from the Judean Desert,” in Petitioners, Penitents, and Poets: On Prayer and Praying
in Second Temple Judaism, ed. A. Feldman and T. Sandoval, BZAW (Berlin: de Gruyter,
forthcoming); T. Guerra, “Encountering Evil: Apotropaic Magic in the Dead Sea Scrolls,”
(PhD diss., University of Birmingham, UK, 2007); and A. Lange, H. Lichtenberger, and
K. F. D. Römheld, eds., The Demonology of Israelite-Jewish and Early Christian Literature
in Context of Their Environment (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003).
 The Dead Sea Scrolls 103

the peo[ples].” 63 Yet, even if we were to accept the predominant reading “we
have separated from the majority of the peo[ple],” the prevalent interpretation
of the wording as a reference to a rupture on the part of the authors’ group from
Jerusalem at the emergence of the Qumran movement does not pass the Cin-
derella Slipper Test. It just doesn’t fit. In light of the context of the separation
phrase, a halakic separation – rather than a reference to sect-formation – fits
much better. In fact, references to “women,” “fornication,” and “abomination”
in the lines leading up to the separation phrase 64 sit well with a reading that en-
dorses abstaining from improper marriages with “foreign wives.” 65 Even if the
passage did refer to another kind of separation there is no need to presuppose
it was anything other than temporary. Even the most ardent proponents of the
view that this is the smoking gun reference to the emergence of the sect spend
some time justifying the text’s otherwise amenable tone. In addition, we would
stress that “the peo[ple],” if this restoration of the meagre remains were cor-
rect, are portrayed in 4QMMT as rather vulnerable and misled by their priestly
leaders rather than a lost cause.66
The true significance of 4QMMT is its witness to inner-Jewish, almost cer-
tainly priestly, debates about halakic issues in the late Second Temple period.
I choose the words “almost certainly priestly debates” on the basis of Martha
Himmelfarb’s reminder that we must allow for what she calls “lay interference
in the domain of the priesthood” in the realm of torah interpretation.67 A recent
collection edited by Reinhard Kratz includes a new critical edition of 4QMMT
that transparently draws on all the available manuscripts but is based on 4Q394
where possible.68 The volume also includes a series of chapters written by ex-
perts on aspects of research on 4QMMT that examine a range of issues dealt
with in this composition. In my own contribution, I offer a close reading of
what we learn about the opponents referred to in the halakic part of 4QMMT,
the so-called “they group.” I conclude that rather than offering insights into a
schism, 4QMMT is part and parcel of the rich spectrum of halakic discourse

62 See Qimron and Strugnell, DJD 10 (see n. 52), 27, 58–59, and R. G. Kratz, “Miqṣat
Ma῾aśe Ha-Torah (4QMMT), Some of the Works of the Torah (Text, Translation and Notes),”
in id., Interpreting and Living God’s Law at Qumran (see n. 54), 32–54, here 48–49.
63 E. A. Bar-Asher Siegal, “Who Separated from Whom and Why? A Philological Study

of 4QMMT,” RevQ 98 (2011), 229–256.

64 See 4Q397 14–21 4–7 (C 4–7).
65 For the view that the reference to a separation forms the start of the epilogue, rather

than its continuation, see M. Bernstein, Reading and Re-reading Scripture at Qumran, vol. 2:
Law, Pesher and the History of Interpretation, STDJ 107 / 2 (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 570–571.
66 Hempel, “Comfortable Theories” (see n. 54); see also D. R. Schwartz, “MMT, Josephus

and the Pharisees,” in Kampen and Bernstein, Reading 4QMMT (see n. 53), 67–80.
67 M. Himmelfarb, Between Temple and Torah: Essays on Priests, Scribes, and Visionar­

ies in the Second Temple Period and Beyond, TSAJ 151 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 95.
68 See R. G. Kratz, “Introduction,” in id., Interpreting and Living God’s Law at Qumran

(see n. 54), 3–30.

104 Charlotte Hempel

reflected within the Dead Sea Scrolls which even preserve and endorse some
faint voices of the so-called opponents in 4QMMT.69
I would like to close by proposing a promising fresh avenue of engagement
with scholars working on the equally complex emergence of Christian iden-
tity. Thus, William Horbury’s assessment, that “Jews and Christians shared a
com­mon sub-culture, the literary focus of which was the Jewish Scriptures,”
applies to Qumran Jews too.70 This calls to mind a Twitter hashtag #Qumran-
JewsToo. We can also learn from Judy Lieu when she stresses the need to allow
for continuities alongside distinctiveness between Jews and Christians as well
as Greeks and Romans, even as each group is striving for their own identity.71
Debates and polemics play an important role in the Dead Sea Scrolls, as does
their scholarly assessment. However, debates presuppose concern and engage-
ment with the same issues on both sides. We do not tend to argue about things
we do not care about. I am, therefore, proposing the Scrolls present us with a
much richer literary heritage than narrow sectarian assessments suggest. Here
we can learn a great deal from the much more nuanced accounts of emerging
identities in the study of the parting of the ways between Jews and Christians –
or perhaps the ways that never parted as Annette Reed and Adam Becker en-
titled one of their collected volumes.72 While I am not suggesting that those
who moved to Qumran never parted, I find it inconceivable that the social or-
ganization of the yaḥad emerged fully fledged – almost like a stroppy teenager
walking out in the middle of 4QMMT. In their editorial introduction, Reed and
Becker point to the importance of not assuming monolithic movements but
focus instead on “points of intersection, sites of interaction, and dynamics of
interchange” 73 which offer constructive analytical tools for the complex rela-
tionships between the social and literary heritage from Qumran in its broader
Jewish context.
In short, our efforts at tracing the emergence of the movement behind the
Dead Sea Scrolls can benefit from Switzerland and the CERN facility – let us
think less Big Bang and more Higgs boson – human and literary particles rub-
bing along in ways that are at first sight not easy to detect but which ultimately
make up the basic constituents of matter, in our case ancient Judaism.

69 Cf. Hempel, “4QMMT in the Context of the Dead Sea Scrolls” (see n. 54); see also

S. D. Fraade, “To Whom It May Concern: 4QMMT and Its Addressee(s),” RevQ 19 (2000),
507–­526; and M. Grossman, “Reading 4QMMT: Genre and History,” RevQ 20 (2001), 3–22.
70 See W. Horbury, “Jews and Christians on the Bible,” in Christliche Exegese zwischen

Nicaea und Chalcedon, ed. J. van Oort and U. Wickert, Studien der Patristischen Arbeits-
gemeinschaft 2 (Kampen: Kok Pharos, 1992), 72–103, here 102.
71 Cf. J. Lieu, Neither Jew nor Greek? Constructing Early Christianity (London: Blooms-

bury T & T Clark, 2016), 20–21.

72 A. H. Becker and A. Y. Reed, eds., The Ways That Never Parted: Jews and Christians in

Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007).
73 A. Y. Reed and A. H. Becker, “Introduction: Traditional Models and New Directions,”

in Becker and Reed, The Ways That Never Parted (see n. 72), 1–33, here 3.
 Jewish Communities in the Dead Sea Scrolls
John J. Collins

The Ἰουδαῖοι, says Josephus, were known by this name from the time when
they came up from Babylon (A. J. 11.173). Prior to the exile, Judah had been a
kingdom. In the centuries that followed the exile, its people gradually worked
out a new identity. The rebuilt temple figured prominently in the life of postex-
ilic Judah. So, increasingly, did the Torah of Moses.1 According to the biblical
record, this was introduced as the official Law of Judah in the middle of the
fifth century, by Ezra. At the beginning of the Hellenistic period Hecataeus
could write about Moses as the lawgiver of the Jews.2 Antiochus III reaffirmed
its status when he captured Jerusalem.3 But even while the Torah was formally
recognized in the later Persian and early Hellenistic periods, observance ap-
pears to have been intermittent. The reforms of Ezra had lost their effect by
the time of Nehemiah, a mere thirteen years later. The Hellenizing high priests
of the early second century do not seem to have been unduly restrained by its
demands.

1. The Maccabean Era

Everything changed, however, in the reign of Antiochus IV Epiphanes (175–

164 BCE). When civil war broke out in Jerusalem between the rivals for the
high priesthood, Jason and Menelaus, Antiochus, who had been humiliated by
the Romans in Egypt took it that Judea was in revolt and sacked Jerusalem.
He then withdrew the traditional privilege of living in accordance with an-
cestral laws and sent an Athenian elder to impose a new set of laws (2 Macc
6:1).4 He also gave over the Jerusalem temple to the cult of Zeus Olympios or
Baal Shamem. These actions led to the Maccabean revolt. According to First

1 See J. J. Collins, The Invention of Judaism: Torah and Jewish Identity from Deuterono­

my to Paul (Oakland, Calif.: University of California Press, 2017).

2 Hecataeus apud Diodorus Siculus 40.3 (GLAJJ 1, no. 11).
3 Josephus, A. J. 12.142; E. J. Bickerman, “The Seleucid Charter for Jerusalem,” in Studies

in Jewish and Christian History, Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity 68 (Leiden: Brill,
2011), 315–356.
4 See esp. R. Doran, “The Persecution of Judeans by Antiochus IV Epiphanes: The Sig-

nificance of ‘Ancestral Laws,’” in The “Other” in Second Temple Judaism: Essays in Honor
of John J. Collins, ed. D. C. Harlow et al. (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2011), 423–433.
106 John J. Collins

Maccabees, the rallying cry of Mattathias, father of the Maccabees, was “let
everyone who is zealous for the law and supports the covenant come out with
me” (1 Macc 1:27).
The Maccabees were not especially known for their piety. They famous-
ly made an exception for fighting on the Sabbath (1 Macc 2:40–1). Yet they
attempted to impose “the Jewish way of life” within the territories they con-
trolled. According to First Maccabees they “struck down sinners in their anger
and lawless men in their wrath; the survivors fled to the gentiles for safety.
Mattathias and his friends went about and tore down the altars, they forcibly
circumcised all the uncircumcised boys that they found within the borders of
Israel […]. They rescued the law out of the hands of the gentiles and the kings”
(1 Macc 2:44–47, cf. Josephus, A. J. 12.278).
This aggressive policy was continued by his descendants, the Hasmoneans.
When John Hyrcanus conquered the Idumeans, about 128 BCE, he “permitted
them to remain in their country so long as they had themselves circumcised
and were willing to observe the laws of the Jews. And so, out of attachment to
their ancestral land, they submitted to circumcision and to having their manner
of life in all other respects made the same as that of the Judeans. And from that
time on they have continued to be Judeans” (Josephus, A. J. 13.257–258). His
successor Aristobulus did likewise with the Itureans in 104–103 BCE (A. J.
13.318). Alexander Jannaeus destroyed Pella when the inhabitants refused to
comply (A. J. 13.397).
The Hasmoneans were largely concerned with aspects of the Law that could
serve as boundary markers, such as circumcision and the Sabbath. But it is also
during the Hasmonean period that miqva’ot, pools for ritual immersion, first
appear in the archaeological record.5 Hellenistic amphorae, which had been
very common in Jerusalem before the rise of the Hasmoneans are virtually
absent in Hasmonean Jerusalem and are also unattested in the Hasmonean pal-
aces.6 It is in the Hasmonean period that we see the rise of “common Judaism,”
manifested in the observance of key aspects of the Torah – Sabbath, circum-
cision, observance of the festivals, avoidance of pork, support for the temple,
and so forth.7

5 E. M. Meyers, “Sanders’s ‘Common Judaism’ and the Common Judaism of Material

Culture,” in Redefining First-Century Jewish and Christian Identities: Essays in Honor of Ed

Parish Sanders, ed. F. Udoh et al. (Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 2008),
153–174, esp. 161–163; S. Miller, At the Intersection of Texts and Material Finds: Stepped
Pools, Stone Vessels, and Ritual Purity among the Jews of Roman Galilee, Journal of Ancient
Judaism Supplements 16 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2015), 17–31.
6 S. S. Miller, “Stepped Pools, Stone Vessels, and Other Markers of ‘Complex Common

Judaism,’” JSJ 41 (2010), 214–243, esp. 222–223.

7 E. P. Sanders, Judaism: Practice and Belief, 63 BCE – 66 CE (London: SCM, 1992), 47–48.
 Jewish Communities in the Dead Sea Scrolls 107

2. The Rise of Sectarianism

But if the Torah provided a principle of cohesion in late Second Temple Juda-
ism, it was also a source of division. Many Judeans were imbued with a zeal for
the Law that went far beyond that of the Hasmoneans. We find an increasingly
rigorist approach to the Law in writings from the Hasmonean period such as
the Temple Scroll and Jubilees.8 It is also in this period that we find the begin-
nings of Jewish sectarianism, fueled in large part by disagreements over the ex-
act interpretation of the Law.9 Josephus introduces his discussion of the Jewish
sects in the Antiquities in the reign of Jonathan Maccabee (A. J. 13.171), but
in the War he introduces it much later in the context of the early first century
CE (B. J. 2.119–166). The Pharisees first appear as a force in Jewish life in the
time of John Hyrcanus and were active opponents of Alexander Jannaeus. Ac-
cording to Josephus, they were the most accurate interpreters of the Law (B. J.
2.163). It is apparent that the sectarian movement known from the Dead Sea
Scrolls, usually assumed to be the Essenes, was also concerned with the exact
interpretation of the Law. This appears most clearly in 4QMMT, a polemical
document outlining their disagreements with unnamed opponents, usually as-
sumed to be the Pharisees.10 These disagreements are mainly concerned with
issues of purity.
The Scrolls contain two rule books for sectarian communities, each of which
is preserved in several manuscripts. One of these, the Damascus Document,
describes a movement spread throughout the land whose members married and
had children (CD 7:6–7). This text was already known from the Cairo Geni-
zah, fifty years before the discovery of the Scrolls (hence the abbreviation CD,
Cairo Damascus).11 Further copies were found at Qumran.12 The other, Serek
Hayaḥad or the Community Rule, makes no mention of women and children,
but it too seems to be designed for multiple communities.13 The movements
described in these rule books are obviously closely related, but not quite iden-

8 Collins, Invention of Judaism (see n. 1), 99–107.

9 A. I. Baumgarten, The Flourishing of Jewish Sects in the Maccabean Era: An Interpre­
tation, JSJSup 55 (Leiden: Brill, 1997).
10 E. Qimron and J. Strugnell, Qumran Cave 4, vol. 5: Miqṣat Ma‘aśe ha-Torah, DJD 10

(Oxford: Clarendon, 1994).

11 S. Schechter, Documents of Jewish Sectaries, vol. 1: Fragments of a Zadokite Work

(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1910); repr. with a “Prolegomenon” by J. A. Fitz-

myer (New York: Ktav, 1970).
12 J. M. Baumgarten et al., eds., Qumran Cave 4, vol. 13: The Damascus Document (4Q266–

273), DJD 18 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1996).

13 J. H. Charlesworth, ed., The Dead Sea Scrolls: Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek Texts with

English Translations, vol. 1: Rule of the Community and Related Documents (Louisville, Ky.:
Westminster John Knox, 1994); P. S. Alexander and G. Vermes, Qumran Cave 4, vol. 19: Se­
rekh ha-Yaḥad and Two Related Texts, DJD 26 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1998).
108 John J. Collins

tical. The current scholarly consensus is that the Damascus Rule describes the
earlier form of community, although both forms continued to exist for some
time.14

3. The New Covenant

The Damascus Rule consists of an Admonition (CD 1–8; 19–20) and Laws.
The Laws are roughly twice as extensive as the Admonition, when the Qumran
fragments are taken into account. The name “Damascus Document” is an ad
hoc label, based on the fact that Damascus is mentioned a few times in the text.
Steven Fraade has suggested that it might be more appropriately called “The
Elaboration of the Laws” (‫)פרוש המשפטים‬, a phrase that occurs at the con-
clusion of the work.15 Joseph Baumgarten even reconstructed this phrase as a
virtual title in 4Q266.16 Regardless of the title, it is clear that the interpretation
of biblical laws makes up a big part of the Damascus Rule. The blend of Ad-
monition and Law is reminiscent of Deuteronomy. The word ‫ברית‬, “covenant,”
occurs more than forty times in the Damascus Document, including notable
references to “the new covenant” (6:19; 19:33; 20:12) or “the new covenant in
the land of Damascus” (8:21; 20:12).
The Laws in the Damascus Document are of two kinds. Some are designed
for “the cities of Israel” (CD 12:19), others for a more elite group (12:22–23).
The laws for the cities of Israel exhort people to observe the Torah of Moses
but insist on a stricter interpretation than was usual. For example, one fragment
speaks of a man who “approaches to fornicate with his wife” (4Q270 7:12–13),
presumably by having intercourse with her during menstruation or while she
was pregnant. The law of the Sabbath in CD 10:14–11:18 goes far beyond the
biblical text:
No one should do work on the sixth day from the moment when the sun’s disc is at a distance
of its diameter from the gate […]. On the Sabbath day, no one should say a useless or stu-
pid word. He is not to lend anything to his fellow. He is not to take decisions with regard to
riches or gain. He is not to speak about matters of work or the task to be carried out on the
following day […]. No one should help an animal to give birth on the Sabbath day. And if (it
falls) into a well or a pit, he should not take it out on the Sabbath […]. And any living man
who falls into a place of water or into a (reservoir), no one should take him out with a ladder
or a rope or a utensil […].

14 J. J. Collins, Beyond the Qumran Community: The Sectarian Movement of the Dead Sea

Scrolls (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2010), 12–87.

15 CD 14:18; 4Q266 11 18; 4Q270 7 ii 12; S. D. Fraade, “Law, History, and Narrative in

the Damascus Document,” in Meghillot: Studies in the Dead Sea Scrolls V–VI; A Festschrift
for Devorah Dimant, ed. M. Bar-Asher and E. Tov (Jerusalem: Bialik, 2007), 35*–55*.
16 Baumgarten, DJD 18 (see n. 12), 31–32.
 Jewish Communities in the Dead Sea Scrolls 109

Regulations of this sort are reminiscent of the rabbinic principle of “building

a fence around the law.” We should expect that different groups had different
interpretations of the exact requirements, and that such discussions had gone
on for a while before the need to form a new covenant became evident.
The Damascus Document provides some narrative context for the emer-
gence of a new community in the Admonition, but it does so in a way that is
elliptic and opaque:
In the age of wrath, three hundred and ninety years after having delivered them up into the
hand of Nebuchadnezzar, king of Babylon, he visited them and caused to sprout from Israel
and from Aaron a shoot of the planting, in order to possess the land. (CD 1:5–7)

The figure of 390 years is taken from Ezek 4:5, and its chronological value
cannot be pressed. It simply designates the time allotted for the exile. Several
apocalyptic texts of the second century BCE conceive of the exile as a state
that lasted down to their own time.17 The reference to both Israel and Aaron
indicates that this movement had both priestly and lay members. No reason is
given for the rise of the movement other than divine grace. At first, we are told,
that these people who wanted to return to the Law of Moses were like blind
men groping for the way, until God raised up for them a Righteous Teacher.
Through this Teacher, God revealed to the movement “the hidden matters in
which all Israel had gone astray” (CD 3:12–16). The Torah itself was revealed
to all Israel, and insofar as its interpretation was transparent it was regarded as
“revealed law.” In many cases, however, the correct interpretation was hidden
from Israel and could only be discovered by means of inspired exegesis.
The late Shemaryahu Talmon credited the Teacher with “transforming the
loose group cohesion of the founding members into a structured socioreligious
system.” 18 Other scholars suppose that the new covenant had been formulated
before the Teacher arrived.19 In fact, we are never told what the Teacher did in
terms of organizing the community. It is clear, however, that at some point this
group was constituted as a new covenant, with its own procedures for admis-
sion and expulsion. The central feature of the admission process was the swear-
ing of an oath to return to the Law of Moses (CD 15:5 b–6 a). The new covenant
was evidently a family-based organization. The members lived in camps, and
married and had children. Members contributed two days’ wages per month
to the common fund for the care of the needy and the elderly (CD 14:12–13).
Anyone who lied about his property could be punished (14:20). They were
subject to the authority of an “inspector” (‫ )מבקר‬and required his permission to
marry or to divorce (13:15–19). A person could be expelled for persistence in
17 M. A. Knibb, “The Exile in the Literature of the Intertestamental Period,” HeyJ 17

(1976), 249–272; id., “Exile in the Damascus Document,” JSOT 25 (1983), 99–117.
18 S. Talmon, The World of Qumran from Within: Collected Studies (Jerusalem: Magnes,

1989), 284.
19 C. Hempel, The Laws of the Damascus Document: Sources, Tradition and Redaction,

STDJ 29 (Leiden: Brill, 1998), 150.

110 John J. Collins

various offences. There were occasional assemblies of all the camps. The rule
for the assembly of the camps specifies that they should be “ten in number as
a minimum, to (form) thousands, hundreds, fifties and tens” (CD 13:1), like
Israel in the wilderness (cf. Exod 18:21). The congregation as a whole is called
an ‫עדה‬, as Israel is frequently called in the Book of Numbers. The organization
was meant to evoke the sojourn of Israel in the wilderness, in preparation for
the conquest of the promised land.
The relation of this covenant to the traditional Mosaic covenant was am-
biguous. On the one hand, the new covenant was simply the old one properly
interpreted and observed. On the other hand, it required membership in a new
voluntary association,20 whose members were to some degree separated from
the rest of Israel. It should be noted that this kind of “covenant within the cov-
enant” was not without precedent. In Neh 10:29 certain people “enter into a
curse and an oath to walk in God’s law, which was given by Moses the servant
of God, and to observe and do all the commandments of the Lord our God and
his ordinances and his statutes.” 21 As in the Damascus Document, these people
agree to observe a particular interpretation of the law. They also undertake to
make financial contributions to the support of the temple. People who did not
comply could be banned from “the congregation of the exiles” (Ezra 10:8).
The formation of a new covenant necessarily implies deep dissatisfaction
with the existing state of affairs. According to the Damascus Document, the
rest of Israel was caught in the three snares of Belial, fornication, wealth, and
the pollution of the sanctuary (CD 4:15–18). The latter point was especially di-
visive. The passage in CD 6:11–16 cites Mal 1:10: “Who among you will shut
its door?” and “you shall not kindle fire on my altar in vain.” It is not clear that
the members of the new covenant had actually broken with the temple to the
point of boycotting it. It may still have been possible to use the temple in ways
that were not “in vain.” But they were evidently unhappy with the way worship
was being conducted there.

20 For a comparison with Hellenistic voluntary associations, see M. Weinfeld, The Or­

ganizational Pattern and the Penal Code of the Qumran Sect: A Comparison with Guilds
and Religious Associations of the Hellenistic-Roman Period, NTOA 2 (Göttingen: Vanden-
hoeck & Ruprecht; Fribourg: Éditions Universitaires, 1986); Y. M. Gillihan, Civic Ideology,
Organization, and Law in the Rule Scrolls: A Comparative Study of the Covenanters’ Sect and
Contemporary Voluntary Associations in Political Context, STDJ 97 (Leiden: Brill, 2011).
21 M. W. Duggan, Covenant Renewal in Ezra-Nehemiah (Neh 7:72 b–10:40): An Exeget­

ical, Literary, and Theological Study, SBLDS 164 (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature,
2001). The analogy was noted already by M. Smith, “The Dead Sea Sect in Relation to An-
cient Judaism,” NTS 7 (1961), 347–360. See also S. Hultgren, From the Damascus Covenant
to the Covenant of the Community: Literary, Historical, and Theological Studies in the Dead
Sea Scrolls, STDJ 66 (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 141–163.
 Jewish Communities in the Dead Sea Scrolls 111

4. The yaḥad

The community described in the second sectarian rule book, Serek Hayaḥad
or the Community Rule, evinces a higher degree of separation from society.
This is evident in the expanded admission procedures in 1QS 6:13 b–23.22 The
candidate must undergo an initial examination by the inspector. Then, after a
period of instruction, he is examined again by the congregation. After another
year, his property is handed over to the bursar, who registers it to his account
but keeps it separate. He does not share in the drink of the congregation until
he has completed a second year. After this, he is given a final examination. If he
is accepted, then his property is merged with that of the community. The new
covenant of the Damascus Document was already a “greedy” organization that
made intrusive demands on its members. The yaḥad is even more so, apparent-
ly allowing no private property at all. The complex admission procedures and
the highly unusual communal property correspond to features in the classical
accounts of the Essenes.23 These features, more than the location near the Dead
Sea reported by Pliny, form the basis for the consensus view that the yaḥad was
in fact Essene.
Moreover, the Serek makes no mention of women or children. Philo, Jose­
phus and Pliny all report that the Essenes, or at least some of them, were cel-
ibate. Pliny says that they live without women (Nat. 5.73). Philo says that
they abstain from marriage because women present a threat to communal life
(Hypoth. 11.14). Josephus says they avoid marriage because of the promiscu-
ity and infidelity of women (B. J. 2.120–121), but adds that a second order of
Essenes accepts marriage, because of the need to procreate (B. J. 2.160–161).
The absence of women and children in the Serek suggests to many scholars that
the yaḥad was celibate too. It is true that the Serek never forbids marriage or
requires celibacy,24 but the absence of any reference to women and children is
astonishing, especially in a document that is preoccupied with issues of purity.
It may be also that CD 7:6–7 (“and if they dwell in camps […] and marry and
have children”) implies that not all members of the new covenant did so,25 but
this is disputed.26 The evidence of the rule books is compatible with the view
that the sectarian movement embraced two different lifestyles in this regard,
but it remains ambiguous.
22 The Serek also preserves the simpler provision of admission by oath in 1QS 5:7 c–9 a.
23 Admission procedures: Josephus, B. J. 2.137–138; common property: Josephus, B. J.
1.122; A. J. 18.20; Philo, Hypoth. 11.4; Prob. 77.
24 E. Regev, Sectarianism in Qumran: A Cross-Cultural Perspective, Religion and Soci-

ety 45 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2008), 254, regards the lack of a prohibition as decisive.
25 J. M. Baumgarten, “Qumran-Essene Restraints on Marriage,” in Archaeology and His­

tory in the Dead Sea Scrolls: The New York University Conference in Memory of Yigael Ya­
din, ed. L. H. Schiffman, JSPSup 8 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1990), 13–24.
26 C. Wassen, Women in the Damascus Document, AcBib 21 (Leiden: Brill, 2005), 125–

128. See Collins, Beyond the Qumran Community (see n. 14), 32–33.
112 John J. Collins

Some scholars have been reluctant to believe that a Jewish community could
be celibate, in view of the commandment to increase and multiply. But the
commandment was not necessarily understood to admit of no exceptions. The
Hebrew Bible required temporary abstinence of anyone coming into the divine
presence. For example, the Israelites are warned not to go near a woman when
the Lord is about to descend on Mount Sinai (Exod 19:15). The Book of the
Watchers, in First Enoch, criticized the fallen angels for failing to realize that
as heavenly beings, endowed with eternal life, they did not need to procreate
with women (1 En. 15). Spiritual beings, living in the high and holy heaven
could only be defiled by fleshly contact. The members of the yaḥad considered
themselves to be already companions of the host of heaven, and aspired to live
an angelic life.27 As we read in the hymn in 1QS 11:
To those whom God has selected he has given them as an everlasting possession; and he has
given them an inheritance in the lot of the holy ones. He unites their assembly to the sons of
the heavens in order (to form) the council of the community and a foundation of the building
of holiness to be an everlasting plantation throughout all future ages. (1QS 11:7–8)

Such a life had no place for carnal relations with women.

5. Different Degrees of Holiness

It is apparent then that the sectarian movement envisioned different degrees of

holiness. This would seem to be the rationale for the development of the yaḥad
from the new covenant. It also appears that a further group was set aside with-
in the yaḥad, to aspire to a still higher level. An enigmatic passage in 1QS 8
says that “in the council of the community there shall be twelve men and three
priests, perfectly versed in all that is revealed of the Law.” This is followed by
three paragraphs, each of which begins “when these are in Israel.” The first
paragraph says that “the council of the community will be established in truth,
as a holy house of Aaron, to atone for the land. It shall be a house of perfection
and truth in Israel that they may establish a covenant according to the eternal
precepts. And they shall be an agreeable offering, atoning for the land and de-
termining the judgement of wickedness, and there shall be no more iniquity.”
This group evidently brings the yaḥad to perfection. The number is probably
symbolic, representing the totality of Israel (twelve tribes and three priestly
families).28 Some scholars have supposed that they constitute a “council” with-

27 D. Dimant, “Men as Angels: The Self-Image of the Qumran Community,” in History,

Ideology and Bible Interpretation in the Dead Sea Scrolls, FAT 90 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck,
2014), 465–472; J. J. Collins, “The Angelic Life,” in Scriptures and Sectarianism: Essays on
the Dead Sea Scrolls, WUNT 332 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014), 195–211.
28 Hultgren, From the Damascus Covenant (see n. 21), 214.
 Jewish Communities in the Dead Sea Scrolls 113

in the yaḥad.29 The passage in 1QS 8, however, clearly indicates that they are
a group within the council (which should be understood as simply the yaḥad
itself): “When they have been confirmed for two years in perfection of way
in the foundation of the community, they shall be set apart as holy within the
council of the men of the community.” Furthermore, “when these become
mem­bers of the community in Israel according to all these rules, they shall
separate from the habitation of unjust men and shall go into the wilderness to
prepare there the way of Him, as it is written, prepare in the wilderness the way
of […] make straight in the desert a path for our God. This is the study of the
Law which he commanded by the hand of Moses, that they may do according
to all that has been revealed from age to age, and as the Prophets have revealed
by his Holy Spirit.”
From an early point in the study of the Scrolls, this passage has been taken
to refer to the foundation of the community at Qumran, and the twelve men and
three priests as “the first members of the Qumran community.” 30 Some scholars
have disputed whether it refers to a literal move to the wilderness at all, arguing
that the whole citation from Isa 40 should be taken as a metaphor for the study
of the Law.31 As George Brooke has shown, however, the insertion of the word
“there” after “prepare,” which is not part of the biblical citation, most probably
indicates that a literal move is implied; the interpretation “this is the study of
the Torah” only applies to “the way of the Lord,” or “to prepare the way of the
Lord.” 32
It is apparent, however, that not all the yaḥad goes to the wilderness. Like
the new covenant, the yaḥad was organized in groups with a minimum of ten
members, including a priest (1QS 6:1 c–8 a). There is no evidence that there
was more than one settlement in the wilderness. Whether 1QS 8:12–14 refers
specifically to Qumran cannot be proven. The possibility is attractive. But the
Qumran community was not the whole yaḥad. The yaḥad, like the new cove-
nant of the Damascus Document, was spread throughout the land. The wilder-
ness location was not essential, and is rarely mentioned.

29 So P. D. Mandel, The Origins of Midrash: From Teaching to Text, JSJSup 180 (Leiden:

Brill, 2017), 97–98.

30 E. F. Sutcliffe, SJ, “The First Fifteen Members of the Qumran Community,” JSS 4 (1959),

134–138.
31 E. g., D. Dimant, “Not Exile in the Desert but Exile in Spirit: The Pesher of Isa 40:3 in

the Rule of the Community and the History of the Scrolls Community,” in History, Ideology,
and Bible Interpretation (see n. 27), 455–464.
32 G. J. Brooke, “Isaiah 40:3 and the Wilderness Community,” in New Qumran Texts and

Studies: Proceedings of the First Meeting of the International Organization for Qumran
Studies, Paris 1992, ed. G. J. Brooke, STDJ 15 (Leiden: Brill, 1994), 117–132, esp. 123.
114 John J. Collins

6. The Essenes?

Most scholars believe that the sectarian movement described in the Scrolls
should be identified with the Essene sect, described by Philo, Josephus and
Pliny. The identification was originally suggested by the location of Qumran,
between Jericho and En-Gedi, in the area where Pliny located the Essenes.
Some other correspondences should carry more weight. Notable among these
is the multi-year process of admission described in 1QS 6 and again in Jose-
phus’s account of the Essenes, and the communal sharing of possessions. As
already noted, the Greek and Latin authors claim that the Essenes were celi-
bate, but Josephus allows for a second order, who married. While the Scrolls
never call explicitly for celibacy, the absence of women and children in the
Community Rule is compatible with a celibate life-style, and the Damascus
Document suggests that marriage was not the universal practice in the new
covenant. The Essenes, we are told, lived in no one city but had communities
in several towns. Philo says that “they live in a number of towns in Judea, and
also in many villages and large groups” (Hypoth. 11.1). According to Josephus,
“they are not in one town only, but in every town several of them form a colo-
ny” (B. J. 6.124). (There is no mention of a wilderness community.) To be sure
there is much in the sectarian rule books that is not hinted at in the Greek and
Latin sources – messianic expectation, the division of humanity between sons
of light and sons of darkness.33 Nonetheless, the identification remains over-
whelmingly probable.34

7. A Higher Revelation

All forms of Jewish community described in the Scrolls are based on the To-
rah of Moses, and were devoted to its strict interpretation and observance. The
Scrolls refer to the Pharisees derisively as “seekers after smooth things,” which
is to say, unduly lenient in their interpretation.
The sectarians derived their interpretations by exegesis, but they did not
base their authority on their exegetical acumen. Rather, they based them on a
claim to higher revelation. God revealed to them the hidden things in which
all Israel had gone astray: “He unfolded before them his holy Sabbaths and his
glorious feasts, the testimonies of his righteousness and the ways of his truth,
and the desires of his will which a man must do in order to live” (CD 3:14–16,
trans. G. Vermes). The new revelation was mediated through the inspired exe-
gesis of the Teacher, and the tradition associated with him. But it was a higher
revelation. Similar claims are made in the apocalyptic literature of the time,
33 A. Momigliano, “What Josephus Did Not See,” in Essays on Ancient and Modern Ju­

daism (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994), 67–78.

34 Collins, Beyond the Qumran Community (see n. 14), 122–165.
 Jewish Communities in the Dead Sea Scrolls 115

from Enoch to Fourth Ezra. This higher revelation supplements rather than
contradicts the Torah of Moses, but it is nonetheless essential. The Scrolls dif-
fer from the apocalyptic writings insofar as they do not attribute their new rev-
elations to ancient worthies such as Enoch or Daniel, but rather to the Teacher
who had played a key role in the development of the movement.
Insofar as the Scrolls are concerned with the interpretation of the Torah,
they are not exceptional. The Pharisees certainly shared this concern. Even the
Gospels engage in disputes about the interpretation of scripture. The more re-
markable discovery in the Dead Sea Scrolls concerns the existence of a quasi-­
monastic community devoted to the pursuit of holiness. Prior to the discovery
of the Scrolls, the only evidence for such a community within Judaism was
provided by the classical accounts of the Essenes and Philo’s account of the
Therapeutae. The historicity of the Therapeutae has been questioned,35 but the
fact that they are located on the outskirts of Alexandria makes it unlikely that
they are entirely fictitious.36 They are, of course, somewhat different from the
people described in the Scrolls, as the celibate community includes both men
and women. Nonetheless the Scrolls lend credibility to Philo’s account insofar
as they show that there did exist quasi-monastic Jewish communities devoted
to the pursuit of purity and holiness. In the Scrolls, but not in the Greek ac-
counts, this community serves as a substitute for the temple cult in atoning for
the land.
The quasi-monastic Jewish communities, however, also served a goal of
personal fulfillment. This is nicely expressed in the hymn at the end of the
Community Rule, where the hymnist declares:
My eyes have gazed on that which is eternal, on wisdom concealed from men […]. God has
given them to his chosen ones as an everlasting possession, and has caused them to inherit the
lot of the holy ones. He has joined their assembly to the sons of heaven to be a council of the
community, and a foundation for the building of holiness and eternal plantation throughout
all ages to come. (1QS 11:5–9)

As Carol Newsom has argued, the placement of this hymn at the end of the
Serek suggests that it represents the culmination of formation within the yaḥad,
and is paradigmatic for the community.37 The ideal of contemplation in the
company of the angels, in a state of perfect purity, would certainly be facili-
tated by a retreat to the desert, but it was the ideal of the yaḥad, regardless of
location.
The phenomenon of the yaḥad, and of the Essenes and Therapeutae in the
Greek accounts, is intriguing in light of the development of Christian monasti-

35 T. Engberg-Pedersen, “Philo’s ‘De Vita contemplativa’ as a Philosopher’s Dream,” JSJ

30 (1999), 40–64.
36 J. E. Taylor, Jewish Women Philosophers of First-Century Alexandria: Philo’s ‘Thera­

peutae’ Reconsidered (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 8–9.

37 C. A. Newsom, The Self as Symbolic Space: Constructing Identity and Community at

Qumran, STDJ 52 (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 173.

116 John J. Collins

cism several centuries later. No evidence of an historical connection has been

demonstrated as yet.
 Finding “Judaism” in Documentary Papyri
The Case of the Petitions from the Herakleopolis Archive

Robert Kugler

The legal reasoning recoverable from the petitions in the archive from the sec-
ond-century BCE Jewish πολίτευμα in Herakleopolis provides remarkable evi-
dence of the reach of Torah into the lives of the Jews of Hellenistic Egypt. Liv-
ing deep in the Egyptian χώρα far from the intellectual center of Alexandria,
these ordinary Jews with none of the apparent education and cultivation en-
joyed by an Aristeas, Aristobulus, Artapanus, or Demetrius nonetheless knew
the law contained in the Jewish scriptures and used it in relatively sophisticated
ways. The petitions offer evidence that this hallmark of Jewish identity – sub-
stantive engagement with the Torah – was not the province of the élite alone.
Indeed, the texts provide unusual proof of the actual use of the law for very
practical purposes. These cases involve Jews who were not just thinking about
how the Torah defines them; at least in some respects they were living out a
Torah-defined life.

1. An Overview of the Petitions to the Jewish πολίτευμα

in Herakleopolis
Presently, we know of eighteen petitions affiliated with the Jewish πολίτευμα
at Herakleopolis, fourteen of which are substantial enough to say something of
their authors’ legal reasoning. Sixteen were published in the critical edition of
Urkunden des Politeuma der Juden von Herakleopolis (P. Polit. Iud.) by James
Cowey and Klaus Maresch, four of which are too fragmentary to say anything
about apart from the fact that they were petitions.1 Thomas Kruse has identified
in the papyri holdings in Munich one more complete petition to leaders of the
πολίτευμα.2 And I have identified SB 26.16801 as a petition to a chief of police
that may have been intended for transmission to the leaders of the πολίτευμα.3

1 P. Polit. Iud. 1–16; the four fragmentary texts are nos. 13–16.

2 Pap. Graec. Mon. 286 + 293, forthcoming in CPJ 4 and P. Muench. 4.
3 See my discussion of the text in “Peton Contests Paying Double Rent on Farmland

(P. Heid. Inv. G 5100): A Slice of Judean Experience in the Second Century BCE Herakleopo-
118 Robert Kugler

The petitions may be sorted into three categories corresponding to the

wrongs they address: three speak to unlawful acts against persons, two of
which make arguments that depend on principles derived from Jewish law.4
Four pertain to legal complications associated with marriage and family rela-
tions, all of which upon notions deriving from Jewish law.5 And seven concern
disputes over contractual or property matters, five of which also rely on Jewish
legal notions in some way.6
It must be said: given the context from which they arose, that Jewish law
somehow figured into the majority of the petitions should hardly be surprising.
The documentary evidence from the Herakleopolite in the years between the
construction of the fort near Herakleopolis in 156 and 132 BCE, the date of the
latest text associated with the πολίτευμα, testifies to a robust array of venues
from which petitioners could choose for resolving their disputes. In a setting
that no doubt included many ethnicities because of the Ptolemies’ militariza-
tion of the nome, and in keeping with their policy of encouraging people to
resolve their legal disputes with each other according to the normative system
most amenable to them,7 it was clearly in the Ptolemies’ best interest to ensure
a strong menu of litigation options (which included the Jewish πολίτευμα, if
not also other πολιτεύματα that served other ethnicities). Indeed, of the 122
documentary texts from the Herakleopolite dating between 156 and 132 BCE,
fifty-seven are petitions and nine more are related to the disposition of mat-
lite Nome,” in A Teacher for All Generations: Essays in Honor of James C. VanderKam, ed.
E. F. Mason et al., JSJSup 153 (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 537–551.
4 In the first category we have a complaint about a verbal assault (P. Polit. Iud. 1), overlong

detention (no. 2), and the wrongful death of a child or slave (no. 6).

5 Petitions in the second category include a complaint against a bride’s father for failing to

meet his obligations relative to a promised dowry (P. Polit. Iud. 3), one against another bride’s
father for promising his daughter to a second man after agreeing to permit her marriage to a
first (no. 4), and an uncle’s appeal for the return of his niece to his care (no. 7).
6 Texts assigned to the third category are most abundant. They include complaints about

an unpaid loan (P. Polit. Iud. 8), the failure to honor a combined slave sale and wet nurse con-
tract (no. 9), the violation of contracts to spin wool, pay for a delivery of wine, and meet rent
payment obligations (nos. 10–12), the neglect and double-leasing of farmland (Pap. Graec.
Mon. 287 + 293), and double-charging rent for leased farmland (SB 26.16801). I also include
in this category P. Polit. Iud. 5, a text that lacks in its surviving form the actual petitionary
act, but that appears to be concerned to explain that property belonging to the petitioner is
immune from claims made against it by a previous owner. Because the surviving text tells a
tale of dowry arrangements and transactions between a bride’s mother and her son-in-law the
text might also be assigned to the second category.
7 See, among others, U. Yiftach-Firanko, “Law in Graeco-Roman Egypt: Hellenization,

Fu­sion, Romanization,” in The Oxford Handbook of Papyrology, ed. R. S. Bagnall (Oxford:

Oxford University Press, 2009), 541–560. For a compelling hypothesis on how a cooperation
among systems might have worked in the case of the Torah, see J. M. Modrzejewski, “The
Septuagint as Nomos: How the Torah became a ‘Civic Law’ for the Jews of Egypt,” in Crit­
ical Studies in Ancient Law, Comparative Law and Legal History, ed. J. W. Cairns and O. F.
Robinson (Oxford: Hart Publishing, 2001), 183–199.
 Finding “Judaism” in Documentary Papyri 119

ters associated with resolving disputes, making up (quite unusually) fifty-four

percent of the corpus as a whole.8 And the venues used by petitioners are di-
verse: in addition to the Jewish πολίτευμα and its leaders, people appealed to
a φρούραρχος, the στρατηγός, a πολιτάρχης not associated with the Jewish πο­
λίτευμα, ἄρχοντες, an ἐπιστράτηγος, and an ἀρχιφυλακίτης. With these facts
in mind, as well as the universal principle of third-party dispute resolution that
where multiple venues are available to complainants, they choose those that
best serve their interests, we should assume that when the Jews of the Herakle­
opolite used the πολίτευμα it was because its distinctive character best served
their aims – and the distinctive character was the normative system it gave
them access to, Jewish law.

2. An Approach to Recovering Legal Reasoning

from Petitions in Hellenistic Egypt
How can I be so sure that Jewish law figures in the reasoning of the petitioners
to the πολίτευμα? A convenient way to explain my approach to teasing out the
legal reasoning of complainants from their petitions entails taking seriously the
claims of a scholar who vigorously critiques efforts to circumscribe the legal
reasoning of petitioners, claiming that we cannot hear the “voice” of any peti-
tioner in such brief, formulaic texts as these. It is precisely from the objections
of a representative of this contrarian view that the contours of a method for
getting at the legal reasoning of the petitioners can be discerned.
In his study of petitioning and litigation in Roman Egypt Benjamin Kelly
explicitly rejects the idea that we can know something of the mind of petition-
ers.9 He asserts that petitioners were motivated by their desire to get the better
of their opponents “to tell outright lies, or to manipulate reality.” 10 And lest
one think to learn something of petitioner intent from the lies, Kelly goes on
to say that we cannot use the “fictive qualities of these documents as a way of
gaining insight into the minds of the petitioners who submitted them” because
they were “mostly written by scribes” who used “a long-established repertoire
of stock phrases and topoi” so that “it is […] impossible to tell whether we are
hearing the ‘voice’ of the petitioner, or that of the scribe, or whether we are
hearing an echo of discourses that were common scribal and legal culture, and
simply repeated through force of habit, without necessarily representing the

8 The petitions include P. Diosk. 1–12; P. Heid. inv. G 5 5017; P. Polit. Iud. 1–16; P. Yale
4.138–­149, 150–151; P. Köln 10.413; 13.520. The texts dealing with matters related to dis­
pute resolution processes include P. Polit. Iud. 17–20; P. Duke inv. 605 r, 605 v, and 599; P. Pa­
ramone 9; P. Köln 12.479.
9 B. Kelly, Petitions, Litigation, and Social Control in Roman Egypt (Oxford: Oxford

Uni­versity Press, 2011), 38–74, here esp. 38–39.

10 Kelly, Petitions, Litigation, and Social Control (see n. 9), 38.
120 Robert Kugler

innermost mentalities of either petitioner or scribe.” 11 He even warns against

trying to “isolate strategic uses by scribes or petitioners of particular topoi in
a text: such an approach puts one in danger of reading craft and guile into a
largely mechanical process.” 12 Kelly does grant that we can count on petitions
to offer accurate information as to the petitioners’ names, genders, locations,
civic statuses, occupations, land tenure, and previous acts in the legal process –
facts not easily falsified for the sake of inflating an account, given other docu-
mentation available to adjudicators.13
Kelly’s objections, in fact, gesture toward the elements of an interpretive
framework for getting at what he says we cannot know. Much of what he judg-
es to be reliable information from petitions is one element of the framework:
a petitioner’s and her opponent’s fixed identity, those statuses that are given,
fixed, and not open to manipulation. To what Kelly judges to be open to ma-
nipulation by the petitioner – how the petitioner characterizes the offender and
the circumstances that gave rise to the petition – we can add aspects of the
petitioner’s self-description as well: these correspond to constructed identity,
the way petitioners portray themselves and the accused so as to gain sympathy,
win arguments, move audiences, and so on. Petitioners relate the facts of a case
in large part for the purpose of establishing these fixed and constructed identi-
ties – the first to assure standing and stake out entitlements and the second to
make themselves sympathetic and deserving of the judge’s consideration and
their opponent the opposite in all regards. It is what litigants do, no matter the
time or place, in appealing to third parties for the resolution of their conflicts.
What Kelly overlooks, though, is that these identities must be sensible as well
as persuasive – they cannot be implausible identity claims and accounts of the
facts of the case, or petitioners risk having their pleas dismissed without re-
view. The manipulation and outright lies that Kelly ascribes to petitioners are,
in fact, constrained by the exigencies of the petitionary process.
Further, while Kelly is right to be wary that scribes eclipse the voice of the
petitioner and that formulaic rhetoric can obscure the individual’s perspective,
he overstates the power of the general to obscure the particular, especially in a
genre where so much is at stake for the petitioner. We should assume that even
the illiterate petitioner working with a scribe could hear the difference between

11 Kelly, Petitions, Litigation, and Social Control (see n. 9), 38–39.

12 Kelly, Petitions, Litigation, and Social Control (see n. 9), 39
13 Kelly, Petitions, Litigation, and Social Control (see n. 9), 74. In fairness, Kelly does

also stake out positive grounds for analyzing petitions which constitute an intriguing and
consequential research agenda he carries out in the rest of his monograph: “[E]ven if rhe-
torical elements of the documents are not indicative of the values of individual petitioners,
the commonplaces in the texts at least tell us something about the legal culture of the prov-
ince – that is, the web of discourse and ideologies surrounding the adjudicative process. Such
discourses and ideologies are obviously an enormously important part of understanding the
social impact of the legal process, even if we cannot know the minds of particular petition-
ers” (ibid.).
 Finding “Judaism” in Documentary Papyri 121

a draft that makes the case with vigor, persuasive power, and his distinctive
voice and needs, and one that only laconically trots out the standard rhetoric.
To be sure, some petitions of the latter sort did make it into the record – and all
the better for us, as they provide a baseline against which to measure those that
depart from that minimal standard by giving expression to the uniqueness of
the particular petitioner. In that sense, Kelly errs especially in warning schol-
ars off from identifying “strategic uses” of topoi. These are precisely what we
ought to be examining as evidence of the fruit of scribal-petitioner partnerships
and key indicators of petitioner intent. And as to scribes being so dominant as
to obscure the petitioner’s voice altogether: to be sure, scribes contribute to the
shape of a petition, but their voice in all but the simplest of petitions is married
to that of the petitioner – after all it’s the fate of the petitioner that the scribe is
securing, and thus the petitioner is sure to leave her imprint.
And then there is the law. It is one thing for a petitioner to construct and
assign identities as a means of winning the case before a third party. But there
must also be a standard by which the picture of oneself and the offender is to be
measured: that is the law, the normative system that is explicitly or implicitly
invoked. Significantly, the law is rarely explicit, inasmuch as once a petitioner
has committed her case to a particular venue she is accepting its law to be dis-
positive and is liberated from actually announcing what part of it she relies on;
simply by telling the story and asking for justice she has pointed the adjudica-
tors to the appropriate norm in their system.
The typically implicit character of the petitioner’s reliance on laws or norms
requires taking the most critical step in teasing out a petitioner’s legal reason-
ing: reading her petition in a rigorously comparative context, alongside other
petitions and relevant documentary genres that address the same or similar is-
sues. Just so, only comparative analysis reveals a petitioner’s unique, strategic
use of tropes and topoi associated with addressing such issues. To put it simply:
understanding a petitioner’s unique legal argument depends on knowing well
the general law regarding the issue she addresses, as well as the standard rhet-
oric deployed to invoke that law.
The elements, then, of a framework for getting at the legal reasoning of
petitioners – and ascertaining the law they rely on – are relatively simple. De-
termine the venue the petitioner chose for his or her complaint, the issue that
the petition addresses, the way the petition identifies the petitioner and other
parties to the petition (both as a matter of assigned identity and constructed
identity), and the circumstances that gave rise to the petition. Then examine the
petition in an appropriate comparative context to determine the norm or norms
the petitioner relied on or invoked as dispositive and what topoi and tropes she
used to communicate her case, and the ways in which she used them. From this
data we have what is required to understand the law the petitioner invokes and
reconstruct the petitioner’s legal argument.
122 Robert Kugler

3. Sampling the Results of the Study

Thus far I have published only preliminary readings of a number of the πολί­
τευμα petitions in a series of articles over the last number of years. I am pres-
ently working to complete a comprehensive commentary on all of the petitions
that uncovers the degree to which they do or do not draw on Jewish legal norms
or principles. Here I summarize the results of my examination of three of the
petitions, one each from the three categories described above, reporting only
what is necessary to demonstrate the ways in which each one draws on Torah.

3.1 Complaints about Unlawful Acts against Persons: P. Polit. Iud. 1

From this category I address P. Polit. Iud. 1, a plea from a man who was pub-
licly insulted and who seeks some sort of response from the officials of the
πο­λίτευμα. In an earlier publication aimed at determining what the petitioner,
Andronikos, wanted from the πολιτάρχης and the leaders of the πολίτευμα I
addressed the fixed and constructed identities Andronikos inscribed for himself
and for Nikarchos, the accused, as well as the tropes and topoi Andronikos used
to present his case to the πολίτευμα. I demonstrated that Andronikos’s com-
plaint was that someone with status well below his had damaged and thieved
his honor, and he feared that news of this might travel beyond his hometown to
settlements nearby and even further abroad. What he wanted was the immedi-
ate restoration and repair of his honor. I stand by those general conclusions.14
However, I revise my argument as to the legal definition of what Andronikos
charges Nikarchos with having done. It was not as the consensus holds – with
which I agreed in my earlier treatment of the text – a routine case of ὕβρις
governed by Greek law. Rather, Nikarchos committed an extra-judicial false
accusation, a delict not covered by Greek law, but one nonetheless addressed
by a principle one can derive from Torah. Let me explain.
As to Greek law pertaining to cases of ὕβρις in Hellenistic Egypt, the con-
sensus is that while a physical assault is typically involved, a plaintiff could
charge someone with the delict simply for verbal assault, setting in motion
a δί­κη κακηγορίας – thus the consensus that P. Polit. Iud. 1 is a cause of ac-
tion for ὕβρις. This understanding of the delict assumes that Athenian law on
ὕβρις as we know it from a reading of Demosthenes, Or. 21.32, 47 was dispos-
itive in Hellenistic Egypt. This consensus was also influenced by the repeated
use of rhetorical formulae reporting abusive speech in petitions against per-
sons charged with acts of ὕβρις.15 Yet, examining the Hellenistic-era petitions
14 R. Kugler, “What Really Troubled Andronikos? A Note on P. Polit. Iud. 1,” in Sibyls,

Scriptures, and Scrolls: John Collins at Seventy, ed. J. Baden et al., JSJSup 175 (Leiden:
Brill, 2016), 673–687.
15 The locus classicus for the delict in literature from Classical Athens in Demosthenes’s

speech against Meidias, when he cites it to complain about Meidias having given him a
blow to the head (Demosthenes, Or. 21.47); but in Or. 21.32, it is indicated that a cause
 Finding “Judaism” in Documentary Papyri 123

explicitly identified as charges of ὕβρις and petitions that use the rhetorical
formulae without declaring explicitly the complaint concerns an act of ὕβρις
proves the consensus wrong, at least in Hellenistic Egypt: while exchanges of
unpleasantries are a routine part of both kinds of petitions, in all cases where
there is sufficient text to reconstruct the cause of action, the verbal exchange is
merely the prologue to a physical altercation that constitutes the basis for the
complaint of ὕβρις.
Indeed, of the nineteen petitions from Hellenistic Egypt I have identified
that explicitly allege the crime of ὕβρις, most recount an incident that began
with a verbal exchange and evolved into a physical altercation of some sort.
Sixteen of them report direct bodily injury to the petitioner and / or the viola-
tion of his or her personal physical space,16 one reports physical attacks on a
relative of the complainant,17 one only refers to an act of ὕβρις without giving

of action can also arise from simple verbal assault. In commenting on the passage, Doug-
las M. McDowell observes that although just what ὕβρις is in the case remains elusive, its
differentiation from acts of violence such as αἰκεία suggests that it “means possessing a
certain attitude of mind, self-indulgent egotism. An act is not an act of hybris unless it results
from the appropriate attitude of mind” (D. M. McDowell, “Hybris in Athens,” GR 23 [1976],
14–31, here 27). McDowell cites as support for his assessment Aristotle, Rhet. 1378 b 23–29,
where the philosopher says that ὕβρις is to do and say things that bring dishonor to the victim
(αἰσχύνη ἔστι τῷ πάσχοντι) for the sake of one’s own pleasure (ὄπως ἡσθῇ) and feeling of
superiority (αἴτιον δὲ τῆς ἡδονῆς τοῖς ὑβρίζουσιν ὅτι οἴονται κακῶς δρῶντες αὐτοὶ ὑπερέχειν
μᾶλλον, 27–28). On the delict in Greco-Roman Egypt in general, see esp. H.-A. Rupprecht,
“Hybris: Anmerkungen zu einem Delikt in den Papyri der ptolemäischen und römischen
Zeit,” in Überlieferung, Bewahrung und Gestaltung in der rechtsgeschichtlichen Forschung,
ed. S. Buchholz, P. Mikat, and D. Werkmüller (Paderborn: Schöningh, 1993), 269–275; id.,
“Straftaten und Rechtschutz nach den griechischen Papyri der ptolemäischen Zeit,” in Sym­
posion 1990: Vorträge zur griechischen und hellenistischen Rechtsgeschichte, ed. M. Ga­
ga­rin (Cologne: Böhlau, 1991), 138–148; A. D. Bitonto, “Le petizioni al re: Studio sul for­
mu­la­rio,” Aeg 47 (1967), 5–57, here 22–24 (who includes instances of assault that do not
in­voke the delict with the noun or the verb); for general discussion of the delict of ὕβις, see
R. Taubenschlag, The Law of Greco-Roman Egypt in the Light of the Papyri, 332 B. C. – 640
A. D., 2nd ed. (Milan: Cisalpino-Golliardica, 1972), 435–442.
16 BGU 6.1247 (Syene, 137 BCE); 10.1903 (unprovenanced, 275–226 BCE), 1904 (un-

provenanced, 175–125 BCE); P. Coll. Youtie 1.16 (Arsinoite, 109 BCE); P. Diosk. 7 (Hera­
kle­opolite, 153 BCE); P. Enteux. 73 (Magdola, 222 BCE), 74 (Berenikis Thesmophorou, 221
BCE), 75 (Magdola, 222 BCE), 78 (Krokodilopolis [Arsinoite], 221 BCE), 79 (Krokodilopo-
lis, 218 BCE); P. Fay. 12 (Theadelphia [Arsinoite], 104–103 BCE); P. Gur. 2 (Krokodilopolis
[Arisonoite], 226 BCE); P. Köln 13.520 (Herakleopolite, 150–100 BCE); P. Sorb. 3.112 (Mu-
ochis [?], 219 BCE); P. Tor. Choach. 8 (Thebes, 127 BCE); UPZ 1.12 (Memphis, 158 BCE).
17 See BGU 8.1855 (Herakleopolite, 69–44 BCE), where the complainant alleges that the

assailants were guilty of committing bodily injury, συντρίψαντες θύραν [κα]ὶ ἐπιθέμενοι τῆι
μη­τρὶ περὶ τούτων λογοποιουμένηι ἐξύβρισαν οὐ μετρίως καὶ εὶς τὸν περὶ τοῦ ζῆν κίνδυνον
περι­στήσαντες καὶ βίᾳ, “breaking down the door and setting upon my mother – who tried
talking with them about these things – treated her with extreme hubris and put her life in
danger.”
124 Robert Kugler

its details,18 and one is too fragmentary to judge.19 In addition, nine more texts
use the formulaic rhetoric to describe a verbal altercation and follow that with
an account of physical violence without explicitly charging the accused with
the crime of ὕβρις.20 On this evidence alone it seems likely that at least in Hel-
lenistic Egypt a verbal assault is merely the warm-up to the act that actually
triggers an accusation of ὕβρις, physically assailing the petitioner or his kin in
some way. A close look at the evidence confirms this judgment.
First, a recurring formulaic construct that configures the relationship be-
tween a verbal quarrel and an ensuing physical altercation is quite telling. It is
most obvious in P. Tebt. 1.44 (Kerkeosiris, 114 BCE) where the petitioner re-
ports that the accused started a dispute which ἕως μέν, “for a time,” or “at first,”
amounted to verbal abuse (λοιδορέω), but then, ὕστερον δέ, was followed with
physical acts. Second, while BGU 6.1247 (Syene, 137 BCE) uses the ἕως μέν
half of the construct but gives only δέ in the second clause, the petitioner in-
corporates δέ into a phrase that makes clear that the physical attack is the law-
less deed: ἀνομί[αι] δέ τινι χρησάμενος, “but deploying a certain lawlessness,”
the accused assaulted the complainant. Third, in four petitions that explicitly
charge the accused with ὕβρις the complainants acknowledge their own full
and hearty participation in verbal assault, hardly a wise admission if the act
constitutes the basis for a criminal complaint: to denote the out­break of the dis-
pute, the petitioners in P. Enteux. 72.3 (Magdola, 222 BCE) and P. Petr. 2.18.8–
9 (Theogonis, 236 / 235 BCE) both use the phrase λοιδορίας μοι γενομένης

18 P. Hib. 1.32 (Hibeh, 246 / 245 BCE) does not actually recount the incident that gave
rise to the complaint, but only refers to sequestration of livestock against the payment of a
judgment of ὕβρις.
19 P. Petr. 2.17 / 1 (Krokodilopolis [Arsinoite], 229 / 228 BCE) is too fragmentary to be cer­

tain what the offending act amounted to – we have only the middle of a column of text that
seems likely to have been a man’s plea to a στρατήγος to make an inquiry regarding the
charge of ὕβρις a woman named Lamiske brought against him. We do not know what he did
to elicit the charge in the first place.
20 For συστησάμενος […] ἀμφιλογίαν, see P. Giss. Univ. 1.9 (Euhemeria, 131 BCE);

P. Grenf. 1.38 (Pathyrite, 170 BCE); PSI 3.167 (Thinite, 118 BCE); P. Tebt. 1.44 (Kerkeosiris,
114 BCE; but with μάχη in place of ἀντιλογία), 138 (Tebtunis, end II BCE; but with μά­χη
in place of ἀντιλογία). For the language of λοιδορέω and λοιδορία, see BGU 3.1007 (un-
known provenance, 243 / 218 BCE); P. Petr. 2.18 (2 a) – (2 b) (Arsinoite, III BCE); P. Enteux.
25 (Ghoran [Arsinoite], 222 BCE), 72 (Magdola, 218 BCE). Four of the texts that use the
specific language of ὕβρις listed in n. 16 above also use some of this formulaic rhetoric: BGU
6.1247; P. Enteux. 74 and 79; P. Gur. 2. Two additional texts related to legal actions for as-
sault that are not petitions describe incidents involving behavior denominated with the verb
λοι­δορέω, and these too follow the pattern of verbal insult followed by physical violence:
P. Hib. 2.200 (unknown, 246 or 221 BCE) is the deposition of a witness who testifies that an
assailant verbally assailed a victim and then ripped his garment and injured his ribs; P. Tebt.
3 / 1.765 (Tebtunis, 153 BCE) is a private letter urging someone to come soon to deal with the
perpetrator of an assault – the victim was προσλοιδορ[η]θείς by the assailant, receiving from
him πληγὰς ἀπρεπεῖς (lines 3–4).
 Finding “Judaism” in Documentary Papyri 125

πρὸς αὐτόν (with πρὸς αὐτόν referring to the accused), and in P. Enteux. 79.5
(Krokodilopolis, 218 BCE) and P. Gur. 2.20 (Krokodilopolis, 226 BCE) the
pe­titioners declare that having been cursed, they cursed the accused in return.
The accumulated evidence is unequivocal: in Hellenistic Egypt speech acts do
not constitute grounds for a charge of ὕβρις; only a physical altercation rises
to that level.
Turning back to P. Polit. Iud. 1 we see the familiar pattern: an account of an
assault that was for a time, ἕως μέν, merely a verbal assault, but then, ὕστερον
δέ, escalated beyond that. But what follows ὕστερον δέ is not what we expect:
Andronikos does not accuse Nikarchos of a physical assault, but rather of mak-
ing a false accusation, ἐπέφερέν μοι ἀγένητον αἰτίαν. This is, to put it simply,
an anomalous complaint in Hellenistic Egypt insofar as the charge pertains to
an extra-judicial false accusation.21 Ptolemaic legal norms do not view extra-­
judicial false accusations as actionable. P. Hal. 1.24–77 (Alexandria, mid-third
cent. BCE) does report laws governing false witness at trial,22 but that is not
what Andronikos complains about; his concern is that a false accusation was
made outside of a legal setting, in the course of an exchange of unpleasantries
on the street. What makes Andronikos think, then, that his complaint might get
a positive reception among the leaders of the πολίτευμα?
The Greek Torah might provide a resource for Andronikos on this score in
Deut 19:15–21. At first the passage seems, very much like P. Hal. 1.24–77, to
speak to false accusations in the context of a court proceeding. Verse 15 indi-

21 The turn of phrase ἐπιφέρειν ἀγένητον αἰτίαν does occur in the early Roman-era, in
CPR 15.15.16 (Soknopaiou Nesos, 7–4 BCE), apparently in reference to an early episode
in the lengthy legal process involving the well-known Satabus. It is not clear that mention
is made of the accusation to bring a charge against the accuser – it is just one feature of the
larger legal dispute. The phrase probably also appears in a Ptolemaic-era text, SB 20.14708
(Thea­delphia, 151 BCE), which is the author’s attempt to get on the right side of the law
vis-­à-vis an extortion racket he had been part of, but now wants to distance himself from
by offering help to the authorities in reckoning with the ringleader, the local κωμάρχης. At
one point he indicates that the target of his complaint, τῇ γύσει μοχθηρὸς ὤν, “being by his
very nature a knave,” ἐπενέγκας μοι α[γένη]τον αἰτίαν, “brought a groundless charge against
me,” with the result being that the complainant was jailed and released only after doing the
accused some sort of fiscal favor. Here too, the false accusation is just one feature of the
larger narrative of the accused’s wrongdoing, and it is not the basis for the action that the
complainant brings against the perpetrator; in fact his appeal is in part for assistance so that
the accused is not able to jail him again to prevent him from testifying against the accused in
the larger case. In sum, there is no evidence from Alexandria or the χώρα that people initi-
ated legal action against another for making false accusations outside of a legal proceeding.
See also the judgment rendered by R. Taubenschlag, Das Strafrecht im Rechte der Papyri
(Leip­zig: Teubner, 1916), 14, that on the evidence of P. Hal. 1, a complaint for κακηγορία or
λοι­δορία in Alexandria cannot be established.
22 P. Hal. 1 is likely a δικαιώματα, the collection of city legal norms used by one side of

a lawsuit set in Alexandria to argue its case before adjudicators. False testimony was clearly
an issue in the lawsuit.
126 Robert Kugler

cates that bringing a charge of wrongdoing against someone requires two or

three witnesses – one will not suffice. Although it is not explicit in the passage,
a reasonable reader would judge this to address charges made in a formal legal
setting. Verses 16–17, though, seem to provide a toehold for Andronikos. While
v. 16 can be read to continue the focus on testimony in a judicial setting – ἐὰν
δὲ καταστῇ μάρτυς ἄδικος κατὰ ἀνθρώπου καταλέγων αὐτοῦ ἀσέβειαν, “If an
unjust witness comes forth against a man, accusing him of impiety” – v. 17
can be read as declaring that only then the accuser and the one accused should
appear before adjudicators: καὶ στήσονται οἱ δύο ἄνθρωποι, οἷς ἐστιν αὐτοῖς ἡ
ἀντιλογία, έναντι κυρίου καὶ ἔναντι τῶν ἱερων καὶ έναντι τῶν κριτῶν, οἵ ἐὰν
ὦσιν ἐν ταῖς ἡμέραις ἐκείναις, “then the two men between there is a dispute
shall stand before the Lord and before the priests and before the judges, the
ones who might be [in office] in those days.” 23 The rest of the passage makes
clear the gravity of making a false accusation that necessitates a judicial deter-
mination: if the judges conclude from a careful inquiry that the accuser is false
(v. 18), the penalty he intended for the one he accused falsely shall be levied
against him and he should be excluded from the community (v. 19). Verses
20–­21 make clear that such a harsh penalty for false witness is meant to be a
deterrent against others committing the same crime.
Might Andronikos have had this legal tradition in mind when he charged
Nikarchos with ἐπέφερέν μοι ἀγένητον αἰτίαν and sought a judgment against
Nikarchos from the πολιτάρχης and the πολίτευμα? Given the absence of any
basis for his claim in conventional Ptolemaic law, it certainly seems possible.
Indeed, without recourse to such a reading of Deut 19:15–21 Andronikos had
no basis otherwise for his complaint.24

23 On the general paratactical (not syntactic) construction of Septuagint Greek, and the

necessity of understanding καί to introduce apodoses where the sense demands it, see F. C.
Conybeare and St. G. Stock, Grammar of Septuagint Greek (Boston: Ginn, 1905), § 40.
24 I stress logical because it could also be said that Andronikos had Egyptian law on his

side in charging Nikarchos with making a false accusation claim against him. In his treatment
of Egypt, Diodorus Siculus echoes Deut 19:19 a in reporting that among Egyptians making a
false allegation against someone was punished by the same penalty the false accuser intended
for the falsely accused (1.77.4). The text reads: οἱ δὲ ψευδῶς τινων κατηγορήσαντες ὤφειλον
τοῦ­το παθεῖν ὃ τοῖς συκοφαντηθεῖσιν ἐτέτακτο πρόστιμον, εἴπερ ἔτυχον καταδικασθέντες;
see, however, A. Burton, Diodorus Siculus, Book 1: A Commentary, EPRO 29 (Leiden: Brill,
1972), 227, who comments on the passage by saying that “There is too little evidence to
de­termine the punishment suffered by those who laid false accusations.” It is true that one
cannot be certain of the specific punishment, but the text seems clear enough that it should
correspond in any case with what the false accuser intended for the falsely accused. Even
if Egyptian norms might served him, though, it is obviously very unlikely that Andronikos
would bring an action based on Egyptian law before the Jewish πολίτευμα.
 Finding “Judaism” in Documentary Papyri 127

3.2 Complaints Related to Contractual or Property Matters:

Pap. Graec. Mon. 287 + 293
I discuss next the unpublished petition to the πολίταρχης Straton and to the
ἄρ­χοντες of the πολίτευμα, Pap. Graec. Mon. 287 + 293. This is an example of
texts related to contractual or property matters.25
The petition is lean. As to identities, Philippos, the complainant, only gives
the barest details of his and the accused’s fixed identities: he and Chaireas, the
accused, are Jews, and he is among those from Sobthis (lines 1–5). Philippos
introduces nothing in the petition that can be counted as constructed identities.
Likewise, Philippos engages in little to none of the hyperbole petitioners often
deploy to characterize the wrong done by the accused as particularly egregious.
Instead, he satisfies himself with a straightforward, spare account of the facts
of the case. He says he is wronged by Chaireas who leased to him five ἄρουραι
of his cleruchy for a three-year period. He observes that before the three-year
period was complete, for one year of the three the land was not amenable to
sowing and harvesting because it was ἄβροχος, not inundated by the Nile’s
waters. When Philippos went to sow the land for what he refers to as “the fol-
lowing year,” τὸν ἐχόμενον ἐνιαυτόν, he found that Chaireas had rented the
land to other people. In view of these facts, he concludes by asking Straton, the
πολιτάρχης, and the ἄρχοντες to bring Chaireas before them and require him to
give Philippos justice.
As to what Philippos wanted from Straton and the ἄρχοντες, there can be
little doubt that it was effectively an extension for a fourth year of the three-
year lease period covered by the original contract, to make up for the year of
cultivation and harvesting that he lost due to ἀβροχία. He says that the year
of ἀβροχία occurred πρὶν ἢ δὲ συνπληρωθῆναι τὰ τρία ἔτηι, “before the three
years were over.” That he uses an aorist passive, with an emphatic σύν prefix
that signals the completeness of the action contemplated in the verb, certifies
that the three years of the original contract had elapsed when he went to sow
τὸν ἐχόμενον ἐνιαυτόν, “for the following year.” 26 Thus, the following year
was the fourth after the formation of the contract. It was not having access to
the land in that fourth year that precipitated his complaint.

25 I address this petition with the permission of Thomas Kruse; see further n. 2 above.
26 For the σύν prefix, see H. W. Smyth, Greek Grammar (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard Uni­
versity Press, 1966), § 1648. If the three-year term that the contracting parties agreed to was
not complete in terms of calendar years, then Chaireas was clearly in violation of the contract
in leasing the land to others, an eventuality that was addressed in some land lease contracts
through a clause assuring that, among other things, the lessor will not lease the land to some-
one other than the lessee during the term of the contract; see, e. g., PSI 9.1020.11–12 (Pa­thy­
rite, 110 BCE: μὴ ἐξέστω δὲ τοῖς περὶ Πικῶν ἑτέροις ἐγμισθοῦν ἐντὸς τοῦ χρόνου), 1021.28–
30 (Ta Memnomeia [Thebes], 109 BCE: μὴ ἐξέστω δὲ τῶι γεούχωι ἑτέροις ἐγμισθοῦν ἐντὸς
τοῦ χρόνου); and see further H.-A. Rupprecht, “Βεβαίωσις und Nichtangriffsklausel: Zur
Funk­tion zweier Urkundsklauseln in den griechischen Papyri bis Diocletian,” in Beiträge zur
128 Robert Kugler

When we examine this demand in the context of typical Ptolemaic-era land

lease contracts for agricultural use and the handful of complaints that provide,
however remotely, comparative evidence for Philippos’s complaint, his appeal
proves to be quite unusual. There are no norms in Ptolemaic land lease contract
practices that support his claim for use of the land beyond the calendrically-­
determined term of the original contract in the event of a year lost to natural
impediments, and he eschews demanding the remediation that was available to
him under such circumstances, a corresponding reduction in rent – a remedy
that allowed certainty in planning for lessors that would otherwise have been
impossible.27
So, why can Philippos have been so certain that Straton and the ἄρχοντες
would see things his way that he could eschew constructing a sympathetic
identity for himself and a villainous one for Chaireas in favor of merely iden-
tifying himself and Chaireas as Jews, satisfying himself with a spare summary

Juristischen Papyrologie: Kleine Schriften, ed. A. Jördens [Stuttgart: Steiner, 2017], 51–­61,
here 53 with n. 16, where both texts are cited. If Chaireas was in error in this way, sure­ly
Philippos would have said as much and made clear that the three-year term was not συν­
πληρωθῆναι.
27 Lease contracts for farmland dating to the Hellenistic and Roman eras often included

explicit provisions to compensate a lessee through a reduction in rent for land use lost due to
natural events like a failure of inundation (ἄβροχος), as well as its opposite, over-inunda­tion
(ποταμοφόρητος) and the related problems of over-silted, too-sandy soil (ὕφαμμος) or erod-
ed land (κατεξυσμένη). For a text that lists all of these impediments, see P. Amh. 2.85.14–16
(Hermopolis, 78 CE); in the event of such difficulties the lessor was obliged to forgive the
relevant portion of the rent, which usually corresponded to the amount of land made unus-
able by over- or under-inundation. For contracts addressing the eventuality of ἀβρο­χία in
particular, see BGU 6.1270 (Tachona [Oxyrhynchite], 191 BCE); P. Frankf. 1.13–15 (Thol­
this [Oxyrhynchite], 213 BCE); P. Freib. 3.34.11 (Philadelphia [Arsinoite], 173 BCE); PSI
10.1098.11–13 (Tebtunis, 151 BCE); P. Tebt. 1.106.16–17 (Ptolemais Euergetis [Arsinoite],
101–100 BCE); P. Yale 1.51.15–18 (Kerkesucha [Arsinoite], 184 BCE); SB 12.11061.8–11
(Thol­this [Oxyrhynchus], 218 BCE). See also J. Herrmann, Studien zur Bodenpacht im Recht
der graeco-aegyptischen Papyri, MBPF 41 (Munich: Beck, 1958), 161–162. That the rele­
vant clauses are absent in contracts from the Herakleopolite and Hermopolite, however, does
not mean that remediation through rent reduction (and relief from relevant taxes) was not
practiced there. Indeed, an appeal from farmers for relief from a land-related tax burden
upon returning to the land after an episode of withdrawal related to flooding dated to the
mid-first century BCE comes from the Herakleopolite (BGU 8.1843), and more to the point,
in a nome adjacent to the Herakleopolite, three lessees declare that their lessor refuses to
come and inspect the land they rented from him to confirm that it was ἄβροχος and that the
relevant clause in their contract should come to bear (P. Enteux. 59, Magdola [Arsinoite], 222
BCE]). See also the complaint of some crown farmers that they could not perform cultivation
required because the land was ἄβροχος (P. Tebt. 3.1.787, Oxyrhyncha [Arsinoite], 138 BCE).
On the absence of the clauses in Herakleopolite contracts, see H.-A. Rupprecht, “Die ‘Be-
baiosis’: Zur Entwicklung und den räumlich-zeitlichen Varianten einer Urkundsklausel in
den graeco-­ägyptischen Papyri,” in Beiträge zur Juristischen Papyrologie (see n. 26), 75–85,
here 76, 84.
 Finding “Judaism” in Documentary Papyri 129

of the facts of the case, and never mentioning the norm which he expected the
adjudicators to apply to settle the case in his favor? How can he be so sure that
the ἄρχοντες will agree with him that he is entitled to a third year of sowing,
tending, and harvesting the land without regard for the actual passage of real
time?
Jewish law may provide the basis for Philippos’s confidence. In addressing
the Sabbatical and Jubilee Years, Lev 25 touches on the question of land “sales”
between Jubilees. In the Jubilee Year ancestral owners of property are restored
to the lands they “sold” sometime in the preceding forty-nine years. Thus Lev
25:14–17 decrees that land “sales” should be prorated to the number of years
the “buyer” will actually be able to use the land – to sow and harvest its pro-
duce (vv. 14–16 a). The text than says what this means: ὅτι ἀριθμὸν γενημάτων
αὐτὸς ἀποδώσεταί σοι, “for he shall sell to you [according to] a number of
harvests” (v. 16 b). The implication of v. 16 b is that if one bought land with just
the last five years of the period between Jubilees remaining, the payment to the
seller would be for five years, but if conditions made it impossible to harvest
the land for one or more of those years, the cost to the buyer and the payment
to the seller would be prorated accordingly.28 Verse 17 declares that to fail in
this is to oppress the neighbor and not fear the Lord. In short, in land contracts
buyers become lessees, sellers become lessors, and what is leased are specific
numbers of years of a plot’s productivity.
The legal principle implied in v. 16 b, that one contracts for a number of
years of a plot of land’s productivity, seems to lie behind Philippos’s argument.
Likewise, his laconic account of the affair suggests that he takes for granted
that Straton and the ἄρχοντες also understand that and require no real addi-
tional encouragement to share his judgment that the principle is dispositive. In
Philippos’s estimation, only Chaireas seems unable to appreciate the norm that
an agreement for the lease of agricultural land is for a number of years of the
plot’s productivity.

3.3 Complaints Related to Marriage and Family Matters: P. Polit. Iud. 3

From the group of texts addressing marriage and family matters, I address
P. Polit. Iud. 3, Protomachos’s appeal for help in gaining control of a portion of
a vineyard his father-in-law, Euphranor, promised to him upon his marriage to

28 See Sifra Behar 3:10, for a halakic midrash that declares such discounting for natural

impediments to gaining a harvest is what the text does indeed require. Commenting on Lev
25:16 b: ‫‘“( “שני תבואת” – לא שנת שדפון ולא שנת ירקון ולא שביעית עולה לו מן המנין‬the years of
the crops’: A year of wind-blast or yellowing or shevi‘ith do not enter into the count,” quoted
from Sefaria: A Living Library of Jewish Texts, accessed May 1, 2019, https://tinyurl.com/
y5g4tehk). Underscoring that it is impediments beyond the farmer’s control that count, the
Sifra goes on to say, though, that if a buyer’s own farming practice results in a year without
harvest, that year “does enter the count.”
130 Robert Kugler

Euphranor’s daughter. This text presents a more complex, oblique reliance on

Jewish law.
The petition is Protomachos’s second appeal to the ἄρχοντες in the matter.
Protomachos complains that in connection with the dowry that Euphranor pro-
vided to Protomachos, he also promised to convey a portion of a vineyard when
Protomachos confirmed the marriage by executing a συγγραφὴ συνοικίσιου. In
response, Euphranor was to register the conveyance of the vineyard portion in
the public records office. While Protomachos fulfilled his side of the bargain,
Euphranor had yet to transfer the portion of the vineyard, even though he had
guaranteed the whole matter with an oath, and judges in his own village had
issued an order requiring him to do so after Protomachos complained for the
first time that his father-in-law had not honored his commitment. In his second
petition Protomachos requests that the ἄρχοντες compel Euphranor to honor
his vow and conform to the village judges’ order.
The unconventional feature among the events Protomachos narrates is the
gift of extra-dotal property from the bride’s family for the couple’s use or out-
right possession. This resembles the Roman-era practice of προσφορά, a gift to
the couple of the use of real property or slaves from a bride’s parents to ensure
a good start on married life. The practice aimed to ensure that such property
was not absorbed into the dowry, over which the husband had control, and
only the value of which he had to restore if the marriage dissolved.29 Thus the
προσφορά is generally recognized as a means to protect real property heritable
by the daughter from a dilatory husband; but it is a Roman-era innovation and
is otherwise unknown in definitive form in Ptolemaic-era documentary evi-
dence.30 Euphranor’s promise of the vineyard portion seems quite unusual in
the Hellenistic period.

29 On the development and nature of the προσφορά (and the closely related παράφερνα),

see U. Yiftach-Firanko, Marriage and Marital Arrangements: A History of the Greek Mar­
riage Document in Egypt, 4th Century BCE – 4th Century CE, MBPF 93 (Munich: Beck,
2003), 128–149, 164–175, 180–182, 310–311. Yiftach-Firanko builds on but corrects in sig-
nificant ways the earlier work of G. Häge, Ehegüterrechtliche Verhältnisse in den griechi­
schen Papyri Ägyptens bis Diokletian (Cologne: Böhlau, 1968), 214–223, who argues that
the προσφορά evolved from Egyptian marriage agreement practices.
30 While the editors of P. Polit. Iud. 3 cite SB 6.8974, frag. 3.2, lines 24–30 (Bousiris

[He­ra­kleopolite], beginning of the first cent. BCE), as a Hellenistic-period example of this

phe­nomenon, the term προσφορά is not used, and the precise character of the property in
relationship to the φερνή is not entirely clear (Cowey and Maresch, P. Polit. Iud., p. 48 nn.
7 and 8). On the notion that SB 6.8974 does entail a προσφορά-like property transfer, see
also Häge, Ehegüterrechtliche Verhältnisse (see n. 29), 48–49; for the possibility that the
purported unnamed προσφορά in SB 6.8974 is just part of the φερνή, see H. J. Wolff, Writ­
ten and Unwritten Marriages in Hellenistic and Postclassical Roman Law (Haverford, Pa.:
American Philological Association, 1939), 116–117; and Yiftach-Firanko, Marriage and
Mar­ital Arrangements (see n. 29), 112–113, 115. Yiftach-Firanko also addresses P. Polit. Iud.
3, arguing with respect to the extra land in SB 6.8974 and P. Polit. Iud. 3 that, “In both cases,
one could claim that it was delivered separately from the phernê, in both cases, however,
 Finding “Judaism” in Documentary Papyri 131

Yet this is not a unique practice, at least in the πολίτευμα, and it could also
explain a curious legal exchange among Jews in nearby Samareia some de-
cades earlier. I have argued elsewhere that the complex and otherwise inexpli-
cable string of property transfers referred to in P. Polit. Iud. 5 is best explained
as the petitioner’s means of protecting a προσφορά-style gift of a house from
reclamation by a seller on the basis of Lev 25:29.31 And a similar arrangement
could explain the contractual arrangement in CPR 18.11 (218 BCE, Sama-
reia) between two Jews, a former mother-in-law and her former son-in-law,
which may have been intended to extend the life of a προσφορά-style grant of
farmland use beyond the dissolution of the marriage (marked by CPR 18.9, a
receipt for the return of a dowry) to which it was connected so the man could
obtain fair value from the investments he made in the land while he held it as
a προσφορά-gift.32 These three texts – P. Polit. Iud. 3, 5, and CPR 18.11 – fill a
significant gap in a long-recognized body of evidence that Jews in Egypt, and
later in Judea, practiced this means of transferring parental real property to
daughters through extra-dotal gifts. The earliest evidence from Egypt that Jews
augmented dowries with property that could be of use to the daughter and hus-
band comes from the Elephantine papyri and dates to the fifth century BCE,33

the opposite contention could be made as well” (115). With respect to P. Polit. Iud. 3, this
overlooks Euphranor’s oath with regard to the vineyard portion, but not regarding the dowry;
thus the two seem to be separate.
31 R. Kugler, “Judean Legal Reasoning in P. Polit. Iud. 3–5: A Research Report,” in Pro­

ceedings of the 27th International Congress of Papyrology, Warsaw, 29 July – 3 August 2013,
ed. T. Derda et al., vol. 3, JJPSup 28 (Warsaw: Raphael Taubenschlag Foundation, 2016),
1565–1578.
32 CPR 18.9 and 11 appear in a register of contracts from Theogonis in the Arsinoite

dating to the late third century BCE. CPR 18.9 is a dowry-return receipt, Philoumene’s ac-
knowledgement that her erstwhile son-in-law, Menestratos, had returned a dowry that she
had provided when her daughter married Menestratos. For some reason the marriage had
dissolved and, as required of him, Menestratos had returned the dowry. The receipt acknowl-
edged not only receipt of the value of the dowry, but also the annulment of any additional
agreements attendant to the marriage. CPR 18.11, executed within days of CPR 18.9, is an
agreement between Menestratos and Philoumeme that Menestratos would lease a portion of
an orchard Philoumene owned and that he would also labor in the same orchard in exchange
for wages; the agreement also indicates that he prepaid four years of rent and assumed lia-
bility for taxes on part or all of the orchard. As I expect to make clear in a fuller treatment of
CPR 18.11, the most parsimonious explanation of this completely unique sequence of legal
procedures in the Hellenistic documentary record is that in connection with the dowry she
provided for her daughter, Philoumene had made a προσφόρα-style gift of the garden portion
to the newlyweds upon their marriage; her son-in-law began to cultivate the plot as a vine-
yard while he had access to it through marriage; the end of the marriage and the annulment
of the dowry’s provisions terminated his right to cultivate the land before the vineyard was
productive enough to return his investment in cultivating it; and CPR 18.11 was the means
by which Philoumene and Menestratos extended his access to the plot long enough to ensure
Menestratos did recover his investment in the land to convert it to a productive vineyard.
33 The Mibtahiah archive reveals two episodes of the practice: Mahseiah’s bequest of a
132 Robert Kugler

and the evidence of the Roman-era Babatha archive from the Judean desert
indicates that this practice persisted beyond the Hellenistic era and expanded
beyond Egypt.34 This body of evidence spanning nearly six centuries suggests
that augmenting a dowry with a προσφορά-style gift to the bride and groom of
real property was an enduring custom among Jews. Moreover, the absence of
the practice in the rest of the documentary record from Egypt before the devel-
opment of the προσφορά in the Roman period suggests that at least in this form
this was a custom unique to the Jews of Egypt. But why might this practice
have featured among Jewish parents of daughters before the Roman era?
Addressing the evidence from the Elephantine and Babatha archives, Mi-
chael Satlow points toward a sensible answer to this question. He says of the
Jews of Elephantine, “It is possible” that they “structure[d] their strategies of
marital payments and succession around one biblical obstacle, that concerning
the inability of daughters to inherit from their parents in the presence of broth-
ers. Their desire to circumvent this restriction, which they did with ease, would
explain the use of ‘gift’ conveyances rather than ‘bequeaths.’” 35 We know of
the “biblical obstacle” from the tale of Zelophehad’s daughters in Num 27 and
the related passage in Num 36:6–9 that confirms the reason allowing daughters
to inherit was abhorrent: it ran the risk of alienating property from the tribe
or clan. This was hardly an issue in Egypt; but the norm was nonetheless a
scripture, Torah – authoritative. And so, parents developed a means of getting
around it to transfer heritable property to their daughters. Thus, when Euphra-

house to his daughter Mibtahiah in connection with her marriage (TAD B 2.3 and B 2.4, dated
to December 1, 459 BCE) and Anani’s gift of a life estate of usufruct in rooms and access to
space within his house (i. e., an apartment) to his daughter Jehoishma, in anticipation of her
marriage (TAD B 3.7–9, 10–12).
34 The clearest example from the archive is P. Yadin 19 (Maoza [Petra], April 16, 128 CE),

a simple, two-stage gift that was clearly a προσφορά-type transfer of property. Eleven days
after Shelamzion married Judah son of Hananiah, her father, Judah son of Eleazar Khthou­
sion (Babatha’s second husband) gave her the gift of half a courtyard and half of some rooms
in a house in En-Gedi, and promised that the other half of the property would become hers
upon his death. In this case, it is difficult to argue that the aim is to ensure that property
remains in the family line, as the far easier way to accomplish that would have been to let
the property pass to Judah’s nephews, whom we know from P. Yadin 20 (Maoza [Petra], June
19, 130 CE), a document in which their guardians cede their claim to the same property
to Shelamzion. In this regard, see also P. Hever 64 (Maoza [Petra], November 9, 129 CE),
where Salome Gropte gives a similar kind of gift to her daughter Salome Komaïse, probably
in anticipation of her marriage. For all of these texts and an argument that the deeds of gift
are intended to circumvent laws of succession that could alienate a man’s property from his
lineage upon his death if he lacks male heirs, see H. Cotton, “Deeds of Gift and the Law of
Succession in the Documents from the Judaean Desert,” in Akten des 21. Internationalen Pa­
pyrologenkongresses, Berlin 1995, ed. B. Kramer et al., APF Beiheft 3 (Stuttgart: Teubner,
1997), 179–186.
35 M. L. Satlow, Jewish Marriage in Antiquity (Princeton: Princeton University Press,

2001), 206.
 Finding “Judaism” in Documentary Papyri 133

nor vowed to transfer the vineyard portion to Protomachos and failed to carry
through on his word, he violated a custom constructed to permit Jewish parents
to remain law-abiding by their own ancestral norms, while fulfilling a desire
to transfer parental property to daughters. This was to take Torah very serious-
ly indeed. And inasmuch as this act arose from Jewish legal imagination, the
πολίτευμα was the natural venue for Protomachos to appeal to for assistance.

3.4 Summarizing the Results

To review: In P. Polit. Iud. 1 Andronikos argues that Nikarchos should be pe-
nalized for making a false claim against him in public, a charge that is unsup-
portable under general Ptolemaic law, but that does find authorization in read-
ing Deut 19:15–19, and especially v. 17, as speaking to extra-judicial false ac-
cusations. In Pap. Graec. Mon. 287 + 293 Philippos argues that he should have
access to farmland he leased for a three-year period in the fourth year after
making the agreement because one year of sowing and harvesting was lost to
ἀβρο­χία; lacking a basis for such a claim in Ptolemaic law, he seems to depend
on the law of lands sales between Jubilees in Lev 25:14–17 which establishes
the principle that one bargains for a number of harvests, not a simple calen-
drically-determined period of land access. And in P. Polit. Iud. 3 Protomachos
seems to argue that an apparent Jewish custom of giving daughters and sons-
in-law use of parental property through an augment to the dowry – so as to re-
spect the Jewish norm that daughters cannot inherit property from their parents
in the presence of brothers – should be enforced by the ἄρχοντες in the case of
his father-in-law.
To be sure, some readers are sure to argue that without explicit lexical con-
nections between the petitions and the legal principles derived from Torah that
I argue petitioners had in mind there is reason to doubt the cogency of my anal-
yses of P. Polit. Iud. 1, Pap. Graec. Mon. 287 + 293, and P. Polit. Iud. 3 in their
wider legal contexts. Anticipating objection, I remind readers of some import-
ant facts. First, these petitioners had multiple adjudicatory venues available to
them, yet they chose the one where adjudicators could be expected to know
and apply specifically Jewish legal principles in judging their appeals. Sec-
ond, in each of the cases summarized, no other known Ptolemaic legal norms
can be found to support the petitioners’ reasoning; only recourse to principles
derived from Torah can explain their position. And third, the petitioners make
their arguments without explicitly stating the law they expect to be dispositive,
suggesting their simple expectation that adjudicators would know and apply
those legal principles without being directed to them. All of which is to say,
there is little reason to expect substantial lexical overlap between the language
of the petitions and the Greek Torah. That is not to say that there will or can be
none of that; it is to say that it is not strictly necessary, given the venue the pe-
titioners chose for adjudicating their disputes and general petitionary practice
in Ptolemaic Egypt.
134 Robert Kugler

4. Stepping Back

Stepping back from the three representative case studies, the appropriate ques-
tion at this point is whether what they testify to – Jews who led in at least
certain respects Torah-defined lives – may equally be declared evidence for a
kind of Judaism. To be sure, the notoriously difficult definitional issues asso-
ciated with the term “Judaism” complicate the way we answer my question.
And I do not speak of the question of whether there is one Judaism or many –
as I take the many for granted. Rather, I refer to the skepticism that we may
speak of religion at all in antiquity. It is a skepticism I once shared – but teach-
ing and thinking about religion in modern and ancient contexts has cured me
of that particular affliction. Instead, I count myself among those who, though
acknowledging that religion is a modern category, still find a commonsense,
modest definition of the concept to have utility for examining and understand-
ing premodern human expressions and experience. One such understanding is
articulated by Seth Schwartz, who suggests with reference to the contemporary
anxiety about using the category “religion” for understanding phenomena in
the ancient world that it might best be “understood to refer simply to practices,
social and cognitive, which embody people’s relationships with their god(s).” 36
On this understanding, “religion” is inextricably tied up with and embedded
in the dimensions of life that modern scholarship classifies, like religion, as
distinct human expressions – law, economics, politics, society, culture, and
so on – but that were (and are still) deeply intertwined with each other in the
fabric of daily human life. People then (and still today) acted out their “rela-
tionships with their god(s)” by responding to what they understood to be their
god(s)’s wishes for them expressed in texts and other modes of revelation in
their legal, economic, political, social, and cultural acts – such as the Torah.
As a consequence, we should look for the traces of religion in a much wider
variety of ancient texts and media than we heretofore imagined. My answer,
then, to the question whether the legal reasoning of Andronikos, Philippos, and
Proto­machos may be taken as evidence of “Judaism,” is an unequivocal “Yes.”
Of course, we may see traces of what modernity calls Judaism in Euphranor’s
decision to transfer property to his daughter as inheritance through the instru-
ment of a proto-προσφορά so as to respect the Torah’s implicit prohibition of
making daughters direct heirs of parental property; likewise we may discern

36 S. Schwartz, The Ancient Jews from Alexander to Muhammad (Cambridge: Cambridge

University Press, 2014), 8; for a similarly sensible approach, see also S. K. Stowers, “Theo-
rizing the Religion of Ancient Households and Families,” in Household and Family Religion
in Antiquity, ed. J. Bodel and S. Olyan (Malden, Mass.: Blackwell, 2008), 5–19, here 8–9,
who argues that religion in antiquity is the imagined participation of gods or other non-ob-
servable beings in the corporate and individual lives of particular human populations (cul-
tures, societies, ethnicities, etc.) such that those non-observable beings’ claims shape such
populations’ acts, speech, thinking, and belief.
 Finding “Judaism” in Documentary Papyri 135

intimations of Judaism in Protomachos’s insistence that he honor that decision.

Of course, we should see hints of Judaism in Philippos’s Jubilees-law-based
insistence that he had a third year of land use from Chaireas, even if it was
the calendrical fourth year since they made their land-lease contract. And, of
course, we may regard as evidence of Judaism Andronikos’s claim that the
Torah’s loosely-worded law regarding false witness should compel the leaders
of the πολίτευμα to take up his cause against Nikarchos. Why not? All three
petitioners demonstrably hold the view that the claims made on them by their
God through their scriptures can and do shape their acts, speech, thinking, and
belief. To be sure, we can argue about the depth, sincerity, and nature of their
commitment. But in the end, I do not think we can deny that in their petitionary
acts they were engaging in social and cognitive practices which embodied their
relationship with the God of the Jews known to them through Torah and its law.
 Torah and Temple in Judean Pseudepigrapha
From Jubilees to Fourth Ezra and Second Baruch

Lutz Doering

In this contribution, I shall consider the two key concepts of Torah and temple
in Judean texts (referring here to texts both Jewish 1 and hailing from Judea)
from the Hellenistic and early Roman periods. In doing so, I shall select one
text from the middle of the Hellenistic period – the Book of Jubilees – and
two from the early Roman period, probably following the destruction of the
Jerusalem temple – Fourth Ezra and Second Baruch. All of these texts envis-
age a Jewish readership.2 All of them are conventionally reckoned with the
so-called Pseudepigrapha, that is, pseudonymous or anonymous literature re-
lating to figures of Israel’s past, subsequently translated into Greek and other
languages, and eventually collected and handed down by Christians. They are,
more specifically, to some extent also comparable with respect to their genre:
while Fourth Ezra and Second Baruch are prime examples of (late) Jewish
apocalypses of the “historical” type, the Book of Jubilees, while representing
a specimen of “rewritten scripture,” might also be considered a special case
of “historical” apocalypse.3 In what follows, I shall first analyze the treatment

1 In this article I am using “Jewish” in a broad sense, as being related to a group of people

sharing a particular lifestyle, set of beliefs, and ethnic identification. In using this term, I am
not making an argument about the existence of Jewish “religion” for the time under consid-
eration, and while I recognize that the genealogical aspect was more central in the Hellenistic
period, I do not here presuppose a move from “Judean” to “Jewish,” as suggested by Daniel
R. Schwartz (see, e. g., his Judaeans and Jews: Four Faces of Dichotomy in Ancient Jewish
History [Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2014]).
2 For Jubilees, we can assume that the implied readers are construed as “Judeans” in the

geographical sense, while Second Baruch might also appeal to Jews in the diaspora, on ac-
count of its reference to the tribes in the “Babylonian” and “Assyrian” exile (see 2 Bar. 77:12,
17–19; and the letter to the nine and a half tribes in the “Assyrian” exile, 2 Bar. 78–86), the
latter of which are also referred to in Fourth Ezra (see 4 Ezra 13:39–47).
3 See the evaluation by J. C. VanderKam, Jubilees: A Commentary, Hermeneia (Minnea­

polis: Fortress, 2018), 19–21 (“It is reasonable to use labels such as Rewritten Scripture or
Apocalypse for the genre of Jubilees, as long as one recognizes that there are strengths and
weaknesses connected with both of them” [21]). For the suggestion that Jubilees “subverts”
the form of the apocalypse, see T. R. Hanneken, The Subversion of the Apocalypses in the
Book of Jubilees, EJL 34 (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2012). J. J. Collins, “The
Genre of the Book of Jubilees,” in A Teacher for All Generations: Essays in Honor of J. C.
138 Lutz Doering

of Torah and temple in each of these works and then make some comparative
observations that also allow us to gauge some broad lines in which the roles
of Torah and temple have developed in the course of the Hellenistic and early
Roman periods.

1. Torah and Temple in the Book of Jubilees

1.1 Torah in Jubilees

The Book of Jubilees, probably dating from the middle of the second century
BCE,4 presupposes something like the Torah in the sense of “Pentateuch.” It
deems this Torah authoritative and calls it “the book of the first law” (maṣḥafa
ḥegg za-qadāmi, Jub. 6:22), written down by the angel of presence substituting
for God.5 Similarly, Jub. 30:12 refers to the Torah: “For this reason I [sc. the
angel of presence] have written for you in the words of the law everything that
the Shechemites did to Dinah and how Jacob’s sons said: ‘We will not give our
daughter to a man who has a foreskin because for us that would be a disgraceful
thing.’” At first sight, this looks like a rough quotation of Gen 34:14. However,
the Ge‘ez and Latin versions of Jubilees clearly support the reading “daugh-
ter,” whereas all versions of Genesis have “sister.” 6 Jubilees, then, does not
for­mally cite the Torah here, and even full-fledged paraphrase of Torah word-
ing is relatively rare throughout the book. Rather, the relation between Jubilees
and the Torah qua Pentateuch can be characterized as “rewriting,” and hence
Ju­bilees features, as I have already indicated, as a prime example of “rewritten
scripture,” presenting a rewritten form of the material from Gen 1 to Exod 24,
with a few glimpses beyond.
Yet, Jubilees also inscribes into this rewriting the legal ideology and select-
ed halakic details championed by its author group. The setting of Jub. 1:1–4 is
modeled after Exod 24:12–18, Moses’s ascent to Mount Sinai and his forty-day
stay. Jubilees 1:1 rewrites the ambiguous phrase in Exod 24:12, “I will give
you the tablets of stone and the law and the commandment,” as follows: “I will

VanderKam, ed. E. F. Mason et al., JSJSup 153 (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 737–755, drawing on
Prototype Theory, is prepared to regard Jubilees as “a marginal member of the genre apoc-
alypse […] without claiming that this is its only generic affiliation” (754). For the common
assignment of Second Baruch, Fourth Ezra, and Jubilees to the “historical” type of apoca-
lypses, see id., The Apocalyptic Imagination: An Introduction to Jewish Apocalyptic Litera­
ture, 3rd ed. (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2016), 7–8.
4 Cf. the recent review in VanderKam, Jubilees (see n. 3), 25–38, where he opts for “a

time not too far from the 160s – perhaps the 150s” as “most likely” (38) while criticizing
theories of literary growth of the work after its basic composition. For the purposes of this
contribution I shall consider Jubilees as a coherent work. See further below, n. 13.
5 Cf. VanderKam, Jubilees (see n. 3), 319.
6 The reading “daughter” might be influenced by Gen 34:8–9, where this term is used.
 Torah and Temple in Judean Pseudepigrapha 139

give you the two stone tablets, the law and the commandment.” 7 Here, “the law
and the commandment” seems to stand in apposition to “the two stone tablets,”
hence probably making the entire phrase relate to the Torah.8 At the same time,
however, according to Jubilees, Moses is shown more things on Mount Sinai:
“the Lord showed him what (had happened) beforehand as well as what was
to come. He related to him the divisions of the times for the law and for the
testimony” (Jub. 1:4). A similar wording occurs in Jub. 1:26 9 and is probably
a self-reference to the Book of Jubilees, which incorporates, with the mention
of “law” (‫ )תורה‬and “testimony” (‫)תעודה‬,10 both halakic matters and the ac-
count of preordained history.11 Hence, Jubilees claims to contain additional
materials not included in the Pentateuch, which were nevertheless shown to
Moses by God and dictated to him through the angel. It is debated whether this
literary strategy of Jubilees to insert itself into the Sinai narrative implies that
the book would claim a more original authority than the Torah: after all, the
first stone tablets, as the reader of Exodus knows, were smashed following the
incident with the golden calf (Exod 32:19) and then replaced with another set
(cf. Exod 34); this would make Jubilees, which results from Moses’s first stay
on the mountain, notionally the oldest remaining account of the Sinaitic reve-
lation.12 Nevertheless, as we have seen, Jubilees calls the Torah “the book of
the first law,” which apparently acknowledges the primacy of the Pentateuch.
One significant insertion into the rewritten account is the presentation of the
Sabbath, not merely as God’s exemplary resting at the culmination of creation
week, but also as a day to be observed in the future by the Israelites, in compa-
ny with God and the higher angels. Jubilees 2:19–23 records God’s intention,
on Creation Sabbath, to elect the people of Israel and to grant them to keep
the Sabbath in company with himself and the higher classes of angels, and
Jub. 2:24 appears to refer to the Sabbath, probably including its prescriptions,
with the phrase “the testimony and the first law.” Moreover, in Jub. 2:26–33,

7 Translations from Jubilees follow VanderKam, Jubilees (see n. 3).

8 In contrast, rabbinic interpretation derived from the phrase in Exod 24:12 the notion that
Moses received both the Written and the Oral Torah on Mount Sinai. For a late variant, see
b. Ber. 5 b: the “tablets” refer to the Decalogue, the “law” to the Pentateuch, the “command-
ments” to the Mishnah, the phrase “I have written” (as Exod 24:12 continues) to the Prophets
and Writings, and “to teach them” to the Gemarah.
9 Here, the contents of what the angel of presence dictates to Moses are given as “what is

first and what is last and what is to come during all the divisions of the times that are for the
law and for the testimony and for the weeks of their jubilees until eternity.”
10 For Jub. 1:4, 4Q216 i 11 preserves the reading ]‫לתור[ה‬, for Jub. 1:26, 4Q216 iv 4 has

]‫ולתעו[דה‬.
11 Thus C. Werman, “The ‫ תורה‬and the ‫ תעודה‬Engraved on the Tablets,” DSD 9 (2002),

75–103, here 84–85.

12 Cf. J. C. VanderKam, “Moses Trumping Moses: Making the Book of Jubilees,” in The

Dead Sea Scrolls: Transmission of Traditions and Production of Texts, ed. S. Metso, H. Naj­
man, and E. Schuller, STDJ 92 (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 25–44.
140 Lutz Doering

following a creation summary in Jub. 2:25 (cf. Exod 31:17), Moses (in the nar-
rative setting on Mount Sinai) is ordered to command the Israelites to observe
the Sabbath lest they incur the death penalty, with Jub. 2:29–30 detailing a list
of Sabbath prohibitions, which is complemented by two further lists at the end
of the book, at Jub. 50:8, 12. In my view, the author of Jubilees congenially
re­wrote Exod 31:13–17, equally situated at Mount Sinai, which connects the
ob­ligation to keep the Sabbath, threatening any transgression with capital pun-
ishment, with a summary of the creation account.13 These lists of Sabbath pro-
hibitions do not at all look like the Qumran Sabbath texts and seem to be less
developed. If we date Jubilees in the middle of the second century BCE, these
lists may well reflect legal tradition antedating the Maccabean revolt, which
was preserved by the milieu from which Jubilees arose.14
Another significant feature written into the rewriting of the first part of the
Torah is a version of the 364-day calendar particularly interested in excluding
the moon from being an operative factor (Jub. 6:32–38).15 As is well known,

13 Cf. L. Doering, “The Concept of the Sabbath in the Book of Jubilees,” in Studies in the
Book of Jubilees, ed. M. Albani, J. Frey, and A. Lange, TSAJ 65 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck,
1997), 179–205. – Matthew Monger has recently claimed that 4Q216 (4QJub a) originally
contained only Jub. 1–2, though without Jub. 2:25–33, while 4Q218 (4QJubc) 1 1–4, con-
taining Jub. 2:26–27, was part of a Herodian-period redactional expansion of such a short
version: M. P. Monger, “4Q216: A New Material Analysis,” Sem 60 (2018), 309–333; id.,
“The Many Forms of Jubilees: A Reassessment of the Manuscript Evidence from Qumran
and the Lines of Transmission of the Parts and Whole of Jubilees,” RevQ 30 / 112 (2018),
191–211, here 203, 208–209. I remain skeptical regarding this proposal. Whether Monger’s
material reconstruction stands scrutiny remains to be seen, and even if it did, the redactional-­
critical suggestion would not necessarily follow, since such a short scroll might as well be
the remainder of a larger scroll or an excerpt. In terms of content, the statement “This is the
testimony and the fir[st] law [as it was sanctified and blessed on the seventh day]” (Jub. 2:24 b
according to 4Q216 vii 17, restored; against Doering, op. cit., 186–187 n. 35, and the article
there quoted, the first word of the line should be read ‫זואת‬, “this,” not “and this”) is hardly a
fitting end to the preceding section and belongs much more plausibly together with the sec-
tion following (preserved in the Ethiopic), which concerns the communication of the Sabbath
laws to Israel and concludes with a matching phrase: “This law and testimony were given
to the Israelites as an eternal law throughout their history” (Jub. 2:33). This bracket is aptly
noted by C. Werman, The Book of Jubilees: Introduction, Translation, and Interpretation,
Between Bible and Mishnah [in Hebrew] (Jerusalem: Yad Izhak Ben-Zvi, 2015), 163, 166.
Monger thinks his hypothesis matches that of J. Kugel, A Walk through Jubilees: Studies in
the Book of Jubilees and the World of Its Creation, JSJSup 156 (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 35–37,
although Ku­gel deems the phrase in Jub. 2:24 b preserved in 4Q216 to belong with the in­
terpolation, thus the proposals are not congruent. In turn, Kugel’s reasons for assuming an
interpolation in Jub. 2:24–33 are weak; see the critique in VanderKam, Jubilees (see n. 3),
204–205.
14 For comprehensive analysis of these lists and their halakah, see L. Doering, Schabbat:

Sabbathalacha und -praxis im antiken Judentum und Urchristentum, TSAJ 78 (Tübingen:

Mohr Siebeck, 1999), 59–62 (arguing for the traditional character of these lists), 70–108.
15 For the specific form of the 364-day calendar in Jubilees, see J. Ben-Dov and S. Saul-
 Torah and Temple in Judean Pseudepigrapha 141

such a calendar is particularly suited for a strict separation of annual festivals

and the Sabbath.16 It is unclear whether a 364-day calendar operated at the tem-
ple any time in the second century BCE; if so, we would have to assume that it
was tacitly intercalated in order to bring it in line with the true solar year. De-
pending on the historical circumstances, Jubilees would either protest against a
recent calendar reform or propagate an alternative to the established calendar.
As opposed to the “belated” giving of the Torah on Mount Sinai according
to the Pentateuch, Jubilees anchors the law in divine creation. The Creator, as a
matter of fact, spoke Hebrew, the “language of creation” (Jub. 12:26), and thus
the law set up by the Creator was engraved in creation from which it can be
read off, as it were. This is what Enoch begins to do (4:17–19) and Noah picks
up, who possesses a book on the division of the earth, writes down teachings
about medicines, and gives “all the books that he had written” to his oldest son
Shem (8:11–12; 10:13–14). This is why Abram is made to understand Hebrew,
so that, apart from observing the course of the stars (12:16), he could read the
Hebrew books of his forefathers (12:25–27; cf. 21:10); writing is continued
by Jacob (32:26), who passes on “all his books and the books of his fathers to
Levi” (45:16).17 Another repository is the heavenly tablets, containing inter alia
laws, from which the angel of presence reads off his account to Moses.18 Ad-
ditionally, the primordial figures and the patriarchs, as exempla, enact relevant
parts of the law, such as purification from childbirth (3:8–14), circumcision
(15:11–14, 23–­27; 16:14), celebration of festivals in the 364-day calendar,19
or the laws of tithe (32:2–15). They also instruct their offspring on various le-
gally relevant issues, such as removal of and abstention from blood (7:27–33;
21:16–20), sacrificial laws (21:7–15), separation from gentiles (22:16–24), or
the practice of righteousness and fraternal love (36:3–6). All of these instances
of “the law before Sinai” appear to reflect interaction with Hellenistic concepts
of natural law, without showing the philosophical quality of natural law dis-

nier, “Qumran Calendars: A Survey of Scholarship, 1980–2007,” CurBR 7 (2008), 124–168,

esp. 135–138.
16 There would be minimal overlap during the ḥōl ha-mō‘ed days; see Doering, Schabbat

(see n. 14), 109.

17 See K. Müller, “Die hebräische Sprache als Textur der Schöpfung: Beobachtungen zum

Verhältnis von Tora und Halacha im Buch der Jubiläen,” in Bibel in jüdischer und christlicher
Tradition: Festschrift für Johann Maier zum 60. Geburtstag, ed. H. Merklein, K. Müller, and
G. Stemberger, BBB 88 (Frankfurt am Main: Hain, 1993), 157–176. Cf. VanderKam, Jubi­
lees (see n. 3), 1114–1116, who points out that “the ancestral literature was passed along in
the priestly line” (1115).
18 See F. García Martínez, “The Heavenly Tablets in the Book of Jubilees,” in id., Between

Theology and Philology: Contributions to the Study of Ancient Jewish Interpretation, ed. H.
Najman and E. Tigchelaar, JSJSup 162 (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 51–69.
19 Jub. 6:17–19; 15:1; 22:1–6; 44:1–4 (Shavu‘ot); 6:28–31 (“memorial festivals” at the

beginning of the four seasons); 16:20–31; 32:4–7 (Sukkot); 32:27–29 (‘Aṣeret); 18:18–19
(Maṣṣot); 49:1–14, 22–23 (Pesaḥ and Maṣṣot).
142 Lutz Doering

courses in the Greek-speaking world.20 Nevertheless, the adoption of natural

law concepts provides legitimation and authority for the laws championed by
Jubilees: The law of nature is none other than the law of the Israelites.
In some places Jubilees shows awareness of the difference between the con-
tents of the law and the timing of its revelation. Thus, in Jub. 33:15–16 Reuben
is excused for sleeping with the concubine of his father because the law had not
been completely revealed by his time. Similarly, the choice of the legal materi-
al included in Jubilees is partly determined by the ambit of the Torah sections
rewritten, though, as mentioned, some glimpses beyond Exod 24 are includ-
ed.21 This accounts for the specific shape of certain halakic topics and even
their absence. Thus, there is no consistent inclusion of ritual impurity, though,
for example, the Protoplasts observe the purification periods for the parturient
according to Lev 12:4–5.22 In sum, Jubilees develops a program for all of Israel
according to a strict, reformist, and priestly informed approach to the Torah,
which puts a prime on the holiness of the people, on their separation from gen-
tiles, on the abstention from blood, and on the legitimation of the priesthood
by pre-Aaronite figures such as the patriarchs. This is not a sectarian approach,
though one that views the Torah from the angle of its specific halakic legacy.

1.2 The Temple in Jubilees

All of this has consequences for the way the temple is presented in Jubilees.
First of all, the Jerusalem temple is a future reality from the Sinaitic narra-
tive perspective of Jubilees. Therefore, we find only scattered references to the
temple in this book. At several passages, however, Jubilees predicts its defile-
ment. Jubilees 1:7–14 develops a scenario of idolatry and lawlessness, which
includes abandonment of God’s statutes, commandments, covenantal festivals,
Sabbaths, holy things, tabernacle and temple (1:10) 23 and leads to the disper-

20 Cf. C. E. Hayes, What’s Divine about Divine Law? Early Perspectives (Princeton: Prince­

ton University Press, 2015), esp. 5, 54–89, 103–105.

21 See esp. Exod 31:13–17, reflected in Jub. 2:17–27; Num 9:10–13, reflected in Jub. 49:9,

11; Deut 16:1–9, reflected in Jub. 49:16–21; cf. more generally the festal calendars in Exod
34:16–28 and Deut 16:1–17. In addition, several aspects of the Holiness Code are referred
to, e. g., Lev 19:2 (cf. Jub. 16:26); 19:17–18 (cf. Jub. 36:4); as well as the measures against
“moral” impurity, e. g., Lev 21:9 (cf. Jub. 20:4; 30:7; 41:17, 28); 18:21; 20:2–5 (cf. Jub.
30:7–­10). On Lev 12:4–5, see presently.
22 Cf. 4Q265 frag. 7: forty days for a male, eighty days for a female child, before they

are brought into the garden of Eden; potentially this reflects an old view that not only the
mother (obviously absent here) but the children too have to await the respective periods. See
L. Doering, “Purity and Impurity in the Book of Jubilees,” in Enoch and the Mosaic Torah:
The Evidence of Jubilees, ed. G. Boccaccini and G. Ibba (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans,
2009), 261–275, here 262–264 (with further literature).
23 For the reference to the tabernacle alongside the temple, cf. VanderKam, Jubilees (see

n. 3), 151, pointing to the “pseudepigraphic setting of the book” before the entry to the land
of Canaan.
 Torah and Temple in Judean Pseudepigrapha 143

sion of the Israelites among the nations (1:13). This is followed by a period of
return and restoration (1:15–19), in which the Israelites will be transformed
into a righteous plant, and God will build his temple among them and will live
with them (1:17). This can be considered a typically Deuteronomistic schema,
and it might relate to the first temple, the exile, and the restoration. It cannot be
excluded, however, that statements about forgetting statutes, commandments,
festivals, Sabbaths, and also the temple are transparent for the time of the au-
thor(s) and their first readers. In fact, Jub. 1:23–29 speaks again of a return of
the people to God and follows this up with a prediction of perfect harmony
between God and Israel, with Zion and Jerusalem becoming “holy,” and the
onset of a new creation with the eschatological “temple of the Lord” on Mount
Zion. Another passage that is relevant here is Jub. 23:15–25. Here it is said of
wicked Israelites that they “will defile the holy things of the holy one 24 with
the impure corruption of their contamination” (23:21). God will punish them
and arouse the sinful nations against them (23:22–23). But then one group,
called “the children,” will begin to study the laws, seek the commandments,
and return to the right way (23:26). Evil will be absent. This might refer to the
Hellenizers in Jerusalem and the subsequent formation of pious resistance 25 or,
as Menahem Kister has suggested, the beginnings of the Essene sect,26 though
it is difficult to pinpoint the statements firmly in historiographical terms. Fi-
nally, in Jub. 30:15 defilement of the sanctuary is announced in the context of
the rejection of mixed marriages (here with Shechem and Dinah); mention is
made of “those who do impure things and who defile the Lord’s sanctuary” and
“those who profane his holy name,” actions that – if silently passed over – will
lead to the condemnation of the entire nation. Again, this might have the Hel-
lenizers in view, but we should also note the intertextual trigger: closing ones
eyes, defiling the sanctuary, and profaning God’s name feature in Lev 20:3–4,
which Jubilees appears to draw on in its rewriting.27
Thus, there is some insinuation that the temple in the time of Jubilees has
been defiled, but this does not necessarily imply a categorical critique of the
temple.28 After all, Jub. 50:10–11, following a passage previewing life in the

24 Eth. qeddesāta qeddus, not normally used for the holy of holies, hence perhaps refer-

ring to the sanctuary in general; cf. VanderKam, Jubilees (see n. 3), 691.
25 Cf. F. Schubert, Tradition und Erneuerung: Studien zum Jubiläenbuch und seinem Trä­

ger­kreis, Europäische Hochschulschriften 3 / 771 (Frankfurt am Main: Lang, 1998), 124–151,

who views an overlap between the circles of these “children” and those fleeing to the desert
according to 1 Macc 2:29–38.
26 M. Kister, “Towards the History of the Essene Sect: Studies in the Animal Apocalypse,

the Book of Jubilees, and the Damascus Document,” Tarbiz 56 (1986–1987), 1–18. The pas­
sage in Jub. 23:14–31 is sometimes seen as a redactional addition, e. g., by C. Berner, Jah­
re, Jahrwochen und Jubiläen: Heptadische Geschichtskonzeptionen im Antiken Judentum,
BZAW 363 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2006), 239–254.
27 Cf., e. g., VanderKam, Jubilees (see n. 3), 831–832.
28 Contra J. T. A. G. M. van Ruiten, “Visions of the Temple in Jubilees,” in Gemeinde ohne
144 Lutz Doering

land of Israel, routinely mentions “offerings and sacrifices for the days and
Sab­baths […] in the sanctuary of the Lord your God” as the one type of “work”
permitted on the Sabbath, and thus reckons with the functioning of the temple.
It seems that Jubilees’ criticism is directed at the administration rather than the
institution of the temple. But it is clear that the temple is not simply affirmed as
the well-operating center of Judean life, while at the same time its crucial posi-
tion is affirmed and predicted for the future. In part this is done via an Ur­zeit-­
Endzeit correspondence.29 In Jub. 4:26 Moses is told that “there are four places
on earth that belong to the Lord: the Garden of Eden, the mountain of the east,30
this mountain on which you are today – Mount Sinai – and Mount Zion (which)
will be sanctified in the new creation for the sanctification of the earth.” Sim-
ilarly, Noah knows that the garden of Eden, Mount Sinai, and Mount Zion
“were created as holy places.” As the laws of impurity apply to the garden of
Eden, so Mount Zion will resume its place of holiness with the eschato­logical
sanctuary that corresponds to the primordial sanctuary in Eden. This view of
Jubilees should be compared with the Temple Scroll (11QTa 29:9–10), which
links “the day of creation” (‫ )יום הבריה‬with the creation of the temple of the
Lord forever. However, while the eschatological sanctuary provides a critical
standard, Jubilees probably implies hopes for a correct operation of the temple
even before the new creation.

2. Torah and Temple in Second Baruch and Fourth Ezra

With these two Pseudepigrapha we move forward probably some 250 years in
time. Despite Martin Goodman’s demurral regarding the date of Second Ba­
ruch,31 I still find a date in the period after 70 CE, probably in the decades be-
fore or after 100 CE, most likely for both Second Baruch and Fourth Ezra. Al-
though the Qumran texts have suggested that a figure like Jeremiah could well
feature as the hero of pre-70 texts, and hence the same could go for his scribe

Tempel / Community without Temple: Zur Substituierung und Transformation des Jerusale­
mer Tempels und seines Kults im Alten Testament, antiken Judentum und frühen Christentum,
ed. B. Ego, A. Lange, and P. Pilhofer, WUNT 118 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999), 215–227.
29 For an overview of such a correspondence in some Pseudepigrapha and related texts,

see L. Doering, “Urzeit-Endzeit Correlation in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Pseudepigrapha,” in
Eschatologie / Eschatology: The Sixth Durham-Tübingen Research Symposium; Eschatology
in Old Testament, Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity (Tübingen, September, 2009), ed.
C. Landmesser, H.-J. Eckstein, and H. Lichtenberger, WUNT 272 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck,
2011), 19–58.
30 The identification of this mountain is debated; see discussion in VanderKam, Jubilees

(see n. 3), 262.

31 M. Goodman, “The Date of 2 Baruch,” in Revealed Wisdom: Studies in Honour of C.

Row­land, ed. J. Ashton, Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity 88 (Leiden: Brill, 2014),
116–121.
 Torah and Temple in Judean Pseudepigrapha 145

and companion Baruch, there are good reasons to conclude that Second Baruch
presents the crisis ensuing from the destruction of the first temple as transpar-
ent for the situation of the book several decades after the temple destruction of
70 CE. Moreover, 2 Bar. 32:2–4 appears to refer to both the Babylonian and the
Roman destructions of the temple.32 For Fourth Ezra, a date towards the end of,
or even following, the rule of Domitian is conclusively suggested by the vision
of the three-headed and many-winged eagle in 4 Ezra 11–12.33

2.1 Torah in Second Baruch

In Second Baruch, “law” (Syr. nāmōsā), first and foremost, refers to the Mosaic
Torah.34 However, different from Jubilees, the communication of the Torah on
Mount Sinai plays a little role, as does the Exodus narrative. Mount Sinai is
mentioned only once (2 Bar. 4:5), as the place where God showed Moses the
likeness of the tabernacle, and it is hinted at with the phrase “when he took
Moses to him” 35 at 2 Bar. 59:3, followed by the things God disclosed to him
(59:4–11). More important for Second Baruch is the Book of Deuteronomy:
The covenant between God and Israel is modeled after that of Deuteronomy,

32 The chief argument for Goodman’s claim that “we cannot show that 2 Baruch was com-

posed or circulated among Jews after 70 CE” (Goodman, “Date” [see n. 31], 121) is that
2 Bar. 32:2–4, apart from referring to the Babylonian and Roman destructions of the tem-
ple, also refers to its eschatological renewal “in glory,” which on the account of the latter
“must include at least some prophecy […] so it seems quite possible that the rest of Baruch’s
gloomy predictions were prophecy also” (118). But this does not necessarily follow: The
expectation of an eschatological renewal of Zion is a trope found in several Second Temple
Jewish texts (see, e. g., above, at the end of § 1.2), hence can be regarded an eschatological
expectation in its own right, which could well coexist with an ex eventu prediction of the
destruction of the second temple. For the interpretation of these verses, see further below, at
n. 42. For the date of Second Baruch, see also M. Henze, Jewish Apocalypticism in Late First
Century Israel: Reading Second Baruch in Context, TSAJ 142 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck,
2011), 25–34, who suggests an author “living a generation or two after the Jewish War of
68–73 CE” (32).
33 So also Goodman, “Date” (see n. 31), 117. The heads apparently refer to the three Fla­

vian emperors. There is some debate whether the text should be dated to the end of Domi-
tian’s reign (so M. E. Stone, Fourth Ezra: A Commentary on the Book of Fourth Ezra, Herme­
neia [Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990], 10) or, since 4 Ezra 12:2, 28 mentions the demise of the
last head, to the period following his reign (so J. Schreiner, Das 4. Buch Esra, JSHRZ 5 / 4
[Gü­tersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 1981], 301).
34 For law in Second Baruch, see also M. Desjardins, “Law in 2 Baruch and 4 Ezra,” SR

14 (1985), 25–37, here 26–31, 36–37, as well as R. L. Harris, “Torah and Transformation:
The Centrality of the Torah in the Eschatology of 2 Baruch,” Journal of Ancient Judaism 10
(2019), 99–114. The term nāmōsā occurs in 2 Bar. 3:6; 15:5; 17:4; 19:3; 32:1; 38:2, 4; 41:3;
44:3, 7, 14; 46:3–5; 48:22, 24 (bis), 27, 38, 40, 47; 51:3–4, 7; 54:5, 14; 57:2; 59:2, 4, 11;
66:5; 67:6; 77:3, 15 (bis), 16; 84:2, 5, 8–9; 85:3, 14.
35 Translations from Second Baruch follow M. E. Stone and M. Henze, 4 Ezra and 2 Ba­

ruch: Translations, Introductions, and Notes (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2013).

146 Lutz Doering

with 2 Bar. 19:1 even citing Deut 30:19, “See, I have put before you life and
death.” A related wording is found in 2 Bar. 84:2 (in the epistle). In line with
the Deuteronomistic schema deployed in Second Baruch, Israel’s suffering is
explained as divine chastisement: In sinning, Israel chose death, but if she re­
pents God will remove her curses and restore her blessings.36 These blessings
do no longer concern prosperous life in this world but are concerned with es-
chatological reward. Hence, Torah obedience is crucial for Israel’s eschato-
logical future but also for the fate of the individual at resurrection. In Second
Baruch, only “those who are now righteous in my Torah, those who have had
understanding in their lives, and those who have planted in their heart the root
of wisdom” (2 Bar. 51:3) will be resurrected and transformed into a glorious,
angelic life, while those who have “rejected my Torah and have stopped their
ears so that they would not hear wisdom or receive understanding” (51:4) will
be transformed into disfigured forms (51:2–12). The latter will certainly be the
fate of the sinful nations (82:3–9), but there are also “many of your [sc. God’s]
people who have withdrawn from your statutes (qyāmayk) 37 and have cast from
them the yoke of your Torah (nīreh dnāmōsāk),” as there are “others who have
abandoned their emptiness and have fled under your wings” (41:3–4); thus,
Second Baruch reckons with both disobedient Israelites and obedient prose­
lytes, whose respective status will be determined by their adherence to the To­
rah or lack thereof.
Second Baruch applies to the Torah the traditional metaphor of a “lamp”
(šrāḡā): 38 In bringing the Torah to the seed of Jacob, Moses “lit a lamp for the
nation of Israel” (17:4).39 Related is the motif of “light” (nuhrā): In lighting the
lamp, Moses “took from the light” (18:1), which presents Moses as the trans­
mitter rather than the originator of the light. The Torah gives off “that light in
which nothing can stray” (19:3). The motif complex of lamps and light points
to a sapiential concept of Torah, connecting it with creation. Several passages
correlate Torah and wisdom (38:2, 4; 48:24; 51:3), as in Sir 24 and the wisdom
poem of Bar 3:9–4:4. God “enlightens” the darkness for those “who have sub-
jected themselves in faith to you and to your Torah” (2 Bar. 54:5). Specifically,
there are some – though few – who “resemble” Moses (18:1) in lighting lamps,
while many have taken “from the darkness of Adam” (18:2). For Second Ba-
ruch, as well as for Fourth Ezra (see below), transgression originated with
Adam, who “brought death upon all who were not in his time” (2 Bar. 54:15).

36 Cf. Henze, Jewish Apocalypticism (see n. 32), 208, 218–220.

37 The plural qyāmayk (thus probably at 2 Bar. 41:3, despite lack of syāmē in MS 7 a 1)
occurs also at 2 Bar. 48:22 and 82:6 and probably means “my statutes” rather than “my cov-
enants.”
38 Cf. Ps 119:105; 36:10; Prov 6:23.
39 According to 2 Bar. 59:2, at the time of Moses and his generation “the lamp of the

eternal Torah enlightened all those who sat in darkness.” For the motifs of lamp and light,
see also Harris, “Torah and Transformation” (see n. 34), esp. 101–103, 106–108, 110–112.
 Torah and Temple in Judean Pseudepigrapha 147

Different from Fourth Ezra, the focus here is on mortality. Moreover, each
transgression is a fresh act, so that “each of us has become our own Adam”
(54:19). Moreover, there is the option to choose for oneself “the praises to
come”; the person “who trusts will receive a reward” (54:15–16). The peo-
ple complain to Baruch that shepherds, lamps, and springs have vanished, but
Baruch affirms that “shepherds, lamps, and springs come from the Torah. And
though we pass on, the Torah abides” (77:15). Hence, Baruch calls the people
to follow and study the Torah; there will always be sages and sons of the Torah
(46:4–6). In fact, the Torah and God are the only ones to rely on. While “we
were in our land,” Baruch writes to the northern tribes in the epistle, we had
helpers who “helped us when we sinned, and they interceded on our behalf
with him who made us.” But now, after the loss of the land and of Zion, there
is nothing “except the Mighty One and his Torah” (85:1–3). The reward will
indeed be better than what has been lost because, as we have already seen ear-
lier with respect to the resurrection, it concerns “incorruptible” things (85:5).
Given the crucial role of the Torah and the commandments of God,40 it is
striking that hardly any material details of law observance are mentioned. In-
stead, the dominant mode in which Torah is presented is paraenesis exhorting
readers to keep it. One might interpret this as an inclusive approach: Different
from Jubilees, the author does not emphasize one specific halakic view. In the
epistle, Baruch calls for the study “of the commandments of the Mighty One”;
he also says that before his death he “will set before you some of the command-
ments of his judgment” (84:1). What he says, however, is again fairly general:
“Remember Zion and the Torah, also the Holy Land, and your brothers, and the
covenant, and your fathers, and the festivals, and the Sabbaths do not forget”
(84:8). What, then, is the Torah in Second Baruch? It looks as if it were main-
ly based on the Pentateuch or perhaps a larger set of Hebrew scriptures. But
2 Bar. 84:9 also says, “And pass this letter and the traditions (mašlmānwāṯeh) 41
of the Torah on to your sons after you, as your fathers have also passed [them]
on to you.” This suggests that the Torah is transmitted within a wider set of
legal traditions, which Baruch tacitly presupposes and into which he notably
inserts his own epistle.

2.2 The Temple in Second Baruch

The temple in Second Baruch is, first of all, the object of destruction by the
Chaldeans (i. e., Babylonians), an event narrated dramatically in 2 Bar. 6–8;
80:1–5. The destruction appears to last for a long time; the priests are called
to cast the temple keys “to the height of the heavens” (10:18). In the difficult

40 For the latter, apart from qyāmā (pl.; see above), pūqdānā is frequently used; e. g.,

2 Bar. 44:3; 57:2; 61:6; 77:4; 79:2; 84:1 (bis), 7.

41 Thus the reading in the integral form of the epistle in Codex Ambrosianus, whereas the

stand-alone epistle has the singular, “tradition” (mašlmānūṯeh).

148 Lutz Doering

passage 2 Bar. 32:2–3 there seems to be a hint at both the Babylonian and the
Roman destructions of the temple: “(2) Because after a short time, the build-
ing of Zion will be shaken, in order to be built again. (3) But that building will
not remain, but will again be uprooted after a time and will remain desolate
until the time.” The first “shaking” refers to the Babylonian destruction, the
“rebuilding,” to the construction of the second temple, and the subsequent “up-
rooting,” to the Roman destruction of the latter.42 Similarly, 2 Bar. 68:5–7, in
the interpretation of the vision of the cloud and the black and bright waters,
mentions the rebuilding of Zion, the resumption of the offerings, the return of
the priests, and the arrival of the nations to glorify her, though less fully as in
the beginning; this quite clearly also refers to the second Jerusalem temple.43
The ruined temple is also the place to which Baruch returns to lament (10:5;
34:1; 35:1). Moreover, Baruch is “standing on Mount Zion” when he hears the
divine word initiating the dialogue on time and theodicy (13:1), and he returns
to this place when he prays (21:2–3; 48:1 in connection with 47:2); in fact, it
is here that Baruch “saw” the heaven open (22:1) and that he “saw” his two
major visions, the vision of the forest, the vine, and the spring (cf. 36:1) and
the vision of the cloud and the black and bright waters (cf. 53:1 in connection
with 52:8; 47:2). Thus, the space of the destroyed temple 44 is also the place of
Baruch’s revelations. This creates an unmistakable link between the past that
is now lost and the esoteric information about the future that Baruch receives.
Part of this information is that 2 Bar. 32:4, 6 announce a glorious renewal
of “Zion” and a new creation.45 Using the motif of the taḇnît (“pattern,” Exod
25:9), 2 Bar. 4:3 claims that the physical temple is “not the one revealed with
me, the one already prepared here when I intended to make Paradise.” Rather,
after showing the latter to Adam, Abraham, and Moses, God keeps it with him
as also paradise (4:1–6). Thus, an eschatological temple, here too conceptual-
ized in an Urzeit-Endzeit correspondence, is expected to follow the current pe-

42 Thus Henze, Jewish Apocalypticism (see n. 32), 193–195, who takes the imperfect et­

taph‘al netzī‘ in 2 Bar. 32:2 as “present perfect”: “has been shaken,” so that it “currently lies
in ruins” (194). A different, though overly complicated solution has been proposed by P. Bo-
gaert, L’Apocalypse syriaque de Baruch, 2 vols., SC 144 / 145 (Paris: Cerf, 1969), 1.422–424.
According to Bogaert, 2 Bar. 32:2 refers to the Roman destruction of the temple (whose ef-
fects are still visible), v. 3, however, to the future destruction of the Messianic temple, after
which the renewal in glory and the new creation follow. As Henze rightly states, there is no
hint elsewhere in Second Baruch that the Messianic age is ended with a temple destruction:
only 4 Ezra 7:29 – not Second Baruch – speaks of the death of the Messiah.
43 Cf. Henze, Jewish Apocalypticism (see n. 32), 193 n. 27.
44 For the ambiguity of the term “Zion” in Second Baruch, with an overlap between tem-

ple, city, and people, see L. I. Lied, The Other Lands of Israel: Imaginations of the Land in
2 Baruch, JSJSup 129 (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 35–36.
45 Contrast H. Najman, Losing the Temple and Recovering the Future: An Analysis of

4 Ez­ra (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 122, who claims that “there is no
men­tion in 2 Baruch of the heavenly Temple’s ultimate revelation on earth.”
 Torah and Temple in Judean Pseudepigrapha 149

riod of the physical temple being in ruins. This eschatological temple is prob-
ably related to the paradisiac world still invisible according to 2 Bar. 51:8–14,
which the righteous will inherit. Thus, the second temple, which was already
less glorious than the first and is now lost, is bracketed by the expected resump-
tion of the initial model of the temple.

2.3 Torah in Fourth Ezra

In Fourth Ezra, “law” – lex in the Latin, nāmōsā in the Syriac, ḥegg in the Ethi­
opic version, reflecting Greek νόμος and ultimately ‫ תורה‬in the (probably) He-
brew original – is a multifaceted term.46 It occurs numerous times throughout
the composition.47 In addition, there are a number of other terms that refer to
aspects or individual commandments of the law; in the Latin version, the most
important ones are constitutio (4 Ezra 7:11; cf. 7:44–45), diligentia (3:7, 19;
7:37), dispositio (4:23; 48 cf. 8:23), legitima (pl., 7:24; 9:32; 13:42), manda­tum
(3:33, 35–36; 7:72), sponsio (5:29; 7:46; cf. 7:24),49 and via (7:79, 88; 14:31).50
Since lex is used in parallel with some of them,51 it is fair to say that “law” in
Fourth Ezra means “primarily the Torah with its individual prescriptions.” 52 In
most cases, however, lex seems to refer to a corpus of legal tradition wider than
written scripture,53 although the latter is clearly in view in 4 Ezra 4:23 (“the
Torah of our fathers has been made of no effect and the written covenants no
longer exist”) and 14:21 (“for your law has been burned”).54

46 For law in Fourth Ezra, see also Desjardins, “Law” (see n. 34), 31–37; J. Kerner, Die

Ethik der Johannes-Apokalypse im Vergleich mit der des 4. Esra, BZNW 94 (Berlin: de Gruy-
ter, 1998), 177–182; S. Beyerle, “‘Du bist kein Richter über dem Herrn’: Zur Konzeption von
Gesetz und Gericht im 4. Esrabuch,” in Recht und Ethos im Alten Testament – Gestalt und
Wirkung: Festschrift für Horst Seebass zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. S. Beyerle, G. Mayer, and
H. Strauss (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1999), 315–337.
47 Lat. lex occurs at 4 Ezra 3:19–20, 22; 4:23; 5:27; 7:17, 20, 24, 72, 79, 81, 89, 94, 133;

8:12, 29, 56; 9:11, 19, 31–32, 36–37; 13:38, 54; 14:21–22, 30. Cf. Kerner, Ethik (see n. 46),
177.
48 Here: dispositiones scriptae, “written covenants,” with dispositio probably rendering

δι­αθήκη; cf. Syriac ad loc.: dīyaṭeqes.

49 In the first two passages, the Syriac renders sponsio with pūqdānayk, “your command-

ments,” and pūqdānek, “your commandment,” respectively; cf. also the other versions. In
4 Ezra 7:24, the Syriac reads qyāmaw, which might mean “his statutes” here; see above on
Sec­ond Baruch; the Georgian has the equivalent of mandata, whereas other versions have
“cov­enant.”
50 This term is also used with a wider meaning in Fourth Ezra, e. g., 4 Ezra 5:1; 7:23.
51 Namely, with diligentia (4 Ezra 3:19), dispositio (4:23), legitima and sponsio (7:24), as

well as mandatum (7:72).

52 Kerner, Ethik (see n. 46), 177: “[…] wird […] deutlich, daß mit Gesetz primär die Tora

mit ihren Einzelbestimmungen gemeint ist” (similarly p. 181).

53 Cf. Kerner, Ethik (see n. 46), 178, according to whom Fourth Ezra deems “alle alttesta-

mentlichen, antik-jüdischen Gesetzesinhalte” as binding.

54 Translations from Fourth Ezra follow Stone and Henze, 4 Ezra and 2 Baruch (see n.
150 Lutz Doering

The proclamation of the Torah at Mount Sinai is referred to at 4 Ezra 3:17–

19; 14:4–6; further references to the giving of the Torah in the desert, follow-
ing the exodus, are found in 4 Ezra 9:31–32 and 14:30. According to 4 Ezra
9:31, the divine law is sown into the Israelites and will bring fruit. When Ezra
later asks to rewrite it (see below), he does so in order that “men may be able
to find the path” (14:22), that is, it is assumed that the law can generally be
kept. However, the fathers did not keep it in the past (9:32; 14:29–35). The at-
titude towards the law is decisive for how a person fares after death (7:79–99):
The souls of those who have despised the law “shall not enter into treasuries
but shall immediately wander about in torments” (7:80), whereas the souls
of the righteous who have “laboriously served the Most High, and withstood
danger every hour, that they might keep the law of the Lawgiver 55 perfectly”
(7:89), shall enter into their designated treasuries and be glorified. The presen-
tation suggests that at least the latter are conceived as Israelites; and the context
shows that at least part of the unjust are Israelites as well, as the angel denies
the possibility that on judgment day (righteous) fathers might be able to inter-
cede for their sons, children for their parents, etc., that is, within one and the
same family (7:102–105).
Alongside this rather particularistic, Israel-centered notion of Torah, how-
ever, Fourth Ezra claims that there had been a law from the beginning: already
Adam transgressed the constitutiones of God (7:11). In an anthropologically
important section about the fashioning of the human being, the author also
states that God “instructed him in your [sc. God’s] law” (8:12), which suggests
that the law is directed to all human beings. Moreover, Ezra says at 4 Ezra 5:27,
notably in the context of Israel’s election, that God has given Israel the Torah
“which is approved by all” (Lat. ab omnibus probatam, Syr. d’eṯbeher men
kul), which also hints at a wider appeal of the law beyond Israel. Finally, one
might understand those who “have trampled upon” (conculcaverunt) the righ-
teous (5:29; 8:57), “were contemptuous of the law” (8:56), and “opposed your
commandments” (5:29),56 as coming from the nations.
In this respect, Karina Hogan has suggested 57 that Ezra and the archangel
Uriel, in their dialogues, represent two different notions of ‫תורה‬. In both, ‫תורה‬
is connected with wisdom, though in Ezra’s dialogue contributions it retains a
covenantal link. An example of this link is Ezra’s statement in his initial com-
plaint. Asking, “Are the deeds of Babylon better than those of Zion?” (4 Ezra
3:31), he adds, “When have the inhabitants of the earth not sinned in your
sight? Or what nation has kept your commandments so well? You may indeed
find individual men who have kept your commandments, but nations you will

35), though with modifications regarding the rendering of the second person singular (“you”
instead of “thou”).
55 Lat. legislatoris legem. Syriac and Ethiopic have relative clauses.
56 On the meaning of sponsionibus here, see above, n. 49. Stone translates “thy Torah.”
57 K. M. Hogan, “The Meanings of tôrâ in 4 Ezra,” JSJ 38 (2007), 530–552.
 Torah and Temple in Judean Pseudepigrapha 151

not find” (3:35–36). The Torah is accessible to individual gentiles but in total
is bound up with Israel, who, their sins notwithstanding, are still better than
the gentiles. We have already mentioned Ezra’s reference to Israel’s election
and gift of the Torah in 4 Ezra 5:27. Uriel, in contrast, so Hogan claims, prop-
agates a more universal notion of law, as in 4 Ezra 7:21: “For God commanded
those who came into the world, when they came, what they should do to live
and what they should observe to avoid punishment,” though in what follows
the angel appears to speak about Israel who “scorned his law, and denied his
covenants” (7:24). There are further statements by Uriel that seem to suggest
a universal law, for example 4 Ezra 7:72, where it is said of “those who dwell
on earth” that “though they had understanding they committed iniquity, and
though they received the commandments they did not keep them, and though
they obtained the law, they dealt unfaithfully with what they received.” All of
this suggests that there is some connection with concepts of “natural law” here.
As in Jubilees, the details fall far short of, for example, the Stoic discourse on
natural law as preserved in Greek and Latin sources, though there is clearly an
engagement with universal law.58
While Hogan has certainly sharpened our view of Torah in Fourth Ezra, one
might, however, question the neat distribution of covenantal versus universal
to the two figures in this analysis. The anthropological reflections in Fourth
Ezra serve to address the issue of the fate of Israel and the destruction of Zion.59
Nowhere does Uriel positively state that the gentiles keep the law. The angelic
interlocutor may conceptualize the law somewhat more strongly in anthropo-
logical terms than Ezra, but one can ask whether the author really stages two
different ‫ תורה‬traditions, as Hogan claims,60 one covenantal like Sir 24 or Bar
3:9–4:4, and the other one non-covenantal like Ps 119. In fact, the anthropo-
logical argument is first introduced by the figure of Ezra when he points to Ad-
am’s “evil heart” (cor malignum). “For the first Adam,” says Ezra, “burdened
with an evil heart, transgressed and was overcome, as were also all who were
descended from him. Thus the disease became permanent; the Torah was in the
people’s heart along with the evil root, but what was good departed, and the
evil remained” (4 Ezra 3:20–21). Although the Torah here apparently refers to
the Mosaic law, and “people” (Lat. populi, Syr. d‘ammā) to Israel, Ezra in fact
says that both Adam and all his descendants transgressed.61 Conversely, Uri­
el states that the Messiah-Son of Man on top of Mount Zion will reprove the
nations for their ungodliness and “destroy them without effort by the Torah”

58 Cf. Beyerle, “Konzeption von Gesetz und Gericht” (see n. 46), 322–334. Hayes’s treat-
ment is far too brief: Hayes, What’s Divine (see n. 20), 133 n. 55 (“In 4 Ezra […], knowledge
of a cosmic order does not lead inevitably to a universalism but is linked to a radical partic-
ularism”).
59 So Stone, Fourth Ezra (see n. 33), 61.
60 Hogan, “Meanings” (see n. 57), 539, 544, 546, 551.
61 We also recall that Ezra is presented as labeling the Torah “approved by all” (5:27).
152 Lutz Doering

(13:38). The reading is uncertain (based on Syr. bnāmōseh) 62 but – if upheld –

implies that the Messiah-Son of Man will judge the nations by the law, likely
referring to the (covenantal) Torah here. Obviously, this will uplift all those
within Israel that do obey the Torah. Moreover, Uriel refers to the ten northern
tribes who migrated “to a more distant region, where no human race had ever
lived, that there at least they might keep their statutes (Syriac and Ethiopic:
their law) which they had not kept in their own land” (13:41–42).63 This again
shows that Uriel, too, may focus on Israel’s covenantal law.
To be sure, due to the anthropological skepticism expressed in the book,
Fourth Ezra has a pessimistic view also of the efficacy of the Torah. Different
from the view in Second Baruch, according to which there used to be shep-
herds, lamps, etc. (above § 2.1), the Torah in Fourth Ezra apparently failed to
orientate Israel in the past. Ezra’s strong probing of Uriel’s arguments thus
entails also the ineffectiveness or even loss of the Torah (cf. 4 Ezra 4:23).
How­ever, Ezra’s encounter with the woman in 4 Ezra 9:38–10:28 is a turning
point,64 which allows him finally to accept Uriel’s perspective by taking his cue
from the heavenly and future reality rather than the earthly and present. This
becomes clear in 4 Ezra 14:28–36, where Ezra, having once again recapitulat-
ed the law transgressions of the forefathers, continues, thereby echoing Uriel’s
themes,65 “And now, you are here, and your brethren are farther in the interior.
If you, then, will rule over your minds and discipline your hearts, you shall
be kept alive, and after death shall obtain mercy. For after death the judgment
will come, when we shall live again; and then the names of the righteous will
become manifest, and the deeds of the ungodly will be disclosed” (14:33–35).
It is also in this context that we find Ezra in the role of the new Moses. The
Torah, so we hear, “has been burned, and so no one knows the things which
have been done or will be done by you” (4 Ezra 14:21; cf. also 4:23). Part of
what is mentioned as contents of the Torah is God’s deeds; but the following

62 The Latin manuscripts have et legem, “and the law,” and the Ethiopic reads mesla xa­

ṭi’atomu, “with their sins.”

63 The term for “their statutes” in Latin is legitima sua, whereas Syriac has nāmōshōn and

Ethi­opic ḥeggomu, “their law.”

64 Cf. for different nuances regarding this turning point, E. M. Humphreys, The Ladies

and the Cities: Transformation and Apocalyptic Identity in Joseph and Aseneth, 4 Ezra, the
Apocalypse and the Shepherd of Hermas, JSPSup 17 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1995),
57–81; L. T. Stuckenbruck, “Ezra’s Vision of the Lady: The Form and Function of a Turning
Point,” in Fourth Ezra and Second Baruch: Reconstruction after the Fall, ed. M. Henze and
G. Boccaccini, collaboration by J. M. Zurawski, JSJSup 164 (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 137–150;
Najman, Losing the Temple (see n. 45), 92–122.
65 Cf. J. M. G. Barclay, Paul and the Gift (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2015), 281–

283; cf. id., “The Gift and Its Perfections: A Response to Joel Marcus and Margaret Mitch-
ell,” JSNT 39 (2017), 331–344, here 333–334, where he justifies the notion of Ezra’s pro-
gression to resolution against the skeptical reading by J. Marcus, “Barclay’s Gift,” JSNT 39
(2017), 324–330, here 327–328.
 Torah and Temple in Judean Pseudepigrapha 153

verse also states that Ezra volunteers to write up the Torah again so “that hu-
man beings might be able to find the path, and that those who wish to live in the
last days may live” (14:22).66 Rather than bemoan the loss of the law, Ezra him-
self becomes the mediator of the Torah. Filled with wisdom and understanding,
he dictates ninety-four books in forty days (14:39–44). He is commanded by
God to make public the twenty-four books forming the Hebrew Bible and to let
the worthy and unworthy read them, but to keep the seventy for the wise among
his people (14:45–46). This suggests two things: first, as Hin­dy Najman has
aptly noted, a shift in focus towards the Torah; 67 second, a confirmation that
Torah in Fourth Ezra is wider than the Pentateuch or the Hebrew Bible, with
the additional revelation here being accessible only to an esoteric group of ini-
tiates.68 It is likely that the esoteric books reflect the shift in the book towards
the new eon, the incorruptible world that is disclosed to Ezra, but the Mosaic
theme in this chapter also suggests a link with the law.

2.4 The Temple in Fourth Ezra

As to the temple in Fourth Ezra, the first striking observation is that the book
speaks more about Jerusalem or “Zion” than about the temple in particular.69
David was ordered to build Jerusalem, the city of God, and to bring offerings
in it (4 Ezra 3:23–24); only the Syriac and Armenian versions, as well as Lat-
in manuscript L, with differences in detail, mention specifically the temple.
Fourth Ezra shares the tradition of the heavenly “pattern” and its connection
with the garden of Eden, though again the text is less outspoken about the tem-
ple (“And you did lead him into the garden which your right hand had planted
before the earth appeared,” 3:6). In 4 Ezra 7:26, at the coming of the signs,
“the city which now is not seen shall appear” 70 – again, the city rather than
the temple in particular,71 although the latter is very likely included in “Zion”
prepared and (re-)built, as for example in the New Jerusalem text from Qumran
(11Q18).
Moreover, Ezra is ordered to come to a field of flowers “where no house has
been built” (4 Ezra 9:24), where he famously encounters the weeping wom-
an, and it is here that in consoling her he extensively recounts the destruction
of Jerusalem, including the temple, its celebrations, its holy vessels and holy
things, the burning to death of the priests, and the exile of the Levites, but al­

66 Nota bene, we find here too the use of “human beings” for Israelites, who must be im­

plied by the written law.

67 Cf. Najman, Losing the Temple (see n. 45), 125: “a version of Judaism that is shifting

its focus from Temple to Torah.” See further below, § 2.4.

68 These books may have included Fourth Ezra as well. Cf. 4 Ezra 12:36–38 and Stone,

Fourth Ezra (see n. 33), 439.

69 In the Latin version, templum occurs only in 4 Ezra 10:21; see below.
70 For the reading here (with Arabic 1, Armenian), see Stone, Fourth Ezra (see n. 33), 202.
71 See also 4 Ezra 8:52; 13:36.
154 Lutz Doering

so the suffering of the people more widely and the loss of Zion’s seal of glo-
ry (10:21–23). It is then that the woman transforms into a city (10:25–27),
because the woman is indeed “Zion,” as Uriel comments (10:44). Uriel also
explains the previous command to go on an empty field for “no work of man’s
building could endure in a place where the city of the Most High was to be re-
vealed” (10:54). We have already identified Ezra’s encounter with the woman
as the turning point of the book that makes Ezra amenable to Uriel’s apocalyp-
tic perspective.
Thus, the transformation of the lady points Ezra beyond the earthly reality
towards the reality of the new eon. As Najman suggests, the perspective of
Fourth Ezra implies a “reboot” of the Second Temple period in which the sec-
ond temple plays hardly any role 72 and which re-orientates its readers towards
the future reality of the heavenly city, including its temple. However, it is also
this empty field where Ezra receives the vision of the eagle (11:1–12:3) and the
vision of the son of man (13:1–13) 73 and where he transforms into the medium
through which the new and enhanced Torah is dictated (14:37–41).74 This too
underscores the shifting of focus in Fourth Ezra from temple to Torah, to be
understood in the enriched and supplemented form as outlined above.

3. Conclusion

Torah and temple are by no means obvious and static notions in the Judean
Pseudepigrapha under scrutiny here. In all of them, though in different ways,
Torah includes more than the Pentateuch or the Hebrew Bible, and there is an
attempt to correlate the covenantal, particularistic Torah with universal notions
of natural law, though again this is achieved in different ways. In the later
Pseud­epigrapha, the focus is less on halakah, and in Fourth Ezra part of the
revelation is esoteric. In all three texts, the temple is not Judea’s central institu-
tion simply taken for granted. In each of them, there is a link with paradise and
hence an Urzeit-Endzeit correlation. Jubilees probably reckons with a temple
operating along the lines of its halakah in advance of the eschatological tem-
ple and the new creation, and also inculcates its readers more widely with its
halakically enhanced notion of Torah. In both Second Baruch and Fourth Ezra,
which look back at the destruction of the second temple, the temple expected
belongs to the heavenly realm and the center stage is taken by the focus on a
reconceptualized Torah. The details, however, are different in these two later
Pseud­epigrapha: Fourth Ezra appears more reticent about the second temple
and focuses on an esoteric supplementation of the Torah, while Second Baruch
more clearly acknowledges the lost reality of the second temple and seeks com-
72 Cf. Najman, Losing the Temple (see n. 45), 1–25.
73 See the details on the location in 4 Ezra 10:51–54, 58–60; 12:51; 13:47.
74 See 4 Ezra 14:37: “we proceeded to the field, and remained there.”
 Torah and Temple in Judean Pseudepigrapha 155

fort in a paraenetically actualized Torah. And yet, how differently these compo-
sitions might develop the themes of Torah and temple, they nevertheless share
a number of traditions and conceptions about them; Torah and temple remain
focal points of the imagination of these texts and contribute to the shaping of
Jewish identity and self-perception. Thus, while we might well speak of “vari-
eties” of Judaism in this respect, partly separated by centuries, there is proba-
bly no warrant for speaking of distinct “Judaisms” 75 here.

75 An option hesitantly – or probingly – suggested by the subtitle of the Berlin conference,

“Torah, Temple, Land: Ancient Judaism(s) in Context.”

 What Does the Forgiving Jesus Have to Do
with the Unforgiving Enoch?
Forgiveness of Sins in the Enochic Traditions

Gabriele Boccaccini

1. Enochic Judaism as a “Theology of Complaint”

When in 1913, in the “Introduction” to his collection of The Apocrypha and
Pseudepigrapha of the Old Testament, Robert Henry Charles described Second
Temple Judaism as “a Church with many parties,” he was largely an isolated
voice, surrounded by the loudness of normative Judaism and orthodox Chris-
tianity.1 Today our understanding of the period has radically changed (as also
proved by the subject of our international conference in Berlin).
In the last fifty years, critical scholarship has built a solid case about ancient
Jewish diversity, which from being utterly denied has arguably become one of
the most distinctive features of the period, as the formative age out of which
both rabbinic Judaism and Christianity emerged as parallel traditions.2
The contemporary “rediscovery” of Enochic Judaism has added an import-
ant component to such diversity.3 Some conclusions are more widely accepted
than others. While many scholars today would agree that Enochic Judaism was
a “distinctive” form of ancient Judaism,4 the debate about its “distinctive” fea-
tures is today as open and lively as ever, and no issue has been more controver-
sial than the attitude of Enochic Judaism toward the Mosaic Torah.
The absence of any specific reference to the Mosaic Torah has led many
Second Temple specialists, including John Collins, to speak of Enochic Juda-
ism as a “non-Mosaic” form of Judaism.5 Does “non-Mosaic,” however, mean
“anti-­Mosaic”? Scholars are divided. At one extreme, Paolo Sacchi claimed
1 R. H. Charles, ed., The Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha of the Old Testament, 2 vols.

(Oxford: Clarendon, 1913), 2.vii.

2 A. F. Segal, Rebecca’s Children: Judaism and Christianity in the Roman World (Cam-

bridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1986).

3 G. Boccaccini, Roots of Rabbinic Judaism: An Intellectual History, from Ezekiel to Dan­

iel (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2002).

4 J. J. Collins, “How Distinctive Was Enochic Judaism?,” Meghillot: Studies in the Dead

Sea Scrolls 5–6 (2007), 17–34.

5 J. J. Collins, The Invention of Judaism: Torah and Jewish Identity from Deuteronomy to

Paul (Oakland, Calif.: University of California Press, 2017).

158 Gabriele Boccaccini

that “the lack of any mention […] of the Torah in the Enochic literature cannot
be regarded simply as an omission. The Enochians never accepted the Torah
of Moses.” 6 George Nickelsburg also once talked of “Enochic Wisdom” as “an
alternative to the Mosaic Torah.” 7 On the other hand, E. P. Sanders viewed it as
a system compatible with “covenantal nomism.” 8
It is true that the revelation to Enoch was claimed to precede that of Moses
and was seen in no way subordinated to it. However, at no point in the early
Enoch texts are there any polemics against the Mosaic Torah. The apocalyptic
“counternarrative” of the Book of the Watchers was entirely centered on the
collapse of the creative order by a cosmic rebellion (the oath and actions of the
fallen angels). Against the priestly idea of stability and order,9 the Enochians
argued that God’s order was no more, having been replaced by the current dis-
order: “The whole earth has been corrupted by Azazel’s teaching of his [own]
actions; and write upon him all sin” (1 En. 10:8). In the Enochic interpretation,
the rebellion of the “sons of God” was not simply one of the primeval sins that
characterized the ancient history of humankind; it was the mother of all sins,
the original sin which corrupted and contaminated God’s creation and from
which evil relentlessly continues to spring forth and spread. By crossing the
boundaries between heaven and earth, the angels broke apart the divisions set
by God at the time of creation. The consequent unleashing of chaotic forces
condemns humans to be victims of an evil they have not caused and cannot
resist.
Despite God’s reaction and the subsequent flood, the divine order of creation
was not restored. The cosmos did not return to what it was. The good angels,
led by Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, and Uriel, defeated the evil angels led by
Sem­yah and Azazel; however, the victory resulted not in the death or submis-
sion of the rebels but in their confinement “in the wilderness which was in Du-
dael,” where the fallen angels were imprisoned “in a hole […] underneath the
rocks of the ground” (1 En. 10:4–6, 11–12). The mortal bodies of the giants, the
offspring of the evil union of immortal angels and mortal women, were killed
(10:9–10); however, their immortal souls survived as evil spirits and continue
to ram about the world (15:8–10). Humankind was decimated with the flood
but not annihilated, as Noah’s family survived (10:1–3). Creation was cleansed
but not totally purified, as God used water and not the “fire” that is reserved
only for “the great day of judgment” (10:6). As disturbing as this idea can be,
6 L. Arcari, “The Book of the Watchers and Early Apocalypticism: A Conversation with

Paolo Sacchi,” Hen 30.1 (2008), 9–79, here 23.

7 G. W. E. Nickelsburg, “Enochic Judaism: An Alternative to the Mosaic Torah,” in Hesed

Ve-Emet: Studies in Honor of Ernest S. Frerichs, ed. J. Magness and S. Gitin, BJS 320 (At-
lanta: Scholars Press, 1998), 123–132.
8 E. P. Sanders, Paul and Palestinian Judaism: A Comparison of Patterns of Religion

(Lon­don: SCM, 1977).

9 P. P. Jenson, Graded Holiness: A Key to the Priestly Conception of the World, JSOTSup

106 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1992).

 Forgiveness of Sins in the Enochic Traditions 159

God’s reaction limited but did not eradicate evil. The world is still dominated
by evil forces. A time of “seventy generations” was set “until the eternal judg-
ment is concluded” (10:12).
It was Enochic Judaism that first introduced in Judaism the concept of the
“end of days” as the time of final judgment and vindication beyond death and
history. What in the prophetic traditions was the announcement of some in-
determinate future events of God’s intervention became the expectation of a
final cataclysmic event that will mark the end of God’s “first” creation and the
beginning of a “second” creation – a new world qualitatively different from,
and discontinuous with, what was before. Apocalyptic eschatology was born
from protology.10
The problem of Enochic Judaism with the Mosaic law also was the product
of protology. It did not come from a direct criticism of the law, but from the
recognition that the angelic rebellion had made it difficult for people to fol-
low any laws (including the Mosaic Torah) in a universe now disrupted by the
presence of superhuman evil. The problem was not the Torah itself (its divine
origin is never questioned or dismissed), but the difficulty of human beings to
do good deeds, which affects the human relationship with the Mosaic Torah.
The shift of focus was not primarily from Moses to Enoch, but from the trust in
human responsibility to the drama of human culpability. While at the center of
the Mosaic Torah was the human responsibility to follow God’s laws (as exem-
plified by the experience of Adam and Eve in the garden of Eden), at the center
of Enochic Judaism was now a paradigm of victimization of all humankind.
Nowhere Enochic texts denies human freedom or exonerate humans from the
consequences of their transgressions.
This is the reason it would be incorrect to talk of Enochic Judaism as a form
of Judaism which arose “against” or “without” the Torah. Enochic Judaism was
not “competing wisdom,” but more properly a “theology of complaint.” There
was no alternative Enochic halakah for this world, no Enochic purity code, no
Enochic Torah. Every hope of redemption was postponed to the end of times;
this world is ruled by evil forces. And yet, regardless of how hard it might
be, in the judgment humans will be accountable according to their deeds. The
Enoch­ians were not competing with Moses – they were merely complaining.

2. An Apocalyptic Controversy: Dream Visions and Jubilees

Consistently with the previous Enochic tradition, the Animal Apocalypse de-
scribed the entire course of history as a continuous process of degeneration,

10 J. J. Collins, The Apocalyptic Imagination: An Introduction to Jewish Apocalyptic Lit­

erature, 3rd ed. (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2016).

160 Gabriele Boccaccini

which started at the beginning of humankind with the angelic sin.11 Humans
were created as “white-snow cows” (1 En. 85:3), but then “a star fell down
from heaven and managed to rise and eat and to be pastured among those cows”
(86:1). The fall of the devil was followed by a large rebellion of angels: “many
stars descended and cast themselves down from the sky upon that first star,
and they became bovids among those calves and were pastured together with
them” (86:2). As a result, new animal species were born (“elephants, camels,
and donkeys,” 86:4). Neither the intervention of the good angels, who reduce
the rebels to impotence (87–88), nor the flood (89:2–8) can eradicate evil from
the earth. Evil descendants are bound to arise, even from the holy survivors.
From Noah, “the snow-white cow which became a man” (i. e., like the angels),
are born “three cows,” but “one of those three cows was snow-white, similar to
that [first] cow [Shem], and one red like blood [Japheth], and one black [Ham]
[…]. They began to bear the beasts of the fields and the birds. There arose out
of them many [different] species” (89:9–10).
History thus witnesses a continuous expansion of evil, with no way for hu-
man beings to oppose its spread. Nobody is spared: in the metaphorical world
of the Animal Apocalypse, even the Jews, who are the noblest part of human-
kind, bear the evil gene of degeneration; by the generation of Jacob, from
“cows” they have become “sheep.” Within this framework, there is no room
for any reference to the Mosaic Torah. Its presence does not alter the progres-
sive spread of evil. In particular, after the Babylonian exile the situation col-
lapses; God entrusts God’s people to “seventy shepherds” (angels), who show
themselves to be evil, trespassing upon their assigned tasks in such a way that
the entire history of Israel in the postexilic period unfolds under a demonic in-
fluence (see 1 En. 89:59 ff.). Reconstructed “under the seventy shepherds,” the
Second Temple can only be a contaminated sanctuary: “They again began to
build as before; and they raised up that tower which is called the high tower,
and they placed a table before [the tower], but all the bread which was upon it
was polluted and impure” (89:73). This situation of evil and decay is irreme-
diable and will end only with the establishment of a “new creation” at the end
of times, when God’s intervention restores the goodness of the universe. In the
insurgency of the “white sheep” in his own times, the apocalyptic author saw a
sign that the end was imminent.
The Enochic view had disturbing implications for the self-understanding of
the Jewish people as the people of the covenant. The chosen people of Israel
are promised a future redemption in the world to come, but in this world, Israel
is affected by the spread of evil with no divine protection, as are all other na-
tions.12 Not everybody agreed, even within apocalyptic circles.

11 P. A. Tiller, A Commentary on the Animal Apocalypse of 1 Enoch, EJL 4 (Atlanta:

Scholars Press, 1993).

12 D. C. Olson, A New Reading of the Animal Apocalypse of 1 Enoch, SVTP 24 (Leiden:

Brill, 2013).
 Forgiveness of Sins in the Enochic Traditions 161

Like the Enochians, the Essenes were an apocalyptic movement that shared
the idea of the superhuman origin of evil and proclaimed themselves as the
champions of the poor against the well-to-do.13 Their roots were in the same
movements of dissent that had challenged the power of the Zadokite priest-
hood. They never showed any nostalgia for the time in which the house of Za-
dok was in power, or did anything aimed to restore their authority. In a super-
sessionist mood they even referred to themselves as the true “sons of Zadok,”
just to demonstrate that they (and not them, the evil high priests of the house of
Zadok) were the ones referred to and prophesized by Ezekiel.
If the Book of Jubilees – as seems likely – was indeed at the foundation of
the entire Essene movement, the text marking the ideological revolution from
which both “orders” of the Essenes came from, the yaḥad and the “camps” de-
scribed in the Damascus Document,14 then there was something very substan-
tial that the entire Essene movement did not like in the Enochic movement –
the idea that the Jews, like the other nations, were defenseless under the power
of evil. It was against the “Enochic” lack of action and hope in this world that
the Book of Jubilees reacted by creating an original synthesis between Enoch
and Moses, that can no longer be labeled as either “Enochic” or “Mosaic,” but
is now distinctively “Essene.”
The Essenes rejected the idea that the sin of angels had undermined the
election of Israel. They maintained that the election of Israel was established
by God since creation (Jub. 2:21). The distinction between Jews and gentiles
belongs not to the (corrupted) history of humankind but to the (uncorrupted)
order of creation. Its effectiveness was not diminished by the fall of angels.
The power of the evil spirits was limited, and the sons of Noah were given a
“medicine” that protects them from evil (10:10–14). This does not mean that
Israel was completely safe in a world now dominated by evil. It remained safe
as long as they kept the boundaries separating them from the other peoples. The
issue of keeping the right halakah became central in preserving the holiness of
the people.
Out of this concern, the Essenes became more and more skeptical about the
effectiveness of the Mosaic Torah. They believed that the Mosaic halakah was
“incomplete” since the complete Torah was written only in the tablets of heav-
en and was revealed only partially in the Mosaic Torah.15 Moses, as other me-
diators like Enoch and his successors, was only given a glimpse at the tablets
of heaven. In this respect, as says Collins, “Jubilees, which retells the stories of

13 J. J. Collins, Apocalypticism in the Dead Sea Scrolls (London: Routledge, 1997).

14 J. J. Collins, Beyond the Qumran Community: The Sectarian Movement of the Dead Sea
Scrolls (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2010).
15 G. Boccaccini, “From a Movement of Dissent to a Distinct Form of Judaism: The Heav-

enly Tablets in Jubilees as the Foundation of a Competing Halakah,” in Enoch and the Mo­
saic Torah: The Evidence of Jubilees, ed. G. Boccaccini and G. Ibba (Grand Rapids, Mich.:
Eerdmans, 2009), 193–210.
162 Gabriele Boccaccini

Genesis from a distinctly Mosaic perspective, with explicit halachic interests,”

stands “in striking contrast” to the Enochic tradition.16 While reiterating the
“Enochic” concept of the superhuman origin of evil, the movement that sprang
from the Book of Jubilees took a radically different trajectory. The merging of
Mosaic and Enochic traditions redefines a space, where the people of Israel can
now live protected from the evilness of the world under the boundaries of an
alternative halakah. No longer a “theology of complaint,” Essenism was now
offering a competing view of the heavenly law and of its interpretation.
The parting of the ways between the Essene movement and Enochic Ju-
daism is confirmed by the autonomous developments of the Enoch literature
(Epistle of Enoch and the Parables of Enoch), independently from the Essene
movement.17 Contrary to what we see in Jubilees, the Halakic Letter or the
Community Rule, Enochic Judaism would never develop an alternative hala­
kah and would never question the legitimacy of the Mosaic Torah. Evil affects
human choice, but transgressions are human responsibility. In the words of the
Epistle of Enoch, “lawlessness was not sent upon the earth, but man created it
by themselves, and those who do it will come to a great curse […] all your un-
righteous deeds are written down day by day, until the day of your judgment”
(1 En. 98:4–8). The purpose of the myth of the fallen angels was to absolve God
from being responsible for a world that the Enochians deemed evil and corrupt-
ed. It was not intended to deny human accountability. In the Enochic system
of thought, the two contradictory concepts of human responsibility and human
victimization had to coexist between the Scylla of an absolute determinism and
the Charybdis of an equally absolute anti-determinism. Accept either of these
extremes and the entire Enochic system would collapse into the condemnation
of God as the unmerciful source of evil or the unjust scourge of innocent crea-
tures.
From the Book of the Watchers to the Parables, the Enochians steadily kept
their focus on the difficulty of humans to obey the Torah as a consequence of
the spread of evil. Enochic Judaism was born as, and always remained, a “the-
ology of complaint.”

3. Forgiveness of Sins in the Enochic Tradition

At the center of the Enochic “theology of complaint” is the apparently absolute
rejection of God’s forgiveness of sins. In the introduction to his commentary,
George Nickelsburg devotes only a short paragraph to what he defines as “a

16 J. J. Collins, “Enochic Judaism: An Assessment,” in Apocalypse, Prophecy, and Pseud­

epigraphy: On Jewish Apocalyptic Literature (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2015), 73–
88, here 79.
17 G. Boccaccini, Beyond the Essene Hypothesis: The Parting of the Ways between Qum­

ran and Enochic Judaism (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1998).

 Forgiveness of Sins in the Enochic Traditions 163

minor issue in 1 Enoch,” and attributes this lack of interest in the subject to “its
black-and-white distinction between the righteous and the sinners.” 18
The issue has important ramification also for the study of the relations be-
tween the Jewish apocalyptic traditions and Christian origins. The absence of
any reference to God’s forgiveness is one of the major obstacles in establishing
a close connection and continuity between the Enoch books and the writings of
the early Jesus movement, where the idea of forgiveness of sins takes central
stage. What does the forgiving Jesus have to do with the unforgiving Enoch?
At first glance, a reading of First Enoch seems to confirm Nickelsburg’s
conclusion. The message of repentance and forgiveness is significantly miss-
ing in First Enoch. Enoch was chosen by God not as a preacher of forgiveness,
but rather as a messenger of unforgiveness – to announce to the fallen angels
that “there will be no forgiveness for them” (1 En. 12). A compassionate Enoch
indeed accepted to intercede on behalf of the fallen angels and “drew up a pe-
tition for them that they might find forgiveness, and read their petition in the
presence of the Lord of Heaven” (13:4–5), but only to be lectured by God.
Enoch had to report back to the fallen angels that such a petition “will not be
accepted.” The last word of God leaves no room for any hope of forgiveness:
“Say to them: You have no peace” (16:4).
The message, loud and clear, that the angelic sin cannot be forgiven is after
all the generative idea of Enochic Judaism.19 Had the angels been forgiven the
entire Enochic system would have collapsed. This world is an evil world ex-
actly because the angelic sin cannot be forgiven and the original goodness of
the universe cannot be restored until a new creation is established at the end
of times.
Later Enochic texts, both Dream Visions and the Epistle of Enoch, draw a
clear distinction between the righteous and the sinners and make no reference
to forgiveness of sins. In the Animal Apocalypse there are white sheep who
open their eyes but no black sheep becomes white. In the Epistle of Enoch the
opposition between the righteous and the sinners is turned into a social conflict
between the rich and the poor, the oppressors and the oppressed, the haves and
the have nots.20
The introductory chapters of the Book of Enoch also divide humankind
sharply in two fields; “forgiveness of sins, and all mercy and peace and clemen-
cy” are promised to the righteous, resulting into “salvation,” while “for all you
sinners there will be no salvation, but upon you a curse will abide” (1 En. 5:6).

18 G. W. E. Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch: A Commentary on the Book of 1 Enoch, vol. 1: Chapters

1–36, 81–108, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2001), 54.

19 P. Sacchi, Jewish Apocalyptic and Its History (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press,

1996).
20 On the Epistle of Enoch in particular, see L. T. Stuckenbruck, 1 Enoch 91–108, CEJL

(Berlin: de Gruyter, 2007).

164 Gabriele Boccaccini

And yet, in spite of the consistency of the entire Enochic tradition on the
rejection of forgiveness of sins for the sinners, something substantially changes
with the Parables of Enoch. With a language that is reminiscent of the Book of
the Watchers, Parables says that in the last judgment the sinners will be pun-
ished, in particular the “kings and the mighty,” whose destiny will be like that
of the fallen angels at the beginning of creation: “no one will seek mercy for
them from the Lord of the Spirits” (38:6). They will be condemned by their
own deeds: “And in those days Enoch received books of zeal and wrath, and
books of disquiet and expulsion. And mercy shall not be accorded to them, said
the Lord of Spirits” (39:2).
On the contrary, the righteous will be saved. The four archangels will inter-
cede on their behalf, “uttering praises before the Lord of glory” (40:3). Quite
mysteriously the task of the fourth archangel is announced to be that of “fend-
ing off the satans and forbidding them to come before the Lord of Spirits to ac-
cuse them who dwell on the earth” (40:7–8). In the Book of the Watchers (1 En.
9–11) the four archangels (Michael, Raphael, Gabriel and Uriel) presided to
the punishment of the fallen angels and to the salvation of the righteous. Here
in action is the same group: Michael, Raphael, and Gabriel, but the fourth is
revealed to be “Phanuel, who is set over the repentance unto hope of those who
inherit eternal life” (40:9). The text suggests that repentance will play some
role in the last judgment. Some will be saved not because of their good deeds,
but because of their repentance and because the satans will be prevented from
presenting their accusations before God. The satans here mentioned are neither
the rebellious angels nor the evil spirits, but the accuser angels who will act as
prosecutors in the last judgment by reporting the evil deeds of individuals (cf.
Zech 3:1–7). No further details are provided in 1 En. 40. But the fact the Book
of the Parables felt compelled to replace Uriel (an angel of punishment) with
Phanuel (an angel of repentance, never mentioned before in the tradition of
Enoch) seems to indicate that something has changed in the idea of judgment,
which is no longer presented exclusively as a judgment of destruction of evil
(and salvation for the righteous) but implies some more nuanced merciful act
toward the sinners.
In 1 En. 48 the emphasis is on the revelation of the Messiah Son of Man
in the last judgment. The reference is explicitly to Dan 7, but contrary to the
source text, the Son of Man is not the recipient of God’s judgment but is now
the judge, sitting on the throne of God. We are repeated that the last judgment
will be “according to the deeds”: the righteous will be saved in the name of
God as they are filled with good works and “have hated and despised this world
of unrighteousness” (1 En. 48:7). An opposite destiny awaits the sinners, the
kings and the mighty; they will not be saved “because of the works of their
hands” (48:8)
A brief interlude (1 En. 49) follows, where the justice of God and the elect is
praised. Then in 1 En. 50–51 the judgment is presented in its more universal di-
 Forgiveness of Sins in the Enochic Traditions 165

mension, as the days in which “the earth will give back what has been entrusted
to it and Sheol will give back what it has received” (51:1). As expected, we are
repeated that the righteous will be rewarded and the sinners punished accord-
ing to their deeds. However, quite unexpectedly a third group (“the others”) is
here singled out besides the righteous and the sinners – they are “those who
repent and abandon the works of their hands” (1 En. 50:1–4):
(1) And in those days a change shall take place for the holy and chosen, and the light of days
will dwell upon them, and glory and honor will return to the holy. (2) On the day of distress,
evil will be stored up against the sinners. And the righteous will be victorious in the name of
the Lord of Spirits: and He will cause the others to witness (this), so that they may repent and
abandon the works of their hands. (3) They will have no honor in the presence of the Lord of
Spirits, yet through His name they will be saved, and the Lord of Spirits will have mercy on
them, for great is His mercy. (4) And He is righteous in His judgement, and in the presence of
His glory unrighteousness will not stand: at His judgement the unrepentant will perish in His
presence. “And hereafter I will have no mercy on them,” says the Lord of Spirits.

In the context of the Enochic tradition, the passage is extremely important as

for the first time it introduces the idea that repentance at the time of the last
judgment will cause God to forgive by mercy some sinners. The passage, how-
ever, has not received the attention it deserves and has been mistranslated and
misinterpreted even in the most recent and comprehensive commentaries to the
Book of Parables by Sabino Chialà (1997), Daniel Olson (2004) and Nickels-
burg (2012).21
With the majority of manuscripts and all previous translations, Chialà cor-
rectly translates v. 3 as “they will have no honor” (Eth. kebr), in the sense that
they will have no “merit” before God. In the commentary, however, Chialà
understands the verse as referred to the “righteous”: “they” (not the others) are
the subject of the sentence. Chialà takes then the verse as a general statement
that God’s judgment is based exclusively on God’s mercy even for the “righ-
teous,” who cannot claim any “honor” before God. But this contradicts what
the Book of Parables had just said in 1 En. 48; the righteous have good works,
while the sinners do not. Besides, here the author refers to “the others” (the
ones who repent and abandon the works of their hands) as it is proved by the
fact that the following verses (vv. 4–5) continue the discussion about repen-
tance not “righteousness,” to the extent that “the sinners” are now denoted as
“the unrepentant.” 22
Olson is aware of the presence of some manuscripts in which the negative
(“no honor”) is omitted, however it recognizes that the salvation of “the oth-
ers” is presented in the passage as an act of God’s mercy. “Jesus’s parable of

21 S. Chialà, Libro delle parabole di Enoc: Testo e commento (Brescia: Paideia, 1997);

D. C. Olson, Enoch: A New Translation (North Richland Hills, Tex.: BIBAL Press, 2004);
G. W. E. Nickelsburg and J. C. VanderKam, 1 Enoch: A Commentary on the Book of 1 Enoch,
vol. 2: Chapters 37–82, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2012).
22 Chialà, Libro delle parabole (see n. 21), 224.
166 Gabriele Boccaccini

the workers in the vineyard makes a similar point.” 23 “The others” therefore
are sinners. Olson concludes that “the others” must be gentiles. “This chap-
ter presupposes a time of relief and prosperity for the righteous during which
the Gentiles may repent and convert.” 24 The text, however, does not mention
gentiles, and the Enochic tradition never claims that only gentiles are sinners,
while Jews are all “righteous” The others are “sinners who repent” (Jews and
gentiles alike) as opposed to the “righteous.”
Nickelsburg also correctly identifies the “others” as a distinctive group –
an intermediate group between the righteous and the sinners, but rather un-
derstands them as a subgroup of “the righteous” who may not have the same
merits but will share the same destiny. “Given the references to the righteous
and their oppressors in vv. 1–2 b, ‘the others’ mentioned in this action must be
either the gentiles not included among the oppressors of the righteous or other
Israelites not included among the righteous, the holy, and the chosen.” 25 To re-
inforce his own interpretation, Nickelsburg somewhat arbitrarily “corrects” the
text, based on the testimony of only two manuscripts against most manuscripts
(and previous translations, like Charles, Olson and Chialà), and suppresses the
negative (“they will have no honor”). Like the righteous, the others will have
“honor” before God and will be saved in God’s Name. But “the others” are
not defined in the text for who they are but for what they do (“they repent
and abandon the works of their hands”). Nickelsburg’s interpretation that the
“works of their hands” is a reference to idolatry is contradicted by the fact that
the text here repeats the same phrase used in 1 En. 48:8 to denote the sinners
(“the strong who possess the land because of the works of their hands […] will
not be saved”). “The others” are not “good gentiles” or “not-so-bad Israelites”;
like the sinners they can claim no honor before God.
Chialà, Olson, and Nickelsburg all miss the revolutionary importance of the
text, which at the end of times envisions the emergence of a third group beside
“the righteous” and “the sinners.” The righteous have “honor” (merit, good
works) and are saved in the name of God, while “the sinners” have no honor
(no good works) and are not saved in the name of God. The others are not a
subgroup of the righteous nor a less guilty group of sinners or gentiles, but,
as the text explicitly states, they are rather a subgroup of the sinners who will
repent and abandon the works of their hands. Like the sinners (and unlike the
righteous), the “others” have no “honor” (no merit or good works) before God,
but because of their repentance they will be justified and saved in the name of
God, like the righteous (and unlike the unrepentant sinners).
In other words, the text explores not as much the relation between God’s
mercy and God’s justice in the judgment, a theme that we would find broadly
discussed in the early rabbinic movement. That no one (not even the righteous)

23 Olson, Enoch (see n. 21), 94.

24 Olson, Enoch (see n. 21), 94.
25 Nickelsburg and VanderKam, 1 Enoch, vol. 2 (see n. 21), 182.
 Forgiveness of Sins in the Enochic Traditions 167

would be saved without some intervention of God’s mercy is a shared assump-

tion in the entire Jewish tradition. The point is rather the possibility for some
sinners to be justified by mercy alone, apart from God’s justice.
According to the Book of Parables, the righteous will be saved according to
God’s justice and mercy, and the sinners will be condemned according to God’s
justice and mercy, but those who repent will be justified by God’s mercy even
though they should not be saved according to God’s justice. Repentance makes
God’s mercy prevail over God’s justice. No reference is made to the traditional
means of atonement related to the Temple or good works; the Book of Parables
refers to the time of the manifestation of God and the Messiah as a (short) time
in which a last opportunity of repentance and justification will be offered to the
sinners. The time is limited: after the judgment absolutely no further chance of
forgiveness will be offered to “the unrepentant.” The ones who do not repent
will be lost forever.
We now finally understand the special function assigned to “Phanuel” in the
last judgment: the archangel of repentance will prevent the satans from accus-
ing the sinners who repent and will have them saved apart from God’s justice.
Through repentance some sinners will be forgiven by God’s mercy. The “oth-
ers” are justified sinners.
The interpretation of 1 En. 50 is consistent with the entire Book of Parables
and allows us to better grasp the development of the text. Having affirmed that
at the end repentance is granted to the sinners who repent, the text must clarify
that nonetheless this possibility is not given to everybody. It does not apply to
the fallen angels (thus preserving the integrity of the Enochic system) and does
not apply to the kings and the mighty.
In 1 En. 54 we are told that “the kings and the mighty [are] the hosts of Aza-
zel […] and Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, and Phanuel shall take hold of them on
that great day, and cast them on that day into the burning furnace, that the Lord
of Spirits may take vengeance on them for their unrighteousness in becoming
subject to Satan and leading astray those who dwell on the earth” (1 En. 54:1–
6). The lack of support from the archangels (including Phanuel) shows that no
possibility of repentance will be given to them.
The downfall of the kings and the mighty is made even more dramatic by
the rhetorical development of the narrative, as their destiny shines in stark con-
trast with that of the other sinners. In what Nickelsburg describes as a “pitiful
spectacle of role reversal,” 26 at the moment of judgment “the kings and the
mighty and the exalted and those who rule the land will fall on their faces in
his presence; and they will worship and set their hope on that Son of Man, and
they will supplicate and petition for mercy from him” (62:9). Once again the
language is reminiscent of the Book of Watchers. As the fallen angels did with
Enoch, the kings and the mighty will petition the Son of Man to have mercy.
They also hope that they could take advantage of God’s mercy. But this is not
26 Nickelsburg and VanderKam, 1 Enoch, vol. 2 (see n. 21), 266.
168 Gabriele Boccaccini

the case: “But the Lord of the Spirits will press them that they shall hastily
go forth from His presence, and their faces shall be filled with shame, and the
darkness grow deeper on their faces. And He will deliver them to the angels for
punishment, to execute vengeance on them” (62:10–11).
Even in the hands of the angels of punishment, the kings and the mighty
“will implore [God] to give them a little respite, that they might fall down and
worship in the presence of the Lord of the Spirits, and that they might confess
their sins in his presence” (63:1). But once again their request is rejected. Their
eternal place will be with “the angels who descended to the earth, and revealed
what was hidden to the children of men and seduced the children of men into
committing sin” (64:1–2).

4. The Messiah and Forgiveness

The Book of Parables does not attribute any special power of forgiveness to the
Messiah, who remains the judge and destroyer of evil and is deaf to the plea of
the kings and the mighty. God’s mercy operates through the angel Phanuel; it
is thanks to his intervention that the sinners who repent (i. e., the “others”) are
acquitted by the judgment of the Son of Man.
Yet the text signals a radical turn in a tradition that had never paid attention
to the problem of repentance or forgiveness of sin, except to exclude such a
possibility. Repentance is now a central theme in the Book of Parables and
should be a central concern for the sinners in the imminence of the last judg-
ment. With the exclusion of the fallen angels and the kings and the mighty, God
is willing to justify by God’s mercy those who repent.
The Parables of Enoch does not further elaborate on these points, but if we
read the Synoptics about the preaching of John the Baptist and Jesus, it is like
reading a retelling of 1 En. 50. Regardless of the issue whether or not this in-
terpretation reflects, “adjusts” or corrects what the historical John the Baptist
and the historical Jesus “really” did or meant to do, from the view point of the
Synoptics the time of the end has come and God’s Messiah has been revealed
in Jesus. The prophecy of 1 En. 50 does no longer belong to the future but has
become true in the manifestation “on earth” of the Son of Man Jesus and his
precursor John the Baptist. Their entire mission would be devoted to “the oth-
ers,” the repentant sinners.
The function of the eschatological judge immediately connects the Messi-
ah announced by John to the “Son of Man” of the Parables of Enoch (and not
to the traditions related to the Messiah Son of David). The imminent coming
of the eschatological judge who will cleanse the earth with fire, makes urgent
repentance and “forgiveness of sins” for those who in this world have “no hon-
or.” The urgency of John’s call is consistent with the Book of Parables’ view
 Forgiveness of Sins in the Enochic Traditions 169

that that at the end only a small window will be opened to repentance and there
will be no time afterwards.
Facing the judge and the “fire” of judgment only means certain annihilation
for the sinners. The solution indicated by John the Baptist is also based on a
narrative central in the Enochic tradition – the purifying value that the Enoch­
ian tradition attributed to the water. The model was that offered by the flood,
when the earth had already been immersed in order to limit the spread of evil.
“Be baptized with water; otherwise, you will be baptized with the fire of judg-
ment by the Son of Man” – this seems to be in essence the original message
of John the Baptist, as understood by the Synoptics, an interpretation that does
not contradict the interest of the Christian authors to present it as a prophecy of
the Christian baptism (by the Holy Spirit). That expressed by John the Baptist
was a call based on the prophecy of the Book of Parables (1 En. 50). At the end
of times God will offer the sinners a last chance. If a sinner sincerely repents
and abandons the works of his / her hands, even though such a person has no
honor before God, God’s mercy will prevail on God’s justice, and he / she will
be saved in God’s name. As in the Parables (and contrary to what the Synoptics
would claim about Jesus), the Messiah has no part in the work of forgiveness
and remains the judge and destroyer of evil.
From the Synoptics’ perspective, while John the Baptist was the precursor
who announced the coming of the eschatological judge and the urgency of re-
pentance, Jesus is the Son of Man who at the end of times will come with the
angels to perform the judgment with fire.
The Christian tradition, however, introduced a significant variation into the
Enochic model, where forgiveness of sins is promised at the end but no role
is given to the Messiah in this task. From the Synoptic perspective, the Son of
Man who will come from heaven as the eschatological judge, has already been
manifested on earth in Jesus of Nazareth. The Christian distinctiveness lies ex-
actly in this: “The Son of Man has power [and the mission] on earth to forgive
sins” (Mark 2:1–12; cf. Matt 9:1–8; Luke 5:17–26). The statement sounds like
“blasphemy” for those who maintain that the Messiah (the son of David) will
be the leader of Israel in the world to come, but not the savior and redeemer
of the individual, whose justice is measured by God the judge according to the
Torah, but also breaks the tradition of Enoch that had presented the Son of Man
exclusively as the final judge from heaven, and not as the forgiver “on earth.”
In this, according to the Synoptics, also lies the superiority of Jesus over
John. The baptism of John was a call to the sinners to become “the others”
through repentance. At the end only “the unrepentant” will be damned. But
John could only express a hope, based on the prophecy of Enoch and the belief
that God is good and merciful and cannot remain insensitive to the cries of an-
guish of sinners who, like Adam in the Life of Adam and Eve, plea to God in
repentance and faith. According to his followers, Jesus offered a more concrete
perspective as the promise of forgiveness comes from the Son of Man himself.
170 Gabriele Boccaccini

Who can have more authority to forgive than the one whom God has delegated
as the eschatological judge?
Jesus the Messiah was not sent to “the righteous” but to “the sinners” so
that they may repent. God is like a good shepherd who searches for the lost
sheep; Jesus was sent to “the lost sheep of the house of Israel” (Matt 10:6); he
was the doctor sent to heal the sinners (Mark 2:17; Matt 9:13), as Luke makes
explicit: “I have come to call not the righteous but the sinners to repentance”
(Luke 5:32).
Reading the Synoptics in light of the Book of Parables sheds light also on
some parables that the Christian tradition attributed to Jesus. The parable of the
lost sheep (Matt 18:10–14; Luke 15:1–7) defines the relationship between God
and “the others”: Luke’s parables of the prodigal son (15:11–32) reiterates the
theme but also adds a teaching about the relationship between “the righteous”
and “the others,” between those who have honor and are saved because they
have never abandoned the house of the Father and those who have no honor
and yet are saved as well since they have repented and abandoned the works of
their hands. The examples could be multiplied, but no parable seems more ef-
fective to me than the one narrated by Matthew on the workers in the vineyard
(Matt 20:1–16). The householder who pays the same salary for different “mea-
sures” of work, gives the full reward (salvation) to the “righteous” and to the
“others” as 1 En. 50 (in the Parables) claimed that God will also do in the last
judgment. God’s mercy (“Am I not allowed to do what I choose with what be-
longs to me? Or to you begrudge my generosity?”) wins God’s justice, or as the
Letter of James would say, “Mercy triumphs over judgment” (κατακαυχᾶται
ἔλε­ος κρίσεως, Jas 2:13).
The Synoptics do not merely repeat the Enochic model of the Parables. Yet,
the Enochic concept of the existence of a time of repentance immediately be-
fore the judgment and the prophecy that at that point “the sinners” will divide
between “the repentant” (the others) and “the unrepentant” is the necessary
“premise” of the mission of the Son of Man on earth.

5. Conclusion

Contrary to what commonly repeated the concept of forgiveness of sins is not

foreign to the Jewish apocalyptic tradition of Enoch. In the Parables of Enoch
the possibility offered to the sinners to repent and be forgiven by God’s mercy
becomes an essential feature of the apocalyptic judgment.
The Christian tradition reads and interprets the experience of John the Bap-
tist and Jesus the Messiah by borrowing its categories from the Book of Para-
bles, or better from the traditions of the Book of Parables, to the point that the
Synoptic Gospels could be understood almost as a retelling of 1 En. 50 in a per-
spective of realized eschatology – John the Baptist and Jesus have fulfilled the
 Forgiveness of Sins in the Enochic Traditions 171

Enochic prophecy. At the center is the destiny of the righteous, the sinners and
the others now that the “end is near.” The Synoptics add some new elements,
which indeed differentiate the Jesus movement from the Enochic model, and
yet do not separate it from the world of Second Temple Judaism at large. These
elements enhance the specificity of the Jesus movement in relation not only to
the Sadducees and the Pharisees, but also in relation to its Enochic roots and
to the message of John the Baptist himself. In the Synoptics, Jesus becomes
the protagonist of a “prologue on earth” that precedes, and prepares for, the
heavenly judgment of the Messiah Son of Man, who is now both the forgiver
on earth and the eschatological judge. The possibility of repentance announced
by the Parables of Enoch and John the Baptist as one of the signs of the end
becomes the center of the activity of the Messiah Jesus, who came as the Son
of Man who has authority on earth to forgive sins. In baptizing in his name the
early church continues and prolongs Jesus’s message of forgiveness as an in-
strument of God’s mercy, until Jesus will return to perform the judgment and
no further time for repentance will be then allowed. The Jesus movement was
not an Enochic movement but an outgrowth of the Enochic movement. The
Gospels are not Enochic texts, but an answer to an Enochic problem.
 Constructing Temple and Torah
in Philo of Alexandria
Maren R. Niehoff

The Jerusalem Temple, as Philo knew it, was of course built by Herod the
Great. Philo’s brief account of his own visit to the Temple and his outline of
pilgrimage there have been appreciated by generations of scholars as precious
testimonies to the functioning of the Temple in the first century CE.1 Recently,
however, Ian Rutherford has suggested that Philo’s account develops Greek
mo­tifs of pilgrimage and may have served as an advertisement for the Tem-
ple in Jerusalem.2 This reconstruction raises intriguing questions about the na-
ture of Philo’s accounts: were they realistic descriptions of activities in a giv-
en building or rather imaginary constructions, or perhaps a mixture of both?
Moreover, was the Jerusalem Temple a self-evident factor of Jewish identity or
did it instead require special advocation?
Similar questions have arisen regarding the role of the Torah. Generations
of scholars took the Bible as a quintessential characteristic of Judaism and re-
garded Bible exegesis as the focus of the religion from its inception. Recently,
however, John J. Collins and Paul D. Mandel have questioned this consensus
by arguing that systematic Bible commentary developed at a relatively late
stage and requires a historical explanation.3 Philo is of special interest in this
context, because large parts of his oeuvre are devoted to Bible interpretation.
He provides the first systematic commentaries on the biblical text, which have
survived from ancient Judaism.4 Valentin Nikiprowetzky has consequently
1 I would like to thank the editors of the volume for organizing a lively conference in
Berlin and the audience for a productive discussion. – Philo says surprisingly little about his
own pilgrimage to Jerusalem: “there is a city on the sea-coast of Syria called Ascalon. While
I was there at a time when I was on my way to our ancestral temple to offer up prayers and
sacrifices, I observed many pigeons at the cross-roads and in each house” (Prov. 2.64). For
uses of Philo’s work to reconstruct pilgrimage during the Second Temple period, see J. Leon-
hardt, Jewish Worship in Philo of Alexandria, TSAJ 84 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001).
2 I. Rutherford, “Concord and Communitas: Greek Elements in Philo’s Account of Jewish

Pilgrimage,” in Journeys in the Roman East: Imagined and Real, ed. M. R. Niehoff (Tübin-
gen: Mohr Siebeck, 2017), 257–272.
3 J. J. Collins, The Invention of Judaism: Torah and Jewish Identity from Deuteronomy to

Paul (Oakland, Calif.: University of California Press, 2017); P. D. Mandel, The Origins of
Midrash: From Teaching to Text, JSJSup 180 (Leiden: Brill, 2017).
4 See also D. Dimant, Pesher Habakkuk: A Scroll from the Wilderness of Judea (1QpHab);

Text In­troduction and Commentary [in Hebrew] (Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1986), who has
174 Maren R. Niehoff

iden­tified Philo’s Torah study as the essence of his work and Jewish identity.5
David Runia similarly argued that Bible exegesis was the backbone of Philo’s
thought to which he always subordinated philosophy. This biblical orientation
is said to have rendered him sui generis, isolating him from other intellectuals,
such as the Middle Platonists.6
Such generalizations, however, overlook the exceptional diversity of Philo’s
oeuvre and harmonize discrepancies, even contradictions between his different
series of treatises. No other author of antiquity has expressed himself in such
a variety of literary genres as Philo, who wrote systematic commentaries on
the Books of Genesis and Exodus, historical treatises on the events in which
he participated as the head of the Jewish embassy to Gaius Caligula as well as
philosophical works on specific topics. In yet another series Philo offers a gen-
eral introduction to Judaism, explaining the rationale of the Jewish laws and
presenting the biblical patriarchs to a broader Greco-Roman audience. Such
differences between Philo’s series of works cannot plausibly be harmonized
and subsumed under one category of Bible interpretation. They in­stead de-
serve our special attention and demand an explanation. Indeed, the ex­ceptional
variety of Philo’s series of works, which partly overlap in terms of the topics
they cover, provide a unique opportunity to investigate the constructed nature
of his views.
In this article I argue for the constructed nature of Philo’s Judaism by study-
ing his notions of Torah and Temple throughout his different works. I look
especially at the relationship between these two themes and ask whether they
form a stable, perhaps even essential pair of complementary elements or in-
stead appear differently in different contexts. In other words, I investigate to
what extent Torah and Temple go together in Philo’s work, complementing
each other, or rather assume different, perhaps even contradictory contours in
the various series. I shall argue for Philo’s considerable flexibility, which is de-
pendent on the different contexts of his works. Particular attention will be paid
to the following phenomenon: writings which emphasize the Temple virtually
lack references to the Torah and, vice versa, treatises featuring the Torah prom-
inently virtually ignore the Temple. Temple and Torah thus fulfilled different
functions in Philo’s oeuvre and challenge the image of stable complementarity
that has been prompted by such sources as the Gospel of Luke and Josephus.
A brief look at Josephus and Luke will underscore the potential a close anal-
ysis of Philo’s works holds. The author of the Gospel of Luke portrays Jesus
as a young boy in the Temple of Jerusalem. Having arrived on a pilgrimage, he

conclusively shown that the pesher literature from Qumran is based on oneirocritical prin-
ciples, which place it in the realm of prophetic activity rather than systematic commentary.
5 V. Nikiprowetzky, Le Commentaire de l’écriture chez Philon d’Alexandrie: Son charac­

tère et sa portée, observations philologiques, ALGHJ 11 (Leiden: Brill, 1977).

6 D. T. Runia, “Was Philo a Middle Platonist? A Difficult Question Revisited,” SPhiloA 5

(1993), 124–133.
 Constructing Temple and Torah in Philo of Alexandria 175

stayed behind when his parents already went home. Worried about his absence,
they returned and “found him in the temple, sitting among teachers, listen-
ing to them and asking them questions. And all who heard him were amazed
at his understanding and his questions” (Luke 2:41–47). The image of Jesus
raising questions – the classical term of Greek scholarship ἐπερωτάω is used
here – evokes an intrinsic association of the Temple with Torah study. Similar-
ly, Josephus’s self-portrait suggests a strong connection between Temple and
Torah in the first century CE. He nostalgically recalls: “while still a mere boy,
approximately fourteen years old, I was applauded by everybody for my love
of letters. The chief priests and the leading men of the city always came to me
to learn some more precise information about our laws.” 7 To be sure, the priests
are said to come to Josephus – and not vice versa, Josephus to the Temple – but
this scene undoubtedly connects Torah study with the priests and by implica-
tion with the Temple. To what extend do these images apply to Philo, too?
I analyze Philo’s views of Temple and Torah in his different series of works,
assuming the chronology recently established in the Intellectual Biography of
Philo.8 Even though we lack basic information about Philo’s life and the cir-
cumstances of his writing activity, we can reconstruct the chronology of his
works, if we take his historical writings as our starting point. The Legatio and
Contra Flaccum can safely be dated to the later part of Philo’s career, because
they relate to the only sure fact we know, namely, his service as the head of the
Jewish embassy to Gaius Caligula after the pogrom in Alexandria in the sum-
mer of 38 CE. At this point Philo addresses broader, non-Jewish audiences in
Rome, hoping to convince them that Judaism makes a significant contribution
to the Roman Empire. Many of his arguments seem to relate to the criticism
heaped on Judaism by the head of the competing Egyptian embassy, Apion.
The philosophical treatises and the Exposition of the Law are also part of this
apologetic effort. The Allegorical Commentary, by contrast, addresses Alex-
andrian Jews intimately familiar with the details of the Bible in Greek trans-
lation.9 Philo explains the text to his colleagues and opponents, dwelling on
minute textual problems and solving them by recourse to allegory. These dif-
ferences between Philo’s series of works have important repercussions for our
topic. The Temple and the Torah play strikingly different roles in Philo’s earlier

7 Josephus, Vita 9: ἔτι δ’ ἀντίπαις ὢν περὶ τεσσαρεσκαιδέκατον ἔτος διὰ τὸ φιλογράμματον

ὑπὸ πάντων ἐπῃνούμην συνιόντων ἀεὶ τῶν ἀρχιερέων καὶ τῶν τῆς πόλεως πρώτων ὑπὲρ τοῦ
παρ’ ἐμοῦ περὶ τῶν νομίμων ἀκριβέστερόν τι γνῶναι.
8 M. R. Niehoff, Philo of Alexandria: An Intellectual Biography (New Haven: Yale Uni-

versity Press, 2018).

9 For details on the centrality of the Greek Bible among Alexandrian Jews, G. Sterling,

“The Interpreter of Moses: Philo of Alexandria and the Biblical Text,” in A Companion to
Biblical Interpretation in Early Judaism, ed. M. Henze (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans,
2012), 415–434; B. G. Wright, The Letter of Aristeas, CEJL (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2015); M. R.
Niehoff, “Alexandrian Judaism,” in Ancient Judaism and Its Modern Interpreters, ed. M.
Henze and R. Werlin (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 2020), 281–304.
176 Maren R. Niehoff

and later writings. While the Allegorical Commentary assumes intensive To-
rah study, but virtually ignores the Temple, the historical treatises feature the
Temple rather prominently, while altogether neglecting direct commentary on
the Torah.

1. Temple and Torah in Philo’s Allegorical Commentary

The Jerusalem Temple is conspicuously absent in the Allegorical Commentary

from the beginning of Philo’s career. In a way, this is only to be expected, as
the commentary treats the Book of Genesis, where no temple is mentioned.
However, some remarks by Philo suggest that there are more fundamental rea-
sons. His overall conception of God is too transcendental to appreciate Temple
worship:
When we are about to entertain kings, we brighten and adorn our own houses. We consider
no embellishment too little, but use all such freely and ungrudgingly, and make it our aim
that their lodging shall be most pleasing, in addition to the proper honor given to them. What
house shall be prepared for God the King of kings, the Lord of all, who in His tender mercy
and loving-kindness has considered created being worthy of His visitation and has come
down from the boundaries of heaven to the utmost ends of earth, to show His goodness to
our race? Shall it be of stone or wood? Away with the thought, even to say such words is not
guiltless. For even if the whole earth should suddenly turn into gold, or something more pre-
cious than gold, though all that wealth should be expended by the builder’s skill on porches
and porticos, on men’s chambers, vestibules, and shrines, yet there would be no place where
His feet could tread. The soul at any rate is suited to be a worthy house [of Him].10

Philo opposes here anthropocentric notions of God which imply that He dwells
in concrete, material buildings, such as a temple, where He could be wor-
shiped. Rejecting temples of stone or wood, Philo insists that God must not
be compared to an earthly king who can be hosted in human dwellings. Only
the soul is sufficiently spiritual to encounter Him and endure His presence. In
the Allegorical Commentary Philo is so committed to transcendental theology
that he even criticizes the deduction of God from His creation. Such proofs of
God rely in his view merely on His shadow and are thus somewhat misleading.
More perfect and cleansed minds will lift their eyes beyond the creation in or-

10 Cher. 99–100: εἰ γὰρ βασιλεῖς ὑποδέχεσθαι μέλλοντες λαμπροτέρας κατασκευάζομεν

τὰς ἰδίας οἰκίας, μηδενὸς τῶν εἰς κόσμον ὀλιγωροῦντες, ἀλλὰ πᾶσιν ἀδεῶς καὶ ἀφθόνως χρώ­
μενοι, τοῦ τὴν καταγωγὴν ἡδίστην ἅμα καὶ μετὰ τοῦ πρέποντος ἀξιώματος αὐτοῖς γενέσθαι
στοχαζόμενοι, τῷ βασιλέων βασιλεῖ καὶ τῶν συμπάντων ἡγεμόνι θεῷ δι’ ἡμερότητα καὶ φιλαν­
θρωπίαν ἀξιώσαντι τὸ γενητὸν ἐπισκέψεως καὶ ἀπ’ οὐρανοῦ περάτων μέχρι γῆς ἐσχάτων ἐπ’
εὐεργεσίᾳ τοῦ γένους ἡμῶν κατελθόντι ποδαπὸν οἶκον ἄρα χρὴ κατασκευάζεσθαι; λί­θων μὲν
ἢ ξυλίνης ὕλης; ἄπαγε, ἀλλ’ οὐδ’ εἰπεῖν εὐαγές· οὐδὲ γάρ, εἰ πᾶσα γῆ χρυσὸς ἤ τι χρυ­σοῦ
τιμαλφέστερον μεταβαλοῦσα ἐξαίφνης γένοιτο κἄπειτα δημιουργῶν τέχναις στοὰς καὶ προ­
πύλαια καὶ ἀνδρῶνας καὶ προτεμενίσματα καὶ νεὼς κατασκευαζόντων ἀναλωθείη, γέ­νοιτ’ ἂν
βάσις αὐτοῦ τοῖς ποσίν· ἀξιόχρεως μέντοι γε οἶκος ψυχὴ ἐπιτήδειος.
 Constructing Temple and Torah in Philo of Alexandria 177

der to be initiated into the great mysteries of God and gain knowledge of the
first cause (Leg. 3.99–101).
At this early stage of his career Philo immerses himself in Torah study, ap-
plying hermeneutic assumptions and methods from Homeric scholarship in Al-
exandria.11 He is the first of the Alexandrian Jews known to have composed
systematic commentaries on the Bible. While he had predecessors in this re-
spect, their works have only survived in highly fragmentary form. Inspired by
the cultural context of his hometown, Philo made the Greek translation of the
Jewish Bible the object of minute investigations, treating the same problems as
the Homer scholars, namely, apparent contradictions or cases of implausibil-
ity in the canonical text.12 The following example illustrates his hermeneutic
concerns:
“And Abraham was,” he [Moses] says, “seventy and five years old when he went out from
Ha­ran” (Gen 12:4). On the number of the five and seventy years, whose import agrees with
what has just been said, we will dwell in detail hereafter. Let us first examine what is meant
by “Haran” and what kind of emigration (ἀποικία) from this country is implied. It is likely
that nobody versed in the reading of the laws (οὐδένα τοίνυν τῶν ἐντετυχηκότων τοῖς νόμοις)
is unaware that Abraham previously went up from Chaldea and dwelt in Haran, and that after
his father’s death there, he migrates (μετανίσταται) from that country also, so that he has at
this point already undertaken a migration from two places. What should be said (τί οὖν λεκ­
τέον)? The Chaldeans have the reputation of having, in a degree quite beyond that of other
peoples, elaborated astronomy and the casting of nativities. They have set up a harmony be-
tween things on earth and things on high, between heavenly things and earthly.13

11 For details, see M. R. Niehoff, Jewish Exegesis and Homeric Scholarship in Alexandria
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 133–151.
12 P. Katz, Philo’s Bible: The Aberrant Text of Bible Quotations in Some Philonic Writ­

ings (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1950), demonstrated that Philo only quotes
the Septuagint and does not take recourse to the Hebrew original. This conclusion has been
confirmed by Y. Amir, “Authority and Interpretation of Scripture in the Writings of Philo,”
in Mikra, ed. M. J. Mulder, CRINT 2 / 1 (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1988), 421–454, and Ster-
ling, “Interpreter of Moses” (see n. 9). Philo’s commitment to Greek is understandable in the
context of his hometown Alexandria, which created a monolingual Greek culture in contrast,
for example, to Rome, where intellectuals were fluent not only in their mother tongue Latin,
but also in Greek. T. Rajak, Translation and Survival: The Greek Bible and the Jewish Di­
aspora (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), however, reopened the question of Philo’s
exposure to Hebrew and pointed to his use of Hebrew etymologies in his Bible interpretation,
which suggest to her that he must have known Hebrew. However, Amir, op. cit., already ad-
dressed the issue of the etymologies and suggested that they may well have been drawn from
special lists in Greek, as attested elsewhere. Niehoff, Jewish Exegesis (see n. 11), 133–151,
has moreover shown that Philo never solves a textual problem raised by critical colleagues by
recourse to the Hebrew, which would in many cases have solved the problem. Disputes over
the meaning of the Jewish Bible were thus handled in Alexandria in the exclusively Greek
context of the Septuagint.
13 Migr. 176–178: “Ἀβραὰμ δὲ ἦν” φησίν “ἐτῶν ἑβδομήκοντα πέντε, ὅτε ἐξῆλθεν ἐκ Χαρ­

ράν” (Gen 12:4). περὶ μὲν οὖν τοῦ τῶν πέντε καὶ ἑβδομήκοντα ἐτῶν ἀριθμοῦ λόγον γὰρ ἔχει
συνῳδὸν τοῖς πρόσθεν εἰρημένοις αὖθις ἀκριβώσομεν. τίς δέ ἐστι Χαρρὰν καὶ τίς ἡ ἐκ ταύτης
178 Maren R. Niehoff

Initially, we note that Philo takes for granted Moses’s authorship of the To-
rah. His literary style and choice of expressions consequently require detailed
study. Philo addresses readers well versed in the Bible and able to note con-
nections between different biblical passages. Since no “pagan” author before
Christianity is known to have taken such a keen interest in the Bible, Philo
could only expect fellow Jews to raise questions regarding both the details
and the larger context. The scholarly study of the Torah was evidently shared
among elite members of the Jewish community in Alexandria and seems to
have constituted a significant part of their identity.
Philo starts his interpretation by quoting the Septuagint text and then para-
phrasing it with emphasis on vocabulary of migration and colonization. He
speaks of ἀποικία and μετανίστημι instead of the biblical verb ἐξέρχομαι. Phi-
lo’s terms suggest that Chaldea is home and the land of Israel the foreign place,
which needs to be colonized – not a view conducive to pilgrimage to the Je-
rusalem Temple. Philo moreover addresses a specific textual problem in the
above quoted passages. Referring to Terah’s death, mentioned in the previous
biblical chapter, he interprets Gen 12:4 by juxtaposition to Gen 11:31, where
Abraham has already been presented as leaving Chaldea in the company of his
father Terah and his family. The divine revelation in Gen 12:1 thus appears
problematic, as Abraham had already reached Haran and did not require God
to tell him to depart from Chaldea. This apparent contradiction between verses
is solved nowadays by reference to the different sources of the Bible. How did
Philo solve it almost two thousand years ago?
Philo insisted on the overall coherence of the Bible, stressing that Moses
“was in the habit of perfectly remembering the principles laid down from the
beginning, deeming it right to bring [his statements] into harmony and render
them consistent and agreeable with his previous statements.” 14 The contradic-
tion between Gen 11:31 and 12:4 is thus resolved and shown to be an appear-
ance without real basis. Philo takes recourse to allegory and points to different
levels of meaning:
It is said that Terah left the land of Chaldea and migrated to Haran, taking with him his son
Abraham and his kindred, not with the object that we may learn as from a writer of history,
that certain people became emigrants, leaving the land of their ancestors, and making a for-
eign land their home and country, but that a lesson most useful for life and suitable for man
may not be neglected. What is this lesson? The Chaldeans are astronomers, while the citizens
of Haran busy themselves with the place of the senses. Accordingly, the Holy Logos says the

ἀποικία τῆς χώρας, πρότερον ἐρευνήσωμεν. οὐδένα τοίνυν τῶν ἐντετυχηκότων τοῖς νόμοις
ἀγνοεῖν εἰκός, ὅτι πρότερον μὲν ἐκ τῆς Χαλδαϊκῆς ἀναστὰς γῆς Ἀβραὰμ ᾤκησεν εἰς Χαρράν,
τελευτήσαντος δὲ αὐτῷ τοῦ πατρὸς ἐκεῖθι κἀκ ταύτης μετανίσταται, ὡς δυεῖν ἤδη τόπων
ἀπόλειψιν πεποιῆσθαι. τί οὖν λεκτέον; Χαλδαῖοι τῶν ἄλλων ἀνθρώπων ἐκπεπονηκέναι καὶ
διαφερόντως δοκοῦσιν ἀστρονομίαν καὶ γενεθλιαλογικήν, τὰ ἐπίγεια τοῖς μετεώροις καὶ τὰ
οὐράνια τοῖς ἐπὶ γῆς ἁρμοζόμενοι.
14 Det. 81: καὶ μὴν τῶν ἐξ ἀρχῆς ὑποθέσεων ἄκρως εἴωθε διαμεμνῆσθαι τὰ ἀκόλουθα καὶ

ὁμολογούμενα τοῖς προτἐροις δικαιῶν ἐφαρμόττειν.

 Constructing Temple and Torah in Philo of Alexandria 179

following to the explorer of the facts of nature: Why do you carry on investigations about the
sun, as to whether it is a foot in diameter, whether it is larger than the whole earth, whether
it is many times its size? And about the illuminations of the moon, whether it has a borrowed
light, or whether it uses one entirely its own? And why do you search into the nature of the
other heavenly bodies, or into their revolutions or the ways in which they affect each other
and affect earthly things? 15

In this remarkable passage Philo distinguishes Moses from a historian who

depicts real facts. The report of Abraham’s migration to the land of Israel is
not of such a kind, but rather conveys the idea of a choice between different
worldviews. Philo has solved the problem of a contradiction between verses by
identifying one as historically correct and interpreting the other one allegori-
cally. In this case Philo has chosen Gen 12:1 as true, while insisting that Gen
11:31 cannot be taken as if “from a writer of history” (ὡς παρὰ συγγραφέως
ἱστορικοῦ). Philo allegorizes Chaldea and Haran as places of astrology and
sense-perception, suggesting that such enquiries into the material nature of the
world must be left behind. Attempts to observe God, the creator and provider of
the universe, are unacceptable and doomed to failure. Philo calls his readers “to
leave behind the lurking-places of sense-perception, called Haran” and adopt
Abraham as a model of progress, since he advanced from sense-perception
to inward inquiry. Abraham ultimately discovers his total nothingness before
God. This intellectual and religious trajectory makes the inquirer also aware of
“the nothingness in all respects of created being” (τὴν ἐν πᾶσι τοῦ γενητοῦ […]
οὐδένειαν, Somn. 1.60).
Let’s briefly look at two further examples, which highlight features of Phi-
lo’s Torah study. The first passage shows his deep immersion in the Scriptures
as well as his strong transcendental orientation:
Wherefore, even though it be said somewhere in the lawbook “God in heaven above and on
the earth below” (Deut 4:39), let no one suppose that He is spoken of, since it is established
that the existent Being contains, but is not contained. May [the reader instead recognize] His
potency by which He established and ordered and marshaled the whole realm of being.16

15 Somn. 1.52–53: καταλιπὼν μέντοι τὴν Χαλδαίαν γῆν εἰς Χαρρὰν λέγεται μετανίστασθαι

Θάρρα, τόν τε υἱὸν Ἀβραὰμ καὶ τοὺς ὁμογνίους τῆς οἰκίας ἐπαγόμενος, οὐχ ἵν’ ὡς παρὰ συγ­
γραφέως ἱστορικοῦ μάθωμεν, ὅτι μετανάσται τινὲς ἐγένοντο, τὴν μὲν πατρῴαν γῆν κατα­
λιπόντες, τὴν δὲ ξένην ὡς πατρίδα οἰκήσαντες, ἀλλ’ ὑπὲρ τοῦ μάθημα βιωφελέστατον καὶ
ἁρμόττον ἀνθρώπῳ μὴ ἀμεληθῆναι. τί δὲ τοῦτό ἐστι; Χαλδαῖοι μὲν ἀστρονομοῦσιν, οἱ δὲ τῆς
Χαρρὰν πολῖται περὶ τὸν τῶν αἰσθήσεων τόπον πραγματεύονται. φησὶν οὖν ὁ ἱερὸς λόγος τῷ
κατασκόπῳ τῶν τῆς φύσεως πραγμάτων· τί περὶ ἡλίου ζητεῖς, εἰ ποδιαῖός ἐστιν, εἰ τῆς γῆς
μεί­ζων ἁπάσης, εἰ πολλαπλάσιος αὐτῆς; τί δὲ περὶ φωτισμῶν σελήνης, εἰ νόθον ἔχει φέγγος,
εἰ γνησίῳ μόνῳ χρῆται; τί δὲ περὶ τῆς τῶν ἄλλων ἀστέρων φύσεως ἢ περιφορᾶς ἢ συμπαθείας
πρός τε ἀλλήλους καὶ τἀπίγεια;
16 Migr. 182–183: διό, κἄν που τῆς νομοθεσίας λέγηται “ὁ θεὸς ἐν τῷ οὐρανῷ ἄνω καὶ

ἐπὶ τῆς γῆς κάτω” (Deut 4:39), μηδεὶς ὑποτοπησάτω τὸν κατὰ τὸ εἶναι λέγεσθαι τὸ γὰρ ὂν
πε­ρι­έχειν ἀλλ’ οὐ περιέχεσθαι θέμις, δύναμιν δ’ αὐτοῦ, καθ’ ἣν ἔθηκε καὶ διετάξατο καὶ δι­
εκόσμησε τὰ ὅλα.
180 Maren R. Niehoff

Philo not only juxtaposes verses, interpreting Gen 12:1 by a verse from Deu-
teronomy, but also assumes a comprehensive knowledge of the Bible. The
ex­pression “somewhere in the lawbook” (που τῆς νομοθεσίας) indicates that
Phi­lo writes from memory, drawing on his familiarity with the five books of
Moses, which he probably acquired already in childhood. He presupposes the
same kind of familiarity in his Jewish readers, to whom he does not have to
explain any basics. The verses and their respective contexts were apparently
recognized by them, thanks to their immersion in Torah study. Furthermore,
Philo is concerned to explain a theology of absolute transcendence. Opposing
anthropomorphic images, he introduces the notion of mediating powers, which
encounter the human realm.17
Philo’s interpretation of man’s creation according to the second account in
Gen 2 throws further light on the fabric of his Bible commentary. He emerges
as an exegete, who takes multiple perspectives into account:
Someone may inquire why God generally considered worthy of the Divine spirit the earth-
born and body-loving mind and not the mind born in the image of the Ideal Form and in
his own image. Second, [one may inquire] what is the precise meaning of the expression
“breathed into”? Third, why was it breathed “into the face”? Fourth, why does he mention
the word “breath” rather than “spirit” even though he knows the latter word, as when he said
“and the spirit of God was lying upon the water” (Gen 1:2 LXX)? In response to the first
question one thing must be said, namely, that God is generous and happily provides good
things to everyone, even to the imperfect, inviting them to partnership and emulation of
virtue as well as showing his own overwhelming wealth, which suffices even for those who
will not derive very much profit from it. This he showed most clearly also concerning other
matters. Another explanation that needs to be mentioned is the following: he wants to intro-
duce principles of righteousness to the ordinances. The one into whom no true life has been
breathed, but is unacquainted with virtue, when being punished for his sins, might say that he
is punished without justification, seeing that it is through unfamiliarity with the good that he
failed in respect of it, and that he is to blame who breathed no notion of it into him. He will
perhaps say that he has not sinned at all, if, as some say, acts committed involuntarily or out
of ignorance are not reckoned as wrongs.18

17 For details, see Niehoff, Philo of Alexandria (see n. 8), 209–224.

18 Leg. 1.33–35: ζητήσαι δ’ ἄν τις, διὰ τί ἠξίωσεν ὁ θεὸς ὅλως τὸν γηγενῆ καὶ φιλοσώματον
νοῦν πνεύματος θείου, ἀλλ’ οὐχὶ τὸν κατὰ τὴν ἰδέαν γεγονότα καὶ τὴν εἰκόνα ἑαυτοῦ·δεύτερον
δέ, τί ἐστι τὸ “ἐνεφύσησε·” τρίτον, διὰ τί εἰς τὸ πρόσωπον ἐμπνεῖται· τέταρτον, διὰ τί πνεύ­
ματος ὄνομα εἰδώς, ὅταν λέγῃ “καὶ πνεῦμα θεοῦ ἐπεφέρετο ἐπάνω τοῦ ὕδατος” (Gen 1:2),
πνοῆς νῦν ἀλλ’ οὐχὶ πνεύματος μέμνηται. πρὸς μὲν οὖν τὸ πρῶτον λεκτέον ἓν μέν, ὅτι φιλό­
δωρος ὢν ὁ θεὸς χαρίζεται τὰ ἀγαθὰ πᾶσι καὶ τοῖς μὴ τελείοις, προκαλούμενος αὐτοὺς εἰς
μετουσίαν καὶ ζῆλον ἀρετῆς ἅμα καὶ τὸν περιττὸν πλοῦτον ἐπιδεικνύμενος αὑτοῦ, ὅτι ἐξ­
αρκεῖ καὶ τοῖς μὴ λίαν ὠφεληθησομένοις. τοῦτο δὲ καὶ ἐπὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἐμφαντικώτατα παρίσ­
τησιν […] ἕτερον δὲ λεκτέον ἐκεῖνο· βούλεται τὰ θέσει δίκαια εἰσαγαγεῖν. ὁ μὲν οὖν μὴ
ἐμ­πνευσθεὶς τὴν ἀληθινὴν ζωήν, ἀλλ’ ἄπειρος ὢν ἀρετῆς, κολαζόμενος ἐφ’ οἷς ἡμάρτανεν
εἶ­πεν ἂν ὡς ἀδίκως κολάζεται, ἀπειρίᾳ γὰρ τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ σφάλλεσθαι περὶ αὐτό, αἴτιον δὲ εἶναι
τὸν μηδεμίαν ἐμπνεύσαντα ἔννοιαν αὐτοῦ τάχα δὲ μηδὲ ἁμαρτάνειν φήσει τὸ παράπαν, εἴ γε
τὰ ἀκούσια καὶ κατὰ ἄγνοιαν οὐδὲ ἀδικημάτων ἔχειν λόγον φασί τινες.
 Constructing Temple and Torah in Philo of Alexandria 181

Philo’s engagement of multiple perspectives and possible questions that may

be raised conveys the impression of a vibrant community of Bible interpreters
in Alexandria. Unlike the community at Qumran,19 the Alexandrians did not
rely on revelation to support their interpretation, but rather developed textu-
al arguments, some of which related to theology. Philo engages, shapes and
reflects a highly scriptural culture, revolving around the canonical text as a
backbone of identity. To be sure, this Jewish identity is highly elitist, presup-
posing not only a good education, but also leisure to engage in studies. Many
of the Jews of Alexandria will never have had a chance to participate in these
scholastic discourses, but Philo and his colleagues enthusiastically set them up
to develop elevated Jewish culture and fashion themselves as Jewish scholars
parallel to the Homeric scholars of their hometown.

2. Temple and Torah in Philo’s Later Writings

The inverse picture of Torah and Temple immerges in Philo’s later works, ad-
dressed to a broader Greco-Roman audience. As we may expect, Philo no lon-
ger engages in systematic commentary activity, which would be very hard for
non-Jews to follow. Instead of quoting verses, raising problems and offering
solutions, he presents the Jewish tradition in a general narrative for readers
with no background. As I have argued elsewhere, this remarkable shift of lit-
erary genres is connected to Philo’s move to Rome, where he acted as an am-
bassador of the Jewish community of Alexandria and began to use the time
of waiting for an imperial audience by addressing Roman intellectuals.20 In
Rome, where Philo spent at least three years in connection with the Jewish
embassy, no commentary culture had developed and Roman intellectuals, such
as Seneca, even expressed disdain for “hairsplitting” questions.21 Appealing
to an audience with such an intellectual background, Philo developed a new
language to speak about Judaism and the Jews. Moving away from biblical
interpretation as a prime focus of Jewish identity, he now stresses the Roman
character of the Jews and their religion. They emerge as excellent citizens of
the empire and their religion is said to center around the temple in Jerusalem.
The Roman dimension of Philo’s new construction of Jewish identity is im-
mediately visible in the following passage:
He [Augustus] neither ejected them from Rome nor deprived them of their Roman citizen-
ship because they were careful to preserve their Jewish citizenship also, nor took any vio-
lent measures against the houses of prayer, nor prevented them from meeting for guidance
in the laws, nor opposed their offerings of the first-fruits. On the contrary, he related to our
traditions with such religious reverence that he, with the support of his household, adorned

19 See esp. 1QpHab 7:4–6.

20 For details, see Niehoff, Philo of Alexandria (see n. 8).
21 Seneca, Dial. 10.13.1; Lucian, Ver. hist. 2.20.
182 Maren R. Niehoff

our temple through the costliness of his dedications, and ordered that for all time continuous
sacrifices of whole burnt offerings should be carried out every day at his own expense as a
tribute to the most high God. And these sacrifices are maintained to the present day and will
be maintained for ever to tell the story of a character truly imperial.22

The Jerusalem Temple plays here a central role in defining Jewish identity in
the Roman Empire. The emperor himself recognizes this institution and even
supports it, thus acknowledging the God of the Jews and their religious values.
Sacrifice, parallel to instruction in the law in the synagogues, plays a defining
role, which both integrates the Jews into wider discourses and renders them
understandable. Indeed, Philo’s emphasis of the Jerusalem Temple in the con-
text of his embassy to Rome resonates well with Roman predilections for cult
and ritual. In Rome political leaders regularly assumed priestly roles and from
Augustus onwards the emperors functioned as pontifex maximus or high priest,
exercising all-encompassing religious powers throughout the empire. More-
over, the Roman scholar Varro focused his discussion of religion on the cult
rather than on texts, assigning it philosophical significance.
The Temple is also significant in the greatest crisis with Rome, namely,
when Gaius Caligula decides to set up a statue of his own person in response to
an incident of Jewish vandalism to a “pagan” shrine in Palaestina.23 Philo tells
this story as part of his narrative of the embassy in Rome. He presents bits and
pieces in different places, not aiming for a chronological account, but rather
for a dramatically effective picture. While his own role in the embassy was
criticized by fellow Jews back in Alexandria, apparently for his too pro-Roman
course, Philo stresses the importance of the Temple as the center of Jewish
identity, which defines the features of Judaism both internally and externally.
As he recalls it, the ambassadors first heard about Gaius’s plans under the fol-
lowing circumstances:
While we were anxiously considering the statement of our case, since we were always ex-
pecting to be summoned, there came to us one with a troubled look in his bloodshot eyes and
gasping convulsively. He drew us a little way apart since there were some people standing
near and said, “Have you heard the new tidings?” and when he was going to report it he was
brought up short, as a flood of tears streamed from his eyes. He began again and the second
time stopped short and so too a third time. When we saw this, we were all in a flutter and bade
him tell us the matter which he said had brought him there. “For,” we said, “you have not
come just to have your weeping witnessed. If the facts are worth tears do not be the only one

22 Legat. 157: οὔτε ἐξῴκισε τῆς Ῥώμης ἐκείνους οὔτε τὴν Ῥωμαϊκὴν αὐτῶν ἀφείλετο πο­

λι­τείαν, ὅτι καὶ τῆς Ἰουδαϊκῆς ἐφρόντιζον, οὔτε ἐνεωτέρισεν εἰς τὰς προσευχὰς οὔτε ἐκώ­λυ­σε
συνάγεσθαι πρὸς τὰς τῶν νόμων ὑφηγήσεις οὔτε ἠναντιώθη τοῖς ἀπαρχομένοις, ἀλλ’ οὕτως
ὡσίωτο περὶ τὰ ἡμέτερα, ὥστε μόνον οὐ πανοίκιος ἀναθημάτων πολυτελείαις τὸ ἱε­ρὸν ἡμῶν
ἐκόσμησε, προστάξας καὶ διαιωνίους ἀνάγεσθαι θυσίας ἐντελεχεῖς ὁλοκαύτους καθ’ ἑκάστην
ἡμέραν ἐκ τῶν ἰδίων προσόδων ἀπαρχὴν τῷ ὑψίστῳ θεῷ, αἳ καὶ μέχρι νῦν ἐπιτελοῦνται καὶ
εἰς ἅπαν ἐπιτελεσθήσονται, μήνυμα τρόπων ὄντως αὐτοκρατορικῶν.
23 Legat. 200–203; see also M. E. Smallwood, Philonis Alexandrini Legatio ad Gaium

(Lei­den: Brill, 1961), 260–265.

 Constructing Temple and Torah in Philo of Alexandria 183

to feel sorrow. We have become inured to misfortunes by now.” He managed with difficulty
while sobbing and breathing spasmodically to say, “Our temple is lost, Gaius has ordered a
colossal statue to be set up within the inner sanctuary dedicated to himself under the name
of Zeus.” 24

Philo describes this moment of crisis in overtly personal terms and recalls a
lively exchange between the unsuspecting ambassadors and a messenger, who
is too shocked to break the horrifying news and needs to be encouraged to de-
liver his information piecemeal. Such messenger scenes are well-known from
Classical tragedy and have been introduced in the second century BCE to Jew-
ish literature. Ezekiel the Tragedian, an Alexandrian Jew, uses the messenger
in his play on the exodus to depict the battle between the Israelites and the
Egyptians at the Red Sea.25 While Ezekiel has limited the messenger’s role to
a factual report, which solves the problem of bringing a battle onto the stage,
Philo imagines a highly emotional exchange between two parties. His scene
has probably been inspired by Aeschylus’s play The Persians and looks like
a conscious dramatization of the embassy.26 Both Philo and Aeschylus stress
the utter surprise of the innocent listeners by making them look at “someone,”
who turns out to be the harbinger of the bad news. In both cases the messenger
starts out by “gasping tremendously” or expressing “woes.” While Aeschylus
dramatizes the scene by introducing the chorus’s lamentations, Philo describes
in detail how the messenger collapses under his tears and is unable to speak.
In contrast to the messenger, the Jewish ambassadors remain self-composed
and succeed to extract from him the unutterable: “our Temple is lost, Gaius has
ordered a colossal statue to be set up within the inner sanctuary dedicated to
himself under the name of Zeus.”
The ambassadors react with a similar sort of consternation as the Persian
king’s mother in Aeschylus’s play, who grasps the defeat of her son’s army.
While she tries to orient herself in a world, where only her son has survived,
Philo and his fellow ambassadors digest the new reality dawning on them:

24 Legat. 186–188: φροντίζουσι δὲ ἡμῖν τῆς ὑποθέσεως – ἀεὶ γὰρ κληθήσεσθαι προσεδο­
κῶμεν – προσέρχεταί τις ὕφαιμόν τι καὶ ταραχῶδες ὑποβλεπόμενος, ἄσθματος μεστός, καὶ
μικρὸν ἀπὸ τῶν ἄλλων ἀπαγαγών – πλησίον γὰρ ἦσάν τινες – “ἠκούσατε” ἔφη “τὰ καινά;”
καὶ μέλλων ἀπαγγέλλειν ἐπεσχέθη, δακρύων ἀθρόας φορᾶς ἐνεχθείσης. καὶ πάλιν ἀρξάμενος
δεύτερον ἐπεσχέθη καὶ τρίτον. ἅπερ ὁρῶντες ἡμεῖς ἐπτοήμεθα καὶ παρεκαλοῦμεν μηνῦσαι
τὸ πρᾶγμα, οὗ χάριν ἐλθεῖν ἔφασκεν· “οὐ γὰρ ἕνεκα τοῦ διὰ μαρτύρων κλαίειν εἰ δὲ ἄξια δα­
κρύων ἐστί, μὴ μόνος ἀπόλαυε τῆς λύπης·ἐθάδες γεγόναμεν ἤδη κακοπραγιῶν.”
25 Ezek. Trag., Exagoge frag. 15 (C. R. Holladay, ed., Fragments from Hellenistic Jewish

Authors, vol. 2: Poets [Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1989]); see also P. Lanfranchi, L’Exagoge
d’Ezéchiel le Tragique: Introduction, texte, traduction et commentaire, SVTP 21 (Leiden:
Brill, 2006), 250–251; T. Whitmarsh, Beyond the Second Sophistic: Adventures in Greek
Post­classicism (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2013), 218–220.
26 Philo mentions Aeschylus in Prob. 143 and has used scenes from The Persians to inter-

pret the biblical battle at the Red Sea (for details, see M. R. Niehoff, Philo on Jewish Identity
and Culture, TSAJ 86 [Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001], 52–58).
184 Maren R. Niehoff

“struck by his words and fixed by consternation, we could not move, but stood
speechless and powerless, with our hearts melted and our bodies unnerved,
while others appeared bringing the same terrible news. Afterwards we all gath-
ered together in seclusion and bewailed the disaster personal to each and com-
mon to all and we recounted in detail such thoughts as the mind suggested, for
the unfortunate man talks without end” (Legat. 189–190). Philo has created a
dramatic and noble scene, which illustrates the dimensions of the disaster. The
prospective desecration of the Jerusalem Temple would be a deathblow to Ju-
daism as Philo understands it.
The messenger scene leads immediately to Philo’s definition of new pri-
orities. He stresses that the purity of the Temple is an issue of life and death,
which requires even martyrdom “in the defense of the laws” (Legat. 192). Philo
moreover explains that the embassy must now give priority to the Temple issue
rather than negotiate the civic rights of the Alexandrian Jews. This decision is
obviously controversial, because Philo makes special efforts to justify it. He
initially stresses that the Temple concerns all the Jews, while the question of
Jewish rights in Alexandria is more local. Then he asks: “how can it be right
and proper to struggle vainly to prove that we are Alexandrians, when over our
head hangs the danger threatening the whole of the Jewish commonwealth?”
(Legat. 194). Philo must have used the term “Alexandrian” in the technical
sense of civic rights, because the dwelling of the Jews in the city was an ob-
vious fact requiring no proof.27 When Philo justifies himself for neglecting
to “show that we are Alexandrians,” he seems to respond to criticism that his
embassy is not sufficiently devoted to the issue of the legal status of the Al-
exandrian Jews. He even confronts such harsh questions as why he and his
ambassadors do not resign from political life and go home (Legat. 195). Philo
responds to such accusations of incompetence by a strong theological message:
“the truly noble are always full of hope and the laws create good hopes for
those who study them in depth and do not just pay lip-service. Perhaps these
things are a trial of the present generation, to see how inclined it is to virtue
and whether it has been trained to bear misfortune with unfaltering reason and
without stumbling. All human aid vanishes – let it vanish! But let our hope in
God, our Savior, who has often saved our nation from hopeless and impossible
situations, remain unshaken in our souls” (Legat. 195–196).
The highlight of Philo’s story is the ambassadors’ second meeting with Ga­
ius, which enables him not only to describe the climax of the political crisis,
but also the contours of Jewish identity. As he recalls it, the situation was lost
from the beginning: “entering [Gaius’s presence], we immediately realized
from his look and movements that we had come not to a judge but an accuser

27 On the term “Alexandrian,” see V. Tcherikover and A. Fuks, CPJ 1, p. 41 n. 102; Small-

wood, Legatio (see n. 23), 27–31, 255; J. J. Collins, Between Athens and Jerusalem: Jewish
Iden­tity in the Hellenistic Diaspora, The Biblical Resource Series (Grand Rapids, Mich.:
Eerd­mans), 113–122.
 Constructing Temple and Torah in Philo of Alexandria 185

of those more hostile than our enemy” (Legat. 349). While Philo is eager to
present Ga­ius as a “ruthless tyrant” on the grotesque stage of history, the worst
he can say about him is that he poked fun at Jewish customs. Stressing that he
and his fellow ambassadors are “seized by a profound terror” and “helpless
under such befooling and reviling,” Philo stages a clash of civilizations. While
the issue of Alexandrian citizenship is no longer discussed, Gaius shows inter-
est in the Jews’ peculiar customs and opens the meeting by a sneering question:
“are you the god haters, who do not believe me to be a god?” Philo stresses the
Jews’ otherness by introducing the perspective of the Egyptian embassy, which
is said to rejoice at this opening and, dancing about, invokes blessings on Ga­
ius. Philo further writes that the emperor poked fun at Jewish food customs,
asking: “why do you refuse to eat pork?” This question, too, is enthusiastically
greeted by the Egyptians, who thus confirm Judaism’s unique nature and clash
with Egyptian values.
In Philo’s narrative the Jewish ambassadors focus on religion and explain to
the emperor that “different people have different customs” (Legat. 362). The
meeting between Gaius and the Jewish ambassadors is presented as a stage
for constructing Jewish difference. This scenario fits neither the context of the
civic dispute in Alexandria nor the threat of a statue in the Jerusalem Temple.
Neither Gaius nor the ambassadors mention these topics. Most strikingly, the
issue of Gaius’s deification is not connected to the prospect of his statue in the
Jerusalem Temple; and the subject of Jewish customs does not lead to a dis-
cussion of Alexandrian citizenship. Philo’s scene is historically unlikely and
primarily serves his overall theological purposes. The pillars of Jewish other-
ness, which he highlights, namely, monotheism, special food laws, and inher-
ent opposition to Egyptian values, resurface in his Exposition. Philo declares
essential features of Judaism, as he never did before in his earlier Alexandrian
writings. It is under a critical gaze from the center of Roman power that Philo,
as other Greek authors in the empire, formulates his specific ethnic identity.28
Philo’s historical writings thus point to the Jerusalem Temple as a focus of
Jewish identity at a time when the civic rights of the Alexandrian Jews were
publicly discussed and given central attention by his home constituency. The
Temple creates common grounds among the Jews throughout the empire and
represents the religion vis-à-vis the Roman emperor. In times of good relations,
the Temple in Jerusalem is honored and financially supported, while in times
of crisis it is threatened to be desecrated. It symbolizes both Jewish integration
and potential otherness.
This picture is complemented by Philo’s discussion of pilgrimage in his
treatises on Jewish law, which also belong to the mature stage of his career. He

28 For Greek strategies of constructing identity in a Roman context, see T. Whitmarsh,

“Thinking Local,” in Local Knowledge and Microidentities in the Imperial Greek World, ed.
T. Whitmarsh (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 1–16; S. Goldhill, “What Is
Local Identity? The Politics of Cultural Mapping,” ibid., 46–68.
186 Maren R. Niehoff

depicts it as a journey, which tests the worshiper’s true intentions and prompts
fresh commitment. Its ultimate destination seems to be rather more marginal.
Pilgrimage is necessary, Philo explains, because the One God has only One
Temple, so that everybody must come up to Jerusalem. Philo expands the ap-
proach of the Book of Deuteronomy, which already established Jerusalem as
the only place chosen by God to “put His name and make his habitation there.”
In Philo’s view, monotheism justifies the exclusiveness of the Jerusalem Tem-
ple and requires every Israelite to leave behind family, friends and fatherland
in order to “live abroad” and render service to God. Philo speaks of such jour-
neys as tokens of insurance that the sacrifice will be offered in a “pure spirit,”
because only the person “drawn by the more powerful attraction of piety” can
endure detachment from everything known and dear.29
Philo supports his argument by pointing to the reality of pilgrimage in his
own days. “Countless multitudes from countless cities,” he says, come at each
feast from the ends of the earth to the Jerusalem Temple in the hope of find-
ing a “safe shelter from meddlesome and turbulent life.” According to Philo,
the pilgrims “seek to find good weather and release from worries, which have
joked and burdened them from their earliest youth, to spend some time taking
respite in cheerful tranquility.” He moreover speaks of their “leisure time” be-
ing devoted to “holiness and the honoring of God” and of the friendships that
are formed between people who did not know each other beforehand (Spec.
1.67–70).
This description of pilgrimage has often been taken as historical evidence
for the popularity of pilgrimage during the Second Temple period. For many
readers Philo’s reference confirms the obvious, namely, that ancient Jews ob-
served the Torah, which enjoins every male Jew to go three times a year on a
pilgrimage to Jerusalem (Exod 23:17). Others have been more cautious, stress-
ing that there is little evidence for massive Jewish pilgrimage during the First
Temple period, while the phenomenon may subsequently have expanded. On
such estimations, pilgrimage in the Roman period was not very developed.30
Philo’s image of pilgrimage must be appreciated as a literary construct with
important theological and cultural implications for contemporaneous Juda-
ism. Philo’s reference to “countless multitudes from countless cities” provides
the first clue. This expression is a literary exaggeration reminiscent of similar
expressions in the historical writings, where Philo constructs Jewish identity
around the notion of Jerusalem as the mother-city of the Jews throughout the
world. Moreover, Philo depicts pilgrimage in nostalgic terms as a return to a
pure form of Judaism. The individual person is supposedly no longer distracted
by worldly concerns – as if pilgrimage itself did not require considerable prac-

29 Spec. 1.67–68; Deut 12:5–18.

30 See esp. M. Goodman, “The Pilgrimage Economy of Jerusalem in the Second Temple
Period,” in Jerusalem: Its Sanctity and Centrality to Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, ed.
L. I. Levine (New York: Continuum, 1999), 69–76.
 Constructing Temple and Torah in Philo of Alexandria 187

tical management – and is completely devoted to holiness. Pilgrimage offers a

welcome opportunity of socializing and re-constituting the Jewish people as a
homogeneous nation oriented towards philosophy. Philo creates a religious fo-
cus for his people, which is devoid of national and political connotations. The
Temple defines Jewish identity. In a world populated by many local temples,
but only one emperor, Jewish culture neatly fits into the wider landscape of the
empire without competing with contemporary structures of power.

3. Conclusion

Our study of Torah and Temple in Philo’s writings has shown the flexibility of
his definition of Judaism, which emerges as contingent on varying cultural and
political contexts. As an elite member of the Alexandrian Jewish community,
Philo initially focused on Bible study as the backbone of his intellectual activi-
ty. He addresses fellow Jews similarly oriented towards the Scriptures and their
interpretation. Arriving in Rome as the head of the Jewish embassy to Gaius
Caligula, however, Philo addressed new audiences with different intellectual
backgrounds than those he was used to in his hometown. Aware of the exigenc-
es of the hour and inspired by the new intellectual impulses he encountered in
Rome, Philo conceived of Judaism in new terms, giving special emphasis to the
Temple in Jerusalem as the center of Jewish identity.
 Paul as Persecutor and the History of Judaism
Martin Goodman

Previous studies of Paul as a Jew have been concerned to explain the origins of
Christianity against the background of Judaism in Paul’s time as known from
other sources.1 The current study attempts something quite different by exam-
ining the value of references to the pre-Christian Paul as persecutor as evidence
for the prevalence of violence in response to religious differences within Ju-
daism more generally in the late Second Temple period. It may be hoped that
this brief discussion will raise wider questions about the best way to use early
Christian writings in constructions of ancient Judaism.
It is uncontroversial to observe that, although all forms of Judaism in the
first century CE shared a common core based on the covenant between God and
Israel enshrined in the Torah, interpretations of the Torah varied greatly. Philo
bears testimony to the existence of some Jews who saw no point in observing
the laws of circumcision, sabbath and festivals in any literal fashion because
they believed that these laws should be understood entirely on an allegori-
cal level.2 Josephus noted the emergence by the mid-second century BCE of
groups (αἱρέσεις) of Jews dedicated to specific forms of Torah interpretation.3
Discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls, which revealed the existence in the same
period of sectarian Jews who shared some but not all of the characteristics of
the groups described by Josephus, makes it likely that the number of such dis-
tinctive groups considerably exceeded the total enumerated by Josephus, as
was already plausible from references by Philo and Tannaitic rabbis to Jewish
groups absent from Josephus’s historical narrative.4
But it is by no means obvious that the prevalence of groups committed to
different religious ideas and behavior should have led to violence rather than
acceptance of difference. A model for religious violence was of course avail-
able to all Jews in this period through the biblical precedent of the zealous
behavior of Phinehas in Num 25:7–13. In Judea, the example of Phinehas was

1 G. Boccaccini and C. A. Segovia, eds., Paul the Jew: Rereading the Apostle as a Figure

of Second Temple Judaism (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2016); P. Fredriksen, When Christians

Were Jews: The First Generation (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2018).
2 Philo, Migr. 89–93.
3 Josephus, A. J. 13.297–298.
4 M. Goodman, “Josephus and Variety in First-Century Judaism,” in Judaism in the Ro­

man World: Collected Essays, Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity 66 (Leiden: Brill,
2007), 33–46.
190 Martin Goodman

specifically evoked by the author of First Maccabees in his account of Matta-

thias’s slaughter of a Jew who was taking part in a pagan sacrifice at the begin-
ning of the Maccabean revolt.5 It is plausible that the Zealots, who constituted
a distinct group in Jerusalem during the last stages of the war against Rome in
66–70 CE, adopted this name also as a way to align themselves with the ide-
ology of Phinehas, although it is not easy to discern from Josephus’s detailed
narrative of their behavior in what ways their zeal was based on religious en-
thusiasm beyond their dedication to preserving worship in the Temple.6 The
Qumran sectarians retained memories of violence perpetrated by a “wicked
priest” against their community at some point in the past.7 Josephus reported
the persecution of Pharisees by Alexander Jannaeus in the first half of the first
century BCE, although it is unclear to what extent this was motivated by reli-
gious rather than political concerns.8 Josephus reported also that James, “the
brother of Jesus who was called the Christ,” was delivered up to be stoned
after being accused by the Sadducee high priest Ananus in 62 CE of having
transgressed the law, although whether the laws he had allegedly broken were
religious rather than political is unclear.9 In the diaspora, Philo appears to have
endorsed Jewish vigilante reactions to non-conformity to the Torah in his dis-
cussion of the special laws in Deut 13:2–12 about the summary execution to be
meted out to false prophets and apostates,10 although his insistence elsewhere
that other biblical accounts of the slaughter of deviants were not to be taken
literally should encourage caution in imagining Jewish vigilantes on the street
of Alexandria in his time.11
Despite such possibilities for religious violence, there are strong grounds
for assuming that toleration of religious differences was general within Jewish
society in this period.12 In Judea, it is striking that, although Josephus referred
explicitly to controversies between Pharisees and Sadducees over the role of
ancestral tradition in interpreting the Torah,13 and although disputes between
these groups on major religious issues such as purity regulations are attested in

5 1 Macc 2:15–28.
6 Josephus, B. J. 7.268–270; for a maximalist interpretation, see M. Hengel, Die Zeloten:
Untersuchungen zur jüdischen Freiheitsbewegung in der Zeit von Herodes I. bis 70 n. Chr.,
ed. R. Deines and C.-J. Thornton, 3rd ed. (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011).
7 1QpHab 11:3–7.
8 Josephus, A. J. 13.372–373, 380, 401–406.
9 Josephus, A. J. 20.200.
10 Philo, Spec. 1.54–57, 315–317; 2.252–254; cf. T. Seland, Establishment Violence in

Philo and Luke: A Study of Non-conformity to the Torah and Jewish Vigilante Reactions,
BibInt 15 (Leiden: Brill, 1995).
11 Philo, Ebr. 66–70, cited in D. Winston, review of Establishment Violence in Philo and

Luke, by T. Seland, JQR 88 (1998), 372–374, at 373.

12 M. Goodman et al., Toleration within Judaism (Oxford: Littman Library of Jewish

Civ­ilization, 2013).
13 Josephus, A. J. 13.297–298.
 Paul as Persecutor and the History of Judaism 191

rabbinic texts,14 nonetheless Pharisees and Sadducees seem to have shared the
one Temple.15 Inevitably, one group or the other, or both, must have made com-
promises. Toleration was particularly likely in the diaspora. Jews were living
in a polytheistic world in which attempts to change the religious attitudes of
others were rare,16 and the apologetic claim put forward by Josephus in Contra
Apionem that Jews were exceptional in the unity and uniformity of their reli-
gious practices and beliefs (in contrast to the multiplicity of divinities, shrines,
myths, and customs among Greeks) would have been foolhardy if Jews were
known to persecute each other over precisely such matters.17 Pagan polemic
against Jews presupposed on the contrary that Jews espoused solidarity among
themselves in hostility to outsiders.18
Against this background the narrative in Acts of Jewish persecution of the
first generation of Christians is rather surprising, not least because it is not just
violent but murderous, from the stoning of Stephen 19 and attempts upon the
life of Paul in Judea,20 to intense Jewish opposition to the work of the apostles
in the diaspora.21 This depiction of Jewish hostility is not consistent within
the narrative, since in a number of passages the author describes the nascent
Christian community as flourishing precisely in the courtyards of the Jerusa-
lem Temple where it might be expected that Jewish religious authority would
be at its strongest.22 It is possible, of course, that this inconsistency reflected
the sporadic nature of the presentation suffered by the community, but it is also
possible that, although there is no reason to doubt that some Christians suffered
at the hands of some Jews, much of the account in Acts is fictional and should
be attributed to an attempt by a much later author to make sense of the inher-
ited oral and written traditions of the first decades of the movement while also
trying to portray the new Christian movement as more pro-Roman and anti-­
Jewish than might be implied by the foundational event of Jesus’s crucifixion
by the Roman state.23
In contrast to Acts, those letters attributed to Paul which can with some con-
fidence be considered genuine (Rom, 1–2 Cor, Gal, Phil, 1 Thess, and Phlm)
con­stitute direct contemporary evidence of the relationship of Jews to the na-

14 m. Yad. 4:6.
15 M. Goodman, “Religious Variety and the Temple in the Late Second Temple Period and
Its Aftermath,” JJS 60 (2009), 202–213.
16 M. Goodman, Mission and Conversion: Proselytizing in the Religious History of the

Ro­man Empire (Oxford: Clarendon, 1994).

17 Josephus, C. Ap. 2.179–181.
18 So explicitly Tacitus, Hist. 5.5.1; see, more generally, GLAJJ.
19 Acts 7:54–60.
20 Acts 9:29; 23:10.
21 Acts 13:50; 14:5, 19; 22:22.
22 Acts 21:46–47.
23 On the date and purpose of Acts, see, e. g., J. A. Fitzmyer, The Acts of the Apostles: A

New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 31 (New York: Doubleday, 1998).
192 Martin Goodman

scent movement.24 The letters were all addressed to gentile Christian commu-
nities, for whom Paul believed himself to have a special missionary responsi-
bility as apostle to the gentiles.25 Each letter deals with specific local issues of
which the detailed ramifications are sometimes hard for later readers to dis-
cern. Among these ramifications are persecution, at various levels of violence,
by Jews.
Paul was explicit, in the list of tribulations he had undergone for the sake of
Christ presented to the community of Christians in Corinth as evidence of his
worthiness as an apostle,26 that some of these sufferings had been at the hands
of Jews, from whom he had on five occasions received “forty lashes minus
one.” 27 This will have been a formal judicial punishment which, as Ed Sanders
has noted, implied the inclusion of Paul within the Jewish community both in
his own eyes – since he could have removed himself from the jurisdiction of
the Jewish authorities if he wished to do so, as apostates such as Tiberius Ju-
lius Alexander must have done – and in the eyes of the officers of the Jewish
court themselves, since they would have run a high risk of an accusation for
assault if control of Paul’s behavior was not deemed by the civic authorities to
be within their rights.28 That the position of the Jewish minority communities
in the diaspora was insecure became all too horribly clear when the outbreak
of war in Jerusalem in 66 CE led to pogroms in many cities on the edges of Ju-
dea.29 The danger posed by Paul to the fragile communities may have been the
spreading of political unrest by preaching the imminent end of the world,30 but
by the fifties CE it seems to me more likely that the fear of synagogue leaders
was that they would be held responsible by their gentile neighbors for Paul, as
a fellow-Jew, spreading what they saw as “atheism” among gentiles in the city
when he persuades them to abandon their “idols” (1 Thess 1:9).31
I have argued elsewhere that similar concerns about accusations of atheism
lay behind Paul’s obscure allusion at Gal 6:12–13 to persecution of gentile
Christians for their failure to undergo circumcision.32 Standard interpretations
of this passage as a reflection of a Jewish campaign to circumcise male gen-

24 On the authorship of these letters, see E. P. Sanders, Paul: The Apostle’s Life, Letters

and Thought (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2015).

25 Gal 2:7.
26 2 Cor 11:21–27.
27 2 Cor 11:24.
28 E. P. Sanders, Paul, the Law and the Jewish People (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983), 192;

on Tiberius Julius Alexander, see V. A. Burr, Tiberius Julius Alexander (Bonn: Habelt, 1955).
29 Josephus, B. J. 2.457–480.
30 So P. Fredriksen, “Judaism, the Circumcision of Gentiles, and Apocalyptic Hope: An-

other Look at Galatians 1 and 2,” JTS 42 (1991), 532–564.

31 M. Goodman, “The Persecution of Paul by Diaspora Jews,” in The Beginnings of Chris­

tianity: A Collection of Articles, ed. J. Pastor and M. Mor (Jerusalem: Yad Ben-Zvi, 2005),
379–387.
32 M. Goodman, “Galatians 6:12 on Circumcision and Persecution,” in Strength to Strength:
 Paul as Persecutor and the History of Judaism 193

tiles are unconvincing because they postulate no plausible motivation for such
Jews,33 and the use of the present participle in the letter for “those who are
being circumcised,” who Paul identified as the people insisting on the circum-
cision of gentile Christians in Galatia, makes best sense if these persecutors
were not Jews but fellow gentile Christians who have undergone circumcision
and are seeking to protect the nascent Christian community from accusations
of atheism by the civic authorities by seeking to present all in the Christian
community as converts to Judaism, and hence their abandonment of “idols” as
legitimate in light of the privileges accorded to Jews in diaspora cities.34
It would be wrong, therefore, to view Paul’s letters as evidence that violent
persecution of the nascent Christian community on religious grounds was a
common phenomenon, and it is all the more important to explain Paul’s ref-
erences to himself as a persecutor of Christians before his conversion. At Gal
1:13, Paul stated that in his “earlier life in Judaism,” he was “violently perse-
cuting the church of God and was trying to destroy it.” At 1 Cor 15:9, Paul de-
cried himself as “unfit to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church
of God.” At Phil 3:6, Paul boasted that his Jewish credentials included having
been “as to zeal, a persecutor of the church.” What is to be made of these ref-
erences?
All of these testimonies were written in the fifties CE, and therefore twen-
ty years or more after the behavior described,35 and Paul provided his readers
with no explanation of his reasons for such persecution. Nor did Paul make
any claim in his letters that he had been fulfilling an official role in the Jewish
community when he set about attacking the church, even though he set out
other Jewish credentials in Phil 3:5–6, and it seems unwise to fill in these gaps
by recourse to the narrative in Acts, composed many decades later, according
to which Paul was given authority through letters from the high priest to arrest
Christians in Damascus and bring them to Jerusalem.36
But although explanations of Paul’s actions are hard to discern, the rhetoric
of each letter requires Paul’s references to himself as a persecutor to have been
true, or at least plausible. The Galatians who received Paul’s letter were said to
have heard of his “earlier life in Judaism” and the purpose of the epistle was to
show them that this authority came from independent divine revelation rather

Essays in Appreciation of Shaye J. D. Cohen, ed. M. L. Satlow, BJS 363 (Providence, R. I.:
Brown Judaic Studies, 2018), 275–279.
33 A. E. Harvey, “The Opposition to Paul,” in Studia Evangelica, ed. F. L. Cross, vol. 4,

TU 102 (Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1968), 219–232; F. F. Bruce, The Epistle of Paul to the
Ga­latians: A Commentary on the Greek Text, NIGTC 2 (Exeter: Paternoster, 1982), 269.
34 On the privileges accorded to Jews in these cities, see M. Pucci Ben Zeev, Jewish

Rights in the Roman World: The Greek and Roman Documents Quoted by Josephus Flavius,
TSAJ 74 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998).
35 On the dating of the letters, see, e. g., NIB 10.373.
36 Acts 9:2; in my view, the analysis in M. Hengel with R. Deines, The Pre-Christian Paul

(London: SCM, 1991), is compromised by its reliance on Acts.

194 Martin Goodman

than the churches in Judea (Gal 1:11–13). Paul claimed that his previous life as
a persecutor made all the more precious his present role in proclaiming Christ
(1:23). In 1 Cor 5:9–10, Paul made a similar point that his past wickedness as
persecutor makes his present achievements all the more impressive, and in Phil
3:4–8 his zeal as a persecutor was one of the Jewish credentials, along with
membership of the tribe of Benjamin, which Paul asserted were without value
compared to knowledge of Christ. The lack of particular emphasis on his role
as persecutor in Phil 3:6 is striking, since it suggests that this element of Paul’s
pre-Christian career was too well known to need elaboration. Striking too is his
assumption that his gentile audience in Philippi would see his zeal as a perse-
cutor of the church as one of the qualities which could make him “confident in
the flesh” (3:4), though whether he expected them to understand what he meant
in this respect, any more than his reference to the tribe of Benjamin or his status
as a Pharisee (3:5), is unclear.
As to the nature and location of Paul’s activities as persecutor of Christians
in the early thirties CE, Paul dropped only hints, but it can be surmised from
his claim at Gal 1:21–23 that he had been “unknown by sight to the churches
of Judea” when “they only heard it said, ‘The one who formerly was persecut-
ing us is now proclaiming the faith he once tried to destroy’” that the persecu-
tion in which he had taken part had been in the diaspora rather than in Judea.
The passage in 1 Thess 2:14–16 about the suffering of the “churches of God
in Christ Jesus that are in Judea” at the hands of “the Jews, who killed both
the Lord Jesus and the prophets and drove us out” is not linked in the letter to
Paul’s own activities, and it seems to me likely that this passage, which ends by
asserting that “God’ s wrath has overtaken them at last” was not written by Paul
but was interpolated into the text by a later writer at some point after 70 CE.37 It
is possible, as Paula Fredriksen has suggested, that Paul was impelled to attack
Christians in the diaspora out of the same concern for communal safety in the
face of millenarian rhetoric which impelled the persecution later suffered by
Paul himself,38 but the term πορθέω (“destroy”) in Gal 1:13 and 1:23 seems to
refer to action more violent than the judicial persecution administered against
Paul after he had become Christian.
What, then, can be concluded about religious intolerance within Judaism
from Paul’s references to himself as a persecutor? It seems clear that Paul had
indeed violently attacked the nascent church in his youth, and such behavior
should be incorporated into any picture of what was possible in Judaism in the

37 On 1 Thess 2:14–16 as a later interpolation, see B. A. Pearson, “1 Thessalonians 2:13–

16: A Deutero-Pauline Interpolation,” HTR 64 (1971), 79–94. Note that this passage is the
only place in Paul’s letters with a reference to the notion that the Jews killed Jesus, which is
very hard to understand as an assertion by Paul himself.
38 Fredriksen, When Christians Were Jews (see n. 1), 144–147, 151–153. I am grateful to

the participants in seminars in Berlin, Edinburgh and Oxford, especially Larry Hurtado and
Markus Bockmuehl, for their comments on earlier drafts of this paper.
 Paul as Persecutor and the History of Judaism 195

late Second Temple period, but there is no reason to see such behavior as nor-
mal, any more than the attitude to the Torah of the extreme allegorists attacked
by Philo. We have seen from non-Christian evidence that religious persecution
was not unknown in first-century Judaism but also that it is unlikely to have
been common, particularly in the diaspora, and that this makes sense of Paul’s
references to himself as “far more zealous” than others for ancestral tradition
(Gal 1:14).
Paul’s attitudes, as revealed in his letters, deserve to be incorporated into
our construction of Judaism in his time. His insistence on his Jewishness (Phil
3:4–6) should be taken seriously if only because he evidently suffered a severe
beating on five occasions in order to maintain his inclusion within the Jewish
community (2 Cor 11:24). Paul in later life was by his own admission an unusu-
al Jew, since he claimed to have received the gospel through direct revelation
(Gal 1:12), a privilege which does not seem to have been shared (according to
him) by other early Christians to whom Christ had appeared after death, even
though such a vision had been vouchsafed to “more than five hundred” and
to “all the apostles” before a vision was vouchsafed to Paul (1 Cor 15:6–8).
Since it has become standard to describe the Christian Paul as an unusual Jew,
it would make sense to understand the pre-Christian Paul as an unusual Jew
also. Part of his unusual nature will have been the energy, self-confidence and
self-righteousness which had propelled him to be a persecutor of the church
before he saw the light.
 What Sort of Jew Is the Jesus of Mark?
Adela Yarbro Collins

The question of the Jewishness of Jesus in Mark is multifaceted. It involves,

for example, the social roles Jesus is depicted as playing and his relation to
the Jewish parties (αἱρέσεις) as we know them from Josephus.1 His relation to
those parties can be discerned both in his teaching and in his deeds.

1. The Social Roles of Jesus in Mark

1.1 Jesus as Messiah

The most prominent social role in which Jesus appears in Mark, if it can be so
defined, is his role as Messiah. The epithet “Son of God” in Mark is messianic.2
It is clear that when the term χριστός is applied to Jesus in Mark it means the
Messiah, for example, in the opening titular sentence. Peter’s response to the
question of Jesus, “Who do you (pl.) say that I am,” makes this point by de-
claring, σὺ εἶ ὁ χριστός, “You are the Messiah” or “You are the anointed one,”
indicating that he, in the role of Messiah, is the anointed one that matters more
than any other.3 After a rebuke, which is part of the theme of the secrecy of the
identity of Jesus, he teaches the disciples about the necessary suffering of the
Son of Man.4
This shift from the designation “Messiah” to “Son of Man” in the teaching
that follows Peter’s declaration is important in several ways. On one level, it
suggests that the two epithets are equivalent.5 On another level, it distinguishes
between several understandings of the term “Messiah.” One idea of the role of

1 Josephus, B. J. 2.119–166; on the Essenes, see also Philo, Prob. 75–91; Hypoth. 11–18.

Many scholars hold that the Essenes can be known also from the sectarian works among the
Dead Sea Scrolls. On the Pharisees and Sadducees, see A. J. Saldarini, Pharisees, Scribes,
and Sadducees in Palestinian Society: A Sociological Approach (Wilmington, Del.: Glazier,
1988). On the Essenes, see G. Vermes and M. Goodman, eds., The Essenes according to the
Classical Sources (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1989).
2 A. Yarbro Collins and J. J. Collins, King and Messiah as Son of God: Divine, Human,

and Angelic Messianic Figures in Biblical and Related Literature (Grand Rapids, Mich.:
Eerd­mans, 2008), 127–129.
3 Mark 8:29.
4 Mark 8:30–31.
5 A. Yarbro Collins, Mark: A Commentary, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007), 402.
198 Adela Yarbro Collins

the Messiah involves the eschatological, definitive restoration of the Israelite

monarchy, especially as embodied by David. Examples of the expression of
this type of Messiahship include a number of documents from the late Second
Temple period, namely, the Rule of the Community; the Rule of the Blessings,
which is appended to it; the War Scroll, and Pss. Sol. 17.6 Josephus presents
evidence for messianic movements in the late first century BCE and in the first
century CE. He rejects those who apparently claimed to be the Messiah, a king
able to restore the Davidic monarchy, and who were to a significant degree
recognized as such, by referring to them as illegitimate kings or tyrants.7 All
of these texts anticipate a Davidic Messiah who will be a successful military
and political leader, defeating the Romans and their Jewish collaborators and
reestablishing an autonomous kingdom of Israel.
Although Mark places emphasis on the authority of Jesus,8 the passion pre-
dictions present a Messiah very different from the type just described. These
predictions juxtapose an allusion to the powerful human-like figure of Dan 7,
who is given kingship over all peoples, with a portrait of Jesus as one who will
suffer, be rejected, killed, and rise from the dead. This portrait is probably a
correction, or at least an addition, to the widespread picture of a powerful Mes-
siah of Israel. This correction is due of course to the fact that Jesus was cruci-
fied by order of a Roman magistrate.
On a third level of meaning, the allusions to Jesus’s resurrection from the
dead and the epithet “Son of Man” introduce a third type of Messiah, a heaven-
ly king and judge. This understanding of the Messiah is expressed in the Simil-
itudes or Parables of Enoch and in Fourth Ezra.9 In Mark, Jesus is presented as
a fulfillment of Dan 7:13–14 in two stages. In the first Jesus is the Son of Man
during his human life as one who has authority to forgive sins and to interpret
the commands of God regarding the keeping of the Sabbath.10 In the second
stage the risen Jesus is a glorious, heavenly figure to whom God delegates
kingship and judgment. The risen Jesus is the Christ, the Messiah in the full
sense. This stage is introduced in the sayings about the Son of Man “coming,”
or more broadly, in the apocalyptic Son of Man sayings.11

1.2 Jesus as Prophet

Although Mark is careful to make and maintain the point that Jesus is the Mes-
siah, he also portrays him as a prophet. The role of prophet is recognized as
one of the identities of Jesus in the eyes of the people but is subordinated to

6 Yarbro Collins, Mark (see n. 5), 53–55.

7 Yarbro Collins, Mark (see n. 5), 55–58.
8 E. g., Mark 1:22.
9 Yarbro Collins, Mark (see n. 5), 58–63.
10 Mark 2:10, 28.
11 Mark 8:38; 13:24–27; 14:62; Yarbro Collins and Collins, King and Messiah (see n. 2),

150–152.
 What Sort of Jew Is the Jesus of Mark? 199

his role as Messiah.12 The appropriation of the role of prophet in characterizing

Jesus must be seen in the context of the revival of prophecy in the late Second
Temple period.13
The endowment of Jesus with the Spirit has both messianic and prophetic
connotations.14 In the account of Elisha succeeding Elijah, the endowment with
the Spirit signifies installation into prophetic office.15 Thus the descent of the
Spirit upon Jesus may be seen as his commission to be a prophet. The Spirit
driving Jesus into the wilderness evokes earlier accounts of the divine Spirit
carrying prophets from place to place.16 Jesus’s stay in the wilderness of for-
ty days and the angels serving him recall Elijah’s fleeing into the wilderness,
where an angel appears to him and gives him food and drink that enable him to
make a journey of forty days and nights to Mount Horeb.17
The similarities between the summary of Jesus’s teaching and the use of
Scrip­ture in certain Dead Sea Scrolls suggest that the summary presents Jesus
as an eschatological prophet.18 Later, in response to Jesus’s question, the dis-
ciples report that some people say that Jesus is a prophet and others that he is
Eli­jah.19

1.3 Jesus as Teacher

The portrayal of Jesus as a teacher is compatible with his social roles as Messi-
ah and prophet, since such figures were also known as teachers.20 After the in-
troduction to the Gospel of Mark in 1:1–15, Jesus is presented as calling disci-
ples and then entering the synagogue of Capernaum and teaching.21 He is also
described as teaching in the synagogue in Nazareth.22 Some of his teaching
takes place by the sea (of Galilee) or on it in a boat.23 He is portrayed as going
around teaching in the villages of Galilee.24 Jesus is also depicted as teaching
in the region of Judea, in Perea (the region east of the Jordan River), and in the
temple, apparently in the outer court.25

12 Mark 8:27–30.
13 Yarbro Collins, Mark (see n. 5), 44–46.
14 On the messianic connotations, see Yarbro Collins, Mark (see n. 5), 65.
15 Cf. Mark 1:10 with 2 Kgs 2:9, 15; cf. 1 Kgs 19:16.
16 Mark 1:12; cf. 1 Kgs 18:12; 2 Kgs 2:16; Ezek 3:12–15; 8:3; 11:1, 24; 37:1; 43:5.
17 Mark 1:12–13; 1 Kgs 19:4–8.
18 Mark 1:14–15; Yarbro Collins, Mark (see n. 5), 47–48.
19 Mark 8:27–28.
20 Yarbro Collins, Mark (see n. 5), 73.
21 Mark 1:16–21. The calling of the four disciples in Mark 1:16–20 has similarities with

Eli­jah’s call of Elisha; cf. this passage and also Mark 2:14 with 1 Kgs 19:19–21; Yarbro Col­
lins, Mark (see n. 5), 48.
22 Mark 6:2.
23 Mark 2:13; 4:1–2; he also taught in an unspecified uninhabited place (6:32–34).
24 Mark 6:6 b.
25 Mark 10:1; 11:15, 17, 27; 12:1–37; cf. 12:41.
200 Adela Yarbro Collins

The epithet “teacher” (διδάσκαλος) is applied to Jesus twelve times in Mark.

His disciples address him as “teacher.” 26 Others who come to Jesus for help
do the same.27 The Pharisees and the Herodians are portrayed as addressing
Jesus as “teacher” and affirming that he teaches the way of God in accordance
with the truth.28 Some Sadducees also address him as “teacher.” 29 The scribe
who saw that Jesus answered well in the dispute with the Sadducees uses the
same epithet of him.30 Jesus instructs two of his disciples to refer to him as “the
Teacher” when seeking a place to celebrate the Passover.31
The teaching of Jesus is focused on the eschatological plan of God. The first
time that the teaching of Jesus is reported, it takes the form of parables about
“the mystery of the kingdom of God.” 32 When the teaching of Jesus is reported
in plain language, it concerns the suffering, death, and resurrection of Jesus as
Son of Man.33 His interpretation of the Law and the exposition of Scripture are
determined by the eschatological context in which they occur.34

1.4 Other Characterizing Themes

Jesus is characterized as a herald by the use of the verb κηρύσσω. In the in-
troductory summary of his activity, he is described as going to Galilee “pro-
claiming the good news of God.” This characterization follows closely upon
the endowment of the Spirit upon Jesus. An analogy is thus created, perhaps
one of eschatological fulfillment of prophecy, between Jesus and the speaker of
Isa 61. The prophet, as servant of God, states:
The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me; he has sent me to proclaim
good news to the poor, to heal the brokenhearted, to proclaim release to captives, recovery
of sight to the blind, to announce a year of the Lord’s favor, and a day of compensation to
comfort all who mourn.35

Itinerant proclaiming activity characterized Jesus’s time in Galilee, both in his

own words and the narrator’s summary that immediately follows.36 Some of
those healed by Jesus and those who witness a healing go forth proclaiming

26 Mark 4:38; 9:38; 10:35; 13:1.

27 The man who brings his demon-possessed son (9:17); the rich young man who comes
for advice (10:17, 20); associates of Jairus (5:35).
28 Mark 12:14.
29 Mark 12:18–19.
30 Mark 12:32.
31 Mark 14:14.
32 Mark 4:1–34; esp. 4:11.
33 Mark 8:31; 9:31.
34 Mark 10:1–12; 11:17; 12:13–17; 12:35–37. For further discussion, see Yarbro Collins,

Mark (see n. 5), 76–79.

35 Isa 61:1–2 LXX; all translations from the Greek are my own unless otherwise noted.
36 Mark 1:38–39.
 What Sort of Jew Is the Jesus of Mark? 201

what he did for them.37 Jesus also sends his disciples out to proclaim that peo-
ple should repent.38 After Jesus’s death and resurrection, the duty of his fol-
lowers is to proclaim the gospel to all nations.39 This theme is elaborated in the
second-century longer ending of Mark.40
A glimpse of the personal piety of Jesus is given in the passages that portray
him as praying. After a full day of healing and exorcising, Jesus is described
as rising before dawn, leaving Capernaum, and going to an uninhabited place
to pray.41 Later, after feeding the five thousand, dismissing the crowd, and tak-
ing leave of his disciples, Jesus goes up on a mountain to pray for an extended
period of time.42
In the scene in Gethsemane, Jesus prays to his father (αββα ὁ πατήρ) in his
time of distress and anxiety.43 He prays that he not be required to undergo suf-
fering and a violent death.44 In the same breath, however, he submits to God’s
will. In this and other contexts, Jesus also instructs his disciples about prayer
and criticizes the prayer of the scribes.45

2. Jesus and the Jewish Parties

2.1 Jesus and the Sadducees

I take the simplest case first. The Sadducees appear only once in Mark, while
Jesus is teaching in the temple.46 Some Sadducees approach him. The narrator
characterizes them as saying that there is no resurrection. This characteriza-
tion fits with Josephus’s description of the party as rejecting the afterlife and
judgment after death.47 The only preliminary to their question is the address of
Jesus as “teacher.” This matter-of-fact approach is in keeping with Josephus’s

37 Mark 1:45; 5:20; 7:36.

38 Mark 6:12.
39 Mark 13:10; cf. 14:9.
40 Mark 16:15, 20. On the longer ending, see J. A. Kelhoffer, Miracle and Mission: The

Authentication of Missionaries and Their Message in the Longer Ending of Mark, WUNT
2 / 112 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000).
41 Mark 1:35.
42 Mark 6:46. According to v. 47, he prayed until evening came.
43 The address of God as “father” in Mark 14:36 does not necessarily imply a metaphys-

ical relationship; cf. 2 Sam 7:12–14. As noted above “Son of God” in Mark is a royal title.
44 That this “hour” passes away and this “cup” be removed from him; Mark 14:35–36;

cf. 14:39, 41.

45 Instruction in Mark 11:24–25; 13:18; 14:38; and, in most manuscripts, Mark 13:33;

criticism in Mark 12:40.

46 Mark 12:18–27.
47 Josephus, B. J. 2.165; according to A. J. 18.16, they hold the position that souls disap-

pear along with bodies.

202 Adela Yarbro Collins

remark that the Sadducees consider disputing with teachers of wisdom an ex-
pression of excellence.48
Those who come to Jesus give an account of a case of levirate marriage, in
which a woman marries seven brothers in succession. They then ask, “In the
resurrection, when they rise, to which of them will she be wife?” This exam-
ple could be taken as an attempt at humor. Such humor may be interpreted as
mocking the notion of resurrection. The latter option fits with Josephus’s com-
ment that they are ungentle (ἀπηνής) in their dealings with their fellow Jews.49
Jesus’s response is equally direct, opening his reply with the statement that
they are mistaken and closing it by saying that they are greatly mistaken. He
makes two points in favor of the resurrection. The first responds directly to
their example. It is irrelevant because those who rise from the dead are like
angels and do not live as married persons. This point would be weakened if the
account of Paul’s examination by the Sanhedrin is correct in characterizing the
Sadducees as not believing in the existence of angels and spirits.50 There is,
however, no trace of such a denial in the text of Mark.
The second point is based on the interpretation of Scripture.51 God declares
himself to be the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Since God is not God of
the dead but of the living, these three patriarchs must be living. The argument
either presupposes that they are living at the time of the dispute and thus rose
soon after dying or assumes an interim state and anticipates their resurrection
at the general resurrection of the dead. In either case, the Jesus of Mark defends
belief in the resurrection and is therefore closer to the Pharisees than to the
Sadducees on this point.52

2.2 Jesus and the Pharisees

The Pharisees are introduced rather neutrally in the passage following the call
of Levi.53 Jesus is eating with tax collectors and sinners, either in his own
house in Capernaum or in Levi’s house. “The scribes belonging to the Phar-
isees” ask the disciples of Jesus why he is doing so. Jesus replies with the
par­able about a physician going to those who are sick, not to the healthy. The
term “scribes” here seems to refer not to copyists and low-level officials but to
experts in the law.54
According to Josephus, the Pharisees are the leading party and “are consid-
ered to be the most accurate interpreters of the laws.” 55 He also says that they

48 Josephus, A. J. 18.16.
49 Josephus, B. J. 2.166.
50 Acts 23:8.
51 Exod 3:6, 15–16.
52 For further discussion of this passage, see Yarbro Collins, Mark (see n. 5), 557–564.
53 Mark 2:15–17.
54 Cf. Yarbro Collins, Mark (see n. 5), 164.
55 Josephus, B. J. 2.162 (H. St. J. Thackeray, LCL 203).
 What Sort of Jew Is the Jesus of Mark? 203

“cultivate harmonious relations with the community.” 56 It is thus not surprising

that some scribes would affiliate with them. Furthermore, Anthony Saldarini
has argued that the Pharisees “functioned as a political interest group,” 57 in
which a religious dimension was of course embedded. They “entered into co-
alitions with other groups” among the upper strata of society “in order to gain
influence and move those who had power.” 58
Although the scribes of the Pharisees are not presented as opponents or as
hostile to Jesus in this passage, the question does of course challenge his prac-
tices of fellowship in eating. It is likely that the reason for the challenge was
that, in their view, Jesus’s practice here showed that he was not pursuing holi-
ness to a sufficient extent.59
The next scene begins with the narration of a brief back-story, “And the dis-
ciples of John and the Pharisees were fasting.” 60 The scene itself begins with
unspecified persons raising a question, “Why do the disciples of John and the
disciples of the Pharisees fast, but your disciples do not fast?” Here the Phar-
isees are not characterized as opponents of Jesus. Rather the context seems to
be the perception among the people that Jesus and his followers are compet-
ing with the Pharisees for influence over them and how they live their lives as
Jews. Jesus replies by characterizing himself as a metaphorical bridegroom and
his activity as a time of rejoicing, like that of a wedding, when fasting is inap-
propriate. The appended sayings further describe the time of Jesus’s activity as
initiating a new order that breaks through and goes beyond the traditional one.
The Markan Jesus does, however, accept the practice of fasting on the part of
his followers in the time after his death and before his coming as Son of Man.
In this situation the Pharisees do not challenge Jesus. The question of un-
specified persons, however, makes clear that Mark is presenting Jesus and his
followers in competition for the allegiance of the people and for influencing
what way of life they will choose to follow.

2.2.1 The Controversies over Sabbath Observance: Plucking Heads of Grain

(Mark 2:23–38)
In this scene we find the first real conflict between Jesus and the Pharisees. The
passage may have a complex tradition-history.61 Since my topic is the Jesus of
Mark, I will focus on its form as we find it in Mark.

56 Josephus, B. J. 2.166.
57 Saldarini, Pharisees, Scribes, and Sadducees (see n. 1), 120.
58 Saldarini, Pharisees, Scribes, and Sadducees (see n. 1), 120.
59 Yarbro Collins, Mark (see n. 5), 193.
60 Mark 2:18–22.
61 On the tradition-historical and redactional history of the passage, see L. Doering, Schab­

bat: Sabbathalacha und -praxis im antiken Judentum und Urchristentum, TSAJ 78 (Tübin-
gen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999), 409–423.
204 Adela Yarbro Collins

The temporal setting is the Sabbath. The scene is set in the grain-fields,
through which Jesus and his disciples are passing. The Pharisees ask Jesus po-
lemically, “Why are they doing on the Sabbath what is not permitted?” There
are two Jewish texts that shed light on what precisely the Pharisees of Mark are
objecting to here. One is the Damascus Document, which contains the state-
ment, “No one is to eat on the Sabbath day except what has been prepared and
from what is perishing (‫ )האובד‬in the field.” 62 This implies that one may not
separate any part of a plant that is growing in the ground on the Sabbath.63
The other passage comes from Philo: “[The rest required on the Sabbath] ex-
tends also to every kind of trees and plants; for it is not permitted to cut (τεμεῖν)
any shoot or branch, or even a leaf, or to pluck (δρέψασθαι) any fruit whatso-
ever.” 64 This makes it clear that the prohibition of reaping has been extended to
cases in which there is no economic gain and even when it is done for imme-
diate use.65 Since the Damascus Document is an Essene text and Philo comes
from the Greek-speaking diaspora, it is likely that the issue in Mark is similar
and that the attribution of this view to the Pharisees at least had verisimilitude.
The first reply of Jesus to the Pharisees’ objection begins with the ques-
tion, “Have you never read what David did when he was in need and when he
himself and those with him were hungry?” 66 When the scene is set in v. 23, no
mention is made of Jesus or the disciples being hungry. This question implies
that such was indeed the case.
What David did is then described in v. 26.67 The transgression of David is
emphasized: he “ate the bread of the Presence, which it is not permitted [for
anyone] to eat, except the priests, and gave [some] also to those who were
with him.” The context suggests that David’s breaking of that regulation was
justified because he and his companions were hungry. The citation of David’s
action here as a precedent is a strong argument, “For the Bible says explicitly
of David that he ‘did that which was right in the eyes of the Lord, and turned
not aside from any thing that He commanded him all the days of his life, except
only in the matter of Uriah the Hittite.’” In the view of Menahem Kister, “Da-
vid’s deeds are therefore the strongest precedents in a halakhic argument.” 68

62 CD 10:22–23 (trans. [modified] F. García Martínez and E. J. C. Tigchelaar, eds., The

Dead Sea Scrolls Study Edition, 2 vols. [Leiden: Brill, 1997–1998], 1.568–569).
63 Doering, Schabbat (see n. 61), 428. Cf. the discussion in Yarbro Collins, Mark (see

n. 5), 201–202 n. 122.

64 Philo, Mos. 2.22 (F. H. Colson, LCL 289).
65 Doering, Schabbat (see n. 61), 428.
66 Mark 2:25; cf. 12:10, 26.
67 For discussion of details of lesser relevance here, see Yarbro Collins, Mark (see n. 5),

202–203.
68 1 Kgs 15:5; cited and discussed by M. Kister, “The Earliest Layers of the Jesus Tra-

dition Concerning the Sabbath, in Light of Jewish Midrashim,” in Midrashic Studies in the
New Testament, WUNT (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, forthcoming). I am grateful to Prof. Kis-
ter for sharing his work with me and allowing me to cite it.
 What Sort of Jew Is the Jesus of Mark? 205

In this response, Jesus recognizes that the Pharisees are correct in claiming
that the activity of his disciples breaks a rule of Sabbath observance. He im-
plicitly makes the point by analogy with David, however, that this transgres-
sion is justified because they were hungry. Jesus leaves open whether hunger
justifies breaking other Sabbath rules. In any case, Jesus’s argument does not
abrogate the commandment not to work on the Sabbath as it is found in Exodus
and Deuteronomy.69 Rather it provides a criterion for interpreting that prohi-
bition, namely, any work that meets a basic and immediate human need over-
rides the prohibition of work on the Sabbath. The rabbis justified David’s act
as overwhelming hunger that was a threat to life; so they allowed breaking the
Sabbath to assuage hunger, but only if it was life threatening.70 The Pharisees
probably held a similar view, as we shall see below. So Jesus did not abolish
any commandment but expanded a permissible exception.
The second reply of Jesus is given in vv. 27–28.71 In the context of Mark,
these two verses belong together, since v. 28 is introduced as a consequence
of v. 27 (ὥστε). I would like to begin by looking at v. 27 separately, however,
because its force is somewhat in tension with that of v. 28.
The saying of v. 27 reads, “The Sabbath came into being on account of man,
not man on account of the Sabbath” (τὸ σάββατον διὰ τὸν ἄνθρωπον ἐγένετο
καὶ οὐχ ὁ ἄνθρωπος διὰ τὸ σάββατον). The reference to the Sabbath coming
into being would call to mind for the audience the ending of the first creation
story of Genesis.72 First God is said to have rested on the seventh day from all
the work that he had done on the previous six days. Then he is said to have
blessed the seventh day and made it holy, because he had rested on that day.73
Since human beings were created on the sixth day, the Sabbath was created for
them, not the other way around. In the saying attributed to Jesus, the point is
made in a poetic and evocative way, using the figure of speech known as anas-
trophe (ἀναστροφή).74
As is well known, the rabbis knew a similar saying:

69 Exod 20:8–11; 23:12; 31:12–17; 34:21; 35:2–3; Deut 5:12–15.

70 A statement by an Amora in y. Yoma 8:5, 45 b; Kister, “Earliest Layers” (see n. 68).
71 These verses constitute a second reply, as is shown in the new introduction given at the

beginning of v. 27, “And he said to them.”

72 Gen 2:2–3; v. 4 is a generalizing conclusion.
73 Lutz Doering has ably refuted the claim by Martin Ebner that there is no evidence in the

Old Testament and ancient Jewish texts for the idea that the Sabbath “was created” (L. Doe­
ring, “Much Ado about Nothing? Jesus’s Sabbath Healings and Their Halakhic Implications
Revisited,” in Judaistik und neutestamentliche Wissenschaft: Standorte, Grenzen, Beziehun­
gen, ed. L. Doering, H.-G. Waubke, and F. Wilk, FRLANT 226 [Göttingen: Vandenhoeck &
Ruprecht, 2008], 217–241, here 239).
74 On this figure, see H. W. Smyth, Greek Grammar (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard Univer-

sity Press, 1966), § 3011.

206 Adela Yarbro Collins

You shall keep the Sabbath for it is holy to you (‫[ )לכם‬Exod 31:14] – Rabbi Shimon ben Me-
nassiah said: to you (‫ )לכם‬the Sabbath is delivered [lit. handed], and you are not delivered
[lit. handed] to the Sabbath.75

The Mekilta de-Rabbi Ishmael also provides evidence that, in the saying just
quoted “being handed to you” means “you are given authority over [what is
handed to you].” So the point of the saying is not that the Sabbath was given to
you on Mount Sinai, but that “you” (‫ )לכם‬are given authority over the Sabbath.76
It is likely that the saying of Jesus in v. 27 has similar significance: Since the
Sabbath came into being (or was created) for human beings, human beings
have the authority to interpret the prohibition of work on the Sabbath.
This saying is used in both the Mekilta de-Rabbi Ishmael and the Babylo-
nian Talmud, however, “to flesh out the concept of saving a life on the Sabbath
( piqquah nefesh).” In Mark the saying has no explicit limit or qualification.77
On the one hand, it could be seen as a generalizing summary of Jesus’s expan-
sion of the exception regarding saving a life. On the other, it could be read as
going beyond the preceding discussion to give a wider kind of authority to in-
terpret the prohibition of work on the Sabbath.
As mentioned earlier, in the present context, the apparently unlimited saying
about human authority over the Sabbath is closely linked to another saying in
v. 28: “So the Son of Man is master also of the Sabbath” (ὥστε κύριος ἐστιν ὁ
υἱὸς τοῦ ἀνθρώπου καὶ τοῦ σαββάτου). Perhaps this saying sets some kind of
limit upon the one in v. 27. On one level, the Son of Man saying creates a play
on words with the preceding saying, based on an idiom found in both Hebrew
and Aramaic. The word “man” in v. 27 (ἄνθρωπος) may have the same referent
and meaning as the phrase “son of man” (without the articles: υἱὸς ἀνθρώπου)
according to that idiom.78 So v. 28 could be translated, “So the son of man (i. e.,
man) is master even (or indeed) of the Sabbath.”
Given the use of the phrase “son of man” in connection with Jesus else-
where in Mark, the audience is led here to associate that phrase with Jesus as
the human-­like figure of Dan 7 interpreted as the Messiah.79 In that case, v. 28
would imply that the followers of Jesus had authority to interpret the regula-
tions regarding the Sabbath with a limit; that is, they are to follow the example
of the Jesus of Mark in interpreting such regulations.

75 MekI, Shabbtha; cited here from Kister, “Earliest Layers” (see n. 68); cf. Yarbro Col-

lins, Mark (see n. 5), 203–204 with n. 137. See also b. Yoma 85 b.
76 MekI, Shabbtha 1; Kister, “Earliest Layers” (see n. 68).
77 Kister, “Earliest Layers” (see n. 68).
78 The idiom is preserved, for example, in Ps 8:5 LXX.
79 See the section “Jesus as Messiah” (1.1) above.
 What Sort of Jew Is the Jesus of Mark? 207

2.2.2 The Controversies over Sabbath Observance: The Healing of the Man
with a Withered Hand (Mark 3:1–6)
In this passage, the Pharisees, along with some Herodians, are depicted as hos-
tile opponents to Jesus to the point of wanting to destroy him. The death of
Jesus was already alluded to in the scholastic dialogue about fasting: “But days
will come when the bridegroom is taken away from them, and then they will
fast on that day.” 80 The evangelist has crafted this scene as a more dramatic
foreshadowing of Jesus’s death, with opponents “watching him carefully [to
see] whether he would heal him on the Sabbath, in order that they might bring
charges against him.” When he does so, the passage ends with a conspiracy
about how to bring about Jesus’s death. Such a scene is historically implausi-
ble, since breaking the commandment about resting on the Sabbath, let alone
disagreements over specific, non-biblical Sabbath regulations, at this time were
not prosecuted.81 Further, the Pharisees are not mentioned in the passion narra-
tive of Mark among those responsible for the death of Jesus.
After the scene is set, the Markan Jesus calls the man with a withered hand
into the center of those gathered on the Sabbath. He then asks them, especially
those watching him, “Is it permitted to do good on the Sabbath or to do harm,
to save a life or to kill?” This saying is important for placing Jesus in his Jewish
social context. I will return to this issue.
First, however, the question whether and in what way Jesus’s healing of
this man broke the Sabbath must be addressed. Lutz Doering has refuted per-
suasively the argument that, since Jesus healed only by his word, he did not
break the Sabbath laws.82 He has also noted the fact that there is not a single
source from the pre-Tannaitic period that mentions healing on the Sabbath.83 A
number of Tannaitic passages, however, make clear that doing anything on the
Sabbath with the intention of healing is unlawful. If healing is the indirect re-
sult of eating food and drinking liquids that healthy people also consume, then
it is lawful.84 So the healing of the man with the withered hand seems clearly
to violate Tannaitic regulations, since the intention of healing seems apparent.
The reaction of the Pharisees to Jesus’s healing in this passage implies that they
hold a similar view, since Jesus clearly has the intention of healing, yet heals
without performing any other work in the currently defined sense.

80 Mark 2:18–22, here v. 20.

81 Doering, Schabbat (see n. 61), 396, 501 with n. 114.
82 Doering, Schabbat (see n. 61), 446–447; id., “Much Ado about Nothing?” (see n. 73),

217–227.
83 Doering, Schabbat (see n. 61), 448; id., “Much Ado about Nothing?” (see n. 73), 229.
84 m. Šabb. 14:3–4; 22:6; t. Šabb. 12[13]:8–14; 16[17]:16, 19; Doering, Schabbat (see n. 61),

449; id., “Much Ado about Nothing?” (see n. 73), 232–234; Yarbro Collins, Mark (see n. 5),
206–207.
208 Adela Yarbro Collins

Now I would like to return to the question Jesus puts to the congregation,
directed especially to the Pharisees.85 Doering rightly excludes the interpreta-
tion that Jesus did good and saved lives, whereas the Pharisees and Herodians
did harm and killed. Instead he argues that the alternatives are meant to exclude
any middle ground: not to do good is to do harm; not to save a life is to kill.86
He argues helpfully that Jesus places his healing activity on the Sabbath be-
tween the general “doing good” and the specific “saving a life” in such a way
that it is a proper continuation of “saving a life.” Jesus uses the keyword “sav-
ing a life” to describe an activity that can be understood as a concrete example
of “doing good.” His antagonists are familiar with the idea that failing to do
a good deed is the same as killing. Jesus extends the idea of “saving a life” to
include the healing of a sick person when there is no danger of death. He goes
a step further than those who accept the profanation of the Sabbath in order to
save a life. In the weighing up of the needs of a human being and keeping the
Sabbath holy, he takes the side of the human being.87 The position that Jesus
takes is a consequence of the eschatological context of his message. Healing is
a sign of the kingdom of God.88
Kister characterizes the saying of Jesus in Mark 3:4 as explicitly blurring
the distinction “between cases of true piqquah nefesh and those in which there
is no danger to life.” 89 The phrase used by Jesus “to save life” (ψυχὴν σῶσαι)
expresses a concept practically synonymous with that of piqquah nefesh.90 He
argues further that, “the tendency to extend the limits of the halakhic category
piqquah nefesh is not alien to Jewish halakhah in later generations.” 91 It was
never, however, “so drastically extended in mainstream Judaism as in Jesus’s
sayings.” The rabbis argued differently, but it is nevertheless “clear that Jesus’
assumption is that – as a rule – work on the Sabbath is prohibited.” 92

2.2.3 A Dispute with the Pharisees (Mark 7:1–23)

The scene is set entirely in third person narration in vv. 1–2. “The Pharisees,”
presumably local, and some scribes, whose origin or base was in Jerusalem,
saw that some of Jesus’s disciples were eating with defiled hands. This narra-
tive introduction is interrupted by an explanatory digression.93

85 Mark 3:4. Those watching Jesus carefully turn out to be the Pharisees (3:6).
86 Doering, Schabbat (see n. 61), 451.
87 Doering, Schabbat (see n. 61), 452–453. 4Q265 5 6–7 concedes the saving of life only

in so far as “no breach of the Sabbath is involved”; cf. Doering, “Much Ado about Nothing?”
(see n. 73), 230. On the position that the Sabbath may be profaned for the sake of the life of
a human being, see ibid., 231.
88 Doering, Schabbat (see n. 61), 454–455.
89 Kister, “Earliest Layers” (see n. 68).
90 Cf. Doering, “Much Ado about Nothing?” (see n. 73), 232.
91 m. Yoma 8:6; b. Šabb. 109 a; y. Šabb. 14:4, 14 d.
92 Kister, “Earliest Layers” (see n. 68).
 What Sort of Jew Is the Jesus of Mark? 209

In the two Sabbath controversies discussed earlier, the evangelist gives no

explanation of the issues involved. The difference between those scenes and
this one is probably due to the fact that Sabbath observance is a commandment
of the Torah, whereas the washing of hands before eating is not.
The explanation begins already in v. 2: the phrase “defiled hands” is defined
as unwashed hands. It continues in v. 3 with the remark that, “the Pharisees and
all the Jews do not eat unless they wash their hands,94 holding fast the tradition
of the elders.”
Josephus states that, “the Pharisees had passed on to the people certain reg-
ulations handed down by former generations and not recorded in the Laws of
Moses.” 95 He goes on to say that the Sadducees rejected these unwritten regu-
lations, and the issue became a point of contention between the two parties.96
It is clear that these traditional regulations are what Mark refers to as “the tra-
dition of the elders.” 97 The statement that “all the Jews (do not eat unless they
wash their hands)” may be a generalization like that of the Letter of Aristeas,98
or it may reflect the assumed or actual influence of the Pharisees upon the peo-
ple.99
The evangelist’s exposition of Jewish washing practices continues through
v. 4. The tradition of the elders entails the washing of utensils related to eating
and drinking and even dining couches or beds.100 This explanatory digression
does not necessarily signify that the audience of Mark is entirely made up of
gentile followers of Jesus who were ignorant about Pharisaic practices. It need
only imply that some part of the intended audience needed such an explanation.
Rather than with a continuation of the sentence begun in v. 2, the dialogue
proper begins in v. 5 with the question of the Pharisees and scribes, “Why do
your disciples not walk in accordance with the tradition of the elders but eat
bread with defiled hands?” The question sounds rather innocent, seeking to de-
termine what principles Jesus’s teaching is based on. The audience, however,
will recall the conspiracy of the Pharisees and the Herodians, and Jesus’s re-
sponse takes the form it does in that light, calling them “hypocrites” or “actors
playing a role” in the introduction to his citation of the Greek version of Isa
29:13 against them. The contrast between the lips and the heart in the quotation
introduces the theme of “outside” versus “inside,” which is taken up again in
v. 15.
93 Since the opening sentence is not completed, the digression creates an example of the

figure of anacoluthon (ἀνακόλουθον); Smyth, Greek Grammar (see n. 74), §§ 3004–3007.

94 I do not translate the difficult word πυγμῇ in v. 3. See the translation (“up to the elbow”)

and the discussion in Yarbro Collins, Mark (see n. 5), 339, 347.
95 Josephus, A. J. 13.297 (R. Marcus, LCL 365).
96 Josephus, A. J. 13.298.
97 Yarbro Collins, Mark (see n. 5), 347–348.
98 Let. Aris. 305; for discussion, see Yarbro Collins, Mark (see n. 5), 345–346.
99 Cf. Josephus, A. J. 13.298.
100 See the discussion in Yarbro Collins, Mark (see n. 5), 349.
210 Adela Yarbro Collins

The force of the quotation is interpreted in v. 8, which follows it: “Abandon-
ing the commandments of God, you keep the tradition of human beings.” In
effect, Jesus here enunciates a principle of his teaching, one that is an attack on
the major principle of the Pharisees’ teaching, which allows for a considerable
human role in determining legitimate practices.101 The principle of Jesus here
serves as the thesis statement for the argument of vv. 9–13.
Kister has shown that language similar to that principle is used in some of
the Dead Sea Scrolls, also against the Pharisees. For example, the speaker in
col. 12 of the Hodayot states, “They are mediators of fraud and seers of deceit
[…] to change your Law, which you engraved in my heart, for flattering teach-
ings for your people.” 102 On this point Jesus is clearly closer to the community
of the Dead Sea Scrolls, probably Essenes, than to the Pharisees. So even in his
fundamental rejection of the tradition of the elders, Jesus can be placed firmly
within the diverse spectrum of ancient Judaism.
Verse 9 then introduces an example of how the Pharisees’ observance of
“their tradition” nullifies the commandments of God. The divine command-
ments used in this illustration are “Honor your father and your mother”;103 and
“Whoever reviles father or mother shall die.”104 The illustration from the tra-
dition observed by the Pharisees is the prohibitive vow.105 It is exemplified in
v. 11 by a man saying to his father or mother, “Whatever of mine may benefit
you is korban, which means gift.” “Gift” here means that the man promises
to give the property in question to God (the treasury of the temple). In other
words, the prohibitive vow is a dedicatory vow “of a specific type, which [can-
not] take effect for technical reasons. The practical effect was a personal prohi-
bition.” 106 In this case the prohibitive vow seems to be a means for the man to
avoid supporting his parents.
Like Jesus, the Damascus Document condemns this kind of vow:
Every binding oath by which anyone imposes upon himself [the obligation] to fulfill a let-
ter of the law, he should not annul, even at the price of death. Anything by which he might
impose upon himself to turn away fr[om the la]w, he should not fulfill, not even when the
price is death.107

101 See M. Kister, “The Dispute over Hand Washing,” in Midrashic Studies in the New

Tes­tament (see n. 68), the discussion of Unit B (7:8–13).

102 1QH a 12:9–11 (trans. García Martínez and Tigchelaar, Study Edition [see n. 62], 1.169);

see also 1QH a 12:13–18; 4Q166 ii 5–6; 4Q301 4–5; all of these passages are cited by Kister,
“Dispute over Hand Washing” (see n. 101), in the discussion of Unit B (7:8–13).
103 Deut 5:16 LXX.
104 Exod 21:16 LXX.
105 For discussion, see M. Benovitz, KOL NIDRE: Studies in the Development of Rabbinic

Votive Institutions, BJS 315 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1998); Yarbro Collins, Mark (see n. 5),
351–353.
106 Benovitz, KOL NIDRE (see n. 105), 4; Yarbro Collins, Mark (see n. 5), 352.
107 CD 16:7–9 (trans. García Martínez and Tigchelaar, Study Edition [see n. 62], 1.565);

the passage is cited by Kister, “Dispute over Hand Washing” (see n. 101), discus­sion of Unit B.
 What Sort of Jew Is the Jesus of Mark? 211

According to the Mishnah:

if a man swore to set a commandment at naught, [to wit,] that he would not build a Sukkah
or carry a Lulab or put on phylacteries, this is accounted a “vain oath” [Lev 5:4], for which,
if it is uttered wantonly, a man is liable to Stripes, but if unwittingly, he is not culpable.108

Apparently, however, the Pharisees did not allow annulment of prohibitive

vows.109 Philo of Alexandria, however, was aware of a procedure for, in effect,
annulling a vow.110 The rabbis’ position was “that a vow that prevents one from
supplying material support to one’s parents is binding, unless it has been for-
mally annulled by sages.” 111
The dialogue between Jesus and the Pharisees (and scribes) comes to an
end with v. 13. A new beginning is given with Jesus summoning the crowd and
teaching them. He signals that what he is about to teach is figurative language
with the opening remark, “Listen to me all of you and comprehend” (v. 14).112
Verse 15 reads, “There is nothing outside of a man which, by going into
him, is able to defile him; rather, it is what goes out of a man that defiles him.”
To a certain degree, the first half of the saying can be reconciled with the To-
rah commandments regarding ritual impurity. In the rabbinic understanding of
the Torah at least, no food is in itself unclean, that is, no food can defile a hu-
man being by the act of eating, except the corpse of a clean bird. Non-kosher
food defiles a human being because one’s hands become defiled by touching
it, and the defilement is transmitted to the mouth. Kosher food can never defile
a human being to the first, highest degree of impurity, that is, it can never be
“a father of impurity” (av ha-tumah). So to the degree that Jesus spoke about
kosher food, the first half of the saying is compatible with the Torah. It is not
compatible with the rabbinic decree, however, that a man eating “defiled food”
does become defiled.113 The context of Mark 7 suggests that the Pharisaic reg-
ulation was quite similar to the rabbinic decree, at least from the point of view
of the evangelist and of the Markan Jesus.
The saying in v. 15 is an antithetical aphorism.114 As noted earlier, it is also
parabolic or figurative speech. On the literal level of meaning, it states that
nothing (no food) that goes into a person is defiling, thus opposing the Pharisa-

108 m. Šebu. 3:8 (trans. H. Danby, The Mishnah [London: Oxford University Press, 1933],

413); see also m. Ned. 5:6; both passages cited by Kister, “Dispute over Hand Washing” (see
n. 101), in the discussion of Unit B.
109 Mark 7:12–13.
110 Philo, Hypoth. 7.5 (Eusebius, Praep. ev. 8.7.5); for discussion, see Yarbro Collins, Mark

(see n. 5), 352–353.

111 Kister, “Dispute over Hand Washing” (see n. 101), in the discussion of Unit B.
112 Cf. Mark 4:3, 9; cf. 4:11–13. The saying in v. 15 is defined as a “parable” or “figurative

saying” in Mark 7:17.

113 In support of this interpretation, Kister cites Rashi’s commentary on b. Šabb. 13 b

(“Dispute over Hand Washing” [see n. 101], in the discussion of Unit C).
114 On the figure of antithesis (ἀντίθεσις), see Smyth, Greek Grammar (see n. 74), § 3013.
212 Adela Yarbro Collins

ic regulation about hand washing. The second half of the saying adds the idea
that what comes forth from a person is defiling. The saying as a whole states
clearly “not this, but that.” From the point of view of the second level of mean-
ing, one can take seriously yet compensate for the hyperbolic literal claim and
the use of language of defilement in the second half of the saying. One may
see the contrast to be rhetorical, a striking way of saying that the Pharisees are
putting their emphasis in the wrong place. Anticipating the interpretation in
vv. 21–23, one can argue that the Markan Jesus is calling for an emphasis on
morality rather than on ritual purity. Sin and vice are what cause real “defile-
ment” in a metaphorical sense. Kister has argued that this shift from halakic
issues to morality is typical of several sayings attributed to Jesus.115
In vv. 14–23 we see a typical Markan literary device: public teaching by Je-
sus, followed by private explanation to his disciples.116 The disciples ask Jesus
about “the parable.” In his interpretation of the first part of the saying, Jesus
argues that nothing going into a person from outside, that is, what one eats, can
be defiling because it does not enter the heart. Rather it goes through the belly
and out into the latrine.117 With this teaching the Markan Jesus effectively does
away with biblical and Pharisaic purity regulations, at least those concerning
food. The evangelist, or a later editor, adds the comment “making all (types of)
food clean.” 118
The interpretation of the second half of the saying elucidates the phrase
“what goes out of a human being”: “For from within, from the hearts of human
beings come evil intentions”; a list of sins and vices follows.119
In the controversy about hand washing as a whole, Jesus is portrayed as
taking a variety of positions. In his first reply to the question of the Pharisees
and the scribes, Jesus rejects the Pharisees’ observance of the “tradition of the
elders” because it leads to the abandonment or even nullification of the com-
mandments of God.120 This stance of Jesus is similar to that taken in several of
the sectarian works from Qumran, which also reject the regulations of the Phar-
isees. Jesus and the Qumran community, however, have different reasons for
rejecting them. The Qumran covenanters reject them as undermining the letter
of the commandments and thus as too lenient. One way of reading the illustra-
tion given by the Markan Jesus in this section, the prohibitive vow, is that they
are too strict in their recognition of the inviolability of a vow that has the effect
of allowing a man to disregard the commandment to provide for his parents.

115 Kister, “Dispute over Hand Washing” (see n. 101), discussion of Unit C.
116 Yarbro Collins, Mark (see n. 5), 343, 353, and commentary on vv. 17–19 on p. 355.
117 Mark 7:18 b–19 a.
118 Mark 7:19 b.
119 Mark 7:20–23; for discussion, see Yarbro Collins, Mark (see n. 5), 356–362.
120 Mark 7:6–13.
 What Sort of Jew Is the Jesus of Mark? 213

Jesus addresses his second reply to the crowd.121 This reply involves a figu-
rative saying that rejects the Pharisees’ principle that unclean hands defile food
and therefore defile the person eating it. His own formulation can be read as
halakically compatible with the Torah. On the second level of meaning, it crit-
icizes the Pharisees for emphasizing ritual purity over moral considerations.
The third and last reply comes most obviously from the evangelist’s point
of view.122 It is clearly the most radical of the three. It rejects all regulations
of the Torah and the tradition of the elders that understand food and drink as
communicating impurity. It may even imply the rejection of the entire biblical
system of ritual impurity, as Kister has concluded.123

2.3 Jesus and the Essenes / Qumran Community

2.3.1 The Question of Divorce (Mark 10:2–12)
Since the consensus is that the Essenes described by Josephus and Philo are
the same group as the community that stands behind the sectarian works of the
Dead Sea Scrolls, I will use the latter as a point for comparison with the Mar-
kan Jesus rather than the accounts of the former.
It is not clear whether the earliest recoverable reading of the text of Mark
10:2 presents the Pharisees asking whether it is lawful for a man to divorce his
wife or whether the questioners are anonymous, as in the passage about fast-
ing.124 Since no Jewish group known to us in the first century forbade divorce,
the question is odd in any case.125
Jesus replies by asking, “What did Moses command you?” and his interlocu-
tors respond with a paraphrase of Deut 24:1–4. Jesus replies that Moses “wrote
this commandment for you because of your hardness of heart.” Stephen Fraade
has argued plausibly that Mark 10:2–9 implies that “the law of divorce was
Mo­ses’s own invention and not indicative of the divine will, and hence only a
temporally bound concession to human weakness.” 126
Jesus goes on to demonstrate, by citing Gen 1:27 and 2:24, that the will of
God is that “What therefore God has joined man shall not separate.” 127 With
this pronouncement the first scene comes to an end with what appears to be an
absolute prohibition of divorce. In the next, closely related scene, however, the

121 Mark 7:14–15. V. 16 is a later addition to the text of Mark; Yarbro Collins, Mark (see

n. 5), 339, 341 (note p).

122 Mark 7:17–23.
123 Kister, “Dispute over Hand Washing” (see n. 101), in the discussion of Unit D.
124 Fasting is the issue in Mark 2:18–21; on the textual issue in Mark 12:2, see Yarbro

Col­lins, Mark (see n. 5), 457 (note b), 465.

125 For discussion, see Yarbro Collins, Mark (see n. 5), 465.
126 S. D. Fraade, “Moses and the Commandments: Can Hermeneutics, History, and Rheto-

ric Be Disentangled?,” in The Idea of Biblical Interpretation: Essays in Honor of James Ku­
gel, ed. H. Najman and J. H. Newman, JSJSup 83 (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 399–422, here 417.
127 Mark 10:6–9.
214 Adela Yarbro Collins

disciples ask Jesus privately “about this matter.” He replies that any man who
divorces his wife and marries another commits adultery against his first wife,
and that a woman who divorces and marries another commits adultery against
her first husband.128
This response of Jesus indicates his acceptance that at times divorce is inev-
itable. It also, however, entails the prohibition of a second marriage as long as
the first spouse is still alive. This position of the Markan Jesus is similar to that
of a passage in the Damascus Document, one of the rule-books from Qumran.
This passage reads:
The builders of the wall [Ezek 13:10] […] have been caught in unchastity in two ways: by
taking two wives in their lifetime, whereas the principle of creation [is] Male and female he
created them [Gen 1:27], and those who entered [Noah’s] ark, two [by] two went into the ark
[Gen 7:9]. And concerning the prince [it is] written: He shall not multiply wives for himself
[Deut 17:17].129

The interpretation of this text has been controversial, but a fragmentary text of
the Damascus Document from Qumran seems to settle the issue.130 It states that
a man may marry a widow, as long as she has not had intercourse with anyone
since her husband died. This supports the conclusion that the text just quoted
permits divorce but condemns all second marriages as long as the first wife is
living. So in the second scene of this passage, the Markan Jesus takes a position
similar to that documented for the Qumran community.

2.3.2 The Issue of Eschatology

In Mark both John the Baptist and Jesus are presented as eschatological figures
whose activity is the fulfillment of Scripture.131 The second part of the opening
quotation from Scripture comes from Isa 40:3. The same passage is cited in the
Community Rule from Qumran in a way that suggests the community inter-
preted it as being fulfilled in their own time and in their communal life.132 The
Community Rule also refers to “the final age” and “the time of the visitation”
of God. The Gospel of Mark implies the presence of the final age and an anal-
ogous visitation in the announcement of Jesus’s message: The “time is fulfilled
and the kingdom of God has drawn near.” 133
The evangelist portrays John the Baptist as the forerunner of Jesus.134 Both
are described as “proclaiming” (κηρύσσων).135 In addition to a baptism of re-
128 Mark 10:10–12.
129 CD 4:19–5:2 (trans. [punctuation modified] J. A. Fitzmyer, “The Matthean Divorce
Texts and Some New Palestinian Evidence,” TS 37 [1976], 213–223).
130 4Q271 3 10–15.
131 Mark 1:1–3 and what follows in Mark 1:4–15.
132 1QS 8:12–16; 9:17–20. For discussion, see Yarbro Collins, Mark (see n. 5), 136–138.
133 1QS 4:16–23; Mark 1:2–15; quotation from v. 15; Yarbro Collins, Mark (see n. 5), 138.
134 Mark 1:2, 7–8.
135 John in Mark 1:4, 7; Jesus in Mark 1:14.
 What Sort of Jew Is the Jesus of Mark? 215

pentance, John proclaims, “The one who is stronger than I is coming after me;
I am not fit to crouch and untie the strap of his sandals.” 136 This description of
Jesus fits well with his identification as the Messiah; it also strongly subordi-
nates John to Jesus.137 John’s declaration, “I have baptized you with water, but
he will baptize you in [the] Holy Spirit,” does the same but also entails the idea
that the anticipatory eschatological renewal occurs in two stages.
The baptism of John with water may be seen as an evoking of Ezek 36:25–
28, where God promises to sprinkle clean water upon Israel to cleanse them, to
give them a new heart, and to put God’s spirit within them. Whereas in Mark
the sprinkling with water and the bestowal of the Spirit are separated in time,
in the Community Rule these activities are two aspects of the same event or
process.138 The separation of the two in Mark creates a parallel that suggests
that John’s activity both precedes and prepares for that of Jesus.
As is well known, the Qumran community expected an eschatological
prophet; a Messiah of Aaron, that is, a priestly Messiah; and a Messiah of Isra-
el, that is, a political Messiah.139 According to the War Scroll, the outcome of
the eschatological battle will be “the sway of Michael above all the gods (‫אלים‬,
‘angels’), and the dominion of Israel over all flesh.” 140 Elsewhere in the War
Scroll, the Davidic Messiah is depicted as playing a role in the final battle.141 In
this passage, he is called “the Prince of the whole congregation.” 142 The term
“prince” (‫ )נשיא‬comes from Ezekiel, where it is used both for the king of Ju-
dah who was sent into exile and also for the future king who would restore the
Davidic monarchy. That “the prince of the congregation” refers to the Messiah
of Israel in the War Scroll is indicated by the citation of the oracle of Balaam
in col. 11 and the association of the “scepter” in that passage with “the prince
of the whole congregation” in the Damascus Document.143 Thus it is likely that
the rule of Michael in the heavens will be accompanied by the rule of the Mes-
siah of Israel over the earth.
The summary of Jesus’s teaching in Mark 1:15 implies that the prophecies
of Scripture and the hopes of the people are in the process of being fulfilled.
The process will not be complete until the Son of Man comes.144 Mark’s Jesus

136 Mark 1:7.

137 See the section “Jesus as Messiah” (1.1) above.
138 1QS 4:18–23.
139 1QS 9:10–11; 4QTest (4Q175); CD 14:19; cf. 4QMidrEschat (4Q174 [also known as

4QFlor] + 4Q177); CD 7:18–21; the Rule of the Congregation (1QSa); the Rule of Benedic-
tions (1QSb); for discussion, see M. A. Knibb, “Apocalypticism and Messianism,” in The
Oxford Handbook of the Dead Sea Scrolls, ed. T. H. Lim and J. J. Collins (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 2010), 403–432, here 421–424.
140 1QM 17:7–8.
141 1QM 5:1–2.
142 Trans. García Martínez and Tigchelaar, Study Edition (see n. 62), 1.121.
143 1QM 11:6–7; CD 7:18–21; Yarbro Collins, Mark (see n. 5), 53–54.
144 Mark 9:1; 13:24–27.
216 Adela Yarbro Collins

announces that “the time is fulfilled.” The Melchizedek Scroll refers to the
“end of days” (‫ )אחרית הימים‬and the end of the tenth jubilee.145 In the Dead
Sea Scrolls, the phrase “the end of days” refers to a period of separation and
affliction for the pious, a time of temptation and suffering in which the commu-
nity has to stand the test. This final period of history included events that were
already past from the point of view of the community; the present time, from
the point of view of sectarian works from the earliest to the latest; and events
of the future, such as the coming of the two Messiahs.146 According to another
document from Qumran, the history of the world is divided into ten jubilee pe-
riods, each of which is subdivided into weeks of years, as in the Melchizedek
Scroll.147 The end of the tenth jubilee, therefore, would be the end or fulfillment
of history. The Gospel of Mark and the Melchizedek Scroll thus seem to share
the idea of the end as a period of time during which a series of eschatological
events have occurred, are occurring, and will occur.
The following passage is especially interesting for comparison with Mark
1:2–15:
This is the day [of salvation (Isa 49:8) about w]hich [God] spoke [through the mouth of Isa-]
iah the prophet who said, [“How] beautiful on [the] mountains are the feet of the heral[d who
pro]claims peace, the her[ald of good who proclaims salvati]on, saying to Zion, ‘Your God
[is king’” (Isa 52:7)].148

The Melchizedek Scroll interprets the word “God” in Isa 52:7 as referring to
Melchizedek, who is an angel and probably equivalent to Michael, but this
figure is clearly the agent of God in God’s eschatological rule.149 Thus Mark
1:15 and the Melchizedek Scroll both connect the fulfillment of history with
the kingship of God.
The “herald” (‫ )מבשר‬mentioned in the passage just cited and in what follows
is probably identical with the eschatological prophet expected by the commu-
nity.150 An aspect of the role of the herald is to announce that Melchizedek is
king. This constellation of eschatological ideas is strikingly analogous to the
narrative introduction to Mark, in which the baptism performed by the prophet-
ic figure John and his reference to the one who comes after him provide the
occasion for the appointment of Jesus as Messiah. The analogy is even stronger
if we take Melchizedek as Michael and keep in mind the parallel kingship of
Michael and the Messiah of Israel in the War Scroll.

145 11QMelch 2:4, 7.

146 A. Steudel, “‫ אחרית הימים‬in the Texts from Qumran,” RevQ 16 (1993), 225–246.
147 4QpsEzek a (4Q385).
148 11QMelch 2:15–16 (trans. [punctuation modified] P. Kobelski, Melchizedek and Mel­

chi­reša‘, CBQMS 10 [Washington, D. C.: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1981], 8).
149 11QMelch 2:24–25; Kobelski, Melchizedek (see n. 148), 62–64, 71–74.
150 11QMelch 2:16, 18–19; on the eschatological prophet, see 1QS 9:11; 4QTest 5–8, cit­

ing Deut 18:18–19; Kobelski, Melchizedek (see n. 148), 61–62.

 What Sort of Jew Is the Jesus of Mark? 217

The Gospel of Mark implies that there is a divine plan in history and that,
in the last days, the relevant part of this plan unfolds in stages. This last stage
is related to the “good news” and it begins with John the prophet proclaiming
his message of repentance and performing the rite of baptism. It continues with
Jesus’s proclaiming the good news of the kingdom of God and his making it
present in an anticipatory way in his authoritative teaching, meal fellowship,
and mighty deeds. His suffering, death, and resurrection “must happen” and
are part of the good news,151 which must be proclaimed to all the nations be-
fore the end can come.152 Other events then follow: “the beginning of the birth
pains,” 153 the unprecedented tribulation,154 and finally the coming of the Son of
Man, which seems to be the end (τὸ τέλος).155 The fixed character of this plan
is clear, although God can amend it.156
The idea of a fixed divine plan is also found in a text from the Dead Sea
Scrolls, known as 4QInstruction. It refers to a “mystery that is to be” or a “mys-
tery that is to come” (‫)רז נהיה‬. This mystery “includes the entire divine plan
from creation to eschatological judgment.” 157 The eschatological dimension of
this work expresses both the fulfillment of the divine plan and the fact that only
at the end will the plan become evident to all, especially in the reward of the
righteous and the punishment of the wicked.

2.3.3 The Role of the Temple

Many New Testament scholars have detected an “anti-temple” theme in Mark
and argued that it signified for the Markan Jesus an end to the temple cult, to
the temple itself, or even to the Jewish way of life.158 In my view this kind of
argument is wrong-headed, as I will try to show in what follows.
First of all, it should be noted that the Markan Jesus affirms the role of the
temple and the priesthood in his instruction of the leper he has just healed:
“See that you say nothing to anyone, but go, show yourself to the priest and

151 Mark 8:31; 9:31; 10:32–34; 14:8–9, 36, 41; 15:1–16:8; note the theme of the fulfill-

ment of Scripture in Mark 15.

152 Mark 13:10; cf. 13:7.
153 Mark 13:7–8.
154 Mark 13:19.
155 Mark 13:24–27; cf. 13:7.
156 See esp. Mark 8:31; 13:7, 10; 14:36; and the motif of the fulfillment of Scripture in

Mark 14:49.
157 J. J. Collins, Jewish Wisdom in the Hellenistic Age, OTL (Louisville, Ky.: Westminster

John Knox, 1997), 122. Regarding eschatological punishment, see Mark 9:43–48.
158 See the criticism by Nicole Wilkinson Duran of the supersessionist views of Bruce

Chil­ton, N. T. Wright, John Dominic Crossan, Marcus Borg, and Nicholas Perrin in “‘Not
One Stone Will Be Left on Another’: The Destruction of the Temple and the Crucifixion of
Jesus in Mark’s Gospel,” in Sacrifice, Cult, and Atonement in Early Judaism and Christi­
anity: Constituents and Critique, ed. H. L. Wiley and C. A. Eberhart, RBS 85 (Atlanta: SBL
Press, 2017), 311–325, here 311–315.
218 Adela Yarbro Collins

offer for your cleansing what Moses commanded, as a proof for them.” 159 The
phrase “as a proof for them” (εἰς μαρτύριον αὐτοῖς) indicates that the healing
is to demonstrate to the authorities that Jesus has the power to heal and is thus
God’s agent. Yet this demonstration is to take place within the normal function
of the temple with regard to ritual purity.
Just after Jesus’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem, which is associated by the
crowd with “the coming kingdom of our father David,” and before the cleans-
ing of the temple, Jesus curses a fig tree, declaring, “May no one eat fruit from
you again!” 160 Numerous scholars have claimed that the fig tree symbolizes
the people of Israel as a whole or the temple and its destruction.161 An inter-
pretation more in keeping with the literary and cultural context is that the fig
tree represents the local leaders of the people, especially the priests and the
scribes.162
Furthermore, the actions of Jesus in the temple do not symbolize the de-
struction of the temple.163 Contrary to what E. P. Sanders has argued, Jesus’s
overturning tables and chairs is not a transparent image of destruction.164 In
addition, the cursing of the fig tree is interpreted, immediately after the scene
in the temple, as an example of the power of faith or trust in God.165
Jesus’s actions in the temple do not imply the end of the temple service. The
wording of Mark’s account places emphasis on Jesus driving out those who
were selling and buying on the temple mount. The point is not that Jesus wished
to put an end to the selling and buying in an absolute sense, but only that this
activity should not take place on the temple mount.
The Scriptural citations also fail to establish an allusion to the destruction
of the temple. The quotation of Isa 56:7 implies for Mark’s audience the tra-
ditional ideal that the gentiles will turn to the God of Israel and adopt Jewish
practices. As in the original context of the saying in Isa 56:7, however, its use
in the Markan context also entails a shift of emphasis from sacrifice to prayer.
In its original context, Jer 7:11 condemned the incongruity between immoral
behavior and the expectation of security in the holy place. In Mark, the allu-

159 Mark 1:44.

160 Mark 11:14.
161 See the discussion of these views in Yarbro Collins, Mark (see n. 5), 523–525.
162 Cf. Mark 11:18, 27–28; 12:12–13 (the unexpressed subject in Mark 12:12–13 is the

chief priests, the scribes, and the elders of Mark 11:27–28); see Yarbro Collins, Mark (see
n. 5), 525–526. Wilkinson Duran makes a similar argument (“Not One Stone” [see n. 158],
320–321).
163 Mark 11:15–16.
164 E. P. Sanders, Jesus and Judaism (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985), 69–71; see the criti-

cism and alternative interpretation in A. Yarbro Collins, “Jesus’ Action in Herod’s Temple,”
in Antiquity and Humanity: Essays on Ancient Religion and Philosophy, ed. A. Yarbro Col-
lins and M. M. Mitchell (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001), 45–61.
165 Mark 11:20–25, esp. vv. 23–24. For discussion, see Yarbro Collins, Mark (see n. 5),

534–536.
 What Sort of Jew Is the Jesus of Mark? 219

sion to Jer 7:11 contrasts with the promise of Isa 56:7 and protests against the
factionalism and violence of the high priestly families, which was a contribut-
ing factor to the outbreak of the revolt against Rome. It probably also alludes
to occupation of the temple by the Zealots, in which the temple quite literally
became “a brigands’ den.” 166
A narrative detail in this passage is interesting and important, namely, that
Jesus did not permit anyone to carry a σκεῦος through the temple mount. It is
difficult to determine precisely how this word should be translated here and
to what it refers. The basic meaning of σκεῦος is “vessel or implement of any
kind,” 167 that is, a container or a tool of some sort. The plural has the collective
sense of property, household goods, or equipment. The word thus has a great
range of meaning in both singular and plural, and the specific meaning in any
given case is determined by the context. Here the context is the temple mount,
which is not further specified. The proximity of the temple proper calls to mind
τὰ ἅγια σκεύη τῆς λειτουργίας, the vessels and utensils associated with the
sacrificial cult.168 The point seems to be that Jesus taught that it was improper
to carry an ordinary, that is, a profane or defiled container or implement from
outside the temple mount, through the temple area, and out again. There seem
to be two main implications: first, the whole area of the temple mount is sacred
and thus only sacred vessels and implements are allowed there;169 second, it is
not proper to take a short-cut through the temple mount while carrying a de-
filed vessel or tool.170 The saying clearly concerns the holiness of the temple
mount and possibly ritual purity. Although the latter theme seems to be of little
concern to the author of Mark, he may have preserved here a fragment of the
teaching of the historical Jesus.171
Mark’s presentation of Jesus’s action in the temple still reflects the likely
motivation of the historical Jesus. He was probably protesting the way in which
Herod had remodeled the temple mount. As with the tabernacle in the wilder-

166 For further discussion, see Yarbro Collins, Mark (see n. 5), 530–532. The conflict among

the high priestly families began around 59 CE, according to Josephus (B. J. 2.254–256; A. J.
20.162–163). See also Yarbro Collins, “Jesus’ Action” (see n. 164).
167 LSJ, s. v. σκεῦος.
168 4 Bar. 3:9; cf. Heb 9:21; Josephus, B. J. 6.389; see also Exod 27:3; 30:27–28; 3 Kgdms

8:4; Isa 52:11; Jer 52:18; Ezek 40:42; 2 Esd 7:19; Eupolemus (Eusebius, Praep. ev. 34.14–
15).
169 Josephus states that ordinary food and drink are not permitted in the temple (C. Ap.

2.108–109). He also says that no vessel whatsoever may be carried into the temple; here he
refers to the temple proper, the holy place, and must mean no ordinary vessel (2.106).
170 J. Klausner, Jesus of Nazareth: His Life, Times, and Teaching, trans. H. Danby (New

York: Macmillan, 1925), 315; G. Dalman, Orte und Wege Jesu, 3rd ed., BFCT 2 / 1 (Güters­
loh: Bertelsmann, 1924), 309; contra J. Jeremias, “Zwei Miszellen: 1. Antik-jüdische Münz-
deutungen; 2. Zur Geschichtlichkeit der Tempelreinigung,” NTS 23 (1977), 177–180, and
San­ders, Jesus and Judaism (see n. 164), 364 n. 1.
171 Contrast Mark 7:19 b. See Yarbro Collins, “Jesus’ Action” (see n. 164).
220 Adela Yarbro Collins

ness and the temple of Solomon, in Herod’s plan the whole interior was held to
be more sacred than the area of the outer court.
In the description of the ideal temple-complex in the Book of Ezekiel em-
phatic instructions are given that no foreigner may enter the complex.172 The
exclusion of foreigners may signify that the outer court was no longer to be
a civic center but part of the sanctuary in the strict sense. Unlike the design
and norms of Ezekiel, the custom in the second temple was to allow gentiles
to enter the outer courtyard. This arrangement shows that the outer courtyard
was not envisioned as cultic space in the strict sense. The Mishnaic tractate
Middot, like Ezek 40–48, envisages a temple-complex open to Jews only. As is
well known, however, gentiles were allowed to enter the outer courtyard of the
Herodian temple, as was the case with the second temple of the third century
BCE.173
The members of the Qumran community believed that they had been com-
manded by God to build a temple in the final period of history, “the end of
days.” The temple to be built in this period is probably the one described in
the Temple Scroll.174 This work probably originated in the same priestly circles
from which the sect emerged; that is, it belongs to the formative period of the
Qumran community, a time before its crystallization as sect.175
The passage extending from cols. 3–13 contains a design or norms for the
construction of the temple and the altar. Following a section devoted to the fes-
tivals and their sacrifices is another architectural portion, a design or norms for
the construction of the courtyards and other buildings within the temple-com-
plex as a whole.176 The Temple Scroll envisages a temple with three courtyards.
Only the priests are to have access to the inner courtyard.177
Apparently only men of Israel over the age of twenty are to enter the second
or middle courtyard.178 The third courtyard is intended for the women of Israel
and a certain category of foreigners, probably proselytes.179 The temple is to
have a terrace or platform around it, outside the third, outer courtyard, with

172 Ezek 44:5–9.

173 T. A. Busink, Der Tempel von Jerusalem von Salomo bis Herodes, 2 vols. (Leiden:
Brill, 1970–1980), 2.834–836.
174 Johan Maier argues along these lines, concluding that, although the design is ideal, it

is not unrealistic: “The Temple Scroll and Tendencies in the Cultic Architecture of the Second
Commonwealth,” in Archaeology and History in the Dead Sea Scrolls: The New York Uni­
versity Conference in Memory of Yigael Yadin, ed. L. H. Schiffman, JSPSup 8 / JSOT /ASOR
Monographs 2 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1990), 67–82, esp. 67–68.
175 F. García Martínez, “New Perspectives on the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Per­

spectives in the Study of the Old Testament and Early Judaism, ed. F. García Martínez and
E. Noort, VTSup 73 (Leiden: Brill, 1998), 230–248, here 243–244.
176 11QT a (11Q19) 30–45.
177 This limitation seems to be implied by 11QT a 19:5–6; 32:10–12; and 37:8–14.
178 11QT a 38:12–39:11.
179 11QT a 40:5–6.
 What Sort of Jew Is the Jesus of Mark? 221

twelve steps leading up to it. Finally, a ditch or trench, more than seven times
wider than the terrace, is to separate the temple-complex from the city so that
no one can rush into the sanctuary and defile it. This barrier would sanctify the
complex and lead the people to hold it in awe.180 The plan of the Temple Scroll
clearly does not allow for the use of the outer courtyard of the temple as a kind
of civic center, open to gentiles and Israelites who are ritually impure. On the
contrary, only Israelites, including proselytes, in a state of ritual purity are al-
lowed to enter even the outer courtyard of the temple.
The design for the restored temple in Ezekiel and the norms for the ideal
temple in the Temple Scroll clearly involve stricter regulations regarding holi-
ness that the ones that were actually in use in the period of the second temple.
These two works attest to a minority opinion regarding the use of the outer
court, an opinion that at some point became dominant in the Pharisaic-rabbinic
tradition. It is likely that Herod’s re-design of the temple mount increased the
degree to which the outer court served as a profane civic center.181 One piece of
evidence for this view is the fact that he greatly enlarged the area of the temple
mount.182 Herod increased the already ambiguous character of the outer court:
on the one hand it was a temenos, a sacred area; on the other, it was a great
civic esplanade.
Mark describes Jesus as disrupting the sale of doves and the changing of
money in the outer courtyard. These actions suggest his advocacy of an ideal
temple along the lines of those depicted by Ezekiel and the Temple Scroll. The
outer court was to be sacred space devoted to prayer and teaching, not civ-
ic space, open to the general public and devoted to profane activities. Those
who needed or wished to sacrifice doves could bring their own from home or
purchase them outside the temple area. Money changing could also take place
outside the temple mount.
The idea that Jesus insisted on stricter regulations regarding holiness than
the priests administering the temple in his time may seem unlikely in light of
the traditions attributed to him regarding the observance of the Sabbath and
purity. But the various traditions are by no means incompatible. Jesus appar-
ently subordinated the observance of the Sabbath to the needs of ordinary hu-
man beings, especially in relation to hunger, illness, and disability. The need
of pilgrims to purchase animals and to change coins did not have to be met
180 11QT a 46:5–12.
181 Jostein Ådna has argued that, in Herod’s design, the outer courtyard was intended to
function as an agora, and the royal portico or basilica as a marketplace: Jerusalemer Tem­
pel und Tempelmarkt im 1. Jahrhundert n. Chr., ADPV 25 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1999),
72–87.
182 G. Foerster, “Art and Architecture in Palestine,” in The Jewish People in the First

Cen­tury, ed. S. Safrai and M. Stern, vol. 2, CRINT 1 / 2 (Assen: van Gorcum; Philadelphia:
Fortress, 1976), 971–1006, here 977–978; M. Goodman, “The Pilgrimage Economy of Jeru-
salem in the Second Temple Period,” in Jerusalem: Its Sanctity and Centrality to Judaism,
Christianity, and Islam, ed. L. I. Levine (New York: Continuum, 1999), 69–76, here 74.
222 Adela Yarbro Collins

in the outer court of the temple. Such activities could be placed elsewhere.
In this case, Jesus seems to place the honor and dignity of God above human
convenience. Insofar as the Temple Scroll represents the views of the Qumran
community, the Markan Jesus is once again closer to their views than to those
of the Pharisees.
The fact that Jesus’s actions in the temple are not the only reason given in
Mark for his arrest and execution is also important for the question of interpre-
tation. The account of these activities is indeed followed by a statement that the
chief priests were looking for a way to destroy him. The reason, however, is not
that he posed a threat to the temple but rather their fear that the crowd was so
taken with his teaching.183 Later they question his authority “to do this,” prob-
ably referring to his actions in the temple. Jesus wins the repartee, and they do
nothing because the people think he is a prophet.184 Moreover, it is their per-
ception that Jesus told the parable of the wicked tenants against them that leads
to the decision to arrest him.185
The Jesus of Mark utters a prophetic saying in Mark 13:2 predicting the de-
struction of the temple.186 Two factors from the cultural context cast light on
the significance of this prophecy. One is the expectation of a definitive, escha-
tological temple in the Temple Scroll and in Jubilees, a work closely related to
the Dead Sea Scrolls. It would not be inappropriate to say that such an expec-
tation implies that the current temple must make way for the future, final one.
A passage in the Temple Scroll reads:
I shall sanctify my [te]mple with my glory, for I shall make my glory reside over it until the
day of creation, when I shall create my temple, establishing it for myself for all days, accord-
ing to the covenant which I made with Jacob at Bethel.187

According to Jubilees, when God gathers the descendants of Abraham, Isaac,

and Jacob from among the nations and grants them an age of peace and righ-
teousness:
I will build my sanctuary in their midst, and I will dwell with them and be their God, and they
shall be my people in truth and righteousness.188

The account that the angel will write for Moses begins with the beginning of
creation and continues until “my sanctuary shall be built among them for all
eternity.” 189 That moment is elaborated in the following way:

183 Mark 11:18.

184 Mark 11:27–33.
185 Mark 12:12; cf. 14:1–2.
186 Wilkinson Duran’s use of the phrase “the unbuilding of the temple” (“Not One Stone”

[see n. 158], 324) is appropriate in its apparent antithetical allusion to Hag 2:15–16 a LXX;
Yarbro Collins, Mark (see n. 5), 602.
187 11QT a 29:8–10 (trans. García Martínez and Tigchelaar, Study Edition [see n. 62], 2.1251).
188 Jub. 1:17 (trans. R. H. Charles and C. Rabin, in H. F. D. Sparks, ed., The Apocryphal

Old Testament [Oxford: Clarendon, 1984], 12).

 What Sort of Jew Is the Jesus of Mark? 223

Until the day when the heavens and the earth are renewed and with them all created things
both in heaven and on earth, until the day when the sanctuary of the Lord is created in Je-
rusalem on mount Zion and all the luminaries are renewed as instruments of healing and of
peace and of blessing for all the elect of Israel, and that so it may be from that day on as long
as the earth lasts.190

The other factor is the evidence that an attack on the temple and perhaps its
destruction was associated with imminent expectation of a divine interven-
tion. This is implied in the eschatological discourse of Jesus. The disciples of
Jesus associate the destruction of the temple with the fulfillment of “all these
things.” 191 Part of Jesus’s reply is that wars (probably including the first Jewish
War with Rome) will (only) be the beginning of the birth pains.192 A prophecy
of a time of tribulation follows, which sounds very much like aspects of that
war with Rome.193 Strikingly, Jesus prophesies the coming of the Son of Man
as an event that will follow directly upon that time of trouble.194
Josephus also provides evidence for the connection between the war, the
temple, and a divine intervention. After trying other forms of assault on the
temple, Titus ordered that the gates be set on fire.195 The fire spread to the por­
ticoes.196 When the rebels, who were using the temple as a fortress, did not sur-
render, Titus ordered that the fire be extinguished and a road be built to facili-
tate the army’s access to the temple.197 Before Titus ordered the army to force
its way into the temple, the rebels engaged some Roman soldiers. One of the
latter cast a burning object into the temple proper, and the chambers surround-
ing the sanctuary (ναός) caught fire.198 A large number of soldiers then fed the
fire.199 It finally enveloped the sanctuary itself.200
According to Josephus, while the temple complex was aflame, the rebels
fled into the city, but some of the people took refuge on the outer portico.201 He
says that this group included women, children, and a mixed multitude, about
6,000 in number. The soldiers set fire to the portico from below, and they all
perished. Josephus comments:

189 Jub. 1:29 (Sparks, Apocryphal Old Testament [see n. 188], 13–14).

190 Jub. 1:29.
191 Mark 13:4.
192 Mark 13:7–8.
193 Mark 13:14–25.
194 Mark 13:24–27.
195 Josephus, B. J. 6.228.
196 Josephus, B. J. 6.232.
197 Josephus, B. J. 6.236.
198 Josephus, B. J. 6.249–252.
199 Josephus, B. J. 6.256–258.
200 Josephus, B. J. 6.265–266.
201 Josephus, B. J. 6.277.
224 Adela Yarbro Collins

They owed their destruction to 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 (τὰ σημεῖα τῆς σωτηρίας).202

The literary context of the eschatological discourse as a whole in Mark 13 and

the Jewish evidence from the cultural context make clear that the prophecy of
the destruction of the temple attributed to Jesus is not anti-temple or anti-Jew-
ish in any way. It fits rather with one or more of the apocalyptic groups among
Jews at the time, whose views are attested by the Temple Scroll, Jubilees, and
the sixth book of Josephus’s history of the Jewish War.

2.3.4 False Testimony against Jesus about the Temple (Mark 14:58
and 15:29)
During the trial of Jesus before the Sanhedrin, it is stated that some bore false
witness against him saying, “We heard him saying, ‘I will destroy this sanctu-
ary (ὁ ναὸς οὗτος), which is made with hands, and in the course of three days
I will build another, which is not made with hands.’” 203 Presumably this testi-
mony is defined as false because in the prophetic saying in Mark 13, Jesus does
not say that he will destroy “these great buildings,” and does not mention a
new temple that will replace the current one (τὸ ἱερόν), let alone that he would
build it himself.204 Nevertheless, behind the falsely worded charge lies a point
that should be taken seriously as affirmed by the Markan Jesus. The most like-
ly connotation of the “temple not made with hands” is the Jewish apocalyptic
notion of an eschatological, eternal temple of divine origin, such as the one
attested in the Temple Scroll and in Jubilees and discussed above.
Some of those who passed by the crucified Jesus reviled him saying, “Hah!
You who are about to destroy the sanctuary (ὁ ναός) and build [another] in
three days, save yourself by coming down from the cross!” 205 This saying re-
prises the statement of the false witnesses at the trial before the Sanhedrin. The
thematic repetition connects the trial before the high priest with the crucifixion.
Not only is Jesus mocked here because he is alleged to be unable to save him-
self in spite of his reputed mighty deeds, but the audience is also led to perceive
the Jewish leaders as more culpable in the death of Jesus than Pilate. This shift
of blame serves an apologetic purpose: the founder of the movement in and for
which the evangelist writes was not freely and deliberately condemned as a
criminal by a Roman magistrate.

202 Josephus, B. J. 6.283–285; quotation from B. J. 6.285 (H. St. J. Thackeray, LCL 210).
203 Mark 14:57–58.
204 Mark 13:2 (“these great buildings”), 3 (“the temple”). For discussion of the signifi-

cance of this charge, see Yarbro Collins, Mark (see n. 5), 701–702.
205 Mark 15:29–30.
 What Sort of Jew Is the Jesus of Mark? 225

2.3.5 The Splitting of the Curtain of the Temple (Mark 15:38)

Like Jesus’s action in the temple, the splitting of the temple curtain has often
been interpreted both as a sign of the imminent destruction of the temple and as
symbolizing God’s abandonment or rejection of the temple. The splitting of the
curtain of the sanctuary (ὁ ναός) is ambiguous and probably symbolic.206 The
most important clue to the significance of this omen is the similarity between
the splitting (σχίζειν) of the heavens at the time of Jesus’s baptism and the
splitting (σχίζειν) of the curtain.207 The two passages mark the beginning and
the end of Jesus’s public activity. When the heavens are split, the divine Spirit
descends and Jesus hears the divine voice speaking to him. The connection of
that passage with the splitting of the curtain suggests that the omen at the time
of Jesus’s death is a nontraditional theophany. The death of Jesus on the cross is
accompanied by a real but ambiguous and mysterious theophany that suggests
the vindication of Jesus.208
There is no compelling reason to view the splitting of the curtain as an anti-­
temple symbol or even a symbol of destruction. The splitting of the curtain may
well be read as a positive portrayal of the temple: it signifies the mysterious
revelation of the presence of God in the temple as an interpretation of the death
of Jesus. This symbolic meaning is richly suggestive and open to a variety of
interpretive elaborations.

3. Conclusion

In the Gospel of Mark, Jesus plays several traditional Jewish roles: prophet,
teacher, herald, and a pious man who prays. The evangelist also makes the bold
claim that he is the expected royal Messiah, but with a twist. He will not lead
the Israelites in battle and will not rule as a political king, at least not in his hu-
man form. He will, it is implied, rule as the heavenly Son of Man, fulfilling the
prophecy of Dan 7, after his death and resurrection. That rule is anticipated in
his authoritative activity of forgiving sins and interpreting the commandment
to keep the Sabbath holy.
The relationship of the Markan Jesus to the Pharisees is diverse and com-
plex. In the Sabbath controversies, he shares their point of view for the most
part. In each case, however, he expands a permissible exception. In the passage
about plucking grain on the Sabbath, he expands the permission to break the
Sabbath in the case of life-threatening hunger by arguing that hunger itself is
a sufficient justification. He argues analogously in the healing of the man with

206 For discussion, see Yarbro Collins, Mark (see n. 5), 759–764.
207 Cf. Mark 1:10 with 15:38.
208 Cf. Mark 15:38 with the prayer of Jesus in Gethsemane, when he submits to God’s

will (14:36).
226 Adela Yarbro Collins

the withered hand that the permission to violate the Sabbath in order to save a
life be expanded to include any illness or disability.
The controversy over hand washing is more complex. In part of the passage,
Jesus, like the Qumran community, puts the commandments of God above the
regulations of the Pharisees based on the tradition of the elders. The Markan
Jesus argues that a vow resulting in refusal to support one’s parents is not to
be viewed as inviolable. Analogously, he may be seen as adopting the idea that
most foods are incapable of defiling a person, a view that is compatible with
the Torah. The figurative saying and its interpretation criticize the Pharisees for
emphasizing ritual purity more than moral issues. In all these instances, Jesus
is within the sphere of Jewish ideas and practices of his time.
In part of the interpretation of the figurative saying, the part most character-
istic of Markan redaction, however, Jesus goes beyond the boundary of identi-
fiable Jewish practices of his time by associating “defilement” with the heart,
rather than with anything that impinges on the human being from outside the
body. In the rest of the passage, however, the Markan Jesus is shown to be fa-
miliar with halakic argumentation.
The Markan Jesus and the Qumran community agree that remarriage after
divorce is only permitted after the first spouse has died. It is likely that the
Phar­isees, like the rabbis, did not limit remarriage in this way.
We have little evidence for the eschatology taught by the Pharisees. Their
teaching of resurrection and of rewards and punishments after death suggest
that these views probably had a wider eschatological context. The imminent
expectation of Paul, the former Pharisee, regarding the coming of the resur-
rected Jesus may well have been facilitated by the expectation of a divine in-
tervention by some Pharisees.
There are significant similarities between the much better known eschatolo-
gy of the Dead Sea Scrolls and that of the Markan Jesus. In the Gospel of Mark,
John the Baptist proclaims the coming of Jesus, and Jesus proclaims that the
time is fulfilled and the kingdom of God has drawn near. The latter announce-
ment refers not to a point in time but to a process that begins with the baptism
of John and ends with the coming of Jesus as Son of Man. Similarly, the notion
of the “end of days” in the Dead Sea Scrolls is a period of time encompassing
the past, present, and future of the community. The similarities between Mark
and the Melchizedek Scroll are especially noteworthy.
A number of works among the Dead Sea Scrolls and Mark also share the
expectation of a Messiah of Israel, a political Messiah, although Mark consid-
erably reinterprets the definition of that figure and gives more importance to
a heavenly Messiah, who has some similarities with the angel Michael, also
known as Melchizedek. The Markan Jesus implies that there is a fixed divine
eschatological plan that has some elements in common with the ‫ רז נהיה‬of
4QInstruction.
 What Sort of Jew Is the Jesus of Mark? 227

With regard to the temple, the actions of Jesus in the temple as described by
Mark imply that the outer courtyard should not be functioning as a public space
open to gentiles and Israelites in a ritually impure state. Rather it should be as
sacred as the inner court. The Temple Scroll was probably composed in circles
related to the formation of the Qumran sect and was preserved and apparently
read by its members. This document makes the same point made by the Markan
Jesus and Ezek 40–48, that the outer court of the temple is sacred space and
should not be profaned.
The prophecies of the destruction of the temple attributed to the Markan Je-
sus do not signify a rejection of the temple service, let alone of Jewish practices
as a whole, or of the people of Israel. Rather they are explicable in the context
of the expectation of a definitive, eternal temple to be built by God attested by
Jubilees and the Temple Scroll and in the context of a divine intervention asso-
ciated with an attack or destruction of the temple as attested by the sixth book
of Josephus’s history of the Jewish War.
Finally, the splitting of the curtain of the temple at the time of Jesus’s death
need not be taken as symbolizing the departure of God from the temple and
foretelling its destruction. Rather, like the acclamation of the centurion and
the empty tomb found by the women, it may be seen as a vindication of Jesus.
Like the splitting of the heavens at the time of Jesus’s baptism and the voice
from heaven at the transfiguration, the splitting of the curtain symbolizes the
presence of God in this case signifying approval of Jesus and his faithful death.
Although the Markan Jesus is distinctive in some ways, he may be seen in
all but one instance as fitting well into one context or another of the Jewish
groups of his time.
 Jew or Judean
The Latin Evidence

René Bloch

Iudaeus licet et porcinum numen adoret

et caeli summas advocet auriculas,
ni tamen et ferro succiderit inguinis oram
et nisi nodatum solverit arte caput,
exemptus populo Graia migrabit ab urbe
et non ieiuna sabbata lege premet.1
The Jew may worship his pig-god and clamour in the ears of high heaven, but unless he also
cuts back with a knife the region of his groin, and unless he unlooses by art the knotted head,
he shall go forth from the Greek city (Graia migrabit ab urbe; Codex Bellovacensis)
he shall go forth from the holy city (sacra migrabit ab urbe; Baehrens; Heseltine)
he shall go forth from the paternal city ( patria migrabit ab urbe; Courtney)
he shall go forth from his dear city (grata migrabit ab urbe; Casaubon)
he shall go forth to the Greek cities (Graias migrabit ad urbes; Binet in marg. and GLAJJ )
he shall go forth to a Greek city (Graiam migrabit ad urbem; Bücheler, Goldast in marg.,
Shackleton Bailey)
cast forth from the people, and transgress the sabbath by breaking the law of fasting.2

This brief fragment of a Latin poem commonly attributed to Petronius, the Ro-
man novelist of the first century CE, has come down to us through the Antho­
logia Latina. Originally, the poem was probably part of Petronius’s novel Sa­
tyricon, which mixes prose and verse and which elsewhere mocks Jewish cir-
cumcision.3 In this poem, which poses several textual problems of which I will

1 Petronius Arbiter, carm. 50 (K. Müller, ed., Petronii Arbitri Satyricon reliquiae, 4th ed.

[Munich: Saur, 2003]).

2 Trans. M. Heseltine, LCL 15; with additional translations for v. 5: E. Baehrens, ed.,

Poe­tae Latini minores, vol. 4 (Leipzig: Teubner, 1882); E. Courtney, The Poems of Petro­
nius, American Classical Studies 25 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1991); I. Casaubon, cited by F.
Bücheler, ed., Petronii Ar­bitri Satirarum reliquiae (Berlin: Weidmann, 1862); C. Binet, ed.,
Satyricon Petronii Arbitri viri consularis (Paris: Linocier, 1585); M. Goldast, ed., T. Petronii
Arbitri, equitis Romani Satyricon, cum Petroniorum fragmentis … (Frankfurt: Schönwetter,
1610); D. R. Shackleton Bailey, Towards a Text of “Anthologia Latina” (Cambridge: Cam-
bridge Philological Society, 1979).
3 Shackleton Bailey, Towards a Text (see n. 2), 69; cf. Satyricon 102.14: etiam circumcide

nos, ut Iudaei videamur.

230 René Bloch

discuss only the one in v. 5,4 Petronius satirically describes the commandment
of circumcision as a conditio sine qua non for all those who really want to
live according to the Jewish law. To abstain from eating pork or just praying
to heaven will not suffice. As in other texts – Jewish or non-Jewish (one may
think of Josephus or Juvenal) – (male) circumcision is described as the decisive
identity marker of Judaism.5 What happens to the Iudaei who do not undergo
circumcision? According to Petronius’s satirical poem, these men have to leave
their community. But where should they go? And from what place exactly
would they leave? According to the Codex Bellovacensis, which is the only co-
dex that transmitted this fragment and which is now lost, a Iudaeus who is not
circumcised will need to leave the Greek city: Graia migrabit ab urbe. Many
editors of Petronius’s fragments have questioned this reading. What Greek city
to be left behind by the Iudaeus might this possibly be? The list of editors
and commentators, starting in the sixteenth century with the French humanists
Claude Binet and Isaac Casaubon, who have tried to solve this riddle, is long.6
Should Graia migrabit ab urbe be emendated to Graiam ad urbem (Bücheler)
or Graias ad urbes (Binet)? Is the uncircumcised Iudaeus forced to move to a
Greek city or to Greek cities or “to the Greek part of town,” as suggested by
D. R. Shackleton Bailey who leaves open which part of which city is meant.7
It seems to me that this problem is not simply of a philological nature. There
is much more at stake. When a Iudaeus leaves town, where is he going and
whence is he coming? Isaac Casaubon replaced Graia by grata. The uncircum-
cised Iudaeus would then leave his beloved city behind. But which city is the
urbs grata of a Iudaeus? Or should Graia be replaced by patria? This is the
suggestion of Edward Courtney, endorsed by Shaye Cohen: patria migrabit ab
ur­be.8 A Iudaeus who is not circumcised would need to leave the city of his

4 A riddle remains v. 6: et non ieiuna sabbata lege premet. Bücheler, Petronii Arbitri Sati­

rarum reliquiae (see n. 2), followed by Menahem Stern, suggested to read tremet instead of
premet: “he shall not tremble at the fasts of Sabbath imposed by the law” (GLAJJ 1, no. 195).
Shackleton Bailey, Towards a Text (see n. 2), 69, proposes to read at nos […] prement. This
would assume a Jewish perspective of the speaker.
5 Josephus, A. J. 20.43–47; Juvenal, Sat. 14.99 (qua pater abstinuit, mox et praeputia po­

nunt). That a man who does not undergo circumcision is “cast forth from the people” (ex­
emptus populo) is remindful of Gen 17:14 (‫)ונכרתה הנפש ההוא מעמיה‬, as noted by Courtney,
Poems of Petronius (see n. 2), 70.
6 Cf. the excellent article by S. Castelli, “‘Graia migrabit ab urbe:’ A Textual and Literary

Note on Petronius’ frg. 37 Ernout,” JSJ 43 (2012), 315–327. Castelli discusses at length the
transmission of this poem and in particular the readings of v. 5. I find her reading of the tex-
tual evidence very convincing and agree with it. My purpose here is a different one. I look
at the various readings of Graia migrabit ab urbe in the context of the very first word of the
piece: Iudaeus. As a matter of fact, the different suggestions that were put forward for v. 5 are
quite telling for how Iudaeus can be understood.
7 Cf. Shackleton Bailey, Towards a Text (see n. 2), 69.
8 E. Courtney, “Supplementary Notes on the Latin Anthology,” Classica et Mediaevalia

40 (1989), 179–211, here 211; id., Poems of Petronius (see n. 2), 70; S. J. D. Cohen, The Be­
 Jew or Judean 231

ancestors. This is an interesting proposition which, however, obviously invites

the next question: what then should be considered the patria of the Iudaei?
Is it, as Philo of Alexandria would say, “the regions they obtained from their
fathers, grandfathers, great-grandfathers, and even more remote ancestors, to
live in […], where they were born and brought up?” 9 This could be Alexandria,
as in the case of Philo, or any other city of the Jewish diaspora; in the context
of the Petronian poem it could be Rome. Or does patria rather stand for Judea,
the fatherland of the Iudaei as suggested by the etymology of the word? That
indeed Judea or rather the holy city of Jerusalem was meant in the Petronian
poem was proposed by the nineteenth-century German philologist Emil Baeh-
rens: not Graia, grata or patria ab urbe, but sacra ab urbe.10 Baehrens’s read-
ing was later accepted in the edition in the Loeb Classical Library, published
for the first time in 1911 and reprinted many times since.11 Thus according to
this reading, the Iudaeus who follows the Jewish law, but does not accept cir-
cumcision needs to leave the holy city, that is, Jerusalem.
This brief poetic fragment by Petronius or rather the divergent interpreta-
tions of its fifth verse by a number of scholars over a time span of approximate-
ly 450 years mirror some of the questions that have been debated quite vigor-
ously by historians, philologists, theologians, and scholars of Jewish Studies
over the last ten years or so. What should be understood by the Greek word
Ἰουδαῖος? And, connected to this, what is indeed the patria, the fatherland,
of the Ἰουδαῖοι, both from their point of view and from that of pagan authors
commenting on the Ἰουδαῖοι such as Petronius? What is the relation between
the terms “Judea” (Ἰουδαία) and the term Ἰουδαῖος? Is a Iudaeus who leaves
his Greek home (Graia migrabit ab urbe) a Jew or a Judean? Or a Iudaeus
emi­grating from the holy town of Jerusalem (sacra migrabit ab urbe): is he a
Judean or a Jew? When a Iudaeus leaves his fatherland behind ( patria migrabit
ab urbe), does the translation of Iudaeus depend on the location of this patria?
As is well known, the recent discussion about an adequate translation of
Ἰου­δαῖος was initiated by an article by Steve Mason entitled “Jews, Judaeans,
Judaizing, Judaism: Problems of Categorization in Ancient History,” published
in 2007.12 According to Mason, the translation “Judean” is to be preferred be-
cause the “Ioudaioi of the Graeco-Roman world remained an ἔθνος: a people
associated with a place and its customs – no matter how far, or how long, they

ginnings of Jewishness: Boundaries, Varieties, Uncertainties (Berkeley: University of Cali-

fornia Press, 1999), 40–41.
9 Philo, Flacc. 46 (trans. P. W. van der Horst, Philo’s Flaccus: The First Pogrom; Intro­

duction, Translation and Commentary, PACS 2 [Leiden: Brill, 2003]).

10 Baehrens, Poetae Latini minores, vol. 4 (see n. 2), 98. In the apparatus criticus Baeh-

rens notes: “puto sacra (scil. Hierosolyma).”

11 See n. 2.
12 S. Mason, “Jews, Judaeans, Judaizing, Judaism: Problems of Categorization in Ancient

History,” JSJ 38 (2007), 457–512.

232 René Bloch

had been away from Judaea.” 13 With regard to the term Ἰουδαϊσμός, indeed
only rarely used in Jewish sources (for the first time in 2 Macc 2:21) and no-
where in pagan comments on the Jews, Mason reads it exclusively in the sense
of Judaization, as a “movement toward or away from Judaean law and life, in
contrast to some other cultural pull.” It was only with the rise of Christianity
that Ἰουδαϊσμός received the meaning of a “belief system and way of life.” 14
Around the same time as Mason, Shaye Cohen also questioned the transla-
tion of Ἰουδαῖος as “Jew”: According to Cohen, Ἰουδαῖος received a religious
meaning only in the Hasmonean era, as a result of the “clash” between Judaism
and Hellenism.15
The discussion about the meaning of Ἰουδαῖος is a very loaded and diffi-
cult one.16 What is clear is that neither Greek nor Latin distinguished between
“Jew” and “Judean.” Moreover, one may suspect that the discussion is more
“acute” in certain modern languages than in others. In German (Jude), modern
Hebrew (‫)יהודי‬, or Spanish ( judío) the etymology of the word (inhabitants of
the land of Judah / ‫ )יהודה‬is still easily discernable while in English and French
it is not.17 The debate is far from being over and there are even new terms pop-
ping up: the author of a recent German dissertation on the revolt of the Macca-
bees prefers the plural “Judäertümer” to the singular “Judentum.” 18 Naturally,
the discussion of the appropriate translation of Ἰουδαῖος is linked to the more
fundamental question of the beginnings of Judaism.19
The list of contributors to the debate is long. Let me just briefly mention
recent publications by two scholars, Olivier Munnich and Daniel Boyarin, who
suggest very different readings of Ἰουδαῖος: from a strictly philological point
of view Munnich attacks the new tendency to translate Ἰουδαῖος by “Judean”
(“Judéen”).20 Munnich notes a methodological error (une “faute de méthode”)
in those contributions which plead in favor of the translation “Judean” where
previous scholars chose the term “Jews.” According to Munnich these scholars

13 Mason, “Jews, Judaeans, Judaizing, Judaism” (see n. 12), 511. I am here taking up

some of my comments in R. Bloch, “Jew, Jews: Greco-Roman Antiquity,” EBR 14 (2017),

155–158.
14 Mason, “Jews, Judaeans, Judaizing, Judaism” (see n. 12), 511.
15 Cohen, Beginnings of Jewishness (see n. 8), 104–105.
16 Cf. “Jew and Judean: A Forum on Politics and Historiography in the Translation of An-

cient Texts,” Marginalia: Los Angeles Review of Books, August 26, 2014, https://marginalia​
.lareviewofbooks.org/jew-judean-forum/.
17 Modern English “Jews” derives from Old French giu, gyu, giue, cf. OED, s. v. Jew. In

Old English Iudeas and Early Middle English Iudeow, Iudew the letter “d” was not elided.
18 J. C. Bernhardt, Die jüdische Revolution: Untersuchungen zu Ursachen, Verlauf und

Fol­gen der hasmonäischen Erhebung, Klio Beihefte 22 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2017).

19 On the long history of this question, cf. S. Weitzman, The Origin of the Jews: The Quest

for Roots in a Rootless Age (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2017).

20 O. Munnich, “Remarques sur un faux ami: Le terme ‘judéen,’” Pallas 104 (2017),

169–­183.
 Jew or Judean 233

tend to mistakenly approach the primary sources using modern critical sec-
ondary sources (“les sources primaires [les textes] sont envisagées à partir de
sources secondaires [la critique]”).21 Munnich is trying to do the opposite. As a
prooftext Munnich (following Moshe Bar-Asher) refers to the Book of Esther
(2:5) and the famous sentence: “There was a Jew in Susa […] a Benjaminite”
(‫)איש יהודי היה בשושן […] איש ימיני‬, that is, Mordecai who belonged to the
tribe of Benjamin: “Benjaminite” explains the geographic aspect of Morde-
cai’s identity, while ‫ יהודי‬describes his religious affiliation.22 Or, still following
Munnich, one may think of Philo of Alexandria to whom Moses is the legisla-
tor of the Jews (ὁ τῶν Ἰουδαίων νομοθέτης), not of the Judeans, given that for
Philo “Moïse transmet un code qui est celui d’une communauté régie par une
allegiance religieuse.” 23 According to Munnich, one should not question the
rel­evance of religious and cultural aspects of ancient Judaism.
At the other end of the spectrum is Daniel Boyarin, denying any existence
of Judaism in the modern sense of the word in Greco-Roman antiquity. Accord-
ing to Boyarin there was no Judaism before late antiquity when the term was
shaped out of the entrails of Christianity (Χριστιανισμός). “Judaism” is the re-
sult of a Christian theological concept. As for the meaning of Ἰουδαῖος Boya­rin
to a large extent endorses Mason’s reading of the evidence.24
It seems to me that the question whether there was Judaism in Greco-­Roman
antiquity in the end is a rather artificial one. Whether one translates Ἰουδαϊσμός
as “Judaism” or prefers not to: it can hardly be denied that there was some kind
of concept of Judaism in antiquity, a mixture of Jewish religion (as there was
Greek and Roman religion), ethnicity, nation, and culture.25 As Adele Rein­
hartz rightly notes: “it is by no means obvious that the absence of a word de-
notes the absence of a concept.” 26
With regard to “Jew” versus “Judean,” the debate has until now focused
very much on the Greek term Ἰουδαῖος. The use of Iudaeus in Roman litera-
21 Munnich, “Remarques sur un faux ami” (see n. 20), 170.
22 Munnich, “Remarques sur un faux ami” (see n. 20), 176–177; M. Bar-Asher, “‫איש יהודי‬
‫היה בשושן הבירה‬,” in Leshonot Rishonim: Studies in the Language of the Bible, the Dead Sea
Scrolls, and Aramaic (Jerusalem: Magnes, 2012), 73–76.
23 Munnich, “Remarques sur un faux ami” (see n. 20), 179.
24 Cf. D. Boyarin, “Gab es in der griechisch-römischen Epoche ein ‘Judentum’?,” in

Hand­buch Jüdische Studien, ed. C. von Braun and M. Brumlik (Köln: Böhlau, 2018), 59–79,
and id., Judaism: The Genealogy of a Modern Notion, Key Words in Jewish Studies 9 (New
Brunswick, N. J.: Rutgers University Press, 2019). On the latter, see now “Daniel Boyarin’s
Judaism: A Forum,” Marginalia: Los Angeles Review of Books, July 5, 2019, https://margi-
nalia.lareviewofbooks.org/daniel-boyarins-judaism-forum/.
25 Cf. S. Schwartz, “How Many Judaisms Were There? A Critique of Neusner and Smith

on Definition and Mason and Boyarin on Categorization,” Journal of Ancient Judaism 2

(2011), 208–238.
26 A. Reinhartz, “Was the Word in the Beginning? On the Relationship between Language

and Concepts,” Marginalia: Los Angeles Review of Books, July 5, 2019, https://marginalia​
.lareviewofbooks.org/word-beginning-relationship-language-concepts/.
234 René Bloch

ture, on the other hand, has not been studied more closely.27 In the following I
would like to discuss the Roman use of Iudaeus and Iudaicus in Latin literature
(I am not discussing the epigraphic evidence 28). What can the study of Latin
texts on Jews and Judaism contribute to the ongoing debate about Ἰουδαῖος?
In classical Latin literature – here understood as the literature written in Latin
from the very beginnings to the end of the second century CE – the term Iu­
daeus shows up 65 times (without counting Iudaea, the toponym for Judea,
but including Pompeius Trogus and Valerius Maximus whose texts have come
down to us in later epitomes 29). The adjective Iudaicus is used 20 times in clas-
sical Latin literature. We are thus talking of 85 occurrences where Iudaeus or
Iudaicus is used in classical Latin literature. If we added the toponym Iudaea
we would arrive at 138 passages – which is not very much.30 For a comparison:
there are 806 passages where Aegyptus, Aegyptius and Aegyptiacus, including
the toponym Aegyptus, show up – almost six times as often as in the case of Iu­
daeus, Iudaicus, and Iudaea. Roman interest in Jews and Judaism was limited,
in comparison with pagan interest in other peoples and certainly in comparison
with the later Christian interest in Jews. I will briefly return to this later.
Let us first take a closer look at the term Iudaeus which is used both as an
adjective and as a noun. In classical Latin literature about half of the 65 occur-
rences of Iudaeus (again, not including Iudaea, the toponym) concern Judea.
A little less often, about 20 times, Iudaeus is used in a diasporic context. In the
remaining passages (about 15 times) Iudaeus is used as a noun or an adjective
in a more general context (e. g., about the origins of the Iudaei).31 Among the
passages referring to Judea the geographic connotation can be quite obvious
as in this passage from Apuleius: Indi […] super Aegyptios eruditos et Iudae­
os superstitiosos (“The Indians lived beyond the learned Egyptians and be-
yond the superstitious Jews”).32 Or Pliny the Elder who in his rather detailed
geographic description of Palestine describes the region as follows: pars eius
Syriae iuncta Galilaea vocatur, Arabiae vero et Aegypto proxima Peraea, as­
peris dispersa mon­tibus et a ceteris Iudaeis Iordane amne discreta (“The part
of Judaea adjoin­ing Syria is called Galilee, and that next to Arabia and Egypt,
Perea. Perea is covered with rugged mountains, and is separated from the oth-

27 Cohen, Beginnings of Jewishness (see n. 8), 70–106, does refer to Latin sources as well,

but overall very much focuses on the Greek evidence.

28 For the epigraphic evidence, cf. R. S. Kraemer, “On the Meaning of the Term ‘Jew’ in

Greco-Roman Inscriptions,” HTR 81 (1989), 35–53.

29 GLAJJ 1, nos. 136–137 (Pompeius Trogus) and 147 (Valerius Maximus).
30 Based on a search in Brepols’ online library of Latin texts. Unfortunately, there is no

entry on Iudaeus, Iudaicus in the TLL as the project at some point stopped to include topo­
nyms and names of ethnic groups (there is, e. g., an entry on Aegyptus and Arabs, but none
on Germanus or Hispanus).
31 The numbers are approximate, since the attribution is not in all cases equally clear.
32 Apuleius, Flor. 6.
 Jew or Judean 235

er parts of Judaea by the river Jordan”).33 In this passage from Pliny Iudaei is
synonymous with Iudaea. The Iudaei are Iudaea. From a grammatical point of
view there is nothing surprising about this (as in Greek, in Latin, too, the name
of a people, in the plural, can refer to the territory of that people). In the case
of Iudaei this usage, where the people stands for the land, is rare, however, in
Latin literature.34 Another passage where Iudaei clearly refer to the population
of Judea is Tacitus’s summary comment on the year 69 CE as a time period
that quantum ad Iudaeos per otium transiit (“was passed in inactivity, so far
as the Jews were concerned”). That he means the Jews in Judea becomes ob-
vious from how Tacitus continues his report: “When peace had been secured
throughout Italy, foreign troubles (externae curae) began again; and the fact
that the Jews alone had failed to surrender increased our resentment.” 35 I see
why in such cases some translators prefer to render Iudaei by “Judeans” in-
stead of “Jews.” The Tacitus passage clearly speaks of Judea, presented explic-
itly as a cura externa: “distress abroad.” I will explain later why I nevertheless
think that here, too, “Jews” can pass as an adequate translation.
If we move on to the Roman use of Iudaeus in contexts concerning the di-
aspora, we encounter a fairly long list of authors commenting on the Jews in
the city of Rome (Cicero, Columella, Horace, Juvenal, Martial, Ovid, Quintil-
ian, Suetonius, Valerius Maximus; Tacitus in his comments on Jewish customs
[Hist. 5.4–5] surely had the local community in Rome in mind as well). What
becomes obvious from these passages is that in the republican and even more
so in the imperial period the Jews were quite well known in Rome. The Romans
knew their rituals and they laughed at them. The Iudaei are a welcome topic in
Roman satire, incidentally also from a metrical point of view: in Roman satire,
the word Iudaeus with its two spondees (Iū-dae) proved attractive for the Latin
hexameter, in particular at the beginning of a verse. We have seen this already
in Petronius (Iudaeus licet et porcinum numen adoret), other examples come
from Horace and Juvenal.36 Jews figured prominently in Roman prosody and
more generally in the urban landscape of Rome. Horace, in one of his satires,
can have the poet Fuscus Aristius make a reference to the Sabbath which is not
entirely clear to us today, but must have made sense to the Roman reader: hodie
tricesima sabbata: vin tu / curtis Iudaeis oppedere? (“Today is the thirtieth day,
a Sabbath. Would you affront the circumcised Jews?”).37 Whatever is meant by
the reference to the thirtieth Sabbath (Rosh Chodesh?),38 it is clear that in this
33 Pliny the Elder, Nat. 5.70 (H. Rackham, LCL 352).
34 Another example is Tacitus, Ann. 12.23: Iudaei […] Syriae additi (“Judea was annexed
to the province of Syria”).
35 Tacitus, Hist. 5.10 (C. H. Moore, LCL 249).
36 Horace, Sat. 1.4.139 (Iudaei cogemus in hanc concedere turbam); Juvenal, Sat. 3.12

(Iu­daeis, quorum cophinus phoenumque supellex), cf. 14.100 (Iudaicum ediscunt et servant
ac metuunt ius). Cf. also Martial 7.35.3 (Iudaeum nulla sub cute pondus habet).
37 Horace, Sat. 1.9.69–70 (H. R. Fairclough, LCL 194).
38 Cf. GLAJJ 1, no. 129.
236 René Bloch

passage (as in others from Latin literature) the Iudaei are understood as a peo-
ple with particular religious customs apparently well known in Rome.
But there are also Latin passages commenting on the Iudaei in Rome which
stress their origin in Judea: In Ovid’s Ars amatoria the reader is invited not
to miss any opportunity or place which might turn out as the beginning of an
amorous experience, including the synagogues of a Iudaeus from Syria: Nec te
praetereat Veneri ploratus Adonis / cultaque Iudaeo septima sacra Syro (“Nor
let Adonis bewailed of Venus escape you, nor the seventh day that the Syrian
Jew holds sacred”).39 Why does Ovid add here Syrus to Iudaeus (besides the
fact that this results in an attractive alliteration: septima sacra Syro)? Is this be-
cause in Rome the word Iudaeus alone does not define the origin of the Iudaei?
Iudaei would then be understood as people who meet in synagogues in the city
of Rome, but if one wants to clarify their origin one would have to add “the
Iudaei from Syria (or Judea).” In a way this passage runs parallel to the one in
the Book of Esther mentioned earlier: Mordecai is a Jew (in the religious mean-
ing of the word) who belongs to the tribe of Benjamin, Ovid’s Iudaeus is a Jew
belonging to a people whose origins are in Syria. In both cases, Iudaeus, ‫יהודי‬,
would then first of all be a religious description, accompanied by a geographic
explanation (from Syria, from the tribe of Benjamin).
Things are thus complicated and one could certainly understand the passage
from Ovid as an indication that for Roman authors the Iudaei were in fact Ju-
deans, a point underlined by the adjective Syrus. A similar passage to the one in
Ovid can be found in Juvenal’s sixth satire where there is mention of a Jewish
woman (Iudaea) who is described as “an interpreter of the laws of the Solymi”
(interpres legum Solymarum), meaning the laws of Jerusalem. Solymus, some-
one or something from Jerusalem, refers here to the origin of the Jewish law.40
We may also briefly mention a passage in Suetonius who in his biography on
Julius Caesar counts the Iudaei among the exterae gentes, the “foreign na-
tions,” who showed their grief on the occasion of Casear’s death.41
As far as the adjective Iudaicus is concerned, its use is rare in pagan Latin
literature (this is quite different in Christian literature). In most cases Iudaicus
has a geographic meaning, referring to Judea, either with regard to its products
or to concrete places in Judea: bitumen Iudaicum (mentioned by the Claudian
physician Scribonius Largus) evidently is “asphalt from Judea,” mare Iudai­
cum (in Tacitus) is the “Dead Sea in Judea” (Clifford H. Moore’s translation
in the Loeb Classical Library surprisingly has “the Jewish sea”).42 Similarly,
with Iudaicus exercitus which took the oath of allegiance to Otho and later to
Vespasian, Tacitus obviously refers to the Roman army “in Judea.” 43 The very

39 Ovid, Ars 1.75–6 (J. H. Mosley, LCL 232).

40 Solymus in this sense is rare: cf. Martial 11.94.5; 7.55.4; Statius 5.2.138.
41 Suetonius, Jul. 84.
42 Scribonius Largus 207; Tacitus, Hist. 5.7.
43 Tacitus, Hist. 1.76.2; 2.79.1.
 Jew or Judean 237

same phrase can be found in Suetonius, where Iudaicus (sc. exercitus) is the
Roman army stationed in Judea at the time of Vitellius ( just as Syriaticus is,
in the same passage, the Roman army stationed in Syria).44 Less obvious is the
translation of Iudaicus when Tacitus speaks of the bellum Iudaicum of which
Vespasian was in charge or to which he gave a decisive turn ( profligaverat
bellum Iudaicum Vespasianus): this could be translated as “war in Judea,” but
also as some translators (C. H. Moore) and the Oxford Latin Dictionary suggest
as “the war against the Jews / Judeans” or “with the Jews.” 45 The same goes for
triumphum Iudaicum in Suetonius and victoria Iudaica in Tacitus.46
The use of Iudaicus in a religious sense is rare in pagan Latin literature, but
it is not absent and the few examples which do exist are interesting: Sueto-
nius, in the context of the fiscus Iudaicus which according to him the Romans
collected “with the utmost vigor,” mentions people who “without publicly ac-
knowledging that faith yet lived as Jews (inprofessi Iudaicam uiuerent uitam),
as well as those who concealed their origin and did not pay the tribute levied
upon their people (dissimulata origine imposita genti tributa non pependis­
sent).” 47 In this passage from Suetonius the phrase vita Iudaica is clearly used
with regard to the faith of the Iudaei. Vita Iudaica is the Latin equivalent of
what one could call today the “Jewish religion” (and what in Greek would be
τὰ ἔθη τῶν Ἰουδαίων). It is also Suetonius who refers to the rituals of the Iu­
daei as ritus Iudaici (in the context of the expulsion of the Jews under Tiberius)
and his contemporary Tacitus mentions in his report of the same event sacra
Iudaica: 48 vitam Iudaicam vivere, ritus Iudaici, sacra Iudaica – these are ex-
amples where Iudaicus refers to the Jewish religion. And one should probably
add Tacitus’s mentioning of the panis Iudaicus. This is not bread from Judea
(although philologically this would be possible), as becomes clear from Taci-
tusʼ remarkable explanation of this eating habit: raptarum frugum argumentum
panis Iudaicus nullo fermento detinetur, “the unleavened panis Iudaicus is still
employed in memory of the haste with which they seized the grain.” 49
Before I attempt a conclusion – and also briefly return to our Petronius frag-
ment –, it may be worthwhile taking a very brief look at how an early Christian
author such as Tertullian makes use of the term Iudaei and Iudaicus. It needs
to be repeated that to the church fathers the Iudaei were of a much greater im-
portance than to the pagan authors. The numbers alone are very clear: As we
have seen, the terms Iudaeus and Iudaicus are documented 138 times in all of
44 Suetonius, Vit. 15.1.
45 Tacitus, Hist. 1.10.3; 2.4.3 (C. H. Moore, LCL 111); cf. OLD, s. v. Iudaicus.
46 Suetonius, Dom. 2.1; Tacitus, Hist. 2.78.
47 Suetonius, Dom. 12.2 (J. C. Rolfe, LCL 38).
48 Suetonius, Tib. 36.1; Tacitus, Ann. 2.85.
49 Tacitus, Hist. 5.4 (C. H. Moore, LCL 249). Tacitus is the only pagan author mentioning

the mazza, the unleavened bread for Passover. The formulation raptae fruges, “grain seized
in haste,” goes well together with the biblical description according to which the Israelites
left Egypt “in a hurried flight” (‫בחפזון‬, Exod 12:11).
238 René Bloch

pagan Roman literature. In Tertullian alone (who writes three generations after
Tacitus) Iudaeus and Iudaicus show up 270 times. To the Romans the Jews
were a strange people, often viewed as a foreign people, but one among many.
It is only with the arrival of Christianity that the Iudaei become a topic of es-
sential importance. Tertullian frequently makes use of the adjective Iudaicus:
like Tacitus Tertullian refers to iudaici ritus,50 but he also uses phrases such
as iudaica religio,51 iudaica ignorantia,52 and iudaica litteratura.53 In Tertul-
lian, the use of Iudaeus and Iudaicus is part of his (Christian) self-definition.54
While a pagan author like Quintilian can refer to Iudaica superstitio (“Jewish
superstition”),55 in Tertullian there is much more at stake. Tacitus in his polem-
ical chapters on Jewish rituals in the Histories famously states that “the Jews
regard as profane all that we hold sacred; on the other hand, they permit all
that we abhor.” 56 However, while it needs to be taken seriously, this cynical
comparison is not part of some Roman identity process, at least not the way
this would be the case for the church fathers. In Tacitus, the polemics are part
of his negative portrait of the Jews at the beginning of his report about the final
battle about Jerusalem. In other parts of his oeuvre Tacitus barely mentions
the Jews.57 Things are somewhat different with regard to references to Judea:
While in Roman literature from the first and second centuries CE references to
Iudaea (its location and geographic peculiarities) are quite frequent, the land of
Judea only plays a minor role in early Christian literature. The revolts in Judea
against the Romans have left their traces in pagan Roman literature.
What does this all mean for the question of translation of Iudaeus and Iu­
daicus in Roman literature? As has become obvious from our brief study of
the Latin literary evidence, Iudaeus and a little less also Iudaicus can refer to
geographic, ethnic and religious aspects – both with regard to Iudaei in Judea
and in the diaspora. In my view in most cases there is no reason to distance
oneself from the “traditional” translation of “Jew” for Iudaeus. Some scholars
have suggested to translate Ἰουδαῖος / Iudaeus with “Jew” only in a religious
context. But, as Adele Reinhartz has convincingly argued, such an approach is
problematic because it depends on a reduced definition of “Jew” as someone
who defines himself or herself as religious.58 Moreover, looking at the pagan
evidence for Ἰουδαῖοι I have some doubts that these terms were free of reli-

50 Tertullian, Nat. 1.13.
51 Tertullian, Nat. 1.11.
52 Tertullian, Marc. 3.385.
53 Tertullian, Cult. fem. 1.3.
54 The noun iudaismus, absent in pagan Latin literature, is found frequently in Tertullian’s

oeuvre (18 times; cf., e. g., Marc. 1.315).

55 Quintilian, Inst. 3.7.
56 Tacitus, Hist. 5.4 (C. H. Moore, LCL 249).
57 Cf. R. Bloch, Antike Vorstellungen vom Judentum: Der Judenexkurs des Tacitus im Rah­

men der griechisch-römischen Ethnographie, Historia Einzelschriften 160 (Stuttgart: Stei­

ner, 2002).
 Jew or Judean 239

gious connotations until the second century BCE or even later, as it has been
suggested by Shaye Cohen, Steve Mason and others. Cohen’s distinction be-
tween “Judean” in the sense of a function of birth and / or geography on the
one hand and “Jew” as a function of religion or culture on the other hand is in
my view difficult to uphold for Greco-Roman antiquity where religion was an
intrinsic part of a people’s identity.59 It seems to me that throughout antiquity
Ἰουδαῖος / Iudaeus could refer to both ethnicity and religion. As a matter of
fact, religious customs often played a more central role in Greek and Roman
ethnography on the Jews than in that on other peoples, starting with Hecatae-
us of Abdera’s excursus on the Jews around 300 BCE.60 Moreover, as I have
argued elsewhere, anthropogeographic explanations of the Jews are practical-
ly nonexistent in Greco-Roman ethnography on the Jews. The land of Judea
does not explain the character or customs of the Jews (contrary to many other
peoples where this is the case).61 There is no doubt that at times it is mainly or
even uniquely the geographic origin of the Iudaei which lies behind the use of
the term Ἰουδαῖος and Iudaeus, and in some cases it may indeed be more ap-
propriate to opt for the translation “Judean” than “Jew.” And as we have seen
above, in the case of Iudaicus the distinction between “Judean” and “Jewish” is
important. However, there is no reason to replace the Jews of antiquity across
the board by Judeans. The arguments brought forward in favor of a principal
translation of Ἰουδαῖοι and Iudaei as “Judeans” instead of “Jews” are not very
convincing (and some are problematic).
What about Petronius’s Iudaeus who was punished for not letting himself be
circumcised? In the end, the original text as transmitted by the Codex Bello­
vacensis may be the correct one anyway. In the most recent critical edition of
Petronius, the one by Konrad Müller, none of the conjectural emendations that
have been suggested since the Renaissance is accepted. Müller prints Iudaeus
[…] Graia migrabit ab urbe and this may very well be the correct reading. As
has been noted by Silvia Castelli, the phrase Graia migrabit ab urbe is rem-
iniscent of Virgil’s Graia pandetur ab urbe in the sixth book of the Aeneid.
There the Sybil of Cumae reassures Aeneas that “A first way of safety will
open where you reckon on it least, from a Greek city.” 62 By referring to a Greek
city, the Sibyl predicts the foundation of the city of Rome, which according to

58 A. Reinhartz, “The Vanishing Jews of Antiquity,” Marginalia: Los Angeles Review

of Books, June 24, 2014, http://marginalia.lareviewofbooks.org/vanishing-jews-antiquity-­

adele-­reinhartz/.
59 Cohen, Beginnings of Jewishness (see n. 8), 78–82. As a third category Cohen distin-

guishes Ἰουδαῖος as a citizen or ally of the Judean state.

60 GLAJJ 1, no. 11.
61 R. Bloch, “Geography without Territory: Tacitus’ Digression on the Jews and Its Eth-

nographic Context,” in Internationales Josephus-Kolloquium, Aarhus 1999, ed. J. U. Kalms,

Münsteraner judaistische Studien 6 (Münster: Lit, 2000), 38–54.
62 Vergil, Aen. 6.96–97 (trans. R. Fitzgerald, The Aeneid [New York: Random House,

1983]). Cf. Castelli, “‘Graia migrabit ab urbe’” (see n. 6), 324–326.

240 René Bloch

Roman myth was founded by Greek settlers under the guidance of Evander.63
Petronius, when calling Rome a Greek city, appears to use epic language in his
caricature of Jewish circumcision. There are, it seems, no limits to irony in Ro-
man satire. As for the uncircumcised Iudaeus who has to leave his hometown
Rome, we can safely call him a Jew.

63 That Graia in the Petronian poem may actually refer to the Arcadian Evander and thus

to Rome has already been suggested by Alexander Riese in his edition of the Anthologia
Latina (Leipzig: Teubner, 1894), 170; cf. Castelli, “‘Graia migrabit ab urbe’” (see n. 6), 325.
 Die – fast – unsichtbare jüdische Diaspora
im Westen des Imperium Romanum
vor der Spätantike
Werner Eck

Auf dem Höhepunkt seiner Macht und Ausdehnung umfasste das Imperium
Ro­manum einen Raum von wohl mehr als fünf Millionen Quadratkilometern
mit zahllosen ethnischen Gruppen. Es war ein Raum, der heute von 31 Staa-
ten eingenommen wird – wenn man Kleinstaaten wie etwa Liechtenstein, San
Marino oder den Vatikanstaat nicht einbezieht. Man könnte fast einen uns heu-
te geläufigen Begriff nehmen und von einem gewaltigen Schengenraum spre-
chen. Denn Italien und die 45 Provinzen, in die das Reich seit der Eroberung
Dakiens im 2. Jahrhundert n. Chr. gegliedert war, bildeten einen fast offenen
Raum, in dem Personen und Waren sich frei bewegen konnten, wenn man von
den wenigen Zollgrenzen innerhalb des Reiches absieht; es waren insgesamt
nur fünf Zollbezirke, die aber die Mobilität nicht behinderten.1
Denn die Mobilität innerhalb des Reiches war intensiv.2 Straßen von mehre-
ren zehntausend Kilometern Länge – manche sprechen von rund 100.000 Ki­
lometern – erschlossen alle Regionen; das Mittelmeer war seit dem Ende der
rö­mischen Bürgerkriege ein mare nostrum ohne Piraterie. So verwundert es
auch nicht, wenn Menschen sehr unterschiedlicher ethnischer Herkunft an sehr
vielen Orten lebten, was im Übrigen partiell ähnliche Reaktionen auslöste wie
heute. Im frühen 2. Jahrhundert formulierte der Satiriker Iuvenal in einer seiner
Satiren mit Blick auf die große Zahl der Menschen, die aus dem gesamten Na-
hen Osten nach Rom gekommen waren: iam pridem Syrus in Tiberim defluxit
Orontes („schon längst ergieße sich der Syrische Orontes in den Tiber“).3

1 P. Kritzinger, Das römische Zollsystem bis in das 3. Jh. n. Chr., in: P. Kritzinger / F.

Schlei­cher / T. Stickler (Hg.), Studien zum römischen Zollwesen, Duisburg 2015, 11–56.
2 Siehe den Sammelband E. Lo Cascio / L. E. Tacoma (Hg.), The Impact of Mobility and

Migration in the Roman Empire (Impact of Empire 22), Leiden 2016; ferner auf Britannien
konzentriert H. Eckardt mit C. Chenery, S. Leach, M. Lewis, G. Müldner und E. Nimmo,
A Long Way from Home. Diaspora Communities in Roman Britain, in: H. Eckardt (Hg.), Ro-
man Diasporas. Archaeological Approaches to Mobility and Diversity in the Roman Empire
(JRASup 78), Portsmouth 2010, 99–130.
3 Iuvenal, Sat. 3,62: iam pridem Syrus in Tiberim defluxit Orontes / et linguam et mores

et cum tibicine chordas / obliquas nec non gentilia tympana secum / vexit et ad circum iussas
prostare puellas.
242 Werner Eck

Die Anwesenheit von Menschen allgemein aus griechischem, vor allem aber
aus dem großsyrischen Raum, auf die Iuvenal vor allem zielt, galt nicht nur für
Rom: 4 Menschen aus den dortigen Regionen kennen wir zum Beispiel eben-
so aus Misenum,5 aus Corduba auf der iberischen Halbinsel,6 aus Volubilis
im Westen Mauretaniens 7 oder von einem unbekannten Ort in Germania infe-
rior.8 Umgekehrt sind bereits seit dem 2. Jahrhundert v. Chr. zahllose römische
Bürger aus Italien in allen Provinzen anzutreffen; der eroberte Raum stand
ih­nen offen. Mobilität war ein allgemeines Phänomen, wenn auch aus sehr
ver­schiedenen Gründen. Viele wurden nicht gefragt, ob sie anderswo als in der
Hei­mat leben wollten, wie etwa die Menschen, die als Kriegsgefangene oder
aus sonstigem Grund über den Sklavenmarkt verhandelt wurden. Das galt aber
genauso für die mehr als 400.000 Soldaten des römischen Heeres der Kaiser-
zeit, an die keiner die Frage richtete, wo sie denn die nächsten zwei oder mehr
Jahrzehnte dienen wollten. Da sie am Ende ihrer langen Dienstzeit sehr oft in
ihrer Einsatzprovinz blieben, trugen sie erheblich zu der ethnischen Vielfalt der
Reichsbevölkerung bei. Nicht bezifferbar sind die Menschen, die wegen des
Handels weite Reisen unternahmen und sich oft weit entfernt von der Heimat
auf Dauer niedergelassen haben. Und nicht zu vergessen sind Senatoren und
viele Personen ritterlichen Ranges, die durch den Aufstieg in die höheren or­
dines und unter die Führungskräfte des Reiches ihren Wohnsitz nach Rom und
Italien verlegen mussten.9 Es waren somit Menschen jeglicher ethnischer und
sozialer Provenienz, die ihr Leben anderswo verbrachten als in dem Land, aus
dem sie stammten.10
Bedenkt man diese generellen Erscheinungen, dann ist das Phänomen der
jüdischen Diaspora keineswegs überraschend.11 Denn warum sollten Juden
nicht ebenso wie Leute aus Syrien, aus Kilikien, aus Thrakien oder Spanien
an dieser Mobilität teilnehmen – wobei die Gründe bei ihnen sogar besonders
viel­fältig gewesen sein können? 12 Zeitweise war diese „Mobilität“ keineswegs
frei­willig, sondern Folge der kriegerischen Phasen in Judäa selbst.

4 Siehe z. B. D. Noy, Foreigners at Rome. Citizens and Strangers, London 2000.

5 CIL 10,3407. 3509. 3652 und viele andere.
6 CIL 2 / 7,356.
7 IAM 2 / 2,513.
8 CIL 13,8843.
9 W. Eck, Ordo senatorius und Mobilität. Auswirkungen und Konsequenzen im Imperium

Romanum, in: Lo Cascio / Tacoma, Impact of Mobility (s. Anm. 2), 100–115; ders., The Im-
perial Senate. Center of a Multi-National Empire, in: J. Price (Hg.), Rome – An Empire of
Many Nations (in Honor of Ben Isaac), Cambridge (im Druck).
10 Allgemein dazu Noy, Foreigners at Rome (s. Anm. 4).
11 Siehe auch C. Heszer, Jewish Travel in Antiquity (TSAJ 144), Tübingen 2011.
12 A. Kasher, The Nature of Jewish Migration in the Mediterranean Countries in the

Hel­lenistic-Roman Era, Mediterranean Historical Review 2 (1987), 46–75. Generell zur jü-
dischen Diaspora, nicht nur während der Kaiserzeit, etwa J. M. G. Barclay, Jews in the Me-
diterranean Diaspora. From Alexander to Trajan (323 BCE – 117 CE), Edinburgh 1996; J. J.
 Jüdische Diaspora im Westen des Imperium Romanum 243

Zu fragen ist aber, wo diese jüdische Diaspora zu einer permanenten Er-

scheinung geworden ist und insbesondere, wo sie zu dauerhaften Gemeinden
geführt hat; denn das ist der Unterschied zu vielen Personen anderer Ethnien,
dass jüdische Präsenz in weit höherem Maße als bei anderen ethnischen Grup-
pen in einer speziellen Gemeindegründung ihren Ausdruck gefunden hat. Der
wesentliche Grund lag in der jüdischen Religion, den damit verbundenen Not-
wendigkeiten, aber nicht weniger an den rechtlichen Privilegien, die seit cae-
sarischer Zeit von römischer Seite ausgesprochen worden waren und jedenfalls
bis in das frühe 4. Jahrhundert in Kraft blieben.13
Die jüdische Diaspora ist ein reichsweites Phänomen. Sie ist allerdings nicht
überall zur selben Zeit entstanden, vielmehr haben sich Juden zu sehr verschie-
denen Zeiten in manchen Provinzen des Imperiums niedergelassen, was auch
heißt, dass die Bedingungen, unter denen das geschah, sehr unterschiedlich ge-
wesen sein können. Für den Osten des Reiches wurde das Phänomen in vielfäl-
tiger Weise und vor allem auch mit entsprechender zeitlicher Differenzierung
erörtert, um deutlich zu machen, wann und warum sich dort jeweils jüdische
Gemeinden ausgebildet haben.14 Für den Westen des Imperiums aber ist das
nicht geschehen, obwohl sich auch dort, und nicht nur in Rom, eine jüdische
Diaspora entwickelt hat.
Es scheint deshalb sinnvoll, den Versuch zu unternehmen, diese jüdische Di-
aspora – räumlich beschränkt auf den Westen des Imperiums, d. h. neben Italien
auf die im Wesentlichen lateinischsprachigen Provinzen: 15 Africa, Donauraum,

Collins, Between Athens and Jerusalem. Jewish Identity in the Hellenistic Diaspora, Grand
Rapids, Mich. 2000. Wichtig auch für das Verständnis der jüdischen Diaspora: E. S. Gruen,
The Con­struct of Identity in Hellenistic Judaism. Essays on Early Jewish Literature and His-
tory (DCLS 29), Berlin 2016, bes. 283–312 („Diaspora and Homeland“).
13 Siehe die Formulierung in Cod. Theod. 16,8,3: ad solacium pristinae observationis; da­

zu unten S. 250.
14 Siehe allgemein etwa K. Bringmann, Geschichte der Juden im Altertum. Vom babylo-

nischen Exil bis zur arabischen Eroberung, Stuttgart 2005; K. L. Noethlichs, Die Juden im
christlichen Imperium Romanum (4.–6. Jahrhundert) (Studienbücher Geschichte und Kultur
der Alten Welt), Berlin 2001; T. Rajak, The Jewish Diaspora, in: M. M. Mitchell / F. M. Young
(Hg.), The Cambridge History of Christianity, Bd. 1, Cambridge 2006, 53–68; dazu für ein
De­­tail etwa M. Trümper, The Oldest Original Synagogue Building in the Diaspora. The
De­­los Synagogue Reconsidered, Hesperia 73 (2004), 513–598; M. Böhm, Samaritanische
Di­a­spora im Imperium Romanum bis ca. 200 n. Chr., in: S. Alkier / H. Leppin (Hg.), Juden,
Christen, Heiden? Religiöse Inklusion und Exklusion in Kleinasien bis Decius (WUNT 400),
Tübingen 2018, 171–196.
15 Dass die jüdische Diaspora auch dort in erheblichem Maße griechisch geprägt war, ist

bekannt; siehe z. B. D. Noy, Writing in Tongues. The Use of Greek, Latin and Hebrew in
Jewish Inscriptions from Roman Italy, JJS 48 (1997), 300–311; siehe ders., „Peace upon Is-
rael“. Hebrew Formulae and Names in Jewish Inscriptions from the Western Roman Empire,
in: W. Horbury (Hg.), Hebrew Study from Ezra to Ben-Yehuda, Edinburgh 1999, 135–146.
Nur in Africa spielt Griechisch kaum eine Rolle; siehe Y. Le Bohec, Inscriptions juives et
judaisantes de l’Afrique romaine, Antiquités africaines 17 (1981), 165–207, hier 170.
244 Werner Eck

iberische Halbinsel, Gallien-Germanien und Britannien – etwas genauer zu be-

trachten, und zwar in den Jahrhunderten bis zum Beginn der Spätantike. Die
zeitliche Beschränkung ergibt sich daraus, dass eben im Westen unsere Kennt-
nisse über die jüdische Diaspora hinsichtlich der zeitlichen Verteilung, äußerst
unterschiedlich sind. Während uns seit dem Ende des 3. Jahrhunderts n. Chr.
relativ mehr Nachrichten nicht nur über die Präsenz einzelner Juden, sondern
auch von jüdischen Gemeinden zur Verfügung stehen, sind solche aus der Zeit
zwischen der Herrschaft des Augustus, unter dem Judäa provinzialisiert wurde,
und dem späten 3. Jahrhundert äußerst gering. Für viele Regionen des Westens
fehlt aus der frühen und hohen Kaiserzeit sogar jeder Hinweis auf die Anwe-
senheit von Juden. Das Beispiel Oberitalien mag dafür als Exemplum dienen.
Zwischen dem 4. und 6. Jahrhundert sind aus folgenden Städten der ober-
italischen Regionen jüdische Gemeinden bezeugt: aus Pola, Tergeste, Gradus,
Aqui­leia, Concordia, Verona, Ravenna, Bononia, Mediolanum, Augusta Tau-
rinorum und Genua. Für diese elf Orte gibt es in der Spätantike immerhin für
sechs auch Zeugnisse für Synagogen, ferner einen jüdischen Friedhof in Bo-
nonia, dem heutigen Bologna.16 Doch aus den vorausgehenden drei Jahrhun-
derten fehlt in der gesamten Region jeglicher Hinweis auf die Anwesenheit
einzelner Personen jüdischer Herkunft oder gar die Existenz einzelner Gemein-
den. Zwar hat man immer wieder auf eine, vielleicht sogar noch spätrepubli-
kanische Grabinschrift verwiesen, die aus Aquileia, dem wichtigsten Hafen-
platz in Norditalien, stammt. In diesem Text erscheint ein L. Aiacius Dama mit
der Bezeichnung Iudaeus. Doch dieses Zeugnis besagt absolut nichts über das
Phänomen, das hier interessiert. Denn Aiacius Dama war libertus eines römi-
schen Bürgers, offensichtlich eines Publikanen, der seinen Freigelassenen in
Aquileia als portitor eingesetzt hat, also bei der Erhebung von Zöllen.17 Dass
dort noch andere Juden lebten und dann vielleicht eine Gemeinde bildeten, ist
daraus nicht zu entnehmen. Vielleicht ist es auch kein Zufall, dass der libertus
für seinen Grabplatz noch zu Lebzeiten selbst gesorgt hat: v(ivus) s(ibi) f(ecit)
heißt es in seiner Grabinschrift. Hätte ihn sein Herr anderswo für seine ge-
schäftlichen Interessen eingesetzt, dann hätte dieselbe einzelne Grabinschrift
die Präsenz eines einzelnen Juden in einem anderen Ort als Aquileia bezeugt,
aber eben keine Gemeinde.

16 Siehe im Detail L. Cracco Ruggini, Ebrei e orientali nell’Italia settentrionale fra il

IV e il VI secolo d. Cr. (Studia et documenta historiae et iuris 25), Rom 1959, 186–308. Fer-
ner mit einigen neuen Inschriften aus Ligurien und Piemont G. Menella, Epigrafia rurale
ebraica nel Piemonte paleocristiano, in: S. Lusuardi Siena / E. Gautier di Confiengo / B. Ta­
ricco (Hg.), Il vi­aggio della fede. La cristianizzazione del Piemonte meridionale tra IV e
VIII secolo, Alba 2013, 187–199; ders., Ebrei nelle campagne di Augusta Praetoria, Vetera
Christianorum 52 (2015), 177–185.
17 CIL 1²,3422 (JIWE 1,7): L(ucius) Aiacius P(ubli) l(ibertus) Dama Iudaeus portitor v(i­

vus) s(ibi) f(ecit). Siehe auch S. Günther, Sklaven im römischen Zollwesen, in: Kritzinger /
Schleicher / Stickler, Studien zum römischen Zollwesen (s. Anm. 1), 229–243.
 Jüdische Diaspora im Westen des Imperium Romanum 245

Der wesentliche Unterschied, warum wir in Oberitalien in der Zeit vor Dio-
kletian nichts über die Anwesenheit von Juden wissen, anders als in den spä-
teren Jahrhunderten, liegt in der Art der Überlieferung. Die meisten Hinweise
auf jüdische Gemeinden in der Spätantike stammen aus literarischen Werken,
durchwegs von christlichen Autoren abgefasst; es sei nur auf verschiedene
Werke von Ambrosius, dessen Lebensbeschreibung durch Paulinus 18 oder die
Va­riae Cassiodors verwiesen. Hinzu kommen einige wenige Inschriften aus
Ober­italien, die zwar nicht exakt datiert sind, aber generell dem 4.–5. / 6. Jahr-
hundert zugewiesen werden.19
Dieser zeitlich so differierende Befund trifft fast auf alle Regionen des west-
lichen Imperiums zu, von den afrikanischen Provinzen,20 über die iberische
Halbinsel, Gallien, Germanien bis zu den Donauprovinzen, wenngleich dieser
dort ein wenig verschieden ist. Lediglich in Italien selbst ist der Befund deut-
lich anders, jedenfalls in Rom, dem Zentrum des Imperiums. Hier sind vor al-
lem in den literarischen Quellen der späten Republik und des frühen Prinzipats
nicht wenige Hinweise auf Juden zu finden: Neben Cicero sind es vor allem
Valerius Maximus, Josephus, Sueton, Tacitus, Iuvenal und natürlich die pauli-
nischen Briefe. Das ist oft behandelt worden und braucht hier nicht wiederholt
zu werden.21 Allerdings fehlen in Rom für die Zeit, in der in der Literatur von
Juden gesprochen wird, alle epigraphischen Hinweise auf einzelne Juden. Die
vielen Hunderte von Inschriften aus den Katakomben werden einheitlich in
die Zeit vom späten 3. bis ins 4. / 5. Jahrhundert datiert.22 Ein wenig anders ist
lediglich der Befund in Ostia; 23 denn dort lässt sich, ohne literarische Quellen-
basis, eine Gemeindeorganisation der Iudaei nachweisen,24 die in der colonia
lebten (commorantes), unter anderem mit einem herausgehobenen Mitglied,

18 Paulinus, Vita sancti Ambrosii 29 (PL 14, 39).

19 JIWE 1,1–6 und 8–10.
20 Le Bohec, Inscriptions juives et judaïsantes (s. Anm. 15); ders., Juifs et judaïsantes

dans l’Af­rique romaine. Remarques onomastiques, Antiquités africaines 17 (1981), 209–229.

21 Siehe nur bspw. H. J. Leon, The Jews of Ancient Rome [1960], überarbeitet von C. Osi­

ek, Peabody 1995; H. Wolff, Die Juden im antiken Rom, in: K. Rother (Hg.), Minderhei­ten
im Mittelmeerraum, Passau 1989, 35–62; L. V. Rutgers, The Jews in Late Ancient Rome.
Evidence of Cultural Interaction in the Roman Diaspora (RGRW 126), Leiden 1995; S. Cap-
pelletti, The Jewish Community of Rome from the Second Century B. C. to the Third
Cen­tu­ ry C. E. (JSJSup 113), Leiden 2006; C. Nemo-Pekelman, Rome et ses citoyens juifs,
IVe – Ve siècles, Paris 2010.
22 JIWE 2. Vgl. z. B. auch M. Williams, The Structure of the Jewish Community in Rome,

in: M. Goodman (Hg.), Jews in a Graeco-Roman World, Oxford 1998, 215–227.

23 L. M. White, Synagogue and Society in Imperial Ostia. Archaeological and Epigraphic

Evidence, in: K. P. Donfried / P. Richardson (Hg.), Judaism and Christianity in First-Cen-

tury Rome, Grand Rapids, Mich. 1998, 30–68. Siehe auch B. Olsson / D. Mitternacht / O.
Brandt (Hg.), The Synagogue of Ancient Ostia and the Jews of Rome. Interdisciplinary Stu-
dies, Stock­holm 2001, dazu die Besprechung von E. M. Meyers, BASOR 32 (2002), 97–99.
24 AE 2009, 193; A. Marinucci, Disiecta membra. Iscrizioni latine da Ostia e Porto,

1981–2009, Rom 2012, 108.

246 Werner Eck

einem gerusiarches; 25 zudem hat eine Synagoge sicher schon im 3. Jahrhun-

dert, vermutlich sogar schon eher existiert, die im 4. Jahrhundert umgebaut
wurde.26 Aus Neapel ist nur ein einziger Hinweis sicher ins 1. Jahrhundert zu
datieren: Claudia Aster, die als Hierosolymitana captiva in den Besitz eines Ti.
Claudius Proculus, eines Freigelassenen von Kaiser Claudius oder Nero, ge-
kommen war. Sie starb noch in flavischer Zeit. Auch der Freigelassene ist wohl
jüdischer Herkunft. Denn auf ihn geht sicher die Formulierung des Grabtitulus
zurück, in dem es heißt: rogo vos fac[ite] per leg(e)m ne quis [mi]hi titulum de­
iciat.27 Vielleicht hat er im Wissen um ihre gemeinsame jüdische Herkunft die
junge Kriegsgefangene gezielt auf dem Sklavenmarkt gekauft. Ob man aus die-
ser Grabinschrift auf eine Gemeinde in Neapel schließen darf, bleibt unsicher;
denn der Hinweis auf die lex kann sich auf das römische Recht, ebenso jedoch
auch auf das mosaische Recht beziehen, wie das auch anderswo in jüdischen
Inschriften geschieht. Wäre mit lex auf das mosaische Gesetz verwiesen, dann
müsste man Menschen voraussetzen, die diesen Hinweis verstanden haben,
was dann zwingend andere Juden in Neapel voraussetzen würde. Für Puteoli,
den wichtigsten Hafen für Rom, bevor Claudius den Hafen von Ostia erbauen
ließ, ist eine jüdische Gemeinde in der Zeit des Tiberius durch einen Hinweis
bei Josephus sicher bezeugt.28 Auch in Pompei könnte es eine solche gegeben
haben, obwohl die Interpretation vieler Zeugnisse, die dort gefunden und ent-
sprechend gedeutet wurden, mehr als problematisch ist.29
Der zeitliche Unterschied in der Überlieferungsdichte zeigt sich gerade bei
den Inschriften in sehr deutlicher Weise, wie ein Vergleich der epigraphischen
Zeugnisse für Juden im Westen des Imperiums nach JIWE 1 und IJO 1 – abge-
sehen von Rom – für die frühere und spätere Periode zeigt:

Regionen / Provinzen bis ins späte 3. Jh. Spätantike

Nord / Mittelitalien 4 (Ostia) 12
Campanien 2 / 5? 15 + 74 (Venosa)
Süditalien 25
Sizilien und Malta 1? 26
Sardinia 8
Iberische Halbinsel 1 / 2? 9
Gallien / Germanien 4
Pannonien 1/2 2

25 JIWE 1,18.
26 JIWE 1,13. 14. Nicht zur Gemeinde in Ostia gehört der Pantomime M. Aurelius Pylades
(JIWE 1,18); siehe dagegen M. L. Caldelli, Varia agonistica Ostiensia, in: G. Paci (Hg.),
Epigrafia Romana in area Adriatica, Macerata 1998, 225–247, bes. 233–236.
27 CIL 10,1971 (JIWE 1,26).
28 Josephus, B. J. 2,104.
29 Siehe z. B. C. Giordano / I. Kahn, The Jews in Pompeii, Herculaneum, Stabiae and

in the Cities of Campania Felix, Rom ³2003; A. Varone, Presenze Giudaiche e Cristiane a
Pom­pei, Neapel 1979.
 Jüdische Diaspora im Westen des Imperium Romanum 247

Dalmatien 1 4
Moesien 2
Thrakien 1 / 1? 3
Macedonia 4? 13
Afrikanische Provinzen unbestimmte Zahl unbestimmte Zahl 30

Außer in Pannonien und in den afrikanischen Provinzen sind überall die spät-
antiken Zeugnisse deutlich in der Überzahl. Im römischen Pannonien sind zwei
Zeugnisse für die Präsenz von Juden in den Anfang des 3. Jahrhunderts datiert.
In einem Text aus Mursa ist von der Restaurierung einer [ pro]seucha die Rede,
in der anderen aus Intercisa wird eine synagoga Iudeorum erwähnt.31 Man hat
aber noch weitere Zeugnisse für die Anwesenheit von Juden in dieser Pro-
vinz heranziehen wollen.32 So sollen unter anderem in der cohors I miliaria
Heme­senorum civium Romanorum sagittaria equitata, die während des 2. und
3. Jahr­hunderts in Intercisa stationiert war – woher auch eine der eben genann-
ten Synagogeninschriften stammt – Juden gedient haben.33 Ein grundsätzlicher
Zweifel am Militärdienst von Juden aus Emesa sei nicht erlaubt, so etwa Lud-
wig Berger in seiner Publikation eines Rings mit der Darstellung der Menora
aus Kaiseraugst; denn, so argumentierte er wie schon andere vor und nach ihm,
durch eine spätantike Grabinschrift aus Concordia (Ende 4. /Anfang 5. Jh.) sei
ein numerus Regi(orum), Emesenorum, Iudeorum bezeugt. Dabei wird, und
das ist ein grundsätzlicher Einwand, verkannt, dass bis zu Konstantin Juden
nur dann im römischen Heer dienen konnten, wenn sie ihre Religion abgelegt
hatten oder zumindest nicht mehr ernst nahmen, womit man sie in der dama-
ligen Zeit nicht mehr als Juden ansehen kann. Denn jede militärische Einheit
war oftmals an kultischen Akten beteiligt. Das gesamte Jahr war davon ge-
prägt.34 Wenn man „Jude“ in unserem Kontext nicht nur als ethnische Katego-
rie ansieht, sondern damit eine religiöse Haltung verbindet, dann war für jeden
Juden, der seine Religion ernst nahm, ein Eintritt ins Heer nicht möglich.35 Seit

30 Nach den Zusammenstellungen von Le Bohec sind in den afrikanischen Provinzen von
der Proconsularis bis nach Mauretania Tingitana weit mehr Zeugnisse für das 2. und 3. Jahr-
hundert anzunehmen als in den anderen Provinzen. Allerdings sind auch hier die Datierungs-
kriterien oft sehr unsicher.
31 ILJug 2,1066 (IJO 1, Pann. 5); CIL 3,3327 = 10301 = D 3981 (IJO 1, Pann. 3).
32 Nach CIL 3,10998 soll folgende Aussage stehen: Deo M [agno] | Aeter[no synago-]|

gam (?) pr[oseucham (?)] | … | fecit ex v[oto]. Alles Entscheidende ist hier ergänzt; damit
kann man also nicht argumentieren.
33 Siehe dazu L. Berger, Der Menora-Ring von Kaiseraugst. Jüdische Zeugnisse römi-

scher Zeit zwischen Britannien und Pannonien, Augst 2005, 73 f.; Á. Szabó, Jüdische Funde
aus dem römischen Pannonien, in: R. Gross u. a. (Hg.), Im Licht der Menorah. Jüdisches
Le­ben in der römischen Provinz, Frankfurt am Main 2014, 199–210.
34 Man braucht nur das sogenannte Feriale Duranum zu betrachten, das den Kultkalender

einer Einheit am Euphrat enthält.

35 Siehe auch Josephus, A. J. 18,83 f. mit dem Bericht über die Juden, die unter Tiberius
248 Werner Eck

caesarischer Zeit besaßen Juden das Privileg, nicht an Handlungen teilnehmen

zu müssen, die mit dem römischen Götterkult verbunden waren und ihrem Mo-
notheismus widersprachen.36 Das Privileg, nicht ins Heer eintreten zu müssen,
galt bis Konstantin, genauso wie auch bei der Frage, ob Juden in die ordines
decurionum eintreten mussten, um die damit verbundenen Verpflichtungen zu
übernehmen – darauf ist zurückzukommen. Seit der konstantinischen Wende
aber galt dieses Privileg für Juden gegenüber dem militärischen Dienst nicht
mehr, weil im Heer, zumindest zunächst, die kultischen Handlungen entfielen.
Wenn wir also im späteren 4. Jahrhundert einen numerus REGI Emesenorum
Iudeorum bezeugt hätten, dann wäre das nicht so überraschend, sondern in ge-
wisser Hinsicht sogar folgerichtig.
Doch dieser grundsätzliche Einwand gegen die Heranziehung des Zeugnis-
ses aus Concordia für jüdische Soldaten in der cohors I miliaria Hemesenorum
civium Romanorum sagittaria equitata schon in der Zeit Marc Aurels ist gar
nicht nötig; denn schon vor längerer Zeit hat Michael P. Speidel gezeigt, dass
diese spätantike Grabinschrift völlig anders gelesen werden muss.37
Flavia Optata, mili(tis) de | num(ero) Regi(orum), emi(t) sib(i) de | r(e) v(iri). Si quis pos(t)
obit(um) | me(um) arc(am) volu(erit) ap(erire), infe|r(at fisci) vi(ribus) aur(i) lib(ram)
una(m).

Mit dieser Lesung verschwindet auch für das 4. Jahrhundert jeglicher Hinweis
auf Juden aus Emesa, die in einer römischen militärischen Einheit gedient hat-
ten; die Inschrift kann damit auch keine Stütze für eine Interpretation der An-
wesenheit von Juden in der cohors I miliaria Hemesenorum im 2. Jahrhundert
sein,38 obwohl dieses Postulat schon immer keinerlei Fundament hatte, auch
ohne die Neulesung.
Auch zwei Inschriften, die vor rund zehn Jahren in Carnuntum gefunden
wurden, sollten die Anwesenheit von Juden in dem municipium beweisen, weil
die römischen Bürger, die den Text formulierten, der in ihren Grabinschriften
erscheinen sollte, damit etwas ausgedrückt haben sollen, was einige moderne
Autoren dort ger­ne gelesen hätten. Die römischen Bürger sagten nämlich von

nach Sardinien gesandt wurden. Viele verweigerten den Dienst, weshalb sie von den Konsuln
bestraft wurden.
36 Gerade deswegen wurde umgekehrt von den Römern die jüdische Religion als super­

stitio angesehen, wie es etwa in einem Erlass von Kaiser Septimius Severus ausgedrückt ist.
Es ist auch kein Zufall, dass wir keinen einzigen Fall bezeugt haben, dass ein Jude, der seine
Religion ernst nahm, im römischen Heer gedient hat. Zu einem angeblichen Fall siehe jetzt
W. Eck, Zu inschriftlichen Dokumenten aus Galiläa und ihrer Interpretation. Vorarbeiten zu
CIIP V, ZPE 210 (2019), 151–158, hier 157–158.
37 M. P. Speidel, Raising New Units for the Late Roman Army. Auxilia Palatina, DOP 50

(1996), 163–170, bes. 165 Abb. 1.

38 Den Hinweis auf Speidels Lesung verdanke ich Walter Ameling; siehe seinen Aufsatz:

Epigraphische Kleinigkeiten IV, ZPE 210 (2019), 185–193, hier 187–188.

 Jüdische Diaspora im Westen des Imperium Romanum 249

sich: domo Iu­daeus bzw. do(mo) Iud(a)ei.39 Doch einige voreilige Interpreten
haben verkannt, dass domo in lateinischen Inschriften grundsätzlich auf die
geographische Herkunft verweist, und nicht auf eine ethnische Qualität. Da in
Judäa ne­ben Juden viele lebten, die nicht dem jüdischen Volk und seiner Reli-
gion angehörten, kann daraus eben nicht geschlossen werden, die in Carnun-
tum bestatteten römischen Bürger seien Juden gewesen. Dazu wären andere
Hinweise in den Inschriften nötig, die es jedoch nicht gibt.
Für Pannonien ist somit am Anfang des 3. Jahrhunderts in zwei Städten je
eine Synagoge nachgewiesen,40 ganz im Unterschied zu anderen Provinzregio-
nen der gleichen Zeit; doch in vielen dieser Regionen nehmen seit dem Anfang
des 4. Jahrhunderts die literarischen, aber auch die epigraphischen Zeugnisse
zu. War die Entwicklung der Diaspora in den bis dahin zeugnislosen Provinzen
also deutlich anders als etwa in Ostia oder in Pannonien, wo sich nachweislich
schon im 2. / 3. Jahrhundert jüdische Gemeinden etabliert hatten? Kann man da-
von ausgehen, dass erst seit dem späten 3. oder dem Beginn des 4. Jahrhunderts
vermehrt Juden in die anderen Regionen im Westen des Reiches auswanderten,
wo sie dann auch in den Quellen erscheinen? Oder ist es nicht wahrscheinli-
cher, dass eine solche Zuwanderung auch dort deutlich früher eingesetzt hat,
also eher nach der Zerstörung Jerusalems im Jahre 70 bzw. nach dem desaströ-
sem Ende des Bar-Kochba-Krieges Anfang des Jahres 136 n. Chr.? Gerade die-
ser Krieg hatte dazu geführt, dass das jüdische Kernland, wenn auch nicht ganz
Judäa, seine jüdische Bevölkerung weitgehend verloren hatte. Damals haben
viele Bewohner, soweit sie nicht während der von Frühjahr 132 bis Frühjahr
136 andauernden Kämpfe und der damit verbundenen Blockade der zahllosen
„hiding places“ umgekommen waren, entweder bewusst das Land verlassen
oder sie wurden am Ende als Kriegsgefangene und Sklaven anderswohin ver-
bracht, ähnlich wie schon nach der Zerstörung Jerusalems 70 n. Chr.
Vielleicht kann der exemplarische Fall einer Provinzstadt einen konkreteren
Hinweis in dieser Frage geben. Aus allen römischen Provinzen im gallisch-ger-
manischen Raum gibt es für die ersten drei Jahrhunderte der Kaiserzeit keinen
einzigen sicheren Hinweis auf eine dauerhafte Anwesenheit von Juden oder
gar eine jüdische Gemeinde.41 Dabei fehlt es keineswegs an Zeugnissen für

39 F. Beutler, Domo Iudaeus. Zwei neue Grabinschriften aus Carnuntum, Tyche 28

(2013), 5–20 (AE 2009, 1051; 2013, 1240).

40 Münzen aus der Zeit Bar Kochbas, die an einigen Truppenstandorten an der Donau ge-

funden wurden, hat man verschiedentlich als Hinweis auf Anwesenheit von Juden gewertet.
Doch eine solche Sicht übersieht, dass Truppen, die an diesem Krieg mit Vexillationen teil-
nahmen, Beute mitgebracht haben, darunter auch die Silbermünzen, die in der Zeit von den
Rebellen überprägt wurden. Zuletzt wieder Á. Szabó, Jüdische Funde aus dem römischen
Pan­nonien, in: Gross u. a., Im Licht der Menorah (s. Anm. 33), 199–210, bes. 209–210.
41 Wenn z. B. Berger, Menora-Ring (s. Anm. 33), 100, schreibt: „Offensichtlich ist für

Trier eine Anwesenheit von handel- und / oder gewerbetreibenden Juden schon vor der Spät-
antike anzunehmen“, dann ist das nicht von Belang. Denn zum einen ist offensichtlich die
Herkunft der Objekte aus Trier, auf die er sich dabei beruft, keineswegs sicher, sondern
250 Werner Eck

Menschen, die aus dem Osten in die dortigen Gegenden gekommen sind; 42
es gibt sogar einzelne Zeugnisse für die Verwendung aramäischer Schriftzei-
chen, freilich nicht auf öffentlich sichtbaren Inschriften, sondern bei Graffi-
ti auf Gebrauchskeramik, etwa aus Krefeld in Niedergermanien. Sie könnten
entweder von Soldaten stammen, die in Nordsyrien rekrutiert worden waren,
oder vielleicht von Händlern.43 Dennoch: Es gibt keinerlei Hinweise auf jüdi-
sche Herkunft in diesen Jahrhunderten, wohl aber aus der Spätantike oder dem
beginnenden fränkischen Reich, etwa in Clermont, in der Gegend von Nimes,
in Bourges, Paris, Arles, Narbo, Bordeaux, Avignon, Antibes, Marseille und
Trier.44
Das früheste sichere und allbekannte Zeugnis ist jedoch der Erlass Kons-
tantins vom 11. Dezember 321 n. Chr., der im Codex Theodosianus (16,8,3)
über­liefert ist: 45
Idem A(ugustus, sc. Constantinus) decurionibus Agrippinensibus. Cunctis ordinibus genera­
li lege concedimus Iudaeos vocare ad curiam. Verum ut aliquid ipsis ad solacium pristinae
observationis relinquatur, binos vel ternos privilegio perpeti patimur nullis nominationibus
occupari. Dat(um) III Id(us) Dec(embres) Crispo II et Constantino II Caes(aribus) co(n-)
s(ulibus).
Derselbe Kaiser (Konstantin) an die Ratsherren von Köln: Mit einem allgemeinen Gesetz
erlauben wir allen Stadträten, Juden in den Rat zu berufen. Doch damit ein Rest der frühe-
ren Regelung ihnen zum Trost bestehen bleibe, gestehen wir mit einem immerwährenden
Privileg ihnen zu, dass je zwei oder drei von ihnen von keinen Nominierungen in Anspruch
genommen werden. Erlassen am 11. Dezember, als Crispus Caesar und Constantius Caesar
zum zweiten Mal Konsuln waren [d. h. 321 n. Chr.].

schlicht ungeklärt; vor allem aber sind die Zeichen auf den Bronze- bzw. Bleigewichten kei-
neswegs so klar, dass man daraus auf jüdische Händler rückschließen könnte.
42 L. Wierschowski, Fremde in Gallien – „Gallier“ in der Fremde. Die epigraphisch be-

zeugte Mobilität in, von und nach Gallien vom 1. bis 3. Jh. n. Chr. (Historia. Einzelschriften
159), Stuttgart 2001; vgl. auch ders., Die regionale Mobilität in Gallien nach den Inschriften
des 1. bis 3. Jahrhunderts n. Chr. Quantitative Studien zur Sozial- und Wirtschaftsgeschichte
der westlichen Provinzen des Römischen Reiches (Historia. Einzelschriften 91), Stuttgart
1995; ferner D. Noy, Epigraphic Evidence for Immigrants at Rome and in Roman Britain, in:
Eckardt, Roman Diasporas (s. Anm. 2), 13–26.
43 W. Eck, Köln in römischer Zeit. Geschichte einer Stadt im Rahmen des Imperium

Romanum, Köln 2004, 285; A. Luther, Osrhoener am Niederrhein. Drei altsyrische Graffiti
aus Krefeld / Gellep (und andere frühe altsyrische Schriftzeugnisse), Marburger Beiträge zur
Antiken Handels-, Wirtschafts- und Sozialgeschichte 27 (2009), 11–30.
44 F. Lotter, Die Juden und die städtische Kontinuität von der Spätantike zum Mittel-

alter im lateinischen Westen, in: F. Mayrhofer / F. Oppl (Hg.), Juden in der Stadt, Linz 1999,
21–79 (JIWE 1,1189–1192). vgl. auch D. Noy, Jews in the Western Roman Empire in Late
Antiquity. Migration, Integration, Separation, Veleia 30 (2013), 167–175.
45 Die verschiedenen Handschriften für den Codex Theodosianus sind in der „Bibliotheca

Legum. Eine Handschriftendatenbank zum weltlichen Recht im Frankenreich“ unter folgen-

dem Link zusammengestellt: http://www.leges.uni-koeln.de/lex/codex-theodosianus/.
 Jüdische Diaspora im Westen des Imperium Romanum 251

Was war geschehen? 46 Der Stadtrat der colonia Agrippinensium, wie das antike
Köln damals nur noch genannt wurde, hatte vermutlich durch eine Gesandt-
schaft von Ratsmitgliedern eine Eingabe an den Kaiser übergeben oder durch
den Statthalter der Provinz an den Kaiserhof senden lassen. Darin erbaten die
Agrippinenser Dekurionen, man möge ihnen erlauben, Mitglieder der jüdi-
schen Gemeinde in Köln in den Dekurionenrat zu berufen. Ein solcher Antrag
ist aus den allgemeinen Umständen der Zeit leicht zu erklären. Denn seit den
letzten Jahrzehnten des 3. Jahrhunderts hatten sich die allgemeinen militäri-
schen Verhältnisse deutlich verschlechtert, was sich massiv auf die wirtschaft-
liche Situation aller ausgewirkt hat. Davon waren nicht zum wenigsten die
Dekurionen betroffen, in sehr vielen Provinzen, zumal in einer Grenzprovinz
wie Niedergermanien und deren Provinzhauptstadt. Wie dramatisch zumindest
in vielen Gemeinden die Situation für die Verantwortlichen geworden war, er-
sieht man etwa aus der Tatsache, dass nach einem Erlass aus diokletianischer
Zeit es nun möglich wurde, auch personae infames zumindest als Dekurio-
nen zu akzeptieren, was früher ausgeschlossen gewesen wäre.47 Jetzt aber sah
man dies anders. Denn die Dekurionen blieben wie schon zuvor gegenüber
der kaiserlichen Steuererhebung weiterhin für den vollständigen Eingang der
Abgaben verantwortlich. Doch ihre wirtschaftliche Basis, die vornehmlich in
dem agrarisch genutzten Territorium außerhalb der schützenden Mauern lag,
hatte gerade in den Grenzgebieten am Rhein unter den Angriffen von rechts
des Rheins schwer gelitten; die Vernichtung vieler villae rusticae konnte auch
die Archäologie nachweisen.48 Die Einnahmen der Dekurionen waren zurück-
gegangen, so konnten manche der bisherigen Stadträte nicht mehr das Mindest-
vermögen aufbringen, das für einen Sitz im Stadtrat und für die Übernahme
von Ämtern nötig war.49 Dass man dann versuchte, neue potente Mitglieder zu
finden, um die bisherigen zu entlasten, ist mehr als verständlich. Vermutlich
hatte man in Köln versucht, jüdische Mitbewohner, die das nötige Vermögen

46 Zum Folgenden W. Eck, The Jewish Community in Cologne from Roman Time to

the Early Middle Age, in: B. Isaac / Y. Shahar (Hg.), Judaea-Palaestina, Babylon and Rome.
Jews in Antiquity (TSAJ 147), Tübingen 2012, 249–259; ders., Köln in römischer Zeit (s.
Anm. 43), 324–330; ders., Die Teilnahme von Juden am politisch-administrativen Leben der
Selbstverwaltungsgemeinden im Westen des römischen Reiches und der Konstantinische Er-
lass von 321 für die CCAA (= Köln), in: G. K. Hasselhoff / M. Strothmann (Hg.), „Religio
li­­cita?“ Rom und die Juden (SJ 84), Berlin 2016, 203–221; ders., Existente und fehlende
Quellen. Die Konstitution Konstantins zur jüdischen Gemeinde in Köln, in: Gross u. a., Im
Licht der Menorah (s. Anm. 33), 83–91.
47 Cod. Justin. 10,59,1.
48 Siehe H.-J. Schulzki, Der Katastrophenhorizont der zweiten Hälfte des 3. Jahrhun-

derts auf dem Territorium der CCAA. Historisches Phänomen und numismatischer Befund,
Kölner Jahrbuch 34 (2001), 7–88; R. Ziegler, Der Schatzfund von Brauweiler. Untersu-
chung zur Münz­prägung und zum Geldumlauf im gallischen Sonderreich, Köln 1983, 91–99;
ferner Eck, Köln in römischer Zeit (s. Anm. 43), 547–564.
49 Siehe dazu mit mehr Details Eck, Teilnahme von Juden (s. Anm. 46), 210–211.
252 Werner Eck

aufwiesen, in den Dekurionenrat zu zwingen, war aber dabei gescheitert. Die

Juden, die man im Auge hatte, verwiesen natürlich auf die althergebrachten
rechtlichen Privilegien, was sich im Text des Codex Theodosianus in der Be-
merkung ad solacium pristinae observationis noch erkennen lässt. Denn diese
Sonderrechte machten es ihnen seit Caesar möglich, sich von solchen Aufga-
ben fern zu halten; der Grund, dass man ihnen diese Rechte zuerkannt und über
so lange Zeit beachtet hatte, war – wie auch beim Heer –, dass sie bei Teilnah-
me im Rat oder als Magistrate mit Praktiken konfrontiert werden konnten, die
mit ihrer Religion nicht vereinbar waren.50 Dieses Privileg war auch nochmals
von Septimius Severus zu Beginn des 3. Jahrhunderts festgehalten worden,
als er Juden, die, ganz anders als ein Jahrhundert später im konstantinischen
Köln, während seiner Regierungszeit in einen Stadtrat aufgenommen werden
wollten, den Zugang zum Dekurionenrat und den städtischen Magistraturen
gestattete. Gleichzeitig bestätigte er aber auch, sie dürften dabei zu nichts ge-
zwungen werden, was ihrer superstitio widersprochen hätte.51 Das alte Privileg
blieb also bestehen.
Seitdem hatten sich die allgemeinen Umstände freilich drastisch geändert
und die Belastungen waren angestiegen; die Kölner Juden hatten keine Sehn-
sucht, Lasten, die mit einem Sitz in der Kurie verbunden waren, zu überneh-
men. Die Entscheidung Konstantins war gegenüber der jahrhundertelangen
Haltung Roms eine massive Kehrtwende, die allerdings logisch konsequent
war, da der entscheidende Grund für die Privilegierung entfallen war: Es gab
keinen Zwang mehr für Dekurionen, an kultischen Handlungen teilnehmen
zu müssen. Denn entweder wurden Kulthandlungen in den Räten nicht mehr
durchgeführt oder Mitglieder konnten sich davon fernhalten. Das galt genauso
für Christen, die jetzt auch keinen Grund mehr hatten, sich wegen der Gefahr,
ihre religiösen Pflichten zu verletzen, öffentlichen Aufgaben in den Gemeinden
zu entziehen.52 Wegen der geänderten Situation waren die Kölner Antragsteller
beim Kaiser erfolgreich, der aus dem Antrag eine lex generalis folgen ließ, die
überall gegolten hat, nicht nur in Köln.53

50 Siehe allgemein M. Pucci Ben Zeev, Jewish Rights in the Roman World. The Greek

and Roman Documents Quoted by Josephus Flavius (TSAJ 74), Tübingen 1998.
51 Dig. 50,2,3,3: Eis, qui Iudaicam superstitionem sequuntur, divi Severus et Antoninus

ho­nores adipisci permiserunt, sed et necessitates eis imposuerunt, qui superstitionem eorum
non laederent („Denen, die dem jüdischen Glauben folgen, haben die vergöttlichten Severus
und Antoninus erlaubt, Ehrenämter zu übernehmen, aber sie haben ihnen damit auch alle
notwendigen Aufgaben aufgeladen, die ihren Glauben nicht verletzen“).
52 Man sieht das vor allem daran, dass Privilegien, die zunächst christlichen Klerikern

gegeben wurden, schnell zurückgenommen oder nur noch unter restriktiven Bedingungen
gewährt wurden; siehe z. B. T. G. Elliott, The Tax Exemptions Granted to Clerics by Cons-
tantine and Constantius II, Phoenix 32 (1978), 326–336.
53 Gelegentlich hat man angenommen, es sei von Konstantin eine lex generalis erlas-

sen worden, die dann auch für Köln gegolten habe (siehe etwa Berger, Menora-Ring [s.
Anm. 33]). Das ist deshalb auszuschließen, weil das Exemplar der Entscheidung, das nach
 Jüdische Diaspora im Westen des Imperium Romanum 253

Für unsere Überlegungen ist aber nun entscheidend, dass die Kölner De-
kurionen nur deshalb auf die Idee gekommen sind, Juden in ihren Rat zu ho-
len, weil es eine Reihe von jüdischen Familien gegeben haben muss, die ent-
sprechend vermögend waren, um die Aufgaben zu übernehmen. Das Vermö-
gen aber bestand, wie generell bei der Übernahme von Führungsaufgaben, in
Grundbesitz, weil dieser die Sicherheiten bot, die man für die Verpflichtungen
leisten musste, die aus städtischen Ämtern erwuchsen. Solcher Grundbesitz
einer größeren Zahl von Familien aber entstand nicht in kurzer Zeit. Vielmehr
müssen diese Familien mindestens seit Jahrzehnten im römischen Köln ge-
lebt haben, um für sich solche ökonomischen Voraussetzungen zu schaffen, die
sie für andere und auch für die kaiserliche Administration wählbar machten.
Wenn es aber eine Reihe solcher Familien gegeben haben muss, ist es weiter-
hin zwingend, eine gewisse Größe der jüdischen Gemeinde anzunehmen, weil
eine Gemeinde nicht nur aus gut betuchten Familien bestehen konnte. Wenn
man aber von normalen historischen Entwicklungen ausgeht, dann heißt dies
ebenso, dass die Kölner jüdische Gemeinde schon relativ lange vor 321 bestan-
den hat, also mindestens weit ins 3. Jahrhundert zurückgehen sollte, vermutlich
aber sogar noch ins 2. Jahrhundert. Denn wann sollte es für Juden in etwas
größerer Zahl attraktiv gewesen sein, sich in einer so andersartigen Lebenswelt
niederzulassen, als in Situationen, die eine Auswanderung aus der Heimat, also
vor allem aus Judäa selbst, notwendig machten, d. h. nach der ersten oder noch
mehr nach der zweiten vernichtenden Niederlage gegen Rom? Konkreter lässt
sich das nicht benennen, aber die historische Wahrscheinlichkeit spricht dafür.
Das steht im Übrigen im Gleichklang mit dem erstmaligen für uns fassbaren
Auftreten von Christen in Gallien-Germanien; auch dies geschah im Verlauf
des 2. Jahrhunderts.54
Sind diese Schlussfolgerungen zutreffend, dann ist dies mit dem totalen
Schweigen der sonstigen Überlieferung zu Juden zu konfrontieren. Für Köln
und sein mehr als 4.000 Quadratkilometer umfassendes Territorium kennen wir
heute weit mehr als 4.000 lateinische Inschriften, einerseits Weiheinschriften,
vor allem aber Grabinschriften.55 Doch nicht ein einziger Text dieser sehr dich-
ten epigraphischen Überlieferung verweist auf die Präsenz von Juden. Auch
andere Hinweise archäologischer Art darauf fehlen vollständig.56 Zwar hat in
den vergangenen zwei Jahrzehnten der Archäologe Sven Schütte, dem die Er-

Köln gegangen war, damals sicher nicht mehr existierte, zumal die Stadt um 438, als der
Codex Theodosianus abgefasst wurde, längst nicht mehr unter römischer Herrschaft stand.
Deshalb müssen die Kompilatoren dieses Gesetzeswerkes in einem zentralen Archiv eben
die originale kaiserliche Entscheidung gefunden haben, in der auch die Adressaten, also die
Agrippinenses ge­nannt waren. In der lex generalis waren diese natürlich nicht angeführt
54 Eck, Teilnahme von Juden (siehe Anm. 46), 220–221.
55 Siehe B. Galsterer / H. Galsterer, Die römischen Steininschriften aus Köln. IKöln²,

Mainz 2010, sowie die „Epigraphik-Datenbank Clauss-Slaby“ unter den Orten Köln, Bonn,
Re­ma­gen, Neuss, Jülich, Pesch und anderen kleinen Orten.
56 Wie dieses „Schweigen“ zu erklären ist, lässt sich letztlich nicht beantworten.
254 Werner Eck

schließung des Geländes für das im Zentrum Kölns geplante Jüdische Museum
übertragen worden war, immer wieder behauptet, dass er unter der seit den
frühen 60er Jahren des vergangenen Jahrhunderts bekannten mittelalterlichen
Synagoge einen Vorgängerbau aus dem 4. Jahrhundert gefunden habe.57 Aber
da war der Wunsch der Vater des Gedankens. Seit er von seinem Posten abge-
löst wurde und die eigentlichen Ausgräber wieder zu Wort kommen konnten,
ist der frühere Tatbestand erneut bestätigt worden: die frühesten Hinweise auf
die Präsenz von Juden an dieser Stelle sind ins 9. Jahrhundert zu datieren. Die
Behauptung Schüttes war immer absurd gewesen: Denn dann hätte der römi-
sche Statthalter erlauben müssen, dass innerhalb seines Gerichtsgebäudes die
Synagoge erbaut wurde.58 Die politisch-topographische Situation im Zentrum
Kölns hat sich erst seit dem 8. Jahrhundert langsam so verändert, dass Juden
das betreffende Gelände nahe dem römischen Prätorium erwerben und bebauen
konnten.
Wir haben also folgenden Befund: Der nur durch die Aufnahme in den Co­
dex Theodosianus erhaltene konstantinische Erlass bezeugt im Jahr 321 eine
jüdische Gemeinde, die nach historischer Wahrscheinlichkeit bereits seit län-
gerer Zeit, wohl seit Jahrhunderten bestanden haben muss und auch nicht klein
gewesen sein kann. Aber: in Köln und seinem gewaltigen Territorium findet
sich – jedenfalls bisher – auch nicht der kleinste Hinweis, der auf diese Ge-
meinde oder überhaupt auf eine jüdische Präsenz verweisen würde; es findet
sich absolut nichts, was für eine solche Präsenz sprechen könnte. Wäre nicht
der konstantinische Erlass, würde man, gerade wegen der so breiten epigra-
phischen Überlieferung verbunden mit einer intensiven archäologischen Er-
schließung des gesamten ehemaligen Kölner Territoriums, eher davon ausge-
hen, dass im niederrheinischen Gebiet, in Köln und auf seinem Territorium, in
römischer Zeit keine Juden gelebt haben.
So, wie wir nur durch eine zufälligerweise erhaltene kaiserliche Konstitu-
tion von der Anwesenheit einer jüdischen Gemeinde im römischen Köln unter-
richtet sind, so wissen wir aus dem 4. bis 6. Jahrhundert vor allem durch lite-
rarische Nachrichten christlicher Autoren, dass an nicht wenigen Orten in den
westlichen Provinzen wie auch in Italien Juden lebten und ihre Synagogen hat-
ten. Zudem überliefern immerhin einige Inschriften die Namen von Personen,
die Aufgaben in den Gemeinden übernommen haben.59 Die Frage drängt sich
57 Siehe z. B. S. Schütte / M. Gechter, Köln Archäologische Zone / Jüdisches Museum.

Von der Ausgrabung zum Museum. Ergebnisse 2006–2011, Köln 2011; dagegen schon W.
Eck, Juden im römischen Köln, in: Gesellschaft zur Förderung eines Hauses und Museums
der Jüdischen Kultur e. V. / Stadt Köln, Dezernat für Kunst und Kultur (Hg.), Ein Haus und
Museum der Jüdischen Kultur in Köln – eine einzigartige Chance. Dokumentation des Sym-
posiums vom 27. September 2002, Köln 2002, 44–46; ders., Spurensuche. Juden im römi-
schen Köln (Beiträge zur rheinisch-jüdischen Geschichte 1), Köln 2011.
58 G. Precht, Der Apsidialbau im Praetorium der Colonia Claudia Ara Agrippinensium /

Köln, Kölner Jahrbuch 41 (2010), 287–338.

59 Vgl. dazu F. Lotter, Die Grabinschriften des lateinischen Westens als Zeugnisse jüdi­
 Jüdische Diaspora im Westen des Imperium Romanum 255

meines Erachtens leicht auf, ob man nicht an diesen Orten, oder zumindest an
manchen, eine ähnliche Diskrepanz wie in der colonia Agrippinensium anneh-
men darf, d. h. dass in der Realität auch dort die jüdische Präsenz weit früher
anzusetzen ist, als es die späte Überlieferung aus dem 4. bis 6. Jahrhundert zu-
nächst suggeriert. Konkretisieren lässt sich dies für andere Orte freilich nicht,
weil die spezifischen Voraussetzungen, wie sie für Köln vorliegen, nicht gege-
ben bzw. nicht genügend bekannt sind. Man muss auch eine gewisse Einschrän-
kung gegenüber den literarischen Zeugnissen machen. Denn bei den christli-
chen Autoren können, insbesondere in theologischen Abhandlungen, leicht die
auf Grund der Tradition gegebene Konfrontation zwischen beiden Religionen
in eher theoretischen Überlegungen ihren Niederschlag gefunden haben, ohne
dass es an allen Orten, die dort genannt werden, stets einen konkreten Anhalts-
punkt für Juden gegeben haben muss. Der vor kurzem verstorbene Mediävist
Rudolf Schiefer hat dies präzis beschrieben: „Nicht nur in exegetischen Wer-
ken, die unmittelbar an die Heilige Schrift anknüpften, sondern auch in Pre-
digten, systematischen Traktaten und sogar in Bestimmungen des kirchlichen
und des weltlichen Rechts griff man immer wieder auf die dem Christentum
seit jeher inhärente Tendenz zur Auseinandersetzung mit dem Judentum zurück
[…] und bedurfte dazu nicht der Anschauung von leibhaftigen Juden im eige-
nen Gesichtskreis. Es ist also keineswegs gesagt, dass polemische Äußerungen
bischöflicher Autoren den Rückschluss auf eine Judengemeinde in deren Stadt
oder gar auf akute Konflikte mit ihr erlauben […]. In diesem Kontext wird ver-
ständlich, warum eine weite Verbreitung jüdischer Gemeinden im lateinischen
Europa des Frühmittelalters in letzter Zeit gesteigerter Skepsis begegnet.“ 60
Und Günter Stemberger hat in einem erst in Kürze erscheinenden Beitrag mit
dem Titel „The Epistola Severi and the Destruction of the Synagogue of Ma-
gona“ resümierend vor allem auf „literary and propagandistic elements“ in der
Epistola Severi hingewiesen, die es nicht erlaubten, den Bericht einfach „as
an historical text“ zu lesen.61 Man muss die literarische christliche Tradition
über Juden in Spätantike und frühem Mittelalter also mit mehr Skepsis sehen
als dies oft geschieht. Allerdings wird seit dem späten 3. Jahrhundert in vielen
Provinzregionen die Präsenz von Juden an deutlich mehr Orten durch Inschrif-
ten nachgewiesen, als dies in den ersten drei Jahrhunderten der Kaiserzeit der
Fall ist; die Zahlen, die oben in der Tabelle gegeben werden, machen dies sehr

schen Lebens im Übergang von der Antike zum Mittelalter (4.–9. Jahrhundert), in: C. Cluse /​
A. Haverkamp / I. J. Yuval (Hg.), Jüdische Gemeinden und ihr christlicher Kontext in kultur-
räumlich vergleichender Betrachtung von der Spätantike bis zum 18. Jahrhundert, Hannover
2003, 87–147.
60 R. Schieffer, Die ältesten Judengemeinden in Deutschland, Paderborn 2015, 6 f.
61 G. Stemberger, The Epistola Severi and the Destruction of the Synagogue of Mago­na,

in: J. Hahn (Hg.), Expropriation and Destruction of Synagogues in Late Antiquity (RGRW),
Leiden (im Druck); siehe schon ders., Zwangstaufen von Juden im 4.–7. Jahrhundert. Mythos
oder Wirklichkeit?, in: ders., Judaica Minora, Bd. 2: Geschichte und Literatur des rabbini-
schen Judentums (TSAJ 138), Tübingen 2010, 82–109.
256 Werner Eck

klar. Auch in Rom bezeugen nichtchristliche Quellen für die späte Republik
und die frühe und hohe Kaiserzeit eine in die viele Tausende gehende jüdi-
sche Bevölkerung. Doch die epigraphische Überlieferung stammt, soweit sie
sich einigermaßen datieren lässt, erst aus der Spätzeit. Insoweit lässt der ex-
emplarische Fall Köln mit dem Zeugnis des Jahres 321 doch den vorsichtigen
Schluss zu, dass nicht nur dort, sondern auch an anderen Orten schon während
der hohen Kaiserzeit jüdische Gemeinden bestanden haben müssen. Es fehlen
nur die konkreten Zeugnisse. Doch sollte hier das argumentum e silentio kein
großes Gewicht haben. Ob diese vermuteten oder in der Spätantike konkreteren
Gemeinden in der Ausgestaltung jüdischen Lebens – entsprechend der Ziel-
setzung dieses Bandes – andere Wege gegangen sind als die besser bekannten
Gemeinden des Ostens,62 wird man allerdings unserer wenig aussagefreudigen
Überlieferung kaum entnehmen dürfen.63

62 D. Noy, Echoes of Israel in Jewish Inscriptions from Europe, in: S. Jones / S. Pearce

(Hg.), Jewish Local Patriotism and Self-Identification in the Graeco-Roman Period, Sheffield
1998, 106–117; ders., The Sixth Hour Is the Mealtime for Scholars. Jewish Meals in the
Ro­man World, in: I. Nielsen / H. S. Nielsen (Hg.), Meals in a Social Context. Aspects of the
Com­munal Meal in the Hellenistic and Roman World, Aarhus 2001, 135–144; ders., Where
Were the Jews of the Diaspora Buried?, in: Goodman, Jews in a Graeco-Roman World (s.
Anm. 22), 75–89.
63 Für die von D. Mendels /A. Edrei, Zweierlei Diaspora. Zur Spaltung der antiken jü-

dischen Welt, Göttingen 2010, behauptete und beschriebene Spaltung der antiken jüdischen
Welt kann m. E. der hier vorgestellte Befund nichts beitragen.
 Jews and Judaism in Antioch
as Portrayed by John Chrysostom
and the Rabbinic Sages
Shaye J. D. Cohen

For the past several decades one of the main issues discussed by students of
Judaism in late antiquity is the normativity of rabbinic Judaism. The rabbinic
sages, who gave us the Mishnah and the Tosefta, the Yerushalmi and the Bavli,
the halakic and haggadic midrashim, were active mainly in Roman Palaestina
and Sassanid Babylonia. Their literature usually – but not always – presents
them as the leaders of Jewish society, not necessarily in an institutional sense
but in a moral sense. The sages saw themselves as the bearers of Torah, the
avatars of authenticity, the molders and shapers of Judaism. Many, or at least
some, rabbinic texts are aware that the Jews “out there” were not sages and did
not observe the Torah as the rabbis would have wanted them to, but in the final
analysis rabbinic texts assume that the sages were central to the definition and
practice of “Judaism” (even if they don’t use the word).1 On this large point not
all modern scholars are convinced. Were the rabbinic sages really the shapers
and molders of Judaism? Were the sages the leaders, whether formal or infor-
mal, of Jewish society? Was “rabbinic Judaism” synonymous with “Judaism”
tout court? These questions form a natural sequel to the much-debated question
of the status of the Pharisees in Second Temple Judaism; there too a scholarly
debate pits the upholders of Pharisaic dominance and centrality against those
who argue that the Pharisees were merely a sect among sects.2
Even if we allow the sages a certain degree of social prominence in their
homelands of Palaestina and Babylonia, we may be certain that their promi-
nence in the cities and villages of the Greek diaspora was less. How much less?
Hard data is hard to find. This essay is a case study of the Jewish community
of one city, Antioch, for which we have little archaeological and epigraphical
evidence,3 but relatively abundant literary evidence. The literary evidence is

1 As is well known, ancient rabbinic literature seldom uses the word ‫ יהודי‬/ ‫( יהודים‬Ἰου­
δαῖος, Ἰουδαῖοι) and almost never uses the word ‫( יהדות‬Ἰουδαϊσμός). These words do not
become common until the high Middle Ages. This is not our concern here.
2 See, e. g., Martin Hengel and Roland Deines (in favor of Pharisaic centrality) vs. E. P.

Sanders (against Pharisaic centrality) in M. Hengel and R. Deines, “E. P. Sanders’ ‘Common
Judaism’, Jesus, and the Pharisees,” JTS 46 (1995), 1–70.
3 D. Noy and H. Bloedhorn, IJO 3, p. 116: “There is almost no epigraphic or archaeolog-
258 Shaye J. D. Cohen

contained in two corpora: (1) rabbinic texts, and (2) the sermons Against the
Jews by John Chrysostom. I hope I am not ruining any surprise if I state at the
outset that the rabbinic texts assume that the Jewish community of Antioch was
under rabbinic influence while the sermons of John Chrysostom do not.4
First a brief introductory note about each of our sources. The rabbinic works
of late antiquity extend from the second or third century CE (the Mishnah and
Tosefta) to the early Islamic period (some of the “late” midrashim).5 All of
these works are anonymous anthologies, large collections of material that have
reached us through complicated, mostly unknown, processes of collection and
edition. Within these large anonymous anthologies are passages and statements
attributed to named sages; the reliability of these attributions is a subject of in-
tense scholarly debate. The main form of this literature is the commentary: the
Tosefta and the Talmuds are commentaries on the Mishnah, the midrashim are
commentaries on the Bible, mainly the Torah. The commentary form masks a
rich variety of other literary forms which are embedded in this literature, such
as legal debates, anecdotes, homilies, folklore, and much else. Whatever the
genre, we may be sure that none of the rabbinic references to Jewish life in
Antioch was written by an eyewitness.
All of this literature is written in a combination of Hebrew and Aramaic with
occasional Greek (and Latin) words and phrases. How much Greek and Greek
rhetoric the sages knew is an open question.6 If one fine day in Antioch a rab-
binic sage visiting from Palaestina bumped into John Chrysostom on the street,
would they have been able to hold a conversation? Not clear.7 More impor-

ical evidence of the Jewish community [of Antioch].” On the archaeological remains of An-
tioch in general, see G. Brands, Antiochia in der Spätantike: Prolegomena zu einer archäo­
logischen Stadtgeschichte, Hans-Lietzmann-Vorlesungen 14 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2016).
4 There is abundant scholarship on the Jewish community of Antioch although I do not

know any study that does what this essay proposes to do. See, e. g., S. Krauss, “Antioche,”
REJ 45 (1902), 27–49; C. Kraeling, “The Jewish Community at Antioch,” JBL 51 (1932),
130–160; B. Brooten, “The Jews of Ancient Antioch,” in Antioch: The Lost Ancient City, ed.
C. Kondoleon (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2000), 29–37; R. Brändle, “Die Reden
Adversus Judaeos (386 / 387) von Johannes Chrysostomus im Kontext der multikulturellen
Me­tropole Antiochien,” in Antioch II: The Many Faces of Antioch; Intellectual Exchange
and Religious Diversity, ed. S.-P. Bergjan and S. Elm (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2018),
297–316 (non vidi); A. Finkelstein, “Taming the Jewish Genie: John Chrysostom and the
Jews of Antioch,” in Strength to Strength: Essays in Appreciation of Shaye J. D. Cohen, ed.
M. L. Satlow, BJS 363 (Providence, R. I.: Brown Judaic Studies, 2018), 555–576 (with recent
bibliography).
5 For a brief but useful introduction to ancient rabbinic literature, see Handbook of Jewish

Literature from Late Antiquity, ed. F. Millar, E. ben Eliyahu, and Y. Cohn (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 2012).
6 See the recent study by R. Hidary, Rabbis and Classical Rhetoric: Sophistic Education

and Oratory in the Talmud and Midrash (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018).
7 Cf. the story in t. Ḥul. 2:24 of R. Eliezer having a conversation with a min (a heretic,

apparently a Jewish Christian) in Sepphoris; the storyteller does not reveal in which language
 Jews and Judaism in Antioch 259

tantly, if a rabbinic sage from Palaestina visited Antioch, would he have been
able to converse with the Jews of the city? The rabbinic texts suggest that the
answer is yes, even if the texts do not tell us what language they were speaking.
According to the Bar Ilan Responsa Database (version 26 plus) “Antioch”
(‫ אנטוכיה‬/ ‫ )אנטוכיא‬appears over one hundred times in the rabbinic literature of
late antiquity. This number is inflated because the database contains duplicates
(e. g., two editions of the Yerushalmi, two editions of the Tosefta, two editions
of Genesis Rabbah) and parallels, as well as passages in texts whose claim to
antiquity, even late antiquity, is dubious. The important point, however, is that
late antique rabbinic literature refers to Antioch frequently enough to support
the conclusion that the city was on the rabbinic radar screen. Antioch is in-
voked several times as a byword for “a large city.” 8 The rabbis tell anecdotes
that are set in Antioch.9 They mention “Daphne of Antioch,” “the valley of
An­tioch,” and “Hamat Antioch.” 10 Edessa, in contrast, was not on the rabbin-
ic radar screen; in all of ancient rabbinic literature Edessa is mentioned only
once.11 I freely admit that we cannot be sure that all the Antiochs of rabbinic
literature are necessarily our Antioch, the great city on the Orontes in northern
Syria, known today as Antakya, but surely the simplest assumption is that they
are all one and the same, and I shall proceed on that basis. I recognize too that
in assembling this corpus of rabbinic evidence I am homogenizing texts of
different genres, dates, and origins, but the corpus is small and I do not have
much alternative.
And now some brief introductory remarks about John Chrysostom. In his
sermons Against the Jews, delivered in Antioch in the fall of 386, the spring
of 387, and the fall of 387 CE,12 John Chrysostom fulminates against some of

they had their conversation (probably Aramaic). Chrysostom says that he does not have He-
brew (Hom. Gen. 4 [PG 53.43], cited by R. C. Hill, St. John Chrysostom: Commentary on the
Psalms, 2 vols. [Brookline, Mass.: Holy Cross Orthodox Press, 1998], 1.5 n. 15).
8 E. g., t. ‘Erub. 3:13 (p. 101 ed. Lieberman); y. ‘Erub. 5:5, 22 d.
9 t. Yebam. 14:7 (pp. 53–54 ed. Lieberman); b. Yebam. 122 a; b. Šabb. 53 b; see below.
10 “Daphne of Antioch”: y. Sanh. 10:5, 29 c; Gen. Rab. 94 end (p. 1185 ed. Theodor-Albeck);

“the valley of Antioch”: t. Demai 2:1 (p. 68 ed. Lieberman); “Hamat Antioch”: Lev. Rab. 5:3
(p. 105 ed. Margulies).
11 The only reference to Edessa is in Genesis Rabbah; see A. Oppenheimer, Babylonia

Ju­daica in the Talmudic Period, TAVO B 47 (Wiesbaden: Reichert, 1983), 133–134, s. v.

Ha­das. On rabbinic Judaism in Edessa, see my article “Jewish Observance of the Sabbath
in Bardaisan’s Book of the Laws of Countries” [in Hebrew], in Between Babylonia and the
Land of Israel: Studies in Honor of Isaiah Gafni, ed. G. Herman et al. (Jerusalem: Zalman
Sha­zar Center, 2016), 169–182.
12 W. Pradels, R. Brändle, and M. Heimgartner, “The Sequence and Dating of the Series

of John Chrysostom’s Eight Discourses Adversus Judaeos,” ZAC 6 (2002), 90–116. Whether
this reconstruction is correct or not, does not much matter for my purposes. – I cite the Ad­
versus Judaeos (“Against the Jews”) of John Chrysostom from the translation of P. Harkins,
FC 68. I reject Harkin’s title “Against Judaizing Christians” in favor of the traditional title.
The Greek text is PG 48; I indicate the column number after each reference, the volume
260 Shaye J. D. Cohen

the Christians of the city, accusing them of consorting with the Jews, the ene-
mies of Christ, and thus denying their own Christianity. Modern scholars call
these Christians “Judaizers,” and cite them as evidence for the porosity of the
boundary between Jews and Christians, and between Judaism and Christianity.
Elsewhere I hope to investigate this allegedly porous boundary, in particular
whether “Judaizing” is the right label to apply to these Christians. Why Antio-
chene Christians “Judaized,” and why Chrysostom reacted so strongly to their
actions, are questions for another time.13
In this essay I am interested not in the Christianity of Antioch’s Christians
but in the Judaism of Antioch’s Jews. I admit that a full study of this topic
would demand minimally a survey of all the works of Chrysostom’s Antio-
chene period, and maximally a study of all of his works.14 Both of these tasks
are beyond my competence and expertise. According to the Thesaurus Linguae
Graecae, words formed with the root ἰουδ- (e. g., Ἰουδαῖοι, Ἰουδαϊσμός, ἰου­
δαΐζειν) occur no less than 3,782 times in Chrysostom’s corpus.15
Aside from the challenge of the sheer volume of material is the challenge
of the genre. The sermons Against the Jews are polemics; as a polemicist,
Chrysostom is under no obligation to be accurate or truthful. His goal is to high-
light the wickedness of the Jews, in order to encourage his flock to stay away
from them. As many scholars have observed, his evidence for the wickedness
of the Jews consists primarily of passages drawn from the biblical prophets.
The sins of Israel denounced by Amos, Isaiah, and Jeremiah are also the sins
of contemporary Jews. As a result of this ahistorical perspective, which allows
him to speak of “Jews” even in the biblical period, in many passages he even
conflates the destruction of the first temple in 587 BCE with the destruction
of the second in 70 CE. For Chrysostom both destructions prove Jewish wick-
edness and divine rejection, hence he has little reason to distinguish one de-
struction from the other.16 Chrysostom acknowledges that the Jews of Antioch

number 48 should be understood. In citing other works of Chrysostom, I supply the volume
number as well as the column number. A section of the second oration, which had disap-
peared from the manuscript tradition, was recently re-discovered; it is a good specimen of
Chry­sostom’s anti-Jewish polemic but does not contribute to my discussion. See W. Pradels,
R. Brändle, and M. Heimgartner, “Das bisher vermisste Textstück in Johannes Chrysosto-
mus, Adversus Judaeos, Oratio 2,” ZAC 5 (2001), 23–49.
13 See my “Parting of the Ways in Antioch in 386 / 7 CE: What John Chrysostom Says and

What He Doesn’t,” an early version of which was delivered at the SBL conference in San
Antonio in 2016.
14 Part of the challenge is that the provenance of many of Chrysostom’s works is not

known: which are from Antioch, and which are from Constantinople?
15 Not to mention words formed on the stems Ἑβραι- and Ἰσραηλιτ-.
16 For the conflation of the two destructions, see, e. g., Adv. Jud. 4.6.6–9 (880–881) and

6.4.4 (922). Rabbinic midrash sometimes does the same. See my “The Destruction: From
Scripture to Midrash,” in The Significance of Yavneh and Other Essays in Jewish Hellenism,
TSAJ 136 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 22–43.
 Jews and Judaism in Antioch 261

are not as sinful as the Israelites of old. He admits that contemporary Jews do
not worship idols or dedicate their children to Molek; he admits that they ob-
serve the Sabbath and abstain from forbidden food.17 Contemporary Jews, says
Chrysostom, suffer exile and degradation for the sin of killing Christ, just as
their ancestors had suffered exile and degradation for slaying the prophets. So
it is not a simple matter to ask Chrysostom to tell us about contemporary Jews
since in his mind the timeline of Jewish wickedness extends without interrup-
tion from the biblical era into the fourth century CE.
Now that the introductions are out of the way we can turn to the matter at
hand: Jews and Judaism in Antioch as represented by rabbinic texts and by
John Chrysostom. I begin with the rabbinic texts. Please note that my trans-
lations of the rabbinic passages are actually a cross between translation and
paraphrase; for our purposes we need to focus only on what each passage has
to say about Jews and Judaism in Antioch.

1. Rabbinic Texts on Rabbis and Rabbinic Judaism in Antioch

(1) Both the Bavli and the Yerushalmi mention “the lawcourts of Syria”
(b. Sanh. 23 a; y. Sanh. 3:1, 21 a). The Yerushalmi includes the following anec-
dote about two litigants in Antioch:
‫תרין בני נש הוה לן דין באנטוכיא אמר חד לחביריה מה דרבי יוחנן אמר מקבל עלי שמע רבי יוחנן ומר‬
‫לא כל מיניה מיטרפא בעל דיניה אלא שמעין מיליהון תמן ואין הוות צורכא כתבין ומשלחין עובדא לרבנן‬
[…] One litigant says, “whatever ruling R. Yohanan gives [in Tiberias about this case] I ac-
cept.” 18 R. Yohanan [in Tiberias] hears of this and says, “one litigant does not have the power
to compel the other [to accept a ruling in a distant place]. But let them [the judges] there [in
Antioch] hear their words, and if there is need, let them write and send the case to the sages
[here].”

The anecdote assumes that rabbinic sages enjoy authority and prestige in An-
tioch, even as it also assumes that the judges of Antioch may have to consult
the sages of Palaestina for guidance. Rabbi Yohanan, a major sage of the mid-
third century CE in Palaestina, thinks it perfectly natural that the sages of An-
tioch would want to consult the sages of Tiberias. The passage also assumes
that there were rabbinic courts in Antioch.
In the first of his sermons Against the Jews Chrysostom tells a story about
a Christian man in the city who attempts to compel his Christian disputant, a
woman, to take an oath in the synagogue, because the man believes that oaths
taken in a synagogue are more fearsome than oaths taken in a church.19 Some
modern scholars explain that the man trusted an oath taken in a synagogue

17 Adv. Jud. 6.2.8 (906), 10 (907); 6.3.3 (907).

18 Or: “whatever the law is according to R. Yohanan, I accept.”
19 Adv. Jud. 1.3.4–5 (847–848).
262 Shaye J. D. Cohen

be­cause of the integrity and competence of the Jewish legal tribunal that met
there.20 This explanation, which at first glance might seem to confirm our story
in the Yerushalmi, actually derives, I believe, from a mistaken translation of
the word συνέδρια that Chrysostom uses here. Chrysostom asks the man why
he reveres oaths taken in the place where the Jews congregate (συνέδρια); he is
not referring to rabbinic or any other law courts.21 Chrysostom knows nothing
of rabbinic tribunals in Antioch, but the Yerushalmi does.
The following rabbinic stories locate named rabbinic sages in Antioch. The
stories seldom make clear why the sages are in the city.22 No sage is said to be
a native of the city. In the following stories we have rabbinic sages in Antioch
doing what rabbinic sages do, that is, teaching, deciding law, raising money,
and interacting with government officials.

(2) b. Yebam. 45 a:
‫ פרוק הנהו שבוייתא דאתו מארמון‬,‫רבי אחא שר הבירה ור׳ תנחום בריה דרבי חייא איש כפר עכו‬
:‫ ר׳ יוחנן ור׳ אלעזר ור׳ חנינא דאמרי‬,‫ ואתו לקמיה דר׳ אמי; אמר להו‬,‫ הוה חדא דאעברא מגוי‬,‫לטבריא‬
‫גוי ועבד הבא על בת ישראל – הולד ממזר‬
R. Aha the captain of the fortress 23 and R. Tanhum the son of R. Hiyya, a man of Kefar Akko,
redeemed some female captives who came from Armenia to [Antioch 24]. One of them had
been impregnated by a gentile. They came before R. Ami [in Tiberias in Palaestina]. He said
to them: R. Yohanan, R. Elazar and R. Hanina all say that if a gentile or a gentile slave im-
pregnates an Israelite woman, the offspring is a mamzer.25

This brief anecdote is part of a long and involved discussion about the status
of the offspring of a Jewish (“Israelite”) woman and a gentile man. Too bad

20 Krauss, “Antioche” (see n. 4), 43 (“Les synagogues étaient très fréquentées par des

chré­tiens […] ils s’adressaient parfois aux tribunaux juifs”); Kraeling, “Antioch” (see n. 4),
156 (“Christians were attracted to the Jewish synagogue of Antioch for various reasons. They
found the judicial tribunal which sat there solemn and impartial”); D. Flusser, “Antioch,”
EncJud 3 (1972), 71–73, at 72 (“John Chrysostom of Antioch […] vituperatively denounced
those Christians in Antioch who attended synagogues and resorted to the Jewish lawcourts”).
21 Chrysostom reports “I asked him why he rejected the Church and dragged the woman

to the place where the Hebrews assembled (συνέδρια)” (Adv. Jud. 1.3.5 [848]). Similar trans-
lation in V. Jegher-Bucher, Johannes Chrysostomus: Acht Reden gegen Juden, Bibliothek
der griechischen Literatur 41 (Stuttgart: Hiersemann, 1995), 89 (“die Zusammenkünfte der
Ju­den”).
22 Kraeling, “Antioch” (see n. 4), 155–156 nn. 125–126, tries to distinguish sages living in

Antioch (R. Isaac, R. Ephas) from those visiting Antioch.

23 The meaning of ‫ הבירה‬is obscure. The title also appears in m. ‘Or. 2:12.
24 The standard edition of the Bavli reads “from Armenia to Tiberias,” but Rashi and

numerous medieval testimonia read “from Armenia to Antioch.” See the edition of Yebamot,
vol. 2, published by the Institute for the Complete Israeli Talmud (Jerusalem, 1986), ed.
A. Liss, p. 152 n. 28 [in Hebrew].
25 A mamzer is the offspring of a prohibited union who, as the result of his parentage, may

not marry a Jew of good standing.

 Jews and Judaism in Antioch 263

that the reading “Antioch” is not certain, and too bad that the movement of
the story’s characters (from Armenia to Antioch to Tiberias, home of R. Ami)
is not laid out with greater precision. Why R. Aha and R. Tanhum, whom we
will meet again in the next story, were in Antioch, the story does not say. The
redemption of captives, especially female captives, was deemed by rabbinic
piety to be a high form of charity.26 All of the named sages are conventionally
dated to the mid- or later third century CE.

(3) b. Ketub. 88 a // b. ‘Arak. 22 b:

‫ מעשה בא לפני רבי יצחק‬:‫ אמר רב אחא שר הבירה‬.‫ונפרעת שלא בפניו – לא תפרע אלא בשבועה‬
‫ אפי׳‬:‫ אבל בעל חוב לא; ורבא אמר רב נחמן‬,‫ משום חינא‬,‫ לא שנו אלא לכתובת אשה‬:‫ ואמר‬,‫באנטוכיא‬
‫ ואתה נועל דלת‬,‫ שלא יהא כל אחד ואחד נוטל מעותיו של חברו והולך ויושב במדינת הים‬,‫בעל חוב‬
.‫בפני לווין‬
[…] R. Aha the captain of the fortress 27 said: a case came before R. Isaac in Antioch. […]

In Antioch R. Isaac ruled that a woman collecting money owed to her in her
marriage contract (ketubbah) may seize the money even in the absence of the
husband. Other creditors, however, may seize the money owed to them only
in the presence of the debtor. The exception is made for a divorced woman
collecting her ketubbah because rabbinic social policy wants her to remarry,
and if she has money she may well attract a potential spouse. But a standard
creditor may not seize assets except in the presence of the debtor. The Talmud
reports that Rava in the name of R. Nahman, two well-known Babylonian sages
of the mid-fourth century, disagree; in their opinion a creditor may seize what
is owed to him even in the absence of the debtor. Why R. Isaac was in Antioch
the narrator does not say. If we may deduce that the storyteller believes a ketub­
bah to be standard issue for Jewish women in Jewish marriages in Antioch, we
have learned something important because a ketubbah is a hallmark of rabbinic
marriage.28

(4) y. Qidd. 3:13, 64 d. In m. Qidd. 3:13, R. Tarfon declares that a mamzer can
remove the stain from his descendants if he (the suggestion works only for a
male mamzer, not a female mamzeret) marries a slave woman. The offspring of
that union is a slave, who can be manumitted and thus become a Jew of good
standing. The Yerushalmi comments as follows:
‫רבי טרפון אומר יכולין ממזרין ליטהר כו׳ כיני מתניתא ממזר מותר לו לישא שפחה רב יהודה בשם שמואל‬
‫הלכתא כרבי טרפון רבי שמלאי הורי באנטוכיא רבי סימאי הורי כפר ספורייא הלכה כרבי טרפון‬

26 See, e. g., m. Giṭ. 4:6; Ketub. 4:9; Hor. 3:7; S. Baron, The Jewish Community: Its His­

tory and Structure to the American Revolution (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society,
1942), index, s. v. Redemption of Captives.
27 See n. 23 above.
28 See m. Ketub. 4. According to t. Ketub. 4:9, Jewish marriages in Alexandria in the time

of Hillel also featured ketubbot.

264 Shaye J. D. Cohen

The Mishnah follows the view that a (male) mamzer is permitted to marry a (female) slave.
Rabbi Judah says in the name of Samuel: the law (‫ )הלכה‬follows R. Tarfon. Rabbi Simla’i
pronounced a verdict in Antioch; R. Sima’i pronounced a verdict in Kefar Sipuraya: the law
(‫ )הלכה‬follows R. Tarfon.

We are dealing with a case of a mamzer, the offspring of a strongly prohibited

union who as the result of the sinfulness of his origins may not marry a Jew of
good standing. Rabbi Tarfon (a Mishnaic sage of the early second century CE)
found a way for the male mamzer to remove this impairment from his descen-
dants, and R. Tarfon’s ruling was put into effect by R. Simla’i in Antioch (sec-
ond half of the third century CE). Once again numerous key details are missing
from this highly compressed narrative; but the storyteller would have us be-
lieve that in Antioch one could find a mamzer as well as a rabbinic sage from
Palaestina who could help the mamzer’s descendants escape their impairment.

(5) y. Hor. 3:4, 48 a; Lev. Rab. 5:4 (pp. 110–113 ed. Margulies):
‫מעשה בי רבי אליעזר ורבי יהושע ורבי עקיבה שעלו לחולת אנטוכיא על עסק מגבת חכמים והוה תמן חד‬
‫אבא יהודה עביד מצוה בעין טובה פעם אחת ירד מנכסיו וראה רבותינו ונתייאש מהן עלה לו לביתו ופניו‬
‫חולניות אמרה לו אשתו מפני מה פניך חולניות אמר לה רבותינו כאן ואיני יודע מה אעשה אשתו שהיתה‬
‫צדקת ממנו אמרה לו נשתיירה לך שדה אחת לך ומכור חצייה ותן להן הלך ועשה כן ובא אצל רבותינו‬
‫ונתן להן ונתפללו עליו רבותינו אמרו לו אבא יהודה הקדוש ברוך הוא ימלא חסרונותיך עם כשהלכו להם‬
‫ירד לחרוש בתוך חצי שדהו עם כשהוא חורש בתוך חצי שדהו שקעה פרתו ונשברה ירד להעלותה והאיר‬
‫הקדוש ברוך הוא עיניו ומצא סימא אמר לטובתי נשברה רגל פרתי ובהדורת רבותינו שאלון עלוי אמרין‬
‫מה אבא יהודה עביד אמרין מאן יכיל חמי אפוי דאבא יהודה אבא יהודה דתורוי אבא יהודה דגמלוי‬
‫אבא יהודה דחמרוי חזר אבא יהודה לכמות שהיה ובא אצל רבותינו ושאל בשלומן אמרין ליה מה אבא‬
‫יהודה עביד אמר להן עשתה תפילתכם פירות ופירי פירות אמרו לו אף על פי שנתנו אחרים יותר ממך‬
‫בראשונה אותך כתבנו ראש טימוס נטלוהו והושיבוהו אצלם וקראו עליו הפסוק הזה מתן אדם ירחיב לו‬
‫ולפני גדולים ינחינו‬
It once happened that R. Eliezer and R. Joshua and R. Aqiva went to the valley of Antioch for
the purpose of raising money for the sages. One Abba Judah was there, who gave generously
to charity. It happened that he suffered financial loss; he saw our rabbis and despaired be-
cause of them.29 He went to his house; his face was sickly. His wife said to him: why is your
face sickly? He said to her: our rabbis are here and I don’t know what to do. His wife, who
was even more righteous than he,30 said to him: you still have one field left; go and sell half
of it and give the proceeds to them. He went and did so; he went to our rabbis and gave them
the money. They prayed on his behalf. They said: Abba Judah, may the holy One, blessed be
He, make full what you have lost. When they left he went down to plow his half-field. While
he was plowing in his half field his cow sank [into a hole] and [her leg] was broken. He went
down [into the hole] in order to raise her up, and the holy One, blessed be He, enlightened
his eyes and he found a treasure. He said: it was for my benefit that my cow’s leg was broken.
Upon the return of our rabbis [the next year] they asked about him. They said: how [lit. what]
is Abba Judah doing? They [the local people] said: who is ever able to see the face of Abba

29 That is, he sees the sages approaching but is embarrassed because he is unable to give

them his usual gift.

30 She is the opposite of Mrs. Job. I do not understand the function of the pious wife in

this story.
 Jews and Judaism in Antioch 265

Judah? Abba Judah and his oxen! Abba Judah and his camels! Abba Judah and his donkeys!
Abba Judah has returned to his prior state. He went to our rabbis and greeted them. They said
to him: how [lit. what] is Abba Judah doing? He said to them: your prayer yielded fruit, and
the fruit yielded fruit. They said to him: even though others gave more than you, we have
written your name first at the head of the scroll (‫)טימוס‬.31 They took him and seated him with
them, and applied to him this verse, a person’s [charitable] gift opens the way, and leads him
to the great ones (Prov 18:16).

This is a wonderful and charming folktale whose legendary and homiletical

quality is obvious. The text is too rich and too long to be fully unpacked here.
What is important is that the rabbinic storyteller imagines that at Antioch one
will find Jews like Abba Judah: not a sage, not a rabbi, but a pious and sincere
supporter of “our” rabbis when they visit from Palaestina. Three well-known
sages (all of the early second century CE) go to Antioch to raise funds; Abba
Judah does his best to support the sages financially and is rewarded from heav-
en for his actions. The storyteller imagines that Abba Judah and the rabbinic
sages have no difficulty communicating with each other, but the storyteller
does not tell us if they were speaking Greek or Aramaic (or Hebrew).

(6) Gen. Rab. 10:4 (p. 76 ed. Theodor-Albeck):

‫אמר רבי הושעיא דרש ר׳ אפס באנטוכיה אין לשון ויכלו אלא לשון מכה וכליה‬
R. Hoshaya said: R. Afas expounded (in public) in Antioch […]

After this opening line follows a homily of a typical rabbinic sort on Gen 2:1
which I do not need to transcribe here since text and translation will take us
far afield. But R. Afas’s homily assumes an audience which knows enough
He­brew to understand that Hebrew ‫ויכלו‬, “were completed” (Gen 2:1), sounds
sim­ilar to ‫“( כליה‬destruction”). This is an audience that can appreciate fanciful
rabbinic midrash.

(7) Gen. Rab. 19:4 (p. 172 ed. Theodor-Albeck):

‫ אמרתי להם כי יודעים אלהים אין כת׳ כאן אלא כי יודע‬,‫אמר ר׳ תנחומא השאלה הזו שאלוני באנטוכיא‬
‫אלהים‬
R. Tanhum(a) says: they asked me this question in Antioch. [Gen 3:5 says Because God (Elo­
him) knows that as soon as you eat of it your eyes will be opened and you will be like Gods
(Elohim) who know good and bad. Why does the verse use the plural Elohim and the plural
who know? Is there more than one God?] I said to them, “Because Gods know” [in plural] is
not written here; what is written is Because God knows [in the singular].

31 That is, even though last year you were not able to make your usual contribution, we

kept your name at the top of the list of contributors (because we had every confidence that
your fortunes would be restored, and that you would contribute again as you had done pre-
viously).
266 Shaye J. D. Cohen

This passage is truncated but its meaning is clear based on parallels in Gene-
sis Rabbah and elsewhere which feature conversations between minim (“here-
tics”) and R. Simla’i, whom we have already met in Antioch (see passage no. 4
above).32 The standard pattern is the following: the heretics point to a biblical
passage which uses a plural with reference to God; the heretics ask, does not
the plural imply a plurality of Gods in heaven? The rabbi responds: in the same
verse or in a nearby verse is a singular verb or noun, thus affirming the sin-
gularity of God. In some passages after the departure of the heretics the sage
shares with his disciples (and thus the reader) a deeper explanation. The pre-
cise identity of the questioners is never revealed by the narrator.33 In Antioch
R. Tanhum (or Tanhuma) met such questioners, whoever they may have been.

(8) y. Ber. 5:1, 9 a is a series of stories about sages who meet powerful generals
or officials and, to everyone’s surprise, it is the official who stands before the
sages, rather than the reverse. The following excerpt features the Roman gen-
eral Ursicinus who was active in the 350s CE in various military campaigns in
the eastern Roman Empire; he was a citizen of Antioch and figures prominently
in the narratives of Ammianus Marcellinus.
‫רבי יונה ורבי יוסי עלון קומוי ארסקינס באנטוכיא חמתין וקם מן קומיהון אמרין ליה מן קומוי אילין יהודאי‬
‫את קאים לך אמר לון אפיהון דהני אנא חזי בקרבא ונצח‬
R. Yonah and R. Yosi went before Ursicinus in Antioch. He saw them and arose before them.
They [his courtiers] said to him, “you stand before these Jews?” He said to them, “because I
see their faces in battle and I am victorious.”

This intriguing little story reminds us of the story in Josephus about the meet-
ing of Jaddus the High Priest and Alexander the Great. Alexander bows down
to Jaddus, because, he explains, he saw the image of the high priest in his
dream, urging him on to victory.34 In the context of the fourth century one
wonders whether this story is meant to be a kind of Jewish response to the
Christian story about Constantine.35 Constantine was victorious at the Milvian
bridge through his Christian vision, Ursicinus was victorious through his vi-
sion of two rabbinic sages. One wonders too why these two sages, R. Yonah
and R. Yosi, traveled from Palaestina to Antioch; were there no sages in An-
tioch who could have greeted the general properly? No doubt there is more
here to unpack.36

32 Gen. Rab. 8:9 (pp. 62–63 ed. Theodor-Albeck) and parallels.

33 Thus giving ample scope for speculation by modern scholars.
34 Josephus, A. J. 11.329–339. See my “Alexander the Great and Jaddus the High Priest

according to Josephus,” AJSR 7–8 (1982–1983), 41–68; repr. in Significance of Yavneh (see
n. 16), 162–186.
35 H. Lapin, “Toward a History of Rabbinic Powerlessness,” in Satlow, Strength to Strength

(see n. 4), 329–339, at 332, following a suggestion of Seth Schwartz.

36 Lieberman suggests that the meeting between Ursicinus and the sages took place in
 Jews and Judaism in Antioch 267

2. The Jews of Antioch as Seen by Rabbinic Texts

In sum, the rabbinic texts represent the Jews of Antioch as living within the
rabbinic orbit. True, there are people within (?) the community who ask ques-
tions about Scripture that seem more appropriate in the mouths of heretics than
in the mouths of pious Jews, but such questioners (Jews? Christians? Jewish
Chris­tians? Greeks? “Gnostics”?) could be found in Palaestina too, and we
can­not be sure that they are Christians. The community has rabbinic courts,
even if not a single native Antiochene rabbi appears in our corpus. The judges
of these courts consult the sages in Galilee if they have cases that they cannot
solve. Sages from Palaestina visit Antioch and rule on cases there. The com-
munity knows enough Hebrew in order to follow a rabbinic sermon. The values
of the community are those of the rabbinic sages: respect for sages, charity,
redemption of captives. Ketubbot (“marriage contracts”) are a normal feature
of marriage. It may be significant that two of the cases in our small corpus
deal with mamzerut, the marriageability of the offspring of severely prohibited
unions. Does this fact imply that sexual mixing was frequent between Jews and
non­-Jews, and sexual libertinism was rife within the Jewish community? Or do
these two cases imply precisely the opposite? Not sure. In sum, the rabbinic
texts imagine that the Jewish community of Antioch is an outpost of rabbinic
Judaism, or at least that rabbinic sages find a welcome there when they visit
from Roman Palaestina. The Antiochene Jews are not sages themselves, but
like Abba Judah they respect the sages and heed their words.

3. The Sermons Against the Jews of John Chrysostom

on the Jews of Antioch
Let us ignore Chrysostom’s anti-Jewish fulminations. Let us ignore his rhetor-
ical excesses, his rabid anti-Jewish hostility. Let us ignore his denigration of
synagogues, his claim that Jews are demonic and need to be destroyed. In other
words, let us ignore the features of Chrysostom’s sermons that have monopo-
lized scholarly attention. Let us instead read the sermons Against the Jews in
search of data about Jews and Judaism in Antioch in the 380s CE.

353 CE; see S. Lieberman, “Palestine in the Third and Fourth Centuries,” JQR 36 (1946),
336–341, esp. 340 n. 89; repr. in his Texts and Studies (New York: Ktav, 1974), 119–124. See
now, for a less positivistic discussion, H. Lapin, Rabbis as Romans: The Rabbinic Movement
in Palestine (New York: Oxford University Press, 2012), 144–149. The Yerushalmi might
mention Julian at Ned. 3:3, 37 d but it nowhere alludes to the proposed rebuilding of the
temple. The story about the meeting with Ursicinus may well be the latest datable story in
the Yerushalmi.
268 Shaye J. D. Cohen

The Jews of Antioch are loyal to the law; they honor its demands in a way
that their ancestors did not.37 Of course, Chrysostom says, their observance of
the law is untimely, since they should have observed the law when the temple
still stood; with the temple destroyed and the Jews in exile, they are unable to
observe one of the main dictates of the law: to sacrifice to God in Jerusalem.38
In response the Jews say that in the future their way of life will be restored,
their temple will be rebuilt, and they will resume the worship of God through
sacrifices. As to Chrysostom’s argument that in the meanwhile the destruction
of the temple and the exile from Jerusalem render the practice of Jewish rituals
untimely and pointless, the Jews have nothing to say, or at least Chrysostom
does not give their response. Their implicit response is clear: they continue to
observe the Jewish laws and customs that they can.
Chrysostom is vague about the non-sacrificial worship of contemporary
Jews. What Jewish rituals do the Jews of Antioch perform in their synagogues
and homes? Chrysostom apparently does not know, aside from some allusions
to the fall festivals, about which more in a moment. He repeatedly calls the
synagogue a place of demons and salacious entertainment; what exactly the
Jews were doing in their synagogues that might have elicited this accusation, I
do not know.39 In their synagogues the Jews store and read the books of the law
and the prophets. The books of the law are stored in special boxes, very unlike
the ark of the law in the temple of old.40
The Jews of Antioch have at least two synagogues, one in the city and one
in the suburb of Daphne.41 Their community is led by priests and perhaps a
patriarch (or perhaps patriarchs, plural).42 No named leader is mentioned. In

37 Adv. Jud. 1.2.3 (845–846); Exp. Ps. 8 (Hill, Commentary [see n. 7], 1.158–164).
38 See, e. g., Adv. Jud. 1.2.3 (845–846); 2.1.6 (858); 2.2.5 (861); 4.4.2 (876); J. Malkowski,
“The Element of akairos in St John Chrysostom’s Anti-Jewish Polemic,” StPatr 12 (1975),
222–231. See now the recovered section of the second sermon.
39 Perhaps it was the music (trumpets?) played in the synagogue; see below. Chrysostom,

with his monastic training, regarded music as the devil’s work; to this day Greek Orthodox
services do not employ musical instruments.
40 Adv. Jud. 6.7.2 (914).
41 Adv. Jud. 1.6.2 (852). I do not discuss here the Hasmonean shrine in Antioch because

by the 380s CE it had become a Christian, not a Jewish, shrine; it is nowhere mentioned in
the Adversus Judaeos. The Maccabees themselves are mentioned in Adv. Jud. 5.7.5 (894), but
not the shrine. For a full discussion, see M. Vinson, “Gregory Nazianzen’s Homily 15 and
the Genesis of the Christian Cult of the Maccabean Martyrs,” Byzantion 64 (1994), 166–193.
42 Adv. Jud. 6.5.6 (911). It is not clear from this passage whether Chrysostom is referring

to the patriarch(s) of Palaestina or to some local Jewish official with that title in Antioch.
Chrysostom’s argument is that the patriarch does not enjoy the prerogatives or authority
of the high priest of old. This passage is puzzling. Any number of rabbinic texts show that
the patriarch in Palaestina claimed royal authority (descent from King David), not priest-
ly authority. So either Chrysostom is confused or he has heard that some Jewish patriarch
somewhere (Antioch?) claimed priestly descent. Chrysostom’s other passage on the patriarch
(Jud. gent. 16 [PG 48.835]) clearly speaks of the patriarch in Palaestina (the nasi) but does
 Jews and Judaism in Antioch 269

Daphne is the synagogue of Matrona where Christians and others go to be

healed through incubation,43 much to Chrysostom’s outrage. Sick people also
go directly to Jews in order to receive from them incantations and amulets.
Chrysostom admits that these healings might be effective, but he is outraged
nonetheless. Better that a Christian should die rather than be healed through
the arts of a Jew.44
The Jews of Antioch welcome the Christians of the city into their homes
and synagogues. Chrysostom wishes that the Jews were less friendly and less
welcoming. Some modern scholars take Chrysostom to imply that the Jews
missionize among the Christians, but I do not believe that the inference is war-
ranted.45
The Jews, says Chrysostom, are the enemies of Christ. The Jews, like the
Arians, regard Christ as a man, not as a God. They see him as an impostor,
a sinner, and a deceiver. They blaspheme.46 The ancestors of the Jews slew
Christ but the guilt is transmitted across the generations to contemporary
Jews, who apparently have nothing to say on this subject. (As for the Romans,
Chrysostom never accuses them of killing Jesus; apparently, they bear no guilt
for the crucifixion.) In the privacy of their homes the Jews mock the Christians
who have visited their synagogues. How Chrysostom knows what transpires in
the privacy of the Jews’ homes, he does not explain.47 Christians befriend and
imitate Jews; in contrast, the Jews are not influenced by Christians and show no
interest in Christian rituals.48 Christians attend Jewish synagogues, but Jews do
not attend Christian churches.
The Jewish celebrations of the fall festivals are particularly conspicuous
and draw the attention of Christians: the festival of trumpets, the fast or the
fasts, and tent-building. The trumpets, and perhaps the playing of other instru-

not speak of his descent. See G. Stemberger, Jews and Christians in the Holy Land (Edin-
burgh: T & T Clark, 2000), 248. M. Jacobs, Die Institution des jüdischen Patriarchen: Eine
quellen- und traditionskritische Studie zur Geschichte der Juden in der Spätantike, TSAJ 52
(Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1995), does not discuss our passage.
43 G. Renberg, Where Dreams May Come: Incubation Sanctuaries in the Greco-Roman

World, RGRW 184 (Leiden: Brill, 2016).

44 Adv. Jud. 8.5.6 (935); 8.8.4 (940).
45 Nor does K. A. D. Smelik, “John Chrysostom’s Homilies Against the Jews,” NedTT 39

(1985), 194–200.
46 Adv. Jud. 1.6.3 (852); 6.3.1 (907); 6.6.7 (913); Exp. Ps. 8:3 (PG 55.110; Hill, Commen­

tary [see n. 7], 1.164). I do not think that Chrysostom is referring to the birkat ha-minim. He
simply means that the Jews do not venerate Jesus. If the Jews of Antioch cursed Christ and /
or Christians in their prayers, surely Chrysostom would have mentioned it. So we have two
possibilities: either the Jews of Antioch recited the birkat ha-minim, but hid it so well that
Chrysostom and the “Judaizing” Christians knew nothing of it, or they did not recite it at all.
The latter possibility seems more plausible than the former.
47 Adv. Jud. 8.8.9 (941); 8.9.1 (941).
48 Adv. Jud. 4.3.8 (875–876).
270 Shaye J. D. Cohen

ments too,49 attract crowds to the synagogue. The public observance of the fast
is a public procession or parade; the Jews, accompanied by some Christians,
“dance barefoot in the market place.” 50 Jewish observances, of course, include
more than just the festival of trumpets, fasts, and tent-building. In these ser-
mons and elsewhere Chrysostom mentions their observance of the Sabbath,
their abstention from blood, that is, forbidden meat, their frequent bathings
(which, Chrysostom hastens to add, are inferior in every way to Christian bap-
tism).51
These are some of the practices and characteristics of Antiochene Judaism
as seen by John Chrysostom.

4. Judaism in Antioch as Seen by “Our Rabbis”

versus Judaism in Antioch as Seen by John Chrysostom
The “big picture” drawn by our two corpora is remarkably consistent. The Jews
of Antioch are secure in their identity, loyal to the Torah, unafraid to observe
their ancestral practices, private and public. No one accuses the Jews of An-
tioch of aping the ways of the gentiles, whether Greek or Christian. They live
in a large pluralistic city but remain faithful to their Judaism. Neither corpus
explains how exactly the Antiochene Jews negotiated this challenge, but the
two corpora agree that they did so successfully.
The problems arise and the difficulties multiply when we look at details.
There are remarkably few intersections between the Judaism described by
Chry­sostom and the Judaism assumed by the sages. The rabbinic accounts as-
sume a close connection between the Jews of Antioch and the rabbinic sages
of the land of Israel, something that Chrysostom never mentions. If the rabbin-
ic sages knew Chrysostom’s Jews, they should have spoken about Christians
in synagogues. They spoke about mamzerim, but Chrysostom does not even
hint at sexual improprieties between Christians and Jews. If the rabbinic sages
knew Chrysostom’s Jews, they might have mentioned amulets, healings, and
in­cantations; 52 instead, if we look for evidence of the supernatural, we have a

49 Adv. Jud. 1.7.2 (853); 7.3.4 (920). Chrysostom seems to be referring to the music of the

temple of old.
50 Adv. Jud. 1.2.7 (846); 1.4.7 (849); 4.7.4 (881); cf. 2.3.5 (861). See below.
51 For Jewish observances, see inter alia Adv. Jud. 6.3.3 (907); Hom. Jo. 68 on John 12:35–

36 (PG 59.374); Hom. Rom. 12:20 (PG 51.174–175). A nice summary of Chrysostom’s state-
ments about Jewish observances in R. Wilken, John Chrysostom and the Jews: Rhetoric and
Reality in the Late 4th Century (Berkeley: University of California, 1983), 64–65.
52 Just to be clear: the sages frequently mention amulets, healings, and incantations, but

they do not do so in connection with Antioch. In general, see G. Bohak, Ancient Jewish Mag­
ic: A History (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008).
 Jews and Judaism in Antioch 271

story about a general who sees sages in a vision. In sum, it does not appear that
rab­binic storytellers knew, or even knew of, Chrysostom’s Jews.
Similarly, Chrysostom seems not to have known the rabbinic Judaism that
was taking shape in Palaestina and Babylonia. He mentions the patriarch, pre-
sumably the nasi in the land of Israel, but does not mention sages or tribunals
or rabbinic judges or the oral Torah or the rabbinic books beyond the Torah
(what Jerome and others will call the δευτέρωσις). Chrysostom talks about
the Jewish observance of the Pascha and the feast of unleavened bread but
seems not to know anything about the Passover seder which was created by
rabbinic sages in the second century CE and elaborated by their successors.53
Chrysostom seems not to know that the period from the first of Tishri, what he
calls “Trumpets,” to Yom Kippur, what he calls the Fast, was a period of pen-
ance and atonement, called by the sages “the ten days of penitence” (and simi-
lar phrases).54 He does not know that because of calendrical uncertainty rabbin-
ic Jews in both the land of Israel and the diaspora, observed two days of Rosh
Hashanah, not just one. He does not know that the festival of Trumpets, as he
calls it, is the Jewish New Year, and that it is marked by the sounding of horns
(shofar, shofarot), not trumpets.55 He is wrong when he refers to Fasts in the
plural – there was only one fast in that season, the Day of Atonement itself.56
He is wrong when he gives the sequence Trumpets – Tents – Fasts; the correct
sequence is Trumpets – Fast(s) – Tents.57 And what were these mysterious Yom
Kippur parades of which Chrysostom speaks? They “dance with bare feet in
the marketplace.” “With bare feet” seems right, since any number of sources,
both rabbinic and Greco-Roman, refer to the prohibition of wearing normal

53 The absence of a seder is conspicuous in Adv. Jud. 4.5.2 (878).

54 See, e. g., b. Roš Haš. 18 a; y. Roš Haš. 1:3, 57 a; Lev. Rab. 30:2 (p. 694 ed. Margulies).
55 Normative rabbinic practice as it develops after 70 CE has Rosh Hashanah celebrated

with the blowing of ram’s horns, not trumpets. The history of this development, and the
place of the trumpet in the history of Rosh Hashanah are complicated questions that I can-
not pursue here. See Philo, Spec. 2.188 and Lev 23:24 LXX with the discussion of S. Bel-
kin, Philo and the Oral Law: The Philonic Interpretation of the Biblical Law in Relation to
the Palestinian Halakah (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1940), 211–214; G.
Alon, Jews, Judaism and the Classical World, trans. I. Abrahams (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1977),
124–132 (who seems not to distinguish between shofar and trumpet); and J. Tabory, Jewish
Festivals in the Time of the Mishnah and the Talmud [in Hebrew] (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1996),
240–256. According to Chrysostom the trumpets are sounded in the synagogue (Adv. Jud.
4.7.4 [881]); on this point the sages agree (as long as the trumpets were really horns).
56 Some pietists may have fasted during the Rosh Hashanah-Yom Kippur season, but

these fasts were individual, not communal. See Tabory, Jewish Festivals (see n. 55), 222, cit-
ing Lev. Rab. 30:7 (p. 705 ed. Margulies). The communal fast on the third day of Tishri (the
day after Rosh Hashanah), known as the fast of Gedaliah, was instituted in the post-talmudic
era (see Tabory, op. cit., 404); hence it cannot explain the plural “Fasts.”
57 “Trumpets, Setting up Tents, and Fasts” (Adv. Jud. 1.1.5 [844]); “Trumpets, Fasts, Tents”

(7.1.2 [915]).
272 Shaye J. D. Cohen

footwear on the Day of Atonement.58 But what are we to make of the reference
to public dancing? Something is wrong.59 Either Chrysostom is ill-informed or
the Judaism of the Jews of Antioch is of a very non-rabbinic sort.60
All this is in addition to the central issue: Chrysostom repeats endlessly that
with the destruction of the Jerusalem temple Judaism could no longer be ob-
served because it was missing its main ritual, the sacrificial cult. A rabbinic Jew
could have told Chrysostom that of course we Jews yearn for the restoration of
the temple and the sacrifices. But in the interim, and here is where Chrysostom
fails badly, instead of animal sacrifices we have prayer, Torah study, charity,
and good deeds, both individually and communally (see the rabbinic stories
assembled above), and these serve in lieu of animal sacrifices. And the Torah
that we study is not just the Bible but also the interpretations, elaborations,
and inventions of the rabbinic sages. Chrysostom seems not to be aware of the
rabbinic re-invention of Judaism in the decades and centuries after 70 CE. Rab-
binic literature will supplement and ultimately supplant the words of the Torah.
Chrysostom knows nothing of this. He does not know post-70 Judaism.61

58 For sources, see Cohen, Significance of Yavneh (see n. 16), 338 n. 9.
59 See Adv. Jud. 1.2.7 (846); 1.4.7 (849); 4.7.4 (881); cf. 2.3.5 (861). I somehow over-
looked these passages in my “Dancing, Clapping, Meditating: Jewish and Christian Obser-
vance of the Sabbath in Pseudo-Ignatius,” in Judaea-Palaestina, Babylon and Rome: Jews
in Antiquity, ed. B. Isaac and Y. Shahar, TSAJ 147 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012), 29–51.
Some scholars (Wilken, John Chrysostom [see n. 51], 65) have suggested that the Yom Kip-
pur dancing is in consonance with what is reported in m. Ta‘an. 4:8 that the daughters of
Jerusalem would go dancing in the vineyards on Yom Kippur. But this is unlikely because
Mishnah Ta‘anit is speaking of the time when the Jerusalem temple still stood; Chrysostom
is speaking of a time three hundred years after its destruction. Perhaps the simplest – if par-
tial – explanation is that the Jews of Antioch had some kind of procession or parade on the
Day of Atonement, and Chrysostom mocks it by referring to it derisively as “dancing.” Long
ago Hermann Usener suggested that the dancing was in celebration not of Yom Kippur but in
celebration of Sukkot (what Chrysostom, following Deut 16:16 LXX, calls “Tent-Building,”
σκηνοπηγία). The passage in m. Sukkot 5:4 documents dancing in connection with the bet
ha-­sho’evah celebration on the second night of Sukkot. This suggestion seems a touch more
plausible but is vulnerable to the same objection: it seems unlikely that a Jerusalem temple
ritual will have survived in the religious behavior of the Jews of Antioch. See H. Usener, Re­
ligionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen, vol. 1: Das Weihnachtsfest (Bonn: Cohen, 1911; repr.
Hildesheim: Olms, 1972), 236 n. 5.
60 This is a key methodological challenge: if Chrysostom’s description of the Judaism of

the Jews of Antioch appears strange to us, is that because Chrysostom was an ignorant report-
er, given to fantasy and exaggeration? Or is it because Antiochene Judaism was not a rabbinic
Judaism, hence unlike the more familiar Judaism of the sages? There is no easy answer.
61 In Adv. Jud. 7.2.2 (918) Chrysostom seems to be aware that some Jewish rituals were

intended to replace those of the temple, but omits details.

 Jews and Judaism in Antioch 273

5. Conclusion

I conclude that the rabbis do not know the Jews or Judaism of Chrysostom and
Chrysostom does not know the Jews or Judaism of the rabbis. The rabbis rep-
resent the Jews of Antioch as the rabbis wish them to have been: Hebraically
literate, respectful of sages who visit from Palaestina, respectful of rabbinic
law, and respectful of rabbinic values. Chrysostom presents the Jews of An-
tioch as he wishes them to have been: practitioners of biblical piety, ignorant
of post-biblical piety, devoted to the restoration of animal sacrifices and the
temple, ignorant of rabbis and rabbinic piety, openly friendly to Christians but
secretly hostile to them, Hebraically ignorant.
Can either of these portraits, that of the sages and that of Chrysostom, be
accepted as historical? On the one hand the rabbinic sages in general have little
knowledge of Greek-speaking Jews; they have no knowledge of Greco-Jewish
literature; they have no knowledge of the Greek classics; so why should we
assume that they would have any knowledge of the Greek-speaking Jews of
Antioch? On the other hand, the assumptions that they make about the Antio-
chene Jewish community do not seem to be exaggerated or unbelievable. They
do not claim that Antiochene Jews are sages or the disciples of sages. They do
not claim that Antiochene Jews are models of piety. They do not claim that sag-
es live in the city or lead the Jewish community. The modesty of the rabbinic
claims enhances their verisimilitude. It is Chrysostom – paradoxically – and
not the sages that speaks of a connection between the Jews of Antioch and the
patriarch, presumably the patriarch (nasi) in Palaestina. The connection be-
tween Antioch and Palaestina is attested also in an epitaph from Beth She‘arim,
the Jewish necropolis in lower Galilee, which commemorates an Antiochene
Jew buried there.62 I conclude that the rabbinic representation of the Jews of
Antioch, taken as a whole, just might be historical.
The historicity of Chrysostom’s account is also subject to doubt. On the one
hand, Chrysostom seems never to have had a conversation with a real live Jew.
At least nowhere in the eight orations against the Jews is there any evidence
that he did so. Apparently Chrysostom heeded his own advice that Christians
should stay away from Jews and have nothing to do with them. Never hav-
ing stepped foot in a synagogue, never having had a conversation with a real
Jew, what could Chrysostom have known of Antiochene Judaism? On the other
hand, his orations against the Jews were delivered in church to an audience of
Christians, many of whom, according to Chrysostom’s own testimony, frater-
nized with Jews and attended their synagogues; if he lied or exaggerated or
fantasized too much about the Jews, he would have lost his audience. Instead of

62 IJO 3, Syr 74 (L. Roth-Gerson, The Jews of Syria as Reflected in the Greek Inscriptions

[in Hebrew] [Jerusalem: Zalman Shazar Center, 2001], 122 n. 1). On the links between the
Jews of Syria and the Jews of Palaestina after 70 CE, see ibid., 49–50.
274 Shaye J. D. Cohen

applauding him 63 they would have laughed at him. I conclude that there must
be some truth in his characterizations.
So both accounts may have at least a measure of historicity. In order to make
sense of our data I would like to suggest, cautiously and hesitantly, that per-
haps there were two Jewish communities in the city, one rabbinic in character,
oriented towards Palaestina and its sages, and the other non-rabbinic, oriented
towards Antiochene society and its diverse population. I am not suggesting
that one of these communities was “orthodox” and the other “reform,” since
these anachronistic labels do not in the slightest help us understand the world
of antiquity. I am simply suggesting that one community was oriented towards
the sages of Palaestina, and the other was not. As to the legal standing of ei-
ther of these communities, or their relationship one with the other, I have no
opinion since I have no data. Perhaps instead of speaking of two communities
we should instead speak of two factions or groups within the municipal Jewish
community.
Jewish history provides various analogues to this proposal: two Jewish com-
munities in one city at one time, or a single community riven by rival factions
to such an extent that the single community behaved like two. Here are some
examples that come to mind; no doubt there are others:
– In various German cities (notably Frankfurt and Berlin) in the nineteenth
and twentieth centuries, in addition to the official Jewish community of the
city (Gemeinde), there was a separate break-away community (Austritts­
gemeinde) for those who did not want to belong to the official communal
organization.64
– Sephardim (Jewish exiles from Spain and their descendants) and Ashkena­
zim (Jews from Germany and central Europe) constituted separate syna-
gogue communities in Amsterdam, London, and Venice.65
– Rabbanites and Karaites in some times and places constituted separate com-
munities; at other times and places they constituted rival factions within the
community.66
– The Jews of Alexandria sent two delegations to the emperor Claudius “be-
having as if they were representing two separate cities.” The emperor was
not amused.67

63 Adv. Jud. 1.1.3 (844); 1.4.3 (849).

64 Here we can speak of Orthodox vs. Reform, see Wikipedia’s entry on “Israelitische Re­
ligionsgesellschaft,” accessed February 20, 2019, https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Israelitische_­
Religionsgesellschaft.
65 Baron, Jewish Community (see n. 26), index, s. v. Sephardim, Ashkenazim.
66 M. Rustow, Heresy and the Politics of Community: The Jews of the Fatimid Caliphate

(Ithaca, N. Y.: Cornell University Press, 2008).

67 The emperor Claudius complains that the Jews of Alexandria have sent two delegations

to him, “behaving as if they were representing two separate cities” (CPJ 2.153.90–91). What
exactly Claudius meant has been much debated; one suggestion is that the Jewish community
 Jews and Judaism in Antioch 275

Perhaps these analogues can help us understand the state of things in Antioch.
The sermons of Chrysostom and the anecdotes of the rabbinic sages appear to
ignore one the other but are mutually illuminating nonetheless.

of Alexandria was riven by internal disputes. So this may not be an example of two Jewish
communities within a single city but rather members of a single community behaving as if
they were members of two communities. See the discussion in CPJ 2, pp. 50–53.
 The Contested Image of King David
in Rabbinic and Patristic Literature
and Art of Late Antiquity
Catherine Hezser

The biblical king David is linked to some of the most significant institutions in
Judaism: the Israelite monarchy, the establishment of Jerusalem as the capital
(Jerusalem is henceforth called the “city of David,” see 1 Kgs 2:10 etc.), and
the building of the Temple, for which he is said to have made preparations (cf.
2 Sam 6:2: bringing the ark of the covenant to Jerusalem; 2 Sam 8:7–11: pro-
curing gold and brass). It is therefore not astonishing that his image was hotly
contested in Jewish and Christian literature and art of the first five centuries
CE.1 Both Jews and Christians appropriated David as one of their most im-
portant ancestors and linked him to the most essential aspects of their religious
traditions, whether rabbinic Torah study or the belief in Jesus as the Davidic
messiah and son of God.
Especially interesting is the focus on some of the same aspects of David’s
biblical image that are taken up in both Jewish and Christian contexts: his pre-
sentation as a harp-player and author of psalms;2 the one “sin” he committed
with Bathsheba, causing her husband Uriah’s death; 3 the establishment of a
Davidic dynasty, the so-called “house of David”; 4 and the prophetic vision

1 For prior studies, see W. Dietrich and H. Herkommer, eds., König David: Biblische

Schlüs­selfigur und europäische Leitgestalt (Fribourg: Universitätsverlag; Stuttgart: Kohlham­

mer, 2003), esp. C. Thoma, “David im antiken Judentum,” ibid., 213–228. A collection of
rab­binic references to David is presented by J. Neusner, Rabbi David: A Documentary Cata­
logue (Lanham, Md.: University Press of America, 2012). Astonishingly, no comprehensive
study of the reception of the biblical David tradition in ancient Judaism and Christianity
exists to date. Based on a conference on “Warrior, Poet, Prophet and King: The Character of
David in Judaism, Christianity and Islam,” held in Warsaw in 2016, Marzena Zawanowska is
preparing a conference volume on the topic. There is also a research project on the reception
of the biblical David conducted by Meira Polliack at Tel Aviv University.
2 Cf. Ps 3:1; 4:1; 5:1, etc., where individual psalms are attributed to him. David is men-

tioned eighty-eight times in the Book of Psalms.

3 1 Kgs 15:5: “David did that which was right in the eyes of the Lord and turned not aside

from anything that He commanded him all the days of his life, save only in the matter of
Uriah the Hittite.”
4 See Isa 38:5: from Solomon to the last kings of Judah.
278 Catherine Hezser

of David as the ancestor of the messiah.5 The similarities in the Jewish and
Christian adaptations of David suggest that the respective authors, editors, and
art commissioners were aware of the other’s use of the respective theme and
ready to enter a creative dialogue and competition that tried to claim David for
their own theological, social, and political purposes. The differences within
these broad thematic similarities highlight the diverse attitudes of Jewish and
Christian religious leaders, culminating in the later rabbinic portrayal of David
as a Torah scholar in contrast to Christian claims about David as the prophet
and predecessor of Christ. Ultimately, one may argue that the shared ancestral
figure of David served to separate rather than unite the two religions.

1. David and Orpheus

The motif of David as Orpheus playing the harp appears in two ancient syn-
agogues: as a wall painting in Dura Europos (3rd cent. CE) and as part of the
mosaic floor in Gaza (beginning of the 6th cent. CE). In the Dura Europos syn­
agogue, this scene appears alongside David’s anointment as king (cf. 2 Sam
2:4, 7; 5:3; 12:7) and his being seated on a throne, ruling over Israel. Whereas
the biblical text talks about “the men of Judah” (2 Sam 2:4) and “the elders
of Israel” (2 Sam 5:3) anointing David, in the Dura painting it is one promi-
nent figure, probably representing the prophet Nathan (cf. 2 Sam 12:7), who
makes David king, thereby stressing the divine legitimacy of his kingship.6 The
clothes worn by David and his companions are those worn by ordinary Jews in
late antiquity, with the tallit covering an undergarment.7 The smallness of Da-
vid and his companions in comparison to Nathan may be meant to express his
humility in the face of the divine will. Only once David has been established
as king does he sit on an elevated throne wearing royal garb, that is, his rise in
status is connected to his office.8 In this context, the image of David playing
the harp to wild animals, amongst them a lion and an ape, may reveal the more
poetic, artistic side of David’s personality.9

5 Isa 9:5–6: “For a child is born unto us, a son is given unto us; and the government is

upon his shoulder […] of peace there be no end, upon the throne of David, and upon his
kingdom, to establish it, and to uphold it through justice and through righteousness from
henceforth even for ever.”
6 See the image at https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Samuel_e_david.jpg (acces­

sed December 26, 2018).

7 See D. Shlezinger-Katsman, “Clothing,” in The Oxford Handbook of Jewish Daily Life

in Roman Palestine, ed. C. Hezser (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 362–381, here
371, fig. 19.3 and 19.4.
8 See the image at https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:DuraSyn_Centre_sup_Da-

vid_King.jpg (accessed December 26, 2018).

9 See the image at https://www.talivirtualmidrash.org.il/dura-europos-synagogue-david-

as-­orpheus-det-reredos/ (accessed December 26, 2018).

 The Contested Image of King David 279

Others have already pointed to the similarity between this image of David
playing the harp and depictions of Orpheus in Roman mosaics.10 Both David
and Orpheus are depicted as sitting on a chair, legs apart, with the instrument
in their left hand. Both are surrounded by wild animals listening – and al-
legedly being tamed – by their play. Even the hats they wear look similar. Ra-
chel Hachlili has argued that David is “conflated with the pagan god Orpheus”
here.11 According to Greek myth, Orpheus, wearing a Phrygian cap, played to
the animals in the underworld, charming them with his music.12 Those who
commissioned the Dura painting and / or the artist who painted it may have per-
ceived similarities between Orpheus and the biblical David. The Second Book
of Samuel reports that when David brought the ark of the covenant to Jerusa-
lem, “David and all the house of Israel played before the Lord with all manner
of instruments made of cypress-wood, and with harps, and with psalteries, and
with timbrels, and with sistra, and with cymbals” (2 Sam 6:5).13 Some psalms
were imagined as songs that were recited with musical accompaniment.14 The
image of the tamed wild animals may also be an allusion to messianic times as
imagined by the prophet Isaiah: “And the wolf shall dwell with the lamb, and
the leopard shall lie down with the kid; and the calf and the young lion and the
fatling together” (Isa 11:6); “The wolf and the lamb shall feed together, and the
lion shall eat straw like the ox” (Isa 65:25). The Davidic messiah king is asso-
ciated with bringing peace to the world, ending all animosities.
In the later fragmented image on the Gaza synagogue mosaic floor from the
early sixth century CE, David’s difference from Orpheus and his royal status
seem to be stressed much more.15 The typical pointed hat is replaced by a di-

10 See the references in R. Hachlili, Ancient Jewish Art and Archaeology in the Diaspora,

HdO 1 / 35 (Leiden: Brill, 1998), 247. P. V. M. Flesher, “Rereading the Reredos: David, Or-
pheus, and Messianism in the Dura Europos Synagogue,” in Ancient Synagogues: Historical
Analysis and Archaeological Discovery, ed. D. Urman and P. V. M. Flesher, 2nd ed., StPB 47
(Leiden: Brill, 1995), 346–366, here 352, points to alleged differences in the depiction of
David, namely, shepherd associations. He maintains that the “shepherd’s crook behind Da-
vid’s back” refers to “David as the shepherd of his people Israel” (354). As R. M. Jensen, Un­
derstanding Early Christian Art (London: Routledge, 2000), 41, has pointed out, how­ever,
Orpheus also appears as a shepherd in Christian art: “The figure of Orpheus may parallel the
Good Shepherd, since Orpheus (as a Christ metaphor) is shown as a shepherd, surrounded by
both wild bears and a flock of sheep.”
11 Hachlili, Ancient Jewish Art (see n. 10), 247.
12 On the Orpheus myths, see R. G. Edmunds III, “Orphic Mythology,” in A Companion

to Greek Mythology, ed. K. Dowden and N. Livingstone (Malden, Mass.: Wiley-Blackwell,

2011), 73–106.
13 See also 2 Sam 16:23, where David is said to have played before Saul to ease his de-

pression (“evil spirit”).

14 This issue is investigated by N. L. DeClaissé-Walford, Introduction to the Psalms: A

Song from Ancient Israel (St. Louis: Chalice Press, 2004), 151–154.

15 See the image at https://members.bib-arch.org/sites/default/files/bsba370101402l.jpg

(ac­cessed December 26, 2018).

280 Catherine Hezser

adem and nimbus befitting the royal robes worn by the harp-player. He sits on
a stone throne. The musician is explicitly identified as David by a Hebrew in-
scription.16 While only a serpent and a tiger (or lioness, as suggested by Hachli-
li) remain visible, the figure was originally surrounded by more animals.17 It
seems, then, that Orpheus merely served as a formal artistic prototype, more so
in the Dura than in the later Gaza depiction of David. In the Gaza synagogue
David plays the harp as a king and the image may have symbolic, messianic
connotations.18
The Orpheus typology was also adopted by ancient Christians, as a depic-
tion of a harp-player in the catacomb of Peter and Marcellinus in Rome (early
4th cent. CE) shows.19 This depiction is quite similar to that of David at Dura
Europos and similarly close to the Orpheus typology, with the Phrygian hat
and seated position. The youthful musician is surrounded by trees full of birds
rather than wild animals, though. Another Christian funerary depiction appears
in the even earlier Domitilla catacomb (3rd cent. CE, Rome).20 In a Christian
funerary context the musician may represent Christ as the “good shepherd” or
a savior figure, symbolizing rebirth and afterlife (with the birds symbolizing
the souls of the deceased?). According to Robert Calkins the image reflects
“Christ’s three-day descent into Purgatory between the Crucifixion and the
Resurrection, and carrying with it the promise of an ascent from the dead by the
blessed. The Orpheus legend served as a classical prefiguration of the Christian
theme of salvation.” 21 Robin Margaret Jensen also assumes that the similarity
with Orpheus was not merely formal: “the Orpheus image was transferred to
the new religion almost purely by virtue of its signification in Greco-Roman
tradition.” 22
Interestingly, Clement of Alexandria (died ca. 210 CE) was eager to empha-
size the distinction between Orpheus and Christ, the alleged descendant of Da-
vid. Following a tendency that is also evident elsewhere, Christian theologians
16 When the synagogue was found, the mosaic was partially destroyed. The head has been

reconstructed since then, see C. Kestenbaum Green, “King David’s Head from Gaza Syn-
agogue Restored,” BAR 20.2 (1994), 58–63. A dedication inscription identifies the donors
of the mosaic: “[We] Menahem and Yeshua, sons of the late Isai (Jesse), wood traders, as a
sign of respect for a most holy place, donated this mosaic in the month of Louos [the year
of] 569” (see “Gaza Synagogue Mosaic, 6th Century CE,” COJS: Center for Online Judaic
Studies, accessed July 21, 2018, http://cojs.org/gaza_synagogue_mosaic-_6th_century_ce/).
17 R. Hachlili, Ancient Mosaic Pavements: Themes, Issues, and Trends; Selected Studies

(Leiden: Brill, 2009), 72, with references to earlier studies. See the photo of the mosaic in
situ ibid., 73, fig. IV-2.
18 See also Hachlili, Pavements (see n. 17), 74.
19 See the image at https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Christ-Orpheus_from_Rome_­

catacombe.jpg (accessed December 26, 2018).

20 See R. G. Calkins, Monuments of Medieval Art (Ithaca, N. Y.: Cornell University Press,

1979), 7, fig. 4; Jensen, Understanding Early Christian Art (see n. 10), 41, fig. 8.
21 See Calkins, Monuments (see n. 20), 6.
22 Jensen, Understanding Early Christian Art (see n. 10), 42.
 The Contested Image of King David 281

tried to separate between Christian beliefs and pagan myths by, at the same
time adapting pagan imagery and symbols.23 In the first chapter of his Exhor­
tation to the Heathen, Clement calls the Thracian Orpheus a deceiver who uses
“artful sorcery” to entice his listeners. He allegedly used poetry “for purposes
of destruction.” His songs and incantations served to subdue free people to the
“tyranny of demons.” Christ, on the other hand, was different:
And He who is of David, and yet before him, the Word of God, despising the lyre and harp,
which are but lifeless instruments, and having tuned by the Holy Spirit the universe, and
especially man […], makes melody to God on this instrument of many tones; and to this in-
strument, I mean man, he sings accordingly: “For you are my harp, and pipe, and temple”: a
harp for harmony, a pipe by reason of the Spirit, a temple by reason of the word; so that the
first may sound, the second breathe, the third contain the Lord.
And David the king, the harper […], who exhorted to the truth and dissuaded from idols,
was so far from celebrating demons in song, that in reality they were driven away by his mu-
sic. Thus, when Saul was plagued with a demon, he cured him by merely playing.
A beautiful breathing instrument of music the Lord made man, after His own image.
And He Himself also, surely, who is the supra-mundane Wisdom, the celestial Word, is the
all-harmonious, melodious, holy instrument of God. What, then, does this instrument, the
Word of God, the Lord, the New Song desire? To open the eyes of the blind, and unstop the
ears of the deaf, and to lead the lame or the erring to righteousness, to exhibit God to the
foolish, to put a stop to corruption, to conquer death, to reconcile disobedient children to their
father. The instrument of God loves mankind.24

The connection between, yet also disassociation of Orpheus from David and
Christ, made by Clement of Alexandria here, concurs with the artistic depic-
tions of David and Christ as Orpheus mentioned above. Clement was probably
familiar with the Christian (and Jewish) use of the Orpheus iconography and
tried to control its interpretation. He criticizes a too close association of David
and Christ with Orpheus. He offers a symbolic reinterpretation of the typolo-
gy, casting David and Christ in an entirely different, positive light, while con-
demning the pagan hero Orpheus as a conjurer of demons. As a harpist, David
“exhorted to the truth and dissuaded from idols.” A reference to his playing
before Saul (cf. 2 Sam 16:23) serves as an example.
The third part of the text provides a symbolic, philosophical interpretation
of instrument-playing for a Hellenistically-educated pagan-Christian audi-
ence that would have been familiar with the Orpheus myth. The musician is
God himself,25 Christ, the “supra-mundane Wisdom, the celestial Word, is the
all-harmonious, melodious, holy instrument of God” meant to “open the eyes

23 This is also evident in the belief that Mary was impregnated by the Holy Spirit who
came upon her in form of a bird, see C. Hezser, Bild und Kontext: Jüdische und christliche
Iko­nographie der Spätantike, Tria corda 11 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2018), 31–80.
24 Clement of Alexandria, Protr. 1.5.3–1.6.2 (ANF 2.172).
25 On the association of the musician with God in early Christian writing, see E. Henry,

Orpheus with His Lute: Poetry and the Renewal of Life (London: Bristol Classical Press,
1992), 88, with examples.
282 Catherine Hezser

of the blind.” In this reading, which tries to overlay any pagan connotations,
the image of the harp-player becomes a representation of the preaching of the
gospel and Christian missionary activity.26

2. David’s Sin

The passage in 1 Kgs 15:5 already stresses that David was completely blame-
less except for what he did to Uriah, committing adultery with his wife and sub-
sequently causing him to die in battle. The story about David’s deed, relat­ed in
2 Sam 11, is followed by the prophet Nathan’s parable and David’s repen­tance,
acknowledging his sin: “And David said to Nathan: I have sinned against the
Lord. And Nathan said to David: The Lord has forgiven your sin; you shall not
die” (2 Sam 12:13). As a punishment, the son born out of the adulterous rela-
tionship is destined to die instead (2 Sam 12:14).
The biblical episode about David’s sin and repentance was taken up by both
rabbis and church fathers. Richard Kalmin has argued that Palestinian rabbis
tend to downplay his sin, whereas Babylonian rabbis are more explicit about
his wrong-doing.27 In his discussion of “Palestinian attitudes,” he only deals
with traditions attributed to Palestinian rabbis that appear in the Bavli, how­
ever, rather than examining references to the Uriah story in Palestinian rabbinic
documents.
The Tannaitic midrash Sifre Deuteronomy 26 comments on Moses pleading
with God to let him enter and see the promised land to which he brought the
Israelites (Deut 3:23–25). Moses is subsequently compared to David. The pas-
sage begins with: “Two good leaders (‫ )פרנסים‬stood up for Israel, Moses and
David.” The ‫ פרנס‬is presented as a communal leader in rabbinic texts only.28
The role involved the provision of charity. The rabbis who formulated this mi-
drash obviously associated the biblical figures with communal leaders of their
own times. Unlike Moses, David is said to have asked God not to have his sin
recorded. The midrash points out, however, that people might think, then, that
David was privileged and say: “It is because He loved him that He forgave
him.” Rather, David was reproved and punished for his evil deed and repented
before receiving forgiveness. The examples of Moses and David lead to the
following theological conclusion:
Two good leaders stood up for Israel, Moses and David, King of Israel. Although they were
able to suspend [judgement for] sin through their good deeds, they requested of the Lord only

26 For medieval Christian depictions of David, see C. Hourihane, ed., King David in the

Index of Christian Art (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2002).

27 R. Kalmin, The Sage in Jewish Society of Late Antiquity (New York: Routledge, 1999),

84.
28 G. E. Gardner, The Origins of Organized Charity in Rabbinic Judaism (Cambridge:

Cam­bridge University Press, 2015), 162.

 The Contested Image of King David 283

that he grant them gratuitous favor (‫)חנם‬. Can we not argue a fortiori: If these, who were able
to suspend [judgment for] sin through their good deeds, requested of the Holy One, Blessed
be He, that He grant them only gratuitous favor, how much more should he who is but one of
the thousand thousands and myriad myriads of the disciples request of the Holy One, Blessed
be He, that He grant him only gratuitous favor.29

Moses and David could have compensated for their sins with the huge num-
ber of good deeds they had done. Yet, according to rabbis, they did not point
to their good deeds but appealed to God’s mercy. The theological conclusion
drawn from these examples is that an ordinary disciple of sages is even more
dependent on God’s mercy and therefore needs to pray for it. Like the term
‫פרנס‬, the term “disciples of their disciples” links David to rabbinic circles. He
is presented as a model rabbinic ancestor here, who shared rabbis’ belief in
God’s mercy, in contrast to a righteousness that weighed the number of trans-
gressions against the number of good deeds.
The view that is countered here is the caricature of a “work-righteousness”
that Christian writers sometimes attributed to Jews. The rabbis who formulat-
ed this text seem to have been in agreement with Paul’s statement in Romans:
“We reckon therefore that a man is justified by faith apart from the works of
the law” (Rom 3:28). They would argue, though, that the faith must be faith in
God’s mercy, not faith in Jesus Christ. Furthermore, this justification by faith
would not dispense of the need for Torah observance and “good deeds” and
would not automatically extend to pagans (in contrast to Paul in his next sen-
tence in Rom 3:29). While rabbis were concerned about the possible assump-
tion that God might favor David and extend mercy to him more readily than
to other, ordinary Jews, Paul stresses that God extends his mercy deliberately:
“He has mercy on whom he will” (Rom 9:18), that is, Paul might have justified
God’s favorable treatment of David.
The biblical story about David’s sin and God’s forgiveness was also fre-
quently taken up by Christian writers of the first five centuries CE. Already
in First Clement, a letter sent by a Christian leader in Rome to Christians in
Corinth at the end of the first or beginning of the second century CE, the em-
phasis on David’s pleading for God’s mercy is similar to the rabbinic text in
Sifre Deuteronomy. What is even more striking is that First Clement also men-
tions Moses and David together as examples of humbleness and belief in God’s
mercy: 30
Moses was called faithful in all His house […]. Yet he also, though greatly glorified, yet
spoke no proud words, but said, when an oracle was given to him at the bush: Who am I, that
You send me? (1 Clem. 17:5)

29 Trans. with S. D. Fraade, “Sifre Deuteronomy 26 (ad Deut 3:23): How Conscious the

Com­position?,” HUCA 54 (1983), 245–301, here 267.

30 See also Ign. Eph. 10, where Moses and David are used as models of meekness in his

exhortation to humility.
284 Catherine Hezser

But what must we say of David that obtained a good report? […] of whom God said: I have
found a man after My heart, David the son of Jesse: with eternal mercy have I anointed him.
Yet he too said to God: Have mercy upon me, O God, according to Your great mercy; and ac-
cording to the multitude of Your compassions, blot out mine iniquity […]. For I acknowledge
my iniquity, and my sin is ever before me. (1 Clem. 18:1–3)
The humility therefore and the submissiveness of so many and so great men, who have thus
obtained a good report, has through obedience made better not only us but also the genera-
tions which were before us, even them that received His oracles in fear and truth. (1 Clem.
19:1) 31

What the author of First Clement and rabbis shared was the biblical reputation
of Moses and David and their own concerns about sins. Both rabbis and Chris-
tian leaders claimed the biblical great as their own ancestors and role models,
who could teach humility to their own generation.
Whereas First Clement uses the biblical example as an instruction for his
own community, in Justin’s Dialogue with Trypho (2nd cent. CE) the Bathshe-
ba episode becomes part of his constructed controversy with Jews.32 Justin re-
fers to “this one fall of David in the matter of Uriah’s wife” (Dial. 141). David
“mourned and wept” and was eventually forgiven by God.
But if even to such a man no remission was granted before repentance, and only when this
great king, and anointed one, and prophet, mourned and conducted himself so, how can the
impure and utterly abandoned, if they weep not, and mourn not, and repent not, entertain the
hope that the Lord will not impute to them sin? 33

In the preceding context, Justin stresses humans’ free will to repent. Addressing
Trypho, he states that “you may not have a pretext for saying that Christ must
have been crucified, and that those who transgressed must have been among
your nation.” In this context the reference to God’s forgiveness of David’s sin
serves his argument that Jews (identified here with “the impure and utterly
abandoned”) must first admit their alleged transgression of not believing in
Christ before entertaining the hope that God will remit their sins. Throughout
his Dialogue with Trypho Justin presents the biblical king David as a proph-
et who predicted Jesus as the Davidic messiah.34 Trypho’s and other Jews’
rejection of this interpretation of Scripture is viewed as a “sin” that requires
repentance. David is held up to Trypho as a believer who acknowledged Christ
and was therefore granted God’s mercy. He is thereby separated from Justin’s

31 Trans. with J. B. Lightfoot, The Apostolic Fathers, vol. 1 / 2: S. Clement of Rome, 2nd

ed. (London: Macmillan, 1890), 280.

32 D. Rokeah, Justin Martyr and the Jews, Jewish and Christian Perspectives Series 5

(Lei­den: Brill, 2002), 7, correctly writes: “The use of the Hebrew Bible in the Adversus Iu­
dae­os literature was not intended to prove Christ’s divine nature to the Jews, but to convince
Christians that the Jews’ sacred writings were compatible with the belief in Christ,” an aspect
that becomes most obvious in Justin’s reference to David as a prophet of Christ, see § 4 below.
33 Justin, Dial. 141 (ANF 1.270).
34 Justin, Dial. 34 and below.
 The Contested Image of King David 285

Jewish contemporaries and turned into a true Christian. By being presented as

a true Christian, his adultery and polygamy is distinguished from what Justin
views as contemporary Jewish practices:
And this one fall of David, in the matter of Uriah’s wife, proves, sirs, I said, that the pa-
triarchs had many wives, not to commit fornication, but that a certain dispensation and all
mysteries might be accomplished by them; since, if it were allowable to take any wife, or as
many wives as one chooses, and how he chooses, which the men of your nation do over all
the earth, wherever they sojourn, or wherever they have been sent, taking women under the
name of marriage, much more would David have been permitted to do this.35

Although David would have been allowed to have many wives, just as “men of
your nation do all over the earth,” he did not use these women for his personal
pleasure but to reveal some higher truths. As a true Christian ancestor David
is disassociated from adultery, rape, and other base instinct here. Justin has a
clear theological interest in white-washing David’s transgressions.
Tertullian (2nd–3rd cent. CE) goes even further in separating David from
Jews and Judaism and emphasizing the “new state” in Christ. His treatise The
Shows (De spectaculis) deals with Christian participation in pagan festivals
and attendance of theaters and circuses, practices which he considers idola-
trous.36 David is said to have warned against the “assembly of the impious,”
who are associated with both Jews and pagans.37 David allegedly predicted
Christ and “called those few Jews an assembly of the wicked” (Spect. 3).38 At
the same time, the difference between so-called “Old Testament” figures such
as David and the new state in Christ is stressed. In his work The Prescrip­
tion against Heretics, Tertullian refers to “David, a good man” who “is guilty
afterwards of murder and adultery” (Praescr. 3), unlike Christ, who alone is
“without sin,” despite the temptations he was threatened with. In his tractate
On Modesty, Tertullian claims that the old offenses of adultery, which, in the
past, were pardoned, are not tolerated anymore: “David, by confession, purged
Uriah’s slaughter, together with its cause – adultery” (Pud. 6). Now, in Christ,
a “new state” of “pure water and a clean spirit” has begun in which no more
pardon will be granted to adulterers (ibid.). While the author of First Clem-
ent and Justin refrain from describing David’s deed and stress his repentance,
Tertullian presents David’s “sin” in harsh terms (“murder,” “slaughter”) and

35 Justin, Dial. 141.

36 On this treatise, see S. E. Binder, Tertullian, On Idolatry and Mishnah Avodah Zarah:
Questioning the Parting of the Ways between Christians and Jews, Jewish and Christian
Perspectives Series 22 (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 96.
37 Binder, Tertullian (see n. 36), 201, suggests that when Tertullian addresses pagan con-

verts to Christianity he “avoids mentioning that Christianity is the heir to Judaism, since
pagan culture tends to scorn the Jewish faith.” In the context of Spect. 3, however, he appro-
priates the biblical David figure for Christological beliefs, while calling contemporary Jews’
lack of belief “wickedness.”
38 Trans. with ANF 3.81.
286 Catherine Hezser

downplays his remorse and God’s forgiveness. This strategy serves to empha-
size the alleged change brought about by Christ. Those who believe in Christ
are not expected to commit sins for which a divine pardon is necessary. Their
faith in Christ will protect them against sins such as adultery. If they do com-
mit such transgressions, they thereby place themselves outside of the Christian
community.
In the sixth century, Gregory the Great uses David as an example of the
corrupting influence of power, not only in the political but also in the religious
realm.39 In the Pastoral Rules, addressed to John, bishop of Ravenna, he writes:
Thus David, who in the judgment of Him who chose him was well pleasing to Him in almost
all his deeds, as soon as the weight of pressure was removed, broke out into a swelling sore
and, having been as a laxly running one in his appetite for the woman, became as a cruelly
hard one in the slaughter of the man; and he who had before known pitifully how to spare
the bad learned afterwards, without impediment of hesitation, to pant even for the death of
the good. For, indeed, previously he had been unwilling to smite his captured persecutor;
and afterwards, with loss to his wearied army, he destroyed even his devoted soldier. And in
truth his crime would have snatched him further away from the number of the elect, had not
scourges called him back to pardon.40

The reference to David appears at the end of a chapter that illustrates the
“weight of government, lest whosoever is unequal to sacred offices of govern-
ment should dare to profane them, and through lust of pre-eminence undertake
a leadership of perdition” (ibid.). Gregory admonishes those who might strive
for authority in the church: “For commonly in the school of adversity the heart
is subdued under discipline, while, on sudden attainment of supreme rule, it
is immediately changed and becomes elated through familiarity with glory”
(ibid.). The corrupting effect of power on King David follows the example of
Saul. David, a pious and morally good man, became hard, cruel, and pitiless in
the “slaughter” of Uriah. George Demacopoulos thinks that Gregory’s concerns
about finding the right candidates for clerical offices stand in the background of
this exegesis: “As pope, Gregory was required to fill a number of clerical va-
cancies. Hoping that his clergy would avoid the corrosive effect of authority,”
Gregory favored monastic candidates.41 As in First Clement, David’s “sin” is
used as a communal exhortation here. Since the focus is on David’s transgres-
sion, it is described in stark terms. Yet unlike Tertullian, Gregory considers
David to have remained one of the “elect,” since he was granted a pardon.
A similar use of the David story for internal admonition is evident in the
third- to fourth-century CE Syrian Christian author Aphrahat’s writing. In his
discourse On Penitence (Demonstrationes 7.14–15), he presents David’s re-

39 G. E. Demacopoulos, Five Models of Spiritual Direction in the Early Church (Notre

Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 2007), ch. 5 (“Pope Gregory I and the Asceti-
cizing of Spiritual Direction”).
40 Gregory the Great, Liber regulae pastoralis 1.3 (NPNF² 12.3).
41 Demacopoulos, Five Models (see n. 39), ch. 5.
 The Contested Image of King David 287

pentance as an example of his claim that “God forgives him who confesses his
sins.” 42 When David confessed and said, “I have sinned,” Nathan said to him,
“The Lord also has put away your sin because you have confessed” (2 Sam
12:13). Similarly, Jesus’s disciple Simon, when he denied Jesus and said, “I do
not know Him” (Matt 26:74), repented, whereupon “our Lord received him and
made him the foundation, and called him Peter, the edification of the Church”
(ibid.). In contrast to Justin and Tertullian, no anti-Jewish use of the biblical
story of David’s “sin” is evident here.
In their use of the David story for moral exhortation, Aphrahat and Gregory
come close to the rabbinic midrash in Sifre Deuteronomy 26. Yet in each of
these exegeses the emphasis is different. Whereas rabbis stressed even Torah
scholars’ need for God’s mercy, Gregory points to the possible corruption of
authority, and Aphrahat emphasizes repentance, as the author of First Clement
already did. In the fifth century Salvianus shifts the emphasis to God’s judg-
ment of David rather than thematizing his gratuitous kindness: “You see what
immediate judgment so great a man suffered at once for one sin.” 43 Therefore,
Christians must also expect divine justice and punishment for their bad deeds.
In contrast to these authors, Justin and Tertullian employ the David story in
their polemics against Jews (Justin) and pagans (Tertullian). They use the Da-
vid story to separate Christians from non-Christians either by appropriating
him as a witness of Christ (Justin) or by presenting his “sin” as a negative foil
from which Christian believers are distinguished (Tertullian).44

3. Davidic Descent

According to the historical books of the Bible (2 Sam, 1–2 Kgs, 1–2 Chr), from
David onwards, descendants of the Davidic dynasty ruled over Judah until the
Babylonian exile in the sixth century BCE, when the monarchy ended. From
the time of David onwards, kingship was passed from father to son through
patrilineal descent. It was linked to independent political rule and therefore

42 C. B. Horn, “Penitence in Early Christianity in Its Historical and Theological Setting:

Trajectories from Eastern and Western Sources,” in Repentance in Christian Theology, ed.
M. J. Boda and G. T. Smith (Collegeville, Minn.: Liturgical Press, 2006), 153–188, here 180,
points to further biblical figures mentioned as models of repentance by Aphrahat.
43 Salvianus, De gubernatione Dei 2.4 (trans. E. M. Sanford, On the Government of God

[New York: Columbia University Press, 1930], 73).

44 On Islamic representations of David’s sin, see A. Makhlabi, “The ‘Sin’ of David in

Light of Islamic Thought,” in Reading the Bible in Islamic Context: Qur’anic Conversations,
ed. D. J. Crowther et al. (New York: Routledge, 2017), 62–76; K. Mohammed, David in the
Muslim Tradition: The Bathsheba Affair (Lanham, Md.: Lexington Books, 2015). The author
shows that in Islam the biblical David is also generally presented in a positive light. He even
speaks of a “glorification” and “edification” of David’s image, despite his sin against Bath-
sheba and Uriah (177).
288 Catherine Hezser

absent in the periods of foreign dominion. According to the prophet Isaiah, a

restoration of Davidic rule could be expected only at the end of times, when
an anointed king would arise (Isa 9:5–6).45 Until then, the claim to Davidic
descent was mute.
Since early Christians claimed that Jesus was the expected messiah, the
gospels from Mark onwards present Jesus as the “son of David.” In Mark,
this appellation appears only later (cf. Mark 10:47–48: blind beggar’s address
of Jesus; Mark 11:10: reference to “the kingdom of our father David”; Mark
12:35–37: question how the messiah can be David’s son when David himself
called him “Lord”), whereas Matthew places it at the very beginning of his ac-
count (Matt 1:1: “The book of the generation of Jesus Christ, the son of David,
the son of Abraham,” followed by a genealogy that continues the Davidic line
even beyond the Babylonian exile, Matt 1:12–16). Following patrilineal de-
scent, Matthew claims that “Jacob begat Joseph the husband of Mary, of whom
was born Jesus, who is called Christ” (Matt 1:16; cf. Luke 1:27). When read
together with the following story about Mary’s so-called virgin birth, a logi-
cal inconsistency emerges, however. If the Holy Spirit rather than Joseph was
Jesus’s father, Joseph’s alleged Davidic descent becomes irrelevant. Even if
Joseph is eventually said to have married Mary, Jesus would not have been his
biological son. This did not prevent the gospel writers from continuing to call
Jesus “son of David” to whom “the Lord God shall give the throne of his father
David” (Luke 1:32).46 This inconsistency caused a problem for some later pa-
tristic writers, though, who claimed that Jesus’s Davidic descent was through
his mother Mary, that is, through matrilineal kinship ties.47
Justin already talks about Christ, “born of this virgin of the family of Da-
vid” (Dial. 45, cf. 43). He considered this issue important enough to refer to it
several times in his Dialogue with Trypho. The alleged virgin birth is traced
back to Isaiah: “Behold, the virgin shall conceive” (Dial. 66). Trypho is said
to have countered this argument by pointing out that the correct translation is
“young woman” and that the prophesy referred to Hezekiah, one of the last
kings of Judah, not Jesus (Dial. 67). Virgin births, on the other hand, occur in

45 On the king-messiah in Isaiah, see W. C. Kaiser, The Messiah in the Old Testament

(Grand Rapids, Mich.: Zondervan, 1995), 156–172.

46 See M. L. Strauss, The Davidic Messiah in Luke-Acts: The Promise and Its Fulfilment

in Lukan Christology (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1995), 126: “Luke’s presentation in

the birth narrative confirms his special interest in Jesus’ Davidic descent.” Strauss rejects
some scholars’ distinction between “legal and natural descent, which was clearly not an issue
for Luke” (127). “The emphasis throughout the synoptic tradition is on Joseph’s Davidic
descent; there is no reason to suppose that the reference in 1.27 was originally to Mary”
(127–128).
47 G. Sigal, The Virgin Birth Myth: The Misconception of Jesus (Bloomington, Ind.: Xli­

bris, 2013), 104: “The contention that Mary was of Davidic descent results from the reali-
zation that it is impossible to reconcile a Davidic descent for Jesus through Joseph with the
claim that Joseph was not his biological father.”
 The Contested Image of King David 289

Greek myths. In his reply Justin uses the alleged virgin birth as a sign of Je-
sus’s uniqueness (Dial. 66). He refers to the “mystery” of God’s plan (“Isaiah
has explained how that which was spoken by God to David in mystery would
take place,” Dial. 68). What is not addressed here is the problematic claim of
matrilineal descent when biblical kinship was always patrilineal.48
That the Christian claim of Jesus’s Davidic descent continued to be highly
controversial and was repudiated by Jewish Christians, Jews, and pagans is
also evident from other patristic writings. According to Alan Segal, the Ebio­
nites “opposed the idea of a Davidic messiah. There is in the Pseudo-Clemen-
tine literature no claim that Jesus descended from David.” 49 In the fourth cen-
tury, Ephraim the Syrian states that whether Jesus was David’s son “remained
in doubt among the scribes” (Against Marcion 2.104). In his treatise Against
the Galileans, Julian maintains that the phrase “the sceptre shall not depart
from Judah” was “most certainly not said of the son of Mary, but of the royal
house of David, which […] came to an end with King Zedekiah” (1.1, 253 D).50
It seems that Eusebius of Caesarea (3rd–4th cent. CE) was especially keen
on countering any doubts about Jesus’s Davidic descent amongst his constit-
uency. In his work Demonstratio evangelica he acknowledges that Davidic
kingship ended with the Babylonian exile but claims that Jesus was the direct
successor of that line:
“You have broken down his throne to the ground, you have lessened the days of his time, you
have proved dishonour upon him” [Ps 89:45–46], a course of events which has been begun
and carried to its conclusion from the Babylonian captivity of the Jews up to the Roman Em-
pire and Tiberius. For no one of the seed of David appears to have sat on the throne of the
Hebrews in the intervening period up to the coming of Christ. But when our Lord and sav-
iour Jesus Christ, who was of David’s seed, was proclaimed king of all the world, that very
throne of David, as though renewed from its degradation and fall, was restored in the divine
kingdom of our saviour, and will last for ever; and even now.51

Eusebius quotes from Ps 89, a psalm that, on the one hand, emphasizes the
permanent nature of Davidic reign (“I have made a covenant with my chosen,
I have sworn unto David my servant. For ever will I establish your seed, and
build up your throne to all generations,” 89:4–5) but also seems to be aware of
the end of Davidic kingship and the Babylonian exile.52 Eusebius claims that

48 Matrilineal descent emerged in Judaism in post-biblical times only; see S. J. D. Cohen,

The Beginnings of Jewishness: Boundaries, Varieties, Uncertainties (Berkeley: University of

California Press, 1999), 282, who refers to “the old patrilineal view of the Bible.”
49 A. F. Segal, “Jewish Christianity,” in Eusebius, Christianity, and Judaism, ed. H. W.

Attridge and G. Hata (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1992), 326–351, here 347.
50 Trans. W. C. Wright, LCL 157.
51 Eusebius, Dem. ev. 7.1 (trans. W. J. Ferrar, The Proof of the Gospel: Being the Demon­

stratio Evangelica of Eusebius of Caesarea, vol. 2 [London: Macmillan, 1920], 76).

52 See A. Moore, Moving Beyond Symbol and Myth: Understanding the Kingship of God

of the Hebrew Bible Through Metaphor (New York: Lang, 2009), 214, who considers Ps 89
postexilic, despite the fact that the destruction of the Temple and the deportation of Zedekiah
290 Catherine Hezser

Christ is the direct successor of the Davidic kings, that with him the Davidic
line has been renewed and that the prophecy of everlasting reign is fulfilled in
him. He harmonizes the promise of everlasting kingship, based on Nathan’s
prophesy in 2 Sam 7 (“Now therefore let it please You to bless the house of
Your servant, that it may continue for ever before You,” 7:29) with the destruc-
tion brought about by foreign rulers and the Christian belief that Jesus is the
expected Davidic messiah.
Eusebius was aware of the Jewish rejection of this line of argumentation. In
the same passage he continues:
There is no doubt that Solomon was the son of David and his successor in the kingdom. And
he first built the Temple of God at Jerusalem, and perhaps the Jews understand him to be the
subject of the prophecy. But we may fairly ask them whether the oracle applies to Solomon,
which says, “And I will set up his throne for ever,” and also where God swore with the af-
firmation of an oath by his holy one, “The throne of him that is foretold, shall be as the sun,
and the days of heaven.” For if the years of the reign of Solomon are reckoned, they will be
found to be forty and no more. Even if the reigns of all his successors be added up, they do
not altogether come to 500 years. And even if we suppose that their line continued down to
the final attack on the Jewish nation by the Romans, how can they fulfill a prophecy which
says, “Your throne shall remain for ever, and be as the sun and the days of heaven”? And the
words, “I will be to him a father, and he shall be to me a son,” how can they refer to Solomon,
for his history tells us much about him that is foreign and opposed to the adoption of God? 53

The biblical prophecy of an ever-ruling king of Davidic descent cannot apply

to Solomon or any other earthly ruler whose time was limited, even if it contin-
ued to be valid throughout the Second Temple period. Solomon’s association
with the prophesied “son of David” is also dismissed on the basis of idolatry.
Eusebius claims that there is “much about him that is foreign,” since he took
wives from other ethnic groups and “went after Astarte” (ibid.). He therefore
concludes that “there was no other born of him, as is recorded, save only our
Lord and Saviour Jesus the Christ of God, who alone of the kings of David’s
line is called through the whole world the son of David according to His earth-
ly birth, and whose Kingdom continues and will continue, lasting for endless
time” (ibid.).
Eusebius became bishop of Caesarea in 314 CE, at a time when a consider-
able number of rabbis would have lived in the city. His reference to Jews who
associated the “son of David” with an earthly leader – and the prophesied ev-
erlasting kingship with a Davidic messiah expected at the end of times – may
well be based on rabbinic arguments. In his Church History he goes one step
further and claims that also after Christ (and the destruction of the Temple
in 70 CE) no Davidic descendant remained: “Vespasian after the conquest of
Jerusalem gave orders that all that belonged to the lineage of David should

are not explicitly mentioned in vv. 39–46: “Ps. 89 is part of the articulation of the theological
crisis posed by the exile.”
53 Eusebius, Dem. ev. 7.3 (trans. Ferrar, Proof of the Gospel [see n. 51], 86).
 The Contested Image of King David 291

be sought out, in order that none of the royal race might be left among the
Jews; and in consequence of this a most terrible persecution again hung over
the Jews” (Hist. eccl. 3.12).54 In another chapter he attributes the murder of all
descendants of David to Domitian (Hist. eccl. 3.19). This claim serves him to
maintain that the Davidic line culminated and ended with Jesus.
Eusebius’s pseudo-historical argument stood in obvious contradiction to late
antique rabbinic assertions about the Davidic descent of Hillel, the Palestin-
ian patriarch, and the Babylonian exilarch. As Martin Jacobs has shown, the
rabbinic claims that the patriarch descended from Hillel and that Hillel was a
descendant of David only appear in Amoraic sources.55 According to y. Ta‘an.
4:2, 68 a (par. Gen. Rab. 98:8), “R. Levi said: They found a genealogical scroll
in Jerusalem and in it was written: Hillel is from [the line of ] David.” Israel
Levy already maintained that the Amoraic claim of a Davidic descent of Hillel
would have been ideologically motivated.56 A similar ideological motivation
would have applied to the notion that the patriarch was of Davidic descent.
Although Alexei Sivertsev is right in pointing out that there is no “explicit
reference to the Davidic pedigree of R. Judah ha-Nasi,” several Amoraic tradi-
tions connect the patriarch and / or exilarch with descent from Judah. All rabbis
would have known that David came from the tribe of Judah and that descent
from Judah meant descent from David.57 Jacobs’s suggestion that by claiming
Davidic descent some rabbis might have associated messianic connotations
with the patriarch must be rejected though.58 It is more likely that rabbis coun-
tered Christian claims that Davidic descent ended with Jesus by extending the
Davidic line to their rabbinic ancestors (Hillel) and the patriarch and exilarch,
that is, to contemporary Jewish leaders.
Interestingly, rabbis were entangled in similar logical problems concerning
matrilineal or patrilineal descent as church fathers, who vacillated between Je-
sus’s Davidic descent from Joseph (as maintained in the gospels) or Mary (cf.
Justin above). In y. Ketub. 12:3, 35 a (par. y. Kil. 9:4, 32 b) a story juxtaposes
the Palestinian patriarch Rabbi with the Babylonian exilarch Rav Huna. Rabbi
is presented as exceedingly humble here. He was allegedly willing to raise Rav
Huna above himself, because “he [descended] from Judah, and I from Benja-
min; he [descended] from the male line and I from the female line” (ibid.). Var-
ious understandings are possible here. If these status-denominators are alterna-
54 Trans. NPNF² 1.146.
55 M. Jacobs, Die Institution des jüdischen Patriarchen: Eine quellen- und traditionskri­
tische Studie zur Geschichte der Juden in der Spätantike, TSAJ 52 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck,
1995), 212.
56 I. Lévy, “L’origin davidique de Hillel,” REJ 31 (1895), 202–211.
57 A. Sivertsev, Private Households and Public Politics in 3rd–5th Century Jewish Pales­

tine, TSAJ 90 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002), 76; D. Goodblatt, The Monarchic Principle:
Studies in Jewish Self-Government in Antiquity, TSAJ 38 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1994),
154, associates descent from Judah with Davidic descent.
58 Jacobs, Institution (see n. 55), 222.
292 Catherine Hezser

tives, one might assume that Rabbi stemmed from the female line of the house
of Judah; if they are considered supplementary, Rabbi stems from the female
line of Benjamin, that is, he would be twice inferior to the exilarch on gene-
alogical grounds. A third possibility is to combine the two statements: Rabbi
may then be said to stem from Benjamin in patrilineal descent and from Judah
in matrilineal descent.59 Even if matrilineal descent from Judah is claimed,
it would not be of much value, unless rabbis were familiar with the Chris-
tian claims that Jesus’s Davidic descent was through Mary and were similarly
unconcerned about the logic. David Goodblatt writes: “On their fathers’ side
only Huneh [sic!] could claim descent from the tribe of Judah and hence from
David.” 60 As far as the patriarch is concerned, on his “mother’s side he could
claim descent from the tribe of Judah and thus from David.” 61 Since descent
through the male line was considered superior, the story seems to be “polemic”
and claim the exilarch’s genealogical superiority.62 The tradition suggests that
(the followers of) the patriarch and exilarch competed for superior heritage
and that the claim to Davidic descent through the line of Judah was part of that
strife.
A more explicit response to late antique Christian claims of an end of the
Davidic dynasty within Judaism and the biblical prophecy’s fulfillment in
Christ can be found in the midrash Genesis Rabbah (Gen. Rab. 97:10), with
parallels in the Bavli (b. Sanh. 5 a // b. Hor. 11 b):
“The scepter shall not depart from Judah” [Gen 49:10]: These are the exilarchs who are in
Babylonia, who rule over the people Israel with a staff. “nor the ruler’s staff from between
his feet” [ibid.]: These are the patriarchs of the House of Rabbi who teach Torah publicly in
the land of Israel. Rabbi said: “The scepter shall not depart from Judah”: that is the messiah
of the House of David, who will, in the future, rule the kingdom with a staff, as it is written:
“You shall break them [the nations] with a rod of iron” [Ps 2:9].

The version in the Bavli applies the second half of Gen 49:10 to “the descen-
dants of Hillel” rather than to the Palestinian patriarch. Although the patriarchs
were probably included here, in Genesis Rabbah a more explicit interest in
aligning the patriarchs with the exilarchs as fulfillers of the biblical prophecy
is evident. Nevertheless, the exilarchs are described in royal terms, whereas
the patriarchs are presented as public Torah instructors, perhaps suggesting
less authority. When read on the background of Eusebius’s claims, the rabbinic
texts can be understood as counterarguments that maintain that the Davidic line
(the scepter of Judah) continues within Judaism in rabbis’ own times. The exi-
larch in Babylonia and – perhaps to a lesser extent – the patriarch in Palestine

59 Jacobs, Institution (see n. 55), 216, with reference to J. Liver, The History of the House

of David from the Destruction of the Reign of Judah until after the Destruction of the Second
Temple [in Hebrew] (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1959), 38.
60 Goodblatt, Monarchic Principle (see n. 57), 154.
61 Goodblatt, Monarchic Principle (see n. 57), 154.
62 Goodblatt, Monarchic Principle (see n. 57), 154.
 The Contested Image of King David 293

are presented as exemplars of the continuation of Davidic leadership in late an-

tiquity. An alternative interpretation is attributed to Rabbi himself, who relates
the biblical prophecy to messianic times by, at the same time, threatening “the
nations,” that is, gentiles, including (pagan) Christians, with destruction. This
interpretation suggests that some Palestinian rabbis hesitated to associate the
patriarch with Davidic descent, probably because of possible messianic con-
notations that they tried to avoid in the face of Christian claims. They stressed
that a Davidic ruler would appear in the future only, relocating messianic ex-
pectations to the end of times.
Origen seems to have been aware of Jewish claims that Gen 49:10 relates
to their “ethnarch” who, “being of the tribe of Judah, is the ruler of the people,
and those of his seed will not depart, until the coming of their imaginary mes-
siah” (Princ. 4.1.3). The similarity with the midrash in Gen. Rab. 97:10 was
already recognized by Sivertsev.63 If Origen’s “ethnarch” refers to the Jewish
patriarch, his comment would support the assumption that the patriarch and /or
his followers claimed his decent from Judah / David and insisted on the contin-
uation of this genealogical line within contemporary Judaism. This would have
constituted a forceful counterclaim to Christian notions of the end of this line
in Judaism and its continuation in Jesus only. Furthermore, the Christian belief
in Jesus as the messiah, son of David, was contradicted by upholding the bibli-
cal hope in a messianic ruler, who would appear at the end of times.
As Sivertsev has pointed out, “It is ironic that by far the biggest collec-
tion of Palestinian sources referring to the Davidic pedigree of the Patriarchs
comes from the Christian polemical texts.” 64 The reason for this phenomenon
may have been the oral cultural context in which both rabbis and church fa-
thers expressed their views. Only remnants of these disputes would have been
preserved in writing, of which the midrashic text and Origen’s comments are
exemplars.65

4. The Davidic Messiah

In patristic texts David is most often presented as a prophet who predicted

the coming of Jesus as the messiah. The Gospel of Mark already transmits a
63 See Sivertsev, Private Households (see n. 57), 78, where he cites the passage.
64 Sivertsev, Private Households (see n. 57), 79. He also refers to Cyril of Jerusalem,
Catech. 12.17, relating to Gen 49:10: “In his interpretation of Gen. 49.10 Cyril explicitly
traces the origins of the patriarchal family not simply to Judah son of Jacob, but more specif-
ically to King David himself.” Sivertsev acknowledges that “by 350 C. E. […] at least some
Jewish traditions claimed a Davidic pedigree for their leaders” (79–80).
65 Traces of the Jewish and Christian controversy about Davidic descent and the messi-

ah can also be found in the seventh-century Sefer Zerubbabel, as Martha Himmelfarb has
shown, see her Jewish Messiahs in a Christian Empire: A History of the Book of Zerubbabel
(Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2017), 50–52.
294 Catherine Hezser

tradition about Jesus teaching in the Jerusalem Temple, in which the Christian
view of Christ is distinguished from the Jewish expectation of a Davidic king-­
messiah:
And Jesus answered and said, teaching in the Temple: How [can] the scribes (γραμματεῖς)
say that the messiah (χριστός) is the son of David? David himself said in the Holy Spirit:
“The Lord (κύριος) said unto my Lord: Sit on my right-hand side, until I make your enemies
the footstool of your feet” [Ps 110:1]. David himself calls him “Lord” (κύριος), and whence
is he his son? 66

The gist of this scriptural interpretation, attributed to Jesus, seems to be that the
messiah / Christ is more than the “son of David” envisioned by Jewish scribes.
David was considered the author of Ps 110, which is introduced as a “Psalm
of David.” In the Hebrew Bible, this is one of the so-called king-psalms with a
messianic tendency. In the first verse God tells the future Davidic king to sit at
his right-hand side and promises him to subdue his enemies. In the continua-
tion, non-Israelite nations (‫ )גוים‬are threatened with destruction (110:6). In the
context of the Gospel of Mark, the alleged Davidic prophecy is used in a con-
troversy with scribes, who seem to have upheld the traditional belief in a Da-
vidic king-messiah. It is not clear whether Jesus identified himself with Christ
here, but he – or the author of the gospel, who formulated the text – allegedly
stressed that Christ was closer to God himself than an ordinary descendant of
David, that David himself acknowledged Christ’s divinity or superiority. In the
following passage (Mark 12:38–40) Jewish scribes are heavily criticized as
haughty in their behavior in public and in synagogues, and they are threatened
with divine judgment.
In the Gospel of Matthew this tradition is turned into a controversy dialogue
between Jesus and Pharisees about Christ’s origin (Matt 22:41–45): “While
the Pharisees were gathered together (συνηγμένων), Jesus asked them, saying:
What do you think about the Christ? Whose son is he? They said to him: The
son of David” (Matt 22:41–42). Jesus’s reply is similar to that in Mark: Since
David called Christ / the messiah “Lord,” how can he be his son (Matt 22:45)?
Matthew makes clear that this is a rhetorical question: “And no one was able to
answer him a word” (Matt 22:46).
The gospel texts already indicate that early Christians could not just go
ahead and apply the biblical tradition of a future king-messiah, upheld by con-
temporary Jews, to Jesus. Obviously, Jesus was not a king and his Davidic
descent was disputed by Jews. The Christian strategy was to, on the one hand,
relate the biblical prophesies of a Davidic messiah to Jesus, but, on the other
hand claim that Christ was much more than a Davidic king. In the Epistle of
Barnabas this issue is dealt with more explicitly:
Behold again: Jesus who was manifested, both by type and in the flesh, is not the son of
man, but the son of God. Since, therefore, they were to say that Christ was the son of David,

66 Mark 12:35–37.
 The Contested Image of King David 295

fearing and understanding the error of the wicked, he says, “The Lord said unto my Lord, sit
at my right-hand side, until I make your enemies the footstool of your feet” [Ps 110:1]. And
again, thus says Isaiah, “The Lord said to Christ, my Lord, whose right hand I have holden,
that the nations should yield obedience before him; and I will break in pieces the strength of
kings” [Isa 45:1]. Behold how David calls him Lord and the son of God.67

The author is eager to stress Jesus’s divinity, which the appellation “son of
David” does not necessarily imply. Like the gospel writers, he is familiar with
those who insist that Christ / the messiah is supposed to be a son of David. By
calling this view “the error of the wicked” he outrightly condemns the (proba-
bly Jewish) non-believers. In addition to Ps 110:1, a passage of Deutero-Isaiah
is quoted which, in its biblical context, refers to the Persian king Cyrus: “Thus
says the Lord to His anointed (‫מׁשיחו‬, ‘his messiah’), to Cyrus” (Isa 45:1), pre-
dicting his victory over the Babylonians on behalf of Israel (Isa 45:4). Barna-
bas replaces Cyrus with “my Lord,” that is, Jesus Christ, turning Isaiah’s dic-
tum into another Christological prophecy.
Justin also turns David into a prophet of Christ, allegedly inspired by the
Holy Spirit to predict his rule. In his Dialogue with Trypho, David is men-
tioned fifty-three times, mostly as the author of Christologically interpreted
psalms (see, e. g., Dial. 32, 34, 76). Justin writes, for example, that “David in
the twenty-­first Psalm thus refers to the suffering and the cross in a parable of
mystery” (Dial. 97). This notion of David as the one who prophesied Christ
is found throughout patristic literature. Thus, Eusebius of Caesarea mentions
“the wondrous David [who was] inspired by the Holy Spirit to foresee the fu-
ture” (Dem. ev. 1.10). Combining Davidic descent with the title “son of God”
he makes Nathan prophesy that the seed of David “should be called the son of
God” (Dem. ev. 6.12). Similarly, Hippolytus of Rome has David “announcing
prophetically the judgment and coming of the Lord” (Antichr. 64). According
to Tertullian, David in his psalms predicted the Christian mission among the
nations (Spect. 5 and 7). This appropriation of David as a Christian messenger
and forerunner of Jesus clearly separates him from Judaism. As already men-
tioned above, Tertullian goes so far as to claim that David warned against the
“assembly of the impious,” that is, Jews who did not believe in Christ, and
“called those few Jews an assembly of the wicked” (Spect. 3).
How did late antique rabbis react to the Christian claims that the biblical
David had announced Jesus as the Davidic messiah and that Isaiah’s messianic
prophecy had already been fulfilled? On the one hand, they held up the bibli-
cal belief of a future Davidic king-messiah. The prophecy of Gen 49:10 (“The
sceptre shall not depart from Judah, nor the ruler’s staff from between his feet,
until Shiloh comes”) is applied to the king-messiah in Gen. Rab. 98:8. Jews are
declared superior to gentiles in messianic times:

67 Barn. 12:10–11 (trans. with ANF 1.145).

296 Catherine Hezser

R. Chanin said: Israel does not need the instruction (‫ )תלמודו‬of the king-messiah in the age to
come, as it is said: “Unto him shall the nations (‫ )גוים‬seek” [Isa 11:10], not Israel. If so, why
will the king-messiah come? And what is he going to do? To gather the exiles of Israel [cf.
Isa 11:12] and to give them thirty mitzvot. “And I said to them: If you think good, give me
my hire, and if not, forbear. So they weighed for my hire thirty pieces of silver” [Zach 11:12].
Rav said: These [refer to] thirty heroes. R. Yochanan said: These [refer to] thirty mitzvot.
They said to R. Yochanan: Do you not accept the view of Rav that [the passage] speaks only
about the nations of the world? According to Rav’s opinion “And I said to them” [refers] to
Israel; according to R. Yochanan’s opinion “And I said to them” refers to the nations of the
world. According to Rav’s opinion, at a time when Israel has [sufficient] merit, most of [the
thirty heroes] are in the land of Israel and less of them in Babylonia; and at a time when Is-
rael does not have [sufficient] merit, most of them are in Babylonia and less of them are in
the land of Israel.

Whereas the first part of this passage deals with messianic times, the second
part, that is, the controversy between Rav and R. Yochanan, seems to lose in-
terest in the messianic future and rather talks about mitzvot and merits in this
world, in the land of Israel and Babylonia, where rabbinic circles were active.
As far as messianic times are concerned, the text stresses that Jews do not need
instruction: they are already familiar with the Torah and able to observe it.
Non-Jews, on the other hand, are lacking in Torah knowledge. Therefore, they
need the king-messiah’s guidance. For Israel, messianic times mainly consist
of an ingathering of Jews from the diaspora. Non-Jews, however, will have to
start from scratch. This image of messianic times and the Davidic king-messiah
stands in stark contrast to the patristic perception. The Davidic king-messiah
is expected to come in the future only. His main significance is to bring exiled
Jews back to Israel, to unite the Israelite nation. For gentiles, messianic times
will mean acknowledgement of the Jewish God and Torah study and obser-
vance, that is, assimilation to rabbinic Judaism, or utter destruction (cf. Isa
11:13–15).
A passage in the Talmud Yerushalmi emphasizes that the king-messiah
would be called David, both if he were “living” and if he were (resurrected
from the) dead (y. Ber. 2:4, 5 a). This statement, attributed to anonymous sages,
seems to be an outright rejection of Christian claims that the Davidic messiah
had already been living in the person of Jesus, who had died and was expected
to return in the future. Another suggestion that his name would be Menachem
is followed by a long satirical narrative (ibid.), in which the arrival of the mes-
siah is juxtaposed to the destruction of the Temple. Both events are announced
by an “Arab” and prove to be false alerts, especially as far as the alleged mes-
siah born in Bethlehem is concerned. The child is not only unable to rebuild the
Temple but blown out of his mother’s hands by a storm.68

68 On this story, see also P. Schäfer, The Jewish Jesus: How Judaism and Christianity

Shaped Each Other (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2012), 231: “in my view the Ye­
rushalmi story is a complete and ironical inversion of the New Testament.” Schäfer argues
that “Messiahs who have already been born pose a problem because of Christianity, or, more
 The Contested Image of King David 297

5. The Rabbinization of King David

As we have already seen above, some Amoraic rabbis claimed that the patri-
arch and / or exilarch were of Davidic descent. They associated the Davidic
messiah with providing Torah instruction to gentiles. In later sources, however,
especially in the Babylonian Talmud and in later midrashim such as Pesiqta de
Rab Kahana and the midrash on Psalms, King David himself is rabbinized and
presented as a Torah sage. A few examples must suffice here.69
According to a tradition in b. Sanh. 16 a, commenting on m. Sanh. 1:5,
[…] R. Acha b. Bitznah said [that] R. Shimon the Pious said: There was a harp suspended
over David’s bed. At midnight a north wind would blow through it, and it would play on its
own. David would get up right away and take up Torah study until dawn. At dawn the sages
of Israel would come in to him. They said to him: Our Lord, King, our people Israel need
sustenance.

The biblical associations of David as a harp-player and king are maintained

here but added to these is Torah study. The biblical king David is turned into a
rabbinic sage. Although the rabbinic movement developed after 70 CE only and
expanded to Babylonia in late antiquity, rabbis are imagined here to have lived
in monarchic times already. This backward extension of the rabbinic move-
ment into monarchic times also becomes evident in the following sentence:
“Forthwith they [sc. the sages] took counsel with Ahitophel, the counsellor of
King David, and ask advice of the Sanhedrin” (ibid.). Since rabbis presented
the Sanhedrin as a rabbinic institution with a long history, they considered sag-
es its members in biblical times already.
Whereas Sifre Deuteronomy 26 presented David as an example of a biblical
hero dependent on God’s mercy, in the Bavli David has to stand up against rab-
bis and the Sandedrin to justify his actions.70 A long sugya in b. Sanh. 107 a–b
deals with David’s obvious and hidden sins. Various verses from the Psalms are
cited as evidence of David’s pleas with God for remittance. After a quotation
of Ps 19:14 (“Let them [sc. the sins] not have dominion over me, then I shall
be faultless”), the Bavli explains: “So that the rabbis (‫ )רבנן‬do not hold me up
as an example” (107 a). According to a later statement attributed to R. Yehudah
in the name of Rav, David received a threefold punishment for his sin with
Bathsheba: “For six months David was afflicted with sara’at, and the Shekinah
left him, and the Sanhedrin abandoned him” (ibid.). After further pleading and
discussion David is eventually granted God’s mercy.

precisely, because of the relationship between Judaism and Christianity. For there is only a
single community which claims that the (Jewish!) Messiah was born at a certain point in time
and which sticks to this claim – the Christian community” (232).
69 For more examples, see Kalmin, Sage (see n. 27), 84–90.
70 J. E. Diamond, “King David of the Sages: Rabbinic Rehabilitation or Ironic Parody?,”

Prooftexts 27 (2007), 323–426, shows that the Bavli uses irony and satire to align the some-
times scandalous actions of David with rabbinic standards of morality.
298 Catherine Hezser

Jacob Neusner has observed that “the transformation of the royal messiah
into a Rabbi” does not happen in Palestinian Tannaitic and Amoraic literature
but is particular to the Bavli.71 Only the Bavli contains long discourses on
David as a sage. Neusner’s association of Rabbi David with the messiah (“the
Bavli signifies the advent of the sage-messiah with all that that formulation
signifies”) is questionable, though.72 Besides the Bavli, late midrashim such as
Pesiqta de Rab Kahana turn David into a “model of the sages.” 73 In Pesiqta de
Rab Kahana David is presented as a Torah sage who disputes the interpreta-
tion of Scripture with rabbis. What is interesting in these late depictions is that
David’s time and rabbis’ own time are conflated. Neusner calls this procedure
“obliterating the sense of the pastness of the past.” 74
What could have been the reasons behind this recasting of David that devel-
oped in Babylonia in the Stammaitic period? One reason could be the loss of
hope in a Davidic king-messiah who would establish a universal Israelite rule.
At a time when foreign dominion had been experienced for hundreds of years,
a reestablishment of Davidic rule may have seemed unlikely. Traditional Jew-
ish messianic expectations may also have been de-emphasized as a reaction to
Christian theology. What is also evident is the rabbinic attempt to re-appropri-
ate David for Judaism. By claiming that David was a worldly rabbinic scholar,
rabbis created a forceful counterimage to Christian notions of an elusive Da-
vidic Christ / messiah. They created a figure who represented their own values
and served as a role model they could identify with.75

71 Neusner, Rabbi David (see n. 1), xvi.

72 Neusner, Rabbi David (see n. 1), xvi.
73 J. Neusner, A Theological Commentary to the Midrash: Genesis Rabbah (Lanham,

Md.: University Press of America, 2001), 275.

74 Neusner, Theological Commentary (see n. 73), 275.
75 See also J. L. Rubenstein, The Culture of the Babylonian Talmud (Baltimore, Md.: Johns

Hopkins University Press, 2003), 77, who refers to b. Sanh. 107 a where a story about King
David’s imagined academy serves as a model for the “vulnerability and humiliation” experi-
enced by the Stammaim in the Babylonian academies of their own times: “King David’s nas-
ty colleagues enjoy shaming him by alluding to his adulterous relationship with Bat­she­va.”
 List of Contributors

René Bloch
Professor for Jewish Studies, Ancient and Medieval Judaism, Institute of Jewish Studies and
Institute of Classics, University of Bern, Switzerland.

Gabriele Boccaccini
Professor of Second Temple Judaism and Christian Origins, Near Eastern Studies and Judaic
Studies, Frankel Institute for Advanced Judaic Studies, Enoch Seminar, University of Mich-
igan, United States of America.

Shaye J. D. Cohen
Littauer Professor of Hebrew Literature and Philosophy, Department of Near Eastern Lan-
guages and Civilizations, Harvard University, United States of America.

John J. Collins
Holmes Professor of Old Testament Criticism and Interpretation, Yale Divinity School, Unit-
ed States of America.

Lutz Doering
Professor of New Testament and Ancient Judaism, Faculty of Protestant Theology and Di-
rector of the Institutum Judaicum Delitzschianum, Friedrich Wilhelms University Münster,
Germany.

Werner Eck
Professor Emeritus of Ancient History, Department of History, University of Cologne, Ger­
many.

Martin Goodman
Professor of Jewish Studies, Faculty of Oriental Studies, University of Oxford, United King-
dom.

Sebastian Grätz
Professor of Old Testament, Faculty of Protestant Theology, Johannes Gutenberg University
Mainz, Germany.

Charlotte Hempel
Professor of Hebrew Bible and Second Temple Judaism, Head of School of Philosophy,
Theology and Religion, Department of Theology and Religion, University of Birmingham,
United Kingdom.

Benedikt Hensel
Visiting Interim Professor of Hebrew Bible and Ancient Judaism, Faculty of Theology, Uni-
versity of Zurich, Switzerland.
300 List of Contributors

Catherine Hezser
Professor of Jewish Studies, School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS), University of
London, United Kingdom.

Robert Kugler
Paul S. Wright Professor of Christian Studies, Lewis & Clark College, Portland, United
States of America.

Verena Lepper
Curator for Egyptian and Oriental Papyri and Manuscripts, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, and
Honorary Professor, Faculty of Theology, Humboldt University Berlin, Germany.

Maren R. Niehoff
Max Cooper Professor of Jewish Thought, Department of Jewish Thought, Hebrew Univer-
sity of Jerusalem, Israel.

Peter Schäfer
Professor Emeritus of Jewish Studies and Religion, Department of Religion, Princeton Uni-
versity, United States of America, and Honorary Professor, Faculty of Theology, Humboldt
University Berlin, Germany.

Stefan Schorch
Professor of Hebrew and Biblical Studies, Faculty of Theology, Martin Luther University
Halle-Wittenberg, Germany.

Jens Schröter
Professor of Exegesis and Theology of the New Testament and Ancient Christian Apocrypha,
Faculty of Theology, Humboldt University Berlin, Germany.

Karel van der Toorn

Professor of Religion and Society, Faculty of Humanities, University of Amsterdam, Neth-
erlands.

Markus Witte
Professor of Exegesis and Literary History of the Old Testament, Faculty of Theology, Hum-
boldt University Berlin, Germany.

Adela Yarbro Collins

Buckingham Professor Emerita of New Testament Criticism and Interpretation, Yale Divinity
School, United States of America.
 Index of Sources

Hebrew Bible / Old Testament

Genesis Deuteronomy
1:9–13 66 4:39 179
1:27 213 f. 11:26–32 35, 37
2:1 265 11:29 35, 43
2:2 23, 205 11:29 f. 35 f.
2:7 70 f., 180 12:5 65, 75
4 72 12:11 64
7:19 73 12:13–19 46
8 74 19:15–21 125 f., 133
12 74, 177–180 27 35–38, 43
17:14 22 27:4 35, 43, 65
22 74 27:4 f. 65
23 66 27:4–8 36 f.
25:9 f. 66 27:12 35
28 75 28 38
34:14 138 34 66
49:10 292 f.
Joshua
Exodus 8:30–35 43
6:13–26 39 24 44
18:21 110
19:15 112 2 Samuel
20:8–11 23, 205 6:5 279
20:24–26 36, 69 f. 7:29 290
28 38 12:13 f. 282, 287
31:1–11 39
31:13–17 140, 206 Isaiah
44:24‒45:7 53
Leviticus 52:7 216
12:4 f. 142 61:1–2 (LXX) 200
25:14–17 129, 133
25:29 131 Jeremiah
28 f. 49 f.
Numbers
2:3 39 Ezekiel
2:9 39 4:5 109
20:28 66
25:7–13 189 Ezra
27 132 1:1–3 53
36:6–9 132 2 50–52
302 Index of Sources

Ezra (cont.) 7:12–26 57 f.

2:1 f. 50 10:8 110
2:62 52
3:6–13 55 Nehemiah
3:11 55 8:3–6 17
4:1–4 53
5:1‒6:18 54 2 Chronicles
6:3–5 54 5:13 f. 55 f.
7:1–11 57 f. 6:5 f. 64

New Testament
Matthew Romans
22:41–46 294 3:28 283

Mark Galatians
1:2–15 216 1:11–13 193 f.
2:23–38 203–206 1:21–23 194
3:1–6 207 f. 6:12 f. 192 f.
7:1–23 208–213
10:2–12 213 f. Philippians
12:35–37 288, 294 3:5 f. 193–195
14:58 224
15:29 224
15:38 225

Septuagint
1 Maccabees 2 Maccabees
1:27 106 2:4 f. 67
2:41 23
2:44–47 106

Old Testament Pseudepigrapha

2 Baruch 50:1–4 165, 168 f.
6–8 147 85–90 159 f.
32 145, 148
51:3 146 4 Ezra
80:1–5 147 7 149–153
9:24 153
1 Enoch 10 154
10 158 f. 14:28–36 152 f.
15 112
 Index of Sources 303

Jubilees 2 139 f.
1 142 f. 4:26 144
1:1–4 138 f. 6:32–38 140 f.
1:17 143, 222 23:15–25 143
1:29 143, 223 50:10–11 143 f.

Dead Sea Scrolls

Damascus Document (CD) Rule of the Community (1QS)
1:5–7 109 6:1–7 97 f.
3:14–16 109, 114 8 112 f.
4:19–5:2 214 11:5–9 115
7:6 f. 107, 111 11:7 f. 112
10:14–11:18 108
12:22–14:18 97 11Q18 153
13:2 f. 98
16:7–9 210 Temple Scroll (11QTa)
29:8–10 144, 222
Hodayot (1QH a) 30–45 220 f.
12:9–11 210
Melchizedek (11QMelch)
2:15 f. 216

Philo
De cherubim Hypothetica
99 f. 176 11.1 114
11.14 111
De migratione Abrahami
176–178 177 In Flaccum
182 f. 179 46 231

De opificio mundi Legatio ad Gaium

136 f. 71 f. 157 181 f.
186–188 182 f.
De somniis 189 f. 184
1.52 f. 178 f. 195 f. 184
1.60 179 349 184 f.
362 185
De specialibus legibus
1.33–35 180 Legum allegoriae
1.67–70 186 1.33–35 180
3.99–101 176 f.
304 Index of Sources

Josephus
Antiquitates judaicae Bellum judaicum
11.173 105 6.124 114
12.142 18, 105 6.283–285 223 f.
12.240 18
12.278 106 Contra Apionem
13.171 107 2.165 9
13.257 f. 106 2.167 9
13.297 f. 189 f., 209 2.179–181 9
18.85 66 f. 2.185, 188 9 f.
2.193 10

Rabbinic Texts
Mishnah y. Horayot
3:4, 48 a 264 f.
m. ’Abot
1:1 20
y. Ketubbot
12:3, 35 a 291
m. Šebu‘ot
3:8 211
y. Nazir
7:2, 56 b 70
Babylonian Talmud
b. ‘Arakin y. Qiddušin
22 b 263 3:13, 64 d 263 f.

b. Horayot y. Sanhedrin
11 b 292 3:1, 21 a 261

b. Ketubbot y. Ta‘anit
88 a 263 4:2, 68 a 291

b. Sanhedrin Genesis Rabbah

5a 292 3:4 68 f.
16 a 297 10:4 265
23 a 261 14:8 69 f.
107 a–b 297 19:4 265
22:7 72
b. Yebamot 32:10 73
45 a 262 97:10 292 f.
98:8 291, 295 f.
Jerusalem Talmud
Leviticus Rabbah
y. Berakot 5:4 264 f.
2:4, 5 a 296
5:1, 9 a 266
 Index of Sources 305

Sifre Deuteronomy Mekilta de-Rabbi Ishmael

26 282 f. Shabbtha 1 206

Samaritan Texts
Amram Dare Tebat Marqe
4:29–33 61 II:44 68, 69, 74
4:34 68 II:45 68, 71
16:33–41 76 II:46 76 f.
II:47 72, 74 f.
Marqe II:48 72, 75, 77
1:1–3 77 II:50 75
10:69–72 70 II:57 65 f.
III:33 73
III:34 74

Apostolic Fathers
Barnabas 1 Clement
12:10 f. 294 f. 17:5 283
18:1–3 284
19:1 284

Ancient Christian Writings

Aphrahat Historia ecclesiastica
Demonstrationes 3.12 290 f.
7.14 f. 286 f. 3.19 291

Clement of Alexandria Gregory the Great

Protrepticus Liber regulae pastoralis
1.5.3–1.6.2 281 1.3 286

Ephraim the Syrian John Chrysostom

Contra Marcionem Adversus Judaeos
2.104 289 1.3.4–5 261 f.

Eusebius Justin Martyr

Demonstratio evangelica Dialogus cum Tryphone
1.10 295 45 288
6.12 295 68 289
7.1–3 289 f. 97 295
141 284 f.
306 Index of Sources

Origen Tertullian
De principiis De spectaculis
4.1.3 293 3 285, 295

Greek and Latin Works

Apuleius Ovid
Florida Ars amatoria
6 234 1.75 f. 236

Demosthenes Petronius Arbiter

In Midiam (Or. 21) Satyricon
32, 47 122 carm. 50 229

Diodorus Siculus Pliny the Elder

34–35.1.3 21, 25 Naturalis historia
40.3.4 21 5.70 234 f.

Horace Suetonius
Satirae Domitianus
1.9.69 f. 235 12.2 23, 237

Julian Tacitus
Contra Galilaeos Historiae
1.1 (253 D) 289 5.4.3 24
5.4 f. 235
Juvenal 5.5.2 23
Satirae 5.10 235
14.96–106 24

Papyri
Pap. Graec. Mon. P. Polit. Iud.
287 + 293 117 f., 127–129 1 122–126, 133
3 129–133
5 131
 Index of Modern Authors

Achenbach, R.  38, 44, 46 Bergmeier, R.  92

Adamczewski, B.  28 Berner, C.  143
Adams, M. J. 47 Bernstein, M.  100, 103
Adler, Y. 95 f. Beyerle, S.  149, 151
Aimé-Giron, N. 80 Bickerman, E. J. 105
Albani, M.  140 Bilde, P.  16
Albeck, C. 68 f., 259, 265 f. Bitonto, A. D. 123
Albertz, R.  30, 33, 45, 61 Blenkinsopp, J. 53, 55 f., 58,
Alexander, P. S. 12, 97, 102, 107 Boccaccini, G. 99, 142, 152, 157, 161 f.,
Alt, A.  36 189
Ambos, C.  56 Bodel, J.  134
Amir, Y.  177 Bogaert, P.  148
Amit, D.  97 Bohak, G.  102, 270
Anderson, R. T. 93 Böhm, M.  42, 243
Anneler, H.  79 Bonnie, R. G. L. M. 96
Arcari, L.  158 Bons, E.  42
Ashton, J.  144 Borg, M.  217
Azzoni, A.  79 Bortz, A. M. 51 f.
Botta, A. F. 79, 85
Baden, J.  99, 122 Bowden, J.  27
Baek, K. S. 94 Brettler, M. Z. 44
Bagnall, R. S. 118 Brooke, G. J. 91, 93, 96 f., 100, 102, 113
Baker, C.  16 Brown, K.  27
Bar-Adon, P.  96 Bruce, F. F. 193
Bar-Asher, M.  108, 233 Buchholz, S.  123
Bar-Asher Siegal, E. A. 102 f. Burr, V. A. 192
Bar-Nathan, R.  95 Burton, A.  126
Barclay, J. M. G. 152, 242
Barthes, R.  101 Cairns, J. W. 118
Barton, S.  101 Callegher, B.  99
Baumgarten, A. I. 107 Chalmers, M.  61
Baumgarten, J. M. 107 f., 111 Charles, R. H. 11, 157, 166, 222
Beall, T. S. 92 Charlesworth, J. H. 35, 107
Becker, A. H. 104 Chazon, E.  102
Becker, H.-J.  13, 70 Chialà, S. 165 f.
Becker, U.  47 Chilton, B.  217
Becking, B.  52 Cioată, M. 93
Bellotto, N.  85 Clements, R.  102
Ben-Dov, J.  102, 140 Cohen, S. J. D. 16, 193, 230, 232, 234,
Ben-Ḥayyim, Z. 61 f., 65 239, 258, 272, 289
Ben Zvi, E.  35, 42 Cohn, L.  71
Ben-Zvi, Y. I. 140, 192 Cohn, Y.  258
308 Index of Modern Authors

Collins, J. J. 15, 17, 19, 91, 93, 95, 97, Feldman, A.  93, 102
99, 101, 105, 107 f., 111 f., 114, 137, Feldman, F.  102
157, 159, 161 f., 173, 184, 197 f., 215, Feldman, L. H. 66
217, 243 Fidanzio, M.  99
Collins, M. F. 67 Finkelstein, A.  258
Conybeare, F. C. 126 Finkelstein, I.  27, 47
Cornell, C.  88 Finsterbusch, K.  42
Cotton, H.  132 Fitzmyer, J. A. 107, 191, 214
Cowey, J.  117, 130 Fitzpatrick-McKinley, A.  28
Cowley, A. E. 61, 86 Flint, P. W. 93 f., 102
Crawford, S. W. 94 Fraade, S. D. 104, 108, 213, 283
Cross, F. L. 193 Fredriksen, P.  189, 192, 194
Cross, F. M. 30, 82 f. Freedman, H.  69
Crossan, J. D. 217 Frerichs, E. S. 158
Crouch, C. L. 47 Frevel, C.  31
Crown, A. D. 61, 63 Frey, J.  28, 42, 82, 140
Cussini, E.  83, 85 Fried, L. 55 f., 58
Fuks, A.  184
Davies, P. R. 28, 33, 47
Day, J.  46 Gadot, Y.  47
Deines, R.  190, 193, 257 Gagarin, M.  123
Derda, T.  131 Galor, K. 95 f.
Desjardins, M.  145, 149 García Martínez, F. 100 f., 141, 204, 210,
Dexinger, F.  76 215, 220, 222
Diebner, B. J. 34, 38 Gardner, G. E. 20, 282
Dimant, D. 108, 112 f., 173 Germany, S.  45
Doering, L. 140, 141 f., 144, 203–205, Gesenius, W. 50 f., 63
207 f. Giles, T.  93
Donfried, K. P. 245 Gillihan, Y. M. 110
Doran, R.  105 Ginzberg, L. 69 f.
Douglas, M.  38 Gitin, S.  158
Dubovský, P.  36, 38, 52 Goldhill, S.  185
Duggan, M. W. 110 Goldman, L.  97
Dupont-Sommer, A.  80 Gonzalez, H.  41
Dušek, J. 28, 30 f., 36, 40, 77 Goodman, M. 12, 92, 99, 144 f., 186,
189–192, 197, 221, 245, 256
Eckstein, H.-J.  144 Grabbe, L. L. 33, 45
Edelman, D. V. 28, 33, 42 Graeme Auld, A.  45
Ego, B.  28, 82, 144 Grätz, S.  54, 58
Elgvin, T.  99 Graf, F. W. 10
Engberg-Pedersen, T.  115 Granerød, G.  79, 82
Eshel, E.  36, 102 Green, W. S. 12
Eshel, H.  36 Grossberg, D. M. 73
Esler, P. F. 101 Grossman, M.  101, 104
Guerra, T.  102
Fales, F. M. 84 Guggenheimer, M.  29
Falk, D. K. 94, 99, 102 Guillaume, P.  28
Fatkin, D. S. 95 Gunneweg, A. H. J. 50
 Index of Modern Authors 309

Hachlili, R. 95 f., 279 f. Kaufman, S. A. 83

Häge, G.  130 Kautzsch, E.  11
Häusl, M.  42 Keel, O.  30
Hagedorn, A. C. 46 f. Kelly, B.  119–121
Hallaschka, M.  56 Kerner, J.  149
Hanneken, T. R. 137 Kestenbaum Green, C.  280
Hanson, P. D. 82 Kippenberg, H. G. 75
Harkins, A. K. 101 Kister, M.  100, 143, 204–206, 208,
Harkins, P.  259 210–213
Harlow, D. C. 97, 105 Klinzing, G.  99
Harris, R. L. 145 f. Kloppenborg Verbin, J. S. 98
Harvey, A. E. 193 Knauf, E. A. 47, 88
Hayes, C. E. 142, 151 Knibb, M. A. 101, 109, 215
Heckl, R. 28 f., 41–43 Knoppers, G. N. 28 f., 30, 33 f., 36–38,
Hempel, C.  91–94, 96–100, 102–104, 41 f., 45, 57
109 Köckert, M.  47
Hengel, M.  190, 193, 257 Kohn, S.  62
Hensel, B.  28–36, 40–47, 54 Kraft, R. A. 95
Henze, M. 145 f., 148 f., 152, 175 Kramer, B.  132
Herrmann, J.  128 Kratz, R. G. 27, 34, 46 f., 50, 81, 88, 93,
Hillers, D. R. 83 101, 103
Himmelfarb, M.  73, 103, 293 Kruse, T.  117, 127
Hinz, W.  51 Kugel, J.  140, 213
Hjelm, I.  44 Kugler, R.  122, 131
Hobsbawm, E.  52 Kuhrt, A.  53
Hogan, K. M. 150 f. Kurtz, P. M. 27, 81
Holladay, C. R. 183
Honigman, S.  81 Lambert, W. G. 85
Horbury, W.  99, 104, 243 Landmesser, C.  144
Hultgren, S.  110 Lanfranchi, P.  183
Humbert, J.-B. 95 f. Lange, A.  28, 82, 94, 102, 140, 144
Humphreys, E. M. 152 Langlois, M.  62
Lapp, N. L. 30
Ibba, G.  142, 161 Lapp, P. W. 30
Leith, M. J. W. 30
Jenson, P. P. 158 Leonhardt, J.  173
Jepsen, A.  50 Levin, C.  35
Jördens, A.  128 Levin, E.  29
Joisten-Pruschke, A.  79 Levine, L. I. 81, 186, 221
Jokiranta, J.  35, 101 Levinson, B. M. 34, 57
Lichtenberger, H.  102, 144
Kahle, P.  62 Lied, L. I. 148
Kalimi, I.  67 Lieu, J.  97, 104
Kamlah, J.  31 Lim, T. H. 92, 101, 215
Kampen, J. 93, 100, 103 f. Lippke, F.  31
Kartveit, M. 28 f., 34 f., 41 f. Lipschits, O.  27, 30, 45, 47, 56
Kattan Gribetz, S.  73 Longacre, D.  94
Katz, P.  177 Lozachmeur, H.  86
310 Index of Modern Authors

Macdonald, J.  62–64 Nickelsburg, G. W. E. 158, 162 f., 165–­

Magen, Y. 29 f., 33, 40 167
Magid, S.  11 Niehoff, M. R. 173, 175, 177, 180 f., 183
Magness, J. 95 f., 99, 158 Niemann, H. M. 47
Maier, J.  141, 220 Niese, B.  66
Mandel, P. D. 113, 173 Nihan, C. 27, 34–38, 40 f., 43 f., 46
Marcus, J.  152 Nikiprowetzky, V. 173 f.
Marcus, R.  209 Noam, V.  101
Maresch, K.  117, 130 Nocquet, D.  28
Markl, D.  36, 38 Nongbri, B.  84
Martin, C. J. 84 Noort, E.  220
Mason, E. F. 101, 118, 138 Noth, M.  46
Mason, S.  11, 14–16, 93, 231–233, 239 Nutkowicz, H.  79
Master, D. M. 83
Mayer, G.  149 Oeming, M.  45, 47
McBride, S. D. 82 Olson, D. C. 160, 165 f.
McCarter, P. K., Jr. 82 Olyan, S.  134
McCready, W. O. 92 Oort, J. van 104
McDowell, D. M. 123 Oppenheim, A. L. 83
Meerson, M.  30 Oppenheimer, A.  259
Meier, H.  10 Osterloh, K.  20
Mendelssohn, M.  16 Otto, E.  36, 38, 44–46
Merklein, H.  141
Meshorer, Y.  30 Pakkala, J.  46, 57, 94
Metso, S.  97, 101, 139 Pastor, J.  192
Meyers, E. M. 106, 245 Pearson, B. A. 194
Mikat, P.  123 Peleg-Barkat, O.  97
Milikowsky, Ch.  12 Perrin, A. B. 94
Miller, P. D. 82 Perrin, N.  217
Miller, S. S. 106 Person, R. 46 f.
Misgav, H. 29 f. Pfann, S.  97
Mitchell, M.  152, 218, 243 Pfeiffer, H.  47
Mizzi, D.  96, 99 Pietsch, M.  45
Modrzejewski, J. M. 118 Pilgrim, C. von 82
Momigliano, A.  114 Pilhofer, P.  28, 82, 144
Monger, M. P. 140 Pinnick, A.  102
Moore, A.  289 Politis, K. D. 96
Moore, C. H. 235–238 Ponchia, S.  85
Moore, G. F. 11 Popović, M. 98
Mor, M.  192 Porten, B. 51, 79 f., 82, 84–86
Mulder, M. J. 177 Porzig, P.  91
Müller, K.  141, 229, 239 Pucci Ben Zeev, M.  193, 252
Müller, R.  35–37, 43, 46, 94 Pummer, R. 28 f., 33–35, 43, 66
Purvis, J. D. 67
Najman, H.  99, 101, 139, 141, 148, Pyschny, K.  31, 38
152–154, 213
Nati, J.  99 Qedar, S.  30
Neusner, J.  11–14, 70, 277, 298 Qimron, E.  100, 103, 107
Newsom, C. A. 115
 Index of Modern Authors 311

Rabbi, Y.  73 Schwartz, D. R. 67, 81, 103, 137

Rabinowitz, I.  80 Schwartz, S. 11 f., 14, 16, 134, 233, 266
Rajak, T.  177, 243 Schwiderski, D.  84
Ranger, T.  52 Seebass, H.  149
Reed, A. Y. 104 Segal, A. F. 157, 289
Regev, E.  111 Segovia, C. A. 189
Reiner, E.  83 Seyrig, H.  99
Reinhartz, A. 92, 233, 238 f. Shalom, M. P. 36
Rezetko, R.  45 Simon, M.  69
Rhyder, J. 38 f. Singer-Avitz, L.  47
Robinson, O. F. 118 Smallwood, M. E. 182, 184
Rodgers, Z.  93 Smith, G. T. 287
Rohrmoser, A.  79, 88 Smith, J. Z. 11 f., 14, 233
Römer, T.  27, 34, 38, 44 Smith, M.  110
Römheld, K. F. D. 102 Smith, M. S. 83
Ronen, Y.  30 Smyth, H. W. 127, 205, 209, 211
Rowland, C.  144 Sollamo, R.  35
Ruiten, J. T. A. G. M. van 143 Sonnet, J.-P.  36, 38
Runia, D. T. 71, 174 Spieckermann, H.  46
Rupprecht, H.-A. 123, 127 f. Spijkermann, A.  99
Rüterswörden, U.  46 Stager, L. E. 83
Rutherford, I.  173 Stegemann, H.  91, 100
Stemberger, G.  100, 141, 255, 269
Sacchi, P. 157 f., 163 Sterling, G.  175, 177
Sachau, E.  79 Stern, E.  30
Safrai, S.  221 Stern, M.  81, 221, 230
Saldarini, A. J. 197, 203 Stern, S.  102
Sanders, E. P. 2, 92, 100, 106, 158, 192, Stiebel, G. D. 97
218 f., 257 Stipp, H.-J.  94
Sandoval, T.  102 Stock, St. G. 126
Satlow, M. L. 132, 193, 258, 266 Stökl Ben Ezra, D.  91
Saulnier, S.  140 Stone, M. E. 145, 149–151, 153
Schäfer, P. 6, 10, 12 f., 18–25, 70, 73, Stowers, S. K. 134
296 Strauss, H.  149
Schattner-Rieser, U.  35 Strauss, M. L. 288
Schechter, S.  107 Strugnell, J.  100, 103, 107
Schenker, A.  35, 43 Stuckenbruck, L. T. 101, 152, 163
Schiffman, L. H. 96, 100 f., 111, 220 Sussman, Y.  100
Schloen, J. D. 83 Sutcliffe, E. F. 113
Schmid, K. 27, 29, 44, 46 f., 57
Schofield, A. 97 Tal, A.  61–63, 66
Schorch, S. 28, 33, 35 f., 43, 61–63, 65, Talmon, S.  109
77 Taubenschlag, R.  123, 125, 131
Schreiner, J.  145 Tavernier, J.  88
Schroer, S.  31, 47 Taylor, J. E. 93, 95 f., 115
Schubert, F.  143 Tcherikover, V.  184
Schuller, E.  101, 139 Teeter, A.  93
Schulz, S.  38 Theodor, J. 68, 259, 265 f.
Schulzki, H.-J.  251 Thornton, C.-J.  190
312 Index of Modern Authors

Tigchelaar, E. J. C. 99, 141, 204, 210, Werman, C. 139 f.

215, 222 Wetzel, F.  53
Tiller, P. A. 160 Whitmarsh, T.  183, 185
Toorn, K. van der 83, 87 f. Wickert, U.  104
Tov, E. 93 f., 96, 108 Williams, F. E. 12
Trebolle Barrera, J. C. 91 Williams, M.  245
Tsfania, L. 29 f. Williams, T. B. 92
Winston, D.  190
Udoh, F.  106 Wöhrle, J.  33, 61
Uehlinger, C.  45 Wold, B.  101
Ulrich, E. 93 f. Wolff, H. J. 130, 245
Wyatt, N.  88
VanderKam, J. C. 94, 101 f., 118,
137–144, 165–167 Xeravits, G. G. 91
Vaux, R. de 98 f.
Vegas Montaner, L.  91 Yadin, Y.  111, 220
Vermes, G.  92, 97, 107, 114, 197 Yarbro Collins, A.  197–200, 202–204,
Voitila, A.  35 206 f., 209–215, 218 f., 222, 224 f.
Yardeni, A.  51, 80, 86
Waschke, E.-J.  63 Yiftach-Firanko, U.  118, 130
Wassen, C.  111
Weinfeld, M.  110 Zadok, R.  51
Weingart, K.  42 Zangenberg, J. K. 31, 95 f.
Weippert, M.  29, 87 Zertal, A.  30
Weissbach, F.  53 Zissu, B.  96
Wellhausen, J.  27, 81 Zsengellér, J. 35
Werkmüller, D.  123 Zurawski, J. M. 152
Werlin, R.  175
 Index of Names and Subjects

Aaron 20, 58, 66, 109, 112, 215 Damascus Document 97 f., 101, 107–
abstinence from pork 22, 24 f., 106, 185, 111, 113 f., 161, 204, 210, 214 f.
230 Darius 18, 54 f.
adultery 214, 282, 285 f. David 55, 64, 153, 198, 204 f., 215, 268,
Alexandria 1, 4 f., 115, 117, 125, 175, 277–298
177 f., 181–185, 187, 190, 231, 263, – Davidic origin / descent 168 f., 198,
274 f. 215, 277–282, 284, 287–295, 297
Allegorical Commentary 175–181 Dead Sea Scrolls 6, 35, 62, 79, 91–94,
allegorists 189, 195 103 f., 107, 115, 189, 197, 199, 210,
altar 19, 25, 35–37, 43, 55, 65, 67, 213 f., 216 f., 222, 226
69–75, 83, 106, 110, 220 Dekurionenrat 251–253
Anat-Bethel 87 f. Deutero-Isaiah 53, 57, 59, 295
Anat-Yahu 18, 86–88 Deuteronomy
Antioch 257–275 – Deuteronomistic History 29, 41, 46 f.
apocalypticism 2, 6, 11, 109, 114 f., 154, – Ur-Deuteronomy 45–47
158–163, 170, 198, 224, see also diaspora, Jewish / diaspora Judaism 4 f.,
eschatology 51, 80 f., 89, 137, 190–195, 231, 234 f.,
Aramaic Chronicle 54–56, 59 238, 242–244, 249, 257, 271, 296
ass worship 21–24 – Jüdische Diaspora im Westen des
Imperium Romanum 243 f.
Banit 80 f., 84 documentary papyri 117–135
baptism 169, 214–217, 225–227, 270 Dura Europos 278–280
Bathsheba 277, 284, 297
Bethel (god) 75, 80 f., 84, 87 f. Ebal, Mount 35–37, 43, 65
Bigvai / Bagohi 50 f. Egypt, Hellenistic 117–135
Elephantine 1 f., 5–7, 18 f., 25, 33, 51,
cannibalistic conspiracy 22 79–89, 131 f.
celibacy 111 f., 114 embassy to Gaius Caligula 174 f.,
Christianity, emerging of 1, 6, 92, 104, 181–185, 187
157, 232 Enoch 72, 115, 141, 157–159, 160 f.,
circumcision 5, 19, 22–25, 106, 141, 164–167
189, 192 f., 229–231, 240 1 Enoch (book) 3, 112, 163, 169
Codex Theodosianus 250–254 – Parables of Enoch 162, 164, 167–171,
coexistence 6, 32 f., 36 f. 198
Community Rule 93, 97–99, 107, epispasmos 22
111–115, 162, 214 f. eschatology
coniuratio Catilinae 22 – apocalyptic eschatology 146, 158 f.,
Constantin, Erlass an die decuriones 168–170, 200, 214–217, 224–226
Agrippinenses 250–254 – Samaritan eschatology 75 f.
conversion 16 f., 24, 193 Eshem-Bethel 87 f.
Cyrus 49, 53–55, 57, 59, 295 Essenes 92, 107, 111, 114 f., 143, 161 f.,
– Cyrus edict 49, 53–55 210, 213
314 Index of Names and Subjects

ethnicity / ethnic group / ethnos 10, 14–­ John Chrysostom 258–262, 267–275
17, 19 f., 22, 25, 52, 81, 118, 234, 239, John the Baptist 168–171, 203, 214 f., 226
242 f., 247, 290 Josephus 9 f., 67, 175, 189 f.
exilarch 291 f., 297 Jubilees 137–144, 161 f., 222
exile, Babylonian 50, 109 f., 160, Judaism 1 f., 5 f., 10–17, 91, 106,
287–289, 296 134 f., 155, 157–159, 231–234, 257,
Ezra 17–19, 42, 57 f., 105, 150–154 261–266, 270–272
Ezra (book) 6, 41 f., 49–59, 115, 137 f., – Judaisms 5, 11 f., 14, 25, 155
144–149, 198 – nullification of Judaism 13
– Rabbinic Judaism 6, 11–14, 19 f., 73,
fanuta 76 205 f., 211, 257–275, 277–298
foreigners, hostility to 21 f., 24 f., 191, Judea 14, 17, 96, 190–192, 231–239
220 Judean ethnos 14, 19, 106
forgiveness of sins 162–171, 198, judgment, last 150, 152, 158 f., 162,
282–287 164 f., 167–171
Jüdische Gemeinden
Gaza synagogue 279 f. – in der Spät­antike 243–256
geography, sacral 75–77 – in Italien 244–247
Gerizim, Mount 5, 28 f., 31–33, 35–47, – in Köln 250–256
54, 59, 61–78 – in Pannonien 247–249
Golah 27, 49–59
Khnum 18 f., 84
Haggai (book) 56 f., 59 king / kingship 278, 289 f.
halakah 100, 103, 129, 138 f., 140, 142,
147, 154, 159, 161 f., 208, 212 f., 226, Latin literature (on the Jews) 229–240,
257 245–256
Hellenists (Jewish fraction) 15, 18, law
21–23 – altar law 36 f., 71
Herem-Bethel 86–88 – Jewish law 9, 17 f., 57 f., 105–110,
Hexateuch 44 f. 113, 117–119, 129 f., 139–142, 149–
hierocracy 10 153, 159, 174 f., 190, 209, 230–232,
236, 268
identity, redactional 13 – laws of their fathers / ancestral
identity marker / boundary marker 17, laws 17–19, 24
20–25, 27, 106, 120, 230 – natural law 141 f., 150 f., 154
Israel 2, 4, 20, 27, 32, 40–42, 44, 50–55, – Ptolemaic law 126, 133
142–144, 151 f., 160, 178, 198 Luke 169 f., 174 f., 288
Iudaeus / Iudaicus 14, 229–231, 233–240,
244, 249 maqom 35, 37, 41, 43, 46 f.
Masoretic Text 35, 42 f., 62, 65, 93
Jerusalem 1–3, 10, 21 f., 41–43, 68, 96 f., matrilineal 288 f., 291 f.
143, 153, 173–187, 277 messiah 148, 151 f., 164, 167–171,
Jeshua 50, 53, 55 197–199, 206, 215 f., 225 f., 277–279,
Jesus 168–171, 174 f., 197–227, 288–296 284, 288–298
Jewish idleness 24 Miqṣat Ma‘aśeh ha-Torah
Jewish inscriptions / Latin literature (4QMMT) 100, 102–104, 107
(on the Jews) 229–240, 245–256 misanthropy 21
Jewish privileges 105, 193, 248–252 Mishnah 11–13, 20, 100, 139 f., 211,
Jewish Temple state 26 257 f., 264, 272
 Index of Names and Subjects 315

Mobilität im Imperium Romanum 241– purity, ritual 74, 95 f., 115, 111, 141 f.,
243 184, 211–213, 218–221, 226
Moses 9, 17, 20–22, 25, 58, 61–63, Puteoli 246
66–68, 76, 105, 110, 113, 138–141,
144–146, 148, 158 f., 161, 177–179, Queen of Heaven 80 f., 84
213, 218, 222, 233, 282–284 Qumran 1 f., 5, 11, 91–104, 107 f., 113 f.,
– new Moses 152 144, 153, 174, 190, 212–216, 220,
Murašû 51 226 f.

Nabonidus 53 Rabbis / Rabbinic Judaism 6, 10–14,

Nabu 80–84 19–21, 73, 109, 157, 205 f., 211,
257–275, 277–298
oath 22, 85–89, 109–111, 130 f., 158, ra’uta 76
210 f., 236, 261 f., 290 religion 13–18, 52, 63 f., 84 f., 89, 134,
One Temple – One God – One Peo- 181 f., 185, 233, 237, 239, 247 f.
ple 10, 17, 26, 186 – ethno-religion 16 f., 22, 25
ordeal 85 repentance 163–171, 217, 282, 284–287
Orpheus 278–281 rite de passage 56
Ostia 245 f., 249
Sabbath 5, 19, 22–25, 106, 108, 139–
Papyrus Amherst 63 83, 86–88 141, 144, 203–209, 221, 225 f., 235
paraenesis 147, 154 f. Samaria 4 f., 28–47, 54, 56, 59, 82, 88 f.
Passover papyrus 18 Sanhedrin 202, 224, 297
Passover ritual 18, 271 Septuagint 6, 93
patriarch(s) 268 f., 271, 273, 291–293, Serubbabel 50
297 sin 158, 160 f., 163 f., 168, 212, 260 f.,
patriarch(s), biblical 20, 141 f., 174, 202, 277, 282–287
285 sinners 163–171
Paul 189–195, 226, 283 Son of Man 151 f., 154, 164, 167–171,
Pentateuch 4, 31, 34–47, 62, 64 f., 93 f., 197 f., 200, 203, 206, 217, 223, 226,
138 f., 141, 147, 153 f., see also Torah 294
– Samaritan Pentateuch 4, 28, 34, 62, sow 25
64–66, 93 f. state, Jewish 10, 16, 26
persecution 22, 189–195, 291 Synoptics 168–171
Petronius 229–231, 235, 237, 239 f.
Phanuel 164, 167 f. Teacher of Righteousness 101, 109,
Pharisees 100, 107, 114 f., 171, 190 f., 114 f.
197, 200, 202–213, 222, 225 f., 257, Temple 2, 10 f., 17–22, 32, 35, 37,
294 47, 52–59, 64, 69 f., 72 f., 80–89,
Philo 3, 71, 92, 111, 114 f., 173–187, 99 f., 105, 110, 142–149, 153–155,
189 f., 195, 204, 211, 213, 231, 233 173–187, 191, 217–225, 227, 231,
polemics, Samaritan-Jewish 32, 35, 77 f. 268, 272, 290, 294, 296
politeia 10, 18 – eschatological temple 143 f., 148 f.,
politeuma, Jewish 117–119, 122, 154, 222, 296
131–133 – Temple destruction 145, 147 f., 153 f.,
Pompei 246 218, 222–225, 227, 260, 290, 296
prayer, direction of 76 f. tent of meeting 38 f.
proselytizing tendencies 24 theocracy 9 f., 25
316 Index of Names and Subjects

theocratic polity 10, 17 wisdom 146, 150, 153, 158 f., 281
Torah 17–21, 31, 34 f., 39–43, 57–59,
64 f., 106 f., 109, 114 f., 117, 134 f., xenophobia 21, 25
138–142, 145–155, 157–162,
173–187, 189 f., 272, 296, see also yaḥad 111–116
Pentateuch Yahu 18
– enhanced concept of Torah 154 Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement) 271 f.

Urzeit-Endzeit correspondence 144, 148, Zealots 10, 190, 219

154 Zechariah 57

Virgil 239