A History of the Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period Volume 4: The Jews under the Roman Shadow (4 BCE–150 CE) 9780567700728, 9780567700711

Table of contents :
Cover
Title
Copyright
Contents
Preface
Abbreviations
Part I Introduction
Chapter 1 Introduction
1.1. Method in Writing a History of the First and Second Centuries CE
1.2. An Overall Perspective on the Roman Empire
1.3. An Overview of the Situation in Judaea, 1–150 CE
1.4. Terminology and Other Technical Matters
Part II Sources
Chapter 2 Archaeology, Including Inscriptions and Coins
2.1. Unwritten Remains and Material Culture
2.1.1. From Herod to the Fall of Masada
2.1.2. From the Fall of Masada to the Bar Kokhva Revolt
2.2. Inscriptions, Papyri, and Manuscripts
2.3. Coins
Chapter 3 Jewish Literature
3.1. Josephus
3.2. Justus of Tiberias
3.3. Philo of Alexandria
3.4. Liber Antiquitatum Biblicarum (Pseudo-Philo)
3.5. Adam and Eve Literature
3.6. Parables (Similitudes) of Enoch (1 Enoch 37–71)
3.7. Pseudo-Phocylides
3.8. The Sibylline Oracles
3.9. Slavonic Enoch (2 Enoch)
3.10. 4 Maccabees
3.11. Testament of Abraham
3.12. Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs
3.13. Testament of Job
3.14. Joseph and Asenath
3.15. Apocalypses of Ezra, Baruch, Abraham, and John
3.16. Testament of Solomon
3.17. Rabbinic Literature
Chapter 4 Greek, Roman, and Christian Sources
4.1. Classical Sources in Greek and Latin
4.1.1. Cassius Dio
4.1.2. Historia Augusta
4.1.3. Pliny the Younger
4.1.4. Tacitus
4.2. Christian Writers and Literature
4.2.1. Justin Martyr
4.2.2. Eusebius
4.2.3. Orosius
4.2.4. Irenaeus
4.2.5. Epiphanius
Part III Society and Institutions
Chapter 5 Economics
5.1. The Economy in the Early Roman Empire
5.2. Economic Factors in Judaea
5.2.1. From Herod to the Great Revolt
5.2.2. From the Great Revolt to Bar Kokhva
5.2.3. The Fiscus Judaicus
5.3. Conclusions
Chapter 6 Jews in the Diaspora (4 BCE to 117 CE)
6.1. Citizenship for Diaspora Jews?
6.2. Egypt
6.3. Syria, Asia Minor, and Greece
6.4. Rome
6.5. Mesopotamia
6.6. Conclusions
Chapter 7 Sects and Movements
7.1. Revolutionaries, ‘Bandits’, and Other Popular Movements
7.2. ‘Fourth Philosophy’ and the Sicarii
7.3. Zealots
7.4. Therapeutae
7.5. The Jesus Movement
7.6. Herodians
7.7. Baptismal Sects
7.7.1. Various Possible Groups? Sources and Arguments
7.7.2. Mandaeans
7.8. Conclusions
Chapter 8 Mystical and Gnostic Trends, and the Esoteric Arts
8.1. Mystical Developments
8.2. Prophets, Mystics, and Charismatic Individuals
8.3. Gnosticism and Judaism
8.3.1. Introduction
8.3.2. Sources
8.3.3. The Basic Gnostic Myth
8.3.4. Examples of Jewish and Gnostic Parallels
8.3.5. Discussion
8.3.6. Other Gnostic or Related Traditions
8.3.7. Conclusions with Regard to Gnosticism and Judaism
8.4. The Esoteric Arts: Magic and Controlling the Spirits
8.5. Conclusions
Chapter 9 Religion I: Temple and Text, Religious Practice
9.1. Temple and Priesthood
9.1.1. The Sanhedrin
9.1.2. High Priests from Pompey to Vespasian
9.1.3. Synagogues
9.2. Biblical Text and Canon
9.2.1. Development of the Canon of Scripture
9.2.2. Textual Standardization
9.3. Religious Practice
9.3.1. The Question of Images and Art
9.3.2. Marriage and Divorce
9.3.3. Purity
9.4. Conclusions
Chapter 10 Religion II: Beliefs
10.1. Developing Views about God
10.1.1. Binitarianism, or ‘Two Powers in Heaven’
10.1.2. The Figure of Wisdom and the Logos
10.2. Angelic Beings and the Spirit World
10.2.1. Texts
10.2.2. Summary on Angelic Beings
10.3. Messiahs
10.3.1. Texts
10.3.2. The ‘Suffering Messiah’ and the ‘Messiah ben Joseph’
10.3.3. ‘Son of Man’
10.3.4. Conclusions about Messiahs
10.4. Eschatologies and Ideas of Salvation
10.4.1. Texts
10.4.2. Conclusions about Eschatology
10.5. Conclusions
Chapter 11 Religion III: Judaeophilia and Judaeophobia, Religious Rights, and Conversion
11.1. Pro-Judaism, Anti-Judaism, and Religious Rights
11.1.1. Pro-Jewish Statements
11.1.2. Anti-Judaism
11.1.3. Religious ‘Tolerance’ and Religious Rights
11.2. Judaism as a Mystery Religion
11.2.1. The Greek Mysteries
11.2.2. Judaism from a Hellenistic View
11.2.3. The Jewish God Dionysus
11.2.4. Models from Other Hellenistic Religions
11.2.5. Summary on Judaism as a Mystery Religion
11.3. Becoming a Member of the Jewish Community
11.4. Conclusions
Part IV Historical Synthesis
Chapter 12 The Reign of Herod Archelaus and the Roman Province of Judaea (4 BCE to 37 CE)
12.1. The Context for First-Century Jewish History
12.2. Augustus and Rome (4 BCE–14 CE)
12.3. The Herodian Succession: An Overview
12.4. Archelaus as Ethnarch (4 BCE–6 CE)
12.5. The Reign of Emperor Tiberius (14–37 CE)
12.6. Judaea a Roman Province (6–41 CE)
12.6.1. Judaea a ‘Province’?
12.6.2. First Roman Governors of Judaea (6–26 CE)
12.6.3. Governorship of Pontius Pilate (26–36 CE)
12.6.4. End of Judaea as a Province
12.7. The Tetrarch Philip (4 BCE–34 CE)
12.8. The Tetrarch Herod Antipas (4 BCE–39 CE)
12.9. Conclusions
Chapter 13 The Reign of Agrippa I , Once More a Roman Province, and the ‘Spiral of Violence’ (37–66 CE)
13.1. Reign of Caligula (Gaius) (37–41 CE)
13.2. Agrippa I (37–44 CE)
13.2.1. Early Life
13.2.2. Caligula’s Attempt to Place his Statue in the Temple
13.2.3. Rest of Agrippa I’s Reign
13.3. The Reign of Claudius (41–54 CE)
13.4. Agrippa II (44–94? CE)
13.5. Nero (54–68 CE)
13.6. Judaea a Roman Province Again (44–66 CE)
13.6.1. Overview
13.6.2. Cuspius Fadus (44–46? CE)
13.6.3. Tiberius Julius Alexander (46?–48 CE)
13.6.4. Ventidius Cumanus (48–52 CE)
13.6.5. Antonius Felix (52–59? CE)
13.6.6. Festus (59?–62 CE)
13.6.7. Lucceius Albinus (62–64)
13.6.8. Gessius Florus (64–67 CE)
13.7. Conclusions
Chapter 14 The Great Revolt—The War with Rome (66–73/74 CE)
14.1. Background
14.1.1. Judaean Society
14.1.2. ‘The Spiral of Violence’
14.1.3. Causes of the War
14.2. Beginnings of the War with Rome (66–67 CE)
14.2.1. Initial Events
14.2.2. Defeat of Cestius
14.2.3. Preparations for War
14.2.4. Preparations in Galilee
14.3. Galba, Otho, Vitellius (68–69 CE)
14.4. The Rest of the War (67–70 CE)
14.4.1. Vespasian’s Campaign against Galilee
14.4.2. Jerusalem Isolated and Surrounded
14.4.3. Jewish Infighting
14.4.4. Final Siege of Jerusalem
14.4.5. Destruction of the Temple and End of the War
14.4.6. Why Did They Hold Out?
14.5. Post-70 Fighting
14.6. Conclusions
Chapter 15 Roman Control (from 70 to c. 150 CE)
15.1. Historical Overview
15.2. Rule of the Roman Empire: Vespasian to Hadrian
15.2.1. Vespasian (69–79 CE)
15.2.2. Titus (79–81 CE)
15.2.3. Domitian (81–96 CE)
15.2.4. Nerva (96–98 CE)
15.2.5. Trajan (98–117 CE)
15.2.6. Hadrian (117–38 CE)
15.3. Administration of Judaea (70 to post-135 CE)
15.4. Beginnings of Rabbinic Judaism at Yavneh (70–130 CE)
15.5. Lives of Two ‘Ordinary’ Jewish Women
15.5.1. Babatha
15.5.2. Salome Komaïse
15.6. The Revolts under Trajan
15.6.1. Cyrenaica, Egypt, Cyprus, and Mesopotamia
15.6.2. The Question of Palestine in the Revolt under Trajan
15.7. The Bar-Kokhva Revolt (132–136 CE)
15.7.1. Outline of the Revolt
15.7.2. Causes of the Bar-Kokhva Revolt
15.7.3. Chronology of the Bar Kokhva Revolt
15.7.4. Territory in Bar Kokhva’s Kingdom
15.7.5. The Question of Bar Kokhva’s Messiahship and R. Aqiva’s Part in the Revolt
15.8. Conclusions
Part V Conclusions
Chapter 16 The Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period — a Holistic Perspective
16.1. Overview
16.1.1. Jewish Identity
16.1.2. Religious Practice and Belief
16.1.3. Life in the Diaspora
16.2. Survey of History
16.2.1. Persian Period
16.2.2. The Greek Conquest and Ptolemaic Rule
16.2.3. The Seleucids Take Over
16.2.4. The Maccabaean Revolt and the Hasmonaean Kingdom
16.2.5. Roman Control
16.2.6. The Herodian Kingdom
16.2.7. Rule as a Roman Province
16.2.8. Agrippa I and Agrippa II
16.2.9. Province a Second Time and the Path to War
16.2.10. The ‘Seventy Years War’
Bibliography
Index of References
Index of Authors
Index of Subjects

Citation preview

LIBRARY OF SECOND TEMPLE STUDIES

99 formerly the Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha Supplement Series

Editor Lester L. Grabbe

Founding Editor James H. Charlesworth

Editorial Board Randall D. Chesnutt, Jan Willem van Henten, Judith M. Lieu, Steven Mason, James R. Mueller, Loren T. Stuckenbruck, James C. VanderKam

A HISTORY OF THE JEWS AND JUDAISM IN THE SECOND TEMPLE PERIOD Volume 4 The Jews under the Roman Shadow (4 BCE–150 CE)

Lester L. Grabbe

T&T CLARK Bloomsbury Publishing Plc 50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B 3DP, UK 1385 Broadway, New York, NY 10018, USA 29 Earlsfort Terrace, Dublin 2, Ireland BLOOMSBURY, T&T CLARK and the T&T Clark logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc First published in Great Britain 2021 This edition published 2023 © Lester L. Grabbe, 2021 Lester L. Grabbe has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the Author of this work. Cover design: Charlotte James Cover image: Bronze coin from the Shimon Bar Kokhba revolt 132–135 CE © PhotoStock-Israel / Alamy Stock Photo All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. Bloomsbury Publishing Plc does not have any control over, or responsibility for, any third-party websites referred to or in this book. All internet addresses given in this book were correct at the time of going to press. The author and publisher regret any inconvenience caused if addresses have changed or sites have ceased to exist, but can accept no responsibility for any such changes. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. ISBN:

HB: PB: ePDF:

978-0-5677-0070-4 978-0-5677-0073-5 978-0-5677-0071-1

Series: Library of Second Temple Studies, volume 99 Typeset by: Trans.form.ed To find out more about our authors and books visit www.bloomsbury.com and sign up for our newsletters.

To my brothers David Carson James Orlin Crockett Lane

C on t en t s

Preface xv Abbreviations xvii Part I Introduction Chapter 1 Introduction 1.1. Method in Writing a History of the First and Second Centuries CE 1.2. An Overall Perspective on the Roman Empire 1.3. An Overview of the Situation in Judaea, 1–150 CE 1.4. Terminology and Other Technical Matters

3 3 6 11 17

Part II Sources Chapter 2 Archaeology, Including Inscriptions and Coins 2.1. Unwritten Remains and Material Culture 2.1.1. From Herod to the Fall of Masada 2.1.2. From the Fall of Masada to the Bar Kokhva Revolt 2.2. Inscriptions, Papyri, and Manuscripts 2.3. Coins

21 21 25 34 37 42

Chapter 3 Jewish Literature 48 3.1. Josephus 48 3.2. Justus of Tiberias 52 3.3. Philo of Alexandria 53 3.4. Liber Antiquitatum Biblicarum (Pseudo-Philo) 58 3.5. Adam and Eve Literature 60 3.6. Parables (Similitudes) of Enoch (1 Enoch 37–71) 61 3.7. Pseudo-Phocylides 63 3.8. The Sibylline Oracles 64 3.9. Slavonic Enoch (2 Enoch) 65

viii Contents

3.10. 4 Maccabees 67 3.11. Testament of Abraham 68 3.12. Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs 69 3.13. Testament of Job 71 3.14. Joseph and Asenath 72 3.15. Apocalypses of Ezra, Baruch, Abraham, and John 73 3.16. Testament of Solomon 78 3.17. Rabbinic Literature 79 Chapter 4 Greek, Roman, and Christian Sources 81 4.1. Classical Sources in Greek and Latin 81 4.1.1. Cassius Dio 81 4.1.2. Historia Augusta 83 4.1.3. Pliny the Younger 84 4.1.4. Tacitus 84 4.2. Christian Writers and Literature 85 4.2.1. Justin Martyr 86 4.2.2. Eusebius 86 4.2.3. Orosius 88 4.2.4. Irenaeus 89 4.2.5. Epiphanius 89 Part III Society and Institutions Chapter 5 Economics 93 5.1. The Economy in the Early Roman Empire 93 5.2. Economic Factors in Judaea 98 5.2.1. From Herod to the Great Revolt 100 5.2.2. From the Great Revolt to Bar Kokhva 107 5.2.3. The Fiscus Judaicus 108 5.3. Conclusions 110 Chapter 6 Jews in the Diaspora (4 BCE to 117 CE) 6.1. Citizenship for Diaspora Jews? 6.2. Egypt 6.3. Syria, Asia Minor, and Greece 6.4. Rome 6.5. Mesopotamia 6.6. Conclusions

112 112 119 123 128 133 136

Contents ix

Chapter 7 Sects and Movements 7.1. Revolutionaries, ‘Bandits’, and Other Popular Movements 7.2. ‘Fourth Philosophy’ and the Sicarii 7.3. Zealots 7.4. Therapeutae 7.5. The Jesus Movement 7.6. Herodians 7.7. Baptismal Sects 7.7.1. Various Possible Groups? Sources and Arguments 7.7.2. Mandaeans 7.8. Conclusions

138 138 146 150 152 156 159 161 161 162 165

Chapter 8 Mystical and Gnostic Trends, and the Esoteric Arts 8.1. Mystical Developments 8.2. Prophets, Mystics, and Charismatic Individuals 8.3. Gnosticism and Judaism 8.3.1. Introduction 8.3.2. Sources 8.3.3. The Basic Gnostic Myth 8.3.4. Examples of Jewish and Gnostic Parallels 8.3.5. Discussion 8.3.6. Other Gnostic or Related Traditions 8.3.7. Conclusions with Regard to Gnosticism and Judaism 8.4. The Esoteric Arts: Magic and Controlling the Spirits 8.5. Conclusions

168 169 174 177 178 179 180 182 185 189 190 191 198

Chapter 9 Religion I: Temple and Text, Religious Practice 9.1. Temple and Priesthood 9.1.1. The Sanhedrin 9.1.2. High Priests from Pompey to Vespasian 9.1.3. Synagogues 9.2. Biblical Text and Canon 9.2.1. Development of the Canon of Scripture 9.2.2. Textual Standardization 9.3. Religious Practice 9.3.1. The Question of Images and Art 9.3.2. Marriage and Divorce 9.3.3. Purity 9.4. Conclusions

202 202 202 208 211 212 212 218 222 222 225 237 237

x Contents

Chapter 10 Religion II: Beliefs 10.1. Developing Views about God 10.1.1. Binitarianism, or ‘Two Powers in Heaven’ 10.1.2. The Figure of Wisdom and the Logos 10.2. Angelic Beings and the Spirit World 10.2.1. Texts 10.2.2. Summary on Angelic Beings 10.3. Messiahs 10.3.1. Texts 10.3.2. The ‘Suffering Messiah’ and the ‘Messiah ben Joseph’ 10.3.3. ‘Son of Man’ 10.3.4. Conclusions about Messiahs 10.4. Eschatologies and Ideas of Salvation 10.4.1. Texts 10.4.2. Conclusions about Eschatology 10.5. Conclusions

240 240 244 247 253 253 255 256 257 261 262 272 274 274 280 283

Chapter 11 Religion III: Judaeophilia and Judaeophobia, Religious Rights, and Conversion 11.1. Pro-Judaism, Anti-Judaism, and Religious Rights 11.1.1. Pro-Jewish Statements 11.1.2. Anti-Judaism 11.1.3. Religious ‘Tolerance’ and Religious Rights 11.2. Judaism as a Mystery Religion 11.2.1. The Greek Mysteries 11.2.2. Judaism from a Hellenistic View 11.2.3. The Jewish God Dionysus 11.2.4. Models from Other Hellenistic Religions 11.2.5. Summary on Judaism as a Mystery Religion 11.3. Becoming a Member of the Jewish Community 11.4. Conclusions

286 286 287 290 294 296 296 297 298 299 300 301 306

Part IV Historical Synthesis Chapter 12 The Reign of Herod Archelaus and the Roman Province of Judaea(4 BCE to 37 CE) 12.1. The Context for First-Century Jewish History 12.2. Augustus and Rome (4 BCE–14 CE) 12.3. The Herodian Succession: An Overview 12.4. Archelaus as Ethnarch (4 BCE–6 CE) 12.5. The Reign of Emperor Tiberius (14–37 CE)

311 311 312 315 316 320

Contents xi

12.6. Judaea a Roman Province (6–41 CE) 12.6.1. Judaea a ‘Province’? 12.6.2. First Roman Governors of Judaea (6–26 CE) 12.6.3. Governorship of Pontius Pilate (26–36 CE) 12.6.4. End of Judaea as a Province 12.7. The Tetrarch Philip (4 BCE–34 CE) 12.8. The Tetrarch Herod Antipas (4 BCE–39 CE) 12.9. Conclusions

322 322 324 327 333 334 336 340

Chapter 13 The Reign of Agrippa I, Once More a Roman Province, and the ‘Spiral of Violence’ (37–66 CE) 13.1. Reign of Caligula (Gaius) (37–41 CE) 13.2. Agrippa I (37–44 CE) 13.2.1. Early Life 13.2.2. Caligula’s Attempt to Place his Statue in the Temple 13.2.3. Rest of Agrippa I’s Reign 13.3. The Reign of Claudius (41–54 CE) 13.4. Agrippa II (44–94? CE) 13.5. Nero (54–68 CE) 13.6. Judaea a Roman Province Again (44–66 CE) 13.6.1. Overview 13.6.2. Cuspius Fadus (44–46? CE) 13.6.3. Tiberius Julius Alexander (46?–48 CE) 13.6.4. Ventidius Cumanus (48–52 CE) 13.6.5. Antonius Felix (52–59? CE) 13.6.6. Festus (59?–62 CE) 13.6.7. Lucceius Albinus (62–64) 13.6.8. Gessius Florus (64–67 CE) 13.7. Conclusions

342 343 344 345 347 352 356 358 361 363 363 364 365 367 369 373 373 376 376

Chapter 14 The Great Revolt—The War with Rome (66–73/74 CE) 14.1. Background 14.1.1. Judaean Society 14.1.2. ‘The Spiral of Violence’ 14.1.3. Causes of the War 14.2. Beginnings of the War with Rome (66–67 CE) 14.2.1. Initial Events 14.2.2. Defeat of Cestius 14.2.3. Preparations for War 14.2.4. Preparations in Galilee 14.3. Galba, Otho, Vitellius (68–69 CE) 14.4. The Rest of the War (67–70 CE) 14.4.1. Vespasian’s Campaign against Galilee

378 379 379 382 384 386 386 391 395 397 400 401 401

xii Contents

14.4.2. Jerusalem Isolated and Surrounded 14.4.3. Jewish Infighting 14.4.4. Final Siege of Jerusalem 14.4.5. Destruction of the Temple and End of the War 14.4.6. Why Did They Hold Out? 14.5. Post-70 Fighting 14.6. Conclusions Chapter 15 Roman Control (from 70 to c. 150 CE) 15.1. Historical Overview 15.2. Rule of the Roman Empire: Vespasian to Hadrian 15.2.1. Vespasian (69–79 CE) 15.2.2. Titus (79–81 CE) 15.2.3. Domitian (81–96 CE) 15.2.4. Nerva (96–98 CE) 15.2.5. Trajan (98–117 CE) 15.2.6. Hadrian (117–38 CE) 15.3. Administration of Judaea (70 to post-135 CE) 15.4. Beginnings of Rabbinic Judaism at Yavneh (70–130 CE) 15.5. Lives of Two ‘Ordinary’ Jewish Women 15.5.1. Babatha 15.5.2. Salome Komaïse 15.6. The Revolts under Trajan 15.6.1. Cyrenaica, Egypt, Cyprus, and Mesopotamia 15.6.2. The Question of Palestine in the Revolt under Trajan 15.7. The Bar-Kokhva Revolt (132–136 CE) 15.7.1. Outline of the Revolt 15.7.2. Causes of the Bar-Kokhva Revolt 15.7.3. Chronology of the Bar Kokhva Revolt 15.7.4. Territory in Bar Kokhva’s Kingdom 15.7.5. The Question of Bar Kokhva’s Messiahship and R. Aqiva’s Part in the Revolt 15.8. Conclusions

406 409 412 416 421 422 428 431 431 435 436 437 439 440 441 442 444 447 453 454 456 458 458 461 465 466 472 479 482 485 488

Part V Conclusions Chapter 16 The Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period— a Holistic Perspective 16.1. Overview 16.1.1. Jewish Identity 16.1.2. Religious Practice and Belief 16.1.3. Life in the Diaspora

493 493 494 497 504

Contents xiii

16.2. Survey of History 16.2.1. Persian Period 16.2.2. The Greek Conquest and Ptolemaic Rule 16.2.3. The Seleucids Take Over 16.2.4. The Maccabaean Revolt and the Hasmonaean Kingdom 16.2.5. Roman Control 16.2.6. The Herodian Kingdom 16.2.7. Rule as a Roman Province 16.2.8. Agrippa I and Agrippa II 16.2.9. Province a Second Time and the Path to War 16.2.10. The ‘Seventy Years War’

505 505 507 509 512 515 516 517 518 519 520

Bibliography 523 Index of References 586 Index of Authors 604 Index of Subjects 613

P refa ce

The first two volumes of this work appeared in 2004 and 2008 respectively. Regrettably, there was a gap of over a decade before volume 3 came out at the beginning of 2020. Now, I am happy to send this fourth and final volume to the press only a few months after volume 3’s appearance. This volume follows the same format as the previous volumes, with emphasis given to the primary sources, including archaeology. A concerted attempt has been made to consult as much of the recent secondary literature as possible. This has included Graeco-Roman studies which are so important for Jewish history at this time. Relevant studies have no doubt been missed, but the bibliography indicates the recognition that classical studies are quite significant for this topic. Josephus has been important for Jewish history in earlier periods (as noted in previous volumes), but he is particularly important for the period from the death of Herod to the fall of Masada. For this reason, a more extended discussion is given in the introductory chapter (§1.1), as well as in the usual discussion of literary sources (§3.1). As repeatedly analyzed, his narrative often leaves us very frustrated because of what he says, or regularly for what he does not say. But however problematic we find him, his works are invaluable sources, as becomes very plain when we reach the point at which his account comes to a halt. If only we had him for the revolts under Trajan and Hadrian! I unfortunately only became aware of Daniel Schwartz’s Reading the First Century (2013) at a late stage in the production of this volume and could insert just a few references to it. It is an important volume on Josephus as a historian and would have been cited more extensively if I had known it earlier. It has seemed essential to give full attention to the seven decades or so that followed the fall of Jerusalem in 70 CE. Just as the Second Temple period did not start in a single year but began broadly with the Neo-Babylonian period, so it ended not with the destruction of the temple but with the later disasters involving Jews in the second century CE. It

xvi Preface

was also during this period that the foundations were laid for what became rabbinic Judaism, a version of which persists as the main form of Judaism even to the present day. Lester L. Grabbe Kingston-upon-Hull 13 October 2020

A b b rev i at i ons

AASOR AAWG AB ABD

Annual of the American Schools of Oriental Research Abhandlungen der Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Göttingen Anchor Bible David Noel Freedman (ed.). 1992. Anchor Bible Dictionary. 6 vols. New York: Doubleday. AfO Archiv für Orientforschung AGAJU Arbeiten zur Geschichte des antiken Judentums und des Urchristentum AIEJL T. C. Vriezen, and A. S. van der Woude. 2005. Ancient Israelite and Early Jewish Literature AJA American Journal of Archaeology AJAH American Journal of Ancient History AJBA Australian Journal of Biblical Archaeology AJP American Journal of Philology AJS Review American Jewish Studies Review AJSL American Journal of Semitic Languages ALD Aramaic Levi Document ALGHJ Arbeiten zur Literatur und Geschichte des hellenistischen Judentums A.M. anno mundi, a dating system which begins with the supposed date of the world’s creation AnBib Analecta biblica AncSoc Ancient Society ANET J. B. Pritchard (ed.). 1969. Ancient Near Eastern Texts relating to the Old Testament. 3rd ed. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. AnOr Analecta orientalia ANRW Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt Ant. Josephus, Antiquities of the Jews APOT R. H. Charles (ed.). 1913. Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha of the Old Testament. 2 vols. Oxford: Clarendon. Arav R. Arav (1989) Hellenistic Palestine: Settlement Patterns and City Planning, 337–31 B.C.E. ASORAR American Schools of Oriental Research Archaeological Reports ASTI Annual of the Swedish Theological Institute ATR Anglican Theological Review AUSS Andrews University Seminary Studies

xviii Abbreviations Austin

BA Bagnall/Derow BAR BASOR BCE BCH BETL BHS Bib BibOr BJP

BJRL BJS BO BSOAS BTB Burstein BZ BZAW BZNW CAH CAH2 CBQ CBQMS CBR CC CCTC CE CEJL CHCL CHI CHJ CIJ ConBNT ConBOT CP

M. M. Austin. 2006. The Hellenistic World from Alexander to the Roman Conquest: A Selection of Ancient Sources in Translation Biblical Archeologist R. S. Bagnall and P. Derow (eds.). 2004. The Hellenistic Period: Historical Sources in Translation Biblical Archaeology Review Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research Before the Common Era (= BC) Bulletin de Correspondance Helléntique Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium Biblia Hebraica Stuttgartensis Biblica Biblica et orientalia Brill Josephus Project: used of volumes in the Brill series of volumes on Josephus with the overall editor of Steve Mason; in the present publication are individual volumes edited by Mason (BJP 1b; BJP 9), Jan Willem van Henten (BJP 7b), and John M. G. Barclay (BJP 10) Bulletin of the John Rylands Library Brown Judaic Studies Bibliotheca Orientalis Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies Biblical Theology Bulletin S. M. Burstein. 1985. The Hellenistic Age from the Battle of Ipsus to the Death of Kleopatra VII. Biblische Zeitschrift Beihefte zur ZAW Beihefte zur ZNW Cambridge Ancient History (1st edn) Cambridge Ancient History (2nd edn) Catholic Biblical Quarterly Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph Series Currents in Biblical Research Corpus Christianorum Cambridge Classical Texts and Commentaries Common Era (= AD) Commentaries on Early Jewish Literature P. E. Easterling, et al. (eds). 1982–85. Cambridge History of Classical Literature Cambridge History of Iran W. D. Davies and L. Finkelstein (eds). 1984–2017. Cambridge History of Judaism (vols 1-8) Corpus Inscriptionum Judaicarum Conjectanea biblica, New Testament Conjectanea biblica, Old Testament Classical Philology

Abbreviations

xix

V. A. Tcherikover et al. 1957–64. Corpus Papyrorum Judaicarum CQ Classical Quarterly CR: BS Currents in Research: Biblical Studies CRAIBL Comptes rendus de l’Académie des inscriptions et belles-lettres CRINT Compendia rerum iudaicarum ad Novum Testamentum CSCT Columbia Studies in Classical Texts K. van der Toorn, B. Becking, and P. W. van der Horst (eds) DDD2 Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible: 1st edn 1995 (= DDD); 2nd edn 1999 (= DDD2) DJD Discoveries in the Judaean Desert DSD Dead Sea Discoveries EI Eretz-Israel ER Mircea Eliade (ed.). 1987. Encyclopedia of Religion. 13 vols. New York/London: Macmillan. ESHM European Seminar in Historical Methodology ET English translation FAT Forschungen zum Alten Testament FoSub Fontes et Subsidia ad Bibliam pertinentes FOTL Forms of Old Testament Literature FRLANT Forschungen zur Religion und Literature des Alten und Neuen Testaments FS Festschrift GCS Griechische christliche Schriftsteller GLAJJ Menahem Stern. 1974–84. Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism (vols 1-3) GRBS Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies HAT Handbuch zum Alten Testament HdA Handbuch der Archäologie HdO Handbuch der Orientalisk HJJSTP 1 Lester L. Grabbe. 2004. A History of the Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period 1: Yehud: A History of the Persian Province of Judah HJJSTP 2 Lester L. Grabbe. 2008. A History of the Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period 2: The Coming of the Greeks: The Early Hellenistic Period (335–175 BCE) HJJSTP 3 Lester L. Grabbe. 2020. A History of the Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period 3: The Maccabaean Revolt, Hasmonaean Rule, and Herod the Great (175–4 BCE) HJJSTP 4 The current volume. HR History of Religions HSCP Harvard Studies in Classical Philology HSM Harvard Semitic Monographs HSS Harvard Semitic Studies HTR Harvard Theological Review HUCA Hebrew Union College Annual IAA Israel Antiquities Authority CPJ

xx Abbreviations ICC IDB IDBSup IEJ INJ INR Int IOS ITQ JAAR JAJ JAJSup JANES JAOS JBL JBS JCH JCS JEA JES JHS JJS JLBM JNES JQR JR JRS JSHRZ JSJ JSJSup JSNT JSOT JSOTSup JSP JSPSup JSS JTS JWSTP KAT LCL

International Critical Commentary G. A. Buttrick (ed.). 1962. Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible (vols 1-4) Supplementary volume to IDB. 1976. Israel Exploration Journal Israel Numismatic Journal Israel Numismatic Research Interpretation Israel Oriental Studies Irish Theological Quarterly Journal of the American Academy of Religion Journal of Ancient Judaism Supplements to Journal of Ancient Judaism Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society of Columbia University Journal of the American Oriental Society Journal of Biblical Literature Journal of Biblical Studies Lester L. Grabbe. 1992. Judaism from Cyrus to Hadrian. 2 vols with continuous pagination. Journal of Cuneiform Studies Journal of Egyptian Archaeology Journal of Ecumenical Studies Journal of Hellenic Studies Journal of Jewish Studies George W. E. Nickelsburg. 2005. Jewish Literature between the Bible and the Mishnah Journal of Near Eastern Studies Jewish Quarterly Review Journal of Religion Journal of Roman Studies Jüdische Schriften aus hellenistisch-römischer Zeit Journal for the Study of Judaism Supplements to Journal for the Study of Judaism Journal for the Study of the New Testament Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Journal for the Study of the Old Testament—Supplementary Series Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha—Supplementary Series Journal of Semitic Studies Journal of Theological Studies Michael E. Stone (ed.). 1984. Jewish Writings of the Second Temple Period Kommentar zum Alten Testament Loeb Classical Library

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xxi

LNTS Library of New Testament Studies LSTS Library of Second Temple Studies LXX Septuagint translation of the OT MGWJ Monatschrift für Geschichte und Wissenschaft des Judentums ms(s) manuscript(s) MT Masoretic textual tradition (only the consonantal text is in mind when reference is made to pre-medieval mss) NEAEHL Ephraim Stern (ed.). 1992. The New Encyclopedia of Archaeological Excavations in the Holy Land. 4 vols. 2008. 5 Supplementary Volume NIGTC New International Greek Testament Commentary NovT Novum Testamentum NovTSup Novum Testamentum, Supplements NTOA Novum Testamentum et Orbis Antiquus NTS New Testament Studies OBO Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis OCD Simon Hornblower, A. Spawforth, and E. Eidinow (eds). 2012. The Oxford Classical Dictionary. 4th edn. OEANE Eric M. Meyers (editor-in-chief). 1997. The Oxford Encyclopedia of Archaeology in the Near East. 5 vols. OEBA D. M. Master (ed.). 2013. The Oxford Encyclopedia of the Bible and Archaeology. 2 vols. OGIS W. Dittenberger. 1903–5. Orientis graeci inscriptiones selectae. 2 vols. OLA Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta OT Old Testament/Hebrew Bible OTG Old Testament Guides OTL Old Testament Library OTP 1-2 James H. Charlesworth (ed.). 1983–85. Old Testament Pseudepigrapha. OTS Oudtestamentische Studiën PAAJR Proceedings of the American Academy of Jewish Research PVTG Pseudepigrapha Veteris Testamenti graece PW Georg Wissowa and Wilhelm Kroll (eds). 1894–1972. Paulys Real-Encyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft. PWSup Supplement to PW RC C. B. Welles. 1934. Royal Correspondence in the Hellenistic Period: A Study in Greek Epigraphy. REB Revised English Bible REG Revue des études grecs REJ Revue des études juives RevB Revue biblique RevQ Revue de Qumran RSR Religious Studies Review RSV Revised Standard Version SANE Studies on the Ancient Near East SAWH Sitzungsbericht der Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Heidelberg

xxii Abbreviations SBL SBLASP SBLBMI SBLDS SBLEJL SBLMS SBLRBS SBLSBS SBLSCS SBLSPS SBLTT SBT SC Schürer SCI ScrHier SE SEG SFSHJ SFSJH Sherk SJLA SJOT SJLA SHA SHAJ SNTSMS SP SPA SPB SPSH SR SSAW STDJ SUNT SVTP TAD 1-4 TAPA TDNT TLZ Trans TSAJ VC

Society of Biblical Literature SBL Abstracts and Seminar Papers SBL Bible and its Modern Interpreters SBL Dissertation Series SBL Early Judaism and its Literature SBL Monograph Series SBL Resources for Biblical Study SBL Sources for Biblical Study SBL Septuagint and Cognate Studies Society of Biblical Literature Seminar Papers Series SBL Texts and Translations Studies in Biblical Theology Sources chrétiennes Emil Schürer. 1973–87. The Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ. Rev. G. Vermes et al. Scripta Classica Israelica Scripta Hierosolymitana Seleucid era year Supplementum epigraphicum graecum South Florida Studies in the History of Judaism South Florica Studies in Jewish History Robert K. Sherk. 1984. Rome and the Greek East to the Death of Augustus Studies in Judaism in Late Antiquity Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament Studies in Judaism in Late Antiquity Scriptores Historiae Augustae Studies in the History and Archaeology of Jordon Society for New Testament Studies Monograph Series Samaritan Pentateuch Studia Philonica Annual Studia postbiblica Scholars Press Studies in the Humanities Studies in Religion/Sciences religieuses Sitzungsbericht der sachischen Akademie der Wissenschaften Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah Studien zur Umwelt des Neuen Testaments Studia in Veteris Testamenti pseudepigrapha Bezalel Porten and Ada Yardeni. 1986–99. Textbook of Aramaic Documents from Ancient Egypt: 1–4. Transactions of the American Philological Association G. Kittel and G. Friedrich (eds). 1964–76. Theological Dictionary of the New Testament Theologische Literaturzeitung Transeuphratène Texte und Studien zum antiken Judentum Vigiliae Christianae

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xxiii

VCSup Vigiliae Christianae, Supplements VT Vetus Testamentum VTSup Vetus Testamentum, Supplements War Josephus, War of the Jews WBC Word Bible Commentary WHJP World History of the Jewish People WMANT Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament WUNT Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament YCS Yale Classical Studies ZA Zeitschrift für Assyrologie ZAW Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentlichen Wissenschaft ZDMG Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morganländischen Gesellschaft ZDPV Zeitschrift des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins ZNW Zeitschrift für die Neutestamentlichen Wissenschaft ZPE Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik § Cross reference to numbered section or sub-section elsewhere in the book; in a citation from Josephus, it refers to paragraph numbers in the text

Part I

Introduction

Chapter 1

I n t rod uct i on

An overview of Roman history was given in HJJSTP 3 (304–9). Here a slightly different approach will be taken: an attempt to understand the general ethos of the Roman rulers and a similar overview of Judaea and the Jews. This may help us to understand some of the interaction between the Romans and the Jews and why each side took some of the actions it did. But another important topic is that of historical method. This subject has already been taken up at length in previous volumes, and that discussion will not be repeated here; however, it is important to consider the particular considerations on writing a history of the Jews in the first and second centuries of the Common Era. 1.1. Method in Writing a History of the First and Second Centuries CE S. J. D. Cohen (1979) Josephus in Galilee and Rome: His Vita and Development as a Historian; L. L. Grabbe (1994) Review of S. Mason, Flavius Josephus on the Pharisees, JJS 45: 134–36; idem (2000b) ‘The Pharisees— A Response to Steve Mason’, in A. J. Avery-Peck and J. Neusner (eds), Judaism in Late Antiquity, Part Three: Where We Stand: Issues and Debates in Ancient Judaism, Volume 3: 35–47; idem (2001) ‘Sup-urbs or Only Hyp-urbs? Prophets and Populations in Ancient Israel and Socio-historical Method’, in L. L. Grabbe and R. D. Haak (eds), ‘Every City Shall Be Forsaken’: Urbanism and Prophecy in Ancient Israel and the Near East: 93–121; idem (2017) Ancient Israel: What Do We Know and How Do We Know It?; S. Mason (1999) ‘Revisiting Josephus’s Pharisees’, in A. AveryPeck and J. Neusner (eds), Judaism in Late Antiquity: Volume 4, Part II: 23–56; idem (2016) A History of the Jewish War A.D. 66–74; J. J. Price (1992) Jerusalem Under Siege: The Collapse of the Jewish State 66–70 CE; D. R. Schwartz (2013) Reading the First Century: On Reading Josephus and Studying Jewish History of the First Century.

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The historical approach used in these volumes has been described in general already in HJJSTP 1 (2–17); HJJSTP 2 (2–24), and HJJSTP 3 (3–5), as well as in Grabbe 2017 (4–38). This volume does not deviate from the principles already laid down. Because portions of the narrative in the present volume are so dependent on Josephus’s works, it seems fair to make some comments, especially in light of S. Mason’s (2016: 60–137, 576–78) somewhat discursive discussion of methodology relating to Josephus and especially his description of the Judaean War. • Josephus fits well into the Greek and Latin historians of the Hellenistic period. He does not rise to the peak of historical methodology: he is neither a Thucydides nor a Polybius (among Greek historians) nor even a Tacitus or Livy (among Latin writers). All historians have their faults, of course, but Josephus does not rise to the top level of Hellenistic historiography. He seems to be fairly typical of the genre writers of the time. • Josephus’s primary value for this section of Jewish history is that he is writing mainly contemporary history: born about 37 CE he lived through many of the main events he is describing, especially those from about 50 to 90 CE. He was also alive not long after the events of Jewish history in the important half century between the death of Herod and 50 CE. As a constituent of the Jewish upper class and also a member of the Flavian family from about 70 CE, he had access to a great deal of personal information on the part of persons he knew and also to official Roman documents. How much he used official reports is hard to guess since he seldom mentions such, but he no doubt knew of and read Roman accounts of events during his own lifetime, even if he rejected or corrected them. • We must always take account of his aims and context when writing. He was not writing a dispassionate account of events as a ‘neutral’ or armchair historian. We do not always know his aims, but he no doubt had a number of them with any piece he wrote. One aim was certainly to inform Graeco-Roman readers (including perhaps other Jews) of Jewish culture, history, and religion in as favourable a light as possible. This apologetic aim seems always to have been there in all his writings. This meant that information about the Jews was important to him. Yet this information was always interpreted, depending on the particular context and aim for which he wrote it. • In some cases he was defending himself and his actions. His lack of objectivity in such situations is understandable, but this needs to be kept in the forefront of our evaluation of his account at such individual points.

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• Especially important is the fact that many of the events from Herod’s death to about 75 CE are described twice: the first part of the War is paralleled by the last part of the Antiquities, and many actions— especially his own—during the Jewish war are described in both the War and the Life. In some instances, the two accounts are completely different—not only in details but also in perspective or even in gross information. In other words, although the version he gives in one account is similar to that in the parallel account in most cases (though the Antiquities version is often fuller, with more detailed data), in some cases Josephus completely contradicts himself and trying to get at actual events is very difficult or even impossible. • Yet in spite of all Josephus’s deficiencies we cannot simply reject the data he gives that we do not like or find problematic. We must always put primary sources (archaeology, inscriptions, iconography, and the like) first, but these resources are sadly limited. The simple fact is that for much of Jewish history from the last part of the Hasmonaean period (c. 135 BCE) to the end of the Jewish war (c. 75 CE) we are heavily dependent on Josephus. Sometimes we do not feel that we can trust his data, but when this happens we often have no other data to fall back on. We may need to reject his information in some cases, but that can lead to a gap in our historical narrative. Using Josephus can be very frustrating! Yet we have him, and his accounts have the value of gold to the historian of ancient Judaea. It is also true that more often than rejecting his data, we find the need to reinterpret, to reconfigure, or combine them with other sources to create a synthesis rather different from his own. This is where Steve Mason’s recent comments are sometimes rather disconcerting. Mason has a remarkable knowledge of Josephus, and his views always deserve respect and attention. Yet this does not mean that his interpretations cannot be questioned at times. In an earlier exchange with him (Grabbe 2000; Mason 1999; cf. also the review of his first book, Grabbe 1994), the criticism was that he was too credulous of Josephus, but he seemed to maintain his position. Now, in his history of the Jewish war he seems to be quite willing sometimes to throw out Josephus’s accounts willy-nilly, as well as warning us not to consider Josephus a repository of data (e.g., 2016: 576–77). Don’t misunderstand: this more critical Mason is refreshing! But at times his comments are confusing in light of his past approach. Perhaps I have misunderstood Mason, but my approach to Josephus’s accounts of the Jewish war seem to be much closer to that of D. R. Schwartz (2013), J. J. Price (1992: 180–93), and S. J. D. Cohen (1979):

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while being willing to criticize Josephus severely at times, I respect his data. I feel very leery of rejecting his information unless I can find good reasons why he did not know what he was talking about. Price puts it very well: Even pure propaganda is effective only if firmly based on reality. Moreover, the scanty but valuable external sources confirm BJ’s [War’s] account in its main outline and many details. Tacitus, Dio, rabbinic literature, archaeology and numismatics document aspects of the war for which Josephus’ account is the most problematic… He was capable of writing accurately, felt that the integrity of his profession called for accuracy and thoroughness, and did not fabricate the main events of his history. (Price 1992: 181–82)

Of course, in many cases I accept as possible or plausible Mason’s interpretations, or even agree with him. It is great that he is taking a more critical approach to his favourite author. But when Josephus gives incidental data that may hint at new possibilities of reconstruction, I am willing to give them some consideration. For example, when Simon emerges from hiding in a purple robe (War 7.2.2 §29), Mason suggests he was perhaps only trying to escape (2016: 578). That is always a possibility, but why wear a purple robe when your aim is simply flight—not the most concealing of garments! It seems more than likely that the purple robe had symbolic significance for Simon. Of course, Mason is quite correct that there is ‘a powerful current in New Testament scholarship, which seems to find “anti-imperialist” rhetoric under every olive tree’ (2016: 279), and I have often inveighed against such facile interpretations (cf. Grabbe 2001). 1.2. An Overall Perspective on the Roman Empire C. Ando (2000) Imperial Ideology and the Provincial Loyalty in the Roman Empire; M. Bernett (2007) Der Kaiserkult in Judäa unter den Herodiern und Römern: Untersuchungen zur politischen und religiösen Geschichte Judäas von 30 v. bis 66 n. Chr.; J. B. Campbell (1984) The Emperor and the Roman Army, 31 BC–AD 235; W. Eck (2001) ‘Spezialisierung in der staatlichen Administration des Römischen Reiches in der Hohen Kaiserzeit’, in L. de Blois (ed.), Administration, Prosopography and Appointment Policies in the Roman Empire: 1–23; I. Gradel (2002) Emperor Worship and Roman Religion; W. V. Harris (1991) War and Imperialism in Republican Rome 327–70 B.C.; J. E. Lendon (1997) Empire of Honour: The Art of Government in the Roman World; S. P. Mattern (1999) Rome and the Enemy: Imperial Strategy in the Principate; E. Meyer-Zwiffelhoffer (2002) Πολιτικῶς ἄρχειν: Zum Regierungsstil der senatorischen Statthalter in den kaiserzeitlichen griechischen Provinzen; F. Millar (1977) The

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Emperor in the Roman World (31 BC–AD 337); A. Wallace-Hadrill (2008) Rome’s Cultural Revolution; G. Woolf (2011) ‘Provincial Revolts in the Early Roman Empire’, in M. Popović (ed.), The Jewish Revolt against Rome: Interdisciplinary Perspectives: 27–44.

In HJJSTP 3 (304–9) a general characterization of the Roman Republic was presented. As suggested there, Rome’s military aggressiveness was second to none; on the other hand, neither were her neighbours lacking in aggressiveness. In other words Rome’s success was not because she was more savage or militant than other Mediterranean states but for other reasons (see below). The general characteristics of the Republic also apply in part to Rome under the Empire, Imperial Rome. The expansion of Roman conquest continued under the Empire to some extent, though the final boundaries were soon reached for the most part during the first century CE. Only here and there did Rome expand further from its boundaries under Augustus: to some extent in Germany, a reconquest of Britain up to Scotland, and the Dacian region. Rome continued its centuries-long struggle with the Parthians, sometimes gaining an advantage but then once again losing it (cf. HJJSTP 3: 226–30). One might think that Rome reached its empire by carefully strategic planning. The facts (discussed in HJJSTP 3: 304–9) suggest that this was not the case. There was no master plan that Rome followed over the centuries but a general policy of taking action when it seemed to their advantage but being passive when it did not. Thus, they made many treaties because other states and peoples of the region, such as Judaea, wanted to be able to flaunt their Roman connections, but these treaties did not entail Roman action on their behalf. In spite of a series of treaties with the Hasmonaean rulers, Rome never sent a force to aid the Judaeans. Rome took action in the region only when there seemed some sort of threat to Roman rule itself from the political situation (e.g., in the case of Antiochus III). For example, the Roman frontiers ‘were not chosen for strategic reasons but congealed as a result of failure or nonmilitary factors’ (Mattern 1999: 21). The reason for this approach had to do with the nature of the Roman governing classes and their education (Mattern 1999: 1–23; see below). Under the Roman Republic the Senate was the chief governing institution. The aristocracy was by and large in charge, though later the plebians or common people were given a certain share in governance. Nevertheless, a few noble families tended to dominate events at different times. With the accession of Octavian, the emperor became the centre of Roman rule and Roman administration (see especially Millar 1977). Although a legal fiction of the Republican form of government (i.e.,

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governance by the Senate) was propagated by Octavian himself and others of the ruling class, there is no question of who was in charge. This is exemplified in the Res Gestae Divi Augusti (‘The Acts of the Deified Augustus’) in which he recounts his offices, honours, and accomplishments. It was important to the Romans that the emperor was not a king, even though in reality he acted like one. Indeed, in the Greek east he was called βασιλεύς, which is the normal Greek word for ‘king’. But the Romans had got rid of their king about 510 BCE, according to tradition, and it was important to maintain this facade. The importance of the emperor was acknowledged in the imperial cult (or Kaiserkult), an aspect of Roman rule which may seem strange to moderns but was extremely important to the Romans (Bernett 2007; Gradel 2002). This constituted honours paid to the emperor (not his divinity as such); it expressed his absolute power over his people, and partook of both the religious and the political, though being neither fully the one nor the other. Being declared a god was a reward for being a good emperor, but after Augustus this happened only after death. The study by I. Gradel (2002) sets out to prove that the worship of the emperor within Italy must be viewed in terms of honours paid, rather than his ‘absolute’ divinity. That is, cultic worship was not really in honour of the emperor’s divine nature but a means of manipulating those who were of importance for the Romans. The emperor was directly worshipped during his own lifetime in Italy but not in Rome; emperor worship was entirely in keeping with normal responses of the citizens to great individual power. After Augustus emperors were not the object of a state cult; instead, they received divine honours like any powerful individual in society. In sum, emperor worship was an honour that was neither exclusively religious nor exclusively political. It was mainly an expression of the absolute power that he had over his people. The main decisions of foreign and domestic policy were made by a few men: the emperor and his small team of advisors. Members of the senatorial class not only served in the Senate but were also appointed to various military, judicial, and advisory capacities. The generals were members of the Senate. The reigns of Claudius and Nero became infamous because some of their closest advisors were freedmen, but by and large the emperor’s concilium was made up of individuals from the senatorial and equestrian ranks—the upper classes. The emperor might take advice from anyone, including relatives, slaves, freedmen, plebeians, and so on, but the main advisors for most of the emperors most of the time were selected from members of the aristocracy.

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Senatorial and equestrian individuals reached positions of power by a process that began with formal education, which was mainly in rhetoric and literature. In the gymnasium the school boy learned certain classics of literature, including Homer and Vergil, composition, rhetoric, and public speaking. They did not specialize even in the general way as done in most school curricula today. That is, their knowledge of the world was that of the generalist, and there were usually no specialist advisors as we think necessary for governments today (Eck 2001). There was no real distinction between those who governed or were part of the administration and those who wrote literature in Latin (or sometimes in Greek). Some famous generals (such as Julius Caesar) wrote literature, and some famous authors (e.g., Seneca, Pliny the Younger, Tacitus, Cassius Dio) spent much of their career as governors of provinces, advisors to the emperor, and in other administrative roles. Sometimes an occasion might call for a person of particular experience, such as a general for appointment in wartime. There were successful Roman generals, but they did not gain their knowledge from training at an elite academy such as West Point or Sandhurst because such did not exist. They gained their knowledge by serving under experienced senior officers and participating in actual battles (in the early Republic Senators had to serve in ten campaigns before being allowed to hold political office [Harris 1991: 10–16]). Some had natural abilities and might rise up the ranks because of their strategic success in actual fighting. As so often, not all military commanders were competent; some maintained their position in spite of this because of their high connections, but defeat often meant death for the commander as well as his troops. Thus, when such men governed or advised, they did so not from a critical education but with all the perspective and prejudices gained from the education and experience of living in upper-class Roman society. A number of studies have looked at the particular prejudices or viewpoints of such individuals that dominated Roman society and administration. As during the time of the Republic, there seems to have been no real strategic planning under the Empire. This is of course an issue that has been much debated among classical historians (Mattern 1999: 1–23, with references), but strategic planning seems to have gone against the course of events and also the nature of the decision makers: the aristocratic elite, the senatorial and equestrian classes. Their education was not suited to this sort of thinking. As already noted, they were not specialists, whether in military, political, or administrative skills.

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To argue that there was no overall imperial strategy is not the same as saying there was no imperial ideology. On the contrary, imperial ideology was an important ‘glue’ that held the Empire together. C. Ando (2000) has argued that the ruling elites’ ability to indoctrinate the ruled with this ideology was the key to Roman success in maintaining their empire: ‘provincial obedience to Roman domination was an ideological construct, its realization dependent on many people’s sharing a complex of beliefs that sanctioned a peculiarly Roman notion of social order’ (Ando 2000: 5). The process of ‘Romanization’ was an important development in linking Rome with the provinces. Some prefer terms other than Romanization, but the process had much in common with Hellenization (Wallace-Hadrill 2008: 9–32; cf. HJJSTP 2: 125–65). There seems no doubt that what we would call ideology—or perhaps ‘Roman values’—played an important role in Roman affairs, perhaps even a role that they were not consciously aware of. We might simply call it ‘prejudice’, but it canalized their way of thinking and led to certain predictable conclusions (cf. Mattern 1999: 162–210). The single most important characteristic that drove the Romans seems to have been honour (decus: Lendon 1997; Mattern 1999: 171–94): ‘the Graeco-Roman sense of personal honour, of prestige, of dignity, of distinction—words that are used interchangeably here and which stand for a galaxy of partial synonyms, gloria, honos, dignitas, auctoritas, τιμή, δόξα, ἀξίωμαο’ (Lendon 1997: 30–31). For example, ‘international relations, for the Romans, were not so much a complex geopolitical chess game as a competition for status… Image or national “honor” emerges as the most important policy goal’ (Mattern 1999: xii). Honour was especially important to both men and women of the upper classes. Honour was a form of power: it was a means of compelling action on the part of oneself or other aristocrats. With sufficient honour one could ignore or manipulate societal conventions. It was not just individual honour (though this was also important) but also honour of the Empire. Military defeat was seen as dishonourable in all circumstances. No defeat could be forgotten; every defeat had to be avenged, even if decades or even generations later. This was also key to Rome’s military and imperial success: they would avenge not only every defeat but any snub or breach of faith. Her success depended on the psychology of awe and terror: all potential enemies knew that Rome would not give up, no matter what the cost. They would pay for any action that was interpreted as disrespect to Roman dignity. Others, especially enemies, had to show deference, whether in suing for peace, submitting hostages, ceding territory, or paying reparations.

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11

This meant that the military was the greatest drain on resources. Yet, because of the costs, the army was not large. Under the Republic it was a citizen army, though as new territories were conquered, they would be required to recruit and supply soldiers. But to maintain the borders and guard them properly would have required an enormous outlay, and the Empire was not willing to undertake this. Instead a certain number of legions were maintained and located more or less strategically. When an emergency arose, either the local legions would take care of it or, if necessary, other legions would be brought in from further afield. This could of course take time, and the result might be a temporary success on the part of the rebels or aggressors and even a major defeat for the Romans. But the machinery would eventually grind into action and the defeat or rebellion would be avenged. Rome might temporarily lose some eagles (military standards), but ultimately the enemy would be made to return them, often after being decimated. Judaea was to find this out, to her enormous cost. 1.3. An Overview of the Situation in Judaea, 1–150 CE M. Bernett (2010) Der Kaiserkult in Judäa unter den Herodiern und Römern: Untersuchungen zur politischen und religiösen Geschichte Judäas von 30 v. bis 66 n. Chr.; J. S. McClaren (1998) Turbulent Times? Josephus and Scholarship on Judaea in the First Century CE; M. Pucci Ben Zeev (1998) Jewish Rights in the Roman World: The Greek and Roman Documents Quoted by Josephus Flavius; J. Wilker (2007) Für Rom und Jerusalem: Die herodianische Dynastie im 1. Jahrhundert n.Chr.; idem (2011) ‘Josephus, the Herodians, and the Jewish War’, in M. Popović (ed.), The Jewish Revolt against Rome: Interdisciplinary Perspectives: 271–89.

New sources, especially the Dead Sea Scrolls, and new studies of previously known sources have demonstrated the complexity of Judaism during this epoch which is probably the best documented of the entire Second Temple period, not only between Palestine and the diaspora but within the various areas. The aim in this section is to give a quick overview of Jewish life and religion in the period between Herod’s death and the end of the Bar Kokhva revolt, with a focus on why the Jews rebelled twice against Rome. This period will also be described to some extent in the conclusion to the volume (Chapter 16), but that chapter will be devoted especially to an overview of the entire Second Temple period and will not focus on the century and a half that is the topic of the present volume.

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We have some small inkling about the lives of ordinary Jewish men and even women (e.g., marriage contracts; bills of sale; burial customs; the Babatha and Salome Komaïse archives [§15.5]). They marry, they have children, they buy and sell property, they divorce, they die and are buried. The catacombs of Rome and the papyri of Egypt have been valuable sources on the communities living outside Palestine during this period. Religion was evidently an important part of the life of many Jews. For example, from the first century BCE we have an indication that stone vessels were widely used and miqva’ot had spread extensively in the Jewish areas of Palestine, apparently because of a concern for purity. Yet the average Jew was neither a sectarian nor a religious fanatic. The bulk of Jews worked in agriculture or conducted their professions in small villages where their occupation was closely tied to agrarian activities. Their first concern was getting enough to eat and otherwise obtaining the necessities for living. Theological hair splitting was far from their thoughts. That does not make them irreligious, but their lives were not in bondage to their religious beliefs or practices. As just noted, there is evidence through this time of a general concern for religious purity among the Jewish population (§2.1.1), and certain beliefs seem to have been common to most Jews, including the sabbath and belief in one God without cultic images. Belief in a messiah of some sort was widespread, and no doubt many hoped for an eventual deliverance from the power of Rome. But that did not make them revolutionaries or pressure them to abandon their ploughs for devotion to prayer or follow a would-be religious guru who promised salvation. The one centre for most Jews—whether in Palestine or the diaspora— was the temple: most looked to the temple as the main symbol and focus of their religion, even if they never worshipped there or even laid eyes on it (which was the case for most Jews in the diaspora). It was the existence of the temple and its worship that allowed for the variety of belief and practice found throughout Judaism at this time. That is, religious pluralism was a significant characteristic of Judaic religion at the end of the Second Temple period. One reason seems to be that if you fulfilled your duties in temple worship, a variety of beliefs and even some practices would not have contradicted temple worship nor bring charges of impiety from religious authorities. As long as you participated in worship at the Jerusalem temple and respected it, there seems to have been wide tolerance of religious views and practices as long as did not seem to interfere with the temple and priesthood. In fact, the evidence we have indicates that the priests were in the lead in pursuing all sorts of religious speculation that made its way into the literature of the late Second Temple period, from mysticism to apocalyptic

1. Introduction

13

to astrology (Chapter 8). They were the ones who had the necessary education and leisure to engage in such avocations. There were a variety of religious groups or sects and movements, many with a political agenda. None dominated or controlled society, and the total number of sectarian members still made up a minority of the population. (Even the Pharisees, who were probably the largest group, were composed of only about 6000 members in the time of Herod according to Josephus [Ant. 17.2.4 §42].) This shows two things: first, there were many differences of religious viewpoint among the Jews of Judaea at this time; secondly, none of the sectarian ideologies dominated society in the Jewish community of Palestine. We can get some idea of the religious diversity by considering the striking differences of thought between various groups. The Pharisees seem to have concentrated on ritual purity and eating their meals at home in a state of purity (modelled on the priests in the temple?). The Essenes set up their own separate communities (including perhaps Qumran). The Gnostics thought the creator God of the Bible was an ignorant flawed deity different from the real spiritual God, setting them apart from the bulk of the Jewish people (if there was a Jewish Gnosticism at this time, a belief for which some scholars argue). Groups such as the Sicarii and Zealots no doubt had religious aims, of which there are hints, though their actions tended to be political and extreme, bringing the wrath of the Romans or other constituted authorities down on them. Being under Roman rule brought some potential problems with practising one’s Judaism. For example, there was the state or emperor cult which was required for demonstrating loyalty to Rome. The frequent assertion that Jews were exempted from the state or emperor cult is incorrect (Pucci Ben Zeev 1998: 471–81; Bernett 2010: 94–99). This cult was seen by the Romans as a symbol of submission to Roman rule, and no one was exempt; however, the Jewish sacrifices for the Roman ruler in Jerusalem and the dedications in local synagogues were evidently seen as fulfilling the requirement. This means that under Roman rule Jews were free to practise their religion as they saw fit, as long they were not seen to be rebelling against Roman rule. Many Romans despised Jewish worship, but this was their general attitude toward all ‘foreign’ cults; the Jews do not seem to have been singled out. And of course some Romans were attracted to such ‘exotic’ worship (for a further discussion of this entire topic, see §11.1.1 and §11.2). Some have assumed (especially among an older scholarship) that Jewish life in Palestine was dominated by the synagogue; indeed, the gospels seem to give this impression. Yet, whereas the synagogue had become a community centre for many Jews in the diaspora by this time,

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A History of Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, Volume 4

synagogues seem to have reached Palestine late in the Second Temple period (§9.1.3). We find them mainly on the edge of the region in the first-century sources: Khirbet Wadi Ḥamam, Tiberias, Caesarea. But we also find evidence of a synagogue in Jerusalem (via the Theodotus inscription [§2.2]), though its purpose might have been different from the ‘places of prayer’ that seem to have been the aim of most synagogues at this time. Again, with the temple conveniently near to many people, with an annual or more frequent pilgrimage possible, the need for a religious meeting place was less strongly felt by the local communities in Judaea itself. The differences between the Jews of Israel and those in the diaspora fall mainly into two areas: one, the distance between the temple as centre of worship and where the diaspora Jew actually lived; the other, the fact that diaspora Jews were a minority community in a largely pagan setting. In the diaspora, Jerusalem and its temple was also an object of concern, interest, and identity. Members of the community paid the half shekel temple tax, a not-inconsiderable sum since it represented about two days’ wages for the ordinary worker. For many the temple represented an ideal; the pilgrimage to worship there, a dream; and ultimate burial in the land, a strong desire. Nevertheless, the realities of daily religious practice tended to be more the community, the synagogue, and the home. When Pompey conquered Jerusalem in 63 BCE and brought the Hasmonaean kingdom to an end, the Jewish attitude to the Romans and Roman rule was conditioned by the experience of the previous centuries. The Jews had long lived under various empires and were used to making the best of their situation as a minority population under foreign domination. Then came the Maccabaean revolt and the Hasmonaean state, and Judaea was suddenly an independent kingdom with internal control over the subjects living in it and external control on their actions with regard to the nations roundabout. Not all the Judaeans were happy with Hasmonaean rule, and some rebelled at different times. Yet there was little doubt that they preferred life as an independent nation, and resentment against the Romans never ceased, however much they benefited from Roman rule and the Roman economic measures at times. This is important because sometimes it has been argued (e.g., Mason 2016: 578–79) that they Jews had no need to rebel against the Romans because they were well off. This is where the Herodian rulers come in. It is clearly evident (as Wilker 2007 points out in detail) that the Herodian rulers generally attempted to look out for the welfare of those over whom they ruled or had authority, beginning with Herod the Great. Herod was able to turn

1. Introduction

15

Judah back into a kingdom, with quasi-independence. This does not mean he was loved, and there were those who would have rebelled if they could have. One of the reasons he was favoured by the Romans is that he kept a tight lid on any rebellious desires among the population. His success in this is confirmed by the fact that several revolts sprang up on his death. But both Herod the Great and his successors were able to benefit their subjects at various times by being their spokesman and representing them before the Roman overlords, reducing taxes in times of financial problems, and providing assistance in times of famine or hardship. Among Herod’s descendants were those who were at least partially successful. Archelaus was not one of these, for he was removed from office after ruling for less than ten years (§12.4). Herod Antipas was deposed after a long rule but does not seem to have caused his subjects major harm (§12.8), nor did Philip (§12.7). The reports on Agrippa I (§13.2) are that he was popular with his Jewish subjects, a view that even found its way into rabbinic literature (e.g., m. Sotah 7.8). This was not the case with some of the non-Jews over whom he ruled, for on Agrippa’s death statues of his daughters were placed in brothels and otherwise treated in such a way as to show contempt for the Agrippa family. Agrippa II did not rule over Judaea but did have a certain authority in regard to the temple and was evidently looked up to for moral guidance by Judaeans, even though he was not their king. He arranged to have a large number of temple workers (allegedly 18,000) retained on the temple payroll with the job of paving the streets of Jerusalem, after their work on the temple was complete (§13.2.3). However, when he supposedly attempted to talk the rebels into ceasing their anti-Roman activities at the beginning of he revolt, it was without success, and it is doubtful that his prestige with the Jewish people was ever regained. He of course supported Vespasian in the suppression of the rebellion. Beginning with 6 CE, when Archelaus was removed from office and Judah came under direct Roman rule, Judaean discontent came to a head. There was rebellion in 6 CE when some claimed it was sinful to pay tax to a Gentile overlord (§12.6.2). This attitude was carried forward (allegedly by the group called the Sicarii but it was no doubt broader than this). We hear of several incidents during the governorship of Pontius Pilate (§12.6.3). Things seem to have calmed down under the short reign of Agrippa I, though his career as king began with his friend Caligula’s attempt to place his own statue in the Jerusalem temple. Josephus gives us a picture of what has been called a ‘spiral of violence’ (§14.1.2). We can debate how much of this is due to the interpretation of Josephus himself, but it seems inevitable that the Jews would eventually revolt at

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A History of Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, Volume 4

some point (cf. §14.1.3). With the relatively recent memory of Judah as an independent state under Jewish rule, there would no doubt come a time when the Jews of Palestine would attempt to regain this position. Revolt against Roman rule was just a matter of time. The appropriate occasion came in 66 CE—just about the time we would have expected it from various indications. After the Roman troops were driven out in 66, it took time for Nero to respond to the affront to Roman honour in Judaea. The first area invaded by the Roman army under Vespasian was Galilee, and there was sporadic heavy fighting, though it did not last long. Vespasian systematically reduced the rest of the region as he homed in on Jerusalem. Jerusalem and the temple were destroyed but also the region around Jerusalem for a number of miles, from which material for the siege was requisitioned. Yet much of the country seems to have escaped these ravages, and Vespasian apparently confiscated only the lands of rebels: there is no evidence that most Jews were deprived of their land or that the region failed to recover from the war (§5.2.2). A range of reactions arose in response to the destruction of Jerusalem and especially of the temple. Priests no longer had a formal function, but many of them seem to have taken their place in the recovering Jewish society. Some apocalyptic groups had evidently been wiped out, but the place of apocalyptic in Jewish thought had not gone away. We know from several writings, such as 4 Ezra and 2 Baruch (§3.15), that some Jews still expected the imminent end of Rome by the intervention of God (not to mention the further disastrous Jewish rebellions against Rome). One group, however, seems to have envisaged the future not in further violent action, whether on the part of human or God, but in a passive pursuit of religious piety. This was the rabbinic movement that began in Yavneh. There is much that we do not know about this movement. It seems to have carried over Pharisaic tradition as the core of its religious perspective, but its focus—apparently new—was on study as a religious activity. Groups and leaders other than the Pharisees might have participated in the discussions. But over time a new Jewish religious system was developed and eventually (probably taking centuries) came to dominate Judaism. Yet the defeat of 66–70 was not the end of the matter. Hopes of throwing off Roman rule seem to have remained among many Jews of the region. Again, it was only a matter of time, suitable circumstances, and especially the appropriate leader before Jews of Palestine sought to devest themselves of the hated Roman control. Palestine had become its own province after the Great Revolt and (perhaps from about 100–110 CE) became a consular province. The economy recovered. The rabbinic movement at Yavneh made progress. Then the Jews of Mesopotamia

1. Introduction

17

revolted in the wake of Trajan’s conquests. Not only they but also Jewish groups in Egypt, Cyrenaica, and Cyprus followed suit. Some think the Jews of Palestine were also implicated, but this seems doubtful (§15.6.2). Bloody suppression followed, as one would have expected. But then Judaea once again reared its head against Roman rule, this time under Hadrian. Possibly it was partly his own fault for having plans to build a new city on the site of Jerusalem. But one could argue that having failed in 66–70, the Jews would have another go, especially because apocalyptic expectations had not died down. The disaster that followed put paid to further resistance against Roman rule, and Judaea then seems to have borne the Roman yoke patiently until the Arabs became the new masters of the ancient Near East. 1.4. Terminology and Other Technical Matters

Readers should be aware of several points: • The transliteration of Hebrew will be clear to scholars who work in that language, generally following the standard forms; however, I have used v and f for the non-dageshed forms of bet and pe, while w is always used for waw (or vav, even though now pronounced v by most modern users of Hebrew). An exception is miqva’ot because this is the way it usually occurs. • Proper names generally follow the conventional forms used in English Bibles or by classicists where they are not biblical names. • Translations are normally my own, unless the source of the translation is explicitly given. • The terms ‘apocalyptic’ and ‘apocalypticism’ are used interchangeably as nouns here; some North American scholars object to ‘apocalyptic’ as a noun, but it has a long and respectable history of such usage and is still so used on this side of the Atlantic. • As set out in HJJSTP 3 (6–7), the term ‘Judaean’ is normally restricted to those who live in Judaea or were at least born there. Otherwise, the term ‘Jew’ is used for anyone in the Jewish ethnic community or who is labelled ‫יהודי‬/‫יהדי‬/ἰουδαίος/Iudaeus in the historical sources. • There are problems with the use of the term ‘anti-Semitic’ at this time. The terms ‘anti-Judaism’ and ‘Judaeophobia’ are used here for convenience, even if they are not considered acceptable by some. • ‘Palestine’ is purely a geographical term, used because it has been widely accepted for many years and because it is sometimes difficult to find a suitable substitute.

Part II

Sources

Chapter 2

A r c ha eol og y , I n cl u d i n g I nscr i pti ons a n d C oi n s

This chapter considers the evidence that is usually uncovered by archaeological surveys and excavations. The first part is on what the unwritten part of the material culture tells us about the area of Palestine, divided into two chronology periods: from Herod to Masada, and from Masada to Bar Kokhva. No survey of individual sites is given, but the bibliography in the survey in HJJSTP 3 (42–64) is still relevant in most cases. Also, many individual sites are discussed in the course of the review. After this is a section on inscriptions and papyri: written material but often found in archaeological work and also often contemporary with the events mentioned in their written content. Finally, there is a section on coins. 2.1. Unwritten Remains and Material Culture S. Applebaum (1986) ‘The Settlement Pattern of Western Samaria from Hellenistic to Byzantine Times: A Historical Commentary’, in S. Dar (ed.) Landscape and Pattern: 257–69; idem (1989a) Judea in Hellenistic and Roman Times: Historical and Archaeological Essays; idem (1989b) ‘The Beginnings of the Limes Palaestinae’, in idem, Judaea in Hellenistic and Roman Times: 132–42; R. Arav (2011a) ‘Bethsaida—A Response to Steven Notley’, NEA 74: 92–100; idem (2011b) ‘A Response to Notley’s Reply’, NEA 74: 103–4; idem (2020) ‘Searching for Bethsaida: The Case For Et-Tell’, BAR 46/2: 40–47; M. Aviam (2007) ‘The Archaeological Illumination of Josephus’ Narrative of the Battles at Yodefat and Gamla’, in Z. Rodgers (ed.), Making History: Josephus and Historical Method: 372–84; idem (2011) ‘Socio-economic Hierarchy and its Economic Foundations in First Century Galilee: The Evidence from Yodefat and Gamla’, in J. Pastor, P. Stern, and M. Mor (eds), Flavius Josephus: Interpretation and History: 29–38; N. Avigad (1971) ‘The Burial-Vault of a Nazirite Family on Mount

22

A History of Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, Volume 4 Scopus’, IEJ 21: 185–200; idem (Nov./Dec. 1983) ‘The Burnt House Captures a Moment in Time’, BAR 9/6: 66–72; idem (1984) Discovering Jerusalem; M. Avi-Yonah (1968) ‘The Third and Second Walls of Jerusalem’, IEJ 18: 98–125; idem (1974) ‘Archaeological Sources’, in S. Safrai and M. Stern (eds), The Jewish People in the First Century: 1:46–62; D. Barag and D. Flusser (1986) ‘The Ossuary of Jehohanah Granddaughter of the High Priest Theophilus’, IEJ 36: 39–44; D. Barag et al. (eds) (1994) Masada IV: The Yigael Yadin Excavations 1963–1965, Final Reports; S. Ben-Arieh and E. Netzer (1979) ‘Where Is the Third Wall of Agrippa I?’, BA 42: 140–41; A. M. Berlin (2002a) ‘Power and its Afterlife: Tombs in Hellenistic Palestine’, NEA 65: 138–48; idem (2002b) ‘Romanization and Anti-Romanization in Pre-Revolt Galilee’, in A. M. Berlin and J. A. Overman (eds), The First Jewish Revolt: Archaeology, History, and Ideology: 57–73; idem (2005) ‘Jewish Life before the Revolt: The Archaeological Evidence’, JSJ 36: 417–70; idem (2006) Gamla I: The Pottery of the Second Temple Period; idem (2011) ‘Identity Politics in Early Roman Galilee’, in M. Popović (ed.), The Jewish Revolt against Rome: Interdisciplinary Perspectives: 69–106; idem (2019) ‘Land/Homeland, Story/History: The Social Landscapes of the Southern Levant from Alexander to Augustus’, in A. Yasur-Landau, E. H. Cline, and Y. M. Rowan (eds), The Social Archaeology of the Levant from Prehistory to the Present: 410–37; G. W. Bowersock (1976) ‘Limes Arabicus’, HSCP 80: 219–29; idem (1983) Roman Arabia; M. A. Chancey and A. L. Porter (2001) ‘The Archaeology of Roman Palestine’, NEA 64: 164–203; J. H. Charlesworth (ed.) (2013) The Tomb of Jesus and his Family? Exploring Ancient Jewish Tombs near Jerusalem’s Walls; S. Dar (1986) Landscape and Pattern: An Archaeological Survey of Samaria, 800 B.C.E.–636 C.E.; D. R. Edwards and C. T. McCollough (eds) (1997) Archaeology and the Galilee: Texts and Contexts in the Graeco-Roman and Byzantine Periods; Y. Z. Eliav (1997) ‘Hadrian’s Actions in the Jerusalem Temple Mount according to Cassius Dio and Xiphilini Manus’, JSQ 4: 125–44; idem (2003) ‘The Urban Layout of Aelia Capitolina: A New View from the Perspective of the Temple Mount’, in P. Schäfer (ed.), The Bar Kokhba War Reconsidered: New Perspectives on the Second Jewish Revolt against Rome: 241–77; C. A. Evans (2003) Jesus and the Ossuaries; D. A. Fiensy and J. R. Strange (eds) (2014) Galilee in the Late Second Temple and Mishnaic Periods: Volume 1, Life, Culture, and Society; idem (2015) Galilee in the Late Second Temple and Mishnaic Periods: Volume 2, The Archaeological Record from Cities, Towns, and Villages; G. Foerster (ed.) (1995) Masada V: The Yigael Yadin Excavations 1963–1965, Final Reports: Art and Architecture; K. Galor and G. Avni (eds) (2011) Unearthing Jerusalem: 150 Years of Archaeological Research in the Holy City; K. Galor and H. Bloedhorn (2013) The Archaeology of Jerusalem: From the Origins to the Ottomans; H. Geva (2010) Jewish Quarter Excavations in the Old City of Jerusalem 1969–82: IV Burnt House

2. Archaeology, Including Inscriptions and Coins of Area B and Other Studies; M. Gichon (1967) ‘Idumea and the Herodian Limes’, IEJ 17: 27–42; R. Hachlili (1978) ‘A Jerusalem Family in Jericho’, BASOR 230: 45–56; idem (1979) ‘The Goliath Family in Jericho: Funerary Inscriptions from a First Century A.D. Jewish Monumental Tomb’, BASOR 235: 31–66; idem (2005) Jewish Funerary Customs, Practices and Rites in the Second Temple Period; R. Hachlili and A. E. Killebrew (eds) (1999) Jericho: The Jewish Cemetery of the Second Temple Period; R. Hachlili and P. Smith (1979) ‘The Geneology [sic] of the Goliath Family’, BASOR 235: 67–70 S. C. Herbert (ed.) (1994) Tel Anafa I,i and ii: Final Report on Ten Years of Excavation at a Hellenistic and Roman Settlement in Northern Israel; idem (1997) Tel Anafa II, i: The Hellenistic and Roman Pottery: The Plain Wares and the Fine Wares; B. Isaac (1983) ‘A Donation for Herod’s Temple in Jerusalem’, IEJ 33: 86–92; idem (1988) ‘The Meaning of the Terms Limes and Limitanei’, JRS 78: 125–47; A. Kloner (1980) ‘A Tomb of the Second Temple Period at French Hill, Jerusalem’, IEJ 30: 99–108; idem (1983a) ‘Underground Hiding Complexes from the Bar Kokhba War in the Judean Shephelah’, BA 46: 210–21; idem (1983b) ‘The Subterranean Hideaways of the Judean Foothills and the Bar-Kokhba Revolt’, The Jerusalem Cathedra 3: 114–35; A. Kloner and B. Zissu (2003) ‘Hiding Complexes in Judaea: An Archaeological and Geographical Update on the Area of the Bar Kokhba Revolt’, in P. Schäfer (ed.), The Bar Kokhba War Reconsidered: New Perspectives on the Second Jewish Revolt against Rome: 181–216; idem (2007) The Necropolis of Jerusalem in the Second Temple Period; H.-W. Kuhn (1978) ‘Zum Gekreuzigten von Giv’at ha-Mivtar: Korrektur eines Versehens in der Erstveröffentlichung’, ZNW 69: 118–22; H.-P. Kuhnen (1990) Palästina in griechisch-römischer Zeit; E.-M. Laperrousaz (1980) ‘Le problème du “premier mur” et du “deuxième mur” de Jérusalem après la réfutation décisive de la “minimalist view” ’, in G. Nahon and C. Touati (eds), Hommage à Georges Vajda: 13–35; U. Leibner (2018) Khirbet Wadi Ḥamam: A Roman-Period Village and Synagogue in the Lower Galilee; L. I. Levine (1981) ‘Archaeological Discoveries from the Greco-Roman Era’, in H. Shanks and B. Mazar (eds), Recent Archaeology in the Land of Israel: 75–88; idem (2003) Jerusalem: Portrait of the City in the Second Temple Period (538 BCE–70 CE); B. Lifshitz (1975) ‘Notes philologiques et epigraphiques’, SCI 2: 97–112; B. Mazar, M. Schwabe, and N. Avigad (1973–76) Beth She‘arim; I. B. McNulty (1979) ‘The North Wall Outside Jerusalem’, BA 42: 141–44; Y. Magen (2002) The Stone Vessel Industry in the Second Temple Period: Excavations at Ḥizma and the Jerusalem Temple Mount; J. Magness (2012) The Archaeology of the Holy Land: From the Destruction of Solomon’s Temple to the Muslim Conquest; C. L. Meyers, E. M. Meyers, and J. F. Strange (eds) (1974) ‘Excavations at Meiron, in Upper Galilee, 1971, 1972: A Preliminary Report’, BASOR 214: 2–25; E. M. Meyers (1971) Jewish Ossuaries: Reburial and Rebirth: Secondary Burials in Their Ancient Near

23

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A History of Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, Volume 4 Eastern Setting; idem (1976) ‘Galilean Regionalism as a Factor in Historical Reconstruction’, BASOR 221: 93–101; E. M. Meyers and M. A. Chancey (2012) Alexander to Constantine: Archaeology of the Land of the Bible, volume 3; E. M. Meyers and A. T. Kraabel (1986) ‘Archaeology, Iconography, and Nonliterary Written Remains’, in R. A. Kraft and G. W. E. Nickelsburg (eds), Early Judaism and its Modern Interpreters: 175–210; E. M. Meyers, A. Lynd-Porter, M. Aubin, and M. Chancey (1995) ‘Second Temple Studies in the Light of Recent Archaeology: Part II: The Roman Period, A Bibliography’, CR:BS 3: 129–54; E. M. Meyers and J. F. Strange (1981) Archaeology, the Rabbis and Early Christianity; E. M. Meyers, J. F. Strange, and D. E. Groh (1978) ‘The Meiron Excavation Project: Archaeological Survey in Galilee and Golan, 1976’, BASOR 230: 1–24; E. Netzer (1982) ‘Ancient Ritual Baths (Miqvaot) in Jericho’, Jerusalem Cathedra 2: 106–19; E. Netzer (ed.) (1991) Masada III: The Yigael Yadin Excavations 1963–1965, Final Reports: The Buildings: Stratigraphy and Architecture; R. S. Notley (2007) ‘Et-Tell Is Not Bethsaida’, NEA 70: 220–30; idem (2011) ‘Reply to Arav’, NEA 74: 101–3; R. S. Notley and M. Aviam (2020) ‘Searching for Bethsaida: The Case For El-Araj’, BAR 46/2: 28–39; J. A. Overman (1993) ‘Recent Advances in the Archaeology of the Galilee in the Roman Period’, CR:BS 1: 35–58; J. J. Price (2011) ‘The Jewish Population of Jerusalem from the First Century B.C.E. to the Early Second Century C.E.: The Epigraphic Record’, in M. Popović (ed.), The Jewish Revolt against Rome: Interdisciplinary Perspectives: 399–417; L. Y. Rahmani (1967) ‘Jason’s Tomb’, IEJ 17: 61–100; idem (1981a) ‘Ancient Jerusalem’s Funerary Customs and Tombs: Part One’, BA 44: 171–77; idem (1981b) ‘Ancient Jerusalem’s Funerary Customs and Tombs: Part Two’, BA 44: 229–35; idem (1982a) ‘Ancient Jerusalem’s Funerary Customs and Tombs: Part Three’, BA 45: 43–53; idem (1982b) ‘Ancient Jerusalem’s Funerary Customs and Tombs: Part Four’, BA 45: 109–19; R. Reich (2011) Excavating the City of David: Where Jerusalem’s History Began; P. Richardson (2004) Building Jewish in the Roman East; S. Rocca (2008) The Forts of Judaea 168 BC–AD 73: From the Maccabees to the Fall of Masada; B. E. Schein (1981) ‘The Second Wall of Jerusalem’, BA 44: 21–26; G. Schmitt (1981) ‘Die dritte Mauer Jerusalems’, ZDPV 97: 153–70; J. F. Schroder, Jr (2011) ‘Response to Notley’s Comments’, NEA 74: 100–1; Y. Shahar (2003) ‘The Underground Hideouts in Galilee and their Historical Meaning’, in P. Schäfer (ed.), The Bar Kokhba War Reconsidered: New Perspectives on the Second Jewish Revolt against Rome: 217–40; H. Shanks (May–June 1987) ‘The Jerusalem Wall that Shouldn’t Be There’, BAR 13/3: 46–57; Y. Shivti’el (2019) Cliff Shelters and Hiding Complexes: The Jewish Defense Methods in Galilee during the Roman Period: The Speleological and Archaeological Evidence; J. F. Strange (1975) ‘Late Hellenistic and Herodian Ossuary Tombs at French Hill, Jerusalem’, BASOR 219: 39–67; D. Syon (ed.) (2014) Gamla III: Finds and Studies, Part 1; idem (2016) Gamla III: Finds and Studies, Part 2; D. Syon

2. Archaeology, Including Inscriptions and Coins

25

and Zvi Yavor (eds) (2010) Gamla II—The Architecture; D. Ussishkin (1993) ‘Archaeological Soundings at Betar, Bar-Kochba’s Last Stronghold’, TA 20: 66–97; J. Wilkinson (1975) ‘The Streets of Jerusalem’, Levant 7: 118–36; Y. Yadin (1973) ‘Epigraphy and Crucifixion’, IEJ 23: 18–22; Y. Yadin (ed.) (1975) Jerusalem Revealed; J. Zias and E. Sekeles (1985) ‘The Crucified Man from Giv’at ha-Mivtar: A Reappraisal’, IEJ 35: 22–27.

The archaeology was surveyed in previous volumes. Much of the bibliography on individual sites remains relevant for the period from Herod to Bar Kokhva (HJJSTP 3: 42–64), though no such survey is given here. A review of the period is given by Kuhnen 1990; see also Chancey/Porter 2001; Overman 1993; Berlin 2005; Meyers/Chancey 2012; Magness 2012. One of the best-known sites for this period is Jerusalem; see Reich 2011; also Galor/Bloedhorn 2013; Yadin (ed.) 1975; Avigad 1984. Archaeology is always important because it provides primary data and allows us not only to supplement but also to double check the literary sources. Some historical data would simply be unknown were it not for the archaeology. The time period will be divided into two: from Herod to the fall of Masada, and from the fall of Masada to the end of the Bar Kokhva revolt; the survey will generally be from north to south. For the period before 70, we have a good deal of literary data, especially in Josephus, but archaeology is still important. After 70, however, archaeology is even more important because of the paucity of literary evidence. It includes not only artefacts as such but also a number of epigraphic sources: Roman milestones, drain tiles, ossuaries, and other brief inscriptions of various sorts (for epigraphic data, see the next section [§2.2]). 2.1.1. From Herod to the Fall of Masada Herod the Great had initiated a massive building programme around his realm (HJJSTP 3: 464–66). With his death about 4 BCE, this came to a halt (except for continuing work on the Jerusalem temple). His successors—his three sons, his grandson, and his great grandson—also undertook building projects but not as extensive or as grand as his, though often important. Archelaus undertook one major project, the founding of a city Archelais. This has now been identified with the site of Khirbet el-Beiyudat, about 12 km north of Jericho, because of an inscription there mentioning the name of the city. In his short reign of a decade this seems to have been his only major building project. Josephus (Ant. 17.13.1 §340) says that he rebuilt Herod’s palace in Jericho after it was destroyed in the revolt under Varus, but the excavator thinks all the palaces were by Herod himself, including the third palace, which had been assigned to Archelaus (NEAEHL 2:690).

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His brother Philip, who ruled an area in Gaulanitis (Golan) north of Galilee, mostly Gentile, upgraded the centre at Panias (which had also received attention from Herod). Panias became Caesarea Philippi, named after (Augustus) Caesar and Philip himself. He also renovated the fishing village Bethsaida, renaming it Julias (probably for Augustus’s wife Livia Julia, though possibly his daughter Julia). Until recently it was usually identified with et-Tell north of the Sea of Galilee; however, some have now argued that the site of El-Araj (Beit Habek), which is closer to the Sea of Galilee, is the correct identification (see the debate involving Arav 2011a, 2011b; Notley 2007, 2011; Schroder 2011; Notley/Aviam 2020; Arav 2020). The argument at the moment seems to favour et-Tell. At et-Tell a large building with columns (but not mentioned by Josephus) might be a temple dedicated to the imperial cult. Two other major sites in his realm were Tel Anafa and Gamala (Gamla). Tel Anafa was apparently a Roman settlement in the first century CE, being abandoned about the middle of the century (Herbert 1994, 1997). Gamala (Berlin 2006; Syon/Yavor 2010; Syon 2002, 2014, 2016; Aviam 2007) was evidently rebuilt in the early first century CE, after being abandoned in the late first century BCE. A ‘basilica’, a large public building constructed in the early first century CE, seems to have been needed in addition to the synagogue, though its precise use is not known. All over the site are pointers to the Roman attack on the city in 67 CE. Alterations to buildings for defensive purposes is evident here and there. There are also Roman ballista stones found in various places where they fell after being fired at the city during the siege, as well as some arrowheads. The main breech of the city wall has been identified near the synagogue. One recently published site is Khirbet Wadi Ḥamam, a village with a synagogue only two kilometres west of the Sea of Galilee, opposite Magdala (Leibner 2018). Stratum 4 dates to the Late Chalcolithic to Early Bronze 1a (c. 4500–3300 BCE). This was followed, with a considerable gap, by stratum 3 (100 BCE to 135 CE). A large public building in the centre of the village, constructed about the middle of the first century CE, might have been a synagogue. The village of stratum 3 came to an end in a massive destruction in the period 125–35 CE. Because this was toward the end of Hadrian’s rule, this has led to the speculation that its destruction might be associated with the revolt under Bar Kokhva. If so, it seems to be the only Galilean site that was destroyed by fighting at that time. After an abandonment of probably some decades, habitation was resumed in stratum 2 (200–400 CE). A ‘Galilean’ type of synagogue was built on the site of the earlier public building of stratum 3. Evidence of decline came in the fourth century, and the village seems to have been abandoned in the late fourth or early fifth century CE.

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The third brother, Herod Antipas, ruled over the Galilean area and Peraea. His building activity had to do primarily with Sepphoris and Tiberias (Chancey/Porter 2001: 179–81). Sepphoris was supposed to have been destroyed during the revolt after Herod’s death at the time of Varus (Ant. 18.2.1 §27), but no such massive destruction has been found in excavations. Antipas expanded the city to include paved streets in the acropolis area, a grid system of street planning, an aqueduct, and apparently a large basilica. Some of the building activity may be later than Antipas (e.g., the large theatre, though some want to date it to his reign). He also renamed the city Autocratoris, apparently in honour of Augustus, but the name evidently did not stick. He also renamed Betharamphtha as Julias (after Augustus’s wife), though the site has not certainly been identified (War 2.9.1 §168; Ant. 18.2.1 §27). Antipas’s main innovation was to found the city of Tiberias about 20 CE (named of course after Tiberius) on the western side of the Sea of Galilee. Because he built it in an area of old graves, many Jews thought it ritually unclean and would not move there. The Roman theatre is possibly from the time of Antipas. There was a marble palace (unusual for this time), a stadium, and (according to Josephus [Life 54 §§277-80]) a synagogue. The palace evidently had images that were unacceptable to some Jews (cf. §9.3.1) that Josephus was supposed to destroy when he was sent to Galilee (§14.2.4). Archaeological data have also been found for Nazareth (mainly agricultural) and Capernaum. The Capernaum synagogue remains are later (fourth–fifth centuries CE), though a first-century building underneath has been postulated as a synagogue (so far without clear evidence). A nearby house has been labelled ‘Peter’s house’, again a case of speculation (or wishful thinking). Galilee was mainly a rural area in the first century, with most of the inhabitants living by farming, fishing, or small crafts. The only real cities were Sepphoris and Tiberias. There is some debate about the economy, whether the growth of the two main cities was good for the economy or had the effect of greater impoverishment (see further at §5.2.1). For some reason, neither Sepphoris nor Tiberias are mentioned in the NT, only villages. Perhaps Jesus and those he associated with avoided the cities, though why this would be the case is a matter of speculation. At the time of the Great Revolt Galilee was the initial battle ground of Vespasian’s invading forces. Of the towns mentioned above, the cities Sepphoris and Tiberias (as well as Gamala in the Golan) were all involved. Although Sepphoris strengthened their fortifications with Josephus’s assistance (War 3.4.1 §§61-62), the city as a whole was against resisting the Romans. In the end, Sepphoris communicated with Vespasian and received Roman aid; the city was thus not damaged by the fighting. The

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city issued coins in honour of Vespasian (§14.4.1). The views in Tiberias were more turbulent (§14.2.4; §14.4.1): Josephus describes three different parties in Tiberias, each with a different view about the revolt (Life 9 §§32-36). The result was that the city wavered between the Romans and the rebels. They initially went for accommodation with the Romans until forced by Josephus’s presence to join the rebels; however, they quickly shifted back to the Romans when the opportunity arose. A minority faction led by one of the magistrates routed a small Roman contingent which came to offer terms to the city. But then a delegation of citizens rushed to the Roman camp and offered submission of the city to Vespasian, with Agrippa’s support. Thus, by opening its gates to Vespasian, Tiberias was spared any looting or major destruction. In addition to these two cities, several other towns also became important. The town of Tarichaeae on the western shores of the Sea of Galilee (probably south of Tiberias, though the location is still disputed) was one of those that initially resisted the Romans (§14.4.1). The population was divided on the question of whether to fight the Romans, which allowed the Romans to take the city by quick storming. The other main village to resist the Romans was Jotapata. According to Josephus the defenders strengthened the pre-existing Hellenistic fortifications and managed to hold out against the Roman siege for 47 days before being taken (War 3.8.9 §406). Excavation (Aviam 2002, 2007, 2011) shows that there were two phases to the fortifications, one in the late Hellenistic period and one in the early Roman. The last phase of the Roman building, which shows signs of haste, seems to be the one brought about by Josephus. The excavators of Jotapata found plenty of artefacts relating to the siege: ballista stones, catapult points, arrowheads. The remains of a siege ramp were discovered which had been used by the Romans to bring up their siege engines. Many skeletons and bones that seem to relate to the siege were also discovered, especially in hiding places such as cisterns. It appears that most of these bones had been gathered up a year or so after the siege and only then buried. Another village that initially shut its gate to the Romans was Gischala (§14.4.1). When the Romans arrived to besiege it, the rebel leader John said he would surrender after the sabbath, but then made off to Jerusalem with many of his followers where he fought to the end. So, no destruction took place there. Jerusalem had been greatly expanded and enhanced by Herod the Great (HJJSTP 3: 465–66). This was basically the city that existed until the 66–70 war. The Upper City or Western Hill contained Herod’s palace, which was then used by his successors, Archelaus, Agrippa I, and

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Agrippa II. The area was mainly a residential area, with many dwellings inhabited by priests and wealthy upper-class Jews. This quarter was destroyed during the Great Revolt and the houses burned. The types of dwelling and the destruction and conflagration are well illustrated by two of those excavated in what is referred to today as the Jewish Quarter. One of these was the ‘Palatial Building’ or ‘the Mansion’ (Avigad 1984: 95–120; Galor/Bloedhorn 2013: 90–94; Magness 2012: 143–44; Meyers/Chancey 2012: 156–58). It covered about 600 m2, surrounding a central paved courtyard. There was a great deal of decoration, with mosaic floors and frescoes (though in one room, these had been plastered over) yet without images of humans, deities, or animals. Many luxury items included locally made stone tables, imported Eastern Sigillata A dishes, and a glass vase made by a famous Phoenician craftsman Ennion (intact but sadly distorted by the fire). The house had bathrooms but also more than one miqveh. A smaller dwelling was the ‘Burnt House’, about 55 m2 of which could be excavated (Geva 2010; Avigad 1984: 120–39). A stone weight with the inscription ‘[belonging to] Bar Qatros’ (‫ )[ד]בר קתרס‬suggests that this house belonged to a priest from the line of Qatros known from rabbinic literature (t. Menah. 13.21; b. Pesah. 57a). There were also several sunken ovens, stone tables, basalt mortars, oil juglets, and perfume bottles, all suggesting some sort of workshop. The house contained a miqveh. Many coins from the Roman governors of Judaea and from the Great Revolt lay on the floors, and a spear was leaning in the corner of one room. Iron nails (apparently from the burnt roof) made up part of the debris. The forearm and hand bones of a young woman were found, evidently left after she was buried under the collapsing dwelling (perhaps the rest of the body being taken away for burial). One topic of continuing interest and controversy is the location of the various walls of Jerusalem (see especially Levine 2003: 314–18; also Meyers/Chancey 2012: 124–25; Magness 2012: 159–62; Galor/ Bloedhorn 2013: 68–74; Schmitt 1981; other studies include Avi-Yonah 1968; Ben-Arieh/Netzer 1979; McNulty 1979; Laperrousaz 1980; Schein 1981; Shanks 1987). The identity of the First Wall, probably built by John Hyrcanus (or possibly Alexander Jannaeus), has not been a problem. Various sections of this wall have been uncovered in the Jewish Quarter. The Second Wall was built by Herod the Great according to some scholars, though others would assign it to Hyrcanus II (Levine 2002: 110; Magness 2012: 159; Galor/Bloehorn 2013: 71; Meyers/Chancey 2012: 38). The line of this wall has not been clearly worked out, only the beginning and end points: the Citadel and the Antonia fortress; however, most

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think it went east of the present site of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, leaving that area outside the wall, because there were tombs there. The ‘minimalists’ make the Third Wall more or less follow the north wall of the present Old City of Jerusalem; the maximalists think it was 450 m north of there, following what has been called the Meyer-Sukenik line, a fortification wall that has been partially uncovered. (‘Minimalists’ argue that the Meyer-Sukenik wall is either a defensive wall built by the rebels before the siege or a circumvallation wall built by Titus.) According to Josephus, this Third Wall was begun by Agrippa I but abandoned when he became worried the Romans might think he had ulterior motives or because of his death (War 2.11.6 §§218-19), though the rebels hastily finished the construction (War 5.4.2-3 §§147-59). Caesarea, which had been involved in one of the first encounters between Jews and anti-Jewish elements, had been important as a Roman supporter (§14.2.1; Chancey/Porter 2001: 185). The city was allowed to issue coins during the revolt that extolled Vespasian. At the end of the revolt, it was given the status of a Roman colony (Pliny the Elder 5.14.69). One of the most curious developments in the material culture came about in the first centuries BCE and CE, already commented on in HJJSTP 3 (73–74). Comments will now be given in greater detail (see especially Berlin 2005; also 2002b, 2011). A. M. Berlin describes ‘a population strongly unified in religious practices but sharply divided by cultural ethic’ (2005: 418). Beginning in the early to mid-first century BCE, we have the rise of what Berlin calls ‘household Judaism’: plain table ware and cooking vessels; plain oil lamps; a concern for ritual purity, with the use of stone vessels and miqva’ot; and the use of plain burials (see below). These seem to have been a mark of ethnic identity and solidarity, though there was no legal or halakhic requirement according to any of our extant sources. The miqveh or ritual bath as means of ritual cleansing arose in the late Hasmonaean period (HJJSTP 3: 270). At the same time, we see a move toward a plainer lifestyle among many Jews, as judged by their material culture. Toward the end of the first century BCE the use of stoneware cups and drinking vessels, which were not subject to impurity, became widespread in the Jewish community. This move was replicated in the use of tableware and lamps. In the first century BCE Jewish homes in Galilee had mainly plain tableware, though each home generally had a few imported East Sigillata A (ESA) pieces as serving dishes. In the first century CE there is still plain tableware but almost no serving dishes and no ESA or other imported items. Also, most Jews were using knife-pared lamps, which were similar to the Roman-style mould-made discus lamp but with a centre hole for filling and almost no decoration. Most of these lamps were manufactured in Jerusalem, even those used in Galilee.

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There was another side to this, however: the members of royalty, the wealthy upper-class, and especially the higher-ranking priests tended to take a different path. Ritual purity was important—indeed, the miqveh seems to have originated with the priestly Hasmonaean dynasty— especially for priests serving in the temple. But the material culture of the great houses shows a luxurious lifestyle with many influences from the Graeco-Roman culture. This included decorated dining rooms, Roman-style cooking pans suggesting Roman-recipe dishes, and imported dining ware. The elaborately decorated tombs, found especially around Jerusalem, attest to the wealth of the few who could afford such honours even in death. That the plain lifestyle was a religious and ethnic statement is indicated by changes after 70 CE when, for example, a new style of Jewish lamp appeared, mould-made and containing elaborate floral and geometric designs. In her 2005 study Berlin does not speculate on the cause of this odyssey of material culture, though she does comment in a footnote that if the Teacher of Righteousness and the founding of the Qumran community is dated to the mid-first century BCE (as some think), this adoption of an ascetic lifestyle by the Essenes and Qumran would coincide with the general move among ordinary Jews to a plainer lifestyle (Berlin 2005: 469 n. 148). Earlier Berlin (2002) had suggested that this might have to do with a statement about ethnic identity, especially in the Galilee where many in the population bordered on Phoenicia. Then in 2011 she went on to link this with the impact of Rome on the Judaeans, especially the shrines honouring Roman gods. This is an interesting suggestion, but one could go further. It is striking that the first changes seem to come about approximately during the reign of Alexandra Salome. According to Josephus (HJJSTP 3: 424–26), she was dominated by the Pharisees who were able to have their legal opinions enforced at state level. Ritual purity had been important to Jews for centuries, especially with regard to the temple. But the main concern for purity was incumbent on the priests who had to eat their meals in a state of ritual purity. There was no requirement that everyday meals had to be eaten by ordinary Jews in a state of purity; yet this apparently became a Pharisaic concern, judging by rulings and debates in the Mishnah and other early rabbinic literature. Perhaps—and other explanations are certainly possible—Pharisaic influence had something to do with this change in material culture, especially at a time when they had considerable political power (a situation that did not seem to continue after Alexandra’s death [see HJJSTP 3: 143–65 for a detailed study]). But Roman impact could also have been a factor, especially over time. In the mid-first century BCE Pompey ended the Hasmonaean kingdom

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and extended Roman rule over Judaea. This loss of independence would have pushed many Jews to express ethnic solidarity in whatever means they could apart from actually fighting the Romans. Lifestyle choice was an obvious means of doing so and probably became more significant as Roman domination continued over time. Tombs and burials are an important feature of Jewish material culture. As noted in HJJSTP 3 (72), Jewish burial began to take on unique characteristics in the first century BCE. It was also at this time that the use of ossuaries for secondary burial became fashionable. Recent studies on Jewish tombs and burials include Kloner/Zissu (2007), Berlin (2002a), Hachlili (2005), Hachlili/Killebrew (eds) (1999), Rahmani (1981a, 1981b, 1982a, 1982b). One burial that excited a good deal of attention when it was first discovered was the crucified individual from Giv’at ha-Mivtar (Kuhn 1978; Yadin 1973; Zias/Sekeles 1985). Other studies on particular tombs include Avigad (1971), Hachlili (1978, 1979), Hachlili/Smith (1979), Kloner (1980), Rahmani (1967). Charlesworth (ed.) (2013) contains studies and theories on the controversial Talpiyot tomb and its ossuaries, which will be of interest especially to NT scholars (see §2.2 below for a further discussion). Ossuary studies include Barag/Flusser (1986), Meyers (1971); and Strange (1975). Evans (2003) also has a great deal of information on individual Jewish ossuaries of the first century. Many of the ossuaries have inscriptions; these are recorded in CIIP (see next section [§2.2]). Two approaches to burial arose in the first century BCE. One was of ostentatious display, obviously for the wealthy who could afford it and also any burial rites that might have been similarly luxurious. But in keeping with the move toward simple household ceramics and objects catering for purity concerns, there was also a move on the part of many to plain rock-cut tombs. There tended to be three types of tombs at this time. The most frequent, found in Jerusalem and around the countryside is (1) the rock-cut burial cave, which was without decoration but had a forecourt that allowed a family gathering at the funeral and also at any later memorial rites. They often contained ossuaries for secondary burial of the bones after excarnation. These fitted the move to a plain lifestyle, in contrast with (2) the display tombs, which are only a small percentage of the total. Finally, there were (3) the shaft tombs which are the most depersonalized, found especially at Qumran and a few other sites around Jerusalem. It is suggested that these might all be associated with Essene or other ascetic sectarian communities. Some of the main points discussed in this section can be outlined as follows:

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• Miqva’ot first appear in Jericho, probably during the reign of Alexander Jannaeus (first quarter of the first century BCE), though they also apparently occur at Qumran, Gezer, and Gamala about the same time (assuming the identification is correct, which most scholars do). Thus, they may be—though not certainly are—a Hasmonaean innovation. In any case, they expand widely, sometimes being community institutions, sometimes in individual homes, and sometimes accompanying synagogues (though synagogues are rare in Palestine at this time [§9.1.3]): ‘The variable distribution of mikva’ot suggests a comparable variability in attitudes and behaviours, with purity considerations falling along a continuum’ (Berlin 2005: 453). • The material culture in Galilee and much of Judaea and other areas where ordinary Jews lived becomes plainer from the early-mid first century BCE, with an interest in using locally produced oil, wine, and cooking vessels. • This starts to encompass the use of plain oil lamps and stone dishes (which did not contract ritual impurity) at the end of the first century BCE and into the early first century CE. • In mid-first century BCE four new pottery workshops rose up, in Jerusalem, Qumran, at Kfar Hananya in Galilee, and near Gamala. They continued to make wares already being manufactured; their one selling point was that they were Jewish potters. This goes along with a switch in style of household pottery. • Beginning at the start of the first century BCE and continuing throughout it, the standard pottery container was the ‘squared rim’ jar. In the first century CE (and into the second) this was replaced with the ‘straight rim’ jar as the standard form. These jars are made and used at the same time as many wine and oil installations appear throughout Judaea, Samaria, and the Golan. • The traditional Jewish cooking pot (as elsewhere in the ancient Near East) was the wide-bodied, narrow necked pot with two handles. Stew pots and casseroles (Greek in origin) came into Phoenicia in the third and second centuries BCE. They reached Galilee and Gaulanitis in the early-to-mid-first century BCE but Jerusalem and Judaea at the end of the first century BCE. Pans (Italian in origin) appear only in palatial sites before the early first century CE when they are found in Galilee; however, except for upper-class sites, pans are almost never found in rural Judaean sites and are infrequent in Jerusalem. • From the early-to-mid-first century BCE most Judaean households used plain, locally made bowls and plates for dining; they also usually had, however, a few imported Eastern Sigillata A red-slipped serving

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dishes. This changed in the first century CE, when the use of imported wares ceased, and the dinner ware was mainly plain small dishes, two or three jugs, and a large serving bowl, locally made either of ceramic or stone. • The use of stone vessels in relation to eating (cups and mugs, widemouthed jars, bowls and trays, small bowls and saucers, and table tops) appears in the late first century BCE and was widespread in the first century CE. The attraction was evidently that stone vessels did not take ritual impurity. Their use was a religious and ethnic statement: ‘Stone vessels would have communicated ethic pride and attentiveness to Judaism. Their appearance demonstrated conspicuous religious solidarity’ (Berlin 2005: 433). • Judaean knife-pared oil lamps were created at the end of the first century BCE and came to be used all over the Jewish areas in the first century CE. The lamp was similar to the Italian mould-made lamp, except that it had a hole to fill the lamp in the centre and was without decoration. Studies have shown that the lamps used widely, including in the Golan, were manufactured in Jerusalem. • Finally, the plain rock-cut burial caves fitted with this general approach. They mirror this move to a plain lifestyle, with no show through decoration of material objects and a focus on ritual purity. Nevertheless, there were a few elaborately decorated tombs which were probably the scene of ostentatious funeral rites in honour of the person entombed there. Relevant discussion and bibliography relating to archaeology is found in various sections of Chapters 14 and 15. The excavation reports on Masada are found in Netzer (1991), Barag et al. (1994), and Foerster (1995); the site and especially its siege are discussed at §14.5. 2.1.2. From the Fall of Masada to the Bar Kokhva Revolt The destruction from the Great Revolt all over Palestine is hard to estimate. There had been fighting in the Galilee, but the destruction there (except for a few towns and cities, such as Jotapata and Gamala) seems to have been relatively minor. Jerusalem and the surrounding area, on the other hand, were heavily damaged or destroyed. Some have estimated the dead as a third of the population (Meyers/Chancey 2012: 164), though this can only be an educated guess. But the disruption caused by the military advance, the displacement and death of a large section of the population, and the general destruction of infrastructure and resources was enormous. The question is how quickly the country was able to recover. As so often, estimates differ considerably.

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There were also changes from the Roman point of view. Rome had found the use of client kings a very utilitarian concept in maintaining boundaries and also harbouring resources, but the policy now changed. The kingdom of Chalcis had been taken away from Agrippa II in 54 CE (Ant. 20.7.1 §138) and given to Aristobulus, son of Herod of Chalcis (Ant. 20.8.4 §158). At the death of Aristobulus about 92 CE, the territory reverted to Roman rule. With the death of Agrippa II (apparently sometime in the 90s CE) his kingdom was reabsorbed into Syria under the Roman legate in Antioch. Then, with the death of Rabbel II Nabataea also ceased to be a client kingdom but was now the Roman province of Arabia (Bowersock 1983: 76–82). The Romans also did a good deal of work in extending the road system (Chancey/Porter 2001: 190). In addition to the Via Nova Traiana (see below) there was now a link from Caesarea to Legio (a legionary site near Nazareth), and Scythopolis in the Decapolis. Another road going north to south connected Jerusalem, Neapolis (Shechem), Sebaste (Samaria), and Legio. Other routes were Jerusalem to Gaza and Joppa, Tiberias to Ptolemais, and Caesarea Philippi to Tyre. The fact is that direct Roman rule was good for the economy, including in Agrippa II’s former kingdom after his death. The area to the east of the Jordan included the Decapolis cities, Gaulanitis, Peraea, and Arabia. The region began to expand toward the end of the first century CE and especially in the second (Chancey/Porter 2001: 187). This was at least in part due to increased trade, aided by a trading network that included En-gedi. Facilitating this trade was the Via Nova Traiana, a road that extended from the Red Sea to Syria. It was begun in 107 CE (after the annexation of Nabataea) by the governor of Arabia, G. Claudius Severus, and was completed during the reign of Hadrian. The road followed essentially the old King’s Highway and the so-called Roman limes Arabicus, beginning with Aqaba and extending up to the Dead Sea, stretching along its east side on up to Bostra and then to Damascus. The limes Arabicus (Bowersock 1976, though the name is probably a misnomer [Isaac 1988]) has been conceived as a part of the Roman frontier defence against tribes from the Arabian Desert, but the building of military structures apparently began only later in the second century CE, i.e., the road may have preceded any military erections. The effects of the Bar Kokhva revolt were clearly being felt in this region, but it seems not to have left too many destruction levels in Palestine (since much of the fighting seems to have taken place in southern Judaea). As already noted above (§2.1.1), the village of Khirbet Wadi Ḥaman was destroyed late in the reign of Hadrian, which might be associated with Bar Kokhva’s activities; however, no other Galilean sites are so far associated with Bar Kokhva’s fight. Some evidence of activity against refugees in

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southern Judaea is found in two Roman camps above the Nahal Hever caves (NEAEHL 3:827; cf. also §15.5); evidence of command and/or storage buildings and ovens was found, as well as tent foundations. They were clearly set up to besiege the caves below. The site of Bar Kokhva’s last stand at Betar (Khirbet al-Yahud) was excavated in 1984 (Ussishkin 1993; NEAEHL 5:1604–5; see §15.7.1 for further information). Whether Jerusalem became Aelia Capitolina before or after Bar Kokhva is discussed at §15.7.2; in any case, the layout of the city is a matter largely of archaeology, since we have little in the way of other sources. One prevalent view seems to go back to the synthesis of J. Germer-Durand that the Ottoman city followed roughly the plan of the Roman city (Eliav 2003: 250). Any reconstruction must be hypothetical to a large extent, but there are some archaeological finds to help. The three main ones are an arched gate at the site of the present Damascus Gate, another arched gate on the east, just north of the western wall of the Temple Mount, and a colonnaded street that follows the Suq el-husur (the Jews-Habad streets) which seemed to connect up with the route going south from the Damascus Gate. Drawing on these Y. Z. Eliav (2003) has reconstructed an Aelia Capitolina that had reoriented the focus of the city onto the northwestern hill. Eliav’s Aelia did not have a city wall but boundaries on the east (parallel to the western wall of the Temple Mount), on the north (with a gate at the present Damascus Gate), and west (about the present Jaffa Gate). The colonnaded street stretched south from the Damascus Gate area, though how far south it extended has not been determined. It is also not certain whether the southwestern hill (which had been the wealthy area of the pre-70 city) was included in the city boundaries, though it probably was. Also, the camp of the 10th Legion was likely in this area (though several other sites have been suggested). The most startling part of the reconstruction is that the Temple Mount was outside the boundaries. It remained in ruins; Eliav argues that there was also no Roman temple or shrine set up on the site. The argument that there was such a temple is based on a passage of Cassius Dio (69.12.1; see Eliav 1997). This part of Dio’s text comes to us in the epitome of the eleventh-century monk Xiphilinus. Eliav’s analysis casts doubt on the statement’s being what Dio wrote; rather, it looks like an allegation composed by Xiphilinus or another Christian writer. Thus, Dio’s statement cannot be relied on that a Roman temple was set up on the site of the Jewish temple. The Roman temple area was elsewhere—on the site of what became the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. In the Judaean hills settlement began to increase during the Hellenistic period and continued until the second century CE, at which point it

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levelled off, probably because of the Great Revolt and the Bar Kokhva uprising (NEAEHL 3:816). The number of settlements remained roughly the same, but the area settled seems to have declined. Recovery took time, though there seems evidence of it by the Byzantine period. The Jews of Palestine, whatever their personal views, had apparently come to the conclusion that revolts against Rome required a greater price than they were willing to pay. 2.2. Inscriptions, Papyri, and Manuscripts W. Ameling (ed.) (2004) Inscriptiones Judaicae Orientis, Volume II Kleinasien; W. Ameling et al. (eds) (2011) Corpus Inscriptionum Iudaeae/ Palaestinae, Volume II Caesarea and the Middle Coast: 1121–2160 (= CIIP II); idem (2014) Corpus Inscriptionum Iudaeae/Palaestinae, Volume III South Coast: 2161–2648 (= CIIP III); idem (2018a) Corpus Inscriptionum Iudaeae/Palaestinae, Volume IV: Iudaea/Idumaea, Part 1: 2649–3324; idem (2018b) Corpus Inscriptionum Iudaeae/Palaestinae, Volume IV: Iudaea/Idumaea, Part 2: 3325–3978 (= CIIP IV); S. Applebaum (1979) Jews and Greeks in Ancient Cyrene; B. Bagatti and J. T. Milik (1958) Gli scavi del “Dominus Flevit” (Monte Oliveto-Gerusalemme); D. Barthélemy (1963) Les devanciers d’Aquila; P. Benoit, J. T. Milik, and R. de Vaux (eds) (1961) Les grottes de Murabba’ât; H. M. Cotton (1995) ‘The Archive of Salome Komaïse Daughter of Levi: Another Archive from the “Cave of Letters” ’, ZPE 105: 171–208; H. M. Cotton and W. Eck (2002) ‘P. Murabba‘at 114 und die Anwesenheit römischer Truppen in den Höhlen des Wadi Murabba‘at nach dem Bar Kochba Aufstand’, ZPE 138: 173–83; H. M. Cotton and J. Geiger (eds) (1989) Masada II: The Yigael Yadin Excavations 1963–1965, Final Reports: The Latin and Greek Documents; H. Cotton et al. (eds) (2011) Corpus Inscriptionum Iudaeae/ Palaestinae, Volume I Jerusalem, Part 1: 1–704; idem (2012) Corpus Inscriptionum Iudaeae/Palaestinae, Volume I Jerusalem, Part 2: 705–1120 (= CIIP I); H. M. Cotton and A. Yardeni (eds) (1997) Aramaic, Hebrew and Greek Documentary Texts from Naḥal Ḥever and Other Sites, with an Appendix Containing Alleged Qumran Texts (The Seiyâl Collection II); H. Eshel (2002) ‘Documents of the First Jewish Revolt from the Judean Desert’, in A. M. Berlin and J. A. Overman (eds), The First Jewish Revolt: Archaeology, History, and Ideology: 157–63; idem (2003) ‘The Dates Used during the Bar Kokhba Revolt’, in P. Schäfer (ed.), The Bar Kokhba War Reconsidered: New Perspectives on the Second Jewish Revolt against Rome: 93–105; J. A. Fitzmyer and D. J. Harrington (1978) A Manual of Palestinian Aramaic Texts; D. Goodblatt (1999) ‘Dating Documents in Provincia Iudaea: A Note on Papyri Murabbaʿat 19 and 20’, IEJ 49: 249–59; W. Horbury and D. Noy (eds) (1992) Jewish Inscriptions of Graeco-Roman Egypt. With an Index of the Jewish Inscriptions of Egypt and

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A History of Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, Volume 4 Cyrenaica; B. Isaac (1983) ‘A Donation for Herod’s Temple in Jerusalem’, IEJ 33: 86–92; E. Koffmahn (1968) Die Doppelurkunden aus der Wüste Juda; H. J. Leon (1995) The Jews of Ancient Rome; N. Lewis (ed.) (1989) The Documents from the Bar Kokhba Period in the Cave of Letters: Greek Papyri, with Y. Yadin and J. C. Greenfield (eds) Aramaic and Nabatean Signatures and Subscriptions; H. Lichtenstein (1931–32) ‘Die Fastenrolle: Eine Untersuchung zur jüdisch-hellenistischen Geschichte’, HUCA 8–9: 257–351; J. Naveh (1973) ‘An Aramaic Tomb Inscription Written in PaleoHebrew Script’, IEJ 23: 82–91; D. Noy (ed.) (1993) Jewish Inscriptions of Western Europe. Volume 1: Italy (excluding the City of Rome), Spain and Gaul; idem (1995) Jewish Inscriptions of Western Europe. Volume 2: The City of Rome; D. Noy and H. Bloedhorn (eds) (2004) Inscriptiones Judaicae Orientis, Volume III Syria and Cyprus; D. Noy, A. Panayotov, and H. Bloedhorn (eds) (2004) Inscriptiones Judaicae Orientis, Volume I Eastern Europe; J. A. Overman (1993) ‘Recent Advances in the Archaeology of the Galilee in the Roman Period’, CR:BS 1: 35–58; D. Pardee et al. (1982) Handbook of Ancient Hebrew Letters; J. Patrich (1985) ‘Inscriptions araméennes juives dans les grottes d’El-’Aleiliyât: Wadi Suweinit (Nahal Michmas)’, RB 92: 265–73; M. Pucci Ben Zeev (2005) Diaspora Judaism in Turmoil, 116/117 CE: Ancient Sources and Modern Insights; E. Puech (1983) ‘Inscriptions funéraires palestiniennes: tombeau de Jason et ossuaires’, RB 90: 481–533; E. S. Rosenthal (1973) ‘The Giv’at ha-Mivtar Inscription’, IEJ 23: 72–81; L. V. Rutgers (1995) The Jews in Late Ancient Rome: Evidence of Cultural Interaction in the Roman Diaspora; M. Sokoloff (1980) ‘The Giv’at ha-Mivtar Aramaic Tomb Inscription in Paleo-Hebrew Script and its Historical Implications’, Immanuel 10: 38–46; S. Talmon and Y. Yadin (eds) (1999) Masada VI: Yigael Yadin Excavations 1963–1965, Final Reports: The Hebrew Fragments; The Ben Sira Scroll; E. Tov (1999) ‘The Papyrus Fragments Found in the Judean Desert’, in J.-M. Auwers and A. Wénin (eds), Lectures et relectures de la Bible: 247–55; E. Tov et al. (eds) (1990) The Greek Minor Prophets Scroll from Naḥal Ḥever (8ḤevXIIgr); P. Trebilco (1991) Jewish Communities in Asia Minor; M. H. Williams (1994) ‘The Jews of Corycus—A Neglected Diasporan Community from Roman Times’, JSJ 25: 274–86; idem (1998) The Jews among the Greeks and Romans: A Diaspora Handbook; Y. Yadin (ed.) (1965) The Ben Sira Scroll from Masada; Y. Yadin and Y. Meshorer (eds) (1989) Masada I: The Yigael Yadin Excavations 1963–1965, Final Reports: The Aramaic and Hebrew Ostraca and Jar Inscriptions; The Coins of Masada; Y. Yadin, J. C. Greenfield, A. Yardeni, and B. A. Levine (eds) (2002) The Documents from the Bar Kokhba Period in the Cave of Letters: Hebrew, Aramaic and Nabatean-Aramaic Papyri; A. Yardeni (2000) Textbook of Aramaic, Hebrew and Nabataean Documentary Texts from the Judaean Desert and Related Material: A. The Documents; B. Translation, Palaeography. Concordance.

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The Dead Sea Scrolls were surveyed in the previous volume (HJJSTP 3: 176–93); however, manuscripts were also found at Masada and in other parts of the Judaean Desert which relate to the period from before and up to the First Revolt. In addition, in several sites in the Judaean desert west of the Dead Sea manuscripts deposited in the aftermath of the Bar Kokhva revolt were found. These were mainly personal archives evidently taken by refugees from the Romans to their hiding places in wilderness caves. Of particular interest are the archives of Babatha and Salome Komaïse, two ordinary women of the early second century CE, who seem to be among those refugees (§15.5). Most of these refugees were probably tracked down and killed or enslaved, but their personal documents remained hidden. These consist of business documents (deeds of the sale and rental of property), marriage certificates, and letters in Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek. A number of these letters were written during the revolt, some of them by Bar Kokhva himself. The collections that have published these documents include the following: – Murabba‘at (Benoit/Milik/Vaux 1961). – Nahal Hever and vicinity (Lewis [ed.] 1989; Tov et al. [eds] 1990; Cotton/Yardeni [eds] 1997; Yadin/Greenfield/Yardeni/Levine [eds] 2002). – Masada (Yadin/Meshorer [eds] 1989; Cotton/Geiger [eds] 1989; Talmon/Yadin [eds] 1999; the volumes reporting on the archaeology of Masada are listed above [§2.1]). A reproduction and English translation of the Aramaic, Hebrew, and Nabataean documents is given by Yardeni (2000). All the Aramaic material to the time of publication is found in Fitzmyer/Harrington (1978: texts 38–64). The published Hebrew letters are now available with translation and commentary in Pardee et al. (1982). Some of the documents originally assigned to the Bar Kokhva period or later have now been redated to first century or early second century CE (Eshel 2002, 2003; Cotton/Eck 2002; Goodblatt 1999). The documents from the Great Revolt or earlier seem to be the following: Mur 8: a list of names and rations. Mur 18: a note of indebtedness from 56 CE. Mur 19: a writ of divorce (perhaps 71 CE). Mur 21: a contract of marriage. Mur 22: sale of real estate. Mur 23: sale of real estate.

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Mur 25: deed of land sale (?). Mur 29: deed of sale. Mur 30: deed of sale of a field. Mur 32: a note of indebtedness (?). Mur 72: an unidentified narrative (on ostracon). Mur 74: a list of names of persons. Masada documents. 4Q348: although originally assigned to Qumran Cave 4, it may actually be a Nahal Hever document, written in Jerusalem (Cotton/Yardeni 1997). From the Bar Kokhva period and post-Great Revolt generally: Mur 20: marriage contract. Mur 24: lease of land. Mur 42–49: Bar Kokhva letters. Nahal Hever documents. Another document which may go back to the first century CE is the Megillat Taanit, though the copies preserved are medieval. This is a listing of days on which one should not fast, which indicates the dates of certain events important for Jewish history. The difficulty is that there is little agreement on the particular event represented by many of the dates. Only the brief Aramaic text is early; the accompanying Hebrew commentary is much later and generally of little use for historical purposes. The basic edition is that of Lichtenstein (1931–32), though it has been republished with bibliography and English translation in Fitzmyer/Harrington (1978, text 150). With regard to inscriptions, we have a number of important collections. For Judaea and Palestine, the new collection of CIIP aims to be comprehensive. At the moment, there are four volumes: H. Cotton et al. ([eds] 2011, 2012): Volume I (in 2 parts) Jerusalem (1–1120); Ameling et al. ([eds] 2011): Volume II Caesarea and the Middle Coast (1121–2160); Ameling et al. ([eds] 2014): Volume III South Coast (2161–2648); Ameling et al. ([eds] 2018a, 2018b): Volume IV (in 2 parts) Iudaea/ Idumaea (2649–3978). The volumes yet to come will apparently include Galilee and the northern coastline, the Golan Heights, Samaria, and the Negev. A final volume is expected to include all milestones (whether inscribed or not) from the whole territory. For the diaspora, editions of inscriptions include Horbury/Noy ([eds] 1992); Noy ([ed.] 1993, 1995); Noy/Panayotov/Bloedhorn ([eds] 2004); Ameling ([ed.] 2004); Noy/Bloedhorn ([eds] 2004). Several recent monographs study various

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inscriptions relating to specific local Jewish communities (Applebaum 1979; Leon 1995; Rutgers 1995; Trebilco 1991; Williams 1994). A useful collection of selections in English translation is Williams 1998. Some of the notable inscriptions include the Theodotus inscription (CIIP I, 9; §9.1.3), the Pontius Pilate inscription (CIIP II, 1277; §12.6.3), the warning inscriptions at the entrance to the Jewish part of the temple (CIIP I, 2), and the Goliath family tomb (CIIP IV, 2815–28). The presence of the Roman occupying force is found in building inscriptions of the legio X Fretensis (?) (CIIP IV, 2813), the legio VI Ferrata (CIIP IV, 3476), and cohors VI Petraeorum (CIIP IV, 3092). Several funerary inscriptions of soldiers from legio V Macedonica are probably to be dated to 68–70 CE (CIIP IV, 3094–3097), while a building inscription for this legion and the legio XI Claudia probably relates to the time of Bar Kokhva (CIIP IV, 3198). One of the most poignant of inscriptions is that published by J. Patrich (1985), which was evidently written by refugees from the Romans in the First Revolt, in the face of impending capture and death. It reads, ‘Joezer [the writer?] has been taken; the guards have entered’ (‫יועזר‬ ‫)אתעקר עלו[ות] מטרן‬. Many ossuary inscriptions are known from around the turn of the era. The main collection will be CIIP when it is completed. Some older collections include Bagatti/Milik (1958) and Puech (1983), as well as Fitzmyer/Harrington (1978) for those in Aramaic (texts 69–148). On their religious significance, see Meyers (1971). Several ossuary inscriptions have become very controversial because some have alleged connection with Jesus of Nazareth. The main one is the so-called James ossuary (CIIP I, 531). The ossuary has generally been accepted as ancient, as well as part of the inscription (‫)יעקוב בר יוסף אחוי דישוע‬, but the last two words (‘brother of Yeshua‘’) look like an addition and have been evaluated as a recent forgery by some prominent epigraphers and scientific analysts. Other prominent epigraphers and scientific analysts have pronounced the inscription authentic. Since the ossuary had no archaeological context but was allegedly obtained on the antiquities market and was then kept in contaminating conditions, some important considerations for determining authenticity are missing. The question seems unlikely to be settled any time soon. In addition, a set of ossuaries found in East Talpiyot on the outskirts of Jerusalem (CIIP I, 473–78) are alleged to be the family of Jesus (a view vehemently rejected by many conservative Christians). Charlesworth ([ed.] 2013) contains studies and theories on these objects. One can only agree with the CIIP editors (J. J. Price and H. Misgav), ‘There is no sound reason to connect any ossuary in this tomb to any known historical figure’.

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With regard to the revolt of 115–117 CE, this is an event for which so little information is preserved that the Egyptian papyri provide valuable first-hand data. Tcherikover and Fuks have collected all the Egyptian material available to them in CPJ 2:225–60, while M. Pucci Ben Zeev (2005) also collects all literary evidence from any location currently available. 2.3. Coins D. T. Ariel (2011) ‘Identifying the Mints, Minters and Meanings of the First Jewish Revolt Coins’, in M. Popović (ed.), The Jewish Revolt against Rome: Interdisciplinary Perspectives: 373–97; D. T. Ariel and J.-P. Fontanille (2012) The Coins of Herod: A Modern Analysis and Die Classification; D. T. Ariel and J. Naveh (2003) ‘Selected Inscribed Sealings from Kedesh in the Upper Galilee’, BASOR 329: 61–80; D. Barag (1978) ‘The Palestinian “Judaea Capta” Coins of Vespasian and Titus and the Era on the Coins of Agrippa II Minted under the Flavians’, Numismatic Chronicle 138: 14–23; R. Deutsch (2011) ‘Coinage of the First Jewish Revolt against Rome: Iconography, Minting Authority, Metallurgy’, in M. Popović (ed.), The Jewish Revolt against Rome: Interdisciplinary Perspectives: 361–72; D. Hendin (2010) Guide to Biblical Coins; idem (2013) ‘Current Viewpoints on Ancient Jewish Coinage: A Bibliographic Essay’, CBR: 1–60; D. M. Jacobson (2014) ‘Herodian Bronze and Tyrian Silver Coinage’, ZDPV 130: 138–54; D. M. Jacobson and N. Kokkinos (eds) (2012) Judaea and Rome in Coins 65 BCE–135 CE: Papers Presented at the International Conference Hosted by Spink, 13th–14th September 2010; A. J. Kogon and J.-P. Fontanille (2018) The Coinage of Herod Antipas: A Study and Die Classification of the Earliest Coins of Galilee; A. J. M. Kropp (2013a) Images and Monuments of Near Eastern Dynasts, 100 BC– AD 100; idem (2013b) ‘Crowning the Emperor: An Unorthodox Image of Claudius, Agrippa I and Herod of Chalkis’, Syria 90: 377–89; Y. Meshorer (1982) Ancient Jewish Coinage, Volume I: Persian Period through Hasmonaeans; Volume II: Herod the Great through Bar Kokhba; idem (1985) ‘A Coin Hoard of Bar-Kokhba’s Time’, The Israel Museum Journal 4: 43–50; idem (1986) ‘Jewish Numismatics’, in R. A. Kraft and G. W. E. Nickelsburg (eds), Early Judaism and its Modern Interpreters: 211–20; idem (1990–91) ‘Ancient Jewish Coinage: Addendum I’, INJ 11: 104–32; idem (2001) A Treasury of Jewish Coins; J. Meyshan (1954) ‘The Coinage of Agrippa the First’, IEJ 4: 186–200; L. Mildenberg (1949) ‘The Eleazar Coins of the Bar Kochba Rebellion’, Historia Judaica 11: 77–108; idem (1980) ‘Bar Kokhba Coins and Documents’, HSCP 84: 311–35; idem (1984) The Coinage of the Bar Kokhba War; idem (1990) ‘Der Bar-Kochba-Krieg im Lichte der Münzprägungen’, in H.-P. Kuhnen, Palästina in griechischrömischer Zeit: 357–66; idem (1998) Vestigia Leonis: Studien zur antiken

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Numismatik Israels, Palästinas und der östlichen Mittelmeerwelt; R. Porat, E. Netzer, Y. Kalman, and R. Chachy (2009–10) ‘Bar Kokhba Coins from Herodium (Hebrew University Expedition)’, INJ 17: 98–105; R. Reich and E. Shukron (2007) ‘The Yehud Stamp Impressions from the 1995–2005 City of David Excavations’, TA 34: 59–65.

An overview of Jewish coins, as well as those of the Judaea governors is given by Hendin (2010; cf. also Hendin 2013; Jacobson/Kokkinos [eds] 2012; Meshorer 1986, 1990–91, 2001). An older work is Meshorer (1982), which not only catalogues all Jewish coins known up to the time of his publication but also includes those of the Roman governors. Coins important for the first century and the Great Revolt are discussed by Meyshan (1954), Ariel (2011), Deutsch (2011), and Kogon/Fontanille (2018). Those for the Bar Kokhva revolt are conveniently collected in Mildenberg (1984; see also Mildenberg 1949, 1980, 1990). These can be supplemented by the later article of Meshorer (1985) and Porat/Netzer/ Kalman/Chachy (2009–10); see also Barag (1978). We begin with the coins permitted in the temple. At this time, Roman coins, local issues from some cities, and coins minted by Jewish kings and tetrarchs were available to the population. These were not allowed into the temple, however, but had to be exchanged for the temple currency, which was the Tyrian sheqel or tetradrachma and the half-sheqel or didrachma (Hendin 2010: 476–82). The head of the city god Melqart/Heracles, with a lion knotted around his neck is found on one side, and on the other an eagle with the Greek inscription, ‘of Tyre the holy and inviolable’ (ΤΥΡΟΥ ΙΕΡΑΣ ΚΑΙ ΑΣΥΛΟΥ). Dates count from 126/125 BCE and reach up to at least 65/66 CE. Certain issues bear the Greek letters KAP or KP. It has been argued that these were minted by Herod, modelled on the Phoenician coin (Meshorer 1982: 2:7–9), but this is now considered refuted (Ariel/Fontanille 2012: 38–41; Jacobson 2014: 146–47). In any case, although it had the image of the god Melqart, it was regarded as unproblematic for use in payments relating to the temple. (For a further discussion of the acceptability of imagery on coins, see §9.3.1.) Next are the three successors of Herod the Great. Archelaus’s issues are basically an imitation of his father’s, though he has adopted certain of his own symbols on some of them. The inscriptions on them (only in Greek) read ‘of Herod the ethnarch’ (e.g., ΗΡΩΔΗΣ ΕΘΝΑΡΧΗΣ). Archelaus carried the name Herod, as is also attested by Cassius Dio (55.27.6): it is important to be aware that not every Herodian ruler did so; Philip, for example, did not, despite the erroneous ubiquitous reference to him as ‘Herod Philip’. Like Herod the Great’s issues, Archelaus’s coins had no human representations on them.

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The tetrarch Herod Antipas’s coins carried the designation, ‘of Herod the Tetrarch’ (ΗΡΩΔΟΥ ΤΕΤΡΑΡΧΟΥ). Certain of them also designate the current year of office: ‘(year) 4’ (Δ), ‘year 24’ (L ΚΔ), ‘year 33’ (L ΛΓ), ‘year 34’ (L ΛΔ), ‘year 37’ (L ΛΖ), and ‘year 43’ (L ΜΓ). Some of the issues of Antipas have the name ‘Tiberias’ in commemoration of the city which he founded. The issues in his final year (year 43) carry the designation ‘to Gaius Caesar Germanicus’ (ΓΑΙΩ ΚΑΙΣΑΡ ΓΕΡΜΑΝΙΚΩ). These were evidently issued to honour the emperor Caligula at a time when Antipas was making a bid for the title ‘king’; instead, he was removed from his office and exiled (§12.8). Antipas’s coins seem to have been imitated by those minted in the hiatus between the rule of Agrippa I and the tetrarchy of Agrippa II, except instead of Antipas’s name (‘Herod the Tetrarch’), that of ‘Claudius Caesar’ appears. Agrippa II also seems to have used some of Antipas’s coins as a prototype when he began to mint his own coins (Kogon/Fontanille 2018: 60–61). The tetrarch Philip was the first Herodian ruler to use human representations on his coinage. These include the emperors Augustus and Tiberius. One coin type has the head of Tiberius and his mother Livia with the inscription ‘of the Augustuses’ (ΣΕΒΑΣΤΩΝ). Philip’s own bust appears on some coins. His issues bear the designation ‘of Philip the Tetrarch’ (e.g., ΦΙΛΙΠΠΟΥ ΤΕΤΡΑΡΧΟΥ). Some of the coins have the current year of his office, being issued in years 12, 16, 19, 30, 33, 34, and 37. When Judaea was turned into a province (§12.6.2), a number of the Roman governors issued coins. These never bear their own names but that of the current emperor (and sometimes certain of his relatives). We can determine under which governor they were minted, however, because the regnal year of the Roman emperor is usually given. Thus, we have evidence of minting under the prefects Coponius, Marcus Ambivulus, Valerius Gratus, and Pontius Pilate. After the death of Agrippa I, no coins appear to have been issued under the first three governors, but under Antonius Felix and Porcius Festus there were mintings. These coins of the governors all tend to have images that would be acceptable to most Jews: ears of grain, palm trees (sometimes with dates), lilies, cornucopias, an amphora (though one of the coins of Felix has shields and spears crossed). The one exception are Pilate’s coins, which exhibit the lituus and the simpulum, both of which are instruments used in Roman cultic rituals, and may tie in with (obsequious) attempts to honour Tiberius (§12.6.3). When Agrippa I took over Philip’s tetrarchy in 37 CE, he also issued coins with his own portrait. The inscriptions with Agrippa’s name vary: ‘of Agrippa the king’ (ΒΑΣΙΛΕΩΣ ΑΓΡΙΠΠΑΣ), ‘King

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Agrippa’ (ΒΑΣΙΛΕΥΣ ΑΓΡΙΠΠΑ), ‘the great King Agrippa, Caesar’s friend’ (ΒΑΣΙΛΕΥΣ ΜΕΓΑΣ ΑΓΡΙΠΠΑΣ ΦΙΛΟΚΑΙΣΑΡ), and the like. There are occasionally also portraits of the young Agrippa II on the reverse of some of the coins, with the inscription ‘of Agrippa, son of the king’ (ΑΓΡΙΠΠΟΥ ΥΙΟΥ ΒΑΣΙΛΕΩΣ) or ‘Agrippa, son of king Agrippa’ (ΑΓΡΙΠΠΑ ΥΙΟΥ ΒΑΣΙΛΕΩΣ ΑΓΡΙΠΠΑ). A number of coins honour Caligula and also members of his family. Under Claudius there were issues with his portrait and the inscription ‘Tiberius Caesar Augustus Germ(anicus)’. One series issued soon after Claudius became emperor included the inscription, ‘sworn treaty of the great king Agrippa with Augustus Caesar, the Senate and the Roman people, his friendship and alliance’ (ΟΡΚΙΑ ΒΑΣ[ΙΛΕΩΣ] ΜΕΓ[ΑΛΟΥ] ΑΓΡΙΠΠΑ Π[ΡΟΣ] ΣΕΒ[ΑΣΤΟΝ] ΚΑΙΣΑΡ[ΟΣ]{Α} Κ[ΑΙ] ΣΥΝΚ[ΛΗΤΟΝ] ΔΗΜΟ[Υ] ΡΩΜ[ΑΙΩΝ] Κ[ΑΙ] ΦΙΛΙ[Α] Κ[ΑΙ] ΣΥΜΜΑΧΙ[Α] ΑΥΤ[ΟΥ]). This issue, when first studied, was claimed to have ‘Herod’ (ΗΡΩΔΗΣ) as part of Agrippa’s name (Meshorer 1982: 2:55–57), but this turns out to be a reference to Agrippa’s brother, Herod of Chalcis: the coin celebrates their joint coronation by Claudius (Kropp 2013). Only one series of Agrippa’s coins was issued at Jerusalem, but it was his most abundant minting and was evidently intended for use among his Jewish subjects. These have no portraits but rather a canopy on one side and three ears of barley on the other, and are all dated to ‘year 6’ (42 CE). The inscription (in Greek) has the simple form ‘of King Agrippa’ (ΒΑΣΙΛΕΩΣ ΑΓΡΙΠΑ [sic]). During his long reign Agrippa II issued a variety of coins. Some of the proposed issues of his first decade imitated some of the Antipas coins with the city name ‘Tiberias’, but without Agrippa’s name (Kogon/ Fontanille 2018: 61–62). These coins continue in the tradition of Agrippa I: many of them honour the current emperor (Claudius and Nero, and certain of their relatives). Some of these are the first Jewish coins with a Latin inscription (e.g., TI[BERIVS] CLAVDIVS CAESAR AVG[VSTVS] P[ONTIFEX] M[AXIMVS] T[RIBVNICIA] P[OTESTAS] IMP[ERATOR] P[ATER] P[ATRIAE]). Agrippa II’s official issues begin about 67 CE. He continued dedications to the current emperor (Nero, Vespasian, Titus, Domitian; also, certain of their relatives), but it is now agreed that he also broke precedent by issuing coins commemorating Vespasian and Titus after their deaths (we know this because of the coin dates). Several of his coins commemorate his refounding of Caesarea Philippi as the city Neronias. One coin has an inscription which gives Agrippa’s name ‘Marcus’ on it.

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Agrippa II’s coins have presented problems from a chronological point of view. Some of them have two dates on the same coin (e.g., ΒΑΣ[ΙΛΕΥΣ ΑΓΡ[ΙΠΠΑΣ] ΕΤΟΥΣ ΑΙ ΤΟΥ ΚΑΙ ‘King Agrippa, year 11 which is also [year] 6’). It has been argued that the double dates are counted from 49 and 56 CE respectively (Hendin 2010: 282–83), though other coins appear to date from 60/61 CE (Meshorer 1982: 2:69–73; Hendin 2010: 283–85). Agrippa II was not afraid to commemorate the Roman victory over Judaea: one carries the inscription, ‘victory of Caesar’ (ΝΙΚ[Η] ΣΕΒ[ΑΣΤΟΥ]), which is the Greek equivalent of the Latin VICTORIA AVGVSTI. One of the ‘Judaea Capta’ coins has the bust of Titus, the inscription ‘the ruler Titus Caesar’ (ΑΥΤΟΚΡ[ΑΤΩΡ] ΤΙΤ[ΟΣ] ΚΑΙΣΑΡ), and was issued on the twentieth anniversary of the fall of Jerusalem; some have assigned this coin to Agrippa, as well. The coins come to an end with ‘year 35’ (95/6 CE). This happens to mark the end of Domitian’s reign, so whether they ended because of Agrippa’s death or for reasons relating to the situation in Rome is debatable. During the 66–70 revolt the Jews issued their own coinage. This seems to have begun immediately in late 66, which was designated ‘year 1’ on the coins. The designs on the first few coins are crudely formed but quickly improve. The basic issue was the silver ‘Jerusalem shekel’ which took the place of the Tyrian shekel which had been used up to that time (see above). Also minted were silver half-shekels and quarter-shekels, as well as bronze coins of smaller denominations. The inscriptions are in a revived version of paleo-Hebrew script and go up to year 5. On the coins of year 1 are the inscriptions ‘shekel of Israel’ (‫ )א שקל ישראל‬and ‘Jerusalem the holy’ (‫)ירושלם קדשה‬. These also appear on years 2–5 (the inscription in slightly improved form: e.g., ‫ שקל ישראל שב‬and ‫ירושלים הקדושה‬. On some of the years 2 and 3 appears the further slogan, ‘freedom of Zion’ (‫)חרות ציון‬. This is replaced in year 4 by the phrase, ‘for the redemption of Zion’ (‫)לגאלת ציון‬. Symbols used include the chalice, branch with three pomegranates, a vessel (often referred to as an ‘amphora’), vine branch, and the four species of plant associated with the Festival of Tabernacles or Sukkot (lulav, etrog, myrtle, willow). Special Jewish mintings also took place during the Bar Kokhva revolt. Coins so far known are of three types; one type is dated to year 1, with the slogan ‘for the redemption of Israel’ (‫ ;)לגאלת ישראל‬another type refers to ‘year 2 for the freedom of Israel’ (‫)שב לחר[ות] ישראל‬. A third type of coin, undated but with the inscription ‘for the freedom of Jerusalem’ (‫)לחרות ירושלם‬, is likely to belong to year 3 and later. The name ‘Eleazar’ or ‘Eleazar the priest’ (‫ )אלעזר הכוהן‬and ‘Simon’ or ‘Simon, prince of Israel’ (‫שמעון נשיא ישראל‬, also abbreviated) are also sometimes found on

ς

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all three types of coin. The symbols used include, perhaps surprisingly, the facade of the Jerusalem temple; other symbols tend to relate to the Festival of Sukkot: bunch of grapes, palm branch, palm tree with seven branches, willow branch, chalice, trumpets, lyre, fluted jug, showbread table, lulav, etrog.

Chapter 3

J ewi s h L i t eratur e

Here are listed the main Jewish writings (regardless of language) that have value for the political, cultural, and religious history of the Jews. An introductory treatment of several took place in earlier volumes and are only updated here for the period of the first and second centuries CE: 1 Enoch, Josephus, and the Sibylline Oracles. The Wisdom of Solomon was included in HJJSTP 3 (108–10), though some want to date it to the first century CE; also the Testament of Moses (HJJSTP 3: 102–3) which was probably completed in the first-century CE, though a version of it might have been written in Hasmonaean times. 3.1. Josephus M. Aberbach (1949–50) ‘The Conflicting Accounts of Josephus and Tacitus Concerning Cumanus’ and Felix’ Terms of Office’, JQR 40: 1–14; K. Atkinson (2007) ‘Noble Deaths at Gamla and Masada? A Critical Assessment of Josephus’ Accounts of Jewish Resistance in Light of Archaeological Discoveries’, in Z. Rodgers (ed.), Making History: Josephus and Historical Method: 349–71; M. Aviam (2007) ‘The Archaeological Illumination of Josephus’ Narrative of the Battles at Yodefat and Gamla’, in Z. Rodgers (ed.), Making History: Josephus and Historical Method: 372–84; M. Avi-Yonah (1953) ‘The Missing Fortress of Flavius Josephus’, IEJ 3: 94–98; T. D. Barnes (2005) ‘The Sack of the Temple in Josephus and Tacitus’, in J. Edmondson, S. Mason, and J. Rives (eds), Flavius Josephus and Flavian Rome: 129–44; P. Bilde (1979) ‘The Causes of the Jewish War According to Josephus’, JSJ 10: 179–202; S. J. D. Cohen (1979) Josephus in Galilee and Rome: His Vita and Development as a Historian; idem (1982) ‘Masada: Literary Tradition, Archaeological Remains, and the Credibility of Josephus’, JJS 33: 385–405; S. J. D. Cohen and J. J. Schwartz (eds) (2007) Studies in Josephus and the

3. Jewish Literature Varieties of Ancient Judaism: Louis H. Feldman Jubilee Volume; D. Goodblatt (1987a) ‘Josephus on Parthian Babylonia (Antiquities XVIII, 310–379)’, JAOS 107: 605–22; L. L. Grabbe (2000c) ‘Eschatology in Philo and Josephus’, in A. Avery-Peck and J. Neusner (eds), Judaism in Late Antiquity: Volume 4. Death, Life-after-Death, Resurrection and the World-to-Come in the Judaisms of Antiquity: 163–85; idem (2003) ‘Did All Jews Think Alike? “Covenant” in Philo and Josephus in the Context of Second Temple Judaic Religion’, in S. E. Porter and J. C. R. de Roo (eds), The Concept of Covenant during the Second Temple Period: 251–66; idem (forthcoming a) ‘Josephus and Ezra-Nehemiah: How the Jewish Historian Used his Sources’, Bar Kochva Volume; R. Gray (1993) Prophetic Figures in Late Second Temple Jewish Palestine: The Evidence from Josephus; W. den Hollander (2014) Josephus, the Emperors, and the City of Rome: From Hostage to Historian; M. H. Jensen (2007) ‘Josephus and Antipas: A Case Study of Josephus’ Narratives on Herod Antipas’, in Z. Rodgers (ed.), Making History: Josephus and Historical Method: 289–312; K.-S. Krieger (1994) Geschichtsschreibung als Apologetik bei Flavius Josephus; D. J. Ladouceur (1987) ‘Josephus and Masada’, in L. H. Feldman and G. Hata (eds), Josephus, Judaism and Christianity: 95–113; J. S. McClaren (1998) Turbulent Times? Josephus and Scholarship on Judaea in the First Century CE; J. Magness (2011) ‘A Reconsideration of Josephus’ Testimony about Masada’, in M. Popović (ed.), The Jewish Revolt against Rome: Interdisciplinary Perspectives: 343–59; S. Mason (2009) ‘Of Despots, Diadems and Diadochoi: Josephus and Flavian Politics’, in W. J. Dominik, J. Garthwaite, and P. A. Roche (eds), Writing Politics in Imperial Rome: 323–49; idem (2016) A History of the Jewish War A.D. 66–74; B. Mazar (1989) ‘Josephus Flavius and the Archaeological Excavations in Jerusalem’, in L. H. Feldman and G. Hata (eds), Josephus, the Bible, and History: 325–29; J. C. Ossandón Widow (2019) The Origins of the Canon of the Hebrew Bible: An Analysis of Josephus and 4 Esra; F. Parente (2005) ‘The Impotence of Titus, or Flavius Josephus’s Bellum Judaicum as an Example of “Pathetic” Historiography’, in J. Sievers and G. Lembi (eds), Josephus and Jewish History in Flavian Rome and Beyond: 45–69; J. Pastor (2007) ‘Josephus as a Source for Economic History Problems and Approaches’, in Z. Rodgers (ed.), Making History: Josephus and Historical Method: 334–46; M. Pucci Ben Zeev (2011) ‘Between Fact and Fiction: Josephus’ Account of the Destruction of the Temple’, in J. Pastor, P. Stern, and M. Mor (eds), Flavius Josephus: Interpretation and History: 53–63; T. Rajak (2016) ‘Josephus, Jewish Resistance and the Masada Myth’, in J. J. Collins and J. G. Manning (eds), Revolt and Resistance in the Ancient Classical World and the Near East: In the Crucible of Empire: 219–33; U. Rappaport (2007) ‘Josephus’ Personality and the Credibility of his Narrative’, in Z. Rodgers (ed.), Making History: Josephus and Historical Method: 68–81; D. R. Schwartz (2013) Reading the First Century: On

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A History of Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, Volume 4 Reading Josephus and Studying Jewish History of the First Century; P. Vidal-Naquet (1978) ‘Flavius Josèphe et Masada’, Revue historique 260: 3–21; Z. Weiss (2007) ‘Josephus and Archaeology on the Cities of the Galilee’, in Z. Rodgers (ed.), Making History: Josephus and Historical Method: 385–414; J. Wilker (2011) ‘Josephus, the Herodians, and the Jewish War’, in M. Popović (ed.), The Jewish Revolt against Rome: Interdisciplinary Perspectives: 271–89.

A general introduction to Josephus and his writings was given in HJJSTP 2 (68–75) and supplemented in HJJSTP 1 (129–30) and HJJSTP 3 (91–96); a few additional bibliographical items are added here. See also the comments on Josephus and historical method at §1.1. The discussion at this point focuses on Josephus’s presentation for the period from the death of Herod to the fall of Masada. The full story is found only in the War: the Antiquities stops short at the beginning of the 66–70 war with Rome (coming to a halt with its parallel history at War 3.2.4 §34). The Life, however, partially parallels the War and thus provides a different perspective on some parts of the Galilean campaign. Josephus is of course our main historical source for the history of the Jews during Hasmonaean and Roman times to about 75 CE. His importance for religion is on a different order. Although he is writing mainly as a historian in most of his writings, he still says a good deal about Jewish religion and culture. Josephus had a detailed source (probably Nicolaus of Damascus) for his history during the Hasmonaean and Herodian rule up to the death of Herod and the execution of his will (4 BCE). Then, his account becomes extremely abbreviated. The War gives a brief account of Archelaus’s reign as ethnarch (4 BCE–6 CE), the making of Judaea into a Roman province, and then skips without comment the next 20 years to the governorship of Pilate (26–36 CE). The Antiquities is not much better, though it adds a few details about the situation surrounding the census of Quirinius and Coponius, as well as listing the governors between Coponius and Pilate. Some have suggested that this brevity is deliberate, but it rather seems to demonstrates that Josephus’s knowledge of the period between Herod’s death and the 30s was simply extremely skimpy. Exactly what his sources were is unclear. Beginning with the reign of Caligula (about the time of Josephus’s own birth) both accounts become fuller, though, again, we seldom know his sources. The War and Antiquities do not differ greatly in essential content, though the latter is much more detailed and with a good deal of matter which is rather peripheral to Jewish history. As long as it parallels the Antiquities, the War generally narrates events in a very concise manner, giving the impression that Josephus either did not have a great deal of

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information or that he is in a hurry to reach the beginning of the war with Rome, perhaps both. Where the Antiquities parallels the War, it tends to be lengthier; while some of this extra length is manifestly rhetorical padding, there are frequently more data, showing that Josephus had welcome additional information. There are occasional contradictions in detail (e.g., Abila was said to be given to Agrippa II by Claudius in Ant. 20.7.1 §138 but by Nero in War 2.13.2 §252) but these are not usually of major significance. However, much of the extra bulk of the Antiquities for this time period comes from discursive sections on subjects which may be of interest in themselves but are not so important for Jewish history: Parthian history (Ant. 18.2.4 §§39-52; 18.4.4-5 §§96-105); Tiberius’s suppression of Isis worship (Ant. 18.3.4 §§65-80); the death and succession of Tiberius (Ant. 18.6.8-10 §§205-27); the events surrounding the assassination of Caligula (Ant. 19.1.1-3.4 §§1-235); and the succession of Nero (Ant. 20.8.1-3 §§148-57). Also, two major sections relate marginally to Jewish history but seem to be more hero tales than history for most of their content: the story of a Jewish robber band in Mesopotamia (Ant. 18.9.1-9 §310-79), and the rule and conversion of the reigning dynasty in Adiabene (Ant. 20.2.1-4.3 §§17-96). Although the first and last parts of the Life mention some events of Josephus’s personal life before the war and after the fall of Jerusalem, most of it (Life 7-74 §§28-411) essentially parallels War 2.20.3 §56 to War 3.2.4 §34, i.e., about November 66 to May 67 CE. The two accounts agree in broad outline but differ significantly in some details. More importantly, the aim and emphasis is rather different in the two. The Life was written in response to an account of the war by Justus of Tiberias which was in part quite critical of Josephus (Life 65 §§336-39), so Josephus had the dual aim of defending himself and blackening the character of Justus. Thus, while Justus is hardly mentioned in the War, in the Life he and his family are almost single-handedly blamed for the war and the victory of the Romans (Life 9 §41)! Such blatant prejudices are not hard to spot. More difficult is knowing to which account to give priority when they differ on the chronology of events or details of data. This brings up the question of the relationship of the two accounts which is still being debated. S. J. D. Cohen (1979: 80–83) adapted an older suggestion to argue that both accounts are based on a hypomnēma (set of detailed notes) which he wrote up soon after the war in preparation for his own first work, the War. Josephus’s purpose was rather different when he wrote the two narratives, which explains the differences between them. In the part of the War which tells about his own deeds, he is presenting himself primarily as the ideal general, though he also distances

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himself from the ‘brigands’ who he alleges were the main cause of the revolt (Cohen 1979: 235–36). In the Life, as already noted, he was both defending himself against the specific charge that he was in favour of the revolt from the beginning and also attacking Justus, with his account slanted accordingly; nevertheless, because he was following a somewhat neutral set of notes, the Life may at times preserve a more accurate statement than the War. For example, it appears that the Life is arranged more chronologically than the War, in which Josephus was sometimes more interested in topological matters. It has often been suggested that archaeology confirms Josephus’s account. In some cases this is true, especially with purely topographical descriptions. But as so often, things are not quite so simple (cf. Ladouceur 1987; Mazar 1989). The siege of Masada is a good example of the historical difficulties in relating Josephus’s account to the archaeological information. Cohen (1982) did a study of the problems of interpretation, showing that a claim of straightforward confirmation is facile (cf. also Vidal-Naquet 1978, though it is argued at §14.5 that the physical description of Masada and its siege is largely accurate). He also gives information on the development of the Jewish scriptures, with comments that relate to the contents (cf. §9.2.1), while his usage of biblical material shows his attitude toward the text and also what texts were available to him. For example, he used 1 Esdras rather than the Hebrew Ezra-Nehemiah and apparently had a version of Nehemiah that differed in some ways from the one in the present-day Hebrew Bible (Grabbe forthcoming a). 3.2. Justus of Tiberias H. Gelzer (1985–98) Sextus Julius Africanus und die byzantinische Chronographie; L. L. Grabbe (1979) ‘Chronography in Hellenistic Jewish Historiography’, in P. J. Achtemeier (ed.), Society of Biblical Literature 1979 Seminar Papers: 2:43–68; C. R. Holladay (1983) ‘Justus of Tiberias’, Fragments from Hellenistic Jewish Authors: 1:371–89; H. Luther (1910) Josephus und Justus von Tiberias; C. Milikowsky (2007) ‘Justus of Tiberias and the Synchronistic Chronology of Israel’, in S. J. D. Cohen and J. J. Schwartz (eds), Studies in Josephus and the Varieties of Ancient Judaism: Louis H. Feldman Jubilee Volume: 103–26; T. Rajak (1973) ‘Justus of Tiberias’, Classical Quarterly 23: 345–68; idem (1987) ‘Josephus and Justus of Tiberias’, in L. H. Feldman and G. Hata (eds), Josephus, Judaism, and Christianity: 81–94; F. Ruhl (1916) ‘Justus von Tiberias’, Rheinisches Museum 71: 289–308; A. Schalit (1933) ‘Josephus und Justus: Studien zur Vita des Josephus’, Klio 26: 67–95; Schürer 1:34–37; 3:1:546;

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S. Schwartz (1989) ‘Georgius Syncellus’s Account of Ancient Jewish History’, in Proceedings of the Tenth World Congress of Jewish Studies, Division B, Volume II: 1–8.

The one Jewish historian that we know of for this period, other than Josephus, is Justus. He belonged to one of the leading families of Tiberias which became reluctantly caught up in the Jewish war. Sometime after the war he served as a secretary to Agrippa II for a period of time. Then, apparently in the early 90s CE he issued a history of the revolt which gave a rather different account of things and also attacked Josephus (or at least was interpreted by Josephus as an attack). Josephus replied in his Life, which is in part a counter-attack against Justus and his family. Unfortunately, much of what we know of Justus’s work has to be gleaned from Josephus’s Life; otherwise, only a couple of quotations survive (Holladay 1983, though see Milikowsky 2007 for further suggestions). A work on the history of the kings of Israel may have formed the earlier part of the same book or perhaps another book altogether. H. Gelzer (1885: 1:20, 258–65) argued that much of the history and chronology in the Christian writer Julius Africanus were derived from Justus. This proposal has been looked on with appreciation by some recent researchers (Milikovsky 2007: 124–26; S. Schwartz 1989; Grabbe 1979: 2:54–55), though the scarcity of material attributable to Justus makes any hypothesis difficult to establish. But if Africanus has preserved a good deal of material from him, Justus may have written a history which could be considered with some justification as a rival to Josephus’s, but the extant data are simply too few to make any certain estimate of the loss to scholarship. 3.3. Philo of Alexandria M. Alexandre, Jr (1999) Rhetorical Argumentation in Philo of Alexandria; B. J. Bamberger (1977) ‘Philo and the Aggadah’, HUCA 48: 153–85; E. Birnbaum (1996) The Place of Judaism in Philo’s Thought. Israel, Jews, and Proselytes; P. Borgen (1997) Philo of Alexandria: An Exegete for his Time; P. Borgen, K. Fuglseth, and R. Skarsten (2000) The Philo Index: A Complete Greek Word Index to the Writings of Philo of Alexandria; H. Box (1939) Philonis Alexandrini In Flaccum; F. Calabi (1998) The Language and the Law of God: Interpretation and Politics in Philo of Alexandria; idem (2008) God’s Acting, Man’s Acting: Tradition and Philosophy in Philo of Alexandria; J. J. Collins (2000) Between Athens and Jerusalem: 131–38; J. Dillon (1977) The Middle Platonists; S. Gambetti (2009) The Alexandrian Riots of 38 C.E. and the Persecution of the Jews: A Historical

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A History of Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, Volume 4 Reconstruction; E. R. Goodenough (1938) The Politics of Philo Judaeus; idem (1962) An Introduction to Philo Judaeus; L. L. Grabbe (1988) Etymology in Early Jewish Interpretation: The Hebrew Names in Philo; idem (1991) ‘Philo and Aggada: A Response to B. J. Bamberger’, in D. T. Runia, D. M. Hay, and D. Winston (eds), Heirs of the Septuagint: Philo, Hellenistic Judaism and Early Christianity: Festschrift for Earle Hilgert: 153–66; idem (2000c) ‘Eschatology in Philo and Josephus’, in A. AveryPeck and J. Neusner (eds), Judaism in Late Antiquity: Volume 4. Death, Life-after-Death, Resurrection and the World-to-Come in the Judaisms of Antiquity: 163–85; idem (2003) ‘Did All Jews Think Alike? “Covenant” in Philo and Josephus in the Context of Second Temple Judaic Religion’, in S. E. Porter and J. C. R. de Roo (eds), The Concept of Covenant during the Second Temple Period: 251–66; D. M. Hay (1979–80) ‘Philo’s References to Other Allegorists’, Studia Philonica 6: 41–75; idem (1997) ‘Putting Extremism in Context: The Case of Philo, De Migratione 89–93’, Studia Philonica Annual 9: 126–42; D. M. Hay (ed.) (1991) Both Literal and Allegorical: Studies in Philo of Alexandria’s Questions and Answers on Genesis and Exodus; E. Hilgert (1984) ‘Bibliographia Philoniana 1935–1981’, ANRW II: 21:1:47–97; P. W. van der Horst (2003) Philo’s Flaccus: The First Pogrom; J. P. Kenney (ed.) (1995) The School of Moses: Studies in Philo and Hellenistic Religions in Memory of Horst R. Moehring; J. LaPorte (1983) Eucharistia in Philo; B. L. Mack (1974–75) ‘Exegetical Traditions in Alexandrian Judaism: A Program for the Analysis of the Philonic Corpus’, Studia Philonica 3: 71–112; G. Mayer (1974) Index Philoneus; A. Mendelson (1988) Philo’s Jewish Identity; M. R. Niehoff (2018) Philo of Alexandria: An Intellectual Biography; V. Nikiprowetzky (1996) Études philoniennes; R. Radice and D. T. Runia (1988) Philo of Alexandria: An Annotated Bibliography 1937–1986; T. Rajak (2014) ‘Philo’s Knowledge of Hebrew: The Meaning of the Etymologies’, in J. K. Aitken and J. Carleton Paget (eds), The Jewish–Greek Tradition in Antiquity and the Byzantine Empire: 173–87; J. R. Royse (1991a) The Spurious Texts of Philo of Alexandria: A Study of Textual Transmission and Corruption with Indexes to the Major Collections of Greek Fragments; D. T. Runia (1986) Philo of Alexandria and the Timaeus of Plato; idem (1993) Philo in Early Christian Literature: A Survey; idem (1995) Philo and the Church Fathers: A Collection of Papers; J. Ryu (2015) Knowledge of God in Philo of Alexandria; S. Sandmel (1978) ‘Philo’s Knowledge of Hebrew’, Studia Philonica 5: 107–12; idem (1979a) Philo of Alexandria: An Introduction; idem (1979b) ‘Palestinian and Hellenistic Judaism and Christianity: The Question of the Comfortable Theory’, HUCA 50 (1979) 137–48; Schürer 3:809–89; D. R. Schwartz (1984) ‘Philo’s Priestly Descent’, in F. E. Greenspahn, Earle Hilgert, and Burton L. Mack (eds), Nourished with Peace: Studies in Hellenistic Judaism in Memory of Samuel Sandmel: 155–71; T. Seland (1995) Establishment Violence in Philo and Luke: A Study of Non-Conformity to the Torah and Jewish Vigilante Reactions;

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D. I. Sly (1996) Philo’s Alexandria; E. M. Smallwood (1961b) Philonis Alexandrini Legatio ad Gaium; A. Standhartinger (2017) ‘Best Practice: Religious Reformation in Philo’s Representation of the Therapeutae and Therapeutrides’, in R. L. Gordon, G. Petridou, and J. Rüpke (eds), Beyond Priesthood: Religious Entrepreneurs and Innovators in the Roman Empire: 129–56; H. Svebakken (2012) Philo of Alexandria’s Exposition of the Tenth Commandment; H. Szesnat (1998) ‘ “Mostly Aged Virgins”: Philo and the Presence of the Therapeutrides at Lake Mareotis’, Neotestamentica 32: 191–201; J. E. Taylor (2006) Jewish Women Philosophers of First-Century Alexandria: Philo’s ‘Therapeutae’ Reconsidered; A. Terian (ed.) (1981) Philonis Alexandrini De Animalibus; idem (1992) Quaestiones et solutiones in Exodum I et II, e versione armeniaca et fragmenta graeca: Introduction, traduction et notes; D. Winston (1981) Philo of Alexandria: The Contemplative Life, The Giants, and Selections; B. W. Winter (1997) Philo and Paul among the Sophists; S. Yli-Karjanmaa (2015) Reincarnation in Philo of Alexandria.

Philo is extremely important for Judaism in the first century CE, probably next only to Josephus in importance, though his value is not primarily for historical events (Flaccus and Gaius are exceptions). An enormous amount of scholarship has been produced on Philo which is only touched on here. For general introductions to Philo, see Borgen (1997), Sandmel (1979a), and Goodenough (1962). The full bibliographical listing by Hilgert (1984) and the annotated bibliography by Radice/Runia (1988) are important tools for further study, which can be supplemented by the annual bibliographical survey in Studia Philonica Annual. Most of Philo’s works are conveniently translated in the LCL (for an exception, see Terian 1981). Although there is no full concordance to Philo as yet, the indexes by Mayer (1974) and Borgen/Fuglseth/Skarsten (2000) partially fill this gap. Philo (c. 20 BCE–50 CE) was a member of the leading Jewish family in Alexandria. His brother Alexander was alabarch (controller of customs) and leader of the Jewish community and probably one of the wealthiest private individuals in the Roman empire at the time. A nephew, Tiberius Julius Alexander, entered the Roman military machine and eventually became procurator of Judah and then governor of Egypt (§13.6.3). A number of scholars over the years have even suggested that Philo was of a priestly family (most recently argued by Schwartz 1984). In his influential position in the Jewish community, Philo was chosen to head a delegation to the emperor Caligula about 39 CE to plead the cause of the Alexandrian Jews against the Greek citizenry which was persecuting them, yet he ended up being entangled in the emperor’s plan to install his statue in the Jerusalem temple (§13.2.2).

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Most of Philo’s writings are commentaries on the Pentateuch and contain few direct historical data. An exception to this generalization are the two tractates, Legatio ad Gaium (Smallwood 1961) and In Flaccum (Horst 2003; Box 1939). The tractate Flaccus describes the events in Alexandria in 38–39 CE which led up to a major persecution of the Jewish community by the dominant Greek population. It is named after the Roman governor of Egypt who was alleged to have cooperated in the pogrom against the Jews. Gaius describes the mission to Rome and the emperor to gain relief, the new threat in the plan to place a statue of Caligula in the Jerusalem temple (§13.2.2), and the resolution of the problem (see especially Gambetti 2009). One of the points debated over the years has been Philo’s place within Judaism. Rather than being used as a primary datum, he has not infrequently been judged according to one’s preconception about what is or is not a proper Jew (cf. Sandmel 1979b: 137–38). Thus, some have dismissed him because he too was Hellenized, while others who recognized his loyalty to Judaism turned around and attempted to argue that he was Hellenized only on the surface but that his ideas were ‘native Palestinian’. A. Mendelson’s (1988) balanced study should help bury a lot of rubbish about the man Philo. First, it is now generally recognized that Philo was thoroughly Hellenized, the Hellenistic Jew par excellence. His writings show a good Greek education, he was an Alexandrian citizen (though most Jews living in Alexandria were not [§6.1), he shows knowledge of the gymnasium, and he attended games given in the arena (Congr. 74-76; Quod omnis probus 26, 141). His theology is frequently characterized as a version of Middle Platonism (Dillon 1977: 139–83). He admires the intellectual side of Greek culture and is fully at home in it. Yet Philo is also a loyal Jew who believes firmly in the many aspects of Jewish practice which set the Jews off from Gentiles (circumcision, dietary regulations, the sabbath and festivals); indeed, he even believes they are worth dying for (Mendelson 1988: 74–75). He argues strongly against those who would treat such things as purely allegorical or symbolic without the need to practise them literally. He also sits uneasily within the Greek society which he so admires, for there were many things in it which his Judaism could not abide (e.g., idolatry). His Jewish beliefs noted above and his opposition to intermarriage thus set him off from the Greeks whose intellectual company he might otherwise have sought. Philo is one of our main sources about Jews in the Greek-speaking Diaspora. One of the points arising from a study of Philo is the different sorts of groups or perhaps factions that existed in the Jewish community at Alexandria, including the ‘extreme allegorists’: Philo was definitely opposed to this approach (see further below). He is also a prime source

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about biblical interpretation. Yet a summary of Philo’s contribution to our understanding of Judaic religion is difficult to give, for two reasons: first, the extent of his writings rule out a simple précis; secondly, there is always the question of how typical he was of Hellenistic Judaism. That is, did he represent a particular school or interpretative tradition in Alexandria, or was his exegetical system and comment uniquely his own, differing widely from other interpreters of the time? Even without an answer to this question, we can still affirm that Philo makes an important contribution to our knowledge of Judaic religion and society, which includes the following points: • The debate about Philo’s place in Judaism is in line with general developments in Jewish studies that recognize the complexity of Second Temple Judaism and the unhelpfulness of neat oppositions such as Jewish/Hellenist. Recent treatments have argued correctly that the ‘Hellenistic’ and the ‘Jewish’ were both integral parts of Philo’s persona (e.g., Mendelson 1988). • His theology is often characterized as a version of Middle Platonism (Dillon 1977: 139–83). Although recognizing that Philo borrowed much from Plato, D. T. Runia (1986: 505–19) argues that he is not a Middle Platonist as such, but the issue seems partly how to define Middle Platonism in relation to Neo-Platonism. Philo admires the intellectual side of Greek culture and is fully at home in it. It is this interplay between and synthesis of Greek philosophy and Jewish tradition that makes up one important strand of Judaism during this period. How widespread his version of Jewish thinking was at the time is a moot point since we have little other information (but see next point); however, books such as the Wisdom of Solomon show how indebted writers could be to Greek rhetoric and literature. • He attests a variety of viewpoints, perhaps schools of interpretation or even sects, in Alexandria (cf. Hay 1979–80). These are presented primarily in terms of their exegesis, which makes it difficult to pin down other characteristics and to know whether they formed definite sects; however, one group (opposed by Philo) is often labelled the ‘extreme allegorists’ because it is argued that one did not necessarily have to keep the traditional laws once true allegorical meaning was understood. The few references given by Philo show no particular influence from Palestinian sects of the time (cf. Grabbe 1991). • Philo seldom refers to other sections of the Bible apart from the Pentateuch, though a few citations show that he was familiar with at least some of the books now making up the Hebrew canon. On the other hand, it is not clear to what extent they had equal authority with

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the Pentateuch for him nor whether he knew all the 24 books of the later Hebrew canon (§9.2.1). • Philo exhibits a variety of biblical interpretation in his writings (Mack 1974–75), and this list is probably not exhaustive. His use of Hebrew etymologies for biblical names is extremely interesting because it was exploited in a productive sense mainly outside the Hebrew/ Aramaic-speaking Jewish communities (Grabbe 1988), the only other Jewish writer making significant use of etymological exegesis being Aristobulus (HJJSTP 2: 92–93). It is likely that the real influence on him in this particular area came from Greek exegesis of Homer (Grabbe 1988: 49–87). • Did he know Hebrew? Some have affirmed that he did, noting that the etymologies show a good knowledge of Hebrew and Aramaic (e.g., Rajak 2014; cf. Sandmel 1978 for others who argue this, though he himself rejects any extensive knowledge of the language). The etymologies indeed show a good knowledge of Hebrew, even if not scientific from a modern point of view (as pointed out in Grabbe 1988). However, some elementary mistakes, as well as other data, show that Philo was using lists of etymologies, while his knowledge of Hebrew (if such existed at all) was insufficient to let him double check them (e.g., Grabbe 1988: 63, 101–9). Also, he never at any point refers to the Hebrew text of the Bible or shows any familiarity with it, which would seem to be strange for someone with a working knowledge of Hebrew. • His relation to rabbinic exegesis and tradition has been much debated but, unfortunately, even some of the more recent works on Philo’s exegesis (e.g., Calabi 1998) are not up to date with the present debate on rabbinic literature. The current trend is to be cautious (Bamberger 1977) and to recognize the large difference between most of Philo’s exegesis and its essential characteristics and that found in rabbinic commentaries (Grabbe 1991). This does not mean that some comparisons cannot be made with profit, but a good deal of methodological care is in order. By and large, the spirit and content of Philo’s treatment of the biblical text is in a different world from that of the rabbis. 3.4. Liber Antiquitatum Biblicarum (Pseudo-Philo) AIEJL 632–34, 639–40; D. J. Harrington (1971) ‘The Biblical Text of Pseudo-Philo’s Liber Antiquitatum Biblicarum’, CBQ 33: 1–17; idem (1974) The Hebrew Fragments of Pseudo-Philo’s Liber Antiquitatum Biblicarum

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Preserved in the Chronicles of Jerahmeel; idem (1992) ‘Philo, Pseudo-’, ABD 5:347–48; D. J. Harrington, J. Cazeaux, C. Perrot, and P. Bogaert (eds) (1976) Pseudo-Philon, Les Antiquités Bibliques; H. Jacobson (1996) A Commentary on Pseudo-Philo’s Liber Antiquitatum Biblicarum, with Latin Text and English Translation; M. R. James (1917) The Biblical Antiquities of Philo; JLBM 265–68; JWSTP 107–10; F. J. Murphy (1993) Pseudo-Philo: Rewriting the Bible; OTP 2.297–377; Schürer 3:1:325–31.

The attribution of this work to Philo is late, and scholarship is agreed that it had nothing to do with the well-known Philo of Alexandria. The book parallels the biblical text from Genesis 1 to the reign of Saul (2 Sam. 28) and is usually taken to be an example of ‘rewritten Bible’ (cf. HJJSTP 2: 263, 304). In some cases, it is simply a paraphrase of the biblical text, but at times it incorporates extra-biblical traditions and interpretations, often being brief where the biblical text gives much detail (e.g., the creation story of Genesis 1–3 and most of Leviticus are omitted), but sometimes expansive where the biblical text is brief (e.g., the judge Kenaz: LAB 25–28). The text is preserved in Latin (Harrington/Cazeaux/ Perrot/Bogaert [eds] 1976) and a late Hebrew translation made from the Latin text (Harrington 1974); however, it is now generally agreed that the original text was Hebrew. The commentary by Jacobson (1996) is a major aid to study. Because of the author’s enlightened views on women, one study has suggested that the author could have been a woman (Murphy 1993: 267). There is a strong consensus that the book is first century CE, though whether before or after 70 is debated. Aspects of the message include the following: • LAB is an example of one important form of biblical interpretation in late Second Temple Judaism, viz., rewritten Bible. • A key theme is the pattern of sin–punishment–repentance–salvation, a theme well known from the biblical text. Some have seen this as a message of hope after the destruction of the 66–70 war. • The temple and cult are accepted as normal for atonement of sin (LAB 32.3), and the temple seems to be presupposed (LAB 22.8-9), which is why some date the book before 70. • The book’s teachings on eschatology are important. Life after death (which is defined as separation of the body and soul: LAB 44.10), immediate punishment or reward for deeds (LAB 32.13; 33.3-5; 62.9), resurrection, and final judgment are all accepted (LAB 3.10; 16.3). However, no special emphasis is placed on eschatology; rather the author seems more concerned to stress the correct way of living in this life.

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• It has been argued that the text depends on a variant text, differing from the MT (sometimes labelled the ‘Old Palestinian’; see Harrington 1971), but the matter is complicated (cf. HJJSTP 2: 248–50). • Despite the frequent past assertion that the writer was a Pharisee, there is no evidence that the author belonged to one of major sects. Indeed, the book expresses views that were likely to have been accepted by many Jews of the time (Murphy 1993: 267). 3.5. Adam and Eve Literature AIEJL 629–32; G. A. Anderson and M. E. Stone (eds) (1999) A Synopsis of the Books of Adam and Eve; J. J. Collins (2000) Between Athens and Jerusalem: Jewish Identity in the Hellenistic Diaspora: 246–48; C. W. Hedrick (1980) The Apocalypse of Adam: A Literary and Source Analysis; JLBM 253–57; JWSTP 110–18; J. R. Levison (1988) Portraits of Adam in Early Judaism, from Sirach to 2 Baruch; W. L. Lipscomb (1990) The Armenian Apocryphal Adam Literature; J.-P. Mahé (1981) ‘Le livre d’Adam georgien’, in R. van den Broek and M. J. Vermaseren (eds), Studies in Gnosticism and Hellenistic Religions Presented to Gilles Quispel on the Occasion of his 65th Birthday: 227–60; G. W. E. Nickelsburg (1981) ‘Some Related Traditions in the Apocalypse of Adam, the Books of Adam and Eve, and 1 Enoch’, in B. Layton (ed.), Rediscovery of Gnosticism, vol. 2: Sethian Gnosticism: 515–39; OTP 2:249–95; P. Perkins (1977) ‘Apocalypse of Adam: The Genre and Function of a Gnostic Apocalypse’, CBQ 39: 382–95; Schürer 3:757–61; M. E. Stone (1992) A History of the Literature of Adam and Eve; idem (1996a) Texts and Concordances of the Armenian Adam Literature: Volume I: Genesis 1–4, Penitence of Adam, Book of Adam; idem (1996b) Armenian Apocrypha Relating to Adam and Eve; idem (2007) Adamgirk‘: The Adam Book of Aṙak‘el of Siwnik‘; J. Tromp (2005) The Life of Adam and Eve in Greek: A Critical Edition; E. Turdeanu (1981) Apocryphes slaves et roumains de l’Ancien Testament: 75–144.

Older introductions to Jewish literature mention two books dealing with Adam and Eve, the Apocalypse of Moses (in Greek) and the Vita Adae et Euae (Life of Adam and Eve) in Latin. Now the study of the rich Armenian and other traditions has turned up other Adam-and-Eve works that may have their roots in Second Temple Judaism in some cases (Mahé 1981; Lipscomb 1990; Stone 1992, 1996a, 1996b, 2007; cf. Turdeanu 1981: 75–144). The Gnostic Apocalypse of Adam has certain traditions in common with the Vita, which has suggested that they both depend on a common ‘Testament of Adam’ (Perkins 1977; Nickelsburg 1981; cf. Hedrick 1980). Some of the main texts are now collected into a synoptic

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edition (Anderson/Stone 1999; see also the Greek text in Tromp 2005). Despite the different titles, the two main books, Apocalypse of Moses and Life of Adam and Eve, are parallel in many respects, with a similar general content, but with the latter having some sections (Vita 1.1–22.2; 25-29; 49.1–50.2) not found in the former, and vice versa (Apoc. Mos. 15–30); the parallel sections are also sometimes of unequal length or different in other ways. It is not easy to date the two works, but many scholars would put the original compositions around the first century CE. Some points arising from them are the following: • They reveal the continued interest of many Jews in the origin myths and traditions known from the first few chapters of Genesis. For example, Philo concentrates on the early chapters of Genesis, and these chapters are also very important to quite a few Gnostic writings. • There is information on the concept of death (Apoc. Mos. 13.3-6; 32.4) and afterlife in various passages, including the ascent of the soul to paradise (Apoc. Mos. 37.5; 40.1-2) and the resurrection of all who have died (Apoc. Mos. 13.3-5). • Angelology and demonology are important. Michael has a prominent place in dealing with Adam and Eve. Various ranks of angels are listed or described (Apoc. Mos. 22.3; 33; 37.3; 40.2). The fall of Satan from heaven, with overtones of Isaiah 14, is presented in Vita 12-16. • The time that Adam and Eve spend in the Jordan and the Tigris rivers (Apoc. Mos. 29//Vita 6-10) has suggested to some scholars that a group believing in ritual bathing lay behind these works. 3.6. Parables (Similitudes) of Enoch (1 Enoch 37–71) AIEJL 592–602; G. Boccaccini (ed.) (2007) Enoch and the Messiah Son of Man: Revisiting the Book of Parables; S. Chialà (2007) ‘The Son of Man: The Evolution of an Expression’, in G. Boccaccini (ed.), Enoch and the Messiah Son of Man: Revisiting the Book of Parables: 153–78; J. J. Collins (2007) ‘Enoch and the Son of Man: A Response to Sabino Chialà and Helge Kvanvig’, in G. Boccaccini (ed.), Enoch and the Messiah Son of Man: Revisiting the Book of Parables: 216–27; L. L. Grabbe (2007) ‘The Parables of Enoch in Second Temple Jewish Society’, in G. Boccaccini (ed.), Enoch and the Messiah Son of Man: Revisiting the Book of Parables: 386–402; idem (2016) ‘ “Son of Man”: Its Origin and Meaning in Second Temple Judaism’, in L. T. Stuckenbruck and G. Boccaccini (eds), Enoch and the Synoptic Gospels: Reminiscences, Allusions, Intertextuality: 169–97; K. Koch (2007) ‘Questions regarding the So-Called Son of Man in

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See HJJSTP 2 (81–84) for an introduction and bibliography to 1 Enoch, supplemented by HJJSTP 3 (96–97) on 1 Enoch 83–108. As noted, a good deal of debate concerning 1 Enoch 37–71 is occurring at the moment. Milik’s argument (1976: 89–107) for the late third century CE is not generally accepted, and something of a consensus has developed around the first century CE, though whether before or after 70 is still disputed. There is nothing that must be Christian within the book (pace Milik), and most scholars accept that it is a Jewish work. The Parables continue a number of the themes found in other sections of the book and seem to give us an insight into one form of Judaism, probably before 70 CE. The reason for dating the book to the first part of the first century CE (Grabbe 2007) is the reference to the Parthian invasion in 40 BCE (1 En. 56.5–57.2), but the indication is that it is sometime in the past; also the Parthians and Medes seem to have become a type, which suggests a date some decades after 40 BCE. 1 Enoch 67.5-13 seems to refer to Herod’s visit to Callirrhoe shortly before his death in 4 BCE. Finally, no indication of the fall of the temple or the post-70 situation is found in the book. The ‘son of man’ in the Parables is also an area of discussion (see §10.3.3, and J. C. VanderKam 1992; Chialà 2007; Collins 2007; Koch 2007; Kvanvig 2007; Olson 1998, 2009; Grabbe 2016). Points arising from the Parables include the following:

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• God is often referred to as the ‘Lord of spirits’. There are also other titles, such as the ‘Head of Days’. • The writing illustrates the rich angelology and demonology of the time. The fallen angels myth is repeated here (1 En. 54; 56), with a list of participants (1 En. 69); also listed are the four archangels (1 En. 40; 54.6). • Daniel 7 has been taken up as one theme, with the ‘Head of Days’ (equivalent to the ‘Ancient of Days’ of Daniel) and the figure of the ‘Son of Man’ who is identified with both the heavenly Elect One and with the messiah (§10.3.3). • Several chapters seem to be extracted from a lost ‘Book of Noah’ (1 En. 65–68), also known from other sections of 1 Enoch (e.g., 106–7). • Enoch himself has a prominent role, even to the point of being identified with the ‘Son of Man’ in what is probably a later development of the book (1 En. 71). One can compare his exaltation here with his role as scribe in the judgment scene of one version of the Testament of Abraham (B 11.3-10). 3.7. Pseudo-Phocylides AIEJL 639, 646; J. J. Collins (2000) Between Athens and Jerusalem: Jewish Identity in the Hellenistic Diaspora: 168–74; P. W. van der Horst (1978) The Sentences of Pseudo-Phocylides: Introduction, Translation and Commentary; idem (1988) ‘Pseudo-Phocylides Revisited’, JSP 3:3–30; JWSTP 313–16; OTP 2:565–82; Schürer 3.687–92; J. Thomas (1992) Der jüdische Phokylides: Formgeschichtliche Zugänge zu Pseudo-Phokylides und Vergleich mit der neutestamentlichen Paränese; W. T. Wilson (1994) The Mysteries of Righteousness: The Literary Composition and Genre of the Sentences of Pseudo-Phocylides.

Although there was a genuine Greek poet Phocylides of the sixth century BCE, it is generally agreed that the present text is a Jewish one. A large part of the content is parallel with the Hebrew Bible or compatible with what we know of Judaism; on the other hand, there is little that could be specifically Christian and little to show a non-Jewish authorship unless possibly written by a ‘God-fearer’. A study of the Greek vocabulary and the lack of clashes between Jew and Gentile suggests the early Roman empire (the reign of Augustus or perhaps of Tiberius), making it roughly contemporary with the Wisdom of Solomon and Philo. The prohibition against dissection of corpses (Ps.-Phoc. 102) suggests Alexandria as its place of origin. It tells us the following about the Jews and Jewish beliefs:

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• The ‘universalism’ in its teaching is very strong. There is not the hostility toward the wider Graeco-Roman world that one finds even in the Wisdom of Solomon. Although there is no agreement about its precise audience, it shows a knowledge of Hellenistic literature and culture, and seems to see no conflict between those and Judaism. • Its content is mainly ethical. Many of its teachings can be matched more or less with biblical passages (e.g., not taking the young of a bird and also the mother [Ps.-Phoc. 84–85 // Deut. 22.6-7]; not eating meat torn by animals [Ps.-Phoc. 147–48 // Exod. 23.3]), but most are also compatible with contemporary Graeco-Roman thought and even paralleled by Graeco-Roman maxims. Overt Jewish practices (e.g., the sabbath) are not mentioned, though there is an emphasis on monotheism (Ps.-Phoc. 8, 54). • There are certain eschatological points made, including the soul as the person, immortal, created in God’s image; the residence of the soul in Hades after death; the idea of the resurrection; and the goal of humans to become gods (Ps.-Phoc. 102-15). • A long section on sexual morality (Ps.-Phoc. 175-206) seems to speak against any sort of sex without procreation as its goal. It also appears to condemn lesbianism, which is not mentioned in the Bible (Ps.-Phoc. 192). 3.8. The Sibylline Oracles J. J. Collins (1974) ‘The Place of the Fourth Sibyl in the Development of the Jewish Sibyllina’, JJS 25: 365–80.

For an introduction and bibliography to the Sibylline Oracles, see HJJSTP 2 (107–10). A number of points in all three Jewish oracles appear to relate to the period after the battle of Actium in 31 BCE; some clearly relate to the period after 70 CE: • All three of the Jewish oracles (Sib. Or. 3, 4, 5) are very anti-Roman and predict Rome’s destruction. Sib. Or. 5 also shows anti-Egyptian sentiment. • Sib. Or. 3.1-96 contains a reference to Nero redivivus (the assumption that Nero was not dead but would soon gather an army and invade Judaea) as does Sib. Or. 5 (93-110, 137-54, 214-27, 361-80). According to Sib. Or. 3.63-74, Nero is to be identified with the demonic figure of Belial (cf. §10.2).

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• Sib. Or. 3 and 5 are very supportive of the temple and sacrificial system, bemoaning its destruction (e.g., Sib. Or. 3.624-34; 5.397413). However, an unusual feature of Sib. Or. 4.4-30 is its anti-temple polemic, perhaps unique in Jewish literature up to this time (cf. Collins 1974). This is true even though the eruption of Vesuvius in 79 CE was said to be punishment for the conquest of Jerusalem (Sib. Or. 4.115-36). • Sib. Or. 4.165 places a good deal of store in the efficacy of washing in rivers, suggesting its origin in a Jewish baptismal sect (cf. §7.7), most likely in the Palestinian area. • The imminent expectation of the end seems to be part of the message of all three Sib. Or. 3, 4, 5, with some common themes and some differences. Sib. Or. 3.46-63 and 75-92 indicate a period after the disappointment of Actium when hope in Cleopatra had failed. Sib. Or. 3.46-63 predicts the destruction of Rome. Sib. Or. 4 gives an eschatology that includes an ekpyrosis or universal conflagration because of wickedness (Sib. Or. 4.159-61, 171-78), followed by a resurrection and judgment of all, with the wicked assigned to Tartarus and Gehenna but the righteous living again on earth (Sib Or. 4.17992). Sib. Or. 3.75-92 and 5.55-61, 527-31 include destruction by fire. • Sib. Or. 5.108-9, 155-61, 414-28 shows a different sort of messianism. The attitude is openly hostile to Egypt (Sib. Or. 5.179-99), and hope is now placed in a messianic figure who comes from heaven. Even after the revolts under Trajan and Hadrian, at least in Egypt some Jews still hoped for deliverance from God in the not-too-distant future. 3.9. Slavonic Enoch (2 Enoch) C. Böttrich (1991) ‘Recent Studies in the Slavonic Book of Enoch’, JSP 9: 35–42; idem (1992) Weltweisheit, Menschheitsethik, Urkult: Studien zum slavischen Henochbuch; idem (1996) Das slavische Henochbuch; R. H. Charles and W. R. Morfill (1896) The Book of the Secrets of Enoch; J. J. Collins (2000) Between Athens and Jerusalem: Jewish Identity in the Hellenistic Diaspora: 252–55; U. Fischer (1978) Eschatologie und Jenseitserwartung im hellenistischen Diasporajudentum; JLBM 185–88; JWSTP 406–8; G. Macaskill (2013) The Slavonic Texts of 2 Enoch; J. T. Milik (1976) The Books of Enoch: Aramaic Fragments of Qumran Cave 4: 107–16; A. A. Orlov (1998) ‘Titles of Enoch-Metatron in 2 Enoch’, JSP 18: 71–86; idem (2005) The Enoch-Metatron Tradition; idem (2007) From Apocalypticism to Merkabah Mysticism: Studies in the Slavonic Pseudepigrapha; A. A. Orlov and G. Boccaccini (eds) (2012) New Perspectives on

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There are many questions about 2 Enoch, partly because it has a shorter history of study than some of the other apocalyptic writings and partly because fewer scholars are Slavonic specialists (cf. Orlov/Boccaccini [eds] 2012). There is not yet a consensus about the Old Church Slavonic text which occurs in several versions, and eminent specialists have preferred different ones. Even the trend to reduce the various manuscripts and sources to two versions, a long one and a short one, only partially alleviates the problem. (There seems to be agreement that the translations of Charles/Morfill [1896] and of APOT are based on inferior manuscripts.) Both versions are given in translation by F. I. Anderson (in OTP). For the Slavonic text see G. Macaskill (2013) who gives both the longer and shorter versions; also the older edition by A. Vaillant (1952) who has preferred the shorter version, though readings from manuscripts of the longer version are also included there. Böttrich (1992: 59–107) argues that the best form of the text is the long version (especially as found in manuscripts J and R) which is the basis of his translation (Böttrich 1996). A second problem is the dating and provenance of the book. Charles/ Morfill (1896) dated it to the first half of the first century CE. Vaillant (1952) argued that it was Christian. More recently J. T. Milik (1976: 107–12) has claimed that it was a Christian work, no earlier than about the ninth or tenth centuries CE. Neither this late dating nor the attempt to make it Christian have gained a following, but both questions are difficult. There is little to suggest a Christian work, especially in the short recension. The first or second century CE is a dating that many would regard as reasonable. The view that it is from a ‘fringe sect’ of Judaism or that it is syncretistic (OTP 1:96) begs a lot of questions, especially by presupposing that we know enough about the Judaism of the time to speak in those terms. The view that it was adapted to fit Bogomil doctrine is also improbable (cf. Böttrich 1992: 28–31, 54–55). The book is mainly important for it teachings on eschatology and the heavenly world: • A large section of the book (1–38) is taken up with a heavenly journey through either seven (shorter version) or ten heavens (longer version). • The cosmological interests of the Astronomical Book of Enoch (1 En. 72–82) are also found in 2 Enoch (11–17), including a detailed account of creation (2 En. 24–32).

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• There is much paranaetic material in the book, especially in the part in which Enoch speaks with his children (2 En. 38–67). • There is a definite cultic interest. A priesthood is established even before Noah’s flood, with Methusalah as the first priest, passing the office down to his second son (2 En. 69–70). The command to tie sacrificial animals by all four legs is otherwise unknown (2 En. 59.3; 69.12). • The book contains a unique Melchizedek tradition (2 En. 71–72), though it confirms the speculation about the mysterious figure of Genesis 14 already known from 11QMelchizedek and the book of Hebrews. This story does not seem to have any Christian influence, at least in the shorter recension. • There are certain resemblances to some of the Gnostic texts, and 2 Enoch has been used to support the thesis of a Jewish Gnosticism (§8.3). 3.10. 4 Maccabees E. J. Bickerman (1976) ‘The Date of Fourth Maccabees’, Studies in Jewish and Christian History: 1:275–81; U. Breitenstein (1976) Beobachtungen zu Sprache, Stil und Gedankengut des Vierten Maccabäerbuchs; J. J. Collins (2000) Between Athens and Jerusalem: Jewish Identity in the Hellenistic Diaspora: 202–9; D. A. deSilva (1998) 4 Maccabees; J. W. van Henten (1986) ‘Datierung und Herkunft des Vierten Makkabäerbuches’, in J. W. van Henten et al. (eds), Tradition and Re-interpretation in Jewish and Early Christian Literature: 136–49; idem (1997) The Maccabean Martyrs as Saviours of the Jewish People: A Study of 2 and 4 Maccabees; JLBM 223–27; JWSTP 316–19; OTP 2:531–64; Schürer 3:588–93.

This is a philosophical treatise on the topic of control of the passions by reason, written in diatribe form. The name ‘Maccabees’ has become attached to it because it uses the Maccabees as examples, especially the martyrdom story probably taken from a copy of 2 Maccabees 7. The work is written in good Greek, which was likely its original language. Based on the language and some possible historical references, it has been dated from the mid-first century CE to about the time of the Bar Kokhva revolt. An argument has been made for a composition in Syria or Asia Minor rather than Egypt (Henten 1986): • The work illustrates how a Jewish writer might use fully Hellenistic forms and ideals to write a very Jewish work. The work takes its place alongside those of Philo, the Wisdom of Solomon, and several of the

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Fragmentary Writers in Greek (HJJSTP 2: 84-94); however, if van Henten (1986) is correct, this Hellenistic context may be in Syria or even Palestine and not just in Alexandria. • The book is essentially Jewish in its interests and emphases. For example, the ‘reason’ promoted is the reason of piety or religion (4 Macc. 1.1: ὁ εὐσεβὴς λογισμός). • The author believes in the immortality of the soul and reward and punishment immediately after death (4 Macc. 13.17; 15.3; 17.5, 18; 18.23). There is no evidence of a belief in a resurrection, despite the occurrence of this belief in its base text of 2 Maccabees (especially 2 Macc. 7). • Like its source 2 Maccabees, the work stresses the value of martyrdom as a way of atoning for the sins of the people (4 Macc. 1.11; 6.29; 17.21). 3.11. Testament of Abraham AIEJL 635–36, 642–43; D. C. Allison, Jr (2003) Testament of Abraham; J. J. Collins (2000) Between Athens and Jerusalem: Jewish Identity in the Hellenistic Diaspora: 248–51; M. Delcor (1973) Le Testament d’Abraham: Introduction, traduction du texte grec et commentaire de la recension greque longe; M. Heide (2012) Das Testament Abrahams: Edition und Übersetzung der arabischen und äthipischen Versionen; JLBM 248–53; JWSTP 60–64; P. B. Munoa (1998) Four Powers in Heaven: The Interpretation of Daniel 7 in the Testament of Abraham; G. W. E. Nickelsburg (ed.) (1976) Studies in the Testament of Abaham; OTP 1:871–902; N. Roddy (2001) The Romanian Version of the Testament of Abraham: Text, Translation, and Cultural Context; F. Schmidt (1986) Le Testament grec d’Abraham: Introduction, édition critique des deux recensions grecques, traduction; Schürer 3:761–67; M. E. Stone (1972) The Testament of Abraham: The Greek Recensions; idem (2012) Armenian Apocrypha relating to Abraham.

The work is found in two different Greek versions (labelled A [long version] and B [short version]) which are sometimes fairly different from one another (Schmidt 1986; Stone 1972), though generally parallel and often similar in content. Considerable work has been done on the text in recent years, including editions in other languages (Heide 2012; Roddy 2001), and a study of related traditions (Stone 2012). It is not clear that there was a Semitic original of either or both the versions, though the type of language used may be a form of ‘Jewish Greek’ which included a number of Semitisms. There are some Christian passages, especially

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in the longer version, but these do not seem to be essential to the text and are generally taken as interpolations (Allison [2003: 19, 28–31] emphasizes the Christian revisions, especially of the long version), but they suggest that the text continued to develop until the third to sixth centuries CE (Allison 2003: 40). Schmidt (1986: 10–13) took ms E (of the short recension) to be the most original. It is now common to date the original work to the first century CE, but the text apparently continued to evolve, probably for several centuries. The shorter recension is probably the earlier (though Allison [2003: 12–27] argues for the longer), with the essential text in ms E perhaps from the first or second century CE. The book is an important source for eschatological beliefs about the turn of the era: • The judgment scene is at the core of both versions (T. Abr. A 11-13; B 8-11) and is an important witness to one view of what happened at death: the soul was judged immediately, the righteous going to paradise and the wicked to torture and destruction. There is a hint of a general resurrection (of the bodies of the dead) and a judgment at the end of the age (see below). • The first appearance of the later Jewish belief in the ‘merits of the fathers’ as a means of doing away with sin is found in one version (T. Abr. A 12.16-18; 14.1-11). • Both versions seem to presuppose some sort of fixed chronological scheme for history, apparently the idea that history lasted 6000 years (or possibly 7000 years) before the bodies of the dead are resurrected for a final judgment (T Abr. A 19.7; B 7.15-16). 3.12. Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs AIEJL 624–29; R. H. Charles (1908) The Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs, Translated…with Notes; J. J. Collins (2000) Between Athens and Jerusalem: Jewish Identity in the Hellenistic Diaspora: 174–83; J. C. Greenfield and M. E. Stone (1979) ‘Remarks on the Aramaic Testament of Levi from the Geniza’, RB 86: 214–30; JLBM 231–41; M. de Jonge (1978) The Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs: A Critical Edition of the Greek Text; idem (1992) ‘Patriarchs, Testaments of the Twelve’, ABD 5:181–86; JWSTP: 331–44; R. A. Kugler (1996) From Patriarch to Priest: The Levi-Priestly Tradition from Aramaic Levi to Testament of Levi; idem (2001) The Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs; OTP 1:775–828; Schürer 3:767–81; H. D. Slingerland (1977) The Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs: A Critical History of Research; M. E. Stone (1988) ‘Enoch, Aramaic

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This is a collection of writings which may have come together in its present form rather late. Although there is a certain unity of language and theme, this may be a redactional unity; certainly most studies have found evidence of extensive editorial activity over a considerable period of time. In its present form the Testaments is a Christian work, with many undoubted Christian passages; the question is whether a Jewish work has been taken over by Christian scribes who made some Christian interpolations that can be removed to leave the original more or less intact, or whether a Christian composition has made extensive use of Jewish sources (cf. Charles 1908 versus de Jonge 1978). This debate about the final form of the Testaments in Greek has not really been resolved, and finds from the Qumran scrolls and the Cairo Genizah have complicated matters. Fragments of an Aramaic work related to the Testament of Levi appear among the texts from the Cairo Genizah (Stone/Greenfield 1979); similarly, fragments of works about Levi (1Q21; 4QLevia‑f ar [4Q213-214b]) and Naphtali (4QTNaph [4Q215]) found among the Qumran scrolls have some connections with the Testament of Levi and the Testament of Naphtali. Although the Aramaic texts have some relationship to the Greek texts, they also show many differences (cf. Kugler 1996). In the case of these two works of Levi and Naphtali, the present Greek text probably incorporates material from or a reworking of something like the known Aramaic versions, but whether we can speak of an earlier and a later version of the two Testaments in question is another matter. Further, it is not at all clear that the testaments of the other patriarchs had any relationship to Semitic originals. A later Jewish or Christian author, knowing the Testaments of Levi and Naphtali, could have then written works in the names of the other patriarchs to fill out the number. These new testaments could have been composed in Greek from the start (though language does not necessarily settle the issue, since it is not always possible to distinguish translation Greek from a work composed originally in ‘Jewish Greek’). Alternatively, a Christian or Jewish writer could have composed the additional testaments in Aramaic, and these were subsequently translated or incorporated into Greek versions, whether by Jews or Christians. In sum, the existence of the Testaments of Levi and Naphtali does not prove either the Jewish or early origin of the testaments of the other patriarchs.

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Two aspects of the Testaments as a whole stand out: the ethical/paranaetic content, focusing on specific virtues and vices, and the passages dealing with eschatology. The ethical and instructional material is often compatible with other Jewish works in Greek and is not necessarily Christian in character; however, the specific elements of Jewish law and practice one might find in such a work (e.g., sabbath-keeping and circumcision) are missing, while the eschatological passages show a good deal of Christian content. Yet there is much in the contents that shows primarily Jewish interests and does not fit a Christian context, even a Jewish-Christian one. These considerations make use of the Greek Testaments as Jewish sources difficult to control. This is not to deny that much Jewish material may be there, but at this stage of study, separating out Jewish material from the Second Temple period is very problematic. No summary will be given here, therefore, but comments relating specifically to the material from Qumran (1Q21; 4QLevia‑f ar [4Q213-214b]; 4QTNaph [4Q215]) and the Cairo Genizah Testament of Levi can be found in HJJSTP 2 (98–100). 3.13. Testament of Job AIEJL 636–37, 643–44; S. P. Brock (1974) Testamentum Iobi; J. J. Collins (2000) Between Athens and Jerusalem: Jewish Identity in the Hellenistic Diaspora: 240–46; JLBM 241–48; JWSTP 349–55; M. A. Knibb and P. W. van der Horst (eds) (1990) Studies on the Testament of Job; R. A. Kraft (1974) The Testament of Job according to the SV Text; OTP 1:829–68.

This is a form of ‘rewritten Bible’, using the LXX version of the book of Job. There are many midrashic details added to the original story, and the whole has been recast from the innovative, challenging biblical book, which questioned the very actions of God, to form a story of traditional piety. The book was likely written in Egypt since Job is king of this country, but the dating is difficult. It could be first century CE, but a later date is not excluded. Although several suggestions have been made (e.g., missionary literature, martyrdom literature), the purpose of the book is still unclear. A favourite origin has been the Egyptian group called the Therapeutae (§7.4), described by Philo (though the actual existence of such a group has been questioned). Some of the points of interest are the following: • Job is a model of the pious man, exhibiting the quality of patience (hupomonē). Instead of denouncing God’s unfairness and calling for a confrontation, Job meekly accepts his fate and even makes sure that

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he suffers to the full extent allowed by God (e.g., by putting back the worms on his flesh when they fall off! [T. Job 20.9]). Clearly, the wisdom tradition has veered away from following the sceptical lead of Job and Qohelet and back toward the piety exemplified in Ben Sira. Women have a prominent place. Job’s (first) wife is given sympathetic treatment and even has a name. Her suffering as a result of Job’s situation is made much clearer than in the Hebrew Job. Job’s daughters speak in ecstasy (T. Job 48.3, though some think this is part of a later Montanist addition to the text). In the original book Satan is still a member of the heavenly court, a sort of divine prosecutor, but here he has become the devil (HJJSTP 2: 256–57). There are some connections with merkavah mysticism (the version of Jewish mysticism dealing with the divine chariot [T. Job 52.6-10]; see §8.1). Idolatry is strongly denounced (T. Job 2–5); indeed, Satan’s attack on Job is said to be the direct consequence of Job’s destroying an idol. Job has been more tightly brought into the biblical tradition by identifying him with Jobab, one of the Edomite kings (Gen. 36.33-34; T. Job 1.6; 2.2) and making his second wife Dinah the daughter of Jacob (Gen. 34; T. Job 1.6; cf. LAB 8.7-8). 3.14. Joseph and Asenath AIEJL 638–39, 645–46; G. Bohak (1996) Joseph and Aseneth and the Jewish Temple in Heliopolis; C. Burchard (ed.) (2003) Joseph und Aseneth; R. D. Chesnutt (1995) From Death to Life: Conversion in Joseph and Aseneth; J. J. Collins (2000) Between Athens and Jerusalem: Jewish Identity in the Hellenistic Diaspora: 103–10; U. B. Fink (2008) Joseph und Aseneth: Revision des griechischen Textes und Edition der zweiten lateinischen Übersetzung; JLBM 258–63; JWSTP 65–71; R. S. Kraemer (1998) When Aseneth Met Joseph: A Late Antique Tale of the Biblical Patriarch and his Egyptian Wife, Reconsidered; OTP 177–47; E. Reinmuth (ed.) (2009) Joseph und Aseneth: Eingeleitet, ediert, übersetzt und mit interpretierenden Essays; D. Sänger (1980) Antikes Judentum und die Mysterien: Religionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zu Joseph und Aseneth; Schürer 3:546–52.

This book is problematic because arguments about its origin and dating have ranged widely in recent scholarship. The central story of the book is about how Asenath the daughter of an Egyptian priest renounces idolatry and converts to Judaism so she can marry Joseph (the section of story that

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makes her a daughter of Joseph’s half-sister Dinah seems to be a separate tradition). Thus, the main message of the book has been taken to be in what it says about proselytes and conversion to Judaism and about marriage of Jews to Gentiles. It has often been dated to the first or second centuries CE, though whether it is Jewish or Christian has been disputed. There are also major problems with the text, which exists in two versions, a shorter and a longer. Building on the work of her teacher C. Burchard (2003), U. B. Fink (2008) has attempted a reconstruction of the text, arguing that the shorter recension is more original (cf. also Reinmuth 2009). The study by R. S. Kraemer (1998) argues that the book is from the third or fourth centuries CE and may well be Christian. She also believes that the shorter version of the text is more original. On the other hand, concentrating on Jos. Asen. 14–17 G. Bohak (1996) argues that the book was written as justification of the Leontopolis temple and is to be dated to the second century BCE. Unfortunately, the difficulties about text, provenance, date, and setting make it difficult to use with confidence for Jewish beliefs at a particular time; however, it is most likely a message to fellow Jews about the proper treatment of converts. This would be valid any time between about the first century BCE and perhaps the third or fourth century CE; on the other hand, the late first century or the early second century CE is not an unreasonable time for its origin (Reinmuth [ed.] 2009: 11–15). 3.15. Apocalypses of Ezra, Baruch, Abraham, and John AIEJL 609–21 (4 Ezra and 2 Baruch); 637 (Apocalypse of Abraham); D. Aune (1997–98) Revelation; R. Bauckham (1993) The Climax of Prophecy: Studies on the Book of Revelation; B. C. Blackwell, J. K. Goodrich, and J. Maston (eds) (2019) Reading Revelation in Context: John’s Apocalypse and Second Temple Judaism; P. Bogaert (1969) L’Apocalypse syriaque de Baruch (1969); G. H. Box (1917) The Apocalypse of Ezra; R. H. Charles (1896) The Apocalypse of Baruch; idem (1920) A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Revelation of St. John; M. Chyutin (1997) The New Jerusalem Scroll from Qumran: A Comprehensive Reconstruction; A. Y. Collins (1976) The Combat Myth in the Book of Revelation; S. Dedering and R. J. Bidawid (eds) (1973) Apocalypse of Baruch; 4 Esdras; H. Giesen (1997) Die Offenbarung des Johannes; L. L. Grabbe (1981) ‘Chronography in 4 Ezra and 2 Baruch’, Society of Biblical Literature 1981 Seminar Papers: 49–63; idem (1987) ‘The Scapegoat Ritual: A Study in Early Jewish Interpretation’, JSJ 18: 152–67; idem (2013) ‘4 Ezra and 2 Baruch in Social and Historical Perspective’, in M. Henze and G. Boccaccini (eds), Fourth Ezra and Second Baruch: Reconstruction after

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A History of Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, Volume 4 the Fall: 221–35; D. M. Gurtner (2009) Second Baruch: A Critical Edition of the Syriac Text, With Greek and Latin Fragments, English Translation, Introduction, and Concordances; R. G. Hall (1988) ‘The “Christian Interpolation” in the Apocalypse of Abraham’, JBL 107: 107–10; A. P. Hayman (1998) ‘The “Man from the Sea” in 4 Ezra 13’, JJS 49: 1–16; M. Henze (2011) Jewish Apocalypticism in Late First Century Israel: Reading Second Baruch in Context; M. Henze and G. Boccaccini (eds) (2013) Fourth Ezra and Second Baruch: Reconstruction after the Fall; K. M. Hogan (2008) Theologies in Conflict in 4 Ezra: Wisdom Debate and Apocalyptic Solution; JLBM 287–94 (4 Ezra and 2 Baruch), 294–99 (Apocalypse of Abraham); JWSTP 408–10 (2 Baruch), 412–14 (4 Ezra), 415–18 (Apocalypse of Abraham); A. Kabasele Mukenge (1998) L’unité littéraire du livre de Baruch; A. F. J. Klijn (1989) ‘Recent Developments in the Study of the Syriac Apocalypse of Baruch’, JSP 4: 3–17; A. F. J. Klijn (ed.) (1992) Die Esra-Apokalypse (IV. Esra), nach dem lateinischen Text unter Benutzung der anderen Versionen; C. R. Koester (2015) Revelation: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary; J. Kovacs and C. Rowland (2004) Revelation; A. Laato (1998) ‘The Apocalypse of the Syriac Baruch and the Date of the End’, JSP 18: 39–46; F. Leemhuis, A. F. J. Klijn, and G. J. H. van Gelder (eds) (1986) The Arabic Text of the Apocalypse of Baruch; B. W. Longenecker (1997) ‘Locating 4 Ezra: A Consideration of its Social Setting and Functions’, JSJ 28: 271–93; F. J. Murphy (1985a) The Structure and Meaning of Second Baruch; idem (1985b) ‘2 Baruch and the Romans’, JBL 104: 663–69; J. M. Myers (1974) I and II Esdras; OTP 1:517–59 (4 Ezra), 615–52 (2 Baruch), 681–705 (Apocalypse of Abraham); N. Roddy (1996) ‘ “Two Parts: Weeks of Seven Weeks”: The End of the Age as Terminus ad Quem for 2 Baruch’, JSP 14: 3–14; J. Roloff (1993) The Revelation of John; R. Rubinkiewicz (1992) ‘Abraham, Apocalypse of’, ABD 1:41–43; A. de Santos Otero (2011) ‘Die handschriftliche Überlieferung der Apokalypse Abrahams’, in L. DiTommaso and C. Böttrich (eds), The Old Testament Apocrypha in the Slavonic Tradition: Continuity and Diversity: 389–406; K. Schmid (1998) ‘Esras Begegnung mit Zion: Die Deutung der Zerstörung Jerusalems im 4. Esrabuch und das Problem des “bösen Herzens” ’, JSJ 29: 261–77; Schürer 3:288–92, 294–306, 750–56; M. E. Stone (1979) The Armenian Version of IV Ezra; idem (1989) Features of the Eschatology of IV Ezra; idem (1990) Fourth Ezra; A. L. Thompson (1977) Responsibility for Evil in the Theodicy of IV Ezra: A Study Illustrating the Significance of Form and Structure for the Meaning of the Book; L. L. Thompson (1990) The Book of Revelation: Apocalypse & Empire; B. Violet (1924) Die Apokalypsen des Ezra und das Baruch in deutscher Gestalt; R. Weber and R. Gryson (eds) (1994) Biblia Sacra iuxta Vulgatam Versionem; J. E. Wright (1997) ‘The Social Setting of the Syriac Apocalypse of Baruch’, JSP 16: 81–96.

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The Apocalypse of Ezra, the Apocalypse of Baruch, the Apocalypse of Abraham, and the NT book of Revelation all seem to arise from approximately the same time: about 100 CE. Although Revelation is very much Christian in its present form, a good deal of Jewish material seems to be drawn on, and it represents the same spirit as the Jewish apocalypses of the same time. All four have much in common in spite of different (fictional) settings and a different patriarchal figure as the main actor, while 4 Ezra and 2 Baruch are probably related organically in some way. The Apocalypse of Ezra or 4 Ezra (also sometimes referred to as 3 Ezra or 2 Esdras) is preserved in Latin and Syriac translations (Weber/ Gryson [eds] 1994; Dedering/Bidawid [eds] 1973), the original (probably Hebrew) being entirely lost. It forms chs 3–14 in the work called 2 Esdras in the Apocrypha (chs 1–2 are usually referred to as 5 Ezra, and chs 15–16 as 6 Ezra). It is generally dated about 100 CE because of the date in 4 Ezra 3.1 that Ezra had a vision in the 30th year after the destruction of Jerusalem. This dating is further confirmed by the Eagle Vision of 4 Ezra 11–12 which seems to show the emperors to about the time of Domitian. The Apocalypse of Baruch or 2 Baruch is preserved only in a Syriac translation (Dedering/Bidawid [eds] 1973; Gurtner 2009) from a lost original (presumably Hebrew). From the number of passages closely parallel to 4 Ezra, scholars have tended to see it as dependent on 4 Ezra, but the commentary by P. Bogaert (1969) argues that the converse is true: 2 Baruch is the prior work, and 4 Ezra is dependent on it. Regardless of which is the earlier, both works seem to represent the situation some years after the Roman destruction of Jerusalem and the Second Temple. In both books the fact of the destruction is a major theological problem, and both address the question of theodicy. Although they deal with a variety of issues, the primary answer is that God will shortly intervene to right matters. The victorious conqueror (the ‘eagle’ of 4 Ezra 11–12) has not much longer to enjoy its evil gains, for God will take a hand to destroy the Roman empire. This will commence the end time process which will include the temporary Messianic Age and finally the creation of a new heaven and new earth. Indeed, F. J. Murphy (1985b) has argued that 2 Baruch opposes any armed struggle against Rome, preferring to leave the action to God. Of course, other Jews of the time took a different view. One of the interesting features of 4 Ezra is that it evidently attempted to calculate the time of the end (Grabbe 1981). The Revelation (or Apocalypse) of John is probably the most familiar work to many readers. With centuries of commentary and scholarship behind the book attention here will be confined to a classic commentary plus a few recent ones. Because of his unprecedented knowledge of

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Jewish apocalyptic literature, the commentary by R. H. Charles (1920) is still very important despite its age. More recent commentaries include Koester (2015); Kovacs/Rowland (2004); Aune (1997–98); Giesen (1997); Roloff (1993); Thompson (1990). As with 4 Ezra and 2 Baruch most commentators agree that the Revelation of John is predicting the impending destruction of Rome and the deliverance of the faithful by the return of Jesus Christ. The Apocalypse of Abraham is known only in a Slavonic version (cf. Santos Otero 2011), and scholarly study of the book is less advanced than with the other works (see JLBM 294–99; JWSTP 415–18; OTP 1:681– 705; Schürer 3:288–92; Rubinkiewicz 1992). This writing exists in several versions, and there is no agreement on which is the most original (though the original language was probably Hebrew). The first part of the book (Apoc. Abr. 1–8) is how Abaham destroyed his fathers’ idols; the second half (Apoc. Abr. 9–32), a description of a heavenly journey and the things Abraham saw there, including the original Adam and Eve in Eden. It was thought that Apoc. Abr. 7 was a Christian interpolation, but this now seems doubtful (Hall 1988). The author has priestly interests and may have been a priest (cf. Rubinkiewicz 1992: 1:42). The demon Azazel has a prominent part to play as the tempter and opponent of God (Apoc. Abr. 13; 14.5; 22.5–23.13; 29.5-7; 31.2-7), while the angel Iaoel is equally important (Apoc Abr. 10.3). The temple has been destroyed (Apoc. Abr. 25; 27.1-5) but will be rebuilt (Apoc. Abr. 29.17-18). Although there are many differences in content and approach between the four books, they have much in common, even given that Revelation is a Christian work with an outlook not found in any of the Jewish apocalypses. The following points about Judaism arise from these books: • A preoccupation with Roman rule and an expectation of the imminent end of the Roman empire. In 4 Ezra and 2 Baruch the destruction of the temple and its continuing ruinous state is a problem, raising questions about theodicy which are answered by appeal to the fall of Rome. The eagle vision of 4 Ezra 11–12, the beast from the sea (Rev. 13.1-8) as well as the beast ridden by the scarlet women of Revelation (Rev. 17), and the fourth kingdom of 2 Baruch (39–40) are all symbols of Rome’s expected destruction. In each case the Roman empire as it existed about 100 CE is pictured, but heavenly intervention (by Christ in Rev. 18, though announced by an angel; by a messianic figure in 4 Ezra 12.31-34) will bring about the destruction of Rome. The Apocalypse of Abraham (32.1) speaks more generally

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of punishment of the heathen, but it predicts the restoration of the temple and cult which suggests that their destruction was seen as a problem. The rise or coming of a messianic figure. In Revelation this is naturally the heavenly Christ who returns for judgment of the wicked, but the messiah of 2 Baruch (29–30; 39.7–40.3; 70.9; 72-74) is also apparently a heavenly figure, though hardly divine. 4 Ezra 7.26-32 posits a Messianic Age: an earthly messiah who will rule for 400 years, after which he and all humanity will die, but then the resurrection and judgment will follow after seven days and finally new heavens and a new earth. In 4 Ezra 13, however, the ‘man from the sea’ appears to be a heavenly messianic figure. The Apocalypse of Abraham (31.1) speaks more generally of the coming of a ‘chosen one’ who will gather God’s chosen people. The ‘messianic woes’ (the various problems, plagues, and unnatural events preceding the end time) have a prominent place in all the apocalypses (4 Ezra 5.1-13; 6.18-28; 2 Bar. 70; Apoc. Abr. 29.15; 30.2-8; Rev. 6; 8–9; 15–16). The ‘four horsemen’ of Rev. 6.1-8 are based on a traditional list of plagues of war, famine, pestilence (e.g., Ezek. 6.11). The fate of the individual after death is also a major concern. The soul has some sort of existence continuing immediately after death, perhaps kept in a type of storage place or ‘treasury’ (4 Ezra 7.78-101; 2 Bar. 21.23; 30.2; 49–51; Rev. 6.9-11). At the time of the end, there will be a resurrection and judgment, followed by reward for the righteous and punishment for the wicked (4 Ezra 7.28-44; 2 Bar. 50–51; Rev. 20.4-15). The Apocalypse of Abraham has no resurrection (though some see hints of it [cf. Rubinkiewicz 1992: 1.42]), but God has prepared rewards and punishments for the righteous and wicked (Apoc. Abr. 31.1-4). Periodization of history. 2 Bar. 53–74 divides history into periods of alternating light and dark waters. Apoc. Abr. 29.2 divides the final age into twelve parts, as do 4 Ezra 14.10-12 and 2 Bar. 27; 53.6. 4 Ezra apparently calculates history according to a 7000-year period or millennial week (Grabbe 1981; cf. HJJSTP 3: 287–89). History culminates in new heavens and a new earth (Rev. 21; 4 Ezra 7.31-44; 2 Bar. 72–74; cf. Isa. 65.17-25) and a new stylized Jerusalem (cf. Ezek. 40–44; Qumran New Jerusalem texts [1Q32; 2Q24; 4Q554-55; 5Q15; 11Q18]; Chyutin 1997), to be preceded by a Messianic Age (4 Ezra 7.26-30) or millennium (Rev. 20.1-6).

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• Good and evil angelic beings have a major role to play. The leading righteous angels are Michael in Revelation, Iaoel in the Apocalypse of Abraham, Uriel who reveals things to Ezra in 4 Ezra, Ramael the angel of visions in 2 Baruch (55.3). The picture of Satan and his battle with the archangel Michael (Rev. 12) draws on the old Chaoskampf mythology in which God defeated the monsters of chaos (Collins 1976). Old mythology lies behind the figures of Behemoth and Leviathan (4 Ezra 6.49-52; 2 Bar. 29.4; cf. Job 40–41; KTU 1.5.1.1-3) and Azazel in the Apocalypse of Abraham (cf. Grabbe 1987). 3.16. Testament of Solomon P. Busch (2006) Das Testament Salomos: Die älteste christliche Dämonologie, kommentiert und in deutscher Erstübersetzung; C. C. McCown (1922) The Testament of Solomon; OTP 1:935–87; Schürer 3:1:372–75; P. A. Torijano (2002) Solomon the Esoteric King: From King to Magus, Development of a Tradition.

The Testament of Solomon has been little studied, which is one of the reasons that it is difficult to date. It is generally thought to be Jewish and from the early centuries CE, but no consensus on its precise time seems to exist. Some would date it to the first century CE, but many others would make it a later work, as most probably to be dated to the third or fourth century CE. Some have identified it as a Christian composition, yet most scholars agree that in any case it made use of earlier Jewish material perhaps going back to Second Temple times. The recent study by P. Busch (2006) builds on the pioneering work of C. C. McCown (1922). Following McCown, Busch believes that there was an original Grundschrift in three recensions, Recensions A and B being independent but Recension C dependent on Recension B. McCown’s attempt to find an ‘Urschrift’ in ms D, however, was misconceived: the extra material of ms D is actually a later redactional layer. The Befragungskapitel (T. Sol. 4–18) are also original and not secondary as McCown thought. Certain Christian elements are integral to the book, making it a Christian product of the fourth century. It is possible that a Jewish original composition has been reworked by a Christian, but it could equally be a Christian composition from diverse Solomonic legends in circulation in the Jewish context. Regardless of whether Busch is correct, a Jewish tradition had developed around Solomon, making him an exorcist and a master of demons (cf. Torijano 2002). This is already found as early as Josephus (Ant. 8.2.5

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§45), which states that God had given him knowledge that he could use against demons for the benefit and healing of humans. This included incantations by which illnesses can be relieved, as well as exorcisms by which demons can be driven out of those possessed. The main feature of the Testament of Solomon is that Solomon was able to harnesses the demons for the purpose of building the Jerusalem temple. He also imprisoned some within it (e.g., T. Sol. 16.6-7). The Testament of Solomon represents the culmination of this Solomonic magical tradition that might even have originated in pre-exilic times. 3.17. Rabbinic Literature J. Neusner (1988a) Invitation to the Talmud: A Teaching Book; idem (1988b) Invitation to Midrash: The Workings of Rabbinic Bible Interpretation: A Teaching Book; idem (1994) Introduction to Rabbinic Literature; idem (1995) ‘Evaluating the Attributions of Sayings to Named Sages in the Rabbinic Literature’, JSJ 26: 93–111; J. Neusner (ed.) (1995) Judaism in Late Antiquity: Part 1 The Literary and Archaeological Sources; Part 2 Historical Syntheses; J. Neusner, A. J. Avery-Peck, and W. S. Green (eds) (2000) The Encyclopaedia of Judaism; P. Schäfer (2003) ‘Bar Kokhba and the Rabbis’, in P. Schäfer (ed.), The Bar Kokhba War Reconsidered: New Perspectives on the Second Jewish Revolt against Rome: 1–22; G. Stemberger (1996) Introduction to the Talmud and Midrash; idem (2011) Einleitung in Talmud und Midrasch.

Rabbinic literature is one of our main sources for some aspects of the post-70 period. It is to the Mishnah and other Tannaitic sources that we must go to gain information on the most important religious development of this period: the rise of rabbinic Judaism. Scholarship on rabbinic literature is too extensive to be summarized here, but there are very good guides to both the textual sources and the scholarly study of the literature (Neusner 1994; Stemberger 1996, 2011; the various essays in Neusner [ed.] 1995). For further bibliography and discussion as it relates to the period of Yavneh, see §15.4. A variety of statements relating to the Bar Kokhva revolt are also found in rabbinic literature. Almost all these passages have been collected and discussed by Schäfer (2003) who should be consulted for further details and bibliography. For bibliography on the Hekhalot literature, see §8.1. The question of whether and to what extent we can reconstruct historical events from rabbinic literature is a difficult one (cf. Neusner [ed.] 1995), yet if we know anything about what happened between the 66–70 war and the Bar Kokhva revolt, it is in part because of data from

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the Mishnah and other Tannaitic writings. References to Yavneh are found throughout rabbinic literature, but it is first and foremost to the Mishnah, followed by the Tosefta and other Tannaitic sources, that we must look for the transformation that began with the reconstruction at Yavneh. The struggle for power and leadership at Yavneh and the disruptions of the Bar Kokhva revolt are likely to have meant only a partial and biased version of events (especially as relating to the history of the early rabbinic movement) has reached us even in the earliest documents. Nevertheless, if the Mishnah was completed and edited by the circle of Rabbi Judah ha-Nasi sometime about 200 CE, as is widely accepted, it is likely that the outlines of what happened at Yavneh can be reconstructed. There is, furthermore, another approach which can be used as an aid to and a check on this reconstruction. This is a ‘triangulation method’ in which the situation before 70 and the better attested events of the third century and following are used as anchor points to fit Yavneh into the attested changes and development between the two time periods. Some studies on the question have attempted to use the later literature in a careful and critical fashion, but many of the older studies are completely uncritical in this regard, whatever their value in other respects (for a discussion and some older bibliography, see JCH: 13–16).

Chapter 4

G r e e k , R om a n , a n d C h ri st i an S our ce s

This chapter surveys the relevant sources from Greek and Roman nonJewish (and non-Christian) writers, those often called ‘classical’ authors. In addition, it surveys some Christian writers because these tell us something about Second Temple Jews up to about 150 CE; Gnostic sources are not given here but are found at §8.3.2. A number of writers that are important for the first and early second centuries CE have already been surveyed in previous volumes, primarily Suetonius. Most of the classical writers are available in the LCL; bibliography listed in earlier volumes is not generally repeated here. The specific passages on Jews and Judaea in most of these writings are collected in GLAJJ. 4.1. Classical Sources in Greek and Latin 4.1.1. Cassius Dio F. Millar (1964a) A Study of Cassius Dio.

For a general introduction to Dio, see HJJSTP 3 (112–13). Dio’s history is one of the few sources to mention the 115–117 revolts, as well as the only source which really gives any sort of description of the Bar Kokhva revolt and its results. His account of Hadrian’s reign is noteworthy in that he seems to have used Hadrian’s autobiography as a source. Also, the account of the Jewish war may have come from Hadrian’s own report to the Senate (Millar 1964a: 62). Although we now possess only a medieval epitome of Dio’s account at this point, there is no reason to assume that it has been extensively distorted or rewritten, only shortened by omission. His surviving reference to the revolts of 115–117 can be summarized as follows (Dio 68.32.1-3):

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• When Trajan advanced eastward in Mesopotamia, the Jews of Cyrene revolted under the leadership of a man called Andreas. • They committed many atrocities, such as sawing people in two, feeding them to wild animals, and making them fight as gladiators; also eating their victims and wearing their skins. • 220,000 are said to have perished. • A similar situation happened in Egypt. • A similar situation developed in Cyprus under the leadership of a man named Artemion. • 240,000 perished (in Cyprus alone or in both Egypt and Cyprus together?). • No Jew is now allowed to come onto the island; any driven there by storms are executed. • Trajan sent Lusius who subdued them. His much lengthier comments about the Bar Kokhva revolt are the following (69.12.1-14.3): • Hadrian founded a new city on the ruined Jerusalem named Aelia Capitolina. • On the site of the Jewish temple he built a new temple to Jupiter (but for doubts about this, see §2.1.2). • This caused a war with the Jews who objected to a foreign settlement and foreign religious rites in their city. • While Hadrian was nearby, in Egypt and Syria, the Jews did nothing except produce poor quality weapons (when these were rejected by the Romans, they were taken by the Jews to be used by them), but when he went further away, they revolted. • They were not able to fight the Romans in open battle but took advantageous positions which they strengthened underground by walls and tunnels, with passages to let in light and air, where they could meet without being seen and could escape to if necessary. • The Romans ignored them at first, but when not only those in Judaea but Jews elsewhere showed hostility to Rome—indeed, other nations as well—Hadrian sent his best generals against them: from Britain, Julius Severus. • Severus did not attack them in the open because of their numbers and their ferocity. Instead, he ambushed small numbers and also cut their food supply lines and shut them up.

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• Few of the rebels survived: 50 of their outposts and 985 of their famous villages were destroyed, and 580,000 men died in battle, while further large numbers succumbed to famine and disease. • Judaea was left desolate. The Jews had been warned of this outcome before the war: Solomon’s tomb had fallen apart, and wolves and hyenas ran howling into the cities. • Many Romans also died, to the extent that in his annual message to the Senate, he omitted the standard phrase, ‘If you and your children are in health, it is well; I and the legions are well’. 4.1.2. Historia Augusta T. D. Barnes (1978) The Sources of the Historia Augusta; H. W. Benario (1980) A Commentary on the Vita Hadriani in the Historia Augusta; A. Momigliano (1960) ‘An Unsolved Problem of Historical Forgery: The Scriptores Historiae Augustae’, Secondo contributo alla storia degli studi classici: 105–43; R. Syme (1968) Ammianus and the Historia Augusta; idem (1971) Emperors and Biography: Studies in the Historia Augusta; idem (1983) Historia Augusta Papers.

The Scriptores Historiae Augustae is a collection of biographies of emperors and pretenders from Hadrian to Numerian. Some have thought it was meant as a continuation of Suetonius and originally had lives of Nerva and Trajan, but if so, these have been lost. Although it claims to have been written by a variety of individuals and appears to quote many original documents, these claims are now generally rejected. The uniformity of style suggests that it was done mainly by one individual, though dating varies from the early fourth to the early fifth century. Much of the material is gossip, rumour, and invention, including the supposed original documents which are now thought to be forgeries, making the work very untrustworthy as a source. Yet it covers a period for which there is often little other material and some of its contents, especially in the earlier lives (including Hadrian’s), seem to be of better quality than others. Its value for Jewish history consists of brief statements about the later Jewish revolts. These are Hadr. 5.2 (with regard to the 115–117 revolt): • The nations conquered by Trajan (which included Mesopotamia) began to revolt. This would have been about 116 CE. • Libya and Palestine also demonstrated the ‘spirit of rebellion’ (rebelles animos).

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Hadr. 14.2 (the Bar Kokhva revolt): • The Jews initiated the war because they had been forbidden ‘to mutilate their genitals’ (mutilare genitalia). 4.1.3. Pliny the Younger A. N. Sherwin-White (1966) The Letters of Pliny: A Historical and Social Commentary.

Pliny the Younger (c. 61–112 CE) was the nephew of Pliny the Elder (HJJSTP 3: 115) who perished in the eruption of Vesuvius. As an upperclass Roman he was member of the Senate and held the office of consul in 100 CE. Afterward he served as legate in Bithynia-Pontus under Trajan where he apparently died in office. His collected letters contain correspondence with Trajan, including the famous Epistle 10.96 concerning the Christians and their worship. Also preserved is his Panegyricus on Trajan which contrasts his reign with that of Domitian. His importance is for general Roman history and for his statements on the Christians since he does not mention the Jews. 4.1.4. Tacitus GLAJJ 2:1–93; F. R. D. Goodyear (ed.) (1972) The Annals of Tacitus, Books 1–6: Volume I: Annals 1.1-54; idem (1981) The Annals of Tacitus, Books 1–6: Volume II: Annals 1.55-81 and Annals 2; H. Haynes (2003) The History of Make-Believe: Tacitus on Imperial Rome; E. Koestermann (1963–68) Cornelius Tacitus, Annalen; S. J. V. Malloch (ed.) (2013) The Annals of Tacitus, Book 11; R. Mellor (1993) Tacitus; J. B. Rives (1999) Tacitus, Germania; P. Sinclair (1995) Tacitus the Sententious Historian: A Sociology of Rhetoric in Annales 1–6; R. Syme (1958) Tacitus; A. J. Woodman (ed.) (2009) The Cambridge Companion to Tacitus; idem (2017) The Annals of Tacitus, Books 5 and 6; idem (2018) The Annals of Tacitus, Book 4; A. J. Woodman, with C. S. Kraus (ed.) (2014) Tacitus, Agricola; A. J. Woodman and R. H. Martin (eds) (1996) The Annals of Tacitus, Book 3.

No doubt Cornelius Tacitus (c. 56 to after 115 CE) was one of the major Roman historians. In general academic quality he probably ranked alongside Livy (though behind the later Ammianus Marcellinus) of the writers in Latin (for the definitive general assessment of him as a

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historian, see especially Syme 1958). For the first century of the common era he is extremely important where extant; unfortunately, his writings are preserved intact only in part, but he is probably known at second hand for the lost portions of this period through Cassius Dio (§4.1.1) who seems to have used him. Although Tacitus does occasionally refer to the Jews and Jewish history directly (see GLAJJ: 2.1–93 for texts and commentary), his main use is as a source for Roman history. His early works include the Agricola (about his father-in-law; see Woodman 2014) and the Germania (Rives 1999), but his two main historical works are the Histories and the Annals. The Histories apparently covered the period 69 CE to the reign of Domitian, but we now have only books 1–4 and part of 5 which are limited to events of the year 69–70. The Annals originally covered the reigns of Tiberius to Nero, though the reign of Caligula has now been lost and only portions of the reigns of Claudius and Nero (books 1–6, 11–16) preserved. (As it happens, the Annals are well supplied with commentaries: see Koestermann 1963–68; Goodyear 1972, 1981; Woodman and Martin 1996; Woodman 2017, 2018; Malloch 2013.) Tacitus exhibits the pro-senatorial and anti-imperial bias which is also found in other writers such as Dio and Suetonius. Thus, the one-sidedly negative picture of certain emperors needs correction; nevertheless, Tacitus is still the major source of reliable data where extant and preferable to the anecdotal accounts of Suetonius. 4.2. Christian Writers and Literature C. Moreschini and E. Norelli (eds) (2005) Early Christian Greek and Latin Literature: A Literary History; J. Quasten (1950–60) Patrology; F. Young, L. Ayres, and A. Louth (eds) (2004) Early Christian Literature.

Only a few of the more important strictly Christian writings are given here. Gnostic writings (some of which could be labelled ‘Christian’) are given in the section on Gnosticism (§8.3.1). English translations of most of these early Christian writers are found in Alexander Roberts and James Donaldson (eds), Ante-Nicene Fathers, and Philip Schaff and Henry Wace (eds), Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers. A survey of the early Christian writers is given in Young/Ayres/Louth (2004). More detailed information, as well as a listing of the major editions and secondary studies, is given by Moreschini/Norelli (2005); see also the older but still valuable treatment in Quasten (1950–60).

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4.2.1. Justin Martyr C. D. Allert (2002) Revelation, Truth, Canon and Interpretation: Studies in Justin Martyr’s Dialogue with Trypho; G. Archambault (ed.) (1909) Justin: Dialogue avec Tryphon; L. W. Barnard (1967) Justin Martyr; D. Rokéah (2002) Justin Martyr and the Jews; W. A. Shotwell (1965) The Biblical Exegesis of Justin Martyr.

Justin (c. 100–65 CE) was born near Shechem, in the city of Flavia Neapolis (modern Nablus), with apparently Greek rather than Samaritan ancestors. One of his writings was the Syntagma, a treatise on ‘heretics’, especially Gnostics. Although lost, it was used by some of the other heresiologists, in particular Irenaeus (§4.2.4). He also wrote two apologetic works (First Apology and Second Apology) that defend Christianity to the Graeco-Roman public (the First Apology is addressed to the emperor Antonius Pius and his sons). Probably his most relevant work for our purposes is his Dialogue with Trypho, which claims to be based on a conversation with the Jew Trypho, in which Justin defends Christianity and Trypho attacks it. It is not clear whether Trypho was a real individual or only a literary creation as a vehicle for Justin to get across his ideas about Christianity. It is important for a number of reasons: (1) it shows how (some) Christians conceived of Judaism about the middle of the second century CE; (2) it shows that at least some Christians saw their religion as separate from Judaism; (3) the differences between Jewish and Christian practice are laid out, at least as far as Justin’s Christian practice is concerned; (4) it defends the use of the Hebrew Bible as a part of Christian scriptures (keeping in mind that Christians such as Marcion though it should be rejected). 4.2.2. Eusebius T. D. Barnes (1981) Constantine and Eusebius; E. H. Gifford (1903) Eusebii Pamphili Evangelicae Praeparationis, Libri xv; R. M. Grant (1980) Eusebius as Church Historian; R. Helm (ed.) (1956) Die Chronik des Hieronymus; J. Karst (1911) Die Chronik aus dem Armenischen übersetzt; A. A. Mosshammer (1979) The Chronicle of Eusebius and Greek Chronographic Tradition; R. S. Notley and Z. Safrai (2005) Eusebius, Onomasticon: The Place Names of Divine Scripture; M. Willing (2008) Eusebius von Cäsarea als Häreseograph.

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Eusbeius (c. 260–339 CE) is primarily known as the earliest extant historian of the Christian church. His best-known work is his Ecclesiastical History (Historia ecclesiastica). Probably more important for the history of Judaism is his Preparation of the Gospel (Praeperatio Evangelica) which includes extracts from various writers on Judaism and other important information relating to the Jews that is not found elsewhere. He also wrote a Chronicle (Chronicon), which survives in an Armenian translation (Karst 1911) and a Latin version revised by Jerome (Helm 1956). Another important work is his Onomasticon, which also exists in a version revised by Jerome (both versions are published in Notley/Safrai 2005). Because there is so little information on the Jewish revolts after 70, the simple statements in Eusebius (as well as the later chronographers) take on a greater significance than they have for the earlier period. The best and most reliable source are Eusebius’s Chronicle and his Ecclesiastical History. The Ecclesiastical History (conveniently available in the LCL) makes the following statements: Hist. eccl. 4.2.1-5 (about the Jewish revolts of 115–117: • • • • • • • • •

Jewish rebellion in the 18th year of Trajan In Alexandria and the rest of Egypt, and especially in Cyrene. Jews attacked their Greek fellow citizens. The following year an increase in the war while Lupus was governor of Egypt. They defeated the Greeks who fled to Alexandria and proceeded to kill all the Jews they could find. Jews of Cyrene also went on a spree of plundering Egypt under their leader, Lucuas. Trajan send Marcius Turbo against them with both an army and a navy. Turbo killed great numbers of Jews in various battles in both Cyrene and Egypt. Trajan feared the Jews of Mesopotamia would also revolt and sent Lusius Quietus against them; he killed many Jews there and was rewarded with governorship of Judaea. Hist. eccl. 4.6.1-4 (about the Bar Kokhva revolt):

• Rufus, the governor of Judaea, received military aid from Hadrian and set out to put down the rebellion. • He exhibited no mercy but killed thousands of men, women, and children.

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• He enslaved the land, according to the rules of war. • The Jews were led by ‘Bar Chochebas’, whose name means ‘star’. • He was a murderer and bandit, but used his name to lead his followers, as if they were slaves. • He claimed to have come down from heaven and to have given enlightenment to the unfortunate. • The height of the revolt came in Hadrian’s 18th year, with siege of Beththera, a fortress not far from Jerusalem. • The siege continued for a long time before the defeat of the rebels through famine and thirst. • The Jewish leader was killed. • Hadrian forbade Jews to come into the district around Jerusalem. • The information comes from Ariston of Pella. • The city was colonized by non-Jews and became a Roman city with the name Aelia, after Aelius Hadrian. Finally, Eusebius is not usually thought of as an anti-heresy writer, but the study by M. Willing (2008) points out that it is Eusebius who embeds the various ‘heresies’ in a chronological and historical framework. 4.2.3. Orosius R. J. Deferrari (ed.) (1964) Paulus Orosius, The Seven Books of History against the Pagans; A. Fear (2010) Orosius: Seven Books of History Against the Pagans; C. Zangemeister (1882) Pauli Orosii historiarum adversum paganos libri VII.

Useful because completely preserved is the history of Paulus Orosius (c. 375 to after 418 CE), Seven Books Against the Pagans, which was written about 418 CE. The problem is that it contains gross errors of both history and chronology, along with a good deal of important and useful information. The problem is trying to sort the one from the other when he gives unique information. For example, he quotes Josephus as saying that the expulsion of the Jews from Rome was in Claudius’s ninth year (Orosius 7.6.15-16), but no such statement is found in Josephus and it seems unlikely that Orosius possessed a text significantly different from ours. Is it a misinterpretation of Josephus perhaps combined with a calculation from Acts 18.2, or does he indeed have additional information? On the other hand, his statements about the revolts in 115–117 seem largely confirmed by archaeological and other evidence. Orosius says this about those revolts:

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Orosius 7.12.6-8 (revolts of 115–117): • Jews in various parts of the world revolted. • This included all of Libya, where they were violent against the inhabitants and rendered the land desolate by killing the cultivators, until Hadrian brought colonists there. • They attacked Egypt, Cyrene, and the Thebaid. • In Alexandria the Jews were suppressed in a battle. • In Mesopotamia the emperor declared war against them, and many thousands were slain. • They destroyed Salamis in Cyprus, after slaughtering all the inhabitants. Orosius 7.13.4-5 (about the Bar Kokhva revolt): • Hadrian defeated the Jews who were destroying the province of Palestine that had once been theirs. • Hadrian thus avenged the Christians, for under ‘Cochebas’ the Christians were tortured for not joining in the revolt against the Romans. • Hadrian gave orders that no Jews would be allowed to enter Jerusalem. • The city would be open only to Christians. • Hadrian restored the city’s prosperity by rebuilding the walls and calling it Aelia after his own first name. 4.2.4. Irenaeus A. Rousseau and L. Doutreleau (eds) (1965–82) Irénée de Lyon: Contre les hérésies; D. J. Unger, et al. (ed.) (1992–2012) St. Irenaeus of Lyons: Against the Heresies, Books 1–3.

Irenaeus (c. 130–200 CE) wrote a work, Against Heresies (Adversus Haereses) that was widely copied and adapted by later writers. He is important for our purposes because he gives one of the most important treatments of Gnosticism. In spite of his opposition to the Gnostics, he had access to Gnostic sources and seems to give generally reliable information about certain Gnostic teachers. 4.2.5. Epiphanius K. Holl (ed.) (1915–33) Epiphanius, Panarion; F. Williams (1987) The Panarion of Epiphanius of Salamis: Book I (Sects 1-46); idem (2013) The Panarion of Epiphanius of Salamis: Books II and III; De Fide.

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Epiphanius (c. 315–400 CE) wrote a treatise against the ‘80 heresies’ called the Panarion (‘Cure All’). Like Irenaeus he had access to some original Gnostic writings and quotes from them. The Nag Hammadi texts show the importance of both him and Irenaeus for our understanding of Gnosticism.

Part III

Society and Institutions

Chapter 5

E c on om i cs

J. K. Davies (1984) ‘Cultural, Social and Economic Features of the Hellenistic World’, CAH2 7.1.257–320; P. Garnsey and R. Saller (1987) The Roman Empire: Economy, Society, and Culture; K. Hopkins (2002) ‘Rome, Taxes, Rent and Trade’, in W. Scheidel and S. von Reden (eds), The Ancient Economy: 190–230; A. H. M. Jones (1974) ‘Taxation in Antiquity’, in P. A. Brunt (ed.), The Roman Economy: 151–86; F. E. Udoh (2005) To Caesar What Is Caesar’s: Tribute, Taxes, and Imperial Administration in Early Roman Palestine (63 B.C.E.–70 C.E.).

In recent years historians in many disciplines have looked more and more away from political history to the cultural, the social, the economic, and the lives of ordinary men and women. These not only constitute an aspect of history in their own right but are also important factors in historical change (some would say the primary factors in historical change). As several scholars have pointed out (Finley 1985: 17–34; Garnsey 1980; Hopkins 1980; Garnsey/Whittaker 1983), there are formidable obstacles to extracting economic and sociological data from the sources. The sort of information available in ancient sources does not lend itself to statistical analysis, and there is a constant danger of ignoring the limits of the data extant. We usually know very little even when there appears to be abundant detail. Many different interpretations are often possible, and much depends on one’s starting point or inclinations (i.e., prejudices). 5.1. The Economy in the Early Roman Empire J. Andreau (2002) ‘Twenty Years after Moses I. Finley’s The Ancient Economy’, in W. Scheidel and S. von Reden (eds), The Ancient Economy: 33–49; Z. H. Archibald, J. Davies, and V. Gabrielsen (eds) (2005) Making, Moving and Managing: The New World of Ancient Economies; A.

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As with other ancient economies there has been a debate among specialists as to whether the Romans understood theoretical economic principles and whether they planned the economy analogous to the practice of modern states (HJJSTP 2: 205–8). Some of the history of the debate was given in the earlier discussion. The main debate in recent decades primarily concerned the so-called primitivist view, represented especially by M. I. Finley, which argued that the ancient view of the economy was essentially different, being subject to politics and others attitudes that were non-economic. Opposed to this was the ‘modernizer’ view, represented especially by M. I. Rostovtzeff, that held that the ancient economy, while smaller and less developed, was essentially the same as the modern view.

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This binary divide was partially subverted by Finley, who saw himself as holding a ‘substantivist’ perspective, which held that ‘the ancient economy was not merely less developed but socially embedded and politically overdetermined and so…conspicuously conventional, irrational and status-ridden’ (Cartledge 2002: 15). This was distinguished from the ‘formalists’ who held that ‘the ancient economy was a functionally segregated and independently instituted sphere of activity with its own profit-maximizing, want-satisfying logic and rationality, less “developed” no doubt than any modern economy but nevertheless recognizably similar in kind’ (Cartledge 2002: 15). Polarities assigned to them include no trade versus long-distance trade, autarky versus integrated markets, technological stagnation versus technological development, non-growth in the economy versus growth, and so on (Saller 2005: 224). Yet this contrast exaggerates the differences between them in significant ways: as R. Saller has pointed out, the alleged polarities ‘seriously misrepresent the views of both Rostovtzeff and Finley’ and ‘are far from representing the full spectrum of possibilities, as both Rostovtzeff and Finley knew’. Thus, in spite of considerable differences, their reconstructions of the ancient economy also had much in common. The last couple of decades or so have seen a concerted attempt to get past this dichotomy, as some of the recent studies show (e.g., Andreau 2002; Saller 2005; Scheidel and von Reden [eds] 2002; Morris and Manning [eds] 2005). Some of the perspectives that now seem to have a certain consensus behind them include the following: • The Roman economy, different as it was from modern economies, was still integrated, ‘as a by-product of the central tax-raising power of the Roman government and the purchasing capacity of the elite’ (Hopkins 2002: 228). • An important thesis, developed by Hopkins (2002), was that the main driver of growth were taxes and rents which were spent at a distance from their origin. The taxes and rents were raised mainly in the provinces but were heavily spent in the capital where the central government was and the property owners lived. • The city of Rome was a significant economic driver. With a population of perhaps a million, it was the ultimate consumer city and served as an engine of economic integration. Its huge population represented a major market, and the higher prices prevailing there allowed producers to sell their products in the provinces to traders who shipped them to Rome or one of its ‘feeder’ towns.

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• There is recognition that the Roman economy grew considerably during the second and first centuries BCE (Saller 2005; Hopkins 2002), • Calculations concerning the Roman economy, uncertain as they are, indicate a low-tax regime (Hopkins 2002: 204–8). • Beginning after 200 BCE the Romans came into a great deal of wealth, partly through plunder and reparations, and partly through coming into possession of silver mines. This was a major stimulation to the economy yet, surprisingly, without a major increase in inflation (cf. Katsari 2010: 126–28). • Rome developed a large long-distance trade in luxury goods (Hopkins 2002: 222–23). But the main trade was more local, via a network of feeder towns who supplied goods to Rome, especially making use of cheap sea transport. Thus, Finley’s rejection of a market economy is now widely discounted, but the partial markets of ancient Rome are not the same as the modern market (Andreau 2002: 36–38). It was by means of trade—including selling their produce on the market—that people raised the money to pay their taxes (Hopkins 2002: 213–14). • The growth in the use of coinage was part of the economic development. Taxes were apparently levied in both silver and kind. But the taxes collected in kind far exceeded the needs of the army and the empire in general. Therefore, it had to be converted into coin locally by selling the produce on the market (Hopkins 2002: 210–17). • Credit was an important factor (Reden 2010: 92–124). Many of the projects of the upper class depended on their being advanced credit to build, expand, or invest (Hopkins 2002: 228). Credit was not just a last refuge when one’s means had gone but was a convenient way of making certain payments and also undertaking what we today would call entrepreneurial projects. It was evidently available to all levels of society, and was essential to small-scale farmers. • The aristocracy benefited from and also drove the economy in many ways (Hopkins 2002: 204–8). They owned much of the property but they also loaned money for investment in trade and production generally. However, the situation put their incomes as rivals to the tax system, since the gross yield in each case was roughly comparable. • As the ‘primitivists’ have argued, much of the economy was local and limited. Many were subsistence producers, consuming much of what they grew, and they and local artisans selling their surplus products locally. The more sophisticated and integrated economy rested on this economic base.

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This does not mean that the Romans were ignorant of accounting or of financial principles as such. Estates clearly kept detailed financial records, for which we have some examples preserved (e.g., Rathbone 1991). The state also kept records. In the Res Gestae Divi Augusti (15–24) Augustus lists his various donations to the people of Rome and benefactions to the state from his private wealth. Yet there seems to be no evidence that the Romans understood strategic economic planning. On the other hand, there was a recognition of the basic principle that the state had to take in sufficient income to cover the cost of state expenses, primarily those of the military (Mattern 1999: 126–36). As S. P. Mattern (1999: 149) reminds us, ‘These [fiscal] concerns seem to be inseparable from political and moral issues, questions of imperial image and posturing, and so forth’. Thus, Rome undertook a number of wars that were going to cost more than they would gain in plunder, etc., yet did so for reasons of prestige and honour. For example, Trajan was one of those who spent the most, yet the reason seems to be ‘the awe and respect of his countrymen, and perhaps, from barbarians, terror’ (ibid.). The same was true with keeping hold of conquered territory: Britain, for example, was more expensive to occupy than it ever supplied in tribute, as Strabo (2.5.8; cf. 4.5.3) already recognized (Mattern 1999: 160–61). The cost of the military was the most important item in the annual Roman budget (Hopkins 2002: 199), and getting the money was not always easy (Mattern 1999: 132–33). This was much more than the cost of salaries and equipment. A major expense was the bonus paid to veterans on honourable discharge when their term of service was complete. Sometimes land was appropriated to groups of veterans, but often the discharge bonus was paid in money. Although there were all sorts of taxes on sales, imported goods, and the like, the backbone of the Roman tax system was constituted by the census (Jones 1974: 164–68; Schürer 1:401–4). By the first century CE those living in Italy were no longer subject to the census; only those in the provinces, which included Syria and Egypt. On the census were based the two main taxes: a poll tax and a tax on property and possessions (tributum capitis); there was also a tax on agricultural produce (tributum soli) for farmers. All persons of the household, including women and children over the age of 14 (12 for females), were liable to the poll tax. This apparently differed at different times in different parts of the empire but has been estimated at one denarius per person in Tiberius’s time (cf. Mark 12.13-17). Each head of the household had to make a yearly declaration of property which was taxed at the rate of about one percent (Appian, Syr. 50.253).

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These taxes were usually collected on behalf of the Romans by the officials of the internal government rather than by the Roman administration directly. But many of the other taxes continued to be auctioned off to tax farmers (publicani) as the majority of taxes had once been in the early years of Roman rule (auctioning of tribute collection seems to have come to an end with Julius Caesar [Appian, Bell. civ. 5.4]). The reason for the distinction seems to be that the tributum capitis could be basically calculated in advance, but the other sorts of taxes were variable. Farming them out not only produced a guaranteed income but also the highest potential yield since the farming rights were assigned to the highest bidder (Jones 1974: 154–56). This description is an oversimplification, of course, since the tax system seems never to have been so simple and stylized. There is evidence that the local situation often varied from one region to another, and taxes were not the same in the various local areas. 5.2. Economic Factors in Judaea S. Applebaum (1975) ‘The Struggle for the Soil and the Revolt of 66–73 C.E.’, EI 12: 125–28 (Heb.) + 122*–23* (Eng. summary); idem (1976a) Prolegomena to the Study of the Second Jewish Revolt (A.D. 132–135); idem (1976b) ‘Economic Life in Palestine’, in S. Safrai and M. Stern (eds), The Jewish People in the First Century: 2:631–700; idem (1977) ‘Judaea as a Roman Province: The Countryside as a Political and Economic Factor’, ANRW II: 8:355–96; M. Aviam (2011) ‘Socio-economic Hierarchy and its Economic Foundations in First Century Galilee: The Evidence from Yodefat and Gamla’, in J. Pastor, P. Stern, and M. Mor (eds), Flavius Josephus: Interpretation and History: 29–38; P. Briant (1982) Rois, tributs et paysans: Etudes dur les formations tributaire du Moyen-Orient ancien; P. A. Brunt (1977) ‘Josephus on Social Conflicts in Roman Judaea’, Klio 59: 149–53; J. D. Crossan and J. L. Reed (2009) Excavating Jesus: Beneath the Stones, Behind the Texts; G. Dalman (1928–42) Arbeit und Sitte in Palästina; D. A. Fiensy (2013) ‘Assessing the Economy of Galilee in the Late Second Temple Period: Five Considerations’, in D. A. Fiensy and R. K. Hawkins (eds) The Galilean Economy in the Time of Jesus: 165–86; M. Goodman (1982) ‘The First Jewish Revolt: Social Conflict and the Problem of Debt’, JJS 33: 417–27; idem (1987) The Ruling Class of Judaea: The Origins of the Jewish Revolt against Rome A.D. 66–70; G. Hamel (1990) Poverty and Charity in Roman Palestine; F. M. Heichelheim (1938) ‘Roman Syria’, in T. Frank (ed.), An Economic Survey of Ancient Rome: 4:121–257; R. A. Horsley (1995) Galilee: History, Politics, People; B. Isaac (1984b) ‘Judea after AD 70’, JJS 35: 44–50; M. H. Jensen (2006) Herod Antipas in Galilee: The Literary and Archaeological Sources on the Reign of Herod Antipas and its

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Socio-Economic Impact on Galilee; H. G. Kippenberg (1982) Religion und Klassenbildung im antiken Judäa: 78–110; S. Krauss (1910–11) Talmudische Archäologie; H. Kreissig (1969) ‘Die landwirtschaftliche Situation in Palästina vor dem judäischen Krieg’, Acta Antiqua 17: 221–54; idem (1977a) ‘Landed Property in the “Hellenistic Orient” ’, Eirene 15: 5–26; idem (1977b) ‘Tempelland, Katoiken, Hierodulen im Seleukidenreich’, Klio 59: 375–80; L. Mildenberg (1984) The Coinage of the Bar Kokhba War; J. Pastor (1997) Land and Economy in Ancient Palestine; idem (2007) ‘Josephus as a Source for Economic History Problems and Approaches’, in Z. Rodgers (ed.), Making History: Josephus and Historical Method: 334–46; R. Reich (2014) ‘A Note on the Population Size of Jerusalem in the Second Temple Period’, RevB 121–22: 298–305; P. Richardson and D. Edwards (2002) ‘Jesus and Palestinian Social Protest: Archaeological and Literary Perspectives’, in A. J. Blasi, J. Duhaime, and P.-A. Turcotte (eds), Handbook of Early Christianity: Social Science Approaches: 247–66; B.-Z. Rosenfeld and J. Menirav (2005) Markets and Marketing in Roman Palestine; J. Roth (2002) ‘The Army and the Economy in Judaea and Palestine’, in P. Erdkamp (ed.) The Roman Army and the Economy: 375–97; Z. Safrai (1994) The Economy of Roman Palestine; K. W. Welwei (1979) ‘Abhängige Landbevölkerungen auf “Tempelterritorien” im hellenistischen Kleinasien und Syrien’, Ancient Society 10: 97–118; C. R. Whittaker (1980) ‘Rural Labour in Three Roman Provinces’, in P. Garnsey (ed.), Non-Slave Labour in the Greco-Roman World: 73–99.

A number of individual studies are available for Judah during the Roman period. An important problem concerns the value of information in the talmudic and later sources. However, because these usually reflect the life and customs contemporary with the writers and because there had often been a strong continuity with earlier centuries, it seems legitimate to draw on information from the later sources—if done with care—in a way not justified when it comes to political history (cf. Hamel 1990: 4–6). Thus, G. Dalman’s massive study (1928–42), which derived information even from the customs of Palestinian Arabs in the early twentieth century, still has considerable value if used critically, as does the work of Krauss (1910–11). More recent works include those of Safrai (1994) and Hamel (1990). ‘The rich get richer and the poor get poorer’ is a cliche that flows easily from the mouths of socialist politicians and also many biblical scholars with regard to Judaea under Roman rule. This brings forth a series of questions: Were there poor in Jewish society? Of course there were: the poor are always with us. Was there inequality? Absolutely; there is evidence for some very wealthy individuals whose position was very different from the bulk of people in the society. Was the inequality and the

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number of poor people greater in Jewish society of the first century CE than at other times and in other societies of the Roman empire? That is a much more difficult question: can we even answer it with the available sources? Archaeology may help us, but there are clearly different interpretations to put on the literary sources, and the scholarly models frequently invoked are too often assumed and not subjected to rigorous scrutiny. For example, in our discussion of the situation in the time of Herod (HJJSTP 3: 129–32), it was noted how often it was assumed that taxation under Herod was a great burden. Yet it was shown how some recent analyses have come to quite different conclusions. Far from the populace being exploited, it was argued that the people in Herod’s kingdom on the whole prospered economically. Fortunately, we have some economic data for Herod’s rule. This is not the case for the next century or so. It must be said that many statements about the economy in the first and second centuries CE are based on little more than speculation and (sometimes) even prejudice. This leads F. E. Udoh to note the ‘problems inherent in the general and naive assumption that certain Gospel passages…“reflect” the historical, that is, the social and economic conditions of Palestine in the first century C.E.’; the details from the NT ‘may not collectively provide us with an accurate “picture” of the economic and social life in first-century Palestine’ (Udoh 2005: 284). Yet too often such NT passages are invoked to demonstrate how badly off economically the average Jew of Palestine was in the first century (as we shall see in the next section). 5.2.1. From Herod to the Great Revolt Most of the socio-economic forces which operated during Herod’s reign (HJJSTP 3: 129–32) continued to have their place between 6 and 66 CE. Jerusalem’s shopkeepers and innkeepers especially, but also others elsewhere in Judaea, still benefited from the pilgrimage industry. The amount of money coming into the temple from the diaspora Jews was enormous and served to enrich the economy indirectly. The wealthy class was to a large extent made up of individuals from certain prominent priestly families who obviously profited from their sacerdotal position. Continuing work on the temple also provided work for a considerable number of people. Much is often built on assumptions about the tax burden on the average person. One often comes across statements in secondary literature on the Bible or Judaism about how difficult things were for the average person because of the crushing taxes. This was no doubt true for some, but it is difficult to estimate the precise numbers or even the proportion of the population. We do not actually know in most cases what taxes were

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paid, what percentage of one’s income they made up, whether they were in coin or kind, and how much they impinged on day-to-day living. No one welcomes taxes—whether then or today—and most people through history have complained about them at some time or other, but to what extent they actually make people’s lives a true misery from poverty is hard to quantify. What we would call abject poverty seems to have been widely accepted in antiquity, and circumstances other than poverty or wealth can be the major occasion for discontent or acquiescence (cf. Hamel 1990: 94–101). As indicated in discussion of the Great Revolt (§14.1.3), there is little evidence that a primary cause was economic: other factors seem to have been more prominent, suggesting that it was not a revolt chiefly about poverty or wealth. F. E. Udoh (2005: 207–43) has tackled the problem of the rate of taxation between 6 and 66 CE. He makes some important points that will be summarized here. The first point he makes is that the census of 6 CE, in which Judaea became a Roman province and switched to Roman taxation, was only a registration (ἀπογραφή) of property. It was not a population census for the poll tax as often assumed. A similar sort of registration seems to have taken place in Arabia in 127 CE, after it became a province in 106 CE. The main document is the registration of Babatha’s property for taxation purposes (P. Yadin 16; see §15.5). Similarly, people related to the life of Salome Komaïse: ‘—os, son of Simon’ (unfortunately, only the end of the name is preserved) has his property valued for tax, but nothing relating to the poll tax (XHev/Se 61); likewise, Sammouos son of Shim‘on (XHev/Se 62). This would have constituted the tributum soli. Note that the assessment included both a fixed rate and a percentage of the produce. It was also paid partly in cash and partly in kind, though it may be that the cash valuation could be paid in kind equal to the cash equivalent. The problem is trying to reconcile these primary documents with statements in literary sources, such as Appian’s statement (Syr 11.8.50) that property was taxed at an annual rate of one hundredth (1 percent) of its value and that all Jews were subject to the poll tax. In this case, however, the tributum captis on Jews was the fiscus Judaicus, the requirement made by Vespasian that all Jews pay two denarii annually to the Jupiter Capitolinus temple (see below, §5.2.3). Mark 12.13-17 (//Matt. 20.22// Luke 20.25) has often been interpreted that all Jews had to pay a silver denarius as a poll tax in the period 6–66 CE. The problem is that the key word is κῆνσος, which seems to be a borrowing from the Latin term census. It does not mean ‘tax’ or ‘tribute’ but ‘census, assessment’ (Udoh 2005: 225–28). The fact is that the Roman silver denarius was very rare in

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Palestine before 66 CE and could not have been required for paying any poll tax. As Udoh points out, the imperial denarii were not required for Roman taxation… The connection that is made in the Gospels…does not offer any specific historical information about taxation in Jewish Palestine during Jesus’ lifetime. (Udoh 2005: 236)

How the taxes were collected is another issue. According to Appian (Bell. civ. 5.4), Julius Caesar removed the publicani from collection of the tribute in Asia and devolved it to the local administrators. The ‘tax collectors’ (τελῶναι) in the gospels do not collect the tribute but rather things like local tolls and imposts. The one example we have of collecting direct taxes is found in Josephus (War 2.16.5–17.1 §§404-5) in which the arrears of tribute was collected under the supervision of the magistrates and members of the city council. It thus seems that the local authority was also responsible for collecting the direct taxes on property and the like. Thus, the tribute from the province was collected by Jewish appointees, not Roman tax collectors. It is debatable as to whether the taxes under the Romans were more oppressive than under Herod. Tacitus relates that things were so bad during the reign of Tiberius that ‘Syria and Judaea, wearied by burdens, were pleading for a lessening of the tribute’ (Ann. 2.42: provinciae Suria atque Iudaea, fessae oneribus, deminutionem tributi orabant); they were probably suffering from the cumulative effects of long years of taxation rather than any new measures under Tiberius. Yet we also have evidence that the Roman administration would listen to reports of such problems and provide relief in times of natural disaster or financial difficulty (e.g., Tacitus, Ann. 1.76; 2.43; 2.47; 4.13; 12.58; 12.62-63). It is likely, therefore, that something was done to relieve this situation, even though the state of preservation of Tacitus’s writings have left no record of it. The following are some of the main points to make about taxation in first-century Palestine: • It is very difficult to quantify the level of taxation from the data available. All we can say is that it does not seem to have been excessive or causing impoverishment for most people. • The census taken in 6 CE was evidently solely relating to property. As far as we can tell from Josephus’s description and such later evidence (such as Babatha’s property in P. Yadin 16) there was no provision made for the poll tax. If there was a poll tax, we have no indication preserved from antiquity in primary sources. It seems to

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have become a reality only after 70 when all Jews were required to pay two drachmas into a fund for the Jupiter Capitolinus temple. The tax rate in the Roman empire appears to have been quite low, relatively speaking (§5.1). Although the tax distribution in a particular location may not have benefited from this fact, the available evidence seems to suggest that Jewish Palestine as a whole was a prosperous region before the Great Revolt. When a particular region suffered from excessive taxation or impoverishment (for which we have several examples), the central government seems ready to offer relief of some sort. Thus, the alleged petition for economic difficulties for the region in 18 CE (Tacitus, Ann. 2.42) most likely led to measures to help out those suffering. There is little evidence that small holders suffered alienation from their land to a great extent, as so often alleged (see further below). Taxes could be paid in kind as well as silver in most cases. It is illegitimate to try to use Mark 12.13-17 and parallels to suggest that it had to be paid in cash. As far as we can tell, there were ‘no Roman tax collectors in the Jewish parts of the province of Judea. Tribute was collected by Jewish agents’ (Udoh 2005: 241).

Udoh summarizes the situation as follows: Scholarly opinion is divided about whether provincial taxes were heavy in the Principate. Our sources do not permit us to form a complete picture of taxation in the province of Judea before 70 C.E. We do not know how it related to taxation in the rest of the empire, and what impact it had on the lives of individuals. Therefore, one cannot speak with dogmatic certitude about the role that the levels of taxation played in the Jewish revolt of 66 C.E. (Udoh 2005: 243)

The problem in Judaea was not one primarily of wealth, for the province seems to have been a prosperous one on the whole, but of distribution. There is the obvious differential between the few very wealthy and the many others. But were all the rest—or even most to them—poor? For example, it has been asserted that one of the problems experienced at this time was the lack of adequate farm land for the increasing population (Applebaum 1975; 1977: 379–85); however, we have no way of knowing whether this was really true (Hamel 1990: 137–40). Population estimates range between 250,000 and well over a million inhabitants, a huge range of possibility. Yet some recent studies have suggested that many population estimates are almost certainly too high. With regard to Jerusalem, for

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example, a recent study (Reich 2014) has suggested it was no more than 30,000 inhabitants at this time (an earlier study reduced it even down to 20,000), in spite of much greater estimates. The population of Roman Palestine was probably closer to the lower estimate than the higher. One source of wealth was the vast amount of gold and silver coming to Jerusalem in the head tax of two drachmas that all Jews, including those in the diaspora, paid at this time. It has been argued, however, that this amount of precious metal created economic problems rather than contributing to prosperity. M. Goodman (1982, 1987) drew attention to what he saw as the problem of excess wealth which could not be readily reintroduced into the economy. As he saw it, much of this money could not be easily invested. Land was limited which closed one obvious source of investment. Much of the wealth went into static stocks of gold and silver (War. 6.5.2 §282). The one outlet was that of loans. But the result of this was that large numbers of small landholders borrowed but failed to pay back the loan and lost their properties. Goodman’s thesis is interesting and well-argued, but it is largely hypothetical. The situation can be evaluated quite differently, especially since some of the problems about estimating and assessing the economic situation noted above also apply in his case. He reasons from a number of assumptions about wealth and population which are still very uncertain. First, a large number of workers—clearly non-priests—were supported by the temple through the first century, until work on the temple ceased about 64 CE. According to Josephus (Ant. 20.9.7 §§219-22) this resulted in a large surplus of labour being dumped on the market. The problem was temporarily solved by Agrippa II’s putting these individuals to work paving the streets of Jerusalem, evidently paid for out of temple funds. Josephus gives the number as more than 18,000, clearly a large segment of Jerusalem’s population, even if the number is exaggerated. Thus, it seems that a considerable portion of the Jerusalem inhabitants were being paid out of temple funds throughout the first century until the Great Revolt. If so, this would certainly have used up a good portion of the ‘excess’ wealth coming to the temple. A number of references in Josephus have been taken to show that many Jews were in debt and to indicate the depth of feeling they had toward their creditors. For example, one of the earliest acts in the 66–70 war was the burning of debt records (War 2.17.6 §427). This and other examples have been taken to show that one of the grievances felt by a large section of the population was the problem of repaying loans which were given out without too much thought of the debtors’ ability to repay. One of the main problems with this thesis is that leadership of the revolt

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in the first years was in the hands of the upper class, including high priests, and the aristocracy (§14.2.3). The burning of debt records was evidently a symbolic act, not a practical one (since creditors had their own records), and did not show a population overly plagued by debt. There are examples of similar acts in other popular revolts. The revolt was simply not primarily for economic or financial reasons (cf. §14.1.3). Thus, there seems little evidence that Judaean small holders as a group were being alienated from their land at this time. It may well have been true that some of those taking out loans were small holders who secured the loan against their property. If so, they were liable to lose it and thus move down to the status of tenant if they could not pay off their loan. Yet even when this happened, whether it would have made much of a difference in the actual lives of the people is debatable. Many people in the region evidently worked as tenant farmers or day labourers. In most areas, dependent labour was the norm, such workers commonly being referred to as laoi ‘peoples’, though other terms were also used, not always with a clear delineation (Whittaker 1980: 83–86; Briant 1982: 114–16). The main conclusion to be drawn is that a great variety of such dependent labour was in existence (Kreissig 1977a; Briant 1982: 95–135; Davies 1984: 300–301; Whittaker 1980: 83–84). Part of the reason for the variety was the different types of estate on which they worked; for example, those on temple estates (if they existed) may have had a status different from those on royal land (Welwei 1979; Kreissig 1977b). It is frequently asserted that with time the wealthy accumulated property, especially by making loans and then depriving of their land the poor who defaulted. The result is said to have been the concentration of land into the large estates of the wealthy and the collapse of the independent peasantry. As P. Garnsey and R. Saller point out, however, Plausible though it sounds, this view reveals misunderstandings of the make-up and way of life of the rural population and the nature of it relationships with the large landowners. Owner-occupiers, tenant-farmers and farm labourers working for a wage were three overlapping categories; thus owner-occupiers were a major recruiting ground for tenants… If poor peasants were in demand, it is also the case that they were tempted or forced to seek ways of increasing their meagre incomes… Peasants, insofar as they produced for subsistence, were not in competition with the wealthy producers… But a large-scale or systematic expropriation of the peasantry would have increased the mobility of this section of the rural population, and undermined the economic position of the large landowner himself. (Garnsey and Saller 1987: 76–77)

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No doubt the desire of those with wealth was usually to acquire land. On the other hand, the charge of land alienation from peasants to large landowners is often made for a wide diversity of times and regions, yet not necessarily with clear-cut evidence (cf. the example of Italy in Garnsey/ Saller 1987: 58–63). Wealth could be lost as well as gained. The legal question was often less important than the reality (Davies 1984: 296–97; Hamel 1990: 152): land held in long-term tenancy often came into de facto ownership (especially with cleruchy land), while those legally free were often tied to the soil by custom, debt, and other factors (Whittaker 1980: 84–89). Long-term tenancy does not seem to have been too different in practice from actual ownership of the land (Hamel 1990: 158–60). The general picture of the peasantry is that it remained without major changes over many centuries. There may have been a time in which alienation of the land from the peasants was an acute problem in Judah, but this is difficult to quantify. As Hamel (1990: 155) notes, in Roman Palestine ‘it is not possible to detect an evolution in terms of land concentration and exploitation of labor’. In the final analysis, there are insufficient data to come to more than the most tentative conclusions. Galilee was separate from Judaea proper after the death of Herod. Some have argued that the expansion of Sepphoris and the founding and growth of Tiberias were bad for the common people of Galilee, who were mainly farmers, fishermen, or small crafts workers. That is, the work going into the construction and maintenance of these two cities was not good for the villages and towns of the region (Horsley 1995: 176–81; Crossan/Reed 2009: 69–70). This scenario has been rightly questioned, since cities require support from their hinterland (Richardson/Edwards 2002: 254–55). The local farmers did not give their produce away; they sold it at market prices. Rather than impoverishing the countryside, these cities needed its products and provided a market for them. The cities were actually good for the local people in the surrounding country (cf. Hopkins 2002). M. H. Jensen (2006: 135–78) surveyed the main towns and villages of Galilee, specifically Tiberias, Sepphoris, Jotapata (Yodefat), Cana, Capernaum, and Gamala. He concluded, this survey unequivocally paints a picture of a thriving first-century Galilee… In the first part of the first century CE, the villages surveyed all appear to have flourished… Based on the villages and towns that have been investigated, it seems clear that the first century until the war of 66 CE was a period that provided the stable conditions needed for expansion and growth. (Jensen 2006: 178, 186)

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5.2.2. From the Great Revolt to Bar Kokhva It has generally been argued that the 66–70 war left Judaea desolate and in a desperate plight from an economic point of view. This is based on the assumption of widespread destruction caused by the revolt and the seizure of land by the Romans (e.g., Applebaum 1976a: 9–15; 1976b: 692–99; 1977: 385–95). Indeed, it is inferred from Josephus (see below) that Vespasian took over much of the land into his own personal ownership so that many Jews who had been landowners now became tenants. There is no question that Jerusalem and the surrounding area suffered greatly; in fact, for the siege of Jerusalem, the countryside was scoured for materials as far away as 10–12 miles from the city (War 5.12.4 §523). Also after the war Vespasian founded a colony of soldiers at Emmaus not far from Jerusalem (War 7.6.6 §217); further, we have the example of his gift of land to Josephus as compensation for his land which was made unprofitable by the Roman garrison near Jerusalem (Life 76 §422). It has even been argued that an important cause of the Second Revolt was peasant poverty, so that Bar Kokhva’s main supporters were found among the peasantry (Applebaum 1976a: 15–17). However, another assessment is also possible and seems more likely. This argues that only the area in the immediate vicinity of Jerusalem suffered heavily. Galilee got off lightly since most cities quickly capitulated and only Jotapata and Gamala required an extended siege. Most of the rebels fled to Jerusalem in the face of the Roman advance, which meant that the actual destruction by fighting was at a minimum throughout much of the country, making it possible to recover in a short number of years rather than decades as some interpret the data. Thus, Mildenberg (1984: 84–94) has pointed out that certainly in the decades just before the Second Revolt there are all the signs of widespread Jewish ownership of the land and relative prosperity. Similarly, M. Mor (2016: 75–104) has examined the question at length and concluded: proof prevails of the existence of Jewish landowners and the recovery of the agricultural economy in Judaea during the period between the two revolts… I have no intention of claiming that the situation of the farmers between the two revolts was satisfactory; my main criticism is of the claim that their situation at the time was more difficult than in the years before the Great Revolt… (Mor 2016: 92, 104)

Yet much of the question about the possession of land for farming has revolved around the statement of Josephus which has been interpreted as evidence that Vespasian took over much of the country (War 7.6.6 §§216-17). Now B. Isaac (1984b: 46) has argued that the passage has been

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misinterpreted to the point that the text has even been emended to support the standard interpretation. When read correctly without emendation, Isaac argues that it should be translated as follows: About the same time Caesar sent instructions to Bassus and Laberius Maximus, the procurator, to dispose of all Jewish land. For he founded there no city of his own while keeping their territory, but only to eight hundred veterans did he assign a place for settlement called Emmaus… (Isaac 1984: 46)

Of course, the land of rebels was confiscated and became Vespasian’s property; it is to this that ‘all Jewish land’ refers, not to the whole of Judaea. Those not directly involved in the revolt continued to own their property and make a living from it as in the years before 66. Thus, the climb from the post-war depression to the former level of agrarian prosperity would have been a matter of years rather than decades, with the area around Jerusalem being the last to recover. There seems little doubt that Judaea as a whole had reverted much more to a subsistence economy consisting mainly of tenant farmers, hired labourers, craftsmen, and small businesses. This was the case regardless of whether the destruction and effects of the 66–70 war were as great as often asserted or not. But one should be cautious in building on the assumption that the whole of Palestine suffered economic and agrarian disaster as a result of the First Revolt. In those areas relating to the temple, however, there is no question that the former revenues were lost. Thousands of pilgrims no longer came each year to celebrate the festivals at Jerusalem. The entire industry which catered for, and depended on, the multitudes coming annually from the diaspora to visit the temple—in modern parlance, the tourist trade—was at an end. Thus, an important element in the pre-66 economy of Judaea was gone. But this would primarily have affected inhabitants of Jerusalem, not necessarily those living elsewhere in Judaea or in Galilee. Many of them had of course been killed or displaced because of the Great Revolt. 5.2.3. The Fiscus Judaicus I. A. F. Bruce (1964) ‘Nerva and the Fiscus Iudaicus’, PEQ 96: 34–45; A. Carlebach (1975–76) ‘Rabbinic References to Fiscus Judaicus’, JQR 66: 57–61; S. J. D. Cohen (2012) Review of M. Heemstra, The Fiscus Judaicus and the Parting of the Ways, BAR 38/6: 66, 68; CPJ 1:80–88; 2:112–36, 204–8; M. Goodman (1989) ‘Nerva, the Fiscus Judaicus and Jewish Identity’, JRS 79: 40–44; idem (2005) ‘The Fiscus Iudaicus and

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Gentile Attitudes to Judaism in Flavian Rome’, in J. Edmondson, S. Mason, and J. Rives (eds), Flavius Josephus and Flavian Rome: 167–77; idem (2007) ‘The Meaning of “Fisci Iudaici Calumnia Sublata” on the Coinage of Nerva’, in S. J. D. Cohen and J. J. Schwartz (eds), Studies in Josephus and the Varieties of Ancient Judaism: Louis H. Feldman Jubilee Volume: 81–89; M. Heemstra (2010) The Fiscus Judaicus and the Parting of the Ways; S. Mandell (1984) ‘Who Paid the Temple Tax When the Jews Were under Roman Rule?’, HTR 77: 223–32; E. M. Smallwood (1956a) ‘Domitian’s Attitude toward the Jews and Judaism’, Classical Philology 51: 1–13; L. A. Thompson (1982) ‘Domitian and the Jewish Tax’, Historia 31: 329–42.

According to Josephus (War 7.6.6 §218), after the fall of Jerusalem Vespasian converted the traditional Jewish payment (of two denarii a year to the temple) to the same payment but to Jupiter Capitolinus in Rome for the temple’s rebuilding (it had been destroyed by the fighting in 69); see also Suetonius (Domit. 12.1-2) and Cassius Dio (66.7.2). The tax laid on all Jews, regardless of where they lived, by Vespasian was a major financial innovation and source of humiliation. Gone was the contribution to the temple which had theoretically been the responsibility for every male Jew of a certain age; this was now forfeited to the Roman exchequer as the fiscus Judaicus and was evidently laid on every Jew— man, woman, child, and slave, even Roman citizens (Goodman 1989: 40; contra Mandell 1984: although many eligible Jews may not have paid it to the temple, as she notes, the evidence indicates that the Romans did not make fine distinctions about who had or had not paid before). The large sums which had poured into the temple coffers and the resultant ‘trickle down’ into the broader economy of Judaea no longer had any place. Under Domitian a particular regulation was issued which extended the Jewish tax even further. It has been debated as to precisely what constituted Domitian’s decree (Bruce 1964). However, the theory has more recently been defended that Domitian’s ruling extended the tax to all those circumcised, even those who had abandoned the Jewish religion (Thompson 1982; Goodman 1989). If so, Domitian’s measure would probably not have affected most Jews one way or the other. When he succeeded to the throne, Nerva made a point of abolishing this (as shown by an inscription on some of his coins), which was no doubt a relief for many who had been compelled to pay against their will; on the other hand, Nerva’s decree now placed the tax on all who practised Judaism, whether born Jewish or not (Goodman 2007). An unintended side effect was equating Jewish identity with religion rather than ethnic origin and tacitly recognizing, for the first time, the

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existence of proselytes to Judaism (Goodman 1989). (Domitian had actively sought out Romans who had become ‘atheists’ by abandoning their ancestral religion, which would appear to include proselytes to Judaism.) On the other hand, it seems to have released Christians from the tax. For example, M. Heemstra (2010) argues that the measures of Nerva would have the effect of relieving Christians from the ‘Jewish tax’, because Domitian had pursued both Gentile and Jewish Christians to pay the tax. (This suggests that many Christians did not pay the tax because they already saw themselves as separate from Jews, even as early as the reign of Domitian, a conclusion which is questionable [see the discussion at §7.5].) 5.3. Conclusions Economics is always a fraught subject, partly because it so often evokes emotive feelings about exploitation and pain. The problem is that discussion too frequently leads to tendentious conclusions and even self-righteous competition to see who can show the most regard for the sufferings of the people. There is no question that there were many poor people in antiquity, but we must always ask two questions: first, did they feel their extreme poverty in the way that one might in the modern world? That is, poverty (from a modern perspective) was the condition of the vast majority of people in antiquity. There were a few very rich, hardly any who fall into what today would be called middle class, and the huge proportion of the population who struggled to have enough of the necessities of life. Having enough to eat and adequate housing provided contentment for many. The second question is whether people in one era were worse off than in other eras. When we look at first-century Judaea, we see many people who were living at subsistence level, but this was normal. We do not appear to see greater poverty or suffering or exploitation then than at other times in Jewish history. The argument that the rich were getting richer or that the poor were being more stringently abused than usual does not stand up in the light of data presently known. Indebtedness was normal for many, especially for small holders who often needed a loan to tide them over in bad years. But the labour market was dynamic, and those who owned a bit of land might also hire themselves out as day labourers at certain times. It was counter-productive for wealthy landowners to impoverish the peasantry beyond a certain point. When we come to the 66–70 revolt, the causes are multiple, but indebtedness and poverty do not seem to be major contributors to it.

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After the Judaean defeat, the area around Jerusalem and the city itself were devastated. Yet much of the country seems to have got off lightly. Property owned by rebels was confiscated, but this was evidently not the case with most of the land. The indication from archaeology is that the economy of the region recovered in a matter of years rather than decades. The one continuing economic complaint was the fiscus Judaicus, by which all Jews had to contribute two drachmas a year to the Jupiter Capitolinus temple in Rome. But this remained a burden for centuries. Again, there were a number of causes of the Bar Kokhva revolt, but the economy does not seem to be one of them. In this case, however, the aftermath of the revolt seems to have been dire, at least for a time. Huge numbers of the population appear to have been killed or enslaved, and Jerusalem was declared off limits to Jews. It appears that many of the old Jewish areas became inhabited primarily by non-Jews. Yet contrary to some modern claims, the Jews were not expelled from their land. They were free to live as Jews as they had in the past.

Chapter 6

J e ws i n t h e D i a s p ora (4 BCE to 117 CE)

H. Botermann (1996) Das Judenedikt des Kaisers Claudius: Römischer Staat und Christiani im 1. Jahrhundert; S. Gambetti (2009) The Alexandrian Riots of 38 C.E. and the Persecution of the Jews: A Historical Reconstruction; E. Gruen (2002a) Diaspora: Jews amidst Greeks and Romans; A. Kasher (1985) The Jews in Hellenistic and Roman Egypt: The Struggle for Equal Rights; S. Krauter (2004) Bürgerrecht und Kultteilnahme: Politische und kultische Rechte und Pflichten in griechischen Poleis, Rom und antikem Judentum; E. M. Smallwood (1981) The Jews under Roman Rule.

Discussion of Jewish communities outside Palestine was found in previous volumes (HJJSTP 1: 316–19; HJJSTP 2: 181–85, plus passim on the Jews in Egypt under Ptolemaic rule; HJJSTP 3: 231–47). We begin the discussion with the question of whether Jews were citizens of the cities in which they resided, an issue that seems to have arisen especially during Roman rule. After that the main areas where Jews lived in the diaspora during this period are surveyed. 6.1. Citizenship for Diaspora Jews? S. Applebaum (1979) Jews and Greeks in Ancient Cyrene; M. Bernett (2007) Der Kaiserkult in Judäa unter den Herodiern und Römern: Untersuchungen zur politischen und religiösen Geschichte Judäas von 30 v. bis 66 n. Chr.; M. Goodman (1981) Review of A. Kasher, Jews in Hellenistic and Roman Egypt (Hebrew edition), JJS 32: 207–8; M. Pucci Ben Zeev (1998) Jewish Rights in the Roman World: The Greek and Roman Documents Quoted by Josephus Flavius; V. Tcherikover (1959) Hellenistic Civilization and the Jews: 296–332, 409–15.

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When we talk of ‘citizenship’ in the Hellenistic period, we must keep in mind that one was not a citizen of a country. Citizenship was a matter for being members of a particular city. Even the much-discussed Roman citizenship was originally a question of being a member of the city of Rome: citizens were even assimilated into one of the original Roman tribes. Only later did one become a citizen of the empire, as it were. The question of whether Jews were citizens of some of the Hellenistic cities in which they lived is one inherited from antiquity. In a number of passages Josephus implies that the Jews were citizens of such cities as Alexandria and Caesarea but that the Greeks refused to recognize this or attempted to disenfranchise them. His statements include the following: • War 2.18.7 §§487-88 says that Alexander the Great had given the Jewish inhabitants of Alexandria the right to live in the city ‘with equal status’ (ἐξ ἰσομοιρίας) to the Greeks. His successors confirmed this, assigned a quarter of the city to them (called the Delta, for its shape like the Greek letter Δ), and gave them the right to call themselves ‘Macedonians’. • Ant. 12.1.1 §8 claims that Ptolemy I gave the Jews of Alexandria ‘equal civic rights’ (ἰσοπολίτας) with the Macedonians. • Ant. 14.10.1-26 §§185-267 quotes a number of decrees of the Roman Senate and others with regard to the privileges of the Jews in various places, especially Asia Minor. These were discussed at length in HJJSTP 3 (238–40). Specifically on the question of citizenship, there are several reference made to ‘Jews who are Roman citizens’ (Ant. 14.10.13 §228; 14.10.14 §232; 16.8.1 §234; 18.6.10 §237; 19.4.1 §240). Also, Josephus refers to a bronze tablet in Alexandria that he claims was set up by Julius Caesar, which declares that the Jews are ‘citizens’ (πολῖται) of the city (Ant. 14.10.1 §188). • Ant. 16.6.1-7 §§160-73 also contains decrees on behalf of the Jews in Cyrene and in Asia which Josephus claims are regarding the question of ‘equal civil rights’ (ἰσονομίαν). The specific issue is that of taxation and the allowance for the temple tax to be sent to Jerusalem. The basic religious rights are affirmed by Augustus and Agrippa, though citizenship itself is not specifically mentioned in the decrees. • Ag. Ap. 2.4 §§35-41, in its polemic on Apion’s attack, states that Alexander had given the Jews ‘equal privileges’ (ἴσης…τιμῆς) with the Macedonians, that a stela in Alexandria records rights given to the Jews by Augustus (‘Caesar the Great’), that the Jews in Antioch are called Antiochenes and have ‘citizenship’ (πολιτείαν), and that those in Ephesus and the rest of Ionia are given the same name as ‘indigenous citizens’ (αὐθιγενέσι πολίταις).

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Because of these statements by Josephus, many scholars of the nineteenth century accepted that Jews were normally citizens of the Greek cities in which they resided. However, since that time many original documents have become available, especially among the papyri and inscriptions found in Egypt, which now seem to answer the question decisively. Of course, it has long been known that certain individual Jews were citizens of their Greek city of residence without any doubt; a prominent example from Alexandria was the family of Philo (§3.3). Ephebate lists, on which occurred the names of most future citizens of the city, from such diverse areas as Cyrene and Ptolemais contain Jewish names (Applebaum 1979: 167–68, 177–78). Yet, as interesting as the individual examples are, they do not answer the question of the Jewish community as a whole. The Jews were not unusual in having a community with its own separate ethnic identity in many Greek cities around the Hellenistic world. These communities were often (though not always) organized into a politeuma. This might include a charter by the city which allowed them to maintain their own traditions and to regulate themselves internally for the most part. They were semi-autonomous entities within the Greek polis with certain rights and privileges, but their members were not citizens of the city and did not possess those rights reserved for citizens. The question of the Jewish communities as politeumata is a complicated one and was discussed at length (with bibliography) in HJJSTP 2 (181–85). We have evidence of Jewish communities that were designated as a politeuma. As already noted, a politeuma of the Jews is attested for Sardis in Josephus; inscriptions also mention politeumata for other cities such as Cyrene, Alexandria, Memphis, Caesarea, Antioch, and (with recent finds) in Heracleopolis in Egypt (HJJSTP 2: 181–85). Yet this fact alone suggests that the Jews as a whole did not have citizenship in these cities. To take the example of Caesarea, it initially had few if any Jews even though founded by Herod the Great. When the Jewish population had grown significantly by about 60 CE, the Jewish community began to agitate for citizenship but this was refused by Nero himself, a fact which helped lead to the beginning of the war with Rome (Ant. 20.8.7, 9 §§173, 183–84). Of particular importance to the question of citizenship is the position of the Alexandrian Jewish community. It has also been widely assumed that at least part of the agitation in 38–41 CE was caused by a dispute over this subject. Josephus allegedly quotes two decrees of Claudius, in letter form. We shall take the second letter at this point because it is less controversial (here ‘Second Letter’). Josephus quotes this second decree that Claudius

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supposedly issued to the ‘rest of the world’ because of a request from Agrippa and his brother Herod (Ant. 19.5.3 §§286-91). In it he bestows the same rights and privileges on Jews throughout the Roman empire that those of Alexandria had. Thus, Jews throughout the empire should be able to observe their own traditional customs and laws without hindrance. This decree seems not to mention anything about the question of citizenship or political rights as such. More telling but more problematic is the first letter from Claudius that Josephus claims to quote (here ‘First Letter’). It is written to the city of Alexandria and confirms that the Jews were among the earliest inhabitants of the city and that they had ‘equal civic rights’ (ἴσης πολιτείας: Ant. 19.5.2 §§280–85). It states that the Jews of Alexandria were called ‘Alexandrians’ and were joint colonizers with the (Greek) Alexandrians from the earliest times (i.e., from the time of Alexander). This is supposedly confirmed by various edicts and also by documents possessed by ‘them’ (presumably the Jewish community is meant). It goes on to say that when the Romans conquered Egypt the rights of Jews to live by their own customs were recognized and preserved. The Jews had an ethnarch, and Augustus allowed the practice to continue. These rights were attacked under the rule of Caligula, but Claudius rules that their traditional rights were not to be lost because of the ‘madness’ (παραφροσύνην) of Caligula. If genuine, this ‘First Letter’ of Claudius in Josephus would seem to settle the matter that the Jews of Alexandria were citizens of the city. But before discussing that, we need to consider a third document, an unquestioned genuine decree of Claudius that we now possess from among the papyri finds from Roman Egypt (here ‘Decree’; Bernett 2007: 287–95): Tiberius Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus the Emperor, Pontifex Maximus, holder of the Tribunician Power, consul designate, to the city of Alexandria, greeting… About the requests which you have made from me, my decision is this. To all those who have been registered as epheboi up to the time of my principate I guarantee and confirm their Alexandrian citizenship with all the privileges and benefits enjoyed by the city… With regard to the responsibility for the disturbances and rioting, or rather, to speak the truth, the war, against the Jews,… I harbour within me a store of immutable indignation against those who renewed the conflict. I merely say that, unless you stop this destructive and obstinate mutual enmity, I shall be forced to show what a benevolent ruler can be when he is turned to righteous indignation. Even now, therefore, I conjure the Alexandrians to behave gently and kindly towards the Jews who have inhabited the same city for many years, and not to dishonour any of their customs in their worship of their god, but to allow them to keep their own ways, as they did in the time

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There are several points to note about this ‘Decree’ from Claudius to the people of Alexandria: • It affirms the citizenship of those who had passed through a proper ephebate. • Claudius rebukes those responsible for the ‘war’ against the Jews and calls on all to behave honourably toward the Jewish community and respect its religious rights. • Crucially, the letter states that the Jews live in a city not their own, though enjoying its benefits, and are admonished not to seek further privileges or call in Jews from outside to give them support. • They are told not to interfere with the games of the gymnasia and the kosmetai. This might be a reference to Jews trying to enter these games, which would require their possessing citizenship to do so. If so, the implication is that they did not have this right. Other explanations are possible, however, such as simply creating mischief by agitating publicly during these competitions (cf. Gruen 2002: 81). • Finally, the Jews are told not to send two embassies to the emperor. This puzzling statement suggests that two separate embassies had appeared before Claudius about the same issue. One of these was apparently the one headed by Philo, but we can only speculate about the other one which is not described in the extant sources. The statement about the Jews living in a city ‘not their own’ makes it clear that the Jews as whole were not Alexandrian citizens, and agitation to become citizens seems to be forbidden by Claudius. This brings up the question of the relationship between this genuine ‘Decree’ of the emperor (CPJ, text 153) and the ‘First Letter’ of Claudius in Josephus (Ant. 19.5.2 §§280-85). (As we shall see, almost everyone accepts the ‘Second Letter’ as genuine.) Essentially, three interpretations have been given to their relationship:

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• Claudius sent two letters to the Alexandrians: he initially sent the ‘First Letter’ quoted by Josephus (followed by the ‘Second Letter’ in Josephus, though this was not specifically to Alexandria). Afterward, when further disturbance broke out, he sent the ‘Decree’ known from the papyri (CPJ, text 153). This case has been most cogently argued by Pucci Ben Zeev (1998: 294–342; also Kasher 1985: 262–309). • There were two letters from Claudius to Alexandria (the ‘Decree’ and the ‘First Letter’), but the one in Josephus has been altered to better fit Jewish propaganda. It was not Josephus who ‘doctored’ the document, but its contents misled him into concluding that Jews had Alexandrian citizenship. • There was only one letter, the papyrus ‘Decree’ of Claudius. This was worked over to fit Jewish concerns (probably not by Josephus but by others) and was taken up by Josephus (as his ‘First Letter’), which explains both the similarities and the differences between his alleged letter of Claudius and the one found among the papyri. For example, D. R. Schwartz argues that Josephus’s letter is a manipulated version of the genuine Claudius ‘Decree’ (1990: 99–106). Which one of these is likely to be the correct one? E. Gruen points out that a second pronouncement by Claudius on the same subject ‘seems most unlikely’, for ‘Claudian edicts may have been prolific, but this would be redundant’ (2002: 82). In other words, it is improbable that Claudius wrote two letters (i.e., the ‘First Letter’ and the ‘Decree’)—with much parallel content, especially with respect to Jewish rights—to Alexandria. Also, it is most implausible that in an official decree Claudius would have referred to his predecessor as ‘mad’ (Gruen 2002: 292 n. 219): whatever he thought about Caligula and might even have said in private, he would not have made such a statement in an official public letter. S. Gambetti (2009: 217–38) has analysed the various letters at length. She concludes (in agreement with Gruen 2002: 75) that the question was not primarily about Jews trying to gain Alexandrian citizenship. She brings in P. Oxy. XLII 3021 which looks like a hearing before Claudius in regard to Jewish demands. If so, CPJ, text 153 would have been a follow-up decree (perhaps in response to a subsequent embassy from the Alexandrians). Nevertheless, the ‘Decree’ from Claudius reaffirms Jewish religious rights but does not go further than this. The governor Flaccus in 37 CE had forbidden Jews to settle in Alexandria outside the Delta quarter, based on a decision of Caligula (§6.2). Claudius made his ruling in accordance with that decree: he was unlikely to go against a legal ruling

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by a previous emperor. Thus, the apparent Jewish request to go back to their earlier privileges (including the ability to settle outside the Delta quarter) before 37 CE was denied. This means, as Gambetti shows, that most of the concessions of Josephus’s ‘First Letter’ go against this ruling. Rather, they follow Josephus’s apologetic concerns as outlined in his Contra Apionem, book 2. This means that the letter is a forgery (though probably not by Josephus himself). Thus, while two letters to Alexandria are not impossible, the ‘First Letter’ in Josephus has several points that look too much like examples of pro-Jewish propaganda. As Tcherikover (1959: 314–15) has pointed out, most of the ancient literature on the subject falls into the category of Jewish apology. Whether Philo, Josephus, or 3 Maccabees, they were all engaged in a vital battle against developing anti-Jewish attitudes. In order to prevent the erosion of past religious privileges traditionally granted to Jews, they used every weapon in their arsenal without worrying too much about whether it represented strict truth. On the other hand, the ‘Second Letter’ of Claudius about Jewish rights quoted by Josephus (Ant. 19.5.3 §§287-91) does not have the same difficulties. While D. R. Schwartz points out the possibility that it might be forged, he ultimately sees no obstacles to its acceptance but, rather, observes several points which ‘support the authenticity of the second edict with perhaps some light Jewish editing’ (1990: 105). Thus, the basic conclusions about Jewish rights can be summarized as follows: • Some individual Jews were citizens of the Greek cities in which they resided. We know, for example, that the family of Philo were citizens of Alexandria. Inscriptions, papyri, and some literary sources also indicate this for other Greek cities. • Yet the Jewish community as a whole in each city made up a semiautonomous organization, often called a politeuma or katoikos (not every Jewish community was organized as a politeuma, however). The Jews were allowed to practise their own customs and religion and even to regulate themselves internally to a large extent. On the other hand, they were not citizens of the city and did not enjoy the traditional civic rights. It is conventional to argue that the troubles in Alexandria arose at least in part from agitation by Jews for full citizenship. Gruen, however, has expressed considerable doubts about this, arguing that the thesis ‘relies on inference and hypothesis, not tangible data’ (2002: 75). There seems to have been little to gain by becoming citizens (Gruen 2002: 77–78). Some have thought that without citizenship, Jews were subject to the poll tax (λαογραφία) that

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Egyptians had to pay. But there is no evidence that the Jews paid the laographia, as is indeed indicated by various literary works such as the Acta Isidori. This latter compares the Jews to the Egyptians who paid the laographia, but the response is that the Jews are not equal to the Egyptians, because they in fact did not pay it. • The statements in Jewish literature which seem to contradict this lack of citizenship are subject to several qualifications: (a) the terminology is often used very loosely rather than according to strict legal definition which can be confusing; (b) the statements are usually part of an apologetic context in which an accurate description of the real status of the Jews is subordinated to defending traditional rights by whatever means possible; (c) the writers themselves (mainly Josephus and Philo), when read closely, actually provide evidence that the Jews as a whole did not have the rights of citizens. 6.2. Egypt CPJ 2:25–107 (texts 150-159b); A. Kasher (1985) The Jews in Hellenistic and Roman Egypt: The Struggle for Equal Rights; H. A. Musurillo (ed.) (1954) The Acts of the Pagan Martyrs: Acta Alexandrinorum; L. V. Rutgers (1994) ‘Roman Policy towards the Jews: Expulsions from the City of Rome during the First Century C.E.’, Classical Antiquity 13: 56–74; D. R. Schwartz (1990) Agrippa I: 96–106; V. A. Tcherikover (1959) Hellenistic Civilization and the Jews: 296–332, 409–15.

This section mainly concerns the troubles falling on the Alexandrian Jewish community under Caligula. Various statements in Josephus and elsewhere refer to Jews and Jewish communities in Egypt through the Ptolemaic and Seleucid periods (cf. HJJSTP 2: 181–85, 193–204; HJJSTP 3: 234–38). The Jewish community in Alexandria also had a long history. Although the statement of Josephus (War 2.18.7 §§487) that it began already with Alexander’s conquest is unlikely, it may well have its origins as early as the time of Ptolemy I. We have no indication of any major difficulties between the Jewish community and the Greek inhabitants of the city until Roman times when a sea change in attitude seems to have taken place. The Greek citizens of Alexandria had an enormous pride in their ancestry and tradition, and the Roman takeover was a great blow to their prestige and self-esteem. Further, the leaders of Judaea (Hyrcanus II and Antipater) had contributed a good deal to the conquest of Egypt and had gained the Roman good will as a result (HJJSTP 3: 439–40). While most of the Jews were not citizens of the city (§6.1 above), they

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nevertheless enjoyed special privileges which citizens also had but which the native Egyptians did not (such as freedom from the laographia or poll tax). These facts seem to have been the foundation of anti-Judaism in Egypt which increased as time went by. The earliest indications of this anti-Jewish attitude are literary (§11.1.2), but no concerted action seems to have been taken place until the reign of Caligula. The main source for the sequence of events are the tractates of Philo, In Flaccum and Legatio ad Gaium, both of which are apologetic works and thus have their special problems of reliability (§3.3). However, they can be supplemented by Josephus (Ant. 18.8.1 §§257-60) and material in the papyri (CPJ 2:25–107; Musurillo [ed.] 1954). The Greeks of the city were stirred up against the Jews, partly because of the visit of Agrippa I on his way to take up his kingship over the old domain of Philip. (Philo blames Flaccus but concedes that he was only acquiescing to the Alexandrian Greeks [Flaccus 18–24].) Behind Agrippa’s visit may lie some hidden but important dealings (Gambetti 2009: 1515). Caligula had a difficult political problem that he wanted Agrippa to help resolve. (This was why Agrippa had been granted praetorian honours—conferred by the Senate but no doubt at Caligula’s request—the first foreigner to receive them.) Normally, a governor of a province received a mandata, an official confirmation of and instructions in the office, but Flaccus had been in Egypt when his term under Tiberius had expired at Tiberius’s death, and he had not come to Rome to receive reappointment by Caligula. Agrippa was, therefore, in Alexandria in an official capacity, to deliver the emperor’s mandata to him. He also outranked Flaccus, as was necessary to carry out this task. Therefore, when Agrippa was mocked by some of the local people (instigated by Isidorus?), they were in essence mocking the emperor himself. This may have been one of the charges leading to Isidorus’s execution, when he was later tried under Claudius, and might also be one of the accusations against Flaccus. The situation seems to have been peaceful until 38 CE (but see below). There are several possible causes for persecution of the Jews to have broken out at that time. One cause that is widely championed in modern secondary studies is Jewish agitation for citizenship (though there is reason to be cautious about invoking this: §6.1 above). The main instigators were the gymnasiarches Isidorus and Lampo, the two leaders of the gymnasium which formed the centre of Greek cultural life in the city. These put great pressure on the Roman governor Flaccus to remove the special privileges of the Jews. Then, Agrippa I’s presence, when he stopped off at the city in August on his way to take up his new kingdom

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(possibly to install Flaccus formally as governor, deputizing for Caligula, as noted above), only succeeded in inflaming the situation. Official antiJewish measures were put in force, though the popular mob may have taken them beyond what Flaccus intended: as governor Flaccus was responsible for keeping order, and he had been put in a bad situation by the riots. His concern was to gain back control and establish peace before his Roman masters took sterner measures against the city and against him personally. Yet Flaccus was evidently not even-handed in his necessary actions. His measures seem to have been heavily weighted toward a crackdown on the Jewish community: synagogues were closed (and in some cases destroyed), and all Jews were ghetto-ized by being forced to live in the Delta area (one of the five districts) of the city. This finally led to further riots against the Jews in which much Jewish property was destroyed, and many Jews were killed or given humiliating public punishment. Order was restored only when Flaccus was sent to stand trial before Caligula and replaced by Pollio in October 38 CE. Thus far, Philo’s account in Flaccus has provided the basic narrative. Now, there is a hiatus until Philo describes a bit about his actual embassy to Rome and events must be pieced together from a few bits of data. The peace established was a very uneasy one, and apparently permission was requested for the Jewish community to send an embassy to Caligula. Permission was granted, as well as for the Greek community to do likewise, and Philo headed the delegation which left in the winter (Gaius 190), but whether it was 38–39 CE (so Gambetti 2009: 272) or 39–40 is uncertain. The mission was overtaken by events (Caligula’s plans to place his statue in the temple), however, and does not appear to have achieved a full hearing. On Caligula’s death, the tables were turned, for the Jews seem to have been the ones who rioted this time (Ant. 19.5.2 §§278-79). A report was sent to Claudius by the prefect. Finally, the delegations led by Philo and his Alexandrian opponents were heard by Claudius who affirmed the traditional Roman policy of religious and ethnic tolerance. This probably led to the papyrus ‘Decree’ of Claudius (CJP 2, text 153, that was looked at in §6.1 above). In it Claudius reaffirmed Jewish rights to practise their religion without hindrance, but he did not give permission for them to live outside the Delta quarter, as some of them had done before 38 CE. Matters are somewhat complicated because Claudius’s letter to the Alexandrians mentions two Jewish delegations. Claudius is clearly annoyed with this state of things. Why another Jewish delegation came before him, and whether a second Alexandrian delegation on the Greek

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side also arrived, are all unknown, because we have no external record of the delegations. We might have another record of a first hearing before Claudius, in P. Oxy. XLII 3021, but its fragmentary nature makes this somewhat uncertain. The main evidence is Claudius’s ‘Decree’ (CJP 2, text 153) from which the external events must be reconstructed. Claudius affirmed Jewish rights regarding religion but warned them about agitating for citizenship or other special privileges. Peace was restored but much of the bitterness no doubt remained and was passed on to future generations until it culminated in the revolts under Trajan (§15.6.1). Most of the sources for these events are well known, but S. Gambetti (2009) makes significant use of two sources often neglected because of their fragmentary nature: P. Yale II 107 and P. Oxy. XLII 3021. She argues that the issue was not primarily one of Jews’ seeking Alexandrian citizenship, because most of the privileges of that citizenship had already been withdrawn by the Romans. Indeed, since the Jews had the same tax exemptions as the Alexandrians, they also had most of the same privileges. The rights of the Jews were apparently questioned already as early as 35 CE, and a Jewish delegation to Rome was permitted by Flaccus. But then Caligula became emperor and ruled that the Jews had to recognize his divinity and also had no right to live outside a small area in the Delta quarter of Alexandria. At this point, Flaccus issued a decree to enforce this ruling by the emperor. The result was that those living elsewhere in the city were attacked, and their property confiscated. After Caligula’s death, the delegations (apparently Jewish—perhaps two of them—and the one of Alexandrian Greeks) were heard by Claudius. Claudius then issued his ‘Decree’ which ruled that Jewish religious rights were to be respected by the Alexandrians, but he did not allow Jews to return to living outside the designated Jewish zone. At this time, Josephus’s ‘Second Letter’ (Ant. 19.5.3 §§286-91)—to the Empire generally—affirming Jewish religious rights was also issued. Josephus’s ‘First Letter’ (Ant. 19.5.2 §280-85) was, however, a forgery (though possibly based on Claudius’s ‘Decree’ or some other document) that attempts to allege rights of citizenship that the Jews never had as a community in Alexandria (though some individuals did because they were citizens). Gambetti’s arguments are in part speculative because of being based on fragmentary papyri, but they have a great deal to commend them, and her reconstruction of events provides a new basis for examining the situation of the Jews in Alexandria at this time. The somewhat legendary Acta Alexandrinorum (Musurillo 1954; CPJ 2:55–107, texts 154–159]) suggest that two of the Alexandrian delegates, the gymnasiarchs Isidorus and Lampo, were tried before Claudius

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and perhaps even executed by him. Agrippa (probably Agrippa I but possibly Agrippa II) is also brought in as an accuser in the trial by the Acta Isidori, but what offence the Alexandrians had committed and when the trial took place are not clear. Isidorus seems to have had a part in various hearings before the emperor (Gambetti 2009: 102–3, 125–27, 213–14). This trial of Isidorus (and others?) can, however, be fitted into the scenario of events between 38 and 41 CE (Gambetti 2009: 217–20). 6.3. Syria, Asia Minor, and Greece W. Ameling (ed.) (2004) Inscriptiones Judaicae Orientis, Volume II Kleinasien; J. Magness (2005) ‘The Date of the Sardis Synagogue in Light of the Numismatic Evidence’, AJA 109: 443–75; D. Noy and H. Bloedhorn (eds) (2004) Inscriptiones Judaicae Orientis, Volume III Syria and Cyprus; D. Noy, A. Panayotov, and H. Bloedhorn (eds) (2004) Inscriptiones Judaicae Orientis, Volume I Eastern Europe; Schürer 3:1:13–38, 64–73; A. R. Seager (1972) ‘The Building History of the Sardis Synagogue’, AJA 76: 425–35; P. R. Trebilco (1991) Jewish Communities in Asia Minor; idem (2006) ‘The Jews in Asia Minor, 66–c. 235 CE’, CHJ 4: 75–82; M. H. Williams (1998) The Jews among the Greeks and Romans: A Diaspora Handbook.

It is in the Greek period that we first begin to hear about Jewish communities in the cities of Syria, Asia Minor, and even the Greek mainland. A number of these were named by Josephus in documents quoted in Ant. 14.10.1-26 §§185-267, which were discussed in the previous volume (HJJSTP 3: 238–41). For the Roman period after Herod, however, he seldom mentions these communities, and we must go to other sources. Fortunately, both Schürer (3:1:13-38, 64-73) and Trebilco (1991) survey the region and provide information city by city (also, for the inscriptions, see Noy/Panayotov/Bloedhorn [eds] 2004, Ameling [ed.] 2004, and Noy/ Bloedhorn ([eds] 2004). It must be kept in mind that many of the inscriptions are centuries after even the Bar Kokhva revolt, and their relevance for the first and early second centuries CE is not always clear. Only a brief overview is possible here, but the following are some of the main cities with Jewish communities in the first century CE. According to Philo both Syria and Asia Minor had many Jews ‘in every city’ (Gaius 245; cf. Josephus, War 2.18.2 §§462-63), perhaps an exaggeration but most of the main cities did have a Jewish community. We can move from south to north, beginning with Syria. Palestine is a part of Syria, but the events relating to the cities in and near Palestine are discussed (especially in Chapters 2, 12, and 14), particularly those

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that were affected by the 66–70 revolt, not only Jerusalem and the cities of the Decapolis, Galilee, and Gaulanitis, but also the cities on the coast: Caesarea and Ptolemais. Samaria was separate from Judaea: on the city and region, see HJJSTP 3 (194–219). Many of the cities in Syria, Asia Minor, and Greece are mentioned in the Acts of the Apostles, relating to the Christian mission (cf. §5.7), though to what extent we can rely on the narrative there is always a question. In any case, the information is likely to be from the end of the first century rather than before 70 in most cases, though there are no doubt exceptions. Although the Jesus Movement had probably not separated from Judaism until perhaps the early second century, it may well have been seen as a sect within Judaism in the mid-first century CE and thus having its own identity (cf. Acts 11.26; Suetonius, Claud. 25.4; Nero 16.2). Some cities that eventually had a Jewish population are not listed here because our evidence is post-Bar Kokhva. For example, evidence for Hierapolis’s Jewish inhabitants is known only from extant inscriptions which all date after 138 CE. Thus, it is not in the list below. In any case, the list is only a sampling of the major sites with a Jewish population: • Tyre and Sidon: at the time of the Great Revolt both Tyre and Sidon had Jews among their population (War 2.18.5 §§478-79). The leaders of Tyre put some to death and kept a larger group in prison, but the people of Sidon neither harmed nor imprisoned their Jewish population. Inscriptions tentatively dated to the first century CE indicate a female proselyte from Tyre (buried in Jerusalem), a man from ‘Chalchis’, perhaps in Phoenicia (also buried in Jerusalem), and a plaque found at Sidon indicating a synagogue, possibly at a place called Ornithokome, though the alleged name may indicate something else altogether (Noy/Bloedhorn 2004: 15–17, 20–23, 33–35). • Damascus: Acts 9.2, 20-22 mentions several synagogues in the city (though how credible it is that Paul could waltz into a city outside Jewish control and arrest people is a major question). A large Jewish population was massacred at the beginning of the Great Revolt (War 2.20.2 §559-761; 7.8.7 §368). • Palmyra: Jews may have lived here before 70, though the evidence is slim: undated inscriptions on a doorway quoting Deut. 6.4-9; 7.14-15; 28.5 in Hebrew, a Greek/Palmyrene tomb dedication of two Jewish brothers from 212 CE, and an inscription about the sale of a tomb by a Jew from the third century CE (Noy/Bloedhorn 2004: 70–83). • Apamea on the Orontes: the remains of a fourth-century CE synagogue, with an inscription, have been found (Schürer 3:1:14;

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Noy/Bloedhorn 2004: 84–116). Also a Jerusalem ossuary with a Greek/Hebrew inscription of the first century BCE/CE is of a proselyte from Apamea, probably the one in Syria (Noy/Bloedhorn 2004: 114–16). Antioch (on the Orontes): the Jewish population of Antioch was mentioned several times during the Hasmonaean period (HJJSTP 3: see index). For the Roman period, the Jewish population of Antioch was massacred at the beginning of the Great Revolt (War 7.3.3-4 §§43-62) Tarsus: apart from the statement that the apostle Paul was from Tarsus (Acts 22.3), no early evidence indicates a Jewish community there. The earliest inscription is a sixth-century inscription about the foundation of a synagogue, though a couple of burials of Jews from Tarsus found in Palestine are probably from the fourth century (Ameling 2004: 527–33) Iconium: according to Acts 14.1 there was a synagogue here. A grave of a Jew named Paul seems to date from the fourth century or later (Ameling 2004: 485–88). Antioch in Pisidia: the city had a synagogue and Jewish community, according to Acts 13.14-50. An inscription (first or second century CE) at Apollonia mentions a woman from Antioch named Deborah: she might have been Jewish and she might be from this Antioch rather than the one in Syria, but neither conclusion is certain (Ameling 2004: 384–86). Tlos in Lycia: a grave inscription from the first century CE is clearly identified as Jewish (Williams 1998: 119; Ameling 2004: 477–80). Apamea (on the Maeander): a Jewish community is mentioned by Cicero (Pro Flacco 28/68) because his client Flaccus had attempted to prevent the Jewish population of the city from sending their donations to Jerusalem, and almost a hundred pounds of gold was seized at Apamea. Of uncertain relevance are the third-century CE coins that depict Noah and wife, with the inscription ΝΩΕ (Trebilco 1991: 85–103; Ameling 2004: 380–82; Schürer 3:1:28–30). They were official city issues and had pagan motifs as well. Acmonia: a synagogue inscription states that the building originally built by Julia Severa, ‘high priestess’, was restored by several synagogue officials (Trebilco 1991: 58–84; Ameling 2004: 345–79; Schürer 3:1:30–32). This Julia, who was evidently not a Jew but a local patron, is known (from coins and inscriptions) to have lived in the first century CE. A number of inscriptions relating to Jews seem to be mostly from the third and fourth centuries.

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• Laodicea: according to Cicero (Pro Flacco 28/68) about 20 pounds of gold being sent to Jerusalem were confiscated there. A document quoted by Josephus states that the authorities will not hinder the Jews from observing the sabbath and others of their laws (Ant. 14.10.20 §§241-43). • Miletus: Josephus cites a letter (from the time of Julius Caesar?) that affirms the rights of the Jewish community (Ant. 14.10.21 §§24446). Three inscriptions, perhaps from the second or third century, are theatre places for Jews and/or ‘God-fearers’ (Ameling 2004: 168–72). The third- or fourth-century building identified as a synagogue by the excavator may well be a pagan temple (Trebilco 1991: 56). • Ephesus: the city had a synagogue (so Acts 18.19, 16; 19.8), but when a local Jew sought to address the city assembly, he was supposedly shouted down (Acts 19.32-34). Josephus indicates a Jewish community here by a number of references to Roman decrees about religious freedom (Ant. 14.10.11-19 §§223-40; 14.10.25 §§262-64; 16.6.4 §§167-73). One Jewish tomb inscription may be as early as the second century CE but most inscriptions are later (Ameling 2004: 152–62). • Philadelphia: Rev. 3.9 refers to those of ‘the synagogue of Satan’ and those ‘who say they are Jews but are not’, yet whether this refers to Jews or is only a surrogate for other Christians regarded as deviant is a question (cf. also on Smyrna). A synagogue inscription is dated to the third or fourth century CE, while the Jewish tomb inscriptions seem to be later (Ameling 2004: 204–8). • Sardis: Josephus mentions various Roman decrees guaranteeing certain privileges for the Jewish population of the city (Ant. 14.10.17 §235; 14.10.24 §§259-61; 16.6.6 §171). A good deal of attention has focused on the synagogue which was discovered in 1962 and excavated over the next decades. Its history shows four stages of construction after an earthquake in 17 CE (Seager 1972; Magness 2005; Ameling 2004: 224–32). The first stage was a Roman bath and gymnasium complex, and the fourth, the synagogue which was dated to the fourth century CE. Some proposed that the building was already used as a synagogue in the third stage (third century CE); Magness (2005: 444 n. 8), however, has argued that there is no evidence for a synagogue before stage four. Magness also examines the dating, looking at the coin finds which were the main means of dating used by the original excavators. She concludes that the synagogue should actually be dated two hundred years later, to the mid-sixth century CE. Many of the inscriptions are associated with the synagogue; the others are third or fourth century or later.

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• Smyrna: Rev. 2.9 mentions ‘those who say they are Jews but are not’ and ‘the synagogue of Satan’, but whether this refers to Jews or is only a surrogate for other Christians regarded as deviant is a question (cf. also on Philadelphia). Jews were apparently involved in the martyrdom of the Christian bishop Polycarp in the middle of the second century CE (Mart. Polycarp 12-13, 17-18). A list of donors to the city from the early second century CE makes a puzzling reference to the ‘erstwhile Jews’ (οἱ ποτὲ Ἰουδαῖοι: Ameling 2004: 177–79) in a broken context. Two inscriptions relating to a synagogue inscription date to the fourth, fifth, or even sixth century; a tomb for slaves and freed slaves founded by ‘Ruphina the archisynagogos’ is probably from the third century; other tombs are dated only to the imperial period (Ameling 2004: 179–95). • Thyatira: a woman who is a ‘God-fearer’ from Thyatira is mentioned in Acts 16.14. A sarcophagus is dated by its inscription to the proconsulship of Catillius Severus (early second century CE). Whether it is Jewish is uncertain, though mention of the nearby Sambatheion may be to a Jewish building (Ameling 2004: 297–301; Schürer 3:1:19). • Pergamum: a small amount of gold being sent to Jerusalem was confiscated here at Flaccus’s orders (Cicero, Pro Flac. 28/68). Josephus cites a senatus consultum that promises Roman protection to the Jews of Pergamum and allows them to export their goods without hindrance (Ant. 14.10.22 §§247-55). The document mentions Theodotus, apparently a Jew, who was at least influential locally and perhaps a member of the city council. • Philippi: Acts 16.12-14 has Paul and Silas meet some pious women (apparently Jews) at a place of prayer on the sabbath, including a ‘God-fearing’ woman (from Thyatira). An epitaph (evidently of a Jew who was a Roman citizen) mentioning ‘the synagogue’ dates from the third or fourth century (Noy/Panayotov/Bloedhorn 2004: 88–91). • Athens: Philo (Gaius 281) states that ‘Attica’ had a Jewish population. Acts 17.16-34 has the apostle Paul visit a synagogue in Athens and also speak before the Areopagus. Two inscriptions are from statue bases of Herod the Great. Several epitaphs of Jewish individuals seem to date to the first century CE (one apparently even to the second century BCE), but others are from the second to sixth centuries CE (Noy/Panayotov/Bloedhorn 2004: 145–64). • Corinth: Paul is said to argue in the synagogue in Corinth, and one of his converts was a synagogue official (Acts 18.1-8); later, he is accused before the proconsul Gallio by some Jews (Acts 18.12-17). Philo’s list of Jewish ‘colonies’ includes Corinth (Gaius 281). A

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broken inscription with the wording ‘[syna]gogue of the Hebr[ews]’ dates from the third century or later; a couple of Jewish epitaphs are third or fourth century or later (Noy/Panoyotov/Bloedhorn 2004: 182–86). • Thessalonica: a synagogue and Jewish community were found in this city according to Acts 17.1-9. A number of Jewish epitaphs date from the third (possibly even the second) to the sixth centuries CE (Noy/ Panoyotov/Bloedhorn 2004: 93–106). • Beroea: Acts 17.10 states that this city had a synagogue. The Jewish epitaphs are much later, however: fourth to fifth centuries (Noy/ Panoyotov/Bloedhorn 2004: 76–87). 6.4. Rome E. Baltrusch (2002) Die Juden und das Römische Reich: Geschichte einer konfliktreichen Beziehung; J. A. Fitzmyer (1998) The Acts of the Apostles: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary; E. Haenchen (1971) The Acts of the Apostles; H. J. Leon (1995) The Jews of Ancient Rome; H. R. Moehring (1959) ‘The Persecution of the Jews and the Adherents of the Isis Cult at Rome A.D. 19’, NovT 3: 293–304; R. I. Pervo (2009) Acts: A Commentary; L. V. Rutgers (1995) The Jews in Late Ancient Rome: Evidence of Cultural Interaction in the Roman Diaspora; D. Slingerland (1992–93) ‘Suetonius Claudius 25.4, Acts 18, and Paulus Orosius’ Historiarum Adversum Paganos Libri VII: Dating the Claudian Expulsion(s) of Roman Jews’, JQR 83: 127–144; M. H. Williams (1989) ‘The Expulsion of the Jews from Rome in A. D. 19’, Latomus 48: 765–84.

As discussed in HJJSTP 3 (241–44), Jews had settled in Rome not later than 139 BCE and continued to live there as the Republic gave way to the Empire. The Jewish community of Rome made itself felt at various times in the late Roman Republic, but the first major event threatening the community seems to have taken place at the time of Tiberius. Under Tiberius in 19 CE and also later under Claudius, it is alleged that the Jews were banished from Rome. On the surface, these have certain points in common and can be discussed together (cf. Gruen 2002: 30–41). First, a major confrontation arose in 19 CE, which led to an expulsion of Jews. Josephus (Ant. 18.3.5 §§81-84) is our most detailed source, but the incident is also mentioned by Roman writers (cf. Tacitus, Ann. 2.85.4; Suetonius, Tib. 36; Cassius Dio 57.18.5). The background to this was a scandal in connection with the Isis temple in Rome (Ant. 18.3.4 §§65-80; cf. Moehring 1959). A young Roman knight wished to seduce a noble married lady named Paulina and offered her a large cash inducement,

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which she refused. Since she was a devotee of Isis, however, the priests of the temple were bribed to tell her that the god Anubis wished to spend the night with her. She acceded to the invitation, though it was the rather earthy Roman knight rather than the god who took advantage of the situation. When it was later revealed to her that she had been tricked, her husband complained to Tiberius who had the priests crucified, the temple destroyed, and the equestrian exiled. About the same time, another Roman matron named Fulvia had converted to Judaism. She followed a Judaean confidence trickster who had fled prosecution in Palestine but was pretending to be an interpreter of the Mosaic law, in association with three other miscreants. They cheated her out of purple cloth and gold that she thought were going to the temple in Jerusalem. When she found out that she was being tricked, her husband went to Tiberius, and the emperor expelled the entire Jewish community from Rome. The consuls of the time also sent 4000 of the young Jewish men to Sardinia for military duties (a large number refused, for reasons of religious observance, and were punished). Josephus concludes (Ant. 18.3.5 §84) that the whole community suffered because of the actions of these four rogue Jews. Yet the incident was probably much more complicated than that. It must first be recognized that Josephus’s account of the Roman matron Fulvia looks suspiciously like a romantic folktale (Moehring 1959; Williams 1989: 775–76) and needs to be treated cautiously. Yet in a fragment often dated to 19 CE, Cassius Dio (57.18.5a) refers to a considerable number of converts to Judaism among the Roman upper class, with active proselytizing by some Jews in Rome. We shall return to this point. Next, expulsion of Jews from Rome also took place under Claudius (Suetonius, Claud. 25.4; Orosius 7.6.15; cf. Dio 60.6.6). Before discussing this specific expulsion, we can first consider several proposed reasons that have been suggested for the apparent attacks on the Jewish community of Rome under both Tiberius and Claudius: • Some have argued that the cause was proselytizing by some Jews in the city. There is no doubt that some Romans had converted to Judaism (cf. further §11.3), as the example of Fulvia (above) shows. Some have referred to Dio 57.18.5a (often dated to 19 CE) which refers to proselytizing activity on the part of Jews. After all, this went against the basis on which Judaism was allowed, i.e., that it in turn had to respect Roman custom and religion. The whole situation would have been a red flag to Tiberius who was not fond of Oriental cults and had already violently suppressed Isis worship earlier the same

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year, as described above. There are problems with this interpretation, however: it has been questioned whether this fragment of Dio has been placed at the appropriate spot in the remains of his text (Williams 1989: 767–68). It seems unlikely that there would have been major attempts at conversion in Rome at this time, and the Senate’s response looks like having been against a rather more serious situation. • M. H. Williams (1989) has argued that the cause was likely the problems with grain supply to inhabitants of Rome, which had supposedly occasioned riots at times during the years 18–23 CE (cf. Tacitus, Ann. 2.87; 4.6). The Jews, many being poverty stricken, had been part of the unrest: the Jews were viewed as a group who were a potential threat of staging a revolt, which drew attention because of their numbers. This led to the Senate’s taking drastic measures. Yet such supposed unrest on the part of the Jews is not cited in the accounts of the expulsions by Tacitus, Cassius Dio, or Suetonius. • The cause was anti-Semitic or anti-Jewish views on the part of the Roman authorities. On this proposal, see below. An interesting suggestion has been made by E. S. Gruen (2002: 29–41) to explain the expulsions both under Tiberius and Claudius, which takes account not only of these expulsions specifically but also the general Roman context and earlier bans of the Jews and others from the city. He finds the argument about Jewish proselytizing among the Romans unconvincing and notes problems with relying too heavily on Josephus’s account. But there is also no precedent for punishing Jews for unrest in Rome, even when their activities in large numbers are remarked on. Further, in spite of his distaste for foreign cults, Tiberius’s actions with regard to Jews is generally anything but hostile. For example, after the death of Sejanus (who is said to have been anti-Jewish [§12.5]) Tiberius issued instructions to provincial governors to reassure the Jews in their provinces (Philo, Gaius 159-61). • With regard to 19 CE, Gruen draws attention to the expulsion of Egyptians (including Isis worshippers) as well as Jews, and the illness and death of the well-liked Germanicus, nephew of Tiberius, all in the same year. The popular rumour was that Germanicus’s death had been due to poison and various magical arts. It seems that the Romans generally felt they were under the shadow of divine wrath that needed appeasing: ‘A public show of commitment to the ancestral divinities, punctuated by expelling practitioners of alien rites, would be most appropriate, even necessary, at a time of anxiety over the effects of

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sorcery and popular outcry at the fate of Germanicus’ (Gruen 2002: 34). • A few years later Claudius had gone out of his way to promote traditional Roman religion and had banned astrologers and magicians. Since he had defended Jewish rights in Alexandria, the Jews were not singled out. Yet they were part of a larger grouping that included foreign cults in general but, like the expulsion in 139 BCE (cf. HJJSTP 3: 241–42), it was a routine ‘crackdown’ to appease public opinion and had few long-term consequences. • Contrary to the impression made by Josephus’s rhetoric, in 19 CE only police measures were taken against non-citizens with the military conscription of about 4000 young men. But Jews who were Roman citizens were in no way affected. Yes, the Jewish community in Rome, along with other groups, were made scapegoats, but it seems to have suffered no major continuing effects, only some temporary inconvenience. As so often in the past (cf. HJJSTP 3: 243), Jews gradually returned to the city over time, without incident. The community continued to grow and flourish. To summarize Gruen’s argument as it affects the expulsions under both Tiberius and Claudius, the cause was an interplay between Roman values, especially those relating to Roman religion, and ‘foreign cults’ (in Roman eyes). Foreign cults were often associated with magic, especially as used to curse or destroy opponents, and divination. Concerns about magical practice were expressed under Claudius; similarly, in 19 CE rumours about Germanicus’s death involved suspicion that magic on the part of his enemies had had a part. Nevertheless, Romans did not seem to be apprehensive of Jewish numbers or power, and the Jewish communities remained mainly undisturbed: The Roman government engaged in no systematic persecution of Jews—nor indeed any persecution at all. The very few and rare instances of ‘expulsion’ resolve themselves into matters of state that had little or nothing to do with Jews as such. They arose when the government needed to showcase virtues and qualities that reclaimed association with traditional divinities and underscored distinction from alien creeds and groups… If public interest required it, they [the Jews] provided convenient targets. But government action (in the testimony that has come down to us) never fastened on them alone: Chaldeans, magicians, Egyptians, collegia, or some other groups simultaneously came under state strictures, thus to accord proper publicity. (Gruen 2002: 52–53)

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With regard to the expulsion under Claudius, however, the question remains as to whether there were two or only one, and when one or both occurred (Smallwood 1981: 210–16; GLAJJ 2:114–17; D. R. Schwartz 1990: 94–96). The alleged expulsion in 41 CE seems to be based on a misunderstanding. Cassius Dio (60.6.6) does not refer to an expulsion but to an edict in 41 CE which deprived the Jews of the right of assembly because of their large numbers; he makes the specific point that they were not expelled. Suetonius (Claud. 25.4) refers to an undated expulsion caused by riots over ‘Chrestus’. This is usually taken to be a reference to Christians, but that would of necessity suggest a late date for the event since a conflict between Jews and Christians was not likely to have occurred as early as 41. There are problems with taking this ‘Chrestus’ (a common name at the time) as meaning Christians, and Suetonius’s precise meaning is still debated. Acts 18.2 suggests that sometime around 50 CE Aquila and Priscilla had only recently been forced to leave Rome with other Jews. The patristic writer Orosius (7.6.15-16) quotes Josephus to the effect that an expulsion took place in 49 CE; however, Orosius is not always reliable, and it seems unlikely that he had access to a passage of Josephus lost to us (cf. §4.2.3). Smallwood concludes that the sources ‘cannot convincingly be conflated into a single episode’ (1981: 215), and there must have been more than one event. The problem is that the sources are difficult to evaluate. For example, Smallwood accepts the reliability of Acts 18.2, but there is reason to be suspicious of it (Pervo 2009: 445–57; cf. Fitzmyer 1998: 617–20; Haenchen 1971: 538–39). On the other hand, Smallwood’s arguments that something may have happened in 41 are not very solid (cf. also D. R. Schwartz 1990: 94–96). Claudius was not happy with the Jewish community in Alexandria in his letter (§6.1) but he was also severe with the Alexandrians at certain points. Philo’s statement that Augustus did not expel the Jews does not necessarily hint that Claudius is about to (contra Smallwood 1981: 214). Although Acts 18.2 may not be reliable, it seems unlikely that the Christian community in Rome would have grown to be large enough to cause conflict with the Jewish community as early as 41; a date toward the end of Claudius’ reign seems more reasonable in the light of Suetonius’s comment (though we are not bound by the date 49 for the reasons just noted). D. Slingerland (1992–93) argues that 41 CE can be ruled out, but 49 is also uncertain. D. R. Schwartz (1990) prefers one expulsion in 41, but the difficulty which his dating presents for Dio is not discussed. Also, his argument against 49 does not require the adoption of 41. H. Botermann (1996) concludes that in 41 CE Claudius forbade the Jews to hold assemblies

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because of disturbances; later at an indeterminate date (49 CE?), when the disturbances continued, some (by no means all) Jews were expelled from Rome, among whom were Aquila and Priscilla. In both cases, Botermann concludes that the disturbances were due to the Christian mission (the name Chrestos refers to Christ, not an unknown Jewish leader). Many would think she is too credulous of the book of Acts. Above all, is it really believable that Christians were the cause of disturbances in the Roman Jewish community as early as 41 CE? Thus, the firm data point to a single expulsion toward the end of Claudius’s reign, though more than one expulsion is by no means out of the question. 6.5. Mesopotamia I. M. Gafni (1997) Land, Center and Diaspora: Jewish Constructs in Late Antiquity; K. S. Gapp (1935) ‘The Universal Famine under Claudius’, HTR 28: 258–65; D. Goodblatt (1987a) ‘Josephus on Parthian Babylonia (Antiquities XVIII, 310–379)’, JAOS 107: 605–22; idem (2006) ‘The Jews in Babylonia, 66–c. 235 CE’, CHJ 4: 82–92; idem (2012) ‘The Jews in the Parthian Empire: What We Don’t Know’, in B. Isaac and Y. Shahar (eds), Judaea-Palaestina, Babylon and Rome: Jews in Antiquity: 263–78; J. Neusner (1984a) A History of the Jews in Babylonia: I. The Parthian Period; H. D. Slingerland (1992–93) ‘Suetonius Claudius 25.4, Acts 18, and Paulus Orosius’ Historiarum Adversum Paganos Libri VII: Dating the Claudian Expulsion(s) of Roman Jews’, JQR 83: 127–44.

As already discussed in HJJSTP 3 (244–46), we know there was a flourishing Jewish community in Mesopotamia, in Babylon and evidently many other cities of the region, dating already from the sixth century BCE. Unfortunately, we have few details about them. What we knew about them up to the death of Herod was summarized there. Speaking of Jews in Mesopotamia at this time evokes the Parthian empire, which was a rival to Rome (Parthian history was surveyed in HJJSTP 3 [226–30]). Josephus also provides some limited amount of information for the first century CE, even if the accounts seem to be more hero tales than history for most of their content. They do, however, provide some useful historical data. First, we have the story of a Jewish robber band in Mesopotamia (Ant. 18.9.1-9 §§310-79). This affects the Jews of the two cities of Nearda (Nehardea, near Sippar on the Euphrates) and Nisibis, beginning about 15 CE. The Jews of the region habitually collected the double drachma coins, the ‘half sheqel’ paid annually by each Jewish adult for the

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Jerusalem temple. Two brothers Asinaeus and Anilaeus, apprenticed to be weavers, lived in that region. When their master punished them, they left his employment, gathered weapons, and set up a camp in an area called ‘Splitting of the Rivers’. Many discontented young men, especially from among the poor, joined them to form a gang that began to control the region by force, taking tribute from the local people. News of the situation came to the attention of the Parthian king Artabanus III. He sent the satrap of Babylonia against them, but the brothers defeated him, even though they were attacked on the sabbath. Artabanus decided it would be wise to make use of this irregular force and invited the brothers to his court. He gave the land of Babylonia to them to govern. With Asinaeus in the lead, the brothers extended their control over the area and much of Mesopotamia for fifteen years. Trouble developed, however, as a result of a Parthian commander sent to the region by the king. He had a beautiful wife with whom Anilaeus fell in love. Since she would have nothing to do with him, Anilaeus managed to force her husband into battle and killed him. He then took her captive and made her his wife. Members of the court began to be aware that she continued to worship her native Parthian gods quite openly. Offended at this they told Anilaeus of their concern, but he paid no attention. Finally, they went to Asinaeus who was eventually forced to speak to Anilaeus because of the increasing pressure of his officials. Anilaeus’s wife, hearing of this, allegedly poisoned Asinaeus. which left Anilaeus now in charge. Anilaeus proceeded to attack the villages of Mithridates, a brother-inlaw of the king. When the latter gathered a force to fight back, Anilaeus was informed of this and defeated Mithridates in a surprise attack. Mithridates was captured and humiliated, but his life was spared because Anilaeus was afraid that executing him would bring the Parthian king’s wrath down on the Jews of Babylonia. Mithridates nevertheless resolved to take revenge (Josephus, as so often, alleged that it was because of his wife’s nagging). The Parthian commander inflicted a defeat on Anilaeus. Despite his losses, Anilaeus continued to plunder Babylonian villages. The Babylonians finally requested that the Jewish community give Anilaeus up, but they were not in a position to do so; however, they sent some of their leaders to help the Babylonians negotiate with Anilaeus. But the Babylonians found out where Anilaeus’s group were holed up, they attacked them by surprise and killed many of them, including Anilaeus. With the death Anilaeus, the Babylonians began to take out on the Jewish community their past grievances against him. About 35 CE the

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community took up residence in the city of Seleucus on the Tigris. The city was divided into Greek and Syrian factions that were hostile to each other. When the Jews arrived, they tended to side with the Syrians in the civil conflict. After about half a decade the Syrians and Greeks became reconciled and attacked the Jews by mutual agreement, supposedly killing about 50,000. The survivors fled to Ctesiphon (further north on the Tigris), but the persecution continued. They eventually made their way to Nearda and Nisibis where they finally gained the protection they required. A major event of conversion involved the reigning dynasty in Adiabene (Ant. 20.2.1-4.3 §§17-96). Queen Helena and her son Izates were both converted to Judaism. Helena was the sister and favourite wife of the king Monobazus. Izates was sent as a young man to Charax Spasini to protect him from his jealous brothers. A Jewish merchant named Ananias taught the king of Charax Spasini’s wives Judaism and also Izates when he came there. In the meantime, Helena was converted by another Jew. Izates married Symmacho, one of the daughters of the king of Charax Spasini, and his father gave him the district of Carron to govern. Whether it was Monobazus’s wish or rather Helena’s intrigues, Izates gained the throne after Monobazus’s death over his brothers. After becoming king, Izates was impressed by Helena’s conversion to Judaism and decided to do the same. He believed that circumcision was necessary and was prepared to undergo the rite. Helena tried to stop him, arguing that this could put his subjects against him. Her arguments were reinforced by the merchant Ananias who proposed that Izates’s total devotion to Judaism was sufficient without the necessity of circumcision. At this point, a Jew from Galilee named Eleazar, noted for his strict observance of the law, came on the scene. When consulted, he insisted that circumcision was necessary to carry out the requirements of the law. Therefore, Izates had his physician perform the operation, before telling his mother and Ananias. This episode has implications for the question of conversion to Judaism (see further at §11.3). At least one other brother is supposed to have converted as well, though possibly all of them (Ant. 20.4.1 §75; Gen. Rab. 46.10). This incurred the hostility of the Adiabene nobility who are said to have hired the Arab king Abias to come against their own country. Izates defeated this army, and Abias committed suicide. Having learned of the plot against him, Izates executed those responsible. Yet others of the nobility communicated with Vologeses king of the Parthians. Vologeses demanded the return of gifts given by his father to Izates, knowing that Izates would lose face if he complied. This gave the Parthians a pretext to declare war on Izates. But

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as the two sides prepared for a major battle, Vologeses learned that the Dahae and Sacae had taken advantage of his absence and were plundering the Parthian territory. He brought an end to the engagement and returned home, delivering Izates from a dangerous situation. Helena desired to make a pilgrimage to the Jerusalem temple, which she did about 46 or 47 CE (Ant. 20.2.5 §§49-53). When she arrived, she found the country in the throes of a famine (cf. Acts 11.28-30). It was not ‘worldwide’ (contra Acts) but affected Palestine and perhaps Syria (and Egypt earlier, but it seems to have ended there by this time [cf. Slingerland 1992–93; Gapp 1935]). She arranged for grain to be transported from Alexandria and figs from Cyprus. Izates himself contributed large sums of money to Jerusalem via its leaders. Helena seems to have settled in Jerusalem. Izates reigned for 24 years and had his sons educated in Rome (Ant. 20.3.4 §71). However, he died on the throne at age 55, and his elder brother Monobazus inherited from him. Helena returned to Adiabene but did not long outlive Izates. After her death, Monobazus sent her remains and those of Izates to Jerusalem as their final resting place: a tomb has been identified as theirs (NEAEHL 2:751). 6.6. Conclusions Our knowledge of the Jews in the diaspora in the century and a half after Herod’s death is hit and miss. We have detailed information on the period about 35–41 CE in Alexandria, an #important series of events, indeed. The situation went from a threat to the Jewish community in Alexandria to the menace of a proposed desecration of the Jerusalem temple by a statue of Caligula (§13.2.2) to an affirmation of Jewish rights by Claudius. We also know that the Sicarii caused problems there after the fall of Jerusalem in 70 (§14.5). But then there is a gap until the 115–117 revolt (§15.6). The Jews of Rome were threatened by expulsions in 19 CE and in the time of Claudius; otherwise, we have little information. Our knowledge of the Jews in Syria, Asia Minor, and Greece is mainly information on whether a Jewish community existed in certain cities, though the book of Acts claims at times to tell us of interaction with Jews by members of the Christian mission. The Jews of Babylonia are mainly known from a few anecdotal stories, though the conversion of the royal house of Adiabene forms a very interesting episode in Jewish history. Yet in all this there appears to have been no persecution of the Jews by the Romans. Even the alleged expulsions of Jews from Rome can be explained by local circumstances and did not constitute a persecution according to the normal definition of the word. Jews were not generally

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citizens of the Greek cities where they resided, including Alexandria, with some few exceptions. The attempts by Josephus and Philo to claim such citizenship seems to be only propaganda, now that we have original documents on the matter, such as Claudius’s ‘Decree’ (in letter form) to the Alexandrians (CJP 2, text 153). On the other hand, Jews had freedom to live by their own laws and customs, and whatever derogatory and even hateful remarks were made by individual Roman authors, the Roman administration at no point attempted to abridge Jewish religious and traditional rights. In some cases, during the war with Rome some (though by no means all) Hellenistic cities set on their Jewish inhabitants, but this was not done with Roman authorization or approval. The Great Revolt was put down with typical harshness, but Jewish religious rights remained in place (as will be seen, even in the alleged suppression of circumcision at the time of Bar Kokhva [§15.7.2]). All in all, the Jews seem to have prospered under Roman rule; similarly, as far as we can tell, under Parthian rule.

Chapter 7

S ec t s a n d M ove me nts

Besides the so-called main sectarian groups, or ‘philosophies’ as Josephus sometimes calls them—Pharisees, Sadducees, and Essenes (discussed in HJJSTP 3: 134–75)—we have the names of a number of other groups, as well as individual leaders of movements. According to the extant sources (primarily Josephus), there were a number of movements among the Jews in the Roman period. Some of these were evidently short-lived, especially where they caused concern on the part of the Roman military authorities. To what extent these were only the ‘tip of the iceberg’ can be debated (see §14.1.2), but what little is known is sufficient to indicate that the ‘philosophies’ of Josephus were hardly a summary of the entire religious groups at the time. Recent attempts to apply sociological analysis to these various groups are helpful, but one must keep in mind that a rigid distinction cannot easily be made between a social and a religious movement, especially at this time. There may have been religious overtones even when the movement in question can be described in the sociological terms applied to secular movements in modern times. Also, models from modern sociological movements do not always fit very well, and too rigid an application can be distorting. Such movements, which appear to us as social or political from our distance in time and world view, may have been intensely religious to insiders. Trying to determine the exact nature of a movement is not easy. One of the problems is that the sources are often hostile to these movements and make little attempt to give a full or fair description. 7.1. Revolutionaries, ‘Bandits’, and Other Popular Movements M. Adas (1979) Prophets of Rebellion: Millenarian Protest Movements against the European Colonial Order; A. Blok (1972) ‘The Peasant and the Brigand: Social Banditry Reconsidered’, Comparative Studies in Society and History 14: 494–503; S. L. Dyson (1971) ‘Native Revolts in the

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Roman Empire’, Historia 20: 239–74; idem (1975) ‘Native Revolt Patterns in the Roman Empire’, ANRW II 3:138–75; T. Grünewald (2004) Bandits in the Roman Empire: Myth and Reality; M. Hengel (1989) The Zealots; E. J. Hobsbawn (1969) Bandits; R. A. Horsley (1979a) ‘Josephus and the Bandits’, JSJ 10: 37–63; idem (1981) ‘Ancient Jewish Banditry and the Revolt against Rome, A.D. 66–70’, CBQ 43: 409–32; idem (1984) ‘Popular Messianic Movements around the Time of Jesus’, CBQ 46: 471–95; idem (1985b) ‘ “Like One of the Prophets of Old”: Two Types of Popular Prophets at the Time of Jesus’, CBQ 47: 435–63; idem (1986a) ‘Popular Prophetic Movements at the Time of Jesus: Their Principal Features and Social Origins’, JSNT 26: 3–27; idem (1987) Jesus and the Spiral of Violence; R. A. Horsley and J. S. Hanson (1999) Bandits, Prophets, and Messiahs; B. Isaac (1984a) ‘Bandits in Judaea and Arabia’, HSCP 88: 171–203; J. S. McClaren (1998) Turbulent Times? Josephus and Scholarship on Judaea in the First Century CE; R. Macmullen (1967) Enemies of the Roman Order; K. H. Rengstorf (1967) λῃστής, TDNT 4:257–62; B. D. Shaw (Nov. 1984) ‘Bandits in the Roman Empire’, Past and Present 105: 3–52; idem (1993) ‘Tyrants, Bandits and Kings: Personal Power in Josephus’, JJS 44: 176–204; Y. Talmon (1966) ‘Millenarian Movements’, Archives européennes de sociologie 7: 159–200; S. Trump (ed.) (1962) Millennial Dreams in Action; Y. Yadin (1966) Masada: Herod’s Fortress and the Zealots’ Last Stand.

It has become common in certain scholarly circles to refer to ‘social bandits’, ostensibly drawing on a model developed by E. J. Hobsbawn (1969). There are several movements which have tended to become lumped together (often under the term ‘zealot’ by modern scholars, but this term is problematic, as will be discussed below [§7.3]). Josephus refers to a number of these groups. We have the impression that most did not last long, but also that such movements were not uncommon and that there were many more than he mentions. Ancient sources (including Josephus) often lumped them together under the term ‘bandits’ (λῇσται), but this term was used indiscriminately to refer both to the ‘straightforward’ criminal or thief and to what might be called in modern terms ‘revolutionaries’ or ‘social bandits’. Not that there was always a clear distinction between the two groups, since socio-religious movements in many cases resorted to theft, extortion, and oppression to gain the resources to carry out their activities. To take a prime example, during the Great Revolt the Sicarii (§7.2) in Jerusalem were driven out by the other revolutionaries and set up their camp in Masada. At this time they were not fighting the Romans but instead gained food and other resources by raiding local villages. The Jewish settlers of the region experienced them not as revolutionaries but as common thieves and murderers, if Josephus’s comments are anything to go by.

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It is important from the outset to take into account the observations and criticisms of T. Grünewald (2004). He first notes that when we talk of bandits in the ancient context, we are dealing with literary characterizations. This might seem a banal observation, but his point is that much of the description in the literature seems to be stereotypical. In other words, models that can be extracted from studies of actual movements exist, but there is a tendency in the literature to describe those you admire or despise according to clichéd depictions that are hardly reliable descriptions of the actual movements. A second observation to be made from Grünewald’s study (2004: 92–93) is that the model of ‘social bandits’, as worked out by Hobsbawn, does not fit the ancient Jewish groups. That is, social bandits are not political movements but are a pre-political peasant response to unbearable living conditions, without a specific reform programme or sense of group identity, whereas most or all the Jewish groups known from the sources have a political agenda, even if the ultimate aim is religious. According to Hobsbawn, revolutionary movements came later than social banditry and do not occur together. Many so-called bandits in the ancient literature were indeed genuine bandits who had become such because of the oppressive and troubled circumstances, as already noted (Horsley 1979). Under Roman rule, there were times when people took to banditry as a means of survival (Macmullen 1967; Dyson 1971, 1975; Shaw 1984). Yet even when robbing and plundering of one’s neighbours took place in order to gain the necessary resources for survival and action, the bandit group in many cases was composed of revolutionaries who wanted to attack the Romans and achieve their religio-political goals of independence, freedom to practise their religion and suppress ‘paganism’, and set up a government according to their lights. Such groups were not social bandits and should not be referred to as such. R. A. Horsley has done a sociological analysis of the ‘bandits’ mentioned by Josephus as being troublesome at various times during the Roman period, especially during the early days of Herod’s rule and in the years from 44 to the First Revolt. Unfortunately, he misuses the term ‘social bandit’, which he has taken from Hobsbawn (1969). T. Grünewald (2004: 94–95) has critiqued Horsley’s depiction, setting out the following points: 1. Josephus’s stereotypical reporting does not clearly distinguish the different groups and gives no authentic description of them. 2. Only a small portion of the ‘bandits’ described by Josephus were peasants. It is clear that his rebel groups encompassed peasants, rural workers, townspeople, and the pinnacle of the aristocrats and priests.

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3. Although the different rebel groups had different objectives, they were united in one overall aim: ‘they were highly politicised and ready for revolutionary change’ (Grünewald 2004: 95). On the other hand, social bandits protested in simple, pre-political modes. Grünewald (2004: 93) goes on to point out that, contrary to Hobsbawn (1969: 15) and Horsley, it is only a hypothesis, not a factual datum, that social banditry is found in all peasant societies (cf. also Blok 1972). Horsley (1979: 42–47) argues that bandits generally have the support of the local people because they are no threat to the poor since they prey on the upper classes and the wealthy. Also, the local people will not betray them and on occasion will even provide active support. A. Blok (1972) gives a rather different picture: bandits continue to thrive only when they have outside protection; this support often comes from the powerful, including politicians. Peasant support is the least effective. Furthermore, the idea that bandits do not prey on peasants and local people is a myth: Rather than actual champions of the poor and the weak, bandits quite often terrorized those from whose very ranks they managed to rise, and thus helped to suppress them… Rather than promoting the articulation of peasant interests within a national context, bandits tend to obstruct or to deviate concerted peasant action. They may do so directly by means of physical violence and intimidation. (Blok 1972: 496)

It is true that bandits sometimes have a Robin Hood image, but this tends to come from middle-class imagination, not the perspective of the peasant (Blok 1972: 497, 500). As Hengel (1989) and Rengstorf (1967) have recognized, Josephus often uses the term ‘bandit’ (λῃστής) when more than just a straightforward criminal or thief is in question. On the other hand, some of the ‘bandits’ mentioned by Josephus seem to be genuine bandits, who arose because of the oppressive and troubled circumstances of the time. They were bandits as a means of gaining resources but revolutionaries in their main goals. Under Roman rule, either direct or through a client king, there were times when some—how large the numbers were can only be guessed at—took to banditry as a means of survival. Most of these groups were short-lived, but in the late 40s and 50s this practice began to crescendo, at least according to Josephus: ‘the countryside was full of bandits’ (Ant. 20.9.5 §215: ἡ χώρα δὲ λῃστῶν ἐπληρώθη). They were not responsible for the outbreak of the war itself, but once it had begun, they were an important motivator behind it. A number of the independent

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bandit groups appear to have coalesced into the Zealots in the year 68 (§7.3). The various groups referred to by Josephus can be summarized as follows: • Ezekias, an ‘archbrigand’ (ἀρχιλῃστήν), killed by Herod (War 1.10.5 §§204-5; Ant. 14.9.2 §159); may have been supporter of Hasmonaeans; important enough for the Roman governor of Syria to be concerned. • Judas, son of Ezekias, led a rebellion after Herod’s death (War 2.4.1 §56; Ant. 17.10.5 §§271-72); ‘was seeking kingly honour’ (ζηλώσει βασιλείου τιμῆς). Was he the same as Judas the Galilean? (§7.2). • Simon, servant of Herod the Great, set himself up as king (War 2.4.2 §§57-59; Ant. 17.10.6 §§273-76). • Anthrongaeus, supposedly a shepherd, though he showed a good deal of military organization and credible resistance to the Romans (War 2.4.3 §§60-65; Ant. 17.10.7 §§278-84); he took the title of ‘king’ and wore a crown. • Judas the Galilean and Zaddok the Pharisee (the ‘Fourth Philosophy’) rebel in 6 CE (War 2.8.1 §118; Ant. 18.1.6 §§23-25); son of Ezekias? (§7.2). • Tholomaeus, an ‘archbandit’ (ἀρχιλῃστής), was executed by Fadus (Ant. 20.1.1 §5). • Theudas claimed to be a prophet and led a crowd to the Jordan which he promised to part but was slain by Fadus’s troops (Ant. 20.5.1 §§97-99; Acts 5.36). • James and Simon, sons of Judas the Galilean, crucified under Tiberius Julius Alexander (Ant. 20.5.2 §102). • Alexander and Eleazar, son of Dinaeus, led brigands in attack on Samarian villages under Cumanus (War 2.12.4 §235; Ant. 20.6.1 §§121, 161). • Doetus, a Jewish leader, was reported to Quadratus, governor of Syria, as having instigated a mob to revolt against the Romans (Ant. 20.6.2 §§130-31). • An Egyptian claiming to be a prophet led a group to the Mount of Olives, claiming he would command the Jerusalem walls to fall down, and would take his followers and set himself up as ruler; Felix sent troops who dealt with the mob but the Egyptian escaped (War 2.13.5 §§261-63; Ant. 20.8.6 §§167-72; Acts 21.38). • ‘Brigands’ instigated people to go to war against Rome and attacked villages that did not follow their message; no details are given (Ant. 20.8.6 §172).

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• An unnamed ‘imposter’ fooled people into believing he would give them salvation but was killed by troops sent by Festus (Ant. 20.8.10 §188: ὑπό τινος ἀνθρώπου γόητος). • Jerusalem leadership at the beginning of the revolt was by and large made up of priests, many of them high ranking, or aristocratic individuals (§14.2.3). • Menahem, ‘son’ (grandson?) of Judas the Galilean and leader of the Sicarii, took on the accoutrements of royalty before being murdered early in the revolt (War 2.17.8-10 §§433-49). • John of Gischala, was a leading and successful local businessman but also a friend of the Jerusalem leader Simon son of Gamaliel (Life 38 §§189-92). • Simon son of Gioras, who had become the Sicarii leader, was wearing purple robes when he surrendered to the Romans, suggesting a claim to royalty (War 7.2.2 §§29-30). • Eleazar, son of Jairus, relative of Menahem and descendent of Judas the Galilean, fled with surviving Sicarii to Masada, where they held out after the fall of Jerusalem and were eventually besieged by the Romans (War 2.17.9 §447; 7.8.1 §§253-55). Two more examples should be considered here, but they are noteworthy because they fit well the model of the bandits used by Josephus, but he nowhere uses the language of banditry (cf. Shaw 1993: 193–94, 199–201; Grünewald 2004: 80, 98–100): • Zamaris, leader of a band of Babylonian Jews, who was used by Herod to police against brigands in Trachonitis (HJJSTP 3: 246, 471). • The two brothers Asinaeus and Anilaeus who set up a rival state in the Parthian region but were tolerated by the Parthian regime because of their strength and usefulness (§6.5). There are several points to observe about these groups. First, Josephus uses the language of banditry, or not, to suit his literary purposes: he labels those ‘brigands’ whom he wishes to castigate, even when they are not such (e.g., John of Gischala), while he avoids the terms when he wishes to present them in a positive light, even if they match the description of his other bandit groups. But he always seems to use the term ‘bandit’ to indicate the use of force to pursue political ends (Grünewald 2004: 98). Secondly, the group leader in question in the various examples was usually not a peasant: even Anthrongaeus had clear military expertise— was this merely innate or was there more to him than the ‘shepherd’

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identity of Josephus? Leadership in popular movements—even peasant movements—is often made up of educated and middle- or upper-class individuals (Adas 1979: 119–20, 184–85; Talmon 1966: 186–87). The leadership of the Great Revolt, at least initially, was made up of aristocratic individuals, many of them priests. Thirdly, a number of the leaders took on royal identity of one sort or another. Thus, there are hints that a number of these movements were messianic in character. That is, the leader became God’s anointed king or royalty: a messianic figure. We must keep in mind that the model for the ‘anointed’ in ancient Israel was first and foremost the king. The description of leaders who took on a royal function, brief as they are, often hints at a belief that the individual was more than just a secular leader or politician. To repeat, it is not always possible to know their exact leadership ideology, but many such groups seem to have a would-be messiah as their leader. It seems clear from the sources that eschatological expectations played an important role in the life of many Jews; it is equally clear that such was not the case for many other Jews. Beliefs in this area were as complex and diverse as in any other aspect of Judaism of this time. Not all Jews expected a messiah, at least not imminently; not all Jews looked forward to an eschatological cosmic event; and not all those Jews who entertained both ideas allowed it to affect their lives in any way. The conclusion to be drawn is that no consistent idea of eschatology or messianism can be invoked wherever convenient to explain incidents, movements, or ideology. Both concepts could be powerful ideological forces at times, as can be noted with regard to several of the groups surveyed. But each case must be critically examined on its own merits. There was no ‘Jewish view’ on any of these subjects, though there were plenty of Jews with views. Yet one has the impression that such beliefs became more widespread after the death of Agrippa I, leading up to the Great Revolt. Perhaps more important than the different individual beliefs about eschatology are the consequences of such beliefs, that is, what did they lead the believer to do? Here there is not always a one-to-one correspondence between ideology and action, nor is the action undertaken necessarily motivated by religious ideology. In a number of cases, the response can have non-religious causes, whether or not the actor uses religious arguments to justify it. The potential outcomes are three: • Quietism. If one believed in an eschatology in which all was done by God, or even had no belief in eschatology, the person might well do nothing overtly. Of course, such individuals might see themselves as

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being very busy in the service of the Lord: prayer, temple worship, service to others, good deeds of all sorts. In some cases, this might even lead to martyrdom, in which the individual saw the shedding of innocent blood as the catalyst for God to take a direct hand in human affairs (cf. 2 Macc. 7.37-38; 8.2-4). The outward activity for such people was basically no different from those with no belief in eschatology. The majority of Jews generally fell into this grouping. • Peaceful political activity. Although the ruling class participated in the 66–70 revolt, Josephus claims that some of them did so reluctantly (§14.2.3). They were more at home with cooperation and compromise with their ultimate rulers. Armed revolt was not to Jewish advantage, and with skilful diplomacy much could be gained by combining willingness to help and defuse troublesome situations with heavily veiled demands for concessions. On other occasions, passive resistance proved to be quite useful (§12.6.3; §13.2.2). In the face of growing fanaticism and moral failure on the part of the leading classes, this eventually broke down, but there were times that it proved effective. It should be noted that religious ideology need not be involved in this sort of response. • Armed resistance and revolt. The sources tell us in some cases that refusal to accept Roman rule was tied up specifically with beliefs about God’s rule. Yet one did not have to believe in a messiah or a particular form of eschatology to revolt against the Romans. Much of the time we have no way of knowing one way or the other, but the analogy of the Middle Ages may be helpful: although there were millenarian revolts and movements at that time, revolts also took place which had no such motivation: ‘In the vast majority of the many hundreds of medieval peasant revolts and urban revolutions on record there is no evidence of any millennial influence’ (Trump [ed.] 1962: 23). And no one can say that medieval Europe made any sharper distinction between the religious and the secular than did the Jews of Late Antiquity. As noted, however, the importance of the eschatological views seems to have become more important and widespread in the decades leading up to the 66–70 war. Also, although the majority of Jews seem generally in the ‘Quietism’ category much of the time, one has the impression that popular support for revolt against the Romans seems to have become more common during the first century (War 2.14.1 §§274-76; cf. Price 1992: 13).

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7.2. ‘Fourth Philosophy’ and the Sicarii M. Black (1974) ‘Judas of Galilee and Josephus’s “Fourth Philosophy” ’, in O. Betz, et al. (ed.), Josephus-Studien: 45–54; M. A. Brighton (2009) The Sicarii in Josephus’s Judean War: Rhetorical Analysis and Historical Observations; R. A. Horsley (1979b) ‘The Sicarii: Ancient Jewish “Terrorists” ’, JR 59: 435–58; idem (1985a) ‘Menahem in Jerusalem: A Brief Messianic Episode among the Sicarii—Not “Zealot Messianism” ’, NT 27: 334–48; J. S. Kennard (1945–46) ‘Judas of Galilee and his Clan’, JQR 36: 281–86; O. Michel (1967–68) ‘Studien zu Josephus: Simon bar Giora’, NTS 14: 402–8; V. Nikiprowetzky (1973) ‘Sicaires et Zélotes—une Reconsidération’, Semitica 23: 51–64; J. J. Price (1992) Jerusalem under Siege: The Collapse of the Jewish State 66–70 C.E.; U. Rappaport (2011) ‘Who Were the Sicarii?’, in M. Popović (ed.), The Jewish Revolt against Rome: Interdisciplinary Perspectives: 323–42; D. M. Rhoads (1976) Israel in Revolution: 6–74 C.E.; M. Smith (1971) ‘Zealots and Sicarii, their Origins and Relation’, HTR 64: 1–19; M. Stern (1977) ‘Sicarii and Zealots’, in M. Avi-Yonah and Z. Baras (eds), World History of the Jewish People, Volume VIII: 263–301.

In addition to the three main sects (Sadducees, Pharisees, Essenes), Josephus describes another group which he refers to as the ‘Fourth Philosophy’ (Ant. 18.1.1 §§4-10; 18.1.6 §23). He states that it was essentially the same as the Pharisees except for its belief that only God should be recognized as king and ruler, the founders being Judas the Galilean and Saddokos (Zadok) the Pharisee. He goes on to say that in the latter part of the 40s the movement gave rise to the Sicarii, a group which specialized in assassinations of Jewish officials. The name apparently comes from sica, the Latin name of a type of curved dagger which was their favourite weapon: they could easily conceal it under their clothes and in a crowd, especially during a festival, it was no problem to get close to their victim, quickly dispatch him with the dagger, and then escape back into the crowd (Ant. 20.8.10 §§186-87). The term was borrowed into Greek (σίκη, σῖκα), as was the name of the group (σικάριοι), which means something like ‘Assassins’. There is a bit of a problem since, as noted above, sicarius could sometimes be used as a common noun to mean ‘assassin’. Thus, we cannot be sure that all the groups in the 40s, 50s, and early 60s referred to by this term in Josephus were part of a single organization, but there seems to be a common set of actions for the most part that points to a single organization most of the time. Just as ‘assassin’ can be a generic term or the name of a specific group, so sicarius/sicarii can refer to a generic group

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but also to a specific movement. The fact that Josephus, writing in Greek, borrowed the Latin term indicates that the name of a specific group dominated the usage—contrary to some who want Josephus’s usage to be only generic (e.g., Mason 2016: 255–57). It is true that we are dependent on Josephus for the genealogy of the Sicarii; he traces it back to Judas and Saddokos, and we cannot always trust Josephus. Yet apart from the plausibility of his account of the origin and history of the movement (contra Rhoads 1976: 52–60), there are too many actions ascribed to Sicarii for the term to be only a generic reference. Since two of Judas the Galilean’s sons were executed for deeds regarded as anti-Roman (Ant. 20.5.2 §102) and another ‘son’ (grandson?) was a Sicarii leader during the war (War 2.17.8-10 §§433-49), the connection of Judas with later revolutionary activities is not just Josephus’s invention. There is also the reference to the group in Acts 21.38. (Some have even connected the name [Judas] Iscariot to this group as well, but this is very uncertain.) U. Rappaport (2011) argues that Josephus’s data can be reconstructed into a dynasty: • Ezekias, an ‘archbrigand’. • Judas, a son (the figure of 4 BCE, to be identified with Judas the Galilean of 6 CE). • James and Simon, sons of Judas, executed by Tiberius Julius Alexander. • Menahem (said to be a ‘son’ of Judas but more likely a grandson), leader of Sicarii during the Great Revolt. • Eleazar, son of Jairus and descendent of Judas the Galilean, holds out in Masada after the fall of Jerusalem. This reconstruction is plausible and has much to commend it, though some points can be debated. The main problem is that Josephus does not identify the Judas, son of Ezekias, with Judas the Galilean, and many argue they are separate individuals; however, although proof is lacking, there is nothing in Josephus’s presentation to prevent their being the same individual. Once the identity is accepted, everything else falls into place from the data given by Josephus. This also sketches a history of a movement that came to be called the Sicarii. Rappaport (2011: 341) points out that Judas the Galilean founded a ‘Fourth Philosophy’ (in Josephus’s eyes) because he had an ideology, unlike some of the other ‘brigands’, which consisted of the following points:

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1. Passion for liberty. 2. God alone should be their leader and master. 3. Willingness to endure torture because of their ideology. 4. Agreement with the views of the Pharisees. Apart from the Pharisaic viewpoint (which could still have been their basic practice, even if Josephus says nothing about it), this ideology fits well with the alleged activities of the Sicarii (contra Brighton 2009: 146–49). To be sure, whatever Josephus thought, some of the others he calls ‘bandits’ clearly had an ideology as well, which drove their resistance to Roman rule, but Josephus makes a point of laying out the perspective important to Judas (Ant. 18.1.6 §§23-25). Attempts to hive off the Sicarii from Judas the Galilean and his Fourth Philosophy must ignore Josephus’s own statements. But when did the Sicarii originate? M. A. Brighton (2009: especially 50–54) states that it was only during the governorship of Felix (c. 52–60 CE), but he plays down the link with Judas the Galilean and the ‘Fourth Philosophy’. It was one of the descendants of Judas, Eleazar son of Jairus, who fled to Masada with Sicarii and occupied it for the next several years (War 7.8.1 §§253-54). In this passage, Josephus himself connects the Sicarii with Judas. When he uses the phrase, ‘for then the Sicarii joined together’ (τότε γὰρ οἱ σικάριοι συνέστησαν, he seems to be referring to the Sicarii as existing in the time of Judas in 6 CE (Price 1992: 20). Brighton (2009: 51–53) disagrees with this interpretation, but even should Josephus not state that the Sicarii as a group originated in the time of Judas, the band—whenever it became an organized movement—traced its origins to Judas. The existence of a ‘Fourth Philosophy’ implies a continued set of disciples, which could be the core of the Sicarii, whenever they appeared. The fact that Josephus does not mention the Sicarii until the time of Felix does not prove that they arose at that time; however, it seems that it became especially active then, perhaps after being quiescent for a long time. This would be the case if it originated under Judas, since it seems to have become inactive after the events of 6 CE; on the other hand, the group may have become organized later; in any case, it was under the inspiration of Judas and his descendants and the ‘Fourth Philosophy’. According to Josephus, the Sicarii were quite active during the two decades after Agrippa I’s death in 44 CE (War 2.13.3 §§254-57). In addition to killing Jewish officials, they took to kidnapping important persons (e.g., members of the high priest’s family) and holding them for ransom (Ant. 20.9.3 §§208-10). Despite suffering from these crimes, some of the high priests were also alleged to have hired the Sicarii to do some

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of their own dirty work. Even certain of the Roman governors reportedly availed themselves of the Sicarii talents! (Ant. 20.8.5 §§162-66). The Sicarii generally avoided clashes with the Romans, preferring to assassinate Jews who were seen as collaborators rather than make attempts on Roman officials. Brighton (2009: 141–44) emphasizes that they are nowhere described as killing Romans, only Jews. This is misleading. Josephus does not tell us that they fought Romans directly (at least, not until Masada), but this could be only due to his way of describing them. In any event, they (along with many other rebel groups) were holed up in Jerusalem and ready to fight the Romans: only circumstances prevented their actually doing so, because they were driven out of Jerusalem by other Jews. In sum, the activities of the Sicarii were very important in the events leading up to the Great Revolt by destabilising Roman rule and discouraging Jews from serving in the administration. On the other hand, once the fight against Rome began they played only a brief part, though this was mainly due to circumstances. One of their leaders Menahem, (grand)son of Judas the Galilean, led a group in Jerusalem for a period of time in the early part of the Great Revolt; however, he and many of his followers were killed by those under Eleazar. Many of those remaining were driven out of the city and took refuge in Masada (War 2.17.6-9 §§425-48; 4.7.2 §§398405). They had no part in the defence of Jerusalem, but lived by raiding the local villages and robbing and killing fellow Jews (War 4.7.2 §§398405; 7.8.1 §§254-58), using the excuse that these Jews had submitted to Rome. They are alleged to have massacred 700 fellow countrymen, including women and children, at En-gedi (War 4.7.2 §§402-5). They remained aloof from the war until besieged by the Romans after the fall of Jerusalem (War 7.8.1-9.2 §§252-406). Some of the Sicarii escaped the destruction and caused difficulties in Egypt and Cyrene in the early 70s (War 7.10.1 §§410-19, 437-50). This is the last we hear of the group. The Sicarii have been compared to the modern ‘urban terrorist’ (Horsley 1984) who have used both assassination and kidnapping to further their political goals. Apart from the question of whether ‘urban’ is a useful term in this context, the Sicarii should not be seen as solely political since there are some indications that they were in part motivated by eschatological and messianic expectations. For example, Menahem took on royal trappings and evidently even set himself up as a messianic figure, which was one of the reasons for his assassination (War 2.17.8-9 §§433-34, 443-46). The Sicarii should not be confused with the Zealots, though they often are, but form a distinct group with a different history and goals.

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7.3. Zealots S. Applebaum (1971) ‘The Zealots: The Case for Revaluation’, JRS 61: 155–70; M. Borg (1971) ‘The Currency of the Term “Zealot” ’, JTS 22: 504–12; M. Hengel (1989) The Zealots; R. A. Horsley (1986b) ‘The Zealots: Their Origin, Relationships and Importance in the Jewish Revolt’, NovT 28: 159–92; O. Michel (1967–68) ‘Studien zu Josephus: Simon bar Giora’, NTS 14: 402–8; V. Nikiprowetzky (1973) ‘Sicaires et Zélotes—une Reconsidération’, Semitica 23: 51–64; J. J. Price (1992) Jerusalem under Siege: The Collapse of the Jewish State 66–70 C.E.; M. Smith (1971) ‘Zealots and Sicarii, their Origins and Relation’, HTR 64: 1–19; M. Stern (1973) ‘Zealots’, Encyclopaedia Judaica Yearbook: 135–52; idem (1977) ‘Sicarii and Zealots’, in M. Avi-Yonah and Z. Baras (eds), World History of the Jewish People, Volume VIII: 263–301; Y. Yadin (1966) Masada: Herod’s Fortress and the Zealots’ Last Stand.

Our knowledge of the Zealots comes entirely from Josephus. The earlier history of the Zealots is unknown. Their leadership consisted of two priests, Eleazar son of Gion and Zacharias son of Amphicalleus (War 4.4.1 §§224-25), and it has been suggested that their focus on the temple indicated a largely priestly membership (Stern 1977: 297; Price 1992: 18). According to several commentators, they first appear in 68 (War 4.3.9 §161), and formed as an amalgamation of several resistance groups of alleged ‘social bandits’ (§7.1) who had come into Jerusalem in the face of Vespasian’s advance. On the other hand, J. J. Price (1992: 18) has pointed out that Josephus already mentions them in the time of Cestius (War 2.20.3 §564-65), and the historian’s silence about them before and after is probably due to his strong disapproval of them. Price argues that they must have had an earlier history, perhaps being organically connected to the ‘Fourth Philosophy’ or if not directly, perhaps inspired by its followers or ideology. There may also be a reference to their existence already as early as the beginning of the war in late 66 or early 67: Ananus the high priest thought he could mould those unhappy with Rome, the ‘so-called Zealots’ (τῶν κληθέντων ζηλωτῶν), to a more agreeable approach, but he was to receive a violent end later on (War 2.22.1 §651). The question is whether ‘zealot’ here is a proper name or only an epithet. The context suggests a name; if so, there is nothing to rule out a longer history. It was during the 66–70 revolt that the group called the Zealots first becomes apparent in Josephus’s story. This group was particularly active in Jerusalem before and during the siege. They were only one of several groups in Jerusalem at the time. Most of their effort was spent in fighting

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other Jewish revolutionary groups until the Romans finally invested Jerusalem, at which time they then presented a united front and died fighting for the most part. Hence, the temptation to lump all the rebel groups together as ‘Zealots’ (which Hengel 1989 and others do). But Josephus mainly confines it to a particular group in Jerusalem, according to a number of researchers who argue for the brief period of time from 68 to 70 CE (Horsley 1986b; Borg 1971; Smith 1971). Hengel replied to Smith in the ‘Appendix’ (pp. 380–404) of the 1976 German edition of his work but not convincingly (cf. Horsley 1986b). Granted, there has been a debate on the use of the term ‘zealot’ (from Greek zēlotēs; S. Mason 2016: 444–50 wants to use the translation ‘disciple’, for reasons that seem bizarre). The term may be used generically for anyone who displayed zeal in devotion to God like that of Phineas (Num. 25), and for this reason some have used it indiscriminately to refer to any revolutionary group. Josephus describes the amalgamation of various groups through a section of his narrative about the brigands and Jerusalem, finally giving them the name Zealots, which was apparently what they called themselves (War 4.3.3-9 §§135-61). He clearly uses the term primarily in reference to a particular group. It is therefore unhelpful to lump all these various groups together as Zealots (with a capital letter), even if they tended to have certain characteristics in common. The different groups were not all the same, and they should not all be merged together under the term ‘Zealot’, which fails to notice the different motives, modi operandi, and socio-religious basis of the different groups. The Zealots are especially confused with the Sicarii, whose history is better known (see §7.2 above). Even if the Zealots may have had some organic connection with the Fourth Philosophy/Sicarii at some point (as suggested by Price 1992: 21–24), they are kept separate by Josephus. One of the reasons that the Zealots should not be used confusedly of all groups is that a number of these parties fought one another before the Romans finally tightened the siege. There were several factional leaders rivalling one another in the final months of the war. The result was that even while Titus was preparing the final siege of Jerusalem, three separate groups controlled different portions of the city and fought each other ferociously (§14.4.3). The Zealots fought bravely and fanatically in the final siege of Jerusalem, and most of them perished in the battle. The Sicarii had left Jerusalem long before. It was they, not the Zealots, who held out at Masada, despite Yadin’s confusing reference to that last holdout against Rome as Zealot (Yadin 1966).

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The Zealots seem mostly to have perished when the Romans took Jerusalem. The Zealot general Judas son of Ari (War 7.6.8 §92) apparently escaped from Jerusalem, however, along with some Zealot fighters. Later, in the forest of Jardes his band was encircled by a unit of Roman cavalry and infantry. Judas and all his companions died in the battle, which is the last we hear of the Zealots (War 7.6.5 §§210-15). 7.4. Therapeutae T. Engbert-Pedersen (1999) ‘Philo’s De Vita Contemplativa as a Philosopher’s Dream’, JSJ 30: 40–64; D. M. Hay (1992) ‘Things Philo Said and Did Not Say about the Therapeutae’, SBL 1992 Seminar Papers: 673–83; idem (1997) ‘Putting Extremism in Context: The Case of Philo, De Migratione 89–93’, Studia Philonica Annual 9: 126–42; J. Riaud (1987) ‘Les Thérapeutes d’Alexandrie dans la tradition et dans la recherche critique jusqu’aux découvertes de Qumran’, ANRW II: 20:2:1189–1295; Schürer 2:593–97; A. Standhartinger (2017) ‘Best Practice: Religious Reformation in Philo’s Representation of the Therapeutae and Therapeutrides’, in R. L. Gordon, G. Petridou, and J. Rüpke (eds), Beyond Priesthood: Religious Entrepreneurs and Innovators in the Roman Empire: 129–56; H. Szesnat (1998) ‘ “Mostly Aged Virgins”: Philo and the Presence of the Therapeutrides at Lake Mareotis’, Neotestamentica 32: 191–201; J. E. Taylor (2006) Jewish Women Philosophers of First-Century Alexandria: Philo’s ‘Therapeutae’ Reconsidered; J. E. Taylor and P. R. Davies (1998) ‘The So-Called Therapeutae of “De Vita Contemplativa”: Identity and Character’, HTR 91: 3–24.

A group called the Therapeutae (actually both the male name [Θεραπευταί] and the female [Θεραπευτρίδες] are given) is mentioned only in one source, the Contemplative Life (De Vita Contemplativa) of Philo. Amid many digressions, he outlines the following characteristics of the group: • The name derives from θεραπεύω, either in the sense of ‘heal’ or ‘to serve (God)’ (Vit. Cont. 2). • They worship the One Who Is (τὸ ὄν: 2, 11). • The members give up all their property when they join the group (13). • Such people live in solitary rural or garden areas in many places around the world (19-20). • But the ‘best’ live in a site near Alexandria, near the Mareotic Lake (21-23). • They live in simple houses near to each other but not too near (24).

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• Each house has a dedicated room to which the member retires all day to study ‘the laws and the sayings inspired through the prophets, and psalms and other things’ (νόμους καὶ λόγια θεσπισθέντα διὰ προφητῶν καὶ ὕμνους καὶ τὰ ἄλλα) which promotes knowledge and piety (25-26). • They pray twice a day, at sunrise and sunset (27). • They interpret the Holy Words allegorically. • They also have writings from men of old who originated the allegorical method and follow their model (29). • They also compose hymns and psalms (29). • After spending six days in solitary study, they meet together on the seventh day, where a senior member gives a learned talk; both men and women attend these meetings, though in separate sections (30-33). • They eat only once a day (though some go three or even six days without eating) and then only plain bread (with salt and perhaps a bit of hyssop) and water, just enough to quench hunger and thirst (34-37). • They wear only plain garments, a shaggy cloak of skin in winter and a linen garment in summer (38-39). • These ‘disciples of Moses’ follow the commands of the ‘prophet Moses’ and celebrate the ‘main festival’ (μεγίστης ἑορτῆς) which comes after seven sets of seven days. This might suggest that every 49 days, they celebrate this festival; however, it is called the ‘fiftieth’ (πεντηκοντάς), which suggests that is the annual festival of Pentecost (see below). (cf. Lev. 23.16). Men and women meet at a banquet (though in separate sections), where they pray, listen to an allegorical discourse from the president (πρόεδρος), sing a hymn, eat plain bread and water, and then conduct a vigil in which they sing through the night until dawn (63-89). • They reject slavery (70). Philo is clearly describing an ideal, which has led to the suggestion that rather than describing an actual group, Philo has invented a utopian picture which had no actual reality (e.g., Engbert-Pedersen 1999). There is no doubt that Philo has painted an idealized picture by his creative rhetoric. Yet it also seems clear that an actual group lies behind the rhetorical description (cf. Hay 1992), just as an actual group lies behind his description of the Essenes (in his treatise, Every Good Man Is Free [Quod omnis probus liber sit] 75-91, and an extract of the Hypothetica [from Eusebius, Praep. Evang. 8.11.1-18]; HJJSTP 3: 170–72). By his

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giving them a location near Alexandria, it would be easy for readers to know whether they existed or not; a non-existent group would probably be located in a vague or far-off place. There are resemblances between the Essenes as described by Philo, whom he places in Palestine, and this group in Egypt. Philo seems to keep them apart (the Essenes are an example of the ‘active’ life [Vita Con. 1: πρακτικόν]; the Therapeutae, of the ‘contemplative’ [θεωρίαν]), but we have to bear in mind that he is probably working from written sources rather than direct knowledge, so his failure to connect them directly cannot be taken as definitive. The suggestion that the Therapeutae were a branch of the Essenes is not farfetched and has often been made (cf. Riaud 1987), because their ascetic lifestyle has points in common with the Essenes. Indeed, as noted elsewhere (HJJSTP 3: 172) G. Vermes had connected the Therapeutae with the Essenes on the basis of both having a name meaning ‘healers’. Yet J. E. Taylor and P. R. Davies (Taylor/Davies 1998; Taylor 2006: 54–73, 341–42) reject the Essene identification (including Vermes’s link via ‘healers’). Rather, they argue that the name means ‘attendants’ or ‘devotees’ and is probably not a sectarian name. The group was made up of a small number of individuals from the affluent, educated circle within Alexandrian Jewish society. Taylor and Davies are undoubtedly correct in seeing a different group from the Essenes, despite some resemblances. But there are a number of indications that this is a distinct, organized group—a sect, by any other name. They are organized, with younger members providing support (including preparing and serving food) to an older, more advanced group devoted to study. While the name Therapeutae can indeed mean simply ‘devotees’ or ‘worshippers’, this is true of many names used by sectarians, where generic terms are taken over (with capitals in modern languages) as their name (‘Catholic’, ‘Orthodox’, ‘Methodist’, ‘Baptist’, etc.). They live together in a community, have common dress, and all seem to live on the same diet. There is a hierarchy of elders and younger members, and they seem to have a ‘President’ (Vita Cont. 75). Are they to be identified with the ‘extreme allegorists’ that Philo describes in De Migratione Abrahami 89-93, as suggested by Taylor (2003: 135–53)? Philo portrays this group as giving an allegorical interpretation of the Torah (with which he approves) but criticizes them for ignoring the literal observation of the law because they understand its spiritual significance (cf. Hay 1997). He argues that although the spiritual intent is the main one, the literal should not be ignored. Thus, some of this ‘extreme’ group are not mindful of keeping the sabbath properly, observing the annual festivals, or circumcising their male offspring.

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The Therapeutae emphasize the allegorical meaning of the text, but do they neglect observance of the law? Nothing Philo says about them suggests they do not observe the law as other Jews do. On the contrary, the sabbath is an important day for them, which they keep by eating (which some avoid on other days) and by assembling to hear a discourse on a point of biblical interpretation. Taylor argues that nothing is said about their washing for purposes of ritual purification (2003: 140–41). But this puts too much of a burden on an argument from silence: according to her own position, the Therapeutae are presented as an ideal to the readers of the treatise. There was no need for Philo to give details about such things as physical washing, which were likely to be irrelevant for the intended readers, especially if the audience was a non-Jewish one, as she thinks. A second point is that they celebrate a festival every seven weeks, which differs from the biblical text (Vita Cont. 64–89). This would hardly make them ‘extreme allegorists’, since various Jewish groups had certain celebrations not known to other Jews (e.g., Purim, the Day of Nicanor). However, it seems likely that this festival is Pentecost, as a number of commentators have noted. Taylor rejects the identification with Pentecost, ‘for the Mareotic group [the Therapeutae] celebrates a festival every 49th day’ (2003: 143, her italics). While this is a possible interpretation, there are several indications that Pentecost is being discussed: • Although the expression ‘seven sevens/weeks’ (ἑπτὰ ἑβδομάδων) is used, Philo goes on to refer to the ‘the great feast, which is Fiftieth [or “Pentecost”]’ (μεγίστης ἑορτῆς, ἣν πεντηκοντάς: Vita Cont. 65). • The ‘Festival of Weeks’ is said to be counted for seven weeks (‫שבע‬ ‫שבתות‬, but is then celebrated on the ‘fiftieth day’ (‫תספרו חמשים יום‬: Lev. 23.15-16). The seven weeks is only a rough indication of the time (cf. Deut. 16.9-10 which mentions only seven weeks), but the celebration is not on day 49 but on day 50. If the Therapeutae banquet was celebrated on the 49th day, as Taylor alleges, why does the text refer to pentecostos (‘fiftieth’)? • Whereas the group normally eat ‘cheap/inferior bread’ (Vita Cont. 37), at this banquet they eat leavened bread (81). Why? Although the bread offered on the central altar was normally unleavened (Lev. 6.9-10), the bread offered at Pentecost was leavened (Lev. 23.17). Is the ‘cheap/inferior bread’ unleavened? Unleavened bread is called ‘bread of affliction’ (Deut. 16.3; some have even suggested ‘bread of the poor’). Although Philo is not explicit, his emphasis that they eat leavened bread at the banquet may indicate that they normally ate unleavened bread.

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In sum, the argument that the Therapeutae are to be identified with the ‘extreme allegorists’ does not stand up. Nothing Philo says distinguishes the Therapeutae from other observant allegorists such as himself. Taylor draws attention to the gender question and discusses the broader context of women pursuing philosophy in the ancient world. The Therapeutae are unusual in welcoming both men and women to be part of the group (in contrast to the Essenes). Philo emphasizes that the women are celibate; indeed, most of them are virgins (e.g., Vita Cont. 68). H. Szesnat (1998) argues that Philo’s attitude is actually negative toward the presence of women in the group’s activities. In any case, the apparent equality of women as philosophical members seems unusual among ancient sectarian groups (the Pythagoreans seem another example). 7.5. The Jesus Movement A. H. Becker and A. Y. Reed (eds) (2007) The Ways that Never Parted: Jews and Christians in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages; A. M. Bibliowicz (2019) Jewish–Christian Relations: The First Centuries; D. Boyarin (2004) Border Lines: The Partition of Judaeo-Christianity; idem (2012) The Jewish Gospels: The Story of the Jewish Christ; R. E. Brown (1997) An Introduction to the New Testament; S. J. D. Cohen (2012) Review of M. Heemstra, The Fiscus Judaicus and the Parting of the Ways, BAR 38/6: 66, 68; idem (2018) ‘The Ways that Parted: Jews, Christians, and Jewish-Christians, ca. 100–150 CE’, in J. Schwartz and P. J. Tomson (eds), Jews and Christians in the First and Second Centuries: The Interbellum 70–132 CE: 307–39; J. D. G. Dunn (2006) The Partings of the Ways: Between Christianity and Judaism and their Significance for the Character of Christianity; M. Heemstra (2010) The Fiscus Judaicus and the Parting of the Ways; R. Kimelman (1981) ‘Birkat ha-Minim and the Lack of Evidence for an Anti-Christian Jewish Prayer in Late Antiquity’, in E. P. Sanders, A. I. Baumgarten, and A. Mendelson (eds), Jewish and Christian Self-Definition 2; 226–44; A. Reinhartz (2018) Cast Out of the Covenant: Jews and Anti-Judaism in the Gospel of John; W. E. Sproston North (2010) ‘ “The Jews” in John’s Gospel: Observations and Inferences’, in J. G. Crossley (ed.), Judaism, Jewish Identities and the Gospel Tradition: Essays in Honour of Maurice Casey: 207–26; J. Schwartz (2012) ‘How Jewish to be Jewish? Self-Identity and Jewish Christians in First Century CE Palestine’, in B. Isaac and Y. Shahar (eds), Judaea-Palaestina, Babylon and Rome: Jews in Antiquity: 55–73; G. Stemberger (2012) ‘Birkat ha-Minim and the Separation of Christians and Jews’, in B. Isaac and Y. Shahar (eds), Judaea-Palaestina, Babylon and Rome: Jews in Antiquity: 75–88; Y. Y. Teppler (2007) Birkat haMinim: Jews and Christians in Conflict in the Ancient World.

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The bibliography on the NT and early Christianity is enormous and will not be surveyed here (cf. Brown 1997 for guidance to scholarship and literature); rather, focus will be on the Jewish sect that followed Jesus and its emergence as a separate religion. It is widely acknowledged today among NT scholars that Christianity originated as a movement within Judaism. The ‘Jesus Movement’ was originally another Jewish sect, with followers accepting the basic tenets of Judaism and its teachings but acknowledging the teachings of Jesus. There seem to have been different views about Jesus’s messiahship and his relationship to the Father, with some apparently seeing him as an enlightened and inspired teacher but nothing beyond this, while others viewed him as no less than the ‘son of God’ and in some way divine. We need to keep in mind that the NT gives only a particular perspective on Jesus, while there were groups who evidently believed somewhat differently (e.g., the Ebionites [ABD 2:260–61]). Although some passages of the NT suggest that Christianity was separate from Judaism from the beginning, this does not appear to be the case. We must keep in mind that the NT was written over most of the first century and into the second century CE, with a good many writings late in this period. A. M. Bibliowicz (2019) has argued that the apparent separation from the Jews at an early time came about because of a conflict between the Jewish and the Gentile converts to Christianity, which led to the obscuring of the connection with Judaism in the existing gospels and other NT literature. Bibliowicz has been criticized for his portrayal of Paul and Luke (a debate to be left to NT scholars), but his and other recent studies now accept that the early Jesus movement was originally a movement or sect within Judaism. The question then becomes one that is very current in contemporary debate: ‘the parting of the ways’. The term was introduced by J. D. G. Dunn (2006) in the first edition of his book (in 1991). He recognized that this was not a single event but a process, and that various streams of Judaism and Christianity parted in different ways and times (see especially the new introduction of the 2006 edition). Thus the essay collection edited by Becker and Reed (2007) sometimes caricatures Dunn’s position. Also, whereas we all recognize that Judaism and Christianity share a great deal—indeed, recent scholarship has emphasized the enormous Jewish heritage within Christianity—there is also no question that Christianity became a separate religion. There was definitely a ‘parting of the ways’, at least by the time that Christianity became the religion of the Roman empire under Constantine the Great. That is, each religion had its own identity, however much they may have shared.

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But when did the parting take place (to the extent that one can put a date to what was really a process)? The matter has been considerably debated. For example, many see hostile statements against the Jews already in the gospel of John. Although John’s view of ‘the Jews’ may have accepted that some were on the side of Jesus (e.g., Sproston North 2010), some see his attitude as uniformly hostile (e.g., Reinhartz 2018). If this hostility is accepted, this would make at least one Christian writer (some think he represents a community, but this is disputed) taking a stand of separation from Judaism. But we need to keep in mind that the gospel of John is often thought to be late, at least toward the end of the first century CE, if not later. Through much of the first century, Christians—at least, Jewish Christians—and Jews must have looked a lot alike, especially considering the diversity within Judaism itself (J. Schwartz 2012). John’s gospel could thus accord with the study of S. J. D. Cohen (2018) which draws attention to the writings of the early second century CE that clearly regard Christianity as separate from Judaism (e.g., Justin Martyr). Yet we also have the statement of Tacitus (Annals 15.44) that Nero already persecuted Christians about 64 CE, perhaps to divert attention from the rumour that he deliberately caused the great fire of Rome. Tacitus is writing in the second century CE, but he had access to earlier Roman records (his statement does not appear to come from any of the other known sources—Christian or Jewish—mentioning Jesus or Christianity). This report seems rather early for Christians to be recognized in their own right as separate from Jews; also, it seems very early for Roman persecution of Christians. A statement by Tacitus has to be taken seriously, but his seems to be the only source to show Roman recognition of Christians as a sect at this early time. Looking further at Roman sources, the fiscus Judaicus (§5.2.3) could also be an indicator of the Roman authorities differentiating between Judaism and Christianity. For example, M. Heemstra (2010) argues that the measures of Nerva would have the effect of relieving Christians from the ‘Jewish tax’, though he also argues that Domitian pursued both Gentile and Jewish Christians to pay the tax, because many were not doing so. Why did Christians not pay the tax? Because they already saw themselves as separate from Jews, even as early as the reign of Domitian? But, as S. J. D. Cohen (2012) points out, this would make Nerva’s policy not an innovation but merely a confirmation of what Christians already thought. Thus, whether Romans saw Christians and Jews as separate as early as Domitian’s rule is debatable. But by the reign of Nerva, the Romans may have seen them as distinct. Finally, about 110 CE the letters of Pliny the Younger (Letter of Pliny to the Emperor Trajan 10.96.1-4,

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6-7) show that Christians were viewed by Roman authorities as an illicit religion, something the Jews never were in Roman eyes. Finally, there is the birkat minim which has often been seen as a curse on Christians (Cohen 2018: 329–35; Stemberger 2012; Kimelman 1981; Teppler 2007). If so, it would indicate that Jews regarded Christians as separate by the time of the birkat minim (which many regard as having been created in the late first or early second century CE). There are two problems with this argument. First, the liturgical statement is directed at all ‘heretics’, and it is generally accepted now that this was not confined to Christians. Secondly, the prayer seems much later than the first century. For example, the Mishnah does not cite it, and the Tosefta mentions it only once at a time when it still seems to have been evolving. Nor is it probably the object of Justin Martyr’s statement (Trypho 16.4; 96.2; 137.2) that the Jews curse Christians in their synagogues. It appears to emerge as an anti-Christian declaration only in the fourth century CE (Cohen 2018: 329; Stemberger 2012: 76, 87). As G. Stemberger (2012: 88) comments, ‘When the prayer became clearly anti-Christian, the split between Christians and Jews was already definitive. Thus birkat ha-minim cannot have played more than a minimal role in the separation of Christians and Jews.’ The evidence seems to cluster around the late first or early second century for a clear identity for Christians as separate from Jews, at least in Roman eyes. This also suggests that many Christians and Jews saw a separation as existing by this time, though a sharp distinction does not seem the perspective of everyone. The one exception is Tacitus’s statement that would make Nero see Christians as a distinct group already in 64 CE. What to make of this outlier reference is difficult to say. 7.6. Herodians W. J. Bennett, Jr (1975) ‘The Herodians of Mark’s Gospel’, NovT 17: 9–14; E. J. Bickerman (Bikerman) (1938) ‘Les Hérodiens’, RevB 47: 184–97; W. Braun (1989) ‘Were the New Testament Herodians Essenes? A Critique of an Hypothesis’, RevQ 14: 75–88; C. Daniel (1967–69) ‘Les “Hérodiens” du Nouveau Testament sont-ils des Esséniens?’, RevQ 6: 31–53; J. P. Meier (2000) ‘The Historical Jesus and the Historical Herodians’, JBL 119: 740–46; H. H. Rowley (1940) ‘The Herodians in the Gospels’, JTS o.s. 41: 14–27; M. Smith (1978) Jesus the Magician.

The specific form of the name Hērōdianoi is found only in the NT (Mark 3.6; 12.13; Matt. 22.16); however, there is good reason to believe that

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this is only another form of the name Hērōdeioi found in Josephus (War 1.16.6 §319). If so, this would make them simply members of Herod’s household, i.e., officials of the court or perhaps just members of Herod’s household in general. This is indeed the contention of E. J. Bickerman (1938) who also argues that the -ian- ending is a Latinism. Such forms for adjectives are infrequent in Greek, the main ones being Christianoi (‘followers of Christ’) and Kaisarianoi (‘adherents of Caesar’). H. H. Rowley (1940), who gives a wide survey of patristic opinions on the subject, eventually agrees with Bickerman that they were a political group rather than a religious sect; however, he concludes that they were any supporters of Herodian rule rather than specifically members of the court. J. P. Meier (2000) lists 14 explanations of the group, but a number of these are little more than guesses. C. Daniel (1967–69) develops the thesis that ‘Herodians’ is another name for the Essenes. His evidence is primarily circumstantial: Herod was fascinated by the Essenes and showed a good deal of favour to certain individuals of the sect. His arguments are ingenious but unconvincing (Braun 1967–69). On the other hand, he does point up the fact that certain statements regarding Herod in the gospels seem strange (e.g., Mark 8.15: ‘beware the leaven of the Pharisees and of Herod’). M. Smith (1978: 28–29) argues that these reflect the time during the 40s when the Pharisees persecuted the Christians with Agrippa’s approval (like Bickerman, he supposes that the Herodians were members of Herod’s household). Statements such as that in Mark 8.15 would be out of place in the 30s when there was no Herodian ruler in Judaea but would fit well the early 40s when Agrippa I was king. Of course, this assumes that statements about the persecution of Christians by Jews at this early time and the favouring of the Pharisees by Agrippa have a historical basis; the first is very questionable, and Agrippa’s relationship with the Pharisees is a complicated matter (§13.2.3). As indicated above, only two of the gospels mention this group, twice in the company of the Pharisees. Since the Pharisees are one of Jesus’s tradition enemies, there would be no reason for gospel editors to bring in the Herodians. The fact that Mark and Matthew do so indicates that Jesus probably had a genuine encounter with Herodians, though whether these particular pericopae are authentic can be debated (Meier is no doubt correct that they are redactional creations). It would not have been surprising if some members of Herod’s household (whichever member of the Herodian dynasty might have been in question) were interested in itinerate teachers and holy men—whether curiously interested or hostile. Their interest might even have been taken as a sign of the success of the teacher’s message. In any case, the early Jesus tradition seems to have

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remembered an encounter or two between Jesus and some members of the current Herodian ruler’s household, and two gospel writers used these as building blocks for their particular story. But unlike the Pharisees and some others, these individuals do not seem to have been representatives of a religious sect. 7.7. Baptismal Sects A. Henrichs (1973) ‘Mani and the Babylonian Baptists: A Historical Confrontation’, HSCP 77: 23–59; idem (1979) ‘The Cologne Mani Codex Reconsidered’, HSCP 83: 339–67; G. P. Luttikhuizen (1985) The Revelation of Elchasai; K. Rudolph (1981) Antike Baptisten: Zu den Überlieferungen über frühjüdische und -christliche Taufsekten; idem (1999) ‘The Baptist Sects’, CHJ 3: 471–500; J. E. Taylor (1997) The Immerser: John the Baptist within Second Temple Judaism; J. Thomas (1935) Le mouvement baptiste en Palestine et Syrie; R. L. Webb (1991) John the Baptizer and Prophet: A Socio-historical Study.

The Mandaeans are included in this section, though treated separately under its own sub-heading below, with the subject having its own bibliography. Manichaeans are discussed at §8.3.6. 7.7.1. Various Possible Groups? Sources and Arguments Although one might assume from the gospels alone that John the Baptism was a unique individual, other sources indicate that there were probably a variety of sects who placed emphasis on the ritual of baptism, whether for regular ritual purification, for initiation, or for both. The evidence for the existence of baptismal sects comes from several considerations (Thomas 1935; Rudolph 1981). One of the main sources of argument is the surviving baptismal sect of the Mandaeans (§7.7.2 below). Other possible groups are the following: John the Baptist/Baptizer. Although nothing is said about John’s being only one of a number of groups or individuals calling for repentance and its concomitant symbol of baptism, it is interesting that the audience is not pictured as seeing his actions as strange or different. 4 Sibylline Oracle. This places a good deal of emphasis on baptism and repentance as the key to salvation (Sib. Or. 4.163-69); in fact, these replace the temple and its cult, a most unusual feature for a Jewish sect of this time. Thomas (1935: 59) had already suggested that this writing was the product of a Jewish baptismal sect, a view confirmed by Collins (1974).

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Baptismal Sect of the Cologne Mani Codex. The recently discovered life of Mani shows that he grew up to the age of 24 in a Jewish-Christian group which had many characteristics in common with Qumran: male only; ascetic (vegetarian); strict observance of biblical purity laws; sabbath; daily baptism; coming of the True Prophet (Henrichs 1973: 47–56). Patristic References to Baptismal Sects. Justin Martyr (Trypho 80.4), Eusebius (Hist. Eccl. 4.22.5, 7), the Apostolic Constitutions (6.6), and Epiphanius (Panarion 17) all included baptismal groups (Hēmerobaptistai, Masbōtheoi, Sebouaioi) among their lists of Jewish sects. Unhappily, the data are skimpy and little study has so far been devoted to the brief reports extant (Rudolph 1981: 8–10). This makes reconstruction difficult and the end product rather hypothetical; nevertheless, taken with the other evidences we have, it at least adds to the argument for postulating such sects. Elchesaites. According to some ancient sources, at least as often asserted in secondary literary, an ascetic Jewish-Christian group flourished in the first few centuries CE, called after its founder Elchasai or Elxai. The most recent study on the subject calls a number of these assumptions into question (Luttikhuizen 1985). A book called The Revelations of Elchasai (named for the revelatory angel) was used by certain groups, but this was a Jewish book written about 115 CE. Whether there was a founder named Elchasai is debatable, but the groups called Elchesaites or Elcheseans were evidently not baptismal groups (Luttikhuizen 1985: 222). Therefore, if Luttikhuizen is correct, the Elchesaites should be eliminated as evidence for baptismal sects. When the evidence just summarized is taken together with the Mandaeans, there is sufficient reason to assume that there were several Jewish baptismal groups in existence before 70 (not counting the Essenes which many would also include in this category). The groups were probably small and most likely preferred an area such as the Jordan Valley where running water was readily available, but beyond the bare conclusion of their existence, we can only speculate. 7.7.2. Mandaeans K. T. van Bladel (2017) From Sasanian Mandaeans to Ṣābians of the Marshes; P. W. Coxon (1970) ‘Script Analysis and Mandaean Origins’, JSS 15: 16–30; W. Foerster (1974) Gnosis: A Selection of Gnostic Texts II. Coptic and Mandaean Sources; R. Macuch (1965) ‘Anfänge der Mandäer’, in F. Altheim and R.Stiehl (eds), Die Araber in der Alten Welt:

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2:76–190; idem (1971) ‘The Origins of the Mandaeans and their Script’, JSS 16: 174–92; idem (1973) ‘Gnostische Ethik und die Anfänge der Mandäer’, in F. Altheim and R. Stiehl (eds), Christentum am Roten Meer: 2:254–73; J. Naveh (1970) ‘The Origin of the Mandaic Script’, BASOR 198: 32–37; K. Rudolph (1960–61) Die Mandäer; idem (1965) Theogonie, Kosmogonie, und Anthropogonie in den mandäischen Schriften; idem (1973) ‘Zum gegenwärtigen Stand der mandäischen Religionsgeschichte’, in K.-W. Tröger (ed.), Gnosis und Neues Testament: Studien aus Religionswissenschaft und Theologie: 121–48 (= revision of ‘Problems of a History of the Development of the Mandaean Religion’, HR 8 [1968–69]: 210–35); idem (1975) ‘Quellenprobleme zum Ursprung und Alter der Mandäer’, in J. Neusner (ed.), Christianity, Judaism and Other Greco-Roman Cults: Studies for Morton Smith at Sixty: 4:112–42; idem (1978) Mandaeism; idem (1983) Gnosis, the Nature and History of an Ancient Religion; E. Segelberg (1958) Masbūtā: Studies in the Ritual of the Mandaean Baptism; E. M. Yamauchi (1970) Gnostic Ethics and Mandaean Origins.

The small sect of the Mandaeans still survives (apparently) in Iraq and Iran. It is neither Jewish nor Christian, though having certain features in common with both, but is the sole surviving Gnostic group (§8.3). Their central religious myth has a great deal in common with the Gnostic myths known from antiquity. The major cultic ceremony is that of baptism which is done periodically in cultic enclosures with running water. A further description of the group is found in the many writings of K. Rudolph (see especially 1960/61; 1978; 1983: 343–66). The Mandaeans originated in pre-Islamic times. One of the main questions is whether they go back to the pre-70 period or not. The overwhelming majority of the small number of Mandaeic specialists seem to agree that they do. The following arguments are accepted by a number of researchers: • Tradition of having left Palestine to settle in the Babylonian area (Rudolph 1978: 268–71; Macuch 1965: 110–37). • The Aramaic baptismal terminology reflects western rather than eastern usage (Macuch 1965: 82–109; 1973: 255–57; Rudolph 1973: 129–30; 1978: 265–66). • The baptismal ceremony itself is Jewish at the core even though various peripheral features have been added as a result of Christian influence (Segelberg 1958: 182–84; Rudolph 1960: 1:222–52; 1961: 2:367–80; 1973: 139–40; 1975: 139–41). • Many of the major ideas and practices of the group are Jewish, suggesting a Jewish origin despite a hostility to Judaism from a fairly early period (Rudolph 1973: 141–42).

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The following arguments have also been used by R. Macuch, but he has evidently not carried other specialists with him: • The Haran-Gawaita legend shows that the Mandaeans migrated eastward before 70, probably during the reign of Artabanus III (c. 12–38 CE [Macuch 1965: 110–37; 1973: 258–59]). Rudolph feels there is too much legendary material in the work to put any confidence in the details (1973: 131–34; 1975: 119–25). He would put the migration in the second century CE, perhaps in the reign of Artabanus V (c. 213–24 CE). • The details about an association with John the Baptist are to be accepted as reliable, again showing a pre-70 date (Macuch 1965: 105–9). Rudolph argues that John the Baptist was only secondarily adopted by the sect, at a rather late date (1960: 1:66–80; 1975: 140; 1978: 270). • Macuch judges that the development of the Mandaic script shows that it originated earlier than the Elamite inscriptions dated to the second–third centuries CE (1965: 139–58). This has been opposed by other palaeographers (Naveh 1970; Coxon 1970), but Macuch has strongly defended his position (1971). Rudolph points to Macuch’s own admission that certainty is not possible and prefers to reserve judgment until experts on the script are more agreed (1973: 134–35). • The colophons have been used to show an early dating (Macuch 1965: 158–65). These are certainly important, but the value of their evidence for Macuch’s position is not necessarily demonstrated (Rudolph 1973: 136–37). The main opponent of an early origin for the community within Judaism has been Yamauchi. Although he does not clearly distinguish the more important objections from the minor ones, Yamauchi’s main arguments seem to be the following: • None of the texts is early; therefore, a pre-Christian origin of the sect cannot be proved (1970: 4–10). However, he rejects the use of traditio-historical criticism which many would feel allows scholars to trace some traditions back much earlier than the final form of the text. • The Mandaeans’ own history is too garbled and legendary to be given any credence (1970: 68–71). (But then why would they have come up with a consistent tradition which traces them back to the Palestinian area, granted that the details may not be trustworthy?)

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• Since the Mandaeans are hostile to the Jews, it makes no sense to argue for a Jewish origin (1970: 64–67). Also, the traits alleged to show a connection with Judaism, such as marriage, could have come from elsewhere. After all, certain Jewish characteristics can also be found in Islam (1970: 53–56). (But the influence of Judaism on Islam from its very foundation is well-known. Were the Jews likely to have influenced the Mandaeans so much if they were consistently hostile to them, as Yamauchi believes?) Some of Yamauchi’s points are well taken; indeed, it should be noted that a number of them were already anticipated by Rudolph, and some of the positions that Yamauchi argues against are not held by most Mandaeic experts. But it seems significant that at least some Mandaean experts are willing to see the origin of the Mandaeans in Jewish baptismal circles in the Palestinian area before 70. This origin is fully consistent with the view of some in modern scholarship that Gnosticism as such has its root in pre-70 Judaism (§8.3). 7.8. Conclusions R. E. Brown (1966) The Gospel According to John (I–XII).

Factionalism is inherent in religion. Polytheistic religions are structured by the fact that multiple gods are worshiped, but even those who honour a variety of gods often focus on one particular god some or much of the time. There are also often special cults for different groups (professions, women), and certain gods tend to attract cults, perhaps because they are seen as personal gods rather than national or high gods. However, this is not a trait only of polytheism, for all the monotheistic and monistic religions have developed factions, sects, or schools of thought of one sort or another even though they ostensibly worship only a single deity. The major sects and movements (such as the Pharisees) were only one part of the socio-religious picture of Judaea, however, since the individual teacher, miracle-worker, and prophet was evidently as ubiquitous in Palestine of the time as the soap box in Hyde Park (§8.2). Individual teachers are mentioned a number of times by Josephus. Some sought a public means of propagating their message and attracting followers. Others withdrew and lived apart from society at large. Still others lived within society but primarily in enclaves, so maintaining a certain separateness while not withdrawing altogether. Some teachers remained primarily lone individuals while others built up a following which eventually formed

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into a sect or movement. Things were in a constant state of flux: teachers rose up and disappeared; sects began, flourished, withered, died; small beginnings led to large followings—or to nothing. Some movements were peaceful, others revolutionary, still others potentially so. Those that caught the eye of the Romans were viewed through narrowed lids, and the slightest hint of sedition could lead to a severe crackdown. Single men and entire groups came and went without leaving a mark in history; at least, the few that we know about lead us to guess at those which once existed but have left no trace. The advantage of being a sect or movement independent of the temple was that it gave autonomy. A sect could regulate its own affairs according to its lights: matters of internal regulation, halakha, initiation, and excommunication were sectarian. Questions such as ordination, authorization to teach, and excommunication which some associate with a national or established church simply did not arise. The one example we have of an alleged religious attempt to suppress dissidents—against early Christians—required the authority of the high priest (and by implication, the Sanhedrin), not Pharisees or other sectarians (Acts 9.1-2). But even this example is suspect simply because it occurs so early in development of the Jesus movement. In any case, the jurisdiction of the high priest of Jerusalem was limited: he would have no powers to authorize the arrest of citizens of Damascus which was not even under Judaean jurisdiction (contra Acts 9.1-2), and he certainly had no powers of capital judgment (§9.1.1.2). The one NT account of excommunication from the synagogues is equally unlikely (John 9; cf. Brown 1966: 1:380; on synagogues, see §9.1.3). Banditry was a frequent response to the socio-economic stresses and oppressions of the time, as it is in many societies of various periods, but many of these groups were clearly revolutionaries against Roman rule. Although bandit groups were often short-lived, it was a continuing phenomenon at intermittent periods, if not all along. We are especially informed of such in the early Roman period and in the two decades before the First Revolt. Social banditry is usually just an attempt to survive in difficult circumstances and does not necessarily imply any intent to start a revolt. Once it has become revolutionary, it has ceased to be ‘social banditry’. The Herodians (§7.6) were evidently not really a religious sect but the followers of or, more likely, members of the household of Herod. The movement founded by Judas the Galilean (Josephus’s ‘Fourth Philosophy’) may have been as much a dynasty and family tradition (§7.2). If it was a movement already in Judas’s time, it seems not to have

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been particularly active for the first half century CE. However, about 50 CE a terrorist organization sprang to life to fight against Roman rule by targeting ‘collaborator’ Jews of the ruling class seen as the most compromised in doing the Romans’ bidding. These Sicarii (as they became called) originated with Judas the Galilean, Josephus implies. They continued their activities until the actual revolt was underway, but then withdrew from the fighting after the assassination of their leader in Jerusalem. The Zealots proper (§7.3)—despite the frequent use and abuse of the term to denote any anti-Roman group from the time of the Maccabees— first appear only during the Great Revolt. They seem to have formed by the coalescence of several ‘bandit’ groups, though their leadership and subsequent activity suggests a strong priestly connection. The Roman invasion may have acted as the catalyst for a popular revolt which in turn served to bring them into being (though it has been suggested that they had a longer history and were ultimately influenced by Judas’s Fourth Philosophy and the ideology of the Sicarii). They were evidently inspired by certain popular eschatological and messianic views which kept them going in the face of the imminent Roman victory. Even as the Roman armies were breaking down the last defences, 6000 people poured into the temple court to await God’s deliverance (War 6.5.2 §§283-87). While the data are skimpy, there are tantalizing hints of the existence of other spiritual trends and groups. John the Baptist was evidently not an isolated individual (as the gospels might seem to imply) but only one of a number of baptismal movements which connected physical washing of one sort or another with spiritual purity and salvation (§7.7). There is some evidence that the Jordan Valley with its readily available supply of running water was the home of several such groups, and one of these is thought by many to exist still in the small sect of the Mandaeans. A description of Judaism in the first century must take account of all these various trends and teachers, of the kaleidoscopic nature of the overall religious scene. It must also assess the extent to which the average Jew was affected by them and the state of religious practice in the population as a whole. Most Jews were not revolutionaries, but neither were they Pharisees. Sectarian membership applies to only a minority. Yet there were times when the situation pulled even the masses into revolution, against their normal inclination. This happened in 66 CE, and many Jews—probably still a minority, but a sizeable one—threw caution and normal concerns to the wind and followed revolutionary leaders.

Chapter 8

M y s t i ca l a n d G n os ti c T r e nds , a n d t h e E s ot eri c A rts

L. L. Grabbe (1995) Priests, Prophets, Diviners, Sages: A Socio-Historical Study of Religious Specialists in Ancient Israel; idem (2010) Introduction to Second Temple Judaism: History and Religion of the Jews in the Time of Nehemiah, the Maccabees, Hillel and Jesus.

A ubiquitous set of beliefs and practices widespread in antiquity related to the esoteric arts: divination, astrology, necrology, and magic. They were a means of trying to control life and determine the future, and the Jewish community was hardly immune. In spite of certain prohibitions in such passages as Deuteronomy 18, such practices were clearly available and sought after, not only in ancient Israel (Grabbe 1995: 119–80) but also in Second Temple Judaism. Related to this in the Second Temple context it becomes clear that not only the esoteric arts but also mysticism, spiritual knowledge (gnosis), and prophecy were all paths to a common goal: determining the future and finding a direct route to God’s mind, as well as to the divine realm. Engagement with the esoteric arts was not for this life alone, however. One major purpose of seeking correct predictions was to secure a satisfactory place in the supernatural world after death. By appeasing God/the gods, carrying out suitable activities (including the right sort of sacrifices), and following the right path you could come to know the divine will and achieve salvific knowledge. You might even be able to experience the divine through mystical endeavours in this life, which could lead to union in some sense with the divine after death. The matter is complex, of course, but this chapter brings together and briefly surveys the questions of developing mysticism, Gnostic trends, and various aspects of the esoteric arts which are all attested as having some part in Jewish society of the late Second Temple period. Two streams of thought especially prominent in current discussion are Gnosticism and Jewish mysticism. I have discussed Gnosticism elsewhere (Grabbe 2010: 109–27); a revised and shortened version of that treatment is given here.

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8.1. Mystical Developments P. S. Alexander (1977) ‘The Historical Setting of the Hebrew Book of Enoch’, JJS 18: 156–80; idem (1984) ‘Comparing Merkavah Mysticism and Gnosticism: An Essay in Method’, JJS 35: 1–18; idem (1986a) ‘Appendix: 3 Enoch’, in Schürer 3:269–77; idem (1986c) ‘3 Enoch and the Talmud’, JSJ 17: 40–68; idem (2006) The Mystical Texts: Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice and Related Manuscripts; D. Biale (1979) Gershom Scholem: Kabbalah and Counter-History; B. Z. Bokser (1981) The Jewish Mystical Tradition; R. S. Boustan (2007) ‘The Emergence of Pseudonymous Attribution in Heikhalot Literature: Empirical Evidence from the Jewish “Magical” Corpora’, JSQ 14: 18–38; R. S. Boustan, M. Himmelfarb, and P. Schäfer (eds) (2013) Hekhalot Literature in Context: Between Byzantium and Babylonia; M. S. Cohen (1985) The Shi‘ur Qomah: Texts and Recensions; J. R. Davila (1998) ‘4QMess ar (4Q534) and Merkavah Mysticism’, DSD 5: 367–381; idem (2002) Descenders to the Chariot: The People behind the Hekhalot Literature; idem (2013) Hekhalot Literature in Translation: Major Texts of Merkavah Mysticism; R. Elior (2004) The Three Temples: On the Emergence of Jewish Mysticism; idem (2006) ‘Early Forms of Jewish Mysticism’, CHJ 4: 749–91; I. Gruenwald (1995) ‘Major Issues in the Study and Understanding of Jewish Mysticism’, in J. Neusner (ed.), Judaism in Late Antiquity: Part Two. Historical Syntheses: 2:1–49; idem (2014) Apocalyptic and Merkavah Mysticism; D. J. Halperin (1988) The Faces of the Chariot: Early Jewish Responses to Ezekiel’s Vision; D. Hamidović (2017) ‘Les identités multiples de Métatron dans le judaïsme ancien: homme, ange, dieu’, in T. Römer, B. Dufour, F. Pfitzmann, and C. Uehlinger (eds), Entre dieux et hommes: anges, démons et autres figures intermédiaires: Actes du colloque organisé par le Collège de France, Paris, les 19 et 20 mai 2014: 324–37; M. Himmelfarb (1988) ‘Heavenly Ascent and the Relationship of the Apocalypses and the Hekhalot Literature’, HUCA 59: 73–100; idem (1993) Ascent to Heaven in Jewish and Christian Apocalypses; idem (2006) ‘Merkavah Mysticism since Scholem: Rachel Elior’s The Three Temples’, in Peter Schäfer (ed.), Wege Mystischer Gotteserfahrung: Judentum, Christentum und Islam/Mystical Approaches to God: Judaism, Christianity, and Islam: 19–36; C. R. Holladay (1989) Fragments from Hellenistic Jewish Authors, Volume II: Poets: The Epic Poets Theodotus and Philo and Ezekiel the Tragedian; P. van der Horst (1983) ‘Moses’ Throne Vision in Ezekiel the Dramatist’, JJS 34: 21–29; C. R. A. Morray-Jones (1993a) ‘Paradise Revisited (2 Cor 12:1-12): The Jewish Mystical Background of Paul’s Apostolate, Part 1: The Jewish Sources’, HTR 86: 177–217; idem (1993b) ‘Paradise Revisited (2 Cor 12:1-12): The Jewish Mystical Background of Paul’s Apostolate, Part 2: Paul’s Heavenly Ascent and its Significance’, HTR 86: 265–92; idem (2009) ‘Chapter Thirteen: The Ascent into Paradise: Paul’s Apostolic Calling and its Background’, in C. Rowland and C. R. A. Morray-Jones, The Mystery of God: Early Jewish Mysticism and the

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170 A History of Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, Volume 4 New Testament: 341–419; H. Odeberg (1928) 3 Enoch, or the Hebrew Book of Enoch; A. A. Orlov (2005) The Enoch-Metatron Tradition; idem (2013) ‘ “What Is Below?” Mysteries of Leviathan in the Early Jewish Accounts and Mishnah Hagigah 2:1’, in R. S. Boustan, M. Himmelfarb, and P. Schäfer (eds), Hekhalot Literature in Context: Between Byzantium and Babylonia: 313–22; J. C. Reeves (1996) Heralds of that Good Realm: SyroMesopotamian Gnosis and Jewish Traditions; C. Rowland and C. R. A. Morray-Jones (2009) The Mystery of God: Early Jewish Mysticism and the New Testament; P. Schäfer (1992) The Hidden and Manifest God: Some Major Themes in Early Jewish Mysticism; idem (1993) ‘Merkavah Mysticism and Magic’, in P. Schäfer and J. Dan (eds), Gershom Scholem’s Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism 50 Years After: Proceedings of the Sixth International Conference on the History of Jewish Mysticism: 59–78; idem (2009) The Origins of Jewish Mysticism; idem (2013) ‘Metatron in Babylonia’, in R. S. Boustan, M. Himmelfarb, and P. Schäfer (eds), Hekhalot Literature in Context: Between Byzantium and Babylonia: 29–39; P. Schäfer and J. Dan (eds) (1993) Gershom Scholem’s Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism 50 Years After: Proceedings of the Sixth International Conference on the History of Jewish Mysticism; G G. Scholem (1954) Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism; idem (1962) Origins of the Kabbalah; idem (1965) Jewish Gnosticism, Merkabah Mysticism, and Talmudic Tradition; E. Schweid (1985) Judaism and Mysticism according to Gershom Scholem: A Critical Analysis and Programmatic Discussion; G. G. Stroumsa (1986) Hidden Wisdom: Esoteric Traditions and the Roots of Christian Mysticism; M. D. Swartz (1996) Scholastic Magic: Ritual and Revelation in Early Jewish Mysticism; J. D. Tabor (1986) Things Unutterable: Paul’s Ascent to Paradise in its Greco-Roman, Judaic, and Early Christian Contexts.

There are major problems with determining mystical practice and thought because of the nature of the sources. Most of our information on mysticism comes from texts rather later than the Second Temple period, though a connection can be seen between them and the apocalyptic texts of an earlier time (Gruenwald 2014; Halperin 1988). The main sources are surveyed in Gruenwald (2014, 1995), Alexander (1986; cf. 1985), and Halperin (1988). The basis for the modern study of Jewish mysticism was laid by Gershom Scholem (for a summary of his contribution and main bibliography, see Gruenwald 1995; Schäfer/Dan [eds] 1993: 1–11; Schweid 1985). One of the main purposes of mysticism was to obtain communion with, a vision of, or even a union with the divine, whether the deity directly or at least the heavenly world. Certain of the mystical exercises and a good deal of the secret lore for achieving this were magical in nature, including incantations, prayers, knowledge and evocation of the names of angels and demons, speculations about the spirit world, and use of number and

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alphabet symbolism. There are also resemblances to and direct connection with knowledge cultivated in Gnostic circles. Again, this is a difficult area, but there is evidence of a Jewish form of Gnosticism, and some argue that Gnosticism arose originally in Jewish circles (discussed in §8.3 below). Mysticism is well known from later Judaism, and we have many texts from medieval times; however, Gershom Scholem, one of the chief pioneers in the scholarly study of the subject, has argued that some of the literature goes back to the second century CE and the roots of merkavah mysticism even further back. In any case, there seems to be a connection between later Hekhalot literature and some of the Second Temple Jewish apocalypses. Several recent studies (e.g., Gruenwald 2014) have seen many of the features of the later mysticism already in the apocalyptic literature and hypothesize a direct connection. Yet the association of merkavah mysticism with Gnosticism should probably be avoided in the current discussion. Scholem’s ‘Jewish Gnosticism’ actually has little in common with the Jewish Gnosticism hypothesized by some Gnostic specialists, and merkavah mysticism does not seem to have arisen in Gnostic circles as such (Alexander 1984). Hekhalot literature (see the surveys in Schäfer 1992, 2009; Elior 2006; the English translation in Davila 2013; cf. also Rowland/MorrayJones 2009) is commonly dated from the third to the ninth centuries CE, with 3 Enoch probably being one of the latest writings (on 3 Enoch, see especially Alexander 1977, 1986a, 1986c; also OTP 1:223–315; Odeberg 1928). Some have wanted to push some of the literature back to the Second Temple period (e.g., Scholem [1954: 40–43] sees merkavah mysticism as early as the first century BCE), but this seems unlikely. Thus, if we are looking at the Hekhalot literature as it has come down to us, we have to assume that none of it was extant in pre-70 times or even shortly afterward. P. Schäfer (2013) has shown that the figure of Metatron, so important in 3 Enoch, seems to have arisen in Babylonia and was not known in Tannaitic Palestinian literature (see also the discussion about the Two Powers in Heaven [§10.1.1]). Yet dating the Hekhalot literature later does not answer the question of whether mystical trends existed within Judaism in the pre-70 period. We have, for example, the statement of the apostle Paul that someone he knew (i.e., probably himself) was ‘caught up into the third heaven’ (he does not know whether it was in the body or out of it), ‘into paradise and heard things not to be divulged’ (εἰς τὸν παράδεισον καὶ ἤκουσεν ἄρρητα ῥήματα: 2 Cor. 12.2-4). This has often been interpreted as implying a mystical ascent, comparable to the four rabbis who entered paradise (Morray-Jones 1993a, 1993b, 2009; §8.2). This example by itself might be sufficient to suggest certain mystical trends at the time.

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Yet there are other texts, especially apocalyptic texts, that seem to relate to mystical ‘journeys’ or ascents (cf. Gruenwald 2014). The parallels of Hekhalot ascents with the ascent apocalypses such as 1 Enoch, the Aramaic Levi Document (HJJSTP 2: 98–100), and the Apocalypse of John (also 2 Enoch, though this may be later [§3.9]), suggest that at least some of the traditions may have a base in pre-70 times, even if the literature as such is much later. Also, the Qumran literature contains some writings (e.g., Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifices) that can be classified as mystical (Alexander 2006). Yet there is a basic difference between the ascent apocalypses and the Hekhalot ascents (Himmelfarb 1988; 1993: 104–14): in the ascent apocalypses the sage is passively taken up to heaven and sees great things because God (usually via an angel) acts to enable these experiences by the sage, whereas in the Hekhalot description the sage (rabbi) actively seeks to ascend and goes through various procedures to enable the ascent. The Hekhalot literature is filled with hymns, rituals, and procedures for obtaining an ascent and a heavenly vision. The literature was written to enable followers to gain a mystical experience, and apparently those who read the writings were seeking information on how to do this (Davila 2001). Whether this was an actual ‘ascent experience’ or something else gained from the reading is not possible to know at this point. Yet the assumption that the focus of the ascent is on a vision of God or a mystica unio with God is not confirmed from the literature itself: Schäfer (2009: 17–20, 340–43) has noted that an important feature is the participation of the sage in the heavenly liturgy. Certainly one aim was to enlist the help of angelic beings for human desires or needs, such as a shortcut to Torah knowledge (Davila 2001; 2013: 12–13). Whether we can talk of merkavah mysticism already in pre-70 times can be debated, but P. S. Alexander (2006: 121–38) has made a case for the practice of mysticism well back in the Second Temple period. The focus of his discussion is the Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice, found at Qumran but also at Masada. There are some striking parallels between this work and the Hekhalot literature, though there are naturally differences (Alexander 2006: 125–28). This suggests that there is a connection between the sets of literature but not a direct one. That is, the Hekhalot writers had no direct access to the Qumran texts or a mystical tradition from Qumran. Alexander makes the plausible suggestion that mystical practice was a part of priestly wisdom. It seems to be generally agreed that the Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice was not composed at Qumran but was a pre-existing document that was taken over by the community. The chances are that it is made up of collections of priestly mystical speculations. In any case, in the post-70

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era, many priests joined the developing rabbinic movement; one of the priestly traditions that they brought with them was the mystical one. Eventually, this was preserved and also further developed to become the Hekhalot literature. The preserved tradition explains the similarities, while the continuing development at least partly explains the differences (e.g., the clear rabbinization of the Hekhalot texts). Alexander points to ‘the correspondences between the Heikhalot texts and the Sabbath Songs, correspondences which show that something akin to Heikhalot mysticism was flourishing within Judaism already in Second Temple times’ (Alexander 2006: 123–24). Similarly, A. A. Orlov (2013) examines the connection between m. Hag. 2.1 and the earlier texts of the Apocalypse of Abraham (probably first or second century CE), the Parables of Enoch (first century CE), and the Exagoge of Ezekiel the Dramatist (perhaps second century BCE). M. Hagigah 2.1 refers to two esoteric topics also mentioned elsewhere in rabbinic literature: the Work of Creation (‫ )מעשׁה בראשׁית‬and the (Work of) the Chariot (‫)מרכבה‬, and cautions against studying what is above, what is below, what is before, and what is beyond (‫מה למעלה‬, ‫מה למטה‬, ‫)מה לפנים ומה לאחור‬. In some rabbinic texts the Work of Creation is exemplified in the primordial monsters Leviathan and Behemoth (Orlov 2013: 316). One of the reasons seems to be that the world, including the heavens and the lower regions, sits upon the back of Leviathan. What we find in these texts is the linking of the divine chariot/thone (merkavah) with the created world and the primordial monsters. Reminiscent of m. Hag. 2.1, the Exagoge of Ezekiel the tragedian (Eusebius, Praep. Evang. 9.29.4-6; cf. Holladay 1989: 362–67) describes a dream that Moses had in which he saw a heavenly throne with a ‘man’ sitting on it and witnessed stars falling down before him. This seems to refer to God’s merkavah throne, and some have seen this passage as already a form of merkavah mysticism (Horst 1983). But Moses also sees the whole earth, above the heavens and beneath the earth, which makes the vision include the Work of Creation. The Parables of Enoch also connect God’s throne (1 En. 60.1-2) with the creation—Leviathan and Behemoth (1 En. 60.7-10, 24-25) and a vision of the hidden things in heaven and beneath the earth (1 En. 60.11-23). Finally, in the Apocalypse of Abraham the patriarch ascends to heaven on the wing of the sacrificial dove and sees God’s throne (Apoc. Abr. 15-18), but he also sees the heavens, the earth, and the realm of Leviathan laid out before him (Apoc. Abr. 19-21). This leads Orlov (2013: 321–22) to conclude, ‘This…might support the insights of previous scholars who argued for the continuity between the early Jewish accounts and later rabbinic mystical speculation about the Account of Creation and the Account of the Chariot’.

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Mysticism should not be confused with magic, and yet there is an overlap, at least in the context of merkavah mysticism (Schäfer 1993). It contains two major components: a heavenly ascent which ends with the seer having a vision of God’s throne and an adjuration of the śar ha-Torah, the Prince of Torah (Schäfer 1993: 61–63). Both contain magical elements, but they are particularly concentrated in the adjuration of the Prince of Torah. The Hekhalot texts are not unique, since magical elements are also found in rabbinic literature, but its function is different in the Hekhalot texts (Schäfer 1993: 77 n. 59). We have only hints at mysticism in pre-70 Judaism and thus cannot say whether magic elements were a part of it, but there is a good chance that they were, since magical practice of various sorts was widespread within Judaism (§8.4). There is much we do not know about the development of mystical trends in early Judaism. It seems to be clear that the Hekhalot literature is some centuries after the Second Temple period. Yet there is evidence that mysticism was a part of Judaism well before the end of the Second Temple period. It might even be much earlier, although the evidence is very difficult to grapple with. Mysticism was evidently an esoteric tradition and was probably confined to certain circles who protected it from widespread dissemination. This means that we have only the occasional hint at what may have been an important and enduring tradition within Judaism. 8.2. Prophets, Mystics, and Charismatic Individuals D. E. Aune (1980) ‘Magic in Early Christianity’, ANRW II 23:2:1507–57; P. W. Barnett (1980–81) ‘The Jewish Sign Prophets—A. D. 40–70: Their Intentions and Origin’, NTS 27: 679–97; D. Berman (1979) ‘Hasidim in Rabbinic Traditions’, Society of Biblical Literature 1979 Seminar Papers: 2:15–33; H. D. Betz (1969) ‘Jesus as Divine Man’, in F. T. Trotter (ed.), Jesus and the Historian: Written in Honor of Ernest Cadman Colwell: 114–33; B. L. Blackburn (1991) Theios Anēr and the Markan Miracle Traditions: A Critique of the Theos Anēr Concept as an Interpretative Background of the Miracle Traditions Used by Mark; B. M. Bokser (1985) ‘Wonder-Working and the Rabbinic Tradition: The Case of Hanina ben Dosa’, JSJ 16: 42–92; W. Cotter (1999) Miracles in Greco-Roman Antiquity: A Sourcebook; S. Freyne (1980) ‘The Charismatic’, in G. W. E. Nickelsburg and J. J. Collins (eds) Ideal Figures in Ancient Judaism: 223–58; W. S. Green (1979) ‘Palestinian Holy Men: Charismatic Leadership and Rabbinic Tradition’, ANRW II 19:2:619–47; C. R. Holladay (1977) Theios Aner in Hellenistic-Judaism: A Critique of the Use of this Category in New Testament Christology; R. A. Horsley (1985b) ‘ “Like One of the Prophets of Old”: Two Types of Popular Prophets at the Time of Jesus’, CBQ 47: 435–63; idem (1986a) ‘Popular Prophetic Movements at the Time of Jesus: Their

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Principal Features and Social Origins’, JSNT 26: 3–27; R. A. Horsley, with J. S. Hanson (1999) Bandits, Prophets, and Messiahs: Popular Movements at the Time of Jesus; H. Koester (1985) ‘The Divine Human Being’, HTR 78 (1985) 243–52; E. Koskenniemi (1994) Apollonios von Tyana in der neutestamentlichen Exegese: Forschungsbericht und Weiterführung der Diskussion; W. A. Meeks (1967) The Prophet-King: Moses Traditions and the Johannine Christology; J. Neusner (1971) The Rabbinic Traditions about the Pharisees before 70; idem (1987a) The Wonder-Working Lawyers of Talmudic Babylonia; D. Potter (1994) Prophets and Emperors: Human and Divine Authority from Augustus to Theodosius; M. Smith (1978) Jesus the Magician; G. A. G. Stroumsa (1981) ‘Aher: A Gnostic’, in B. Layton (ed.), The Rediscovery of Gnosticism: 2:808–18; H. M. Teeple (1957) The Mosaic Eschatological Prophet; G. Theissen (1983) The Miracle Stories of the Early Christian Tradition; D. L. Tiede (1972) The Charismatic Figure as Miracle Worker; G. H. Twelftree (1993) Jesus the Exorcist: A Contribution to the Study of the Historical Jesus; G. Vermes (1972–73) ‘ “Hanina ben Dosa”: A Controversial Galilean Saint from the First Century of the Christian Era’, JJS 23: 28–50; 24: 51–64; idem (1973) Jesus the Jew.

As the bibliography above (which is only a quick survey) indicates, the prophetic and ‘wonder-working’ figure was ubiquitous in the Second Temple period and Late Antiquity. Much of our evidence is to be dated after 70 CE, but it seems to reflect a general situation already well known before 70. We know of a number of teachers/sages whose adherence to a particular group or movement is not recorded, though in some cases they may have belonged to such. At other times the individual appears to be a loner, with perhaps only a disciple or two. The best known of these is, of course, Jesus. As well as Jesus, Josephus refers in passing to a number of figures whom he does not identify with any particular sect. One is Onias the rainmaker (see below). Others are the ‘scribes’ Judas and his disciple Matthias who tore down the eagle which Herod had placed over the temple entrance (War 1.33.2-4 §§648-55; Ant. 17.6.2-4 §§149-67; contrary to frequent assertion, there is no evidence that these individuals were Pharisees). Both Josephus and the NT also mention various prophets who drew a following for a period of time, though generally not for long if their actions caught the Romans’ attention (War 2.13.4-5 §§258-64; Ant. 20.8.6 §§167-72; Acts 21.37-38; cf. Barnett 1980–81; §7.1). A number of individuals with the ‘miraculous’ powers of healing, exorcism, and other charismatic gifts are sufficiently well attested to demonstrate that this was not an uncommon phenomenon. Honi the Circle-drawer is known from rabbinic literature as an individual who could make rain by symbolic action (m. Taan. 3.8). Although the description of him is legendary, a development in the tradition can

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be discerned (Neusner 1971: 1:176–82; Green 1979). He does not fit the early rabbinic image of the sage and was thus evidently something of an embarrassment. The Tannaitic sources seem to downplay miracle working, unlike the Babylonian Talmud which shows no sign of suppressing such claims (cf. Neusner 1987a: 46–70, 190–262). Green (1979) has shown that Honi has been ‘rabbinized’, but his charismatic origins still shine through. The rabbinic tradition seems in some way related to Onias the rain-maker mentioned by Josephus (Ant. 14.2.1 §§22-24), with probably a common origin for the two separate accounts, which suggests an actual individual. Another individual is Hanina ben Dosa (Vermes 1971–72; to be corrected in light of Neusner 1971: 1:394–96; Freyne 1980; Bokser 1985). Like Honi, he does not appear as a typical rabbinic sage but is noted for his miraculous powers. Probably a pre-70 figure, he too becomes rabbinized over a period of time. The figure of Jesus fits well with the general image of a travelling exorcist and miracle worker (Twelftree 1993; Aune 1980: 1523–44; Smith 1978; Vermes 1973: 58–82). The gospels are unanimous that he healed, cast out demons, and did other marvellous works. These traits seem to have been ascribed to the historical Jesus and are not simply a later development of the tradition, but whether they are or not, the significant thing is that the early Christian tradition is happy to present him as an exorcist and miracle worker. The basic question is not really one concerning the historical Honi or Hanina or Jesus, even if it is possible to find them underneath the tradition. The ascription of extraordinary powers seems to occur in the earliest layer of the tradition in each case, though this earliest layer naturally already represents interpretation. But even if this should be only a secondary development, it still demonstrates that the concept of the charismatic miracle worker was widely known and accepted. For the purposes here, that is all that is necessary to know, though whether there was a model of the charismatic is perhaps a moot question (cf. Freyne 1980: 247–49). The term ḥāsîd has sometimes been used of such figures (Vermes 1972–73, 1973), but this is probably inappropriate (Berman 1979: 2:16–17; Freyne 1980: 224–27) since the rabbinic image of the ḥāsîd is rather different from the figures considered here. This brings us to the controversy over the theios anēr or ‘divine man’. It has long been argued that Jesus is to be understand as modelled on this idea, with the assumption that there was a Gestalt of the theios anēr which comes from the Greek philosophical tradition and consists of an individual who partakes of both the philosophical sage and the more popular image of the miracle worker (Tiede 1972; Holladay 1977). Recent studies have questioned whether there was such a model (Blackburn 1991;

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Koskenniemi 1994), and it has been suggested that it was mainly in the second century that the miracle worker became widespread, even though there are a few examples from the first century or earlier (Theissen 1983; Koskenniemi 1994). The appropriateness of the term in its application to Jesus is for NT scholars to debate, but that there were miracle workers of various sorts seems to be established (Koester 1985), even if the extent of their presence is still to be determined. It can be concluded that a variety of charismatic figures practised (individually or in combination) magic, exorcism, healing, and other ‘miraculous’ arts in the Second Temple period, as well as the following centuries. Some of these (as well as others) also preached religious messages and even engaged in prophetism (HJJSTP 3: 283–86). One could perhaps argue that such figures were only on the fringe or had only a marginal influence. The question is difficult to decide because of the episodic nature of our data, but no description of first-century Palestine can ignore them. Further, a comparison with various historical and contemporary traditional cultures argues that such beliefs were an integral part of society, a fundamental part of popular religion and culture. Magical practices and oracles are a way of life in many parts of the world, even among the well-educated and the firm Christians. The data available to us suggest that such was no less the case among first-century Jews and earlier. 8.3. Gnosticism and Judaism P. S. Alexander (1984) ‘Comparing Merkavah Mysticism and Gnosticism: An Essay in Method’, JJS 35: 1-18; idem (1999) ‘Jewish Elements in Gnosticism and Magic’, CHJ 3: 1025–78; F. T. Fallon (1978) The Enthronement of Sabaoth: Jewish Elements in Gnostic Creation Myths; G. Filoramo (1992) A History of Gnosticism; J. E. Fossum (1985) The Name of God and the Angel of the Lord; idem (1987) ‘The Magharians: A Pre-Christian Jewish Sect and its Significance for the Study of Gnosticism and Christianity’, Henoch 9: 303–44; R. Gershenzon and E. Slomovic (1985) ‘A Second Century Jewish-Gnostic Debate: Rabbi Jose ben Halafta and the Matrona’, JSJ 16: 1–41; I. Gruenwald (1981a) ‘Aspects of the Jewish-Gnostic Controversy’, in B. Layton (ed.), The Rediscovery of Gnosticism: 2:713–23; idem (1981b) ‘The Problem of the Anti-Gnostic Polemic in Rabbinic Literature’, in R. van den Broek and M. J. Vermaseren (eds), Studies in Gnosticism and Hellenistic Religions presented to Gilles Quispel on the Occasion of his 65th Birthday: 171–89; idem (1982) ‘Jewish Merkavah Mysticism and Gnosticism’, in J. Dan and F. Talmage (eds), Studies in Jewish Mysticism: 41–55; idem (2014) Apocalyptic and Merkavah Mysticism; R. Haardt (1971) Gnosis: Character and Testimony; JWSTP 443–81; B. Layton (1987) The Gnostic Scriptures: A New Translation with

178 A History of Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, Volume 4 Annotations and Introductions; G. Lüdemann (1975) Untersuchungen zur simonianischen Gnosis; idem (1987) ‘The Acts of the Apostles and the Beginnings of Simonian Gnosis’, NTS 33: 420–26; A. Marjanen and P. Luomanen (eds) (2008) A Companion to Second-Century Christian ‘Heretics’; W. A. Meeks (1977) ‘Simon Magus in Recent Research’, RSR 3: 137–42; M. Meyer (ed.) (2007) The Nag Hammadi Scriptures: The International Edition; J. C. Reeves (1992) Jewish Lore in Manichaean Cosmogony: Studies in the Book of Giants Traditions; J. M. Robinson (ed.) (1996) The Nag Hammadi Library in English; K. Rudolph (1983) Gnosis: the Nature and History of an Ancient Religion; G. G. Scholem (1965) Jewish Gnosticism, Merkabah Mysticism, and Talmudic Tradition; A. F. Segal (1977) Two Powers in Heaven; G. A. G. Stroumsa (1981) ‘Aher: A Gnostic’, in B. Layton (ed.), The Rediscovery of Gnosticism: 2:808–18; idem (1984) Another Seed: Studies in Gnostic Mythology; E. M. Yamauchi (1973) Pre-Christian Gnosticism: A Survey of the Proposed Evidences.

8.3.1. Introduction Some may be surprised to see Gnosticism associated with Judaism. The Gnostic texts often seem anti-Jewish, and many secondary treatments speak as if Gnosticism was plainly and simply a perversion of Christianity. Apart from a few texts found in the eighteenth century, it was primarily in the late nineteenth and twentieth century that original Gnostic writings have become available. It was also then that the one living Gnostic group, the Mandaeans, became known to scholars. It was these texts, written and used by Gnostic groups themselves, which allowed scholars finally to see their own thinking and beliefs and also to have a check on the patristic accounts. What was found were Gnostic texts which show Christian traits, Gnostic texts which show Jewish traits, and Gnostic texts which show Platonic connections. This has led many scholars to see Gnosticism as a religion in its own right but with various permutations—Christian, Jewish, ‘pagan’. Since so much of Gnosticism seems anti-Jewish, was there a Jewish form of Gnosticism? Did Gnosticism even originate within Judaism? It may be a minority opinion, but this is precisely what some respected scholars have alleged. One of the purposes of this section is to look at some of the evidence advanced for Jewish Gnosticism. The term ‘gnostic’ comes from the Greek word gnōsis ‘knowledge’. With a small initial letter, ‘gnostic’ is frequently used in reference to any system or tendency to place emphasis on knowledge as a way to salvation; the term is also often used loosely in discussion of various groups in NT writings. However, ‘Gnostic’ (often spelled with a capital) is used in reference to a specific religious system with certain known characteristics. Some

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dispute whether we can speak of a single Gnostic system, but the term is certainly associated with a set of individuals named in the sources (e.g., Valentinus) who taught beliefs that shared certain characteristics. For example, most of the Gnostic systems known seem to have behind them a central Gnostic myth, in spite of some differences of detail in the individual texts (§8.3.3). 8.3.2. Sources 8.3.2.1. Nag Hammadi Codices This collection of texts was central in the revival of interest in Gnosticism in recent decades. These texts were discovered in 1945 in southern Egypt, near the village of Faw Qibli in the region of the town of Nag Hammadi. The manuscripts are in Coptic and dated to the fourth century CE; however, they represent translations of earlier Greek writings. There are the remains of 13 codices with 52 separate writings, though some writings occur more than once in the manuscripts (e.g., the Apocryphon of John occurs three times and four others occur twice). Although most of the individual writings are Gnostic, not all of them are (e.g., Plato’s Republic, Sentences of Sextus, Teachings of Silvanus are found in the collection). The main writings of concern for our purposes are the Apocryphon of John (a ‘Christian’ writing but the Christian elements seem confined to the framework and may well have been added to an earlier non-Christian work), Apocalypse of Adam (an apocalyptic work), and the Hypostasis of the Archons with its closely related work, On the Origin of the World. Some other writings will also be mentioned below, but these four have many of the parallels with Jewish sources and Jewish interpretation to be discussed at §8.3.4. 8.3.2.2. Patristic Sources Until this century, almost the only sources were the discussions in the Church Fathers. The problem was that these were hostile accounts. The patristic writers saw the Gnostics as a heresy which had broken away from Christianity, and their whole approach was to show how bad it was. Thus, they might be willing to repeat any slanders and derogatory reports without worrying too much about determining their accuracy. A number of patristic accounts are known, but many of these are dependent on one another and give little or no original material. Two sources which are particularly important are Irenaeus (c. 130–200 CE), who wrote a work Adversus Haereses (‘Against Heresies’) which was widely copied and adapted by later writers, and Epiphanius (c. 315–400 CE) who wrote a

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treatise against the ‘80 heresies’ called the Panarion (‘Cure All’). Despite their obvious bias against Gnosticism, both Irenaeus and Epiphanius had access to some original Gnostic writings and quote from them. The Nag Hammadi texts show the importance of both these sources for our understanding of Gnosticism. 8.3.2.3. Other Writings A number of the patristic treatises, especially those by Augustine, relate to the Manichaeans, a similar group (to whom Augustine once belonged). The Manichaeans had many characteristics in common with earlier Gnostic groups and had certainly been influenced by Gnosticism, whether one wishes to include them among the Gnostics or not. (For the Manichaeans and their sources, see §8.3.6.1 below.) Another group who have become important mainly in the twentieth century were the Mandaeans. They are (or at least were) a surviving community in Iraq (and apparently also in Iran). They are not treated here (except for an occasional reference) because they fit another category of early groups and are treated elsewhere (§7.7.2). 8.3.3. The Basic Gnostic Myth A Gnostic myth apparently lies at the base of the various Gnostic systems known to us. It is this myth which explains what humans are, where they came from, and how they may gain the state which is their ultimate goal. No one source describes this myth in detail; indeed, it is unlikely that there was ever was one single version of it. A number of sources mention it in passing or mention various aspects of it. One description of it is found in Irenaeus, Against Heresies 1.29-31. Also, a fairly detailed version is found in the Apocryphon of John and in the Hypostasis of the Archons. The myth as known looks very Neo-Platonic in that a single Monad or First Principle is the originator of all that is, and that the world is a series of emanations from this single unity who is God. The Monad produced a Second Principle known as Pronoia (‘foreknowledge’), also known as Barbēlō, accompanied by a Pentad of Aeons. The name Barbelo is clearly not Greek, but its exact origin is still debated. It may be Semitic or even Egyptian. The next product is the Autogenes (the ‘self-begotten’), identified with Christ in Christian Gnostic sources. The final level of the world of the Pleroma are the 12 Aeons, one of whom is Pistis Sophia (‘faithful wisdom’). The myth can be outlined in a schematic version that seems to correspond with the different accounts in all but certain details. But keep in mind that this is an idealized version, not the exact format behind all the texts (or perhaps any of the texts).

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The Monad: Parent of the Pleroma (First Principle) Barbelo/Pronoia (Second Principle) Pentad of Aeons Autogenes

Pistis Sophia

12 Aeons Posterity of Seth Daueithai

Penitents ƜlƝlƝth

‘abortion’

Heavenly Seth ƿroiaƝl

Geradamas HarmozƝl

Ninth Heaven

Eighth/Seventh Heaven Sabaǀth

ZoƝ

Chaos Yaldabaǀth (Chief Archon/Demiurge) (also called Saklas and Samael Offspring (Archons/Powers), including: Yao Elouatiou Adonin Sabaoth

365 Angels ZoƝ

Adam

Material Eve

Norea

Seth

Gnostics

Serpent

Cain

Non-Gnostics

Saviours sent at various times

Angels mate with/ teach women

The Gnostic Myth (An Idealized Version)

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According to the myth the Aeon Pistis Sophia committed a sin, overstepping her place in the order of things and thinking she could create without benefit of her consort or permission of the Monad. Her creation was an abortion, Chaos or Yaldabaōth the Demiurge or Chief Archon. Yaldabaoth is a Semitic name, probably from yalda ‘child’ and bô’ ‘come, go’ (cf. Orig. World 100.12–14) or possibly yld ‘give birth, create’ and Sabaoth. He is clearly the creator God of the Bible but, in the inverted view of the Gnostic myth, he is not good but evil. His creation is the Archons, including Yao (Yahweh), Elouaiou (Eloah or Elohim), Adonin (Adonai?), Sabaoth—all names for the God of Israel in Jewish tradition— and 365 angels. Yaldabaoth and the Archons together create the first man Adam. They do so by using as a model the reflected image of the Pleroma, but Adam has no strength and cannot rise. Sophia then allows a spark of spirit to them to give Adam vitality; in some versions Yaldabaoth breathes life into him. In so doing, Sophia tricks the Archons, because only then do they realize that Adam is actually superior to them. At this point, they seek to imprison him and take the spirit from him. Redemption is by means of Zoē (Greek ‘life’), equivalent to Hebrew Eve (Hāwwāh whose name also means ‘life’). She is the daughter of Pistis Sophia. It is she who comes down and invigorates Adam so that he can stand up. She also enters the Serpent and gives it wisdom (the serpent is good in the Gnostic myth), and she is the material Eve. Adam mates with this material Eve and produces Norea and Seth who give rise to the line of the Gnostics. But when Zoe leaves material Eve, the offspring is Cain, begotten by the Archons, from whose line come the non-Gnostics. The 365 angels mate with the women of the non-Gnostic line and also teach them unlawful things (parallel to Enoch, as discussed below [§8.3.4.3]). Obviously, much of this myth is taken from Genesis, but Genesis turned on its head. What is good in Genesis is usually bad to the Gnostics, and what is bad is good. However, it is not just a case of having read Genesis and then making everything the opposite. On the contrary, many of the details of the myth involve Jewish interpretations of the biblical text—interpretations which are likely to have been well known only to other Jews. It is possible, in spite of the Neo-Platonic elements, that the myth as described above had its home in some branch of Judaism. 8.3.4. Examples of Jewish and Gnostic Parallels 8.3.4.1. Plays on Semitic Words To the scholar of Jewish literature in Hebrew and Aramaic, a number of the names and other philological data leap out as evidence of a Jewish source. First, the name of the evil demiurge, Yaldabaoth, looks

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Semitic even though the exact origin of the name is still debated. Samael (‘blind god’) has long been known from Jewish writings as a name for the chief of the demons. Saklas is probably from the Aramaic sakla’ ‘fool’. Other names are also Semitic and known from the Bible: Yao (Yahweh), Elouaiou (Eloah or perhaps Elohim), Adonin/Adonaeia (Adonai?), Sabaoth. The coming of the serpent to Eve in the Garden of Eden states that she is the ‘Eve of Life’ or ‘female instructor of life’ whose offspring is the serpent or creature who is called ‘Beast’ or ‘instructor’ (Hypostasis of the Archons 89.31-32; Orig. World 113.32–114.4). What we have here is a four-fold play on words in Hebrew or Aramaic: ‫—חוא‬which is both the proper name Eve and also means ‘life’ and ‘animal/beast’; ‫—חויא‬serpent; ‫—מחוא‬instructor. 8.3.4.2. The Garden of Eden The Gnostic myth has a great deal taken from the Garden of Eden episode of Genesis. One of the basic points of the Gnostic myth concerns the creation of Adam by the Archons rather than by the true God. Jewish sources of course make Adam ultimately the product of God, but Philo for one has him created by angels at God’s direction (Fuga 68–70). There is also a late tradition that Adam was only a golem (clay man) at creation until God breathed in the breath of life (Gen. Rab. 14.8). This has an interesting parallel to the Gnostic story, but the Genesis Rabbah is probably from the fourth century CE and thus rather later than the Second Temple period. The Nag Hammadi Apocalypse of Adam seems to be a non-Christian text (though the matter is still debated). This has clear Gnostic features, but certain sections show remarkable resemblances to the Adam and Eve tradition as found in the Jewish Life of Adam and Eve in Latin and the Greek Apocalypse of Moses (§3.5). In the first part of both accounts, Adam gives a revelation to his son Seth in the form of a testament (Apoc. Adam 64.1-19; 85.19-31; LAE 25–29; 51.3). In the Gnostic myth Adam and Eve are persecuted by the ignorant Demiurge who is actually inferior to them (Apoc. Adam 66.14–67.14); this has close parallels to Satan’s own story of his expulsion from heaven (LAE 12–16). Both accounts tell of coming destruction both by water and by fire (Apoc. Adam 69.2–76.7; LAE 49.2-3). Finally, in both versions Seth is instructed to write these things down on stone (tablets or on a mountain) which would survive the flood and be available to be read by later generations (Apoc. Adam 85.2-17; LAE 50–51; cf. Josephus, Ant. 1.2.3 §69-71). This has led some scholars to argue that a common ‘Testament of Adam’ lies behind both the Gnostic and the Jewish work.

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A midrash on the serpent is found in several Gnostic accounts (Orig. World 113.21–114.4; 118.16–120.16; Testim. Truth 45.30–6:1). This takes the details as known from Genesis 3–4 but with a Gnostic twist. The serpent is in fact the ‘instructor’, created by Sophia to bring enlightenment to the Gnostic race. He is wise and teaches knowledge to Eve. ‘God’ (Ialdabaoth and the Archons) curses the serpent (without effect) and also Adam and Eve because they now have an advantage over the Archons. The episode illustrates the ignorance and malice of this ‘God’ because he envies the knowledge Adam gains by eating of the tree and punishes him. He is also blind because he has to question Adam about what he has done and was not able to foresee what Adam would do. According to some of the Gnostic sources, Cain was the offspring of Eve and Samael (Hypostasis of the Archons 89.17-28; Orig. World 116.13-19). A similar interpretation of Genesis, in which Cain is a product of Eve and Satan, can be found in a number of Jewish sources, though unfortunately most of these are quite late (e.g., Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on Gen. 4.1 and 5.3; PRE 21). 8.3.4.3. The Myth of the Fallen Angels An old myth in Judaism is the story of the union of angels with human women. The base text is Gen. 6.1-4, but the full-blown story is found primarily in 1 Enoch 6–9 (cf. also Jub. 5.1-7) and in the Book of Giants known from Qumran. It looks as if Genesis 6 represents a brief reflection of the pre-existing myth, but the matter is debated. 1 Enoch 6–9 describes the fall of the angels. Some of the angels lusted after beautiful women and agreed to beget children with them. Their leader Semyaza (Shemihazah) required them to swear an oath that they would carry out this plan. The offspring were giants who devoured all that humans produced. Another leader, Azazel (Asael), taught humans how to make swords, daggers, shields, and breastplates. He also showed them the art of making bracelets, and ornaments, eye makeup, the choicest stones, and all kinds of coloured dyes. Several elements within this story are represented in the Gnostic texts: the plan or conspiracy of the angels, cohabitation of the angels with human women, the production of offspring, the motif of metals (Apoc. John 29.17–30.10; cf. Orig. World 123.4-13). A play on the wording of Gen. 6.4 is also evident. The Hebrew text has hannĕfilîm (‫)הנפלים‬, which is usually taken from the root npl ‘to fall’. The nefilim are certainly the ‘fallen ones’, both in the Enochic myth of the fallen angels and in the Gnostic text. The word also gets interpreted

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as ‘giants’, though how this happens is not clear. But another meaning of the word is ‘abortion’, and this finds clear expression in the Gnostic texts where the offspring of Pistis Sophia is the misshapen abortion Yaldabaoth (Hypostasis of the Archons 94.15; cf. Apoc. John 10.1-9). The relationship between the Enoch and the Gnostic myths is not a simple one. The fallen angel leaders Asael and Shemihazah seem in some respects at least to be the equivalent of the Demiurge. In the various forms of the tradition, the fallen angels are cast into Tartarus or the equivalent as a part of their punishment (2 Pet. 2.4). Similarly, 1 En. 10.4-13 describes how Azazel (Asael) is bound and buried in a desert area until the day of judgment. Semyaza (Shemihazah) and the other fallen angels are likewise bound under the hills for 70 generations until the day of judgment. Yaldabaoth is also bound and cast into Tartarus by a fiery angel (Hypostasis of the Archons 95.10-35). 8.3.5. Discussion A major discussion centres round the question of whether there existed a Jewish Gnosticism and, if so, whether it was pre-Christian. A number of scholars answer yes to both questions. Two prima facie reasons can be given initially (cf. JWSTP 443–81): • A number of Gnostic texts show no Christian content or appear to be only secondarily Christianized. • Certain Jewish interpretations of passages in Genesis are heavily drawn on in some Gnostic writings. These appear to exhibit not just interpretations of the biblical text but detailed knowledge of extrabiblical Jewish tradition and interpretation. Furthermore, such interpretations seem to lie at the heart of certain central Gnostic myths. Two major counter-arguments have been advanced (cf. Yamauchi 1973; Gruenwald 1981a, 2014): • Extant Gnostic texts are post-Christian, many of them (such as the Nag Hammadi writings) are centuries from the beginnings of Christianity. • The strong anti-Jewish and anti-Hebrew Bible polemic of the Gnostic texts is inconceivable for Jews. Therefore, the idea that Gnosticism could have originated in Judaism is ridiculous.

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Both of these objections are important and must not be dismissed lightly. That fact that no pre-Christian Gnostic texts are known is an obstacle, but the same is true of Christian texts, including the NT writings. In any case, it may be possible to overcome this problem by traditio-historical analysis. There are also attestations in the Christian heresiologists about certain early Gnostics going back to the first century CE. Despite the thorny problems which often plague the use of the heresiological data, study has indicated that these reports are not always just made up (see below). The objection that Gnosticism is anti-Jewish and therefore could not have originated in Judaism can be countered by reference to Christianity: Christianity became strongly anti-Jewish at a certain point in its history (some even say that this was from the beginning), but no one asserts that early Christianity did not originate in Judaism. Christianity did not reject the Hebrew Bible, though it should not be forgotten that this was not a foregone conclusion: certain Christians, such as Marcion, made a determined case for doing just that. But more of a problem is the fact that the God of the Bible is made the wicked demiurge in Gnostic interpretation. This is not just rejection of Judaism but a complete inversion of its central beliefs: Yahweh is seen as wicked and ignorant, and his act of creation as evil. This is why some have argued that Gnostics simply took over the Hebrew Bible and distorted it for their polemical purposes. On the other hand, Gruenwald has argued just the opposite; the Gnostics used Jewish tradition as a means of wooing Jews as converts to Gnosticism (Gruenwald 1981a: 2:718–20). Several recent studies tip the debate in the direction of seeing Gnosticism—or at least some Gnostic movements—as an outgrowth of Judaism. A. F. Segal (1977) examines the rabbinic attack on the ‘two powers in heaven’ belief (cf. §10.1.1). At a later point the polemic becomes directed at any ‘heretical’ group, including Christians, but the earlier discussions (early second century CE) are against beliefs which seemed to compromise God’s unity by the acceptance of an angelic power alongside him. Predecessors of such a belief can be found in Philo and pre-70 apocalyptic literature rooted in earlier speculation on the figure of Wisdom; even though these were still regarded as fully compatible with God’s unity, they were already straining the boundaries of monotheism, and the ‘two powers in heaven’ concept seems to have developed from this. Full-blown Gnosticism, with its dualism between the inferior creator God and the good higher God, ‘was a product of the battle between the rabbis, the Christians and various other “two powers” sectarians who inhabited the outskirts of Judaism’ (Segal 1977: 265).

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G. G. Stroumsa (1984) points out that one of the main questions to the Gnostics, as already recognized by the heresiologists, concerned the origin of evil. The answer to the question was the Gnostic myth about the two races or divisions of mankind into the wicked and righteous. Essential for these beliefs were the early Jewish traditions about the intercourse between angels and women (Enochic traditions) and between Satan and Eve (Adamic traditions). The development of Gnosticism shows that its basic myth could only have originated within Judaism (Stroumsa 1984: 170, 172): Time and again, I have insisted upon the importance of the Jewish elements, which were thoroughly reinterpreted or inverted in Gnosticism. These elements came not only from apocalyptic texts, but also from traditions later recorded in rabbinic literature; they appeared not as merely discrete mythologoumena, but rather pervaded all of early Gnosis, before its double encounter with Christianity and Middle Platonism. These Jewish elements could hardly be later influences upon a movement further and further estranged from anything Jewish; they must point to Jewish roots of Gnosticism, roots which appear to have run very deep… Every piece of evidence seems to confirm the conjecture that the cradle of some of the earliest Gnostic groups was among Palestinian or Syrian baptist sects of Jewish background.

Stroumsa (1981) also addressed the question of the early rabbinic figure of Yavneh, Elisha ben Abuya, one of the four rabbis who ‘entered paradise’ (t. Hag. 2.3). He is called Aher (‘other, stranger’). This nickname has been given various explanations, but Stroumsa relates it to the title Allogenes (from Greek ἀλλογενής ‘another race, stranger’) adopted by certain Gnostics. This and other elements of the tradition lead Stroumsa to the conclusion that Elisha probably turned to some sort of Gnostic teaching if not to becoming a Gnostic himself (1981: 815). J. E. Fossum (1985) has a similar theme to Segal but is specifically interested in the idea of angels as intermediaries. He also breaks new ground in carrying his investigation into Samaritan literature. The following seem to be important themes: (a) in both Jewish and Samaritanism, the concepts of the Name of God and the angel of Yahweh developed into a hypostasis which acted as an intermediary of revelation between God and his people; (b) the earlier Gnostic systems (Simon, Menander, Justin, Carpocrates) did not show the radical dualism and anti-Judaism of the later systems (Fossum 1985: 213–20); (c) the dualistic, anti-Hebrew Bible form of Gnosticism came only at the end of a long development which began with concepts quite at home within Judaism and Samaritanism. Unfortunately, Fossum’s

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argumentation has certain weaknesses: for example, he has to depend on Samaritan literature which is relatively late, especially the Memar Marqa (fourth century CE), and he uses the Pseudo-Clementine writings rather extensively, despite their complex and problematic tradition history. The question of Simon Magus (Acts 8.9-24) is a vexed one. The earliest source (the Acts of the Apostles) is a piece of Christian polemic with little information. It was well over a century before Justin Martyr (§4.2.1) referred to Simon and described his theological system in more detail. Other heresiologists provide further information but are even later, while such sources as the Pseudo-Clementine writings are very problematic. The Simonism described by the heresiologists (Justin; Hippolytus) is a Gnostic system. The question is whether it developed from the Simon of Acts 8 or whether it was simply assigned his name at some point (Meeks 1977). Can the missing century be bridged? G. Lüdemann (1975, 1987) has argued that it can be, and that the original Simon had already propounded a Gnostic (proto-Gnostic?) set of beliefs. He emphasizes in particular the expression ‘thought of the heart’ (Acts 8.22: ἐπίνοια τῆς καρδίας), unique in the NT but an important technical term in the later Simonian system (1987: 424–25). Lüdemann takes it to be a reference to Simon’s consort Helen who was called Simon’s ‘first thought’ (ennoia) according to Hippolytus’s report. Although Lüdemann sees nothing particularly Samaritan about Simon’s teachings, Fossum (1985: 162–91) has been able to explain certain terms and concepts from the Samaritan tradition. In particular, he argues that the expression ‘the great power of God’ (Acts 8.10: ἡ δύναμις τοῦ θεοῦ ἡ καλουμένη μεγάλη) was a Samaritan theological expression, and Simon’s use of it ‘apparently was a claim to the office of being the Glory of God or the Angel of the Lord’ (Fossum 1985: 190). If he is correct, there is nothing incompatible with Simon’s being both an early Gnostic and a Samaritan. Thus, the debate about Simon seems to be drifting in the same direction as many Gnostic studies: an early form of non-Christian Gnosticism rooted in the Jewish/Samaritan tradition. No doubt the question will continue to be disputed for a long time to come, but among specialists certainly one view is that Gnosticism had its roots in pre-70 Judaism. The anti-Jewish and anti-Hebrew Bible polemic found in many Gnostic texts, as indeed the Christian forms of Gnosticism, seem to be a later development. But one also has to reckon with a long period of development: the phenomenon while still a part of Judaism might be better labelled ‘proto-Gnosticism’ or ‘gnostic trends’. What is called ‘Jewish Gnosticism’ was probably far removed from the radical dualism of developed systems, such as taught by Valentinus or found in some of the Nag Hammadi documents. On the other hand, to recognize

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the concept of ‘Jewish Gnosticism’ is to recognize another strand within early Judaism which has largely disappeared from the known Jewish sources. 8.3.6. Other Gnostic or Related Traditions 8.3.6.1. Manichaeans M. Boyce (1975) A Reader in Manichaean Middle Persian and Parthian: Texts with Notes; R. Cameron and A. J. Dewey (eds) (1979) The Cologne Mani Codex (P. Colon. inv. nr. 4780) ‘Concerning the Origin of his Body’; I. Gardner (1995) The Kephalaia of the Teacher: The Edited Coptic Manichaean Texts in Translation with Commentary; A. Henrichs (1973) ‘Mani and the Babylonian Baptists: A Historical Confrontation’, HSCP 77: 23–59; idem (1979) ‘The Cologne Mani Codex Reconsidered’, HSCP 83: 339–67; A. Henrichs and L. Koenen (1975) ‘Der Kölner Mani-Kodex (P. Colon. inv. nr. 4780) Περὶ τῆς γέννης τοῦ σώματος αὐτοῦ: Edition der Seiten 1–72’, ZPE 19: 1–85; idem (1978) ‘Der Kölner Mani-Kodex (P. Colon. inv. nr. 4780) Περὶ τῆς γέννης τοῦ σώματος αὐτοῦ: Edition der Seiten 72,8–99,9’, ZPE 32: 87–199; S. N. C. Lieu (1992) Manichaeism in the Later Roman Empire and Medieval China; idem (1994) Manichaeism in Mesopotamia and the Roman East; idem (1998) Manichaeism in Central Asia and China; S. N. C. Lieu (ed.) (2010) Greek and Latin Sources on Manichaean Cosmogony and Ethics; D. N. MacKenzie (1979) ‘Mani’s Šabuhragān’, BSOAS 42: 500–34; idem (1980) ‘Mani’s Šabuhragān—II’, BSOAS 43: 288–310; J. C. Reeves (1992) Jewish Lore in Manichaean Cosmogony: Studies in the Book of Giants Traditions; idem (1996) Heralds of that Good Realm: Syro-Mesopotamian Gnosis and Jewish Traditions; S. Stroumsa and G. G. Stroumsa (1988) ‘Aspects of Anti-Manichaean Polemics in Late Antiquity and under Early Islam’, HTR 81: 37–58; W. Sundermann (2012) ‘Eschatology ii. Manichean Eschatology’, Encyclopaedia Iranica 8/6: 569–75.

The Manichaean sect was founded by Mani (216–77 CE), after whom it was named. Mani began to have visions even as a child, including the revelation that plants suffered from being pruned and their fruit plucked, just as animals might. Many of his revelations were from his spiritual or heavenly Twin. He first converted his family, then embarked on a series of missionary journeys. He became a part of the Sassanian Persian court and wrote the Šabuhragān for the Sassanian emperor, Shābuhr (to summarize Manichaean teachings), but his successor Bahram I incarcerated Mani, who died in prison about 277 CE. Mani had spent part of his early life until the age of 24 in a JewishChristian baptismal sect called the Elchasaites (§7.7.1); it seems that this group was not Mandaean as some have proposed (Henrichs 1973: 44–46;

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1979: 367). Mani’s religious system also has many Gnostic ideas and makes use of a version of the basic Gnostic myth outlined above. Whereas with other Gnostic groups we have writings but know little of how they actually lived their religion, with the Manichaeans we know how they put their beliefs into practice. They lived an ascetic lifestyle, eating no meat nor drinking alcohol. The inner circle (the Elect) eschewed sexual relations and did not even prepare their own food. They were cared for by the Auditors who were also vegetarian but were allowed to marry, though sexual relations were to be avoided as much as possible. Much has been learned in recent years because of original Manichaean writings. Before that scholars had to depend on writings of Christian opponents. That is, much of our knowledge of the Manichaeans once came from patristic anti-Manichaean writings, particularly those of Augustine (see especially Lieu [ed.] 2010). Although some of these were knowledgeable, they nevertheless had a strong bias against the Manichaeans and cannot be trusted to represent them fairly. In recent decades, however, a number of Manichaean writings have become available. The recently discovered ‘Life of Mani’ (Cologne Mani Codex) gives valuable information about Mani’s early life and the origin of the group (Henrichs/Koenen 1975, 1978; Cameron/Dewey [eds] 1992). We also have summaries of Manichaean belief from manuscripts found in many parts of the world, such as the Kephalaia (Gardner 1995). Because Mani had founded a missionary religion, in addition to material from Persia where he did much of his work, writings have been found in central Asia, China, and Egypt. Mani included a number of books in his sacred canon, mainly his own original writings. However, he also incorporated a writing taken over from elsewhere: the Book of Giants (Reeves 1992). We now know from the Qumran writings that this was a Jewish book (HJJSTP 2: 81–84). The fragments preserved of the Manichaean book show that it was similar to the Qumran Book of Giants. Mani also evidently knew the Book of Watchers (1 En. 1–36). 8.3.6.2. Mandaeans An overview of the Mandaeans, a baptismal sect which also has Gnostic tendencies, and their writings is given at §7.7.2. 8.3.7. Conclusions with Regard to Gnosticism and Judaism Many scholars feel that the examples noted above prove that there was a Jewish form of Gnosticism or at least proto-Gnosticism at one time. The main problem is that Gnosticism seems anti-Jewish. We must keep in mind, however, that Christianity became anti-Jewish even though it

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clearly originated in Judaism. To get from Judaism to Gnosticism is not easy, but it is certainly not impossible. Various aspects of Gnosticism already have their parallels in known forms of Judaism. One does not have to bridge the gap all in one go. The clearest connections are found with the book of Genesis, but it is not just the Genesis of the Old Testament text. It is, rather, a Genesis interpreted. It is a Genesis expanded and developed by a long period of speculation, commentary, and growth of tradition. This form of the Genesis story is not likely to have been easily accessible to non-Jews. The best explanation seems to be that it originated in a form of Jewish Gnosticism or proto-Gnosticism. More difficult is the claim that this Jewish Gnosticism was a pre-Christian Gnosticism. What is non-Christian is not necessarily pre-Christian. On the other hand, we find Gnosticism already well attested in the second century CE. Also, the situation in Judaism after 70 was not conducive to this sort of development; it seems likely that any Jewish proto-Gnosticism was already in existence before the 66–70 war. 8.4. The Esoteric Arts: Magic and Controlling the Spirits P. S. Alexander (1986b) ‘VII. Incantations and Books of Magic’, in Schürer 3:342–79; idem (1996) ‘Physiognonomy, Initiation, and Rank in the Qumran Community’, in H. Cancik, H. Lichtenberger, and P. Schäfer (eds) Geschichte—Tradition—Reflexion: Festschrift für Martin Hengel zum 70. Geburtstag: Band I Judentum: 385–94; idem (1999) ‘Jewish Elements in Gnosticism and Magic’, CHJ 3: 1025–78; D. E. Aune (1980) ‘Magic in Early Christianity’, ANRW II: 23:2:1507–57; R. M. Berchman (ed.) (1998) Mediators of the Divine: Horizons of Prophecy, Divination, Dreams and Theurgy in Mediterranean Antiquity; G. Bohak (2008) Ancient Jewish Magic: A History; J. H. Charlesworth (1987) ‘Jewish Interest in Astrology during the Hellenistic and Roman Period’, ANRW II: 20:2:926–50; W. Cotter (1999) Miracles in Greco-Roman Antiquity: A Sourcebook; F. H. Cryer (1994) Divination in Ancient Israel and its Near Eastern Environment: A Socio-Historical Investigation; R. K. Gnuse (1982) ‘A Reconsideration of the Form-Critical Structure in I Samuel 3: An Ancient Near Eastern Dream Theophany’, ZAW 94: 379–90; idem (1996) Dreams and Dream Reports in the Writings of Josephus: A TraditioHistorical Analysis; B. R. Goldstein and D. Pingree (1977) ‘Horoscopes from the Cairo Geniza’, JNES 36: 113–44; F. Graf (1997) Magic in the Ancient World; I. Gruenwald (1970–71) ‘Further Jewish Physiognomic and Chiromantic Fragments’, Tarbiz 40: 301–19 (Hebrew); idem (1995) ‘Major Issues in the Study and Understanding of Jewish Mysticism’, in J. Neusner (ed.), Judaism in Late Antiquity: Part 2 Historical Syntheses: 2:1–49; E. J.

192 A History of Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, Volume 4 Hamori and J. Stökl (eds) (2018) Perchance to Dream: Dream Divination in the Bible and the Ancient Near East; J.-M. Husser (1994) Le songe et la parole: Etude sur le rêve et sa fonction dans l’ancien Israël; idem (1999) Dreams and Dream Narratives in the Biblical World; A. Jeffers (1996) Magic and Divination in Ancient Palestine and Syria; F. R. Kraus (1939) Texte zur babylonischen Physiognomatik; idem (1947) ‘Weitere texte zur babylonischen Physiognomatik’, Orientalia 16: 172–206; N. Lewis (1976) The Interpretation of Dreams and Portents; O. Loretz (1993) ‘Nekromantie und Totenevokation in Mesopotamien, Ugarit und Israel’, in B. Janowski et al. (eds) Religionsgeschichtliche Beziehungen zwischen Kleinasien, Nordsyrien und dem Alten Testament: Internationales Symposion Hamburg 17.–21.März 1990: 285–315; R. Macmullen (1967) Enemies of the Roman Order: Treason, Unrest, and Alienation in the Empire; M. Margalioth (1966) Sepher Ha-Razim: A Newly Discovered Book of Magic from the Talmudic Period; M. Meyer and P. Mirecki (eds) (1995) Ancient Magic and Ritual Power; J. E. Miller (1990) ‘Dreams and Prophetic Visions’, Biblica 71: 401–4; P. C. Miller (1994) Dreams in Late Antiquity: Studies in the Imagination of a Culture; M. A. Morgan (1983) Sepher Ha-Razim: The Book of Mysteries; J. Naveh (1993) Magic Spells and Formulae: Aramaic Incantations of Late Antiquity; J. Naveh and S. Shaked (1985) Amulets and Magic Bowls: Aramaic Incantations of Late Antiquity; J. Neusner (1989) ‘Science and Magic, Miracle and Magic in Formative Judaism: The System and the Difference’, in J. Neusner, E. S. Frerichs, and P. V. M. Flesher (eds.), Religion, Science, and Magic: In Concert and Conflict: 61–81; S. Niditch (1980) The Symbolic Vision in Biblical Tradition; A. L. Oppenheim (1956) ‘The Interpretation of Dreams in the Ancient Near East, With a Translation of an Assyrian Dream-Book’, TAPA 46: 179–354; B. Rebiger and P. Schäfer (eds) (2009a) Sefer ha-Razim I and II/Das Buch der Geheimnisse I und II, Band 1: Edition; idem (2009b) Sefer ha-Razim I and II/Das Buch der Geheimnisse I und II, Band 2: Einleitung, Übersetzung und Kommentar; J. Sasson (1982) ‘An Apocalyptic Vision from Mari? Speculations on ARM X:9’, MARI 1: 151–67; idem (1983) ‘Mari Dreams’, JAOS 103: 283–93; V. Sasson (1986) ‘The Book of Oracular Visions of Balaam from Deir ‘Alla’, UF 17: 283–309; P. Schäfer (1993) ‘Merkavah Mysticism and Magic’, in P. Schäfer and J. Dan (eds), Gershom Scholem’s Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism 50 Years After: Proceedings of the Sixth International Conference on the History of Jewish Mysticism: 59–78; P. Schäfer and J. Dan (eds) (1993) Gershom Scholem’s Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism 50 Years After: Proceedings of the Sixth International Conference on the History of Jewish Mysticism; P. Schäfer and H. G. Kippenberg (eds) (1997) Envisioning Magic: A Princeton Seminar and Symposium; P. Schäfer and S. Shaked (eds) (1994–99) Magische Texte aus der Kairoer Geniza I–III; A. F. Segal (1981) ‘Hellenistic Magic: Some Questions of Definition’, in R. van den Broek and M. J. Vermaseren (eds), Studies in Gnosticism and Hellenistic Religions Presented to Gilles Quispel

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on the Occasion of his 65th Birthday: 349–75; M. Smith (1978) Jesus the Magician; idem (1983) ‘On the Lack of a History of Greco-Roman Magic’, in H. Heinen et al. (eds), Althistorische Studien: Hermann Bengtson zum 70. Geburtstag dargebracht von Kollegen und Schülern: 251–57; J. F. Strange (1979) ‘Archaeology and the Religion of Judaism in Palestine’, ANRW II: 19:1:646–85; G. G. Stroumsa (1986) Hidden Wisdom: Esoteric Traditions and the Roots of Christian Mysticism; M. D. Swartz (1996) Scholastic Magic: Ritual and Revelation in Early Jewish Mysticism; idem (2006) ‘Jewish Magic in Late Antiquity’, CHJ 4: 699–720; P. A. Torijano (2002) Solomon the Esoteric King: From King to Magus, Development of a Tradition; G. Veltri (1997) Magie und Halakha: Ansätze zu einem empirischen Wissenschaftsbegriff im spätantiken und frühmittelalterlichen Judentum; B. L. van Waerden (1952) ‘History of the Zodiac’, AfO 16: 216–30; R. J. White (ed.) (1975) The Interpretation of Dreams: Oneirocritica by Artemidorus (Translation and Commentary); M. O. Wise (1994a) ‘Thunder in Gemini: An Aramaic Brontologion (4Q318)’, Thunder in Gemini and Other Essays on the History, Language and Literature of Second Temple Palestine: 13–50; idem (1994b) ‘By the Power of Beelzebub: An Aramaic Incantation Formula from Qumran (4Q560)’, JBL 113: 627–50.

To most people of the time, the spirit world was very real (as indicated by the bibliography, which has items relating to a long period of time over the ancient Near East and the Mediterranean world). Not only God/the gods existed and acted in the human sphere, but also a whole supernatural world of souls, ancestral spirits, shades of the dead, angels, and demons was also at work. Communicating with and trying to control this world was a significant concern to most, for what happened to the individual was not just matters of personal choice or blind chance. On the contrary, blessings and curses might come upon you because of the actions of supernatural beings, perhaps instigated by your own actions or by the actions of a friend or enemy who enlisted supernatural intervention in your life for good or ill. You had to be able to appeal to the deity for blessings and favours or appease the wrath of a god or goddess. You had to ward off the curses of an enemy or the controlling spells that a malevolent magician had cast on you (perhaps paid for by an opponent). It was important to know what the future would bring and also to attempt to direct that future in ways that would benefit you or at least not be detrimental to your welfare. From the leaders at the pinnacle of society to the lowly slave at the very bottom, they all sought information from diviners, foretellers, prophets, and sages. They all believed that the future could be known if you consulted the right person who was in touch with the right divinity or figure on the supernatural plane.

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There are major problems with determining magical practice and thought because of the nature of the sources. The term ‘magic’ is quite evocative to many people. There is little point in giving a long discussion of what is and is not magic and how to distinguish it from religion (see Cryer 1994: 42–95; the discussion between Schäfer and Alexander in Schäfer/Dan 1993: 59–83; Segal 1981). Although the ancients did make distinctions, it was usually on the basis not of the alleged outcome but the source: what my group or side does is perform miracles; practising magic is what others get up to. The term ‘magic’ was used in a pejorative sense to label what one did not like, while the same sort of practice might be given a respectable description if one approved of it (Aune 1980: 1510–23; Segal 1981; Macmullen 1967: 95–127). What we today would call magic was also a widespread feature of popular religion in antiquity (Smith 1978: 68–80); however, we have to be careful what we are talking about: in many cases, it represented a perfectly respectable craft, such as healing and exorcism. These two were closely associated since it was thought that many diseases were the result of demonic possession. Thus, practices that we today might label as magical represented an acceptable medical intervention. It might be thought that on things like divination and magic the Jews would have taken a different view from others in the ancient Near East. One can think of the anecdote about the Jewish archer who shot the bird that was being observed by diviners to determine military strategy: the archer commented in his defence that if the bird knew the future, he should have foreseen the archer’s arrow (Josephus, C. Ap. 1.22 §§201-4). But many examples from history and social anthropology show that the rejection of one form of divination or esoteric art does not imply a wholesale rejection, and various forms of divination have a long history even among the priests (Grabbe 1995: 119–80). Many Jews seem to have found it useful to resort to divination and other forms of predicting the future, and we have hints even of magical practices in certain circles, although the data here are rather scarce. Exorcism and control of the spirit world were permissible in Jewish society and even traced back to Solomon (Josephus, Ant. 8.2.5 §§45-49; cf. the Testament of Solomon; Torijano 2002); such skills were a common feature of the miracle worker (§8.2). Jews had a reputation as exorcists. Already the tradition of Nabonidus (the likely figure behind the depiction of Nebuchadnezzar in Dan. 4) has his healing performed by a Jewish exorcist (4QprNab). As already noted, Josephus traces exorcism of evil spirits back to Solomon himself. The Babylonian Talmud is not particularly shy about reporting miracle working, in contrast to the Tannaitic

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sources which tend to play it down (Neusner 1987). One should be wary of transferring back to pre-70 times the beliefs and views of talmudic times, but in this case there is evidence that the society behind the Babylonian Talmud was only continuing what was an old tradition. Rabbinic Jewish sources recognized that Gentiles performed miracles— they just did it by demonic help rather than God’s (Neusner 1989). One thinks of the gospel example in which Jesus is accused of casting out demons by the power of Beelzebub but answers by asking by whose power their own exorcists cast them out (Matt. 12.27-28). Similarly, some would make a clear distinction between magic and mysticism; however justified this may be (though there is a danger that this is mainly because of value judgments), the two are still closely related (cf. Gruenwald 1995: 39–42; Schäfer 1993; the discussion between Schäfer and Alexander in Schäfer/Dan 1993: 59–83). Unfortunately, because magic was a hidden art, either because one might be persecuted for practising it or to protect secret knowledge (or both), sources with explicit information are few and often rather late (most of the evidence is surveyed in Alexander 1986, but add Bohak 2008; also Naveh/Shaked 1985, 1993; Schäfer/Shaked 1994–99; Wise 1994). A work like the medieval Latin Clavicula Solomonis may have drawn on Jewish magical tradition. The Sefer ha-Razim, only recently discovered and published in 1966 (Margalioth 1966; Morgan 1983; Rebiger/Schäfer 2009a, 2009b), had earlier sources, though the present text is no earlier than 350 CE and probably originated in the Byzantine era. The Testament of Solomon (§3.16) may be a late work, to be dated to the third or fourth century CE, but some want to put it as early as the first century CE. It has also been identified by many as a Christian composition; in any case most scholars agree that it made use of earlier Jewish material perhaps going back to Second Temple times. When we look at the various esoteric arts cultivated in antiquity, astrology was certainly a popular one. It was as ubiquitous among the Jews as in the Graeco-Roman world in general: horoscopes have been found at Qumran and also in later phases of Judaism. Astrology as we think of it is mainly a development of the Hellenistic period. Although it was referred to as the ‘Chaldean science’, the Assyrians and Babylonians mainly looked at a broad range of celestial and even meteorological phenomena. The use of prognostication based on the zodiac, which we still associate with astrology today, developed mainly after the conquests of Alexander (van Waerden 1952). The extant Jewish texts show an ambivalent attitude to the question. We can find statements of condemnation, such as Sib. Or. 3.213-64. Philo comments that Abraham had been an

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astrologer but left the practice, which is represented by means of allegory in his migration from Ur of the ‘Chaldeans’ (De Abrahamo 62–84). On the other hand, Artapanus asserts that Abraham taught astrology to the Egyptians (Eusebius, Prep. Evan. 9.18.1). Similarly, the writer known as Pseudo-Eupolemus (a Samaritan?) says that Abraham taught astrology to the Phoenicians (Eusebius, Prep. Evan. 9.17.3-4). Josephus quotes with approval the statement ascribed to Berossus that Abraham was skilled in the ‘heavenly science’ and taught it to the Egyptians (Ant. 1.7.2 §158; 1.8.2 §§166-68). We know that astrology was used by Jews of the medieval period because we have a number of horoscopes (e.g., Goldstein/Pingree 1977), and astrological motifs are well known from the synagogue decorations of the talmudic age (Strange 1979: 670–71). For the earlier period, we do not have much (cf. Charlesworth 1987), but there are some texts. The Astronomical Book of 1 Enoch (72–82), including its Qumran fragments, seems to have nothing on astrology, at least in what has been preserved. Nevertheless, Qumran has some interesting examples. The first of these is the Aramaic Brontologion (4Q318; Wise 1994). Despite the fragmentary state, it seems to be a genuine astrological work making use of the zodiac for predictive purposes. It also includes physiognomy, the prediction of a person’s character from physical features. Another text which combines astrological and physiognomic features is 4Q186 (translation from DJD 5: 88–91): [Frag. 1, col. II] 5and his thighs are long and thin, and his toes 6are thin and long, and he is of the Second Vault. 7He has six (parts) spirit in the House of Light, and three in the Pit of 8Darkness. And this is the time of birth on which he is brought forth—9on the festival of Taurus. He will be poor; and this is his beast—Taurus.

The existence of several Mesopotamian physiognomic texts shows that physiognomy had a long history in the ancient Near East (Kraus 1939, 1947). Some later Jewish texts on the same subject from the Genizah may have some connection with Qumran (Gruenwald 1970–71). Dreams were seen as significant at an early point in Israelite tradition and were one means of divine revelation as far back as we can go (cf. 1 Sam. 6.8; Husser 1994, 1999; Niditch 1980). Prophets might receive their messages from God by means of dreams as well as other modes (Grabbe 1995: 145–48), two well-known examples of dream interpreters being Joseph and Daniel. One question which immediately comes to mind is whether there is a distinction between ‘dream’ and ‘vision’. Husser (1994: 24–25) has attempted to distinguish them on the basis that dreams

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have a visual element whereas visions do not, but this is incorrect since visions often have a visual element. In some cases, the visual element is only of the deity and serves merely as the setting for an audition (cf. Gnuse 1982: 380–81). Several passages in Job make dream(s) (]‫)חלם[ות‬ and ‘vision(s) of the night’ (‫ )חזין[ות] לילה‬parallel (Job 7.14; 20.8). Job 4.13 associates visions of the night with sleep, and 33.15 seems to make night vision equivalent to dreams. Numbers 24.4 connects seeing (‫)חזה‬ and open eyes with a vision (‫)מחזה‬. Another word for vision (‫ )מראה‬may have mainly words as its content (Gen. 46.2; 1 Sam. 3.1-15); on the other hand, it may have a large visual element (Ezek. 1.1; 8.3; Dan. 10). Furthermore, the descriptions of what are called ‘dreams’ and what are called ‘visions’ do not necessarily differ. The vision of Micaiah in which he eavesdrops on the divine council (1 Kgs 22.13-28), Daniel’s dream/ vision (‫חזה‬/‫ )חלם‬in which he sees the Ancient of Days and the One Like a Son of Man (Dan. 7), the Mari dream or vision promising Zimri-Lim eternal sovereignty (J. Sasson 1983: 285), and another Mari dream (ANET 623) have no formal distinguishing characteristics in the content of the actual message. One cannot label this one a vision and that one only a dream. Thus, despite terminological differences, any distinction is often merely academic. Some ancient writers already postulated different sorts of dreams, such as the Greek writer Artemidorus (c. 250 CE) who distinguished the prescient dreams (ὄνειρος) from ordinary dreams (Oneirocritica 1.1-3; 4.1-2). He further divided the significant dreams between ‘direct’ and ‘allegorical’. A modern scholar (Oppenheim 1956) has made a distinction between ‘message’ dreams, in which a direct message is conveyed, and ‘symbolic’ dreams which require interpretation. Although many dreams do not fall neatly into one category or the other, the two categories illustrate the important connections between dreams and other forms of divine–human communication. Dreams are perhaps more often symbolic than visions, yet the categories of direct revelation (message) and symbolic do not necessarily separate dreams from visions. Some visions are symbolic, as Amos 7.7-9; 8.1-3; Jeremiah 24; and the visions of Zechariah (cf. Niditch 1980), while some dreams contain a direct message from the god(s). For example, the Mari dream in the temple of Dagan gave an immediate message and differs from a vision or even a prophecy only by the setting (ANET 623). Dreams as direct revelations are closely related to prophecy, whereas symbolic or allegorical dreams fit very well into the wisdom tradition with its accumulation and classification of traditional knowledge. It was accepted in antiquity that not all dreams are significant or, at least, that the dreams of a king or priest may have broader significance. The NT has a number of examples in which dreams give important divine

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communication (Matt. 1; cf. Acts 16.9-10; 18.9; 2 Cor. 12.1-4). Also, Juvenal (Satires 6.542-47) makes an intriguing statement which associates dream interpretation with the Jews. Josephus has an account of his own dreams (§14.4.1; cf. Gnuse 1996; Gray 1993). These are especially associated with his prediction that Vespasian would become emperor (War 3.8.3 §§351-52). When he made the prediction, he tells how Vespasian at first did not believe him but, on making further inquiries, found that Josephus supposedly foretold the day of the fall of Jotapata (War 3.8.9 §§399-407). Josephus does not say how this latter premonition came to him, but a dream is one possibility. This has been only a brief survey of a complex, many-faceted subject. But it illustrates the ubiquity and importance of the esoteric arts in the ancient world, including among those in the Jewish community. 8.5. Conclusions L. L. Grabbe (1989) ‘The Social Setting of Early Jewish Apocalypticism’, JSP 4: 27–47; idem (2003a) ‘Prophetic and Apocalyptic: Time for New Definitions—and New Thinking’, in L. L. Grabbe and R. D. Haak (eds), Knowing the End from the Beginning: The Prophetic, the Apocalyptic, and their Relationships: 107–33.

What this chapter has helped demonstrate is the complexity of Judaism before 70. A proper understanding of Jewish religion and culture requires that all the matters treated in it be taken into account. One might want to question how important the themes of mysticism, Gnosticism, and magic were to the ordinary Jew or to Jewish society. The answer of course varies: mysticism and Gnosticism were probably the preserves of very few Jews of the time, but it seems clear that magic of various sorts (especially at the low level of charms, amulets, fortune telling, and warding off the evil eye) was common in the Jewish community. This chapter has been wide ranging, covering a spectrum of topics, yet all the subjects discussed here have at least one point in common: they are all media for trying to find out about the future and even the mind of the deity. In most cases, they were associated in particular with individuals who claimed special knowledge or insight and are thus branches of mantic wisdom. Our sources have even produced the names of a few individuals from antiquity who are alleged to have been prophets, magicians, healers, exorcists, or wonder workers of various sorts. To what extent we can trust the tradition has to be examined critically in each individual case, but the existence of such individuals is taken for granted and unlikely to be

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just a literary construct, though the production of literature was itself an activity which must be part of any description of the social world. Some of the main points made can be summarized as follows: • The Jews were not basically different from other peoples in the GraecoRoman world in their desire to see into the future and to control it. This is in spite of the necessarily abbreviated nature of the survey given here. It strongly suggests that in some cases, they attributed certain special powers to the God of Israel while not differing from their non-Jewish neighbours in the outcome. For example, the Jews, like other peoples of the time, were certainly interested in the healing arts, yet the healing rites performed do not differ from what we would classify as magic. • Granted, a certain ambiguity is found in Jewish sources, but the Graeco-Roman world as a whole was ambivalent about magic, or at least some aspects of it. Magic and the esoteric arts have an equivocal status in many societies, with what seem to an outsider to be arbitrary distinctions and borderlines. The data from Jewish sources do not show any major differences: a variety of views are held, and one sort may be frowned on while another—equally dubious from our point of view—is sanctioned. The Jewish views registered fit well with the general picture in the Graeco-Roman period. • Most of our knowledge of prophecy, apocalyptic, the esoteric arts, and charismatic figures is literary. We have little from archaeology to give us data on the phenomena, and it is impossible to do anthropological fieldwork on Second Temple Judah. Therefore, any judgments about the social phenomena of prophetic and related figures have to be deduced from literary sources. The material is of different sorts, which aids us in making a historical determination, but we have to recognize the state of our information. The descriptions of society may be coloured by literary and theological models, and the distinction between literary creations and social descriptions is not necessarily an easy one to make in many cases. Also, modern anthropological study has provided models that help us to better understand the small amount of direct evidence that we have. • Mysticism was clearly cultivated in some circles. We have so little pre-70 information that it is inevitable that the later merkavah mysticism known from the Hekhalot literature would be looked at. Yet it is clear that this literature is a later development, even if its roots go back to the Second Temple period. On the other hand, some Qumran texts (e.g., Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice) suggest mystical

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trends in some circles, probably priestly, to judge from the literature. The stories about rabbinic mystics are mostly post-70, though some of them may have been active during the Yavnean period. In addition to messianic or related figures known here and there (see §10.3), wonder-working individuals (whose goals seem to be different, at least sometimes, from the would-be messiahs) were known. The best-attested example from this time is of course Jesus, but we have some evidence of other figures. Some, such as Apollonius of Tyana, are later than our period but give us some idea of the activities and persona of such figures. Gnostic trends are perhaps hardest to deal with, since some of the Gnostic beliefs seem to be strongly anti-Jewish. Yet evidence suggests that even before 70, some groups embraced a type of Gnostic ideology and biblical interpretation. Emphasis on knowledge-based salvation is not new, but whether some cultivated a form of the Gnostic central myth that made the material creation—and creator—evil or at least inferior is difficult to know for certain but still seems to be the case. Still, the earliest alleged Gnostics, such as Simon Magus, look somewhat different from those of the second century CE and later. We get more than one message from the sources about whether prophecy had ceased, but it seems clear that there were prophetictype individuals in Jewish society even at this late date (cf. §8.2; HJJSTP 3: 281–86). Also, all sources seem to accept that a future prophet could arise, perhaps in an eschatological context. No writing explicitly rules out future prophets even when it seems to think that prophecy ceased at some time in the past. Additionally, those texts which accept the present reality of prophets do not usually see them as anything but an exception. Writers appear more willing to accept the presence of false prophets than of true ones. Our sources show that the concept of prophecy in Second Temple writers was rather broader than many biblical scholars would allow. Prophecy could especially be used of predictions of the future or messages about what would come to pass hereafter, even though these predictions might take a variety of forms (e.g., oral message from a prophetic figure, vision, dream, written oracle). A figure such as Daniel, not referred to by the name ‘prophet’ in the Bible, is regarded as the prophet par excellence in some extra-biblical writings. Inspired interpretation is a concept which arises during the Second Temple period (see especially HJJSTP 3: 283–85, 287). It is a new concept, coming about when some writings had become authoritative. Once established it takes its place alongside other forms of

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determining the future. Not only the ancient prophetic literature but also other sections of the Bible, such as the Psalms and even the Torah, were seen as sources for God’s plans and a key to the future if the right interpretation could be found. This answer was primarily found not in some sort of exegetical technique or ‘hermeneutical rules’ but in the continued inspiration by the same spirit that had guided the prophets (whose numbers included Moses and David). • Whatever the actual differences between magic, mysticism, prophecy, apocalyptic, and some of the other esoteric arts, they seem to have functioned in a very similar way. People read both prophetic and apocalyptic texts for knowledge of the future. They consulted specialists about the future, including the alleviation of illness and ‘demon possession’. It seems clear that in some circles, belief in an imminent culmination of the age and end of the world was strongly held. How widespread such a view was in wider society is difficult to gauge, but it seems to spring up at certain times and in certain conditions. • The frequent assumption that this sort of literature arose mainly in a time of crisis is not well founded (Grabbe 1989, 2003a). Of course, there were plenty of critical events through this period, and the question of whether a ‘time of crisis’ existed was always a very subjective one. Nevertheless, there is no way to quantify how and when such literature was produced, making it impossible to demonstrate it as ‘crisis literature’, as recent anthropological studies have shown. An important consideration is that a tradition takes on a life of its own once it gets going. Not only apocalyptic and eschatology but also mysticism and Gnosticism, once established, formed a self-perpetuating set of ideas that did not necessarily require particular external conditions to produce written expression. But magical avenues were also usually sought because of a personal ‘crisis’: illness, an evil spirit, personal misfortune, persecution, threats from perceived enemies. Yet sometimes the individual just wondered what the future would bring and wanted to manipulate it for his or her personal benefit.

Chapter 9

R el i g i on I: T e mp l e a n d T ex t , R el i g i ous P r acti ce

9.1. Temple and Priesthood 9.1.1. The Sanhedrin 9.1.1.1. Brief History of the Sanhedrin D. Goodblatt (1987) ‘Sanhedrin’, ER 13:60–63; L. L. Grabbe (2008) ‘Sanhedrin, Sanhedriyyot, or Mere Invention?’, JSJ 39: 1–19; H. Mantel (1961) Studies in the History of the Sanhedrin; idem (1976) ‘Sanhedrin’, IDBSup 784–86; J. Neusner (1981) Judaism: The Evidence of the Mishnah; E. Rivkin (1975) ‘Beth Din, Boule, Sanhedrin: A Tragedy of Errors’, HUCA 46: 181–99; V. A. Tcherikover (1964) ‘Was Jerusalem a “Polis”?’, IEJ 14: 61–78.

Even under Persian and Greek rule, the Sanhedrin (gerousia, boulē) was an important institution in the governance of Judaea (HJJSTP 2: 229–34; HJJSTP 3: e.g., 155–57, 324, 328, 337). At its head throughout its history was the high priest. With independence under the Hasmonaeans it came into its own as the supreme authority over the Jewish nation, along with the high priest who now served also as the ruling monarch. Whether the Sanhedrin was only an advisory body to the high priest or whether it had powers in its own right is still a matter of debate, though a good guess might be that it was sometimes one and sometimes the other during its history. After the Roman conquest, the high priest had little political power; however, in the two decades before Herod became king we are told of several instances in which the council attempted to assert political control, at least in some areas. The most notable instance is the attempted trial of Herod for the execution of certain bandits whom he had captured (HJJSTP 3: 444–45). The

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kingship of Herod changed things considerably. Whereas the Romans took the position of an occupying power who left the internal structures more or less intact, Herod served as a native king with absolute powers. Although the high priest continued as the chief religious figure of the nation, he held this office only at the sufferance of Herod. The Sanhedrin, although still in existence under Herod, ceased to have any real function at all from the little information which can be gleaned from our sources (HJJSTP 3: 463, 486). After he took power, according to Josephus he exacted revenge by having members of the Sanhedrin executed (Ant. 14.9.4 §175). Although Josephus says ‘all’, this is probably only hyperbole, but it could have been the majority of those sitting on the body. Not long after this, there is a brief reference to evidence for Hyrcanus’s treachery being shown to the Sanhedrin (Ant. 15.6.2 §173), but afterward we hear no more of the body during Herod’s reign, suggesting that it existed in name only but with little more than rubber-stamp powers. Once Judaea became a Roman province in 6 CE, however, the power of the high priest and the Sanhedrin seems to have revived, at least to some extent. The governor of Judaea maintained strong control over internal affairs, but he would not interfere in some areas where the Herodian king would not have hesitated. The Roman governors took a direct hand in only two areas: first, they held the power to set up or depose high priests just as Herod had done (though this was done only from within the traditional families); the reason seems to be that the high priest did have some actual powers which could create problems if the Romans did not keep them in the hands of individuals they felt able to trust. Secondly, they kept control of the high priestly garments which were given out only for the annual festivals and then taken back each time. This right reverted to the temple authorities about 35 CE under the Syrian governor Vitellius (§2.6.3). The right to appoint the high priest was restored to Agrippa I when he became king in 37 CE. After his death it did not revert to the Romans but instead went to Herod of Calchis, and on his death to Agrippa II (Ant. 20.1.3 §§15-16). The Great Revolt of course changed everything, with the high priest no longer having a function once the temple and its ritual was destroyed. From Josephus and other contemporary sources, there is a somewhat unified picture with regard to the function of the Sanhedrin and of the high priest within it, even though many details of its structure and operation are unknown (see further Grabbe 2008; HJJSTP 2: 229–34). The problem comes when an attempt is made to take account of the information in the Mishnah tractate Sanhedrin and other passages of rabbinic

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literature. There one finds a rather different institution, made up mainly of rabbinic sages and presided over by the rabbinic nāsî’ (‘patriarch’). Various attempts have been made to reconcile the two pictures, one of the most popular being to assume there were two Sanhedrins, one a purely religious council dominated by the sages and the other a political institution presided over by the high priest (e.g., Mantel 1961, 1976; cf. Rivkin 1975). These attempts at harmonization are completely wrong-headed according to recent advances in the study of rabbinic literature (§3.17). None of the Mishnaic tractate Sanhedrin seems to have originated in the pre-70 period (Neusner 1981: 62, 95–97, 143–50), or indeed any time before the Ushan period (post-135). The rabbinic Judaism of the post-70 period developed its own institutions to meet the needs of a Judaism without a temple or state. The picture in the Mishnah most likely represents a later rabbinic institution, though it is up to rabbinic scholars to judge to what extent an actual institution (as opposed to an idealized one) is being described. For the pre-70 institution, we must use contemporary sources such as Josephus; although it is always possible that some genuine remembrance of the pre-70 Sanhedrin is preserved in rabbinic literature, it would be difficult or impossible to be sure in any given instance. Methodologically, therefore, it is probably best to ignore the rabbinic data in any reconstruction but simply admit our ignorance where the early sources do not provide the necessary data for a full picture. (Interestingly, this methodological point is basically accepted in the initial treatment in Schürer [2:219] but then is ignored when details of the structure are discussed, with most of the data taken straight from the later rabbinic sources [2:223–26].) 9.1.1.2. Competence of the Sanhedrin E. Bammel (1974) ‘Die Blutgerichtsbarkeit in der römischen Provinz Judäa vor dem ersten jüdischen Aufstand’, JJS 25: 35–49; E. J. Bickerman (1946–47) ‘The Warning Inscriptions of Herod’s Temple’, JQR 37: 387–405; J. Blinzler (1969) Der Prozess Jesus; D. C. Braund (1985) Augustus to Nero; D. R. Catchpole (1971) The Trial of Jesus; L. L. Grabbe (2018) ‘What Did the Author of Acts Know about Pre-70 Judaism?’, in J. H. Ellens, I. W. Oliver, J. von Ehrenkrook, J. Waddell, and J. M. Zurawski (eds), Wisdom Poured Out Like Water: Studies on Jewish and Christian Antiquity in Honor of Gabriele Boccaccini: 450–62; J.-P. Lémonon (1981) Pilate et le gouvernement de la Judée; H. Lichtenstein (1931–32) ‘Die Fastenrolle: Eine Untersuchung zur jüdisch-hellenistischen Geschichte’, HUCA 8–9: 257–351; S. Safrai (1974) ‘Jewish Self-government’, in S. Safrai and M. Stern (eds), The Jewish People in the First Century: 1:377–419;

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A. N. Sherwin-White (1963) Roman Society and Roman Law in the New Testament; idem (1965) ‘The Trial of Jesus’, in D. E. Nineham (ed.), Historicity and Chronology in the New Testament: 97–116; E. M. Smallwood (1981) The Jews under Roman Rule from Pompey to Diocletian: A Study in Political Relations; P. Winter (1974) On the Trial of Jesus.

One of the most hotly disputed points with regard to the Sanhedrin under Roman rule is whether it had the power of capital punishment. Important scholarly names have been arrayed on both sides of the question (see, e.g., Lémonon 1981: 74–97). Although a number of scholars continue to argue that the Sanhedrin could try and execute (Smallwood 1981: 149–50; Winter 1974: 110–30; Safrai 1974: 1:397–99), the present trend is to question that body’s capital powers if not to downright deny them (Sherwin-White 1963: 35–43; Blinzler 1969: 229–44; Schürer 2:218–23; Catchpole 1971: especially 236–54; Bammel 1974; Lémonon 1981: 74–94). The arguments can be summarized as follows (Grabbe 2018: 453–56): • Although the Romans usually allowed the continuation of local customs and administration in new provinces, the power of capital punishment was jealously reserved in the hands of the Roman governor (sometimes referred to in discussions by the Latin term jus gladii, perhaps anachronistically: Sherwin-White 1963: 9–10; Schürer 1:368). A good example of this is the decrees of Augustus in 6 BCE regarding the situation in Cyrene. Although the governor could use carefully selected juries in capital cases, he did not have to: ‘excepting capital cases—in these the provincial governor must himself act and judge or appoint a panel of jurors’ (Braund 1985: 180). • Coponius, the first governor appointed over Judaea after it became a province (6 CE), was specifically said to ‘have from Caesar the power to execute’ (War 2.8.1 §117: μέχρι τοῦ κτείνειν λαβὼν παρὰ Καίσαρος ἐξουσίαν). • An important passage in Josephus (Ant. 20.9.1 §§200-203) relates to the trial of James, the brother of Jesus, before the Sanhedrin, with Ananus the high priest presiding. James and some others were condemned and executed. This happened at a time after Festus had died but the new governor Albinus had not arrived. Some met Albinus and informed him that Ananus had no authority to instigate such a trial without the governor’s authorization. This implies one of two possibilities: (a) the Sanhedrin could not even meet without Roman consent, which seems an extreme interpretation; (b) more likely is the

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understanding that the Sanhedrin could not meet to try capital crimes unless the Roman governor authorized it (Catchpole 1971: 241–44). Josephus does not suggest this was anything new. Therefore, even if there was no single consistent policy under Roman rule, the implication is that at least during 44–66 CE the Sanhedrin had to have Roman consent to try and carry out capital sentences. • The inscription over the gate of the Jerusalem temple forbade non-Jews to enter on pain of death: ‘No foreigner may go inside the enclosure around the temple or the forecourt; whoever is caught (doing so) will be the cause of his own death which will follow’ (CIIP I, 2; Bickerman 1946–47: 388). This inscription is also referred to by Josephus (War 6.2.4 §§124-28; Ant. 15.11.5 §417) and Philo (Gaius 212). This might suggest that the power to try and execute for such an offence was within Jewish jurisdiction. However, the wording more likely suggests a warning not of legal liabilities but of practical consequences, i.e., lynching by a mob of loyal Jews outraged at such a desecration (Bickerman 1946–47: 394–98). But even if it envisages a legal trial of the offender, it is obviously meant as an exception to the normal processes of law since it would include Roman citizens over whom local judges normally had no power. That this is an exception is indicated by Titus’s alleged statement as quoted in War 6.2.4 §126 that the Jews were permitted to put to death any non-Jews who entered the temple, even if he was a Roman citizen. The special exemption in this case simply confirms that capital punishment was not normally allowed to the native subjects. • A number of rabbinic passages are often cited. The question of those describing the general powers and functioning of the Sanhedrin is discussed above (§9.1.1.1). Several speak of a period of 40 years before the destruction of Jerusalem when the Sanhedrin had no power of capital punishment (y. Sanh. 1.1, 18a; 7.2, 24b; cf. b. Sanh. 41a; b. Avod. Zara 8b). Although this might be genuine historical memory, there are reasons to discount these passages on either side of the argument: (a) the figure of 40 years is such a stereotypical one that it becomes very suspect; (b) as already noted, any references to the Sanhedrin in rabbinic literature are doubtful for the pre-70 period; (c) the power to execute was kept in the hands of Herod and Archelaus during their reigns; the Romans would most likely have taken it over in 6 CE when Judaea became a province, as the commission of Coponius explicitly states (see above), not about 30 CE as the rabbinic passages imply. Thus, consistency requires one to avoid using rabbinic material one way or the other in the argument.

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• Megillat Taanit 6 reads as follows: ‘On the 22nd day (of Elul) they began again to execute the wicked’ (translated from the text in Lichtenstein 1931–32: 336). This writing is an early Aramaic work generally dated to the first century CE and thus potentially a useful historical document. The problem is that the particulars of the historical event on which the festival is based are not usually discussed in the original text. An accompanying Hebrew commentary gives these, but it is considered a post-Talmudic or even medieval composition and of very questionable historical worth. On the other hand, the wording of the passage in question here strongly suggests the events in 66 CE when the Romans were first routed. If so, it is reasonable to interpret the second part of the quotation as a resumption of capital trials by the native tribunal. Despite the reasonableness of these arguments, however, they still remain conjectural and provide at most a supplementary argument. • A NT passage often cited to prove that the Sanhedrin was not competent to condemn to death is John 18.31: ‘Then Pilate said to them, “Take him away and try him by your own law”. The Jews answered, ‘We are not allowed to put anyone to death”.’ The problem with attempting to prove anything from this statement is that it comes from the latest of the gospels and has no parallel in the Synoptics. Did the Fourth Evangelist have an actual tradition or was he simply interpreting from the general tradition as he so often does? The major positive argument is that the Passion tradition in general seems to be in harmony with the view that the Jews needed Roman approval; that is, the Synoptic accounts seem to presuppose what John states explicitly. Also, the Fourth Gospel seems to have had an independent passion narrative. • A number of sources suggest that individuals could be tried and convicted of capital crimes; however, if we exclude rabbinic literature, most of the examples are from the NT. Apart from John 7.53–8.11, these centre round the persecution of Christians (Acts 5.33-40; 6.12; 7.54-58). This entails two problems: The first is whether examples in the gospels and the Acts of the Apostles are based on contemporary evidence or are not simply unreliable Christian tradition with decades of development and embellishment behind them. The second problem is to what extent such stories of Christian persecution and martyrdom can be trusted at all, especially for the early period of church history. Granted the later persecutions against the Christians, is it likely that the Jews, Greeks, and/or the Romans engaged in continual persecution

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against and assault on the Christians in the very early years as suggested? Can we believe that in its first weeks of existence, the church had its leaders hauled before the Sanhedrin and commanded not to teach (Acts 4.1-21), even barely escaping the death penalty (Acts 5.33-40)? Or that members of the Sanhedrin participated in mob action against the Christian preacher Stephen (Acts 6.12–7.1; 7.54-58)? It is difficult to take these accounts at face value. When such dubious examples are eliminated, however, what evidence exists is in favour of the Romans denying capital punishment to the Sanhedrin, certainly not without its express permission. Even though a degree of uncertainty must be admitted, the evidence presently available would deny the competence of the Sanhedrin to try capital cases without Roman authorization. 9.1.2. High Priests from Pompey to Vespasian G. Hölscher (1940) Die Hohenpriesterliste bei Josephus und die evangelische Chronologie; J. Jeremias (1969) Jerusalem in the Time of Jesus: An Investigation into Economic and Social Conditions during the New Testament Period; R. Metzner (2010) Kaiphas: Der Hohepriester jenes Jahres; D. R. Schwartz (1982–83a) ‘Ishmael ben Phiabi and the Chronology of Provincia Judaea’, Tarbiz 52: 177–200 (Heb.) + V–VI (Eng. summary); J. VanderKam (2004) From Joshua to Caiaphas: High Priests after the Exile.

The high priest was essential for the performance of certain aspects of the cult, especially the ceremonies on the Day of Atonement, but his importance also included being president of the Sanhedrin (see §9.1.1.1 above). The high priests during the Persian and early Greek periods were discussed in the text of HJJSTP 1 and 2, while the last of the Oniad line and the Hasmonaean high priests were discussed in the text of HJJSTP 3. According to a list at the end of the Antiquities (20.10.5 §250), 28 high priests held the office after Hyrcanus II before it completely ceased. These data were probably taken from a specific source, perhaps from the temple archives, but Josephus does not list the actual names at this point. Names of serving high priests are given in the earlier narratives of the War and the Antiquities: these add up to 28, suggesting that Josephus has given a complete recital of those who held office. Although there are sporadic statements which contain other names not listed in his basic narrative (Jesus son of Sapphia [War 2.20.4 §566]; Neus [War 2.20.4 §566]; Matthias son of Boethus [War 4.9.11 §574; 5.13.1 §527]), the confusion seems to be caused by Josephus’s use of the term archiereus for individuals of the high-priestly family in these cases rather than holders

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of the high priesthood itself (some have emended Neus to Ananias). The high priests named by him are the following, the accompanying dates being no more than approximations in many cases (cf. VanderKam 2004; Schürer 2:229–32; Jeremias 1969: 377–78; Hölscher 1940: 9–19): 9.1.2.1. Appointed by Herod the Great: 1. Ananel, said to be from Babylon (37–35; 34–? BCE): Ant. 15.2.4 §22; 15.3.1 §§39-41. 2. Aristobulus son of Alexander (35 BCE): Ant. 15.3.1 §41; 15.3.3 §§51-56; cf. 20.10.5 §§247-48. (Ananel a second time [34–? BCE]: Ant. 15.3.3 §56.) 3. Jesus son of Phiabi (?–24 BCE): Ant. 15.9.3 §322. 4. Simon son of Boethus, of an Alexandrian family (24–5 BCE): Ant. 15.9.3 §§320-22; 17.4.2 §78; cf. 18.5.1 §109; 19.6.2 §297. 5. Matthias son of Theophilus (5–4 BCE): Ant. 17.4.2 §78; 17.6.4 §§164-670. 6. Joseph son of Ellemus, a relative of Matthias, made high priest for one day because Matthias was ritually impure for the Day of Atonement ceremonies: Ant. 17.6.4 §§165-66. 7. Joazar son of Boethus (4 BCE; see below for a possible second term): Ant. 17.6.4 §164; 17.13.1 §339; 18.1.1 §3; 18.2.1 §26. 9.1.2.2. Appointed by Archelaus: 8. Eleazar, brother of Joazar (4 BCE–?): Ant. 17.13.1 §§339, 341. 9. Jesus son of See (?sometime between 4 BCE and 6 CE): Ant. 17.13.1 §341. (Joazar a second time? [?–6 CE]; Ant. 18.1.1 §3.) 9.1.2.3. Appointed by Quirinius (governor of Syria): 10. Ananus or Annas son of Seth/Sethi (6–15 CE): Ant. 18.2.1 §26; 18.2.2 §34; cf. 20.9.1 §197; Luke 3.2; John 18.13-24; Acts 4.6. 9.1.2.4. Appointed by Valerius Gratus (governor of Judaea, 15–26 CE): 11. Ishmael son of Phiabi (15–16 CE): Ant. 18.2.2 §34. 12. Eleazar son of Ananus (16–17 CE): Ant. 18.2.2 §34. 13. Simon son of Camithus (17–18 CE): Ant. 18.2.2 §34. 14. Joseph Caiaphas (18–36 CE), famous for being the high priest under whom Jesus’s trial and execution took place (Metzner 2010): Ant. 18.2.2 §35; 18.4.3 §95; cf. Matt. 26.3, 57; Luke 3.2; John 11.49; 18.13-28; Acts 4.6.

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9.1.2.5. Appointed by Vitellius (35–39 CE): 15. Jonathan son of Ananus (36–37 CE): Ant. 18.4.3 §95; 18.5.3 §123; cf. 19.6.4 §313. On his later activities and his murder, see War 2.12.5-6 §§240-43; 2.13.3 §256; Ant. 20.8.5 §§162-63. 16. Theophilus son of Ananus, brother of Jonathan (37–41 CE): Ant. 18.5.3 §123. 9.1.2.6. Appointed by Agrippa I (41–44 CE): 17. Simon Cantheras son of Boethus (41–? CE): Ant. 19.6.2 §297; 19.6.4 §313. 18. Matthias son of Ananus, brother of Jonathan (?42/43 CE): Ant. 19.6.4 §316. 19. Elionaeus son of Cantheras (?–45 CE): Ant. 19.8.1 §342; 20.1.3 §15. 9.1.2.7. Appointed by Herod of Chalcis (44–48 CE): 20. Joseph son of Camei (or Cemedi or Camoedi or Camudus) (45–47? CE): Ant. 20.1.3 §16; 20.5.2 §103. There is a difficulty here because he is said to have succeeded Cantheras, though we know of no high priest by that name. Either it is a mistaken reference for Elionaeus, son of Cantheras, or Cantheras should be added to the list, though the latter would give a total different from Josephus’s. The manuscripts of Josephus have slightly variant names for Joseph’s father. 21. Ananias son of Nedebaeus (c. 47?–59? CE); Schwartz [1982/83] argues his term ended in 49 CE): Ant. 20.5.2 §103; cf. 20.6.2 §131; War 2.12.6 §243; Acts 23.2; 24.1. On his subsequent life and murder, see War 2.17.6 §429; 2.17.9 §§441-42; Ant. 20.9.2-4 §§206-13. 9.1.2.8. Appointed by Agrippa II (50–66 CE): 22. Ishmael son of Phiabi (59?–61? CE; Schwartz [1982/83] argues his term began in 49 CE): Ant. 20.8.8 §179; 20.8.11 §§194-95. He may have been executed in Cyrene (cf. War 6.2.2 §114). 23. Joseph Cabi (or Cabei or Cames or Cami) son of Simon the high priest (61–62 CE): Ant. 20.8.11 §196; cf. War 6.2.2 §114. The manuscripts have several variants for the surname. 24. Ananus son of Ananus (62 CE); Ant. 20.9.1 §§197-203. On his murder, see War 2.20.3 §563; 2.22.1-2 §§648-53; 4.3.7-5.2 §§151-325; Life 38-39 §§193-96; 44 §216; 60 §309.

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25. Jesus son of Damnaeus (62–63 CE): Ant. 20.9.1 §203; 20.9.4 §213; cf. War 6.2.2 §114. 26. Jesus son of Gamaliel (63–64 CE): Ant. 20.9.4 §213; 20.9.7 §223. For his activities and murder during the Great Revolt, see War 4.3.9 §160; 4.4.3-5.2 §238-325; Life 38 §193; cf. 41 §204. 27. Matthias son of Theophilus (64–? CE): Ant. 20.9.7 §223; cf. War 6.2.2 §114. 9.1.2.9. Appointed during the Great Revolt by ‘the People’: 28. Phanni (or Phanasus or Phannites) son of Samuel, allegedly not of a high priestly family (67–68 CE): War 4.3.8 §155; Ant. 20.10.1 §227. 9.1.3. Synagogues Bibliography: see especially HJJSTP 2 (234).

As noted in HJJSTP 3 (263) synagogues were not a feature of Second Temple Judaea until rather late in the Second Temple period. The synagogue originally developed as a diaspora institution (HJJSTP 2: 234–38), which makes a lot of sense because it was the Jewish communities far removed from the temple who first needed something to substitute for it. Synagogues are not mentioned in the books of Maccabees (HJJSTP 3: 82), showing they were not part of the Judaean experience at that time. We start to find evidence of them in archaeology in the Palestinian region perhaps in the first century BCE, and literary references from the first century CE. There seems to have been a synagogue in Gamala, perhaps to be dated to the time of Herod the Great; possibly a building (an earlier synagogue?) lay under this, but it remains to be determined. Synagogues have been identified in Herodium and Masada, but these seem to be later in the first century CE. According to Josephus, there was a synagogue in Caesarea that led to a clash between the Jewish community and the non-Jewish majority population in 66 CE (§14.2.1). Josephus also claims a synagogue existed in Tiberias (Life 54 §§277-80), though no such building has yet been discovered. A synagogue of the fourth/fifth century has been found in Capernaum (NEAEHL 1:292–95). The excavators thought an earlier synagogue, from the first century, lay underneath it, but this has yet to be confirmed. One of the most important finds is the Theodotus inscription, which suggests that a synagogue existed in Jerusalem in the first century (CIIP 1, text 9). Judging by the script it dates from the late first century BCE

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or the early first CE, and the later dating by some should almost certainly be rejected. This shows that a synagogue existed in Jerusalem earlier than some of those further away in the Palestinian region. The inscription indicates a house for reading the Law and teaching and for hospitality, in contrast to the standard ‘prayer’ houses (proseuchai) found outside Palestine and on the periphery of the region. Although he cites his father and grandfather as archisynagogoi before him, he also says that he ‘built’ (ᾠκοδόμησε) the synagogue. He states that he himself was a priest, as well. What we seem to see is the diaspora institution, the synagogue, slowly creeping toward Judaea until in the late first century BCE and the first century CE there are synagogues on the outer edges of the Jewish territory (Gamala, Tiberias, Caesarea). But logically one might also expect such a development in the Jewish centre, which was Jerusalem, even though the temple was located there. Interestingly, the diaspora synagogues seem to have been primarily meeting places for prayer and worship, which is why they were called προσευχαί (‘prayer houses’). Yet the Theodotus inscription uses the term συναγωγή (‘place of assembly’) and says it was for reading the law and also hospitality. Evidently, the temple continued to be the prime place for prayer and worship for Jerusalemites. In spite of the gospels, which have Jesus teaching in the synagogues, the synagogue does not seem to have been a central religious institution in Judaea until near the end of the Second Temple period or even after 70 CE. 9.2. Biblical Text and Canon 9.2.1. Development of the Canon of Scripture D. E. Aune (1991) ‘On the Origins of the “Council of Javneh” Myth’, JBL 110: 491–93; W. Bauer (1971) Orthodoxy and Heresy in Earliest Christianity; P. R. Davies (1998) Scribes and Schools: The Canonization of the Hebrew Scriptures; L. L. Grabbe (1997a) ‘Are Historians of Ancient Palestine Fellow Creatures—Or Different Animals?’, in L. L. Grabbe (ed.), Can a ‘History of Israel’ Be Written?: 19–36; idem (1998a) Ezra and Nehemiah; idem (1998b) ‘ “The Exile” under the Theodolite: Historiography as Triangulation’, in L. L. Grabbe (ed.), Leading Captivity Captive: ‘The Exile’ as History and Ideology: 80–100; idem (2000a) ‘Jewish Historiography and Scripture in the Hellenistic Period’, in L. L. Grabbe (ed.) Did Moses Speak Attic?: 129–55; A. van der Kooij and K. van der Toorn (eds) (1998) Canonization and Decanonization: Papers Presented to the International Conference of the Leiden Institute for the Study of Religions (Lisor) Held at Leiden 9–10 January 1997; N. P. Lemche (1993) ‘The Old Testament—a Hellenistic Book?’, SJOT 7: 163–93; J. P. Lewis (1964)

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‘What Do We Mean by Jabneh?’, Journal of the Bible and Religion 32: 125–32; idem (1999–2000) ‘Jamnia after Forty Years’, HUCA 70–71: 233–59; H. A. Orlinsky (1991) ‘Some Terms in the Prologue to Ben Sira and the Hebrew Canon’, JBL 110: 483–90; J. C. Ossandón Widow (2019) The Origins of the Canon of the Hebrew Bible: An Analysis of Josephus and 4 Esra.

Probably no subject in the history of Judaism has had more said about it with less known than that of canon. The actual references, in both Jewish and Christian literature, are only a handful and can be surveyed quickly. The real problem is how to interpret them. The main passages are surveyed below, but the conclusions reached here independently basically confirm those of a recent study by J. C. Ossandón Widow (2019). He gives an up-to-date survey of scholarly views on canonization of the Hebrew Bible, though concentrating on Josephus and 4 Ezra. He shows how a settled list of canonical books was most likely reached in the late first century CE, but that the supposed ‘Synod of Jamnia’ (see below) is a misconception and was not the context for such a finalization. 4 Ezra and Josephus are similar in giving a number of biblical books, but they have a somewhat different conception. Josephus regards his 22 books as a closed list, whereas 4 Ezra’s 24 exoteric books are in some way expanded by an additional 70 esoteric writings. He rightly points out that there is no evidence that the Pharisees had anything to with either canonization or textual standardization. 9.2.1.1. Main Texts The earliest evidence relating to a canon of any sort involves the LXX translation of the Pentateuch which was probably done about the middle of the third century BCE (HJJSTP 2: 253–54). This indicates that the so-called Five Books of Moses were regarded as authoritative for Jews at that time. Ben Sira is perhaps the first writer to indicate a specific collection of books with religious authority. Writing about 132 BCE the grandson and translator speaks several times of ‘the law and the prophets and the other (or the rest of the) books’ (ὁ νόμος καὶ αἱ προφητεῖαι καὶ τὰ λοιπὰ τῶν βιβλίων) in the Prologue to his grandfather’s work. He nowhere lists these books, but his three-fold division is significant. It looks as if there was a definite category called ‘the Law’ and one called ‘the Prophets’, the third being probably not a category so much as a miscellaneous collection of ‘the other books’ or the ‘rest of the books’; however, the existence of a miscellaneous category suggests that the first two was probably more or less fixed. About 200 BCE Ben Sira himself may give some firm

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indications of what books went into the ‘Bible’ of his time in his ‘Praise of the Fathers’ (Sir. 44–50; Grabbe 2000). Here he provides hints or indications that essentially the present biblical text of the Pentateuch, Joshua to 2 Kings, 1–2 Chronicles, and the Prophets were in front of him; one can only say ‘essentially’ the present biblical text since it is clear that slightly different versions of some parts of the Hebrew Bible circulated until at least the first century CE (see §9.2.2 below for the development of the text). 2 Maccabees 2.13-15 states that Nehemiah collected a ‘library’ (βιβλιοθήκην) containing a collection of ‘the books concerning kings and prophets and of David and the letters of kings about the devoted things’ (τὰ περὶ βασιλέων βιβλία καὶ προφητῶν καὶ τὰ τοῦ Δαυιδ καὶ ἐπιστολὰς βασιλέων περὶ ἀναθεμάτων). This passage is often cited as evidence that the canonization process began already in the Persian period. However, if we accept this statement about Nehemiah, we then encounter problems, because this is clearly a tradition which omits the work of Ezra and thus differs from the present Hebrew canon (cf. Grabbe 1998a: 88–89). The statement that Judas Maccabaeus similarly collected books dispersed because of the Maccabaean crisis is more credible because of being closer to the actual time of the alleged event, though whether that has anything to do with canonization is debatable. The situation at Qumran is instructive for any theory of canonization. Every book of the present Hebrew canon except Esther is found there. On the other hand, it is also evident that many books not in the traditional Hebrew canon were treated as authoritative. There is also the problem that some books look like possible ‘substitutes’ for existing biblical books. For example, it has been suggested that the Temple Scroll (11QT) might be conceived as a substitute for Deuteronomy or even the entire Pentateuch. We also have to take account of scrolls like the Psalms Scroll (11QPsalmsa) which by and large agrees with the present canonical Hebrew book of Psalms but has an additional five psalms. On the other hand, 4QMMT (about mid-second century BCE?) speaks of heeding or understanding ‘the book of Moses, the books of the prophets, and David’ (4Q397 frags 14–21, IV:10 = 4Q398 frags 14–17, i:2-3: ‫בספר מושה ובספרי‬ ‫)הנביאים ודויד‬, suggesting the three divisions known from Ben Sira. Philo nowhere discusses the concept of canonization or which books might be authoritative for Jews. Much of his work is commentary, and almost all of it relates to the Pentateuch. He does not talk about other books of the Hebrew Bible or suggest that books other than the Pentateuch are authoritative, yet he does have some quotations from other books: 1 Samuel (1.28 in Quod Deus 6 and Somn. 1.254; 2.5 in Quod Deus 10

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and Mut. 143; 9.9 in Quod Deus 139, Migr. Abr. 38, Quis Heres 78), Psalms (23.1 in Agric. 50 and Mut. 115; 37.4 in Plant. 39 and Somn. 2.242), Proverbs (8.22 in Ebriet. 31 and Virt. 62), and Hosea (14.9-10 in Plant. 138 and Mut. 139). The fact that the same verse is cited more than once might suggest that Philo did not have access to the biblical books in question but only an anthology of a few short quotes. Much has been made of a purported ‘Alexandrian canon’, which supposedly contained the books of the Apocrypha as well as the contents of the Hebrew Bible. This is problematic, however, since there is no evidence that Alexandrian Jews such as Philo had such books as a part of their canon. The Apocrypha as a part of the Greek Bible is clearly attested only for Christians. Josephus gives one of the most important passages about canonization (Ag. Ap. 1.8 §§37-43) which states: For we have not an innumerable multitude of books among us…but only twenty-two books, which contain the records of all the past times; which are justly believed to be divine; and of them five belong to Moses, which contain his laws and the traditions of the origin of mankind until his death… but as to the time from the death of Moses until Artaxerxes…the prophets, who were after Moses, wrote down what was done in their times in thirteen books. The remaining four books contain hymns to God, and precepts for the conduct of human life. (Translation that of Whiston)

We should be careful to notice what he says and what he does not say. It is obvious that he describes much of the traditional Hebrew canon; however, an exact delineation is not found, and the number of 22 books should not mislead us into saying that it coincides with the present Hebrew canon. The Hebrew canon now has 24 books, and it is difficult to get it to fit into 22. The suggestion that Lamentations was combined with Jeremiah or Ruth with Judges, for example, ignores the fact that Lamentations and Ruth are in a different division of the Hebrew canon. Although it may have been that Josephus’s list was exactly the same as the present Hebrew canon, it more likely differed slightly. In 4 Ezra 14.44-46 is a curious story about Ezra’s having restored the law by divine inspiration after it had been lost. Nothing along this line is found in any of the extant books of Ezra in the Hebrew or Greek Bibles. To what extent it is a traditional story and to what extent it is invented by the writer of 4 Ezra is a moot point (cf. Grabbe 1998a: 90–91). However, it refers to 94 books, 24 of which are exoteric and 70 esoteric. The 24 seem to coincide with the canonical books, since the number agrees with the contents of the traditional Hebrew canon. We cannot be sure that the content was the same, but there is a good chance that it was.

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One of the myths of modern scholarship, often adumbrated in the context of canonization, is that of the ‘Synod of Jamnia’. With the work done on rabbinic literature in the past several decades, this should have long been expunged from discussion, but it still rears its head. Yavneh was of course not a synod, along the analogy of the synods known from church history (see §15.4). Although in the Yavnean traditions there are a few references to a discussion of whether certain books ‘make the hands unclean’ (m. Yad. 3.5, over Qohelet and Song of Songs) plus some other late traditions of debate (b. Meg. 7a over Esther; even over Ezekiel: b. Shab. 13b; b. Hag. 13a; b. Men. 45a), there is no discussion of canonization as such nor any suggestion that canonization was on the agenda (cf. Lewis 1964, 1999–2000; Aune 1991). Indeed, in each case the canonical status of the books in question is affirmed. Within rabbinic literature, the present books of the Hebrew canon—and only they—are treated as canonical. The Christian sources give a similar picture to the Jewish ones. Luke 24.44 refers to ‘the law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms’ (which look like the same division designation as 4QMMT). This is often taken to be a reference to the three-fold division of the present Hebrew Bible; however, even if this is correct, it is not clear what the contents of ‘the psalms’ section was. For example, Jude 14–16 quotes 1 En. 1.9 and clearly accepts it as authoritative. Thus, Luke’s third division might have included writings not in the present Writings section of the Hebrew Bible. To argue, as some do, that the book of Jude was only on the margins of early Christianity depends on a monolithic development of Christianity which has been unacceptable since Bauer’s Rechtgläubigkeit und Ketzerei appeared in 1934 (ET Bauer 1971). The earliest Christian biblical manuscripts show a variety of content and include a number of the Apocrypha. When we turn to the various patristic writers, we find a large variation in the contents list of what they viewed as the OT. Melito of Sardis in the mid-second century was the first Christian writer to show any consciousness of a canon of scripture as such. According to Eusebius (His. eccl. 4.26.13-14) he gave a list of sacred books that included the Wisdom of Solomon but omitted Esther and Lamentations. One of the more interesting facts is that a number of different canons are accepted by different Christian churches today. Most will be aware that the Protestant churches tend to follow the traditional Hebrew canon, while the Roman Catholic and Greek Orthodox churches also give a place to the deutero-canonical books (even though the great church father Jerome himself favoured the Hebrew canon). What is not always realized is that the Ethiopic church accepts both 1 Enoch and Jubilees into its canons.

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9.2.1.2. Conclusions about Canonization Canonization was a complex process which continued for several centuries and cannot be separated from particular communities or institutions (e.g., the priesthood). Neither can it be easily separated from textual standardization: although the two processes were somewhat different, they ran side by side and affected each other. Evidence that a particular book was ‘canonical’ at a particular time does not immediately tell us whether it had the exact same text as the book in the traditional Hebrew canon. To summarize the main points about canon, note the following (on which further comment in Grabbe 2000): • The need for a set of written scriptures was probably felt no later than the Persian period. The Judaean deportations in the early sixth century and the destruction of Jerusalem about 587 BCE were traumatic events. People often become aware of their traditions when there are major disruptions, when their heritage and even their identity might be lost. It seems unlikely, prima facie, that no attempt to gather the traditions or create a national or ethnic ‘history’ would have been made after the fall of Jerusalem. The fact that some sections of the Deuteronomistic History show a rather accurate outline of the kings of Israel and Judah as attested by external sources suggests that the distance between the writing of these (or at least their sources) and the actual events was not great (cf. Grabbe 1997: 24–26; 1998b: 84–90). • The concept of canon in our modern sense may have taken a long time to develop. Some books evidently took on authoritative status first, beginning probably with the Pentateuch since these books occur in all known Jewish (including Samaritan) and Christian collections. Other books may have been associated with them, but with lesser authority, for quite some time. The fact that the LXX ‘canon’ seems larger than the traditional Hebrew canon may be because the Pentateuch was given primary status in Alexandria (cf. Philo), and the associated books formed a looser, more flexible collection. • A good portion of the Pentateuch and the Former and Latter Prophets seem to have been in existence and accepted as authoritative in some circles by the end of the Persian period. The evidence for this is Ben Sira 44–50 and also the translation of the Pentateuch into Greek in Alexandria, probably in the first part of the third century BCE. We cannot be sure to what extent the books continued to develop after that, but it was probably mainly on the textual plane (though different textual versions of some books circulated side by side, as the next section shows [§9.2.2]). The bulk of the Hebrew Bible is therefore

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not a ‘Hellenistic book’ (cf. Lemche 1993); whether it is a ‘Persian book’ or whether portions of it can be pushed back to the time of the monarchy is a question which cannot be answered at the moment. • Some books are, of course, from the Hellenistic period, as critical scholarship has long recognized, such as Qohelet and Daniel. Some recent works put the completion of the books of Chronicles after the time of Alexander. Books which might be either from the Persian or the Hellenistic period are Ezra and Nehemiah, Esther, Ruth, and the Song of Songs. If one includes Jewish writings which entered other canons (albeit in Greek or other translations), we could perhaps add as post-Alexander the books of 1 Esdras, 1 Enoch (except 37–71), Tobit, Ben Sira, Jubilees, Judith, and 1 and 2 Maccabees. In that sense, a substantial percentage of the biblical text is Hellenistic in origin. • The contents of the ‘canon’ continued to remain fluid at least to the end of Second Temple times. The Qumran scrolls give no indication of a closed canon in the later sense of the term, and the LXX collection also seems to have had books not found in the later Hebrew canon. It may well be that there were different grades of authority which continued to operate in some or even all Jewish circles (cf. Philo). • After the fall of the temple in 70 CE, we have no indication of any Jewish communities who used or accepted books not in the present Hebrew canon, whether in rabbinic literature or elsewhere. The 22 books of Josephus might represent our present Hebrew canonical list, but this is not certain. The 24 exoteric books of 4 Ezra were probably the same as the traditional Hebrew canon. Thus, the first century seems to be a watershed for the standard Hebrew canon, though how a decision was made on what to include and what to exclude is information no known historical source gives us. 9.2.2. Textual Standardization L. L. Grabbe (1977) Comparative Philology and the Text of Job: A Study in Methodology; idem (1992) ‘The Translation Technique of the Greek Minor Versions: Translations or Revisions?’, in G. J. Brooke and B. Lindars (eds) Septuagint, Scrolls and Cognate Writings: 505–56; P. Kahle (1959) The Cairo Genizah; D. G. Longacre (2018) ‘Reconsidering the Date of the En-Gedi Leviticus Scroll (EGLev): Exploring the Limitations of the Comparative-Typological Paleographic Method’, Textus 27: 44–84; É. Nodet (1996) La Bible de Josèphe I: Le Pentateuque; idem (2018) The Hebrew Bible of Josephus: Main Features; W. B. Seales et al. (2016) ‘From Damage to Discovery via Virtual Unwrapping: Reading the Scroll from En-Gedi’, Science Advances 2/9: 1–9 M. Segal et al. (2016) ‘An Early

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Leviticus Scroll from En Gedi: Preliminary Publication’, Textus 26: 29–58; S. Talmon and Y. Yadin (eds) (1999) Masada VI: Yigael Yadin Excavations 1963–1965, Final Reports; E. Tov (2011) Textual Criticism of the Hebrew Bible.

The development of the biblical text was surveyed for different historical periods in previous volumes (HJJSTP 2: 247–53; HJJSTP 3: 263–68). What we find in the first century CE seems to be a new development. For the first time, there suddenly arises a preference for the MT consonantal text (no text, of course, has the Masoretic pointing or other textual markers that first appear about the ninth century CE). An MT-type text was known at Qumran and elsewhere, but there seems to be little evidence of scribes favouring it. The variant texts do not suddenly disappear in the first century CE, but they seem to have ceased to have merit among the Jews in Palestine. We start to find evidence of textual standardization among the Jewish population at large, especially after 70 CE. There is naturally some variation within the Masoretic tradition, as is the case with all texts copied by hand, before the invention of printing, but this is extremely minor compared to most other texts known from antiquity. Thus, although the variety of texts known from previous periods still exist, they tend to be found in specific communities or used by specific writers (e.g., among the Samaritans and in Christian texts which generally quote the LXX). The Samaritan community centred on Gerizim use a version of what came to be called the Samaritan Pentateuch. The NT by and large depends on the LXX, though other Greek versions (e.g., the kaige) are also drawn on. Some of the Jewish literature in Greek also makes use of the LXX (on Josephus, see below). And of course the Qumran community with its variety of text-types survives until about 68 CE. A change is primarily evidenced from a range of the textual finds, some recent but some around for a long time: • The extant biblical texts currently dated to earlier than the first century CE show no particular move toward standardization. A variety of texts are known not only from Qumran but also in the Greek textual tradition, e.g., several different Greek versions of Esther and Daniel. The MT consonantal text is only one among many. • The texts found in the Judaean desert outside the Qumran sphere (dated to the first century CE) seem by and large to agree with the consonantal MT. The Scroll of the Minor Prophets (Mur 88) is a good example of an extended text that agrees with the later MT, with only a few small differences, mostly orthographic.

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• Similarly, the fragmentary biblical scrolls from Masada agree with the consonantal MT, with minor variations (Talmon/Yadin [eds] 1999). This includes sections from Genesis, Leviticus, Deuteronomy, Ezekiel, and Psalms. • A Leviticus scroll found in the synagogue at En-gedi has recently been deciphered (Segal et al. 2016; Longacre 2018). It had to be ‘unwrapped’ digitally, since it seems impossible to do so physically (Seales et al. 2016). The scroll is dated by C14 to the third or fourth century CE, though Ada Yardeni (in Segal et al. 2016) dated it palaeographically to the first or second century CE. The portions of text so far read are completely identical with the consonantal MT. • Josephus is an interesting case, since he lived and worked until well into the 90s CE, and he seems to have made use of a variety of texttypes, including the Hebrew text (Nodet 1996, 2018). It must be kept in mind, however, that he was writing in Rome and had to make use of what versions of the biblical text were available to him. • The very literal translation of Aquila (and it seems to be a translation and not just a revision of the earlier kaige translation [Grabbe 1992]) clearly follows the MT faithfully. The translation of Symmachus is freer, which makes determining the underlying Hebrew text much harder, but the extant remains suggest that it normally depended on a Hebrew text identical to the later MT. Although more variants are found in the kaige version than in Aquila, it largely follows the MT. • Although Origen’s Hexapla preserves a number of Greek translations, and none of the column with the Hebrew text has so far survived, the second column (the Hebrew text in Greek transcription) more or less reflects the MT tradition (see the discussion and studies cited in Grabbe 1977: 185–87). • The text of the targums presents problems in that these are often only a partial translation and represent a paraphrase, with material perhaps additional to the biblical text. But the Targum Onkelos especially, and the Targum Jonathan, both seem to be based more or less on the MT. • Textual citations and quotes in rabbinic literature almost always reflect the MT consonantal text. • Although the patristic writer Jerome was well aware of the LXX and the Greek Minor Versions (which he often refers to in his commentaries), he based the Vulgate translation on the Hebrew text. Although an occasional deviation might be found, the translation seems for the most part to reflect the MT.

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• The Jewish community in the medieval period seems to possess no other text than the MT. Even though we can find evidence of small variations from manuscript to manuscript, the Masoretic textual tradition is remarkably uniform, especially considering that many of the manuscripts extant were evidently not written by professional scribes. • When Masoretes supplied pointing, accent marks, and other features to the text, they were not inventing an artificial system as sometimes been charged (so Kahle 1959). Although one cannot rule out a certain amount of innovation on the part of the Masoretes, there is evidence that they were by and large simply recording in graphic form an oral reading tradition with ancient roots (Grabbe 1977: 179–97). These considerations strongly suggest that a move to standardize the text in the Jewish community, especially in Palestine and later in Babylonia, began no later than the first century CE. We have no specific description of the process by which this was done or who carried it out. Yet the one group most likely to have been involved—indeed, to be the main player—was the establishment of the Jerusalem temple. Whether a move to choose what became the MT began at an early time, perhaps even as early as the Hasmonaean period, is possible in light of what we know about the text, but it is still speculation. Concrete evidence comes from the first century CE. Until that time a great variety of text-types were clearly tolerated, as evidenced by Qumran, Josephus, the NT, the Samaritan community, and many Jewish texts known from the Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha. The first century CE is the watershed, with a variety of texts before this time, and little variety in the Hebrew text after 70 CE. Some have wanted to associate the Pharisees with this process, but there is not one shred of evidence that Pharisees had anything to do with textual preservation, editing, or promulgation. At one time it was popular to point to Yavneh as the place where scripture was canonized and standardized but, again, there is no evidence that such took place there. We only have some evidence of brief debate over the status of Qohelet and Esther in some Yavnean texts but no statements about other books, whether later canonical or not, nor about which textual version to use. The process seems to have already been completed by the time of Yavneh, which is another reason to associate it with the priests of the Jerusalem temple. The text had been developing for centuries; now developments in the main Jewish community came to a halt, with one text now being used by everyone.

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Josephus is an exception, but we must keep in mind that he was writing in Rome and, since he was writing in Greek, found it convenient to use the Greek text at times (e.g., 1 Esdras instead of the canonical Hebrew Ezra– Nehemiah). Also, there were not a huge number of biblical manuscripts in existence, which would mean that any manuscript would be valued by the person or community that possessed it. Since some of these manuscripts did not contain the MT text-type, these would have perpetuated some of the earlier variant texts for a time. What is remarkable is how quickly the variety disappeared among the Jewish community, with the variant texts surviving in other communities. 9.3. Religious Practice 9.3.1. The Question of Images and Art E. S. Frerichs and J. Neusner (eds) (1986) Goodenough on the History of Religion and on Judaism (1986); E. R. Goodenough (1935) By Light, Light; idem (1953–65) Jewish Symbols in the Greco-Roman Period; idem (1988) Jewish Symbols in the Greco-Roman Period (ed. J. Neusner); D. Hendin (2010) Guide to Biblical Coins; J. W. van Henten (ed.) (1989) Die Entstehung der jüdischen Martyrologie; G. Lease (1987) ‘Jewish Mystery Cults since Goodenough’, ANRW II: 20:2:858–80; E. M. Meyers (1976) ‘Galilean Regionalism as a Factor in Historical Reconstruction’, BASOR 221: 93–101; idem (1985) ‘Galilean Regionalism: A Reappraisal’, in W. S. Green (ed.), Approaches to Ancient Judaism, Volume V: 115–31; idem (2006) ‘Jewish Art and Architecture in Ancient Palestine (70–235 C. E.)’, in CHJ 4:174–90; idem (2007) ‘Jewish Art in the Greco-Roman Period: Were the Hasmonean and Herodian Eras Aniconic?’, in S. White Crawford (editor in chief), ‘Up to the Gates of Ekron’: Essays on the Archaeology and History of the Eastern Mediterranean in Honor of Seymour Gittin: 240–48; idem (2008) ‘Sanders’s “Common Judaism” and the Common Judaism of Material Culture’, in F. E. Udoh (ed.), Redefining First-Century Jewish and Christian Identities: Essays in Honor of Ed Parish Sanders: 153–74; E. M. Meyers and J. F. Strange (1981) Archaeology, the Rabbis and Early Christianity; J. Neusner (1986) ‘Preface’, Goodenough on the History of Religion and on Judaism; S. Pearce (ed.) (2013) The Image and its Prohibition in Jewish Antiquity; P. Richardson (1986) ‘Law and Piety in Herod’s Architecture’, SR 15: 347–60; E. Stern (1999) ‘Religion in Palestine in the Assyrian and Persian Periods’, in B. Becking and M. Korpel (eds), The Crisis of Israelite Religion: Transformation of Religious Tradition in Exilic and Post-Exilic Times: 245–55; S. Stern (2013) ‘Images in Late Antique Palestine: Jewish and Graeco-Roman Views’, in S. Pearce (ed.), The Image and its Prohibition in Jewish Antiquity: 110–29; J. F. Strange (1979) ‘Archaeology and the Religion of Judaism in Palestine’, ANRW II: 19:1.646–85.

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The Jews had a reputation among other peoples for their imageless worship. Various Graeco-Roman writers comment with some astonishment on the lack of divine images (e.g., Varro, apud Augustine, De civ. Dei 4.31; Strabo 16.2.35; Livy, apud Scholia in Lucanum 2.593; Cassius Dio 37.17.2-3). Some writers of course allege that a statue of an ass’s head (Mnaseas of Patara [GLAJJ 1.97–100; Apion [GLAJJ 1, text 170]; Damocritus [GLAJJ 1, text 247]) or of Moses seated on an ass (Diodorus 34-35.1.3 [GLAJJ 1, text 63]) was found in the temple. This is plainly a calumny to make the Jews look bad (‘ass-worshipers’), and there is no evidence that it had any basis in reality. Later Jewish texts claim that the use of images or living forms of any kind was considered abhorrent and strongly rejected (Wis. 13–15; LAB 44; T. Job 2–5; Apoc. Abr. 1–8). But does this mean that the Jews spurned all use of imagery of all animals or humans, as is often alleged? To answer this question requires us to look at Jewish art in detail. The name most associated with Jewish art is that of Erwin Goodenough whose monumental 13-volume work attempted to assemble the bulk of early Jewish art and interpret it on its own terms (cf. Neusner 1986 and his ‘Introduction’ to the abridged volume of Symbols [Goodenough 1988] and the literature assembled there). The importance of this material is that it helps to round out the religious picture of the times. Not only are literary sources too sparse and episodic to give a full picture of religious situation, but they also often represent a partisan point of view and even an attempt to palm off an entirely spurious status quo on the reader. The picture of Judaism frequently accepted for pre-70 times is that of rabbinic literature, but it represents a narrow point of view of a particular group of Jews, a view that became dominant long after the first century CE. Goodenough was able to show from the art and artifacts that there was another side to religion among the Jews in the first few centuries of the Common Era. His name is often associated with a particular theory, that of ‘mystical Hellenistic Judaism’ (cf. Goodenough 1935). The fact that this has been widely rejected (cf. Lease 1987) has meant that Goodenough’s greater and more basic contribution is often overlooked. One does not have to accept his thesis about mystical Hellenistic Judaism to recognize the fundamental way in which his study has shown a pluralistic and even fragmented Judaism in which many different currents still flowed at a time when it was thought that the rabbis were fully in charge (see the evaluation in Neusner 1988). It must be admitted at the outset that the sources give a somewhat mixed picture. If we start from an early period, monarchic Judaean society was basically polytheistic and apparently used divine images in some cases, even in the Jerusalem temple (as discussed in HJJSTP 1 (240–43). Yet

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when we come to the Persian period, the clay cultic figurines frequently found in other areas of Palestine (as well as earlier in Judah itself) are entirely absent from the areas of Judah and Samaria (Stern 1999: 254). This suggests some sort of prohibition or cultural change. The seals and seal impressions found in Yehud tend to be imageless for the most part, except for the ‘lion’ seals, unlike the Samarian seals that have a great deal of imagery paralleled in the Greek, Phoenician, and Persian spheres (HJJSTP 1: 58, 63). On the other hand, the Yehud coins have images borrowed from Greek coinage and include not only humans as well as animals but even the head of the goddess Athena (HJJSTP 1: 64–67). It has even been suggested that one unique coin pictures Yhwh on a wheeled throne, but this interpretation seems improbable. We need to keep in mind that popular religion often has differences from official religion practised in the temple, including beliefs and practices that the priests might have regarded as mere superstition. Aspects of popular religion are not always easily discovered. Popular religion is often frowned on by the established religious authorities and may thus be ignored or quietly swept under the carpet in the preserved sources. Archaeology is probably the biggest help (Strange 1979; cf. Meyers 1976, 1985; Meyers/Strange 1981), though only certain elements survive in the form of artifacts. The picture we have is that popular religion among the Jews included elements that were rejected or denounced in the extant literature. As discussed elsewhere (§8.4), various aspects of magic were widespread and astrology eventually surfaced in synagogue motifs of the later Roman period. There is also some evidence of the veneration of holy sites, such as Mamre (Strange 1979: 671–72) which may well have its origins in pre-Israelite times. Tombs of holy men were also made the object of veneration and perhaps even pilgrimage (Strange 1979: 667–70), a fact well known from Christianity but not usually associated with Judaism of this period (cf. Henten 1989). Yet much of the material found in Goodenough and elsewhere is later than the time of Bar Kokhva. The question is, what was the situation before 70? The sources give a somewhat mixed picture. Studies of Masada show that Herod’s private quarters had no depiction of offensive images (Richardson 1986). The Hasmonaean coins were aniconic (including those of Mattatayah Antigonus), but so also were Herod’s coins (cf. HJJSTP 3: 75–78). There was one possible exception: the tetradrachma used in the temple was a Tyrian coin. It is debated whether it was minted by Herod, modelled on the Phoenician coin, or continued to be minted in Tyre. In any case, it had the image of the

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god of the city, Melqart (identified with Greek Heracles), and yet it was regarded as unproblematic for use in payments relating to the temple (Hendin 2010: 476–82). The later Herodian rulers, Agrippa I and Agrippa II had their own images on their coins, yet Agrippa I was regarded by the temple establishment as pious (though the coins of Agrippa I with images may have circulated primarily in non-Jewish parts of his kingdom). Apparently, Herod Antipas’s palace in Tiberias, also used by Agrippa II, contained wall paintings that the Jerusalem establishment considered unacceptable, and Josephus was sent to destroy the palace as a result (Life 12 §§65). These and other examples show that some Jews were sensitive to any use of human or animal imagery. Yet others seem not to have worried about such imagery, as long it was not associated with idolatry. All Jews by this time rejected iconic worship, but artistic representation of the human and natural world was accepted by at least some Jews. Yet, ironically, no Jews seem to have rejected human or animal images on coins. Later, the rabbis also exempted coins from their interpretation of the Second Commandment (m. Kelim 12.7). They also show an astonishing indifference to images of animals and humans in synagogue decoration (Stern 2013). 9.3.2. Marriage and Divorce P. Benoit, J. T. Milik, and R. de Vaux (eds) (1961) Discoveries in the Judaean Desert II: Les grottes de Murabba‘ât; R. Brody (1999) ‘Evidence for Divorce by Jewish Women?’, JJS 50: 230–34; H. M. Cotton (1995) ‘The Archive of Salome Komaise Daughter of Levi: Another Archive from the “Cave of Letters” ’, ZPE 105: 171–208; H. M. Cotton and E. Qimron (1998) ‘XḤev/Se ar 13 of 134 or 135 C.E.: A Wife’s Renunciation of Claims’, JJS 49: 108–18; H. M. Cotton and A. Yardeni (eds) (1997) Discoveries in the Judaean Desert XXVII: Aramaic, Hebrew and Greek Documentary Texts from Naḥal Ḥever and Other Sites, with an Appendix Containing Alleged Qumran Texts (The Seiyâl Collection II); K. Czajkowski (2017) Localized Law: The Babatha and Salome Komaise Archives; P. F. Esler (2017) Babatha’s Orchard: The Yadin Papyri and an Ancient Jewish Family Tale Retold; M. J. Geller (1977) ‘The Elephantine Papyri and Hosea 2,3: Evidence for the Form of the Early Jewish Divorce Writ’, JSJ 8: 139–48; G. Häge (1968) Ehegüterrechtliche Verhältnisse in den griechischen Papyri Ägyptens bis Diokletian; T. Ilan (1993) ‘Premarital Cohabitation in Ancient Judea: The Evidence of the Babatha Archive and the Mishnah (Ketubbot 1.4)’, HTR 86: 247–64; idem (1996) ‘On a Newly Published Divorce Bill from the Judaean Desert’, HTR 89; 195–202; idem

226 A History of Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, Volume 4 (1998) ‘The Provocative Approach Once Again: A Response to Adiel Schremer’, HTR 91 (1998): 203–4; R. Katzoff (1991) ‘Papyrus Yadin 18 Again: A Rejoinder’, JQR 82: 171–76; N. Lewis (1991) ‘The World of P.Yadin’, Bulletin of the American Society of Papyrologists 28: 35–41; N. Lewis (ed.) (1989) The Documents from the Bar Kokhba Period in the Cave of Letters: Greek Papyri, with Y. Yadin and J. C. Greenfield (eds) Aramaic and Nabatean Signatures and Subscriptions; N. Lewis, R. Katzoff, and J. C. Greenfield (1987) ‘Papyrus Yadin 18: I. Text, Translation and Notes, II. Legal Commentary, III. The Aramaic Subscription’, IEJ 37: 229–50; J. G. Oudshoorn (2007) The Relationship between Roman and Local Law in the Babatha and Salome Komaise Archives; A. Schremer (1998) ‘Divorce in Papyrus Ṣe’elim 13 Once Again: A Reply to Tal Ilan’, HTR 91: 193–202; A. Wasserstein (1989) ‘A Marriage Contract from the Province of Arabia Nova: Notes on Papyrus Yadin 18’, JQR 80: 93–130; Y. Yadin, J. C. Greenfield, A. Yardeni, and B. A. Levine (eds) (2002) The Documents from the Bar Kokhba Period in the Cave of Letters: Hebrew, Aramaic and Nabatean-Aramaic Papyri.

Marriage and divorce may not seem to be matters of religious practice, and they were often regulated by civil courts under the various Near Eastern empires. Yet marriage and divorce in the Jewish context were considered religious institutions and are treated as such here. Beginning in the Neo-Babylonian period, we know of documents regarding Jewish marriage and divorce in the Neo-Babylonian, Aramaic and Greek languages (surprisingly, there are no such certificates in Hebrew preserved for this entire period). However, we must always keep in mind that it seems never to have been a requirement to have a written document for marriage. Marriage could be entered into in a variety of conditions, and a written document was not a requirement by any authority during this time, as far as we know. A fuller study of Jewish marriage and divorce certificates throughout the Second Temple period is given in Grabbe (forthcoming b). The present section is a summary of some of the information in that study and will focus on the information available from the first and second centuries CE. However, the period in the early second century CE, in the decades before and during the Bar Kokhva revolt, has produced the most Jewish marriage documents of antiquity. 9.3.2.1. Marriage Certificates First we consider the Aramaic documents, whose contents are listed below (Benoit/Milik/Vaux 1962; Yadin et al. 2002):

9. Religion I 5/6Ḥev 10 (= Yadin 10): Babatha’s Ketubba

Mur 21ar

227 Mur 20ar

Date (line 1). Bride seems to be named (lines 2-3). ?? (lines 4-5). Date (line 1). ??? (lines 2-3). Place (line 4a). Groom takes the bride as a wife according to the law of Moses and the Jews (lines 4b-5a).

Husband promises to provide for the wife and bring her into his house (line 5b). Husband acknowledges the wife’s dowry (lines 6-10a). If the wife is taken captive, the husband promises to redeem from his possessions and restore her as wife (lines 10b-11).

Date (line 6).

Date (line 1).

Groom takes bride to be wife? (line 7). ??? (line 8).

Groom takes the bride as wife according to the law of Moses forever (lines 2-4a). Gift to wife from groom? (lines 4b-6a). If a divorce takes place… (line 6b).

In case of divorce husband will return the wife’s dowry (lines 9-10a).

If there are children, they will be provided for—along with the wife—by the husband, or his possessions if he dies (lines 10b-12a).

228 A History of Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, Volume 4 [Restored: If the wife dies before the husband, male children will inherit the wife’s dowry (lines 12-13)]. Female children will live in and be provided for from his property until married (line 14a). If the husband dies before the wife, she is to be provided for from his possessions until his heirs return her dowry (lines 14b-16a).

If the wife dies before the If the wife dies before the husband…; if there are husband, the sons will inherit the wife’s property children (lines 7-9a). (lines 12b-14a).

If the husband dies before the wife, the wife is to be provided for from his property all the days of her widowhood (lines 14b-16).

If the husband dies before the wife, she is to be provided for from the husband’s property (lines 9b-11).

[See below: husband binds himself to document.]

The husband and wife agree to the terms of the contract (lines 17-18).

His property is a guarantee (lines 12-13)

Husband agrees to replace the marriage document if asked (lines 16b-17a).

The husband agrees to replace the marriage document if asked (lines 19-20).

Document (line 14).

Husband promises to restore the dowry from his property (lines 17b-81a). Husband binds himself to all written in the document (lines 18b-19). Witnesses and the scribe (lines 20-26).

[See above: both husband and wife bind themselves to document.] Witnesses and the scribe (lines 21-27).

Date (line 15). Place (line 16). Name of groom? (line 17).

A question concerns the translation of 5/6Ḥev 10, which is Babatha’s ketubba. The translation in question is ‫ פרש‬in lines 7 and 9: it was suggested by some interpreters that lines 7 and 9 referred to conjugal rights. If it does not refer to conjugal rights, the only explicit reference to such a requirement in an early Jewish marriage document seems to be at Elephantine (TAD B3.8:37b-40a).

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Another set of documents is in Greek (Cotton/Yardeni [eds] 1997; Lewis [ed.] 1989), whose content can be summarized as follows: Yadin 18: Shelamzion (Inner text: used here only to fill out gaps in the outer text given below.) Outer text: Date (lines 29-32a). Place (line 32b). Groom receives hand of bride in marriage from father, according to the laws/ customs (κατὰ τοὺς νόμους) (lines 32c-39a).

Mur 115: Certificate of Remarriage to Salome

XḤev/Se papCancelled Marriage Contract gr

Date (lines 1-2a).

Date (lines 1-2).

Date (lines 1-2a).

Place (line 2b). Groom takes the bride—who was formerly his wife—in (re)marriage (lines 2b-3a).

Place (line 3a). Groom receives the hand of the bride in marriage from her guardian (lines 3b-5a).

Place (lines 2b-3a). Groom receives hand of bride in marriage (lines 3b-6a).

Although the husband earlier divorced his wife, he now takes her hand in marriage (lines 3b-5a).

Description of wife’s dowry (lines 5b-7a). [Amount of dowry stated below.] Husband acknowl- Husband Groom acknowlacknowledges edges receipt of edges receiving receiving the her dowry which the wife’s dowry dowry in trust in trust, in addition is described (lines 7b-9). to a promised gift [lacunae] (lines 5b-6?). Promise of an additional to repay it from sum (lines his property? 43b-49a). [lacunae] (lines 7?-8a). Bride’s dowry listed in detail (lines 39b-43a).

XḤev/Se papMarriage Contract gr: Salome Komaïse

Husband acknowledges receiving in trust the wife’s dowry (lines 6b-9a).

230 A History of Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, Volume 4 Groom undertakes to provide for his wife and her children, from his property, according to Greek custom (ἑλληνικῷ νώμῳ) (lines 49b-56).

Groom promises to renew/redeem the marriage contract for the wife and return her dowry whenever she should demand it (lines 57-60a). Failure to do so has a penalty to repay double the original amount (lines 60b-66a).

He promises to maintain her children, sons or daughters, which she has or will have with him (lines 8b-10a).

Husband agrees that the wife will be provided for from his possessions (lines 10-11a).

If the husband dies before the wife, she will be maintained from his property (lines 10b-11a).

If the…dies…the male children… (lines 11b-12). Daughters will be provided for… (line 13). ?? (line 14).

Reference to the dowry [lacuna] (line 12a). If the wife dies before the husband, her sons that she has with him will inherit her dowry (lines 12b-14a). [Lacuna] (lines 14b-15).

Amount of dowry stated… (line 15). ?? (line 16).

Husband agrees that his wife and her children will be provided for according to Greek law and Greek custom from his possessions (lines 9b-11).

Wife has the right to recoup her dowry from her husband (lines 12-14).

9. Religion I Stipulatio clause (lines 66b-67). Aramaic: statement that father has given his daughter in marriage to the groom, as written above (lines 68-69). Aramaic: the groom acknowledges receiving in trust his wife’s dowry (lines 70-72). Scribe (line 73). Witnesses (lines 74-80).

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Stipulatio clause (lines 16-18).

[Inside text: only a few lines preserved; used to fill out the text above.]

Witnesses (lines 1-5)

Wife’s guardian present (line 15).

The phrase ‘according to the laws/customs (κατὰ τοὺς νόμους)’ (5/6Ḥev 18:39) seems to correspond to earlier uses of the phrase or something similar, as well to the later ‘according to the law of Moses and the Jews’. When the phrase is used in Greek documents, it is never qualified by ‘Greek’ or ‘Roman’ or any other adjective. Thus, in Jewish documents it would seem to refer to Jewish law (Oudshoorn 2007: 409). A surprising but puzzling phrase is the statement about the groom’s promise to maintain the wife and children ‘according to Greek custom (ἑλληνικῷ νόμῳ)’ (5/6Ḥev 18:51), or ‘according to Greek custom and Greek manner (νόμ[ῳ ἑλληνικ]ῷ καὶ ἑλλ[η]νικῷ τρόπῳ)’ (XḤev 65:9-10). Partly based on this phrase, A. Wasserstein (1989: 105–26) argued that the document was not Jewish but ‘secular’. Yet this phrase is a puzzle because the adjective ‘Greek’ is not a part of this phrase referring to ‘law(s)’ when it occurs in any of the many papyri documents from Hellenistic Egypt (Lewis 1991: 40–41). R. Katzoff (1991) pointed out that the phrase did not apply to the whole document but only to the section promising to maintain any female children. Building on the arguments of Katzoff and others, Jacobine Oudshoorn (2007: 410–20) argued that the phrase meant, ‘according to Greek custom’, because it was not Jewish practice at this time to specify

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support for daughters. In other words, this phrase is specifically for the purpose of being explicit about supporting daughters in what is a Jewish document. This raises the important question of how we should regard these documents and how they were viewed by the courts of the time. Contra Wasserstein it seems evident that we should not be referring to any of these documents as ‘secular’; the term does not make good sense in the historical context. Rather, the documents follow a variety of patterns but are no less ‘Jewish’ for all that. As noted above, the phrase, ‘according to Greek custom’, is actually inserted in order to take account of Jewish concerns. We also have the situation in which a man composes his own ketubba or marriage document in Aramaic (for his second marriage), yet has the contract for his daughter’s marriage composed in Greek (cf. 5/6Ḥev 10 with 5/6Ḥev 18). This clearly does not represent a sudden change of culture but a recognition that having the document in Greek might give certain legal advantages, as long as the concerns of the parties in question were met by the document. There do not appear to have been a variety of court systems to which Jews could appeal. While there might be local informal means of resolving disputes (e.g., appeal to the village elders), the only formal court system appears to have been the one under the supervision of the Roman governor (Oudshoorn 2007: 73–78, 419, 421; Czajkowski 2017: 133–65). There were no Jewish courts nor courts differentiated on the basis of language, as had operated in Ptolemaic Egypt. The Roman court could consider documents in Aramaic and Nabataean, as well as in Greek, even if they might require a translator (Oudshoorn 2007: 63–92, 402; Czajkowski 2017: 109–24). On the other hand, when a person presented his or her case to the court, they would want to make the most convincing case possible. This would push litigants or defendants to present documents to the court in Greek, with recognizable legal language and formulation. This would not prevent the author of the document from making sure the contents represented his or her concerns and needs. Although it is interesting to compare these documents with the later Jewish ketubba established in rabbinic times, there is a danger of reading the later normative practice into earlier times. On the contrary, a variety of forms were used for marriage contracts by Jews through the centuries. It is hardly surprising that some of these have much in common with the rabbinic ketubba, not because the rabbinic form was normative earlier, but because the rabbis chose a standard form (from among several in use) to represent their ideal (cf. Oudshoorn 2007: 422). A further issue is raised by Tal Ilan (1993): do the Babatha documents presuppose pre-marital cohabitation by the future husband and wife?

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The problem is that there were various ways of entering into marriage in antiquity, one of which was for a couple simply to cohabit. Thus, rather than pre-marital cohabitation, the cohabitation established the marriage of the couple. Hannah Cotton (1995: 206–7; see also the discussion in Oudshoorn 2007: 424–32) discussed the issue, building on Naphtali Lewis’s designation of Babatha’s original marital situation as agraphos gamos ‘unwritten marriage’, that is, a marriage for which there was no written marriage contract. Cotton argued that there was no basis for Ilan’s assumption that pre-marital cohabitation was normative local practice; rather, the variety of marriage contracts shows that no particular form had become normative by this time. A final question is whether the wife was allowed to divorce her husband at this time. We know that such a legal stipulation existed in the Elephantine marriage certificates, but what about those in Palestine in the first and second centuries CE? This matter is discussed in the next section. 9.3.2.2. Divorce Certificates Although divorce is presupposed in all the Jewish marriage documents known from this period, divorce certificates are rare. We have only two so far attested, their contents outlined in the table below. The divorce certificate is important because it presumably has a number of clauses that match (and negate) those in the marriage certificate, as has been argued by Mark Geller (1977: 139–48; the divorce certificate [BGU 1102] itself is published in CJP 2:144). The only divorce document (BGU 1102) known until recently is dated about 13 BCE (given in the first column in the table). However, among the documents from Murabba‘at is a divorce certificate in Aramaic (Mur 19ar, second column in the table). CPJ 2:144: Divorce Document of Apollonia (BGU 1102)

Name of document (line 1) Address to the official (line 2). The parties to the divorce (wife and her guardian her mother’s brother, and the husband) (lines 3-7a). Agreement to dissolve the marriage, name of court and date of original marriage (7b-13a).

Mur 19ar: Divorce Document at Masada [Interior writing: not given here but used to restore the text below.] [Exterior writing]

Date (line 12a). Place (line 12b). Husband states that he divorces the wife of his own free will (lines 13-17a).

234 A History of Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, Volume 4 [Free to remarry, stated below.]

The wife is now free to go and marry any other Jewish man that she wants (lines 17b-19). The wife has received the divorce certificate (lines 20-21a). The wife affirms that she has received The husband has returned the dowry back her dowry from her husband (lines and restored anything damaged or lost 13b-20a). fourfold (lines 21b-23a). The husband promises to replace the document whenever asked by the wife (lines 23b-25). Husband and wife agree not to take legal action against each other (lines 20b-31a). Each party is now free to marry another [Freedom to remarry stated above.] without penalty (lines 31b-35a). Whoever transgresses is subject to penalty (lines 35b-37). Date (line 38). Witnesses (lines 26-29).

A comparison of the two documents is interesting in part because they represent two separate languages, Greek and Aramaic. In spite of this, they are very much parallel, as much so as most of the marriage certificates that we have compared, even if some of the elements are in a different order. BGU 1102 begins with an address to the Egyptian official in charge of the matter. Otherwise, both list the parties to the divorce, refer explicitly to the divorce taking place, and state that the parties are free to remarry (Mur 19ar refers only to the wife, because the husband is bringing the divorce and his freedom to remarry is assumed). The other important matter is the return of the wife’s dowry, and both explicitly refer to this. Another document, XḤev/Se ar 13, has sometimes been identified as a divorce document (Document 13 in Cotton/Yardeni [eds] 1997: 65–70). Tal Ilan (1996) argued that this was the case and also that it is evidence that the Jewish wife could divorce her husband at this time. The question was debated in subsequent publications (e.g., Schremer 1998; Ilan 1998; Brody 1999: 230–34). The most significant study, however, was that of Hannah Cotton and Elisha Qimron (1998). This confirmed that the document was not a divorce certificate but a wife’s renunciation of claims on her former husband. This becomes very clear when the contents are considered:

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Date (lines 1-2). (Former) wife declares that her former husband owes her nothing (lines 4-5). He had previously been her husband (line 6). He received a divorce document from her (line 7). He does not owe her anything (lines 8-9a). Wife confirms all that is written in the document (lines 9b-10). Wife borrows the writing for the document (i.e., the scribe signs for her, line 11). Witnesses and the scribe (lines 12-14).

There is no clause declaring that the husband and wife are divorced. Rather, the form and contents show that it follows a divorce, being a declaration by the woman that her former husband owes her nothing (i.e., he has returned her dowry). Yet it refers back to the divorce procedure, and the most significant part for our purposes is the statement in line 7, whose exact connotation has been much debated. Yet Cotton and Qimron (1998) give good reasons why it refers to the wife’s giving a divorce document to her husband (as Ilan had also interpreted it). This seems convincing (in spite of the arguments of Brody 1999). The main objection is the question of why the marriage certificates refer only to the possibility of divorce by the husband, unlike the Elephantine documents (TAD B2.6; B3.3; B3.8) that mention divorce by either husband or wife. If the wife could initiate divorce, why do not marriage contracts refer to this? A point to keep in mind is that legal language and form are very conservative and might not change until sometime after practice had changed. Thus, it might be that the form of the marriage certificate had not caught up with actual practice in Jewish marriage. But this question remains a problem for the otherwise well-argued case that Shelamzion had taken the initiative to divorce her husband Elazar. 9.3.2.3. Conclusions about Marriage and Divorce Full conclusions are possible only when considering the whole history of Jewish marriage and divorce (as far as the extant evidence allows us to go). But the following can be stated about Jewish marriage, as far as conclusions can be drawn from the documents available, but the reader will need to consult Grabbe (forthcoming b) for full information and argumentation:

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• Although marriage evidently did not require a formal document, one was often produced, especially since it made any question of property and other legal proceedings easier to prove. • A formal divorce certificate also does not seem to have been required in normal circumstances, and we lack evidence of any such document until the Ptolemaic period (though such is presupposed by Deut. 24.1 and perhaps by the Elephantine papyri). • In most cases the document contents fulfil Jewish law. This is usually the case, even when the document matches fully the particular legal form used in the empire in question (Neo-Babylonian, Persian, Greek, or Roman). Often, however, the document seems to have all the elements needed to make it legal in the local court while also having certain adaptations to fulfil the requirements of local Jewish practice. • Evidently all such documents—even those clearly containing Jewish features and contents—could be executed by and applied in standard local courts, e.g., Greek courts during Ptolemaic and Seleucid rule, and courts of the Roman governor during the Roman period. There is no evidence for special Jewish courts (however, we have no evidence from the period of Hasmonaean rule) • The early Jewish marriage certificates do not necessarily fit the requirements of rabbinic practice, which reached its peak in the fifth or sixth century CE, nor should we attempt to force rabbinic practice onto earlier forms. They should be read and interpreted in their own context. Yet it is surprising how much of the contents expected in rabbinic times also occur in some form in the earlier documents. This indicates that the rabbinic rules are the end point of a long and gradual legal evolution of Jewish practice through a variety of empires that influenced usage over time. • By the Elephantine marriage arrangements, we find that the earlier mohar or bride price—even though still referred to—has become an ‘indirect dowry’, that is, the groom paid the sum but it was passed onto the bride by the family and became a part of her dowry. This continued to be the normal arrangement in Jewish marriage documents in the centuries following. • Rabbinic law requires that a betrothal be ended by a formal get or divorce certificate. Such a document is first attested about 134 BCE in a petition from a member of the Jewish community at Heracleopolis. • The rabbinic phrase ‘according to the law of Moses and the Jews’ is also found in the certificates from the time of Bar Kokhva but not earlier. It does not occur in the Elephantine documents (as one might

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expect, since the community did not know the formal Torah or Books of Moses), but the phrase ‘according to the laws/customs (κατὰ τοὺς νόμους)’ is found in several Ptolemaic and Roman period documents. Even though there is some debate about the exact meaning of the phrase, it should be seen as a reference to Jewish customary law. Even the phrase, ‘according to Greek law (ἑλληνικῷ νόμῳ)’ in 5/6Ḥev 18.16, 51 seems to be a way of taking care of a concern in the Jewish context. • Divorce by the wife is not envisaged by rabbinic regulations, yet we find it clearly a part of marriage contracts from Persian Elephantine. It has been suggested that this was caused by the influence of Egyptian custom. However, it has been argued that XḤev/Se ar 13 shows divorce initiated by the wife in the early second century CE. The matter is still debated, and not everyone accepts this interpretation, but the arguments suggest a strong possibility. The main counter evidence is that no marriage document envisages divorce by the wife, although they do refer explicitly to the possibility of divorce by the husband. Yet this might be a case of the legal document format not yet catching up with legal practice. 9.3.3. Purity The apparently increasing concern for purity in the late Second Temple period was described in HJJSTP 3 (269–70). For additional information, see §2.1.1. 9.4. Conclusions It has often been pointed out that many ancient religions, Judaism included, were more concerned with practice than belief. In many cases, your beliefs did not matter or at least not very much: the important thing was your compliance with practice—ritual, sacrifice, ceremony, homage. In the Second Temple period the centre of Judaism was the temple and its service. Until very late in that period the temple was the place of worship for the Jews of the Palestinian region. For the Jews of the diaspora matters were different. They had a dilemma, since most of them could not travel to Jerusalem for the annual festivals; some tried to make a pilgrimage at least once in their lifetime, but many never got within hundreds of miles of the official altar. Hence, the rise of the synagogue. It served as a place of communal worship—a ‘house of prayer’—and in that sense was at least a partial substitute for the temple. But in many ways as important was the synagogue as a social centre of the Jewish community. This seems

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clear in the Book of Acts (even though its portrayal of Jewish history of the time is not always reliable). Through much of the Second Temple period the temple was also a political centre for the Jews of Judaea. Most of the time they did not have a king, but the high priest served as the representative of the province to the imperial authorities. Alongside him was the Sanhedrin. At times this body may have had certain governing powers, but its consistent function seems to have been as an advisory council to the high priest. The high priest became a monarch under the Hasmonaeans, but then lost most of his powers when Herod was declared king by the Romans, and the Sanhedrin was decimated and lost much of its use. The powers of the high priest and Sanhedrin seem to have revived to some extent when Judaea became a Roman province, but the Great Revolt ended the office of high priest when the temple was destroyed. Some priests still had influence, in spite of having no formal duties, but there was no continued designation of anyone as high priest. Matters of religious practice discussed in this chapter include marriage and divorce, considering the formal documents attested for the first and second centuries CE. It is clear that the rights of women were a matter of concern in such documents and the legal practices that can be inferred from them. This includes especially matters of the wife’s dowry, but there is also evidence that at least some of the time women had the right to divorce their husbands, as well as for the husband to divorce his wife. A mixed set of views seems to concern art and artistic expression, with some eschewing any representation of humans or animals but others seeing nothing wrong with such images as long as they were not objects of worship. Purity concerns were associated with temple worship from the beginning, but in the first century BCE and on there is evidence from the material culture that purity concerns affected many Jews, including the use of miqva’ot and stone vessels. Male circumcision had become a common practice for membership in the Jewish community. Moving from a temple-centred religion at an early time, Judaism had become more and more a religion of a book. Over time some writings had become authoritative, with the catalogue of such writings gradually expanding until by the first century CE a standard collection (‘canon’) and a unified text had become commonplace in many Jewish communities. An early textual diversity had gradually been replaced by the use of the consonantal MT as the standard textual form. The variant texts that had been used without discrimination by Jewish communities at earlier times ceased to exist or were preserved only in separate communities (e.g., among Christians and Samaritans). Although the process

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of standardization of canon and text is nowhere documented as such, it seems a natural inference that the temple priestly establishment was involved in this. There is no evidence that the Pharisees as a group had anything to do with this, and terms like ‘rabbinic text’ is a misnomer likely to mislead the non-expert.

Chapter 10

R el i g i on II: B el i ef s

Jewish religion developed and evolved over the centuries. An attempt has been made to capture earlier developments in previous volumes. The present chapter is confined to beliefs that evolved or changed during the 150 years after Herod. Such developments can be found in several areas relating to religious belief. 10.1. Developing Views about God P. Athanassiadi and M. Frede (eds) (1999) Pagan Monotheism in Late Antiquity; D. Boyarin (2004) Border Lines: The Partition of JudaeoChristianity; idem (2010) ‘Beyond Judaisms: Meṭaṭron and the Divine Polymorphy of Ancient Judaism’, JSJ 41: 323–65; idem (2012) The Jewish Gospels: The Story of the Jewish Christ; idem (2013) ‘Is Metatron a Converted Christian?’, Judaïsme Ancien/Ancient Judaism 1: 13–62; J. Dillon (1977) The Middle Platonists: A Study of Platonism 80 B.C. to A.D. 220; J. E. Fossum (1985) The Name of God and the Angel of the Lord: Samaritan and Jewish Concepts of Intermediation and the Origin of Gnosticism; A. P. Hayman (1991) ‘Monotheism—A Misused Word in Jewish Studies?’, JJS 42: 1–15; idem (1999) ‘The Survival of Mythology in the Wisdom of Solomon’, JSJ 30: 125–39; M. Hengel (1976) The Son of God: The Origin of Christology and the History of Jewish-Hellenistic Religion; L. W. Hurtado (1993) ‘What Do We Mean by “First-Century Jewish Monotheism”?’, in E. H. Lovering Jr (ed.), Society of Biblical Literature 1993 Seminar Papers: 348–68; idem (1998a) One God, One Lord: Early Christian Devotion and Ancient Jewish Monotheism; idem (1998b) ‘First-Century Jewish Monotheism’, JSNT 7: 3–26; B. Janowski and P. Stuhlmacher (eds) (2004) The Suffering Servant: Isaiah 53 in Jewish and Christian Sources; S. Jellicoe (1968) The Septuagint and Modern Study; J. McGrath and J. Truex (2004) ‘ “Two Powers” and Early Jewish and Christian Monotheism’, JBS 4: 43–71; A. Pietersma (1984) ‘Kyrios

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or Tetragram’, in A. Pietersma and C. Cox (eds), De Septuaginta: 85–101; J. R. Royse (1991b) ‘Philo, Κύριος, and the Tetragrammaton’, in D. T. Runia, D. M. Hay, and D. Winston (eds), Heirs of the Septuagint: Philo, Hellenistic Judaism and Early Christianity: Festschrift for Earle Hilgert = SPA 3: 167–83; P. Schäfer (2012a) The Jewish Jesus: How Judaism and Christianity Shaped Each Other; idem (2012b) ‘The Jew Who Would Be God’, The New Republic (7 June 2012): 36–39; idem (2020) Two Gods in Heaven: Jewish Concepts of God in Antiquity; A. Schremer (2007) ‘Midrash, Theology, and History: Two Powers in Heaven Revisited’, JSJ 39: 1–25; A. F. Segal (1977) Two Powers in Heaven; L. T. Stuckenbruck (1995) Angel Veneration and Christology: A Study in Early Judaism and in the Christology of the Apocalypse of John.

The concepts of God and the spirit world for the earlier periods were discussed in HJJSTP 1 (240–44) and HJJSTP 2 (255–58). Here comments are confined mainly to the end of the Second Temple period, though some of the topics had a long development. In ancient Israel the generic term ‘God’ (‫ )אלוהים‬was widely used, as was the personal name ‘Yhwh’ (‫יהוה‬, perhaps pronounced Yahweh), though the latter decreased in usage in Hebrew and Aramaic texts as time went on. It has been argued that the tetragrammaton was originally not translated in the Greek LXX text but was written out in paleo-Hebrew letters (cf. the summary of scholarship in Royse 1991: 167–73; Jellicoe 1968: 270–72). To repeat some comments made in HJJSTP 2 (255–56) some LXX manuscripts have the tetragrammaton written in such a way or with the Greek letters pipi (which has been explained as a misreading by Greek scribes of Yhwh in Aramaic letters). It is not as clear cut as one might think, though, and arguments have been made against this interpretation (Pietersma 1984; cf. DDD2: 494), though Royse (1991b) has made a case that Philo did in some cases have a biblical manuscript with the tetragrammaton in Hebrew letters. There were also a variety of other titles and epithets for the deity. With many Jews living in a Greek-speaking environment, Greek names or Greek translations of the Semitic names came into use, which makes the question of the use of terms complicated because usage varies from writing to writing, not to mention from language to language. The terms kurios (κύριος) and theos (θεός) are widely and apparently interchangeably used in the Greek texts of Jubilees, Psalms of Solomon, Testament of Moses, Vita Adae et Euae, Apocalypse of Moses, Pseudo-Philo, and 2 Enoch. Josephus favours theos, usually with the article (ho theos). The term ‘heaven’ is occasionally used as a surrogate for the divine name (e.g., 1 Macc. 2.21; 3.18; Matt. 4.17; 5.3). A number of other titles appear in other writings. The Parables of Enoch (1 En. 37–71) often use ‘the Lord

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of the Spirits’ (37.4; 38.2, 4, 6; 39.2, etc.); also ‘the one to whom belongs time before time’ or ‘Antecedent of Time’ (1 En. 46.1; 47.3; 48.2; 60.2; 71.10) seems to be a translation of ‘Ancient of Days’ (Dan. 7.9). The Apocalypse of Abraham appears to have great variety of titles (e.g., Sole Ruler, Light, Unbegotten, Incorruptible, Lover of Men, Sabaoth, Eli, El), though ‘Lord’ is rare. (For a further discussion of divine names in the Parables of Enoch, see §3.6.) The question of monotheism was discussed with regard to ancient Israel and the Persian period in HJJSTP 1 (240–44, 253). ‘Monotheism’ is, of course, our term and does not occur in early Jewish texts. The radical monotheism of some Islamic, Jewish, and even Christian theologians is one extreme whose philosophical basis would probably not have been understandable to the ancient writers. On the other hand, it has long been argued that there were monotheistic and monistic trends in the GraecoRoman world, especially in philosophical circles (cf. Athanassiadi/Frede 1999). The monotheistic tendencies in Judaism are clear; the question is how far they had developed since one part of the problem is getting at the precise views of the ancient writer who is often writing polemic or making isolated statements, not giving a philosophical exposition; another part is that we are in danger of imposing a thought world, with modern categories, onto the ancient theologian. Yet we do have a writer such as Philo who seems to have a strong view of God’s unity. Some have been misled by Philo’s references to the Logos and the ‘Powers’, which might seem to suggest a divided Godhead; however, Philo’s use of hypostases—which is what these are—is a way of safeguarding God’s oneness, not an indication of watering down monotheism (cf. §10.1.2). Philo has a wealth of material on his concept of God and the invisible world (see Dillon 1977: 155–66). One should also keep in mind that he has been heavily influenced by contemporary Platonic philosophy. For Philo, God is beyond being and beyond unity—ultimately unknowable—but he uses the expression to ōn ‘the one who is’ for the deity (Praem. 40; Leg. All. 2.3). God is transcendent and has no direct dealings with the world. But an emanation comes from him like a stream of light which reaches toward the world and makes him immanent and accessible to humanity. The first stage of the emanation is referred to as the Logos. It then divides into two powers, the creative power and royal power. In some treatments there is a further bifurcation. Each of the stages is progressively less pure. Thus, God maintains his unity and purity, but the gap is bridged by the Logos (§10.1.2.2 below).

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Since a world of other heavenly beings or angels has been a part of Jewish thinking even to the present, any concept of monotheism must take this into account. We can draw the line perhaps with whether the angels were venerated or not. There is little or no evidence that angels were worshiped as a part of the cult in any part of Second Temple Judaism (Hurtado 1998; Stuckenbruck 1995); however, the question of angel veneration on a popular level or in some circles is more difficult and still a moot point. See further the discussion at §10.7. To outsiders the Jewish beliefs certainly looked different, and comment is often made on the Jewish divinity who is seen as singular and exclusive. Writing about 300 BCE, Hecataeus of Abdera (apud Diodorus of Sicily 40.3.4) claims Moses was of the opinion that God did not exist in human form; rather, the heaven around the earth was divine and the ruler of the universe. This indicates a monotheistic religion in his day; at least the community around the Jerusalem temple, if not the wider Jewish community, seems to have been monotheistic. The Greek and Roman writers are universal in proclaiming Jewish worship of one God. Although this God is sometimes identified with Jove (Varro, apud Augustine, De cons. Evang. 1.22.30; 1.23.31; 1.27.42) or even Dionysus (Plutarch, Ques. conviv. 6.2; Tacitus, Hist. 5.5), the sources always emphasize how different the Jews are from other people. The NT seems to reflect the view of the deity found in the surrounding Jewish world for the most part. However, the question of Jesus’s relationship to God and the status of the resurrected Christ is a major issue. It seems to be treated differently in different texts, though most texts agree that Jesus is in some sense divine, and God is his father. The idea of being a ‘son of God’ was not new (cf. Hengel 1976). In ancient Israel and the Hebrew Bible texts, the king (Ps. 2.7) and perhaps even ordinary Israelites could be considered a ‘son of God’ (Ps. 82.6). This did not in any way imply equality with God, and if the ‘son of God’ was thought to share in divinity, it did not suggest being divine in the same way that God was. Throughout the Second Temple period our sources indicate an exclusive worship of Yhwh and an aniconic cult. Whether one wants to use ‘monotheism’ in its most radical sense might be debated, but there are certainly Jewish texts and Graeco-Roman testimonies that the Jews deny the existence of other gods. By most people’s definition, this is monotheism (a point well made by Hurtado [1993, 1998b]). On the question of aniconism among the Jews, see §9.31.

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Monotheism in antiquity and the present has not denied the existence of other heavenly beings or a developed spirit world (see the following sections (§10.1.1; §10.1.2; §10.2). 10.1.1. Binitarianism, or ‘Two Powers in Heaven’ Somewhere around the first century BCE or CE the concept of two divinities in heaven seems to have developed. We know of the explicit concept mostly from rabbinic literature, but Justin Martyr’s Dialogue with Trypho (56 and also the following sections) may also allude to it. The debate on whether some Jews believed in ‘two powers in heaven’ has become a major subject in scholarship, probably because it raises questions relating to Christology. Was such a belief a rejection of monotheism, or at least a compromise within it? When it is proposed that the old Chaoskampf mythology is drawn on in the Wisdom of Solomon (Hayman 1999), for example, it is generally believed that this would not indicate compromise with a monotheistic view. Some writers have even denied that ‘monotheism’ is a correct term for pre-70 Jewish beliefs in God (Hayman 1991). This question was already discussed above, and a monotheistic view for Jews generally at this time was accepted. But this does not settle the ‘binitarian’ question. As noted above there is little or no evidence that angels were worshipped as a part of the cult in any part of Second Temple Judaism (Hurtado 1998; Stuckenbruck 1995); however, the question of veneration on a popular level or in some circles is more difficult and still a moot point. There is some evidence that in some circles angel veneration was practised (Fossum 1985: 220–38). A. F. Segal (1977) has examined the rabbinic attack on the ‘two powers in heaven’ belief (though this is mainly post-70 or even much later). At a later point the polemic became directed at any ‘heretical’ group, including Christians, but were there earlier discussions against beliefs which seemed to compromise God’s unity by the acceptance of an angelic power alongside him? We know that most Jews would have found repugnant the Gnostic beliefs about the deity (full-blown Gnosticism, with its dualism between the inferior creator God and the good higher God, is discussed at greater length in §8.3). This Gnostic view may have been one version of the ‘two powers in heaven’ claim. The version of the belief that is our primary concern, however, is somewhat different: it is best exemplified in belief in the Figure of Wisdom or the Logos alongside the supreme deity as his hypostasis, a belief sometimes labelled ‘binitarianism’ (on the analogy of the early Christian trinitarian debate). Part of the issue relates to questions about Jesus and

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Christology: were there Jewish precedents for some of the attributes ascribed to Jesus by the early church? The development of the topic can be exemplified by looking at the debate between two of the major proponents, Peter Schäfer and Daniel Boyarin. Apart from the pioneering treatment by Segal a number of recent studies have dealt with the question (e.g., Schäfer 2012, 2020; Boyarin 2004, 2010, 2012, 2013). D. Boyarin (2004, 2012) has concentrated on the ‘Ancient of Days’ and the ‘Son of Man’ in Daniel 7, and the subsequent interpretative tradition as evidence for the ‘two powers in heaven’ position. Important to him is the Logos tradition known from Philo, though he wants to extend it by appeal to the gospel of John 1 and also the use of the targumic memra’. John 1 could well show knowledge of the tradition, but appealing to targumic usage as another form of this tradition seems misplaced (cf. §10.1.2.2 below). A major question is how the ‘two powers in heaven’ concept was understood in Second Temple Judaism and in the centuries following. Here is where Schäfer brings up some major criticisms. P. Schäfer responded to Boyarin in a review (2012b) and then a monograph (2020). He pointed to the Figure of Wisdom and the Logos tradition (§10.1.2.1, §10.1.2.2 below) for the Second Temple development of the concept, and such writings as 1 Enoch and Philo, as well as texts such as 4Q471B, 4Q246, and the Prayer of Jacob. He acknowledges, however, that much of the tradition takes its starting point from the ‘Son of Man’ in Daniel 7 and that the NT picture grows out of the pre-Christian Jewish ‘binitarian’ concepts (which seems to be Boyarin’s point). On the other hand, he sees essential differences, especially in that in Judaism the divine entity alongside God is not a man (if he had been a man, he no longer was). Thus, in the Parables of Enoch and in 3 Enoch the human Enoch has been changed into a ‘lesser God’ (3 En. 12.5: ‫)יהוה הקטן‬. Also, there are problems with an alleged rabbinic interpretation of Daniel 7 as showing two divine figures: the rabbinic evidence is skimpy and the texts used have interpreted differently by others (Schäfer 2012b). Both Boyarin and Schäfer seem to agree on a good deal, even on the essentials, at least as far as an outsider can determine. Even Schäfer (2020: 138) notes that the two agree that the binitarian concept is anchored in Second Temple Judaism. This is an important point; indeed, it would seem to be the essential point. Where they disagree, however, is on the development in the first post-Christian centuries. Apart from his use of some different texts, Schäfer differs from Boyarin primarily in his interpretation of the Palestinian rabbinic tradition. He argues that the Palestinian rabbis do not discuss a binitarian or ‘two powers in heaven’ concept; rather, attention to the belief is only given in Babylonian Judaism

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and in merkavah mysticism. The Babylonian rabbis developed the ‘two powers in heaven’ concept as a response to Christianity, since their experience of Christianity in the Sassanian empire was different from that of the Palestinian rabbis who lived through the Christianization of the Roman empire. Schäfer sees early Christianity and rabbinic Judaism not as established religions at the beginning but only crystalizing after a long process. The position of 3 Enoch and the Babylonian Talmud represents a reaction against the established Christian tradition of the time, i.e., in the sixth to ninth centuries CE. Both Boyarin and Schäfer see Dan. 7.9-14 as a key text in which the figures of the ‘Ancient of Days’ and ‘One Like a Son of Man’ become equated with a ‘first (greater, elder) divinity’ and a ‘second (lesser, younger) divinity’. These are developed further in the Parables of Enoch and writings such as Wisdom of Solomon and Philo, before being picked up in early Christianity and applied to the Father and his son Jesus (cf. Hengel 1976: 41–56). However, the lesser divinity is not usually referred to blatantly as ‘God’ but more circumspectly as ‘Son of God’ and ‘Son of Man’ or as the Figure of Wisdom or the Logos. The development is clear in some pre-Christian Second Temple Jewish texts, but there is disagreement over the idea in Tannaitic literature. Boyarin has focused on the Mekhilta on Exod. 20.2 as alluding to the two figures in Dan. 7.9-14, even though the text is not actually cited, whereas Schäfer gives a different interpretation that does not allude to ‘one like a son of man’. Since this is the main Tannaitic text used by Boyarin, Schäfer seems correct in considering this as rather sparse documentation that the Tannaitic rabbis were wrestling with the ‘two powers in heaven’ belief. He thinks they simply ignored it, and it was in Babylonia that the issue returned in the following centuries. What we find in the Babylonian Talmud and also in some of the Hekhalot literature (in its final form) is a clear opposition to the ‘two powers in heaven’ position. What this shows, though, is that the view was actually widespread, in Judaism apparently mainly in circles culminating in merkavah mysticism. It would of course have been viewed as the Christian position. The mainstream rabbis would have opposed this, as indicated in such passages as b. Ḥag. 14a–15a, b. Sanh. 38b, and Pes. Rab. 21. In any case, this view of the deity met with some opposition among the later rabbis. This was probably because of the widening Christian use of the concept as that religion gained power in the Roman empire. As Segal points out, this ‘was a product of the battle between the rabbis, the Christians and various other “two powers” sectarians who inhabited the outskirts of Judaism’ (1977: 265).

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The inner-Christian development of Christology as such is not our concern. For further information on it, see Hurtado 1998, Stuckenbruck 1995, and the literature cited there for some of the debate on this topic. 10.1.2. The Figure of Wisdom and the Logos D. Boyarin (2004) Border Lines: The Partition of Judaeo-Christianity; J. Dillon (1977) The Middle Platonists: A Study of Platonism 80 B.C. to A.D. 220; L. L. Grabbe (1997c) Wisdom of Solomon; C. Kayatz (1966) Studien zu Proverbien 1–9: Eine form- und motivgeschichtliche Untersuchung unter Einbeziehung ägyptischen Vergleichsmaterials; J. S. Kloppenborg (1982) ‘Isis and Sophia in the Book of Wisdom’, HTR 75: 57–84; B. Lang (1986) Wisdom and the Book of Proverbs: An Israelite Goddess Redefined; B. L. Mack (1973) Logos und Sophia: Untersuchungen zur Weisheitstheologie im hellenistischen Judentum; M. McNamara (1972) Targum and Testament; C. Maier (1995) Die ‘fremde Frau’ in Proverbien 1–9: Eine exegetische und sozialgeschichtliche Studie; J. A. Sanders (1967) The Dead Sea Psalms Scroll; R. N. Whybray (1994) Proverbs.

The main texts relating to the Figure of Wisdom and the Logos were surveyed in Grabbe 1997c (69–73); a more abbreviated overview will be given here. We begin with the Figure of Wisdom. 10.1.2.1. Figure of Wisdom Proverbs 1–9 contains several passages that show a heavenly, even primal, figure called ‘Wisdom’ or ‘Lady Wisdom’ alongside Yhwh. How early these passages are is debated. Most consider Proverbs 1–9 post-exilic (cf. Maier 1995; Whybray 1994); however, it has been argued that there is nothing to prevent these chapters from being pre-exilic (Kayatz 1966). A lot turns on one’s view of the development of theology and wisdom in Israel rather than specific indications in the chapters themselves. In any case, many of the later discussions about the Figure of Wisdom contain allusions to data in Proverbs 8 and other chapters in Proverbs 1–9. In Prov. 1.20-33, wisdom cries aloud in the streets, rebuking the scoffers and dunces for not heeding her call. Her speech in Prov. 8.1-11 is similar to that in Proverbs 1: she calls on all to hear—the dullards included— because her discipline is better than silver. The next speech in Prov. 8.12-21 continues with this theme, pointing out the benefits to be had from love of wisdom. Proverbs 8.22-34 is a passage of prime importance, because in it wisdom is closely identified with Yhwh. She was begotten at the beginning, even before the foundations of the earth were laid. She was an observer of God’s work of creation,

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and even his ‘āmôn. The meaning of this Hebrew word in Prov. 8.30 has puzzled commentators for centuries (cf. Whybray 1994: 134–36). Some translate it as ‘technician’ (perhaps in the sense of ‘architect’); others see it as ‘confident’ (NJPS) or even as ‘child’. If the term means ‘architect’, wisdom was not only present but even a part of the creation process. In any case, she is presented as an intimate of Yhwh with a privileged position. Proverbs 9 contrasts Lady Wisdom, who has prepared a feast with an open invitation for any to partake of it, with the foolish woman— Dame Folly (presented in the image of a prostitute)—who invites the foolish into her house only to bring them down to Sheol (cf. Maier 1995). The imagery is intriguing here because, like Dame Folly, Lady Wisdom also appears as a seductress. Ben Sira 24 has a good deal in common with Proverbs 8. Wisdom speaks in the assembly of the Most High, praising herself. She came forth from his mouth and abode in the highest heavens, then she moved over all the earth, looking for a dwelling place among mankind (Sir. 24.6-12). Here she flourishes and grows, and calls those who desire her to come and eat their fill. She is then identified with God’s law, the Torah (Sir. 24.23). The image of wisdom in Ben Sira is one in which she is accessible but only to Israel. It has been suggested that an erotic image of wisdom is found in Ben Sira 51.13-30. This poem is now known from the Psalms scroll from Qumran Cave 11 (11QPsa), and a comparison of the Greek and Hebrew texts suggests that the Greek translator toned down language which seems to be more explicitly erotic in the Hebrew text (see Sanders 1967 for a justification of this interpretation). 1 Baruch 3.15–4.4 (difficult to date but probably from the second century BCE) stresses the inaccessibility of wisdom and the fact that she was not available to the various nations who sought her (1 Bar. 3.20-23). Only God knows how to find her (1 Bar. 3.31-32), but he found her and gave her to Israel; indeed, she is identical to his law (1 Bar. 3.36–4.1). This is similar to the beautiful poem in Job 28, which gives a picture in marked contrast to that in Proverbs, at least in one aspect. Whereas Proverbs makes the point of how readily wisdom can be sought out and found, Job 28 emphasizes her inaccessibility. Only with great difficulty, and only with God’s help, can wisdom be reached. Wisdom is within reach but only through God (28.20-24); however, there is no equation of Wisdom with God’s law. The Figure of Wisdom in the Wisdom of Solomon is found primarily in Wisdom 6–12 but can be said to lie behind Wisdom 13–19 as well, though these refer directly to God. She appears in both the guises of heavenly figure and of erotic image (6.12, 17-18; 8.2-3). The writer, in the guise

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of Solomon, extols the benefits from seeking wisdom (chs 6–7). Wisdom is closely associated with God, and the relationship is a fascinating one. That which is considered the activity of wisdom in Wisdom 10 gradually shifts to that of God in Wisdom 11 and following. Wisdom is the mother of all things (7.12); she is the fashioner (technitis) of all things (7.22). In 7.15-20 God is the guide of wisdom, and he also gives knowledge with regard to the cycles of nature and the world. Yet similar characteristics are ascribed to Wisdom in 8.5-8. The relationship is most clearly expressed in Wis. 7.25-26. This statement seems to fit the interpretation usually given that Wisdom in the Wisdom of Solomon is a hypostasis. That is, she is both product of God and also a manifestation of him. She represents him and she is him. Thus, many statements about God are interchangeable with statements about Wisdom. The characteristics of Wisdom are ultimately those we would also apply to God (Wis. 7.22-23). More than this, these are also the characteristics which humans should strive for. This leads immediately to the central motif to which the author of the Wisdom of Solomon draws attention: the function of Wisdom as a teacher. When we come to Philo (§3.3), the main concept used by him is the Logos. There are, however, occasional references to Wisdom (sophia). The Logos represents the world of ideas (κόσμος νοητός), whereas Wisdom represents that perceived by the senses (κόσμος αἰσθητός: Opf. 16; Quod Deus 31–32; Conf. 146–47). Yet the two seem to be interchangeable in certain ways, though representing different aspects of God. But the Logos is once said to be the offspring of God and Wisdom (Fuga 109), which seems to make the Logos further down the chain of eminences than elsewhere. Wisdom is referred to as the daughter of God (Fuga 51–52). It is almost as if Philo has to make use of Wisdom because she is a part of his tradition, but she does not actually fit his system (Dillon 1977: 164). Some have thought that the Parables of Enoch (first century CE?) preserve an old myth of Wisdom as a goddess (1 En. 42.1-3). Although this is not clearly the case, we find here another version of Wisdom’s quest for a place among humans. In this version, Wisdom maintains her place in the Divine Council after finding no resting place on earth, though presumably she is accessible to those who are worthy. We can now give some conclusions about the Figure of Wisdom. Lady Wisdom is an important theological motif in Second Temple Judaism. Some would argue that it originated already in the monarchic period; in any case, it was well developed by the Persian period. Wisdom is intimately connected with God, and in later literature such as the Wisdom of Solomon the Figure of Wisdom is a hypostasis of God himself. Some

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would already apply this to the Lady Wisdom of Proverbs 1–9, but most scholars would not go that far; however, it is accepted that already in Proverbs Wisdom has some goddess-like characteristics. The origin of these has been debated (cf. Grabbe 1997c: 73–76). One proposal is that a Hebrew goddess tradition existed and was the main influence from the Egyptian Maat, which is both a goddess and the abstract quality of ‘truth, order’ (cf. Kayatz 1966), though this has been rejected (DDD2: 534–35). Regardless of the exact origin of the characteristics, it is widely agreed that Lady Wisdom already in Proverbs has some of features of a goddess. The most developed form of the figure is probably in the Wisdom of Solomon. In this case, several studies have argued that the Egyptian goddess Isis has influenced the portrayal (Mack 1973; Kloppenberg 1982). How are we to evaluate these different suggestions? None of the hypotheses mentioned above can be considered as demonstrated. Some are plausible, but plausibility is not proof. Lang (1986) has demonstrated that in its polytheistic period, Israel might have had a goddess by the name of Wisdom or analogous to wisdom; on the other hand, although no direct connection with Egyptian Maat has been demonstrated, the image of Maat has many close parallels with the passages on wisdom, especially Proverbs 8. No one has shown that the Figure of Wisdom must have been modelled on or influenced by Maat, yet it fits very well. This is as far as we can go in our present state of knowledge. The choice of one explanation over the other is very subjective. 10.1.2.2. The Logos Tradition Wisdom is the main personification or hypostasis found in many Jewish writings. However, in some writings the dominant concept used is that of logos ‘reason, mind’ rather than wisdom. For example, in Philo the Logos is a central element in his philosophical and theological system. Wisdom (sophia) certainly occurs, but it plays a less prominent role. The place of wisdom in other writings is taken by the Logos in Philo, even if there is inevitably a certain overlap between the two. Some have seen a connection between the Logos and the ‘word of the Lord’ in the Hebrew Bible. Logos of course means ‘discourse’ as well as ‘mind, reason’. In Hebrew Bible theology itself the word does not play a central part. In Deuteronomy ‘the word of Yhwh’ is a surrogate form for Yhwh himself, but there are the beginnings of a personification of ‘the word’. Thus, there are times when God’s word is slightly personified, but it is primarily in later Jewish literature that the word takes on features of personification or even hypostatization.

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The Logos concept has a long history in Graeco-Roman thought. Already in the fourth century BCE the Stoics used Logos to refer to the intelligence of the cosmos—in some ways equivalent to ‘God’. The universe was co-extensive with God, but the Logos gave it guidance and intellect. It was the ‘reason’ or ‘mind’ of God. Middle Platonism has absorbed many elements from Stoicism and made them its own, including the Logos concept (Dillon 1977). Philo uses the expression to ōn/ho ōn ‘the one that is/the one who is’ for the deity (e.g., Quod Deus 11; Quis Heres 187). For him God is ultimately and utterly transcendent and distinct from the world (Somn. 1.67; Vita Contemp. 2; Gaius 6). The question, then, is how he can communicate and have care for the world and especially for human beings, which is the case as Philo takes for granted. Here is where the Logos is central to Philo’s theological system (Cher. 27–30; Quaes. Gen. 1.4). But an emanation comes from God like a stream of light which reaches toward the world and makes him eminent and accessible to humanity. The first stage of the emanation is referred to as the Logos (Leg. All. 3.96). It then divides into two powers, the creative power and royal power (Cher. 27–30; Quaes. Exod. 2.68; De Abr. 120–31). In some treatments there is a further bifurcation (Fuga 94–118). Each of the stages is progressively less pure. Thus, God maintains his unity and purity, but the gap is bridged by the Logos. The Logos can be referred to as a hypostasis. In some contexts, it is referred to as ‘God’ (Somn. 1.229-30; Leg. All. 3.207-8; Quaes. Gen. 2.62) and ‘son of God’ (Conf. 146; Agr. 51; Somn. 1.215), but at other times it is treated as a separate being. There is no question, though, that the Logos is inferior and subordinate to God (Somn. 1.229-30) Although wisdom (sophia) occurs much less frequently, its relationship to the Logos is not completely clear. She seems to be a female life principle who took part in assisting God in creation and maintaining the cosmos (cf. Ebr. 30–31); she is the daughter of God (Fuga 51–52). Sometimes Wisdom is considered the parent of the Logos, but in the same context the Logos also generates Wisdom (Fuga 97, 108-9). The overall impression is that Logos and Wisdom are in some sense equivalent for Philo, but for some reason he prefers the term Logos. With the boom in targumic studies in the past decades, some have wanted to explain the Logos of Jewish tradition by means of targumic usage. The major rabbinic targums use the surrogate of ‘word’ (Aramaic memrāʾ) for the name of the deity. Thus, where the biblical text says ‘the Lord (Yhwh) said’ or ‘God (Elohim) said’, the targums have ‘the Word (memrāʾ) of the Lord/God said’. The primary function of this usage is

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generally accepted as a way of distancing God from anthropomorphic action. Such usage makes God’s doings more indirectly attributable to him; an agent is inserted between the reader and the divine, not only making it more remote but also shielding the reader and worshipper from any danger posed by too direct contact with the deity. It is argued that memrāʾ in the targums functions much as Logos does in the writings of Philo, and the targumic usage even parallels and explains the NT usage, such as in John 1.1-5 (e.g., McNamara 1972: 101–6). There are three problems with this argument: • The targumic usage is not really the same as Philo’s. The use of memrāʾ is just a way of avoiding anthropomorphisms and goes no further than that. The sophisticated hypostasis speculation of Philo, developed in part from his knowledge of Greek philosophy, is absent from targumic usage. In Philo, the Logos is an active agent, not just a textual device. • The targums in question are the rabbinic targums and to be dated to the rabbinic period (i.e., post-200 CE); they are generally thought to be too late to be helpful in analysing the development of thinking about the deity in the Second Temple period. • The earliest targums (those known from Qumran: 4QtgLev, 4QtgJob, 11QtgJob) do not have this usage of memrāʾ. The various names of God are translated directly (e.g., ʾĕlōhîm by ʾĕlāhāʾ ‘God’ in 11QtgJob) rather than by a surrogate expression or circumlocution as in the later targums. 10.1.2.3. Conclusions on the Logos and Wisdom The figure of Wisdom has a long history in the Israelite wisdom tradition. She is developed by at least the Persian period (possibly earlier), by which time she is a figure alongside God, begotten before creation, and assisting the deity in creating the cosmos. Either by this time or perhaps later in the Greek period, she become a hypostasis of God, a manifestation of the deity that is both separate from him but also identified with him. By the time of Ben Sira, Wisdom has become equated also with the Torah. The figure is very important in certain Jewish writings, such as Wisdom of Solomon but also occurs in Philo. The main actor in Philo is the Logos. Although there may be influence of God’s ‘word’ in the Hebrew tradition, the main influence seems to be from Greek philosophy. The Logos is also a hypostasis of God, though the relationship between the Logos and Wisdom in Philo is a complicated one. When John 1.1 says, ‘In the beginning was the Logos, and

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the Logos was with God, and the Logos was God’, this could have been said by Philo, for the Logos is a hypostatis of God in both writers. The identification of Jesus with the Logos means that the concept moves in its own direction in Christianity, but in Judaism one of the functions of Wisdom and the Logos is to make God immanent. That is, as time went on God became more remote in Jewish theology; however, the Logos and Wisdom serve to bridge the gap between humanity and the deity. It is true that angels acted as intermediaries to some extent, but they were on a different plane from God, whereas Wisdom and the Logos were on the same plane as God himself. 10.2. Angelic Beings and the Spirit World M. J. Davidson (1992) Angels at Qumran: A Comparative Study of 1 Enoch 1–36, 72–108 and Sectarian Writings from Qumran; DDD2; J. E. Fossum (1985) The Name of God and the Angel of the Lord: Samaritan and Jewish Concepts of Intermediation and the Origin of Gnosticism; L. L. Grabbe (1987) ‘The Scapegoat Ritual: A Study in Early Jewish Interpretation’, JSJ 18: 152–67; T. Guerra (forthcoming) Encountering Evil: Apotropaic Magic in the Dead Sea Scrolls; A. K. Harkins, K. C. Bautch, and J. C. Endres (eds) (2014) The Fallen Angels Traditions: Second Temple Developments and Reception History; H. M. Jackson (1996) ‘Echoes and Demons in the Pseudo-Philonic Liber Antiquitatum Biblicarum’, JSJ 27: 1–20; M. Mach (1992) Entwicklungsstadien des jüdischen Engelglaubens in vorrabbinischer Zeit; S. M. Olyan (1993) A Thousand Thousands Served Him: Exegesis and the Naming of Angels in Ancient Judaism; A. Piñero (1993) ‘Angels and Demons in the Greek Life of Adam and Eve’, JSJ 24: 191–214; T. Römer, B. Dufour, F. Pfitzmann, and C. Uehlinger (eds) (2017) Entre dieux et hommes: anges, démons et autres figures intermédiaires: Actes du colloque organisé par le Collège de France, Paris, les 19 et 20 mai 2014; L. T. Stuckenbruck (1995) Angel Veneration and Christology: A Study in Early Judaism and in the Christology of the Apocalypse of John.

10.2.1. Texts The earlier texts with information on angelic beings were discussed in HJJSTP 2 (256–58) and HJJSTP 3 (270–72). Here we consider those texts that seem to date from the first or second centuries CE. The Parables of Enoch (probably early first century CE) continue the themes from the earlier sections of 1 Enoch. The four archangels have Phanuel in place of Sariel (1 En. 40.10). The fallen angels are named (1 En. 69.1-15); mention is made of other angelic groups (1 En. 61.10),

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as well as an angel of peace (1 En. 56.1) and angels of punishment (1 En. 56.1; 66.1). One of the most intriguing figures in the Parables is the ‘Son of Man’; this figure is discussed in detail below (§10.3.3). 2 Enoch (first or second century CE?) has much about the angelic world in the first part in which Enoch is given a tour of the heavens. He is guided by two huge angels (2 En. 1.3-5). The first heaven has the (200) angels in charge of the stars and other natural phenomena (2 En. 4–6); the fallen angels are imprisoned in the second heaven (2 En. 7), though their leaders are in the fifth heaven (2 En. 18); angels guard paradise in the third heaven (2 En. 8.8), where punishing angels torment also the wicked (2 En. 10); angels accompany the sun’s chariot in the fourth heaven, bringing dew and heat (2 En. 11–12; 14); the sixth heaven is filled with angels of all sorts (2 En. 19), while the seventh heaven has the armies of the archangels and the cherubim and seraphim (2 En. 20–21). Alongside the archangels Gabriel and Michael is another called Vrevoil (Uriel?: 2 En. 22.10-11). Philo differs in basic concept from the other Jewish writings. Although he may well have been aware of the various speculations about and elaborations on angelology, he ignores it all. Instead, he presents a very Platonic system in which angels are simply disembodied souls (Plant. 14; cf. Gig. 6–16). This passage suggests that there is more than one type of soul, those less pure souls that keep getting entangled in bodies and those purer souls which are the angels. One can infer that humans can become angels when they develop a soul that manages to break free from the body and leave it behind permanently. Philo thinks there are such things as punitive angels whose function is primarily to punish the wicked humans, but they are not themselves wicked as such (Conf. 177; Fuga 66); thus, there does not appear to be a Philonic equivalent of the demonic spirits. With regard to wicked angels, Death is prominent in the Testament of Abraham but probably a neutral figure; Satan naturally has a prominent part in the Testament of Job. Vita Adae et Euae (12–16) has a reference to Satan’s fall from heaven. The lost ending of the Testament of Moses apparently had a dispute between Michael and Satan, judging from the comments in the NT (Jude 9). The Apocalypse of Abraham (about 100 CE?) makes much of the demonic Azazel (Apoc. Abr. 13; 14.5; 22.5–23.13; 29.5-7; 31.2-7) who has a counterpart in the angel Iaoel, an equally important figure (Apoc. Abr. 10.3). The name Azazel comes from the ‘scapegoat’ passage of Leviticus 16 but, surprisingly, the Apocalypse of Abraham is one of the few writings to make much of this name (cf. Grabbe 1987).

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10.2.2. Summary on Angelic Beings Monotheistic beliefs do not exclude ‘heavenly helpers’ alongside the singular deity. What they do deny is that these spirits are in any way equal to or comparable to God. In many of the early Jewish writings and even in the late biblical books, a fairly uniform outline of the spirit world is to be found: God is assisted by various angelic figures (some are labelled ‘archangels’), and there seem to be other angels who form the celestial bodies or carry out different and often specialized tasks. Although heavenly beings, these angels are completely different from and subordinate to God himself. The complexity of this angelology varies from writing to writing, though we tend to see a growing elaboration as time goes on. It is doubtful that there was ever a common belief in angels except in basic concepts, though some details (e.g., the names of a few archangels) are fairly widely represented through the different writings. As one of the earliest writings on the subject, 1 Enoch gives one of the most complex versions of angelology. The fallen angels myth, so important to several writings, probably has a long history in the ancient Near East; however, it is absent from a number of major writings, suggesting that it was not universally accepted. One question is whether the development of the angelic world was a consequence of changes in the perception of God in the post-exilic period. It has been suggested that God began to be seen as more remote from mankind, and the angelic world came to bridge the gap between importunate humans and the increasingly inaccessible deity. S. M. Olyan dismissed this as a ‘discredited’ theory which even originated in ‘thinly veiled anti-Jewish bias’ (1993: 5-6, 8-9, 11, 89-91). He is correct that usage of the term ‘hypostasis’ can skew the discussion in a particular direction, but his interpretation is equally one-sided. The fact is that we find a variety of attitudes and approaches in the sources. Whether we can speak of a ‘development’ in one direction is doubtful, but certainly some writers such as Philo do see a completely transcendent God. Thus, part of Philo’s task was to make the deity imminent even though its very nature makes it normally inaccessible. His solution is, of course, the Logos concept (see above [§10.1.2.2]), and other writers seem to find the figure of Wisdom (§10.1.2.1) equally useful, though their conception of the Godhead is not necessarily the same as Philo’s. Most writers also envisage angelic opponents of God. These are usually pictured as angels who were once part of God’s entourage but had sinned and fallen at some point in the past. Leading these (evil) angels (also referred to as ‘demons’ or evil/unclean spirits), according to many

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writings, is a chief evil angel (two in 1 En. 1–36) who goes by various names (including Satan, Mastema, Beliel, Lucifer, Azazel, the devil). Human beings are caught in the middle of this dualistic spirit world and must ultimately choose on which side to align themselves. Their choice is complicated by the fact that the evil spirits deceive and tempt them to do wrong and choose the side of evil. However, there is no question that in the end God will triumph, and Satan and his followers will be defeated and either destroyed or imprisoned in a place of punishment. 10.3. Messiahs The concept of a messiah continued to evolve through the traumatic events of the first two centuries CE, with continuity to past understandings but also new developments. In many ways the concept became more complicated, perhaps because of the very events of this time. Earlier developments were catalogued in HJJSTP 2 (259–60), and HJJSTP 3 (275–80). This section focuses on the evidence from the first and second century CE. P. Borgen (1997) Philo of Alexandria: An Exegete for his Time; J. J. Collins (2010) The Scepter and the Star: Messianism of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Other Ancient Literature; U. Fischer (1978) Eschatologie und Jenseitserwartung im hellenistischen Diasporajudentum; E. R. Goodenough (1938) The Politics of Philo Judaeus, Practice and Theory; L. L. Grabbe (1988) Etymology in Early Jewish Interpretation: The Hebrew Names in Philo; idem (1997b) ‘The 70-Weeks Prophecy (Daniel 9:24-27) in Early Jewish Interpretation’, in C. A. Evans and S. Talmon (eds) The Quest for Context and Meaning: 595–611; idem (2000c) ‘Eschatology in Philo and Josephus’, in A. Avery-Peck and J. Neusner (eds), Judaism in Late Antiquity: Volume 4. Special Topics: (1) Death and the Afterlife: 163–85; A. P. Hayman (1998) ‘The “Man from the Sea” in 4 Ezra 13’, JJS 49: 1–16; R. D. Hecht (1987) ‘Philo and Messiah’, in J. Neusner, W. S. Green, E. S. Frerichs (eds), Judaisms and Their Messiahs at the Turn of the Christian Era: 139–68; B. L. Mack (1991) ‘Wisdom and Apocalyptic in Philo’, in D. T. Runia, D. M. Hay, and D. Winston (eds), Heirs of the Septuagint: Philo, Hellenistic Judaism and Early Christianity: Festschrift for Earle Hilgert: 21–39; J. Neusner (1984b) Messiah in Context: Israel’s History and Destiny in Formative Judaism; idem (1987b) ‘Mishnah and Messiah’, in J. Neusner, W. S. Green, and E. S. Frerichs (eds), Judaisms and Their Messiahs at the Turn of the Christian Era: 265–82; G. Oegema (1998) The Anointed and his People: Messianic Expectations from the Maccabees to Bar Kochba; J. C. O’Neill (1991) ‘The Man from Heaven: SibOr 5.256-259’, JSP 9: 87–102; P. Schäfer (2020) Two Gods in Heaven: Jewish Concepts of God

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in Antiquity; T. H. Tobin (1997) ‘Philo and the Sibyl: Interpreting Philo’s Eschatology’, in D. T. Runia and G. E. Sterling (eds), Wisdom and Logos: Studies in Jewish Thought in Honor of David Winston: 84–103; H. A. Wolfson (1947) Philo: Foundations of Religious Philosophy in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam.

10.3.1. Texts Probably from the first century CE, the Parables of Enoch (1 En. 37–71) speak of a figure called the ‘Elect One’ of righteousness (1 En. 39.6; 45; 49.2; 50; 51; 52; 53.6; 55.4; 61; 62) who is also identified with one called the ‘Son of Man’ (1 En. 46; 48; 62; 63.11; 69.27-29; see also §10.3.3). There are clear links between the Lord of Spirits and the Son of Man, on the one hand, and the Ancient of Days and one like a son of man in Daniel 7, on the other, suggesting that the Parables are evidence for a particular interpretation of the Daniel chapter. This same figure is later referred to as the ‘messiah’ (1 En. 48; 52). Eventually, he seems to be identified with Enoch himself, but that is thought by many to be a secondary development (1 En. 71.14-17). Thus, the messiah here is a heavenly figure. With regard to Philo, the following discussion is an abbreviated form of the more detailed treatment elsewhere (Grabbe 2000c). A number of scholars have argued that Philo held a type of messianic belief (Goodenough 1938: 115–19; Wolfson 1947: 2:395–426; for a detailed critique of their views, see Hecht 1987: 140–48). The most recent defence of this interpretation has been given by Borgen (1992; 1997: 261–81). The main appeal is to Philo’s treatise Rewards and Punishments (De Paemiis et Poenis). The question here is whether the future hope envisaged a messianic figure or leader as an individual as normally understood. One passage might imply some sort of messianic figure and has certainly been interpreted in this way. In discussing the triumph of the righteous over their enemies, Philo states that if some have the temerity to attack them, ‘ “there shall come forth a man”, says the oracles, and leading his host to war he will subdue great and populous nations’ (Praem. 94–95). Philo’s comments in this passage appear to be based on the LXX text of Num. 24.7a which states, ‘There will come forth a man from his seed and will rule over many nations’ (the MT reads rather differently: ‘Water shall flow from his water skins, and his/its seed in many waters’). The passage is also quoted in Vit. Mos. 1.288-91 where Philo is expounding the whole of Balaam’s oracle in Numbers 24. Since Philo read the LXX text carefully and literally but did not seem to know the Hebrew (cf. Grabbe 1988: 63, 233–35), he had to interpret Num. 24.7 as a reference to a particular man. In Vit. Mos. 1.289-91 Philo

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has simply interpreted the passage to mean a ruler of some sort (perhaps Moses), but in this case he makes nothing further of it. Similarly, he introduces Num. 24.7 into Praem. 95 to make a point about a military leader, but again he does not take the issue further. If he took the ‘man’ of LXX Num. 24.7 as a messianic figure, why does he give no hint that this is his interpretation? In fact, a number of rather different suggestions have been made as to whom ‘man’ in this passage refers in Philo’s thinking: as a reference to God himself (Oegema 1998: 128–30; cf. Fischer 1978: 201) or to Israel (Mack 1991: 35). The important point is that, having introduced the subject, he drops it even though he did not need to. T. H. Tobin (1997) has argued that Philo is deliberately opposing much more radical eschatological views which foresaw the overthrow of the Romans by a saviour figure, as exemplified in such writings as Sibylline Oracles 3 and 5 (cf. also Hecht 1987: 160–61). A messianic saviour figure does not fit easily into Philo’s theological system (as also argued by Fischer, Hecht, and Mack; cf. also Oegema 1998: 127, 133–34). The views of Josephus are also discussed in Grabbe (1997b, 2000c), whereas only a summary of more detailed study is given here. To describe Josephus’s views is difficult: on the one hand, he discusses a series of oracles that he associates with the Roman conquest of Jerusalem and hints at some anti-Roman interpretations of Daniel; on the other hand, he clearly writes with the possibility of a Roman readership and seems to be rather cagey about explicit references to messianic expectations. For example, he explicitly denies that the war with Rome had anything to do with an eschatological war in which the Jewish nation would be delivered. This is hardly surprising since, writing sometime after the events, he knew that there had been no divine or messianic intervention to save the Jews and destroy the Romans. Instead, he interprets the alleged prophecies as having been misunderstood or even as prophesying disaster. Josephus quotes an oracle that speaks of a ‘ruler from the East’ (War 6.5.4 §§311-13; cf. Tacitus, Hist. 5.13.2; Suetonius, Vesp. 4.5; 5.6; Grabbe 1997b). He makes no stated association between it and his prediction that Vespasian would become emperor, which he claims came to him in a dream (War 3.8.3 §§351-53), but one suspects a connection (cf. Fischer 1978: 168–74). The central question is, did Josephus genuinely believe that Vespasian was the intended fulfilment of these prophetic interpretations? One is left with the strong impression that Josephus himself once believed in various oracles thought to predict a coming messianic deliverer. A number of such oracles were evidently taken by many Jews as predictions of ultimate deliverance. Even in the very last days of the siege of Jerusalem, as the Romans were breaching the walls, a large number of

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those in the city were still expecting to be delivered against all appearances (War 6.5.2 §§283-87). By the final days of the siege, Josephus probably did not believe such views, but his ready participation in the revolt hints that the oracles later applied so readily to Vespasian were originally seen by Josephus himself as providing hope of a Jewish victory. We have a strong indication that Josephus’s beliefs about prophecy were more complex than his explicit statements might lead us to think. For example, he mentions a couple of other oracles (War 4.6.3 §388; 6.2.1 §109) which he does not refer to Vespasian, though he interprets them to fit with that view. The situation is best explained if Josephus changed his interpretation of those oracles which he had originally understood as prophesying a messianic victory over the Romans. The crux of Josephus’s personal beliefs is probably found in his discussion of the book of Daniel, in particular Daniel 2 (Ant. 10.10.3-4 §§195-210). He applies the head of gold to Nebuchadnezzar (Ant. 10.10.4 §§208-10, as Dan. 2.38 itself does). The head and shoulders represent the two kings who bring the Babylonian empire to an end, later interpreted as Cyrus the Persian and (the fictional) Darius the Mede (Ant. 10.11.4 §§247-48). They are in turn defeated by a king from the West who can only be Alexander; his empire is subsequently brought down by a power like iron which, though not explicitly identified, must be Rome. The last is destroyed by a ‘stone made without hands’, whose meaning was revealed to Alexander; Josephus says that he is not going to say what this was but anyone interested can read Daniel to find out (Ant. 10.10.4 §210). Josephus was writing these words about Daniel at the end of the first century CE, approximately the same time as the authors of 4 Ezra and Revelation. Did he also apply the prophecy of Daniel to Rome, expecting its destruction by supernatural means? It seems likely. He does not write as one who expected it to fall shortly, unlike some of his contemporary apocalypticists; nevertheless, he gives strong hints that his messianic interpretations of prophecy, though postponed to a more distant future, had not changed. Toward the end of the first century CE, we have two main apocalypses, both of which have messianic figures though with some slight differences: 4 Ezra (2 Esdras) and 2 Baruch. 4 Ezra 7.28-35 speaks of ‘my son the messiah’ who will be revealed in the end time and reign for 400 years. The messianic age is not described in detail, but it is followed by the death of all human beings and then the general resurrection and final judgment. 2 Baruch is similar but does not envisage the death of the messiah, only his gradual revelation and a smooth transition from the Messianic Kingdom into the final Kingdom of God (2 Bar. 29–30). A golden age of peace and

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prosperity will dawn as the messiah begins to be revealed, with feasting on Leviathan and Behemoth and also the treasures of manna. After the full revelation of the messiah, the souls of the righteous are to be raised from their storehouses to enjoy all this, while the wicked will be punished. 4 Ezra 13 is another significant text. Although the term ‘messiah’ is not used, a heavenly ‘man from the sea’, who is also referred to as ‘God’s son’ (4 Ezra 13.32), has characteristics of the messiah. The messiah is also mentioned in the eagle vision of 4 Ezra 11–12. Here he appears in the form of a lion from the forest who rebukes Rome for its sins and its pride (4 Ezra 11.37–12.3). He is of the stock of David but has been kept back until the end time. The pre-existence of the messiah seems to be a theme in both 4 Ezra and 2 Baruch. The eschatology of the Sibylline Oracles is very much tied up with the Ptolemaic dynasty in those parts written before Actium in 31 BCE (§3.8), with Cleopatra apparently seen as a saviour figure. In Sib. Or. 5 (probably written after the Bar Kokhva revolt) we see a change: the attitude is openly hostile to Egypt (5.179-99), and hope is now placed in a messianic figure who comes from heaven (Sib. Or. 5.108-9, 155-61, 414-28). Even after the revolts under Trajan and Hadrian, at least in Egypt Jews still hoped for deliverance by a messiah of some sort in the not-too-distant future. The NT has its own perspective on messianism, especially determined by its view of Jesus. This aspect of NT teachings will not be discussed further; nevertheless, some passages seem to imply that some Jews expected a conquering Messiah who would free Israel from her oppressors. For example, Jesus is asked this by the disciples in Acts 1.6-7 whether it was the time when ‘the kingdom of Israel’ would be restored, but he gives an evasive reply. With regard to Rabbinic literature it was long taken for granted that Judaism of the rabbinic period had a strongly developed concept of ‘the messiah’ and, indeed, that was often drawn upon to elucidate the situation in early Christianity. Neusner’s study (1984) showed that the situation is more complex than previously recognized. The earliest rabbinic documents (the Mishnah, Tosefta, Tannaitic Midrashim) actually avoid the concept, and ‘messiah’ means only the properly designated and consecrated high priest. Neusner argued that this was not accidental (because, as might be argued, the concern of the Mishnah was mainly legal) but was organic to the Judaism of the Mishnah. That Judaism rooted itself in a timeless and ahistorical view of the world in which sanctification was the primary concern; eschatology as such had little place in this system. With developments in the Amoraic period, messianism could be introduced (or re-introduced since it was definitely a part of Judaism before 135 CE). Nevertheless, the sort of messiah envisaged by the Amoraic

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and later texts was thoroughly rabbinized. The documents were now very much concerned with historical salvation. Some of the merkavah and related texts were different, showing a rather different thought world with different concepts of the messiah (e.g., 3 Enoch [see further at §8.1]). 10.3.2. The ‘Suffering Messiah’ and the ‘Messiah ben Joseph’ D. Boyarin (2012) The Jewish Gospels: The Story of the Jewish Christ; G. Dalman (1888) Der leidende und sterbender Messias der Synagoge im ersten nachchristlichen Jahrtausend; G. H. Dix (1926) ‘The Messiah ben Joseph’, JTS 27: 130–43; S. R. Driver and A. Neubauer (1877) The ‘Suffering Servant’ of Isaiah according to the Jewish Interpreters; J. Heinemann (1975) ‘The Messiah of Ephraim and the Premature Exodus of the Tribe of Ephraim’, HTR 68: 1–15; M. Hengel, with D. P. Bailey (2004) ‘The Effective History of Isaiah 53 in the Pre-Christian Period’, in B. Janowski and P. Stuhlmacher (eds), The Suffering Servant: Isaiah 53 in Jewish and Christian Sources: 75–146; B. Janowski and P. Stuhlmacher (eds) (2004) The Suffering Servant: Isaiah 53 in Jewish and Christian Sources; D. C. Mitchell (2016) Messiah ben Joseph; B. W. R. Pearson (1998) ‘Dry Bones in the Judean Desert: The Messiah of Ephraim, Ezekiel 37, and the Post-Revolutionary Followers of Bar Kokhba’, JSJ 29: 192–201; P. Schäfer (2012a) The Jewish Jesus: How Judaism and Christianity Shaped Each Other; idem (2012b) ‘The Jew Who Would Be God’, The New Republic (7 June 2012): 36–39; C. C. Torrey (1947) ‘The Messiah Son of Ephraim’, JBL 66: 253–77; R. N. Whybray (1978) Thanksgiving for a Liberated Prophet: An Interpretation of Isaiah Chapter 53.

Christians have long been interested in the question of whether there were Jewish precedents for Jesus’s sufferings and death in spite of being the messiah. G. Dalman wrote a study more than a century ago, noting the parallels with the image of Christ as the suffering messiah in Christianity, but not a lot was written on the subject over the decades following it. D. Boyarin (2012: 150–56) argued that the idea of a suffering messiah was known in Judaism before 70 CE. He cites a couple of rabbinic texts and a medieval Latin statement that might have some connection with a fourthcentury midrash. Not only is this rather thin but the interpretation of the texts is disputed (cf. Schäfer 2012a: 236–71; 2012b). The image of the Suffering Servant of Isaiah 53 is also drawn on. An earlier but still useful study found that Jewish use of the ‘suffering servant’ imagery is post-70 (Driver/Neubauer 1877). More recently, M. Hengel (with D. P. Bailey 2004) claimed to find some messianic overtones in a few Jewish writings before 70. He thought to find hints mainly in the LXX of Isaiah 53, in 1QIsaa, and the Aramaic Levi Document (his further

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inclusion of T. Benjamin is puzzling). He interpreted Isa. 53.14 in 1QIsaa as containing the reading ‘anoint’ (others read differently), though he admitted that the extant remains of the Aramaic Levi Document do not refer to the death of the messiah, even in his reading. While admitting some of the problems with his interpretation, he concluded, ‘I believe we are not entirely without grounds for the hypothesis’ that a suffering messiah existed in pre-Christian Judaism. But it must be accepted that his study is highly speculative. Here Hebrew Bible scholarship could also have been consulted with profit. Although some specialists accept the idea that the ‘servant’ suffers vicariously for others, the acute objections of N. Whybray (1978) should be noted. Although not cited by Boyarin, of particular concern over the years has been the late rabbinic concept of a ‘Messiah ben Joseph’ who was slain in battle (b. Suk. 52a-52b; Pes. Rab. 34). Recently, D. C. Mitchell (2016) has devoted a monograph to the question, with a thorough collection of the available material. Unfortunately, he claims to find the idea already in the Pentateuch, not to mention Second Temple Jewish literature. His attempts to trace the idea to an early time are not at all convincing, however: no Messiah ben Joseph is explicitly discussed in pre-rabbinic sources, and Mitchell’s arguments to find it in earlier literature involve one-sided and idiosyncratic interpretations of texts. For example, on p. 99 he cites 4Q521, then mentions that ‘one fragment’ might read ‘son of Joseph’; this ‘fragment’ is in fact from another writing, 4Q541; furthermore, E. Puech, who is quoted, no longer reads it as ‘son of Joseph’ (see his edition in DJD XXV; Puech’s later writings are not cited, only the early one): there is no Messiah ben Joseph in 4Q521 (or 4Q541!). Other attempts made to trace this concept earlier also cannot be said to make a convincing case (Torrey 1947; Dix 1926). J. Heinemann (1975) has argued that the idea was developed following the Bar Kokhva revolt to explain how Bar Kokhva was correctly identified as the messiah but was also slain. In sum, no evidence has been found for belief in the death of a messiah in battle for the pre-70 period. In spite of the ‘traces’ pointed to by Hengel/Bailey (2004) most scholars have not found evidence of a ‘suffering messiah’ among the Jews before Christianity. 10.3.3. ‘Son of Man’ G. Boccaccini (ed.) (2007) Enoch and the Messiah Son of Man: Revisiting the Book of Parables; D. Burkett (1999) The Son of Man Debate: A History and Evaluation; M. Casey (2007) The Solution to the ‘Son of Man’ Problem; S. Chialà (2007) ‘The Son of Man: The Evolution of an Expression’, in G. Boccaccini (ed.), Enoch and the Messiah Son of Man: Revisiting the Book

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of Parables: 153–78; A. Y. Collins (1989) ‘The Son of Man Sayings in the Sayings Source’, in M. P. Horgan and P. J. Kobelski (eds.), To Touch the Text: Biblical and Related Studies in Honor of Joseph A. Fitzmyer, S.J.: 369–89; idem (2007) Mark, A Commentary; J. J. Collins (1977) The Apocalyptic Vision of the Book of Daniel; idem (1992) ‘The Son of Man in First-Century Judaism’, NTS 38: 448–66; idem (1993) Daniel, A Commentary; idem (2007) ‘Enoch and the Son of Man: A Response to Sabino Chialà and Helge Kvanvig’, in G. Boccaccini (ed.), Enoch and the Messiah Son of Man: Revisiting the Book of Parables: 216–27; L. L. Grabbe (2007) ‘The Parables of Enoch in Second Temple Jewish Society’, in G. Boccaccini (ed.), Enoch and the Messiah Son of Man: Revisiting the Book of Parables: 386–402; idem (2016) ‘ “Son of Man”: Its Origin and Meaning in Second Temple Judaism’, in L. T. Stuckenbruck and G. Boccaccini (eds), Enoch and the Synoptic Gospels: Reminiscences, Allusions, Intertextuality: 169–97; L. W. Hurtado and P. L. Owen (eds) (2011) ‘Who Is this Son of Man?’: The Latest Scholarship on a Puzzling Expression of the Historical Jesus; M. A. Knibb (1978) The Ethiopic Book of Enoch; W. Leslau (1987) Comparative Dictionary of Ge‘ez (Classical Ethiopic); B. Lindars (1983) Jesus Son of Man: A Fresh Examination of the Son of Man Sayings in the Gospels in the Light of Recent Research; G. W. E. Nickelsburg (1992) ‘Son of Man’, ABD 6:137–50; G. W. E. Nickelsburg and J. C. VanderKam (2012) 1 Enoch 2: A Commentary on the Book of 1 Enoch Chapters 37–82; M. E. Stone (1989) Features of the Eschatology of IV Ezra; idem (1990) Fourth Ezra; G. Vermes (1967) ‘Appendix E: The Use of ‫בר נש‬/‫ בר נשא‬in Jewish Aramaic’, in M. Black, An Aramaic Approach to the Gospels and Acts: 310–30; L. W. Walck (2011) The Son of Man in the Parables of Enoch and in Matthew.

The following section represents a brief summary of the subject. A full study is found in Grabbe 2016 which gives all sources and details. The title, ‘son of man’, has produced a huge number of studies, no doubt because of its application to Jesus in the gospels. Early Christian usage will be considered here because it originated as a sect within Judaism (§7.5), but the concern is its connotation within Second Temple Judaism. 10.3.3.1. The Philology Insufficient space is available for a proper discussion of the philology, but to summarize a lengthy discussion (Grabbe 2016: 169–80) a study of the usage in Aramaic at the turn of era leads to the following results: • The expression ‘son of man’ does not necessarily function exactly as ‘man’ or other expressions in the Semitic languages. Although various words for ‘man, human’ are frequent in Semitic literature, ‘son of man’ is not very frequent in the early period and is often a ballast variant in Semitic poetry or parallelism.

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• The Aramaic phrase br ’nš (‫ )בר אנש‬and its various forms are not necessarily interchangeable. Even when they largely overlap in meaning, they may still differ in frequency or particular literary contexts (from a linguistic point of view, the semantic register of synonyms may be different). For example, when the Aramaic form br ’nš occurs in the last centuries BCE and first centuries CE, it is normally in the plural determined form (bny ’nš’ ‫‘ בני אנשא‬sons of man’). The absolute form of the singular is quite infrequent, and the emphatic form of the singular is the least frequent. This is important because statements in secondary sources sometimes present the different forms as if they were interchangeable, which makes questionable several conclusions or even premises in some secondary literature. • In western Middle Aramaic the determined forms are not interchangeable with the absolute forms. Although standard linguistic references state generally that absolute and determined forms had separate linguistic usage in western Middle Aramaic, our question concerns the specific usage of br ’nš and br ’nš’. It was found that no examples of the determined form were attested in the Middle Aramaic writings currently available. This impression was supported by a survey of targumic literature, which also showed only three examples of the determined form in all the targums presently known. Yet in the later rabbinic Aramaic literature, the singular absolute is by far the most frequent form, comparable to Syriac. • The term is not simply a way of saying ‘I’. Even where it includes or even refers specifically to the speaker, the semantic content is different from the straightforward use of ‘I’. 10.3.3.2. The Eschatological Question Was the expression, ‘son of man’, ever used by Jews as a messianic title? Through much of the twentieth century, to about 1966, the standard view was that ‘son of man’ was a messianic title and was so used by Jesus, or at least by the Jesus tradition. Beginning about 1966, however, it became common to reject the eschatological explanation. This came about partly because the Parables of Enoch were not found at Qumran, partly because of the impact of Geza Vermes’s (1967) study of Aramaic usage of the term ‘son of man’ in rabbinic literature (mentioned in the previous section), but also because of the influence of other studies (cf. Burkett 1999). An analysis of the texts is needed:

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10.3.3.3. Daniel 7 Many of the later uses of ‘son of man’ in Jewish and Christian texts have some connection with Daniel 7. After a description of the ‘Ancient of Days’ in 7.9-10, vv. 13-14 state the following: I was observing in visions of the night and, behold, with the clouds of heaven one like a son of man (‫ )כבר אנשׁ‬was coming, and he reached the Ancient of Days, and they brought him before him, and to him was given authority and glory and kingship, so that all peoples, nations, and tongues would serve him. His authority is an eternal authority that shall not pass away, and his kingship shall not be destroyed.

There is no doubt this figure represents the Jewish people (7.18, 22, 27), but that does not stop his constituting an actual being or supernatural personage within the mythical world of the text (pace Casey 2007: 82–91). In this instance, there is a good case to be made that the ‘one like a son of man’ was the archangel Michael (Collins 1977; 1993: 304–10). An expression similar to the one in Dan. 7.13 is found in the Hebrew text of Dan. 10.16: ‘And, behold, one like the sons of man (‫)כדמות בני אדם‬ was touching my lips’. This refers to a heavenly being who is engaged in opposing the princes of Persia and Greece (10.5-6, 12-13, 16-20), perhaps Gabriel (since he is being helped by ‘Michael, one of the first princes’ and is the only other named angelic figure in Daniel [8.16; 9.21]). 10.3.3.4. Parables of Enoch (1 Enoch 37–71) The ‘son of man’ passages are found mainly in the second (45–57) and third parable (58–69) of 1 Enoch. The figure is introduced in 46.1 (zagaṣṣu kama rǝ’yata sab’ [the transliteration in Leslau 1987: xx–xxi is used] ‘whose face [is] like the appearance of a man’) and designated as ‘that son of man’ in 46.2. 1 Enoch 46–47, with the Head of Days and the Son of Man, is clearly related to Dan. 7.9-14, with its Ancient of Days and one like a son of man. Yet a number of present-day scholars have argued that Son of Man in the Parables is not a title because the figure is referred to as ‘this Son of Man’ or ‘that Son of Man’. However, because Ethiopic has no article, it has been suggested that demonstrative pronouns used in a number of passages to designate ‘that son of man’ are a way of expressing what would be the definite article in other Semitic languages (such as Hebrew). R. H. Charles argues that it is a rendering of the Greek phrase and is simply the Ethiopic way of showing the Greek article (Charles 1913: 86–87). The problem is that all passages seem to have a demonstrative,

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except where the context shows definiteness, whereas it has been noted terms like Chosen One never have the demonstrative adjective (Walck 2011: 70). Yet that is not the full story, because some of the other designations also have demonstrative (like Son of Man) or possessive pronouns. In the two passages where ‘the Anointed’ occurs, it is ‘his Anointed’ (48.10; 54.6). Indeed, although the Chosen One does not have a demonstrative, it does have a possessive adjective in several passages: ‘my Chosen One’ (45.3, 4; 51.5; 55.4). Finally, the ‘Head of Days’, who can be none other than God himself, is called ‘that Head of Days’ in a couple of places (71.12, 13), as is also ‘that Lord of Spirits’ (62.10). Also, a number of biblical figures and symbols have influenced and contributed to the figure of the Parables (Nickelsburg 1992; Nickelsburg/ VanderKam 2012: especially 113–23; Walck 2011: 50–164). Briefly, the data of Daniel 7 form the main basis of the description of the ‘son of man’ in Parables 46, yet the figure in the Parables is much more than the ‘one like a son of man’ in Daniel 7. The figure is greatly expanded by passages and images from elsewhere in the biblical text: the servant of Yhwh (Isa. 42.1-4 and 49.1-6) and the David oracles, which include God’s Anointed (Ps. 2 and Isa. 11). He existed before the beginning of the world but was hidden and preserved in God’s presence (1 En. 48.2-3, 6; 62.7). In this case, the image drawn on is pre-existent Wisdom, known from Prov. 8.22-36 and Ben Sira 24.1-3. He is a ‘light to the nations’ (1 En. 48.4; Isa. 49.6). The ‘servant’ of Deutero-Isaiah makes an important contribution (though not the suffering aspect which has no place here), in that he is also the ‘Chosen One’ (Isa. 42.1). In 1 Enoch 48–49 the figure is identified with the Chosen One (49.2, 4: ḫǝruy) who had already appeared in 39.6 and 45.3, 4 and is additionally named in 51.3; 52.6, 9; 53.6; 61.5; 62.1. This figure also bears the name of the Davidic Messiah or Anointed One (48.10: masiḥu) who is mentioned again later (52.4). He is further designated the ‘Holy One’ (37.2), the ‘Righteous One’ (38.2; 53.6), and the ‘Chosen One of Righteousness’ (39.6, though a variant reading has the plural). The concept of the messiah in the Parables stands out from what seems the most widespread concept in Second Temple Judaism (cf. HJJSTP 3: 175–80). Although there is a variety of messianic types, most are not heavenly figures. Instead of an earthly (if perhaps larger than life) conqueror and champion of the Jews, the Parables put forward a heavenly messiah, hidden from before creation but revealed to the righteous (48.6-7). One could argue (as did an older scholarly generation) that these were originally separate figures, perhaps coming from separate sources, that only later became assimilated to one another. Whether this was the

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case or not, ch. 48 seems to identify them by referring to the Son of Man as the Chosen One (48.6) and the Messiah (48.10). The present form of the book appears to be thinking of a single figure, and the centrality of this figure to the Parables is evident. The central figure of the Parables (apart from the ‘Lord of Spirits’/‘Head of Days’) is called by the various titles or designations mentioned above. It is not just that in the Parables ‘the Messiah is occasionally referred to as “that son of man”, as an alternative to the other titles that are used for him’ (Lindars 1983: 5); on the contrary, ‘son of man’ is the most frequent designation (17 times), in comparison with ‘the Chosen One’ (16 times), ‘the Righteous One’ (2 times), or ‘Messiah’ (2 times). Also, this Son of Man is more than just a reflex of the figure in Daniel. One of the most noticeable features is that he acts as heavenly judge over both the wicked and the righteous, after being enthroned (1 En. 46.4-6; 54.4; 61.8-9; 62–63; 69.26-29), which is not one of the activities of the ‘son of man’ in Daniel. One of the most curious incidents within the book is that Enoch seems to be identified ultimately with the Son of Man (71.13-17). Yet the question of Enoch’s being identified with the Son of Man is not crucial to our analysis of the connotation of ‘Son of Man’. Even if Enoch is finally said to be the ‘Son of Man’, he is still a heavenly figure with characteristics far beyond the human and the natural; he is a supernatural being, whether seen as ‘my Chosen One’, ‘my Anointed One’, or ‘this Son of Man’. All of these are significant designations of this heavenly being. To repeat what was noted above, the question of whether ‘Son of Man’ is a title becomes a mere scholastic matter in the light of the way the figure has been fleshed out over 25 chapters. He is a heavenly messianic individual who is repeatedly referred to as ‘Son of Man’ in the Parables. ‘Son of Man’ has a significance going well beyond the simple meaning of ‘human, human being’. To summarize, the Parables of Enoch has three different Ethiopic phrases for the expression ‘son of man’, though there seems to be general agreement that the three phrases are all translations of the Greek ὑιὸς τοῦ ἀνθρώπου and are comparable in meaning, in spite of the rather different wording. Demonstrative pronouns are used in a number of passages, such as ‘that son of man’. On the other hand, some of the other designations also have demonstrative or possessive pronouns. For example, it is sometimes ‘my Chosen One’ (45.3, 4; 51.5; 55:4). In the two passages where ‘the Anointed’ occurs (48.10; 54.6), it is ‘his Anointed’. Even the ‘Head of Days’, who can be none other than God himself, is called ‘that Head of Days’ (71.12, 13), and also ‘that Lord of Spirits (62.10).

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The figure of the ‘son of man’ is a development from the figure referred to as ‘like a son of man’ in Dan. 7.13. However, a variety of other biblical images have gone into this development, including the Davidic king, the servant of Isaiah 42 and 49, and the figure of wisdom, to create an important and defined figure within the Enochic tradition. The phrase ‘son of man’ is one of four titles applied to a central figure in the Parables, along with ‘the Chosen One’, ‘the Anointed One’, and the ‘Righteous One’ (cf. Collins 2007: 222). 10.3.3.5. 4 Ezra 13 As has long been expounded the figure of ‘the man from the sea’ in ch. 13 is based on the ‘one like a son of man’ in Daniel 7. Probably the most thorough recent discussion has been given by Michael Stone (1989: 120–33; 1990: 381–410), who argues that the author ‘is here writing his own interpretation to a previously existent allegory’. Although the term ‘son of man’ is probably not applied to the figure arising from the sea in 4 Ezra 13, the dependence of this figure on the ‘one like a son of man’ of Daniel 7 seems obvious, though his activities go beyond the Danielic personage. He has a number of points in common with the ‘Son of Man’ in the Parables, including being pre-existent but revealed at the end time, taking care of the righteous, being called ‘servant’ and ‘my son’, and acting as judge. ‘Therefore, it may be that in view of the title “man” and of the cosmic imagery applied to this figure in the vision, that the Son of Man is here involved’ (Stone 1989: 128). It is because of these parallels with the ‘Son of Man’ of the Parables that the ‘man’ of this vision in 4 Ezra 13 is evoked as a similar figure. So why is he not called Son of Man? A look at Christian texts (such as Revelation) suggests that the term as a messianic title or designation did not continue to find favour by this time, as has been argued by S. Chialà (2007: 171–76). Why this should be is rather puzzling, but at this point it is sufficient to note what seems to be a trend, even if we cannot yet explain it. 10.3.3.6. The New Testament We have a number of sayings relating to the ‘son of man’ in the NT. They are in Greek (not Aramaic), and they have a particular meaning and form in their present context, which we shall try to elucidate. How—or even whether—they relate to the historical Jesus is not our concern. In the NT the term ‘son of man’ is only ever applied to Jesus, either in words ascribed to him (mostly) or in (a few) references to him by others. It is quite clear that ‘the Son of Man’ is as much a title applied to Jesus as

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‘Christ’. Some have argued that the phrase always evokes Daniel 7 (e.g., Lindars 1983: 10–11), but this is not at all obvious. Many references to ‘the Son of Man’ have not the slightest indication of having anything to do with Daniel. Mark 13.26 refers to the Son of Man coming in clouds with power and glory, a clear allusion to Dan. 7.13. According to Mark 2.10, the Son of Man has power to forgive sins upon earth. In Mark 8.29-31 Peter declares Jesus to be the Christ (i.e., the Anointed or Messiah), after which Jesus begins to teach them about the suffering of the Son of Man, his rejection by the elders, chief priests, and scribes, and his being killed, and finally his rising after three days. Similar statements are found in Mark 9.31 and 10.33-34. In Mark 9.9 Jesus warns Peter, James, and John to tell no one of their vision of Elijah and Moses until the Son of Man has risen from the dead. These all make it clear that Jesus is himself the Son of Man, and this Son of Man is not just ‘someone’ or ‘a person’ but is a heavenly figure. This conclusion is stated explicitly in Mark 14.61-62 where the high priest asks Jesus whether he is ‘the Christ, the Son of the Blessed’. Jesus replies, ‘I am, and you will see the Son of Man seated on the right hand of power “coming with the clouds of heaven” ’. According to the picture of this passage, Jesus accepts that he is the messiah and states that he is also the Son of Man seated on the right hand of God and coming with the clouds of heaven. The interpretation of the Parable of the Tares in Matt. 13.36-43 (no parallels) mentions that the Son of Man sows the good seed and will send his angels to gather the wicked and cast them into the furnace. Matthew 25.31 is particularly notable because it mentions that the Son of Man will come in glory with all his angels, and he will sit on a glorious throne. Matthew is a particularly interesting case, in light of the recent study by Leslie Walck (2011). After a thorough examination of the ‘Son of Man’ passages in both the Parables of Enoch and the gospel of Matthew, he notes the considerable ‘similarities and distinctions’, even though they do not rise to the level of proof that Matthew was literarily dependent upon the Parables (2011: 249). Many of the characteristics of the figure in the Parables also occur in Matthew but not in Daniel 7 or other early literature, including his judicial role and his revelatory role. The phrase, ‘throne of his glory’, is found only in the Parables (69.29) and Matthew (19.28; 25.31). Walck concludes that it is ‘at precisely those points where Matthew has unique material’ (13.36-43; 25.31-46) that the similarities with the Parables ‘are greatest, and the shaping of Jesus in the direction of Par[ables of] En[och] the clearest’ (2011: 250).

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Luke 18.8 asks whether, when the Son of Man comes, he will find faith on earth, and Luke 19.10 states that the Son of Man came to save the lost. These relate to Jesus’s unique mission. But Luke 21.36 tells the disciples to watch and pray always that they can escape the coming tribulations of the end time and stand before the Son of Man (implied is that the Son of Man will be a figure, perhaps a judge, of the end time). Finally, Luke 24.7 asserts that even while in Galilee Jesus predicted that the Son of Man would be delivered to sinners and crucified. Thus, Jesus’ betrayal, death, resurrection, and role in the eschaton are ascribed to his identification as the Son of Man. Several passages in the Fourth Gospel confirm the heavenly origin of the Son of Man, speaking of his descent from heaven and his ascending back to his place of origin (John 3.13; 6.62; cf. 1.51). A point is made about the necessity of believing in the Son of Man (John 3.15; 9.35). The Son of Man will provide food that will not perish, and it will be required that followers eat his flesh and drink his blood (John 6.27, 53). Finally, like the Son of Man in the Parables of Enoch, the Son of Man will execute judgment (John 5.27). The heavenly origin and nature of the Son of Man is made clearer in the Fourth Gospel than in the Synoptics, showing how the community or group behind that gospel viewed matters. Only a few references to the Son of Man are made elsewhere in the NT. In the Stephen martyrdom episode in Acts 7, Stephen sees the heavens opened and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God. In the book of Revelation, John sees one ‘like a son of man’ (i.e., a human figure) in the midst of the lamp stands (Rev. 1.13) and, later in the vision, ‘one like a son of man’ with a golden crown seated on a white cloud (Rev. 14.14). Here the figure is described in much the same terms as the figure in Dan. 7.13. The difference between this description and the Son of Man in the gospels and Acts is obvious. Several points have emerged relating to the use of ‘son of man’ in the NT: • Our concern in the present article is not with whether the ‘son of man’ sayings in the gospels are authentic words of Jesus. • The arthrous and anarthrous form of the Greek phrase are to be distinguished. The anarthrous form is used in Revelation and, in context, refers to a human-like figure. There is also an anarthrous form as part of a quote in Heb. 2.6, which translates the Hebrew literally. Otherwise, the singular arthrous form is consistently used of Jesus.

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• The expression ὁ ὑιὸς τοῦ ἀνθρώπου is used in the gospels and Acts as a title, with the implication that it refers to the messianic figure of Jesus, including his divine state in heaven. It is clear that some sections of the early church considered Son of Man a messianic title of Jesus (whether or not Jesus himself used the term in that sense). 10.3.3.7. Conclusions on ‘The Son of Man’ The following points arise from the investigation of the usage of ‘son of man’ in Jewish and Christian literature: • The Aramaic expression ‫בר אנש‬, and the expression ‫ בן אדם‬that is generally its Hebrew equivalent, is used to mean ‘man, human’ (cf. also ‫‘ בנת אנש‬woman’). However, in Aramaic the singular undetermined form is rather infrequent, and the determined singular is even less frequent. The form normally seen is the determined plural ‫בני‬ )‫‘ אנשא‬men, people, humans’). • The figure of the ‘son of man’ is a development from the figure referred to as ‘like a son of man’ in Dan. 7.13. However, it is also evident that the figure has developed, drawing on symbolism, imagery, and characteristics found in other biblical passages and even from non-biblical traditions, including the Davidic king (Ps. 2; Isa. 11), the servant of Isaiah 42 and 49, and pre-existent wisdom (Prov. 8.22-36; Sir. 24.1-3), to create an important and defined figure within the Enochic tradition. • It is generally agreed (in spite of Vermes’s claim) that the Aramaic expression is not the equivalent of ‘I’ in the first century CE. • As a number of researchers have recently argued, there is no evidence that Son of Man was a widespread messianic title in first-century Judaism, as had once been argued. • On the other hand, Son of Man clearly functioned as a title or something similar to it in some circles of late Second Temple Judaism. Its employment in the Parables of Enoch and in the gospels shows that it was so used by some groups within Judaism. The phrase ‘Son of Man’ is one of four designations applied to a central figure in the Parables, along with ‘the Chosen One’, ‘the Anointed One’, and the ‘Righteous One’. • Some have argued that the term ‘son of man’ is not a title in the Parables, since demonstrative pronouns are used in many passages in the Parables (such as ‘that son of man’). On the other hand, some of the other designations also have demonstrative or possessive pronouns (‘his Anointed’: 48.10; 54.6; ‘my Chosen One’: 45.3, 4; 51.5; 55.4).

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More important, the Head of Days, who can be none other than God himself, is called ‘that Head of Days’ (71.12, 13) and ‘that Lord of Spirits’ (62.10). Finally, Son of Man is the most frequent designation for the figure in the Parables, despite other titles for him. There seems no doubt that ‘son of man’ has taken on a messianic identity in the Parables of Enoch. • ‘Son of Man’ functions as a title for Jesus in the gospels and Acts. In addition, the argument that there is direct influence of the Parables of Enoch on the gospel of Matthew seems to be well based and indicates that the figure of the Son of Man is not just a borrowing from Daniel. • Yet, it is also evident that Son of Man as a messianic title did not persist either in Judaism or in the Jewish sect that became Christianity with that meaning. For a time it influenced some groups among the Jews but then fell into disuse or even out of favour. Why this happened is unclear, but it might explain why the messianic figure in 4 Ezra 13.1 is referred to as ‘the man (from the sea)’ rather than the Son of Man. 10.3.4. Conclusions about Messiahs Some of the main results of our survey of messianic views in the extant literature can be summarized as follows: • The messianic concepts in sources from the first and second centuries CE continue the two main themes known already in ancient Israel: the king and the chief priest (HJJSTP 2: 259). In some sources we find royal motifs and in others, priestly motifs, but both sorts of motif are often found together (cf. the messiahs of Judah and Aaron at Qumran [HJJSTP 3: 277–78]). These two concepts appear to inform and channel all the speculations on the subject in the Second Temple period. • The ancient Israelite king was a human figure, even if he might be accredited with certain divine characteristics. The view of a messiah who would be a future earthly king was evidently widespread during the first and second centuries CE. This seems to include some of the various different revolutionary movements that we know of mostly from Josephus (cf. §7.1). Some have argued that these movements were motivated by political considerations rather than messianic claims. Although this is not always easy to get at, because of skimpy information, we must keep in mind that making claims of royalty fits very well the royal model of the messiah. Texts that give such

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a model include the Psalms of Solomon 17–18 (HJJSTP 3: 276–77) and perhaps the messiah of 4 Ezra 7 who lives for 400 years but who eventually dies. Also, Bar Kokhva seems to have seen himself or been seen as an earthly messiah (§15.7.5). But a new development arose about the second or first century BCE: the concept of a heavenly messiah. Not only some Qumran texts (HJJSTP 3: 277–78), but also 4 Ezra 13 and the Parables of Enoch exhibit such a figure. The messiah of 2 Baruch is revealed from heaven, though whether he is a heavenly figure is uncertain. The term ‘son of man’, which can mean simply ‘human being’ in many contexts, is used for a short period in certain texts (e.g., Parables of Enoch and the gospels) as a messianic title. The title was applied to Jesus in some early Christian texts but ceases to be used at a fairly early time. No messianic figure is evident is several texts (e.g., the Wisdom of Solomon, Philo, and the Testament of Abraham). These stress individual eschatology and the immediate judgment of the individual after death, the soul being the essence of the person. Such texts seem to sublimate national eschatology to wider concerns about the Jewish people. Although it is possible that messianic views were extant but were supressed for fear of persecution, the overall theology of these writers does not require a messianic figure. Neither does the world view found in the Mishnah (Neusner 1984); even though a messiah appears in the Amoraic literature, it is very much a tamed and future figure, and does not correspond to the strong apocalyptic view found in some pre-70 texts. One of the topics that arises perennially is the question of whether there was a ‘suffering messiah’ concept in pre-70 Judaism. No pre-70 sources indicate such an idea. The death of the messiah in 4 Ezra 7.29 has no redemptive significance—he is not a ‘suffering messiah’; rather he dies along with all humans alive at the time in order to set the stage for the general resurrection and judgment. The one figure produced frequently in the past to justify the concept of a messiah who suffers and dies is the ‘Messiah ben Joseph’ of some rabbinic writings; however, this concept is presently known only from late texts and may well be a construct developed to counter Christian ideas about Jesus or to justify the acclaim of Bar Kokhva as the messiah after he had been killed by the Romans.

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10.4. Eschatologies and Ideas of Salvation This question was discussed in HJJSTP 1 (247–50), HJJSTP 2 (258–59), and HJJSTP 3 (272–75), which shows a remarkable development over the centuries. The late Second Temple shows a solidification of ideas about the end of life and the end of the world among many Jews. This section will consider both the fate of the individual at death and the fate of the cosmos which many saw as coming to an end. H. C. C. Cavallin (1974) Life after Death: Paul’s Argument for the Resurrection of the Dead in I Cor 15, Part I: An Enquiry into the Jewish Background; A. Dihle (1974) ‘ψυχή… A. ψυχή in the Greek World’ and ‘C. Judaism: I. Hellenistic Judaism’, TDNT 9:608–17, 632–35; U. Fischer (1978) Eschatologie und Jenseitserwartung im hellenistischen Diasporajudentum; L. L. Grabbe (2000c) ‘Eschatology in Philo and Josephus’, in A. Avery-Peck and J. Neusner (eds) Judaism in Late Antiquity: Volume 4. Special Topics: (1) Death and the Afterlife: 35–62; G. W. E. Nickelsburg (1972) Resurrection, Immortality, and Eternal Life in Intertestamental Judaism; L. V. Rutgers (1998b) ‘Jewish Ideas about Death and Afterlife: The Inscriptional Evidence’, The Hidden Heritage of Diaspora Judaism: 157–68.

10.4.1. Texts Philo, surprisingly, has a lot to say on the subject of eschatology but differs in a number of ways from many other Jewish sources (see Grabbe 2000c for a more detailed discussion of Philo’s views). Some other writings (e.g., the Wisdom of Solomon [see HJJSTP 3: 108–10], which may be from Alexandria), have much in common with Philo, suggesting perhaps an Egyptian Jewish tradition. For Philo the essential part of the person is the soul (Leg. All. 3.161; Somn. 1.34; Mut. 223). Philo agrees with the Orphic slogan that ‘the body is a tomb’ (Leg. All. 2.108; Spec. Leg. 4.188), which makes a play on the similarity of the words for ‘body’ (sōma) and ‘tomb’ (sēma) in Greek. Death is the separation of body and soul (Leg. All. 1.105; 2.77). Philo sees rational souls as associated with the air, the heavens, and divinity (Plant. 14; Gig. 6–16). Human souls are of the same general substance as those who make up the ranks of angels and the stars. The difference is that in humans the souls are entangled with the body and the lower or irrational soul (cf. Leg. All. 1.31-42; Conf. 176–82; Quis Heres 55–62; Congr. 97; Quaes. Exod. 2.13). The distinction between the rational and irrational soul is very important to Philo. He associates

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immortality with the soul but not with the irrational soul which is mortal and corruptible. Although a general assertion of immortality can be found (e.g., Quaes. Gen. 3.11), this really applies only to the rational part of the soul (Fuga 68–71; Quod Det. 81–85) which should control the passions (appetites, desires) produced by the lower part of the soul. The ultimate goal and end is alluded to in this passage: to escape the encumbrance of the body (Gig. 12–16). What happens to the wicked is less clearly delineated. Philo thinks there are such things as punitive angels whose function is primarily to punish the wicked humans, but they are not themselves wicked as such (Conf. 177; Fuga 66). Philo’s discussion of what happens to the wicked is given only in metaphorical terms. One passage suggests that just as the righteous go to heaven (or above the heavens), the wicked are sent down to Tartarus (originally the place where Zeus imprisoned the Titans after defeating them). Also, just as the righteous are said to look heavenward for their dwelling (Quaes. Gen. 4.74, 178) or to live on ‘Olympus’ (Somn. 1.151), the wicked are associated with Hades (Quis Heres 45; Congr. 57; Quaes. Exod. 2.40). However, Hades and Tartarus are conventional expressions and represent conditions, not places. Philo can also refer to ‘eternal death’ (ἀίδιος θάνατος) for the impious (Post. 39), but again this looks very much like metaphorical language, for he makes nothing further of this statement. It is not clear that any soul is wicked of itself, apart from its entanglement with the body and the material world. Some souls are imprisoned in their own hell by refusing to exercise the wisdom to break free of the body and soar into the upper regions which is the soul’s natural home. There is no reference to a resurrection in Philo. On the contrary, a resurrection does not fit at all well into his religious system. The whole point of the spiritual life is for the soul eventually to escape the encumbrance of the body. One cannot imagine Philo looking with favour on a general resurrection in which the souls of the righteous were again reunited with the body. The book of 4 Maccabees seems to agree with Philo and Wisdom in envisaging no resurrection (despite the presence of the resurrection in its source of 2 Maccabees). The soul is what has life (4 Macc. 9.7-9; 10.4). Those who are martyred will be given immortality (4 Macc. 13.17; 14.5-6; 18.23), but this seems to include all the righteous (4 Macc. 7.18-19; 15.3; 16.25). They will be assumed into heaven (4 Macc. 17.4-6), but the wicked will be punished in fire (4 Macc. 9.9). Other books combine belief in a soul with the resurrection. Pseudo-Phocylides (102–15) has both. The Testament of Job (4.1) mentions the resurrection but also talks about the soul (T. Job 38.8–40.3; 52.10).

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The Testament of Abraham, which is now generally dated to the first century CE, gives the clearest picture of how the souls are judged after death (T. Abr. A 11–14; B 9–11). Death is defined as separation of the soul from the body (T. Abr. A 1, 7; B 4, 13). The souls are brought before a throne on which Abel sits as judge. (According Version B, the one who presents the souls for judgment is Enoch, the scribe of righteousness.) The judged souls go either through the strait gate which leads to life (for the righteous) or the broad gate to destruction (for the sinners). Although there is a brief indication of belief in a general resurrection (T. Abr. B 7.16), judgment of each individual seems to take place immediately after death, and the emphasis is on this immediate judgment of the soul while the body rests in the grave. Josephus is an important source of views about eschatology (see Grabbe 2000c for a more detailed discussion). There are indications that he expected a cosmic end of the age when Rome would be destroyed by divine intervention, but he is rather coy about being very explicit in a book which might be read by Roman friends. On personal eschatology, two passages give some unambiguous views (War 3.8.1-7 §§340-91; Ag. Ap. 2.30). The emphasis in both is on the soul: the soul is currently connected with the body, but it is the real person, indeed a small portion of the divine temporarily incarnated. Death is the separation of body and soul, and the soul lives on as an immortal entity; the good souls are rewarded, and the evil ones are punished. It also seems evident that Josephus believed in the transmigration of souls, stating that the soul released at death would eventually be reborn in a new body. This belief in metempsychosis seems to be a problem for some commentators, because they either ignore it or attempt to explain that this was not Josephus’s view (e.g., Dihle 1974: 634 n. 104). These two descriptions of Josephus’s own views look remarkably similar to the views ascribed by Josephus himself to both the Pharisees and the Essenes (HJJSTP 3: 145–52 and 170–72). What does emerge from the various passages in Josephus is belief in a soul which survives death and is rewarded or punished for its deeds on earth. He also seems to think that at some point the soul, or at least the good soul, might well be reincarnated into a new body and reborn once more. Josephus also describes the Sadducees as rejecting any belief in an afterlife, a view that seems to be a continuation of the tradition Hebrew Bible view. Surprisingly, Josephus gives no evidence of belief in a resurrection, even though this would not require him to bring the Romans into the picture. Yet we should not take this silence as proof that Josephus did not believe in the resurrection as

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such, since this was a concept alien to the Greeks and Romans (cf. Acts 17.32). It may well be that Josephus had no occasion on which to expound the belief and felt that because of his apologetic purposes, he should keep quiet about it. We do not know that this was the case, but if we had to guess at his views, it is more likely than not that the resurrection of the dead to judgment in the end time was a part of his belief system. The Liber Antiquitatum Biblicarum (Pseudo-Philo) exhibits the same ambiguity about how personal eschatology is conceived. Death is perceived as the separation of body and soul (LAB 44.10); the souls of the dead go to the underworld (infernus) to chambers (LAB 32.13; 33.3) where they can recognize each other (LAB 62.9), though the righteous will become like the stars (LAB 33.5). The person’s fate is fixed at the time of death and cannot be changed afterward (LAB 33.3-5). All are resurrected for a judgment between the soul and the flesh, with the destruction of ‘hell’ (infernus) and a new heaven and earth (LAB 3.10); however, some of the wicked apparently will not be resurrected but die forever (LAB 16.3). The Apocalypse of Moses seems to be similar, with death the separation of body and soul (Apoc. Mos. 13.3-6; 32.4). The righteous soul goes to heaven on the seventh day (Apoc. Mos. 43.1-3//Vita Adae et Euae 51.1-2), evidently to Paradise which is in the third heaven (Apoc. Mos. 40.1-2). A final resurrection will be at the end of time, at which point there will no more sinners because the evil heart will be removed from them (Apoc. Mos. 13.3-5; does this imply a universal salvation?). According to 4 Ezra 7.78-101, at death the spirit leaves the body and returns to its maker. Those that have been wicked will wander in torment, awaiting their fate at the final judgment. The righteous, on the other hand, will enter into rest in storehouses guarded by angels (cf. 4 Ezra 4.40-42), knowing the reward to come to them which includes shining like the stars. The eschatological end of the age is prominent in 4 Ezra. Like the Olivet prophecy of the Gospels, a good deal of emphasis is placed on the signs preceding the end (4 Ezra 5.1-13; 6.18-28). The main passages are found in 4 Ezra 11–13. The first is the eagle vision of 4 Ezra 11–12, in which the eagle represents the Roman empire. The eagle is confronted by a lion from the forest and is eventually burnt (4 Ezra 11.33–12.3). The lion represents the messiah who will call Rome before God’s judgment seat for its wickedness, while the people of God will be freed and saved (4 Ezra 12.31-34). After a messianic age of 400 years (4 Ezra 7.28) there will be a resurrection and judgment of all (apparently lasting seven years), followed by reward in paradise or punishment in the furnace of ‘hell’ (Gehenna: 4 Ezra 7.31-36; 8.52-54; 14.35).

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In the vision in 4 Ezra 13, the ‘man coming up out of the sea’ is God’s son revealed in the last time (4 Ezra 13.32). Although the term ‘messiah’ is not used of him, he seems to be a messianic figure. The nations will gather against him but will be destroyed by his law which is like fire (4 Ezra 13.38). He will also bring back the lost ten tribes from across the Euphrates (4 Ezra 13.39-50). These passages seem to end with judgment on the nations, followed by the messianic age. What happens afterward is presumably that already described in 4 Ezra 7, as cited above. 2 Baruch has a good deal on personal and cosmic eschatology, much of it parallel to 4 Ezra. A significant portion of the book is taken up by the vision of the light and dark waters which lead up to the eschaton (2 Bar. 53–74). The souls of the dead are kept in storehouses awaiting the final resurrection and judgment (2 Bar. 30). They will be resurrected in the same bodily form as they died; the righteous will inherit paradise while the wicked will go into torment (2 Bar. 49–51). The wicked are punished in fire (2 Bar. 44.15; 59.2; 64.7). If 2 Enoch is as early as the first century, its elaborate set of heavens provides one of the most detailed looks ‘behind the scenes’ for that time, though there are a number of differences between the two basic versions, with either seven (short recension) or ten (long recension) heavens (2 En. 1–38). No underworld is described, but in the two versions both paradise and the place of punishment are in the third heaven (2 En. 8–10; 41–42). The place of punishment is described as a place of cold and of a dark fire. Although no explicit statement is made, the impression is that punishment and reward take place directly after death. Nothing is said about a resurrection, but neither are there any details of judgment, though a judgment day is certainly envisaged (2 En. 52.15). Dwellings have been prepared for both the righteous and the wicked in the ‘great age’ (2 En. 61.2-5), which is a time when all things come to an end, including time itself, and all the righteous who have escaped God’s judgment will be together in paradisial conditions (2 En. 65.6-11). The Apocalypse of Abraham has a large section of its text devoted to an ascension into heaven (Apoc. Abr. 15–29). Abraham sees God’s throne with four living creatures that appear to be a combination of the cherubim and the seraphim (Apoc. Abr. 18). Eight heavens are enumerated (Apoc. Abr. 19), though a good portion of his vision is of the earth and events there (Apoc. Abr. 21–29), including the destruction of the temple (Apoc. Abr. 27). The last days seem to be calculated, though the exact result is not very clear (Apoc. Abr. 28–30). Ten plagues will come on the earth before some sort of golden ‘age of justice’ in which the righteous triumph (Apoc.

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Abr. 29.14-21). This age appears to be ushered in by God’s ‘chosen one’ (Apoc. Abr. 31.1) and the wicked will be burned by the fire of Hades in the underworld (Azazel’s belly?) where the fire of Azazel’s tongue will torment them (Apoc. Abr. 31.2-8; cf. 21.3). The Sibylline Oracles give ideas about eschatology over a lengthy period of time and from a variety of perspectives. A period of eschatological troubles will be followed by a messianic figure from Egypt, an idealized Egyptian king (Sib. Or. 3.635-56). The kings of the earth will attack the temple of God (Sib. Or. 3.657-68), but then God himself will intervene to punish the wicked (Sib Or. 3.669-701) and the sons of God will dwell around a peaceful temple protected by the Creator and renewed earth of peace and plenty (Sib. Or. 3.702-95). The rise of Rome and the destruction of Jerusalem (Sib Or. 4.102-29) will be followed by an attack on Rome of Nero redivivus (Sib. Or. 4.130-51). Wickedness and events will eventually culminate in a universal conflagration which destroys all human beings (Sib. Or. 4.152-78); this is followed by a resurrection and judgment in which the wicked are assigned to Tartarus and Gehenna but the righteous will live on the earth (Sib. Or. 4.179-92). Sibylline Oracle 5 refers a number of times to the myth of Nero redivivus, conceived of as an enemy of God (Sib. Or. 5.93-110, 137-54, 214-27, 361-85). He will be opposed by a saviour figure from heaven (Sib. Or. 5.108-9, 155-61, 256-59, 414-25) who will beautify Jerusalem and rebuild the temple (Sib. Or. 5.420-24). A period of eschatological woes (Sib. Or. 5.447-83) will be followed by the conversion of Egypt to the true God, though the temple of God in Egypt will be destroyed by the Ethiopians (Sib Or. 5.484-511). The book ends with a war in the heavens which burns the earth (Sib. Or. 5.512-31). Within the various New Testament books, both a general resurrection of the dead at the end of the world and the immediate reward or punishment of the person at death are envisaged. Many passages talk of the resurrection, which often includes the concept of judgment in the same context, with the broader setting not infrequently the cosmic eschaton at the end of the world. Perhaps the clearest example is Revelation 20 which includes a first resurrection of saints alone and a second one of all the dead, with a millennial rule of God’s people and a final judgment of all the dead. The catastrophic events leading up to God’s intervention in world affairs is recounted in the Olivet prophecy or ‘gospel apocalypse’ (Mark 13//Matt. 24//Luke 21). Paul is said to agree with the Pharisees in believing in the resurrection, versus the Sadducees who do not (Acts 23.6-9). Perhaps the clearest passage indicating reward and punishment immediately after

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death is the parable of the beggar Lazarus (Luke 16.19-31). He and the rich man are pictured after death, with Lazarus in ‘the bosom of Abraham’ while the rich man is tormented in the flames. There is no indication that they must wait until the resurrection before this reward/punishment takes place. In an episode when Jesus is on the cross, he says to one of the ‘thieves’ crucified with him, ‘I say to you, today you will be with me in paradise’ (Luke 23.43). This is probably the correct way of reading the text; however, it should be noted that the Greek is potentially ambiguous, and it is possible that the word ‘today’ goes with ‘I say’; indeed, some early versions (e.g., the Old Syriac) interpret it in this way. 10.4.2. Conclusions about Eschatology A. Dupont-Sommer (1949) ‘De l’immortalité astrale dans la “Sagesse de Salomon” (III 7)’, Revue des Etudes Grecques 62: 80–87; L. L. Grabbe (1995) Priest, Prophets, Diviners, Sages: A Socio-Historical Study of Religious Specialists in Ancient Israel; M. Himmelfarb (1983) Tours of Hell; idem (1993) Ascents into Heaven in Jewish and Christian Apocalypses; J. D. Tabor (1986) Things Unutterable: Paul’s Ascent to Paradise in its Greco-Roman, Judaic, and Early Christian Contexts; N. Tromp (1969) Primitive Conceptions of Death and the Nether World in the Old Testament.

The comments below sometimes go beyond the first and second centuries CE to comment on the development of eschatology over the centuries. Some studies (especially those relating to the NT) emphasize the importance of eschatology in early Judaism. The eschatological interest can be exaggerated, however, especially since it is clear that many Jews had little concern for such views. What emerges from a study of the extant texts is the variety of views about what happened to the individual at death and eventually to the cosmos. To state that certain views were ‘characteristic’ of Judaism (e.g., the resurrection of the body) is to mislead in most cases. Since the survey of the texts yields such a mixture of concepts, this section will give a more systematic picture of the different views that can be extracted from the sources. A ‘cult of the dead’ seems to have been a part of early Palestinian society, judging from archaeology and various hints in the literature (Grabbe 1995: 141–45). Yet most of the books of the Hebrew Bible do not seem to envisage life after death as such. Exactly when and in what form belief in some form of afterlife became a part of Israelite thinking is not known. What is clear is that sometime in the Persian or early Greek period, ideas about an afterlife had entered Jewish thinking.

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The frequent assertion that the resurrection of the body was the characteristic Jewish belief is not borne out by the data. Resurrection is apparently found in Isa. 26.19 and certainly in Dan. 12.1-3, but there is little reason to think that it was earlier or more characteristic of Jewish thinking than the immortality of the soul or resurrection of the spirit. And it is clear that some Jews still maintained the older belief in no afterlife. After the book of Daniel, the resurrection appears regularly—though not universally—in Jewish writings, including 2 Maccabees, the later sections of 1 Enoch, the Apocalypse of Moses, Pseudo-Philo, 4 Ezra, 2 Baruch, and apparently the Psalms of Solomon. The exact form of the resurrection is not always specified. 2 Maccabees 7 seems to expect the resurrection of the body, because the parts cut off in torture would be restored (cf. also 2 Bar. 50). However, sometimes only the resurrection of the spirit is in mind, as in Jub. 23.20-22. On the other hand, belief in the immortality of the soul is early, at least as early as the beginning of the Greek period, as witnessed by the Book of Watchers (1 En. 1–36; see especially 22). Other sources indicate belief that death is the separation of body and soul (a widespread definition of death in the Hellenistic period) and give no indication of a resurrection at all. Several of these are from Alexandria (or likely to be) such as Philo and the Wisdom of Solomon, but not all are. Other writings include the Testament of Abraham and 4 Maccabees. On the other hand, the immortality of the soul and the resurrection may be combined, as in Pseudo-Philo, the Apocalypse of Moses, 2 Baruch, 4 Ezra, Pseudo-Phocylides, and the Testament of Job, as well as passages in the NT. Several early writings describe journeys to (the various) heaven(s) and through the underworld (cf. Tabor 1986; Himmelfarb 1983, though she is primarily concerned with Christian writings; 1993). An elaborate doctrine of heaven and hell as the reward of the righteous and the wicked is mainly a late development, however. In the different writings, the intermediate place of the dead is sometimes in the underworld, sometimes in one of the heavens, and sometimes not specified. The old ancient Near Eastern view of sheol or the underworld—essentially the grave—apparently gave birth to the concept of hell (cf. Tromp 1969). One of the earliest descriptions which shows a more developed concept of the underworld is found in the Book of Watchers. Enoch takes various journeys, including a visit to see the storehouses for the souls of both the righteous and the wicked which are apparently in the underworld (1 En. 22). The concept of a fiery hell does not come about until later. Punishment of the wicked by the ‘fire of the dark regions’ is found in 1QS 4.11-14. Other texts mention a fiery punishment without specifying that

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this is in hell or the underworld (4 Macc. 9.9; 4 Ezra 13.38; 2 Bar. 44.15; 59.2; 64.7). In the Testament of Abraham sinners are punished in torment, but the location is not specified (e.g., A 13.12; B 9.9). In 2 Enoch (10.1-3) punishment includes darkness, ice, and ‘black fire’, but since the place of torment is in the third heaven, no underworld emerges in this writing. In the Apocalypse of Abraham punishment of the wicked appears to be in a fiery abyss or underworld or Hades (conceived of as Azazel’s belly?: Apoc. Abr. 21.3; 31.2-3). The Sibylline Oracles several times talk about destruction of the earth by fire, but this is the Greek concept of ekpyrosis or universal conflagration and not really the same as hell (e.g., Sib. Or. 3.84-92; 4.159-61, 171-78; 5.527-31). One of the earliest tours of heaven is found in the Enoch tradition. In 1 Enoch the patriarch is allowed to journey to heaven and have a vision of God’s throne, but there are only angels attending; no human souls are there (1 En. 14.8-25). One of the clearest visions of heaven is found in the Testament of Abraham. In both versions Abraham is taken up by angels and sees heaven and the judgment of the dead (which is apparently immediately post mortem). The reward of the saved is Paradise, though its exact location is not given (T. Abr. A 14.8). The most detailed description of the heavens as such is 2 Enoch. In the seven/ten heavens both Paradise and the place of punishment for the wicked are in the third heaven; if there is an underworld, it is not referred to. The Apocalypse of Abraham (15–29) describes an ascension to heaven by Abraham where he sees God’s throne, though much of the description is devoted to events on earth. Several writings mention that the ultimate goal of the righteous is to become like the stars of the heavens (Dupont-Sommer 1949), which is sometimes referred to as ‘astral immortality’ (e.g., Wis. 3.7-9; 1 En. 104.2). A commonplace view considered the age of the world as finite and history as being played out according to a predetermined divine plan (HJJSTP 3: 287–89). This is indicated by the ‘review of history’ found in many of the apocalypses and related writings (Dan. 11, the Animal Apocalypse [1 En. 85–90], the Testament of Moses, 2 Bar. 53–74, the Apocalypse of Weeks [1 En. 93.2-9 + 91.12-17]). One of the most characteristic elements of apocalyptic and related literature is the view that the eschaton has come, either for the individual or for the whole human race in which case the world itself was in its last days. The cosmic eschaton is often preceded by an oppressive world empire, with God intervening to destroy it. In Daniel (7.19-27; 8.23-25; 11) this is Antiochus Epiphanes’s Seleucid empire; other oracles against the Greeks are found in the Sibylline Oracles (e.g., 3.520-72). In most of the writings, however, the empire is Rome. The clearest example is probably the eagle vision of 4 Ezra 11–12 in which the Roman empire is symbolized by the eagle.

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A similar representation is found in the NT book of Revelation which is roughly contemporary with 4 Ezra (Rev. 13; 17). In the Sibylline Oracles, a number of oracles predict the fall of Rome (e.g., 3.350-64; 4.130-48; 5.162-78). Sibylline Oracles 4 has an early Hellenistic oracle that also apparently once ended with the destruction of the Greek empires but was then updated to end with the Roman empire (Sib. Or. 4.40-114). Josephus also apparently believed that the fall of Rome was prophesied in Daniel, though he was careful not to be explicit. Such beliefs probably also helped to fuel the 66–70 Jewish war against Rome (§14.1.3). According to one opinion the approaching end time would be heralded by a series of eschatological ‘troubles’ (sometimes referred to as the ‘messianic woes’ or ‘birth pangs of the messiah’). These have a parallel in some of the classical writers (e.g., Herodotus) who report ‘prodigies’ that heralded important events. In Jewish literature a major feature of these ‘woes’ is the reversal of normality: the world is turned upside down; the expected order of society has become its opposite; nothing is the way it should be; chaos has re-entered the cosmos. Yet even though these increase the suffering of mankind, they are welcome because God will soon intervene to bring an end to all human suffering. In some cases, the righteous escape the end time woes, but this does not always seem to be the case. A detailed description of these eschatological troubles tends to be found in the later literature, though the idea that God’s people are being oppressed and will be delivered by divine intervention goes back to the biblical prophecies. The Sibylline Oracles are not always easy to make sense of because various sections may have been written independently and at different times; however, in some passages the wars between nations and a series of natural disasters will eventually culminate in a universal conflagration which destroys all human beings (Sib. Or. 4.130-78; 5.447-530). 4 Ezra (5.1-13; 6.18-28) gives details of a society in a topsy-turvey situation, along with nature in upheaval. The vision of the light and dark waters in 2 Baruch (69–70) culminates in the final dark waters with the reversal of normality, as well as natural disasters. In the NT, the Olivet prophecy of the gospels gives a similar picture (Mark 13// Matt. 24//Luke 21). 10.5. Conclusions Since each one of the main sections in this chapter had a summary, it is not necessary to repeat all that information here. Rather, a short synthesis will attempt to bring together some of the main points about the development of religious belief in the late Second Temple period.

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Monotheism (however one defines it) was a widespread belief in the last centuries of the Second Temple period. The existence of other heavenly figures (angels) alongside the deity was not seen to compromise this view. These angelic beings, whether good or evil, were seen as helpers or opponents of God but decidedly inferior to him and, thus, under his ultimate control. The good heavenly beings assisted God in many different ways and often functioned as messengers or intermediaries between the deity and humanity. The evil one(s) could oppose God temporarily and up to a point, but there would eventually be a reckoning. In the meantime, they could lead human beings astray and inspire them to commit wicked acts. The deity tended to become more remote from the world as time went on; nevertheless, he was always imminent to the creation, especially human beings. The use of angelic figures as intermediaries was one way of doing this. Another was the existence of certain divine hypostases, such as Lady Wisdom or the Logos. These were not separate deities—although sometimes described or discussed almost as if they were—but rather manifestations of the deity in a form that preserved his separation from the material world but also allowed him to reveal himself to material humans. Coming to the aid of humans was the messiah or some sort of messianic figure. He was the ‘anointed’ envisaged by the Hebrew Bible, acting either as a king or priest or possibly a combination of both. He originally was a military leader, a larger-than-life saviour, who would deliver his people by activities on the human plane. Such a figure is modelled in the Psalms of Solomon but also seems to be exemplified in Bar Kokhva. Although human, this figure at no point seems to have been a suffering or martyred individual except in the Jewish sect known as the ‘Jesus movement’. As time went on, however, a heavenly messiah was conceived of by some groups among the Jews. This figure had supernatural—perhaps even divine—features, but his main task was to deliver Israel in the time of trouble. Whether human or heavenly, the messiah went by a number of names or titles. One of these was ‘the Son of Man’, though this title seems to have been used for only a short period of time, primarily in the first century CE. The ‘time of trouble’ was often conceived of at this juncture as the end of days, a time of cosmic upheaval leading up to the intervention of God, the resurrection of the dead, and divine judgment of all peoples. This was one scenario, but there were others. Some texts say nothing of a cosmic culmination of history, a resurrection, or a mass judgment of all the dead. Instead, they focus on the fate of the individual after death, which is usually conceived of as the separation of body and soul. The

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soul is usually thought of as judged immediately after death and sent to a paradise or hell, though sometimes the souls are kept in storage until a day of final judgment. Even then, the wicked souls might be seen as already suffering punishment and the righteous as experiencing Edenic conditions.

Chapter 11

R el i g i on III : J u d a eop h i l i a a n d J udae ophobi a , R e l ig i ous R i g h t s , a n d C onve r si on

B. Bar-Kochva (2010) The Image of the Jews in Greek Literature: The Hellenistic Period; S. J. D. Cohen (1987) ‘Respect for Judaism by Gentiles According to Josephus’, HTR 80: 409–30; idem (1999) The Beginnings of Jewishness: Boundaries, Varieties, Uncertainties; L. H. Feldman (1993) Jew and Gentile in the Ancient World: Attitudes and Interactions from Alexander to Justinian; P. Schäfer (1997) Judeophobia: Attitudes toward the Jews in the Ancient World.

In part this chapter looks at the Jews and Judaism as they were seen by their Greek and Roman neighbours and overlords. It focuses on the attitudes toward Jews and their religion by non-Jews. The question of conversion is not necessarily a matter for ‘outsiders’, yet any conversion involved non-Jews and was clearly a matter of concern, especially for Romans: the Roman view was generally hostile to the idea of joining another religion if it involved giving up their ancestral traditions. Thus, entering or exiting the Jewish community could not avoid inciting a reaction from the wider Greek or Roman context. 11.1. Pro-Judaism, Anti-Judaism, and Religious Rights M. Bernett (2007) Der Kaiserkult in Judäa unter den Herodiern und Römern: Untersuchungen zur politischen und religiösen Geschichte Judäas von 30 v. bis 66 n. Chr.; CPJ 2:25–107; J. L. Daniel (1979) ‘Anti-Semitism in the Hellenistic-Roman Period’, JBL 98: 45–65; L. H. Feldman (1987–88) ‘Pro-Jewish Intimations in Anti-Jewish Remarks Cited in Josephus’ Against Apion’, JQR 78: 187–251; idem (1995) ‘Reflections on Rutger’s “Attitudes to Judaism in the Greco-Roman Period” ’, JQR 86: 153–70; J. G. Gager

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(1972) Moses in Greco-Roman Paganism; M. Goodman (1987) The Ruling Class of Judaea: The Origins of the Jewish Revolt against Rome A.D. 66–70.; L. L. Grabbe (2006a) ‘The “Persian Documents” in the Book of Ezra: Are They Authentic?’, in O. Lipschits and M. Oeming (eds), Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period: 531–70; idem (2006b) ‘Biblical Historiography in the Persian period: or How the Jews Took Over the Empire’, in S. W. Holloway (ed.), Orientalism, Assyriology and the Bible: 400–14; S. L. Guterman (1951) Religious Toleration and Persecution in Ancient Rome; R. A. Horsley (1995) Galilee: History, Politics, People; B. Isaac (2004) The Invention of Racism in Classical Antiquity; A. Kasher (1990) Jews and Hellenistic Cities in Eretz-Israel; S. Krauter (2004) Bürgerrecht und Kultteilnahme: Politische und kultische Rechte und Pflichten in griechischen Poleis, Rom und antikem Judentum; A. J. Marshall (1975) ‘Flaccus and the Jews of Asia (Cicero Pro Flacco 28.6769)’, Phoenix 29: 139–54; H. A. Musurillo (ed.) (1954) The Acts of the Pagan Martyrs: Acta Alexandrinorum; J. Neusner and E. S. Frerichs (eds) (1985) ‘To See Ourselves as Others See Us’; K. L. Noethlichs (1996) Das Judentum und der römische Staat: Minderheitenpolitik im antiken Rom; M. Pucci Ben Zeev (1998) Jewish Rights in the Roman World: The Greek and Roman Documents Quoted by Josephus Flavius; A. M. Rabello (1980) ‘The Legal Condition of the Jews in the Roman Empire’, ANRW II 13:662–762; T. Rajak (1984) ‘Was There a Roman Charter for the Jews?’, JRS 74: 107–23; idem (1985) ‘Jewish Rights in the Greek Cities under Roman Rule: a New Approach’, in W. S. Green (ed.), Approaches to Ancient Judaism, Volume V: Studies in Judaism and its Greco-Roman Context: 19–35; L. V. Rutgers (1994–95) ‘Attitudes to Judaism in the Greco-Roman Period: Reflections on Feldman’s Jew and Gentile in the Ancient World’, JQR 85: 361–95; J. N. Sevenster (1975) The Roots of Pagan Anti-Semitism in the Ancient World; H. D. Slingerland (1998) Claudian Policymaking and the Early Imperial Repression of Judaism at Rome; G. N. Stanton and G. G. Stroumsa (eds) (1998) Tolerance and Intolerance in Early Judaism and Christianity; P. R. Trebilco (1991) Jewish Communities in Asia Minor; Z. Yavetz (1993) ‘Judeophobia in Classical Antiquity: A Different Approach’, JJS 44: 1–22; G. M. Zerbe (1993) Non-Retaliation in Early Jewish and New Testament Texts: Ethical Themes in Social Contexts.

11.1.1. Pro-Jewish Statements In the long stretch of time from the first Greek mentions of the Jews to the end of the Second Temple period, we find a variety of attitudes and views expressed about Jews and the Jewish religion in the preserved Greek and Roman literature. Occasionally, they represent admiration, especially from certain Greek philosophers; occasionally, they are hostile; mostly they show astonishment or contempt toward Jewish customs. The

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last two views will be considered in the next section, but first we should look at the positive comments about the Jews. There are those such as Hecataeus of Abdera who found the Jews exotic and interesting (HJJSTP 2: 113–19); against this must be weighed the generic contempt felt by the Greeks toward all ‘barbarians’. But it is not unusual to find some positive statements about the Jews in Graeco-Roman literature, especially from the earlier period (Gager 1972: 25–79; Feldman 1987–88). The Greeks in antiquity were often contemptuous of non-Greeks, applying the name ‘barbarian’ to them (though this seems to have originated in reference to their unintelligible languages). This is a universal attitude toward outsiders and hardly surprising. More interesting are those Greeks who wrote approvingly and even in admiration of certain nonGreek peoples, holding them up as models to their own people, especially in the early Hellenistic period following Alexander’s conquests (much as some Enlightenment writers extolled the recently discovered ‘primitive’ peoples as welcome contrasts to their own decadent society). Most of the statements of Greek and Latin authors on the Jews have been collected in GLAJJ. Perhaps the earliest statement is by Theophrastus, a disciple of Aristotle, writing about 300 BCE (GLAJJ 1, text 4). He refers to the Jews as philosophers who discuss God with one another and observe the stars. Another early statement is actually assigned to Aristotle, though it is not found among Aristotle’s extant writings. Clearchus of Soli, who was supposed to have been a disciple of Aristotle, gives an anecdote about a Jew whom Aristotle met (GLAJJ 1, text 15). Our knowledge comes from the quotation by Josephus in his Contra Apionem (1.176-83). Aristotle states that the Jews of Coele Syria are descended from Indian philosophers. He was impressed by the conversation of the Jew who had met many persons of culture. Furthermore, this Jew ‘was not only Greek in language, but also in his soul’ (Ἑλληνικὸς ἦν οὐ τῇ διαλέκτῳ μόνον, ἀλλὰ καὶ τῇ ψυχῇ). According to Clearchus, Aristotle was astonished by this Jewish person who was thoroughly educated not only in the Greek language but also in Greek thought and lived a philosophical life. Whether we can be confident that Aristotle thought or said such things, someone not far removed from him seems to have been impressed by at least one Jewish man because of his knowledge of Greek and philosophical matters. Writing about the same time as Clearchus, Megasthenes also names the Jews as philosophers, along with the Indian Brahmans (GLAJJ 1:45–46). As for the Jewish view of God, Hecataeus of Abdera (HJJSTP 2: 113–19) states that the Jews hold ‘heaven’ (οὐρανόν) alone to be God (quoted by Diodorus 40.3.4; GLAJJ 1:26–35). He does not explicitly give his approval,

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but the tenor of the passage seems to be generally favourable toward the Jews. Clearer is Strabo (Geog. 16.2.35; GLAJJ 1, text 115), writing in the first century BCE and the early first century CE. He observes that Moses did not represent God as an animal, like the Egyptians did, nor like a man, the way the Greeks did. Rather, he is the one thing that encompasses all, both land and sea: he is that which is called ‘heaven and universe and the nature of all that is’ (οὐρανὸν καὶ κόσμον καὶ τὴν ὄντων φύσιν). One cannot help feeling that Strabo very much approves of this approach. A little later than Strabo, in the early second century CE, Plutarch referred to some aspects of Jewish religion. In his Quaestiones convivales (4.4.4-4.6.2 669C-672C; GLAJJ 1, text 258), certain Greeks debate questions about various religious customs, including some relating to the Jews. Plutarch shows some interesting knowledge about the Jews but also suffers from a number of misapprehensions as was common among Greeks and Romans. The discussion is mainly descriptive, apparently without any judgment one way or the other from Plutarch. But in spite of some ignorance on Plutarch’s part, there is no indication of hostility toward Judaism on his part. Finally, Numenius of Apamea, a Neo-Platonist of the late second century CE had a number of positive statements about the Jews (GLAJJ 2, texts 363a-369). His most famous quote is, ‘For what is Plato but Moses speaking Attic (Greek)?’ (Τί γὰρ ἐστι Πλάτων ἢ Μωυσῆς ἀττικίζων;), found in half a dozen ancient sources (most of them Christian). He compares Plato with a number of ancient ‘philosophical’ peoples: the Brahmans, Jews, Magi, and Egyptians. He states that the Jews conceived of God as ‘incorporeal’ (ἀσωμάτου) and the ‘father of all the gods’ (πατέρα πάντων τῶν θεῶν). He also apparently quoted the biblical prophets, giving them an allegorical interpretation. Thus, it is not unusual to find some positive statements about the Jews in Graeco-Roman literature, especially from the earlier period (Gager 1972: 25–79; cf. Feldman 1993, Chapters 6–10). Judaism was evidently attractive to many in the Hellenistic world. In addition to the statement ascribed to Aristotle (as referred to above), we have a number of those who saw the Jews as a philosophical race. It also appears that some non-Jews attended the synagogues, even in Rome itself. In advising where and how to find a girl to court, Ovid (Ars Amatoria 1.76) states: Nor let Adonis bewailed of Venus escape you, nor the seventh day that the Syrian Jews hold sacred. Avoid not the Memphian shrine of the linenclothed heifer [Isis]: many a maid does she make what she was herself to Jove. (Quote from LCL)

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This passage seems to refer to places of worship: the temple of Venus where Adonis was worshipped, the temple of Isis, and the Jewish synagogue. In each case, one might think he has in mind foreign women, but Roman maidens were attracted to all these places of worship, including apparently the synagogues. Unfortunately, positive statements about the Jews are not particularly numerous after the early period. 11.1.2. Anti-Judaism Along with some positive and admiring comments, attitudes toward the Jews generally show astonishment, amusement, ridicule, and/or disdain toward Jewish customs. They are of course sometimes hostile, yet seldom does one see what today would be called anti-Semitism, which implies a racist appraisal. B. Isaac concludes: it must be emphasized that those forms of hostile prejudice or stereotypes which might be described as proto-racist do not apply to the Jews… Thus, while there is a good deal of hostility towards the Jews, this represents ethnic hatred and cannot be described as ancient racism or proto-racism. (Isaac 2004: 482)

‘Anti-Semitism’ is a problematic word for classical antiquity: it has been argued that such did not exist in the Graeco-Roman period (Sevenster 1975: 1–6). Some consider it a misnomer and would prefer some other term (Feldman 1987–88: 187 n. 1). Certain scholars feel there is no term in English which is a suitable substitute (Daniel 1979: 45–56), but an increasing number of scholars have preferred ‘anti-Judaism’ or even ‘Judaeophobia’. For convenience, these terms will be used here. The earliest attitudes recorded in the literature indicates a similar reaction to the Jews as to other Near Eastern peoples coming into the Greek purview (though Isaac [2004: 482] points out that the Jews ‘are not usually regarded as a typical eastern people’, and some of the negative qualities often associated with easterners are not ascribed to the Jews). Furthermore, with the exception of the decrees of Antiochus IV, Judaism was a ‘tolerated’ religion throughout the Second Temple period. The Persians had allowed (and, according to biblical statements, even encouraged) the Jewish cult and traditional customs. There is no indication that anything changed with the Greek conquest. Similarly, under Roman rule the Jews enjoyed their religious rights as a recognized ethnos. Although some of the alleged decrees in their favour are suspect (Grabbe 2006a), there are also unquestioned decrees permitting the free exercise of their traditional customs and way of life (HJJSTP 3: 238–40). For example, when the collegia were periodically

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banned, the Jewish synagogues were specifically exempted most of the time (HJJSTP 3: 244). Even during and after the 66–70 war, there is no indication of official persecution or restriction on Judaism as such (despite riots and mob action against the Jews in various of the Greek cities in the Syro-Palestinian region [§14.2.2]). Thus, the anti-Jewish attitudes and actions clearly attested must be weighed against this official recognition of Jewish religious rights. The concept of religious tolerance and rights will be discussed in the next section (§11.1.3). Anti-Judaism as such probably arose in the second or first century BCE. The first writer who seems to be negative is the Egyptian priest Manetho (GLAJJ 1, texts 19-21) who wrote a history of Egypt in Greek about 300 BCE; however, a number of scholars believe that the anti-Jewish passages are not part of the original writer (cf. GLAJJ 1:64). Thus, it becomes a matter of opinion when anti-Jewish writing had its origin. But from the first century BCE on, the occasional positive statement from pagan writers is quickly drowned in the cacophony of contempt, innuendo, invention, lie, and general antipathy. Yet regardless of literary anti-Jewish attitudes, no concerted action seems to have been taken until the reign of Caligula. The Greek citizens of Alexandria had an enormous pride in their ancestry and tradition, and the Roman takeover was a great blow to their prestige and self-esteem. Further, the leaders of Judaea (Hyrcanus II and Antipater) had contributed a good deal to the conquest of Egypt and had helped Julius Caesar with men and supplies, gaining Roman good will as a result (HJJSTP 3: 439–40). Many Jews lived in Alexandria, with the population increasing proportionally as time went on. While most of the Jews were not citizens of the city (§6.1), they nevertheless enjoyed certain special privileges, such as freedom from the poll tax (laographia), which citizens also possessed but which the native Egyptians did not. Thus, the Jews were seen—rightly or wrongly—by the Greek citizens of Alexandria and elsewhere in Egypt to be on the side of the Romans and, conversely, enemies of the Greek community. This smouldering resentment and hatred burst into full flame about 38 CE (§6.2). This seems to have been the foundation of anti-Judaism which increased as time went by. Eventually, Claudius affirmed Jewish rights regarding religion but warned them about agitating for citizenship or special privileges. Peace was restored but much of the bitterness remained and was passed on to future generations until it culminated in the Egyptian revolt under Trajan (§15.6). It seems that two members of the Alexandrian delegation were tried before Claudius and perhaps even executed by him. A legendary memory of these Alexandrian ‘martyrs’ was preserved in the Acta Alexandrinorum (Musurillo 1954; CJP 2:66–81).

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Considering the positive comments of some earlier writers, when, where, and how did the anti-Jewish expressions originate? Why are the Jews so often caricatured and maligned in Graeco-Roman writers? There are several possible answers, but the situation is complex and cannot be summarized in any simple fashion: • The Maccabaean conquests may have created resentment among the local peoples of the Palestinian region, though we have little direct evidence of this. Whether the Idumaeans and Ituraeans were converted by force (Horsley 1995: 42–45), as alleged by Josephus, or by agreement is a matter of debate (HJJSTP 3: 220–22, 225–26; Cohen 1999: 110–19), but the Idumaeans generally seemed to have remained faithful to Judaism. Conquest of a people by their neighbours was not a new idea, and the Jews were not unique, but the Maccabaean conquests displaced a significant population of non-Jews, including many of those descended from the original Macedonian conquerors. This built resentment felt locally for a very long time, which may be one of the factors in the slaughter of Jewish populations in Greek cities at various times (cf. Kasher 1990). • There are indications that it was in Egypt where the Jews had a long history of settlement, at least from Ptolemaic times (cf. Aristeas 4), that the real problems began. Although the statement of Josephus that Jewish settlement began already with Alexander’s conquest is unlikely, it may well have its origins as early as the time of Ptolemy I (cf. HJJSTP 2: 281–83). Except possibly for 3 Maccabees (HJJSTP 2: 97–98), we have no indication of any major difficulties between the Jewish community and the Greek inhabitants of the city until Roman times, though the presence of Jews high up in the Egyptian army could have created some resentment (Ant. 13.10.4 §§284-87). A sea change in attitude seems to have taken place with the Roman conquest of Egypt. • The customs and religious practices of the Jews may have played a role. The Jews were reputed to have odd customs, but other local peoples had peculiar customs as well, some no less laughable to the Graeco-Roman educated gentleman. Circumcision, for example, was practised by a whole range of Oriental peoples. Thus, this does not seem to be the primary cause; nevertheless, Graeco-Roman writers often comment on Jewish customs, usually negatively: people who keep the Sabbath (e.g., Agatharchides of Cnidus, apud Josephus, C. Ap. 1.22 §§209-11; Horace, Sermones 1.9.68-70; Ovid, Ars Amatoria 1.75-76), who do not eat pork (Philo, Gaius 361), or who are misanthropic (this is found especially in several writers associated

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with Egypt, e.g., Apion, apud Josephus, C. Ap. 2.8 §§91-95, but occurs even among writers otherwise sympathetic to the Jews [e.g., Hecataeus of Abdera, apud Diodorus Siculus 40.3.4]). • A more general reason for anti-Jewish attitudes was that the Jews were themselves seen as intolerant and misanthropes (cf. Goodman 1987: 97–99). As noted above, this attitude may have been fostered by events under Hasmonaean rule. After fighting and winning a bitter battle against religious persecution, the Maccabees then proceeded to eliminate all other forms of worship in the territories under their control. The Idumaeans and Ituraeans may have been converted to Judaism by force (see the first point above). Non-Jewish cults and cult places were destroyed. Even later under Roman rule, there were occasional acts of aggression against non-Jewish cults which were completely illegal under Roman law, such as the destruction of Roman altars that preceded Caligula’s attempt to place a statue in the temple (§13.2.2). The various lies about Jewish origins and worship (especially that of human sacrifice) were symbolic of this perception of the Jews as haters of all other peoples. • Proselytization was probably never done on a large scale, but it happened frequently enough that it would have helped fuel the resentment. The popularity of Judaism among some upper-class Romans was disagreeable to some other Roman aristocrats and literati. • The question of citizenship is a complex one, but it may have been a source of irritation on both sides—certainly some modern scholars think so. It is clear that most Jews were not citizens, either of Rome or of the Greek cities where they presided (§6.1). Only a few wealthy, upper-class individuals (e.g., the family of Philo) were citizens; however, it has been proposed that there were some Jews in Alexandria, for example, who wanted to become citizens and caused ill feeling among the Greek population by their efforts to achieve this. This argument has been contested, but if true, it could still have been one of the causes of the riots in 38 CE and following. If so, it apparently remained a bone of contention after Claudius issued his decree about the situation in 41 CE (§6.2). In sum, the Jews were both admired and castigated by Greeks and Romans. We have writers who see Judaism as an intriguing philosophy and writers who see it as laughable superstition. In that sense Judaism was not different from other Oriental cults that had become widespread in the Graeco-Roman world, and we see Judaism even lumped in with the Hellenistic mystery religion (see §11.2). Other than the common rejection of the ‘other’ by ordinary Greeks and Romans, some saw Judaism

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specifically as a threat of some sort and used anti-Jewish propaganda to denounce Judaism and vilify Jews. This seems to be especially true in Egypt, particularly in Alexandria where there was apparently a concentration of anti-Judaism. 11.1.3. Religious ‘Tolerance’ and Religious Rights ‘Religious tolerance’ has a particular meaning to us today because of the incidents and debates in recent centuries, but it is not a particularly appropriate expression for antiquity: ‘To label Rome’s policy toward its subjects as tolerant or intolerant is misleading’ (Rutgers 1994: 70). Unlike in medieval and modern times, there were no laws prohibiting the practice of religion: there were no religious crimes (Rutgers 1994: 68). Religious tolerance in antiquity, in the sense of non-suppression of religious practices was the basic stance of the ruling empires. Today, we are used to the concept of religious persecution but, sadly, this has been largely the product of the monotheistic religions, especially Christianity and Islam. Polytheism is tolerant by its nature, since it recognizes the multiplicity of gods. In the ancient Near East and then in the Greek and Roman world, some sort of participation in certain cultic rites might have been required to demonstrate submission (e.g., the ‘ruler cult’ [§1.2]). Even the Assyrians and Babylonians generally allowed their subject peoples to worship as they chose. The only breaches we have of this principle are the decrees of Antiochus IV (discussed at length in HJJSTP 3) and the attempt of Caligula to place his statue in the Jerusalem temple (§13.2.2). Otherwise, Judaism as the customary practice of a people was permitted in the same way that the religions of all peoples were allowed throughout the Second Temple period. The Persians had allowed the Jewish cult and traditional customs, and there is no indication that anything changed with the Greek or Roman conquests. These religious rights have sometimes been represented as being unique to the Jews, even over against their Gentile neighbours. Some have even used the term ‘Jewish charter’; however, there was no charter as such (Rajak 1984; Trebilco 1991: 8–12): the Jews generally did not have special privileges, only the freedom to practise their religion that all ethnic groups possessed. As L. V. Rutgers expresses it: Roman laws of the first century C. E. that relate to Jews give the impression that tolerance or intolerance was nothing but a by-product in the formulation of a given policy… Rome was interested in keeping the urban masses under control and in checking initiatives of too political a nature. For the rest, Roman authorities just let people be. (Rutgers 1994: 71)

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Therefore, some of the alleged decrees granting the Jews special privileges are suspect (cf. Grabbe 2006a, 2006b); nevertheless, there were also unquestioned decrees, issued for specific reasons, permitting the free exercise of their traditional customs and way of life (cf. Pucci Ben Zeev 1998; HJJSTP 3: 238–41). On the whole, the Romans treated all religious minorities alike, with a policy somewhere between tolerance and suppression (Noethlichs 1996; cf. Rajak 1984). That is, state security came first, and any perceived threat to Rome was dealt with ruthlessly, but unless a religion was seen as a threat it was allowed (see Noethlichs for the sources). There was no official list of ‘tolerated religions’. Tolerance was normal unless there was reason to think otherwise. For the Jews, there was normally no reason to think otherwise. Thus, in 41 CE in response to riots against the Jewish community in Alexandria, Claudius affirmed Jewish rights regarding religion, yet he also warned the Jews about agitating for other special privileges (§6.2). The decrees quoted by Josephus allegedly granting privileges were in most cases an example of this basic tolerance of native worship and customs and nothing more; he is wrong in implying that they went beyond this, and his claim for citizenship of the Jewish communities in various Greek cities is only propaganda (§6.1). Thus, the Jewish refusal to worship other gods was the occasion for astonishment and resentment among pagans, and perhaps even an excuse to suspect subversive attitudes toward the state, but this by itself might have been accepted. It certainly became the object not just of suspicion but of fear and even hatred, however, when it was combined with an active attempt to suppress other forms of worship. To the Greeks and Romans, the Jews demanded religious tolerance, then in some cases turned round to deny it to others (see further under §11.1.2). The frequent assertion that Jews were exempted from the state or emperor cult is incorrect (Pucci Ben Zeev 1998: 471–81; Bernett 2010: 94–99; §1.2). This cult was seen by the Romans as a symbol of submission to Roman rule, and no one was exempt; however, the Jewish sacrifices for the Roman ruler in Jerusalem and the dedications in local synagogues were seen as fulfilling the requirement. Although the sacrifices were sometimes to the emperor (as to a god), they were frequently on behalf of or for the emperor (Pucci Ben Zeev 1998: 474–76); in this the Jews were not unusual. But this is why the termination of these sacrifices in 66 CE was a clear indication of rebellion (§14.2.1; Josephus, War 2.17.2-4 §§409-17). For practical purposes, the Jews did not have to take part in the actual state cult, but there was no official exemption as such. They just fulfilled the requirement in a different way.

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Some of the attitudes of the Greeks and Romans toward the Jews at the time of the late Republic and early Empire seem to come from the apprehension of Judaism as a ‘mystery religion’, or at least to be considered parallel to or even lumped in with the various Hellenistic mystery religions known in Rome and throughout the Roman empire. The next section (§11.2) will consider the Jewish religion from this point of view. 11.2. Judaism as a Mystery Religion W. Burkert (2003) Les Cultes á Mystères dans l’Antiquité; L. L. Grabbe (2014) ‘ “The God Who Is Called IAO”: Judaism and Hellenistic Mystery Religions’, in M. Bömer, A. Lichtenberger, and R. Raja (eds), Religious Identities in the Levant from Alexander to Muhammed: Continuity and Change; W. K. C. Guthrie (1993) Orpheus and Greek Religion: A Study of the Orphic Movement; O. Meyer and M. W. Meyer (eds) (1999) The Ancient Mysteries: A Sourcebook of Sacred Texts; G. E. Mylonas (1961) Eleusis and the Eleusinian Mysteries; M. P. Nilsson (1974) Geschichte der griechischen Religion: Zweiter Band Die hellenistische und römische Zeit; D. Sänger (1980) Antikes Judentum und die Mysterien: Religionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zu Joseph und Aseneth; J. Z. Smith (1985) ‘European Religions, Ancient: Hellenistic Religions’, Encyclopaedia Britannica: Macropaedia XVIII, 925–27; idem (1990) Drudgery Divine: On the Comparison of Early Christianities and the Religions of Late Antiquity; R. Turcan (1996) The Cults of the Roman Empire: 75–129; R. E. Witt (1971) Isis in the Graeco-Roman World.

The Greek mysteries have long intrigued scholarship. The nineteenth century saw a considerable interest, especially in the Religionsgeschichliche Schule, and various theories were developed, particularly in relation to Christianity. In the history of scholarship Christianity has often been compared to the Hellenistic mystery religions (J. Z. Smith 1990). Judaism has also sometimes been mentioned, but less frequently and with less attention (e.g., Meyer/Meyer [eds] 1999; Sänger 1980). Here we shall briefly investigate how Judaism seems to have looked to at least some in the Hellenistic and Roman religious milieu (for more detail, see Grabbe 2014). 11.2.1. The Greek Mysteries The original mysteries were of course not Hellenistic but Hellenic, a part of the religious rites and observances of the Greek poleis. Since one of the chief requirements was for initiates to keep secret the knowledge and experiences they gained, we remain somewhat in the dark about

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the final revelations made to the devotees. Information comes mainly from Christians who claimed to be initiates or to know initiates, such as Clement of Alexandria, Tertullian, and Hippolytus. According to the present consensus, the earliest mysteries were those at Eleusis, near Athens (e.g., Mylonas 1961). Two other types of cult revolved around the deity Dionysus. One was an orgiastic female cult, well known from Euripides’ play Bacchae. The other type was the Orphic cult (Guthrie 1993; Nilsson 1974: 426–31). Orphism is an old religion that had some elements like the mysteries and has often been included in that category. Although adherents of Dionysus did not necessarily follow Orphism, Dionysus was one of the Orphic deities and played a prominent role in its mythology. The religion was known to, and approved by, Plato (e.g., Cratylus 400c). Although the earliest mysteries are native Greek, the Hellenistic age saw a number of cults gain popularity that were ‘oriental’ in origin. Perhaps the most important and stable of the foreign cults was the worship of Isis (or Isis and Osiris). The defining characteristics of the Hellenistic mystery religions include the following points (my own formulation, but cf. Burkert 2003): 1. A religion of personal choice rather than a civic religion. 2. A ritual of initiation that included a transformative experience. 3. A secret confined to initiates and not disclosed to outsiders, which may be revealed religious knowledge or a unique religious experience or both. 4. The promise of ‘salvation’, which meant success and prosperity in life, whether blessings in the present life or a paradisial afterlife or both. 5. The use of particular terminology. Several terms are associated with the mysteries. One of these is μυστήριον (‘mystery’), but it is by no means the only one. Other terms include μυεῖν (‘initiate’), μύησις (‘initiation’), μύστης (‘initiate’), τελετή (‘initiation’), and θίασος (‘religious association’). 11.2.2. Judaism from a Hellenistic View Aspects of Judaism seem to invoke the concept of a mystery religion, certainly for those who wanted to put it in that category. The Jewish fragmentary writer in Greek Artapanus makes Moses the teacher of Orpheus (Eusebius, Praep. evang. 9.27.3). In order to do this, he has to reverse the normal order (e.g., in Diodorus Siculus 4.25.1), which made Orpheus the teacher of Musaeus. Another fragmentary writer in Greek, Aristobulus, claims that Orpheus imitates Moses, going on to quote at

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length a Pseudo-Orphic poem long acknowledged to be Jewish in composition (as quoted in Eusebius, Praep. evang. 13.12.4). We have a number of passages from Philo of Alexandria (c. 20 BCE to c. 50 CE) that use the language of the mysteries, and to do so in a positive sense (Cher. 42, 48–49; Gig. 54–55). It is also clear that Philo is not recommending the Graeco-Roman mysteries: he opposes their practice like all ‘idolatrous’ cults around him. Rather, he finds the language and concept to fit his Middle Platonic vision. 11.2.3. The Jewish God Dionysus In his discussion of the Jews and Judaism (about 105–10 CE), Tacitus (Hist. 5.5) says that some thought the Jews worshipped Father Liber (though Tacitus himself rejects that idea). Liber Pater was a Roman god of fertility and wine. Although there was probably no common origin with Dionysus, Liber Pater was widely identified with Dionysus in the GraecoRoman world. Writing about the same time as Tacitus, in the early second century CE, Plutarch made a relevant statement about the Jews in his Quaestiones convivales (4.4.4-4.6.2 669C-672C; GLAJJ: 558-62). It is a dialogue in which questions about various religious customs are debated. Several questions relate to the Jews, but the one of interest to the present subject is, who is the god of the Jews? The answer given is Dionysus (Quaes. conv. 4.5.3 671B). The following arguments are used by one of the speakers. The Jewish autumnal festivals are appropriate for Dionysus. They are at the height of the vine harvest, and huts are constructed from natural products such as vines and ivy. There is a ‘Procession of Branches’ in which the celebrants enter the temple holding the thyrsus. What they do in the temple is unknown, but it is probably a Bacchic rite. They also have small trumpets which some use in worshipping Dionysus. The sabbath celebrations also show a connection with Dionysus because it customary to drink wine at that time. The garments of the high priest, especially the bells attached to his clothing, show a further connection with Bacchic celebrations. The name ‘sabbath’ reminds one of the name Sabi by which Bacchants are called, because of their cry (which is the same word) and because of the strange excitement (sobesis) that possesses them. Plutarch’s arguments are not likely to have been unique to him but represent a widespread view in the Graceo-Roman world. We also have some further indications at the time of the Maccabean revolt: comments and incidents associating Dionysus worship with the Jews, even if in a negative sense. 2 Maccabees 6.7-9 claims:

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But from bitter necessity they had to observe the birthday of the king each month by eating the organs of sacrificial animals, and when the festival of Dionysus arrived, they were forced to take part in a procession to Dionysus with ivy. 8At Ptolemais’ suggestion he announced a decision to the neighbouring Greek cities that the Jews should lead the same way of life and eat sacrificial portions, 9but that those not choosing to change to Greek practices be slaughtered. 7

There is also the statement in 2 Macc. 14.32-33 that may be a further indication that Yhwh worship was somehow connected with Dionysus: But when these asserted with oaths not to know the whereabouts of the one he sought, 33he stretched out his right hand against the temple and made the following pronouncement: ‘If you do not deliver up Judas a prisoner to me, I will level the sacred enclosure of God and raze the altar to the ground, and here I will erect a distinguished temple to Dionysus’. 32

Thus, the impression one gains from a number of sources from the Graeco-Roman world is that the Jewish deity was widely identified with Dionysus—even if the Jews refused to admit it! 11.2.4. Models from Other Hellenistic Religions Jonathan Z. Smith (1985) has noted that many of the Hellenistic religions imported into the wider Graeco-Roman world took on a different character from that in their homeland. In the same way, Judaism in the diaspora had many differences from its practice in Judaea. In Palestine there was a temple in Jerusalem, but even though the temple was highly respected in the diaspora, temple worship as such was impossible. The synagogue was not a temple, though it could function as a place of prayer. Passover could not be celebrated with a lamb, since the Passover lamb had to be slaughtered in the temple. None of the holy day temple ceremonies (e.g., the scapegoat ritual) could be celebrated in diaspora Jewish communities. There is no question that Judaism was practised with great diligence and piety by the diaspora communities, but it necessarily differed in many ways from that in the homeland. One of the most popular of the ‘foreign religions’ was the worship of Isis, or Isis and Osiris (Turcan 1996: 75–129; Witt 1971). There was nothing peculiar or ‘mysterious’ about the Isis cult in Egypt. Yet when Isis was translated into the wider Hellenistic world, her cult took on the character of a mystery religion. Isis and Osiris were apparently never equated with the Jewish God, but just as the worship of Isis and Osiris

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differed in the Hellenistic context from that in its native Egypt, so Judaism had to be adapted in the various communities outside Judaea proper. Study of modern sects shows that each group tends to emphasize its differences from other groups, even groups that seem almost the same to outsiders. No doubt Jews would have focused on the differences between themselves and Isis worshippers, but there were major similarities that Greeks and Romans would have noticed. Isis worship might well have served as a model for how Judaism adapted in the Graeco-Roman context. 11.2.5. Summary on Judaism as a Mystery Religion Several characteristics of the Hellenistic mystery religions have been identified in the available sources. It so happens that Judaism also had points in common with these characteristics, which could lead observers to include Judaism in the same category as Isis worship, Mithraism, and other mystery cults. (From our perspective, we can see major discontinuities, but it is the same today that many people see resemblances in ‘other’ religions which insiders would dispute.) Several observations can be made: • Most adherents of Judaism were born into the religion, but it also became a religion of choice to some non-Jews. We have evidence that synagogues were frequented by some non-Jewish Romans, for example. • With regard to initiation, there seems to have been no clear counterpart to the initiation ceremony which was an important part of most of the mysteries. The ritual of circumcision was necessary for males, but this was not normally performed on adults, since most adherents were born into Judaism and circumcised as babies. Only a small number of male converts seemed to have been sufficiently motivated to accept this (§11.3). • Judaism was not secretive by nature, but Judaism seemed to outsiders to have some secret rituals. This was perhaps less so in the diaspora synagogue than the Jerusalem temple. Much of the ‘working part’ of the temple was off-limits to non-Jews; hence, Plutarch’s dialogue could suggest that Greeks and Romans did not know what went on but could suspect that it was Dionysus worship. • Although the books of the Hebrew Bible and some other writings have no hope of an afterlife, we know that the idea developed strongly within certain Jewish groups. This was no doubt an attraction to some Gentiles who converted or associated with Jews.

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• Several terms are associated with the mysteries. One of these is μυστήριον (‘mystery’), but it is by no means the only one. Other terms include μυεῖν (‘initiate’), μύησις (‘initiation’), μύστης (‘initiate’), τελετή (‘initiation’), and θίασος (‘religious association’). In addition to these points, we have to add a couple of others that would have associated Judaism with the mysteries: • The Jewish God was connected or identified with some gods traditionally associated with the mystery cults, especially Dionysus and possibly Sabazius. This was in part due to the symbols associated with the Festival of Booths and also the use of wine in some ceremonies. But Plutarch (as summarized above) gives a wealth of details that point to the same identification. • Diet, especially abstention from certain foods, was an important part of the Jewish lifestyle. Not all the mysteries had such requirements, but a number did (e.g., Orphism, Isis worship). These considerations by themselves do not make Judaism a mystery religion, but they could serve to make the ordinary Greek or Roman identify Judaism as a mystery religion. Our concern is not just with how the Jews saw themselves. There is also the important question of how the inhabitants of the wider Graeco-Roman world saw Jewish worship. 11.3. Becoming a Member of the Jewish Community W. Ameling (ed.) (2004) Inscriptiones Judaicae Orientis, Volume II Kleinasien; D. D. Binder (1999) Into the Temple Courts: The Place of the Synagogues in the Second Temple Period; J. Carleton Paget (1996) ‘Jewish Proselytism at the time of Christian Origins: Chimera or Reality?’, JSNT 62: 65–103; S. J. D. Cohen (1992) ‘Was Judaism in Antiquity a Missionary Religion?’, in M. Mor (ed.), Jewish Assimilation, Acculturation, and Accommodation: Past Traditions, Current Issues, and Future Prospects: 14–23; idem (1994) ‘Is “Proselyte Baptism” Mentioned in the Mishnah? The Interpretation of M. Pesahim 8.8’, in J. Reeves and J. Kampen (eds), Pursuing the Text: Studies in Honor of Ben Zion Wacholder: 278–92; E. L. Gibson (1999) The Jewish Manumission Inscriptions of the Bosporan Kingdom; M. Goodman (1992) ‘Jewish Proselytising in the First Century’, in J. Lieu, J. L. North, and T. Rajak (eds), Jews among Pagans and Christians in the Roman Empire: 53–78; idem (1994) Mission and Conversion: Proselytizing in the Religious History of the Roman Empire; A. T. Kraabel (1981) ‘The Disappearance of the “God-fearers” ’, Numen 28: 113–26; R.

302 A History of Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, Volume 4 Kraemer (2014) ‘Giving Up the Godfearers’, JAJ 5: 61–87; I. Levinskaya (ed.) (1996) The Book of Acts in Its Diaspora Setting; S. McKnight (1991) A Light among the Gentiles: Jewish Missionary Activity in the Second Temple Period; J. Murphy-O’Connor (1992) ‘Lots of God-Fearers? “Theosebeis” in the Aphrodisias Inscription’, RevB 99: 418–24; J. Nolland (1981) ‘Uncircumcised Proselytes?’, JSJ 12: 173–94; D. Noy, A. Panayotov, and H. Bloedhorn (eds) (2004) Inscriptiones Judaicae Orientis, Volume I Eastern Europe; J. Reynolds and R. Tannenbaum (1987) Jews and Godfearers at Aphrodisias: Greek Inscriptions with Commentary; L. V. Rutgers (1994) ‘Roman Policy towards the Jews: Expulsions from the City of Rome during the First Century C.E.’, Classical Antiquity 13: 56–74; idem (1998) The Hidden Heritage of Diaspora Judaism; J. Z. Smith (1980) ‘Fences and Neighbors: Some Contours of Early Judaism’, in William Scott Green (ed.), Approaches to Ancient Judaism, Volume II: 1–25; P. R. Trebilco (1991) Jewish Communities in Asia Minor; B. Wander (1998) Gottesfürchtige und Sympathisanten: Studien zum heidnischen Umfeld von Diasporasynagogen.

Jewish identity was usually a matter of birth. Problems arose only if one (a) had one Jewish and one non-Jewish parent, (b) was a Gentile but wanted to become a Jew, or (c) had been a Jew but renounced the ancestral religion. Various passages in the Hebrew Bible indicate that outsiders could become part of the community and take on its religious identity (cf. Exod. 12.43-49; Deut. 23.4-9; Ruth 1.16-17). Sojourners among the people were also expected to conform to Jewish religious practices even while remaining outsiders (Num. 15.15). How early these passages are to be dated is a question, and one can query whether any are earlier than the Second Temple period. In any case, the question of conversion seems to have become an issue mainly in the Greek and Roman periods. We know of a number of specific examples in antiquity in which Gentiles were converted to Judaism, as well as a general attitude which allowed conversion. The whole royal house of Adiabene was apparently converted around the turn of the era, and queen Helena was instrumental in helping to avert a famine in Judaea (§6.5; Ant. 20.2.3-5 §§41-53). The NT mentions examples of conversion (Acts 6.5), as does rabbinic literature. The process of conversion is nowhere described in pre-70 sources. One apparently just began to live by Jewish religious practices. We have no indication of a formalized ceremony, involving a priest or any other figure. For men, circumcision was clearly the main formal step (cf. J. Z. Smith 1980: 10–15). In an anecdote told by Josephus (Ant. 20.2.3-4 §§41-43), the king of Adiabene was advised by one Jewish merchant that he could convert without circumcision because of his special status as king, but another Jew convinced him that circumcision was necessary. It

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was the latter advice that the king followed. This is the only example to suggest that circumcision was not a necessity for full entry into the Jewish community. If the story is read in context, there seems no reason to think of a general practice of conversion without circumcision; rather, this was a special case involving a king with potentially hostile subjects (cf. Nolland 1981: 192–94). Thus, circumcision seems to be a universal practice for male proselytes. We have no information with regard to women. It is frequently asserted in handbooks and commentaries that both males and females had to undergo a ritual bath (‘proselyte baptism’), as well as circumcision for males (Schürer 3:1:173-74). Although this is a practice referred to in rabbinic literature (e.g., b. Yeb. 46a), we have no evidence for it before 70 (Cohen 1999: 168–70, 222–23). Indeed, the silence of Josephus and other sources suggests that such was not the practice. It may well be that the baptism ritual developed under the influence of Christianity. With mixed marriages, it probably depended on how the offspring was brought up. One circumcised and brought up as a Jew was not likely to have had his Jewishness called into question. But if not, could one claim to be a Jew by having a Jewish mother? This matrilineal transfer of Jewishness is well known from later Judaism until the present day and seems to go back as far as the Amoraic period, but there is no evidence of such a practice operating before 70. On the contrary, both rabbinic evidence and such examples as Acts 16.1-3 indicate that ethnic identity tended to be passed on from the father (Cohen 1999: 263–73, 363–77). The main obstacle to conversion was the requirement of circumcision, which is why converts were more often women than men. This is also why there developed a group of adherents to the community, often men, who took on Jewish observances without making the full step of circumcision and complete conversion. These are frequently denoted by the term ‘God-fearer’ in modern writings. This designation is based on θεοσεβής (theosebēs) in Greek (cf. also the terms σεβομένος and φοβούμενος: Josephus [Ant. 14.7.2 §110]; Acts [10.2; 13.16; 16.14; 17.17; 18.7]; Wander 1998). The existence of these individuals has been disputed, partly because many of the references to ‘God-fearers’ in the early sources are simply to pious Jews or Christians (Feldman 1993: 342–43; Kraemer 2014). This led A. T. Kraabel (e.g., 1981) to argue that the term ‘God-fearer’ and ‘semi-proselyte’ should be dropped as non-existent entities. However, the discovery of the Aphrodisias inscription (Ameling 2004: 70–112; Reynolds/Tannenbaum 1987) changed most minds. It is a list of donors to the synagogue. A number are simply listed by name or perhaps also with a civic office but are evidently Jews by context and

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name. But other names are accompanied by the designation ‘proselyte’ (προσήλ[υτος]) or ‘God-fearer’ (θεοσεβ[ής]). This convinced most scholars that ‘God-fearer’ was someone who was neither a Jew by birth nor a proselyte, fitting the category of a non-Jew who adhered to Judaism (or some aspects of it), even being a member of a synagogue, without having undergone circumcision (Trebilco 1991: 145–66; Levinskaya 1996: 51–126; Binder 1999: 380–89; Schürer 3:1:150–76; cf. MurphyO’Connor 1992; Gibson 1999: 139–44, 161). R. Kraemer (2014) has recently given a somewhat negative analysis of the matter, even being sceptical of the widespread interpretation of the Aphrodisias inscription. She does concede, however, that the epigraphic evidence, especially from Asia Minor, does ‘pose the possibility that in some areas, at certain times, being theosebes could bear a more limited meaning’, i.e., participation in Jewish communal life in a variety of ways (Kraemer 2014: 86). Her caveats are well taken, but her scepticism seems overplayed. Granted that epigraphic remains are often difficult to interpret and not always clear cut, the number preserved, along with literary evidence, seem to show a group of ‘God-fearers’ who were neither Jews nor proselytes. Nevertheless, questions remain: How early was this term used? How widespread was it? Did presence of the term ‘God-fearer’ always refer to such a sympathizer but non-convert? The matter can be summarized as follows: • As noted above, ‘God-fearer’ and similar terms were often applied to pious Jews and later to Christians. Thus, one has to try to determine from context in each case whether it means a Jew, a Christian, or a Jewish sympathizer. (However, some modern scholars find it useful as a technical term for Jewish sympathizer in their writings, when a particular text or inscription is not in mind. Kraemer and others object to this usage, but the problem is finding a substitute that serves as well.) • How early is this usage? Kraemer suggests it was confined to a narrow late period of perhaps the fourth and fifth centuries CE. Yet such terms seem to be found in Acts (e.g., 10.2; 13.16; 16.14; 17.17; 18.7) and Josephus (e.g., Ant. 14.7.2 §110). There is also an inscription describing the manumission of a slave in association with a synagogue (proseuchē) in Panticapaeum near the Black Sea. It ends with the statement, ‘Under guardianship of the assembly of the Jews and God-fearers’ (ἐπιτροπευούσης τῆς συναγωγῆς τῶν Ἰουδαίων καὶ θεὸν σεβῶν: Noy/Panayoton/Bloedhorn 2004: 279–83; cf. Gibson 1999: 139–44, 161). As is not unusual, there has been some

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discussion of exactly the meaning of this inscription, but the majority take it straightforwardly as a reference to the religious community consisting of Jews (native born and presumably proselytes) and those who were sympathizers but not full converts (e.g., Trebilco 1991: 155–56). Since this inscription is dated to the first or second century CE, this plus the dating of the literary references in Josephus and Acts suggest the term ‘God-fearer’ in this sense already existed by the late first or early second century CE, if not earlier, and was not confined to the late date of fourth/fifth centuries CE. • How widespread the term was used is difficult to ascertain. The epigraphic evidence so far tends to be confined to Asia Minor, including the Black Sea region, but Acts included Caesarea, Philippi, Athens, and Corinth. This suggests the term was a fairly widely used one, but it might not have been the only term used for sympathizers and might not have had currency in all Jewish communities of the diaspora. It was once proposed that there was an extensive Jewish mission to seek converts, parallel to the Christian mission that developed in the early church (see references in Feldman 1993: 555–56). We know that some Gentiles converted to Judaism, and no doubt Jews were instrumental in this, by teaching Judaism or at least by providing information and answering questions. We cannot assume that Jews were always just passive instruments in the process; it is likely that some Jews took a more active role. There are some episodes where our sources assert that certain Jews were seeking converts (e.g., in Rome in 19 CE; see the discussion at §6.4; Carleton Paget 1996: 88–90; Rutgers 1998: 171–97). The question is whether such scattered episodes, even if interpreted as positive evidence of active proselytizing, amount to more than the initiative of a few individual Jews. A number of recent studies have argued against any widespread conversion activity (Cohen 1992; Goodman 1992, 1994; McKnight 1991). Their evidence is well presented; however, Carleton Paget (1996) has rightly noted that we cannot necessarily lump all Jews together. One can perhaps accept some missionary activity on the part of some Jews without assuming a wholesale or organized mission as such. The question of whether Judaism was perceived as a Hellenistic mystery cult (§11.2) may also bear on this issue. The question of those who abandoned Judaism is more difficult than might seem on the surface. For example, Josephus says that Philo of Alexandria’s nephew Tiberius Julius Alexander had abandoned his ancestral religion (Ant. 20.5.2 §100); however, we are given insufficient

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data to make sense of this. Is this a judgment of Josephus which Tiberius Alexander would have hotly disputed? Did Tiberius Alexander renounce his Judaism? Or did he quietly ignore Jewish practices when not in the Jewish community? Was he never circumcised, or did he submit to epispasm, or was the circumcision simply ignored as if it were a physical blemish? Similarly, those judged to be evil-doers by the authors of 1 and 2 Maccabees would probably have considered themselves fully Jewish (e.g., Jason; see HJJSTP 3: 328–34). Even those (few!) who disguised their circumcision may have regarded themselves as practitioners of an enlightened Judaism, or perhaps a necessary procedure for the sake of international athletic competition. We can only guess because we do not have their side of the story. 3 Maccabees 1.3 similarly mentions a Jew named Dositheus who had ‘abandoned the law and left the customs of his fathers’, but no details are given and precise interpretation is impossible. See further discussion in HJJSTP 3: 9–10. 11.4. Conclusions We can summarize much of the content of this chapter by focusing, first, on how Jews were perceived within their own community and, secondly, how they were viewed by the other inhabitants of the Mediterranean world. Jewish identity was mainly a matter of birth; one was a Jew because the parents were Jewish. A question arose in three situations: if one parent was not Jewish, if a non-Jew wished to become one, or if a Jew abandoned his ancestral religion. Unlike later practice, ethnic identity generally followed that of the father, so that a Jewish father meant a Jewish son or daughter. Because of the few examples of those who allegedly left their faith, it is difficult to say much about what this meant. Conversion, although apparently envisaged in some manner in some biblical texts, became a practical issue only in the Greek and Roman periods, as far as we know. There is evidence of Gentiles who were interested in Judaism and converted completely; in addition, another group of people (mostly men) did not go as far as circumcision but were interested in Judaism and took on at least some of its religious observances. These ‘God-fearers’ are referred to in a number of texts, as most scholars now accept. Becoming Jewish was straightforward enough. There is no evidence of a formalized procedure (whether involving priests or anyone else). One adopted Jewish beliefs and practices including, for men, circumcision. The ‘proselyte baptism’ known from rabbinic literature is not attested for pre-70 times. A systematic or extensive Jewish ‘mission’ of seeking converts is unlikely, though there is evidence that some individual Jews or communities may have actively proselytized.

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The Graeco-Roman sources showed a wide range of attitude toward the Jews. There were those who admired them as philosophers, but the main attitude is to dismiss them with other ‘foreign’ religions as a risible superstition. They are often derided for their strange customs, though it must be said that this attitude of Greeks and Romans applied indiscriminately to most of the ‘barbaric’ peoples of the East. Genuine anti-Jewish feelings become evidence mainly in the aftermath of the Hasmonaean conquests. These are most strongly represented by Greek writers from Alexandria and reflect the help given by Hyrcanus II and Antipater to the Romans in the conquest of Egypt and to the possible agitation of some Alexandrian Jews for citizenship. Jewish intolerance for other religions and especially for divine statues was probably a factor as well (especially in Caligula’s attempt to set up a statue in the Jerusalem temple). Judaism may have been evaluated as another Hellenistic mystery cult, such as Isis worship. In sum, the Graeco-Roman attitude was ambivalent: Jews were very popular among certain segments of the population but were viewed with suspicion by many in the ruling classes.

Part IV

Historical Synthesis

Chapter 12

T h e R ei g n of H erod A r che laus a nd t h e R om a n P rov i nce of J udae a (4 B C E to 37 CE)

M. Bernett (2007) Der Kaiserkult in Judäa unter den Herodiern und Römern: Untersuchungen zur politischen und religiösen Geschichte Judäas von 30 v. bis 66 n. Chr.; D. Hendin (2010) Guide to Biblical Coins; E. M. Smallwood (1981) The Jews under Roman Rule; J. Wilker (2007) Für Rom und Jerusalem: Die herodianische Dynastie im 1. Jahrhundert n.Chr.

12.1. The Context for First-Century Jewish History The story of Judaea in the first century of the Common Era is a tragic one, yet events during this time changed the history of the world. Out of disaster grew two major religions and the roots of a third. Considering the Judaean past, it is hardly surprising that it eventually revolted against Roman rule, though the fault probably lies as much on one side as the other, as we shall see. Before moving to specific events in Judaea, it is important to consider a brief outline of Jewish history at this time. An overview of the 150 years was given in §1.3; here a rather briefer orientation introduces events after Herod’s death. When Herod the Great died, a delegation of Jews appeared before Augustus to ask for direct Roman rule for Judaea. A few years later they got their wish, and most of them no doubt lived to regret it. Through much of the first century of the Common Era, Judaea was a Roman province, and the consequences for most Judaeans was negative. Only for a few short years did they come under a Herodian ruler, but by all accounts they were glad of this and would have preferred to remain so. Such are the ironies of history that Herodian rule looked very sweet once it had been lost.

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The Roman governors were by and large an insensitive lot, and not infrequently incompetent: this was the assessment not of a Jew but a Roman, the historian Tacitus (Hist. 5.9), at least with regard to the governorship of Felix. The opportunity for the Jews to order their own affairs, as much of the time under Persian and Greek government, was lost for the most part. Yet the tetrarchies of Philip and Herod Antipas seem to have been at peace and flourishing for several decades, then Judaea itself had a brief respite when it, too, came under Agrippa. Certain parts of the Jewish population also came under the rule of Agrippa II after central Judaea returned to provincial status. Yet through the middle decades of the first century economic, social, and political trends all converged toward revolt, especially accelerating after the death of Agrippa I in 44: a dramatic increase in the growth of banditry and revolutionary and terrorist groups; according to some this was paralleled with an economic crisis, though this is rather dubious (§5.2.1). Why the Jews thought they could win against the Roman empire, when the revolt finally broke out, is not known, but their initial success in 66 apparently confirmed them in their determination to continue resisting. But much energy was expended in internal infighting. Of course, the Jewish revolt had no chance of success. This quickly became clear when confronted by the well-planned campaign of Vespasian. The political situation in Rome made Vespasian delay the final assault on the city, but when it finally came, the fanatical defence by the fighters was no match for the experienced, systematic siege work of the Romans. The suicide defence at Masada a few years later has been acclaimed in recent history, but it was equally futile. 12.2. Augustus and Rome (4 BCE–14 CE) R. Alston (2015) Rome’s Revolution: Death of the Republic and Birth of the Empire; A. A. Barrett (2002) Livia: First Lady of Imperial Rome; J. Bleicken (2015) Augustus: The Biography; W. Eck (2007) The Age of Augustus; A. Goldsworthy (2014) Augustus: From Revolutionary to Emperor; M. Goodman (1997) The Roman World 44 BC–AD 180; B. Levick (2010) Augustus: Image and Substance; F. Millar and E. Segal (eds) (1984) Caesar Augustus: Seven Aspects; J. S. Richardson (2012) Augustan Rome 44 BC to AD 14.

At the time Herod died Augustus had been the sole power at the head of the Roman empire since the defeat and death of Mark Antony in 31 BCE. Octavian Caesar had been given the title of Augustus in 27 BCE. The

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trappings of the Roman republic were carefully observed, but there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Rome had become a monarchy once again. Augustus’s word was law, even though he worked hard to keep happy the Senate and the traditional hierarchy of Roman society. There were always plots and attempts at power grabs in what was essentially a dictatorship, but Augustus met the challenges and even sometimes succeeded in winning over opponents (see the long speech in Cassius Dio 55.14-21, put in the mouth of his wife Livia, about exercising mercy as well as punishment). A major concern of Augustus in his final years of exercising the imperium was to designate and train a suitable successor. He had only one living child, his daughter Julia, by his former wife Scribonia. His long-time friend and colleague Agrippa shared many of the offices of state with Augustus and was extremely loyal, but he was considered too low born by many senators and was, in any case, not very popular (perhaps being too independent of the senatorial class and too loyal to Augustus in their eyes). In any case, Agrippa, who had been a good friend to Herod the Great, died in 12 BCE. Augustus might have gone with the sons of his wife Livia, Tiberius and Drusus (though Drusus died in 9 BCE while on a military campaign in Germania), but they were sons of her former husband. Instead, he adopted his grandsons Gaius and Lucius (sons of Agrippa and Julia) and doted on them with many honours at a young age. This seems to have been galling to the much older Tiberius, who was already a successful general and efficient administrator. It became too much for him, and in 6 BCE he went into voluntary exile in Rhodes. Augustus was unhappy with Tiberius’s actions and attitude, but allowed him to return to Rome in 2 CE. Yet shortly after this, first Lucius died suddenly when travelling to Spain, then Gaius was wounded in battle in Armenia and died in 4 CE. Augustus had no choice but to turn to Tiberius and make him his successor by adopting him as a son, though he required Tiberius to adopt his nephew Germanicus (son of his late brother Drusus), presumably making Germanicus the appointed successor to Tiberius (even though Tiberius had a son). As we shall see, Tiberius succeeded Augustus when the latter died in 14 CE, but his saturnine personality was the main obstacle to his receiving the proper credit for his achievements as ruler. Augustus’s wife Livia was an important player in the exercise of Roman power relations. Modern popular media have blackened her name, following Tactius who was prejudiced against her for some reason, but other sources—including contemporary ones—extol her actions for the

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undoubted good that she did on behalf of many individuals as well as Roman society as a whole. It is important to recognize that upper-class Roman women often had considerable influence and power, though it was expected to be conducted behind the scenes: By Livia’s time Romans were well acquainted with the phenomenon of women playing an influential, if indirect, role in public life. Their influence came not through military command or through political office—these were still very much male preserves—but through the exploitation of family connections in the complex personal process by which political business was often conducted in Rome… There were certain limitations that could not be transgressed… But provided the boundaries were respected, it was recognised that a woman could freely offer helpful and positive private advice to a male relative or exploit her influence with family friends. (Barrett 2002: 186)

Herod’s sister Salome had formed a friendship with Livia at some point, perhaps when she and Augustus made a trip to the east in 22–19 BCE. Salome had asked for Livia’s support when she attempted to marry the Nabataean Syllaeus (HJJSTP 3: 476–78). The marriage was eventually called off because Syllaeus refused to live by Jewish law, a requirement that Herod the Great imposed before he would allow Salome to marry him. Livia helped Salome to reconcile herself to giving up this union with Syllaeus. When Salome died, she willed her property to Livia (§12.6.2). Livia was also involved in another incident relating to the Herodian family, through no fault of her own. When Herod’s son Antipater was attempting to ingratiate himself with Herod and become his heir, he enlisted the aid of Livia’s freedwoman Acme (HJJSTP 3: 478). He forged a letter as if from Salome to Livia, making charges against Herod and generally abusing his name, with the aim of discrediting Salome (who supposedly showed enmity toward him) in Herod’s eyes. Acme pretended she had found the letter among Livia’s correspondence and sent it to Herod. Unfortunately, the plot and the forgery were exposed, with the result that not only Antipater but also Acme was executed. Augustus had family troubles that must have made him more sympathetic toward Herod’s own problems with his relatives. In addition to the deaths of various relatives and friends, which affected August deeply in some cases, there was his difficulty with his daughter Julia who was initially married to Agrippa. Unlike the simple and sober lifestyle adopted by Augustus, she relished luxurious living and more sensational behaviour. She was forced to marry Tiberius after the death of Agrippa (while he was compelled to divorce his wife at the time whom he was evidently attached to). After he went into voluntary exile in Rhodes, she

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seems to have formed some liaisons with other men. When Augustus was apprised of this, he was appalled, especially considering that one of his key pieces of legislation involved marriage and the family. He ruthlessly exiled her to the island of Pandateria. Eventually, he allowed her to move to Rhegium on the mainland, but her sentence of exile was not lifted. Her third son, Agrippa Postumus, had been honoured by Augustus after the death of his two brothers. But Postumus did something that angered Augustus (the sources are leery about giving the precise reasons), and he too was exiled in 7 CE. He was eventually executed in 14 CE, on Augustus’s death, though who gave the order is a matter of speculation. 12.3. The Herodian Succession: An Overview Augustus had been a good friend to Herod the Great through most of the latter’s reign, with only one short period of estrangement (HJJSTP 3: 469–71). In return Herod had also been a good friend and a faithful ally. It must have been with regret that Caesar witnessed his passing from the scene, but he did his best to keep Judaea stable and peaceful. The Herodian client kings were his agents in this: the tetrarchs Philip and Herod Antipas had reigns that were more or less peaceful; however, Archelaus was deposed in less than ten years and his realm of Judaea and Samaria was turned into a Roman province. Although the Sanhedrin regained some of the powers taken away by Herod, it had only limited jurisdiction over day-to-day affairs. The Romans still continued to depose high priests when they saw fit and even to keep the high priestly garments under their own jurisdiction (§12.6.4). Thus, the semi-autonomy which Judaea had kept even as a subordinate state in pre-Roman times was now gone. The Jews in Palestine, as elsewhere, had to take whatever the Roman government dished out. But this is where the continuing Herodians came in. While the kingdoms were ultimately subject to Rome, internal affairs could at least be administered by native rulers: the tetrarchs Philip and Antipas, but especially Agrippa I when he ruled briefly over the whole of Herod’s old realm. They could act on behalf of Jews in Palestine as their representative and champion, which they often did. A good example is Agrippa I’s intervention with Caligula when he proposed setting up a statue of Jupiter in the Jerusalem temple (§13.2.2). His son Agrippa II, although he did not rule over Judaea, nevertheless had an important function in Jerusalem when he eventually gained authority over the temple.

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As far as the Romans were concerned, Judaea was another border territory which needed to be kept stable, which it was while a client kingdom under Herod and Agrippa. As a Roman province, though, any breach of the peace was a cause for concern, not to mention a full-scale revolt. This revolt came in 66 CE. It was at this point that Herodian influence ceased to have much weight with the Jews. Agrippa II and Berenice were driven out of Jerusalem, and Agrippa had to throw in his resources on the Roman side. Of course, he retained his kingdom after the 66–70 war, but Vespasian did not entrust him with Judaea or other territories. He and Berenice went to Rome in 75 CE where Berenice had an affair with Titus, but this ended when Titus became emperor. No further interventions on behalf of the Jews are recorded for Herodians after this. Yet perhaps this is not surprising since, as we shall see, the Great Revolt marked a major turning point for Jewish history: it would not be possible to return to the status quo ante. 12.4. Archelaus as Ethnarch (4 BCE–6 CE) H. Eshel (2008) ‘Publius Quinctilius Varus in Jewish Sources’, JJS 59: 112–19; C. Milikowsky (2013) Seder Olam: Critical Edition, Commentary, and Introduction; E. Parmentier and F. P. Barone (2011) Nicolas de Damas: Histoires, Recueil de coutumes, Vie d’Auguste, Autobiographie. Sources: War 2.1.1–7.4 §§1-116; Ant. 17.8.4–13.5 §§200-355.

After Herod’s death Archelaus as the heir named in Herod’s final will arranged a magnificent funeral, including a funeral banquet for the general populace according to Jewish custom. He also refused to accept the crown until it was confirmed by Augustus; however, to ingratiate himself with the people, he agreed to a number of demands for concessions on taxes and for the release of certain prisoners. The thing he wanted most was peace in the realm until he had time to go to Rome. Nevertheless, this was not to be, for complaints about the two teachers and others who had been executed over the golden eagle incident soon led to gatherings of crowds with demands for revenge. Attempts to get them to disperse quietly merely led to riots. When pilgrims began to arrive for Passover, dissidents recruited further supporters. Then, when an initial peacekeeping cohort was driven away, with many killed, the only recourse was the use of considerable force. The result was the slaughter of allegedly 3000 individuals during the Passover festival and the curtailment of the festivities.

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Archelaus was now able to set out for Rome. He was not the only one, for his rivals and opponents, including Salome and her children, also hied themselves to the capital to put their cases before Augustus. Archelaus seemed to be in the best position, not only because of Herod’s last will but also because he had already taken charge of matters in Judah. He had with him Herod’s famed rhetorician Nicolaus of Damascus to put his case. On the other hand, Antipas was named in an earlier will made when there was no question of Herod’s sanity. His case was further aided by Salome’s opposition to Archelaus. Sabinus, the procurator (ἐπίτροπος) of Syria met them in Caesarea. The governor of Syria, Varus, also arrived, as requested by Archelaus. Varus went on to Antioch, but Sabinus rushed to Jerusalem and took over Herod’s palace. He also called for the governors of the forts and treasury officials, apparently with the aim of trying to take over Herod’s treasure, but the officials refused to allow him access to their charges. No sooner had Archelaus’s entourage left the country than the murmurings and discontent already manifested broke out into open rebellion once more, at the celebration of Pentecost. The Roman legion in Jerusalem led by Sabinus was besieged within the palace. Some of Herod’s veterans in Idumaea also revolted. A variety of bands and even royal pretenders arose in the country side (cf. §7.1), looting and pillaging not only the Herodian and Roman possessions but also those of other Jews. The Syrian governor Varus received Sabinus’s urgent requests for help and immediately marched south with his two legions, collecting further reinforcements as he went. He captured and burnt Sepphoris and a couple of fortified villages on the way. This seems to have taken the fight out of the rebels because they fled as soon as he came in sight of Jerusalem. The people of the city quickly admitted the Romans and disclaimed any responsibility for what had happened. Varus rounded up as many of the rebels as he could find in the countryside; many of these were imprisoned but about 2000 of the chief instigators were crucified. The large contingent of Idumaean soldiers also surrendered and most were pardoned, though the leaders were sent to Rome for trial before Augustus. Thus, the ‘War of Varus’ (4 BCE) as it came to be called, came fairly quickly to an end, though certain of the rebel bands continued to cause problems and were not suppressed for some years (cf. Eshel 2008). The war itself remained long in Jewish popular memory (cf. the S. Olam Rab. 30: ‘From the war of Asverus [Varus] to the war of Vespasian was 80 years’, ‫מפולימוס שלאסוירוס עד פולמוס שלאספסינוס שמונים שנת‬: Milikowsky 2013: 1:323).

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The various claims of members of the Herodian family were already being presented to Augustus when news of the rebellion came to Rome. Augustus heard the speeches and defences of both sides but postponed a decision. About the time that Varus had put an end to the revolt, a further delegation arrived in Rome. Varus had given permission for a group of 50 leading Jews to present another alternative to Caesar: that the Jewish nation be given autonomy under Roman rule rather than have a Herodean ruler (though according to a fragment of Nicolaus’s Autobiography, they would accept Antipas’s rule as second best [Parmentier/Barone 2011: 312–13: Frag. 136.9; GLAJJ 1.250–60]). The speech of the Jewish delegation before Augustus not only accused Herod of cruel and profligate rule which had impoverished the nation but also charged Archelaus with high-handed actions even before he had been declared king. Nicolaus of Damascus opposed this with a defence of the memory of Herod and support of Archelaus. (In any case, Herod had hardly impoverished the nation, which had prospered financially under his rule [HJJSTP 3: 129–32].) Augustus took several days to make up his mind after hearing the various sides. His final decision was to split Herod’s realm, giving Judaea, Idumaea, and Samaria to Archelaus, along with the title ethnarch. No one had the title of king (though the hope was held out that this might eventually come to Archelaus if he showed himself a worthy ruler). Antipas received Peraea and Galilee, while Batanaea, Trachonitis, and Auranitis went to Philip; both received the title of tetrarch. The income of certain cities was given to Salome, though her estates remained under Archelaus’s jurisdiction. Other relatives received monetary gifts, but Caesar also divided up among the other heirs the enormous money legacy left to himself and kept only a few personal mementos of Herod. Of the reign of Archelaus as ethnarch, we know little. Josephus’s main source Nicolaus of Damascus evidently ended with the division of Herod’s kingdom, and he simply had little other information available. He relates that Archelaus divorced his wife Mariamme and married Glaphyra, the daughter of the king of Cappadocia and widow of his brother Alexander (who had been executed by his father Herod). He was her third husband. Josephus recounts two dreams. His wife had a dream in which her former husband Alexander stood beside her and accused her of taking her brother as a husband, contrary to Jewish law, and said he was reclaiming her. She supposedly died two days later. Another dream Archelaus had himself, in which he saw nine (or ten) ears of grain being eaten by oxen. He requested interpretations, and

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various meanings were suggested to him. But an Essene by the name of Simon interpreted it ‘correctly’: the nine ears of grain were years and the oxen a revolution. So he would reign nine years and die after changes to his affairs. Indeed, in his ninth year (War 2.7.3 §111) or his 10th year (Ant. 17.13.2 §342)—the year 6 CE (Cassius Dio 55.27.6)—Augustus deposed him and exiled him to Vienna in Gaul. The precise reason for this removal from office is not given; however, he is said to have treated both Jews and Samaritans ‘brutally’ (ὠμῶς): both Jews and Samaritans complained of his ‘brutality’ (ὠμῶς [War 2.7.3 §111]) or ‘cruelty and tyranny’ (ὠμότητα, τυραννίδα [Ant. 17.13.2 §342]). Josephus says that this was because he did not forget ‘old feuds’ (πάλαι διαφορῶν [War 2.7.3 §111]), but the precise circumstances are not given, and we can only guess. Dio (55.27.6) says his brothers accused him. Unlike his father and also in distinction from his fellow tetrarchs, Herod Antipas and Philip, he had few building projects. Because the balsam plantation of Phasaelis in the Jordan Valley had gone to Herod’s sister Salome (War 2.6.3 §98; Ant. 17.8.1 §189), he built a village nearby called Archaelais (apparently after himself). He also diverted water from the village of Neara for a new palm plantation (Ant. 18.13.1 §340). In addition, he restored the royal palace in Jericho that had been destroyed (Ant. 17.10.6 §274; 17.13.1 §340). Beyond this, about all we have are coins which show that he had the name or title Herod (ΗΡΩΔΟΥ ΕΘΝΑΡΧΟΥ [§2.3]; Dio also calls him ‘Herod’). This handful of data hardly constitutes a history of his reign. M. Bernett (2007: 181–87) draws attention to the importance of the emperor cult (§1.2). In the case of Archelaus she points out that in contrast to his father and his brothers (as mentioned in the previous paragraph), he is not recorded as having any projects that honoured either the emperor personally or the Roman empire generally. She argues that this neglect was the cause of his being deposed. This seems to overplay the matter, but it could have been a contributing factor to his being overthrown: his actions—or lack of them—made Augustus suspect his loyalty and thus pay greater attention to the complaints against him. According to Suetonius (Aug. 93; cf. Orosius 7.3.4-5) Augustus had commended Gaius Caesar for not going to the Jerusalem temple in his visit to the east, whereas Gaius’s father Agrippa had not only gone to Jerusalem but had honoured the temple with magnificent sacrifices. Was this a prejudice against the Jerusalem temple or against the Jews on Augustus’s part? Hardly. More likely is that Augustus, who was himself a friend of Agrippa’s friend Herod the Great, was not very fond of Archelaus.

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12.5. The Reign of Emperor Tiberius (14–37 CE) J. P. V. D. Balsdon (1975) ‘The Principates of Tiberius and Gaius’, ANRW II: 2:86–92; H. W. Bird (1969) ‘L. Aelius Seianus and his Political Significance’, Latomus 28: 61–98; idem (1970) ‘L. Aelius Seianus: Further Observations’, Latomus 29: 1046–50; G. Downey (1975) ‘Tiberiana’, ANRW II: 2:95–130; D. Hennig (1975) L. Aelius Seianus: Untersuchungen zur Regierung des Tiberius; B. Levick (1999a) Tiberius the Politician; R. Seager (2005) Tiberius; E. M. Smallwood (1956b) ‘Some Notes on the Jews under Tiberius’, Latomus 15: 314–29; R. Turcan (2017) Tibère.

Tiberius was an important, if indirect, player in events relating to Judaea during his own reign. A major question has been raised about his protege and confident Sejanus, whose period in office also needs to be discussed here. As already noted (§12.2), well before the end of Herod’s reign, Augustus was concerning himself with the problem of succession. In an age when premature death from a variety of causes was not unusual, several strong contenders were removed from the scene in this way (e.g., Herod’s friend Marcus Agrippa). The lot eventually fell on Tiberius, the son of Augustus’s wife Livia by her previous marriage, born in 42 BCE. Although Tiberius was certainly not Augustus’s first choice, as we have seen, he proved a capable military leader as well as administrator. Augustus made him essentially a co-ruler with himself in 13 CE. When he died in 14, Augustus had been co- or sole leader of the empire for over 50 years. He might be dead but his legacy was firmly established and would live on. As far as his ability and his actual achievements are concerned Tiberius was a worthy successor. The problem is that he had a dour personality that did not endear him either to the senatorial class or to the commoners. Tiberius has often had a bad image, mainly because of the negative evaluation of Tacitus, whose account of his reign (Ann. 1–6) is one of our chief sources. Recent scholarship has seen him in a much more positive light as a capable ruler but one whose personality was not of the sort to endear him to his associates. This combined with certain misfortunes in his personal life to make him a distant, melancholy individual. He also did not push himself personally, being reluctant to accept honours and unnecessary offices voted to him by the Senate and others (e.g., he consistently refused to allow an emperor cult to be established on his behalf). Although he continued Augustus’s policy of treating the Senate with great respect, his personality prevented the maintenance of the delicate balance needed to keep up the fiction of senatorial rule. Therefore, it is hardly surprising that writers of the senatorial class such as Tacitus were not enthusiastic about him.

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One of his early difficulties was with his nephew Germanicus, a popular hero whom Tacitus cannot seem to praise enough. Modern scholarship sees Germanicus’s qualities as much more modest, though he was a well-liked, dashing figure in great contrast to Tiberius himself. There were even those who would have elevated him to the Principate, but he seems to have remained loyal to Tiberius. Thus, when he died suddenly in Syria in 19 CE, the legate of the province was accused of poisoning him and rumours even unfairly implicated Tiberius himself. After the death of his son Drusus, who was being groomed to succeed him, Tiberius came under the influence of Sejanus, prefect over the Praetorian Guard. It was Sejanus who persuaded him to retire to the island of Capri in 27. This was a mistake which probably led to a breakdown in administration in the last years of his reign. Communication to the Senate was by message since he did not return to Rome. To make things worse Tiberius himself found it difficult to make firm decisions, and provincial administrators and governors were often left in post long after they should have been replaced (e.g., Pontius Pilate [§12.6.3]). This all gave occasion for vicious rumours to flourish. Many of these (e.g., sexual debauchery) can be dismissed as without substance or of little consequence. More serious is the charge of Tacitus that Tiberius inaugurated a reign of terror in which prominent individuals were prosecuted and executed on the basis of mere suspicion, rumour, or malicious anonymous denunciation. There had been some treason trials (maiestes) earlier in his reign, though many accusations had been dismissed by Tiberius as having no substance. After his retirement to Capri, many more took place. The actual number was not all that large, and Tacitus has probably greatly exaggerated to create the atmosphere of a ‘reign of terror’. But even though Tiberius himself was probably not responsible for the increase in accusations, he seems to have resisted them less, with the result that a number of prominent individuals were executed or committed suicide during the last ten years of his reign. Sejanus’s power increased. Many modern scholars accept the allegations that his was a long-lived conspiracy to become emperor eventually. But over time Tiberius gradually began to believe the allegations secretly made against Sejanus. After seeing that Caligula the third son of Germanicus was safely in Capri, he sent a message to the Senate toward the end of 31 which denounced the unsuspecting Sejanus who was actually present when it was read out publicly. The succession fell on Caligula and Tiberius’s grandson Gemellus. The emperor died in March 37 CE, and Caligula was proclaimed emperor because of Gemellus’s youth. Tiberius’s reign was generally marked with restraint, fiscal thrift, and the choice of capable administrators. By reducing public shows and other unnecessary spending, he was able to cut the sales tax in half and left a

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large amount in the treasury when he died. Although Pilate may be an exception (§12.6.2), most of the administrators he appointed were good or even outstanding, and he further kept a tight rein on them so that they did not exploit their provinces for personal gain as had been the custom in earlier times. For the most part, the empire was quiet. 12.6. Judaea a Roman Province (6–41 CE) Sources: War 2.8.1-9.4 §§117-77; Ant. 18.1.1-4.4 §§1-100.

12.6.1. Judaea a ‘Province’? P. A. Brunt (1966) ‘Procuratorial Jurisdiction’, Latomus 25: 461–89; idem (1975) ‘The Administrators of Roman Egypt’, JRS 65: 124–47; idem (1983) ‘Princeps and Equites’, JRS 73: 42–75; W. Eck (2007b) ‘Judaea wird römisch: Der Weg zur eigenständigen Provinz’, in W. Eck, Rom und Judaea: Fünf Vorträge zur römischen Herrschaft in Palaestina: 1–51; idem (2008) ‘Die Benennung von römischen Amtsträgern und politischmilitärisch-administrativen Funktionen bei Flavius Iosephus: Probleme der korrekten Identifizierung’, ZPE 166: 218–26; idem (2011) ‘Die römischen Repräsentanten in Judaea: Provokateure oder Vertreter der römischen Macht?’, in M. Popović (ed.), The Jewish Revolt against Rome: Interdisciplinary Perspectives: 45–68; A. H. M. Jones (1960a) ‘ “I Appeal unto Caesar” ’, in A. H. M. Jones, Studies in Roman Government and Law: 51–65; idem (1960b) ‘Procurators and Prefects in the Early Principate’, in A. H. M. Jones, Studies in Roman Government and Law: 117–25; F. Millar (1964b) ‘Some Evidence on the Meaning of Tacitus Annals XII.60’, Historia 13: 180–87; idem (1965) ‘The Development of Jurisdiction by Imperial Procurators: Further Evidence’, Historia 14: 362–67; H.-G. Pflaum (1969) ‘Remarques sur le changement de statut administratif de la province de Judée’, IEJ 19: 225–33; A. N. Sherwin-White (1939) ‘Procurator Augusti’, Papers of the British School at Rome 15: 11–26; D. Stockton (1961) ‘Tacitus Annals XII 60: A Note’, Historia 10: 116–20.

According to Josephus, after the deposition of Archelaus Judaea was turned into a ‘province’ (ἐπαρχίαν: War 2.8.1 §117). This was a Roman unit of administration with the Latin name of provincia but generally appeared in Greek as ἐπαρχία. Strabo (17.3.25) tells us that there were two sorts of Roman provinces, those under control of the Senate and those under control of the emperor. The senatorial provinces were governed by praetors (στρατηγούς) or proconsuls (ὑπάτους) appointed by the Senate; the imperial provinces had imperial legates (ἡγεμόνας) or procurators (διοικητάς) assigned by the emperor. In both cases, the governor of a

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province was generally from the senatorial class, with the exception of Egypt which was traditionally governed by a prefect of the equestrian class. P. A. Brunt (1983: 57) states that under Augustus more provinces were committed to governorship by members of the Equites class. They governed (continuously or for certain periods) various Alpine districts, Raetia, Noricum, Sardinia, Corsica, Epirus, Thrace, parts of Dacia, Cappadocia, Judaea, the two Mauretanias and, of course, Egypt. According to W. Eck (2007b: 32), however, none of the entities governed by a procurator was a full province until after the time of Claudius. It was only in Egypt that an equestrian governor also commanded legions, until Severus annexed Mesopotamia and appointed equestrian prefects with an army of two legions (cf. Brunt 1975); however, Egypt is not a good model for Judaea (Eck 2008: 219). Some but not all equestrian governors commanded a substantial auxiliary force, but the tradition that legions must be commanded by a senator was normally observed until Severus. Josephus refers to the governors of Judaea variously as ‘governor’ (ἡγεμών), ‘prefect’ (ἐπάρχος), and ‘procurator’ (ἐπιτρόπος), apparently not distinguishing between them (see the table in Eck 2007b: 27–31; 2008: 220–21). Likewise, when Tacitus refers to a governor of Judaea, he generally uses the term ‘procurator’. Traditionally, the procurator had fiscal responsibilities, such as collecting taxes, whereas the prefect usually had military duties (e.g., the prefect who commanded the Praetorian Guard). The senatorial governor of a province might well have a fiscal procurator on his staff. Yet the governor of a province who was called ‘procurator’ was more than just a fiscal officer; he also commanded auxiliary forces and had other duties that the governor of a province would need. Because of the usage of Josephus and Tacitus, it was long assumed that the governors of Judaea held the title of procurator, until an inscription with the name of Pilate was discovered that labelled him praefectus (see §12.6.3). That led to the conclusion that the governors of Judaea were prefects until the time of Claudius, who made them procurators (based on Tacitus, Hist. 12.60; cf. Stockton 1961 for a survey of the discussion). This interpretation was then contested (Millar 1964, 1965). Among his conclusions were, ‘There is no evidence of increased legal powers on the part of procurators governing small provinces [such as Judaea] (who already possessed in effect full powers)’ (1964: 187). So why does Tacitus, who worked as a bureaucrat and knew bureaucratic usage, label the early governors of Judaea as procurator rather than prefect? Part of the reason seems to be that by Tacitus’s time (perhaps also by the time Josephus wrote), the titles had become somewhat entangled

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in usage (Eck 2008: 224–26). Also, we know that a number of provincial governors explicitly had both military authority and fiscal powers to collect taxes. A. H. M. Jones explains it this way: Conversely prefects of provinces may have been concurrently procurators of Augustus. The prefect of Egypt was, we are told by Philo, intimately concerned with finance, and we know from the case of Pilate that the prefects of Judaea, besides their military and judicial functions, handled the finances of the province. The same was probably true of all prefects of provinces. It was not customary for military officers, as the praefecti essentially were, to deal with public finance; imperial legati never did so. It may be therefore that for financial purposes a prefect of a province was deemed to be acting as a procurator of Augustus, and he may even have held two posts, a military command and a private agency, concurrently. This is suggested by a number of cases in which a governor is styled procurator et praefectus or pro legato… It may be that Philo was being not muddleheaded but strictly accurate in describing Pilate as ‘one of the prefects appointed procurator of Judaea’. (Jones 1960: 124–25)

The governor of Judaea seems to have held both the offices of ‘prefect’ and ‘procurator’, at least in the period after 44 CE, which would in part explain the confusion of terminology. Yet it is also clear that the governor of Judaea was subordinate to the imperial legate of Syria in Damascus, who could intervene at any point in the actions of the Judaean governor. We know this happened on a number of occasions. Josephus (Ant. 17.13.5 §355) actually states that after Archelaus was deposed, his realm was ‘attached’ (προσνεμηθείσης) to the province of Syria, indicating it was not a separate province. Yet the Judaean governor clearly had a certain independence, including (at least in some cases and perhaps always) the power of capital punishment, e.g., Coponius (War 2.8.1 §117); also Pilate who executed a number of local people (cf. Jones 1960a: 58–63; Schürer 1:368). Formally, before the 66–70 war Judaea was too small to be its own province with a senatorial governor (Eck 2007b: 33–34; 2008: 219). Therefore, it was administratively a part of Syria but nevertheless had its own identity and autonomy—up to a point, since the legate of Syria could always intervene if he thought it appropriate. 12.6.2. First Roman Governors of Judaea (6–26 CE) As soon as Archelaus had been removed from office, the decision was made to make his territory part of a Roman province. How this decision was arrived at is not recorded, but apparently there was no one available to take his place in Augustus’s eyes. As noted above (§12.6.1), there were

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several types of province. Senatorial provinces were usually docile, but the imperial provinces, under direct rule of the emperor, included some of the more turbulent regions and required troops to be stationed in the vicinity. Judaea was one of these regions, with a governor of the equestrian order, which could be closely monitored by the higher ranking legate of the main province (in this case Syria). The title of the governors of Judaea has been much discussed and was dealt with above (§12.6.1). The correct title of the governors of Judaea at this time seems to have been ‘prefect’ (praefectus; Greek ἐπάρχος), though some or all may also have had the title of procurator (Greek ἐπίτροπος). When Judah became a part of a Roman province, it was necessary to set up the Roman administrative system in place of the Herodian one. This took place in the 37th year after Actium or 6 CE (Ant. 18.2.1 §26; Cassius Dio 55.25.1: consuls M. Aemilius Lepidus and Lucius Arruntius). This meant that taxation had to be done directly rather than through the king or ethnarch (though it is unlikely that there was Roman tribute under Herod [HJJSTP 3: 132]). To determine the tax liability of each person required an assessment of personal property. Also, they had to liquidate the estate of Archelaus. Coponius, a Roman knight, was delegated as ‘procurator’ (ἐπίτροπος) of Judaea, according to Josephus (though this title is problematic), but Coponius’s authority included capital punishment. The proconsul Quirinius (who had been consul in 12 BCE) had been sent as imperial legate to govern Syria. The first task of Quirinius and Coponius was to conduct a registration or census of persons and property. This census of 6 CE is mistakenly referred to in Luke 2.1-5 (there was never any census of the whole Roman empire) and wrongly dated to the time when Herod the Great was still alive. Luke also wrongly suggests that one had to go to one’s birthplace to be registered, when registration was logically made at the place where one lived and owned property. That this census was an unprecedented action is quite clear because of the Jewish reaction. Many were very upset by it, though most acceded to the arguments of the high priest (or ex-high-priest?) Joazar son of Boethus that there was nothing to do but submit. Because Joazar had been opposed by a popular faction (καταστασιασθέντα), Quirinius removed him from office and replaced him with Ananus son of Seth as high priest (Ant. 18.2.1 §26). This is all a bit puzzling, since Archelaus was supposed to have removed Joazar from office long before (Ant. 17.13.1 §339). However, Judas the Galilean, from Gamala, and Saddok the Pharisee led some sort of rebellion. Their view was that only God was their master, and to accept the assessment was to submit to slavery; they should try for independence. Josephus actually gives no details about the revolt, so it

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appears either to have been short-lived or only carried out by small bands using guerrilla tactics. The reference made to Judas in Acts 5.37 suggests a brief revolt, but this information may not be reliable since the movement survived him, contrary to the statement put into the mouth of Gamaliel. In any case, this was the origin of what Josephus calls ‘the Fourth Philosophy’ (§7.2). In a highly rhetorical passage (Ant. 18.1.1 §§7-10), Josephus talks of ‘great hordes of brigands’ (λῃστηρίων…μεγάλων) and ‘men of the highest standing assassinated’ (διαφθοραῖς ἀνδρῶ τῶν πρώτων), with the seeds of future troubles planted. This sounds grossly exaggerated, but he seems to be referring to the subsequent period of sixty years during which various members of the Fourth Philosophy and others carried out assassinations and otherwise fomented trouble. For he suggests that the main result was to inspire zeal (σπουδασθέντι) in the young men through the actions of Judas and Saddok. The next 20 years are almost completely a blank. In the War Josephus simply skips to the beginning of the governorship of Pontius Pilate; however, in the Antiquities (18.2.2 §§31-35) he does give a list of the governors for this period of two decades: – Coponius (6–c. 9 CE): Josephus claims that some Samaritans polluted the temple during the Passover festival by scattering human bones in it, though there are many questions about his account (on this, see HJJSTP 3: 210–11). – Marcus Ambivulus (c. 9–12 CE): during his governorship, Herod’s sister Salome died, leaving Jamnia and its territory and Phasaelis and Archelais in the Jordan Valley to Livia (Julia), the wife of Augustus. – Annius Rufus (c. 12–15 CE): Augustus died at age 77, after a reign of 57 years (14 CE) during his term of office. – Valerius Gratus (c. 15–26 CE): according to Ant. 18.2.2 §§34-35 he had a long term of office, 11 years. He made several changes of high priest: he first replaced Ananus with Ishmael, son of Phabi; shortly afterward he replaced him with Eleazar, son of (the former high priest) Ananus; after a year he gave the office to Simon, son of Camith; a year later he passed the office to Joseph Caiaphas. There were also a number of cities founded by the tetrarchs Herod Antipas and Philip (§12.7; §12.8): Caesarea-Philippi, Autocratoris (the former Sepphoris), Julias (from Betharamphtha), Julia (Bethsaida), and Tiberias. The only other event recorded by Josephus was not about the Jews in Palestine but in Rome: the expulsion of the non-citizen Jewish residents in 19 CE, probably for complex reasons (§6.4).

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12.6.3. Governorship of Pontius Pilate (26–36 CE) M. Bernett (2007) Der Kaiserkult in Judäa unter den Herodiern und Römern; G. de la Bédoyère (2017. Praetorian: The Rise and Fall of Rome’s Imperial Bodyguard; S. Bingham (2013) The Praetorian Guard: A History of Rome’s Elite Special Forces; BJP 1b: 138–50; H. K. Bond (1996) ‘The Coins of Pontius Pilate: Part of an Attempt to Provoke the People or to Integrate Them into the Empire?’, JSJ 27: 241–62; idem (1998) Pontius Pilate in History and Interpretation; P. S. Davies (1986) ‘The Meaning of Philo’s Text about the Gilded Shields’, JTS 37: 109–14; A. Demandt (2012) Pontius Pilate; G. Fuks (1982) ‘Again on the Episode of the Gilded Roman Shields at Jerusalem’, HTR 75: 503–7; P. L. Hedley (1934) ‘Pilate’s Arrival in Judaea’, JTS 35: 56–58; C. M. Lehmann and K. G. Holum (2000) The Greek and Latin Inscriptions of Caesarea Maritima; J.-P. Lémonon (1981) Pilate et le gouvernement de la Judée: Textes et monuments; B. Levick (1999a) Tiberius the Politician; K. Lönnqvist (2000) ‘Pontius Pilate—An Aqueduct Builder?—Recent Findings and New Suggestions’, Klio 82: 459–74; B. C. McGing (1991) ‘Pontius Pilate and the Sources’, CBQ 53: 416–38; P. L. Maier (1969) ‘The Episode of the Golden Roman Shields at Jerusalem’, HTR 62: 109–21; A. Mazar (1976) ‘The Aqueducts of Jerusalem’, in Y. Yadin (ed.), Jerusalem Revealed: Archaeology in the Holy City 1968–1974: 79–84; L. Prandi (1981) ‘Una nuova ipotesi sull’iscrizione di Ponzio Pilato’, Civilta classica e cristiana 2: 25–35; C. Roth (1956) ‘An Ordinance against Images in Jerusalem, A.D. 66’, HTR 49: 169–77; D. R. Schwartz (1981–82) ‘Pontius Pilate’s Suspension from Office: Chronology and Sources’, Tarbiz 51: 383–98 (Heb.) + VII (Eng. summary); idem (1982–83b) ‘Pontius Pilate’s Appointment to Office and the Chronology of Josephus’ Jewish Antiquities, Books XVIII-XX’, Zion 48: 325–45 (Heb.) + XXI (Eng. summary); idem (1983) ‘Josephus and Philo on Pontius Pilate’, Jerusalem Cathedra 3: 26–45; idem (2007) ‘Composition and Sources in Antiquities 18: The Case of Pontius Pilate’, in Z. Rodgers (ed.), Making History: Josephus and Historical Method: 125–46; E. M. Smallwood (1954) ‘The Date of the Dismissal of Pontius Pilate from Judaea’, JJS 5: 12–21; idem (1956b) ‘Some Notes on the Jews under Tiberius’, Latomus 15: 314–29; idem (1961b) Philonis Alexandrini Legatio ad Gaium; R. Syme (1973) ‘The Titulus Tiburtinus’, Akten des VI. Internationalen Kongresses für Griechische und Lateinische Epigraphik: 585–601; J. E. Taylor (2006b) ‘Pontius Pilate and the Imperial Cult in Roman Judaea’, NTS 52: 555–82. Sources: War 2.9.2-4 §§169-77; Ant. 18.3.1 §§55-62; 18.4.1-3 §§83-95; Philo, Gaius 299–305; Tacitus, Ann. 15.44; Mark 15.1-45//Matt. 27.2-65// Luke 23.1-52//John 18.28–19.38.

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The governorship of Pontius Pilate was a long one (26–36 CE; cf. Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 1.9), probably because it was the custom of Tiberius to leave provincial governors in their posts rather than replace them frequently as had been the former custom (Ant. 18.6.5 §§170-78; Tacitus, Ann. 1.80; Suetonius, Tib. 41); Pilate’s predecessor Valerius Gratus was in the post even longer (§12.6.2). A different beginning date for Pilate’s governorship has been given by D. R. Schwartz (1982–83b), who argues for 19 CE. This is based on the thesis that references to 26 CE are Christian forgeries, inserted with the intent to oppose the dating in the Acta Pilati. Not only is the idea that such a forgery could successfully change all manuscripts of Josephus unlikely (there are no such variants), but also it is a strange way of dating the crucifixion of Jesus, when a simple date could have been inserted in Josephus’s text (cf. Bond 1998: 1 n. 1). A similar early date is given by K. Lönnqvist (2000), based on the lead content of certain coins; however, this is a somewhat precarious argument (Bernett 2007: 199 n. 111), considering that Josephus specifically tells us that Pilate’s predecessor Valerius Gratus was in the post 11 years (Ant. 18.2.2 §35). In addition to references by Josephus (War 2.9.2-4 §§169-77; Ant. 18.3.1-2 §§55-62; 18.4.1-2 §§85-89) and Tacitus (the only Roman author to mention Pilate [Ann. 15.44.3]), an inscription has now been found which also refers to Pilate’s governorship (Lehmann/Holum 2000: 67–70; CIIP 2: no. 1277). Various reconstructions of the original inscription have been given, though the one below is widely accepted: [Dis Augusti]S TIBERIEVM [Po]NTIVS PILATVS [praef]ECTUS IVDAE[a]E [……]ECI[…]

The important points to notice is that the name Pontius Pilatus seems quite certain, and he held the office of ‘prefect’ (praefectus; Greek ἐπάρχος) of Judaea. As noted earlier (§12.6.1), although the later term ‘procurator’ is sometimes used of Pilate, this may well be anachronistic. According to the accounts of both Josephus and Philo, Pilate’s governorship was not a particularly successful one (but see below). Philo especially assimilates Pilate to the biased stereotype of the enemy of God and the Jews, but his negative description (Gaius 299–305) needs to be treated with caution (cf. Bond 1998: 36). Josephus is more neutral, but the somewhat positive image of the gospels is also biased, with the aim

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of having Pilate declare Jesus innocent. Although the charge that he was an anti-Judaic tool of Sejanus seems ill-founded (see below), he seems to have had the ability, either through deliberate provocation but more likely just plain ignorance, to upset the Jews. Three specific incidents have come down to us in the sources: The first was probably at the beginning of his governorship (the date is not given) when he moved the army from Caesarea to winter quarters in Jerusalem (War 2.9.2-3 §§169-74; Ant. 18.3.1 §§55-59). Although previous Roman governors and military commanders had respected the Jewish objection to the imperial images, Pilate sent his men in with standards that had medallions bearing the image of Caesar attached to them. It was done at night and was thus a fait accompli by the time the Jews realized what had happened. Their entreaties and protests did no good, even though they journeyed to Caesarea to make them. Finally, Pilate had a large group of soldiers suddenly surround the importuning Jews and threatened them with death if they did not give up their demonstration. Their response was to lie down and expose their necks to the swords. This so astonished Pilate that he relented and removed the standards back to Caesarea. Although some have argued that this and the next episode are simply different versions of the same event, it is usually thought that this incident with the military standards is different from the one concerning certain golden shields which Pilate set up the palace in Jerusalem (Wilker 2007: 94–96, 101–3; Bond 1998: 39 n. 67). Philo (Gaius 299–305), ostensibly quoting a letter of Agrippa I, refers to an episode during the governorship of Pilate (Josephus does not mention this incident): some shields dedicated on behalf of Tiberius were introduced into Herod’s palace in Jerusalem by Pilate. Even though there was only a dedication inscription and no images on the shields, the Jews were affronted and complained bitterly, with four Herodians (probably Herod Antipas, Philip, and two other sons of Herod the Great; cf. Wilker 2007: 96) representing their case to the provincial administration. Pilate backed down and allowed them to petition Tiberius, who ordered Pilate to remove the standards to a temple dedicated to the emperor outside Jewish territory. The problem is why the aniconic shields should have caused such offence to the Jews; several solutions have been offered, not all of them satisfactory: • Several scholars have suggested that the mere presence of objects dedicated to the Roman emperor was an offence to the Jews. However, this is not a good explanation since (a) sacrifices were offered daily in the temple on behalf of the emperor (Philo, Gaius

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•

•

•

•

157, 317; Josephus, War 2.10.4 §197; Ag. Ap. 2.6 §77), and (b) shields of dedication honouring the emperor were found in many synagogues in Egypt (Philo, Gaius 133). P. L. Maier (1969: 118) has accepted this point but goes on to state, ‘We have to do here instead with an extremely sensitive, hyperorthodox reaction against an unpopular foreign governor’. If this explanation were correct, however, surely Philo would have seen its weakness and refrained from pressing the point. J.-P. Lémonon (1981: 214–17) connects the reaction with the fact that the shields were of the sort which usually had the portrait of a person, which was here replaced with the dedication inscription. Again, this seems a weak argument for Philo to use and does not very well explain why the Jews were so upset as to complain to the emperor himself. G. Fuks (1982) has suggested that the dedication inscription referred to Tiberius as the ‘son of the divine Augustus’ (divi Augusti filius) as his inscriptions often do. Against this, P. S. Davies (1986: 111) has pointed out that less than a third of Tiberius’s known inscriptions contain ‘divine’ in reference to Augustus. He also suggests that Philo’s emphasis is on the dedication itself rather than the content of the inscription (see next point). Despite Davies’s objections which certainly have a point, Fuks still seems to have given a very reasonable possible explanation. This explanation is also supported by Bond (1998: 36–45), with a detailed discussion. As she points out, Philo makes it clear that the offence was in the inscription: ‘What offended the Jews therefore was the reference to a pagan deity… Augustus’ (p. 39). P. S. Davies (1986) himself argues that Philo’s wording shows that the objection was not to the shields themselves or even to the specific words of the inscription but to the dedication ceremony. That is, the inscription made it clear that the shields had been dedicated on behalf of Tiberius to Roman gods in a pagan ceremony, and it was to this that the Jews objected. This is certainly an ingenuous and cogent explanation, though Fuks’s suggestion seems a good alternative; indeed, the two are not mutually exclusive. Bond, however, argues, ‘the offence concerned the shields themselves, not a dedicatory rite associated with them’ (1998: 41 n. 76), and cites Gaius 306. J. E. Taylor (2006) proposes that Pilate was determined to promote a form of Roman religion in Judaea. In addition to the Tiberieum inscription cited above, she notes that the coins minted by Pilate display the lituus and the simpulum, both utensils used in Roman cultic rituals. She points to the use of votive shields by Roman

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officials to honour the emperor. Pilate presumably thought he had avoided the earlier difficulties over images on military standards by dedicating imageless votive shields. The Jews apparently recognized (perhaps by the inscription) that these shields were part of emperor veneration and found them unacceptable, though Pilate assumed they would not cause offence. In conclusion, Pilate was no doubt trying to honour the emperor, as would any provincial governor of the time, as pointed out by Taylor and others. He assumed that the lack of images on the shields would make them acceptable to the Jews. What he did not know, though, was that Jews would be aware of the dedication of the shields (perhaps because of the inscription, as Fuks and Bond argue, or even a local dedication ceremony, as Davies thinks) as a part of the emperor cult and raised objections because of this. The third incident involved a protest that was not so peacefully settled (Lönnqvist 2000; BJP 1b: 146–50). Pilate took money from the temple treasury (money donated for sacrifices, labelled Korban [κορβωνᾶς: War 2.9.4 §175; Ant. 18.3.2 §§60-62]) to build an aqueduct to bring water to Jerusalem. This was probably a further addition to the existing aqueduct system dating from the Hellenistic period, tentatively identified by Mazar (1976: 80) as the Arrub aqueduct. The aqueduct construction may well have been finished when the incident occurred. The large crowd which assembled, while Pilate was in Jerusalem presiding over the governor’s tribunal, raised an angry protest. This time Pilate directed his soldiers, carrying cudgels instead of swords, to mix with the crowd disguised in Jewish garments. At a signal from Pilate they attacked the unarmed crowd so that many Jews were allegedly killed by being trampled in the panic, as well as injured. On the surface, this sounds like another provocation by an insensitive governor, and many modern commentators have assumed the fault lay with Pilate (e.g., Lémonon 1981: 168; cf. Bond 1998: 85–89). But a closer look shows it to be more complicated than it first appears. First, the project had no particular benefit for Pilate but would have been an important contribution to the infrastructure of the city and thus the province. There seems no personal reason for Pilate to carry out this except as a service to the population of Jerusalem. Secondly, it would have needed the cooperation, and indeed the approval, of the city and/or temple authorities (McGing 1991: 429). It could not have been done in a corner but would have been seen and known about for several years. Thus, those who protested were actually protesting against the Jewish leadership of the city and province and were doing so long after they knew about the

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construction. Finally, the Roman central government would have contributed funds toward the project. Whether temple funds could have been used is not so clear, but according to later rabbinic sources, excess funds could be so used (m. Šeqal. 4.2; cf. also Agrippa II’s later use of temple funds for a paving project to provide employment [Ant. 20.9.7 §§21922]). It is also important to note that Josephus refers to the protest as a ‘revolt’ (ἡ στάσις [Ant. 18.3.2 §62]), which would have been seen as a serious matter to be dealt with ruthlessly from the Roman point of view. Thus, it is possible that the aqueduct was only a pretext for some to stir up the masses and instigate an uprising. This might also explain why the Jews did not take their complaint to Pilate’s superiors in the Roman hierarchy, such as the imperial legate in Syria. D. R. Schwartz (2007) has analysed Josephus’s account of the two episodes under Pilate. He shows convincingly that both the War and the Antiquities are likely to depend on a source which presents Pilate in a favourable light. Josephus has used this source, only lightly editing it. The Antiquities version is probably most like the original, with Pilate acting like a competent Roman governor though somewhat ignorant of Jewish traditional beliefs. When he understands Jewish feelings, he immediately relents. The War is similar, except that Josephus has added a statement at the beginning of the episode to show Pilate as a troublemaker (which fits with his general presentation of the Roman governors of Judaea as basically a bad lot); otherwise, the description is similar to Antiquities in not castigating Pilate. Indeed, both versions—especially the one in Antiquities—shows that those who protest against the aqueduct are unreasonable and are justly punished by Pilate’s soldiers. Thus, save for the editorial addition of Josephus’s label of Pilate as a troublemaker, he comes across as basically a competent governor in Josephus. Even the episode in Philo could be simply a case of not understanding Jewish sensibilities rather than gross arrogance or even incompetence. According to Philo (Gaius 159–60; Flaccus 1; cf. Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 2.5.7), an anti-Jewish policy was pursued by Sejanus, the right-hand man of Tiberius. From this it has often been concluded that Pilate’s actions in Palestine reflected the same anti-Jewish attitude since, it is also argued, he was a protégé of Sejanus (see the survey in Hennig 1975: 160–79). This conclusion has now been opposed for the following reasons (Levick 1976: 136–37; Lémonon 1981: 275–77): • There is a question of whether Philo’s account is complete. At the present, he says little about Sejanus and anti-Judaism. Some have used Eusebius (Dem. evang. 8.2.123; Hist. eccl. 2.5.7) to suggest lacunae

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in the present text of Philo, but this seems unlikely (Hennig 1975: 164–71; Smallwood 1961b: 302; McGing 1991: 424 n. 27): Eusebius seems to have depended on the present text of Gaius and Flaccus. • It is a part of Philo’s apologetic aim to contrast Tiberius with Caligula; therefore, he attempts to shift the blame for anything which might discredit this image of the emperor. Since it was known that Jews were expelled from Rome in 19 CE at Tiberius’s order, he could be relieved of responsibility by blaming Sejanus as the bad influence which brought about this decision. But this seems earlier than Sejanus’s influence on Tiberius. • There is actually no evidence of a direct connection between Pilate and Sejanus. • Since Tiberius’s policy was to keep the provinces quiet, it is unlikely that Pilate would have deliberately stirred up trouble, however powerful a patron he might have had. The episode with the shields can be better explained as a clumsy attempt to show his loyalty at a time of uncertainty which all officials must have felt after Sejanus’s fall. The NT gospels give Pilate a prominent role in the trial and execution of Jesus. This is important for the history of Christianity but seems to tell us little about Pilate, except his relationship with Herod Antipas (§12.8). Pilate went too far, apparently, in quelling a disturbance among the Samaritans (cf. also HJJSTP 3: 211). A man promised to show the Samaritans the sacred vessels of the tabernacle which according to Samaritan tradition had been buried in a hidden site on Mt Gerizim. A large group gathered in a nearby village with the intention of climbing Mt Gerizim for the demonstration at a particular time. Whether it was anything more than a peaceful gathering is not indicated, but Pilate evidently interpreted it as the prelude to a revolt. Before they could actually make the ascent of the mountain, they were intercepted by Roman troops who killed and captured many and scattered the rest. The main leaders and most prominent individuals among those captured were executed at Pilate’s orders. This was too much for the Samaritan council who protested to Vitellius the governor of Syria. Exactly why he accepted their accusations is not clear but he did so, sending Marcellus to take over in Judaea and ordering Pilate to return to Rome and appear for trial before Tiberius. This Pilate did, but Tiberius had died (March 37 CE) by the time he reached Rome. At this point our information ceases and we know nothing further about Pilate’s fate or subsequent activities.

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12.6.4. End of Judaea as a Province As governor of Syria, Vitellius himself gained the good will of the Jews by two acts. One of them seems to have been earlier than the incident with Pilate (cf. Ant. 15.11.4 §§403-9 with Ant. 18.4.3 §§90-95): granting the Jews custody over the high priest’s vestments. The special robes worn at the three major festivals plus the Day of Atonement had traditionally been kept in a special building by the temple. Under Herod the Great this building was turned into the Antonia, and he took control of the vestments as a means of potential control of his Jewish subjects. After the exile of Archelaus, control of the vestments was assumed by the Romans. However, when Vitellius was well received by the people of Jerusalem at one point, he consented to place the sacred garments under their own authority as a reciprocal gesture and even requested Tiberius’s approval for this. A second act, probably made when he visited Jerusalem after deposing Pilate, was to remit the sales taxes on agricultural products for the inhabitants of Jerusalem. At that time Vitellius also removed Joseph Caiaphas from the high priestly office and bestowed it on Jonathan son of Ananus (a former high priest). It was noted in the previous section (§12.6.3) that Vitellius had installed Marcellus as governor of Judaea in place of Pilate. Marcellus seems to have been the last Roman governor of the province during this period of direct Roman rule. According to Josephus (Ant. 18.6.10 §237) Caligula, on becoming emperor, sent a man named Marullus or Marillus as commander of cavalry (ἱππάρχην) to Judaea. Some authorities, however, want to read ‘prefect’ (ἔπαρχος), which would equate Marullus with Marcellus (e.g., Smallwood 1954: 14). The similarity of names is interesting but hardly proof, and hipparchos seems the more likely reading. Also, Marcellus was evidently already in post when Caligula took the throne, whereas Marullus had to be sent from Rome. Thus, the interesting suggestion of Smallwood and others does not seem to stand up. As far as we know, Marcellus continued as governor until Judaea became a kingdom again under Agrippa I’s rule, in 41 CE. 12.7. The Tetrarch Philip (4 BCE–34 CE) D. Hendin (2010) Guide to Biblical Coins; A. Kasher (1988) Jews, Idumaeans, and Ancient Arabs; N. Kokkinos (2008) ‘The Foundation of Bethsaida-Julias by Philip the Tetrarch’, JJS 59: 236–51; R. D. Sullivan (1977) ‘The Dynasty of Judaea in the First Century’, ANRW II: 8:306–8. Sources: War 2.6.3 §95; 3.10.7 §§512-13; Ant. 17.8.1 §189; 17.11.4 §319; 18.4.6 §§106-8.

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The two tetrarchs over portions of Herod the Great’s old kingdom are important for Jewish history at this time (even if few Jews lived in Philip’s territory). Both were builders of noted cities, both made their way into the pages of the NT as well as into Josephus, and both were succeeded by Agrippa I as king. Philip (4 BC–34 CE) was the son of Herod the Great by Cleopatra of Jerusalem. He ruled over territories to the north and east of Galilee: Trachonitis, Auranitis, Gaulanitis, Batanaea, and Paneas, with an annual income of 100 talents. The statement that he also ruled Ituraea (Luke 3.1) seems mistaken since the bulk of the Ituraeans lived further north in Lebanon (Schürer 1:338 n. 2). Only a few Jews lived in his realm (e.g., at Bethsaida, as well as the colony of Babylonian Jews founded by Herod the Great at Batanaea [HJJSTP 3: 246). He rebuilt two cities, one being the ancient city of Paneas at the sources of the Jordan which had been named for its shrine to the god Pan. Founded about 3/2 BCE (judging from coins) he named it after Augustus, but it became known as Caesarea-Philippi to distinguish it from the city built by his father. The other was Bethsaida which he renamed Julias, probably after Julia Livia, Augustus’s wife (Ant. 18.2.1 §28 says it was named after Augustus’s daughter, but most think this unlikely since she was banished by Augustus; see, however, the arguments of Kokkinos 2008). Whether it is identical to the Bethsaida of the gospels is debated (cf. Schürer 2:172). It was probably built about 30 CE. This is based on a series of coins for ‘year 34’, one of which has ‘founder’ (ΚΤΙΣ[ΤΟΥ]) on it, while another coin of the series has on it ‘Julia Augusta’ (ΙΟΥΛΙΑ ΣΕΒΑΣΤΗ [Hendin 2010: 261; but cf. Kokkinos 2008, who speculates that the ‘year 34’ refers to Herod and dates the coin to 5/4 BCE and the ‘Julia Augusta’ to Augustus’s daughter). According to Josephus (Ant. 18.4.6 §§106-8), his mode of government was ‘moderate’ (μέτριον) and ‘trouble-free’ (ἀπράγμονα). He evidently spent all his time in his subject tetrarchy. He took a judgment throne with him as he moved about his territory and immediately set up a tribunal if anyone appealed to him on the way. In these judgments, he is said to have fixed the penalties for those who were convicted and released those who had been unjustly accused. Certainly, no unrest is recorded during his rule which seems to have been a peaceful one. Because most of his subjects were non-Jews, he used the Roman model for his coins, including images of the emperors Augustus and Tiberius (Hendin 2010: 258–62). We also know that he was married to Salome, daughter of Herodias, though this was possibly after the incident relating to John the Baptist (see next section §12.8). One anecdote (War 3.10.7 §512-13) suggests a certain scientific curiosity on Philip’s part: he is said to have demonstrated that the Jordan had its source at the pool of Phiale by throwing chaff into

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the water and observing it surface in Paneas because of a subterranean link. Unfortunately, no such connection seems to be known to modern geologists, so the value of the anecdote is uncertain. When Philip died in the 20th year of Tiberius (i.e., probably the winter of 33/34 BCE) in the city of Julias, he had reigned 37 years. Tiberius put his territory under the administration of the Syrian legate, but the income was kept in trust. A few years later in 37 CE it was given to Agrippa I (§13.2). 12.8. The Tetrarch Herod Antipas (4 BCE–39 CE) G. W. Bowersock (1983) Roman Arabia; R. Bultmann (1968) History of the Synoptic Tradition; J. A. Fitzmyer (1981) The Gospel According to Luke I–IX; idem (1985) The Gospel according to Luke X–XXIV; H. W. Hoehner (1980) Herod Antipas; M. H. Jensen (2006) Herod Antipas in Galilee; idem (2007) ‘Josephus and Antipas: A Case Study of Josephus’ Narratives on Herod Antipas’, in Z. Rodgers (ed.), Making History: Josephus and Historical Method: 289–312; A. Kasher (1988) Jews, Idumaeans, and Ancient Arabs: Relations of the Jews in Eretz-Israel with the Nations of the Frontier and the Desert during the Hellenistic and Roman Era (332 BCE–70 CE); A. J. Kogon and J.-P. Fontanille (2018) The Coinage of Herod Antipas: A Study and Die Classification of the Earliest Coins of Galilee; D. R. Schwartz (1990) Agrippa I: The Last King of Judaea. Sources: War 2.6.3 §§94-95; 2.9.1 §§167-68; 2.9.5 §§178-83; Ant. 18.2.1 §27; 18.2.3 §§36-38; 18.4.5 §§102-5; 18.5.1–3 §§109-22; 18.6.2 §§148-50; 18.7.1-2 §§240-55.

Herod Antipas (4 BCE–39 CE) was involved in the struggle for Herod’s succession (§12.1). He was appointed tetrarch over Galilee and Peraea in Herod’s will and subsequently confirmed by Augustus. We know something of his activities during the latter part of Tiberius’s reign, though little before that. His building activities included the fortification of Betharamphtha (Beth-haram) east of the Jordon, which he renamed Livias or Julias after Augustus’s wife (Julia Livia). He also rebuilt Sepphoris (named Autocratoris) which served as an important administrative centre and was also sometimes capital of the region. But the jewel in the crown was Tiberias which he built as a new foundation on the western shores of the Sea of Galilee. Josephus states that the inhabitants were a ‘rabble’ (σύγκλυδες [Ant. 18.2.3 §37]), including many poor people and some who were compelled to settle there by force. The reason for settling many undesirables there is allegedly that the city was built on a site of tombs which many Jews would have avoided. Strangely, though, such objections

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nowhere appear in later Jewish literature when the city became a rabbinic centre. Tiberias was capital of Galilee much of the time, creating a rivalry between it and Sepphoris. Antipas was also involved in negotiations between Lucius Vitellius the Syrian legate and Artabanus III king of Parthia (Tacitus, Ann. 6.31-33, 36-37, 41-44; Dio 58.26; Ant. 18.4.4-5 §§96-105). The dating of this incident is difficult: the initial events seem correctly to fall during the reign of Tiberius (c. 35 CE); however, there are reasons for thinking the final negotiations did not take place until Caligula’s reign (37 CE [Dio 59.17.5; 59.27.2-6; Suetonius, Calig. 14.3; cf. Schürer 1:350–51]), although Josephus puts it under Tiberius. The Roman appointee on the Armenian throne had died. This was occasion for the Parthian king Artabanus III to attempt to have his own favoured candidate made king. After a series of unsuccessful manoeuvres to try to unseat him, Tiberius (so Josephus) or Caligula (so Dio) decided the best course was to come to an agreement whereby a mutually acceptable individual was enthroned. Therefore, he had Vitellius negotiate with Artabanus on the Euphrates. Antipas was present at these negotiations and quickly sent an account of them to the emperor before Vitellius had submitted his report. This angered Vitellius who was said to seek his revenge a few years later, though no details are given (but see below). About 36 CE, Antipas became involved in a war with Aretas IV the king of Arabia (Ant. 18.5.1-2 §§109-19). The reason is that he had divorced his wife who was Aretas’s daughter and married Herodias, the wife of his half-brother (also named Herod—Mark 6.17 seems mistaken in saying she was married to Philip, if Philip the Tetrarch is meant). Antipas’s Arabian wife got wind of his intentions and fled to her father who launched an attack on Antipas at a disputed section of their common border (the name in the text is uncertain). Josephus’s narrative gives the impression that one event immediately followed the other; a closer look at events suggests otherwise (Kasher 1988: 177–83; Bowersock 1983: 65–67). Although the time when Antipas married Herodias is not clearly indicated, circumstances suggest that it was in the 20s when John the Baptist was alive (see below), whereas the actual attack by Aretas was about 36 CE. Indeed, even though the divorce of Aretas’s daughter was no doubt a contributing cause, the immediate occasion seems to have been the status of Philip’s territory after his death in 34—both Aretas and Antipas hoped to get it, but the Roman directives about it seem to have been somewhat ambiguous (Ant. 18.4.6 §108). In the battle, Antipas’s army was completely destroyed.

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When he reported this to Tiberius, the emperor ordered Vitellius, the legate in Syria, to declare war on Aretas. The reason for this seems clear enough: Rome did not approve of client kings fighting one another; Herod the Great had got into trouble with Augustus for defending himself against Syllaeus, another client king of Rome (HJJSTP 3: 469–71). Rather than consulting Rome, Aretas had attacked Antipas. As the presumed aggressor, Aretas was singled out for punishment by Tiberius. Vitellius set out from Antioch with two legions and auxiliaries, with the intention of marching through Judah to Petra; however, he changed his route at the request of the Jews since it would have meant bringing the images of the emperor (on the Roman standards) through Judaean territory. Instead, he sent the army on another route (apparently through the Jezreel Plain) and joined Antipas in Jerusalem for sacrifices at a festival (probably Passover). While there, he received word of Tiberius’s death and cancelled the Arabian expedition. Antipas’s marriage to Herodias is supposed to have led to one of the most notorious episodes of his life. He arrested John the Baptist and had him executed (for which his defeat by Aretas was divine vengeance, according to the thinking of some [Ant. 18.5.2 §116]). According to Mark 6.14-28 (followed by countless stories, sermons, passion plays, dramas, operas, movies, etc.; also paralleled in Matt. 14.1-12 and Luke 9.7-9) the arrest was because of John’s criticism for taking his brother’s wife, and the execution was at the instigation of Herodias and her daughter Salome, as usually interpreted. Some text critics, however, prefer to read Mark 6.22 as, ‘his daughter Herodias’ rather than ‘the daughter of Herodias’ (the synoptic parallel in Matt. 14.6 has ‘daughter of Herodias’; the name ‘Salome’ is not found in the gospel texts, but Herodias’s daughter was named Salome according to Josephus). Josephus knows nothing of this story of the dancing girl, but ascribes the arrest and execution to Antipas’s fear that John’s popularity with the crowds might lead to sedition (Ant. 18.5.2 §§116-19). Although the two reasons are not necessarily mutually exclusive, since John could well have criticized Antipas’s second marriage, the account in Mark is nevertheless suspect. For one thing, it states that Herodias had been the wife of Philip, whereas it was her daughter Salome who was the wife of Philip (the Tetrarch). For another, the account of the plot by Herodias and Salome to have John beheaded looks very much like a folktale without historical foundation (cf. Bultmann 1968: 301–2). Finally, according to Josephus, John was imprisoned and executed in Machaerus in Transjordan, whereas the banquet scene of Mark 6 seems to be set in Galilee (cf. Mark 6.21). (Hoehner’s attempt [1980: 110–71] to save the gospel accounts is predictable apologetic.)

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Completely absent from Josephus but with enormous amounts of NT scholarship expended on it is Antipas’s alleged part in the trial of Jesus. This is found only in Luke 23.6-12, which has Pilate send Jesus to Antipas for trial, when he hears that Jesus is a Galilean. It might be asked why Pilate would allow someone else to try an accused person when he had clear jurisdiction. It is indeed unlikely that he felt the need for guidance by Antipas, as has sometimes been suggested, especially since neither Pilate nor his assistants were present at the appearance before Antipas (cf. Wilker 2007: 123–27). But Pilate might have done it as a courtesy, or it might even have seemed to him a good way to rid himself of a troubling situation. In any event, Antipas is said to have returned Jesus to Pilate. This account is not intrinsically improbable since Antipas frequently came to Jerusalem for the festivals, and Pilate’s action is easily explained. It has been argued that the story found only in Luke may have had a literary purpose (cf. Bultmann 1968: 273). That is certainly possible, but recent scholarship has tended to accept that Luke has some useful information here (Wilker 2007: 130). Like much within the Passion narrative, the history behind the story is not easy to get at (cf. Fitzmyer 1985: 1478–80). One might wonder why Pilate and Antipas had fallen out, since Luke 23.12 states that they now became reconciled, but there were many known occasions which might have triggered this, not to mention ones not presently known (Wilker 2007: 106–8). Antipas’s downfall was primarily due to ambition, according to Josephus who mainly blames his wife (Ant. 18.7.1-2 §§240-56). The irony is that the chief instigator was his brother-in-law Agrippa I whom he had helped out at one point (§13.2.1). After Caligula became emperor he gave Agrippa I rule over Philip’s former tetrarchy but also named him king. This gave him precedence over Antipas who was only tetrarch. Antipas seems not to have been overly put out by this change of fortunes with regard to his brother-in-law. But supposedly Herodias resented this and egged on Antipas to seek the title king from Caligula; Antipas is supposed to have resisted her urgings for a time, but eventually sailed with her to Rome to appear before the emperor. Agrippa learned of what Antipas intended and wrote letters of accusation to Caligula which arrived about the time that Antipas did. One charge was that Antipas was stockpiling arms, with the intention of revolt in league with Artabanus the Parthian. This accusation of planning a revolt is very unlikely, but when Antipas admitted to possessing the arms, Caligula took it as evidence of the conspiracy and removed him from office. Herodias, as the sister of Agrippa, was to be spared, but she refused to abandon her husband: the result was that she was also exiled with Antipas, and their possessions all went to Agrippa.

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Getting behind this is not easy, especially with regard to the part played by Agrippa who comes out looking decidedly malicious. Why he should accuse the man who had once helped him is left in the air. Was it fear of someone to whom he owed a favour? Rivalry? The charge of stockpiling arms, while strictly a cause of concern to the Roman authorities, was not likely to be sufficient to remove Antipas; it therefore looks somewhat trumped up. Josephus may have down-played the part in this of the Syrian legate Vitellius who had a grudge against Antipas, perhaps in a desire to vilify Herodias. Thus, Vitellius’s animosity may have been an important factor. Also, there was the further charge of conspiring with the Parthians, the main opponents of the Romans at this time; this would represent a more serious accusation and may have played a role in the decision (Schwartz 1990: 59). Whatever the ultimate reasons, Antipas and Herodias were exiled either to Spain (War 2.9.6 §183) or Lyons in Gaul (Ant. 18.7.2 §252), and his territory given to Agrippa. M. H. Jensen (2006: 254) summarizes his reign: ‘Herod Antipas was a minor ruler with a moderate impact’. 12.9. Conclusions This chapter began with the death of Herod, which left a large power vacuum but also an essentially leaderless Jewish community. This was partly Herod’s fault, since he had destroyed or neutralized some of the traditional institutions of leadership, such as the office of high priest. In the aftermath of his rule, three of his sons rushed to Rome for the reading of Herod’s will and to attempt to lobby the emperor to inherit Herod’s kingdom. In the end, Augustus divided the kingdom between Archelaus, who inherited Judaea and Samaria as eparch, and Herod Antipas and Philip, each of whom had a tetrarchy: Antipas over Galilee and Peraea, and Philip who had mainly non-Jewish subjects in territories to the north and east of Galilee. Archelaus had apparently been promised the possibility of the title ‘king’ (and seemed to use it among his subjects), but he offended Augustus. The ostensible reason was a complaint by both Judaeans and Samaritans over his rule, but (unlike his savvy father) he seems to have done little to honour the emperor, whether with building foundations or attention to the ruler cult, which did not endear him to Augustus. The result was that after ruling less than a decade, he was removed from office and exiled, and his territory came under direct Roman rule for the next 35 years. According to some ancient sources, Judaea became a ‘province’, but it was not an independent province governed by a man of senatorial rank.

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Rather it was formally a part of the province of Syria, with an equestrian governor. The governor had certain powers (usually the power of capital punishment) and a certain prerogative to make independent decisions. But he was always under the authority of the governor of Syria who could— and not infrequently did—intervene in Judaean affairs. Judaea then had a series of governors, most of whom are little more than names. Perhaps the best known is Pilate, partly because he appears in the NT but also because Josephus and Philo have something to say about him. As far as we can tell, he was not an enemy to the Jews, but two incidents suggest that he was ignorant of Jewish sensitivities and trod on their toes. A third incident, relating to the building of an aqueduct, was probably a case of trumpedup indignity on the part of some local Jews who may simply have been looking for an excuse to kick off. In any case, the Syrian legate Vitellius removed him from office and sent him to Rome for trial, the immediate cause being his slaughter of some Samaritans. Tiberius died before he reached the capital, however, and we hear no more of Pilate. Philip ruled mainly over non-Jews. He seems to have governed in a benevolent and easy-going fashion. No incidents of rebellion or troubles blot the record left of him. Herod Antipas was over the Galilee, which presented some difficulties for him at different times. He has become notorious in history as the one who executed John the Baptist and who was ‘involved’ in the trial of Jesus. The interaction between him and Pilate is mentioned only in the gospels, but the picture is not implausible. His reason for executing John is given differently in Josephus (fear of his leading a following into rebellion) versus the gospels (for criticizing Antipas for taking Herodias when she was still married to his halfbrother). The famous scene of promising half his kingdom to Herodias’s daughter Salome to dance for him appears to be a piece of Oriental erotica and rather unlikely as a historical event. Antipas’s rule came to an end because of his brother-in-law Agrippa I who (ungratefully) denounced him to Caligula: the result was exile for Antipas and his wife, and his kingdom went to Agrippa.

Chapter 13

T h e R ei g n of A g r i ppa I , O n ce M ore a R om a n P r ovi nce , a nd t h e ‘S p i ra l of V i ol ence ’ ( 37–66 CE)

A. A. Barrett (1996) Agrippina: Mother of Nero; BJP 1b; L. L. Grabbe (2018) ‘What Did the Author of Acts Know about Pre-70 Judaism?’, in J. H. Ellens, I. W. Oliver, J. von Ehrenkrook, J. Waddell, and J. M. Zurawski (eds), Wisdom Poured Out Like Water: Studies on Jewish and Christian Antiquity in Honor of Gabriele Boccaccini: 450–62; D. R. Schwartz (1990) Agrippa I; E. M. Smallwood (1981) The Jews under Roman Rule; J. Wilker (2007) Für Rom und Jerusalem: Die herodianische Dynastie im 1. Jahrhundert n.Chr.

The short reign of Agrippa was evidently a boon to the people of Judaea and to the Jews in the wider community. His assistance was invaluable in the crisis surrounding Caligula’s attempt to place his statue in the Roman temple, and he was evidently even a key player in the elevation of Claudius to the imperial throne. Concerning the Jews, Agrippa showed what could have been, with a Herodian client king governing them and representing them to the Roman overlords—regardless of the personal shortcomings of the king himself. Unfortunately, Agrippa’s early death brought an abrupt end to this rule that was celebrated even centuries later in rabbinic literature. Judaea became once more a Roman province, with a series of governors whose actions and competence were often questionable, and the tensions with Roman rule increased, with what has been termed a ‘spiral of violence’ (§14.1.2). His son, Agrippa II, was unfortunately not made his father’s successor, and in spite of positive actions on his part on behalf of the Jews, the slide to war was inexorable.

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13.1. Reign of Caligula (Gaius) (37–41 CE) J. P. V. D. Balsdon (1975) ‘The Principates of Tiberius and Gaius’, ANRW II: 2:92–94; A. A. Barrett (1989) Caligula: The Corruption of Power; N. H. Taylor (2001) ‘Popular Opposition to Caligula in Jewish Palestine’, JSJ 32: 54–70. N.B.: see also the section §13.2.2 for additional bibliography on Caligula.

Gaius Caligula is probably one of the hardest of the emperors to evaluate dispassionately, perhaps rivalled only by Nero. Son of the popular Germanicus and grandnephew of Tiberius, he spent much of his youth living in army camps, from which he got the nickname caligula (‘little boots’). His two older brothers died in the later years of Tiberius’s reign, allegedly as a part of the plot of Sejanus, but Caligula was brought to Capri by Tiberius’s own order where he spent five years. Caligula’s accession was greeted with enthusiasm because of the idiosyncrasy of Tiberius’s last years and the senatorial prejudice against him. The idyllic promise of the initial part of Caligula’s reign (perhaps the first year or two) is encapsulated in the rhetoric of the Jewish writer Philo: Indeed, the life under Saturn, pictured by the poets, no longer appeared to be a fabled story, so great was the prosperity and well-being, the freedom from grief and fear, the joy which pervaded households and people, night and day, and lasted continuously without a break through the first seven months. (Gaius 13, LCL translation)

Similar evaluations are found in Josephus (Ant. 18.7.2 §256), Suetonius (Calig. 37), and Cassius Dio (59.2.6). However, this soon changed, about the time the emperor was struck by an illness which (according to Philo, Gaius 14–22) marked the beginning of strange behaviour. Opposition developed, including a conspiracy among officers in the army of the Rhine which had to be suppressed. Like Tiberius, Caligula was accused of a reign of terror against all sorts of alleged conspirators but also as a means of gaining money by confiscating the estates of those executed. His efforts at foreign affairs were disastrous on the whole. For example, he removed the king of Armenia from the throne which only provided an opportunity for Parthia to step in (see details in §12.8). He ordered the king of Maretania to commit suicide with the intention of making it into a province, but it rebelled. He conducted infamous campaigns into Germany and Britain (39–40 CE). The stories about his sorties into German territory make him appear ridiculous but must be evaluated as

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a part of the biased tradition. He subsequently marched his forces to the English Channel as if about to embark for Britain, but then suddenly cancelled whatever he planned. Again, the anecdotal tradition may have distorted a perfectly reasonable decision (such as stating that he ordered his troops to gather seashells as the ‘spoils’ of battle) and make it difficult or impossible to determine the real events or intents. In any case, he returned in May of 40 to celebrate a triumph in Rome. He had appointed his friend Agrippa as king of the late Philip’s old tetrarchy when he became emperor in 37 BCE. It was now about the time of his return from Germany that he gave the order to have a statue placed in the Jerusalem temple, and the cult there dedicated to himself in the guise of Zeus (Jupiter). This episode is described in detail below (§13.2.2). Finally, it all came to a head in January 41 when he was assassinated by some of his own Praetorian Guard while on his way to lunch from the theatre. The episode is most fully preserved by Josephus (Ant. 19.1.1-2.5 §§1-211), though there are a number of confusions in his account. He is clearly relying on a Roman source. Tacitus’s account has been lost, and in addition to Josephus we must rely on Suetonius (Calig. 58–60) and Cassius Dio (59.29-30) for Caligula’s demise. Many of the anecdotes preserved about his reign are probably no more than slander (e.g., the story that he made his horse a consul or that he had an incestuous relationship with his sister). There has been much psychologizing about him among historians over the years, but the study by A. A. Barrett (1989) goes a long way to explain the origin of much gossip. Caligula was hardly suited by his childhood experiences or training to be emperor. After a traumatic childhood, he was thrust into a position in which his word was law, and he was incapable of dealing with the situation. He had also developed a rather sarcastic sense of humour which others often misunderstood, no doubt the cause of many rumours about strange behaviour. Despite the claims of many senators to have been in fear of their lives, the Senate as a whole fell into an obsequious role with relish and relegated their duties of advice and even opposition. Far from being a monster or psychopath, Caligula was a rather irresponsible and immature young man placed in a role which he had neither the experience nor the psychological makeup to fulfil properly. 13.2. Agrippa I (37–44 CE) S. Ben-Arieh and E. Netzer (1979) ‘Where Is the Third Wall of Agrippa I?’, BA 42: 140–41; D. Goodblatt (1987b) ‘Agrippa I and Palestinian Judaism in the First Century’, Jewish History 2: 7–32; M. Goodman (2012)

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‘Titus, Berenice and Agrippa: The Last Days of the Temple in Jerusalem’, in B. Isaac and Y. Shahar (eds), Judaea-Palaestina, Babylon and Rome: Jews in Antiquity: 181–90; A. J. M. Kropp (2013b) ‘Crowning the Emperor: An Unorthodox Image of Claudius, Agrippa I and Herod of Chalkis’, Syria 90: 377–89 G. Lüdemann (1989) Early Christianity according to the Traditions in Acts; H. A. Musurillo (ed.) (1954) The Acts of the Pagan Martyrs: Acta Alexandrinorum; R. D. Sullivan (1977) ‘The Dynasty of Judaea in the First Century’, ANRW II: 8:322–29; W. Wirgin (1968) Herod Agrippa I: King of the Jews. Sources: War 2.9.5-11.6 §§178-219; Ant. 18.5.3-8.9 §§126-309; 19.3.1-9.1 §§212-359; Philo, Flaccus; Gaius.

13.2.1. Early Life Agrippa’s full name was evidently Marcus Julius Agrippa, judging from the name of his son Agrippa II; thus, the common reference to him as ‘Herod Agrippa’ (based on Acts 12.1) is incorrect. No early sources refer to him as Herod, and it is not clear that Luke knew he was writing about Agrippa I in Acts 12.1. It was suggested that a coin had been found which used the name ‘Herod’ for Agrippa, but this has now been shown to be a misinterpretation (D. R. Schwartz 1990: 120 n. 50). Exactly why the author of Acts refers to Agrippa as ‘Herod’ is uncertain, though it may be that writing around 100 CE and long after the events he confused Agrippa I with his brother Herod of Chalcis (Schwartz 1990: 120 n. 50, 215–16). Whatever the reason for the confusion, the name ‘Herod Agrippa’ for Agrippa I should be deleted from scholarly usage forthwith. The son of the executed Aristobulus and grandson of Herod the Great, he was heir of both the Hasmonaeans and the Herodians. He was educated in Rome and lived there many years. He married Cypros, granddaughter of Herod’s brother Phasael. After the death of his mother, however, he proceeded to go through a king’s ransom in personal living and especially in expensive gifts for his Roman friends. His poverty became such that he felt it necessary to go away from Rome, even then leaving behind large debts. For a time he lived in Malatha in Idumaea and was even said to be contemplating suicide. Agrippa’s sister Herodias was married to Herod Antipas. At the request of Agrippa’s wife to Herodias, Antipas allowed him to live for a time in Tiberias, holding the office of market commissioner (ἀγορανομία), but the two brothers-in-law soon fell out. Next, he sponged off the proconsul Flaccus, the governor of Syria, until they broke up their friendship (over a bribe paid to Agrippa to influence Flaccus’s judgment in a boundary dispute between Damascus and Sidon).

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Agrippa’s brother Aristobulus, who was also on poor terms with him, was partly the cause of this breakup. But it left Agrippa destitute, and he decided to return to Italy, managing to borrow money from his mother’s freedman. However, Herenius Capito the procurator of Jamnia heard about Agrippa’s presence and sent soldiers to gain payment for the large amount he owed the Roman treasury (50 talents or 300,000 drachmas). Fortunately, he managed to slip away to Alexandria, where he tried to borrow more money from Alexander the alabarch. The latter refused to lend money to Agrippa but agreed to do so to his wife (200,000 drachmas). Agrippa sailed on to Italy, and she returned to Judaea with their children. Arriving back in Italy, Agrippa was well received by Tiberius and stayed with him and his family on the island of Capri. Things went fairly smoothly for a period of time, though Agrippa’s failure to pay his large debt to the imperial treasury caused a problem until he managed to borrow a further sum from Antonia (sister-in-law of Tiberius and mother of Germanicus and Claudia) to pay it off. Agrippa kept in with Antonia by borrowing a million drachmas (nearly 167 talents) from a Samaritan freedman of Tiberius and repaying her. He developed a close association with Antonia’s grandson (and Tiberius’s grandnephew) Caligula at this time, which was to stand him in good stead later. However, it first cost him his freedom and may have endangered his life: he made a careless remark to Caligula that he hoped he would soon be ruling in place of Tiberius which was overheard by a freedman (Josephus gives a different context in the Antiquities from that in the War). Later, when this freedman was accused of theft by Agrippa, he told all to the emperor. Agrippa was put in prison where he remained for six months until Tiberius’s death. When Caligula was declared emperor, he released Agrippa as soon as Tiberius’s funeral had taken place and then turned over the former tetrarchy of Philip (§12.7) and also the tetrarchy of Lysanius (Abila in the Lebanon) to him, granting him the title of king (37 CE). With Caligula’s permission, Agrippa left Rome for his kingdom in 38 CE, sailing through Alexandria (possibly with a commission from Caligula relating to the governor of Egypt [§6.2]). Agrippa’s fortunes had now considerably changed and, rather than an importunate of his brother-in-law Antipas, he was now his superior in having the title king whereas the other was only tetrarch. It was this change of fortunes that instigated the envy of Herodias and eventually led to the downfall of Herod Antipas: urged on by Herodias Antipas attempted to gain the title king from Caligula. His efforts backfired (partly through accusations against him made by Agrippa), he was exiled, and his territory was given to Agrippa (§12.8). Agrippa now ruled over a considerable kingdom but not the core province of Judaea.

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13.2.2. Caligula’s Attempt to Place his Statue in the Temple S. Gambetti (2009) The Alexandrian Riots of 38 C.E. and the Persecution of the Jews: A Historical Reconstruction; P. Bilde (1978) ‘The Roman Emperor Gaius (Caligula)’s Attempt to Erect his Statue in the Temple of Jerusalem’, Studia Theologica 32: 67–93; C. K. Reggiani (1984) ‘I rapporti tra l’impero romano e il mondo ebraico al tempo di Caligola secondo la “Legatio ad Gaium” di Filone Alessandrino’, ANRW II (1984) 21.1.554-86; D. R. Schwartz (1990) Agrippa I: 77–89; E. M. Smallwood (1957) ‘The Chronology of Gaius’ Attempt to Desecrate the Temple’, Latomus 16: 3–17; idem (1961b) Philonis Alexandrini Legatio ad Gaium; idem (1987) ‘Philo and Josephus as Historians of the Same Event’, in L. H. Feldman and G. Hata (eds), Josephus, Judaism, and Christianity: 114–29; J. W. Swain (1944) ‘Gamaliel’s Speech and Caligula’s Statue’, HTR 37: 341–49; N. H. Taylor (2001) ‘Popular Opposition to Caligula in Jewish Palestine’, JSJ 32: 54–70; S. Zeitlin (1965–66) ‘Did Agrippa Write a Letter to Gaius Caligula?’, JQR 56: 22–31.

Agrippa evidently played a key role in the episode relating to the emperor Caligula’s attempt to set up his statue in the temple at Jerusalem. Without doubt this was a monumental event in the religious history of Judah. If it had taken place, it would have been on a par with the desecration under Antiochus IV; only its failure has kept it from the full notoriety it could have had: the consequences might have been as violent as the Maccabaean revolt, though it is unlikely that the Jews would have won this time. According to Philo’s Gaius and Josephus’s Antiquities (but not the War), Agrippa was instrumental in getting Caligula’s plans cancelled. This would have been in 40 CE, by which time Agrippa was evidently back in Rome. When he heard of Caligula’s plan, he made a personal request that the project not go ahead, and Caligula agreed. Yet, as with the actions of Antiochus, major questions arise about the course of events and the motivation of the chief instigator who was Caligula himself. There are three versions of the story, two in Josephus and one in Philo. While they agree in broad outline, there are some significant differences as well as minor ones of detail. Therefore, each version should be looked at separately. The earliest and the most detailed account is found in Philo’s treatise, Legatio ad Gaium, mainly in 184–338. According to it Caligula saw the Jews as his enemies (Gaius 256) because they were the only ones who refused to accept his self-deification (Gaius 115). An incident occurred in Jamnia (Yavneh) which had a mixed population of Jews and others (Gaius 199–202). Some of the non-Jewish population erected an altar to Caligula, but it was torn down by Jews. In retaliation for this, Caligula

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proposed setting up his own statue in the Jerusalem temple, a plan in which he was encouraged by the ‘scoundrel’ (Gk περιτρίμματι) Helicon and the actor Apelles who were serving as his advisors (Gaius 203–206). When directions were given to Petronius, the legate of Syria, he was greatly afraid because he knew how fanatical the Jews were about their religion yet dared not disobey the orders of his emperor (Gaius 207–19). He therefore delayed as much as possible by ordering the best craftsmen to take the greatest pains in their work. Because of the Jewish reaction and entreaties, he finally agreed to write to Caligula, using the excuse that the ripening harvest would be neglected and lost if he did not relent (because the Jewish workers had gone on strike). Although Caligula was furious at this, he is alleged to have given a respectful reply which nevertheless urged Petronius to go on with the project (Gaius 254–60). But about this time Agrippa heard of the plan (Gaius 261–75) and wrote a long rhetorical letter, at risk to his own life (Gaius 276–330), which Caligula reluctantly heeded (Gaius 331–33). However, he gave an order that anyone outside Judah should be allowed to erect statues to him if they wanted (Gaius 334–36). Nor, according to Philo, did Caligula abandon his previous plans but rather ordered another statue to be manufactured secretly in Rome, having in mind to take it with him when he later visited Egypt (Gaius 337–38). Whether there was any substance to this rumour, Caligula’s assassination intervened and rendered further threats defunct. According to the War (2.10.1-5 §§184-203) Caligula’s decision was simply a part of the hubris with which he conducted himself as a god. No other reason is given but the events only summarized. Petronius, the Syrian legate, was sent from Antioch with the task of carrying out the order. He was met at Ptolemais by a large crowd of Jews who begged him to desist. Leaving his soldiers and the statues [sic] there, he went to Tiberias and held an audience with the people and the leading figures of the nation, attempting to show them the senselessness of defiance since they could not win against Rome. But when the people proved intractable and Petronius saw that they were not sowing the ground even though it was time to do so, he agreed to write to Caligula despite the personal risk. Caligula’s response was the threat of execution, but the death of the emperor saved both Petronius and the Jews. The Antiquities (18.8.2-9 §§261-309) is similar but has some important differences. Josephus precedes his account with that of the delegation from the Alexandrian Jewish community led by Philo (Ant. 18.8.1 §§25760). Caligula decided to set up his image in Jerusalem because he saw himself disrespected by the Jews alone of all his subjects. The description of the course of events in Syria is much as in the War, though expanded

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by means of speeches and other dramatic devices. It, however, adds the important datum that Agrippa’s brother Aristobulus and Helcius the Elder, with others of the family and leaders (presumably of the Jewish community), petitioned Petronius to write to Caligula. When Petronius decided to risk writing to Caligula for a cancellation of the project, God sent a sign in the form of unexpected rain after a long drought. However, the reason for abandoning the project was not Caligula’s premature death but Agrippa’s petition to him, an event not even hinted at in the War (though in Philo’s account). Agrippa is depicted as giving a banquet for Caligula, which pleased the latter greatly by its sumptuousness. He offered to grant Agrippa anything he wanted, and Agrippa asked that the placing of the statue be cancelled. Because of his regard for Agrippa, Caligula wrote to Petronius cancelling his plans, but when he afterward received Petronius’s letter of Jewish resistance, he became angry and ordered Petronius to commit suicide. Fortunately, that letter was held up until after news of Caligula’s death had already reached Petronius. Although the three accounts, as well as the supplementary material in the Roman historian Tacitus (Hist. 5.9), broadly agree, Philo is generally given preference where there are differences since he is the only writer contemporary with the events and in a position to know many of the details personally (Smallwood 1957, 1989; pace Bilde 1978). Indeed, he knew Agrippa I and may well have been in touch with him during the episode (Smallwood 1961b: 292). Philo is also the only writer to give a reason other than Caligula’s proclamation of divinity. On the other hand, as Bilde has noted, Philo’s account is much more theologically and apologetically slanted than those in Josephus. As with Antiochus IV, the sources generally put it down to the irrational actions of one man, combined with widespread animosity against the Jews. While even the Roman sources picture Caligula as mad, the trend among recent historians has been to see that as a distorted picture to which the senatorial bias of the Roman sources have contributed a great deal (§13.1). Granted, Caligula did do some strange things including proclaiming himself a god; however, in actual conduct he did not particularly penalize those who did not treat him as such (cf. Bilde 1978: 73–75). Even though Philo claims the delegation was in danger of their lives, his highly partisan account shows that Caligula dismissed the Jews with the simple statement, ‘They seem to me to be not wicked but unfortunate people, lacking understanding in not believing that I was allotted the nature of a god’ (Gaius 367), hardly the actions of a mad tyrant and rabid hater of the Jews. The clue to Caligula’s actions seems to be in Philo’s statement about an event in Jamnia. The Roman policy was one of religious tolerance to

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Judaism, but they expected this tolerance to be reciprocated (Bilde 1978: 74–75; cf. §11.1.3). When some local Jews tore down an altar dedicated to the emperor, they committed a serious breach not only against the local freedom of worship but against Roman authority. Their actions could be taken as an act of open rebellion. Cf. the statement of Smallwood that Exod. 22.28 (LXX version) is interpreted by Philo and Josephus as forbidding them to show disrespect for pagan gods and temples… And indeed, it was essential for safety of the Diaspora communities that they should be restrained from expressing their scorn for paganism by attacks on the cults of the gentiles among whom they lived… The Jews’ destruction of the Jamnian altar was an act of provocation and intolerance deserving punishment… The news from Jamnia reached Gaius when he had already long been aware of the opposition of the Alexandrian Jews to the placing of his portraits in the synagogues. Either episode alone might have been regarded as merely a disturbance of the peace. But the two occurring within perhaps eighteen months of each other looked like organized disloyalty, and this probably accounted for the severity of the punishment which Gaius decided to impose on Palestine. (Smallwood 1961b: 263–64)

That Caligula responded with punishment is only to be expected. The Jews, including Philo and Josephus, found it convenient to interpret this as a sign of personal animosity against themselves, but this was only propaganda. The more likely explanation is further indicated by the final outcome: Jews were allowed to worship unhindered but they were not to interfere with emperor cults set up ‘outside the mother-city’ (ἔξω μιᾶς τῆς μητροπόλεως), probably meaning outside Judah itself or at least outside Jerusalem [Gaius 334]). The one thing still unexplained is why Caligula chose the idea of a statue in the Jerusalem temple as punishment for the Jewish political act in Jamnia, but D. R. Schwartz (1990: 82) has pointed out a plausible reason: Judaism was tolerated on condition that it ‘had no political implications. If the Judaeans thought otherwise, then the Temple would have to be destroyed or Romanized; this is the rationale of Gaius’ decision.’ As both the Antiquities and Philo state, the plan was abandoned because of the intervention of Agrippa. Although the exact details are uncertain because of differences between the accounts (e.g., Schwartz [1990: 200–202] has argued that the long letter of Agrippa was written by Philo, and Agrippa had nothing to do with it; also Zeitlin 1965–66), Agrippa would certainly have had good reasons for requesting Caligula to abandon the project. As Bilde has noted, ‘Agrippa…had reason to

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fear a continued strike, and even more, an open revolt. Ultimately, his kingdom was at stake’ (Bilde 1978: 86). Philo goes on to say that Caligula regretted his decision to cancel the project and gave secret orders to have another statue built in Rome. This seems unlikely, both because it does not fit Caligula’s probable political motives and also because it accords too closely with Philo’s own biased picture of Caligula’s madness and personal hatred toward the Jews. There is also Josephus’s silence in the matter. Perhaps there was such a rumour about, but it would have arisen for the same reasons that Philo had for believing and reporting it. More of a problem is the chronology of the episode (especially Smallwood 1957, 1961). Josephus puts it during sowing time while Philo mentions the needs of the harvest (Gaius 248–49, 260). Many scholars have chosen to follow Josephus, putting the original actions of Caligula and Petronius in the late autumn. This fits with Petronius’s plan to winter his troops in Ptolemais (Ant. 18.8.2 §262), the 40-(or 50-)day delay in getting on with the planting (War 2.10.5 §200; Ant. 18.8.3 §272) which was usually carried out in October or November, and the delay of Caligula’s message to Petronius apparently because of winter sailing (War 2.10.5 §203). But how is this to be reconciled with Philo’s statements? Also, it ignores the fact that autumn 40 to autumn 41 was a sabbatical year, so there would have been no sowing in the autumn of 40 (cf. HJJSTP 3: 32–35). Philo’s account fits into place better than Josephus’s (pace Bilde 1978), though Josephus may have some events not recorded by Philo. Part of the problem is caused by the assumption that Caligula’s interview with the Jewish mission led by Philo must have been later than May of 40 because of the mention of Jewish sacrifices for a victory in Germany (Gaius 357), and the emperor returned to Rome from his expedition to Germany in May 40. D. R. Schwartz (1990: 196–99) has argued that Philo’s mission sailed in the winter of 38/39, and that both audiences with Caligula were in 39, with the order about setting up the statue in the summer 39 (Schwartz 1990: 198). But Smallwood (1961b: 256) notes that both Josephus’s narratives end the episode with Caligula’s death (early 41 CE), as does Tacitus (Hist. 5.9), and Caligula was in Compania, where he had the first meeting with the Jewish delegation in the summer of 40. The year 40 CE for the events seems the correct time. The recent study by Gambetti (2009: 255–72), however, places the main events in 39 CE. She explains the relation to the emperor’s assassination in January 41 by a delay caused by Caligula’s being away from autumn 39 to spring/summer of 40 in Germany. The details need further study, but at the moment 40 looks better for the events than 39.

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To summarize, Caligula planned to set up the statue in the Jerusalem temple as punishment for what he saw as an anti-Roman political act: the Jewish destruction of a Roman altar in Jamnia. It was politically motivated, not just a mad caprice out of hatred for the Jews. He abandoned the project primarily at the request of Agrippa who not only had a duty as intermediary between the Romans and Jews but also realized that Jewish resistance would put his own rule at risk; however, Petronius’s arguments about the possible loss of the harvest and the chance of a Jewish revolt might also have had their effect. Petronius evidently survived the emperor, though whether he was as bold or came as close to death as implied in the Jewish apologetic tradition is debatable. Certainly, both Philo and Josephus make him a hero of the situation, who did all he could to avoid carrying out Caligula’s order. That Caligula ordered him to commit suicide is, of course, possible, but since a similar anecdote is told of the governor of Macedonia, Memmius Regulus, the story of Petronius seems doubtful, especially since Philo knows nothing of it (Ant. 19.1.1 §§8-10). 13.2.3. Rest of Agrippa I’s Reign The next we hear of Agrippa is shortly after the incident with the emperor’s statue, at the time of the assassination of Caligula and the succession of Claudius in late January 41. Because the account of Tacitus about the death of Caligula is lost, and Suetonius (Calig. 58–60) and Cassius Dio (59.29-30) give only brief summaries, Josephus’s rather lengthy account of the incident (War 2.11.1-5 §§204-17; Ant. 19.1.1–2.5 §§1-211) is a valuable source for this period of Roman history. He is of course making use of a Roman report. The various sources agree that Agrippa was involved in the negotiations by which Claudius became recognized as emperor; the problem is his precise role since the two fullest accounts (in Josephus) give somewhat different pictures. According to the War (2.11.1-5 §§204-17) both Claudius and the Senate called on Agrippa as an intermediary between them, and his participation is mainly as an instrument of Claudius. The Antiquities (19.3.1-4.6 §§212-73) gives Agrippa a much more active role, however, making him the one to convince Claudius to accept the declaration of the soldiers. Then, as the mediator between Claudius and the Senate, he acted as a skilful manipulator in helping to bring the senators around to accepting Claudius despite their great reluctance. There is reason to think that a pro-Agrippa source, which exaggerated Agrippa’s role in the affair, served as the basis of the Antiquities account (Schwartz 1990: 23–30, 91–93).

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The Roman writer Cassius Dio only notes Agrippa’s help without indicating details (60.8.2-3); however, Claudius promoted Agrippa to consul (ὑπατικάς) in rank, and his brother Herod to that of a praetor. Both were allowed to attend the Senate and thank Claudius in Greek. Claudius not only confirmed the territories given to Agrippa by Caligula but added to them Judaea and Samaria. Josephus states (in Ant. 19.5.1 §275) that Claudius also gave him Abila, the kingdom of Lysanias at this point, evidently forgetting that he had already stated that Caligula had given him this territory several years before (Ant. 18.6.10 §237). Thus, Agrippa’s kingdom was even more extensive than that of his grandfather Herod the Great. To Agrippa’s brother Herod was given the kingdom of Chalcis, located in the Lebanon Valley. With such honours Agrippa returned to Jerusalem. Even in his brief reign over Judah, Agrippa was able to accomplish some important projects. He began his reign over Judaea by the first of many acts of piety toward the temple, which included the dedication of his golden chain (given to him by Caligula and modelled on the iron chain that held him when imprisoned by Tiberius), placing it over the temple treasury. He also removed Theophilus, son of Ananus from the high priesthood and replaced him with Simon Cantheras, son of Boethus. He later removed Simon and offered the high priesthood to Jonathan, son of Ananus (cf. Ant. 18.4.3 §95; 18.5.3 §123), but the latter declined. So he gave it to Matthias his brother. Soon after his return to Palestine Agrippa showed himself useful to the Jews once again when a statue of the emperor was placed in the synagogue of Dora by a certain young hothead. Agrippa took the matter up with Petronius, who was still the Syrian governor at that time. Petronius wrote a letter to the leaders of Dora, denouncing the incident, calling for the instigators to be brought to trial, and reminding them of Claudius’s edicts about the rights of Jews to practise their religion. To conciliate the inhabitants of Jerusalem, Agrippa remitted the house tax which was apparently collected to pay for maintaining the city walls. He also made Silas commander of his military forces, but the general’s outspokenness and boasting of his service to the king finally made Agrippa so angry that he put Silas in jail. Later, when he proposed to free him on the king’s birthday, Silas insulted his master and remained incarcerated. This was not the end of the story of Silas, however: as soon as Agrippa died but before his death was announced, his brother Herod of Chalcis and the prefect (ἔπαρχος) Helcias sent a squad of men to assassinate Silas under the pretence that the king had ordered it.

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On another occasion, however, he did not show the greatest of sagacity. After presiding over games in Berytus, he entertained his brother and four other client-kings in Tiberias. From the evidence given, the intent was only social and completely innocuous. By this time Petronius had been replaced by Vibius Marsus as Syrian governor (in 42 CE). Marsus arrived during the celebrations and received a cordial reception from Agrippa and the others, but he was suspicious and ordered the individual rulers back to their kingdoms. This caused a breach between him and Agrippa; on the other hand, it was the task of a Roman governor to anticipate trouble and not particularly surprising that he viewed the situation with a critical eye. (D. R. Schwartz [1990: 137–40] has made the plausible suggestion that Marsus saw Agrippa as a rival.) It was evidently Agrippa’s aim to demonstrate that, despite his past and continuing somewhat spend-thrift ways, he could leave behind a rather happier memory than that of his grandfather (though Josephus’s comparison of the two seems rather one-sided). Agrippa strengthened the walls of Jerusalem at its most vulnerable point, the north side, in the Bezetha district. Josephus suggests he would have made the city impregnable if he had been able to complete the project; whether that is true is perhaps a matter of speculation, but it would no doubt have caused even more problems for the Romans 25 years later. In any event Marsus the governor of Syria reported the building to Claudius who stopped it as potentially revolutionary (so Ant. 19.7.2 §§326-27; War 2.11.6 §§218-19 is less likely correct in stating only that Agrippa’s death stopped the project, as is War 5.4.2 §§151-55 which makes him stop the project voluntarily). Like his grandfather he also supported building projects in the broader Hellenistic world, such as a theatre and amphitheatre in Berytus (Beirut). Most of the other information about Agrippa is anecdotal, though it does tend to confirm the positive picture and evaluation of Josephus. One story is that he was accused by a religious leader (named Simon) of entering the temple area while in a state of ritual impurity. Agrippa’s diplomatic response was sufficient not only to show the baselessness of the charge but also to win the man over. This is used to illustrate not only Agrippa’s lack of arrogance about his position but also his devotion to the Jewish religion, for he was said to be scrupulous in offering sacrifice and otherwise adhering to traditional practice. Interestingly, this does not seem to have prevented his using his image on his coins outside the Jewish areas of his kingdom (§2.3; §9.3.1) and even setting up statues of his daughters (Ant. 19.9.1 §357). However, unlike his grandfather Herod the Great whose practice of Judaism was also somewhat selective, Agrippa has had more of a popular image in ancient and modern literature.

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His relationship to the Pharisees is not a simple one. It is often alleged that he favoured them and attempted to cultivate good relations with them (e.g., Schürer 1.446). D. R. Schwartz (1990: 116–30) has opposed this but instead argued that it was the Sadducees who flourished under Agrippa, though this was in spite of rather than because of the king’s policies. The difficulty with both hypotheses is that they depend heavily on rabbinic traditions and certain questionable assumptions about the Pharisees and Sadducees (§3.17; cf. HJJSTP 3: 137–65). Rabbinic traditions are indeed positive about Agrippa I, but he was generally popular with his Jewish subjects as a whole: this may imply nothing about the Pharisees in particular. On the other hand, there is some evidence of growing priestly power after the death of Agrippa, which might bear on D. R. Schwartz’s thesis (S. Schwartz 1990: 58–70). Agrippa’s reign has been made notorious in Christian tradition in the Acts of the Apostles: Acts 12.1-19 makes him a persecutor of the Christians who killed James the brother of John and arrested Peter, though the latter was supposedly rescued from harm in a completely miraculous way. The question of the persecution of Christians cannot be confirmed, though several recent studies accept it as having a basis in fact (Lüdemann 1989: 139–46; D. R. Schwartz 1990: 119–24). There may be a genuine memory here even if it also suits the theological motives of Luke. However, any arrests are likely to have been limited to a few individuals (only Peter and the sons of Zebedee are named), and to have been for reasons of ‘affairs of state’ (D. R. Schwartz 1990: 122–23). A general persecution of the church is not indicated and improbable. The Acta Isidori (part of the Acta Alexandrinorum) has Agrippa debate with the Alexandrian gymnasiarch Isidorus before Claudius. The story is legendary, and possibly the Jewish individual in question is Agrippa II rather than Agrippa I; in any case, Isidorus represented the anti-Jewish element within Alexandria, though it is doubtful that Agrippa appeared at Isidorus’s trial. But Agrippa’s association with the city and Jewish community of Alexandria is well established, especially as described by Philo in his treatise on Flaccus (see further §6.2). We have two accounts of the death of Agrippa, both of which have a number of points in common (cf. Grabbe 2018: 457–58). According to Josephus (Ant. 19.8.2 §§343-50) he appeared in a special garment at games in Caesarea, was proclaimed by the crowds as more than human, and became immediately seized with an illness from which he died in a few days. Acts 12.20-23 gives a similar account, similar enough to suggest a common origin, though a number of the details differ. It states that Agrippa was acclaimed as a god by the people of Tyre and Sidon and was smitten by God for allowing it, being eaten by worms

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and dying a painful death. One immediately recognizes both literary and theological stereotypes in this account. Like so many accounts of death in literary sources, one should be cautious about seeing something akin to a medical diagnosis (cf. Herod’s death in HJJSTP 3: 478–79). Whatever the cause and whether or not worms had a hand in it, Agrippa was only 54 at his death. He had reigned seven years, four of them over the territories of Philip and Antipas under Caligula and three over the rest of Herod the Great’s kingdom under Claudius. In many ways, this was probably a high point for Judaeans as a nation, not to be repeated for many centuries. The aftermath of Agrippa’s death was unpleasant for the Judaeans in that Judah became once more under Roman administration (§13.6). But it was made doubly unpleasant by the reaction of some of the non-Jewish population in the areas ruled by Agrippa. Some in Caesarea and Sebaste, instead of mourning, held celebrations and toasted Agrippa’s death, offering sacrifices to the underworld deity Charon. Some of the local soldiers also took the statues of the king’s daughters and exhibited them in brothels in pornographic displays. Claudius dispatched Fadus to govern Judaea (§13.6.2) and ordered him to transfer the military contingent raised from Caesarea and Sebaste to the Pontus. They petitioned Claudius, however, and were allowed to remain in Judaea. 13.3. The Reign of Claudius (41–54 CE) H. Botermann (1996) Das Judenedikt des Kaisers Claudius: Römischer Staat und Christiani im 1. Jahrhundert; K. S. Gapp (1935) ‘The Universal Famine under Claudius’, HTR 28: 258–65: A. J. M. Kropp (2013b) ‘Crowning the Emperor: An Unorthodox Image of Claudius, Agrippa I and Herod of Chalkis’, Syria 90: 377–89; B. Levick (1990) Claudius; A. Momigliano (1934a) Claudius, the Emperor and his Achievement (1934); J. Osgood (2011) Claudius Caesar: Image and Power in the Early Roman Empire; V. M. Scramuzza (1940) The Emperor Claudius; H. D. Slingerland (1998) Claudian Policymaking and the Early Imperial Repression of Judaism at Rome.

Claudius was a most unlikely candidate for emperor. The uncle of Caligula, he had been pointedly kept out of public office and affairs by both Augustus and Tiberius, for reasons that are still somewhat obscure (though he is said to have had certain mannerisms which made him the object of ridicule). Nevertheless, he possessed a mind of unusual ability and had a reign which was positive on the whole, despite the

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contemporary Roman tradition which was often hostile. To distance himself from Caligula he made every attempt to reconcile the Senate with his rule and show it respect in the manner of Augustus. Where Claudius was both strongest and most controversial was in his development of the administrative structure. His wife Agrippina seems to have had a positive effect on Claudius’s development of the administrative system, ‘changing it from a repressive dictatorship marked by continuous judicial executions to a relatively benign partnership between the ruler and the ruled’ (Barrett 1996: xiii). His motive seems chiefly to have been concerned with efficiency, but the result was a considerable step toward centralization as well as the embryonic stage of a later bureaucracy. He put trusted freedmen in charge of several departments dealing with specific matters, such as petitions to the emperor or finances, which became the basis of a sort of civil service. In the same vein he attempted to force the Senate to expedite its business, including a measure to resume the office of censor by which he could add members to or remove them from the Senate. Both the removal of the traditional senatorial privilege and the use of freedmen were an affront to the upper classes and aroused their opposition. From a historical perspective, it led to putting further power into the hands of the emperor and upsetting the balance which Augustus’s settlements had tried to achieve. Claudius was careful to cultivate the army as important to maintain his position. He also continued to push the frontiers of the empire outward. He made two new provinces from the former kingdom of Mauretania which had been in revolt when he assumed office. He also took a hand in Britain. He travelled there in 43, arriving in time to direct the final defeat of the rebellious tribes and establish the new province of Britannia. Thrace and Lycia also became provinces. The Parthian problem was not fully resolved, though Claudius kept better control of it than Caligula had done. The pro-senatorial tradition paints Claudius as the puppet of his wives and freedmen. While perhaps to some extent true for the last few years of his reign, it has still been exaggerated, but he proved unlucky in his choice of wives. His first wife Messalina has become infamous as a model of promiscuousness, and Claudius finally had to order her execution. His second wife was his niece Agrippina, the mother of Nero. She is alleged to have been a woman of such cruelty and malice as to destroy anyone whom she disliked. A. A. Barrett (1996), who is good at separating prejudicial tradition from historical conclusions, points out that Agrippina suffers from ‘the common tendency of the ancient sources, especially when they are dealing with certain groups (like ambitious women) to think in

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stereotypes and to tailor the evidence to fit some imaginary preconceived type-model’ (1996: xiv). What is clear is that she worked hard to advance her son, pressuring Claudius to adopt him and appoint him as guardian of Claudius’s own son Britannica. In this she was supported by the philosopher Seneca and Claudius’s freedman Pallas. When Claudius died suddenly in 54, the story had it that she had given him a dish of poison mushrooms, a common charge in the case of unexplained deaths. 13.4. Agrippa II (44–94? CE) D. P. Barag (1978) ‘The Palestinian “Judaea Capta” Coins of Vespasian and Titus and the Era on the Coins of Agrippa II Minted under the Flavians’, Numismatic Chronicle 138: 14–23; M. Goodman (2012) ‘Titus, Berenice and Agrippa: The Last Days of the Temple in Jerusalem’, in B. Isaac and Y. Shahar (eds), Judaea-Palaestina, Babylon and Rome: Jews in Antiquity: 181–90; E. Groag and A. Stein (1952) Prosopographia imperii Romani: 4:132–34; D. M. Jacobson (2019) Agrippa II: The Last of the Herods; B. W. Jones (1984) The Emperor Titus: 59–63; K.-S. Krieger (1997) ‘Berenike, die Schwester König Agrippas II, bei Flavius Josephus’, JSJ 28: 1–11; OGIS 1:630–39; R. D. Sullivan (1977) ‘The Dynasty of Judaea in the First Century’, ANRW II: 8:329–45.

Named Marcus Julius Agrippa (apparently like his father), Agrippa II was only 17 when Agrippa I died in 44 CE (Ant. 19.9.1 §§354-55). Since he had been educated in Rome, he was well known to Claudius who might have given him his father’s kingdom. Josephus states that Claudius was minded to do this but was dissuaded by his freedmen advisors, and Judaea instead came once more under a Roman governor (War 2.11.6 §220; Ant. 19.9.2 §§360-62; §13.6); as discussed below (§13.6.1) there may have been more grave reasons for the decision. Agrippa was able to serve the Jews, however, on a number of occasions, for example, when a dispute arose with the Roman governor Fadus over the high priestly garments. Fadus ordered them to be turned over to Roman custody as had been the case in the period 6–41 CE, but the Jews petitioned Claudius who granted their request that they remain under Judaean control, at Agrippa’s instigation (Ant. 20.1.1 §§6-14). When in 48 or 49 CE Herod of Chalcis died, Claudius presented the kingdom to him (War 2.12.1 §223; Ant. 20.5.2 §104; according to Ant. 19.5.1 §277 Agrippa asked Claudius for the kingdom). Included among his new privileges were those previously held by Herod of Chalcis: appointing the high priests as well as authority over the temple, even though Agrippa did not rule over any actual Judaean territory (Ant. 20.1.3

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§§15-16). In 53 CE Claudius assigned a new kingdom to the Jewish king, the tetrarchy of his great-uncle Philip (Trachonitis, Batanaea, Gaulanitis) plus Abila, the former kingdom of Lysanias, and the former tetrarchy of Varus (War 2.12.8 §247; Ant. 20.7.1 §§137-38); however, rulership of Chalcis was taken away. When Nero came to office, he gave Agrippa the Galilean cities of Tiberias and Tarcheae as well as Julias in the Peraea (War 2.13.2 §252; Ant. 20.8.4 §159). Close to Agrippa for much of his life was his sister Berenice. She originally married Marcus Julius Alexander, the son of the Alexandrian alabarch named Alexander, in about 43–44 (Ant. 19.5.1 §§276-77). When he died, she was given by her father to Herod of Chalcis who himself died in 48. She lived for a lengthy period with her brother, but a rumour began to circulate that she was having an incestuous affair with him. As a result of this she married Polemo king of Cilicia who agreed to be circumcised. This marriage lasted only a short time before she left him (Ant. 20.7.3 §§145-47). She bore the title of queen, as is known not only from Josephus but also from an inscription from Athens which actually uses the title ‘great queen’ (Ἰουλίαν Βερενείκην βασίλισσαν μεγάλην [OGIS 1:638–39, no. 428]). On her relationship with the future emperor Titus, see below and §15.2.2. Both Agrippa and Berenice are mentioned together in Acts 24.24– 26.32 in conjunction with Festus the governor of Judaea. Although this may constitute original source material, there are reasons to be cautious (cf. Grabbe 2018: 458–59). The actual number of data which can be checked are few, and the narrative significantly omits Berenice’s title of queen. The omission of any address to her or the use of her title in the direct address of Acts 25.24 would have been an inexcusable breech of protocol. Whether Luke had any information at this point beyond a few commonplaces about the two is very questionable. There is good reason to think that the priests had increased their power during this period and felt strong enough to oppose even the king, despite his nominal authority over the temple and its affairs (S. Schwartz 1990: 64–67). An example of this is an episode before the war involving a wall of the temple (Ant. 20.8.11 §§189-95). When in Jerusalem, Agrippa liked while dining to watch the proceedings within the temple court from a part of his palace which overlooked the area. Certain ‘eminent men’ (προὔχοντες) of Jerusalem were incensed by this and erected a wall which blocked Agrippa’s view. Since it also blocked the view of the Roman sentries posted to watch the crowds during the festivals, both Agrippa and Festus objected; however, the latter allowed the high priest Ishmael to lead a delegation to Nero over the matter. His mistress Poppaea, although

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probably not a Jewish convert as sometimes alleged (§13.5), interceded on behalf of the Jews, and Nero allowed the wall to remain in place. Poppaea kept Ishmael (and also Helcias, the temple treasurer) hostage in her house, though letting the rest of the delegation return home. Agrippa therefore replaced Ishmael with Joseph Cabi (son of the high priest Simon). Yet Agrippa was not without influence and even authority at this time. This is illustrated by a petition to Agrippa from the Levites who were temple singers (Ant. 20.9.6 §§216-18). They requested permission to wear linen robes like the priests. The king obtained the support of the Sanhedrin and allowed the singers to wear linen robes; also, to learn the hymns by heart (no explanation is given, though presumably they had previously had to sing from written sheets of some sort). (Josephus clearly disapproved of this decision and claims that it was contrary to the law.) In another incident, work on the temple was completed about this time, leaving an alleged 18,000 builders out of work (Ant. 20.9.7 §§219-22). They appealed to the king to be allowed to raise the height of the east portico. Agrippa concluded that this was impractical, but he approved employing the temple workmen to pave the city with white stone. The king also enlarged Caesarea Philippi and renamed it Neronias in honour of the emperor. He spent money on the Phoenician city of Berytus, building a theatre and providing for sculptures to adorn the city. Josephus claims that he was hated by his subjects because of spending money on a ‘foreign’ city. At this point, Agrippa removed Jesus, son of Gamaliel, as high priest and replaced him with Matthias, son of Theophilus. When the war with Rome began, Agrippa attempted to dissuade the Jews from carrying through with their folly, but both he and Berenice were forced to withdraw from the city by the people. In the fighting that followed, he led his own troops as an ally of the Romans and helped in crushing the revolt. He joined Vespasian in Galilee in 67 CE, along with other local rulers. In 68 he and Titus sailed for Rome to acclaim Galba as the new emperor; but on the way they found that Otho had replaced Galba, Titus turned back but Agrippa continued on. When Vespasian was acclaimed emperor not long afterward, one of his strong supporters was Berenice (Tacitus, Hist. 2.81). She and others sent a message to Agrippa who slipped out of Rome (with Vitellius, now the claimant to be emperor, unaware) and returned to Judaea to support Vespasian on the spot. Titus had become enamoured of Berenice when they were thrown together in the Judaean revolt (cf. Tacitus, Hist. 2.2). When Titus returned to Rome in 70 CE, Berenice and Agrippa remained behind, but in 75 CE they also journeyed to Rome. Agrippa was given the rank of praetor (ἡ στρατηγικῶν τιμῶν), while Berenice took up residence in Titus’s palace,

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where they resumed their affair (Dio 66.15.3-5; Suetonius, Titus 7.1-2). Apparently, they were expected to marry, but two Cynic philosophers denounced them publicly. The Cynics were punished (one with death), but Titus realized that the people of Rome would not approve, since it no doubt evoked shades of Cleopatra and Antony among other objections. He sent her away, whether in 79 when he became emperor or earlier is not clear. She returned to the Middle East, but later when she came again to Rome during his term of office, they did not meet (cf. Dio 66.18.1). After the war we have only sporadic references to Agrippa. Josephus corresponded with him about his work and allegedly received his confirmation of their accuracy (Life 65 §§362-67). According to Photius, apparently quoting Justus of Tiberias, Agrippa’s realm was enlarged by Vespasian (Jacobson 2019: 124). It seems clear, however, that he had lost his position as intermediary between the Jews and Rome, because his engagement on the Roman side in the revolt meant that he had lost the confidence of the Jewish people (Wilker 2007: 449–70). The date of his death has been disputed. Based on a statement of Photius, it has often been thought that he did not die until about 100 CE, but more recent study suggests that it was more like 93/94 or 96/97 (S. Schwartz 1990: 19–20). As Wilker (2007: 463 n. 43) notes, though, the exact date cannot be determined because of the questions that remain. 13.5. Nero (54–68 CE) S. Bartsch, K. Freudenburg, and C. Littlewood (eds) (2017) The Cambridge Companion to the Age of Nero; E. Champlin (2003) Nero; M. T. Griffin (1984) Nero: The End of a Dynasty; E. M. Smallwood (1959a) ‘The Alleged Jewish Tendencies of Poppaea Sabina’, JTS 10: 329–35; B. H. Warmington (1969) Nero: Legend and Reality.

Nero has been so vilified in the tradition that it is difficult to give a sober assessment of his rule. In this sense he is very much like Caligula, though ruling longer and less bizarrely. Undoubtedly, many of the criticisms of him are well justified as even recent epigraphic finds indicate, but it is still difficult to penetrate the rumour, slander, and anecdote to the historical Nero. His reign began well and was very positive for about the first five years. Although his tutor the philosopher Seneca should perhaps receive credit for much of this (Barrett 1996: xiii suggests his mother may have been a factor), it is by no means certain that Nero’s own thinking was not an important part of the success. However, even these years were clouded by his relationship with his mother, Agrippina ‘the younger’ (Barrett

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1996). She had worked hard to secure the throne for him, then attempted to dominate him even to the point of co-rulership; eventually he ordered her execution—supposedly in secret, but of course it got out—and forever entered history as a matricide (cf. Sib. Or. 4.121). A number of important events took place in the provinces. The famous revolt of Boudicca (Boadicea) erupted in Britain in 61 CE. Parthia was always a flashpoint (HJJSTP 3: 226–30). Parthia placed her own choice of king on the throne in Armenia and refused to negotiate with Rome who regarded it as a threat. The Roman commander Corbulo invaded and enthroned the Romans’ own choice of candidate in 58 CE, Corbulo himself becoming the governor of Syria. A few years later the Roman puppet king provoked the Parthians and then requested Roman aid. The Roman commander sent by Nero in 62 was defeated and captured by the Parthians. When Corbulo came too late to rescue him, he was still able to negotiate a settlement in which both the Romans and Parthians would withdraw from Armenia, while the Parthian candidate would become king of Armenia but go to Rome to be crowned. Nero had divorced his wife Octavia in 62 and married his long-time mistress Poppaea Sabina (30–65 CE). She has been of considerable interest because of her peripheral place in Jewish history, but the idea that she was a Jewish convert is unlikely (Smallwood 1959). Poppaea had been the wife of the future would-be emperor Otho, and she helped Gessius Florus obtain the post of procurator of Judaea, being a friend of his wife’s (Ant. 20.11.1 §252; §13.6.8). It was about the time of the marriage to Poppaea that Nero began to reign badly, at least according to the Roman historians. He is said to have reintroduced treason trials with the usual consequences for various prominent individuals. He was also blamed for the great fire of Rome in the summer of 64, though this is probably slander caused by his evident enthusiasm for rebuilding the city according to his own plans. No doubt the special taxes introduced to help pay for the rebuilding did not help his image. He is alleged to have persecuted Christians, according to Tacitus (Ann. 15.44), perhaps even to help divert attention from being assigned responsibility for the fire. This report seems rather early in the history of Christianity for the Christians to be recognized as separate from Jews and, especially, for persecution. Yet a statement by Tacitus has to be taken seriously. The final few years were turbulent ones, in which Nero devoted more and more time to his ‘artistic’ pursuits. These years were also marked out by the outbreak of a number of real or imagined conspiracies in which some prominent individuals ended their lives (e.g., the philosopher Seneca, and Nero’s own arbiter of taste, the writer Petronius, author of

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the Satyricon). He had journeyed to Greece to take part in the Isthmian games when the revolt broke out in Judaea in 66, but he did not return to Rome until early 68. Then his Gallic governor Vindex revolted. Although Vindex was defeated, Galba the governor in Spain had already taken the opportunity to declare himself a legate of ‘the Senate and people of Rome’ rather than of Nero. Instead of taking firm action, Nero dithered until finally one of the Praetorian prefects fled and the other bribed the Guard to declare for Galba. Nero was proclaimed an enemy by the Senate and took his own life in June 68 at the age of 30. 13.6. Judaea a Roman Province Again (44–66 CE) Sources: War 2.11.6-14.3 §§220-83; Ant. 19.9.2 §363–20.11.1 §258.

13.6.1. Overview B. Levick (1990) Claudius.

Agrippa’s son was only 17 at his father’s death. Claudius eventually decided not to enthrone Agrippa II over his father’s realm, and Judaea reverted once again to being part of a Roman province (War 2.11.6 §220; Ant. 19.9.2 §§360-62). The reason for this recommendation from Claudius’s advisors was allegedly because of the boy’s young age; however, this explanation sounds like one given for public consumption since a regency could easily have been established until Agrippa II was older. The most likely explanation is that this fits with the emperor’s general policy of annexing vassal kingdoms at that time (D. R. Schwartz 1990: 149–53; Levick 1990: 165–67). B. Levick (1990: 159) suggests that the gathering of Agrippa I and some other friendly kings (§13.2.3) had provoked a concern on Claudius’s part that client kings could be a potential threat to the Roman order. There are a number of surprising results from this situation to bring Judaea once more under direct Roman control. Apart from the unexpected decision supposedly based on Agrippa II’s age, there is the question of whether making Judaea once more a province would create problems for Roman rule of the area. In 6 CE, when Judaea was made a Roman province for the first time, quite a bit of transitional uncertainty was created. There were armed revolts, and the Syrian legate had to assist the prefect appointed over the province in taking a census. Nothing like this is recorded for the transition in 44 CE. The silence in Josephus’s account suggests the change from kingdom to province was a smooth

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and unproblematic one. Was this done by Fadus or had it already been arranged by the Syrian legate? This latter was apparently Cassius Longinus by this time: Claudius had decided to replace Marsus with Longinus out of respect for Agrippa I because Marsus and Agrippa had been at odds. If the Syrian governor carried out the change, it could have been either Marsus or Longinus; but perhaps it was Fadus’s duty to do the work. We are simply not told. It should be noted, however, that the Roman administrative apparatus from 41 CE may still have remained by and large in place even when Agrippa I became king. Thus, the kingdom was divided up, as had happened in 6 CE, with the core area becoming once more the Roman province of Judaea but under the ultimate control of the Syrian governor. The two decades following Agrippa I’s death is the story of Judaea’s gradual slide into war. The term ‘spiral of violence’ has sometimes been used for the situation during this period (see further at §14.1.2), but there is a certain aptness about its succinct summary of the situation. The equestrian governors of Judaea varied in their actions and competence, but the overall effect was detrimental to Judaean-Roman relations. 13.6.2. Cuspius Fadus (44–46? CE) Sources: War 2.11.6 §§220; Ant. 20.1.1-3 §§1-16; 20.5.1 §§97-99.

Claudius sent the first procurator (ἔπαρχος, ἐπίτροπος) Cuspius Fadus with the aim of reprimanding Caesarea and Sebaste because of their insults to Agrippa after his death, and to send their military contingent to Pontus because of their mockery of Agrippa’s daughters. But the soldiers appealed to Claudius and were allowed to remain. As noted above, we are told nothing about the change of administration from independent client kingdom to Roman province. We do not know whether this was done by Fadus or the Syrian legate, whether Cassius Longinus by this time or the previous legate Marsus. In any case, none of the troubles that arose in 6 CE when Judaea first became a Roman province is recorded. Fadus arrived to find a major problem of brigandage that was especially affecting Idumaea and the Nabataeans, but he captured Tholomaeus one of the chief leaders and executed him. His actions are supposed to have purged the province of brigands. It was also during his office that Theudas arose as a prophet and claimed to be able to divide the Jordan river as had happened in the time of Joshua, attracting a significant following. He was killed and his followers scattered by a contingent of cavalry before he had a chance to attempt the deed. This is probably the same individual mentioned in Acts 5.36; if so, he has been misdated there to

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a much earlier time than he actually lived. Fadus also had to sort out a dispute between the people of Philadelphia and the Jews of Peraea. The latter were concerned about the boundaries of a nearby village called Zia (or possibly Mia) which apparently had inhabitants hostile to the Jews. The Peraeans had taken matters into their own hands and killed some Philadelphians. Fadus arrested three of their leaders, executing one and exiling the other two. Another incident had the potential to cause conflict. Probably because he thought it a means of controlling the people, Fadus ordered the high priest’s vestments to come once more under Roman control. This was resisted by the Jews to the point that the Syrian legate Longinus came to Jerusalem with a military detachment. The Jews petitioned Fadus and Longinus and were allowed to send a delegation to Claudius (though they had to give over their children as hostages). The emperor acceded to the Jewish request, partly through the intercession of Agrippa II (Josephus records a letter allegedly from Claudius over this incident, dated 28 July 45 CE [Ant. 20.1.2 §§11-14]). About the same time Claudius also gave authority over the temple and the appointment of high priests to Herod of Chalcis (at the latter’s request). He removed the high priest surnamed Cantheras and replaced him with Joseph son of Camei. Who this Cantheras was is not clear, since Joseph son of Comei was preceded by Elionaeus son of Cantheras (or Cithaerus) according to Ant. 19.8.1 §342. Finally, Josephus mentions Fadus’s success in keeping the peace by respecting local customs (War 2.11.6 §220), though he mentions that both Fadus and Tiberius Alexander did this (cf. BJP 1b:181–82). 13.6.3. Tiberius Julius Alexander (46?–48 CE) BJP 1b: 181–82; CPJ 2:188–97 (texts 418a-f); B. W. Jones (1989) ‘Titus in Judaea, A.D. 67’, Latomus 48: 127–34; OGIS 2: 277–78 (no. 586); O. W. Reinmuth (1934) ‘The Edict of Tiberius Julius Alexander’, TAPA 65: 248–59; E. M. Smallwood (1967) Documents Illustrating the Principates of Gaius, Claudius and Nero; E. G. Turner (1954) ‘Tiberius Iulius Alexander’, JRS 44: 54–64. Sources: War 2.11.6 §§220-23; Ant. 20.5.2 §§100-103; Philo, De animalibus.

Tiberius Alexander was the son of the Alexandrian alabarch Alexander and nephew of the philosopher Philo of Alexandria whose tracate De animalibus consists of a dialogue between uncle and nephew; he had a brother, Marcus Julius Alexander. His father was reputed to be one of the wealthiest men in the world at the time (Ant. 20.5.2 §§100-103). According

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to Josephus, Tiberius Alexander ‘did not remain in the ancestral laws’ (τοῖς γὰρ πατρίοις οὐκ ἐνέμεινενς…ἔθεσιν), though exactly how that statement is to be interpreted is difficult since no details are given (§11.3; cf. HJJSTP 3: 9–10). Had he simply abandoned the religion of his people, or is it just that his father Alexander was more pious? Devotion to religion was a relative matter: perhaps Tiberius Alexander was simply not so devoted. Yet seldom does Josephus suggest that a Jewish person had abandoned his religion, which makes his statement here seem significant. Evidently Tiberius Alexander went through the normal offices of an upper-class Roman since we first hear of him when he was appointed as epistrategos of the Thebaid in 42 CE (a region where his brother Marcus also had business interests). Next, he was made governor of Judaea in 46 CE. His term of office was basically peaceful because he understood the Jewish way of life (the same is also said of Fadus [War 2.11.6 §220]), though there is no indication that he was less than firm in his administration: he had James and Simon, the sons of Judas the Galilean (§7.2), tried and crucified; the charge is not specified but was presumably that of revolution (Acts 6.36-37 is confused over the order of Theudas and Judas and also seems mistaken in suggesting that Judas was executed). Also during Tiberius Alexander’s governorship a famine arose over a large area of the eastern Mediterranean (also referred to in Ant. 20.2.5 §§49-53 and evidently Acts 11.28). Helena, the queen mother of Adiabene and a convert to Judaism, was in Jerusalem at the time and spent a considerable sum in importing grain from Egypt and figs from Cyprus to distribute to the needy. In addition her son Izates, king of Adiabene and a convert as well, sent money to the leaders of Jerusalem to help with the famine. At this time Herod of Chalcis took the high priesthood from Joseph, son of Camei, and gave it to Ananias, son of Nedebaeus. To complete the story of Tiberius Alexander, the next time he appears is being on the staff of the Roman general Domitius Corbulo in his engagement with the Parthians in 63 CE (Tacitus, Ann. 15.28). Then, he became the equestrian governor of Egypt where he was appointed by Nero, evidently in 66 CE just before the Jewish revolt (War 2.15.1 §309). An edict of his has come down to us from 68 CE, outlining his administration policy and forms one of the most interesting of the surviving edicts from the prefects of Egypt (Reinmuth 1934; for an English translation, see Smallwood 1967, text 391). A few months after the Jewish rebellion in Palestine had begun, riots broke out in Alexandria between the Greek citizens and the Jews, with the Jews seizing the initiative. At first Alexander tried to calm them without the use of force, but when that

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was unsuccessful, he turned his two legions loose on the Jewish quarter (War 2.18.7-8 §§487-498). According to Josephus’s questionable figures, 50,000 Jews were killed. A few years later in 69 CE his legions were the first to declare for Vespasian as emperor (CPJ 2:189); Josephus (War 4.10.6 §§616-18), who has the legions in Judaea as the first to declare for Vespasian, is probably repeating—or engaged in—propaganda. The idea was to present it as a spontaneous acclaim by Vespasian’s own troops, whereas it was in fact a carefully managed affair in which Tiberius Alexander played his part well. Although Vespasian turned over the continuation of the war to his son Titus, he requested Tiberius Alexander to come from Egypt and be Titus’s chief of staff (War 5.1.6 §§45-46; 6.4.3 §237). This is quite understandable since Titus as a young and rather impetuous individual could use the steadying influence and experience of the much older Tiberius Alexander who served him throughout the Judaean campaign (Jones 1989). Tiberius Alexander apparently ended his career as one of the two prefects of the Praetorian Guard, the elite protection for the emperor in Rome (Turner 1954: 61–64; P. Hibeh 215). 13.6.4. Ventidius Cumanus (48–52 CE) BJP 1b: 184–99; M. Aberbach (1949–50) ‘The Conflicting Accounts of Josephus and Tacitus Concerning Cumanus’ and Felix’ Terms of Office’, JQR 40: 1–14. Sources: War 2.12.1-7 §§223-46; Ant. 20.5.2–6.3 §§103-36.

According to Tacitus (Ann. 12.54), Ventidius Cumanus, who replaced Tiberius Alexander, ruled only Galilee, with Felix ruling Samaria. If so, the ruler of Judaea proper would presumably also have been Felix. M. Aberbach (1949–50) suggests that contradiction can be resolved if we assume that Tacitus accidentally reversed the governorship: rather, Cumanus was over Samaria (and also Judaea, Aberbach proposes), and Felix over Galilee. It is certainly true that Josephus’s description of Cumanus’s governorship does not fit with his only being over Galilee. Barrett (1996: 124–27) suggests that Samaria was separated from Judaea in 51 CE, and Felix was made governor of it at that time; he also assumes that both Cumanus and Felix shared jurisdiction over Judaea. This would explain to some extent the statements of Tacitus, though no actual evidence is given. Aberbach’s suggestion depends on a conjectural emendation but is reasonable and does seem to reconcile the main contradictions.

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Under Cumanus a succession of incidents disturbed the order which had prevailed under Tiberius Alexander. The first incident involved the temple. It was normal practice, as a precautionary measure, for the Roman administration to post soldiers on top of the temple portico during religious festivals to guard against any disturbances which might break out. During Passover time one year (c. 50 CE) a soldier defiantly exposed himself and made a rude gesture as an insult to the celebrating Jews, and a riot soon followed, with some Jews throwing stones at the soldiers. Cumanus sent additional troops to the area to quell the disturbance. As they approached, the Jews attempted to flee through narrow exits which resulted in many being crushed to death. Josephus lists a large number of deaths (War 2.12.1 §227; Ant. 20.5.3 §112: variant readings give 10,000, 20,000, and 30,000)—probably very much exaggerated—but nevertheless suggesting a major riot in the making. Another incident happened shortly after this. One of Caesar’s servants, who may have been carrying official post, was attacked and robbed outside Jerusalem, near Beth-Horon. The Roman way of dealing with this was to punish the neighbouring villages for not having intervened to help the Roman representative, also probably suspecting that some of the band were inhabitants of these same villages. However, during the attack on the villages, one of the soldiers defiled and destroyed (tearing and perhaps even burning) a copy of ‘the laws of Moses’ (a Torah scroll?). Such a protest arose over this action, with a large delegation coming to Caesarea, that Cumanus hastily had the soldier brought out and publicly executed to appease the Jewish anger. The action apparently prevented what looked like developing into an uprising (τὴν στάσιν [Ant. 20.5.4 §117]). A final episode was quite detrimental to Cumanus himself as well as the Jews (already described in HJJSTP 3: 211–12). There are considerable differences of detail between the account in the War (2.12.3-7 §§232-46) and that in the Antiquities (20.6.1-3 §§118-36). At Ginaea (modern Jenin) some Samaritans attacked a group of Galilaeans on their way to Jerusalem for a festival and killed many (Ant. 20.6.1 §118) or only one (War 2.12.3 §232). While a mob of Galilaeans was gathering to take the law into their own hands, leading Jews went to Cumanus and asked him come to Galilee and punish the Samaritan attackers before the Jews took action. In spite of this appeal to Cumanus he did nothing, allegedly because he had been bribed by the Samaritans (a common accusation, though subsequent events may bear out the truth of this accusation). Word had now reached Jerusalem, and apparently a mob made up of Jews from both Jerusalem and Galilee, led by the brigands Eleazar son of Deinaeus (War 2.12.4 §235; 2.13.2 §253; Ant. 20.6.1 §121; 20.8.5 §161)

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and a certain Alexander, attacked some Samaritan villages. Josephus indicates the beginnings of a mass revolt since the Galilaeans urged them to assert their ‘freedom’ (τῆς ἐλευθερίας). At this point, Cumanus finally intervened with troops while the Jewish leaders attempted to persuade the rebels to return home; the two forms of persuasion eventually worked, though some of the mob seem to have continued to rob and pillage. The Samaritans felt it important to appeal to the Syrian governor Quadratus, but the Jews were quick to answer the charges. After a preliminary investigation, Quadratus proceeded to the Palestinian area to see things at first hand. After a further hearing, he had executed some of the chief participants in the fighting, both Jews and Samaritans. Concerned about a revolt, he proceeded to Jerusalem but found the people quietly celebrating Passover. Quadratus apparently had a local trial, judging from Tacitus’s account. The surprising point is that Felix was among the judges considering the actions of Cumanus, as well as men from the Jews and Samaritans. Whatever the outcome of this hearing, before returning to Antioch Quadratus sent the governor Cumanus, the military tribune Celer, some of the Samaritan notables, and the high priests Jonathan and Ananias and other Jewish leaders to Rome for a trial before Claudius (apparently the brigand Eleazar escaped capture at this time, since he reappears under Felix’s governorship [§13.6.5]). Since a number of Claudius’s freedmen and other prominent Romans supported Cumanus, Agrippa II appealed to Agrippina (Claudius’s wife) and petitioned Claudius on behalf of the Jews. Claudius found in favour of the Jews, executing some of the Samaritan delegation and exiling Cumanus. The tribune Celer was taken back to Jerusalem and there publicly executed. 13.6.5. Antonius Felix (52–59? CE) M. Aberbach (1949–50) ‘The Conflicting Accounts of Josephus and Tacitus Concerning Cumanus’ and Felix’ Terms of Office’, JQR 40: 1–14; F. E. Brenk and F. C. De Rossi (2001) ‘The “Notorious” Felix, Procurator of Judaea, and his Many Wives (Acts 23–24)’, Biblica 82: 410–17; D. Hendin (2010) Guide to Biblical Coins; S. I. Oost (1958) ‘The Career of M. Antonius Pallas’, American Journal of Philology 79: 113–39; D. B. Saddington (1992) ‘Felix in Samaria—A Note on Tac. Ann. 12.54.1 and Suet. Claud. 28.1’, Acta Classica 35: 161–63; D. R. Schwartz (1982–83a) ‘Ishmael ben Phiabi and the Chronology of Provincia Judaea’, Tarbiz 52: 177–200 (Heb.) + V–VI (Eng. summary). Sources: War 2.12.8–13.7 §§247-70; Ant. 20.7.1–8.8 §§137-81; Acts 23–24.

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According to E. M. Smallwood (1981: 269), Antonius Felix, in a play on his name (felix meaning ‘happy’ in Latin), ‘turned out not to be one of the happiest choices as governor’. This was despite the Christian tradition that he even showed an interest in the teachings of the apostle Paul (Acts 24.22-27). Paul is supposed to have been brought before him because of Jewish threats to his life (Acts 24.12-34), but after examining him, Felix left Paul in prison during the rest of his governorship. According to Tacitus (Hist. 5.9), Felix ‘practised every kind of cruelty and lust, wielding the power of king with all the instincts of a slave’ (LCL translation of per omnem saevitiam ac libidinem ius regium servili ingenio exercuit). The name ‘Claudius’ Felix, found in many Josephus manuscripts, seems to be an error. He was the brother of Pallas, the influential freedman of Claudius (cf. Oost 1958), and was noted by Suetonius (Claud. 28) for having married ‘three queens’, one of these being Drusilla, the sister of Agrippa II (see below). It was unusual (though not unknown [cf. Barrett 1996: 284 n. 106]) for a freedman such as Felix to hold the equestrian post of procurator, but he owed this appointment evidently to Agrippina, through Pallas. Several of his coins honour Agrippina (e.g., with the name ΙΟΥΛΙΑ ΑΓΡΙΠΠΙΝΑ in a wreath on one side and Claudius’s or Britannicus’s name on the other [Hendin 2010: 329–30]). As noted in the previous section (§13.6.4), Felix was apparently already in the region, acting as governor over Samaria (or Galilee?). When Cumanus was removed from office by Claudius, Felix took his place. A number of events seem to have happened during Felix’s term of office. In 53 CE, after reigning 12 years, Claudius assigned to Agrippa II the former tetrarchy of Philip, including Batanaea, Trachonitis, Gaulanitis, and Abela (though he lost Chalcis which he had ruled for four years). Shortly afterward, Agrippa gave his sister Drusilla in marriage to the king of Emesa, Azizus, who had agreed to be circumcised. This was after a proposal of her marriage to Antiochus’s son Epiphanes had fallen through, because he backed out of converting to Judaism. After he became procurator of Judaea, Felix fell for Drusilla. She was apparently unhappy in her marriage and left Azizus for Felix. They had a son, but Josephus hints that both Drusilla and her son disappeared at the time of the eruption of Mt Vesuvius (79 CE), though it is not clear whether the eruption had anything to do with it. About this time Agrippa’s sister Berenice, now a widow, married Polemo, the king of Cilicia, who agreed to convert; however, the marriage soon broke up. Claudius died in 54 CE, after a reign of more than 13 years. Although he had a son Britannicus, his wife Agrippina had got him to name her son Nero (by a previous marriage) as Claudius’s successor. Claudius had married his daughter Octavia (also by a previous marriage) to Nero.

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Nero further granted to Agrippa the cities (and their villages) of Abila and Julias (in Peraea) and Tarichaeae and Tiberias (in Galilee). He placed Aristobulus, son of Herod of Chalcis, over Armenia Minor. Josephus tells us that under Felix, things were going from bad to worse, with Judaea experiencing widespread brigandry and ‘imposters’ (γοήτων ἀνθρώπων [Ant. 20.8.5 §160]). Felix took stern measures with some success, capturing and executing many of those causing trouble. For example, he captured and sent to Rome the bandit chief Eleazar who was said to be one of the leaders in the strife between the Jews and Samaritans under Cumanus (§13.6.4). But during his procuratorship arose another menace which was much harder to deal with: the terrorists known as the Sicarii (§7.2). Their method was to conceal a curved dagger under their clothes and in a crowd, especially during a festival, it was no problem to get close to their victim, quickly dispatch him with the dagger, and then escape back into the crowd. Their targets were not primarily the Romans but those of the Jews who cooperated with them, meaning primarily the leading priests, the wealthy, and those with an office in the administration of the country. One of their means of financial support was to be hired to get rid of personal enemies. Josephus alleges that Felix, whose job it was to contain such assassins, actually hired them (through a Jewish intermediary) to assassinate the former high priest Jonathan because the latter had criticized Felix’s administration of Judaea—though, curiously, Jonathan had supposedly requested from Claudius that Felix become governor of Judaea in the first place (Ant. 20.8.5 §162). Named among the ‘imposters’ were various prophets who arose and drew followings after themselves. Many of these were revolutionary movements and not just religious cults. Some apparently led their followers into the desert, with promises of deliverance. Josephus gives only one example to back up his blanket statement that there were many such groups: that of an unnamed Egyptian Jew who led a group to the Mount of Olives where he was going to cause the walls of Jerusalem to fall down so that they could enter the city. Apparently, they needed this to happen in order to overcome the Roman garrison. One account states that this was a prelude to the prophet’s setting himself up as dictator of Jerusalem (War 2.13.5 §262). Felix quickly intervened to kill and scatter his followers, though the prophet himself apparently escaped (cf. also Acts 21.38). But this seems to be Felix’s general way of dealing with these movements. Josephus summarizes the escalation of revolt and disorder under Felix in extravagant terms, concluding that ‘this war was surging day by day’ (καὶ οὗτος μὲν ὁ πόλεμος καθ’ ἡμέραν ἀνερριπίζετο [War 2.13.6 §§264-65]). Even allowing for a good deal of rhetorical exaggeration, this statement suggests a steady increase of popular sentiment against Roman rule being

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translated into action. Ideological support came from nostalgia for better times in the past, feelings of nationalism, and religious teachings and prophecies of various sorts, but there also seem to have been important socio-economic factors (§14.1.3). At the core of these movements was the desire for freedom (πρὸς ἐλευθερίαν), which put them not only against the Romans but also against Jews who were seen to be cooperating with Roman rule, if Josephus’s evaluation is correct. One event toward the end of Felix’s term of office was a forerunner of what was to happen at the beginning of the war with Rome. The Jews of Caesarea began to agitate for citizenship, arguing that they should have this by right since a Jew (Herod the Great) had founded the city. They were opposed by the Syro-Greek population, who pointed out that if the city had been meant for Jewish residence the various statues and temples to the family of Caesar would not have been erected by Herod. It seems that over the years the non-citizen Jewish population, formerly in the minority, increased to the point that it outnumbered the Syrians who were citizens. Despite attempts by the city magistrates to keep order by punishing any who started quarrels, they could not prevent the escalation of provocative language which ended in physical clashes. The Jews seem to have prevailed. The situation was disturbing to Felix who saw this as a war and intervened, killing and capturing a number of the rioting Jews when they defied him in person. Since the issue was obviously not settled, Felix took representatives from both sides and sent them to Rome to present their case to Caesar. Shortly after this Felix was replaced as governor, and the Jews of Caesarea accused him of misdeeds in their presentation before Nero. The charge did not stick, allegedly because of his brother Pallas’s influence with Nero; Josephus also alleges that the Syrian delegation bribed Nero’s secretary. Be that as it may, Nero sided with the Syro-Greek population of Caesarea against the Jews and issued a rescript with his ruling against their being citizens. Evidently, the Jews did not accept this and continued their agitation with the Syrians until it finally came to a head again a few years later. This civil strife also affected Jerusalem and even the temple itself. According to Josephus (Ant. 20.8.8 §§179-81), hostility developed between the high priests (presumably the high priestly families, including those who had been high priests before) and the other priests and the leaders of Jerusalem. Apparently, uncontrolled revolutionary individuals attached themselves to both factions, which only increased the internal strife and even violence. One provocative act was that the high priests sent their slaves to collect tithes directly from the threshing floors. It was at this time that Agrippa II made Ishmael, son of Phabi, high priest.

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13.6.6. Festus (59?–62 CE) Sources: War 2.14.1 §271; Ant. 20.8.9-11 §§182-96; Acts 25–26.

Porcius Festus succeeded Felix; according to Acts 25.1-12, his most urgent concern as soon as he arrived in Palestine was to hear the case of the apostle Paul! Not only is this rather unlikely, but although Festus sent Paul to Rome for trial, whether he (and allegedly Agrippa) thought Paul innocent after interviewing him is not a question we can answer (since Acts cannot be considered reliable for many aspects of Jewish history [cf. Grabbe 2018]). It was during Festus’s time as governor that the Jews and Syrians from Caesarea were heard by Nero (who decided against the Jews—§13.6.5). Festus attempted to deal with the major threat to Roman order: the numerous brigand groups and the Sicarii. He proceeded against them, capturing and killing many, though to what extent he was able to achieve success in clearing the country of the menace is difficult to say. He also killed a certain ‘deceiver’ (γόητος) and scattered his following; this individual had promised salvation to those who followed him into the desert (Ant. 20.8.10 §188) An issue developed at this time over a wall of the temple. When Agrippa resided in Jerusalem, he did so in the Hasmonaean palace in the upper city that provided a panoramic view of the activities in the temple court. He used to watch the priests at work as he dined. This was upsetting to the temple authorities, who built up to a new height an inner wall on the west which blocked Agrippa’s view, but also that of the Roman guards. Both Agrippa and Festus were opposed to the building of this wall. Festus allowed the priests to send a delegation to Nero. When Nero heard the two petitions, however, he sided with the priests, apparently because of intercession from his wife Poppaea. See §13.4 for further details. Festus himself died in office. 13.6.7. Lucceius Albinus (62–64) D. R. Schwartz (2011b) ‘Josephus on Albinus: The Eve of Catastrophe in Changing Retrospect’, in Mladen Popović (ed.), The Jewish Revolt against Rome: Interdisciplinary Perspectives: 291–309. Sources: War 2.14.1 §§271-76; Ant. 20.9.1-7 §§197-223.

After Festus died Albinus was appointed as governor, but before he had arrived, the high priest Ananus son of Ananus (a Sadducee) convened

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the Sanhedrin and had James the brother of Jesus brought before them for trial. They condemned him for breaking the law and had him stoned to death. Many moderate Jews were offended by this and secretly called on Agrippa to take action. They also met Albinus when he arrived and charged Ananus with convening the Sanhedrin without consent of the governor. The result was that Agrippa deposed Ananus and replaced him with Jesus son of Damnaeus. Evaluating the character of Albinus is difficult because Josephus gives two quite different descriptions of him, a very critical one in the War and a much more positive one in the Antiquities. D. R. Schwartz (2011b) has addressed these differences, proposing that the disparity is based on Josephus’s aim in each case. In the War the historian is emphasizing the deterioration in civil order in the two decades between Agrippa’s death and the beginning of the Great Revolt. He blames both the Jews and the Romans for the unnecessary descent into war. In the Antiquities, however, he is making a contrast between the former high priest Ananias, who is the villain at this point, and Albinus, who is constrained by circumstances to engage in certain actions (such as releasing Sicarius prisoners). Agrippa II is indirectly criticized for introducing innovative measures with regard to the temple. Here he is emphasizing the cause of the war as being the failure of the Jews, especially the upper classes. At only one point is Albinus given a negative comment (the end of Ant. 20.9.5 §215) which is a holdover from his account in War. According to Josephus in the War (2.14.1 §§272-76) ‘there was no wickedness [κακουργίας]’ which Lucceius Albinus failed to practise as governor: he stole, plundered, accepted bribes to release criminals, and placed extra taxes on the people. The Antiquities (20.9.2-3 §§204-10) gives what seems prima facie to be a more balanced picture: he attempted to clear the land of the Sicarii who were the major problem. Josephus thus gives him two rather contrasting evaluations. He says that one of the bad moves by Albinus was to release those imprisoned for robbery because of the ‘ransom’ paid by their relatives. However, the matter may not have been quite that simple, since Albinus’s efforts were in part thwarted by a new tactic well known from modern terrorists: the kidnapping of prominent persons who were then held hostage against the release of some of their own number from prison. A scribe to Eleazar, son of the (former) high priest Ananias (who seems to have been the captain of the temple who began the first acts of revolt by halting sacrifices for the emperor in 66 CE [§4.2.1]) was first to be kidnapped, and they then demanded that Ananias, son of Nedebaeus, persuade Albinus to release ten Sicarii who were in prison. This of course

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only encouraged repeated kidnappings of Ananias’s household until many of the Sicarii captured by Albinus were once more free to carry on their activities. As a final gesture before vacating his office, perhaps to leave some good will behind, Albinus is said to have cleared the prisons by executing those who deserved it but releasing those committing lesser offences (allegedly taking bribes to do so). Whether this made anything worse, as Josephus seems to conclude, is perhaps doubtful and Albinus’s rule may have consisted of nothing more than making the best of a bad situation (cf. Schwartz 2011b: 297). According to Josephus, the ‘revolutionary party in Jerusalem’ (ἐν ‘Ιεροσολύμοις αἱ τόλμαι [War 2.14.1 §274]) became more audacious, since they could do what they wanted if they bribed Albinus. Exactly who this revolutionary party was and what it did is left rather vague by the Jewish historian, but he goes on to say that various individuals from the common people set themselves up as leaders and gathered a band of followers, using robbery to gain funds for their activities. Agrippa II removed Jesus, son of Damnaeus, from the high priesthood and appointed Jesus, son of Gamaliel. This supposedly led to factionalism and strife between the two, each one forming bands of thugs who sometimes clashed. The former high priest Ananias is said to have increased his position with the people by means of bribes. But he also sent his servants directly to the threshing floors to demand the priestly tithe, even to take it by force if necessary. This bypassed the ordinary priests, many of whom ‘starved to death’. How to evaluate this statement is difficult: it is clearly exaggerated but it also duplicates a statement of the situation under the high priest Ishmael (War 2.8.8 §181). On the one hand, it sounds like another case of hyperbole; on the other hand, it may illustrate a serious problem, namely, that the lower ranks of the priesthood had more and more trouble receiving their traditional source of income from the tithes. This was no doubt partly because there were more priests than needed to man the temple and certainly too large a portion of the population to be readily supported by the rest of the people. Any greed on the part of the chief priests would only exacerbate the problem. Josephus also draws attention to the Herodian family, sometimes in a negative way. Agrippa enlarged Caesarea Philippi and renamed it Neronias in honour of the emperor. He gave the people grain and olive oil, but was nevertheless hated by his subjects because he spent money on the ‘foreign’ city of Berytus. Two of his relatives, Costobar and Saul, were also said to have formed their own gangs and engaged in plunder and other illegal activity. These two later had a part in the Great Revolt in trying to engage Agrippa to send troops and eventually joining the

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Roman military (War 2.17.4 §418; 2.20.1 §556). The Levitical singers requested permission to wear linen robes like the priests, which the king and the Sanhedrin allowed, though Josephus states that this was contrary to the law. Agrippa also approved employing the temple workmen to pave the city with white stone when they completed their renovation of the temple and had thus run out of work. At this point, he removed Jesus, son of Gamaliel, as high priest and replaced him with Matthias, son of Theophilus. 13.6.8. Gessius Florus (64–67 CE) Sources: War 2.14.2–15.6 §§277-332; Ant. 20.11.1 §§252-58.

With a brief notice on the governorship of Gessius Florus, Josephus brings the Antiquities to an abrupt end. The War, however, continues on seamlessly, giving a good deal of information on this governor, since the war began during Florus’s period of administration. Most of the events during his time will be discussed in the next chapter (§14.2.1). He had been appointed as procurator of Judaea because of the influence of Nero’s wife Poppaea who was a friend of his wife Cleopatra (Ant. 20.11.1 §252). 13.7. Conclusions This chapter has been dominated by the rule of Agrippa I and Agrippa II and the subsequent administration by Roman governors. Agrippa came to the throne under Caligula, whose friend he was. He appears to have played a key role in getting Caligula to change his mind about setting a statue of himself (under the guise of Jupiter) in the Jerusalem temple. This was the greatest threat to Judaism since Antiochus Epiphanes’s actions two centuries earlier. Yet the reason for the emperor’s actions seem to be in response to the destruction of a pagan shrine by Jews, which was illegal under Roman law and was also frowned on by many Jewish religious experts. Agrippa was first given his uncle Philip’s old tetrarchy, but later Caligula added Herod Antipas’s tetrarchy, and Claudius added Judaea and Samaria, which meant that Agrippa basically ruled over Herod the Great’s old realm or even a bit more. Claudius’s action seems to have been in gratitude for Agrippa’s part in helping Claudius’s supporters negotiate with the Senate to secure him the office. Agrippa thus had a part in some major events relating to Roman and Jewish history. He was a friend of Claudius as well as Caligula and had access to the central power of the Roman Empire. He seems to have been

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positively received by his Jewish subjects; however, his reign over the whole kingdom was short, with his sudden death in 44 CE. Claudius might have let his son Agrippa II succeed him, but he was apparently talked out of this action by his advisors. In any case, Claudius seems to have been reducing the use of client kings as an administrative tool. Agrippa II was given Chalcis and later exchanged this for Philip’s old tetrarchy plus some additional territories. He was also given charge of the Jerusalem temple, which meant that he spent a lot of time in Jerusalem and interacted with the Roman and the temple administrations. Agrippa attempted to prevent Jerusalem from rebelling against Rome but without success, and he went on to assist the Romans in reconquering the territory taken control of by the uprising against Rome. On the death of Agrippa I, the Palestinian region came once more under Roman administration. This meant a series of governors of varying qualities. One of these was Tiberius Julius Alexander, the son of the Jewish alabarch of Alexandria, a man who rose through the ranks of Roman service, was a lieutenant of (and guiding hand to) Titus in the siege of Jerusalem and who ended his career as prefect of the Praetorian Guard. But other governors evidently only helped to assist the slide into war. Yet evaluating the governorship of the individual governors is difficult because Josephus sometimes seems to give contradictory information (e.g., as with Albinus), but he generally presents the governors according to his aim in each case. Yet there seems to be no question that Judaea was on a slippery slope, with war against Rome the ultimate end.

Chapter 14

T he G r eat R evolt —T h e W ar wi th R ome (66–73/74 C E)

BJP 1b; BJP 9; S. J. D. Cohen (1979) Josephus in Galilee and Rome; M. Goodman (1987) The Ruling Class of Judaea: The Origins of the Jewish Revolt against Rome A.D. 66–70; S. Mason (2016) A History of the Jewish War A.D. 66–74; J. J. Price (1992) Jerusalem Under Siege: The Collapse of the Jewish State 66–70 CE; S. Schwartz (1990) Josephus and Judaean Politics; E. M. Smallwood (1981) The Jews under Roman Rule; J. Wilker (2007) Für Rom und Jerusalem: Die herodianische Dynastie im 1. Jahrhundert n.Chr. Sources: War 2.14.2–22.2 §§277-654; 3–7; Tacitus, Hist. 5.1-13; Dio, Epitome 66.4-7.

According to Josephus (War 1.Prologue.1 §1), the 66–70 war between the Jews and the Romans was ‘the greatest war not only of those against us, but also of almost all of those reported to us that broke out between cities or nations’ (μέγιστον οὐ μόνον τῶν καθ’ ἡμᾶς, σχεδὸν δὲ καὶ ὧν ἀκοῇ παρειλήφαμεν ἢ πόλεων πρὸς πόλεις ἣ ἐθνῶν ἔθνεσι συρραγέντων). Most would see this as an exaggeration, but this does not diminish the importance of the war for the Jewish population of the Roman empire, nor indeed its significance for Rome. In some ways, reporting on the Jewish war with Rome is the hardest part of this history to write. The reason is partly because Josephus (who gives us the only detailed record of what happened) allows full play to his rhetorical embellishment in long speeches by prominent individuals and lengthy passages of pathos devoted to the supposed sufferings by helpless victims of the atrocities committed by rebel groups or by the Romans and other belligerents. A second problem is how useful a good deal of the detail about the fighting is to a proper understanding of what was going

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on. For the central section on the fighting (§14.4) it was decided to try to give a sensible summary of the major movements by the different groups rather than attempt to pass on much of the detailed description about what Josephus alleges was happening. 14.1. Background P. Bilde (1979) ‘The Causes of the Jewish War According to Josephus’, JSJ 10: 179–202; R. A. Horsley (1987) Jesus and the Spiral of Violence; A. Kasher (1990) Jews and Hellenistic Cities in Eretz-Israel; J. S. McClaren (1998) Turbulent Times? Josephus and Scholarship on Judaea in the First Century CE; U. Rappaport (1981) ‘Jewish–Pagan Relations and the Revolt against Rome in 66–70 C.E.’, Jerusalem Cathedra 1: 81–95.

14.1.1. Judaean Society The first century CE is often thought important because it contains Jesus and the beginnings of Christianity. But from the point of view of Jewish history it is important because it culminated in a bloody and disastrous war against Rome. The question one must ask is whether events, beliefs, ideas, attitudes, conditions, or something else among the Jews led them to think that their only alternative was to rebel against Roman control and attempt to establish independence. We first have to consider the existence of pluralism in Judaic religion. Most Jews engaged in agrarian activities of some sort: working the land, fishing, or pursuing crafts that related to farming or village life. Their first concern was obtaining the necessities for living. There were few sectarians or religious fanatics. Religious debates over detailed points of the law were not their main concern. That does not make them irreligious, but their lives were not in bondage to their religious beliefs or practices. Most looked to the temple as the main symbol and focus of their religion. There were many differences of religious viewpoint among the Jews of Judaea at this time and a variety of religious groups or sects and movements had arisen. Some focused on a particular interpretation of the law, though some had a political agenda. We find some evidence of a general concern for religious purity among the Jewish population (§2.1.1; HJJSTP 3: 72–74, 269–70). Most Jews seem to have held some beliefs in common, including the sabbath and belief in one God without cultic images. Some groups concentrated on certain aspects of the Torah, while others were particularly taken with apocalyptic or the coming of the messiah. Belief in a messiah of some sort was widespread, and no doubt many hoped for an eventual deliverance from the power of Rome, though

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active following of a proclaimed messianic figure was small. None of the various religious sects dominated or controlled society, and the total number of sectarian members still made up a minority of the population. (Even the Pharisees, who were probably the largest group, were composed of only about 6000 members in the time of Herod according to Josephus [Josephus, Ant. 17.2.4 §42].) Nevertheless, there was much turmoil in society. Revolutionaries made up only a small part of society, but their impact was significant. The existence of different sects and groups meant that most people would have witnessed religious debate of some sort. Some groups preached violence, while others did their best to provoke violence from the Roman side. This meant that the average Jew would also have witnessed fighting between armed groups and Roman soldiers or perhaps even got caught up in events that he was not interested in and sought to avoid. This man-in-the-street or woman-at-the-mill was not a revolutionary, nor would such people decide to abandon their ploughs for devotion to prayer or follow a would-be religious guru who promised salvation. It was perhaps this tolerance of diverse viewpoints that allowed the messianic groups and revolutionaries to make headway among the population and cultivate anti-Roman feeling. Roman administration had been good for the sub-province of Judaea from an economic and civic harmony point of view. Jewish worship, the Jerusalem temple, and the general civic rights of the people were respected for the most part. They were allowed to travel to Jerusalem to worship at the annual festivals or other times. They had no need to rebel; indeed, it was against their best interests to do so. Yet blame of Rome for troubles or imagined troubles was apparently widespread among the Jews of Palestine, as indicated by various popular protests against Roman actions. Rome was evidently not loved by the Jewish population as a whole, however much they benefited from Roman rule. Societal divisions were not confined to the common people. Within the ranks of the priesthood friction arose over the disparity of privilege between the various ranks and functions of priest almost to the point of open warfare between factions (Ant. 20.8.8 §§179-81). A good deal of the contention seems to have arisen around the tithes. According to the Pentateuch, the people were to tithe to the Levites (lower clergy [HJJSTP 1: 224–34]) who then in turned tithed to the priests (Num. 18.21-32). This was certainly not the general practice in the first century, however, even if it had ever been. Instead, the priests received tithes directly from the people, often bypassing the Levites (Ant. 20.8.8 §181).

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The feeling of the Levites about their social status is further indicated by an incident shortly before the war. The Levitical temple singers agitated for permission to wear linen robes which had been reserved for the priests (Ant. 20.9.6 §§216-18). When they appealed to Agrippa II, he obtained the consent of the Sanhedrin for the necessary permission. Exactly how this was done is not stated, though it seems likely that the priestly contingent of the Sanhedrin would have objected. If so, the authority of the king was sufficient to carry the decision. It was to be expected that the Judaean upper class, including the priestly and lay aristocracy and the Herodian family, would be a major participant in the historical events of the time. Goodman (1987) argued that a good deal of the problems of Judaea in the first century can be traced to the failure of the leading class of Judaeans, indeed, that even a major cause of the revolt was this failure. The root of the problem goes back to the reign of Herod when the old aristocracy was decimated by Herod himself, with many of the Hasmonaean supporters (primarily of Aristobulus II and his sons, but also even of Hyrcanus II) were killed or disenfranchised. Also, many of those on the Sanhedrin and in other high offices who opposed Herod were killed or removed (HJJSTP 3: 486). The Sanhedrin itself lost any real authority. With time, the wealthy and those high up in the administration were all individuals who owed their position to Herod. There was, therefore, no natural leadership to whom the people as a whole subscribed. The priesthood might have been expected to fall into that category and no doubt did, to some extent. But its authority had been compromised over a long period of time. There was no doubt some resentment over the overthrow of the Oniad priesthood in the time of the Maccabaean revolt; however, the Maccabaean success and territorial expansion would probably have silenced many critics of the ‘upstart’ Hasmonaean priesthood and kingship. With the Roman destruction of the Hasmonaean state, any feelings among the people would have had little chance to express themselves except in the revolts surrounding Aristobulus, Antigonus and his sons, which evidently had a significant popular appeal. Under Herod, such resentments were also kept in severe check at the same time that important members of the old aristocracy were demoted or executed. Thus, it would first be under the Roman governors that the new ruling class would have had a chance to exercise leadership and also for popular attitudes toward this class to manifest themselves. Herod began the practice of filling the office of high priest with his own nominees and also changing the incumbent with some frequency. This practice continued under Roman administration and later still when filling the office became the prerogative of Herodian rulers: Agrippa I, Herod

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of Chalcis, and Agrippa II. Thus, the priesthood which the people would naturally have looked up to became itself an object of suspicion and was apparently seen by many as staffed with Roman puppets. It was Roman practice to administer through the local leadership. They naturally turned to the Jewish upper class after the death of Herod. The importance of the Herodian leadership has already been discussed (§1.3), but the rejection of Agrippa II’s appeal at the beginning of the revolt (§14.2.1) was an indication that this group did not have the full confidence of the people and apparently was not always able to exert the influence and authority to keep the Judaeans in line. Even though the Sanhedrin revived to some extent, its jurisdiction would have been primarily in religious matters (cf. Acts 5.1-21 and 22.30–23.10). What was needed, though, was what today might be called moral and political leadership; this the priesthood, Sanhedrin, and other persons of position and wealth were evidently not able to provide to the extent needed. The divisions and animosities within Jewish society itself were a major contributing factor to the war, whatever other causes there may have been. Yet this gloomy picture can be countered by considering the initial period of the Great Revolt. As will be seen (§14.2.3), the leadership after the defeat of Cestius was invested in the leading priests and lay aristocrats. They still had sufficient authority for people to accept their leadership for the time being. It gradually eroded away as time went on, but there was considerable support for it at the beginning until the rise of the Zealots and the increasing influence of leaders from outside Jerusalem such as John of Gischala (§14.3.3). 14.1.2. ‘The Spiral of Violence’ The Roman period of Jewish history did not strictly come to an end until the Muslim conquest, but for our purposes it covers a period of about a century and a half. This period cannot help being dominated by the disastrous 66–70 war with Rome, as well as the rebellions in the second century CE. We can now see that much that happened can be linked forward to those revolts. According to Josephus, in the late 40s and 50s this practice began to crescendo. To use his own words, ‘the countryside was full of bandits’ (Ant. 20.9.5 §215). Thus, Josephus gives us a picture of what has been called a ‘spiral of violence’. This ‘spiral of violence’ has been seen as an important cause of the war itself. McClaren (1998) has challenged this point of view, arguing that it is Josephus’s own creation. McClaren’s main criticism that scholars may have depended too much on Josephus’s own interpretation here is well taken, but it does not address an important issue: that Jewish dissatisfaction with Roman rule increased as time went on.

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This seems to have been a fact, not just an interpretation by Josephus. It looks as if war with Rome became more likely after the death of Agrippa I and the continuing problems with Roman administrators. Herod was very unlikely to let a revolt get out of hand. There was certainly potential for revolt during the first period of Roman administration (6–41 CE), but the Romans would have been most alert at the beginning, especially considering that the transition to direct Roman rule was itself marked by a revolt (§12.6.2). The important factor was the build-up of Jewish frustration with Roman rule. The restoration of the native monarchy in the person of Agrippa I was probably helpful, but his early death and the rapid return to direct Roman rule would have made the frustration even more acute. For these reasons, we should be less quick to dismiss Josephus’s picture than McClaren, though he is right about the need for careful reading. As discussed in the previous chapter (§13.6.5) Josephus tells us that under Felix, things were going from bad to worse. This was not just his view, because it is echoed by Tacitus (Hist. 5.9) who does not appear to have known Josephus’s writings. Judaea experienced widespread brigandry and imposters. Named among the ‘imposters’ were various prophets who arose and gained followers. ‘Prophet’ implies a religious cult, but many of these seem to be primarily revolutionary movements. Even allowing for a good deal of rhetorical exaggeration, Josephus’s comments suggest an increase of popular sentiment against Roman rule. However you analyse it, there seems to have been much turmoil in first-century society under the Roman governors. Revolutionaries made up only a small part of society, but they had an impact. The existence of different sects and groups meant that most people would have witnessed religious debate and perhaps even religious violence of some sort. We can summarize the situation which still seems to resonate from the many incidents that we know of from the two decades between Agrippa’s death and the outbreak of the war: • Whatever the failings of a Herodian ruler, the people were better off under him than a Roman governor and a Roman administration. • The governors sent as procurators of Judaea seem to have been a bad lot on the whole (with the apparent exception of Julius Alexander). Some governors were reasonable; most were not, showing either a lack of personal integrity or gross insensitivity to the Jewish subjects whom they governed or often both together. • Josephus records a number of assassinations and revolts for this period. They were not unique to this stretch of Judaean history, but his catalogue of violent incidents against the Jewish and Roman rulers seems to be greater for this time than most others.

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• Revolutionary activity, while indulged in by a small minority, seems still to have been widespread enough to create major problems in society. The impression is that it was greater in the 20 years after Agrippa I’s death than before his reign. 14.1.3. Causes of the War To speak of causes of the war might suggest that we can define such causes with certainty, but things are not so simple. It would be a mistake to assume that there was a simple cause of the war with Rome, so that had the one specific problem been eliminated the war would have been averted. Perhaps the only debatable point is that of whether it was inevitable or not. There are indeed good arguments to say that confrontation with Rome at some point was inevitable; this will naturally remain a moot point but important aspects of Jewish history, as well as contemporary difficulties, worked together to bring it about. Josephus had already exercised himself with the causes of the war (Bilde 1979), suggesting a number of the reasons which seem cogent to modern scholars; however, he gives no systematic discussion and frequently makes statements about the cause in one context which contradicts what he says elsewhere. For example, at one point he even blames the impiety of the Sicarii who did not reframe from carrying out their assassinations even in the temple precincts, desecrating the holy place (Ant. 20.8.5 §§165-66). Some of the main causes which are often cited are the following: • Historical memory of an independent Israel under native rule. An independent Israelite state was generally an unrealized ideal except for brief periods in her history. The reigns of David and Solomon may have been carried in collective memory as a golden age, but it must be recognized that Hasmonaean rule was still within living memory for many Jews in the first century CE. For much of the period of the monarchy, Israel was dominated by foreign powers such as Egypt, Assyria, or Babylon, not to mention the reversion of Israel to two competing states after the death of Solomon. Yet this could easily be forgotten or the scriptures misinterpreted, while the memory of an independent Jewish state under Hasmonaean rulers was still very strong long after Pompey’s conquest. Given the importance of the monarchy as both a religious and political symbol, it is hardly surprising that a number of the rebel leaders during Herod’s rule and later were of royal descent or took on the trappings of royalty (§7.1).

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• Roman misrule. The bad choice of governors for Judaea has often been emphasized, especially in the period 44–66 CE, but Pilate is an example of an earlier governor whose cack-handedness lingered on in the Jewish memory. The governors appointed after Agrippa I had many problems to contend with, but few of them showed even modest ability to resolve them in a way which eased rather than exacerbated the situation (§13.6). • Economic pressures both from within and without is often alleged to be a major factor, especially by historians influenced by Marxism. This, however, is a difficult issue to determine (cf. §5.2.1). Were the common people more destitute, debt-ridden, or lacking in basic necessities than at other times? There is no evidence that they were. Most people were poor—that goes without saying—but that was also the case throughout history. The only reference to an economic concern was the burning of the public records of indebtedness (War 2.28.6 §427), but such actions, which seem to be a symbolic gesture, are not unusual in revolutions. • The religious tradition of Israel as God’s chosen nation and people. Recent study has shown the importance of such religious constituents in bringing about the confrontation between Judaea and the Roman empire. Yet one must always keep in mind that religion itself is a powerful social force and may serve as a catalyst for changes toward which other social pressures may be pushing. There is no doubt that religious ideology was an important factor even though it was only one among many. • An important element in the religious realm was apocalyptic and messianic ideology. Although various of the rebel groups may have arisen because of socio-economic factors, religious ideology served to provide the justification for their activities and the hope which sustained them even in the face of a hopeless situation. Thus, para-military activity often seemed to be associated with messianic pretensions and apocalyptic speculation. A number of the rebel leaders took on the trappings of royalty, the main indicator of messianic pretensions. Perhaps no more telling illustration of an apocalyptic driver can be given than that in War 6.5.2 §§283-85: even with the Romans on their final assault, 6000 people assembled on a portico of the temple courtyard with the expectation of imminent divine intervention on their behalf.

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• Bad relations with the neighbouring Hellenistic cities (Kasher 1990; Rappaport 1981). U. Rappaport argues that this was the one inevitable cause of the war; that is, none of the other causes was bound to lead to war but this one was if it could not be resolved. No doubt this is a moot point, but Rappaport has in any case pinpointed another important factor which has not often been recognized. The seriousness of the situation is shown by the incidents in Caesarea which sparked off the revolt and by the slaughter of Jews in Greek cities and of non-Jews in Jewish cities. • The failure of the Jewish upper class (this was discussed above [§14.1.1]). 14.2. Beginnings of the War with Rome (66–67 CE) 14.2.1. Initial Events M. Avi-Yonah (1953) ‘The Missing Fortress of Flavius Josephus’, IEJ 3: 94–98; M. Har-El (1972) ‘The Zealots’ Fortresses in Galilee’, IEJ 33: 123–30. Sources: War 2.14.4–17.5 §§284-424; Life 4–5 §§17-23.

While most would agree that the war with Rome had a variety of causes (discussed in the previous section: §14.1.3), Josephus begins it with events under the governor Gessius Florus (64–66 CE), whom he credits in War (2.14.3 §§280-83) with deliberate attempts to provoke a revolt, as a means of covering up his crimes. Although in Antiquities (20.11.1 §§252-58) Josephus gives only a brief account of Florus’s term of office before breaking off his account with a quick ending, in War (2.14.2–16.3 §§277-343) he goes on to give a lengthy description of Florus’s actions until he withdraws from Jerusalem. He accuses Florus of despoiling whole cities and regions for gain. Florus is alleged to have permitted any crime as long as he got his cut, and his wife Cleopatra (who accompanied him and through whose friendship with Poppaea Florus got the post) was as bad as him. Even allowing for gross rhetorical exaggeration on Josephus’s part, Florus seems—like many Roman provincial governors— to have enriched himself during his term of office. The result was that a large crowd (though hardly Josephus’s ‘three million’) gathered around the Syrian legate Cestius Gellius when he visited Jerusalem during the Passover season (probably in 65 CE) and complained about Florus. Cestius promised to alleviate the harsher aspects of Florus’s rule, but returned to Antioch apparently without having done very much.

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In the meantime, an event happened in Caesarea to which Josephus gives special significance. This was about May 66 CE: Josephus dates it to the 12th year of Nero and the 17th of Agrippa II, in the Macedonian month of Artemisius (April/May). Here is his version of the events leading up to open revolt: some years earlier the Caesarean Jewish community had argued for citizenship, even taking their case to Nero himself but without success (§13.6.5). Many Jews would not accept this ruling, however, and friction continued with the Syro-Greek community. When the Jews attempted to buy a piece of land adjoining the synagogue, the owners refused and instead decided in 66 CE to build on the property in such a way as to restrict access to the synagogue. Jewish hotheads attempted to disrupt the building by physical violence, which Florus, the Roman governor of Judaea, suppressed. Leading Jews offered a bribe of eight talents to Florus who marched off west to Samaria. Immediately after Florus vacated the city, a Syrian insulted the Jews by sacrificing birds on an upturned pot in front of the synagogue as they came for worship, perhaps suggesting that they were lepers (cf. Lev. 14.4-5). Violence broke out which the Roman cavalry commander was not able to contain, so the Jewish community took their copy of the Torah and withdrew to a place called Narbata outside the city. A Jewish delegation of twelve leading men tried once more to gain Florus’s help but was simply imprisoned by him, with the charge that they had taken the Torah out of Caesarea without authorization! Already agitated by this set of events, the people of Jerusalem converged on the temple after being provoked when Florus took 17 talents from the temple treasury. The people called on Caesar to deliver them from Florus (why he may have taken the funds is discussed below). The governor marched into Jerusalem with troops, refusing the greetings of the people, and set up a tribunal to punish certain individuals who had publicly insulted his administration (by pretending to beg copper coins for him after he took the money from the treasury). When the Jewish leaders asserted that it was impossible to identify the culprits, Florus sent his men to the agora in the upper city, with permission to sack it. Many Jews were allegedly killed in the sacking or even executed by crucifixion, supposedly including some of Roman equestrian rank, the number said to be more than 3500. It is difficult to evaluate this rather one-sided description of Florus’s enormities, but it probably represents at least the Jewish perception of what happened. One has the impression that, whatever justification he had for whatever specific actions he took, the result developed into an atrocity against the inhabitants of Jerusalem.

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Agrippa was away in Egypt, but his sister was in Jerusalem, fulfilling a Nazarite vow. Queen Berenice’s attempts to make Florus halt the slaughter were ignored. Florus then inflamed the situation further by calling the chief priest and leaders and instructing them to greet two Roman cohorts being marched into Jerusalem; however, he had secretly commanded the soldiers not to return the greetings. When this happened, some of the Jews began to protest and thus gave an excuse for further action against them by the soldiers. In the fighting which followed, Florus himself tried to take possession of the Antonia with his men, the alleged reason being that he wanted to seize the temple treasury, but was prevented. In brief this is Josephus’s version of events in the War (2.14.4-15.6 §§284-332). The problem is twofold: there is no parallel account in Josephus to compare with it, and it sounds rather one-sided. Most of the blame falls on Florus personally, though unruly Jewish youths and other rash individuals are also blamed for some of the problems. This may of course be quite true, but one suspects that Florus—whose failings were no doubt many—was still not quite as monstrous, greedy, or stupid as here painted. For example, no reason except greed is given for his seizing the 17 talents from the temple treasury, but a little later it is clearly stated that Jerusalem and its adjacent countryside alone were 40 talents in arrears on tribute (War 2.17.1 §405). Others have pointed out that Nero had made an appeal for funds to help pay for the rebuilding of Rome after the great fire of 64 CE (Dio 62.18.5; Tacitus, Ann. 15.45; Suetonius, Nero 38.3). In that case, Florus may have been trying to gain favour by being diligent in making a contribution, albeit he was doing so by theft of funds from Roman subjects. During the melee in Jerusalem, the reason for trying to take the Antonia was more likely to be military than just to confiscate the temple money. Also, shortly after this incident when Florus decided to leave Jerusalem, he called together the chief priests and the city council (βουλήν [War 2.15.6 §331) to consult about the number of troops to leave behind to keep order. This is hardly the action of a man who is intent only on bringing confusion and disorder to the city. Whatever Florus’s failings—which seem clear enough—it also appears that Josephus has still given a very biased account of the events. Florus left a cohort of soldiers to keep order (though a different cohort from the one that had attacked the people of Jerusalem). Shortly afterward Florus sent a report to the Syrian governor Cestius Gallus, accusing the Jews of various crimes and especially of revolt. On the Jewish side too the Jerusalem magistrates and Berenice wrote letters with their side of the story. At the same time as Cestius sent the tribune Neapolitanus to

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investigate, Agrippa returned from his visit to Alexandria and met up with the tribune in Jamnia. Chief priests and leading citizens, and later many ordinary Jerusalemites, met them on the way to recount their sufferings. Although feelings were running high, the two apparently found Jerusalem basically calm. Neapolitanus was assured that the inhabitants were submissive to the Roman administration, except for Florus because of his treatment of them. He commended their loyalty and called on them to keep the peace; he then honoured the sanctuary (in the Court of Gentiles) and reported back to Cestius. A request to the chief priests and the king to send a delegation to Nero to accuse Florus created a dilemma for Agrippa, since choosing a suitably diplomatic embassy to accuse Florus would be difficult, but he dare not ignore the growing resentment among the people. He elected to address the populace from a prominent site (called the Xystus) with a public speech about the impossibility of fighting Rome and of the dangerous path on which they had already embarked. It is commonly recognized that the speech found in the War (2.16.4 §§345-401) is Josephus’s own composition (cf. S. Schwartz 1990: 133–36). But reading the speech two millennium later shows it to be a tour de force: if something like it was delivered it must have had an impact on many of the hearers. In this purported speech Agrippa accepts the excesses of the procurators over Judaea, but argues this is not because of orders from Caesar. As for those who called for liberty, it is too late: the time to have resisted Rome was when Pompey first appeared. The Jewish leadership was much better placed to oppose Roman rule at that time, but it failed. This is not surprising because from Greece to Asia Minor to Gaul, Spain, Germany, and Britain—whose resources were much greater than Judaea’s—they were all conquered by the Romans. Yes, even the Parthians, Carthaginians, and peoples of Africa. All the peoples and regions subdued by Rome are enumerated. No ally can be expected, not even those from across the Euphrates. The Jewish people are also wrong to expect divine aid, since fighting will make them break the law (e.g., the sabbath), or it will be used to the advantage of the Romans. They will not spare the people nor the holy city nor the sanctuary, and those Jews living in various diaspora cities will be slaughtered. If Agrippa addressed the citizens of Jerusalem, it is likely that some of the substance of this speech was in some form or other conveyed to his audience. According to Josephus, the initial response to his words was favourable, and the collection of outstanding taxes in the Jerusalem region (40 talents) and the repair of damage done to the temple porticos in the fighting against Florus were carried out. But suddenly the mood

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changed and Agrippa and Berenice were actually formally expelled from Jerusalem. The exact reason for this is not clear, though Josephus says it is because Agrippa wanted them to submit to Florus until Nero sent a new governor. Perhaps that was sufficient to sway opinion against Agrippa, but one wonders whether there was not more to it than Josephus reports. The reception of his speech may not really have been as favourable as Josephus implies, assuming such a speech was ever given. Anyway, all Agrippa could do was to send leading citizens to Florus in Caesarea to arrange for arrears of tribute to be collected from the whole province. Up to this point wholesale war could still probably have been avoided; however, things now moved rapidly. The Sicarii captured the fortress of Masada and killed its Roman garrison. Eleazar, son of the high priest Ananias and the captain (στρατηγός) of the temple, halted all sacrifices by foreigners which meant that the daily offerings for Caesar were stopped. Although the chief priests and leading citizens were against this, according to Josephus, the priests (presumably the bulk of the ordinary priests) supported Eleazar, and the decision was not reversed. This was a crucial escalation of hostilities: the Romans allowed this daily sacrifice to be evidence of loyalty, whereas most peoples subject to Roman rule had to participate in the emperor cult (§11.1.3). Stopping these sacrifices was possibly an irretrievable step in the path to all-out war with Rome. When the priests refused to budge, the foremost citizens—which included the chief priests and the most notable of the Pharisees—met and called the people in front of the Bronze Gate of the temple. They argued vehemently that sacrifices by non-Jews had always been accepted. They even called priestly experts in the ancestral laws (παρῆγον τοὺς ἐμπείρους τῶν πατρίων ἱερεῖς [War 2.17.4 §417]) to show that their ancestors had always accepted such sacrifices, but to no avail. Seeing that they were not listened to and that they had no means of quelling the revolt, for their own self-protection they sent messages to both Florus (who did nothing) and Agrippa (who sent 2000 cavalry to their aid). With these the ‘peace party’ (εἰρήην ἠγάπα [War 2.17.5 §422] occupied the upper city but the lower city and temple were in the hands of the ‘war party’ (τὸ στασιάζον [War 2.17.5 §422]) led by Eleazar. Efforts to oust each other from their respective domains were unsuccessful, despite many casualties on both sides. How far to accept this picture of Josephus is of course a major question since there is evidence that the upper classes initially supported the war effort (see further at §14.2.3). Yet it seems clear that there was a faction opposing the revolt, however many supported it, and it would have contained leading priests and other prominent citizens, even if not all the aristocracy.

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14.2.2. Defeat of Cestius B. Bar-Kochva (1976) ‘Seron and Cestius Gallus at Beith Horon’, PEQ 108: 13–21; M. Gichon (1981) ‘Cestius Gallus’s Campaign in Judaea’, PEQ 113: 39–62; A. Kasher (1990) Jews and Hellenistic Cities in Eretz-Israel. Sources: War 2.17.6–19.9 §§425-555; Life 6 §§24-27.

By this time it was August 66 CE. At the festival of wood-gathering a number of Sicarii slipped into the city and joined the rebels who were now strong enough to expel Agrippa’s troops from the upper city. The insurgents first burned the house of Ananias the high priest and the palaces of Agrippa and Berenice. Next, they burned the record office where debts were recorded, which they hoped would make them esteemed to the poor. The troops and leaders (including Ananius the former high priest and his brother Ezechias) fled to the old palace of Herod the Great where they were besieged. On the 15th of the Macedonian month Lous (July/August) the rebels attacked the fortress of Antonia, captured it and put the garrison to death, and set it on fire. The siege was being directed by the Sicarius leader Menahem (who was the son [grandson?] of Judas the Galilean [§7.2]). He had taken a group to Masada, broken into Herod’s armoury and was able to provide arms for many of his followers among the rebel group. But without siege engines those holed up in the palace could hold out until their provisions were consumed. Eventually, the Jews and the troops of Agrippa requested to withdraw and were allowed to leave. This amnesty was refused to the Roman soldiers, however, who moved into the fortress towers of Hippicus, Phasael, and Mariamme, where they remained under siege. This was in late August 66 CE (the 6th of the month Gorpiaeus or the Jewish month of Elul). Shortly afterward, Ananias and his brother were found hiding and were slain by the insurgents. At this point, however, the faultlines in the rebel movement began to show up. Menahem had taken on the role of a tyrant. When Menahem went up to the temple, dressed in the robes of royalty and escorted by an entourage, Eleazar led his own followers to attack him. Menahem and his supporters fled, but Menahem was found hiding in the Ophlas (Ophel) and executed. Some of his followers, however, including his relative Eleazar son of Jairus, managed to escape to Masada where they waited out the revolt until finally besieged by the Romans in 73 CE (§14.5). Some apparently hoped that this falling out among the insurgents would bring an end to the war, but far from it. When the Roman captain of the besieged soldiers Metilius offered to surrender their arms if allowed to leave unmolested, Eleazar agreed. But as soon as the Romans

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laid down their weapons, the followers of Eleazar slaughtered them. Only Metilius was spared because, ironically, he promised to be circumcised and become a Jew; even more ironically this massacre of the Romans occurred on the sabbath! Whatever the potential consequences of previous actions up to this point, the rebels had now crossed a line. This massacre of Roman soldiers was an act which Rome was bound to avenge. As discussed in the introductory chapter (§1.2), inevitable and inexorable revenge for acts of hostility was the one characteristic that had made Rome what it was. There was now nothing that the Judaeans could do to avoid paying the price. Even if they had laid down their arms at this point and returned to their homes, the Romans would have had to make them pay a terrible price for this grave insult to Rome’s honour. Even before the Romans started to respond to the events, the acts of the insurgents in Jerusalem had horrifying consequences for many Jewish communities elsewhere in the eastern Mediterranean, many of which were massacred by their Gentile neighbours (cf. Kasher 1990: 268–87; §11.1.2). One of the first was in Caesarea, where the troubles had started: apparently the entire Jewish population was wiped out (or perhaps driven out), alleged to be 20,000 deaths. In retaliation gangs of Judaeans attacked a number of towns and cities (and their satellites, in many cases) in which the population was mainly non-Jewish: the Decapolis cities of Philadelphia, Gerasa, Pella, and Scythopolis (Josephus [War 2.18.1 §458] also mentions another city which is probably Heshbon, though it is variously read as ‘Sebon’ and ‘Gebon’); Gadara, Hippos, Gaulanitis, Kedesh, Ptolemais, Gaba, Sebaste, Ascalon, Anthedon, and Gaza. In the wake of such violence on the Jewish side, it is hardly surprising that in many cities, non-Jewish citizens turned on their Jewish residents. Some of them no doubt saw it as a preventative measure to deter Jewish violence from breaking out in their area. ‘Judaizers’ are also said to have been treated with suspicion (War 2.18.2 §463), by which seems to be meant converts to Judaism, perhaps non-circumcised ‘Godfearers’ (§11.3). In Scythopolis the tables were turned, for the Jewish community fought back against the Jewish attackers; nevertheless, the citizens of the city later massacred the Jewish population out of fear that they might change their minds. In Damascus (War 2.20.2 §§559-61) the Jews had been shut up in the gymnasium because of the situation. The people decided to murder the Jewish population, but there was a problem because many of the wives of the citizens had apparently converted to Judaism. Nevertheless, they killed the Jews, alleged to be more than 10,000; what happened to the converts is not stated. Yet some cities refused to punish their own Jewish populations for the sins of their brethren: Antioch,

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Sidon, and Apamea did nothing against the Jewish residents. Even Gerasa, although it had apparently been attacked by Judaeans, did not harm their Jewish residents and even gave escorts to any who wanted to leave. While Agrippa was away in Antioch, a delegation of 70 men came from Batanaea to ask the king for troops to protect themselves. One of the king’s friends, Noarus (or Varus) who was related to King Soaemus of Emessa, had been left in charge. He attacked and slaughtered the delegation. No reason is given in War (2.18.6 §§481-83), but in his Life (11 §§52-61) Josephus alleges that because Noarus/Varus was descended from royalty, he might take over from Agrippa if the latter was put to death by the Romans (which he was assured would happen by some Syrians of Caesarea). Agrippa did not execute him (because of Soaemus) but removed him. In Alexandria, where calm had been established some decades earlier, further rioting broke out. Certain Jews attended a public gathering (called to send an embassy to Nero) and three were killed by a mob; when the Jews attempted to retaliate, however, war threatened to break out in the city. The governor Tiberius Alexander (§13.6.3) first tried to calm them by entreaties, sending leading citizens among them. When this did not work, however, he finally turned two Roman legions and another 2,000 auxiliaries on them, allegedly killing 50,000. Now the community sued for peace, and Tiberius Alexander withdrew the troops and also restrained the Greek citizens of the city. Why this attack on Jewish populations who were evidently not part of the revolt? There are probably a variety of reasons, one of the main ones being the panic that the uncontrolled Jewish gangs generated and the fear that revolution would spread to Jews in their own area. There were also more selfish reasons: greed for property, the chance to settle old scores, and general anti-Judaism. But the fact that Jewish bands were attacking and pillaging villages over a large area up and down Syria cannot be underestimated as an important factor. In addition to undisciplined actions against non-Jewish inhabitants of the region, the rebels continued what could be called relevant military operations. They took the fortress of Cypros near Jericho and slaughtered its garrison. They also went against the fortress of Machaerus on the east coast of the Dead Sea. The Roman garrison agreed to surrender if allowed to leave unharmed. The rebels gave guarantees, and these seem to have been honoured. This put two important fortresses in the hands of the insurgents. It was September 66, only some weeks after the events that triggered the catastrophe in Jerusalem, when the Syrian governor C. Cestius Gallus finally began military operations against the revolt: things had moved quickly. As he marched out of Antioch, he had the 12th Legion and the

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equivalent of another legion plus other infantry, cavalry, and auxiliaries; Antiochus of Commagene supplied archers and cavalry; Soaemus, also archers and cavalry; and Agrippa brought an equivalent in foot soldiers and cavalry and also accompanied him. The first encounter was in Galilee, where the (deserted) town of Chabulon was sacked and burnt. The whole district was attacked, pillaged, and villages destroyed. Cestius moved back to Ptolemais, leaving a force in the Galilean region, but Jews made a sudden foray against them and killed many. Cestius resumed his march to Caesarea. He sent a force on to the neighbouring toparchy of Narbatene and another to Joppa, and both were pacified in short order. Caesennius Gallus, the commander of the 12th Legion, was dispatched to bring order back to Galilee. Sepphoris received him cordially and most of the other towns were peaceful. Gallus now went against the rebels who had taken refuge in the mountain of Asamon, and only a few escaped death in the battle. When Gallus returned to Caesarea, Cestius began his march to Jerusalem. He took Antipatris and Lydda (which were mostly deserted), and marched through Beth-Horon before camping at Gabao (Gibeon). The Roman forces approached the city of Jerusalem during the Feast of Tabernacles, probably early October 66. The Jews were able to mobilize a large body of fighters from the festival pilgrims and temporarily halt the Roman advance. The figure of Simon son of Gioras appears for the first time, though he later becomes an important figure in the revolt. He used the pass of Beth-Horon to attack the Roman supply chain from the rear. Some of the Jewish fighters distinguishing themselves were from Adiabene in Mesopotamia. When Agrippa saw that the situation of the Roman army was perilous, he attempted to negotiate. He sent two of his Friends as messengers, but they were met with an assault which killed one and gravely injured the other (who escaped). Cestius took the opportunity to attack the Jews, who were now in disorder, and pushed on to Jerusalem where he laid siege in October 66 CE (the 30th of the Macedonian month Hyperberetaeus or Jewish month Tishri [September/October]). The city was only partially prepared to defend itself, and the defenders abandoned the suburbs and outer city along with the unfinished third wall, taking refuge in the temple and inner city. Cestius set fire to Bezetha (the New City) and the Timber Market, and set up his camp opposite Herod’s palace in the upper city. According to Josephus, who may well be relying on Roman historians here, the city would have fallen and the war ended then and there if Cestius had pressed his advantage (War 2.19.4 §531). Indeed, some of the citizens (instigated by Ananus, son of the former high priest Jonathan) secretly negotiated to open the city gates to the Romans without success

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until they were discovered by the war party and driven into their houses. The Romans were engaged in siege craft against the walls when Cestius suddenly decided to withdraw from the city. Although Josephus states that Cestius was wrongly advised by Tyrannius Priscus, his camp-prefect (στρατοπεδάρχης) who had been bribed by Florus, there may have been reasonable military reasons for his not pressing the siege. It could even have been a case of incorrect intelligence which is not uncommon in battle conditions. Whatever the reason, Cestius suddenly broke off the siege and withdrew toward Caesarea, first to Mt Scopus, then to Gabao. Throughout their march they were harassed by the Jews but especially in the pass at Beth-Horon (cf. Bar-Kochva 1976); the withdrawal became more of a rout. Some of the leadership were killed, including Priscus commander of the 6th Legion (the same as Tyrranius Priscus, the camp-prefect?), and they abandoned their siege engines and most of their baggage. The Jews pursued them as far as Antipatris before giving up and collecting their spoils. The Romans had lost more than 5,000 foot soldiers—the equivalent of a legion—and almost 500 cavalry according to Josephus’s (normally unreliable) figures. According to Suetonius (Vesp. 4.5) they also lost their eagle, an insult to honour that Rome had to avenge. Suetonius also says that the Jews ‘killed their governor’ (caesoque praeposito legatum). This would presumably mean Florus, but since Josephus says nothing of this, it seems unlikely. 14.2.3. Preparations for War Sources: War 2.20.1-4 §§556-68; 2.22.1-2 §§647-54.

The Jews now had the opportunity for war preparations which, in hindsight, probably only prolonged the suffering and increased the casualties. At the time it undoubtedly seemed a much-needed breathing space for those who thought the Roman military machine could be taken on. The precise attitudes to the war varied radically: whether Josephus’s assessment is exactly correct is less important than the fact that it indicates an expected range of opinion (War 2.20.1 §§556-57; 2.20.3 §§562-63; Life 4–5 §§17-23). For example, several individuals are named as fleeing the city to Agrippa, and some were actually dispatched on a mission to Nero (who was currently in Achaia), partly to inform him of the situation among the Jews but also to assign blame to Florus (War 2.20.1 §§55658). Josephus is probably correct in stating that the opposition to war was strongest among the upper classes of the priests and municipal leaders in Jerusalem. It is also probable that some of these felt strongly enough to

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flee the city, but many in this group clearly supported the war, as Price (1992: 27–38) has so carefully documented, even if some had private misgivings. As will be seen below, some of the ‘pro-Roman’ (τῶν ἔτι ῥωμαϊζόντων) faction were persuaded to join the resistance. The fact is that the preparations for war were conducted under the leadership of the so-called moderate party. As S. Schwartz’s (1990: 82–87) careful study shows, Josephus’s has discretely played down the extent to which the priests were active supporters of the rebels. This is why the greatest suspicion falls on Josephus’s own alleged intentions: even though he claims that he was against the war and even a fifth columnist in Galilee, this is both too convenient for his later position and contrary to his own conduct. The simplest interpretation of his actions is that, whatever initial reservations he may have had, he embarked on his task in Galilee with considerable enthusiasm and a constant eye to self-advantage. If he were really as much against the war as he states, it would have been a simple matter to defect to Agrippa. On the other hand, it is important not to allow the wealth of detail about his activities to be accorded a place out of proportion to their actual value in the history of the war. Galilee was only a secondary theatre of the war, a region to be secured by the Romans so that they could concentrate on their real task which was Jerusalem. (On Josephus’s activities, see below [§14.2.4].) After the rout of Cestius, the rebels met in the temple evidently to organize the conduct of the war (cf. Price 1992: 51–59). One of their first actions was to incorporate the ‘pro-Roman’ (τῶν ἔτι ῥωμαϊζόντων) faction into their number, by force or persuasion, and was evidently successful. While it would have been difficult to resist at this time for those still in Jerusalem, it indicates that even the ‘moderates’ were integrated into the resistance by one means or another. The rebels also appointed military leaders and a governing apparatus to conduct the war. Initially, the country was governed by a council which appointed various officers and generals. The overall leaders for Jerusalem were Joseph son of Gorion and the former high priest Ananus (apparently son of Ananus). Eleazar son of Simon, despite his major part in the earlier events, was initially not trusted sufficiently to be given office; however, he had control of much of the public treasury (πολλὰ τῶν δημοσίων θησαυρῶν) so that later things were to change drastically. The rest of the country was divided up into six districts, each one entrusted to a commander who acted in both military and civil capacity:

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1. Idumaea: Jesus son of Sapphas (a chief priest) and Eleazar (son of Neus the high priest; unfortunately, no such high priest is known; should it be Eleazar son of Ananias?); Niger the Peraean (the current governor of the region) was subordinate to them; 2. Jericho: Joseph son of Simon; 3. Peraea: Manasses; 4. Thamna, with Lydda, Joppa, and Emmaus: John the Essene; 5. Gophna and Acrabetta: John son of Ananias; 6. Lower Galilee and Gamala: Josephus son of Matthias (he also claims to have been given Upper Galilee, but this is doubtful; see next section [§14.2.4]). Josephus’s activities in Galilee are discussed in the next section (§14.2.4), though it appears that the Jerusalem leadership was not entirely happy with what he was doing (Life 38–64 §§189-335 gives a detailed defence of Josephus against their decision to remove him). In any case, they had their own troubles to worry about. Ananus the high priest was leading at this time. Josephus claims that he intended to subvert the drive toward war (War 2.22.1 §§650-51, but this is hardly compatible with his actions: directing the repair of the walls, the assembly of war engines, collecting weapons and armour, and training young men to fight. It is no doubt correct that Ananus wanted to control the so-called Zealots, but this could well have been to bring all military activity under his full command. Simon son of Gioras also seems to have been active in Acrabatene but with plundering and stealing from the population (War 2.22.2 §§652-54). Finally, Ananus sent a force against him, and he fled with his followers to Masada. Later, Simon was to play an important role in the affairs in Jerusalem during the siege. 14.2.4. Preparations in Galilee T. Rajak (2002) Josephus: The Historian and his Society; U. Rappaport (1982) ‘John of Gischala: From Galilee to Jerusalem’, JJS 33: 479–93; idem (1983) ‘John of Gischala in Galilee’, The Jerusalem Cathedra 3: 46–75. Sources: War 2.20.5-21.10 §§569-646; Life 7–73 §§28-406.

We are given little information about five of the districts created by the governing council in Jerusalem, but the situation in Galilee is known from the detailed (if highly partisan and contradictory) narratives of its commander Josephus (§3.1). Galilee may not have been typical of the

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other sections of the country, but it certainly serves to highlight one of the major problems which the Jews faced: internal divisions and rivalries which were probably as destructive as anything the Romans would do. A section of Galilee was not Jewish, and even some of the Jewish cities were basically pro-Roman or at least anti-war. For example, of three chief cities of Galilee, only Gabara seems to have been pro-revolt while Sepphoris was pro-Roman and Tiberias prevaricated (Life 22 §§104-11; 25 §§12324). Josephus states that Sepphoris was ‘eager for war’ (προθύμους ἐπὶ τὸν πόλεμον [War 2.20.6 §574]) yet, on the contrary, although Sepphoris cooperated sufficiently with Josephus to obtain help in building up their fortifications (War 3.4.1 §§61-62), the city did not give up trying to obtain help from the Romans (War 2.21.10 §§645-46; Life 8 §§30-31; 22 §104; 65 §§346-47; 67 §§373-80; 71 §§394-97). In spite of allegedly being punished by Josephus for pro-Roman activities (War 2.21.10 §646), the city asked Vespasian for military aid as soon as he arrived in the area and was willingly granted it (War 3.2.4 §§30-34; 3.4.1 §59; Life 74 §411). The situation was similar, though a bit more complicated, with Tiberias. Indeed, Josephus claims to have been sent to destroy the palace in Tiberias because of unacceptable representations of animals in its decoration (Life 12 §65). In his later account Josephus describes three different parties in Tiberias, each with a different view (Life 9 §§32-36): a pro-Roman group made up mainly of ‘respectable citizens’ (ἀνδρῶν εὐσχημόνων); a pro-war group made up of ‘the most insignificant persons’ (ἀσημοτάτων); a third group led by Justus son of Pistus (Justus of Tiberias [§3.2]) which pretended to be reluctant to fight but was actually eager for revolution. It must be said at once that in his Life, Josephus was intent on vilifying Justus even though—remarkably—he says nothing about him in the War. Since Josephus is intent on denigrating Justus, it is more likely that there was no ‘third party’ but that Justus was aligned with the first group. Nevertheless, the subsequent events in Tiberias show that the city wavered between the Romans and the Jewish rebels, tending to side with the former until coerced by the presence of Josephus to join the latter, but rapidly shifting back to the Romans when the opportunity arose. Rather incongruous with his evocative language, Josephus received most of his support from the ‘insignificant persons’ of the war party. Josephus’s first task was to appoint an administrative structure of 70 men over the whole of Galilee plus other individuals within each city to settle minor affairs. He fortified a number of sites (War 2.20.6 §§57374; Life 37 §§187-88): Jotapata, Bersabe, Selame, Caphareccho, Japha, Sigoph, Mt Itabyrion (Tabor), Tarichaeae, Tiberias; in Upper Galilee, Seph, Jamnith, and Mero; and in Gaulanitis, Seleucia, Soganaea, and Gamala; in

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addition the caves of Arbela and the rock of Acchabaron. He also levied an army, allegedly of 100,000 men, but this is a grossly exaggerated figure. Although a partially trained irregular force was undoubtedly recruited in each town, these do not seem to have been very effective. The actual number of those fighting under Josephus’s command at any one time is never more than a few thousand and these seem to be mainly his mercenaries and body guard (about 5000 in all). A number of these mercenaries were ‘brigands’ (§7.1) whom Josephus hired because he had little hope of controlling them directly. The major cities and defendable sites were also fortified, as already noted. But most of Josephus’s energy seems to have been taken up with his rivalry with John of Gischala (also called John son of Levi). Although Josephus states in the Life (9 §41) that Justus and his family was the major cause of the defeat in Galilee, Justus is not even mentioned in the parallel account in the War. Rather, the major opponent in both accounts is plainly John of Gischala. Josephus’s tirade against him probably masks a political power struggle between two officially appointed commanders. That is, contrary to his own statement, Josephus was probably appointed commander only of Lower Galilee and John was the commander of Upper Galilee. John was thus not straightforwardly the upstart or troublemaker which Josephus makes him out to be; on the contrary, there were many in Jerusalem (e.g., Simon son of Gamaliel [War 2.21.7 §§626-28; Life 38–39 §§189-98]) who viewed Josephus as the troublemaker who kept encroaching on John’s command instead of sticking to his own. Much of Josephus’s account of his preparations for war in Galilee are taken up with his struggles with John of Gischala (War 2.21.5-10 §§561646). He makes John a brigand who ruthlessly plundered Galilee but also a profiteer from a monopoly on the oil trade. John in turn spread the rumour that Josephus was planning to go over to the Romans. A revolt developed at Tarichaeae against Josephus’s governorship, allegedly over some funds that had been stolen from Agrippa’s finance officer and turned over to Josephus. He managed to quell this, but found that Tiberias was now on the verge of revolt (allegedly because of John’s instigation) and called on Agrippa for support. Sepphoris also rebelled. Josephus claims to have restored order, though the command in Jerusalem seems not to have been completely happy with his activities (Life 38–40 §§189-203). He spends a good of the Life (38–64 §§189-335) describing his attempt to outflank the embassy sent from Jerusalem to remove him from command (though, in the end, he managed to keep his position).

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The responsibility of a historian is not to take sides but simply to recognize the complexity of the situation and the one-sided nature of Josephus’s account. This means that the researcher must be agnostic about many of the individual episodes in which Josephus alleges John’s treachery or propounds his own clever leadership; there is little point in recounting them here. (For a detailed analysis, see Cohen 1979; for a more credulous approach, contrast Rajak 2002.) 14.3. Galba, Otho, Vitellius (68–69 CE) K. Wellesley (1976) The Long Year, A.D. 69.

With Nero’s death in 68 CE and the end of the Julio-Claudian line, one would have been surprised if a period of turmoil did not erupt in which various individuals staked a claim to the throne. Not long after Nero’s suicide Galba was in Rome and generally accepted by the Senate and military. He faced large problems, however, and was very much on trial as to how well and how quickly he faced them. He immediately addressed the financial crisis by attempting to raise taxes and effect some economies. In a short time, though, his misadministration had begun to alienate many. At the beginning of January 69 the armies of the Rhine refused to renew their oath to him. Galba recognized the peril and tried to appease his opponents by associating a young senator with him in office. This did nothing for the military and alienated Otho, who would have considered himself an obvious choice, as a former close friend of Nero and governor of Lusitania. Otho made arrangements for the usual bribe to the Praetorian Guard and was declared emperor in the middle of January. Although he immediately did away with Galba, the army of the Lower Rhine acclaimed their own commander Vitellius as emperor and began to march on Rome. Otho tried to come to an arrangement with Vitellius but failed. The stage was now set for another civil war. Superior tactics allowed the Vitellian army to make it safely over the Alps, even though it was still winter, and surprise the supporters of Otho. The initial campaign went against Otho who committed suicide rather than continue the fight. It soon became clear, however, that the new emperor’s fight for his office was not at an end, for in July 69 the governor of Egypt Tiberius Alexander and the eastern legions declared for Vespasian. This was soon followed by the legions of the Danube who had originally supported Otho. Antonius Primus their commander made a forced march on Italy where

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he caught the Vitellians off guard. After Primus had gained two decisive victories, it was clear to Vitellius that he had little hope and so negotiated terms of abdication with Vespasian’s elder brother who was in Rome. But before the agreement could be executed, the Praetorian Guard once again took matters into their own hand: they attacked and killed Vespasian’s brother in the Capitol, setting the temple of Jupiter on fire in the process. Primus now arrived in Rome and fought with the remaining Vitellian resistance. Vitellius was captured and killed, and Vespasian’s son Domitian was made vice-regent. Discipline was quickly breaking down and it looked as if the Danube troops were about to sack the city; however, Vespasian’s legate Mucianus arrived and established control, sending the legions of the Danube back to the frontier. Vespasian himself arrived in Rome a few months later in the summer of 70, where he was formally crowned emperor. 14.4. The Rest of the War (67–70 CE) Apart from a few paragraphs in the Life (74–76 §§407-23), the rest of the account of the war is based almost entirely on Josephus’s single version in the War (2.22.1 §647–7.11.5 §455). It is difficult for any history of this to be anything but some sort of paraphrase of Josephus, however critical one may be of his story. The rest of the present account is only a summary of Josephus’s detailed account, though with critical observations. For a discussion of more of the detail, one should consult Cohen 1979; Price 1992; and Mason 2016. 14.4.1. Vespasian’s Campaign against Galilee Sources: War 3.1.1–10.10 §§1-542; 4.1.1–3.1 §§1-130.

Once the scale of the Jewish revolt and Cestius’s defeat was reported to Nero in 66, he quickly recognized its seriousness and lost no time in appointing Vespasian to take charge. Vespasian sent his son Titus to Alexandria to bring the 15th Legion while he made his way to Antioch, the regional capital. Here he was met by King Agrippa II, and they proceeded together to Ptolemais which would serve as the staging centre for the campaign against the Jews. Titus soon joined them, which meant that Vespasian now had at his disposal the 5th, 10th, and 15th Legions, along with other cohorts and squadrons, as well as the soldiers of Agrippa, Antiochus IV of Commagene, and Soaemus of Emessa—about 60,000

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fighting men, according to Josephus (War 3.4.2 §§64-69; cf. Tacitus, Hist. 5.1). It was now the spring of 67 CE, just a year since the initial troubles in Caesarea. The two sides had not been completely inactive during the months from November 66 to May 67. While Jews were fighting among themselves in Galilee, those in Jerusalem, flushed with their success against Cestius, attempted to take Ascalon. The attack force was led by men important in the fighting against Cestius, including Niger of Peraea, Silas the Babylonian, and John the Essene, but the campaign was a complete disaster. Favoured by the terrain, the Roman cavalry was able to mow down the Jewish foot soldiers with relative ease. Both Silas the Babylonian and John the Essene (who had been commander over Thamna) were killed in the battle. Nevertheless, the Jews tried again and were defeated a second time, and the other general Niger of Peraea barely escaped with his life. The slaughter at Ascalon was perhaps an ominous sign that the early success against Cestius was a fluke not to be repeated. The tribune Placidus had been sent by Cestius to harass the villages in the region of Ptolemais (Life 43 §§213-14). When Vespasian arrived in Ptolemais, the inhabitants of Sepphoris showed their pro-Roman support and asked for a garrison. Vespasian recognized the strategic value of Sepphoris and complied as best he could. He also dispatched this same Placidus to make continual incursions into Galilee to soften up the opposition. Placidus decided to make an assault on Jotapata, with the hope of catching the defences off guard and taking it quickly. The defenders learned of this proposed attack and prepared countermeasures, however, meeting Placidus’s initial assault and forcing the attackers to retreat (War 3.4.1 §§59-63; 3.6.1 §§110-14). Vespasian had finished consolidating his forces with Titus and now moved out of Ptolemais and marched toward Galilee. Josephus was waiting at the village Garis, not far from Sepphoris. Hardly had the Romans reached the neighbourhood before the bulk of Josephus’s men deserted him and fled, not a very propitious beginning to the real contest with Rome. With his remaining troops Josephus holed up in Tiberias. Vespasian took Gabara on the first assault and killed all the grown males, probably both in revenge for the defeat of Cestius and as an example to the Jewish defenders of other cities. Neighbouring villages were also destroyed and the inhabitants sold into slavery. Josephus wrote to the Jerusalem authorities, asking for permission to negotiate or to receive reinforcements sufficient to defend the region. Jotapata was only about 10 km (6–7 miles) from Gabara. Vespasian immediately prepared to besiege it as one of the major fortified cities in Galilee. Not having heard from Jerusalem, Josephus left Tiberias and took

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up his place in Jotapata at the beginning of June 67 CE. He managed to hold out about six weeks during June–July. It was clearly an important target for the Romans, because of both its size and its defences. Although Josephus probably exaggerates his own reputation as a military leader (e.g., War 3.7.3 §143-44), his death or capture would be a useful boost for the Romans and a set-back for the Jews. Josephus himself managed to survive the final assault and hide in a cave with some other soldiers; when discovered by the Romans, they agreed on a suicide pact. Although Josephus describes this all in great deal, his account is extremely suspect, especially since he appears to have drawn the lot to be last to kill himself. In any case, he was taken captive by the Romans and brought before Vespasian where he predicted that the Roman general would be emperor (he claims to have had regular prophetic dreams [cf. War 3.8.3 §§351-53; 3.8.9 §§405-7]). His account at this point is believable in that something along these lines must have happened, not only to explain his subsequent treatment by Vespasian but also because the War was read (or at least intended to be read) by Vespasian and Titus. We also have to remember that Tacitus (Hist. 5.13), Suetonius (Vesp. 4–5), and Cassius Dio (Epitome 66.1) all mention the circulation of predictions that Vespasian would become emperor. As it happens Vespasian was slightly wounded in the battle for Jotapata, and Titus is said to have led the final assault. In spite of Josephus’s flattery of Titus (e.g., War 3.7.34 §§323-25, however, his actions at times show that he did not have the experience and instincts of military command. During the siege of Jotapata, nearby Japha the largest village of Galilee had revolted. Vespasian sent Trajan (father of the future emperor), the commander of the 10th Legion, against it. After the initial assault, it was taken in short order by Trajan and Titus in tandem about the time that Jotapata fell. At roughly the same time a large group of Samaritans assembled on Gerizim (War 3.7.32 §§307-15); Josephus alleges they were thinking of revolt (see further HJJSTP 3: 212). In any case, the Romans interpreted this as a threat, and Sextus Cerealis Vettulenus the commander of the 5th Legion led troops against them. When the Samaritans refused to lay down their arms, they were all slain, the number said to be over 11,000. This was mid-July 67 CE. Although it was midsummer (late July), Vespasian took his troops to Caesarea, evidently with the intention of wintering there and undertaking the invasion of Judaea the next spring (the 5th and 10th Legions in Caesarea but the 15th sent to Scythopolis). Joppa had been resettled by Judaeans who built a fleet of pirate ships to raid the coastal sea traffic. A Roman force was dispatched: the pirates took to their ships to escape but a storm destroyed most of the fleet; the survivors were massacred and Joppa razed.

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Vespasian apparently believed that Galilee was now sufficiently cowed to be a threat no longer. He accepted an invitation of Agrippa to visit his kingdom and went off to Caesarea Philippi; however, word soon arrived that both Tiberias and Tarichaeae were in revolt. Vespasian assembled his three legions and set up camp in Sennabri, not far from Tiberias. As already noted (§14.2.4), Tiberias’s actions seem to have been due only to a minority faction, led now (if not before) by one of its magistrates named Jesus son of Saphat. Although a small force of Roman cavalry sent to offer terms to the city was attacked and forced to flee, a delegation of citizens made haste to the Roman camp and, with Agrippa’s support, offered the submission of the city to Vespasian. Jesus and his men withdrew to Tarichaeae. Tiberias opened its gates to Vespasian and was spared any looting or major destruction. Many rebels among the Jews had gathered in Tarichaeae, not just those from Tiberias; it had also been fortified earlier by Josephus and was ready to offer considerable resistance to the Romans. Titus was sent against the city, reinforced by Trajan. They defeated the Jewish force drawn up outside the city, which then fled inside the wall. Like Tiberias, however, Tarichaeae had many native inhabitants (as opposed to refugees and fighters from elsewhere in Galilee) who were against resistance to the Romans. These inhabitants clashed with the fighters who fled back into the city. When this became known to the Romans, they were able to take the city in a surprise attack, though many native inhabitants suffered as well as the rebels. Many of the defenders fled in boats onto the Sea of Galilee but were pursued and slain by the Roman soldiers on specially made war rafts. Vespasian then had to decide what to do with the captured rebels in Tarichaeae. He separated them from the natives of the city and allowed them to make their way to Tiberias. There he executed the unuseful, sent a large number of young men to work on digging the Corinthian canal, and sold the rest into slavery. This all took place in September 67 CE. At this point, all of Galilee had surrendered—all the fortresses and towns—except Gischala and those holding Mt Tabor. The next target was Gamala, however, a city in Gaulanitis on the eastern side of the Sea of Tiberias, which continued to remain belligerent when most of the other cities had surrendered (Agrippa had earlier sent Aequus Modius to take it, without success [Life 24 §114]). The reason was that the city was set in rugged mountainous terrain and had been well fortified, which the defenders thought would allow them to repel any attack. Vespasian besieged it; Agrippa led his own troops alongside the Romans and was severely injured by a sling stone which hit him on the elbow as he tried

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to talk the occupants into surrendering. The siege was hard fought, with many casualties on the Roman side and Vespasian himself cut off and endangered at one point; it lasted from early October to early November 67. When the city finally fell, many of the defenders threw themselves over the cliffs but the rest, including women and children, were slaughtered by the attackers, though a few fighters escaped to Jerusalem. During the siege of Gamala a task force of cavalry under Placidus was sent to capture the garrison on Mt Tabor. He offered terms, and the defenders pretended to accept, but then attacked the Romans after coming down from the mountain. Placidus outwitted them, however, by pretending to flee and then counterattacking when well away from the peak. Most were killed or captured, but some got away to Jerusalem. Only Gischala was now left of those refusing to surrender. Gischala was the hometown of John son of Levi (who later allied with the Zealots [§14.4.3]). At this point, Vespasian decided to send the 10th Legion to Scythopolis and himself led the 5th and 15th Legions to Caesarea for what today would be called R and R—rest and recreation. Instead, Titus was dispatched with a cavalry unit to take Gischala. He first offered terms. John agreed to think about them if left in peace over the sabbath, but during the night he fled with many of his supporters (Vespasian would not have fallen for this trick!). Although a large number of these, especially the families, were killed or captured when the Romans caught up with them the next day, John made it safely to Jerusalem. Gischala opened its gates to Titus, and Galilee was now completely under Roman control. The conquest of the Galilee and Gaulanitis was inevitable, given the size of the Roman forces and the lack of support from Jerusalem for the defenders. And of course some of the cities and inhabitants did not want a fight but sought to surrender to the Roman forces. Nevertheless, it was necessary for Vespasian’s strategy for the area to be subdued and under his complete control before advancing on Jerusalem. This included some hard fighting and many casualties among the Roman soldiers. It is necessary to make this point because of S. Mason’s interpretation of the Galilean campaign, which seems to ignore Josephus’s own data. Mason’s basic conclusion is that War book 3 is ‘simply not the story of a “Judaean-Roman war in Galilee”, much less of Vespasian’s scorchedearth destruction en route to Jerusalem’ (2016: 377). But it seems, contrary to Mason, that by any definition, there was a ‘war in Galilee’. It appears evident that Vespasian planned to subdue all sections of the country before taking on Jerusalem. He marched south and east from Ptolemais: through Galilee, Gaulanitis, and Peraea, through Samaria, and down the coast. In every case, he made sure that the region was under his control, whether

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by being met by friendly officials who welcomed him or by taking hostile towns and fighting rebels. The city officials in these areas did not all take the same view, though many seem to have been somewhat ambivalent of whether to support Rome or the revolution. Mason argues that Vespasian took on the siege of Gamala only because he was asked by Agrippa. It is true that Agrippa apparently asked for help, but Mason seems to ignore the obvious: Vespasian was in charge, and he was ultimately responsible for seeing that his plan was carried out. Agrippa, as one of the military leaders under Vespasian’s command, was overseeing operations in his own territory. But when he found his own forces insufficient to carry out the necessary reduction of the region, he naturally appealed to Vespasian. Vespasian was not simply doing a kindness for a friend; he was seeing that this vital territory was brought under Roman domination, according to his own plan to isolate Jerusalem. Vespasian had no doubt that any set-back or defeat would be laid at his door, and no part of the country outside Jerusalem could be left in the hands of revolutionaries. 14.4.2. Jerusalem Isolated and Surrounded Sources: War 4.3.2–6.2 §§130-376; 4.7.3–9.2 §§410-502; 4.9.9 §§545-55; 4.10.1–11.5 §§585-663.

Titus took his force from Gischala to Caesarea, while Vespasian moved on to take and occupy Jamnia and Azotus (Ashdod), before returning to Caesarea. The Roman advance had now so unnerved the Jewish defenders that few were willing to take a stand in the various fortresses or cities. As a result, many of the rebels in the villages and countryside—along with a great number of simple refugees seeking asylum—now made their way to Jerusalem. The large number of refugees was to create significant problems during the siege of Jerusalem. The arrival of outsiders, such as John of Gischala, also changed the balance of power in Jerusalem and was soon to lead to a series of internal fights and factions which put Jew against Jew. Some of the ‘brigands’ (exactly who these were is left unidentified) arrested Antipas, a member of the Herodian family, who was now in charge of the treasury (apparently having taken it over from Eleazar son of Simon [cf. 14.2.3]), and other nobles, including Levias and Syphas son of Aregetes. These were later slaughtered while imprisoned. Yet for the moment the upper-class leadership remained intact. Although Josephus is probably slanting the story by making the chief priestly families ready

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to surrender to the Romans, it does appear that the upper-class priestly families were opposed to some of the other factions. One group took over the temple area. Apparently at this time a number of ‘brigand’ chiefs and their men had allied themselves to form a group known as the Zealots (War 4.3.4-9 §§138-61). Although the term ‘zealot’ has often been used by modern scholars as a general term to characterize any revolutionary group of this period, it is clear that Josephus confines his usage here to the group which he first mentions only in 68 CE (see §7.3 for more on this group). Thus, in the immediate context Josephus (War 4.3.9 §160-61) uses the term ‘Zealots’ for the first time, which suggests this is a specific grouping in question here and should not be extended to include all revolutionary groups indiscriminately. They decided to appoint a new high priest by an earlier custom of drawing lots. They chose from the high priestly clan of Eniachin (otherwise unknown) a man named Phanni son of Samuel. Josephus (War 4.3.8 §155) claims he was ignorant and not of the high priestly family, in contradiction to his immediately previous reference to a ‘high priestly clan’ (τῶν ἀρχιερατικῶν φυλήν). Various of the priestly and upper-class leaders opposed this appointment and also the actions of these Zealots in general, including Gorion son of Joseph (should this be Joseph son of Gorion, mentioned in War 2.20.3 §563?) and Symeon (apparently Simon) son of Gamaliel. They were supported by some from the high priestly families, such as Ananus son of Ananus and Jesus son of Gamalas. Ananus appears to have tried to instigate the Jerusalem population against those occupying the temple area, but the bloody conflict that followed left many dead and wounded without achieving anything except to drive them into the inner courts. John of Gischala became involved, apparently pretending to serve the priestly group but also helping the Zealots by providing intelligence on what was being planned by the former. He advised summoning the Idumaeans as the allies of the Zealots. The Idumaeans responded immediately, with an alleged number of 20,000 under the leadership of John (apparently son of Sosas), James son of Sosas, Simon son of Thaceas, and Phineas son of Clusoth. Ananus, enlisting the aid of the chief priest Jesus, tried to shut them out of Jerusalem. Taking advantage of a storm, some of the Zealots opened the city gates and let the Idumaeans in. A great slaughter ensued, with the Zealots and Idumaeans on one side and the guards and others on the other. The former group then hunted down Ananus and Jesus (and apparently others of the high priestly families) and butchered them. (Further Jewish infighting is described in the next section [§14.4.3].)

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When news of the internecine fighting in Jerusalem came to Vespasian, there were those who advised an immediate march on Jerusalem in hopes that they could take it quickly. However, it was decided that the factional strife would only weaken the defenders if left to themselves; nevertheless, the policy of systematic reduction of the country was continued. Vespasian left his winter camp to march south about March 68. He sent a contingent to Gadara where the citizens opened the gates to the Romans, and the rebel sympathizers fled. This reference seems a bit strange, since the area around Gadara in the Gaulanitis seems already to have been taken (as described in the previous section [§14.4.1]). This might have been another Gadara, one in the Peraean region (see LCL 3:120–21, note b). In any case, Vespasian sent Placidus after the fleeing rebels while he returned to Caesarea. The latter took refuge in a village called Bethennabris when the Romans came in sight but were cornered and many killed. The rest fled toward Jericho, and many people from the Peraean area were also aroused to try to escape the advancing Romans but were trapped by the Jordan river and slaughtered or captured. It was probably about this time that Qumran was destroyed, since many villages around the shores of the Dead Sea were also looted, and the whole area of Peraea is said to have been subdued (though see below on Gerasa). Vespasian himself came down from Caesarea on the western side of the country through Antipatris, Thamna, Lydda, and Jamnia. Then, he turned east to Ammaus and Bethleptepha, marching toward Idumaea which he reduced. He then retraced his steps back north, through Neapolis (Shechem) and down to Jericho where he established a garrison, as well as one at Adida. He sent Lucius Annius against Gerasa (Jerash) in the Transjordan region, executing all the men, taking captive the women and children, and destroying the city. Jerusalem was now surrounded and isolated from the rest of the country. Vespasian returned to Caesarea and was preparing for the march on Jerusalem itself when word came of Nero’s death. It would now have been July or August 68. Rather than continue the war Vespasian decided to wait to see developments; to what extent he already had ideas of seeking the principate himself is difficult to say, but his judicious wait at this point would have been in line with such thoughts. When news came of Galba’s acclamation (summer of 68 CE), he sent Titus to salute the new emperor, with Agrippa II accompanying him, but also requesting instructions about proceeding with the Jewish war. However, while apparently still in the area of Greece, they received word of Galba’s death and Otho’s accession (probably January 69). Agrippa continued on to Rome, but Titus returned to his father in Caesarea.

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In the meantime, the Roman civil war advanced, but the waiting apparently continued, with Otho and Vitellius fighting each other in Italy. Finally in June 69 Vespasian began once again his push to Jerusalem, which he had postponed for almost a year. Certain areas north of Jerusalem were quickly reduced while a detachment of cavalry and foot soldiers under Cerealius took northern Idumaea, either because it had not been taken before or because it had returned to rebel control. He then took Hebron, slaying the inhabitants and burning it. The only fortresses now in rebel hands were Herodium, Masada, and Machaerus, and the Romans were at the walls of Jerusalem. Vespasian again returned to Caesarea and again word came from Italy, this time to say that Otho had committed suicide, and Vitellius had taken Rome in April 69 CE. Vespasian was in a dilemma: he was reluctant to acclaim Vitellius, but should he himself go for the supreme office? By now it was the summer of 69 CE, but things developed rapidly. According to Josephus (War 4.10.2-4 §§588-604), Vespasian’s own troops in Judaea were the first to declare him emperor. But more officially Tiberius Alexander, the governor of Egypt, acclaimed Vespasian as emperor (at Vespasian’s request), followed shortly by other legions of the east, in Moesia and Pannonia, and on the Danube (cf. Tacitus, Hist. 2.74-86; Suetonius, Vesp. 6.3). Also, local rulers—Soaemus of Emessa, Antiochus of Commagene, and Berenice—supported him; indeed, Berenice and others summoned Agrippa back from Rome (where he managed to slip away without Vitellius’s knowing) to back Vespasian. Mucianus the legate of Syria was dispatched with troops to Italy, though he decided to march overland since it was winter. (Before Mucianus arrived, Antonius Primus defeated Vitellius’s army at Cremona.) As a side point, Vespasian released Josephus from his bonds at this time and gave him his freedom. Vespasian and Titus moved on to Egypt to secure the grain supply. Here they learned that Antonius and Mucianus had defeated Vitellius who had been executed (December 69 CE). As Vespasian prepared to embark for Rome, he sent Titus with the army to finish the task of taking Jerusalem. 14.4.3. Jewish Infighting Sources: War 4.5.3–6.1 §§326-65; 4.6.3–7.2 §§377-409; 4.9.3-8 §§503-44; 4.9.10-12 §§556-84.

In the previous section (§14.4.2) the rise of the Zealots was described and their bringing in a large troop of Idumaeans, with the resultant slaughter of many citizens and especially of high priestly leaders. The

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Idumaeans now aided the Zealots in a reign of terror against those perceived as enemies. With time, however, the Idumaeans changed their minds, allegedly because of finding out the real crimes of the Zealots and learning that Ananus and others were not traitors as claimed (War 4.5.5 §§345-52). This statement does not ring true, but it is difficult to say why the Idumaeans decided to leave. In any case, although they are all said to have returned home, this contradicts later passages which mention them as still in Jerusalem (see below). This suggests that only a part of them quitted Jerusalem, whereas many—perhaps the majority—remained in the city. Before leaving Jerusalem, they are said to have released 2,000 citizens from prison who had been placed there by rebel groups. Many of these joined Simon son of Gorias (see below) and subsequently left Jerusalem. Leaving Jerusalem was becoming more difficult, however. The Zealots had guards on all the gates and refused to let anyone leave unless they paid a bribe; many of those who had no means of payment were killed. At this time the Zealots proceeded to murder two individuals who had distinguished themselves in the earlier fights against the Romans (War 4.6.1 §§358-59): Gurion (apparently Gorion son of Joseph, or was it Joseph son of Gorias? [War 4.3.9 §159]) and Niger the Peraean (cf. War 2.19.2 §520; 2.20.4 §566; 3.2.1 §11). The Sicarii had earlier taken Masada (War 2.17.2 §408) and were now using it as a base for raids on the countryside; for example, they attacked En-gedi at Passover time (presumably in 68 CE). They were now joined by Simon son of Gioras (cf. War 2.19.2 §521), an inhabitant of Gerasa, who had been expelled from the toparchy of Acrabetene by the high priest Ananus. Here he built up a following until he had a group large enough to dominate a territory including northwest Judaea down to Idumaea. The Zealots believed (perhaps correctly) that he was intending to attack Jerusalem and made a pre-emptive strike against him but were defeated. Next, Simon marched on Idumaea with a large army but was fought to a standstill. He did not give up, however, and eventually took control of Idumaea through the treachery of one of their own commanders. This frightened the Zealots who laid ambushes for Simon. They did not catch him but captured his wife. He marched up to Jerusalem with such threats that the Zealots restored her to him. However, he apparently set up camp outside the walls, since Josephus says that the people were oppressed by the Zealots within and Simon without. John of Gischala had apparently thrown his lot in with the Zealots, at least temporarily, but now he created his own faction as a rival to them (War 4.7.1 §§389-96). We are told that one of his supports was the ‘Galilean faction’ (War 4.9.10 §558), hardly surprising since John was

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from the Galilee. At this point Josephus’s narrative appears confused (War 4.9.11 §§566-70). He says that John of Gischala’s army mutinied against him; also, that the Idumaeans in his army attacked him (even though the Idumaeans were all said to have left Jerusalem some time earlier [War 4.6.1 §353-54]). John and the surviving Zealots fled into a local palace but were driven from there into the temple where other Zealots from across the city joined them to prepare to attack the people and the Idumaeans. Who were the ‘Idumaeans’ in this passage? Presumably some who did not return to their homes. Who were the ‘Zealots’? As already noted, John is said to have broken with the Zealot party. Were these the followers of John only or did the Zealots as a whole rally round John at this point? One wonders if Josephus is deliberately omitting important information, or was simply ignorant of the detailed situation. Whatever the precise situation with John, the Idumaeans met with the chief priests, and together they decided to let in Simon to help them fight against the group in the temple. Matthias son of Boethus was deputized to invite Simon. Once inside Simon quickly became master of the city (about April or May 69 CE) and proceeded to attack John in the temple, though the latter had a certain advantage by being on higher ground. They fought for a time, but John’s group not only had the advantage of height but also possessed catapults of various sorts. Simon’s group eventually gave up the attack, though they held much of the city. The situation may be clarified by a later passage (War 5.1.1-4 §§1-26). Here it is stated that Eleazar (said to be variously son of Simon and son of Gion, according to manuscript variants) grew tired of John’s tyranny and broke away with part of the Zealots. Eleazar was a priest and one of the original Zealot leaders (War 4.4.1 §224-25). It may be that a partial unity had at some point been achieved around John but that now the original division reasserted itself. In any event, a three-way split was now in evidence, as Josephus summarizes the situation (War 5.1.1-3 §§1-20): Eleazar and his group occupied the inner court of the temple; John and his group were in the outer court; and Simon and his group held the Upper City and much of the Lower City. J. Price (1992: 120) summarizes the components of the groups as follows: So far as can be determined, Eleazar’s group was mostly Zealots; John commanded Tyrian refugees, Zealot defectors, Galilean rebels, unnamed aristocrats, and others not identified by Josephus; Simon’s group consisted of followers of every background from Acrabatene and Idumaea, the Idumaean militia, Jerusalem refugees, as well as others not identified by Josephus.

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All three were fighting each other with considerable bloodshed on all sides. Surprisingly, Tacitus (Hist. 5.12) mentions these three factions, as well (even though he appears not to know Josephus). This suggests that the three-fold division of Jewish fighters was known to the Romans at some point, since Tacitus is probably relying on a Roman report. 14.4.4. Final Siege of Jerusalem B. W. Jones (1989) ‘Titus in Judaea, A.D. 67’, Latomus 48: 127–34; J. J. M. Roberts (1973) ‘The Davidic Origin of the Zion Tradition’, JBL 92: 329–44.

This was the state of things as Titus marched on Jerusalem with four legions in the spring of 70. He set up camp on Mt Scopus and Mt Olivet and proceeded to attack the north side of the city as had been traditional for invaders for centuries. The Jewish factions temporarily joined forces in making an initial sally on the Romans as a foretaste of the hard fight ahead. This is an interesting case in point with regard to Titus. Upon his arrival at Jerusalem, he went up to the walls to reconnoitre but was cut off from his troops when Jews suddenly attacked. He and his companions managed to cut their way through back to their own side, but he had been in a dangerous situation. Josephus emphasizes his courage and skill— which he no doubt possessed in abundance—but he had been foolhardy. This was not the only mistake he would make in the siege of Jerusalem, either from inexperience or lack of forethought (cf. B. W. Jones 1989). One can see why Vespasian had made the older, wiser, and experienced Tiberius Alexander his lieutenant in the siege. As becomes clear in Josephus’s description of the fighting, the Jewish defenders generally outfought the Romans in hand-to-hand combat (cf. Price 1992: 119–25). The only experienced fighters on the Jewish side were the rebel militias. For the most part, the Jerusalem leadership had no military training or experience. This lack plus the selfish focus on only what was good for their individual group meant that no strategic plan was devised and no coordinated attempt to defend against the Romans took place. The rebel groups were intent only in furthering their own ends, which primarily meant fighting against other rebel groups who were seen as rivals. Thus, Josephus had received no help against the Roman invasion of Galilee, in spite of requesting it from Jerusalem. No attempt had been made to harass the Romans as they moved relentlessly toward Jerusalem, except by a few local groups in Galilee. This lack of strategic planning resulted in important military opportunities against the Romans being lost.

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Yet when the Jewish groups did finally engage the Roman forces, they were formidable fighters. This was because their guerrilla tactics were suited to the situation. The terrain was often more suitable to the rebels who had little or no armour, often charged suddenly from secret locations, and frequently fought with little thought of safety for their own lives. These undisciplined but frenzied attacks, riding on raw courage, turned out to be effective in defending the walls of Jerusalem. Also, although there may have been some skilled slingers on the Jewish side, stones thrown by hand could be deadly, and a ready supply was all round them (Josephus was knocked unconscious by a stone hurled at him by a defender when trying to talk them into surrendering). The legionaries, on the other hand, found that their armour often hampered them because of the broken ground on which they were attacked, and disciplined manoeuvres to which they were accustomed were not possible. The rebel weapons were mainly swords and knives, though catapults and other siege engines had been captured from Cestius and were used, first against other rebel groups, but then against the Romans. Time and again it was the Roman cavalry that swayed the balance in favour of the Romans. Yet the sheer number of Roman soldiers, the resources available, and superior fighting technology (such as the use of cavalry and archers) meant that the outcome was inevitable. Not everyone accepted this inevitability: we know that not only Jews but others thought the Romans would not be able to take the city. According to Dio (65.5.4) there were deserters to the rebel side, not only from the ranks of Agrippa’s troops and other allies of the Romans, but even from among the Roman troops themselves. For even Roman soldiers to switch sides shows how severe the fighting was. But once the siege was instigated, it was only a matter of time before the city fell. The rebel groups evidently called a temporary truce when the Romans set up the siege of the city; nevertheless, the three basic internal divisions continued until Passover time of 70 CE. Then when Eleazar was allowing worshippers into the inner court, John was able to slip some of his men in secretly. They attacked Eleazar’s faction and eventually won, uniting the two groups once more into one. John was in charge, but Eleazar also retained a position of command. The united group numbered about 8,500 (since about 2,400 Zealots had joined them), and maintained control of the temple, Ophla, and the Kedron Valley. Simon’s group of 15,000 (10,000 plus 5,000 Idumaeans) continued to oppose them, having possession of the Upper City and part of the Lower. This all despite the progress of the Roman siege.

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During the inter-rivalry between the various Jewish groups, much of the food stockpiles were apparently destroyed. The result was a famine within the walls, beginning apparently even before Titus invested the city. The rebels were able to control sufficient food for their own fighters initially, but even they eventually suffered from lack of provisions (War 5.9.3 §370; 6.2.8 §157). Many people also escaped the city to the Romans, or at least tried to. Some of those attempting to flee were caught and executed by the rebels, though they seem to have been open to bribes: those who handed over money were allowed through the lines but not necessarily others. The poor seem to have been ignored for the most part, however, and often foraged outside the walls for food, though not feeling the need to escape (Price 1992: 96–97). Josephus paints a picture in which the majority of those in Jerusalem wanted to escape or for the city to surrender to the Romans; also, that the aristocracy was under constant threat of execution by the rebels. The non-combatants within the city suffered from famine and from the militants. Exactly how the many atrocities against innocent victims, often leaders and nobles, reported by Josephus are to be evaluated is problematic. If Josephus were believed, they must all have perished several times over: on several occasions his narrative so describes things that no one among the citizenry could have been left alive, yet the next episode reports more victims. Here is where Josephus needs correction, from his own data which often contradict the dismal picture that he describes (Price 1992: 85–101, 119). The fact is that most of the upper class survived until the end of the war, many of whom were fully committed to opposing the Romans. Granted, some prominent individuals were killed, as already described (§14.4.3), but these were the ones seen as the most direct threat to the rebel leadership. The fact that Josephus’s father apparently lived through the siege without harm indicates that the insurgents were perhaps not the out-and-out monsters he makes them to be (War 5.13.1 §533)—at least, not very efficient monsters. Many of those labelled ‘civilians’ in Jerusalem aided the rebels in their fight against the Romans (Price 1992: 119). According to Tacitus (Hist. 15.13.3), Jewish women even engaged in the fighting. The details of the siege are given at length by Josephus and would be tedious to relate here. There were countless heroic deeds by ordinary soldiers on both sides, as well as atrocities against innocent victims. But Josephus’s long rhetorical passages, with their stereotyped descriptions, soon become repetitive and tedious. Enough horrific things happened without need of recourse to exaggeration. Josephus was himself sent to talk from a distance to the

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defenders with the hope that some would desert or even that they could be parlayed into surrendering. At one point, he was knocked unconscious by a stone hurled by one of the defenders but survived without major harm. Titus began his operations against Jerusalem apparently in early May of 70 CE. After 15 days the Romans took the First Wall (also called the Third or Agrippa’s Wall). Another five days was sufficient to capture the Second Wall, at the end of May. Titus made preparations to take the Third Wall and built earthworks over the next two or three weeks (to the middle of June). But Jewish countermeasures frustrated the Roman efforts and destroyed much of the siege equipment. Finally, he decided to build a siege wall around the city to isolate it from the rest of the country. This siege wall also had the effect of preventing food supplies from being brought into the city, exacerbating the famine that was already underway. This took only a few days, after which Titus resumed building earthworks to take the final wall. In spite of the best efforts of the defenders, these new earthworks were completed by the middle of July, and the battering rams began their work of demolishing the final defences of the city, with a focus on the Antonia tower. Once through this wall, the attackers found that the rebels had built a second wall behind it, a common practice of defenders in such cases. A night assault let the Romans temporarily take this wall, but they were eventually driven back. It was early August (the 17th of Panemus or Tammuz, according to both Josephus and Jewish tradition) that the tamid or daily sacrifice ceased in the temple, probably because of lack of lambs. Titus supposedly had Josephus shout to John of Gischala a message in Aramaic (or Hebrew) that he would allow the sacrifices if John would agree, apparently suggesting that he would allow sacrificial victims to be taken into the temple from outside the walls. John’s reply was that (as quoted by Josephus) ‘he did not fear capture of the city, for it was God’s property’ (ὡς οὐκ ἄν ποτε δείσειεν ἅλωσιν· θεοῦ γὰρ ὑπάρχειν τὴν πόλιν [War 6.2.1 §98]). How much weight to put on this exchange is a question, since Josephus could have invented the words put in John’s mouth. But it may indicate a belief on the part of the defenders that God would ultimately not allow his city to be captured—a belief parallel to the one allegedly held by some Jews in the last days of the kingdom of Judah in the time of Jeremiah (the so-called inviolability of Zion tradition; cf. Roberts 1973). Another night attack failed to make a breakthrough, but about this time a number from the families of the chief priests (Joseph, Jesus, three sons of Ishmael, four sons of Matthias, and one son of another Matthias

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[apparently Matthias son of Boethus]) plus a number of the aristocracy took this opportunity to escape to the Romans and were allowed to settle in Gophna. This demonstrates that not all the upper class of priests and laymen had been killed, contrary to what Josephus alleges, nor that escape was impossible at this time. The Romans had demolished the foundations of the Antonia and were now ready to assault the temple. 14.4.5. Destruction of the Temple and End of the War G. Alon (1977) ‘The Burning of the Temple’, in G. Alon, Jews, Judaism and the Classical World: 252–68; T. D. Barnes (1977) ‘The Fragments of Tacitus’ Histories’, Classical Philology 72: 224–31; idem (2005) ‘The Sack of the Temple in Josephus and Tacitus’, in J. Edmondson, S. Mason, and J. Rives (eds), Flavius Josephus and Flavian Rome: 129–44; J. Bernays (1861) Ueber die Chronik des Sulpicius Severus: Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der klassischen und biblischen Studien; L. L. Grabbe (1997b) ‘The 70-Weeks Prophecy (Daniel 9:24-27) in Early Jewish Interpretation’, in C. A. Evans and S. Talmon (eds), The Quest for Context and Meaning: Studies in Biblical Intertextuality in Honor of James A. Sanders: 595–611; T. Leoni (2007) ‘ “Against Caesar’s Wishes”: Flavius Josephus as a Source for the Burning of the Temple’, JJS 58: 39–51; H. Montefiore (1962) ‘Sulpicius Severus and Titus’ Council of War’, Historia 11: 156–70; F. Parente (2005) ‘The Impotence of Titus, or Flavius Josephus’s Bellum Judaicum as an Example of “Pathetic” Historiography’, in J. Sievers and G. Lembi (eds), Josephus and Jewish History in Flavian Rome and Beyond: 45–69; M. Pucci Ben Zeev (2011) ‘Between Fact and Fiction: Josephus’ Account of the Destruction of the Temple’, in J. Pastor, P. Stern, and M. Mor (eds), Flavius Josephus: Interpretation and History: 53–63; J. Rives (2005) ‘Flavian Religious Policy and the Destruction of the Jerusalem Temple’, in J. Edmondson, S. Mason, and J. Rives (eds), Flavius Josephus and Flavian Rome: 145–66; C. Weikert (2016) Von Jerusalem zu Aelia Capitolina: Die römische Politik gegenüber den Juden von Vespasian bis Hadrian.

A new, very risky phase of operations took place at this time (the middle of August). Both the rebels and the Romans began to burn various parts of the temple porticos. In one instance, the Jews enticed some Roman soldiers onto the roof of the west portico, then set it on fire. But the Romans also used fire as a mode of attack. Because the massive construction of the temple was thwarting the battering rams, Titus tried an assault with ladders, which was again repulsed. Now Titus ordered the temple gates to be set on fire. This was at the end of August. Two prominent leaders of the rebels (Simon’s lieutenant, Ananus of Emmaus, and Archelaus son of Magaddatus) deserted about this time: although Titus was inclined to execute them, in the end he allowed them to live.

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Titus ordered the burning gates to be extinguished, in preparation for a final assault. He then called a council of his leading generals (including the procurator of Judaea, Marcus Antonius Julianus) to discuss the fate of the temple. Josephus claims that Titus gave orders not to burn the temple. He probably did feel some of the pity for the people and perhaps even such a notable edifice as the temple that Josephus describes, but he was also a soldier with a task to do. When a Roman soldier supposedly tossed in a torch contrary to orders, Josephus gives us an image of the Roman commander trying to stop the fire which was destroying the temple. But in spite of his orders the soldiers were in such a frenzy that they continued the destruction and lighting of fires to the point that Titus gave up. This picture that Josephus gives us about Titus’s intent and actions has been accepted by a few eminent scholars, but the vast majority believe that the historian has almost certainly engaged in fantasy (see the catalogue in Leoni 2007). For other sources—and strategic sense—indicate that Titus saw the temple as a continuing instigation of rebellion and determined that it should be reduced to ruins, as the later Christian writer Sulpicius Severus reports (GLAJJ 2:64–67 [#282]; cf. also Alon 1977; Price 1992: 170–71; Weikert 2016: 83–90). According to Severus, Titus summoned a council of his senior officers and consulted them about whether the temple should be destroyed. Some were against it, but others—including Titus himself—thought the temple should be destroyed so that the religions of the Jews and Christians could more easily be exterminated. The question is where Severus obtained his information. For example, S. Mason (2016: 488–502) gives reasons why he thinks Severus’s account is not independent but simply draws on and interprets Josephus, thus rendering his scenario (of Titus ordering the temple’s destruction) suspect. It is true that Severus knew Josephus, but it was already argued by J. Bernays (1861) that for this episode Severus was dependent on a lost passage of Tacitus. This argument was accepted by M. Stern (in GLAJJ) and developed further by T. D. Barnes (1977, 2005, contra Montefiore’s rejection of the Tacitan dependence). As Barnes (2005: 133–34) notes, ‘Jacob Bernays, whose conclusions have too often been either misapplied or disregarded… Let it be repeated, therefore, that Bernays’ proof that Severus used Tacitus’ account of the sack of the Temple in 70 is incontrovertible.’ The reasons for rejecting Josephus’s presentation in favour of that of Severus can be summarized as follows: • Josephus’s picture can be explained by two of his aims: the ‘clemency’ of Titus and the divine will that the temple be destroyed because of the pollution and sins of the rebels (Parente 2005; Weikert 2016: 83–90). With regard to Titus, ‘Josephus has thus carefully and cleverly

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constructed a fictitious figure that must now be considered with attention, for it in fact constitutes the keystone to the entire work’ (Parente 2005: 60, italics in the original). His overall goal was, however, to convince Jews as a whole not to seek revenge for the destruction of the temple; these two aims were a means of convincing his readers of this: ‘the concrete and practical implications of his work—it [the destruction of the temple] should not be avenged (Parente 2005: 67, italics in original). • Josephus’s account is simply unbelievable at many points. Can one really believe that the Roman commander—who did not hesitate to order the death penalty to ensure discipline among his troops—would stand idly by, having his commands ignored by soldiers in plain sight before him? Yet this is the picture that Josephus would have us accept (War 6.4.6 §§254-58). • Josephus’s picture of Titus’s reaction is contradicted by statements made elsewhere in his account. For example, when Titus supposedly saw that his efforts to spare this foreign temple resulted in casualties among his own troops, he commanded the gates of the temple to be set on fire (War 6.4.1 §228); this was before the temple itself was set ablaze. Shortly afterward, with the temple now in flames, Titus’s troops assembled in the temple court, sacrificed to their standards, and proclaimed Titus imperator (War 6.6.1 §316). After the destruction of the temple, Titus showed no evidence of regret for what had happened but ordered the remains of the temple to be razed to the ground along with the rest of the city (War 7.1.1 §1; Parente 2005: 149–50). Finally, but most important, the temple furniture was not destroyed in the fire, as it would have been according to Josephus’s description of the fire, but was taken to Rome for the Flavian triumph. This included the menorah, the golden table for showbread, a scroll of the Torah, and the temple curtains (War 7.5.5-7 §148-62). As Parente suggests, ‘the Temple was first looted then set on fire’ (2005: 65–66, italics in the original). • Whatever Titus thought about the temple, the military requirements would have argued for the destruction of the temple. As J. Rives (2005) has suggested, the Flavian attitude toward the revolt (which dictated their policy toward the Jews) was that the temple was the source of Jewish problems from the Roman point of view: Vespasian’s ‘policy of abolishing the Temple cult was intended not only to forestall future revolts but also to eliminate the anomalous cultic organization that hindered the integration of Jews into the empire’ (Rives 2005: 165). It

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would not be surprising if Titus had mixed feelings about destroying so magnificent a building, but his military strategic sense would have prevailed. The account of Sulpicius Severus seems to be based on a lost report of Tacitus (see above). Severus’s own contribution to the story is the mention of Christians in Titus’s alleged speech, whom Tacitus would not have included, but which Severus himself would have composed (Barnes 1977: 228; Montefiore 1962). The Christian writer Orosius (7.9.5-6) gives a similar account to Severus and also appears to be dependent on Tacitus (Weikert 2016: 88–89; Barnes 1977: 229–31; 2005: 134–35). Orosius shows no knowledge of Severus and thus would not have taken his account from that writer. Valerius Flaccus (first century CE) (1.1-20 [GLAJJ 1:502–5, #226]) talks of the overthrow of Idume (apparently Judaea) and of Titus hurling firebrands. The temple is not specifically mentioned, but his general responsibility for burning the site is claimed. Cassius Dio (65.6.2) states that the soldiers at first refused to enter the temple area, for superstitious reasons, until Titus ordered them in. He gives no hint that Titus wanted to spare the building. Some have favoured Josephus’s account on the assumption that he was present at Titus’s war council. Yet it is completely implausible that Josephus, who only recently had been released from his prisoner’s fetters, was invited to be present with Titus’s top military leaders. Nor does Josephus claim to be present. So from where did Josephus obtain his information? As has long been accepted, it appears that the official Roman account of the war was written by Marcus Antonius Julianus who became procurator of Judaea (Parente 2005: 46–49). But Julianus was also evidently used as a source by Tacitus, and Julianus was at the war council convened by Titus. This would explain why Josephus’s account of the council is so similar to that of Severus (except coming to opposite conclusions)—because Severus draws on Tacitus who drew on Julianus, while Josephus also drew on Julianus’s record.

With the levelling of Antonia’s foundations, the Romans were ready for their final assault. Making use of cavalry, they shut the defenders in the inner court of the temple. Then, right at the end of August (the 10th of Lous or Av), they attacked the inner court of the temple. During the process the chambers surrounding the temple (naos) were set on fire.

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Whether Titus tried to have the fire put out, as Josephus alleges, is very doubtful (see above), but he took the opportunity to view the inner parts of the temple, including apparently the Holy of Holies. The fire was not extinguished, and the temple burned. Josephus tells us of various signs and portents that presaged the destruction of the temple (War 6.5.3 §§288-309); such a catalogue of portents was often standard in accounts of ancient disasters. More interesting are Josephus’s reports of oracles that were being circulated among the Jews. One was cited by Josephus himself, to the effect that the city would fall when someone would begin to kill his fellow countrymen (War 6.2.1 §109). The source of this oracle is not given, though H. St J. Thackery (the editor of the LCL edition) suggests that it might be Sib. Or. 4.115-27 (LCL 3:406 n. b). Another prophecy was that the temple and city would be captured when the temple became ‘four-square’ (τετράγωνον: War 6.5.4 §311), which supposedly happened after the destruction of the Antonia tower. Although the precise origin of this oracle is not clear, there are reasons to think it was an interpretation of the ‘Seventy Weeks Prophecy’ of Daniel 9 (Grabbe 1997b). A final oracle was that one from their country would become ruler over the world (War 6.5.4 §312-13), which Josephus says was misinterpreted as a reference to a ruler from Judaea when actually it referred to Vespasian who was declared emperor while in Judaea (also Tacitus, Hist. 5.13; Suetonius, Vesp. 4–5; Cassius Dio, Epitome 66.1). That some people—perhaps many—stayed in Jerusalem because they expected divine deliverance from the Romans is indicated by another incident (War 6.5.2 §§283-87). About 6000 people, including women and children, assembled at a portico of the outer temple court, because a prophet had proclaimed that God commanded them to go there for deliverance. In fact, most were killed by the Romans. Josephus claims that the leaders of the rebels had bribed false prophets to deceive the people by proclaiming divine deliverance. In actual fact, such prophets may have arisen spontaneously and voiced a message that they themselves believed in. Also, although Josephus quotes only so-called prophets who prophesied the destruction of the temple and city, it is just as likely that there were others predicting divine salvation for both—though Josephus would not have told us of these! The temple was destroyed sometime toward the end of August 70, though the traditional date of the 9th of Av is a stereotype and at variance with Josephus’s date of 10th of Av. Many of the defenders had fled into underground passages. A group of priests surrendered to Titus but were executed. A group of followers of Simon and John asked to negotiate

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with Titus; however, they then refused to accept an offer of life from him, if they laid down their arms, but instead asked to take their families and go out into the wilderness unmolested. Titus refused, saying time for clemency was past and they must fight or die. He now gave the soldiers permission to sack and burn the city. The sons and brothers of Izates, king of Adiabene, came to Titus, asking for clemency. He kept them in custody for the moment but later took them to Rome in chains to serve as hostages for the good behaviour of their country. Some Idumaeans attempted to negotiate with Titus but were discovered by Simon and the leaders put to death. Jesus son of Thebuthi, one of the priests, delivered up the temple treasury to Titus, and Phineas the temple treasurer revealed where many of the priestly garments, the spices for sacrifices, and other ornaments were kept. Further effort was needed to reduce the city, but the spirit of the rebels was broken and their resistance to further siege activity low. The city was finally taken completely toward the end of September. Many of the survivors in the city were now allowed to live (at least, the able bodied) but sold as slaves, though Titus is said to have spared and released 40,000 citizens of Jerusalem. But he (rather contradicting Josephus’s description of his tenderness toward the besieged) kept a large number of captives to throw to the beasts or for gladiatorial fights in shows at Caesarea Philippi and Berytus (Beirut). Some were also taken back to Rome to be exhibited in his triumphal procession. Among them was Simon son of Gioras and John of Gischala. Both had fled into underground passages but later surrendered when they ran out of food. Simon had come out where the former temple had stood, clad in white tunics and a purple robe. What the significance of this was can only be surmised. Josephus says he was trying to startle the Romans, but they seem not to have been much taken in. The purple robe sounds like a claim to royalty, though it did not seem to impress his captors. After being dragged through the streets of Rome in chains in the triumph for the Flavians, Simon was then sent to be executed. Surprisingly, John of Gischala was allowed to live, though sentenced to life imprisonment. 14.4.6. Why Did They Hold Out? A question many researchers have wondered about is why the defenders of Jerusalem continued to fight to the bitter end, when defeat seemed inevitable. It is a question often asked in such cases: cf. for example the continued resistance of the German military in the final months of World War II when it was clear that the Allies’ advance was unstoppable. Several reasons suggest themselves:

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• Many of the defenders of Jerusalem, especially in the early days of the war, evidently believed that the city was too strong to be taken. This was indicated by some of the men under Agrippa’s command and even on the part of some Roman soldiers who went over to the Jewish side in the conflict. The Jewish defenders were able to exact a considerable toll on the attackers in the many instances of hand-tohand fighting. • Some probably thought they could escape if things got too bad. Some of these may have been individuals who remained in Jerusalem primarily to protect their property or other interests. Desertions took place throughout the siege, in spite of attempts by rebel groups to prevent people escaping to the Romans. In several instances, upperclass Jews who had been heavily involved in the revolt then went over to the Romans and were allowed to live and settle elsewhere. • There is an instinct among some soldiers to fight to the end, whatever the odds, especially when the alternatives are considered: no doubt many felt that if they lost, there was nothing left for them except death or slavery, not only for themselves but also for their families. • There was a hope against hope of miraculous deliverance on the part of some. In World War II there were some convinced that Hitler had secret weapons that would be launched in the nick of time to force the Allies to come to terms. And German scientists were working on some amazing weapons, including a nuclear bomb, but their resources and technology were incapable of delivering the knockout blow that some expected. In the city of Jerusalem there was no nuclear bomb in the offing, but some clearly believed in divine intervention to save God’s city and temple. How widespread this belief was is difficult to quantify, but several hints have already been noted above, including the thousands who gathered at the temple portico on the last day, expecting divine salvation. 14.5. Post-70 Fighting N. Ben-Yehuda (1995) The Masada Myth: Collective Memory and Mythmaking in Israel; idem (2002) Sacrificing Truth: Archaeology and the Myth of Masada; S. J. D. Cohen (1982) ‘Masada: Literary Tradition, Archaeological Remains, and the Credibility of Josephus’, JJS 33: 385–405; H. Cotton (1989) ‘The Date of the Fall of Masada: The Evidence of the Masada Papyri’, ZPE 78: 157–62; G. Davies (2011) ‘Under Siege: The Roman Field Works at Masada’, BASOR 362: 65–83; W. Eck (1969) ‘Die Eroberung von Masada und eine neue Inschrift des L. Flavius Silva Nonius Bassus’, ZNW 60: 282–89; J. Magness (2011) ‘A Reconsideration

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of Josephus’ Testimony about Masada’, in M. Popović (ed.), The Jewish Revolt against Rome: Interdisciplinary Perspectives: 343–59; idem (2019) Masada: From Jewish Revolt to Modern Myth; NEAEHL 5:1937–39; Y. Zerubavel (1995) Recovered Roots: Collective Memory and the Making of Israeli National Tradition. Sources: War, book 7.

The fall of Jerusalem brought the Jewish war to a close as far as the main Roman and Jewish forces were concerned; unfortunately, it did not end all Jewish resistance. The 10th Legion was left to guard the ruins of Jerusalem, but three fortresses still lay in the hands of Jewish factions: Herodium, Machaerus, and Masada. The pressure for a quick victory was now removed from the Roman leadership, and these remaining pockets of resistance could be dealt with at greater leisure. Nevertheless, they had to be dealt with. Lucilius Bassus was named as the legate for Judaea, to replace Cerealius Vetilianus who had been left in charge by Titus. To him fell the task of taking these final holdouts. Bassus managed to get Herodium to surrender, though Josephus gives no details. Machaerus, east of the Dead Sea, was a formidable stronghold, first built by Alexander Jannaeus but greatly fortified by Herod the Great. It had a mixed population of Jews and non-Jews. The Jews had taken over the fort, forcing the non-Jews to live in the nearby town. Bassus besieged the fort, and the skirmishes on both sides left many casualties without a decisive outcome. But then a daring youth named Eleazar, a formidable fighter, was captured by the Romans who proceeded to threaten to crucify him in sight of the fortress. The defenders at this point negotiated with the Romans to be allowed to surrender the fort and leave, taking Eleazar with them. Bassus agreed to this. In the meantime, the inhabitants of the town planned to flee in secret but were betrayed. Of those who did not manage to escape, the men were massacred and the women and children enslaved. The irony is that the townspeople suffered this, while those who fought in the fortress were allowed to leave unharmed. Bassus then led his force against Jewish refugees in the forest of Jardes (location uncertain). The refugees were apparently led by the Zealot general Judas son of Ari (War 7.6.8 §92) who had fought in Jerusalem but had managed to escape. The Romans evidently slaughtered several thousand, including Judas, with little loss on their side. This now left all of Judaea in Roman hands except for Masada. Bassus died soon after this and was replaced by Flavius Silva whose task it was to reduce the remaining fortress.

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As narrated above (§14.2.2), Masada had been captured at an early stage in the war by the Sicarii. Their leader Menahem was assassinated by other Jewish groups, and they were driven out of the city and took refuge in Masada already in 66 CE (War 2.17.8-9 §433-48; 4.7.2 §§398405), led by Eleazar son of Jairus who was a descendent of the Judas who opposed the Roman enrolment by Quirinius in 6 CE (§7.2). These Sicarii had basically avoided getting involved in fighting the Romans but lived by raids on fellow Jews. Masada has become a modern legend, in no small part because of the discoveries of the Dead Sea Scrolls and excavations of the fortress by Y. Yadin (cf. §2.1 and §2.2). The new information has been so interpreted as to expand the legend rather than demythologize it (on the modern ‘Masada complex’, see Ben-Yehuda 1995; 2002; Zerubavel 1995). Whether the defenders of Masada should be labelled ‘martyrs’ or only ‘assassins’ is a matter of opinion: their fellow Jews upon whom they preyed would no doubt use the latter term. Josephus also castigates them, yet his account still makes heroes of them. The siege was actually brief, lasting a few months at most (War 7.8.2-9.2 §§275-406). Silva quickly dominated the region around Masada, establishing garrisons as needed. He then rapidly surrounded the fortress with a siege wall so that no-one could escape (though the Sicarii who showed up shortly afterward in Egypt and Cyprus may have come from Masada, at least in part [see below]). Supplies, including water, had to be brought in, but (local?) Jews were commandeered to do this work. Silva had his troops throw up a ramp of earthworks on the west side of Masada until near the top, after which layers of stone were laid to give stability and to make a base for a siege tower and a battering ram. Once the siege ramp had reached the top and they were able to deploy the battering ram, the climax came quite quickly. Josephus says nothing about attacks on the Romans by the defenders (War 7.8.5 §§304-19). As the Romans were besieging the site and constructing a ramp to get to the top, they fired arrows and other missiles from the siege tower at the defenders to keep them at bay. In Josephus’s account, all the defenders did was to try to defend against the siege measures, the main such defence being the building of a second wall when the first was breached. No doubt some defenders would have been killed by the Roman siege engines and archers, but nothing is said of their fighting back against the Romans as such. The second wall, made partly of earth, was effective in slowing down the work of the battering ram, but then the Romans set the wooden part of this wall on fire, and it was clear that they would break through shortly. Josephus says that instead of attacking immediately, as one would expect, they drew back with plans to attack the next day.

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According to Josephus’s account, Eleazar made a long speech. It was of course common for Greek and Roman historians to invent speeches and put them into the mouths of historical characters. The speech supposedly given by Eleazar was an invention of Josephus, though, interestingly, it is very religious: God as the only king, God’s having abandoned the Jews, and the immortal soul trapped temporarily in the mortal body. It makes great copy for modern readers of the story, but we have no idea whether Eleazar made a speech or, if he did, what its contents were. The effect for the defenders was evidently to choose suicide for themselves and their families. They are said to have drawn lots, with ten chosen to dispatch the others, then each other. The last man then had to kill himself. Almost a thousand people are said to have died, but there were survivors: two women (one with five children) hid themselves and then surrendered to the Romans. We have long been dependent on Josephus’s account, but in recent years archaeological expeditions have worked on Masada. We can now compare the remains of the Roman siege operations with the literary narrative. Remains of a siege ramp on the west side of Masada, a circumvallation wall with watch towers, and evidence of eight Roman camps all fit with Josephus’s description. However, it was argued by two of the excavator co-directors that the ramp was never finished and there was no evidence of conflagration or artifacts associated with assault operations (EAEHL 5: 1937–39). They especially dismissed any evidence of a stone platform at the top of the ramp where the siege tower and the battering ram would have been placed. S. Mason (2016: 548–74) followed their conclusion that the ramp was never finished (though he admits he is not in a position to make archaeological pronouncements), which led him to suggest various possible scenarios of what happened to the defenders. Yet the third co-director of the archaeological survey argued strenuously against this interpretation. J. Magness (2011; cf. 2019) pointed out that no cut was made through the ramp except about half way up, and the stone platform was probably eroded away; indeed, many large stones have accumulated around the base of the ramp, evidently eroded off the top. There is also clear evidence of burning in both the casemate rooms at the top of the ramp and around the tower, and the alleged missing artifacts have in fact been found, including ballista stones and iron arrowheads. Iron heads from catapult bolts are indeed missing, but there is evidence that these and even arrowheads were collected for reuse by the Romans after the siege. Magness’s arguments have now been reinforced by the archaeological study of the siege works by G. Davies (2011). On the question of whether the siege ramp was topped by a stone platform, he points out: ‘However,

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19th-century visitors do record the incidence of stone blocks toward the top of the ramp, and it is likely that the earthquake of 1927…was responsible for toppling these remains into the valleys on either side of the ramp’ (Davies 2011: 77). As for the statement in the NEAEHL (5: 1939) that the ramp was never finished, he comments: ‘Given the circumstances, it is very difficult to understand the rationale that underpins the argument… that Masada fell before the Roman assault ramp was completed’ (Davies 2011: 78). There is evidently still some archaeology from excavations in the 1990s to be published, but the work presently available does not support the idea that the ramp was not finished and that it did not serve as the basis for the Roman attack. Of course, as already pointed out forty years ago by S. J. D. Cohen (1982), there are aspects of Josephus’s account that the material remains have not confirmed, such as Eleazar’s speech (commented on above) and the mass suicide of the defenders. On the other hand, various aspects of Josephus’s account are plausible and seem correct. For example, he could easily have presented a scenario of a heroic defence against the Roman troops by the Sicarii, and it would have fitted his general approach in the War of emphasizing Jews as heroic combatants. The fact that he did not suggests that no such defence took place. Cohen notes that Josephus’s story had to take account of how Silva was presented, since the commander had been consul in 81 and still lived in Rome. Cohen suggests that the defenders may have responded in various ways when the Romans broke through: suicide, attacks on the Romans, and attempts to hide and escape: As the Romans were storming through the wall, some of the Jews slew their families, burnt their possessions, and set the public buildings on fire… Having destroyed what they could, some Jews killed themselves, some fought to the death, and some attempted to hide and escape… They also found two women and five children in one of the cisterns and twenty-five people in a cave on the southern slope. The former were spared (?), the latter killed (or did they commit suicide when discovered?). The corpses on the plateau were probably tossed over the cliff and the site was garrisoned. (Cohen 1982: 403–4)

If this is more or less what happened, Josephus’s picture of mass suicide would still not have harmed Silva’s reputation, even if only partially true. This lack of confirmation by archaeology for some aspects of the story (as noted by Cohen) is accepted by Magness (2011: 343, 358–59), who still concludes, ‘This review indicates that the archaeological evidence from Masada supports and corroborates Josephus’ account of

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the Roman siege’. Her interpretation seems justified by the evidence she cites throughout her article (and I think Cohen would agree). What is surprising is that Mason does not respond to or even cite her study, even though he contributed an article to the very same volume in which it appeared, nor does he seem to know Davies’ study. The mass suicide was said to have taken place on the 15th of Xanthicus (the Jewish month Nisan [March/April]), Passover time or the beginning of April. However, the year is not specified, and the question has been much debated, generally with the choice between 73 and 74 CE. Mason (2016: 561–65) gives a good summary of the arguments for each year. Arguing for the year 73 CE are the following considerations: Commagene was incorporated into Syria in Vespasian’s fourth year (War 7.7.1 §219) which was 1 July 72 to 30 June 73, after which Silva came to replace Bassus and attacked Masada (War 7.8.1 §252). Shortly after the fall of Masada, events took place in Alexandria when Lupus was governor, and Vespasian ordered him to close the temple of Leontopolis (War 7.10.2 §420-21). We know that Tiberius Julius Lupus was governor of Egypt in the month of Phamenoth, in the fifth year of Vespasian by Egyptian reckoning (SEG XX 651), that is, February–March 73; the problem is that it is not clear exactly how long he was in this office. Finally, the coins found at Masada all seem to go no later than 73 CE (§2.3). The case for 74 CE was first presented by W. Eck who analysed inscriptions that outlined Silva’s achievements (1969; 1970: 93–111). These mention that both Vespasian and Titus held the office of censor. Since their tenure in the office began about April 73 CE, the siege of Masada would have been a year later, about April or May 74 CE. This argument was picked up and accepted in the ‘new Schürer’ (Schürer 1:515). However, two reviewers (Jones 1974; Bowersock 1975) thought the matter was not so clear-cut and urged caution. H. Cotton (1989), while noting the arguments for 74 CE, pointed out that two texts found at Masada could argue for the traditional dating of 73 CE. First is a legionary pay record the mutilated first line of which can be restored so as to yield the year 72 (less likely, she argues, is a restoration that yields the year 75). If the document is correctly dated to 72, this would be circumstantial evidence for spring of 73 (since a soldier is unlikely to be carrying a pay slip from a previous year). The second document is a letter to Julius Lupus. As noted above, we know that Tiberius Julius Lupus is attested as being in Egypt in the month of Phamenoth, in the fifth year of Vespasian by Egyptian counting (SEG XX 651), that is February–March 73. Cotton argues that the presence of the letter at Masada can be interpreted in two ways: either it was received

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there, in which case its terminus ante quem is shortly before 25 February 73. If so, it is likely to have been received in the Roman camps during the siege. Tiberius Iulius Lupus would have received his promotion to the prefecture of Egypt while serving in the Roman forces besieging Masada, which would date the siege to winter 72–73 and the fall of Masada to spring 73 (agreeing with the supporters of the traditional date). The second, less likely possibility, is that it originated there and was never dispatched. Neither of these documents is certain evidence for the traditional date, but they make the date of 74 CE less secure. At the moment, either date—73 or 74—still seems a possibility. As a postscript to the Great War, Masada was not the last hurrah of the Sicarii. With the fall of Masada all Palestine was now in Roman hands, but some of the Sicarii had managed to flee to Egypt (War 7.10.1–11.4 §§40753). Did some Sicarii find a way to escape from the siege at Masada? We are not told. In any case, these Sicarii began to try to stir up the Jewish community in Egypt; however, the leading Jews feared that they might suffer the fate of their brothers in Judaea and captured as many Sicarii as they could, turning them over to the Romans. When news of the Sicarii disturbances was conveyed to Vespasian, he sent orders for the Egyptian governor Lupus to close the temple of Onias at Leontopolis (HJJSTP 3: 236–38) as another potential focus for revolt. But other Sicarii made their way to Cyrene and repeated the familiar pattern of planning revolt, led by a weaver named Jonathan. When the leading local Jews betrayed their intentions to the Romans, Jonathan was captured but proceeded to defend himself by claiming to the Roman governor Catullus that certain leading members of the Jewish community had put him up to it. Catullus took advantage of the situation by getting Jonathan to accuse certain wealthy individuals, then executing them and confiscating their property. He went on to suborn Jonathan to accuse others, apparently including Josephus. The plan backfired, however, when Vespasian investigated and discovered the truth. Jonathan was executed, though Catullus was only reprimanded (but Josephus claims divine punishment when Catullus became deranged and died miserably). 14.6. Conclusions The 66–70 (or 73) war with Rome was a monumental event in Jewish history, but it was not negligible in Roman history, either. It took major resources of man power and supplies and led to the death of many Roman soldiers and auxiliaries. Fortunately for us, we have an eye-witness

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account of many incidents in the war in the narratives of Josephus, even if we cannot always accept his interpretation of events. We also possess a great deal of recent information supplied by archaeology that supplements—and sometimes corrects—Josephus’s descriptions. Some of the points to notice about this period are the following: • The causes of the Great Revolt are no doubt many, but there seems a certain inevitability that there would be a major Jewish revolt against Roman rule at some point. The independent Hasmonaean kingdom was well within living memory, and dissatisfaction with Roman rule was shown by a series of revolts for the period from Pompey’s conquest in 63 BCE to the actual beginnings of the revolt in 66 CE. • Josephus may to some extent be the author of the ‘spiral of violence’ image for the first century CE, but there seems justification for saying that increasing friction and actual rebellious actions marked the period after Agrippa I’s death in 44 CE. • The combination of events in 66 CE that led to the actual revolt could have come together at almost any point after Agrippa I’s reign. • Although Josephus attempts to make the most of the aristocracy and leading priests members of the ‘peace party’, his actual data show that the leadership of the revolt was initially made up of individuals of the priestly and lay upper class. Some of these persons no doubt had ambivalent feelings, and some of them later abandoned the revolt to go over to the Romans, but their action is what counts. • Josephus himself is a good example of an aristocrat who claims to have been secretly plotting for peace but all of whose actions in Galilee were to plan for and carry out resistance to the Roman advance. • John of Gischala was in many ways the twin of Josephus, an aristocrat with good connections to the Jerusalem hierarchy who was apparently ambivalent about the revolt before taking the decisive step of becoming a leader in it. He may have been formally appointed commander over Upper Galilee, even though Josephus claims to have been given responsibility over all of Galilee. We should not let Josephus’s denigration of a rival colour our view of the situation. • Vespasian’s campaign shows a well-planned strategy to pacify the Galilee and other northern and eastern regions of Palestine to isolate Jerusalem before making its siege the final element in his suppression of the revolt. Only the Roman civil war after Nero’s death prevented his taking Jerusalem earlier.

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• Much of the siege of the city was marked by Jewish infighting. The Jewish fighters united against the final Roman assault, but otherwise they wasted time and energy in combatting one another. The Jewish side fought bravely and effectively, at least in hand-to-hand combat, but there was no concerted plan to resist or harass the Romans or to fight them with guerrilla warfare which might have slowed them down. • Recent archaeological studies have shown that Josephus’s basic description of the siege of Masada is believable. Arguments that the Roman siege ramp was never finished appear to be refuted. Whether there was a mass suicide is still a moot point, and the famous speech by Eleazar was invented by Josephus, but the Roman attack and taking of the fortress as described by Josephus fit the archaeology. • The Flavian rulers used the Jewish war as propaganda to bolster their new dynastic pretensions, but that does not take away from the seriousness of it. Great quantities of material and human resources were expended, and the lives of many Roman soldiers were lost in the fight. A successful Jewish revolt was never really on the cards, but the conquest of Palestine was no ‘walk in the park’ for the Romans.

Chapter 15

R om a n C on t r ol ( f r om 70 to c . 150 CE)

M. Goodman (2000) State and Society in Roman Galilee, A.D. 132–212; W. Horbury (2014) Jewish War under Trajan and Hadrian; E. M. Smallwood (1981) The Jews under Roman Rule; C. Weikert (2016) Von Jerusalem zu Aelia Capitolina: Die römische Politik gegenüber den Juden von Vespasian bis Hadrian.

This chapter takes the story from the fall of Jerusalem to end of the Bar Kokhva revolt and its consequences in the years following it. One might assume that the devastating effects of the 66–70 war were sufficient to remove any further plans or even hope of independence from Roman rule. Yet during the following period of only 65 years there were two more Jewish revolts. The question is, what was there about Roman and Jewish relations that led to such desperate measures or such impossible expectations that led to such uprisings against Roman administration? 15.1. Historical Overview M. Goodman (2002) ‘Current Scholarship on the First Revolt’, in A. M. Berlin and J. A. Overman (eds), The First Jewish Revolt: Archaeology, History, and Ideology: 15–24; idem (2003) ‘Trajan and the Origins of the Bar Kokhba War’, in P. Schäfer (ed.), The Bar Kokhba War Reconsidered: New Perspectives on the Second Jewish Revolt against Rome: 23–29; E. S. Gruen (2002b) ‘Roman Perspectives on the Jews in the Age of the Great Revolt’, in A. M. Berlin and J. A. Overman (eds), The First Jewish Revolt: Archaeology, History, and Ideology: 27–42; B. Isaac (1984b) ‘Judaea after A.D. 70’, JJS 35: 44–50; B. Isaac and I. Roll (1982) Roman Roads in Judaea: I The Legio-Scythopolis Road; J. Neusner (1972) ‘Emergent Rabbinic Judaism in a Time of Crisis: Four Responses to the Destruction of the Second Temple’, Judaism 21: 313–27; I. Roll (1983) ‘The Roman Road System in Judaea’, The Jerusalem Cathedra 3: 136–61; L. V. Rutgers (1994)

432 A History of Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, Volume 4 ‘Roman Policy towards the Jews: Expulsions from the City of Rome during the First Century C.E.’, Classical Antiquity 13: 56–74; P. Schäfer (1997) Judeophobia: Attitudes toward the Jews in the Ancient World; S. Schwartz (1990) Josephus and Judaean Politics; M. E. Stone (1982) ‘Reactions to the Destructions of the Second Temple’, JSJ 13: 195–204; B. Zissu (2018) ‘Interbellum Judea 70–132 CE: An Archaeological Perspective’, in J. Schwartz and P. J. Tomson (eds), Jews and Christians in the First and Second Centuries: The Interbellum 70–132 CE: 19–49.

One of the major problems with writing a history of the Jews after 70 CE is that Josephus’s narrative—an invaluable survival from antiquity despite all its problems—ceases and the history has to be pieced together from scattered bits and pieces. Most of what we know of specific events revolves around two periods of revolt, yet despite recent important discoveries, even today only a few data are known regarding the extremely important rebellions under Trajan and Hadrian. We have a good deal of what might be called prosopographic material about rabbis for the entire period, but the nature of the rabbinic literature which preserves it is problematic: in spite of the amount of material regarding certain individuals, it is still doubtful whether we could write a biography of them in a rigorously historical sense (§3.17). The years following the 66–70 revolt were bad ones for many Jews in Palestine. Not only had thousands been killed and sold into slavery but portions of Judaea, especially around Jerusalem, had suffered the ravages of war. Some interpret the data to mean that the economic situation was desperate (§5.2.2), assuming that large tracts of land had been taken over by the emperor and redistributed to Roman supporters or kept under his direct ownership so that there was little land available for purchase, even if one had the means. Recently, others have argued that that picture needs revision (see especially Zissu 2018). Rather than taking over much of Judaea into his personal possession, Vespasian confiscated only the property of rebels and founded just the one colony of soldiers in Judaea itself. Also, much of the country had suffered little direct damage from the war since most of the fighting had been in Judaea proper, primarily around Jerusalem, and to a lesser extent in Galilee and elsewhere. On the other hand, the annual donations for the temple from the diaspora were now lost by being converted to a Jewish tax, fiscus Judaicus (§5 2.3); further, the basis for the significant industry which catered for the thousands of pilgrims who came for the annual festivals was gone forever. Judaea was evidently reduced to an agrarian and basically subsistence economy. Agrippa II kept his territory, however, which would have meant parts of the Galilee, Gaulanitis, and Batanaea, Trachonitis, etc.

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There was definitely a major crisis from a religious perspective. The Jerusalem temple, until now the centre of Judaism, was in ruins. Since this had happened once before and yet the temple had been rebuilt, no doubt many hoped that it was only a matter of time before a new edifice was erected on Zion. Nevertheless, the destruction of Jerusalem and the temple was still an important theological problem, as attested by the words of the writer of the Ezra Apocalypse: …because of my grief I have spoken; for every hour I suffer agonies of heart, while I strive to understand the way of the Most High and to search out part of his judgment… Why then was I born? Or why did not my mother’s womb become my grave, that I might not see the travail of Jacob and the exhaustion of the people of Israel? (2 Esd. 5.34-35 NRSV)

Thus, as long as Jerusalem and the temple remained in ruins, there was a major religious problem for many Jews. Some, like the writers of the Ezra and Baruch Apocalypses (§3.15), sought to resolve the difficulty through the medium of apocalyptic expectations: the hope in divine intervention to destroy Rome and exalt the faithful Jews in the near future. Needless to say, such expectations were doomed to failure and could be satisfying only in the short term. Not only were those whose hope was in the temple affected but also those whose power base lay there, primarily the priests but also probably such groups as the Sadducees (HJJSTP 3: 137–43). This does not mean that the identity of the priestly families was forgotten, for many Jews even today maintain a tradition that they are ‘Aaron’ or ‘Levi’, but this identification is and was of little use when no temple existed. Most privileges formerly possessed were now removed, and their worth could be established only when they found a part in the new order (which some of them did, of course). The groups which survived and flourished were those with built-in mechanisms allowing them to provide substitutes for the temple and its cultus, primarily the Pharisees and the Christians (Neusner 1972; Stone 1982). The indications are that Christians by this time begun to substitute Christ for the temple and its sacrificial system. Although Luke (whether rightly or wrongly) pictures the Jewish members of the early church as continuing to observe temple and ritual practice (Acts 2.1; 21.17-26), he also preserves a tradition which rejects the temple completely (Acts 7.44-50). The Epistle to the Hebrews includes a long exposition on how the temple cult was a detailed symbol of the sacrifice of Christ. There is little indication that the destruction of the temple was in any way a theological problem for the emerging Christian church.

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Similarly, the first-century Pharisees were, among other things, evidently in many ways a table-fellowship sect in which the home represented the temple; the hearth, the altar; and the Pharisee himself, the priest (HJJSTP 3: 143–65). A Pharisaic layman in his home was able to re-enact the temple cultus in symbol. Although Pharisees would have—and clearly did—participate in the official temple worship as did other Jews, their religious system was fully capable of operation without a physical temple. It is thus hardly surprising that they were a significant factor in the post-70 religious reconstruction (§15.4). Rabbinic Judaism also developed study of the Torah as a substitute for the temple and its service. Coincidentally, the situation was also favourable to the Pharisees and other groups in that it had removed many rivals from the scene. The Essenes seem to have been more or less wiped out; certainly their alleged centre at Qumran was overrun. Some no doubt escaped from that destruction and perhaps other threats (such as the fall of Jerusalem), but we have the impression that few Essenes were any longer around in Jewish society. And, as already noted, the priests and Sadducees had little influence apart from the temple itself, even though there are traditions which (if credible) suggest that remnants of the Sadducees survived into the second century CE (HJJSTP 3: 137–43). Contrary to the developing rabbinic tradition, coming to terms with the new situation was not to the taste of all Jews, as events in the early second century demonstrate. To anticipate much of the content of the present chapter Trajan’s conquests in Mesopotamia were followed by a rebellion against the new overlord in which the Jews of the region also participated. This was followed by (or perhaps more or less simultaneous with) uprisings in Cyrene, Egypt, and Cyprus. Among measures taken by Hadrian after these revolts were put down was the strengthening of the occupying force in Judaea, making it into a consular province, and a programme of road building which would have made control of the region easier (Isaac/Roll 1982; Roll 1983). Nevertheless, the Jews of Palestine rose up once again in 132–136 under the leadership of a man whom some identified as the messiah. This was the last time: Jerusalem was made off limits to Jews and even the official name of the province became Syria Palaestina instead of Judaea. A number of scholars have postulated an anti-Jewish policy on the part of the Romans, either by Hadrian or even going back to the Flavians (see especially Goodman 2002). There is no question that those responsible for the 66–70 revolt were punished by death or enslavement when captured during the war or by seizure of land from survivors afterward (cf. further

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§5.2.2). Part of Flavian propaganda was their suppression of the Jewish revolt, to establish their right to rule. There was also the fiscus Judaicus imposed by Vespasian and continued by later emperors (§5.2.3), even enhanced by Domitian but with partial relief under Nerva. To anticipate discussion to come later in this chapter, it is even proposed that Trajan and Hadrian instituted anti-Jewish measures. Yet there are counter-arguments to this scenario, some quite strong. One can argue that the Flavian propaganda was predictable: a cause célèbre was needed to strengthen the claims of the family to the office of emperor, and the Judaean war was the main event to use for this purpose. Otherwise, from the Roman point of view the Flavian measures were not particularly high handed (cf. Isaac 1984; Gruen 2002). Even the fiscus could be said to cause no particular harm, since the Jews could no longer pay to the temple—why not divert the money to something useful to the Romans? Also, although the fiscus affected the Jews, different forms of taxation were heavily enforced on all subjects of the Roman empire; the Alexandrians, for example, were not exempted from burdensome taxation (Rutgers 1994: 72). The main argument for seeing no particular anti-Judaism on the part of the Romans is that toleration of Jewish religious practices continued, and there is no evidence that Jews were disadvantaged as such under Flavian rule (cf. Isaac 1984: 49–50; §11.1.3). (The question of Trajan and Hadrian are discussed below [§15.2.2; §15.2.6].) Finally, there were still apocalyptic expectations on the part of some. The developing rabbinic movement seems to have found ways of dealing with the Jewish plight through tradition, study, and a non-apocalyptic world view (things like the messiah and the end of the world were postponed to an indefinite future). But elsewhere we find strong apocalyptic expectations, with belief that the Roman empire would soon be destroyed by divine intervention in some form or other, as laid by such apocalypses as 4 Ezra, 2 Baruch, the Apocalypse of John, and perhaps the Apocalypse of Abraham. These suggest why the rebellions in 115–117 and the Bar Kokhva revolt came about: the apocalyptic expectations known from earlier times had not ceased to have their force. 15.2. Rule of the Roman Empire: Vespasian to Hadrian From 69 CE a new dynasty now occupied the imperial throne. Although a fiction of a connection with the Julio-Claudians (who had ruled since Augustus) was created, the Flavian line was in fact a new family of rulers

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and turned out to be short lived. The first two emperors of this line ended up being highly popular, but not the third who showed signs reminiscent of Nero and Caligula and, like them, was assassinated. This was followed by several individuals chosen formally by the Senate, though Nerva had designated Trajan as his heir, as Trajan was to designate Hadrian. 15.2.1. Vespasian (69–79 CE) B. Levick (1999b) Vespasian; J. Nicols (1978) Vespasian and the Partes Flavianae.

Vespasian’s family was one newly arrived into the ranks of the Equites, and he himself had never been in the Senate. He was above all a military man who had campaigned in Britain and Africa before being appointed commander about age 57 for the Judaean campaign by Nero. His appointment as emperor marked an innovation in several ways. To lessen the effects of this he attempted to create the fiction of a relationship to the Julio-Claudians. On the other hand, he came at a time when Rome was desperate for peace and calm, and he proved a good administrator and ruler, becoming perhaps the most popular emperor since Augustus. The Flavian family also used the conquest of Judaea as a useful propaganda tool to illustrate their worthiness to rule, by drawing attention to their actions in neutralizing such a dangerous part of the empire. Vespasian’s handling of the economic crisis was a sign of his ability, for he managed to cut spending and raise new taxes without alienating his supporters or provoking major discontent in the provinces which bore the brunt of increased imposts. Although still making some use of freedmen, he avoided the problems created by Claudius and Nero by appointing most governmental officers from the equestrian ranks. Like Augustus he kept enough of the forms of republican government to satisfy the Senate while continuing to reduce its power. He began his reign by having to put down a revolt on the German frontier which had arisen in the chaos of 69, in which a German chieftain and a Gallic Roman commander declared an ‘empire of the Gauls’. However, despite some initial successes the Gauls as a whole refused to join these would-be leaders and the new ‘empire’ was soon dissolved. It was not Vespasian’s policy to expand the frontiers of the empire as such. On the other hand, it became clear that proper maintenance of the current frontiers required some further annexation of territory. He began the push west and north in Britain, which eventually ended in bringing northern

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England, southern Scotland, and much of Wales under Roman control by Domitian’s time. He also began to bring further areas of Germany into the defence system, specifically the Black Forest. Perhaps one of the greatest contributions made to peace by Vespasian was the establishment of the dynastic principle. He made it quite clear from the beginning that Titus was to be his successor and Domitian after that if Titus had no children. (The fact that Vespasian had two suitable sons was indeed one of the things which had led many to support him.) Therefore, when Vespasian died in 79, Titus was able to make the transition into the office without incident. 15.2.2. Titus (79–81 CE) B. W. Jones (1984) The Emperor Titus.

The reign of Titus might be characterized as ‘short and sweet’, though there are those who argue that if it had been longer, it would have been otherwise. The greatest of his achievements were accomplished before his reign, most notably the conquest of Judah which was left to him by Vespasian (§14.4.4; §14.4.5). Born in 39 CE he was educated alongside the step-brother of Nero and was still less than 30 when he took up a command post under Vespasian during the Jewish war. Already he had experience as a military tribune in Germany; now he showed himself a skilled diplomat when acting on his father’s behalf during the war and especially in the events relating to Vespasian’s being declared emperor, notable in a young man still in his 20s. One of our main sources for his activities during the war is Josephus who lost no opportunity to praise Titus’s abilities as a soldier, general, and man. Josephus’s picture is clearly exaggerated. No doubt Titus had ability and was certainly an individual of courage and action, but he was also impetuous to the point of being foolhardy in battle and no great strategist. The credit for reducing Jerusalem rightly belonged to him, yet the superiority of the Roman military machine made victory a foregone conclusion. He also had the steadying hand of Tiberius Alexander (§13.6.3). Titus’s behaviour after victory led to misunderstanding and rumour. He celebrated lavish spectacles, accepted the acclaim of the troops and countries of the East, and even allowed the title imperator to be put on coinage for a time. It was probably all innocent enough even if a sign of poor judgment to allow such displays, but it gave the impression that he was trying to become a rival to his father. When this became known,

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Titus immediately sailed for Rome and reported to Vespasian, dispelling the rumours of seeking to take over. Vespasian for his part gladly shared many of his offices and responsibilities to ensure that Titus would succeed him. Indeed, Titus became the first Roman emperor to receive the throne from his father. Between 70 and 79, he obtained a variety of high offices, including consulship, censorship, priesthood, tribuneship, which he occupied jointly with Vespasian to the point that he was practically co-ruler with his father. One of the most important posts taken by Titus was that of prefect of the Praetorian Guard. The reports are that he was a stern office holder and did not hesitate to punish with death those suspected of disloyalty or endangering the state. This made him on the one hand popular with the guard itself and the military in general but, on the other hand, feared and disliked by the upper classes and those likely to suffer from his policies. It has been suggested that this is the reason for his later public generosity when emperor. In any case, he accused of conspiracy such individuals as Marcellus and Caecina, who had once been close to him and had served his father well, and had them put to death. Of special interest is his relationship with Berenice the sister of Agrippa II (§13.4). He first met her when he came to Syria with his father to put down the Jewish revolt. Their affair was carried on fairly openly until he returned to Rome in 71. Because of regard for public opinion, and probably on the advice of his father, he did not invite her to Rome until 75 and then along with her brother Agrippa. How long she remained is not recorded, but he sent her away at some point because of public animosity. No doubt there were serious overtones of Mark Antony’s affair with Cleopatra. After he became emperor and she once more returned to Rome, he could only send her away again, firmly and finally, though evidently to their mutual regret. His brief reign included the completion of the famous Colosseum which Vespasian had begun, as well as the Baths built in his honour. He is reported to have been generous to the point of extravagance in giving gifts to the Roman public and to many individuals. After the destruction of Pompeii in 79 and a fire and plague in Rome itself in 80, he gave considerable aid to the survivors. Dio (66.19.3a) nevertheless states that he governed frugally, making precise judgment difficult. It is also difficult to judge his rule as a whole because it was so short. Dio (66.18.4-5) thought that things would have gone downhill if he had ruled longer, but since he died at age 41 after a little more than two years in office, who can say?

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15.2.3. Domitian (81–96 CE) B. W. Jones (1992) The Emperor Domitian; P. Keresztes (1973) ‘The Jews, the Christians, and Emperor Domitian’, VC 27: 1–28; E. M. Smallwood (1956a) ‘Domitian’s Attitude toward the Jews and Judaism’, Classical Philology 51: 1–13; L. A. Thompson (1982) ‘Domitian and the Jewish Tax’, Historia 31: 329–42.

Although the third Flavian and the second son of Vespasian to rule, Domitian has unfortunately gone down in both Christian and Roman history as a bad ruler. This is due mainly to the strict measures he took to maintain his hold on the throne, especially the revival of treason trials. In actual fact, though, Domitian was an efficient administrator of the empire and essentially continued the policies of Vespasian with similar consequences. The opposition came because of traits of personality in large part because of his position as the younger son who had been overshadowed by Titus all his life. Although he had even functioned briefly as vice-regent in late 69 after the Vitellians were defeated (§14.4.2), he had also blotted his copybook at the time. Consequently, he was not given any office or honour of substance: whereas Titus was groomed for government by a succession of appointments with real responsibility, Domitian received only empty honours. Therefore, when he had the chance to govern, he took the reins firmly in hand and did not bother to keep up the appearances of respecting the Senate as his father had done. Continuing the policies of Vespasian to entrust the administration to professionals of equestrian rank, Domitian began the tendency (though possibly it had already started under Vespasian) to divide the work of governing large provinces between a civilian official (iuridicus) and a military governor. He completed the reorganization of the frontier defences in several areas. In Britain Roman control was extended over much of Wales and even as far as northern Scotland. When a legion had to be withdraw to serve on the Danube, it was decided that the three remaining legions were overstretched and the defences in Britain were established further south. The British commander Agricola was dismayed by this, as his son-in-law Tacitus makes plain (in his work, Agricola), but it was probably a correct decision from a strategic point of view. The reason for the withdrawal of a legion was the unification of the Dacians under Decebalus and his invasion of Moesia in 85. Domitian himself took to the field in the crisis. However, a treaty was hastily arranged in 88 because of a rebellion by two legions of the Rhine, as well as unrest in Pannonia. The Rhine mutiny was suppressed even before

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Domitian arrived; precisely what happened in Pannonia is not known, but things seem to have been peacefully settled. On both the Rhine and Danube, a series of permanent fortresses and accompanying defences were built. Vespasian had already absorbed the Black Forest; now Domitian extended Roman control to the heights of the Taunus mountains as the most strategic place to establish his line of fortification on the German border. After the Rhine rebellion of 88, Domitian began to fear conspiracies and revived prosecutions for treason. It was last under Nero that the senatorial class had had to suffer condemnation of many of its own number. From a historical perspective, this does not negate the positive nature of much of Domitian’s administration, but it is hardly surprising that it coloured his entire reign for those upper-class writers who suffered through the period. His own wife Domitia instigated his assassination in 96, and his memory was condemned by the Senate. It has been speculated that he was planning an attack on the Jews, which only his death prevented (Smallwood 1956), but this hypothesis does not seem well founded. However, he did extend the Jewish tax (fiscus Judaicus) in certain ways, a subject still debated (§5.2.3). 15.2.4. Nerva (96–98 CE) N. T. Elkins (2017) The Image of Political Power in the Reign of Nerva, AD 96–98; M. Goodman (1989) ‘Nerva, the Fiscus Judaicus and Jewish Identity’, JRS 79: 40–44; idem (2007) ‘The Meaning of “Fisci Iudaici Calumnia Sublata” on the Coinage of Nerva’, in S. J. D. Cohen and J. J. Schwartz (eds), Studies in Josephus and the Varieties of Ancient Judaism: Louis H. Feldman Jubilee Volume: 81–89; J. D. Grainger (2003) Nerva and the Roman Succession Crisis of AD 96–99.

The plot against Domitian seems to have been a limited one without a specific candidate in mind to replace him. Thus, the choice fell to the Senate who appointed Nerva because of his seniority rather than distinction of personal qualities (he was already over 65), but he was popular with the Senate as one of their own. He took an oath not to execute any senator except after a free trial by the Senate itself, one later repeated by both Trajan and Hadrian. Nevertheless, Nerva clearly led a caretaker government. He had no military prowess to claim the loyalty of the army, and he quickly had trouble with the Praetorian Guard which was angry about the murder of Domitian and demanded that one of their prefects who was privy to the

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plot be punished. Nerva was forced to accede to their demands, but this only showed how vulnerable he was to the whims of the military and invoked images of ‘the year of the four emperors’. However, Nerva had the sense to resolve the problem by gaining the support of Trajan who was commander in northern Germany. Nerva adopted him and made him co-ruler, thus ensuring stability for the few months left in his reign. Trajan then took the throne in a smooth transition. One interesting decree by Nerva was a change in the Jewish tax, which he commemorated by an inscription on some of his coins (discussed at §5.2.3). 15.2.5. Trajan (98–117 CE) J. Bennett (1997) Trajan Optimus Princeps: A Life and Times; M. Goodman (2003) ‘Trajan and the Origins of the Bar Kokhba War’, in P. Schäfer (ed.), The Bar Kokhba War Reconsidered: New Perspectives on the Second Jewish Revolt against Rome: 23–29.

Trajan had many of the qualities of Vespasian. The army considered him one of themselves, and he maintained the outward forms of the republic sufficient to keep the Senate happy. To the personal contrast with Domitian was added the administrative ability of the latter to inaugurate a period of relative order and peace which lasted through a good portion of the second century. (This did not include the frontiers which were always a potential source of trouble.) Indeed, Trajan began his reign by having to deal with the Dacians who were still led by Decebalus. This time they were defeated in the two Dacian Wars (101–102, 105 CE) and the territory made into a province. This was the start of Trajan’s policy of expansion. The boundaries of the Roman empire had remained more or less intact since the time of Augustus: now Trajan pushed them to their widest limits. After the Dacians it was the turn of the East. In 106 he annexed Arabia (Nabataea) to form a new province, but this was only a prelude to the campaigns which came toward the end of his reign, his wars in the East. Although the precise reason for them has been debated, they were undoubtedly undertaken primarily out of strategic motives, whatever secondary aims there may have been. Certainly the perennial situation with the Parthians needed to be settled and served as a convenient excuse to renew expansion. When Pacorus II died in 109/110, the Parthian throne was taken by his brother Chosroes. Pacorus had intended that the throne of Armenia go to his younger son Axidares, with Roman approval, but Chosroes now supported Pacorus’s other son Parthamasiris (Axidares’s elder brother) who had seized the Armenian throne. Trajan left Rome in

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October 113 for Antioch where he spent several months in making preparations for war. He probably had the equivalent of eleven legions (plus auxiliaries) when he set out in the spring of 114 for Armenia. Parthamasiris submitted, but the crown was removed from him (he was later killed in mysterious circumstances) and Armenia—or at least the western part of it—made into a Roman province. In the area of the Caucasus, Trajan established a number of client-kings to help hold the frontier in this area. In the autumn of 114 Trajan turned south into Mesopotamia. The precise course of events for the next year is uncertain, but he obtained the submission of various peoples and territories, including Nisibus, Edessa, Singra, and even areas beyond the Tigris. He did not return until late in 115; however, he was in Antioch when the earthquake of 13 December 115 occurred. There was now a new province of Mesopotamia, but Trajan was not finished. In the spring of 116 he set out for the conquest of Assyria and Babylonia. He took Adiabene, Seleucia, and Ctesiphon by the summer, establishing the new province of Assyria, then sailed down the river to the Persian Gulf to add further client-kings, and returned to the site of ancient Babylon to spend the winter. A counter-attack by the Parthians, combined with revolts in Mesopotamia itself, threatened to undo everything, but these were effectively suppressed and most of the conquered areas remained under Roman control. Lusius Quietus received much of the credit for this. However, it was 117 and something had to be done about the serious situation with the Jewish revolts in Cyprus, Cyrene, and Egypt (§14.5), including sending back to the west military units originally removed from there for the Parthian invasion. It was time to stop advancing and consolidate. Trajan left this task to Hadrian and began to make his way back to Rome. He died on the way in August 117. 15.2.6. Hadrian (117–38 CE) H. W. Benario (1980) A Commentary on the Vita Hadriani in the Historia Augusta; A. R. Birley (1997) Hadrian: The Restless Emperor; W. Eck (2003) ‘Hadrian, the Bar Kokhba Revolt, and the Epigraphic Transmission’, in P. Schäfer (ed.), The Bar Kokhba War Reconsidered: New Perspectives on the Second Jewish Revolt against Rome: 153–70; Y. Eliav (1997) ‘Hadrian’s Actions in the Jerusalem Temple Mount according to Cassius Dio and Xiphilini Manus’, JSQ 4: 125–44; D. Golan (1986) ‘Hadrian’s Decision to Supplant “Jerusalem” by “Aelia Capitolina” ’, Historia 35: 226–39; B. Isaac and I. Roll (1979a) ‘Judaea in the Early Years of Hadrian’s Reign’, Latomus 38: 54–66; L. Mildenberg (1984) The Coinage of the Bar Kokhba War: 97–99; T. Opper (2008) Hadrian: Empire and Conflict; S. Perowne (1960)

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Hadrian; P. Schäfer (1990) ‘Hadrian’s Policy in Judaea and the Bar Kokhba Revolt: A Reassessment’, in P. R. Davies and R. T. White (eds), A Tribute to Geza Vermes: Essays on Jewish and Christian Literature and History: 281–303; E. M. Smallwood (1959b) ‘The Legislation of Hadrian and Antoninus Pius against Circumcision’, Latomus 18: 334–47; idem (1961a) ‘The Legislation of Hadrian and Antoninus Pius against Circumcision’, Latomus 20: 93–96; E. Speller (2003) Following Hadrian: A SecondCentury Journey through the Roman Empire; R. Turcan (2008) Hadrien: Souverain de la romanité.

As a protégé of Trajan, Hadrian had been well trained for his role as emperor. He had campaigned with Trajan and was in charge of the army in the East at Trajan’s death. He was already in his early 40s and had apparently been designated as Trajan’s heir. His initial acts were those to keep on good terms with the Senate by maintaining the outward forms of being declared emperor by this body. Although voted a number of honours immediately as was customary, he declined most of these for the time being. It was under Hadrian that the push of the borders of the empire further east was halted; he quickly abandoned the recent conquests in Mesopotamia as too difficult to defend and came to terms with the Parthians. This meant that most of his reign was a time of peace, which allowed him to exercise his considerable skills in overhauling the administration and establishing formal procedures for regular military training. It also let him take a number of tours of the empire which occupied the bulk of his 21-year reign. After three years in Rome working on the administration of the empire, Hadrian began his first tour of the empire in 120 or 121 (cf. Opper 2008: 12–13; Birley 1997). He proceeded to Gaul, then to the legions on the Rhine, sailing from there for Britain, wintering finally in Spain. After a visit to Mauretania, he sailed directly to the East. He spent considerable time in Greece and Asia Minor, though he seems to have paid a visit to Syria as well. Back in Rome by 126, his second tour most likely began in early 128, starting with Carthage and a tour of Roman Africa. He sailed back to Rome but only as a brief stop on his way to Greece, which he reached in late 128. After wintering in Athens, he crossed to Asia Minor for a tour through the southern provinces, ending at Antioch about mid-129. Using Antioch as a base he made further excursions to such places as Damascus and Palmyra and possibly even Petra (though this may have been the next year).

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It was most likely in the spring of 130 that he set out again from Antioch on his journey southward. At this time (rather than the previous year) he visited Jerusalem and probably gave the order for it to be rebuilt as Aelia Capitolina (§15.7.2). The occasion was marked by the issue of a series of coins with the inscription, ‘for the arrival of Augustus [Hadrian] in Judaea’ (ADVENTVI AVG[VSTI] IVDAEAE: Hendin 2010: 460; Mildenberg 1984: 97–99). Moving on, he restored Pompey’s tomb at Pelusium before entering Egypt where he remained for the next year. In late summer 131 he returned to Syria, apparently spending some time there. He wintered in Athens in 131–132, after which the revolt in Judaea began (§15.7.1). The next firm date is his presence in Rome in 134: precisely what he did in the intervening time is uncertain. Plaques and dedications in various Greek and eastern cities show his generosity to them, but when to place his presence there is often a matter of speculation. However, it seems probable that he personally inspected the theatre of war in Judaea sometime in 133–134. It may have been the exertions of his tours that brought on an illness in 136 which only worsened through the final years of his reign. He died in July 138 CE. 15.3. Administration of Judaea (70 to post-135 CE) M. Avi-Yonah (1973) ‘When Did Judea Become a Consular Province?’, IEJ 23: 209–13; J. Choi (2013) Jewish Leadership in Roman Palestine from 70 CE to 135 CE; W. Eck (1970) Senatoren von Vespasian bis Hadrian: Prosopographische Untersuchungen mit Einschluß der Jahresund Provinzialfasten der Statthalter; idem (2018) ‘Position and Authority of the Provincial Legate and the Financial Procurator in Judaea, 70–136 AD’, in J. Schwartz and P. J. Tomson (eds), Jews and Christians in the First and Second Centuries: The Interbellum 70–132 CE: 93–105; D. Gera and H. M. Cotton (1991) ‘A Dedication from Dor to a Governor of Syria’, IEJ 41: 258–66; G. Gambash and A. Yasur-Landau (2018) ‘ “Governor of Judea and Syria”: A New Dedication from Dor to Gargilius Antiquus’, ZPE 205: 158–64; H. Geva (1984) ‘The Camp of the Tenth Legion in Jerusalem: An Archaeological Reconsideration’, IEJ 34: 239–54; B. Isaac (2018) ‘Judaea after 70: Delegation of Authority by Rome?’, in J. Schwartz and P. J. Tomson (eds), Jews and Christians in the First and Second Centuries: The Interbellum 70–132 CE: 106–18; B. Isaac and I. Roll (1979a) ‘Judaea in the Early Years of Hadrian’s Reign’, Latomus 38: 54–66; idem (1979b) ‘Legio II Traiana in Judaea’, ZPE 33: 149–56; L. J. F. Keppie (1973) ‘The Legionary Garrison of Judaea under Hadrian’, Latomus 32: 859–64; B. Lifshitz (1960) ‘Sur la date du transfert de la legion VI Ferrata en Palestine’, Latomus 19: 109–11; A. Negev (1964) ‘The High Level

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Aqueduct at Caesarea’, IEJ 14: 237–49; idem (1972) ‘A New Inscription from the High Level Aqueduct at Caesarea’, IEJ 22: 52–53; H.-G. Pflaum (1969) ‘Remarques sur le changement de statut administratif de la province de Judée’, IEJ 19: 225–33; E. M. Smallwood (1962b) ‘Atticus, Legate of Judaea under Trajan’, JRS 52: 131–33; N. Tzori (1971) ‘An Inscription of the Legio VI Ferrata from the Northern Jordan Valley’, IEJ 21: 53–54.

The status of Judaea changed, first, during the Great Revolt and then in its wake (see especially Eck 2018 for a summary of developments). Whereas before 66 CE, Judaea was formally a part of the province of Syria (in spite of a governor and a certain independence [§12.6.1]), when Vespasian became the general chosen to put down the Judaean revolt, the southern part of Syria was put under his authority, with the title of legatus Augusti pro praetore, the same as the governor of Syria. Now Judaea was an independent province, and its governorship was inherited by Titus. The equestrian procurator Marcus Antonius Iulianus appointed over Judah by Titus (War 6.4.3 §238) was not a governor but a financial procurator, responsible for tax collection. At this point a new type of governor over Judaea was created by Vespasian: governorship by a senator of praetorian rank who was also commander of the Legion X Fretensis that was permanently stationed there. Judaea became a consular province when a second legion was posted there. For a long time it was thought that the consular status did not come about until after the revolt of 132–136, but recent studies have now pushed that time back by a considerable number of years. First, B. Lifshitz (1960) suggested that the conversion came as early as 130; then H.-G. Pflaum (1969) gave reasons to think it was as early as 123. Later studies argued that it was in 117 or immediately afterward (Avi-Yonah 1973; Keppie 1973; Isaac/Roll 1979a). The discovery of a milestone then showed that the II Traiana Legion was in Palestine by 120 at the latest (Isaac/Roll 1979b). Eck (2018: 96–99), though recognizing present evidence is insufficient to be precise, thinks there are indications that the change occurred about the middle of Trajan’s reign, perhaps in 107 or 108 CE when Q. Pompeius Falco was governor. Otherwise, the government of the province seems to have been carried on much as it had before 66. There is no evidence that Judaism as a religion was suppressed. Although it has been argued that much of the land was taken away from the Jewish owners, this is a moot point (see discussion in §5.2.2). The names and dates of only some of the governors are known (see especially Eck 1970: 243; also Schürer 1:515–19; Pflaum 1969; Avi-Yonah 1973: 212–13; Smallwood 1962):

446 A History of Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, Volume 4 Sex. Vettulenus Cerialis 70–71/72 Sex. Lucilius Bassus 71/72–73/74 L. Flavius Silva Nonius Bassus 73/74–79/80 Cn. Pinarius Aemilius Cicatricula Pompeius Longinus 85/86–88/89 Sex. Hermetidius Campanus 92/93–93/94 Ti. Claudius Atticus Herodes approximately 100/101 C. Iulius Quadratus Bassus c. 102/103–104/105 Q. Roscius Coelius Pompeius Falco c. 105/106–107/108 [C. Avi]dius C[eion]ius [Comm]odu[s] between 102 and 114 Lusius Quietus 115/116–116/117 Cossonius Gallus c. 120 Gargilius Antiquus c. 123–125 Q. Tineius Rufus 130/131–132/133 Cn. Minicius Faustinus Sex. Iulius Severus 133/134–134/135 P. Calpurnius Atilianus 137/138–139/140

The governor listed as [C. Avi]dius C[eion]ius [Comm]odu[s] is based on the restoration of an inscription from Side in Pamphylia (Pflaum 1969). Eck (1970: 18 n. 88, 227, 243) lists Quietus with a question mark, based on Epiphanius (De Mens. et Pond. 13.15); Schürer omits him entirely, with good reason. Another possible governor is C. Quinctius Certus Publicius Marcellus, perhaps sent at the time of the Bar Kokhva revolt (Schürer 1:518–19), but this suggests two governors at the same time, Severus and Publicius: is this likely? A governor named Tiberianus is mentioned by John Malalas, but the information is doubtful (Schürer 1:517–18). A recently discovered fragment of an honorary monument has a Latin inscription dedicated to Cossonius Gallus who is said to be legate of Hadrian in ‘the province of Judaea’ (CIIP 2.1227: prov[inciae] Iu[daeae]). His term of office was evidently about 120 CE. In 2016 an underwater Greek inscription was salvaged from the Dor harbour (Gambash/YasurLandau 2018). It was apparently a statue base, dedicated to Marcus Paccius, son of Publius, Silvanus Q. Coredius Gallus Gargilius Antiquus who is labelled ‘governor of Judaea and Syria’ ([ἐπα]ρχείας Ἰουδα[ίας | κα]ὶ Συρίας). It appears from an earlier inscription and other data (CIIP 2.2122; Gera/Cotton 1991) that this person was first governor of Arabia (c. 116 CE), then of Judaea (c. 123–125 CE), and then of Syria (125–128 CE), and finally proconsul of Asia (c. 134–135 CE). The local administration by the Jews themselves also seems to have continued as was customary under Roman rule, but details are lacking (Choi 2013; cf. Isaac 2018). The pre-70 leadership had lain primarily in the hands of the priestly class and the Herodians. The Romans could have used these, but they chose not to. They had also begun to lessen the

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use of client kings, not renewing Agrippa II’s kingdom after his death and making Arabia a province in 106 CE. Instead, they relied on the traditional Roman methods: the military, with the cities, and sometimes Roman colonies, as administrative units. The formal administration was in the hands of the governor (who was in charge of the military and administration of justice) and the procurator, who had the finances as his remit (Eck 2018). No further hierarchy existed formally. As for local Jewish leadership, the Sanhedrin had been destroyed; perhaps it was revived in some form at a later time, but this is uncertain. B. Isaac (2018) draws attention to the congress (concilium, koinon) of the province, a widespread institution. This was not a part of the Roman administration as such but acted as a representative of the citizens of the province as an institute of the cities. They could lobby the emperor and could bring charges against governmental officials who were thought to have committed offences. The question is whether the rabbinic gathering at Yavneh might have been such a body (see next section [§15.4]). The answer is that it was not, as such, especially since councils also maintained the imperial cult. Yet the rabbis at Yavneh might have had some activities in common with a provincial congress in speaking up for the population of Judaea. The matter is difficult because the indication is that rabbinic dominance of Judaism does not seem to have come about for several centuries, but Yavneh might have had some role as a representative of the Jews in Roman eyes. All in all, much of the local pre-66 administrative structure seems to have been ruptured by the war. In any case, the legal position of Jews seems not to have changed: ‘There is…no evidence showing that Jews were kept in a class inferior to that of other provincials’ (Isaac 1984: 49). 15.4. Beginnings of Rabbinic Judaism at Yavneh (70–130 CE) A. Appelbaum (2013) The Dynasty of the Jewish Patriarchs; J. Choi (2013) Jewish Leadership in Roman Palestine from 70 CE to 135 CE; S. J. D. Cohen (1984) ‘The Significance of Yavneh: Pharisees, Rabbis, and the End of Jewish Sectarianism’, HUCA 55: 27–53; J. Gereboff (1979) Rabbi Tarfon; D. Goodblatt (1980) ‘Towards the Rehabilitation of Talmudic History’, in B. Bokser (ed.), History of Judaism: The Next Ten Years: 31–44; idem (1994) The Monarchic Principle: Studies in Jewish Self-Government in Antiquity; W. S. Green (1978) ‘What’s in a Name? The Problematic of Rabbinic “Biography” ’, in W. S. Green (ed.), Approaches to Ancient Judaism: Theory and Practice: 77–96; idem (1980) ‘Context and Meaning in Rabbinic “Biography” ’, in W. S. Green (ed.), Approaches to

448 A History of Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, Volume 4 Ancient Judaism, Volume II: 97–111; W. S. Green (ed.) (1977) Persons and Institutions in Early Rabbinic Judaism; E. Habas (Rubin) (1999) ‘Rabban Gamaliel of Yavneh and his Sons: The Patriarchate before and after the Bar Kokhva Revolt’, JJS 50: 21–37; C. Hezser (1998) The Social Structure of the Rabbinic Movement in Roman Palestine; M. Jacobs (1995) Die Institution des jüdischen Patriarchen: Eine quellen- und traditionskritische Studie zur Geschichte der Juden in der Spätantike; S. Kanter (1979) Rabban Gamaliel II; H. Lapin (1995) Early Rabbinic Civil Law and the Social History of Roman Galilee: A Study of Mishnah Tractate Baba’ Meṣi‘a’; J. Neusner (1970) Development of a Legend; idem (1971) The Rabbinic Traditions about the Pharisees before 70; idem (1972) ‘Emergent Rabbinic Judaism in a Time of Crisis: Four Responses to the Destruction of the Second Temple’, Judaism 21: 313–27; idem (1973a) From Politics to Piety: The Making of Pharisaic Religion; idem (1973b) Eliezer ben Hyrcanus; idem (1979) ‘The Formation of Rabbinic Judaism: Yavneh (Jamnia) from A.D. 70 to 100’, ANRW II: 19.2.3–42; idem (1980) ‘The Present State of Rabbinic Biography’, in G. Nahon and C. Touati (eds), Hommage à Georges Vajda: 85–91; idem (1981) Judaism: The Evidence of the Mishnah; idem (1983) ‘Varieties of Judaism in the Formative Age’, Formative Judaism II: Religious, Historical, and Literary Studies: 59–89; idem (1984b) Messiah in Context: Israel’s History and Destiny in Formative Judaism; idem (1995) ‘Evaluating the Attributions of Sayings to Named Sages in the Rabbinic Literature’, JSJ 26: 93–111; G. G. Porton (1976–82) The Traditions of Rabbi Ishmael; S. Safrai (1974) ‘Jewish Self-Government’, in S. Safrai and M. Stern (eds), The Jewish People in the First Century: 1:377–419; A. J. Saldarini (1975) ‘Johanan ben Zakkai’s Escape from Jerusalem: Origin and Development of a Rabbinic Story’, JSJ 6: 189–204; P. Schäfer (1978) ‘R. Aqiva und Bar Kokhba’, in Studien zur Geschichte und Theologie des rabbinischen Judentums: 65–121; S. Schwartz (1999) ‘The Patriarchs and the Diaspora’, JSJ 50: 208–22; S. Stern (2003) ‘Rabbi and the Origins of the Patriarchate’, JJS 54: 193–215; T. Zahavy (1977) The Traditions of Eleazar Ben Azariah.

It can be said with certainty that what happened at Yavneh had great consequences for the development of Judaism after 70, yet the precise interactions at Yavneh have been obscured by the later editing and interpretation of the period in rabbinic literature. The intervention of the Bar Kokhva revolt, the executions or deaths of some important rabbinic leaders, and the re-evaluation of some of the Yavnean leaders by a later generation, all led to the heavy censorship and recontextualization of the Yavnean traditions. Yavneh is the name used for the reconstitution of a form of religious belief and practice that became known as rabbinic Judaism. It was given this name because the activities of those doing this work seems to

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have taken place in the region of Yavneh. As an area which had come into Roman possession, Yavneh was allegedly granted to Yohanan ben Zakkai by the Romans. This represented an important concession to Judaism by the Romans: it means that the reconstruction which began under Yohanan had, if not Roman sanction, at least Roman tolerance. Yohanan was evidently the leader of the nascent rabbinic movement. The preserved tradition seems to be unanimous that the reconstruction of Judaism after the fall of Jerusalem was due to Yohanan ben Zakkai, an intriguing figure about whom much is still a puzzle (Neusner 1970). According to legend Yohanan was given permission to establish an academy in the city of Yavneh (Jamnia) by the emperor Vespasian himself (ARN 4; cf. Neusner 1970: 114–19; Saldarini 1975). Since the story of his prediction that Vespasian would become emperor is late and looks suspiciously like that of Josephus, it is likely to be legend. (Although Josephus’s own accounts often invite scepticism, in this case subsequent events seem hard to explain unless he indeed made such a prediction that turned out to be correct.) We in fact know very little of the details of what happened at Yavneh, despite the many uncritical accounts in older secondary studies which one may come across, for almost all our knowledge of what happened is contained in rabbinic literature which has little or no interest in historiographic matters. What was happening here may even have gone largely unnoticed by many Jews at the time. Yet, whatever the origins of the academy, it goes down as an extremely important episode in Jewish history. It is usually thought that Yohanan was a Pharisee, but his characteristics according to the earliest traditions do not fit well what we know of pre-70 Pharisaism (cf. Neusner 1979: 30–32, 36–37). He looks more like a scribal figure whose religion centred on scripture, and since this is an important feature of rabbinic Judaism, it was probably Yohanan who pushed matters in this direction in the religious reorientation. Perhaps more important was his apparent ability to work with a variety of groups. According to one statement (m. Avot 2.8), a number of groups were represented at Yavneh; if so, a variety of viewpoints may have fed into what became a Yavnean synthesis. Yavneh is often misrepresented as a ‘synod’, as if it were something analogous to a church council; on the contrary, it was more like an academy, and the number of participants seems to have been quite small at first, nor were the members necessarily recognized as representatives of Jews of the country. The group behind the Mishnah came to be influential for Jewish society, but this took a long time, perhaps centuries.

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Whatever Yohanan’s sectarian affiliation (if any), there is evidence that the dominant influence was Pharisaic (Neusner 1971, 1979; Cohen 1984), unless one wants to disassociate the schools of Hillel and Shammai from Pharisaism. Much of the content of debates appears to be based on tradition or interests that have been identified with the pre-70 Pharisees (Neusner 1971, 1973a; cf. 1981). From this distance we cannot say why this was; on the other hand, it is especially interesting that Pharisaism had the means to exist without the temple, which was not the case with a number of other strands of Judaism (cf. Neusner 1972, 1983). This survivability may be part of the answer, if not the entire reason. Yohanan seems to have outlived the destruction of the temple by only a few years, while Pharisaic groups evidently dominated the discussion. In addition to the schools of Hillel and Shammai, there was the family of Gamaliel, whose grandson Gamaliel II was an important figure at Yavneh, according to the tradition (Kanter 1979). Later tradition makes the Gamaliel faction a part of the Hillel family, but this is not the case in the earliest layer of traditions. We seem to have a jockeying for power in which the school of Hillel eventually wins, though the family of Gamaliel maintained a significant influence, with the school of Shammai losing out. Developing Judaism at Yavneh appears to owe a great deal to the pre-70 Pharisaic tradition, yet it is also a synthesis of a variety of elements. The important factor toward the religious development was the injection of a perspective from another source. This was the concept of Torah-centredness and the religious efficacy of study. The early rabbinic traditions about the Pharisees do not indicate that they were a group whose focus was on the study of the Torah. Rather, they look very much like a table fellowship sect for whom legal concerns, practice, and debate were important but not study as a religious act. In the developing rabbinic Judaism the centre shifted to Torah study. Neusner has suggested that this element most logically came from the scribes whose preoccupation was with the written law. Although there were scribes who were also Pharisees, the two were not synonymous; indeed, it was probably the case that scribes were also to be found in the other sects (HJJSTP 3: 165–69). There were also clearly some priestly traditions and, most likely, other traditions as well. The major concern of pre-70 Pharisaism, at least in the first century, seems to have been with religious law. Therefore, most of the pre-70 tradition centred on legal discussions and disputes. Each school had its own rulings, some or many of which may have differed from those of other schools. These traditions also represented the interests and sphere of authority of the Pharisees, namely, their own homes and inter-sectarian

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concerns. At Yavneh the differences had to be threshed out between the various schools and whatever non-Pharisaic parties were represented there. The exact manoeuvrings which went on can only be guessed at, but at some point agreement was reached that the opinions of both the school of Hillel and the school of Shammai would be preserved. As already noted, the school of Hillel eventually became the dominant one, though this seems to have taken time since the school of Shammai was apparently more influential in pre-70 Pharisaism. Although neither biography nor narrative history is possible because of the nature of the traditions (Green 1978, 1980; Neusner 1980, 1995b), there is still material of value to the historian in the rabbinic literature (Goodblatt 1980). Most importantly, source analysis shows the development of religious ideas in the major periods of the growth of the Mishnah, which extends back to the Yavnean period and even before (Neusner 1981). Before 70 the areas of most interest were those of purity, agriculture, festivals, and women, i.e., the areas of importance for a sect which had control of its own membership and internal affairs but not of society as a whole. Many have concluded that this sect was the Pharisees, a very reasonable inference, but still not proved. One can argue that the Pharisees were more than a table fellowship group, but this still seems to be one of their characteristics. The Yavnean layer shows an interesting transitional phase toward the eventual outlook of the Mishnah in its final form. There is little development in the order dealing with civil law (Neziqin), indicating the group is not administering society at large. The considerable discussion about the cult does not seem rooted in the experience of cultic personnel but in the biblical text alone; that is, the interest is in creating a new, idealized cult according to the sect’s principles, not in extending or developing the old Second Temple practices. Understanding the situation at Yavneh should bury a lot of myths, such as the notion that here the Hebrew Bible was canonized (§9.2.1) or that the leaders of the academy ran society, whether in the civil or religious sphere. Rather, Yavneh presents only a transitional period on the way toward the dominance of Jewish life by the rabbis (though this took a long time, perhaps centuries). In many ways the most intriguing figure is Aqiva. Unfortunately, older and traditional studies are uncritical and simply conflate the various early and later traditions (e.g., Finkelstein 1936). More recent critical studies have recognized the problem (Aleksandrov 1973; Schäfer 1978, 1980), though whether we are close to the historical Aqiva is difficult to say. The aspect that is most intriguing is Aqiva’s relationship to Bar Kokhva. Did Aqiva declare Bar Kokhva the messiah? There is some evidence that

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Aqiva held a nationalistic-messianic view (Schäfer 1978: 119–21; 1980: 124–25), which would put him at odds with the general outlook of the Mishnah which has a completely different world view from the apocalyptic-messianic (cf. Neusner 1984). On Aqiva and Bar-Kokhva, and on the messianic view of Bar Kokhva, see further below (§15.7.5). Despite our ignorance of the detailed events and inability to reconstruct a narrative history, we know enough to appreciate how vital the Yavnean period was in the history of Judaism. It was here that the roots of modern Judaism first put down; a period of about 60 years saw the reconstruction of Judaism after the disaster of 70—if by a very narrow group—and the birth of a new phenomenon previously unknown to history: rabbinic Judaism. We know that in time Palestine came more and more under rabbinic control until finally the Jewish patriarch had considerable power even over Jewish communities outside Palestine and Babylonia. However, just as it is now clear that the Pharisees did not control the administration and temple before 66 (HJJSTP 3: 143–65), it is also plain that the extension of rabbinic control after 70 was a slow process. As already noted, Neusner’s investigation of the Mishnaic order of Nezikin (‘damages’) finds little systematic discussion or evidence of the practical application of regulations in the sphere of civil law for the period between the First and Second Revolts. Goodman (2000: 93–111) comes to similar conclusions, pointing out that not only for the Yavnean period but also for much of the second century after the Second Revolt the evidence is against widespread rabbinic influence in Galilee. The development of the rabbinic patriarchate has been much debated in recent decades. The old idea that it began with Hillel or even earlier has now been widely rejected. D. M. Goodblatt (1994) has argued for the figure Gamaliel II, associated with Yavneh, as having been appointed to a position of intermediary for the Jews by the Romans and as the first patriarch. Others have argued—more convincingly—that it was Rabbi Judah ha-Nasi, the alleged finalizer of the Mishnah, as the one fulfilling this role, though he was not appointed by the Romans and had authority primarily in rabbinic circles (Appelbaum 2013; cf. also Jacobs 1995; S. Schwartz 1999; Stern 2003; Choi 2013). Apart from rabbinic literature, our information comes from even later: mainly the fourth and fifth centuries, at which point the Romans now recognized the office (Goodman 2000: 111–18). Although the rabbinic assembly at Yavneh might have had some function in representing Judaism to the Romans, there is little actual evidence for such (§15.3). Provincial administration was in the hands of the Romans, while local administration was evidently carried on in hands other than those of the rabbis: although the advice of the latter may have

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been occasionally sought, it was only in certain areas of religious law. Thus, contrary to common assumption (e.g., Safrai 1974: 404–12) the movement of civil control into the hands of the rabbis was only a slow development, probably first making itself felt not earlier than the early third century and becoming significant only in the late third century in Galilee (Goodman 2000: 110–11). It may have developed even more slowly elsewhere. 15.5. Lives of Two ‘Ordinary’ Jewish Women B. J. Brooten (1982) Women Leaders in the Ancient Synagogue; H. M. Cotton (1995) ‘The Archive of Salome Komaise Daughter of Levi: Another Archive from the “Cave of Letters” ’, ZPE 105: 171–208; H. M. Cotton and E. Qimron (1998) ‘XḤev/Se ar 13 of 134 or 135 C.E.: A Wife’s Renunciation of Claims’, JJS 49: 108–18; H. M. Cotton and A. Yardeni (eds) (1997) Discoveries in the Judaean Desert XXVII: Aramaic, Hebrew and Greek Documentary Texts from Naḥal Ḥever and Other Sites, with an Appendix Containing Alleged Qumran Texts (The Seiyâl Collection II); K. Czajkowski (2017) Localized Law: The Babatha and Salome Komaise Archives; P. F. Esler (2017) Babatha’s Orchard: The Yadin Papyri and an Ancient Jewish Family Tale Retold; idem (2019) ‘Female Agency by the Dead Sea: Evidence from the Babatha and Salome Komaïse Archives’, DSD 26: 362–96; T. Ilan (1999) Integrating Women into Second Temple History; B. Isaac (1992) ‘The Babatha Archive: A Review Article’, IEJ 42: 62–75; idem (1994) ‘Tax Collection in Roman Arabia: A New Interpretation of the Evidence from the Babatha Archive’, Mediterranean Historical Review 9: 256–66; R. S. Kraemer (1992) Her Share of the Blessings: Women’s Religions among Pagans, Jews and Christians in the Greco-Roman World; N. Lewis (ed.) (1989) The Documents from the Bar Kokhba Period in the Cave of Letters: Greek Papyri, with Y. Yadin and J. C. Greenfield (eds), Aramaic and Nabatean Signatures and Subscriptions; N. Lewis, R. Katzoff, and J. C. Greenfield (1987) ‘Papyrus Yadin 18: I. Text, Translation and Notes, II. Legal Commentary, III. The Aramaic Subscription’, IEJ 37: 229–50; C. L. Meyers (2014) ‘Was Ancient Israel a Patriarchal Society?’, JBL 133: 8–27; J. G. Oudshoorn (2007) The Relationship between Roman and Local Law in the Babatha and Salome Komaise Archives; Y. Yadin, J. C. Greenfield, A. Yardeni, and B. A. Levine (eds) (2002) The Documents from the Bar Kokhba Period in the Cave of Letters: Hebrew, Aramaic and Nabatean-Aramaic Papyri.

One of the aims of recent history writing has been to include ordinary men and women in its purview. This is often easier said than done because literary sources tend to focus on the upper classes and the wealthy, or on fictional ideals such as Judith, and we know little of ordinary people,

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whether men or women. For the most part we have information on the lives of rulers and some upper-class individuals, and occasionally data on—or stories about—unusual individuals: holy men, prophets, would-be messiahs, and the like. Yet in defiance of the norms of historical evidence, archaeological finds have helped to redress the balance, with insight into the lives of two ‘ordinary’ Jewish women, which can be reconstructed (at least in part) through the documents found in the Judaean Desert. These are Babatha and Salome Komaïse. T. Ilan (1999) has suggested ways in which women may be made a part of Second Temple Judaism, and a number of studies have attempted to dig out information on women that had previously been overlooked (e.g., Brooten 1982; Kraemer 1992). But for these two women we have direct, private information, because they took personal and family documents with them into their hiding places during the Bar Kokhva revolt. As far as we know, they perished when the Romans found their places of refuge, but their documents remained hidden until found more than half a century ago. The marriage, court, and real estate documents allow us to piece together some of the major events in the lives of these two women. Both women were from Maḥoza in Arabia, a ‘village’ (κώμη) on the shore of the Dead Sea, probably near the southern end, in the district of Petra. How they ended up in En-gedi and became caught up in the Bar Kokhva revolt is an intriguing puzzle. In any case, the two women apparently knew each other, since they had contiguous property and the names of some of the same witnesses are found in their documents. 15.5.1. Babatha Most is known about Babatha, whose 35 documents were found in controlled archaeological excavations (Lewis [ed.] 1989; Yadin et al. [eds] 2002). These documents cover the period 94–132 CE. The first document (P. Yadin 1) is a note of indebtedness by a husband, guaranteeing that his wife’s dowry would be repaid in the event of death or divorce. He was borrowing from her dowry to pay rent on a property. The guarantor is the husband’s partner, the Nabataean ‘Abad-‘Amanu/‘Amiyu. Then come two sales contracts (P. Yadin 2-3), both ostensibly for the same piece of property (a plantation of date palms at Maoza) but dated only a month apart. According to the second contract, the property came into the possession of Babatha’s father, Shim‘on ben Menahem, but why there should be two sales contracts within a month is a puzzle. The first purchaser was a high-up Nabataean official named Archelaus, who seems to be the son of ‘Abad-‘Amanu/‘Amiyu in P. Yadin 1. P. F. Esler (2017:

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146–49) has suggested that Archelaus had bought the property but then rescinded the purchase in favour of Shim‘on, for the reason that his father had died, and he had to pay off the loan contracted by his father and his partner. If so, this would explain why both P. Yadin 1 and P. Yadin 2 were in Babatha’s archive. Babatha was apparently widowed, with an orphan son, by 124 CE, when the city council appointed two guardians for her son (P. Yadin 12). Since he was still a minor, requiring guardians, some eight years later (P. Yadin 27), this would make him very young in 124. This would probably make Babatha only 15–20 years of age in 124, putting her birth about 105 CE, and her marriage around 120 CE. Her first husband was named Jesus (Yashua‘), as was her son. It was only shortly after the appointment of guardians for her son that she was complaining to the governor that the guardians were neglecting their responsibilities to provide adequate maintenance (P. Yadin 13). It is hardly surprising, then, that shortly afterward she seems to have remarried, about 125 CE, to Yehudah son of ’El‘azar (P. Yadin 10). Yehudah appears as her guardian the next year in continuing action against the guardians of her son (P. Yadin 14; 15). P. Yadin 4 has been identified as a guarantor’s agreement, i.e., a third party guarantees that he will refund the purchaser’s price if it happens that there was a prior lien against the property. In other words, it guarantees that the seller owns the property and is in a position to sell it, under the law. Because of the fragmentary state of the papyrus, the names of the various parties have not been preserved. Esler (2017: 176–220) suggests that the document is, rather, an additional grant of property to Shim‘on (Babatha’s father), to justify the higher purchase price for the property originally bought by Archelaus. Esler claims to find names of the parties, which were not identified in the official publication (Yadin et al. 2002: 250–51). We know that Shim‘on did acquire various pieces of agricultural land, which he passed on to his wife Miryam in 120 CE by deed of gift, though the grant was to take effect only after his death (P. Yadin 7). The date-palm orchard that he purchased in 99 CE is not included, however, indicating he had already given it to Babatha, perhaps on the occasion of her first marriage. P. Yadin 16 indicates Babatha owned the date-palm property in 127 CE because she declared it at the time of the Roman census. We have two loan documents with regard to Babatha’s second husband, Yehudah. The first (P. Yadin 11) is a loan from a Roman centurion in 124 CE, at a time when he was about to marry Babatha or had already married her. In the second (P. Yadin 17) Yehudah borrowed a large sum

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from Babatha in 128 CE. This may have been occasioned by the anticipated marriage of his daughter Shelamzion to Judah Qimber, which took place a few months later (P. Yadin 18). As a wedding gift her father gave Shelamzion property in En-gedi, half to come to her immediately and the other half on his death (P. Yadin 19). The documents P. Yadin 20-26 tell a poignant story. Sometime between his daughter’s marriage in April 128 and June 130 (the date of P. Yadin 20), Babatha’s husband Yehudah died. Since he had not repaid the loan made to him by his wife, Babatha took possession of several properties as compensation. We know she sold one crop of dates in September 130 (P. Yadin 21-22). Yehudah had had a brother Yeshua, however, who had also died before June 130, leaving some orphaned children. The guardians of these orphans launched a lawsuit against both Babatha and Yehudah’s daughter Shelamzion. They gave up the suit against Shelamzion in June 130 (P. Yadin 20), conceding ownership of a courtyard given to her by her father in P. Yadin 19. But they continued their lawsuit against Babatha (P. Yadin 23-26), though she has countered their charges in some of the documentation. Since Babatha preserved the documents in her archive, she must have come out on top in the legal proceedings. What happened after that is not found in the documentation. At some point she moved from Arabia to the En-gedi area, and toward the end of the Bar Kokhva revolt she hid her possessions in a cave before being taken by the Romans. What happened to her after that is unknown, though she did not retrieve her possessions. 15.5.2. Salome Komaïse Salome’s story (see especially Cotton 1995) is represented by a series of documents: XHev/Se 60–65 in Greek (including P. Yadin 73 = XHev/Se 65: Cotton/Yardeni [eds] 1997: 133–79), plus perhaps Aramaic XHev/Se 12 (Cotton/Yardeni [eds] 1997: 60–64). Unfortunately, these documents were obtained on the antiquities market, which means their original context has been at least partially obscured. Salome was the daughter of Levi and Salome Grapta (sometimes Gropta). We know of her story from January 125 CE to August 131, which is the time period covered by the documents. The earliest document (dated to January 125 CE) is a receipt (XHev/Se 60), apparently for taxes paid by Menahem son of Iohannes, who owned property abutting Salome’s half courtyard (see below). As far as we know, this Menahem was not related to Salome, but the taxes had been remitted via Sammouos son of Simon (Shim‘on) who was apparently Salome’s

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first husband. The next document (XHev/Se 61) is a declaration of land arising out of the Roman census in Arabia in April 127 CE. The name of the one making the declaration is lost in a lacuna, except for the ending -los or -las, but he is ‘son of Levi’ and appears to be Salome’s brother. A second land declaration of December 127 (XHev/Se 62) is by Sammouos son of Simon, Salome’s husband. The next document (XHev/Se 63) is a renunciation of claims to certain property by Salome toward her mother Salome Grapta. This seems to be property left by Grapta’s deceased husband and her deceased son, -los son of Levi. Thus, it appears that Salome’s father was dead by this date (sometime between April and December 127) and that her brother had also died after April in the same year when he had declared certain property for the census. Evidently, there had been a dispute between Salome and her mother about ownership of the property, but that dispute had now been resolved (παρωχημέν[ης ἀμφισβ]ητήσεως). Salome’s husband at the time appears as her ‘guardian’ (ἐπίτροπος, restored), though all except the end of his name (‑os or -as) is lost in the lacunae; but he is son of Simon and appears to be the same Sammouos mentioned earlier. The reconciliation between Salome and her mother Salome Grapta might have occasioned the next document (XHev/Se 64), but a second marriage was probably also a factor. For Salome Grapta had remarried, her new husband being Joseph son of Simon, who appears in the document as her guardian. She made over several properties to her daughter. Salome’s husband is not mentioned in the document, so we do not know if he was still alive. Later on, we know (from the marriage certificate: Hev/Se 65 = P. Yadin 37) that in August 131 CE she married a second husband, Jeshua son of Menahem. At some point in the next few years, she moved to En-gedi and ended up in nearby caves where she was evidently taken by the Romans, either for death or slavery. Looking at the stories of both these women, we see that legally and in other ways they lived in what some have labelled a patriarchal society; however C. L. Meyers (2014) has argued that this term is inappropriate. She makes the point, ‘In short, male dominance was real; but it was fragmentary, not hegemonic’ (Meyers 2014: 27). But within that framework the situation of a female person was often more complex, with more freedoms and autonomy, than sometimes admitted. The situation also varied from community to community, with the diaspora communities sometimes showing women as being more equal or independent than those in Palestine itself.

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15.6. The Revolts under Trajan S. Applebaum (1950–51) ‘Notes on the Jewish Revolt under Trajan’, JJS 2: 26–30; idem (1979) Jews and Greeks in Ancient Cyrene; T. D. Barnes (1989) ‘Trajan and the Jews’, JJS 40: 145–62; C. Bruun (1992) ‘The Spurious “Expeditio Ivdaeae” under Trajan’, ZPE 93: 99–106; A. Fuks (1953) ‘The Jewish Revolt in Egypt (A.D. 115–117) in the Light of the Papyri’, Aegyptus 33: 131–58; idem (1961) ‘Aspects of the Jewish Revolt in A. D. 115–117’, JRS 51: 98-104; R. Helm (ed.) (1956) Die Chronik des Hieronymus; M. Hengel (1983) ‘Messianische Hoffnung und politischer “Radikalismus” in der “jüdisch-hellenistischen Diaspora”: Zur Frage der Voraussetzungen des jüdischen Aufstandes under Trajan 115–117 n. Chr.’, in D. Hellholm (ed.), Apocalypticism in the Mediterranean World and the Near East: 655–86; W. Horbury (2014) Jewish War under Trajan and Hadrian; A. Kasher (1976) ‘Some Comments on the Jewish Uprising in Egypt in the Time of Trajan’, JJS 27: 147–58; I. Piso (2013) ‘Zum Judenkrieg des Q. Marcius Turbo’, ZPE 187: 255–62; M. Pucci Ben Zeev (1981) La rivolta ebraica al tempo di Traiano (1981); idem (1982–83) ‘Sullo sfondo politico dei moti insurrezionali ebraici del 116–117 d.C.’, Atti dell’Istituto Veneto di Scienze, Lettere ed Arti, Classe di scienze morali, lettere ed arti, 141: 241–77; idem (1983) ‘C.P.J. II 158, 435 e la Revolta Ebraica al tempo di Traiano’, ZPE 51: 95–103; idem (2005) Diaspora Judaism in Turmoil, 116/117 CE: Ancient Sources and Modern Insights; D. Rokeah (1972) ‘The War of Kitos: Towards the Clarification of a Philological-Historical Problem’, Scripta Hierosolymitana 23: 79–84; E. M. Smallwood (1962a) ‘Palestine c. A. D. 115–118’, Historia 11: 500–10. Sources: main sources include Cassius Dio 68.32 and Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 4.2.1-5 (and Hieronymus’s version of Eusebius’s Chronicon, Olympiad 223, 17–19); also Orosius 7.12.6-8 (N.B.: all sources, quoted in the original and with an English translation, are found in Pucci Ben Zeev 2005).

15.6.1. Cyrenaica, Egypt, Cyprus, and Mesopotamia During the period 115–117, Jewish revolts broke out in Cyrenaica, Egypt, Cyprus, Mesopotamia (according to some, even in Palestine, but see below [§15.6.2]). The brief statements we have by Eusebius (Hist. eccl. 4.2.1-5; cf. Hieronymus, Chronicon, Olym. 223 [Helm 1956: 196–97]) and Cassius Dio (68.32) give very few data. This can be filled out to some extent by papyri in Egypt, especially the personal archive of Apollonius who served as stratēgos of the ApollinopolisHeptakomias district during the period 113–20 (CPJ 2:225–60; Pucci

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Ben Zeev 2005: 15–76), and by archaeology. For Mesopotamia almost nothing is known and the situation in Palestine is little more than scholarly hypothesis. Something of a consensus has come about on the chronology and development of the revolt (Schürer 1:529–34; Smallwood 1981: 389–427; cf. Pucci Ben Zeev 2005: 167–217): it began in 115, first in Egypt, and spread from there; only later did Mesopotamia rise up against the Romans, immediately after Trajan had conquered it. T. D. Barnes has challenged several elements of the consensus. His main points are that the revolt did not begin in Egypt but in Mesopotamia, and this was not until 116. What must be kept constantly in mind is that with so little data, any consensus may be nothing more than a confession of ignorance. On the other hand, there is a grave danger of overinterpreting what little evidence there is. The Mesopotamian revolts seem to have begun in the wake of Trajan’s eastern conquests (Barnes 1989: 152–53). When he sailed down the Tigris to the Persian Gulf in the middle of 116, a general revolt took place in the newly created provinces of Mesopotamia and Assyria during his absence. Although Trajan and his generals put down the revolt, he died soon afterward. Jewish participation seems only part of a broader backlash against the Roman conquest which included the Parthians and other native inhabitants of Mesopotamia. Other than the brief knowledge that Jews were among those trying to throw off the recently acquired Roman yoke, we know nothing about it. To what extent the Jewish uprisings in Mesopotamia should be directly connected with the ones in the Mediterranean is debatable, but the fact that they happened at the same time suggests that there was a connection. Although the revolt in the West may not have begun in Cyrene, it reached a critical mass first there and spilled over into Egypt. Archaeological and inscriptional evidence (catalogued in Pucci Ben Zeev 2005: 3–13; Applebaum 1979: 269–94) has tended to bear out the statements of Eusebius and Orosius (7.12.6-8) that Cyrene was devastated in the fighting. Although excavation has concentrated on sacred and public buildings, sufficient has been found to suggest that the entire city of Cyrene was completely destroyed. Preliminary study also shows damage at Apollonia, Balagrae, Teucheira, and possibly Messa, while the coastal area between Teucheira and Berenice was devastated. The situation at Berenice, as well as at Barka and Ptolemais, is not clear. Multiple inscriptions tell of buildings and temples which were rebuilt to replace those torn down by the Jews (Pucci Ben Zeev 2005: 3–13). Not surprisingly, the

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Jews seem to have concentrated their efforts on pagan temples and statues wherever they were found. According to literary authors, the fight was led by a ‘king’ named Lukuas (Eusebius) or Andreas (Dio). This is important because the proclamation of a king shows not only a desire for national independence but even suggests messianic impulses. The revolt in Egypt eventually covered the entire country, judging from the spread of places mentioned (CPJ 1:88; Kasher 1976: 154 n. 36). A riot or something larger took place in Alexandria which was put down straight away sometime before October 115 (CPJ 2:228–33, no. 435). The Greeks then used this opportunity to attack the pacified Jews, which now required the Romans to intervene on their behalf. However, such periodic friction was not unusual and does not seem to have led to a general revolt since taxes continued to be paid until the summer of 116 (Barnes 1989: 157–58). The revolt lasted approximately a year and was not put down until Roman reinforcements arrived. Even then it was not easy because in anticipation of the legions’ arrival the Jews seem to have concentrated their forces around Memphis to prevent the Romans from crossing the river, and even succeeded in defeating one legion. It was not until a second joined the first that they were able to defeat the Jews about January 117 (CPJ 2:236–40, nos. 438–39; Kasher 1976: 155–56). The ferocity of the fighting is indicated by records of new recruits into the Roman centuries in the months after the battle, which seem to average about one-third of total strength and thus suggest a high rate of casualties (Kasher 1976: 157). Areas of Egypt were so devastated by the fighting that they were still unfruitful many decades later (CPJ 2:257, no. 449; Kasher 1976: 148–49, 153). But the Jews suffered more. They are said to have been ‘exterminated’ (ἐξολλύντα [Appian, Bel. Civ. 2.90.380]), undoubtedly true for many areas since references to them practically cease after this. Because the revolt was quickly stifled in Alexandria, there were survivors. Many of these were resettled in an area adjacent to the city, but the magnificent great synagogue in the city had been destroyed and the Jewish court seems to have been suspended (CPJ 1:92–93; cf. y. Sukka 5.1.55a-b [Pucci Ben Zeev 2005: 106–8]). The rebellion in Cyprus was also led by a ‘king’ named Artemion, again having overtones of a messianic movement. The number of 240,000 slain by the Jews according to Dio is incredible, like his figures for Cyrene, but it certainly suggests widespread killing and destruction as in the latter place. Unfortunately, archaeology does not yet give us much to add to the brief literary evidence (Applebaum 1979: 297–99). A few building inscriptions could be interpreted as representing rebuilding after

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the fighting, but nothing is specifically said to show this. Potentially more telling is a statue, possibly of a Flavian emperor, which has been heavily damaged, especially the divine images on the cuirass. According to Dio, when the Jews were finally defeated, an edict was issued forbidding Jews to settle on the island, while any accidentally shipwrecked there would be executed. The revolts were probably due to a variety of factors. To take Egypt first, there had been continual friction between the Jews and the Greek population going back at least a century (§6.2). Also, the strength of the Roman military forces in Egypt had always been low, because of lack of significant unrest through much of Roman rule, and was now further reduced by Trajan’s call for various units to aid in his Parthian war (HJJSTP 3: 229; §15.2.5; Kasher 1976: 150–54). Scholars have often suggested a connection between Trajan’s Parthian war and the Jewish uprisings in the West. The idea that the Parthians themselves fomented it directly seems farfetched, though an indirect connection is very possible; i.e., the realization that troops had been dispatched elsewhere, leaving a significantly reduced garrison, and perhaps combined with the hope that the Parthians might be victorious. The revolts in Cyprus and Cyrene had a definite catalyst in the ‘kings’ who took the lead in rebelling against Roman rule, evidently messianic figures of some sort. Tcherikover has suggested that the cause in Egypt was similarly messianic/eschatological, since the Jews could not rationally have hoped to win by ordinary military means (CPJ 1:90–91; cf. also Hengel 1983). This has prima facie merit, especially if the Cyrene uprising was the cause of that in the Egyptian countryside, but against it is the lack of any reference to a specific leader in the sources available to us. Possibly the combination of socio-economic factors (especially the Jewish tax and the continual friction with the Greeks) provided ample fuel which only needed the spark of revolt in Cyrene to set off their own attempt for freedom. Barnes (1989: 161–62) is no doubt correct to be sceptical about the messianic cause of the revolt, but it could still be an important element since eschatological speculation was significant at this time (cf. §10.3; §10.4). 15.6.2. The Question of Palestine in the Revolt under Trajan Although the Jews in areas widely removed from one another arose against the Romans at the end of Trajan’s reign, it has generally been assumed that Palestine itself was quiet during this period. However, several scholars have recently argued that there is evidence to show Palestine itself participated in this revolt (Horbury 2014; Pucci ben Zeev

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2005: 219–57; Applebaum 1950–51: 29; 1979: 300–308; Smallwood 1962a), though the evidence is all indirect. The arguments are essentially the following: • Neither Cassius Dio nor Eusebius mention Judaea among the areas that revolted in 117–19. But this could mean that they did not have information on it or regarded the revolt there as not important. Both mention, however, that Quietus was appointed governor of Judaea immediately after putting down the revolt in Mesopotamia, which suggests that he was appointed because of a revolt there. • The Scriptores Historiae Augustae (Hadr. 5.2) states: ‘For the nations which Trajan had conquered began to revolt: …and finally Libya and Palestine showed the spirit of rebellion’ (LCL translation: nam deficientibus iis nationibus quas Traianus subegerat…Libya denique ac Palaestina rebelles animos efferebant). Apart from the untrustworthy nature of this source (§4.1.2), the interpretation of this specific passage is not clear cut. • A Roman inscription indicates the presence of a vexillation of the III Cyrenaica Legion in Palestine at this time (CIIP 1: 2:1-2, text 705), but Quietus commanded the III Cyrenaica Legion; in any case, the rest of the legion was apparently elsewhere (probably Egypt). There is also an epitaph which mentions that a person named Tettius Crescens was part of an expeditio to Dacia (twice), Armenia, Parthia, and Judaea; the argument is that he could have been in Judaea in 117 CE. C. Bruun (1992) pointed out, however, that Tettius Crescens was probably not a soldier and that this inscription proves nothing about an uprising in Judaea. Pucci Ben Zeev (2005: 244–47) accepts that he was not a soldier but argues that expeditio Iudaeae still refers to a military campaign in this inscription, though she admits that expeditio does not always have a military meaning. This looks like over pressing the small amount of data in the inscription. If Tettius Crescens was not a soldier, as Bruun (1992: 106) notes, ‘the chronological arguments for an expeditio Judaeae in about A.D. 117 fall down, since nothing prevents us from assuming that he had been conducting business in the wake of the army for 30 years or even longer’. In the end, at their most optimistic interpretation these inscriptions do not add up to much evidence for an uprising at the time. • Various rabbinic texts mention a ‘war of Qitos (Quietus)’ (we know that Lusius Quietus was governor of Judaea 117–118 CE) or of fighting in the time of Trajan. The difficulty is that these texts are often late and admittedly legendary in many cases. For example, the

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•

•

•

•

•

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story of Pappus and Lulianus (Eccl. Rab. on Qoh. 3.17; Meg. Taan. 12) has Trajan being killed by Roman officials. Is it really convincing to say that Trajan is a substitution for his governor Quietus, or that the historical allusion is correct even though the rest is legendary? Does this not evade the real problem, which is whether it is legitimate to use such legendary anecdotes at all in one’s reconstruction? (See Rokeah 1972 for further criticisms.) Some medieval Syriac sources mentioned that the leader of the Cyrene revolt eventually made his way to Judaea where he took his final stand against the Romans. The lateness of the reports makes them suspect. An excavation at Jaffa indicates a destruction during the reign of Trajan, but why this should be connected with a revolt in 115–117 and not any number of other causes is not made clear by Applebaum (1979: 306) who mentions it. In the Decapolis city of Gerasa an arch from the time of Hadrian seems to have incorporated fragments which could have come from a synagogue. Since Gerasa protected its Jewish inhabitants in the 66–70 war, the synagogue must have been destroyed at another time, perhaps in the 115–117 period. But there are dozens of reasons why a synagogue might have been destroyed and portions of its architecture incorporated into the Hadrianic arch apart from the assumption of a revolt in 115–117. A fragment of Hippolytus known only in a Syriac source states that ‘Traianus Quintus’ set up a pagan statue in Jerusalem. This has been interpreted to mean ‘Quietus’ in the time of Trajan which seems to read a great deal into the statement. The Seder Olam Rabba (30) gives 52 years for the time between the war of Vespasian and the ‘war of Titus’, though some manuscripts have the ‘war of Qitos’. Similarly, the Palestinian Talmud mentions that ‘Bethar lasted 52 years after the destruction of the Temple’ (y. Taan. 4.5, 69a). Since the year 122 makes no sense, the counting must be from 66 CE. In addition to recalculating the figures to make them fit, however, it is assumed that Quietus’s war must refer to something in Palestine (it is known that he put down the insurrection in Mesopotamia) and that the reference to Bar Kokhva (where the last battle was at Bethar) is actually a reference to 115–117. Such argumentation which proceeds by first making extensive emendation to the data, then interpreting the emendations in a disproportionate way, is unconvincing.

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• It seems unlikely that the Jews of Palestine would have remained neutral when their compatriots were fighting Rome in several other places. Yet why not? The Jews of Palestine did not rebel when the Alexandrians suffered in 38, nor did the Diaspora Jews rise up in 66–70. We know too little about the causes of the 115–117 revolts to say whether the Judaeans would have had cause to join their brethren in Egypt and elsewhere. As already noted, the arguments are all indirect. Some of them are extremely weak and depend on data which have been over interpreted and even emended. Others, while not strong in themselves, could perhaps have a cumulative effect. But in fact, the only Graeco-Roman source hinting at a Palestinian revolt is the Scriptores Historiae Augustae or Historia Augusta. It looks as if the SHA author, knowing that Jews in several regions revolted, naturally assumed that the Jews of Judaea would have done the same. In such a case, his reference to Palestine is just a guess on his part. The lack of any detail shows that he had little or no knowledge of the situation: he seems to have simply added Palestine to Libya by guesswork. Against them one must oppose the silence of the early historians: none of the surviving accounts—Dio, Eusebius, Orosius—mentions Palestine, which still seems strange despite their general brevity. In the light of arguments advanced so far, it seems best to allow for the possibility of some unrest but recognize that the evidence is very uncertain. This very much applies to Quietus’s appointment as governor of Judaea. Neither Dio nor Erasmus suggest that his appointment was directly connected to his military actions in Mesopotamia. A governor of Judaea was needed, and he was appointed. Of course, it was possible that he was appointed because of his military expertise, but this can only be an inference. That there may have been unrest in Judaea is very possible, but there were legions in residence in the region. If there were disturbances, they were probably quickly stamped on. In sum, the situation in Palestine is difficult to ascertain. The evidence for such seems extremely skimpy and is indirect at best. It is possible that there were attempts at an uprising there but, if so, they seem to have been quickly put down by the governor Quietus (cf. Barnes 1989: 160). The argument that the lack of mention by Dio and Eusebius is accidental is very weak: even if there are some problems with the preservation of Dio’s text, Eusebius living in Caesarea would almost certainly have known of an uprising in Palestine. The silence of the main historians (as well as Orosius) seems to be decisive.

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15.7. The Bar-Kokhva Revolt (132–136 CE) S. Applebaum (1976a) Prolegomena to the Study of the Second Jewish Revolt (A.D. 132–135); idem (1984) ‘The Second Jewish Revolt (A.D. 131–35)’, PEQ 116: 35–41; G. W. Bowersock (1980) ‘A Roman Perspective on the Bar Kochba War’, in W. S. Green (ed.), Approaches to Ancient Judaism, Volume II: 131–41; idem (1984a) ‘Judaea after AD 70’, JJS 35: 44–50; idem (2003) ‘The Tel Shalem Arch and P. Naḥal Ḥever/Seiyal 8’, in P. Schäfer (ed.), The Bar Kokhba War Reconsidered: New Perspectives on the Second Jewish Revolt against Rome: 171–80; W. Eck (1999) ‘The Bar Kokhba Revolt: The Roman Point of View’, JRS 89:76–89; idem (2003) ‘Hadrian, the Bar Kokhba Revolt, and the Epigraphic Transmission’, in P. Schäfer (ed.), The Bar Kokhba War Reconsidered: New Perspectives on the Second Jewish Revolt against Rome: 153–70; idem (2012) ‘Der Bar Kochba-Aufstand der Jahre 132–136 und seine Folgen für die Provinz Judaea/Syria Palaestina’, in G. Urso (ed.), Iudaea socia—Iudaea capta (Atti del convegno internazionale, Cividale del Friuli, 22–24 settembre 2011): 249–65; H. Eshel (2006) ‘The Bar Kochba Revolt, 132–135’, CHJ 4: 105–27; J. A. Fitzmyer (1971) ‘The Bar Cochba Period’, Essays on the Semitic Background of the New Testament: 305–54; M. Gichon (1979) ‘The Bar Kokhba War: A Colonial Uprising against Imperial Rome’, Revue internationale d’histoire militaire 42: 82–97; idem (1986–87) ‘New Insight into the Bar Kokhba War and a Reappraisal of Dio Cassius 69.12-13’, JQR 77: 15–43; D. Goodblatt (1987d) ‘A Contribution to the Prosopography of the Second Revolt: Yehudah bar Menasheh’, JJS 38: 38–55; B. Isaac (1980–81) ‘Roman Colonies in Judaea: The Foundation of Aelia Capitolina’, Talanta 12–13: 31–54; idem (1983–84) ‘Cassio Dio on the Revolt of Bar Kokhba’, SCI 7: 68–76; B. Isaac and A. Oppenheimer (1985) ‘The Revolt of Bar Kokhba: Ideology and Modern Scholarship’, JJS 36: 33–60; B. Isaac and I. Roll (1979a) ‘Judaea in the Early Years of Hadrian’s Reign’, Latomus 38: 54–66; idem (1979b) ‘Legio II Traiana in Judaea’, ZPE 33: 149–56; A. Kloner (1983a) ‘Underground Hiding Complexes from the Bar Kokhba War in the Judean Shephelah’, BA 46: 210–21; idem (1983b) ‘The Subterranean Hideaways of the Judean Foothills and the Bar-Kokhba Revolt’, The Jerusalem Cathedra 3: 114–35; A. Kloner and B. Zissu (2003) ‘Hiding Complexes in Judaea: An Archaeological and Geographical Update on the Area of the Bar Kokhba Revolt’, in P. Schäfer (ed.), The Bar Kokhba War Reconsidered: New Perspectives on the Second Jewish Revolt against Rome: 181–216; E.-M. Laperrousaz (1964) ‘L’Hérodium, quartier général de Bar Kokhba?’, Syria 41: 347–58; Y. Meshorer (1982) Ancient Jewish Coinage, Volume I: Persian Period through Hasmonaeans; Volume II: Herod the Great through Bar Kokhba; L. Mildenberg (1949) ‘The Eleazar Coins of the Bar Kochba Rebellion’, Historia Judaica 11: 77–108; idem (1980) ‘Bar Kokhba Coins and Documents’, HSCP 84: 311–35; idem (1984) The Coinage

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15.7.1. Outline of the Revolt We know a bit more about the Palestinian revolt of 132–136 than about the earlier revolts in Egypt, Cyrene, and Cyprus—thanks in large part to recent discoveries of manuscripts and coins—but not much more. Again, there is not enough information to give a history of the war or even a rough sequence of events. The only account of consequence preserved

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is that of Dio Cassius (69.12-14), though Eusebius has some additional information (Hist. eccl. 4.6.1-4). The points of relevance in their accounts can be summarized as follows: • Hadrian founded the city of Aelia Capilolina and built a new temple to Jupiter on the site of the Jewish temple, which caused a significant war (Dio 69.12.1-2). Eusebius (Hist. eccl. 4.6.4) suggests that the city of Aelia was built after the revolt, with non-Jewish inhabitants. • As long as Hadrian was close by, they were at peace, but revolted when he moved on. But when they manufactured weapons for the Romans, they made (some?) of poor quality so that they would be rejected and could be used by them (Dio 69.12.2). • The Jews did not dare to meet the Roman army in open combat but made underground hiding places (Dio 69.12.3). • The Romans were not too concerned at first, but as the hostility advanced among the Jewish population, others (not specified) joined them (Dio 69.13.1-2). • Hadrian sent his best generals against the Jews, first Julius Severus, governor of Britain (though Dio does not mention any other generals) (Dio 69.13.2). Eusebius (Hist. eccl. 4.6.2) names only Rufus, governor of Judaea. • The Jewish leader was named Barchochebas (Βαρχωχεβας), which means ‘star’. He was a murderer and bandit but claimed to be a ‘lightbringer’ (φωστήρ) come down from heaven to cast marvellous light on the miserable (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 4.6.2). Dio does not mention a specific Jewish leader. • Because of their numbers and fanaticism, Severus did not attack the Jewish fighters in the open but proceeded by destroying small groups and also shutting them up and cutting their food supplies (Dio 69.13.3). • The pinnacle of the war was reached in Hadrian’s 18th year (August 135 to August 136 CE) at Βηθθηρα (Betar) which fell only after a long siege (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 4.6.3). • Eusebius (Hist. eccl. 4.6.2) says thousands of Jews—men, women, and children—perished, while Dio (69.13.3–14.2) says most of Judaea was made desolate, with 580,000 men killed in fighting and famine and disease killing many more; 50 forts and 985 villages were destroyed. • So many Romans also died (Dio 69.14.3) that Hadrian refrained from using the common opening in his report to the Senate, ‘I and the legions are in health’ (ἐγὼ καὶ τὰ στρατεύματα ὑγιαίνομεν).

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• Hadrian forbade Jews from entering Jerusalem or even the surrounding district (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 4.6.3). • Even before the war there had been portents of the destruction, with the tomb of Solomon collapsing into pieces and wolves and hyenas running howling into cities (Dio 69.14.2). The rabbinic accounts are too legendary to extract useful information from them (Schäfer 2003). This can now be supplemented by data from letters, documents, and coins recently discovered (§2.2; §2.3), as well as a certain amount of information from archaeology. Yet even this primary evidence still leaves us with many unanswered questions. The various sources fit together to give an overall chronology for the revolt (§15.7.3) but not much in the way of detail. There were no doubt a variety of causes for the revolt (§15.7.2). Briefly, we can note here that many of the factors which led to the 66–70 rebellion were still in existence. There is evidence of periodic unrest in Judaea since the fall of Jerusalem in 70. All that was needed was the right catalyst. Whether that catalyst was a single action of Hadrian or the rise of Bar Kokhva as a leader or something else again, the Jews were not yet ready to remain under the Roman yoke without one more try for independence. The war was evidently preceded by a certain amount of unrest in Palestine, which would explain why it was felt necessary to bring a second legion into the area sometime before 120 (§15.3). This could also explain the intense period of road building in the decade 120–30 (Isaac/Oppenheimer 1985: 50–51). Dio’s statement about the Jewish manufacture of weapons also indicates advance preparation for the war. Although exactly when the war began is unclear, coins and the dates on certain documents suggest that the revolt had already begun by the spring of 132 (§15.7.3). The precise course of the war is very uncertain, though various attempts at reconstruction have been proposed (see below). Whereas the First Revolt produced a number of leaders but no single outstanding one, the Second Revolt is dominated by the name of its leader. In rabbinic literature he is referred to as Shim’on ben Koziba, which has usually been considered a denigrating wordplay (koziba [‫ ]כזבא‬means ‘lie’ in Aramaic). The explanation that this is a title, based on the messianic interpretation of Num. 24.17, is probably correct, especially now that recent documents contain his actual name. In various Hebrew letters he is called šm‘wn bn kwsbh (‫‘ )שמעון בן כוסבה‬Simon son of Kosiva’. The correct vocalization of the name is now confirmed by a letter in Greek which gives it as simon chosibas (Σιμων Χωσιβας [P. Yadin 59 = Yadin et al. (eds) 2002: 363–66]). But other than his father’s name and his personal

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name, we know extremely little about this unusual individual, even with the discoveries of his own personal letters. This brings us to the question of whether Simon saw himself as a messianic figure. There is no indication in the documents as such to show that he claimed to be the messiah. The symbols on his coins have been interpreted messianically (cf. Meshorer 1982: 2:138–50), however, and rabbinic and Christian tradition shows that his role was regarded as messianic by some; this allegedly included even the famous R. Aqiva (but see §15.7.5). Hence, the title Bar Kokhva (‘son of the star’) which became attached to him at some point. For a further discussion on this question, see §15.7.5. The coins are an important source of information, though not always unambiguous. Meshorer (1982: 2:132–65) and Mildenberg (1984: 69–72) agree that Bar Kokhva put high value on the coins as a medium of propaganda. Both the number of coin finds and the quality of their manufacture indicate significant support among the people. All the coins are overstrikes, but the source of the Roman coins which were overstruck was apparently the coins already in circulation among the Jewish people themselves, both silver and bronze. (No gold overstrikes have been found, suggesting that any Roman gold coins were used by the rebels for external purchases rather than internal trade.) The only name on the coins other than Simon ben Kosiva is that of ‘Eleazar the priest’ (‫אלאזר‬ ‫)הכוהן‬. Although it is not known who he was, a reasonable assumption is that he was the individual who had assumed the office of high priest. It is common to identify him with Eleazar of Modein of rabbinic legend who was said to be Bar Kokhva’s uncle, but to what extent such tradition should be trusted is a moot point (Schäfer 1981a: 173–74). Since his name disappears from the silver coinage after year 1, it has been suggested that he was deposed by Bar Kokhva (again, drawing on rabbinic legend), yet this seems a rather precarious conclusion since the name is found on all years of the bronze coins. Hadrian’s visit to the region in 130 CE seems to have relevance for the revolt, though it is difficult to be sure about what he did that brought it on. One argument is that he announced his intention of replacing Jerusalem with a Roman city (which later was given the name Aelia Capitolina [cf. §15.7.2]). The governor of Judaea, Tineius Rufus, apparently first attempted to crush the revolt but was singularly unsuccessful (Eck 1999). The reasons are not known, but there have long been arguments that the legio XXII Deiotariana, which is known to have disappeared about this time, was wiped out in the initial stages of the revolt (but see below [§15.7.3]). Normally, a more junior pro-consul would have been chosen

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for the job of sorting out the revolt, but the situation was clearly grave. This is why Sex. lulius Severus, a senior official with the major responsibility of governing Britain was brought in. And many reinforcements of soldiers were also transferred to the new command. Dio states that Hadrian’s best ‘generals’—plural—were sent. Eck (2003) has argued that this probably included Publicius Marcellus, the governor of Syria, and Haterius Nepos, the governor of Arabia, both of whom seem to have been honoured at this time by Hadrian. Bar Kokhva’s military strategy is revealed by two factors: (1) the location of his ‘kingdom’ or territory in the area to the south of Jerusalem and west of the Dead Sea bordering on the Judaean desert (§15.7.4), and (2) the discovery of a number of man-made hideouts tunnelled into the rock in the Shephelah and elsewhere (Shivti’el 2019; Kloner 1983a, 1983b; Kloner/Zissu 2003; Shahar 2003). These facts and the information in Dio suggest that Bar Kokhva’s men waged war primarily in guerrilla fashion rather than in pitched battles with the Romans. The den-like dwellings dug into the rock formed bases of operation which allowed the Jewish fighters to hide undetected, emerge when the opportunity presented itself for a swift blow at the enemy, and then disappear once more as if into thin air. Even if a hideout was discovered, it was so constructed as to make it very difficult to attack those within. But Dio’s statement that the Romans also tried to engage only with small Jewish contingents could also relate to this mode of fighting on the part of the Jews. Mordechai Gichon (1979, 1986–87) has attempted to go further than this general statement by relating the hideouts to his own excavations at Horvat Eqed and other archaeological data and to the statements of Dio. He concludes that the hideouts were constructed surreptitiously over a period of time preceding the war and used to make a surprise attack on the Romans at the beginning of the uprising, with considerable success. A second stage was the construction of more conventional fortifications above ground to meet the Roman counter-attack. Gichon’s interpretation makes good military sense and also fits various of the archaeological data. However, his conclusion that the Jews successfully occupied a large part of the country (including Galilee because hideouts have been found there) is more problematic (§15.7.4). Such hideouts were used in many periods, and the attempt to relate them all to the Bar Kokhva revolt is disputed (Isaac/Oppenheimer 1985: 42–43, 53–54). The position of the territory also made invasion difficult except from certain predictable directions. The wilderness was at their backs and a refuge of last resort (which some seem to have made use of in the end). The oasis of En-gedi served as a point of provisioning and a communications

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centre. Whether there was one main headquarters is a moot point, though it has been argued that Herodion served this purpose for at least part of the war (Laperrousaz 1964). Another important site was Betar (Bethar) about 10 km (6–7 miles) southwest of Jerusalem which eventually served as the place of Bar Kokhva’s last stand against the Romans. Several other place names occur in the documents, all from the area to the south of Jerusalem and west of the Dead Sea. Although it has often been asserted that the Jews took Jerusalem, there is actually little hard evidence for this beyond hints in minor literary sources and a particular interpretation of the phrase, ‘year x of the liberation of Jerusalem’ (‫ לגאלת ישראל‬x ‫)שנת‬, on some coins. A strongly negative argument is the lack of any Bar Kokhva coin finds from the extensive archaeological excavations in Jerusalem (§2.3). There is also no evidence of the occupation of Masada, another surprising fact. Perhaps the Jews had learned from the experience of the First Revolt that success lay in hit-and-run tactics, whereas making a stand in fortresses meant inevitable defeat after a lengthy siege. If so, it seems that things went wrong at the end since a final stand was made in the hill-top fortress of Betar in 135 or 136 (§15.7.3). The excavation of Khirbet al-Yahud, the site of Betar, has shown that a village had stood there, probably as early as Iron I but certainly through the Persian, Hellenistic, and early Roman periods (Ussishkin 1993; NEAEHL 5:1604–5). It was a modest settlement, apparently with public buildings using ashlars in their construction. At the time of the Roman siege, a fortification wall was built on the summit of the hill, using material from the village’s buildings and pre-existing fortifications; it shows evidence of hasty and inadequate construction. The Romans set up camps to the south of the hill (remains still visible) and threw up a siege wall around it. A Latin inscription on a rock near the spring (southeast of the village) seems to name the besieging legions as legio V Macedonica and legio XI Claudia (CIIP IV, 3198). Many sling stones were found from the time, indicating how the besieged defended themselves. We have little reliable information on the battle itself. Eusebius claims that the siege lasted a long time and the defenders were defeated by hunger and thirst (Hist. eccl. 4.6.3); otherwise, only legendary scenarios in rabbinic literature exist. The letters and other documents of Bar Kokhva show neither a messianic figure nor a fighter in action. Instead they mirror a mundane world in which land is leased (Mur 24), the Sabbath observed (Mur 44), the festivals scrupulously celebrated (P. Yadin 57), and the ownership of a cow disputed (Mur 42). A couple of letters assert Bar Kokhva’s authority because he had apparently not been obeyed (Mur 43; P. Yadin 49), and

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another mentions that something was not done because the ‘Gentiles’ (Romans) were near (Mur 42). This appears to be the closest to military activity found in these contemporary records. None of this is incompatible with Bar Kokhva as a messianic figure, but we hardly find the heroic military leader that being the messiah often implies, and certainly not a heavenly figure. An intriguing statement by Dio (69.13.2) is that non-Jews also participated in the fight against the Romans. Although evidence presented to substantiate this assertion (such as names in the Bar Kokhva manuscripts) has not been very cogent, there still may be a basis to it; M. Mor (1985) has argued that those who joined the Jews would have been slaves and others on the lower socio-economic scale who had good reason to fight against the Romans. Some may also have done so as mercenaries. According to Dio (69.14.1) half a million Jews died in the fighting alone, not counting those who perished from famine and disease or who were enslaved. This seems an exaggerated figure but at least indicates the serious cost of the Second Revolt in Jewish lives. According to Jerome (In Zach., on 11.4-5; In Hier. 6.18, on 31.15), after the defeat the glut of slaves was so great that the price dropped drastically in the eastern markets for a time, a striking image, though how reliable this tradition is remains a problem. But judging from the comments of Dio (69.14.3), the Roman casualties were also very high, to the extent that Hadrian in his report to the Senate dropped the customary formula, ‘I and the legions are well’. Aelia Capitolina now became a reality, and Jews were long excluded even from entry into the city. Only in the fourth century do we learn that Jews were again allowed access to the temple site, though only once a year on the 9th of Av, the traditional date of its destruction (Fitzmyer 1971: 352). 15.7.2. Causes of the Bar-Kokhva Revolt R. Abusch (2003) ‘Negotiating Difference: Genital Mutilation in Roman Slave Law and the History of the Bar Kokhba Revolt’, in P. Schäfer (ed.), The Bar Kokhba War Reconsidered: New Perspectives on the Second Jewish Revolt against Rome: 71–91; W. den Boer (1955) ‘Religion and Literature in Hadrian’s Policy’, Memosyne, series 4, vol. 8: 123–44; G. W. Bowersock (1980) ‘A Roman Perspective on the Bar Kochba War’, in William Scott Green (ed.), Approaches to Ancient Judaism II: 131–41; Y. Z. Eliav (1997) ‘Hadrian’s Actions in the Jerusalem Temple Mount according to Cassius Dio and Xiphilini Manus’, JSQ 4: 125–44; idem (2003) ‘The Urban Layout of Aelia Capitolina: A New View from the Perspective of the Temple Mount’, in P. Schäfer (ed.), The Bar Kokhba War Reconsidered: New Perspectives on the Second Jewish Revolt against Rome: 241–77; D. Golan (1986) ‘Hadrian’s Decision to Supplant “Jerusalem” by “Aelia Capitolina” ’, Historia

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35: 226–39; M. Goodman (2003) ‘Trajan and the Origins of the Bar Kokhba War’, in P. Schäfer (ed.), The Bar Kokhba War Reconsidered: New Perspectives on the Second Jewish Revolt against Rome: 23–29; B. Lifshitz (1977) ‘Jérusalem sous la domination romaine; Histoire de la ville depuis la conquête de Pompée jusqu’à Constantin (63 A.C.–325 p.C.)’, ANRW II: 8:444–89; H. Mantel (1967–68) ‘The Causes of the Bar Kokba Revolt’, JQR 58: 224–42, 274–96; T. Mommsen and A. Watson (eds) (1985) The Digest of Justinian; J. Neusner (1977–86) The Tosefta, Translated from the Hebrew. Vols. 1–6; A. Oppenheimer (2003) ‘The Ban on Circumcision as a Cause of the Revolt: A Reconsideration’, in P. Schäfer (ed.), The Bar Kokhba War Reconsidered: New Perspectives on the Second Jewish Revolt against Rome: 55–69; S. Perowne (1960) Hadrian; P. Schäfer (1981b) ‘The Causes of the Bar Kokhba Revolt’, in J. Petuchowski and E. Fleischer (eds), Studies in Aggadah, Targum and Jewish Liturgy in Memory of Joseph Heinemann: 74–94; idem (1990) ‘Hadrian’s Policy in Judaea and the Bar Kokhba Revolt: A Reassessment’, in P. R. Davies and R. T. White (eds), A Tribute to Geza Vermes: Essays on Jewish and Christian Literature and History: 281–303; S. P. Scott (1932) Justinian, Corpus Juris Civilis, The Civil Law, The Digest or Pandects; E. M. Smallwood (1959b) ‘The Legislation of Hadrian and Antoninus Pius against Circumcision’, Latomus 18: 334–47; idem (1961a) ‘The Legislation of Hadrian and Antoninus Pius against Circumcision’, Latomus 20: 93–96.

So little information is available on the question of why the Bar Kokhva rebellion took place that speculation has been inevitable. As already indicated above, we have only a few scattered bits of information, and most modern attempts at explaining the causes have been based on two short passages of Latin literature plus a few isolated passages in rabbinic or Christian literature. The causes of the revolt were undoubtedly multiple and complex. Certain older suggestions should probably no longer be seriously entertained. For example, one explanation has had a number of adherents in the past: • Hadrian at first gave permission for the Jews to rebuild the temple but then withdrew that permission. The main text for this is from the Midrash Rabbah (Gen. Rab. 64.10), though the Epistle of Barnabas 16.4 is also cited in support. This explanation is now generally dismissed (Schürer 1:535–36; cf. Schäfer 1981b: 75–81) because the rabbinic passage is unlikely to have any historical basis (nor does it refer specifically to the Bar Kokhva revolt, as Schäfer [1981b: 76] has pointed out), while the passage in Barnabas is ambiguous and not at all certain to be a reference to a contemporary rebuilding of the temple.

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Debate in recent scholarship has tended to centre around two causes, either singly or in combination (Smallwood 1981: 428–38; Schürer 1.536–43; Mildenberg 1984: 102–9): • Hadrian supposedly issued a decree against castration which was interpreted to include circumcision, thus constituting a serious attack on Jewish religious practice. Some have even gone further to argue that Hadrian did in fact forbid circumcision at one point. There is no doubt that a decree prohibiting circumcision would have been a significant reason for the revolt, but the question is whether it conforms with Hadrian’s general character and policies and whether the sources for this allegation should be believed. This interpretation comes mainly from the SHA which states (Hadr. 14.2), ‘At that time the Jews also waged war because they had been forbidden to mutilate their genitals’ (moverunt ea tempestate et Iudaei bellum, quod vetabantur mutilare genitalia). This statement has been confirmed, it is argued (Smallwood 1959), by the decree of Hadrian’s successor Antoninus Pius who explicitly exempted Jewish circumcision from the prohibition (Justinian, Dig. 48.8.11). There are also certain rabbinic passages concerning those who underwent recircumcision after having undergone epispasm to cover a previous circumcision (t. Shab. 15[16].9). This explanation has been a popular one, perhaps because it would be an example of religious persecution, but a number of specialists have now opposed it, rightly so (Schäfer 1981b: 85–92; Oppenheimer 2003; Abusch 2003; Weikert 2016: 286–302). The problems with this explanation include the following: • As R. Abusch (2003) has shown, Roman law at no time forbade circumcision by ethnic groups. It was Antonius Pius who introduced regulations about circumcision, but these were only for the purpose of protecting slaves: Jews were still allowed to circumcise their own sons, as the law explicitly states. Also, circumcision was not generally regarded as ‘mutilating the genitals’. • Hadrian’s decree regarding castration was not a new one but only the renewal of a decree already issued by Domitian and renewed by Trajan. Again, this seems primarily to protect slaves. • Previous Roman rulers had almost always been sensitive to the practices of the Jews and caused no unnecessary infringement of Jewish religious rights. Hadrian could hardly have been unaware of the implications of an order which would bring him into conflict with Judaism, nor was he the type of ruler likely to engineer such a conflict.

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The explanation that Hadrian may not have been aware of the consequences of his renewal of the decree is very weak. • The sources which suggest such an act as preceding the war are suspect. The rabbinic sources are generally late and only reiterate a commonplace charge about the prohibition of Judaism (i.e., persecution was automatically thought to take the form of suppressing circumcision, the Sabbath, and similar rites), while the SHA is not the most reliable of sources, not least because of its origin in a rather late period (§4.1.2). • Antoninus Pius’s permission does not prove that there had been an actual ban at all, much less one which preceded the Jewish war. If Hadrian ever issued such a decree—for which there is no evidence in Roman law—it could have been after the war began or even after it was won. Part of the difficulty seems to be linguistic. The crucial phrase in Justinian’s Dig. 48.8.11 has often been understood as the abolition of an earlier prohibition, as in Scott’s translation: ‘By Rescript of the Divine Pius, Jews are permitted to circumcise only their own children, anyone who performs this operation upon persons of a different religion will incur the penalty for castration’ (Scott 1932: 11.71). But it should probably be understood only as a standard exemption of the Jews from anti-castration legislation, without implying a previous ban, as the more recent translation by Watson indicates: ‘By a rescript of the deified Pius it is allowed only to Jews to circumcise their own sons; a person not of that religion who does so suffers the penalty of one carrying out a castration’ (Mommsen/ Watson 1985: 4:821). There is an indication that restrictions on circumcision increased through the next century or so (Abusch 2003: 88–91), which affected proselytes to Judaism, but Jews were never prevented from circumcising their own sons. In sum, even though many handbooks—and a few contemporary scholars (though generally not specialists)—accept the theory concerning Hadrian’s prohibition of circumcision as a cause of the revolt, there seems good reason to doubt it. • Hadrian attempted to rebuild Jerusalem as the Roman city Aelia Capitolina. This depends primarily on the statement of Dio Cassius (69.12.1) that Hadrian constructed a city on the site of (ruined) Jerusalem, called Aelia Capitolina (after Hadrian himself), including on the Jewish temple site a temple to Zeus; as a result a long, great war took place.

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One difficulty with this explanation is that it seems to be contradicted by Eusebius (Hist. eccl. 4.6.4) who states that Aelia Capitolina was founded after the Jewish defeat, making it a consequence rather than a cause of the revolt. However, modern scholars have generally seen these two statements as complementary rather than contradictory (Tsafrir 2003: 31–32; Schürer 1:540–43; Smallwood 1981: 431–34); that is, Hadrian’s plans to found Aelia sparked the revolt so that the actual execution of the project was postponed until the revolt was put down. Coins more recently discovered indicate that Aelia Capitolina was definitely planned before the revolt (Mildenberg 1980: 333; 1984: 99–101): (a) Aelia Capitolina coins have been found together with Jewish coins minted during the revolt; (b) Hadrian’s title on these (Imp Caes Traiano Hadriano) is an early one which was abandoned and would not have been used after the end of the revolt; (c) some of these coins have the name of Hadrian’s consort Sabina Augusta; since she died in 136 and received the epithet Diva Sabina, these were earlier than that; (d) Lifshitz (1977: 481) argues that several Aelia Capitolina coins were overstruck by the Jews during the revolt, but this is denied by Tsafrir (2003: 35). Thus, it seems likely that the refounding of Jerusalem was planned—and perhaps even begun—as Aelia Capitolina before the revolt. However, one group of coins seems to have been minted after the revolt (Mildenberg 1984: 100–101), suggesting that the real process of building did indeed come afterward. A difficulty is the question of why Hadrian would have founded a city with a pagan temple on the site of the former Jewish temple when to do so would certainly provoke a strong reaction? Again, the explanation that Hadrian was not aware of the Jewish reaction is facile. Since no archaeological evidence for a temple has been found (Bowersock 1980: 137), it may be that Hadrian did not envisage having such in the new city. Y. Z. Eliav (1997, 2003) has now argued that the Jewish temple site was outside the city of Aelia, and there is no evidence that a pagan temple or statue was set up there (see further at §2.1.2). It may be that Hadrian changed his mind after the revolt or that a statue of Jupiter was placed in the city of Aelia itself, but that Cassius Dio mistakenly assumed that a statue was put up on the original temple foundation. A suggestion of P. Schäfer’s may contribute toward a solution to the overall problem. In the context of a broader discussion of the causes of the revolt, Schäfer (1981; 1990) has developed a thesis which not only explains why Hadrian planned a new city on the site of Jerusalem but also takes account of some strange rabbinic statements that certain Jews were ‘recircumcised’ at the time of Bar Kokhva. According to a passage of the Tosefta,

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A. One who has the prepuce drawn forward has to be circumcised. B. R. Judah says, ‘One who has his prepuce drawn forward should not be circumcised, because it is dangerous.’ C. They said to him, ‘Many were circumcised in the time of Ben Koziba, and they had children and did not die…’ (t. Shab. 15[16].9, Neusner’s translation)

This has been taken by some scholars to mean that Jews had their circumcision removed because Hadrian forbade the practice (Smallwood 1959: 337–39; 1981: 430–31) but, as Schäfer has pointed out, this is absurd: the ban could be applied only to the circumcision of children or converts. It would hardly affect circumcised adults of whom there were tens of thousands. So who were these individuals who had had their circumcision disguised by an operation (called mĕšûkîm ‫ משוכים‬in Hebrew) and were then recircumcised? Schäfer suggests they were assimilated Jews who had their circumcision removed just as certain individuals did in Maccabaean times (cf. HJJSTP 3: 332–33), and their recircumcision may not have been voluntary but carried out under threat or even by force. But the existence of such individuals, again on the analogy of Maccabaean times, also suggests that they would not only approve but even positively encourage a plan to have Jerusalem made into a Hellenistic centre. If Hadrian planned to refound Jerusalem, it would be only one of many such projects which he carried out in the East during his reign. And the existence of assimilated Jews encouraging the project could well make him overlook the possibility of serious opposition on the part of other Jews. Schäfer’s explanation is highly suggestive (but cf. the strong opposition of Mildenberg 1984: 103–5 nn. 286, 297), not only because it resolves the difficulties surrounding the statement of Dio who gives the most coherent account of the revolt but also because it develops an integrated hypothesis which fits with the broader context of the Hadrian’s rule. As already noted with regard to the Hellenistic policy of Jason in Seleucid times, many educated Jews saw nothing contradictory between their Judaism and the acceptance of Hellenistic ideals (HJJSTP 3: 324–34; cf. also HJJSTP 2:125–65). But here the analogy runs into problems. The number who actually abandoned Judaism by undergoing epispasm is not likely to have been great, any more than under the Maccabees, but these would not have been the only ones to welcome the idea of a Hellenistic city on the site of Jerusalem. The erection of a statue of Jupiter is also problematic since even most pro-Roman Jews would have strongly opposed the idea, whether it was on the site of the temple or elsewhere in the city. On the other hand, assimilated Jews may also have caused Hadrian to assume

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that the erection of a statue of Jupiter would have been tolerated. Finally, the rabbinic sources which mention recircumcision say nothing about any connection with Hadrian or the city of Aelia. Schäfer (1990) has now discussed the problem again and answered his critics, though one could question whether all the points just mentioned are adequately dealt with. Nevertheless, he has drawn attention to some important issues and clarified many points surrounding Hadrian’s policies and actions with regard to Jerusalem. A new twist regarding the foundation of Aelia has been given by D. Golan (1986). Hadrian, as a cultivated and enlightened product of Greek civilization, was prepared to allow various religious views, within the bounds of Roman law. However, Christianity, with its intolerance for other religions and its refusal to support the ruling powers, would have been perceived as a growing threat. To Hadrian a possible solution seemed to be to destroy a major Christian symbol, namely, Jerusalem which the sect focused on as the place of Jesus’s crucifixion as well as his expected return. Its replacement by a Roman city would both weaken Christianity directly and provide the Roman public with a symbol of the revitalized state religion and culture. It was a calculated risk since a side effect would be to offend the Jews; nevertheless, he took that risk and had to contend with a Jewish revolt even though the Jews were not the object of his actions. This is an interesting hypothesis but one for which there seem to be no supporting data currently available. Thus, the founding of Aelia Capitolina has been supported by several discussions as the major cause of the revolt. Yet it seems likely that there were a variety of causes and Hadrian’s plans for Aelia served only as the catalyst to bring things to a head. Many of the factors which led to the 66–70 revolt were still in existence in the early second century, including economic pressures (though this is questionable as a cause [§5.2.2]), strong feelings of nationalism, and resentment against Roman rule. One further major cause needs to be noted: • Messianic expectations and apocalyptic prophecies in certain circles seem to have helped fuel the revolt. The Apocalypses of Ezra and Baruch were probably completed not long before the Bar Kokhva revolt and show that speculations about the supernatural destruction of Roman rule were still much in evidence (§3.15). These and the NT book of Revelation (and the Apocalypse of Abraham, if it was this early) allow us to surmise the existence of other such apocalypses which have not survived.

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While specific accounts are lacking, there are various hints that Judaea remained an unruly province during the period from 70 to 132, with periodic minor resurgences against the Roman occupation (Applebaum 1976: 17–22). Upgrading of the province to consular level and the extensive amount of road building under Hadrian support this (§15.3; however, note the cautionary remarks of Schäfer 1990: 285–87). • A final factor may be the following: a series of actions taken by Hadrian while on his tour of the East which could have been interpreted by some Jews as plans to become a second suppressor of Judaism. These are well summarized as follows: First, he had declared himself the successor to Antiochus Epiphanes. He had finished Antiochus’s own temple in Athens. Secondly, like Antiochus, he had adopted, or allowed others to adopt in addressing him, the style of god, of Zeus Olympios. Thirdly, he had permitted this style to appear on coins which circulated among Jewish communities. [Perowne 1960: 149]

It seems rather far-fetched to assume that many Jews not only knew of such actions and were also familiar enough with the specific events of the Maccabaean revolt to interpret them as Perowne suggests. The point about the coins is the most cogent of the argument. More important, however, is another action which would have been closer to Palestine and more likely to become known to Judaeans: this was Hadrian’s honouring of Pompey by visiting his tomb as he travelled from Palestine to Egypt. 15.7.3. Chronology of the Bar Kokhva Revolt H. Eshel (2002) ‘Documents of the First Jewish Revolt from the Judean Desert’, in Andrea M. Berlin and J. Andrew Overman (eds), The First Jewish Revolt: Archaeology, History, and Ideology: 157–63; idem (2003) ‘The Dates Used during the Bar Kokhba Revolt’, in P. Schäfer (ed.), The Bar Kokhba War Reconsidered: New Perspectives on the Second Jewish Revolt against Rome: 93–105; S. Follet (1968) ‘Hadrien en Egypte et en Judée’, Revue de Philologie 42: 54–77; R. Helm (ed.) (1956) Die Chronik des Hieronymus (1956); B. Kanael (1971) ‘Notes on the Dates Used During the Bar Kokhba Revolt’, IEJ 21: 39–46; D. L. Kennedy (1980) ‘Legio VI Ferrata: The Annexation and Early Garrison of Arabia’, HSCP 84: 283–309; H. M. D. Parker (1928) The Roman Legions; E. Speller (2003) Following Hadrian: A Second-Century Journey through the Roman Empire; W. F. Stinespring (1939) ‘Hadrian in Palestine, 129/130 A. D.’, JAOS 59: 360–65.

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Until recently the chronology of the revolt was determined by the journeys of Hadrian (Stinespring 1939; Follet 1968; cf. Speller 2003) and certain contradictory statements in Christian and rabbinic literature. Unfortunately, the imperial coinage which normally provides valuable information on the course of the reign is not very helpful, the reason being that Hadrian did not hold the office of consul after his third year to the end of his reign. This means that most of the coins from his reign have co(n)s(ul) III on them (Mildenberg 1980: 317). Now a much firmer chronology is possible because of coins and dates in the Judaean desert manuscripts, but there are still uncertainties. According to Cassius Dio (69.12.2), the Jews were quiet as long as Hadrian was in the neighbourhood, but as soon as he left the area the fighting began. The chronology of Hadrian’s journeys is generally imprecise; however, it appears that his second major journey began in 128 and he spent the winter 128/29 in Greece. From there he crossed to Asia, spending much of 129 in the region of Antioch but also travelling south to Gaza and Damascus. The winter of 129/30 was passed either in Antioch or another city such as Gerasa. It was probably in 130 that he visited Jerusalem and set out its refoundation as Aelia Capitolina (though he may not have used the name ‘Aelia Capitolina’ until after the war). This was on his way to Egypt where he stayed until mid-131, from which he sailed to Athens to spend the winter 131/32. Thus, Dio’s statement suggests the spring of 132 as the earliest beginning of the rebellion. This would appear to agree with Eusebius who dates the beginning of the revolt to Hadrian’s 16th year (132/33: Chronicle [Helm 1956: 200–201]). Dates on both Jewish coins and documents help to determine the length of time of the revolt (§2.2; §2.3). Coins so far known are of three types; one type is dated to ‘year 1 of the redemption of Israel’ (‫שנת אחת לגאלת‬ ‫)ישראל‬, and another type to ‘year 2 of the freedom of Israel’ (‫ש[נת]ב‬ ‫)לחר[ות] ישראל‬. A third type of coin, undated but with the inscription ‘for the freedom of Jerusalem’ (‫ )לחרות ירושלם‬is likely to belong to year 3 and later. Dates in documents range from ‘1 Iyyar (April/May), year 1 of the freedom of Israel’ (P. Yadin 42 [Yadin et al. 2002: 142–49) to ‘21 Tishri (Sept./Oct.), year 4’ (Mur 30 = DJD 2:144–48). This suggests that the war began at the latest in the spring of 132 and ended no sooner than the autumn of 135. Roman inscriptions indicate that Hadrian was proclaimed imperator for the second time in the year between 10 December 134 and 10 December 135 (Schäfer 1981a: 14–15), implying that the war was finished or nearly so by this time. Putting this together with the Jewish material suggests that the war finished sometime in late 135 or early 136. This is not too far from Eusebius’s statement that it ended in Hadrian’s

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18th year (135/36). However, it has recently been argued that Mur 30 should be dated to the 66–70 revolt, which would mean that no evidence for year 4 has so far been found (Eshel 2002, 2003). W. Eck (1999) argued that the title imperator iterum was not given to Hadrian until 136, which suggests that the fighting had not finished before then. There is still a problem with the beginning of the revolt, however, because of some dated coins of Gaza which were overstruck by the Jews (Mildenberg 1980: 318). One undated Jewish coin was struck over a coin from Gaza with the double date 131 and 132; another overstrike is alleged to have the original date 132/33 on it. From these, Mildenberg concludes that the revolt would not have begun earlier than the autumn of 132. He also points out that the latest document in the archive of Babata is dated to August 132 (Mildenberg 1980: 319), deducing from this that the war could not have begun in the spring since otherwise Babata could not have reached En-gedi from her residence in Nabataea at that late date. However, this requires the rather narrow assumption that the Jews could not possibly have obtained a Gaza coin after the revolt began; also, the reading of 132/33 on the Gaza coin has been challenged (Schäfer 1981a: 27 n. 92). With regard to the Babata archive, it seems likely (contra Mildenberg) that Babata travelled from Nabataea to En-gedi after the war broke out (Eshel 2003: 100–101). Regardless of the arguments, the dating of Mildenberg seems to agree basically with the recent overview by H. Eshel (2003). In P. Yadin 27, dated to August 132 CE, Babatha is still living in Mehoza in Arabia. Thus, she and other refugees fled to En-gedi after this date. But in P. Yadin 42, dated Iyyar (April-May), year 1 of the revolt, Eleazer leases land from Bar Kokhva. The document shows by the sums paid that land had not declined sharply in value, as it did later during the revolt. This meant that dating of year 1 of the revolt must have been counted from either the summer of 132 (when Bar Kokhva came to power) or from Tishri 132 (the autumnal new year). That is, P. Yadin 42 is to be dated to the spring of 133 CE. Counting from Nisan (spring new year) 132 is thus ruled out; Eshel dates the beginning of the revolt to early summer 132 CE. Betar fell and Bar Kokhva was killed in the summer of 135, giving three years, but the other leaders fled and were not tracked down until the winter of 136 CE. Some rabbinic sources give three and half years for the revolt (y. Tann. 4.8, 68d) but this is admittedly a stereotyped figure (cf. Dan. 12.7). No documents have been found with the date ‘year 4’ or later. Therefore, while the revolt may have dragged on until the beginning of 136 CE, it may have concluded in late summer 135. (But cf. also the arguments of Eck 1999.)

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The date 132–35/36 for the war has generally been accepted, but an exception was H. Mantel (1967–68) who argued that Bar Kokhva’s kingdom existed for this period but that the fighting began a number of years before. In other words, 132 was not the start of the war but the time at which the Jews had more or less pushed the Romans out and established their independent rule under Bar Kokhva. Mantel’s argument depends on dubious datings in Christian and rabbinic literature, hints that there was unrest in Judaea before 132, and surmises about the movements of Roman legions in the period 125–32. Especially important to this last point is the argument that a legion (XXII Deiotariana) had been wiped out and replaced in 127 by another (II Trajana) from Egypt. The arguments against this are the following (Schäfer 1981a: 12–14): (1) The slight evidence for unrest in Judaea before 132 does not support the concept of an all-out war. (2) Recent studies on the posting of legions in the east go against Mantel. There has long been a problem with the XXII Deiotariana. It is last listed on an inscription of 119 but not in the army list of Antoninus Pius, leading many to speculate that it was wiped out in the Judaean war (Parker 1928: 162–63; Eck 1999: 80–81). D. L. Kennedy’s study (1980: 303–7), utilizing newly discovered inscriptions and some new decipherments, argued that the 22nd Legion had already disappeared by 123, lending weight to the older alternative explanation that it had been disgraced (in the Alexandrian riots of 121–22?) and was disbanded as a result. Also, we now know that the II Traiana Legion was in Palestine at the latest by 120 (§15.3). Thus, this and others of Mantel’s proposals about the sending of legions to Palestine in the period 1925–32 do not seem likely in light of recent investigations. (3) The datings of rabbinic literature and such Christian writers as Epiphanius and the Passover Chronicle should not be preferred to those of Eusebius. The conclusion from the known data is, therefore, that the revolt began in early summer 132 and was concluded only in late summer of 135 or possibly the winter of 136. 15.7.4. Territory in Bar Kokhva’s Kingdom A. Bowersock (2003) ‘The Tel Shalem Arch and P. Naḥal Ḥever/Seiyal 8’, in P. Schäfer (ed.), The Bar Kokhba War Reconsidered: New Perspectives on the Second Jewish Revolt against Rome: 171–80; W. Eck (2003) ‘Hadrian, the Bar Kokhba Revolt, and the Epigraphic Transmission’, in P. Schäfer (ed.), The Bar Kokhba War Reconsidered: New Perspectives on the Second Jewish Revolt against Rome: 153–70; M. Mor (2003) ‘The Geographical

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Scope of the Bar-Kokhba Revolt’, in P. Schäfer (ed.), The Bar Kokhba War Reconsidered: New Perspectives on the Second Jewish Revolt against Rome: 107–31.

An important clue to the nature of the revolt is found in the territory held by Bar Kokhva. There is currently something of a dispute over this: many currently think the amount of territory did not cover the whole of Palestine, even the whole of Judaea (Mor 2003; 2016: 146–288); a few argue still that the conflict and fighting—if not the territory controlled by Bar Kokhva—extended widely (Eck 1999, 2003; Bowersock 2003). Manuscript finds occur only along the west coast of the Dead Sea, but more important are the sites actually mentioned in the documents and those where coins have been found; these include Hebron, Latrun, Herodium, Tekoa, Ir Nahash, and En-gedi (Mildenberg 1980: 320–23; 1984: 84–94). These all occur roughly in a rectangle bounded on the north by Jerusalem and Latrun; on the east by the Dead Sea; on the south by Nahal Hever, and on the west by a line running south from Latrun. Most of the named sites border on the Judaean desert, and En-gedi is of course an important oasis on the Dead Sea. This would not only make the territory held by Bar Kokhva less accessible to the Romans, but the wilderness would provide the Jews with a quick place of retreat, either after guerrilla raids or if a pitched battle went against them. Surprisingly, there is no evidence that they held Masada, but this could be explained by the suggestion that they were also concerned not to defend fortresses from which there was no possible retreat (Mildenberg 1980: 323). Yet Eck argues that places where coins are found is not decisive. He points to two significant indications that the fighting extended further: the Tel Shalom Latin inscription and the indication that the governor of Arabia, T. Haterius Nepos, and the governor of Syria, C. Quinctius Certus Publicius Marcellus, took part in suppressing the revolt. The presence of Nepos in the Roman response to the revolt seems solid; however, he could have participated in the fighting outside Arabia—his presence does not prove that there was fighting in the Arabian area (though Bowersock 2003: 177–80 thinks it does). Eck’s reconstruction of the Tel Shalem inscription, which was apparently a triumphal arch celebrating Hadrian, contains the phrase, PON[T]IF(ICI) MA[X(IMO) TRIB(UNICIA) POT(ESTATE) XX? IMP(ERATORI) I]I CO(N)S(ULI) [III P(ATRI) P(ATRIAE) S(ENATUS) P(OPULUIS)Q(UE) R(OMANUS]). This would put it in 136 CE and thus a memorial to the victory over Bar Kokhva. Since the arch was erected near Scythopolis (Beth-shean), this indicates the fighting extended as far as the Golan. Bowersock (2003), however, has disputed Eck’s

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reconstruction of the inscription, arguing that it should read PON[T] IF(ICI) M[AX(IMO) TRIB(UNICIA) POT(ESTATE) XIII]I CO(N)S(ULI) [III P(ATRI) P(ATRIAE) LEG(IO) X FRET(ENSIS)], meaning that it would date to about 130 when Hadrian is known to have visited the area and, therefore, does not show fighting in the region of Scythopolis. Nevertheless, Bowersock thinks that the revolt had spread more widely than Judaea. In his study of 2016 M. Mor examines all the sources and arguments for an extended area of fighting. He argues that the Tel Shalem inscription does not prove that fighting occurred where it was erected, even if Eck’s reconstruction is accepted (though many reject it). The proposed reference to ‘Galileans’ (in Mur 43, line 4) is only one possibility: they were more likely refugees rather than fighters, if the reading ‘Galileans’ is accepted (Mor 2016: 169–73). Unrest in Arabia has been argued partly on the basis that Jews like Babatha and Salome chose to flee to the caves near En-gedi. If there was no fighting in Arabia, why did they feel it necessary to flee their homes for the Judaean wilderness? Mor (2016: 358–62) points out, however, that Babatha left Maoza in Arabia already in the summer of 132. Yet there still seem to be reasonable arguments for seeing some sort of unrest in Arabia, especially centred on its governor, Haterius Nepos (Eck 2003; Bowersock 2003). One of the major questions is whether Bar Kokhva took and held Jerusalem for any length of time. The coin inscriptions, ‘for the freedom of Jerusalem’, and the temple symbolism has suggested to many that Bar Kokhva himself held the city for a period of up to two years (e.g., Schürer 1:545–56; Smallwood 1981: 443–45). But Jerusalem is not mentioned in any documents nor have any Bar Kokhva coins been found there, a surprising state of affairs if the city was held for a considerable period of time by the rebels (Schäfer 1981a: 78–101). These facts could be interpreted to mean that the possession of Jerusalem was a goal rather than an actuality (Mildenberg 1980: 324). The temple symbolism would certainly not be decisive, though the existence of Aelia Capitolina (if it had already been founded) would explain Bar Kokhva’s goal to take and cleanse the city of its pagan occupation just as the Maccabees had done. Since the city was held by the 10th Legion, however, it would have required a large and disciplined force over many months to take the city under normal circumstances. But if it had been besieged, other forces could have been called in to attack the besiegers from behind. From a military point of view, it would have been an unprecedented victory if Bar Kokhva had been able even to take the city, much less hold it for two years.

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In sum, it seems clear that Bar Kokhva and his fighters were mainly confined to the southeastern part of the territory. They did not take Jerusalem, and there was probably no fighting in Galilee. Yet unrest in Arabia cannot be ruled out, and perhaps even some other areas outside Judaea where Jews lived. 15.7.5. The Question of Bar Kokhva’s Messiahship and R. Aqiva’s Part in the Revolt G. S. Aleksandrov (1973) ‘The Role of Aqiba in the Bar Kokhba Rebellion’, in J. Neusner, Eliezar ben Hyrcanus: 2:428–42; L. Finkelstein (1970) Akiba: Scholar, Saint and Martyr; P. Schäfer (1978) ‘R. Aqiva und Bar Kokhba’, in P. Schäfer Studien zur Geschichte und Theologie des rabbinischen Judentums: 65–121; idem (1980) ‘Aqiva and Bar Kokhba’, in W. S. Green (ed.) Approaches to Ancient Judaism II: 113–30.

It has become a part of modern scholarly tradition that Rabbi Aqiva declared Bar Kokhva the messiah and was active in preparations for the revolt which broke out under his leadership (see Aleksandrov 1973). The first part of this common assumption comes from such statements as that in y. Taan. 4.8 68a (translation of Schäfer 1980: 117): R. Simeon b. Yohai taught, ‘My teacher Aqiva used to expound, “There shall step forth a star out of Jacob” (Num. 24:17)—thus Koziva steps forth out of Jacob!’ When R. Aqiva beheld Bar Koziva, he exclaimed, ‘This is the king Messiah’. R. Yohanan b. Torta retorted, ‘Aqiva, grass will grow between your cheeks and he still will not have come’.

The idea that the purpose of Aqiva’s alleged travels was to raise money and gain arms for the war is a modern reconstruction but has, nevertheless, appeared widely in literature on the subject (cf. Aleksandrov 1973). In an article which originally appeared in Russian, G. S. Aleksandrov (1973) pointed out that the modern theories about Aqiva’s position as ideologist and organizer of the revolt have little foundation, but ‘ignored factual material in the sources and preferred to build hypotheses, for which, by their own admission, there is no basis in the sources’. He also argued that Bar Kokhva had never claimed to be the messiah, though accepting that Aqiva was a ‘calculator of the end of days’ who, after the initial victories against the Romans, may have given moral support to the revolt and even declared Bar Kokhva a ‘king-messiah’. A later generation who had suffered seriously from the war remembered this with bitterness;

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hence, the castigation of such ‘calculators of the end of days’. In addition to Aleksandrov, other recent scholars have denied that Bar Kokhva thought of himself as the messiah (Mildenberg 1980: 313–15; 1984: 73–76). The reasons include that (1) none of the Judaean desert manuscripts suggests anything about messiahship; (2) the symbolism on the coins is ambiguous at best and has been over-interpreted. Aleksandrov’s investigation was mainly a critical look at the arguments advanced for certain theories but did not constitute a systematic analysis of the sources. More recently Schäfer (1978, 1980) has taken a systematic look at the relevant texts in detail; his study supports the conclusion of Aleksandrov that there is no evidence to suggest that Aqiva undertook journeys to prepare for the war. On the other hand, it is very possible that Aqiva looked on Bar Kokhva as messiah and was thus involved in the revolt. His conclusions may be summarized as follows (Schäfer 1978: 119–21; 1980: 124–25): • The textual analysis suggests that in some cases the goal of the journey was not specified, and in others there is a question whether the journey really took place. The only possible dating is a journey about 110 CE. The most likely purpose of any trips was religious; to suggest any military or political purpose is simply speculation. • If the texts which interpret Num. 24.17 are correctly ascribed to Aqiva, there seems little doubt that he understood the Bar Kokhva rebellion as messianic and approved it. • The sparse sayings on the subject suggest that Aqiva held a nationalistic messianic expectation which he expected to be fulfilled in the near future. • The alleged discussions between Aqiva and Tineius Rufus are a part of the apologetic which makes use of pagan/Jewish dialogue and have no historical value. • The texts about Aqiva’s imprisonment are unlikely to provide historical information beyond the fact that it was probably in connection with the Bar Kokhva revolt. When, how long, and precisely why cannot be determined. • Similarly, the texts about the death and burial of Aqiva provide little reliable information beyond a connection with the Bar Kokhva rebellion. The core of the traditions is a cycle of legends which cannot be expected to give trustworthy historical data. Yet, did Simon himself and his followers see him as a messianic figure? There is no indication in the documents so far known to show that he claimed to be the messiah. The symbols on his coins have been interpreted

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messianically (cf. Meshorer 1982: 2:138–50), but others have rejected this interpretation (Mildenberg 1980: 313–15; 1984: 73–76). Nevertheless, rabbinic and Christian tradition shows that his role was regarded as messianic by some, as just discussed with regard to R. Aqiva. Hence, the title Bar Kokhva (‘son of the star’) which became attached to him at some point, even if only Christian sources mention this. Yet we have one important indication: the title of ‘prince’ (‫ נשיא‬nāśî’) found on coins and in some documents which has been debated. P. Schäfer’s arguments (1981a: 67–73; 2003: 15–20) seem to resolve the matter. He notes that the title of ‘king’ had lost its cache by the second century CE, but nāśî’ had taken its place as its equivalent. Usage in Ezekiel and Qumran indicates that the term had messianic overtones, with the nāśî’ becoming an eschatological figure. The term ‘son of the star’ was probably not a self-designation by Simon but applied by others. If the letters and documents from the Judaean desert indicate a rather mundane figure for Simon, this is because the traditional messiah was a human figure, a priest or military leader, not a heavenly figure (§10.3). Also, it seems clear that this title had not yet been appropriated by the rabbis as the title for their patriarchate, because such did not yet exist (on the patriarchate, see §15.4). It is impossible to pronounce on Bar Kokhva’s own self-understanding of his role. Certainly, as often pointed out, his letters and the other documents originating with him give no indication of a claim to messiahship. Coin legends are difficult to interpret and may, but by no means certainly, hint at messiahship (Meshorer 1982: 2:138–50). Yet we do know that apocalyptic and messianic speculation continued during this period as it had before 70 (contra Mildenberg 1980: 314; see especially §3.15). It seems clear that some (including probably Aqiva) identified him as the messiah. One of the indications of this is his epithet (‘son of the star’) which is already attested in the mid-second century (Justin, Apologia 1.31.6; Mildenberg’s doubts about the textual reading [1984: 78 n. 191; 80 + n. 210] seem purely ex hypothesi and based on no tangible evidence). We must keep in mind, however, that the concept of the messiah varied considerably, all the way from a full-blown heavenly figure to little more than a human hero (§10.3). Later rabbinic literature seems concerned to brand Bar Kokhva a false messiah, a rather strange thing to do if no one ever thought him the true one. A final point to keep in mind, though, is that the opinion of Aqiva and other rabbis may have had little influence on the Jewish population at the time (§15.4). They were part of a group whose tradition became dominant within the next centuries, but whether Aqiva’s opinion about Bar Kokhva made much difference at the time is another matter. Hence, we should not

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necessarily be surprised at the absence of the rabbi’s name in the Bar Kokhva manuscripts (cf. Mildenberg [1984: 75 n. 176]: ‘It remains, however, an astonishing and remarkable fact that Akiba does not occur in the documents’). 15.8. Conclusions The century after the fall of the temple in 70 CE is important because it serves as a bookend to the Second Temple period. That is, in spite of the trauma of the destruction in the 66–70 war, a large continuity subsisted in both religious perspective and Judaean society. Only gradually did it become clear that Judaism would have to cope with the lack of a temple, since many apparently thought it would be rebuilt after a time, as it was after the destruction of 586 BCE. The society and economy of Palestine seem to have recovered in the decades after 70. Above all, there seems to have continued an attitude of defiance toward Roman rule, as became clear a few decades later. The developing reconstruction at Yavneh, which initiated rabbinic Judaism, attempted to address the new religious situation by substituting study as a replacement for worship at the temple. Yet this was only a minority endeavour at the time and was not to the taste of all Jews, as events in the early second century demonstrate. There was still a significant segment of the population that expected divine intervention to overthrow the Roman empire (cf. the apocalypses discussed at §3.15). We have no information on the extent of unrest through the decades after 70, but it probably took some time to recover the ability to resist Roman rule in any form. Yet less than half a century after 70, we find Jews actively rebelling against the Romans. This apparently began during Trajan’s conquests in Mesopotamia, where a rebellion arose in the newly conquered region, with the Jews of the region also participating. This was followed by uprisings in Cyrene, Egypt, and Cyprus, with possibly some unrest in Judaea. The Romans put down these revolts under the new emperor Hadrian, who then strengthened the legionary forces stationed in Judaea, also making it into a consular province and carrying out a programme of road building which would have made control of the region easier. Yet in spite of the brutal suppression of the revolts under Trajan, only a decade or so later the Jews of Palestine rose up once more in 132, this time under the charismatic leadership of a man whom some called ‘son of the star’ and identified as the messiah. This time the losses, especially of the Jewish population but also on the Roman side, were huge. This time the consequences for the Judaeans were severe. Judaism was not

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forbidden; Jews were still permitted to worship as in the past. Jews had not been forcibly rejected from the land (except for those enslaved as a consequence of the fighting). But the country had been devastated; Jews were forbidden to enter Jerusalem; even the official name of the province became Syria Palaestina, and Judaea no longer existed under Roman rule. The spirit of rebellion had been crushed, judging from the fact that no further attempts at overthrowing Roman rule are recorded on the part of Jews.

Part V

Conclusions

Chapter 16

T he J e ws a n d J u d a i s m i n t he S e cond T e mple P e r i od — a H ol i s t i c P e r spe ct i ve

16.1. Overview Judah began the Second Temple period with the loss of the monarchy. The kingdom of Israel had been destroyed as such about 720 BCE, leaving the much smaller and poorer kingdom of Judah. Up until the destruction of the temple in 587/586 BCE, the people of Judah were ruled by a king, even though the kingdom had been subservient to the Assyrians, the Egyptians, and the Babylonians for about a century and a half. When the Persians established their rule, the monarchy was not restored, and Judah became a province in the Persian empire. Thus, if there is one word to characterize the nation of Judah throughout the Second Temple period, it would be theocracy. By this is meant a political entity or country ruled by priests, primarily the high priest, during most of this time. That was both its strength and its weakness. Ironically, its high point politically and economically was at a time when the high priest and Sanhedrin were at their weakest, under the rule of Herod the Great. For toward the end of this period a monarchy was re-established, but that soon became a subservient kingdom once again, as it was under Herod. Yet the priestly rule allowed for a union of the civil and religious at a time when Judah was under foreign rule and a native king might not have been acceptable to the overlords. The theocratic government began during the Persian period when the administration was at first an informal dyarchy, a joint administration between an official governor appointed by the Persians (often, if not always, Jewish) and the high priest, unofficial but nevertheless with local authority. Under Greek rule all our sources show the Jewish official responsible in the eyes of the Ptolemaic or Seleucid government to be the high priest himself. When the Second Temple period is viewed as a whole, two points stand out:

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• First, many of the trends in Judaism, as well as its characteristics, have their origins in the Persian period, which is one of the reasons the Persian period should begin the Second Temple period (not the coming of Alexander, as some well-known histories do). These characteristics include the centrality of the Jerusalem temple for most Jews, the high priest as the leader (or co-leader, with the officially appointed governor) of the state, the rise of the Sanhedrin as the high priest’s advisory council, apocalyptic, monotheism, angelology and demonology, and sacred authoritative writings, • Secondly, a number of trends that became important owe their origin or important developments to Jews living in the diaspora. These include synagogues, the centrality of scriptural study, non-sacrificial worship, and prayer. 16.1.1. Jewish Identity Jewish identity was usually a matter of birth: you were a Jew because you were born one. Jewish identity was a matter of ethnicity. Ancient sources all show Jewish identity was tied to birth and being a part of the ethnic group of Jews. Problems arose only if one (a) had one Jewish and one non-Jewish parent, (b) was a Gentile but wanted to become a Jew, or (c) had been a Jew but renounced the ancestral religion. As with all ethnic groups, religion was part of the ethnic identity. Personal Jewish identity was usually bound up with certain specific items, particularly: • The central institution was the temple and its cult. This was most important in Palestine itself but also represented a spiritual centre for Jews in the diaspora. • The concept of the land, as a possession and home for individuals but also as the place which God had chosen and where he had made his own abode in some sense. The land as a divine inheritance had been a part of Israelite thinking from an early period. • Circumcision. The one element which occurs wherever we have any actual details is that of circumcision for males. Our sources remark on its importance at least from Hasmonaean times on. • Belief in one God. This was a development from an early period of polytheism and only became dominant probably in the Persian period and afterward. • The concept of being a part of the ‘chosen people’. • The rejection of images in worship. Again, the aniconic cult was a development; images had been prevalent during the monarchy.

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• The ‘Torah’, though an early form of what became the Pentateuch probably was compiled only in the late Persian period, and a collection of books roughly similar to the later Hebrew canon became authoritative apparently only in the late Ptolemaic period and perhaps only to some Jews. Some of these are points generally associated with ethnic identity and are not specifically religious (e.g., the question of a homeland; even circumcision might not originally have been a religious rite). Most of these characteristics are straightforward; they seem to occur in almost all Jewish groups as far as we can determine, and Graeco-Roman writers often remark on them. It is difficult to find persons identifying themselves as Jews who lack one or more of these, yet we can find an exception to almost every one if we look hard enough. And different Jewish groups clearly interpreted the various points differently. It may also be that at some point ‘Jew/Jewish’ could be purely religious in content, such as embracing the Jewish religion. But this seems to have been a very late development, probably even after 70 CE (although there are those who want to make it earlier). Even then there may always have been an ethnic overtone: those practising—and converting to—Judaism were seen as belonging to the Jewish people. Therefore, defining a core of beliefs which were a sine qua non for being a Jew is difficult. Yet the basic religious heritage was the same for Jews of every stripe: that legacy was essentially the story of Israel—the myth of Israel, since we now know that that story often did not conform to historical reality. A line connected each Jew/Israelite back to the first man Adam and the first woman Eve, but it was Abraham who had been the one chosen from all the other nations and peoples to be the father of God’s people. A special covenant had been made with Abraham, and a special covenant had been made with his descendants, the people of Israel. Certain practices also marked them off from the surrounding peoples: refusal to eat particular meats, observance of the sabbath or other festivals, and perhaps some purity regulations. These points were universal. But, to reiterate, being a Jew was an ethnic identity. It is just that religious practices were a part of ethnic identity and were regarded by outsiders as part of the characteristics of the Jewish ethnos. With mixed marriages, it probably depended on how the offspring was brought up. One circumcised and brought up as a Jew was not likely to have had his Jewishness called into question. But if not, could one claim to be a Jew by having a Jewish mother? There is no evidence of such a practice operating before 70. On the contrary, both rabbinic evidence

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and such examples as Acts 16.1-3 indicate that ethnic identity tended to be passed on from the father. On the question of proselytes, the idea of someone renouncing paganism and joining the Jewish community is a very old one, with its roots in the Hebrew Bible. Ruth (probably written in the Persian period) is a prime example. We also have various references to proselytizing in the literature from the Greek and Roman periods; however, it seems unlikely that there was a major ‘mission’ on the part of the Jews to gain Gentile converts. What was involved in becoming a Jew? The one element which occurs wherever we have any actual details is that of circumcision for males. The only example in which it seemed to be envisaged that one might convert without circumcision is related by Josephus with regard to the royal house of Adiabene (Ant. 20.2.3-4 §§34-48). However, this is a rather special case in that Izates, who wanted to become a full convert by circumcision, was king over a non-Jewish people. If the story is read in context, there seems no reason to think of a general practice of conversion without circumcision. Thus, circumcision seems to be a universal practice for male proselytes. We have no information with regard to women. It is frequently asserted in handbooks and commentaries that both males and females had to undergo a ritual bath (‘baptism’), as well as circumcision for males. Although this is a practice referred to in rabbinic literature (e.g., b. Yeb. 46a), we have no evidence for such before 70. Indeed, the silence of Josephus and other sources suggests that such was not the custom. Jewish sympathizers seem to have been more common than outright converts, circumcision no doubt being the major obstacle for males. A topic very much in current debate concerns the question of ‘God-fearers’. Were there non-Jews, especially men, who adopted Judaism in many or all respects except for circumcision? Studies have shown the term ‘God-fearer’ is not confined to sympathizers but is sometimes used for those unquestionably Jews as simply an indication of piety. The discovery of the Aphrodisias inscription changed the debate, and it is generally recognized now that ‘God-fearer’ did often have the technical meaning of one who adhered to Judaism, even being a member of a synagogue, without having undergone circumcision. The question of those who abandoned Judaism is more difficult than might seem on the surface. For example, Josephus says that Philo’s nephew Tiberius Julius Alexander had abandoned his ancestral religion (War 2.5.2 §100), but we are given insufficient data to make sense of this. Similarly, those judged to be evil-doers by the authors of 1 and 2 Maccabees would probably have considered themselves fully Jewish. Even those (few!) who disguised

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their circumcision may have regarded themselves as practitioners of an enlightened Judaism. We can only guess because we do not have their side of the story. On the question of technical usage, the following should be noted: the word ‘Jew’ has been used in English for many centuries and has also been the standard term in Jewish studies. Therefore, in the present work • ‘Jew/Jews’ have been used for those belonging to the Jewish community or the Jewish ethnic group. Ancient Hebrew/Aramaic, Greek, and Latin have only the one word ‫יהודי‬/‫יהדי‬/ἰουδαίος/Iudaeus for both ‘Jew’ (referring to religion and/or ethnicity) and ‘Judaean’ (referring to someone who lives in or is from Judaea). • In English ‘Judaean’ means someone associated with the territory (province, kingdom, nation etc.) of Judaea. ‘Judaean’ has therefore been reserved for people living or at least originating in Judaea. 16.1.2. Religious Practice and Belief The core of Jewish worship throughout the Second Temple period was the Jerusalem temple. Israelite religion—as far back as one can trace it—had centred on the sacrificial cult. Perhaps responsibility for this had once been that of the head of the clan or family. At some point, though, a professional priesthood developed, initially located at several cultic sites but eventually concentrated in Jerusalem (though we know of several other temple sites even during the Second Temple period: Elephantine, Gerizim, Leontopolis, and perhaps Iraq al-Amir). A priestly myth had been developed that Jerusalem was the place the Jewish God Yhwh had chosen; here was his temple, his sanctuary, his holy place (the Samaritans of course had a different myth, one focusing on Gerizim). At the heart of the cult was blood sacrifice. By this means breaches of order (social and cultic) could be brought back into harmony. Blood purified and restored. Without the shedding of blood there was no forgiveness of sin. The sacrifice was also a social and communal act, for in most cases the victim served as the basis of a cultic meal in which only certain parts were burned on the altar, some other parts went to the priests, and the rest was for the worshipper and family to consume in a state of ritual purity. There were other elements in temple worship (such as music and singing) and other means to worship, but the central act of devotion right up to the year 70 of the Common Era remained the slaying of a sacrificial animal.

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It must be recognized, though, that the mundane and physical acts of the daily temple cult were invested with deep symbolic meaning. This meaning is not usually discussed in ritual texts which focus on the correct performance of the ritual, however, and we are often left to guess at the meaning which the worshipper saw in the acts. We gain some idea of the cosmic, mythical significance of the temple and its worship from various hints in early biblical texts and rather more detail in later texts. But no doubt both priests and worshippers would have stood aghast at the thought that the sacrifice itself could be jettisoned once one appreciated its spiritual meaning. Many Jews regarded the cessation of the daily (tamid) sacrifice through the actions of Antiochus Epiphanes as shaking the cosmos to its foundations and heralding the eschaton itself, according to a contemporary witness (Dan. 7–12). Special ceremonies were also associated with certain dates in the cultic calendar. The emphasis of Jewish religion was, therefore, public worship at the altar. However, private devotions could also be included and were especially important for those unable to present themselves regularly at the temple. This especially included private prayer, but other sorts of acts could also be considered a part of religious devotion: charity to the poor, all those acts of kindness associated with a concern for one’s fellow Jew— in short, love of one’s neighbour. Observance of the law, obedience to the Torah in all its forms, counted as a religious service to God. Eventually, even various acts of asceticism (fasting, celibacy) also took on a pious value, at least in some circles. Personal and communal devotion apart from the temple began to develop, especially toward the end of the period and especially in the diaspora. In the diaspora the synagogue evolved, with time, as a major communal place of instruction and worship, probably first in the early Greek period. The institute eventually spread to the homeland itself, but even though synagogues are sparsely attested in Judaea before 70 CE, they seem to be a late introduction there, well after the Maccabaean revolt from all archaeological and literary evidence. The temple was still the religious centre of the land of Israel up until its destruction in 70 CE. The essential place of the temple is demonstrated by the extreme reaction to its pollution in the time of the Maccabees. To repeat, the religious life of the people in Palestine revolved around the temple and its regular cultic activities. Worship and religion in the land of Israel was dominated by the annual festival calendar and the pilgrimage to the temple in Jerusalem. According to the Torah, each male Israelite was to ‘appear before the Lord’ three times during the year (Deut. 16.16), that is, at Passover, Pentecost (Shavuot), and the festivals of the month of Tishri: the festival

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of Trumpets, the Day of Atonement (Yom ha-Kippurim), and especially the Feast of Tabernacles (Sukkot). The most solemn rite of the year was that on the Day of Atonement when the high priest entered into the most mystical and sacred part of the temple, the Holy of Holies (Lev. 16; cf. Ben Sira 50.5-21). The festivals were a time when vows would be paid, sin- and thanksgiving-offerings brought to the altar, the regular sacrifices solemnly observed, and other ceremonies associated with that particular festival celebrated. This was not an optional extra or a side issue to being a Jew. For most Jews, this was the primary form of worship. Yet, as with all Jewish practices, not everyone thought or acted in the same way. The Jerusalem cult was not universally revered to the exclusion of any other by every Jew. Apart from the existence of some other temples (noted above), certain groups clearly regarded it and the current priesthood as polluted, e.g., the Essenes, yet even the Essenes would apparently have accepted a ‘purified’ temple. On the contrary, it seems that in a few circles, the idea of a ‘temple made with hands’ at all was already being questioned or even rejected. The Fourth Sibylline Oracle is one of the few examples—if not the sole one—of a total rejection of the temple in a Jewish source. More problematic is Stephen’s speech in Acts 7 which castigates a physical, earthly temple. This is of course found in a post-70 Christian source and thus suspect; on the other hand, it has parallels with the Fourth Sibylline Oracle and may represent the ideas of an early Jewish or related group. As already pointed out, there were other aspects of religious observance as well, including ethical and moral conduct, private devotions, and theological speculation, but participation in the temple cult was the sine qua non of service to God. This was how your sins were forgiven and how you renewed your relationship with God. This is what it meant to be a temple-centred religion. It seems likely, however, that many Jews did not abide by the command to come to Jerusalem to worship three times a year (cf. John 7.2-9). Yet it was probably the custom for many or most of those in such neighbouring areas as Galilee to make a regular journey to the temple at one of the festivals, even if not several times a year. For those who lived a distance from the city, it was simply impractical, and especially so for those living in the diaspora (on this see further below [§16.1.3]). There were also certain other traditional observances which were probably adhered to by most Jews, such as some purity laws, especially those clearly laid down in the Pentateuch, and the agricultural priestly dues. The average Jew certainly did not attempt to make his home into a model of the temple as possibly the Pharisee did. How people were educated in their religion is not completely clear. According to the

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Hebrew Bible, the primary duty lay with the family, especially the father. There was undoubtedly some instruction in the temple during the festivals since the cult would otherwise be meaningless. This may have been through scribes as primary official communicants regarding religious law, but such scribes were probably connected to the temple, perhaps being Levites or even priests. There were many Jewish religious systems (some use the term ‘Judaisms’) extant in Judaea and the surrounding area before 70. For a proper understanding, we ought to examine each one individually on its own terms. Lamentably, we do not have sufficient information for a coherent description of most of them. Instead, we find only partial information or even no more than hints in the extant literary and material remains. Many discussions of the past have lumped the sources together to describe ‘the’ Jewish belief or practice with regard to eschatology, messianism, worship, and so on. While in some cases this was carefully done, the tendency has been to present a monolithic portrait (often with assumptions about ‘orthodoxy’ underlying the reconstruction) so that the description of one system or form of Judaism—or even no actual system but only an artificial construct—masquerades as a portrait of all Judaism. There is still a tendency to see the religion of this period in terms of sects, with special emphasis on the Pharisees, but there is no reason to see such minority movements as anything more than just a part of the picture. According to our sources, such groups formed only small numbers (whatever influence they had beyond their actual adherents). The sects varied greatly, not only in their history but also in their aims. The three main sects had already originated in the Hasmonaean period (or possibly earlier), but they were also prominent during Roman rule. What we especially see during the Roman period is the rise of various revolutionary movements. Some of these may have been primarily religious movements, whereas others were possibly more political and nationalistic in origin. Drawing lines between these two categories would not be easy, however, even if we had a great deal of information; as it is, the dearth of facts means that in many cases we have no way of knowing and can only make suggestions. It would be a mistake to think every Jew had an apocalyptic view of the future; yet a number of apocalyptic and related writings were produced during this period, showing the beliefs and concerns of some segments of the population. To some extent we can probably draw a distinction between Judaea (and the other Jewish areas of Palestine) and the diaspora. A number of diaspora writings of this period show no evidence of apocalyptic expectations, even after some major incidents with the Romans

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such as Caligula’s attempt to place his statue in the Jerusalem temple. For example, Philo’s view of eschatology is personal rather than national or cosmic, as is the Wisdom of Solomon’s. Nevertheless, major revolts in a variety of areas in 115–117 CE indicates that eschatology was important to some Jews in the diaspora, and some apocalypses apparently circulated there, even if they did not originate in the diaspora. Even though most people were not members of a religious sect, a religious outlook is frequently influenced by teachers and groups who may not have had a large number of actual followers. There are indications that mysticism was important to some Jews, for example, though by nature this was kept secret by devotees. Magic, astrology, and other forms of divination were clearly practised, but as they were esoteric arts not much information has been left about them. People who were ill or ‘had a demon’ would seek out those who they thought could help, whether it was the priest in the temple, the local ‘Jerusalem Lourdes’ (John 5.2-7, cf. variant reading), or the travelling healer-cum-exorcist. Astrologers probably did not starve in Judaea any more than they did elsewhere in the Graeco-Roman world. The peripatetic preacher—whether Pharisee, Essene, ascetic, mystic, Gnostic, or whatnot—could always draw a crowd. If nothing else, it was a diversion and one of the few forms of entertainment available. Of course, there were always a few persons in these crowds attracted by curiosity who experienced personal enlightenment. These might continue to follow the preacher when he moved on, perhaps abandoning their home and livelihood. Such periods of discipleship were probably brief for all but the hard core, but almost always a few individuals in any village would become engaged in such discipleship even if it did not last. The hints we have about this diversity and complexity unfortunately do not allow us to quantify these trends. Life for most people was not easy, being mainly a struggle for enough to eat and to provide reasonable clothing and shelter. Religion was important, as was religious and ethnic identity, but we have little indication that this personal piety was very extreme. As so often, local people adapt their religion to their needs and eschew those aspects requiring major inconvenience. This is why Pharisaic practices, with the minute emphasis on ritual purity in daily life, would not have been adopted by most people, however much some of them may have looked up to Pharisees as models of piety. The same would apply to an even greater degree to exclusivistic groups like the Essenes who were apparently seen as examples of piety and special favour from God. Most people did not joint sects; they did not have the luxury of leisure and money. Some destitute people may have been attracted to sects because they provided food for all members, but

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this is unlikely to have been a major factor in recruitment, since the group ultimately had to find the resources to support themselves. The average Jew was probably what the later rabbis would refer to as an am ha-aretz—‘a person of the land’. That is, they were men and women pious in their own way but whose main attention was taken up with making a living. They could not afford the luxury of devoting a great portion of their time and energy to the picayune details of religious observance which some sectarians may have regarded as essential. We have some small inkling about the lives of ordinary Jewish men and even women (e.g., marriage contracts; bills of sale; burial customs; the Babatha and Salome Komaïse archives). They marry, they have children, they buy and sell property, they divorce, they die and are buried. The catacombs of Rome and the papyri of Egypt have been valuable sources on the communities living outside Palestine during this period. Other aspects of religion are not so easily discovered. Popular religion is often frowned on by the established religious authorities and may thus be ignored or quietly swept under the carpet in the preserved sources. Archaeology and art are probably the biggest help, though only certain elements show up in the form of artifacts. Important in the late first century BCE and the first century CE were the use of miqva’ot and stone vessels, and indication of popular concerns for ritual purity. Ossuaries and other burial customs may show some views about the afterlife. Synagogue motifs are very important, as shown by the study of Dura-Europa and other sites, and demonstrate such overlooked facts as the widespread belief in and practice of the ‘science’ of astrology. There is also some evidence of the veneration of holy sites, including the tombs of holy men, with pilgrimages made to them. This all gives a picture rather different from that often drawn from the interpretation of ‘pious literature’ alone. Poverty was no barrier to intense devotion, so that even those living on the edge of subsistence might well turn to religion for solace and hope. Judging from the preserved literature, many had a keen expectation that God would bring in a better future. Few could have been fully content with the status quo throughout most of the Second Temple period (with perhaps the exception of the early Hasmonaean period). For much of that time Judah was a subject nation, yet according to tradition she had once been a proud, independent country and even a great empire by the grace of God. Some Jews could think on this subject only with extreme bitterness at the current state of their nation. With the correct action this might be put right, either by God alone or by human agents with God’s help, was their thought. Some espoused revolution as the appropriate means of rectifying the situation. There were plenty of precedents in the Hebrew Bible, and

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in the post-Hasmonaean period the Maccabees served as exemplars. ‘By God and my right hand’ might be their motto (as well as that of a modern royal family). Others felt just as passionately but saw the human role as being a more passive one: prayer, obedience, even the shedding of one’s own blood in martyrdom—but primarily patient waiting for God to fulfil his divine plan. God would do what needed to be done—it was not up to humans to take matters into their own hands. They had a part, but their part was waiting on the Lord. Of course, they could also calculate and speculate, and these calculations and speculations fill many extant, and presumably even lost, apocalypses. While the exact moment of God’s wrath might be uncertain, there was never any doubt that he would descend in fury— when the time was right—to punish the wicked, reward the righteous, and bring about new heavens and a new earth. How many Jews were caught up in this apocalyptic world view at various times, especially at the turn of the era? Some scholars have assumed that the vast majority were, but we really do not know. In Palestine itself many Jews had enough on their plates with the daily struggle to make a living so that any involvement with apocalyptic matters was not their first concern, though, as already noted, it may have served as a diversion from a life of misery for certain individuals. It is impossible to quantify the number of people who took the different approaches, but the literature and other indications are sufficient to recognize a variety of paths followed. The Hellenistic period was characterized by religions of personal salvation. Contrary to certain older religions of the Graeco-Roman period, Judaism still retained many of its ancient Near Eastern characteristics as a national religion. That is, it continued to be primarily an ethnic religion, even in the diaspora, whereas certain other national religions developed much more universalistic tendencies during the Hellenistic period. Isis worship, to take just one example, had transformed from a national cult of Egypt to a religion of salvation which actively sought converts and penetrated into many parts of society in the Roman empire. Similarly, in certain respects Judaism in the Graeco-Roman world fitted the category of a salvation religion. It seems evident that Judaism was viewed by many educated Greeks and Romans as another imported Hellenistic mystery cult, which would explain some of the attitudes by Greek and Romans to the religion. Although the extent of Jewish influence might be debated, there seems no question that many Romans and others were attracted by the religion, and we find sporadic examples of outright conversion to Judaism, though Jewish sympathizers seem to have been more common.

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16.1.3. Life in the Diaspora The basic religious heritage was the same for Jews of every stripe: one was a Jew, whether in Judaea or outside it. Yet there were also some interesting distinctions between the natives of Judaea and those living in the diaspora. The synagogue had apparently arisen already in the Ptolemaic period, judging from inscriptions in proseuchai (‘prayer houses’), but it was mainly during the Roman period that developments within diaspora Jewish communities started to have a significant influence on religion in the homeland. By this time, the indication is that the population of Jews in Palestine (about a half million to a million is a reasonable guess) was far exceeded by the number scattered across the Mediterranean world and elsewhere. There seems to have been considerable communication between many far-flung communities and Judaea itself, not only those in the Mediterranean region (which are best documented) but also the Mesopotamian cities where a very large population now lived (known to us mainly from later rabbinic literature). Such famous rabbis—at least, famous in rabbinic writings—as Hillel were said to have been born in Babylonia and immigrated to Palestine as adults (e.g., t. Negaʿim 1.16). Many diaspora Jews came up each year to worship at the temple to the extent that ‘tourism’ was one of the main occupations for those living in and around Jerusalem. The temple was still the spiritual centre of Judaism. This does not mean, however, that the diaspora communities did not have a lively religious life of their own, and with the increase in numbers and the maintenance of communications with Judaea, practices in the diaspora began to have an effect on what people did closer to home. It is still not absolutely established that synagogues existed in Judaea proper before 70 CE, but the Theodotus inscription in Jerusalem is usually dated to the pre-70 period. Josephus mentions synagogues in Caesarea (sunagogē) and Tiberias (proseuchē). Temple worship did not require written scripture since the priests could instruct the people on the proper cultic procedures and decorum, and the religious meaning of the cult. Many traditional societies need no ‘book’ to tell people how to worship. Away from the temple, though, the written word was a vital link and pillar of worship, along with public and private prayer. This is why the translation of the Pentateuch into Greek (probably in the third century BCE) was such a significant event in the history of Judaism: now the many Greek-speaking Jews who knew little or no Hebrew had access to their Holy Scriptures. The exact form of worship undertaken in the diaspora is uncertain, though Agatharchides mentions the Jewish ‘temples’ (ἐν τοῖς ἱεροῖς = synagogues?) where the worshippers

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pray with outstretched hands until evening on the seventh day (Ag. Ap. 1.22 §§208-209, though he inserts this in a reference to the Jerusalem temple). The text of various holy books was still developing, and no standard collection or text seems to have become established until the first century CE, but the Pentateuch, the Prophets, and some of the Writings of the later Hebrew canon seem to have been widely accepted long before Pompey threatened Jerusalem. Even groups in the region of Palestine are attested as basing themselves on the written word by this time, notably Qumran. Temple worship was being simultaneously enriched, supplemented, and diluted by other forms of worship coming from the diaspora. Biblical interpretation in its widest sense had become well developed by the Roman period and took its place alongside cultic worship (though many of the interpreters evidently had priestly associations of some sort). If the temple had not been destroyed, it would have been interesting to see how temple worship evolved in the light of these new practices. There are reports of interest in Judaism on the part of Graeco-Romans, as well as examples of anti-Jewish feeling. A number of Roman writers and satirists indicate that some people in the Graeco-Roman world, including upper-class girls and women, were attracted by Judaism. Josephus reports the conversion of the royal of house of Adiabene in Babylonia, and Queen Helena was a benefactor to the people of Judaea (Ant. 20.2.1-5 §§17-53). It is doubtful that there was a Jewish ‘mission’ of conversion as such, but Judaism outside Palestine had many points in common with other Hellenistic ‘conversion religions’ (see further above [§16.1.2]). Yet most Greek and Roman writers found Jewish customs absurd and poked fun at them. Such disdain was much more common than outright anti-Judaism, but we have examples of the latter as well. In spite of these attitudes, Jews were generally free to practise their religion without hindrance, even after the 66–70 and Bar Kokhva revolts. 16.2. Survey of History 16.2.1. Persian Period The main biblical books ostensibly describing events in the Persian period, viz. Ezra and Nehemiah, turn out to be very disappointing. Much of the useful information on the early Persian period is borrowed from Zechariah 1–8 and Haggai (which do have some helpful data). But the alleged Persian documents in Ezra 4–7 are probably products of the Hellenistic period. Some of them might be based on genuine Persian documents, but in language and form they are post-Achaemenid and

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generally unreliable. Similarly, there are serious problems with the Ezra story, though it is possible that an Ezra-like figure had something to do with promulgating an early version of the Pentateuch. Parts of the book of Nehemiah seemed to be based on a personal memoir of the governor himself but give only his side of the story, which is to be questioned at various points. But on the whole it has more useful information than the book of Ezra. Apart from archaeology, the main usable sources are the documents from the Jewish colony at Elephantine in Egypt, the Wadi Daliyeh papyri, and coins (from both Yehud and Samaria). We also have Persian documents from Babylonia, Persia, and Egypt that sometimes provide useful background information. The impression of some of the Jewish literature that the Persian king favoured the Jews and provided great resources for the Jerusalem temple is pure propaganda. There is no evidence that the Persians dealt with the Jews any differently from other peoples in their empire, and the Jerusalem temple was not singled out for special treatment. Yet the Jews generally thrived under Persian rule, from the information available. The documents from Elephantine show how a Jewish community lived their lives and also how they interacted with the Persian administration. The first concern at the return of exiles from the Babylonian captivity (beyond making a living) was the rebuilding of the temple. Because of the nature of the sources, it is difficult to be precise about the course of events, but the building seems to have begun in earnest early in Darius’s reign, about 520 BCE. When it was finished is unknown (very unlikely is the sixth year of Darius [Ezra 6.15] or 516 BCE), as is much of the history of Judah for the next 75 years. Then sometime around the middle of the fifth century BCE, a new force was unleashed on the province, one aimed at isolating the people from the surrounding nations and cultures. This was the governor Nehemiah. In one sense, this was not new since the idea that mixing with Gentiles was bad for religious purity had been around a long time in certain circles. But the zealot Nehemiah came not only with a single-minded view of what Judaism should be but also with powers as governor backed by Persian authority. In this he may have been preceded or—more likely—followed by Ezra (though assessment of the Ezra tradition is much more difficult and controversial; in any event, most of the measures ascribed to Ezra look very similar to those of Nehemiah). Who constituted a part of the Jewish community was given a very narrow definition. The boundaries were drawn and non-Jews excluded as far as possible; indeed, there seems to have been an attempt also to exclude those Jews who were descended from inhabitants of the land who had not been deported by the Babylonians. Nehemiah could enforce his

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rulings as law and evidently did, to the consternation of not a few of his fellow Jews. The community became exclusivistic and inward looking, with barriers put up to keep the outside world as far away as possible. How long such an approach lasted after the passing of Nehemiah (and Ezra?) is uncertain, though there is evidence that at least some—perhaps many—of the community did not share Nehemiah’s vision. The indication is that his measures did not last. Some of those whom he opposed, such as the Tobiads, seem to have maintained their position in Judaean society (see below). But one of the literary products was a version of the Pentateuch, though this appears to have been promulgated late in the Persian period, after 400 BCE. Nehemiah’s opposition to the governor of Samaria, Sanballat, was the beginning of a long-term rivalry between the Judaeans and the Samaritans. The relationship was not a simple one, and in spite of frequent theological and even physical clashes the two communities still evidently traded ideas and even sacred books (since the Samaritan Pentateuch probably originally came from Judaea, though it was developed over time by the Samaritan community). A final breach between the two communities does not appear to have taken place for several centuries. 16.2.2. The Greek Conquest and Ptolemaic Rule The transition from Persian to Greek rule (c. 330 BCE) apparently took place without major trauma or significant change for the Jews. The legend that Alexander the Great himself visited Jerusalem is incredible, and Judah does not seem to have been affected by Alexander’s army, though it would have submitted formally to the Greeks like all the peoples of the region (Samaria apparently rebelled and became a Macedonian colony). Perhaps more unhappy was the period of the Diadochi when armies marched back and forth over the whole Near East for almost 40 years. We do not know the details, but Jerusalem seems to have been taken at least once, as well as experiencing a transfer of population to Egypt on one or more occasions. However, Palestine came permanently under Ptolemaic rule by about 300 BCE, and Judaea was more or less at peace for the next century. Egypt had taken Coele-Syria but the Seleucids had a legal claim on it. There were five ‘Syrian wars’ over the next century: during the first four Syrian wars, the Seleucids failed to take what they argued was rightfully theirs but succeeded in the “Fifth Syrian War” about 200 BCE. As far as we know, little if any of this struggle affected the small province of Yehud, isolated as it was away from the main invasion routes and the most fertile areas of the region, until Jerusalem was taken by the Seleucids in the Fifth Syrian War.

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We have some insights into this period. Especially important is the archive of Zenon, the agent of the Ptolemaic finance minister, who took a tour through Palestine in 259 BCE. We also have the legend of the Tobiad family in Josephus. There are many incredible elements in the story, but the existence of the individuals named is largely confirmed from the Zenon papyri, some references in the books of Maccabees, and the archaeology of the Transjordanian site of Iraq al-Amir. We also have references to Jews in some of the Egyptian papyri. Some Jews are attested as having served in the Ptolemaic army, including being members of a military colony such as that of the Tobiads or even mercenaries. And of course we have one of the most the significant religious events: the translation of the Pentateuch into Greek in Alexandria. Apocalyptic had apparently already arisen in the Persian period, judging from Zechariah 1–8 and the ‘Isaiah Apocalypse’ (Isa. 24–27). But we appear to have an excellent example of apocalyptic literature from the Ptolemaic period, portions of 1 Enoch. The Astronomical Book (1 En. 72–82) seems early in the Greek period and exhibits an interest in the calendar and the workings of the cosmos. The Book of Watchers (1 En. 1–36) embodies the myth of the fallen rebellious angels, a story that probably goes back to the Persian period or even earlier (e.g., it appears to be alluded to in Gen. 6.1-4). The parallel Book of Giants may also be from this period. It addresses such important theological topics as the origin of evil, life after death, the final judgment, and good and bad angels. The book has often been labelled a sectarian product, but the only really sectarian thing about it is the use of the solar calendar (when the official calendar was a solar-lunar one). There is nothing to prevent its being a priestly work, though whether by temple priests or dissident priests might be debated. Otherwise, we hear little about the Jews. Underneath the calm surface, however, changes were taking place—slowly, quietly, but inexorably the developing Hellenistic culture was making its impact felt even in the remote and mainly rural province of Judaea. The assumption that the Greeks brought something completely new and radically challenging to Judaism, however, simply follows the prejudice of some Jewish sources and especially of their modern interpreters. We know that Greek influence had already begun long before Alexander, primarily through two media: coastal trading (the Phoenician cities were especially affected) and Greek mercenary troops. We should not exaggerate the pre-Alexander inroads of Greek culture into Palestine, but the point is that things Greek were not new. A second false assumption is that what the Greeks did was replace the native culture or customs, either by cultural superiority or by force, with the Jews being the sole exception to this tide of Hellenization.

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In fact, the Greeks only brought a new element to the venerable and deeply entrenched cultures of the ancient Near East; neither did they seem to have much interest in having their ways of doing things adopted by the native peoples; on the contrary, their belief in Greek culture as superior made them want to keep it as a privilege for themselves alone. It was the natives who wanted to share in this new entity in their midst because they saw it as a stepping stone to achieving success, as a symbol of status, and as desirable for a better and happier life. The upper classes quickly acted to gain for themselves and/or their children a Greek education, and a few did give up their traditional lifestyle for one modelled completely on the Greek. Most did not go so far, however, but adopted those aspects of Greek culture that seemed useful while not abandoning their own. The only urban area of Judaea was that of Jerusalem, but there was an upper-class; there were cosmopolitan individuals; and there was regular contact with the outside world—perhaps not least because of the large Jewish diaspora which still looked to Jerusalem and the temple, with a not insignificant number of pilgrims coming at each of the major festival periods. The small upper-class would have watched developing events with some interest. For a few, the potential commercial advantages would have excited attention. The political question of whether the region might come under Seleucid control was a concern for many. These were practical matters, but also no doubt various members of the priestly and lay aristocracy found themselves intrigued by the novelties of Hellenistic culture—an attraction perhaps enhanced by communication with relatives who actually lived in some of the Greek cities. For such people, the vision of Nehemiah must have seemed decidedly blinkered. 16.2.3. The Seleucids Take Over How you gonna keep ’em down on the farm when they’ve seen Antioch, Ptolemais, or gay Laodicea? A century or so of quiet development and influence, and attitudes changed, new interests were kindled: Hellenization had its impact. Of course, for the rest of the people, the non-aristocrats who made up the vast bulk of the population, their lives changed little. They had new rulers and paid taxes to a different regime. The language of the higher levels of bureaucracy was in Greek, but much of the work of administration, especially that which came in contact with most people, was carried out in the local language; for Palestine and much of the Seleucid empire this was Aramaic. The local agents for the Greek government were often natives, anyway. People were aware of the many new Greek cities, either new foundations or old Oriental cities with a new charter, and many natives lived in them. Thus, most people became aware

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of new cultural elements in their midst, but they did not usually affect the average person all that much. This new Hellenistic world was, therefore, something new: a synthesis of the Greek and the native, nor was there a blending (Verschmelzung) of the two in most cases. As time went on, the mixture changed and eventually some actual blending of styles developed, but this took centuries. Then Coele-Syria changed hands: about 200 BCE Antiochus III was finally able to take as the southern part of his empire what his ancestors had been trying to gain for almost a century. Judaea was now under Seleucid rule, but the old Jewish constitution was affirmed by official decree of Antiochus himself (apparently because of help they had given him in taking Jerusalem), and nothing seems to have changed immediately. After the stormy period under Antiochus III, Seleucus IV reigned for a quiet few years, to be succeeded in 175 BCE by his vigorous brother Antiochus IV. What did he do with regard to the Jews? According to 2 Maccabees, he did nothing! Suddenly the time had come for action—or so some thought—but these were Jews who thought this, not Antiochus. What had been building up for decades burst forth in the so-called Hellenistic reform. This was not something imposed from above by the Seleucid king; on the contrary, it seems to have blossomed naturally from below out of seeds long nurtured in an environment stimulated by the proximity of Greek institutions. When Antiochus became king, there is no indication that the province of Judaea was any special concern of his. According to 2 Maccabees, it was Jason the brother of the high priest Onias who went to Antiochus IV and asked for the high priesthood in exchange for a raised annual tribute. He also asked for Jerusalem to become a Greek polis (for a further payment). To Antiochus it looked like a good deal, and he accepted it. Surprisingly, there is no record of any adverse reaction. Many if not most Jews (at least, of those in Jerusalem) apparently took it in their stride: even the most potentially scandalous act of having the king depose the serving high priest in favour of another seems to have been accepted without overt protest. Yet it would be difficult to overestimate the importance of the ‘Hellenistic reform’ for the subsequent history of Judaea. It brought the full impact of a more sophisticated culture and its economic benefits onto an economically and culturally backward nation. It could no longer exist quietly and let the rest of the world pass them by. Not only did the full light of a new way of living fall on them, but its glare also exposed them to the rest of the world. The long relative isolation had come to an end. It is important to note, however, that Jason did not disturb the official cult

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or break Jewish law. Apart from the illegitimate act of usurping the office of high priest, his actions with regard to the temple were all those of a traditional high priest. Jason’s innovations were political and cultural, not religious. If this new situation had been allowed to take its course in a steady, peaceful manner, it is hard to predict how things may have developed. However, a crisis soon developed. After only a few years another member of a priestly family named Menelaus did the same trick as Jason, offering even more tribute to have the office of high priest. Antiochus saw only a positive gain for himself from this and accepted. This brought Jason’s enterprise to an end, but there was no need for a major crisis. Yet one developed. The first problem was that Menelaus had offered an impossible sum to Antiochus and was unable to pay it. He is alleged to have sold temple vessels to gain money for payment. Whether this accusation was true or not, it was believed and the people of Jerusalem rioted against Menelaus’s brother who was in charge while Menelaus was himself away in Antioch. After the mob killed the brother, the gerousia sent some of their own members to Antiochus to accuse Menelaus, but he turned the tables on his accusers (by bribery, according to the sources). Menelaus was safe for the moment. About this time Antiochus became engaged in a war with Egypt. This was in 170 or early 169, and he was very successful. In the spring of 168 he invaded again, but the Romans were unhappy with things and ordered him to call off his military expedition. As he did so, Jason took the opportunity to assault Jerusalem to try to take back the high priesthood. Antiochus interpreted this as a revolt (with some justification) and sent his army to stop it. They took Jerusalem with no difficulty, and Jason fled; Menelaus was restored to his position. But then something inexplicable happened. In December 168 BCE Antiochus stopped the daily sacrifice in the temple and all practice of Jewish worship. For three years Judaism was officially proscribed. Although religious tolerance has often been seen as a product of modern enlightenment, in fact this is only because of long centuries of monotheistic persecution. The polytheism common in the ancient world was tolerant by its nature. Other gods and worship were accepted and permitted. The Persian, Greek, and Roman governments did not restrict the practice of Judaism as a religion, whatever the personal feelings of individuals. Thus, Judaism was sometimes ridiculed and eventually even attacked under Roman rule, but this did not affect the official tolerance. Now, under Antiochus, the one exception to this general policy took place and is still mysterious, despite a number of important and ingenious

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suggestions. That Antiochus should have taken such a drastic step was out of keeping with his normally shrewd administration. Whatever else Antiochus was, he was no fool; indeed, he seems to have been one of the most able of the Seleucid rulers. It may be that he was wrongly advised by Menelaus. In any case, his attack on the Jewish religion was a serious miscalculation and plunged him into an unnecessary war which took valuable resources at a time when finances were a problem. 16.2.4. The Maccabaean Revolt and the Hasmonaean Kingdom What form the Antiochean persecution took is debated. Some have denied that it was conducted against individual Jews, in spite of stories of torture and execution. Yet there is no question that the temple was polluted and its service interdicted, which is persecution by any definition. There were Jews who were not prepared to stand by and let this state of things exist without opposition; hence, violent resistance developed. Whether the family of the Maccabees were the initiators in this is a question, but in a short period of time they evidently became the revolt leaders. What began as guerrilla tactics against both the Seleucids and Jews that they saw as traitors developed into more formal battlefield confrontations. There were some surprising Maccabaean victories, though these were not miraculous as the legends have it: they used local knowledge as an advantage, they brought forces the equivalent in size to or even larger than the opposing Seleucid army, and they sometimes lost battles that were still reported as victories! Yet they succeeded in their primary goal, which was to retake and cleanse the temple and re-commence its service, most likely in December 165 BCE, almost exactly three years after its pollution. The new Seleucid ruler Antiochus V apparently wanted to conclude the fighting and made some concessions to Judas Maccabee. He also executed Menelaus, which was no doubt a relief to many. But Alcimus, who succeeded Menelaus as high priest, was accepted by most Jews but not by the Maccabees. Alcimus died of natural causes a few years later. Yet the Maccabees continued the struggle which soon led to the death of their leader, Judas Maccabee. Why they persevered in fighting is debated, but it shows that their goal (perhaps developed later in the campaign) was ultimately independence from Seleucid rule. Judas’s brother Jonathan became the leader, but few of his fellow countrymen were now willing to continue fighting, and he and his small number of followers were basically on the run from the Seleucid forces for many years. Most Jews were apparently happy with the restoration of the temple and saw no need to engage in further conflict now that the status quo had been restored.

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But then a new situation developed that was to be the salvation of the Maccabaean cause: a rival Seleucid dynasty arose. Jonathan was quick to play off one side against the other, allying himself first with one rival ruler, then another. The result was that about 153 BCE he was granted the office of high priest by one Seleucid pretender, Alexander Balas, and became his Friend. This also seems to have consolidated Jonathan’s leadership authority among his fellow Judaeans. Jonathan also sent an embassy to Rome to effect a treaty of friendship and alliance. It may be that Judas had already arranged such a treaty a decade or more previously; if so, Jonathan wanted to renew it, which he did. It must be kept in mind, however, that the Romans made such treaties without any expectation of providing military or other assistance to their treaty partners: the benefit to the Maccabees was not actual intervention by the Romans but prestige in the eyes of their own people that they had such a prominent ‘partner’ by formal acknowledgment. Jonathan’s ballet with the Seleucid rivals eventually came to grief: he was captured by Tryphon through a ruse, and his sons were also taken as hostages. Although his brother Simon Maccabee negotiated for their release, Tryphon eventually executed Jonathan and also apparently his sons. The result (some argue that it was intentional) was that Simon and his descendants became the sole leaders of the nation. In his first year Simon declared the independence of Judah (about 143–142 BCE), and in his third year ‘the priests and people’ acclaimed Simon with a stela that confirmed his priesthood and leadership. One should be careful not to take these declarations at face value: Judah was still under the Seleucid thumb for another decade or more, and the acclamation of the priests and people had been negotiated and was granted only conditionally and—notably— says nothing about Simon’s sons and descendants. Nevertheless, these measures had important symbolic significance, both for Simon and for the status of Judah in the Seleucid realm. Simon’s reign was short and, like his brothers, he died violently about 135 BCE. He was succeeded by his eldest son, John Hyrcanus. Under his oversight Judah finally achieved independence from the Seleucids. He also began a programme of expansion. One of his main actions was the conversion of the Idumaeans to Judaism. Whether he had them circumcised forcibly (so Josephus), or whether they did it voluntarily (so Strabo), most Idumaeans seem to have remained loyal to Judaism and apparently considered themselves part of the Jewish people. He also destroyed Samaria and Shechem/Mt Gerizim, which did not help Jewish–Samaritan relations.

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Josephus first makes some of the main sects active during Hyrancus’s reign, though whether they originated at that time or earlier is uncertain. Josephus tells a story concerning John Hyrcanus that involved the Sadducees and Pharisees. Whether there is truth to the story, it at least connects Hyrcanus with these two groups, but the story does not tell us anything about their ideologies. It is only much later (during the reign of Alexandra Salome) that the Pharisees are said to have particular traditions and to be seeking political power to enforce them on the populace but, again, we are not told what these traditions were. It is only even much later and in different sources (the NT and the Mishnah) that we may get an inkling of their main concerns (Josephus’s account of them tells us only about their beliefs that would be of interest to his Graeco-Roman readers). But in neither case, nor in the case of the Essenes, does Josephus suggest how or when they originated. After a long reign Hyrcanus I was succeeded by Aristobulus I about 104 BCE. Since he reigned only a year, we know little about him, but he is alleged to have taken the title of ‘king’ (though some think it was his successor who first used it); his coins do not use the title. He also supposedly converted the Ituraeans to Judaism by force, though there is little evidence of this in the archaeology, and any adoption of Judaism was soon given up by them. The next Hasmonaean ruler was Alexander Jannaeus. The title ‘king’ is found on his coins, and he expanded the Hasmonaean state to its widest extent. His seems to have married his brother’s widow; in any case, his wife Alexandra Salome was a remarkable woman who was to succeed him. Internal opposition developed to Jannaeus to the extent that some of them brought the Seleucid pretender Demetrius III against him; however, after the crucial battle, in which Jannaeus was defeated, the Jews fighting for Demetrius supposedly changed sides. In any event, Demetrius withdrew, and Jannaeus wreaked vengeance by crucifying 800 of his opponents and killing their families while he feasted (an event apparently mentioned in 4QNahum Pesher). The argument that these opponents were Pharisees is not supported: Josephus at no point suggests they were Pharisees (though there might have been Pharisees among them). The Antiquities claims that on his death bed he advised his wife to make peace with the Pharisees. The problem is that the War makes no mention of the Pharisees at any point in his reign, and the Antiquities says nothing about them except in this one anecdote. What we know about the nine year reign of Alexandra, though, is that it was dominated by the Pharisees. They were able to get rid of a number of their enemies to the point that Alexandra sent some of the Pharisees’

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opponents to guard some of her fortresses to spare their lives. She was a good administrator on the whole, but the last part of her reign was plagued by the opposition between her sons, Hyrcanus II and Aristobulus II: the elder son Hyrcanus became high priest, but Aristobulus raised an army and proclaimed himself king. The matter had not been resolved when Alexandra died. Outmanoeuvred, Hyrcanus agreed to give up the high priesthood and live as a private citizen. But then a new figure entered the picture, Antipater. According to Josephus, he was an Idumaean, though by all accounts he lived as a Jew and some sources make him Jewish. He convinced Hyrcanus not to give up his claim to the throne and helped him escape to the Nabataean king Aretas III. With this support he defeated Aristobulus and besieged Jerusalem. The Roman general Pompey was on the scene, having come to fight the Armenians. Both Hyrcanus and Aristobulus appealed to him. When he delayed with a response, Aristobulus impatiently broke away and marched toward Jerusalem. Pompey now came after him, and he surrendered, but his followers shut the gates of Jerusalem against the Romans. They besieged the city for three months until it fell, apparently in the summer of 63 BCE. The Judaeans were now once again under foreign rule. 16.2.5. Roman Control The first few decades of imposed Roman rule were difficult ones for the nation. The renewed servitude chafed. The unstable situation created by the Roman civil war, which came on a few years later in 49 BCE, encouraged nationalistic movements and revolts. One part of the nation— or its leadership, at least—accepted compromise with the Romans as unavoidable; another part tried to restore Hasmonaean rule, first under Aristobulus II, and then under his sons, Alexander and Antigonus, but without success. Hyrcanus ostensibly ruled (under Roman supervision), but Antipater was the power behind the throne; he also brought his sons Phasael and Herod into the administration. Then, in 40 BCE the Parthians invaded the region and took over Palestine; they made Antigonus a puppet king. Phasael was captured and committed suicide, but Herod escaped and travelled to Rome. There he was championed by both Mark Antony and Octavian, presented to the Senate, and declared king of Judaea. With the aid of a Roman army he besieged Antigonus in Jerusalem, which fell in the summer of 37 BCE, though Herod bribed the soldiers not to plunder the city. Herod now ruled as ‘client king’ or ‘friendly king’ of the Romans. Mark Antony was in control of the East, and Herod worked with him, though he was put under considerable pressure by Cleopatra who was antagonistic to him. These

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arrangements all came to an end in 31 BCE when Octavian defeated Mark Antony and Cleopatra at Actium. Herod had been fighting the Nabataeans and was not at Actium, but he was still on the wrong side. He went boldly to Octavian but without his crown, admitted that he had been a friend of Mark Antony, but promised that he would be equally a friend of the new emperor. Octavian accepted his offer of loyalty and restored his kingdom. The two were to remain fast friends for most of the rest of Herod’s life. Several times it had appeared possible that Aristobulus II or his sons could shake off the Roman yoke and renew the Hasmonean kingdom. Hope still continued even after the declaration of Herod as king in 40 BCE, and Herod had to put down some periodic uprisings; however, once Octavian had prevailed at the battle of Actium the fate of the nation was sealed: life was possible only by recognizing the overlordship of Rome. Whether as a client kingdom or as a province, Judaea was a subject people of the Romans until the Arab conquest. 16.2.6. The Herodian Kingdom Despite centuries of a concerted bad press, Herod was—on balance— good for Judaea. Given the inevitability of Roman rule, he was able to champion many Jewish causes. A ruthless response to any challenge to his power could be taken for granted even without some striking examples (e.g., his decimation of the Sanhedrin), but those who suffered directly from his measures to maintain power were few, primarily a few families of the priesthood and aristocracy. The idea of a reign of terror against the people as a whole is unsubstantiated and unlikely. The claim that he bled the nation financially is often repeated but is also to be rejected. Like all rulers, Herod collected taxes, but there is no evidence that he was more exploitative than the Hasmonaeans and certainly no more so than the Romans when they ruled directly. His friendship with Augustus, his good works for the Greek world, his magnificent building programme in Judaea, and especially his rebuilding of the temple to make it one of the most famous edifices of the time could only have enhanced the prestige of the nation and people as a whole. Also, work on the temple kept a large work force employed until the 60s CE. He responded to periods of famine with aid and reduced taxes. He was also concerned with the Jewish diaspora, seeing to it that Jewish religious privileges were restored in Asia Minor where they had been eroded by local opposition. He established peace and unified the country into one large kingdom, as large as that alleged for Solomon. It is true that direct opposition would not have been allowed: Herod’s security system seems to have been quite efficient (cf. Ant. 15.10.4 §§365-71). But it meant that

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most Jews under his rule lived in a condition of relative peace and public order. Herod not only respected Jewish sensibilities but also clearly lived as a Jew himself. In the absence of modern polling, it is hard to estimate how popular he was, but the legacy of his rule was positive. 16.2.7. Rule as a Roman Province As soon as Herod died, his surviving offspring headed for Rome to lobby Augustus for leadership of the country. At the same time, a major revolt broke out. The revolt was suppressed by the Roman general Varus, but some of the leading Jews also petitioned August for Judaea to be made a Roman province rather than another Herodian kingdom. (This is not surprising, since a Jewish delegation had also petitioned Pompey not to be ruled by a Hasmonaean king. So one should be careful of contrasting Herod’s rule with the Hasmonaeans’.) In the end, Augustus followed Herod’s will and divided his kingdom between Archelaus, who was given Judaea (and the title ethnarch), Herod Antipas who received Galilee and Peraea, and Philip who acquired Batanaea, Trachonitis, and Paneas. The last two had the title of tetrarch. N.B.: although Antipas had ‘Herod’ as a part of his name, and probably also Archelau (judging from his coins), most of the Herodian rulers did not: terms such as ‘Herod Philip’ and ‘Herod Agrippa’ should disappear from usage. Archelaus had apparently been told that he might be given the title ‘king’ if he ruled well, but within a decade he had been ousted from his territory and exiled. One reason were complaints about his rule from both Judaeans and Samarians. We are given little in the way of specifics, though one suggestion is that he was also insufficiently active in promoting honour of the Roman emperor (unlike Herod the Great who had been enthusiastic in this area). Judaea now became a Roman province attached to the province of Syria. Those Jews who wanted to get rid of Herodian rule now got their wish—and it is likely that many lived to regret it, for trying to accommodate rule by Roman governors turned out to be a thorny and difficult task. This was the case even when the governor was probably trying his best to be considerate of Jewish sensibilities, which was not always true. Most of the governors simply did not understand their Jewish subjects. For example, this seems to have been the situation in a couple of incidents under Pontius Pilate, though a third example (relating to the funding of an aqueduct project) probably represents an excuse by some Judaeans to protest. Ironically, the restoration of direct Roman rule in 6 CE brought certain religious benefits. Some political power was restored to the high priesthood, and the high priest became a significant representative of the

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Jews to the Roman rulers and the Sanhedrin evidently had some powers restored to it. Yet the Herodian rulers still had a good deal of power, and for the most part they were helpful in representing Jewish concerns to the Roman administration. Philip the tetrarch had a peaceful time, dying about 34 CE. Herod Antipas, however, ran into conflict with his brother-in-law Agrippa I (whom he had tried to help at one time) and was eventually removed from office by Caligula and his territory given to Agrippa about 39 CE. (The NT of course emphasizes Antipas’s actions with regard to John the Baptist and Jesus; Josephus also mentions the Baptist episode, with different—and more accurate—details, but has nothing about the trial of Jesus.) 16.2.8. Agrippa I and Agrippa II In his brief reign Agrippa I accomplished a good deal for the Jews. One of the most important threats to Jewish worship was Caligula’s threat to place a statue in the Jerusalem temple about 40 CE. This was an enormous religious crisis, potentially comparable to Antiochus Epiphanes’s pollution of the temple; however, Agrippa’s intervention seems to have been an extremely important reason that Caligula withdrew his orders, because Agrippa had been a close friend of Caligula before the latter became emperor. Then, after Caligula was assassinated, Agrippa appears to have acted as an intermediary in getting the Senate to approve Claudius’s elevation to the imperial throne. Claudius rewarded him by making Judaea and Samaria a part of his kingdom. Agrippa I is an example of a Herodian ruler who was popular, at least with his Jewish subjects. This is ironic because he did a number of the same things done by Herod the Great—at times, even going further—yet not receiving the opprobrium that came Herod’s way. For example, his realm produced approximately the same income that Herod’s had, yet there is no statement preserved that he impoverished the country; similarly with his projects of aid to cities and areas outside Palestine. He also put the images of the emperor and his family on his coins (something Herod never did) without being castigated as acting contrary to Jewish law. Later rabbinic literature remembers him with affection, something not accorded other Herodian rulers. The one exception to this general good will was with some of his non-Jewish subjects, who insulted his memory after his death by disgraceful exploitation of his daughters’ statues. At his early death Agrippa’s son was still a minor, and Claudius finally decided not to pass the kingdom on to him. Eventually, he gave him Chalcis, the realm of his uncle about 48 or 49 CE. Later he exchanged that for the tetrarchy of his great-uncle Philip (Trachonitis, Batanaea, Gaulanitis and some further territories around Galilee). Although Agrippa

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II was not king over Judaea, Claudius granted him authority over the temple and the power to appoint the high priest. Agrippa spent a good deal of time in Jerusalem and evidently had considerable influence there. For example, he used temple funds to pay workers (laid off because work on the temple had finally been completed) to pave Jerusalem in white stone. The limits of Herodian power were demonstrated, however, at the beginning of the war with Rome. Agrippa is presented as attempting to address the people and convince them that the path of war they had embarked on was mistaken. His audience—the people of Jerusalem— rejected his message and forced him to leave the city. He was to aid the Romans in putting down the revolt. 16.2.9. Province a Second Time and the Path to War After Agrippa I’s death, Claudius decided to make Judaea once more a Roman province. Apart from Agrippa II’s youthfulness, it became general Roman policy not to make use of client kings in the way they had done in the past. As with previous governors, the procurators seem to have varied in competence and conduct, from Tiberius Alexander who was from a Jewish family to Felix whom even the Roman historian Tacitus (Hist. 5.9) condemns. A number of seemingly random acts led to the revolt. One of these was the cessation of sacrifices in the temple on behalf of the emperor and his family. This might seem trivial, but this was the main way of showing Jewish loyalty, since they did not participate in the emperor cult. This chain of events led to driving out the governor Cestius Gallus from Jerusalem, the massacre of the Roman garrison, and the taking of a Roman eagle. There was now no going back: Rome was bound to avenge these defiant acts. One cannot help feeling that a war between the Judaeans and the Romans was bound to happen because of the continued build-up of tensions under Roman rule. An interesting aspect of the revolt was the extent to which the initial leadership was in the hands of men from the leading priestly families and the Jerusalem aristocracy, including some younger members of the Herodian family. Although Josephus strives to give the impression that a few low-born gangsters caused it all, a careful study of his own data shows the true leadership. As a member of the aristocracy Josephus himself was one of these very people and—once again, despite his efforts to divert the issue—seemed to be an enthusiastic supporter of the war until captured by the Romans. The war itself still presents many puzzles, not least why so many intelligent people thought it would be possible to defeat the Romans, especially without better preparation and coordination of efforts. The various groups who fought one another in Jerusalem through much of this

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time would be characters in a farce if it were not so tragic. Josephus does not explain this. One has an inkling that apocalyptic speculations fuelled the hopes of some, if not all, of the fighters; if so, Josephus wanted to downplay that aspect of the situation. 16.2.10. The ‘Seventy Years War’ Once the Judaeans revolted in 66 CE, the struggle with Rome continued off and on for another 70 years. At least, this is one way of looking at it, because in spite of successive defeats the spirit of revolution took seven decades to die. The Roman war in Galilee and Golan in 67 CE does not seem to have caused widespread destruction, since many of the cities surrendered immediately to the Roman forces. Only a few held out and were taken by force, such as Jotapata and Gamala. The destruction in and around Jerusalem was a different matter. After surrounding the city Vespasian held off attacking because of the Roman civil war. This gave the various Jewish factions the opportunity to make war on one another. This meant the death of many citizens by starvation and violence even before the Romans renewed their active siege in 70 CE under Titus. The final result was the wholesale destruction of the city and temple, and the death or enslavement of many of the inhabitants and refugees in the city. A large area around the city had also been pillaged for resources for the Roman army and the siege equipment. After the 66–70 revolt, there was a mopping up operation against the fortresses of Herodium, Machaerus, and Masada. With the fall of Masada about 73/74, things seem to have been quiet for a long time— unsurprising, considering the destruction during the Great Revolt. But despite the bitter results peaceful relations between the Jews and Rome might have been restored. The destruction of population and property was minimal except for Jerusalem itself and its immediate surroundings. Yet Judaea could not go back to being a temple state, because the Romans had taken certain measures that made this difficult, not least the destruction of the temple. It is true that many of the pre-70 high priestly families survived and continued to have a good deal of power for some decades. The Herodian family was weakened after 70, but Herodians continued to have some influence, as well. Agrippa II lived until the early 90s CE. It was probably in the 90s, however, that the old power structures had become so weakened that they were ousted by new forces. We know little of the politics or even the details of the general situation in Palestine at the time. But new power structures and a new form of Judaism began to take shape shortly after the destruction.

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We have some evidence that the Jews of Palestine recovered economically and socially over the decades after 70. Efforts began at Yavneh to produce a synthesis of various forms, factions, and sects of pre-70 Judaism. How significant it was seen at the time and how widely it was even known about are questions we cannot answer at the present. Although descriptions of Second Temple Judaism have been dominated by discussions of the various sects, this is a wrong emphasis. Most Judaism of the time falls within certain parameters, giving a broad common ground held by almost all Jews. But the cult-centredness and other characteristics of Judaism then meant there was no ‘orthodoxy’ as such. The picture that emerges is a complex one. But we know that a longing—indeed, an expectation on the part of some—for throwing off the Roman yoke, even the destruction of the Roman empire (witness the apocalypses of 2 Baruch, 4 Ezra, and Revelation), continued to exist among the people. The result was that less than half a century after the fall of Jerusalem, in 115–117, major Jewish revolts took place in Cyrenaica, Cyprus, Egypt, and Mesopotamia (some say Palestine as well, but probably the most that took place there was some unrest). We know little in detail about them, but the indication is that there was huge loss of life among both the Jewish and the non-Jewish populations. The final decisive fight was 132–135/136 CE in the Palestinian region under the Jewish leader Bar Kokhva. We are fortunate in having letters and other documents and coins from that period, though many questions remain unanswered. It appears that Bar Kokhva was indeed seen as a messianic figure, at least by some, especially in the title nāśî’ that Bar Kokhva himself appears to have used. The progress of the war is unknown, but it seems to have been fought mainly by guerrilla tactics, with the Jews making use of underground hiding places, though the Romans also fought by attempting to isolate and attack small groups of Jewish fighters. The fighting seems to have been confined mainly to the region south of Jerusalem and between the Dead Sea and the Mediterranean (but there may have been unrest in Arabia and even elsewhere). The final battle was the siege of Bethar which ended in the death of Bar Kokhva. A large portion of the Jewish population is said to have been killed or enslaved, but the Roman army also suffered heavy losses. Jerusalem was rebuilt as the Roman colony of Aelia Capitolina, and Jews were forbidden to enter the city. The Judaean desert manuscripts do give us a brief glimpse into the lives of ordinary Jews during this period, such as through the archives of Babatha and Salome Komaise, but this is not enough to answer many of

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our major questions. What does emerge is the amount of religious change and redirection going on, the results of which become apparent in the post-135 period. Priests existed but they had nowhere to exercise their priesthood, and any continuation of the temple tradition had to take on new forms. It is the nascent rabbinic movement (as well as the break-away sect of Christianity) that had the dynamics to fit the new situation. As already noted, many of the strands of pre-70 religion continued into post-70 Palestine, including messianism and the imminent expectation of the eschaton which were an ominous pointer to the revolts to come. But new entities also began to form. The influence of diaspora innovations had started to have an effect before 70, and some of these proved quite productive in the new situation (e.g., synagogues and the place of scripture). At the beginning of the period, there was probably still a widespread hope that the temple might be rebuilt in time; by the end of the Bar Kokhva revolt that hope had been decisively dashed. It is difficult to find apocalypses and other Jewish works with a strong apocalyptic-messianic world view after 135 CE. From all we can tell, apocalyptic expectations ceased in their old form, having disappointed once and for all. The Mishnah eschews eschatology and messianic expectations. One way of understanding this is that the conceptual world of the Mishnah simply excludes eschatology; the lessons of the failed messianic and resistant movements of the pre-70 period had been learned, and a new world view was developed in which eternity consisted of a focus on the timeless observance of the Torah. There seems no question that this is the outlook of the Mishnah as it stands, while the messianic views that developed subsequently have a different character. This may be a post-Yavneh development, however, since Aqiva and perhaps some other rabbis seem to have supported Bar Kokhva, though the matter is complicated. The death of Bar Kokhva brought Jewish hopes of an independent state to an end. The Jews remained under Roman rule until the Arab conquest in the seventh century. They were also prohibited from entering Jerusalem until perhaps the fourth century. Judaism took on an inward focus and a concern for halakhic traditions which were often centred on the temple that had now long been in ruins. Yet the Judaeans were not exiled from their land (in spite of assertions to the contrary on the part of some today), and their ability to practise their traditional religious customs was not abridged. It was nearly two millennia later, in 1947, before an independent Jewish state came into existence once again—after centuries of oppression, persecution, and attempts to suppress Jewish worship.

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I n d ex of R ef er e nce s

Hebrew Bible/ Old Testament Genesis 1–3 59 3–4 184 6 184 184, 508 6.1-4 6.4 184 14 67 34 72 36.33-34 72 46.2 197 Exodus 23.3 64 12.43-49 302 20.2 246 Leviticus 6.9-10 155 14.4-5 387 16 254, 499 23.15-16 155 23.16 153 23.17 155 Numbers 15.15 302 18.21-32 380 24 257 24.4 197 24.7 257, 258 24.17 468, 485, 486 25 151 Deuteronomy 6.4-9 124

7.14-15 124 16.3 155 16.16 498 18 168 22.6-7 64 23.4-9 302 24.1 236 28.5 124 Ruth 1.16-17 302 1 Samuel 1.28 214 2.5 214 3.1-15 197 6.8 196 9.9 215 2 Samuel 28 59 1 Kings 22.13-28 197 Ezra 4–7 505 6.15 506 Job 4.13 197 7.14 197 20.8 197 28 248 28.20-24 248 Psalms 2

266, 271

2.7 243 23.1 215 82.6 243 Proverbs 247, 250 1–9 1.20-33 247 8 247, 248 8.1-11 247 8.12-21 247 266, 271 8.22-36 8.22-34 247 8.30 248 9 248 Isaiah 11 266, 271 14 61 24–27 508 26.19 281 42 268, 271 42.1-4 266 42.1 266 49 268, 271 49.1-6 266 49.6 266 53 261 53.14 262 65.17-25 77 Jeremiah 24 197 Ezekiel 1.1 197 6.11 77 8.3 197 40–44 77

587

Index of References

Daniel 2 259 2.38 259 4 194 7–12 498 7 197, 245, 265, 266, 268, 269 7.9-14 246, 265 7.9-10 265 7.9 242 7.13-14 265 7.13 265, 268-71 7.18 265 7.19-27 282 7.22 265 7.27 265 8.16 265 8.23-25 282 9 420 9.21 265 10 197 10.5-6 265 10.12-13 265 10.16-20 265 10.16 265 11 282 12.1-3 281 12.7 481 Hosea 14.9-10 215 Amos 7.7-9 197 8.1-3 197 Zechariah 1–8

505, 508

New Testament Matthew 1 198 4.17 241 5.3 241 12.27-28 195 13.36-43 269

14.1-12 338 14.6 338 19.28 269 20.22 101 22.16 159 24 279, 283 25.31-46 269 25.31 269 26.3 209 26.57 209 27.2-65 327 Mark 2.10 269 3.6 159 6.14-28 338 6.17 337 6.21 338 6.22 338 8.29-31 269 8.15 160 9.9 269 9.31 269 10.33-34 269 12.13-17 97, 101, 103 12.13 159 13 279, 283 13.26 269 14.61-62 269 15.1-45 327 Luke 2.1-5 325 3.1 335 3.2 209 9.7-9 338 16.19-31 280 18.8 270 19.10 270 20.25 101 21 279, 283 21.36 270 23.1-52 327 23.6-12 339 23.12 339 23.43 280

24.7 270 24.44 216 John 1.1-5 252 1.1 252 1.51 270 3.13 270 3.15 270 5.2-7 501 5.27 270 6.27 270 6.53 270 6.62 270 7.2-9 499 7.53–8.11 207 9.35 270 11.49 209 18.13-28 209 18.13-24 209 18.28–19.38 327 18.31 207 Acts 1.6-7 260 2.1 433 4.1-21 208 4.6 209 5.1-21 382 5.33-40 207 5.36 142, 364 5.37 326 6.5 302 6.12–7.1 208 6.12 207 7 270 7.44-50 433 7.54-58 207, 208 8 188 8.9-24 188 8.10 188 8.22 188 9.1-2 166 9.2 124 9.20-22 124 10.2 303, 304 11.26 124

588 Acts (cont.) 12.1-19 355 12.1 345 12.20-23 355 13.14-50 125 13.16 303, 304 14.1 125 16.1-3 303 16.1-3 496 16.9-10 198 16.12-14 127 16.14 127, 303, 304 17.1-9 128 17.10 128 17.16-34 127 17.17 303, 304 17.32 277 18.1-8 127 88, 132 18.2 18.7 303, 304 18.9 198 18.12-17 127 18.16 126 18.19 126 19.8 126 19.32-34 126 21.17-26 433 21.38 142, 147, 371 22.3 125 22.30–23.10 382 23–24 369 23.2 210 23.6-9 279 24.1 210 24.12-34 370 24.22-27 370 24.24–26.32 359 25–26 373 25.1-12 373 2 Corinthians 12.1-4 198 12.2-4 171

Index of References Hebrews 2.6 270 2 Peter 2.4 185 Jude 9 254 14–16 216 Revelation 1.13 270 2.9 127 3.9 126 6 77 6.1-8 77 6.9-11 77 8–9 77 13 283 13.1-8 76 14.14 270 15–16 77 76, 283 17 18 76 20 279 20.1-6 77 20.4-15 77 21 77 Apocrypha Wisdom of Solomon 3.7-9 282 6–12 248 6–7 249 6.12 248 6.17-18 248 7.12 249 7.15-20 249 7.22-23 249 7.22 249 7.25-26 249 8.2-3 248 8.5-8 249 10 249 11 249 13–19 248 13–15 223

Ben Sira (Ecclesiasticus) 24 248 24.1-3 271 24.6-12 248 24.23 248 44–50 214 50.5-21 499 51.13-30 248 1 Baruch 3.15–4.4 248 3.20-23 248 3.31-32 248 3.36–4.1 248 1 Maccabees 2.21 241 3.18 241 2 Maccabees 2.13-15 214 6.7-9 298 7 67, 281 7.37-38 145 8.2-4 145 14.32-33 299 2 Esdras (see 4th Ezra) Pseudepigrapha 1 Enoch 1–36 190, 256, 281, 508 1.9 216 6–9 184 10.4-13 185 37–71 61, 62, 218, 241, 257, 265 37.2 266 37.4 242 38.2 242, 266 38.4 242 38.6 242 39.2 242 39.6 257, 266 40 63

589 40.10 253 42.1-3 249 45–57 265 45 257 45.3 266, 267, 271 45.4 266, 267, 271 46–47 265 46 257, 266 46.1 242 46.2 265 46.4-6 267 47.3 242 48–49 266 48 257, 267 48.2-3 266 48.2 242 48.4 266 48.6-7 266 266, 267 48.6 48.10 266, 267, 271 49.2 257, 266 49.4 266 50 257 51 257 51.3 266 51.5 266, 267, 271 52 257 52.4 266 52.6 266 52.9 266 257, 266 53.6 54 63 54.4 267 54.6 63, 266, 267, 271 56 63 55.4 257, 266, 267, 271 56.1 254 56.5–57.2 62 58–69 265 60.1-2 173 60.2 242

Index of References 60.7-10 173 60.24-25 173 61 257 61.5 266 61.8-9 267 61.10 253 62–63 267 62 257 62.1 266 62.7 266 62.10 266, 267, 272 63 257 63.11 257 65–68 63 66.1 254 67.5-13 62 69 63 69.1-15 253 69.26-29 267 69.27-29 257 69.29 269 71 63 71.10 242 266, 267, 71.12 272 71.13-17 267 71.13 266, 267, 272 71.14-17 257 72–82 66, 196, 508 83-108 62 85–90 282 91.12-17 282 93.2-9 282 104.2 282 2 Baruch 21.23 77 27 77 29–30 77, 259 29.4 78 30 278 30.2 77 39–40 76 39.7–40.3 77

44.15 278, 282 49–51 77, 278 50–51 77 50 281 53–74 77, 278, 282 53.6 77 55.3 78 59.2 278, 282 64.7 278, 282 69–70 283 70 77 70.9 77 72–74 77 2 Enoch 1–38 66, 278 1.3-5 254 4–6 254 7 254 8–10 278 8.8 254 10 254 10.1-3 282 11–17 66 11–12 254 14 254 18 254 19 254 20–21 254 22.10-11 254 24–32 66 38–67 67 41–42 278 52.15 278 59.3 67 61.2-5 278 65.6-11 278 69–70 67 69.12 67 71–72 67 3 Enoch 12.5 245 3 Maccabees 1.3 306

590 4 Ezra 1–2 75 3–14 75 3.1 75 4.40-42 277 5.1-13 77, 277, 283 5.34-35 433 6.18-28 77, 277, 283 6.49-52 78 7 273, 278 7.26-32 77 7.26-30 77 7.28-44 77 7.28-35 259 7.28 277 7.29 273 7.31-44 77 7.31-36 277 7.78-101 77, 277 8.52-54 277 11–13 277 11–12 75, 76, 260, 277, 282 11.33–12.3 277 11.37–12.3 260 12.31-34 76, 277 13 77, 260, 268, 273, 278 13.1 272 13.32 260, 278 278, 282 13.38 13.39-50 278 14.10-12 77 14.35 277 14.44-46 215 15–16 75 24 213 4 Maccabees 1.1 68 1.11 68 6.29 68 7.18-19 275 9.7-9 275

Index of References 9.9 275, 282 10.4 275 13.17 68, 275 14.5-6 275 15.3 68, 275 16.25 275 17.4-6 275 17.5 68 17.18 68 17.21 68 18.23 68, 275 Apocalypse of Abraham 1–8 76, 223 9–32 76 10.3 254 76, 254 13 14.5 76, 254 15–29 278, 282 15–18 173 18 278 19–21 173 19 278 21–29 278 21.3 279, 282 22.5–23.13 76, 254 25 76 27 278 27.1-5 76 28–30 278 29.2 77 29.5-7 76, 254 29.14-21 279 29.15 77 29.17-18 76 30.2-8 77 31.1-4 77 31.1 77, 279 31.2-7 76 31.2-8 279 32.1 76 31.2-7 254 31.2-3 282 Apocalypse of Adam 64.1-19 183 66.14–67.14 183

69.2–76.7 183 85.2-17 183 85.19-31 183 Apocalypse of Moses 13.3-6 61 13.3-6 277 13.3-5 61, 277 15–30 61 22.3 61 29 61 32.4 61, 277 33 61 37.3 61 37.5 61 40.1-2 61, 277 40.2 61 43.1-3 277 Aristeas 4 292 Joseph and Aseneth 14–17 73 Jubilees 5.1-7 184 23.20-22 281 Liber Antiquitatum Biblicarum 3.10 59, 277 8.7-8 72 59, 277 16.3 22.8-9 59 25–28 59 32.3 59 32.13 59, 277 59, 277 33.3-5 33.3 277 33.5 277 44 223 44.10 59, 277 62.9 59, 277

591 Life of Adam and Eve 1.1–22.2 61 6–10 61 12–16 61, 183, 254 25–29 61, 183 49.1–50.2 61 49.2-3 183 50–51 183 51.1-2 277 51.3 183 Pseudo-Phocylides 8 64 54 64 84–85 64 64, 275 102-15 102 63 147-48 64 175-206 64 192 64 Psalms of Solomon 17–18 273 Sibylline Oracles 3 64, 65, 258 3.1-96 64 3.46-63 65 3.63-74 64 3.75-92 65 3.84-92 282 3.213-64 195 3.350-64 283 3.520-72 282 3.624-34 65 3.635-56 279 3.657-68 279 3.669-701 279 3.702-95 279 4 64, 65, 283 4.4-30 65 4.40-114 283 4.115-27 420 4.115-36 65 4.121 362 4.130-78 283

Index of References 4.130-51 279 4.130-48 283 4.152-78 279 4.159-61 65, 282 4.163-69 161 4.171-78 65, 282 4.179-92 65, 279 5 64, 65, 258, 260, 279 5.55-61 65 5.93-110 64, 279 65, 260, 5.108-9 279 5.137-54 64, 279 5.155-61 260, 279 5.162-78 283 5.179-99 65, 260 64, 279 5.214-27 5.256-59 279 5.361-85 279 5.361-80 64 5.397-413 65 5.414-28 260 5.414-25 279 5.420-24 279 5.447-83 279 5.447-530 283 5.484-511 279 5.512-31 279 5.527-31 65, 282 Testament of Abraham A 1 276 A 7 276 A 11-14 276 A 11-13 69 A 12.16-18 69 A 13.12 282 A 14.1-11 69 A 14.8 282 69 A 19.7 B 4 276 B 7.15-16 69 B 7.16 276 B 8-11 69 B 9-11 276 B 9.9 282

B 11.3-10 B 13

63 276

Testament of Job 1.6 72 2–5 72, 223 2.2 72 4.1 275 20.9 72 38.8–40.3 275 48.3 72 52.6-10 72 52.10 275 Testament of Solomon 4–18 78 16.6-7 79 Dead Sea Scrolls 1QS 4.11-14 281 4Q397 frags 14-21, IV:10 214 4Q398 frags 14-17, i:2-3 214 Philo De Abrahamo 62–84 196 120-31 251 De agricultura 50 215 51 251 De cherubim 27–30 251 42 298 48–49 298 De confusione linguarum 146-147 249 146 251 176-82 274 177 254, 275

592

Index of References 159-60 332 184-338 347 190 121 199-202 347 203-206 348 207-19 348 212 206 245 123 248-49 351 254-60 348 256 347 260 351 261-75 348 276-330 348 281 127 299-305 327-29 306 330 317 329 331-33 348 334-36 348 334 350 337-38 348 357 351 361 292 367 349

De praemiis et poenis 40 242 94–95 257 95 258

De migratione Abrahami 38 215 89–93 154

Quod deterius potiori insidari soleat 81–85 275

Legum allegoriae 1.31-42 274 2.3 242 2.77 274 1.105 274 2.108 274 3.161 274 3.207-8 251

De mutatione nominum 115 215 139 215 143 215 223 274

Quod Deus sit immutabilis 6 214 10 214 11 251 139 215 31–32 249

Legatio ad Gaium 6 251 13 343 14–22 343 115 347 133 330 157 329 159-61 130

De plantatione 138 215 14 254, 274 39 215

De congressu eruditionis gratia 57 275 97 274 74–76 56 De ebrietate 30–31 251 31 215 In Flaccum 1 332 18–24 120 De fuga et inventione 51–52 249, 251 66 254, 275 68–71 275 68–70 183 94-118 251 97 251 108-9 251 109 249 De gigantibus 254, 274 6–16 12–16 275 54–55 298

De opificio mundi 16 249

De posteritate Caini 39 275

Quaestiones et solutiones in Exodum 2.13 274 2.40 275 2.68 251 Quaestiones et solutiones in Genesin 1.4 251 2.62 251 3.11 275 4.74 275 4.178 275 Quis rerum divinarum heres sit 45 275 55–62 274 78 215 187 251

Quod omnis probus liber sit 26, 141 56 75–91 153

De somniis 1.34 274 1.67 251 1.151 275 1.215 251

593 1.229-30 251 1.254 214 2.242 215 De specialibus legibus 4.188 274 De virtutibus 62 215 De vita contemplativa 1 154 2 152, 251 11 152 13 152 19–20 152 21–23 152 24 152 25–26 153 27 153 29 153 30–33 153 34–37 153 37 155 38–39 153 63–89 153 64–89 155 65 155 68 156 70 153 75 154 81 155 De vita Mosis 1.288-91 257 1.289-91 257 Josephus Jewish Antiquities 1.2.3 §§69-71 183 1.7.2 §§158 196 1.8.2 §§166-68 196 8.2.5 §§45-49 194

Index of References 8.2.5 §§45 78, 79 10.10.3-4 §§195-210 259 10.10.4 §§208-10 259 §210 259 10.11.4 §§247-48 259 12.1.1 §8 113 13.10.4 §§284-87 292 14.2.1 §§22-24 176 14.7.2 §110 303, 304 14.9.2 §159 142 14.9.4 §175 203 14.10.1-26 §§185-267 113, 123 14.10.1 §188 113 14.10.11-19 §§223-40 126 14.10.13 §228 113 14.10.14 §232 113 14.10.17 §235 126 14.10.20 §§241-43 126 14.10.21 §§244-46 126 14.10.22 §§247-55 127 14.10.24 §§259-61 126 14.10.25 §§262-64 126 15.2.4 §22 209 15.3.1 §§39-41 209

§41 209 15.3.3 §§51-56 209 §56 209 15.6.2 §173 203 15.9.3 §§320-22 209 §322 209 15.10.4 §§365-71 516 15.11.4 §§403-9 334 15.11.5 §417 206 16.6.1-7 §§160-73 113 16.6.4 §§167-73 126 16.6.6 §171 126 16.8.1 §234 113 17.2.4 §42 13, 380 17.4.2 §78 209 17.6.2-4 §§149-67 175 17.6.4 §§164-670 209 §164 209 §§165-66 209 17.8.1 §189 319, 334 17.8.4-13.5 §§200-355 316 17.10.5 §§271-72 142 17.10.6 §§273-76 142 §274 319 17.10.7 §§278-84 142 17.11.4 §319 334

594 17.13.1 §§339, 341 209 §339 209, 325 §340 25 17.13.2 §342 319 17.13.5 §355 324 18.1.1-4.4 §§1-100 322 18.1.1 §3 209 §§4-10 146 §§7-10 326 18.1.6 §§23-25 142, 148 §23 146 18.2.1 §26 209, 325 §27 27 §27 336 §28 335 18.2.2 §§31-35 326 §34 209 §35 209, 328 18.2.3 §§36-38 336 §37 336 18.2.4 §§39-52 51 18.3.1-2 §§55-62 328 18.3.1 §§55-62 327 §§55-59 329 18.3.2 §§60-62 331 §62 332 18.3.4 §§65-80 51, 128 18.3.5 §§81-84 128 §84 129 18.4.1-3 §§83-95 327 18.4.1-2

Index of References §§85-89 328 18.4.3 §§90-95 334 §95 210, 353 18.4.4-5 §§96-105 51, 337 18.4.5 §§102-5 336 18.4.6 §§106-8 334, 335 §108 337 18.5.1-3 §§109-22 336 18.5.1-2 §§109-19 337 18.5.1 §109 209 18.5.2 §§116-19 338 §116 338 18.5.3-8.9 §§126-309 345 18.5.3 §123 210, 353 18.6.2 §§148-50 336 18.6.5 §§170-78 328 18.6.8-10 §§205-27 51 18.6.10 §237 113, 334, 353 18.7.1-2 §§240-56 339 §§240-55 336 18.7.2 §252 340 §256 343 18.8.1 §§257-60 120, 348 18.8.2-9 §§261-309 348 18.8.2 §262 351 18.8.3 §272 351

18.9.1-9 §§310-79 51, 133 18.13.1 §340 319 19.1.1 §§8-10 352 19.3.1-4.6 §§212-73 352 19.1.1-3.4 §§1-235 51 19.1.1-2.5 §§1-211 344, 352 19.3.1-9.1 §§212-359 345 19.4.1 §240 113 19.5.1 §275 353 §§276-77 359 19.5.2 §§278-79 121 §§280-85 115, 116, 122 19.5.3 §§286-91 115, 122 §§287-91 118 19.6.2 §297 209, 210 19.6.4 §313 210 §316 210 19.7.2 §§326-27 354 19.8.1 §342 210, 365 19.8.2 §§343-50 355 19.9.1 §§354-55 358 §357 354 19.9.2 §§360-62 358, 363 19.9.2 §363–20.11.1 §258 363 20.1.1-3 §§1-16 364

595 20.1.1 §5 142 §§6-14 358 20.1.2 §§11-14 365 20.1.3 §§15-16 203, 358 §15 210 §16 210 20.2.1-4.3 §§17-96 51, 135 20.2.1-5 §§17-53 505 20.2.3-5 §§41-53 302 20.2.3-4 §§34-48 496 §§41-43 302 20.2.5 §§49-53 136, 366 20.3.4 §71 136 20.4.1 §75 135 20.5.1 §§97-99 142, 364 20.5.2-6.3 §§103-36 367 20.5.2 §§100-103 365 §100 305 §102 142, 147 §103 210 §104 358 20.5.3 §112 368 20.5.4 §117 368 20.6.1-3 §§118-36 368 20.6.1 §118 368 §121, 161 142 §121 368 §§130-31 142 20.6.2 §131 210

Index of References 20.7.1-8.8 §§137-81 369 20.7.1 §§137-38 359 §138 35, 51 20.7.3 §§145-47 359 20.8.1-3 §§148-57 51 20.8.4 §158 35 §159 359 20.8.5 §160 371 §161 368 §§162-63 210 §162 371 §§162-66 149 §§165-66 384 20.8.6 §§167-72 142, 175 §172 142 20.8.7, 9 §§173, 183-84 114 20.8.8 §§179-81 372, 380 §179 210 §181 380 20.8.9-11 §§182-96 373 20.8.10 §§186-87 146 §188 143, 373 20.8.11 §§189-95 359 §§194-95 210 §196 210 20.9.1-7 §§197-223 373 20.9.1 §§197-203 210 §197 209 §§200-203 205 §203 211 20.9.2-4 §§206-13 210 20.9.2-3

§§204-10 374 20.9.3 §§208-10 148 20.9.4 §213 211 20.9.5 §215 141, 374, 381 20.9.6 §§216-18 360, 381 20.9.7 §§219-22 104, 332, 360 §223 211 20.10.1 §227 211 20.11.1 §§252-58 376 §252 362, 376 Against Apion 1.8 §§37-43 215 1.22 §§201-4 194 §§208-209 505 §§209-11 292 118 2 2.4 §§35-41 113 2.6 §77 330 2.8 §§91-95 293 2.30 276 The Life 4-5 §§17-23 386, 395 6 §§24-27 391 7–73 §§28-406 397 8 §§30-31 398 9 §§32-36 28, 398

596 9 §41 51, 399 11 §§52-61 393 12 §65 225, 398 22 §§104-11 398 §104 398 24 §114 404 25 §§123-24 398 37 §§187-88 398 38–64 §§189-335 397, 399 38–40 §§189-203 399 38–39 §§189-98 399 §§193-96 210 38 §193 211 §§189-92 143 41 §204 211 43 §§213-14 402 44 §216 210 54 §§277-80 27, 211 60 §309 210 65 §§336-39 51 §§346-47 398 §§362-67 361 67 §§373-80 398 71 §§394-97 398 74 §411 398 74–76 §§407-23 401

Index of References 76 §422

107

Jewish War 1.Prologue.1 §1 378 1.10.5 §§204-5 142 1.16.6 §319 160 1.33.2-4 §§648-55 175 2.1.1–7.4 §§1-116 2.4.1 §56 142 2.4.2 §§57-59 142 2.4.3 §§60-65 142 2.5.2 §100 496 2.6.3 §§94-95 336 §95 334 §98 319 2.7.3 §111 319 2.8.1 §117 205, 322, 324 2.8.1-9.4 §§117-77 322 2.8.1 §118 142 2.8.8 §181 375 2.9.1 §§167-68 336 §168 27 2.9.2-4 §§169-77 327 2.9.2-3 §§169-74 329 2.9.4 §175 331 2.9.5-11.6 §§178-219 345

2.9.5 §§178-83 336 2.9.6 §183 340 2.10.1-5 §§184-203 348 2.10.4 §197 330 2.10.5 §200 351 §203 351 2.11.1-5 §§204-17 352 2.11.6-14.3 §§220-83 363 2.11.6 §§218-19 30, 354 §§220-23 365 §220 358, 36366 2.11-7.4 §§1-116 316 2.12.1-7 §§223-46 367 2.12.1 §223 358 §227 368 2.12.3 §232 368 2.12.4 §235 142, 368 2.12.5-6 §§240-43 210 2.12.6 §243 210 2.12.8-13.7 §§247-70 369 2.12.8 §247 359 2.13.2 §252 51, 359 §253 368 2.13.3 §§254-57 148 §256 210 2.13.4-5 §§258-64 175

597 2.13.5 §§261-63 142 §262 371 2.13.6 §§264-65 371 2.14.1 §271 373 §§271-76 373 §§272-76 374 §§274-76 145 2.14.1 §274 375 2.14.2-22.2 §§277-654 378 2.14.2-16.3 §§277-343 386 2.14.2-15.6 §§277-332 376 2.14.3 §§280-83 386 2.14.4-17.5 §§284-424 386 2.14.4-15.6 §§284-332 388 2.15.1 §309 366 2.15.6 §331 388 2.16.4 §§345-401 389 2.16.5-17.1 102 2.17.1 §405 388 2.17.2-4 §§409-17 295 2.17.2 §408 410 2.17.4 §417 390 §418 376 2.17.5 §422 390 2.17.6-19.9 §§425-555 391 2.17.6-9 §§425-28 149 2.17.6

Index of References §427 104 §429 210 2.17.8-10 §§433-49 143, 147 2.17.8-9 §§433-48 424 §§433-34, 443-46 149 2.17.9 §§441-42 210 §447 143 2.18.1 §458 392 2.18.2 §§462-63 123 §463 392 2.18.5 §§478-79 124 2.18.6 §§481-83 393 2.18.7-8 §§487-498 367 2.18.7 §§487-88 113 §487 119 2.19.2 §520 410 2.19.2 §521 410 2.19.4 §531 394 2.20.1-4 §§556-68 395 2.20.1 §§556-58 395 §§556-57 395 2.20.1 §§556 376 2.20.2 §§559-761 124 §§559-61 392 2.20.3 §56 51 §§562-63 395 §563 210, 407 §§564-65 150 2.20.4

§566 208, 410 2.20.5-21.10 §§569-646 397 2.20.6 §§573-74 398 §574 398 2.21.10 §§645-46 398 §646 398 2.21.5-10 §§561-646 399 2.21.7 §§626-28 399 2.22.1-2 §§647-54 395 §§648-53 210 2.22.1 §647-7.11.5 §455 401 §§650-51 397 §651 150 2.22.2 §652-54 397 2.28.6 §427 385 3 405 3.1.1-10.10 §§1-542 401 3.2.1 §11 410 3.2.4 §30-34 398 §34 50, 51 3.4.1 §§59-63 402 §59 398 §§61-62 27, 398 3.4.2 §§64-69 402 3.6.1 §§110-14 402 3.7.3 §§143-44 403 3.7.32 §§307-15 403 3.7.34 §§323-25 403

598 3.8.1-7 §§340-91 276 3.8.3 §§351-53 258, 403 3.8.9 §§399-407 198 §§405-7 403 §406 28 3.10.7 §§512-13 334, 335 4.1.1-3.1 §§1-130 401 4.3.2-6.2 §§130-376 406 4.3.3-9 §§135-61 151 4.3.4-9 §§138-61 407 4.3.7-5.2 §§151-325 210 4.3.8 §155 211, 407 4.3.9 §159 410 §§160-61 407 §160 211 §161 150 4.4.1 §§224-25 150, 411 4.4.3-5.2 §§238-325 211 4.5.3-6.1 §§326-65 409 4.5.5 §§345-52 410 4.6.1 §§353-54 411 §§358-59 410 4.6.3-7.2 §§377-409 409 4.6.3 §388 259 4.7.1 §§389-96 410 4.7.2 §§398-405 149, 424 §§402-5 149

Index of References 4.7.3-9.2 §§410-502 406 4.9.3-8 §§503-44 409 4.9.9 §§545-55 406 4.9.10 §558 410 4.9.10-12 §§556-84 409 4.9.11 §§566-70 411 §574 208 4.10.6 §§616-18 367 5.1.1-4 §§1-26 411 5.1.1-3 §§1-20 411 5.1.6 §§45-46 367 5.4.2-3 §§147-59 30 5.4.2 §§151-55 354 5.9.3 §370 414 5.12.4 §523 107 5.13.1 §527 208 §533 414 6.2.1 §98 415 §109 259, 420 6.2.2 §114 210, 211 6.2.4 §§124-28 206 §126 206 6.2.8 §157 414 6.4.1 §228 418 6.4.3 §238 445 6.4.6

§§254-58 418 6.5.2 §282 104 §§283-87 167, 420 §§283-85 385 §§293-87 259 6.5.3 §§288-309 420 6.5.4 §§311-13 258 §311 420 §§312-13 420 6.6.1 §316 418 7 423 7.1.1 §1 418 7.2.2 §§29-30 143 §29 6 7.3.3-4 §§43-62 125 7.5.5-7 §§148-62 418 7.6.5 §§210-15 152 7.6.6 §§216-17 107 §217 107 §218 109 7.6.8 §92 152, 423 7.7.1 §219 427 7.8.1-9.2 §§252-406 149, 424 7.8.1 §252 427 §§253-54 148 §§254-58 149 7.8.5 §§304-19 424 7.8.7 §368 124 7.10.1-11.4 §§407-53 428 7.10.1

599 §§410-19, 437-50 149 7.10.2 §§420-21 427 Targums Ps.-Jonathan on Genesis 4.1 184 5.3 184 Mishnah Avot 2.8 449 Hagigah 2.1 173

Index of References 57a 29 Shabbat 13b 216 Sanhedrin 38b 246 41a 206 Sukkah 52a-52b 262 Yebamot 46a

303, 496

Kelim 12.7 225

Jerusalem Talmud Sanhedrin 1.1, 18a 206 7.2, 24b 206

Šeqalim 4.2 332

Sukkah 5.1.55a-b 460

Sotah 7.8 15

Taanit 4.5, 69a 4.8, 68a 4.8, 68d

Taanit 3.8 175 Yadayim 3.5 216 Babylonian Talmud Avodah Zarah 8b 206 Hagigah 13a 216 14a-15a 246 Megillah 7a 216 Menahot 45a 216 Pesahim

463 485 481

Tosefta Talmud Hagigah 2.3 187 Nega’im 1.16 504 Shabbat 15[16]:9

474

Menahot 13.21 29 Midrash Avot of Rabbi Nathan 4 449 Ecclesiastes Rabbah 3.17 463

Genesis Rabbah 14.8 183 46.10 135 64.10 473 Megillat Taanit 6 207 12 463 Pesiqta Rabbati 21 246 34 262 Pirqe Rabbi Eliezer 21 184 Seder ‘Olam Rabbah 30 317 Apostolic Fathers Martyrdom of Polycarp 12–13 127 17–18 127 Nag Hammadi Testimony of Truth 45.30-6:1 184 On the Origin of the World 100.12-14 182 113.21-114.4 184 113.32-114.4 183 116.13-19 184 118.16-120.16 184 123.4-13 184 Gnostic Texts Hypostasis of the Archons 89.17-28 184 89.31-32 183 94.15 185 95.10-35 185 New Testament

600 Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha Apocryphon of John 10.1-9 185 29.17–30.10 184 Classical and Ancient Christian Literature Apostolic Constitutions and Canons 6.6 162 Appian Bella civilia 2.90.380 460 5.4 98, 102 Syrian Wars 11.8.50 101 50.253 97 Artemidorus Daldianus Onirocritica 1.1-3 197 4.1-2 197 Augustine De consensu evangelistarum 1.22.30 243 1.23.31 243 1.27.42 243 De civitate Dei 4.31 223 Cassius Dio 37.17.2-3 223 55.25.1 325 43, 319 55.27.6 57.18.5 128 57.18.5a 129 58.26 337 59.2.6 343 59.17.5 337 59.27.2-6 337 59.29-30 344, 352

Index of References 129, 132 60.6.6 60.8.2-3 353 62.18.5 388 65.5.4 413 65.6.2 419 66.1 420 66.4-7 378 66.7.2 109 66.15.3-5 361 66.18.1 361 66.18.4-5 438 66.19.3a 438 68.32 458 68.32.1-3 81 69.12.1-14.3 82 69.12.1-2 467 69.12.1 36, 475 69.12.2 467, 480 69.12.3 467 69.12-14 467 69.13.1-2 467 467, 472 69.13.2 69.13.3-14.2 467 69.13.3 467 69.14.1 472 69.14.2 468 69.14.3 467, 472 Cicero Pro Flacco 28/68 125-27 Diodorus 4.25.1 297 34-35.1.3 223 40.3.4 243, 288, 293 55.14-21 313 Epiphanius De Mensuris et Pondibus 13.15 446 Panarion 17 162

Eusebius Chronicon 223 458 223, 17-19 458 Demonstratio evangelica 8.2.123 332 Historia ecclesiastica 1.9 328 2.5.7 332 4.2.1-5 87, 458 4.6.1-4 87, 467 4.6.2 467 4.6.3 467, 468, 471 467, 476 4.6.4 4.22.5 162 4.22.7 162 4.26.13-14 216 Praeparatio evangelica 8.11.1-18 153 9.17.3-4 196 9.18.1 196 9.27.3 297 9.29.4-6 173 13.12.4 298 Horace Sermones 1.9.68-70 292 Irenaeus Adversus haereses 1.29-31 180 Jerome In Hieremiam 6.18 472 In Zechariam on 11.4-5 472 Justin Apologia 1.31.6 487

601

Index of References

Dialogus cum Tryphone 16.4 159 80.4 162 96.2 159 137.2 159 Justinian Digesta 48.8.11

474, 475

Juvenal Satiraie 6.542-47 198 Livy 2.593 223

4.4.4-4.6.2 289 4.4.4-4.6.2 669C-672C 298 4.5.3 671B 298 6.2 243 Res gestae divi Augusti 15–24 97 Scriptores Historiae Augustae Hadrian 5.2 83 14.2 84 5.2 462 14.2 474 Strabo 2.5.8 97 4.5.3 97 16.2.35 223, 289 17.3.25 322

Orosius 7.3.4-5 319 7.6.15-16 88, 132 7.6.15 129 7.9.5-6 419 7.12.6-8 89, 458, 459 7.13.4-5 89

93 319

Ovid Ars amatoria 1.75-76 292 1.76 289

Gaius Caligula 14.3 337 37 343 58–60 344, 352

Plato Cratylus 400c 297

Divus Claudius 25.4 124, 129, 132 28 370

Pliny the Elder 5.14.69 30 Pliny the Younger Epistle 10.96 84 10.96.1-4 158 10.96.6-7 159 Plutarch Quaestiones convivales

Suetonius Divus Augustus

Domitianus 12.1-2 109 Nero 16.2 124 38.3 388 Tiberius 36 128 41 328

Titus 7.1-2 361 Vespasianus 403, 420 4–5 4.5 258, 395 5.6 258 6.3 409 Tacitus Annales 1–6 85, 320 1.76 102 1.80 328 102, 103 2.42 2.43 102 2.47 102 2.87 130 4.6 130 4.13 102 6.31-33 337 6.36-37 337 6.41-44 337 11–16 85 12.54 367 15.28 366 327, 362 15.44 15.44.3 328 15.45 388 12.58 102 12.62-63 102 15.44 158 2.85.4 128 Historiae 1–4 85 2.2 360 2.81 360 2.74-86 409 5 85 5.1-13 378 5.1 402 5.5 243, 298 5.9 311, 349, 351, 370, 383, 519

602 5.12 412 5.13 403, 420 5.13.2 258 12.60 323 15.13.3 414 Valerius Flaccus 1.1-20 419 Papyri, Iinscriptions and Other Ancient Sources 5/6Hev 10 232 l. 1 227 ll. 2-3 227 l. 4a 227 ll. 4b-5a 227 l. 5b 227 ll. 6-10a 227 l. 7 228 l. 9 228 l. 14a 228 ll. 10b-11 227 ll. 12-13 228 ll. 14b-16a 228 ll. 16b-17a 228 ll. 18b-19 228 ll. 20-26 228 18 232 18.39 231 18.51 231 18.16 237 18.51 237 65.9-10 231 BGU 1102 l. 1 233 l. 2 233 ll. 3-7a 233 ll. 7b-13a 233 ll. 13b-20a 234 ll. 20b-31a 234 ll. 31b-35a 234 ll. 35b-37 234 l. 38 234

Index of References KTU 1.5.1.1-3 78 Mur 8 39 18 39 19 39 19ar l. 12a 233 l. 12b 233 ll. 13-17a 233 ll. 17b-19 234 ll. 20-21a 234 ll. 21b-23a 234 ll. 23b-25 234 ll. 26-29 234 20 40 20ar 227 l. 1 227 ll. 2-4 227 ll. 4b-6a 227 l. 6b 227 ll. 7-9a 228 ll. 9b-11 228 ll. 12-13 228 l. 14 228 l. 15 228 l. 16 228 l. 17 228 21 39 21ar 227 l. 1 227 ll. 2-3 227 ll. 4-5 227 l. 6 227 l. 7 227 l. 8 227 ll. 9-10a 227 ll. 10b-12a 227 ll. 12b-14a 228 ll. 14b-16 228 ll. 17-18 228 ll. 19-20 228 ll. 21-27 228 22 39 23 39 24 40, 471

25 40 29 40 30 40, 480, 481 32 40 42–49 40 42 471, 472 43 471 484 l. 4 44 471 72 40 74 40 88 219 115 ll. 1-2a 229 ll. 2b-3a 229 l. 2b 229 ll. 3b-5a 229 ll. 5b-6 229 ll. 7-8a 229 ll. 8b-10a 230 ll. 10b-11a 230 l. 12a 230 ll. 12b-14a 230 ll. 14b-15 230 ll. 16-18 231 P.Hibeh 215 367 P.Oxy. XLII 3021 117, 122 P.Yadin 1 454, 455 2–3 454 2 455 10 455 11 455 12 455 13 455 14 455 15 455 16 101, 102, 455 17 455 18 456

603

Index of References

ll. 29-32a 229 ll. 32c-39a 229 l. 32b 229 ll. 39b-43a 229 ll. 43b-49a 229 ll. 49b-56 230 ll. 57-60a 230 ll. 60b-66a 230 ll. 66b-67 231 ll. 68-69 231 ll. 70-72 231 l. 73 231 ll. 74-80 231 19 456 20 456 21–22 456 23–29 456 27 455, 481 37 457 42 480, 481 49 471 57 471 59 468 73 456 P.Yale II 107

122

papMarriage Contract 231 ll. 1-5 ll. 1-2 229 229 l. 3a ll. 3b-5a 229 ll. 5b-7a 229 229 ll. 7b-9 ll. 10-11a 230 ll. 11b-12 230 l. 13 230 l. 14 230 l. 15 230 l. 16 230 papCancelled Marriage Contract ll. 1-2a 229 ll. 2b-3a 229 ll. 3b-6a 229

ll. 6b-9a ll. 9b-11 ll. 12-14 l. 15

229 230 230 231

SEG XX 651

427

TAD B2.6 235 B3.3 235 B3.8 235 B3.8:37b-40a 228 XHev/Se 12 456 ar 13 234, 237 ll. 1-2 235 ll. 4-5 235 l. 6 235 235 l. 7 ll. 8-9a 235 ll. 9b-10 235 l. 11 235 235 ll. 12-14 60–65 456 60 456 61 101, 457 62 101, 457 63 457 64 457 65 456, 457

I n d ex of A ut hor s

Aberbach, M. 48, 367, 369 Abusch, R. 472, 474 Adas, M. 138, 144 Aleksandrov, G. S. 451, 485 Alexander, P. S. 169–73, 177, 191 Alexandre, M., Jr 53 Allert, C. D. 86 Allison, D. C., Jr 68, 69 Alon, G. 416, 417 Alston, R. 312 Ameling, W. 37, 40, 123, 125–27, 301 Anderson, F. I. 66 Anderson, G. A. 60, 61 Ando, C. 6, 10 Andreau, J. 93, 95, 96 Appelbaum, A. 447, 452 Applebaum, S. 21, 37, 41, 98, 103, 107, 112, 114, 150, 458–60, 462, 463, 465, 479 Arav, R. 21, 26 Archambault, G. 86 Archibald, Z. H. 93 Ariel, D. T. 42, 43 Athanassiadi, P. 240, 242 Atkinson, K. 48 Aubin, M. 24 Aune, D. 73, 76, 174, 176, 191, 194, 212, 216 Avery-Peck, A. J. 79 Avi-Yonah, M. 22, 29, 48, 386, 444, 445 Aviam, M. 21, 24, 26, 28, 48, 98 Avigad, N. 21, 23, 25, 29, 32 Ayres, L. 85 Bagatti, B. 37, 41 Bailey, D. P. 261, 262 Balsdon, J. P. V. D. 320, 343 Baltrusch, E. 128 Bamberger, B. J. 53, 58 Bammel, E. 204, 205

Bar-Kochva, B. 286, 391, 395 Barag, D. 22, 32, 34, 43 Barag, D. P. 358 Barnard, L. W. 86 Barnes, T. D. 48, 83, 86, 416, 417, 419, 458–61, 464 Barnett, P. W. 174, 175 Barone, F. P. 316, 318 Barrett, A. A. 312, 314, 342–44, 357, 361, 367, 370 Barthélemy, D. 37 Bartsch, S. 361 Bauckham, R. 73 Bauer, W. 212, 216 Bautch, K. C. 253 Becker, A. H. 156, 157 Bédoyère, G. de la 327 Ben-Arieh, S. 22, 29, 344 Ben-Yehuda, N. 422, 424 Benario, H. W. 83, 442 Bennett, J. 441 Bennett, W. J., Jr 159 Benoit, P. 37, 39, 225, 226 Berchman, R. M. 191 Berlin, A. 22, 25, 26, 30–34 Berman, D. 174, 176 Bernays, J. 416, 417 Bernett, M. 6, 8, 11, 13, 112, 115, 286, 295, 311, 319, 327, 328 Betz, H. D. 174 Biale, D. 169 Bibliowicz, A. M. 156, 157 Bickerman, E. J. 67, 159, 160, 204, 206 Bidawid, R. J. 73, 75 Bilde, P. 48, 347, 349–51, 379, 384 Binder, D. D. 301, 304 Bird, H. W. 320 Birley, A. R. 442, 443 Birnbaum, E. 53 Black, M. 146



Index of Authors

Blackburn, B. L. 174, 176 Blackwell, B. C. 73 Bladel, K. T. van 162 Bleicken, J. 312 Blinzler, J. 204, 205 Bloedhorn, H. 22, 25, 29, 38, 40, 123–25, 127, 128, 302, 304 Blok, A. 138, 141 Boccaccini, G. 61, 62, 65, 66, 74, 262 Boer, W. den 472 Bogaert, P. 59, 73, 75 Bohak, G. 72, 73, 195 Bokser, B. M. 174 Bokser, B. Z. 169, 176 Bond, H. K. 327–31 Borg, M. 150, 151 Borgen, P. 53, 55, 256, 257 Botermann, H. 112, 132, 356 Böttrich, C. 65, 66 Boustan, R. S. 169 Bowersock, G. W. 22, 35, 336, 337, 427, 465, 472, 476, 482–84 Bowman, A. 94 Box, G. H. 73 Box, H. 53 Boyarin, D. 156, 240, 245, 247, 261 Boyce, M. 189 Braun, W. 159, 160 Breitenstein, U. 67 Brenk, F. E. 369 Briant, P. 98, 105 Brighton, M. A. 146, 148, 149 Brock, S. P. 71 Brody, R. 225, 234, 235 Brooten, B. J. 453, 454 Brown, R. E. 156, 165, 166 Bruand, D. C. 204 Bruce, I. A. F. 108, 109 Brunt, P. 98, 323 Brunt, P. A. 322 Bruun, C. 458, 462 Bultmann, R. 336, 338, 339 Burchard, C. 72, 73 Burkert, W. 296, 297 Burkett, D. 262, 264 Busch, P. 78 Calabi, F. 53, 58 Cameron, R. 189, 190 Campbell, J. B. 6

605

Carlebach, A. 108 Carleton Paget, J. 301, 305 Cartledge, P. 94, 95 Casey, M. 262, 265 Catchpole, D. R. 204–206 Cavallin, H. C. C. 274 Cazeaux, J. 59 Chachy, R. 43, 466 Champlin, E. 361 Chancey, M. A. 22, 24, 25, 27, 29, 30, 34, 35 Charles, R. H. 65, 66, 69, 70, 73, 76, 265 Charlesworth, J. H. 22, 32, 41, 191, 196 Chesnutt, R. D. 72 Chialá, S. 61, 62, 262, 268 Choi, J. 444, 446, 447, 452 Chyutin, M. 73, 77 Cohen, M. S. 169 Cohen, S. J. D. 3, 5, 48, 51, 52, 108, 156, 158, 159, 286, 292, 301, 303, 305, 378, 400, 401, 422, 426, 447, 450 Collins, A. Y. 73, 78, 263 Collins, J. J. 53, 61–64, 67–69, 71, 72, 161, 256, 263, 265, 268 Cotter, W. 174, 191 Cotton, H. M. 37, 39, 40, 225, 229, 233– 35, 422, 427, 444, 446, 453, 456 Coxon, P. W. 162, 164 Crossan, J. D. 98, 106 Cryer, F. H. 191, 194 Czajkowski, K. 225, 232, 453 Dalman, G. 98, 99, 261 Dan, J. 170, 192, 194, 195 Daniel, C. 159, 160 Daniel, J. L. 286, 290 Davidson, M. J. 253 Davies, G. 422, 425, 426 Davies, J. K. 93, 105, 106 Davies, P. R. 152, 154, 212, 327, 330 Davila, J. R. 169, 172 De Rossi, F. C. 369 Dedering, S. 73, 75 Deferrari, R. J. 88 Delcor, M. 68 Demandt, A. 327 deSilva, D. A. 67 Deutsch, R. 42, 43 Dewey, A. J. 189, 190 Dihle, A. 274, 276

606

Index of Authors

Dillon, J. 53, 56, 57, 240, 242, 247, 249, 251 Dix, G. H. 261, 262 Donaldson, J. 85 Doutreleau, L. 89 Downey, G. 320 Driver, S. R. 261 Dufour, B. 253 Dunn, J. D. G. 156, 157 Dupont-Summer, A. 280, 282 Dyson, S. L. 138, 140 Eck, W. 6, 9, 37, 39, 312, 322–24, 422, 442, 444, 445, 447, 465, 469, 470, 481–84 Edwards, D. R. 22, 99, 106 Eliav, Y. Z. 22, 36, 442, 472, 476 Elior, R. 169, 171 Elkins, N. T. 440 Endres, J. C. 253 Engbert-Pedersen, T. 152, 153 Erdkamp, P. 94 Eshel, H. 37, 39, 316, 317, 465, 479, 481 Esler, P. F. 225, 453–55 Evans, C. A. 22, 32 Fallon, F. T. 177 Fear, A. 88 Feldman, L. H. 286, 288, 289, 303, 305 Fiensy, D. A. 22, 98 Filoramo, G. 177 Fink, U. B. 72, 73 Finkelstein, L. 451, 485 Finley, M. L. 93, 94 Fischer, U. 65, 256, 258, 274 Fitzmyer, J. A. 37, 39–41, 128, 132, 336, 339, 465, 472 Flusser, D. 22, 32 Foerster, G. 22, 34, 162 Follet, S. 479, 480 Fontanille, J.-P. 42–45, 336 Fossum, J. E. 177, 187, 188, 240, 244, 253 Frank, T. 94 Frede, M. 240, 242 Frerichs, E. S. 222, 287 Freudenburg, K. 361 Freyne, S. 174, 176 Fuglseth, K. 53, 55 Fuks, G. 327, 330, 458

Gabrielsen, V. 93 Gafni, I. M. 133 Gager, J. G. 286, 288, 289 Galor, K. 22, 25, 29 Gambash, G. 444 Gambetti, S. 53, 56, 112, 117, 120–23, 347, 351 Gambush, G. 444, 446 Gapp, K. S. 133, 136, 356 Gardner, I. 189, 190 Garnsey, P. 93, 94, 105, 106 Geiger, J. 37, 39 Gelder, G. J. H. van 74 Geller, M. J. 225, 233 Gelzer, H. 52, 53 Gera, D. 444, 446 Gereboff, J. 447 Gershenzon, R. 177 Geva, H. 22, 29, 444 Gibson, E. L. 301, 304 Gichon, M. 23, 391, 465, 470 Giesen, H. 73, 76 Gifford, E. H. 86 Gnuse, R. K. 191, 197, 198 Golan, D. 442, 472, 478 Goldstein, B. R. 191, 196 Goldsworthy, A. 312 Goodblatt, D. 37, 39, 133, 202, 344, 447, 451, 452, 465 Goodenough, E. R. 54, 55, 222, 223, 256, 257 Goodman, M. 98, 104, 108–10, 112, 287, 293, 301, 305, 312, 344, 358, 378, 381, 431, 434, 440, 441, 452, 453, 473 Goodrich, J. K. 73 Goodyear, F. R. D. 84, 85 Grabbe, L. L. 3, 5, 6, 49, 52–54, 57, 58, 61, 62, 73, 75, 77, 78, 168, 194, 196, 198, 201–205, 212, 214, 215, 217, 218, 220, 221, 235, 247, 250, 253, 254, 256– 58, 263, 274, 276, 280, 287, 290, 295, 296, 342, 355, 359, 373, 416, 420 Gradel, I. 6, 8 Graf, F. 191 Grainger, J. D. 440 Grant, R. M. 86 Gray, R. 49, 198 Green, W. S. 79, 174, 176, 447, 448, 451



Index of Authors

Greenfield, J. C. 38, 39, 69, 70, 226, 453, 466 Groag, E. 358 Groh, D. E. 24 Gruen, E. 112, 116–18, 128, 130, 131, 431, 435 Gruenwald, I. 169–72, 177, 185, 186, 191, 196 Grünewald, T. 139–41, 143 Gryson, R. 74, 75 Guerra, T. 253 Gurtner, D. M. 74, 75 Guterman, S. L. 287 Guthrie, W. K. C. 296, 297 Haardt, R. 177 Habas, E. 448 Hachlili, R. 23, 32 Haenchen, E. 128, 132 Häge, G. 225 Hall, R. G. 74, 76 Halperin, D. J. 169, 170 Hamel, G. 98, 99, 101, 103, 106 Hamidović, D. 169 Hamori, E. J. 192 Hanson, J. S. 139, 175 Har-El, M. 386 Harkins, A. K. 253 Harrington, D. J. 37, 39–41, 58–60 Harris, W. V. 6, 9 Hay, D. M. 54, 57, 152–54 Hayman, A. P. 74, 240, 244, 256 Haynes, H. 84 Hecht, R. D. 256, 258 Hedley, P. L. 327 Hedrick, C. W. 60 Heemstra, M. 109, 110, 156, 158 Heichelheim, F. M. 98 Heide, M. 68 Heinemann, J. 261, 262 Helm, R. 86, 87, 458, 479, 480 Hendin, D. 42, 43, 46, 222, 225, 311, 334, 335, 369, 370, 444 Hengel, M. 139, 141, 150, 151, 240, 243, 246, 261, 262, 458, 461 Hennig, D. 320, 332, 333 Henrichs, A. 161, 162, 189, 190 Henten, J. W. van 67, 68, 222 Henze, M. 74 Herbert, S. C. 23, 26

607

Hezser, C. 448 Hilgert, E. 54, 55 Himmelfarb, M. 169, 172, 281 Hobsbawn, E. J. 139–41 Hoehner, H. W. 336, 338 Hogan, K. M. 74 Holl, K. 89 Holladay, C. R. 52, 169, 173, 174, 176 Hollander, W. den 49, 53 Hölscher, G. 208, 209 Holum, K. G. 327, 328 Hopkins, K. 93–97, 106 Horbury, W. 37, 40, 431, 458, 461 Horsley, R. A. 98, 106, 139, 140, 146, 149–51, 174, 175, 287, 292, 379 Horst, P. W. van der 54, 56, 63, 71, 169, 173 Hurtado, L. W. 240, 243, 244, 247, 263 Husser, J.-M. 192, 196 Ilan, T. 225, 232, 234, 453, 454 Isaac, B. 23, 35, 38, 98, 107, 108, 139, 287, 290, 431, 434, 435, 442, 444–47, 453, 465, 468, 470 Jackson, H. M. 253 Jacobs, M. 448, 452 Jacobson, D. M. 42, 43, 358, 361 Jacobson, H. 59 James, M. R. 59 Janowski, B. 240, 261 Jeffers, A. 192 Jellicoe, S. 240, 241 Jensen, M. H. 49, 98, 106, 336, 340 Jeremias, J. 208, 209 Jones, A. H. M. 93, 322, 324 Jones, B. W. 358, 365, 367, 412, 437, 439 Jones, C. P. 427 Jones, D. 94, 97, 98 Jonge, M. de 69, 70 Kabasele Mukenge, A. 74 Kahle, P. 218, 221 Kalman, Y. 43, 466 Kanael, B. 479 Kanter, S. 448, 450 Karst, J. 86, 87 Kasher, A. 112, 117, 119, 287, 292, 334, 336, 337, 379, 386, 391, 392, 458, 460, 461

608

Index of Authors

Katsari, C. 94, 96 Katzoff, R. 226, 231, 453 Kay, P. 94 Kayatz, C. 247, 250 Kennard, J. S. 146 Kennedy, D. L. 479 Kenney, J. P. 54, 482 Keppie, L. J. F. 444, 445 Keresztes, P. 439 Killebrew, A. E. 23, 32 Kimelman, R. 156, 159 Kippenberg, H. G. 99 Klijn, A. F. J. 74 Kloner, A. 23, 32, 465, 470 Kloppenborg, J. S. 247, 250 Knibb, M. A. 62, 71, 263 Koch, K. 61, 62 Koenen, L. 189, 190 Koester, C. R. 74, 76 Koester, H. 175, 177 Koestermann, E. 84, 85 Koffmahn, E. 38 Kogon, A. J. 42–45, 336 Kokkinos, N. 42, 43, 334, 335 Kooij, A. van der 212 Koskenniemi, E. 175, 177 Kovacs, J. 74, 76 Kraabel, A. T. 24, 301, 303 Kraemer, R. S. 72, 73, 302–304, 453, 454 Kraft, R. A. 71 Kraus, C. S. 84, 196 Kraus, F. R. 192 Krauss, S. 99 Krauter, S. 112, 287 Kreissig, H. 99, 105 Krieger, K.-S. 49, 358 Kropp, A. J. M. 42, 45, 345, 356 Kugler, R. A. 69, 70 Kuhn, H.-W. 23, 32 Kuhnen, H.-P. 23, 25 Kvanvig, H. S. 62 LaPorte, J. 54 Laato, A. 74 Ladouceur, D. J. 49, 52 Lang, B. 247 Laperrousaz, E.-M. 23, 29, 465, 471 Lapin, H. 448 Layton, B. 177 Lease, G. 222, 223

Leemhuis, F. 74 Lehmann, C. M. 327, 328 Leibner, U. 23, 26 Lemche, N. P. 212, 218 Lémonon, J.-P. 204, 205, 327, 330–32 Lendon, J. E. 6, 10 Leon, H. J. 38, 41, 128 Leoni, T. 416, 417 Leslau, W. 263, 265 Levick, B. 320, 327, 332, 356, 363, 436 Levine, B. A. 38, 39, 226, 453, 466 Levine, L. I. 23, 29 Levinskaya, I. 302, 304 Levison, J. R. 60 Lewis, J. P. 212, 213, 216 Lewis, N. 38, 39, 192, 226, 229, 231, 453, 454 Lichtenstein, H. 38, 40, 204 Lieu, S. N. C. 189, 190 Lifshitz, B. 23, 444, 445, 473, 476 Ligt, L. de 94 Lindars, B. 263, 269 Lipscomb, W. L. 60 Littlewood, C. 361 Longacre, D. G. 218 Longenecker, B. W. 74 Lönnqvist, K. 327, 328, 331 Loretz, O. 192 Louth, A. 85 Lüdemann, G. 178, 188, 345, 355 Luomanen, P. 178 Luther, H. 52 Luttikhuizen, G. P. 161, 162 Lynd-Porter, A. 24 MacKenzie, D. N. 189 Macaskill, G. 65, 66 Mach, M. 253 Mack, B. L. 54, 58, 247, 250, 256, 258 Macmullen, R. 139, 140, 192, 194 Macuch, R. 162–64 Magen, Y. 23 Magness, J. 23, 25, 29, 49, 123, 126, 422, 425, 426 Mahé, J.-P. 60 Maier, C. 247, 248 Maier, P. L. 327, 330 Malloch, S. J. V. 84, 85 Mandell, S. 109 Manning, J. G. 94, 95



Index of Authors

Mantel, H. 202, 204, 473, 482 Margalioth, M. 192, 195 Marjanen, A. 178 Marshall, A. J. 287 Martin, R. H. 84, 85 Mason, S. 3–6, 14, 49, 147, 151, 378, 401, 405, 417, 425, 427 Maston, J. 73 Mattern, S. P. 6, 7, 9, 94, 97 Mayer, G. 54, 55 Mazar, A. 327, 331 Mazar, B. 23, 49, 52 McClaren, J. S. 11, 49, 139, 379, 382 McCown, C. C. 78 McCullough, C. T. 22 McGing, B. C. 327, 331, 333 McGrath, J. 240 McKnight, S. 302, 305 McNamara, M. 247, 252 McNulty, I. B. 23, 29 Meeks, W. A. 175, 178, 188 Meier, J. P. 159, 160 Mellor, R. 84 Mendelson, A. 54, 56, 57 Menirav, J. 99 Meshorer, Y. 38, 39, 42, 43, 45, 46, 465, 469, 487 Metzner, R. 208, 209 Meyer, M. 178, 192 Meyer, M. W. 296 Meyer, O. 296 Meyer-Zwiffelhoffer, E. 6 Meyers, C. L. 23, 453, 457 Meyers, E. M. 23–25, 29, 32, 34, 41, 222, 224 Meyshan, J. 42, 43 Michel, O. 150 Mildenberg, L. 42, 43, 99, 107, 442, 444, 465, 469, 474, 476, 477, 480, 481, 483, 484, 486–88 Milik, J. T. 37, 39, 41, 62, 65, 66, 225, 226 Milikowsky, C. 52, 53, 316, 317 Millar, F. 6, 7, 81, 312, 322, 323 Miller, J. E. 192 Miller, P. C. 192 Mirecki, P. 192 Mitchell, D. C. 261 Mitchell, S. 94, 262 Moehring, H. R. 128, 129

609

Momigliano, A. 83, 94, 356 Mommsen, T. 473, 475 Montefiore, H. 416, 419 Mor, M. 107, 466, 472, 482–84 Moreschini, C. 85 Morfill, W. R. 65, 66 Morgan, M. A. 192, 195 Morray-Jones, C. R. A. 169–71 Morris, I. 94, 95 Morris, J. 94 Mosshammer, A. A. 86 Munoa, P. B. 68 Murphy, F. J. 59, 60, 74, 75 Murphy-O’Connor, J. 302, 304 Musurillo, H. A. 119, 120, 122, 287, 291, 345 Myers, J. M. 74 Mylonas, G. E. 296 Naveh, J. 38, 42, 163, 164, 192, 195 Negev, A. 444 Netzer, E. 24, 29, 34, 43, 344, 466 Neubauer, A. 261 Neusner, J. 79, 133, 175, 176, 192, 195, 202, 204, 222, 223, 256, 260, 273, 287, 431, 433, 448–52 Nickelsburg, G. W. E. 60, 62, 68, 263, 266, 274 Nicols, J. 436 Niditch, S. 192, 196, 197 Niehoff, M. R. 54 Nikiprowetzky, V. 146, 150 Nilsson, M. P. 296, 297 Nodet, E. 218, 220 Noethlichs, K. L. 287, 295 Nolland, J. 302, 303 Norelli, E. 85 Notley, R. S. 24, 26, 86, 87 Noy, D. 37, 38, 40, 123–25, 127, 128, 302, 304 O’Neill, J. C. 256 Odeberg, H. 170 Oegema, G. 256, 258 Olson, D. C. 62 Olyan, S. M. 253, 255 Oost, S. I. 369, 370 Oppenheim, A. L. 192 Oppenheimer, A. 465, 468, 470, 473, 474 Opper, T. 442, 443, 466

610

Index of Authors

Qimron, E. 225, 234, 235, 453 Quasten, J. 85

Reden, S. von 94–96 Reed, A. Y. 156 Reed, J. L. 98, 106, 157 Reeves, J. C. 170, 178 Reggiani, C. K. 347 Reich, R. 24, 25, 43, 99, 104 Reinhartz, A. 156, 158 Reinmuth, E. 72, 73, 365, 366 Rengstorf, K. H. 139, 141 Reynolds, J. 302, 303 Rhoads, D. M. 146, 147 Riaud, J. 152 Richardson, J. S. 312 Richardson, P. 24, 99, 106, 222, 224 Rives, J. B. 84, 85, 416, 418 Rivkin, E. 202, 204 Robers, A. 85 Roberts, J. J. M. 412, 415 Robinson, J. M. 178 Roddy, N. 68, 74 Rokéah, D. 86, 458, 463 Roll, I. 431, 434, 442, 444, 445, 465, 466 Roloff, J. 74, 76 Römer, T. 253 Rosenfeld, B.-Z. 99 Rosenthal, E. S. 38 Rostovtzeff, M. I. 94 Roth, C. 327 Roth, J. 99 Rousseau, A. 89 Rowland, C. 74, 76, 170, 171 Rowley, H. H. 159, 160 Royse, J. R. 54, 241 Rubinkiewicz, R. 74, 76, 77 Rudolph, K. 161–63, 178 Ruhl, F. 52 Runia, D. T. 54, 55, 57 Rutgers, L. V. 38, 41, 119, 128, 274, 287, 294, 302, 305, 431, 432, 435 Ryu, J. 54

Rabello, A. M. 287 Radice, R. 54, 55 Rahmani, L. Y. 24, 32 Rajak, T. 49, 52, 54, 58, 287, 294, 397, 400 Rappaport, U. 49, 146, 147, 379, 386, 397 Rathbone, D. 97 Rebiger, B. 192, 195

Saddington, D. B. 369 Safrai, Z. 86, 87, 99, 204, 205, 453 Saldarini, A. J. 448, 449 Saller, R. 93–96, 105, 106 Sanders, J. A. 247 Sandmel, S. 54–56, 58 Sänger, D. 72, 296 Santos Otero, A. de 74, 76 Sasson, J. 192, 197

Orlinsky, H. A. 213 Orlov, A. A. 65, 66, 170, 173 Osgood, J. 356 Ossandón Widow, J. C. 49, 213 Oudshoorn, J. G. 226, 231–33, 453 Overman, J. A. 24, 25, 38 Owen, P. L. 263 Panayotov, A. 38, 40, 123, 127, 128, 302, 304 Pardee, D. 38, 39 Parente, F. 49, 416–19 Parker, H. M. D. 479, 482 Parmentier, E. 316, 318 Pastor, J. 49, 99 Patrich, J. 38, 41 Pearce, S. 222 Perkins, P. 60 Perowne, S. 442, 473, 479 Perrot, C. 59 Pervo, R. I. 128, 132 Pfitzmann, F. 253 Pflaum, H.-G. 322, 445, 446 Pietersma, A. 240, 241 Piero, A. 253 Pingree, D. 191, 196 Piso, I. 458 Porat, R. 43, 466 Porter, A. L. 22, 25, 27, 30, 35 Porton, G. G. 448 Potter, D. 175 Prandi, L. 327 Price, J. J. 3, 5, 6, 24, 145, 146, 148, 150, 151, 396, 401, 412, 414, 417 Pucci Ben Zeev, M. 11, 13, 38, 42, 49, 112, 117, 287, 295, 416, 458–62 Puech, E. 38, 41



Index of Authors

Sasson, V. 192 Schäfer, P. 79, 169–72, 174, 192, 194, 195, 241, 245, 256, 261, 286, 432, 443, 448, 451, 452, 466, 468, 469, 473, 476–82, 485–87 Schaff, P. 85 Schalit, A. 52 Scheidel, W. 94, 95 Schein, B. E. 24, 29 Schmid, K. 74 Schmidt, F. 68, 69 Schmitt, G. 24, 29 Scholem, G. G. 170, 178 Schremer, A. 226, 234, 241 Schroder, J. F., Jr 24, 26 Schürer, E. 52, 54, 59, 60, 63, 66–69, 72, 74, 76, 78, 97, 123–25, 127, 152, 204, 205, 209, 303, 304, 324, 335, 337, 355, 427, 445, 446, 459, 474, 476, 484 Schwabe, M. 23 Schwartz, D. R. 3, 5, 49, 54, 55, 117–19, 132, 208, 210, 327, 328, 332, 336, 340, 342, 345, 347, 350–52, 354, 355, 363, 369, 373–75 Schwartz, J. J. 48, 156, 158 Schwartz, S. 53, 355, 359, 361, 378, 389, 396, 432, 448, 452 Schweid, E. 170 Scott, S. P. 473, 475 Scramuzza, V. M. 356 Seager, A. R. 123, 126 Seales, W. B. 218, 220 Segal, A. F. 178, 186, 192, 194, 241, 244, 246 Segal, E. 312 Segal, M. 218, 220 Segelberg, E. 163 Sekeles, E. 25, 32 Seland, T. 54 Sevenster, J. N. 287 Shahar, Y. 24, 466, 470 Shaked, S. 192, 195 Shanks, H. 24, 29 Shaw, B. D. 139, 140, 143 Sherwin-White, A. N. 84, 205, 322 Shivti’el, Y. 24, 466, 470 Shotwell, W. A. 86 Shukron, E. 43 Sinclair, P. 84 Skarsten, R. 53, 55

611

Slingerland, H. D. 69, 128, 132, 133, 287, 356 Slomovic, E. 177 Sly, D. I. 55 Smallwood, E. M. 55, 56, 109, 112, 132, 205, 311, 320, 327, 333, 334, 342, 347, 349–51, 361, 362, 365, 366, 370, 378, 431, 439, 443, 445, 458, 459, 462, 466, 473, 474, 476, 477, 484 Smith, J. Z. 296, 299, 302 Smith, M. 146, 150, 151, 159, 160, 175, 176, 193, 194 Smith, P. 23, 32 Sokoloff, M. 38 Speller, E. 443, 479, 480 Sproston North, W. E. 156, 158 Standhartinger, A. 55, 152 Stanton, G. N. 287 Stemberger, G. 79, 156, 159 Stern, E. 222, 224 Stern, M. 146, 150, 225, 417 Stern, S. 222, 448, 452 Stinespring, W. F. 479, 480 Stockton, D. 322, 323 Stökl, J. 192 Stone, M. E. 60, 61, 68–70, 74, 263, 268, 432, 433 Strange, J. F. 24, 32, 193, 196, 222, 224 Strange, J. R. 22, 23 Stroumsa, G. G. 170, 175, 187, 189, 193, 287 Stroumsa, S. 189 Stuckenbruck, L. T. 62, 241, 243, 244, 247, 253 Stuhlmacher, P. 240, 261 Sullivan, R. D. 334, 345, 358 Sundermann, W. 189 Suter, D. W. 62 Svebakken, H. 55 Swain, J. W. 347 Swartz, M. D. 170, 193 Syme, R. 83–85, 327 Syon, D. 24, 26 Szesnat, H. 55, 152, 156 Tabor, J. D. 170, 281 Talmon, S. 38, 39, 219, 220 Talmon, Y. 139, 144 Tannenbaum, R. 302, 303

612

Index of Authors

Taylor, J. E. 55, 152, 154, 155, 161, 327, 330 Taylor, N. H. 343, 347 Tcherikover, V. 112, 118, 119, 202 Teeple, H. M. 175 Teppler, Y. Y. 156, 159 Terian, A. 55 Theissen, G. 175, 177 Thomas, J. 63, 161 Thompson, A. L. 74 Thompson, L. A. 109, 439 Thompson, L. L. 74, 76 Tiede, D. L. 175, 176 Tobin, T. H. 257, 258 Toorn, K. van der 212 Torijano, P. A. 78, 193, 194 Torrey, C. C. 261, 262 Tov, E. 38, 39 Trebilco, P. 38, 41, 123, 125, 126, 287, 294, 302, 304 Tromp, J. 60, 61 Tromp, N. 281 Truex, J. 240 Trump, S. 139, 145 Tsafrir, Y. 466, 476 Turcan, R. 296, 299, 320, 443 Turdeanu, E. 60, 66 Turner, E. G. 365, 367 Twelftree, G. H. 175, 176 Tzori, N. 445 Udoh, F. E. 93, 100–103 Uehlinger, C. 253 Unger, D. J. 89 Ussishkin, D. 25, 466, 471 Vaillant, A. 66 VanderKam, J. C. 62, 208, 209, 263, 266 Vaux, R. de 37, 39, 225, 226 Veltri, G. 193 Vermes, G. 175, 176, 263, 264 Vidal–Naquet, P. 50, 52 Violet, B. 74 Wace, H. 85 Waerden, B. L. van 193, 195 Walck, L. W. 263, 266, 269 Wallace–Hadrill, A. 7, 10 Wander, B. 302, 303 Warmington, B. H. 361

Wasserstein, A. 226, 358 Watson, A. 473, 475 Webb, R. L. 161 Weber, R. 74, 75 Weikert, C. 416, 417, 419, 431, 474 Weiss, H. 466 Weiss, Z. 50 Wellesley, K. 400 Welwei, K. W. 99, 105 Whittaker, C. R. 93, 94, 99, 105, 106 Whybray, R. N. 247, 248, 261, 262 Wilker, J. 11, 50, 311, 329, 339, 342, 361, 378 Wilkinson, J. 25 Williams, F. 89 Williams, M. H. 38, 41, 123, 125, 128–30 Willing, M. 86 Wilson, A. 94 Wilson, W. T. 63 Winston, D. 55 Winter, D. W. 55 Winter, P. 205 Wirgin, W. 345 Wise, M. O. 193, 195, 196 Witt, R. E. 296, 299 Wolfson, H. A. 257 Woodman, A. J. 84, 85 Woolf, G. 7 Wright, J. E. 74 Yadin, Y. 25, 32, 38, 39, 139, 150, 151, 219, 220, 226, 424, 453, 455, 466, 468 Yamauchi, E. M. 163–65, 178, 185 Yardeni, A. 37–40, 225, 226, 229, 234, 453, 456, 466 Yasur-Landau, A. 444, 446 Yavetz, Z. 287 Yavor, Z. 25, 26 Yli-Karjanmaa, S. 55 Young, F. 85 Zahavy, T. 448 Zangemeister, C. 88 Zeitlin, S. 347, 350 Zerbe, G. M. 287 Zerubavel, Y. 423, 424 Zias, J. 25, 32 Zissu, B. 23, 32, 432, 465, 470

I n d ex of S u b j ects

Aaron 272, 433 ‘Abad-‘Amanu/‘Amiyu 454 Abela 370 Abias 135 Abila 51, 346, 353, 359, 371 abortion 182, 185 Abraham 63, 68, 73–78, 173, 195, 196, 242, 254, 273, 276, 278, 280–82, 435, 478, 495 acculturation 301 Achaia 395 Acmonia 125 Acrabatene/Acrabetene 397, 410, 411 Acrabetta 397 acropolis 27 Acta Alexandrinorum 119, 122, 287, 291, 345, 355 Adam 60, 61, 76, 179, 182–84, 253, 495 Adiabene 51, 135, 136, 302, 366, 394, 421, 442, 496, 505 Adida 408 administration/administrator 6, 7, 9, 93, 98, 102, 137, 149, 205, 313, 320–22, 329, 336, 356, 364, 366, 368, 371, 376, 377, 380, 381, 383, 387, 389, 431, 436, 439, 440, 443, 444, 446, 447, 452, 493, 506, 509, 512, 515, 518 Adonai/Adonin/Adonaeia 182, 183 Adonis 289, 290 Aelia 22, 36, 82, 88, 89, 416, 431, 442, 444, 465–67, 469, 472, 475, 476, 478, 480, 484, 521 Aelia Capitolina 22, 36, 82, 416, 431, 442, 444, 465, 466, 469, 472, 475, 476, 478, 480, 484, 521 Aelius, see Hadrian 88, 320 Aemilius 325, 446 Aeon 180, 182

Aequus Modius 404 Africa 389, 436, 443 Africanus, Sextus Julius 52, 53 afterlife 22, 61, 256, 274, 276, 280, 281, 297, 300, 502 Agatharchides 292, 504 Aggada, Aggadah 53, 54, 466, 473 agrarian 12, 108, 379, 432 Agricola 84, 85, 439 agriculture 12, 451 Agrippa I 15, 22, 28, 30, 42, 44, 45, 119, 120, 123, 144, 148, 160, 203, 210, 225, 312, 315, 329, 334–36, 339, 341–45, 347, 349, 351–59, 361, 363–65, 367, 369, 371, 373, 375–77, 381, 383–85, 429, 518, 519 Agrippa II 15, 29, 35, 42, 44–46, 51, 53, 104, 123, 203, 210, 225, 312, 315, 316, 332, 342, 345, 355, 358, 363, 365, 369, 370, 372, 374–77, 381, 382, 387, 401, 408, 432, 438, 447, 518–20 Agrippina 342, 357, 361, 369, 370 Aher 175, 178, 187 Akiba, Akiva, Aqiba, Aqiva 448, 451, 452, 469, 485–88, 522 alabarch 55, 346, 359, 365, 377 Albinus 205, 373–75, 377 Albinus, Lucceius 373, 374 Alexander 22, 24, 29, 33, 55, 113, 115, 119, 142, 147, 209, 218, 259, 286, 288, 292, 296, 305, 306, 318, 346, 359, 365– 69, 377, 383, 393, 400, 409, 412, 423, 437, 494, 496, 507–8, 513–15, 519 Alexander (alabarch) 55, 346, 359, 365, 366, 377 Alexander Jannaeus, see Jannaeus Alexander, Marcus Julius 345, 358, 359, 365

614

Index of Subjects

Alexander son of Aristobulus II 210, 318, 513 Alexander, Tiberius Julius 55, 142, 147, 305, 365, 377, 427, 496 Alexandra Salome 31, 514 Alexandria, Alexandrian 53–57, 59, 63, 68, 87, 89, 112–23, 131, 132, 136, 137, 152, 154, 209, 215, 217, 256, 274, 281, 291, 293–95, 297, 298, 305, 307, 346– 48, 350, 355, 359, 365, 366, 377, 389, 393, 401, 427, 435, 460, 464, 482, 508 allegorist, allegory 54, 56, 57, 154–56, 196, 268 Allogenes 187 altar 155, 237, 293, 299, 347, 350, 352, 434, 497–99 am ha-aretz 502 Ambivulus, Marcus 44, 326 Ammaus 408 Ammianus Marcellinus 83, 84 amnesty 391 Āmôn 248 Amoraic 260, 273, 303 Amphicalleus 150 amphitheatre 354 amphora 44, 46 amulets 192, 198 Ananel 209 Ananias 135, 209, 210, 366, 369, 374, 375, 390, 391, 397 Ananias son of Nedebaeus 210 Ananius, Ananus, Annas 150, 205, 209, 210, 325, 326, 334, 353, 373, 374, 391, 394, 396, 397, 407, 410, 416 Ananus of Emmau 416 Ananus or Annas son of Seth/Sethi 150, 205, 209, 210, 325, 326, 334, 353, 373, 374, 394, 396, 397, 407, 410, 416 Ananus son of Ananus 210, 373, 407 Ananus son of Seth 325 Andreas 82, 460 angel, angelology 61, 63, 76, 78, 162, 170, 172, 177, 182–85, 187, 188, 193, 240, 241, 243, 244, 253–56, 269, 274, 275, 277, 282, 284, 494, 508 aniconic, aniconism 222, 224, 243, 329, 494 Anilaeus 134, 143 annals 84, 85, 158, 322 Annius, Lucius 408

Annius Rufus 326 anointed 144, 256, 262, 266–69, 271, 284 Anthedon 392 Anthrongaeus 142, 143 Antigonus 381, 515 Antigonus, Mattatayah 224 Antioch 35, 113, 114, 125, 317, 338, 348, 369, 386, 392, 393, 401, 442–44, 480, 509, 511 Antiochenes 113 Antiochus 7, 282, 290, 294, 347, 349, 370, 376, 394, 401, 409, 479, 498, 510–12, 518 Antipas, see Herod Antipas Antipater 119, 291, 307, 314, 515 Antipatris 394, 395, 408 Antiquus 444, 446 Antonia 29, 334, 346, 388, 391, 415, 416, 419, 420 Antoninus 443, 466, 473–75, 482 Antonius 44, 86, 369, 370, 400, 409, 417, 419, 445, 474 Antonius Pius 86, 474 Antonius Primus 400, 409 Antony 312, 361, 438, 515, 516 Anubis 129 Apamea 124, 125, 289, 393 Apelles 348 Aphrodisias 302–4, 496 Apion 113, 223, 286, 293, 330 Apocalypse, apocalypticists 60, 61, 73– 78, 169, 171–73, 179, 183, 241, 242, 253, 254, 259, 277–82, 433, 435, 478, 488, 501, 503, 508, 521, 522 Apocrypha 60, 68, 74, 75, 215, 216, 221 Apollonia 125, 233, 459 Apollonios, Apollonius 175, 200, 458 Apollonius of Tyana 200 apostle 124, 125, 127, 128, 171, 178, 188, 207, 355, 370, 373 apotropaic 253 Appian 97, 98, 101, 102, 460 Aqaba 35 aqueduct 27, 327, 331, 332, 341, 445, 517 Aquila 37, 132, 133, 220 Arab 17, 99, 135, 334, 336, 516, 522 Arabia 22, 35, 101, 139, 226, 336, 337, 441, 446, 447, 453, 454, 456, 457, 470, 479, 481, 483–85, 521



Index of Subjects

Aramaic 37–41, 58, 62, 65, 69, 70, 163, 172, 182, 183, 192, 193, 196, 207, 225, 226, 231–34, 241, 251, 261–64, 268, 271, 415, 453, 456, 466, 468, 497, 509 Arbela 399 Archaelais 319 Archangel 63, 78, 253–55, 265 archbandit, archbrigand 142, 147 Archelais 25, 326 Archelaus 15, 25, 28, 43, 50, 206, 209, 313, 315–19, 321–25, 327, 329, 331, 333–35, 337, 339–41, 416, 454, 455, 517 Archelaus son of Magaddatus 416 Archiereus 208 Archisynagogos 127 archive 12, 37, 39, 139, 208, 225, 226, 453, 455, 456, 458, 481, 502, 508, 521 Archon 179, 180, 182–85 Aregetes 406 arena 56 Areopagus 127 Aretas 337, 338, 515 Aristobulus I 514 Aristobulus II 381, 515, 516 aristocracy, aristocrats 7, 8, 10, 96, 105, 140, 381, 382, 390, 411, 414, 416, 429, 509, 516, 519 Ariston of Pella 88 Aristotle 288, 289 Armenia, Armenian 60, 68, 74, 87, 313, 337, 343, 362, 371, 441–42, 462, 515 arrowheads 26, 28, 425 Arrub 331 Arruntius 325 Artabanus 134, 164, 337, 339 Artapanus 196, 297 Artaxerxes 215 Artemidorus 193, 197 Artemion 82, 460 Artemisius 387 artisans 96 Asael 184, 185 Asamon 394 Ascalon 392, 402 ascetic 31, 32, 154, 162, 190, 501 Asenath, Aseneth 72, 296 Ashdod (see Azotus)

615

Asia 38, 67, 94, 102, 113, 123, 124, 136, 189, 190, 287, 302, 304, 305, 389, 443, 446, 480, 516 Asinaeus 134, 143 assassin 146, 371, 424 Assyria 384, 442, 459 astral 282 astrologer, astrology 13, 131, 168, 191, 195, 196, 224, 501–2 asylum 406 atheist 110 Athena 224 Athens 53, 60, 63, 65, 67–69, 71, 72, 127, 297, 305, 359, 443, 444, 479, 480 Atilianus 446 Atlantic 17 atonement 59, 208–9, 334, 499 Atticus 445, 446 Augustine 180, 190, 223, 243 Augustus 7, 8, 22, 26, 27, 44, 45, 63, 97, 113, 115, 116, 132, 175, 204, 205, 311–20, 323, 324, 326, 330, 335, 336, 338, 340, 356, 357, 435, 436, 441, 444, 516, 517 Auranitis 318, 335 Autocratoris 27, 326, 336 Autogenes 180 auxiliary 323, 338, 393, 394, 429, 442 Axidares 441 Azazel 76, 78, 184, 185, 254, 256, 279, 282 Azizus 370 Azotus 406 Babatha 12, 39, 101, 102, 225–28, 232, 233, 453–56, 481, 484, 502, 521 Babylon, Babylonia, Babylonian 49, 133, 134, 136, 143, 156, 161, 163, 169–71, 175, 176, 189, 194, 195, 209, 221, 226, 236, 245, 246, 259, 294, 335, 345, 358, 384, 402, 442, 452, 493, 504–6 Bacchants 298 Bahram 189 Balaam 192, 257 Balagrae 459 ballista 26, 28, 425 balsam 319 bandit, banditry 88, 138–43, 148, 150, 166, 167, 175, 202, 312, 371, 382, 467

616

Index of Subjects

bankers 94 baptism, baptist 154, 161–64, 167, 187, 189, 301, 303, 306, 335, 337, 338, 341, 496, 518 Bar Kochva 11, 21, 25, 26, 34, 36, 37, 39–41, 43, 47, 49, 79, 81, 84, 87, 89, 107, 111, 123, 124, 225, 228, 262, 264, 274, 275, 430, 434, 445, 446, 450, 453, 455, 462, 463, 467–72, 475, 477, 478, 480–86, 503, 519, 520 Barbēlō, 180 Barka 459 Baruch 16, 60, 73–78, 248, 259, 260, 273, 278, 281, 283, 433, 435, 478, 521 Bassus, C. Iulius Quadratus 446 Bassus, L. Flavius Silva Nonius 422, 446 Bassus, Sex. Lucilius 446 Batanaea 318, 335, 359, 370, 393, 432, 517–18 bath 24, 30, 126, 303, 438, 496 Beelzebub 193, 195 Beirut, Berytus 354, 360, 375, 421 Benjamin 262 Berenice 316, 345, 358–60, 370, 388, 390, 391, 409, 438, 459 Beroea 128 Berossus 196 Bersabe 398 Beth-Haram 336 Beth-Horon 368, 394, 395 Beth-Shean 483 Betharamphtha 27, 326, 336 Bethennabris 408 Bethleptepha 408 Bethsaida 21, 24, 26, 326, 334, 335 Beththera 88 Bezetha 354, 394 binitarianism 244 Birkat ha-Minim 156, 159 Bithynia 84 Boethus 208–10, 325, 353, 411, 416 Bogomil 66 border 11, 156, 240, 247, 316, 337, 440, 443, 483 Bostra 35 Boudicca 362 Boulē, 202 Brahmans 288, 289 bribe 345, 374, 375, 387, 400, 410, 414

brigand, brigandage, brigandry 52, 138, 142, 143, 147, 151, 326, 364, 368, 369, 371, 373, 383, 399, 406–7 Britain 7, 82, 97, 343, 344, 357, 362, 389, 436, 439, 443, 467, 470 Britannicus 370 Brontologion 193, 196 Byzantium 169, 170 Caesar 9, 26, 44–46, 93, 98, 102, 108, 113, 115, 126, 160, 205, 291, 312, 315, 318, 319, 322, 329, 356, 368, 372, 387, 389, 390, 416 Caesarea 14, 26, 30, 35, 37, 40, 45, 113, 114, 124, 211, 212, 305, 317, 326, 327, 329, 335, 355, 356, 360, 364, 368, 372, 373, 375, 386, 387, 390, 392–95, 402– 6, 408, 409, 421, 445, 464, 504 Caesennius Gallus 394 Caiaphas 208, 209, 326, 334 Cain 182, 184 Cairo 70, 71, 191, 218 Caligula 15, 44, 45, 50, 51, 55, 56, 85, 115, 117, 119–22, 136, 291, 293, 294, 307, 315, 321, 333, 334, 337, 339, 341–44, 346–53, 356, 357, 361, 376, 436, 501, 518 Callirrhoe 62 Campanus, Sex. Hermetidius 446 Cana 106 canon 49, 57, 58, 86, 190, 212–18, 238, 239, 495, 505 Capernaum 27, 106, 211 Caphareccho 398 Cappadocia 318, 323 Capri 321, 343, 346 Carpocrates 187 Carthage, Carthaginians 389, 443 catacombs 12, 502 catapult 28, 411, 413, 425 Catillius Severus 127 Caucasus 442 cavalry 152, 334, 364, 387, 390, 394, 395, 402, 404, 405, 409, 413, 419 Celer 369 celibate 156 censor 357, 427 census 50, 97, 101–2, 325, 363, 455, 457 centurion 455 ceramics 32



Index of Subjects

Cestius Gallus 388, 391, 393, 519 Chabulon 394 Chalchis, Chalcis, Calchis 35, 45, 124, 203, 210, 345, 353, 358, 359, 365, 366, 370, 371, 377, 382, 518 Chalcolithic 26 Chaldean 131, 195, 196 Charax Spasini 135 charismatic 174–77, 199, 488 charity 98, 498 Charon 356 cherubim 254, 278 Chiromantic 191 Chosroes 441 Christian 36, 41, 53, 54, 62, 63, 66–71, 73–76, 78, 81, 83–87, 89, 110, 124, 126, 127, 132, 133, 136, 156, 158–60, 162–64, 166, 169, 170, 175–80, 183, 185, 186, 188, 190, 191, 193, 195, 204, 207, 208, 213, 215–17, 219, 222, 238, 240, 242, 244–47, 256, 261–63, 265, 268, 271, 273, 280, 281, 289, 297, 301, 303–5, 328, 342, 355, 362, 370, 417, 419, 432, 433, 439, 443, 444, 453, 466, 469, 473, 478, 480, 482, 487, 499 Christology 174, 175, 240, 241, 244, 245, 247, 253 chronography 52, 73 chronology 21, 51–53, 88, 205, 208, 327, 347, 351, 369, 459, 468, 479, 480 church 30, 36, 54, 66, 86, 87, 166, 179, 207–8, 216, 245, 271, 305, 355, 433, 449 Cicero 125–27, 287 Cilicia 359, 370 circumcision 56, 71, 135, 137, 238, 292, 300, 302–4, 306, 443, 466, 473–75, 477, 494–97 cisterns 28, 426 citizenship 112–20, 122, 137, 291, 293, 295, 307, 372, 387 Claudia 41, 346, 471 Claudius 8, 35, 42, 44, 45, 51, 85, 88, 112, 114–18, 120–22, 128–33, 136, 137, 291, 293, 295, 323, 342, 345, 352–59, 363–65, 369–71, 376, 377, 436, 446, 518, 519 clemency 417, 421 Clement of Alexandria 297

617

Cleopatra 65, 260, 335, 361, 376, 386, 438, 515, 516 cleruchy 106 Cnidus 292 cohort 316, 388, 401 coin, coinage 21, 23, 25, 27–31, 33, 35, 37–39, 41–47, 96, 99, 101, 109, 125, 126, 133, 222, 224, 225, 311, 319, 327, 328, 330, 334–36, 345, 354, 358, 369, 370, 387, 427, 437, 440–42, 444, 465, 466, 468, 469, 471, 476, 479–81, 483, 484, 486, 487, 506, 514, 517, 518, 521 collegia 131, 290 colonies 127, 447, 465 Colosseum 438 Commagene 394, 401, 409, 427 commentary 21, 39, 40, 56, 58, 59, 62, 63, 73–76, 83–85, 128, 189, 191, 193, 207, 214, 220, 226, 263, 302–3, 316, 442, 453, 496 Compania 351 Concilium 8, 447 conflagration 29, 65, 279, 282, 283, 425 conspiracy 184, 321, 339, 343, 362, 438, 440 Constantine 24, 86, 157 consul, consulship 84, 115, 129, 325, 344, 353, 426, 438, 469, 480 Coponius 44, 50, 205, 206, 324–26 Corbulo 362, 366 Corinth 127, 305 Cornelius 84 Corsica 323 Corycus 38 cosmogony 178, 189 Cossonius Gallus 446 Costobar 375 court 72, 134, 160, 167, 189, 226, 232, 233, 236, 289, 301, 359, 373, 389, 407, 411, 413, 418–20, 454, 460 creation 59, 66, 75, 86, 160, 173, 177, 182, 183, 186, 199, 200, 247, 248, 251, 252, 266, 284, 382 creator 13, 182, 186, 200, 244, 279 crucifixion 25, 328, 387, 478 Ctesiphon 135, 442 cuirass 461 cult 8, 13, 26, 59, 77, 128–31, 161, 163, 165, 208, 222, 243, 244, 280, 290, 293– 301, 305, 307, 319, 320, 327, 331,

618

Index of Subjects

cult (cont.) 340, 344, 350, 371, 383, 390, 418, 433, 447, 451, 494, 497–500, 503–4, 510, 519, 521 curse 131, 159, 184, 193 Cypros 345, 393 Cyprus 17, 38, 82, 89, 123, 136, 366, 424, 434, 442, 458, 460, 461, 466, 488, 521 Cyrenaica 17, 38, 458, 462, 521 Cyrene 37, 82, 87, 89, 112–14, 149, 205, 210, 428, 434, 442, 458–61, 463, 466, 488 Cyrus 259 Dacia, Dacians 323, 439, 441, 462 Damascus 35, 36, 50, 124, 166, 317, 318, 324, 345, 392, 443, 480 Damnaeus 211, 374, 375 Damocritus 223 Dan 38, 152, 169, 170, 177, 192, 194, 195, 197, 242, 246, 259, 265, 268–71, 280–82, 296, 481, 498 Daniel 196, 197, 200, 218, 219, 257–59, 267–69, 272, 281, 283 Danube 400, 401, 409, 439, 440 Darius 259, 506 David 24, 201, 214, 260, 266, 384 Decapolis 35, 124, 392, 463 Decebalus 439, 441 decree 109, 113–17, 121, 122, 126, 137, 205, 290, 293–95, 441, 474, 475, 510 deification 347 Deiotariana 469, 482 deity 13, 29, 165, 170, 193, 197, 198, 241, 244, 246, 251, 253, 255, 284, 297, 299, 330, 356 Delta 113, 117, 118, 121, 122 demiurge 182, 183, 185, 186 demon, demonology 61, 63, 76, 201, 494, 501 demons, démons 78, 79, 169, 170, 176, 183, 193, 195, 253, 255 demythologize 424 Denarius 97, 101 deserters 413 devil 72, 256 devotee 129, 154, 297, 501 diaspora 11–14, 38, 40, 56, 60, 63, 65, 67–69, 71, 72, 100, 104, 108, 112, 113,

115, 117, 119, 121, 123, 125, 127–29, 131, 133, 135–37, 211, 212, 237, 274, 299, 300, 302, 305, 350, 389, 432, 448, 457, 458, 464, 494, 498–501, 503–505, 509, 516, 522 diatribe 67 diet 154, 301 Dinah 72, 73 Diocletian 205 Diodorus 223, 243, 288, 293, 297 Dionysus 243, 297–301 diplomacy 145 disciple 148, 151, 153, 175, 260, 270, 288 disease 83, 194, 467, 472 dishonour 115 dissidents 166, 316 divination, diviners 131, 168, 191–94, 280, 501 divorce 12, 39, 225–27, 233–38, 314, 337, 454, 502 Doetus 142 Domitia 440 Domitian 45, 46, 75, 84, 85, 109, 110, 158, 401, 435, 437, 439–41, 474 Domitius Corbulo 366 donation, donors 23, 38, 97, 125, 127, 303, 432 Doppelurkunden 38 Dor 444, 446 Dora 353 Dositheus 306 dowry 227–31, 234–36, 238, 454 drachma 133 drachmas 103, 104, 111, 346 dream 14, 139, 152, 173, 191, 193, 196– 98, 200, 258, 318, 403 Drusilla 370 Drusus 313, 321 dyes 184 eagle 11, 43, 75, 76, 175, 260, 277, 282, 316, 395, 519 earthquake 126, 426, 442 East, Easterners 8, 17, 33, 35, 36, 307, 314, 319, 335, 336, 340, 360, 393, 405, 408, 409, 423, 437, 441, 443, 477, 479, 482, 483, 515 Ebionites 157



Index of Subjects

economy 16, 27, 35, 93–96, 98–100, 104, 107–9, 111, 400, 432, 488 ecstasy 72 Eden 76, 183 Edessa 442 edict 115, 117, 118, 132, 353, 365, 366, 461 Edomite 72 education 7, 9, 13, 56, 509 Egypt, Egyptian 12, 17, 37, 42, 55, 56, 64, 65, 67, 71, 72, 82, 87, 89, 97, 112, 114–16, 119, 120, 130, 131, 136, 142, 149, 154, 179, 180, 190, 196, 231, 232, 234, 237, 250, 260, 274, 279, 289, 291–94, 299, 300, 307, 322–24, 330, 346, 348, 366, 367, 371, 384, 388, 400, 409, 424, 427, 428, 434, 442, 444, 458–62, 464, 466, 479, 480, 482, 488, 493, 502–3, 506–8, 511, 521 ekpyrosis 65, 282 Ekron 222 El 242 El-Araj 24, 26 El-Beiyudat, Khirbet 25 Elamite 164 Elazar 235 Elchasai, Elchasaites 161, 162, 189 elder 30, 84, 136, 154, 232, 246, 269, 349, 401, 441, 515 Eleazar, Eleazer, Eliezar, Eliezer 42, 46, 135, 142, 143, 147–50, 209, 326, 368, 369, 371, 374, 390–92, 396, 397, 406, 411, 413, 423–26, 430, 448, 465, 469, 481, 485 Eleazar, brother of Joazar 209 Eleazar son of Ananus 209 Eleazar son of Deinaeus 368 Eleazar son of Gion 150 Eleazar son of Jairus 148, 391, 424 Eleazar son of Simon 396, 406 Eleazar the priest 46, 469 Elephantine 225, 228, 233, 235, 237, 497, 506 Eleusis, Eleusinian 296, 297 Eli 242 Elijah 269 Elionaeus son of Cantheras (or Cithaerus) 365 Elisha 187, 234

619

Elisha ben Abuya 187 Elite 9–10, 95, 327, 367 Eloah 182, 183 Elohim 182, 183, 251 Elouaiou 182, 183 Elul 207, 391 Elxai 162 emanation 180, 242, 251 embassy 116, 117, 121, 389, 393, 399, 513 Emesa, Emessa 370, 393, 402, 409 Emmaus 107, 108, 397, 416 Emperor 7–9, 13, 44, 45, 55, 56, 75, 83, 85, 86, 89, 115, 116, 118, 120, 122, 123, 129, 158, 189, 198, 258, 295, 316, 319–22, 325, 329–31, 333–35, 337–40, 343–48, 350–53, 356–63, 365, 367, 374–76, 390, 400–401, 403, 408–9, 420, 432, 435–39, 441–43, 447, 449, 461, 488, 516–19 Empire 6, 7, 9–11, 14, 49, 54, 55, 63, 74–76, 93, 94, 96, 97, 100, 103, 113, 115, 122, 128, 133, 139, 152, 157, 189, 192, 226, 236, 246, 259, 277, 282, 283, 287, 294, 296, 301, 312, 319, 320, 322, 325, 327, 356, 357, 376, 378, 385, 418, 435, 436, 439, 441–43, 466, 479, 488, 493, 502–3, 506, 509, 510, 521 England 437 Eniachin 407 Ennion 29 Ennoia 188 Enoch 48, 60–63, 65–67, 69, 169–73, 182, 184, 185, 196, 216, 218, 241, 242, 245, 246, 249, 253–55, 257, 261–67, 269–73, 276, 278, 281, 282, 508 Eparch 340 ephebate, epheboi 114–16 Ephesus 113, 126 Ephraim 261 epigraphy 25 Epiphanes 282, 370, 376, 479, 498, 518 Epiphanius 89, 90, 162, 179, 180, 446, 482 Epirus 323 epispasm 306, 474, 477 epistrategos 366 epitaph 127, 128, 462

620

Index of Subjects

equestrian, equites 8, 9, 129, 322, 323, 325, 341, 364, 366, 370, 387, 436, 439, 445 eschatology eschaton 49, 54, 59, 65, 66, 71, 74, 144, 145, 189, 201, 256, 257, 260, 263, 273, 274, 276–80, 282, 498, 500, 501, 522 Essene 13, 31, 32, 138, 146, 153, 154, 156, 159, 160, 162, 276, 319, 397, 402, 434, 499, 501, 514 estate 39, 97, 105, 318, 325, 343, 454, 483, 484 Ethiopians 279 Ethnarch 43, 50, 115, 316, 318, 325, 517 ethnic, ethnos 17, 30–32, 34, 109, 114, 121, 217, 290, 294, 303, 306, 474, 494–97, 501, 503 etrog 46, 47 Euphrates 133, 278, 337, 389 Eupolemus 196 Euripides 297 Europe 38, 123, 145, 302 Eusebius 86–88, 153, 162, 173, 196, 216, 297, 298, 328, 332, 333, 458–60, 462, 464, 467, 468, 471, 476, 480, 482 evangelist 207 evil 74, 75, 78, 182, 186, 187, 194, 198, 200, 201, 253, 255, 256, 276, 277, 284, 306, 496, 508 excarnation 32 excavation 21–24, 27, 28, 34, 37, 38, 43, 49, 219, 424, 426, 454, 459, 463, 470, 471 execution 50, 120, 202, 209, 333, 338, 348, 357, 362, 414, 448, 476, 512 exegesis 57, 58, 86, 253 exile 208, 212, 313–15, 334, 341, 506 exorcism, exorcist 78, 79, 175–77, 194, 195, 198, 501 export 127 expulsion 88, 119, 128–33, 136, 183, 302, 326, 432 Ezechias, Ezekias, Ezekiel 142, 147, 169, 173, 216, 220, 261, 391, 487 Ezra, Esra 16, 49, 52, 73–78, 212–15, 218, 256, 259, 260, 263, 268, 272, 273, 277, 278, 281–83, 287, 433, 435, 478, 505–7, 521

Fadus, Cuspius 142, 356, 358, 364–66 Falco, Q. Roscius Coelius Pompeius 446 farmer, farming 27, 96–98, 105–8, 379 Father Liber 298 Faw Qibli 179 Felix, Antonius 44, 48, 142, 148, 312, 367, 369–73, 383, 519 festival 46, 47, 56, 108, 146, 153–55, 196, 203, 207, 237, 298, 299, 301, 316, 326, 334, 338, 339, 359, 368, 371, 380, 391, 394, 432, 451, 471, 495, 498–500, 509 Festus, Porcius 44, 143, 205, 359, 373 figs 136, 366 finance 94, 324, 357, 399, 447, 508, 512 Fiscus Judaicus 101, 108, 109, 111, 156, 158, 432, 435, 440 Flaccus 54, 56, 117, 120–22, 125, 127, 287, 332, 333, 345, 355, 419 Flavius 3, 11, 21, 48–50, 98, 109, 112, 287, 322, 358, 386, 416, 422, 423, 446 Florus, Gessius 362, 376, 386–90, 395 food 82, 139, 154, 190, 270, 301, 414, 415, 421, 467, 501 forest 152, 260, 277, 423, 437, 440 foretellers 193 forgery 41, 83, 118, 122, 314, 328 fort, fortress 24, 29, 48, 88, 139, 150, 317, 386, 390, 391, 393, 404, 406, 409, 423, 424, 430, 440, 467, 471, 483, 515, 520 freedman 8, 346, 357, 358, 369, 370, 436 frescoes 29 friend 15, 45, 143, 193, 276, 313–15, 319, 320, 344, 345, 362, 376, 393, 394, 400, 406, 513, 516, 518 frontier 7, 35, 336, 357, 401, 436, 439, 441–42 Fulvia 129 Gaba 392 Gabao (Gibeon) 394, 395 Gabara 398, 402 Gabriel 254, 265 Gadara 392, 408 Gaius 44, 55, 56, 121, 123, 127, 130, 206, 251, 313, 319, 320, 327–30, 332, 333, 343, 345, 347–51, 365 Galba 360, 363, 400, 408



Index of Subjects

Galilee, Galilean 3, 16, 21–24, 26–28, 30, 31, 33–35, 38, 40, 42, 48, 50, 98, 99, 106–8, 124, 135, 142, 143, 146–49, 166, 167, 175, 222, 270, 287, 318, 325, 335–41, 359, 360, 366–68, 370, 371, 378, 386, 394, 396–99, 401–5, 410–12, 429, 431, 432, 448, 452, 453, 466, 470, 484, 485, 499, 517, 518, 520 Gallio 127 Gallus 388, 391, 393, 394, 446, 519 Gamala 26, 27, 33, 34, 106, 107, 211, 212, 325, 397, 398, 404–7, 520 Gamaliel 143, 211, 326, 347, 360, 375, 376, 399, 407, 448, 450, 452 Gargilius Antiquus, Marcus Paccius, son of Publius, Silvanus Q. Coredius Gallus 444, 446 Gaul, Gauls 38, 319, 340, 389, 436, 443 Gaulanitis 26, 33, 35, 124, 335, 359, 370, 392, 398, 404–5, 408, 432, 518 Gaza 35, 392, 480, 481 Gebon 392 Gehenna 65, 277, 279 Gemellus 321 gender 156 genealogy 147 general 3, 4, 7–9, 12, 13, 31, 34, 50, 51, 55, 57, 61, 69, 81, 82, 84, 96, 100, 106, 130, 131, 152, 160, 175, 176, 195, 199, 206, 207, 259, 267, 273–76, 279, 291, 293, 302, 303, 313, 316, 332, 353, 355, 363, 366, 371, 379, 380, 393, 396, 402, 403, 407, 417, 419, 423, 426, 437, 438, 445, 452, 459, 460, 464, 467, 470, 474, 496, 511, 515, 517–20 genitals 84, 474 Geniza, Genizah 69, 70, 71, 191, 192, 196, 218 genre 4, 60, 63 Gentile 15, 26, 56, 63, 73, 109, 110, 157, 158, 195, 286, 287, 294, 300, 302, 305, 306, 350, 389, 392, 472, 494, 496, 506 Gerasa 392, 393, 408, 410, 463, 480 Gerizim 219, 333, 403, 497, 513 Germanicus 44, 115, 130, 131, 313, 321, 343, 346 Germany 7, 343, 344, 351, 389, 437, 441 gerousia 202, 511 ghetto 121 Giants 55, 178, 184, 185, 189, 190, 508

621

Ginaea (Jenin) 368 Gischala 28, 143, 382, 397, 399, 404–7, 410, 411, 415, 421, 429 Giv’at ha-Mivtar 23, 25, 32, 38 Glaphyra 318 gnosis 162, 163, 168, 170, 177, 178, 187, 189 Gnostic, Gnosticism 13, 60, 61, 67, 81, 85, 86, 89, 90, 162, 163, 165, 168. 171, 173, 175, 177–93, 195, 197, 201, 240, 244, 253, 501 God 8, 12–13, 16, 31, 43, 53, 54, 63–65, 71, 72, 75–79, 115, 116, 126, 127, 129, 134, 144–46, 148, 151, 152, 157, 165, 167–70, 172–74, 177, 180, 182–84, 186–88, 193, 195–97, 199, 201, 215, 225, 240–53, 255, 256, 258–61, 266, 267, 269, 270, 272, 277–79, 282–84, 288, 289, 294–96, 298, 299, 301–6, 325, 328, 330, 335, 348–50, 355, 379, 385, 415, 420, 422, 425, 479, 494–99, 501–3, 511 goddess 193, 224, 247, 249, 250 Godfearers 302, 392 Golan 24, 26, 27, 33, 34, 40, 442, 472, 478, 483, 520 Golem 183 Goliath 23, 41 Gophna 397, 416 Gorion son of Joseph 407, 410 Gorpiaeus 391 gospel 13, 61, 62, 87, 100, 102, 156–61, 165, 167, 176, 195, 207, 212, 240, 245, 261, 263, 269–73, 277, 279, 283, 328, 333, 335, 336, 338, 341 governor 9, 29, 35, 43, 44, 50, 55, 56, 87, 117, 120, 121, 130, 142, 149, 203, 205, 206, 209, 232, 236, 312, 317, 321–26, 328–34, 341, 342, 345, 346, 352–54, 358, 359, 362–64, 366, 367, 369–74, 376, 377, 381, 383, 385, 388, 390, 393, 395, 397, 400, 409, 427, 428, 439, 444– 47, 455, 462–64, 467, 469, 470, 483, 484, 493, 494, 506–7, 517, 519 grain 44, 130, 136, 318, 319, 366, 375, 409 Gratus, Valerius 44, 209, 326, 328, 419 Greece 94, 123, 124, 136, 265, 363, 389, 408, 443, 480

622

Index of Subjects

guerrilla 326, 413, 430, 470, 483, 512, 521 Gurion 410 gymnasiarch, gymnasium 9, 56, 116, 120, 126, 355, 392 Hades 64, 275, 279, 282 Hadrian 17, 22, 26, 35, 65, 81–83, 87, 89, 260, 416, 431, 432, 434–36, 440, 442– 44, 446, 458, 463, 465–70, 472–84, 488 Halakha 166, 193 Hanina ben Dosa 174–76 Haran-Gawaita 164 harvest 298, 348, 351, 352 Hasidim 174 Hasmonaean 5, 7, 14, 30, 31, 33, 42, 48, 50, 125, 142, 202, 208, 221, 224, 236, 238, 293, 307, 345, 373, 381, 384, 429, 465, 494, 500, 502–3, 512, 514–17 healers, healing 79, 154, 175, 177, 194, 198, 199 heaven 61, 65, 66, 68, 75, 77, 88, 169, 171–73, 178, 183, 186, 241, 243–46, 248, 254, 256, 260, 265, 269–71, 273– 75, 277–82, 288, 289, 467, 503 Hebrew 17, 37–40, 43, 46, 49, 52, 54, 57–59, 62, 63, 67, 72, 75–76, 86, 112, 124, 125, 169, 170, 182–88, 191, 207, 212–22, 225, 226, 241, 243, 248, 250, 252, 256, 257, 262, 265, 270, 271, 276, 280, 284, 300, 302, 415, 433, 451, 453, 466, 468, 473, 477, 495–97, 500, 502, 504–5 Hebron 409, 483 Hecataeus 243, 288, 293 Hekhalot 79, 169–74, 199, 246 Helcias 353, 360 Helcius the Elder 349 Helena 135, 136, 302, 366, 505 Helicon 348 Heliopolis 72 hell 275, 277, 280–82, 285 Hellenization 10, 508–9 Heracleopolis 114, 236 Heracles 43, 225 Herenius Capito 346 heresy, heretic 86, 88–90, 159, 178–80, 212

Herod Antipas 15, 27, 42, 44, 49, 98, 312, 315, 317–19, 326, 329, 333, 336–41, 345, 346, 356, 406, 515 Herod Archelaus, see Archelaus Herod of Calchis 203 Herod the Great 14, 15, 25, 28, 29, 42, 43, 114, 127, 142, 209, 211, 311, 313– 15, 319, 325, 329, 334, 335, 338, 345, 353, 354, 356, 372, 376, 391, 423, 465, 493, 517–18 Herodias 335, 337–41, 345, 346 Herodium 43, 211, 409, 423, 466, 483, 520 Herodotus 283 Heshbon 392 Hexapla 220 hideout 24, 466, 470 Hieronymus (see also Jerome) 86, 458, 479 Hillel 168, 450–52, 504 Hipparchos 334 Hippicus 391 Hippolytus 188, 297, 463 Hippos 392 Historia Augusta 83, 442, 464 historian 3–5, 9, 48–50, 53, 84–87, 93, 150, 174, 212, 312, 344, 347, 349, 362, 374, 375, 385, 394, 397, 400, 417, 425, 451, 464, 519 historiography 4, 49, 52, 212, 287, 416 honour 6, 8, 10, 16, 27, 28, 31, 34, 44, 45, 97, 120, 142, 156, 165, 313, 320, 331, 340, 353, 360, 370, 375, 392, 395, 438, 439, 443, 517 horoscopes 191, 195, 196 Horvat Eqed 470 Hosea 215, 225 hostage 10, 49, 360, 365, 374, 421, 513 Hyperberetaeus 394 Hypomnēma 51 Hypostasis 179, 180, 183–85, 187, 242, 244, 249–52, 255, 284 Hyrcanus I 514 Hyrcanus II 29, 119, 208, 291, 307, 381, 515 Ialdabaoth 184 Iao 296 Iaoel 76, 78, 254



Index of Subjects

iconography 5, 24, 42 idol 72, 76 idolatry 56, 72, 225 Idumaea, Idumaean 37, 40, 292, 293, 317–18, 334, 336, 345, 364, 397, 407– 11, 413, 421, 513, 515 illness 79, 130, 201, 343, 355, 444 image 10, 12, 27, 29, 42–44, 64, 97, 141, 176, 182, 222–25, 238, 248, 250, 261, 266, 268, 286, 312, 320, 327–29, 331, 333, 335, 338, 345, 348, 354, 356, 362, 379, 417, 429, 440, 441, 461, 472, 494, 518 immortality 68, 274, 275, 281, 282 imperator 418, 437, 480, 481 imperium 313 imposter 143, 371, 383 impurity 30, 33, 34, 354 incantation 79, 170, 191–93 income 96–98, 101, 105, 318, 335, 336, 375, 518 Indian 288 inflation 96 inscription 5, 14, 21, 23, 25, 27, 29, 31–33, 35, 37–41, 43–47, 109, 114, 118, 123–28, 164, 204, 206, 211, 212, 301–5, 323, 327–31, 359, 427, 441, 444–46, 459, 460, 462, 471, 480, 482–84, 496, 504 inspiration 148, 201, 215 instructor (Gnosticism) 183, 184 insurgents 391–93, 414 insurrection 463 intermarriage 56 intermediary 187, 253, 284, 352, 361, 371, 452, 518 interpretation, interpreter 5, 6, 15, 21, 24, 42, 49, 52–54, 57–59, 67, 68, 73, 79, 86, 93, 98, 100, 108, 116, 129, 130, 148, 154, 155, 176, 179, 182, 184–86, 192, 193, 196–98, 200, 201, 205, 224, 225, 228, 237, 241, 245, 246, 248, 249, 253, 255–59, 261, 262, 268, 269, 289, 301, 304, 306, 318, 323, 327, 379, 382, 383, 396, 405, 416, 420, 425, 427, 429, 448, 453, 462, 468, 470, 471, 474, 487, 502, 505, 508 invasion 62, 167, 403, 412, 439, 442, 470, 507

623

Iran 163, 180 Iraq 163, 180, 497, 508 Irenaeus 86, 89, 90, 179, 180 iron 29, 259, 353, 425, 471 Iscariot 147 Ishmael, son of Phabi/Phiabi 208–10, 326, 359, 360, 369, 372, 375, 415, 448 Isidorus 120, 122, 123, 355 Isis 51, 128–30, 247, 250, 289, 290, 296, 297, 299–301, 307, 503 Islam 165, 169, 189, 257, 294 Israel 3, 14, 23, 42, 43, 46, 52, 53, 74, 144, 146, 168, 182, 191, 192, 199, 212, 217, 241–43, 247, 248, 250, 256, 258, 260, 272, 280, 284, 287, 336, 379, 384, 385, 391, 422, 433, 448, 453, 466, 480, 493, 495, 498 Italy 8, 38, 97, 106, 346, 400, 409 Ituraea, Ituraeans 292, 293, 335, 514 Iulianus, Marcus Antonius (see Julianus) Iyyar 480, 481 Izates 135, 136, 366, 421, 496 Jabneh 213 Jaffa 36, 463 James 41, 59, 85, 142, 147, 205, 269, 355, 366, 374, 407, 416 James ossuary 41 James son of Sosas 407 James the brother of Jesus 374 James the brother of John 355 Jamnia 213, 216, 326, 346, 347, 349, 350, 352, 389, 406, 408, 448, 449 Jamnith 398 Jannaeus, Alexander 29, 33, 423, 512, 514 Japha 398, 403 Jardes 152, 423 Jerahmeel 59 Jerash 408 Jeremiah 197, 215, 415 Jerome 87, 216, 220, 472 Jerusalem 3, 11–17, 22–25, 28–38, 40, 41, 45–47, 49, 51, 53, 55, 56, 60, 63, 65, 67–69, 71–75, 77, 79, 82, 88, 89, 99, 100, 103–4, 107–9, 111, 113, 124– 27, 129, 134, 136, 139, 142, 143, 146, 147, 149–52, 166, 167, 202, 206, 208, 211, 212, 217, 221, 223, 225, 237,

624

Index of Subjects

Jerusalem (cont.) 243, 258, 279, 294, 295, 299, 300, 307, 311, 315–17, 319, 327, 329, 331, 334, 335, 338, 339, 342, 344, 345, 347, 348, 350, 352–54, 358, 359, 365, 366, 368, 369, 371, 373, 375–80, 382, 386–90, 392–97, 399, 402, 405–16, 420–23, 429, 431–34, 437, 442, 444, 448, 449, 463, 465, 466, 468–72, 475–78, 480, 483–85, 489, 494, 497–99, 501, 504–7, 509–11, 515, 518–22 Jeshua son of Menahem 457 Jesus 22, 27, 41, 76, 98, 99, 102, 124, 139, 156–61, 166, 168, 174–77, 193, 195, 200, 204, 205, 208, 209, 211, 212, 241, 243–46, 253, 260, 261, 263, 264, 268–73, 280, 284, 328, 329, 333, 339, 341, 360, 374–76, 379, 397, 404, 407, 415, 421, 455, 478, 518 Jesus son of Phiabi 209 Jesus son of Saphat 404 Jesus son of Sapphas 397 Jesus son of Sapphia 208 Jesus son of Thebuthi 421 Jezreel 338 Joazar son of Boethus 209, 325 Job 71, 72, 78, 254, 275, 281 Jobab 72 Joezer 41 John 73–76, 158, 172, 179, 180, 207, 269, 270, 341, 355, 420, 435 John Hyrcanus 28, 29, 513, 514 John of Gischala 143, 382, 397, 399, 406–7, 410–11, 415, 421, 429 John son of Ananias 397 John the Baptist 161, 164, 167, 335, 337, 338, 341, 518 John the Essene 397, 402 Jonathan 184, 210, 220, 299, 334, 353, 369, 371, 394, 428, 512, 513 Jonathan son of Ananus 210, 334 Joppa 35, 394, 397, 403 Jordan 35, 61, 142, 162, 167, 319, 326, 335, 364, 408, 445 Joseph 72, 73, 196, 209, 210, 261–63, 273, 296, 326, 334, 360, 365, 366, 396, 397, 407, 410, 415, 457, 466, 473 Joseph Cabi (or Cabei or Cames or Cami) 210, 360

Joseph Caiaphas 209, 326, 334 Joseph son of Camei (or Cemedi or Camoedi or Camudus) 210, 365 Joseph son of Ellemus, a relative of Matthias 209 Josephus 3–6, 11, 13, 15, 21, 25–28, 30, 31, 48–55, 78, 88, 98, 99, 102, 104, 107, 109, 112–20, 122, 123, 126–34, 137–51, 160, 165–67, 175, 176, 183, 191, 194, 196, 198, 203–6, 208, 210, 211, 213, 215, 218–22, 225, 241, 256, 258, 259, 272, 274, 276, 277, 283, 286–88, 292, 293, 295, 302–6, 318, 319, 322–30, 332, 334–41, 343, 344, 346–55, 358–61, 363, 365–80, 382–84, 386–90, 392–407, 409–26, 428–30, 432, 437, 440, 449, 496, 504–5, 508, 513–15, 518–20 Joshua 208, 214, 364 Jotapata 21, 28, 34, 48, 98, 106, 107, 198, 398, 402–3, 520 Jubilees 216, 218, 241 Judaea, Judaean 3–5, 7, 11, 13–17, 21, 23, 24, 29, 31–34, 35, 36, 38–40, 42– 44, 46, 49, 50, 64, 81–83, 87, 98–103, 105–11, 119, 124, 129, 133, 139, 156, 160, 165, 166, 202, 203, 205, 206, 208, 209, 211, 212, 217, 219, 223, 225, 238, 287, 291, 299, 300, 302, 311–13, 315–25, 327–42, 345, 346, 350, 353, 356, 358–60, 362–67, 369–71, 376–83, 385, 387, 389, 391, 392, 393, 403, 405, 409, 410, 412, 417, 419, 420, 423, 428, 431, 432, 434–36, 442–47, 453, 454, 462–69, 470, 473, 479, 480, 482, 489, 497, 498, 500, 501, 504, 505, 507–10, 513, 515–22 Judaeophobia 17, 290 Judaism 3, 4, 6, 8, 10–14, 16, 17, 22, 24, 26, 28, 30, 32, 34, 36, 38, 40, 42, 44, 46, 49, 50, 52–64, 66, 68, 70, 72–74, 76, 78–80, 82, 84, 86–88, 90, 94, 96, 98, 100, 102, 104, 106, 108–10, 114, 116, 118, 120, 122, 124, 126, 128–30, 132, 134–36, 140, 142, 144, 146, 148, 150, 152, 154, 156–58, 160–74, 176–78, 180, 182, 184–96, 198, 200, 202, 204, 206, 208, 210, 212–14, 216, 218, 220, 222–24, 226, 228, 230, 232,



Index of Subjects

234, 236–38, 240–46, 248–50, 252–54, 256–58, 260–64, 266, 268, 270–74, 276, 278, 280, 282, 284, 286–94, 296– 307, 312, 314, 316, 318, 320, 322, 324, 326, 328, 330, 332, 334, 336, 338, 340, 342, 344, 346–48, 350, 352, 354, 356, 358, 360, 362, 364, 366, 368, 370, 372, 374, 376, 380, 382, 384, 386, 388, 390, 392–94, 396, 398, 400, 402, 404, 406, 408, 410, 412, 414, 416, 418, 420, 422, 424, 426, 428, 430–36, 438–40, 442, 444–50, 452, 454, 456, 458, 460, 462, 464–66, 468, 470, 472, 474–80, 482, 484–86, 488, 494–522 Judaizers 392 Judas 142, 143, 146–49, 152, 166, 167, 175, 214, 299, 325, 326, 366, 391, 423, 424, 512, 513 Judas the Galilean 142, 143, 146–49, 166, 167, 325, 366 Judicial 8, 269, 324, 357 Judith 218, 453 Juglets 29 Julia, Julias 26, 27, 125, 313, 314, 326, 334–36, 359, 371 Julianus, Marcus Antonius 417, 419, 445 Julio-Claudians 435, 436 Julius 9, 52, 53, 55, 82, 98, 102, 113, 126, 142, 147, 291, 305, 345, 358, 359, 365, 377, 383, 427, 467, 496 Jupiter 82, 101, 103, 109, 111, 315, 344, 376, 401, 467, 476–78 Jupiter Capitolinus 101, 103, 109, 111 Justin Martyr 86, 158, 159, 162, 188, 244 Justinian 286, 473–75 Justus of Tiberias 51, 52, 361, 398 Justus son of Pistus (see Justus of Tiberias) Juvenal 198 Kabbalah 169–170 Kaige 219, 220 Katoikos 118 Kedesh 42, 392 Kedron 413 Kenaz 59 Kephalaia (of Mani) 161, 162, 189, 190 Ketubba 227, 228, 232 Kfar Hananya 33

625

Khirbet al-Yahud (Bethar) 36, 463, 471, 521 Khirbet el-Beiyudat 25 kidnapping 148, 149, 374, 375 kingship 120, 203, 265, 381 Korban 331 Kyrios 240 Laberius Maximus 108 lamb 299, 415 Lamentations 215, 216 lamp 30, 31, 33, 34, 270 landowner 105–7, 110 Laodicea 126, 509 Laographia 119, 120, 291 Latin 4, 9, 37, 45, 46, 59, 60, 74, 75, 81, 84, 85, 87, 101, 146, 147, 183, 189, 195, 205, 261, 288, 322, 327, 370, 446, 471, 473, 483, 497 Latinism 160 lawyer 175 Lazarus 280 leaven 160 Lebanon 335, 346, 353 legate 35, 84, 321, 322, 324, 325, 332, 336–38, 340, 341, 348, 363–65, 386, 401, 409, 423, 444–46 legend 78, 164, 361, 424, 448, 449, 469, 486, 487, 507–8, 512 Legion 11, 36, 41, 83, 317, 323, 338, 367, 393–95, 400–401, 403–5, 409, 412, 423, 439, 442–45, 460, 462, 464, 467, 468, 471, 472, 479, 482, 484 Leontopolis 73, 427, 428, 497 lepers 387 Lepidus, M. Aemilius 325 lesbianism 64 Levi 37, 69–71, 172, 225, 261, 262, 399, 405, 433, 453, 456, 457 Levias 406 Leviathan 78, 170, 173, 260 Liber Antiquitatum Biblicarum (PseudoPhilo) 58, 59, 241, 253, 277, 281 Libya 83, 89, 462, 464 linen 153, 360, 376, 381 liturgy 172, 466, 473 Lituus 44, 330 Livia 26, 44, 312–14, 320, 326, 335, 336 Livy 4, 84, 223

626

Index of Subjects

Logos 242, 244–47, 249, 253, 255, 257, 284 Longinus, Cassius 9, 22, 36, 43, 81, 85, 109, 128–30, 132, 223, 313, 319, 325, 343, 344, 352, 353, 364, 365, 403, 419, 420, 442, 446, 458, 462, 465, 467, 472, 475, 476, 480 Longinus, Cn. Pinarius Aemilius Cicatricula Pompeius 446 Lord of Spirits 63, 257, 266, 267, 272 Lous 391, 419 Lucifer 256 Lucius Annius 408 Lucius Arruntius 325 Lucius Vitellius 337 Lucuas, Lukuas 87, 460 Luke 54, 101, 157, 209, 216, 270, 279, 280, 283, 325, 327, 335, 336, 338, 339, 345, 355, 359, 433 Lulav 46, 47 Lulianus 463 Lupus, Tiberius Iulius 87, 365, 427, 428 Lusitania 400 Lusius, see Quietus Lyon 89, 340 Lysanias 353, 359 Maat 250 Maccabees 24, 67, 68, 118, 167, 168, 211, 214, 218, 256, 275, 281, 292, 293, 298, 306, 477, 484, 496, 498, 503, 508, 510, 512, 513 Macedonia 352 Machaerus 338, 393, 409, 423, 520 Maeander 125 Magaddatus 416 Magdala 26 Magharians 177 magic 131, 168, 170, 174, 177, 191–95, 198, 199, 201, 224, 253, 501 Magus, Magi 78, 178, 188, 193, 200, 289 Maḥoza 454 Maiestes 321 Mamre 224 Manasses 397 Mandaean, Mandaeism 161–65, 167, 178, 180, 189, 190 mandata 120 Manetho 291

Manichaean, Manichaeism 161, 178, 180, 189, 190 Mantic 198 manuscript 37, 39, 66, 169, 179, 190, 210, 216, 221, 222, 241, 328, 370, 411, 463, 466, 472, 480, 483, 486, 488, 521 Maoza 454, 484 Marcellinus (see Ammianus) Marcellus 333, 334, 438, 470 Marcellus, C. Quinctius Certus Publicius 446, 483 Marcion 86, 186 Marcus 44, 45, 320, 326, 345, 358, 359, 365, 366, 417, 419, 445, 446 Marcus Antonius Iulianus 445 Marcus Julius Agrippa (see Agrippa I, Agrippa II) Marcus Paccius, son of Publius, Silvanus Q. Coredius Gallus Gargilius Antiquus (see Gargilius) Mareotic 152, 155 Mareotis 55, 152 Maretania 343 Mari 192, 197 Mariamme 318, 391 market 41, 94–96, 99, 104, 106, 110, 345, 394, 456, 472 marriage 12, 39, 40, 73, 165, 225, 226, 228–38, 303, 314, 315, 320, 338, 359, 362, 370, 454–57, 495, 502 Marsus, Vibius 354, 364 martyr, martyrdom 67, 68, 71, 86, 119, 127, 145, 158, 159, 162, 188, 207, 244, 270, 287, 291, 345, 424, 485, 503 Marullus or Marillus 334 Masada 21, 22, 24, 25, 34, 37–40, 48–50, 52, 139, 143, 147–51, 172, 211, 219, 220, 224, 233, 312, 390, 391, 397, 409, 410, 422–28, 430, 471, 483, 520 Masbōtheoi 162 Masbūtā, 163 Masoretes 221 massacre 392, 519 Mastema 256 matricide 362 Matthew 160, 263, 269, 272 Matthias 175, 208–11, 353, 360, 376, 397, 411, 415, 416 Matthias son of Ananus, brother of Jonathan 210



Index of Subjects

Matthias son of Boethus 208, 411, 416 Matthias son of Theophilus 209, 211 Mauretania 357, 443 Maximus, Liberius 108, 115 medallions 329 Mede 62, 259 Mediterranean 7, 191, 193, 222, 306, 366, 392, 453, 458, 459, 504, 521 Megasthenes 288 Megillat Taanit 40, 207 Mehoza 481 Meiron 23, 24 Mekhilta 246 Melchizedek 67 Melito of Sardis 216 Melqart 43, 225 Memmius Regulus 352 Memphis 114, 460 Memrāʾ, 251, 252 Menah 29 Menahem 143, 146, 147, 149, 391, 424, 454, 456, 457 Menander 187 Menorah 418 mercenaries 399, 472, 508 merchant 135, 302 merkabah, merkavah 65, 72, 169–74, 177, 178, 199, 246, 261 Mesopotamia 16, 51, 82, 83, 87, 89, 133, 134, 189, 323, 394, 434, 442, 443, 458, 459, 463, 464, 488, 521 Messalina 357 messiah, messiahship 12, 61–63, 77, 139, 144, 145, 157, 175, 200, 256, 257, 259–63, 266, 267, 269, 272, 273, 277, 278, 283, 284, 379, 434, 435, 448, 451, 454, 469, 472, 485–88 mĕšûkîm 477 metallurgy 42 Meṭaṭron 240 metempsychosis 276 Methusalah 67 Metilius 391, 392 Michael 61, 62, 78, 254, 265, 268 Michmas 38 midrash, midrashim 79, 184, 241, 260, 261, 473 migration 164, 196 milestone 25, 40, 445 Miletus 126

627

militant 7, 414 military 7–11, 34, 35, 55, 87, 97, 129, 131, 138, 142, 143, 194, 258, 284, 313, 314, 320, 323, 324, 329, 331, 353, 356, 364, 365, 369, 376, 385, 388, 393, 395–98, 400, 403, 406, 412, 418, 419, 421, 436–43, 447, 461, 462, 464, 470, 472, 484, 486, 487, 508, 511, 513 militia 411 millenarian 138, 139, 145 millennium 77, 389, 522 minim 156, 159 mint, minting 42, 44–46 miqveh, miqvaot, mikva’ot 24, 29–31, 33 miracle 165, 174–77, 191, 192, 194, 195 Mishnah 31, 79, 80, 159, 170, 202–4, 225, 256, 260, 273, 301, 448, 449, 451, 452, 514, 522 mission, missionary 56, 71, 121, 124, 133, 136, 189, 190, 270, 301, 302, 305, 306, 351, 395, 496, 505 Mithraism 300 Mithridates 134 Mnaseas 223 Modein 469 Modius, Aequus 404 Moesia 409, 439 Mohar 236 Monad 180, 182 money 94, 96, 97, 100, 104, 136, 318, 331, 343, 346, 360, 366, 375, 387, 388, 414, 435, 485, 501, 511 Monobazus 135, 136 monotheism 64, 186, 240, 242–44, 284, 494 Montanist 72 morality 64 mortal 275, 425 Moses 48, 54, 60, 61, 93, 153, 169, 173, 175, 183, 201, 212–16, 223, 227, 231, 236, 237, 241, 243, 254, 258, 269, 277, 281, 282, 287, 289, 297, 368 Mt Itabyrion (Tabor) 170, 280, 281, 398, 404, 405 Mt Olivet 412 Mt Scopus 395, 412 Mucianus 401, 409 Muhammed 296 Murabbaʿat 37 murder 210, 211, 392, 410, 440

628

Index of Subjects

Musaeus 297 Muslim 23, 382 mutiny 439 myrtle 46 mystery, mysticism, mystics 12, 63, 65, 72, 168–74, 177–78, 191–93, 195, 198, 199, 201, 222, 246, 293, 296–301, 305, 307, 501, 503 myth, mythology 49, 61, 63, 73, 78, 139, 141, 163, 177–85, 187, 190, 200, 212, 216, 240, 244, 249, 255, 279, 297, 422, 423, 451, 495, 497, 508 Nabataea, Nabataean 35, 38, 39, 232, 314, 364, 441, 454, 481, 515, 516 Nablus 86 Nabonidus 194 Nag Hammadi 90, 178–80, 183, 185, 188 Nahal Hever 36, 39, 40, 483 Naos 419 Naphtali 70, 233 Narbata 387 Narbatene 394 Nāsî, 80, 204, 451, 485 navy 87 Nazareth 27, 35, 41 Nazirite 21 Neapolis 35, 86, 408 Neapolitanus 388, 389 Neara 319 Nearda 133, 135 Nebuchadnezzar 194, 259 necropolis 23 Negev 40, 444 Nehardea 133 Nehemiah 49, 52, 168, 212, 214, 218, 505–7, 509 Nero 8, 16, 45, 51, 64, 85, 114, 124, 158, 159, 204, 279, 342, 343, 357, 359–63, 365, 366, 370–73, 376, 387–90, 393, 395, 400, 401, 408, 429, 436, 437, 440 Nerva 83, 108–10, 158, 435, 436, 440, 441 Nicanor 155 Nicolaus of Damascus 50, 317–18 Niger the Peraean 397, 410 Nisan 427, 481 Nisibis, Nisibus 133, 135, 442 Noah 63, 67, 125

Noarus (Varus) 25, 27, 316–18, 359, 393, 517 nobility, nobles 135, 406, 414 Norea 182 Noricum 323 Numenius 289 Numerian 83 numismatics 6, 42, 466 oath 184, 299, 400, 440 Octavia 362, 370 Octavian 7, 8, 312, 515, 516 officer 9, 323–24, 343, 396, 399, 417, 436 oil 29, 30, 33, 34, 375, 399 olive 6, 142, 371, 375 Olympus 275 Oneirocritica 193, 197 Onias 175, 176, 428, 510 Onomasticon 86, 87 Ophel, Ophla, Ophlas 391, 413 oracle 48, 64, 161, 177, 200, 257–60, 266, 279, 282, 283, 420, 499 orchard 225, 453, 455 ordinance 327 ordination 166 Orient 98, 99 Origen 220 Orontes 124, 125 Orosius 88, 89, 128, 129, 132, 133, 319, 419, 458, 459, 464 Orpheus 296, 297 Orphism 297, 301 Osiris 297, 299 ossuary 22–25, 32, 41, 125, 502 ostracon 40 Otho 360, 362, 400, 408, 409 Ottoman 36 ovens 29, 36 Ovid 289, 292 oxen 318, 319 Oxyrynchus 122 P. Calpurnius Atilianus 446 Pacorus II 441 palace 25, 27, 28, 225, 317, 319, 329, 359, 360, 373, 391, 394, 398, 411 palaeographers, palaeography 38, 164



Index of Subjects

Palaestina 133, 156, 322, 345, 358, 434, 462, 465, 489 Palestine 11–14, 16–17, 21, 22, 33–35, 37, 40, 49, 68, 83, 89, 93, 98–100, 102– 4, 106, 108, 112, 123, 125, 129, 136, 154, 156, 161, 163, 165, 177, 192, 193, 212, 219, 221, 222, 224, 233, 299, 315, 326, 332, 343, 347, 350, 353, 366, 373, 380, 428–30, 432, 434, 444, 445, 447, 448, 452, 457–59, 461–64, 468, 479, 482, 483, 488, 494, 498, 500, 502–5, 507–9, 515, 518, 520–22 Pallas 358, 369, 370, 372 palm 44, 47, 223, 319, 454, 455 Palmyra 124, 443 Pamphylia 446 Pan 31, 33, 335 Panarion 89, 90, 162, 180 Pandateria 315 Paneas, Panias 26, 335, 336, 517 Panegyricus 84 Pannonia 409, 439, 440 Panticapaeum 304 Pappus 463 papyri, papyrus 12, 21, 37, 38, 42, 114, 115, 117, 118, 120–22, 225, 226, 231, 236, 422, 453, 455, 458, 466, 502, 506, 508 parabiblical 70 parable 61, 62, 173, 241, 242, 245, 246, 249, 253, 254, 257, 262–73, 280 Paradise 61, 69, 169–71, 187, 254, 277, 278, 280, 282, 285 paranaetic 67, 71 Partes 436 Parthamasiris 441, 442 Parthia 337, 343, 362, 462 Parthian 7, 49, 51, 62, 133–37, 143, 189, 337, 339, 340, 357, 362, 366, 389, 441–43, 459, 461, 515 passion 67, 148, 207, 275, 338, 339 Passover 299, 316, 326, 338, 368, 369, 386, 410, 413, 427, 482, 498 patriarch, patriarchate 69, 72, 173, 204, 282, 448, 452, 487 patristic 132, 160, 162, 178–80, 190, 216, 220 patron 125, 333

629

Paul 55, 124, 125, 127, 157, 169–71, 274, 279, 280, 370, 373 Paulina 128 peasant 105–7, 138, 140–41, 143–45 Pella 88, 392 Pelusium 444 Pentad 180 Pentateuch 56–58, 213, 214, 217, 219, 262, 380, 495, 499, 504–8 Pentecost 153, 155, 317, 498 Peraea 27, 35, 318, 336, 340, 359, 365, 371, 397, 402, 405, 408, 517 perfume 29 Pergamum 127 periodization 77 persecution 53, 56, 112, 120, 128, 131, 135, 136, 158, 160, 201, 207, 273, 287, 291, 293, 294, 347, 355, 362, 474, 475, 511, 512, 522 Persia, Persian 42, 189, 190, 202, 208, 214, 217, 218, 222, 224, 236, 237, 242, 249, 252, 259, 265, 280, 287, 290, 294, 312, 442, 459, 465, 471, 493–96, 505–8, 511 pestilence 77 Peter 27, 169, 245, 269, 355 petition 103, 236, 329, 349, 357, 360, 373 Petra 338, 443, 454 Petraeorum 41 Petronius 348, 349, 351–54, 362 Phamenoth 427 Phanni (or Phanasus or Phannites) 211, 407 Phanuel 253 Pharisee 3, 13, 16, 31, 60, 138, 142, 146, 148, 160, 161, 165–67, 175, 213, 221, 239, 276, 279, 325, 355, 380, 390, 433, 434, 447–52, 499–501, 514 Phasael 345, 391, 515 Phiale 335 Philadelphia 126, 127, 365, 392 Philip (the Tetrarch) 15, 26, 43, 44, 120, 312, 315, 318, 319, 326, 329, 334–41, 344, 346, 356, 359, 370, 376, 377, 517, 518 Philippi 26, 35, 127, 305, 326, 335, 360, 375, 404, 421

630

Index of Subjects

Philo 49, 53–59, 61, 63, 67, 71, 114, 116, 118–21, 123, 127, 130, 132, 137, 152– 56, 169, 183, 186, 195, 206, 214, 215, 217, 218, 241, 242, 245, 246, 249–58, 273–75, 277, 281, 292, 293, 298, 305, 324, 327–30, 332, 333, 341, 343, 345, 347–52, 355, 365, 496, 501 philosopher 55, 152, 287, 288, 307, 358, 361, 362, 365 Phineas 151, 407, 421 Phineas son of Clusoth 407 Phocylides 63, 275, 281 Phoenicia, Phoenician 29, 31, 33, 43, 124, 196, 224, 360, 508 Photius 361 physiognomic, physiognomy 191, 196 Pilate, Pontius 15, 41, 44, 50, 204, 207, 321–24, 326–34, 339, 341, 385, 517 pilgrimage, pilgrims 14, 100, 108, 136, 224, 237, 316, 394, 432, 498, 502, 509 pious 71, 127, 225, 303–4, 366, 498, 502 pirate 403 Pisidia 125 Pistis Sophia 180, 182, 185 Pius 86, 443, 466, 473–75, 482 Placidus 402, 405, 408 plague 77, 186, 278, 438 Plato, Platonism 54, 56, 57, 179, 187, 240, 247, 251, 289, 297 Plebians 7 Pleroma 180, 182 Pliny the Elder 30, 84 Pliny the Younger 9, 84, 158 Plutarch 243, 289, 298, 300, 301 poet, poetry 63, 169, 263, 343 pogrom 54, 56 poison 130, 358 Polemo 359, 370 polis 114, 202, 510 politeuma, politeumata 114, 118 poll tax 97, 101–2, 118, 120, 291 Pollio 121 Polybius 4 Polycarp 127 polytheism 165, 294, 494, 511 pomegranates 46 Pompeii 438 Pompey 14, 31, 205, 208, 384, 389, 429, 444, 479, 505, 515, 517

Pontifex Maximus 115 Pontus 84, 356, 364 Poppaea Sabina 361, 362 pork 292 portents 192, 420, 468 portico 360, 368, 385, 389, 416, 420, 422 potter, pottery 22, 23, 33, 175 poverty 98, 101, 107, 110, 130, 345, 502 Praefectus, Prefect 44, 121, 321–25, 328, 334, 353, 363, 366, 367, 377, 395, 438, 440 Praetor 322, 353, 360 Praetorian Guard 321, 323, 327, 344, 367, 377, 400–401, 438, 440 prayer 12, 14, 127, 145, 156, 159, 170, 212, 237, 245, 299, 380, 494, 498, 503, 504 prediction 168, 196, 198, 200, 258, 403, 449 president 153, 154, 208 priest, priestess, priesthood 12–13, 16, 22, 29, 31, 46, 55, 67, 69, 72, 76, 104– 105, 125, 129, 140, 143, 144, 148, 150, 152, 166, 168, 173, 194, 197, 202–5, 208–10, 212, 217, 221, 224, 238, 260, 269, 272, 280, 284, 291, 298, 302, 306, 315, 325, 326, 334, 340, 353, 358–60, 365, 366, 369, 371–76, 380–82, 388– 91, 394–97, 407, 410, 411, 415, 416, 420, 421, 429, 433, 434, 438, 469, 487, 493, 494, 497–501, 504, 508, 510–13, 515–17, 519, 522 Princeps 322, 441 Priscilla 132, 133 Priscus 395 prison, prisoner 124, 189, 299, 316, 346, 370, 374, 375, 410, 419 proconsul, proconsulship 127, 322, 325, 345, 446 procurator, procuratorship 55, 108, 317, 322–25, 328, 346, 362, 364, 369–71, 376, 383, 389, 417, 419, 444, 445, 447, 519 prodigies 283 profit 58, 95, 262 Pronoia 180 propaganda 6, 117, 118, 137, 294, 295, 350, 367, 430, 435, 436, 469, 506



Index of Subjects

property 12, 39, 95–97, 99, 101, 102, 104, 105, 108, 111, 121, 122, 152, 228–30, 236, 314, 325, 387, 393, 415, 422, 428, 432, 454–57, 502, 520 prophecy 3, 73, 168, 191, 197, 199–201, 256, 258, 259, 277, 279, 283, 372, 416, 420, 478 prophet 3, 38, 138, 139, 142, 153, 161, 162, 165, 168, 174, 175, 193, 196, 198, 200, 201, 213, 217, 219, 261, 280, 289, 364, 371, 383, 420, 454, 505 prosecution 129, 440 proselyte 53, 73, 110, 124, 125, 301–6, 475, 496 Proseuchai 212, 504 prosopography 6, 465 prostitute 248 proverbs 215, 247, 248, 250 province 9, 10, 16, 35, 44, 50, 89, 94, 95, 97–99, 101–3, 120, 130, 203, 205, 206, 226, 238, 311, 313, 315–17, 319, 321–25, 327, 329, 331, 333–35, 337, 339–43, 346, 357, 362–64, 380, 390, 434, 436, 439, 441–47, 459, 479, 488, 489, 493, 497, 506–8, 510, 516, 517, 519 Psalms 153, 201, 214–16, 220, 241, 247, 248, 273, 281, 284 Pseudepigrapha 65, 221 Pseudo-Clementine Writings 188 Ptolemais 35, 114, 124, 299, 348, 351, 392, 394, 401, 402, 405, 459, 509 Ptolemy 113, 119, 292 Publicani 98, 102 Publicius Marcellus 446, 470, 483 Publius Quinctilius, C. Quinctius Certus 316, 446, 483 Purim 155 purity 12, 13, 30–34, 162, 167, 237, 238, 242, 251, 379, 451, 495, 497, 499, 501–2, 506 purple 6, 129, 143, 421 Pythagoreans 156 Qatros 29 Qimber, Judah 456 Qohelet 72, 216, 218, 221 Quadratus 142, 369, 446

631

quarter 22, 29, 33, 46, 113, 117, 118, 121, 122, 224, 329, 367 queen 135, 302, 359, 366, 370, 388, 505 Quietus, Lusius 87, 442, 446, 462 Quinctilius 316 Quinctius 446, 483 Quintus 463 Quirinius 50, 209, 325, 424 Qumran 13, 31–33, 37, 40, 62, 65, 70, 71, 73, 77, 152, 162, 172, 184, 190, 191, 193, 195, 196, 199, 214, 218, 219, 221, 225, 248, 252, 253, 264, 272, 273, 408, 434, 453, 487, 505 Rabbi, rabbinic 6, 15, 16, 24, 29, 31, 58, 79–80, 108, 171–77, 186, 187, 195, 200, 203, 204, 206, 207, 216, 218, 220– 23, 225, 232, 236, 237, 239, 244–46, 251, 252, 260–62, 264, 273, 302, 303, 306, 332, 337, 342, 355, 431, 432, 434, 435, 447–53, 462, 466, 468, 469, 471, 473–76, 478, 480–82, 487, 488, 495, 496, 502, 504, 518, 522 race, racism 184, 187, 282, 287, 289, 290 Rachel 169 Raetia 323 rafts 404 rainmaker 175 Ramael 78 ramp 28, 424–26, 430 rams 415, 416 rations 39 rebellion, rebels 11, 15, 16, 28, 30, 42, 83, 87, 88, 107, 108, 111, 138, 142, 295, 317, 318, 325, 341, 350, 366, 369, 382, 391–94, 396, 398, 404, 406, 408, 411, 413–17, 420, 421, 434, 435, 439, 440, 460, 462, 465, 468, 469, 473, 480, 484–86, 488, 489 reburial 23 recension 66–69, 73, 78, 169, 278 recircumcision 474, 477, 478 Redivivus (Nero) 64, 279 refuge, refugees 35, 39, 41, 96, 149, 394, 404, 406, 408, 411, 423, 424, 454, 470, 481, 484, 520 regency, regent 363, 401, 439 registration 101, 325 Regulus, Memmius 352

632

Index of Subjects

reincarnation 55 religion 4, 6, 11–13, 49, 50, 54, 57, 68, 86, 99, 109–10, 118, 121, 122, 129, 131, 140, 157, 159, 163, 165, 168, 177, 178, 190, 192–94, 198, 203, 205, 207, 209, 211–13, 215, 217, 219, 221, 225, 227, 229, 231, 233, 235, 237, 241, 243, 245, 247, 249, 251, 253, 255, 257, 259, 261, 263, 265, 267, 269, 271, 273, 275, 277, 279, 281, 283, 285, 287, 289, 291, 293, 297, 299–303, 305–7, 311, 330, 348, 353, 354, 366, 379, 385, 417, 445, 448, 449, 453, 472, 475, 478, 494–505, 511, 512, 522 remarriage 229 rent 93, 95, 454 Republic, Roman 7, 9, 11, 128, 179, 241, 261, 296, 312, 313, 441 rescript 372, 475 restoration 77, 383, 427, 446, 512, 517 resurrection 49, 54, 59, 61, 64, 65, 68, 69, 77, 259, 270, 273, 281, 284 Revelation 73–78, 86, 161, 162, 170, 183, 187, 189, 193, 196, 197, 259, 260, 268, 270, 279, 283, 297, 478, 521 revenge 134, 203, 316, 337, 392, 402, 418 revenues 108 revolt 7, 11, 14–16, 22–30, 34, 35, 37, 39–43, 46, 49, 50, 52, 53, 65, 67, 79– 84, 87–89, 98, 100, 101, 103–5, 107, 108, 110, 111, 122–25, 130, 136–40, 142–47, 149, 150, 166, 167, 203, 211, 226, 238, 259, 260, 262, 287, 291, 298, 312, 316, 318, 322, 325, 326, 332, 333, 339, 347, 351, 352, 357, 360–63, 366, 369, 371, 373–75, 378, 379, 381–83, 385–91, 393–95, 397–99, 401, 403, 405, 407, 409, 411, 413, 415, 417–19, 421–23, 425, 427–32, 434–36, 438, 441–46, 448, 452, 454, 456, 458–86, 488, 498, 501, 505, 511, 512, 515, 517, 519–22 revolution, revolutionary 7, 12, 94, 138–41, 145–47, 151, 166, 167, 261, 272, 312, 319, 354, 366, 371, 372, 375, 380, 383–85, 393, 398, 406, 407, 500, 502, 520 Rewritten Bible 59, 71 Rhegium 315

rhetoric 6, 9, 57, 84, 131, 153, 343 Rhine 343, 400, 439, 440, 443 Rhodes 313, 314 ring 410 riot 53, 112, 121, 130, 132, 291, 293, 295, 316, 347, 366, 368, 460, 482 ritual 13, 24, 30, 31, 33, 34, 44, 61, 73, 155, 161, 163, 170, 172, 192, 193, 203, 237, 253, 297, 299, 300, 303, 330, 354, 433, 496–98, 501, 502 robber 51, 133 Romanization 10, 22 Rome, Roman 3, 4, 6–11, 10–17, 21–32, 35–38, 41, 42–46, 48–51, 55, 56, 63–65, 75, 76, 79, 81, 82–89, 93–104, 106, 107, 109, 111–15, 119–23, 125–33, 136–42, 145–52, 156–59, 163, 166, 167, 170, 174, 189, 191–93, 195, 199, 202, 203, 205–8, 216, 220, 222, 224, 226, 231, 232, 236–38, 243, 246, 251, 258, 260, 276, 277, 279, 280, 282, 283, 286–96, 298–302, 305–7, 311–19, 321–25, 326–42, 344–54, 356–59, 360–66, 367–69, 371–73, 376–93, 395, 397–409, 411–19, 421–33, 435–49, 451, 453, 455, 457, 459–75, 477–83, 485, 487–89, 495, 496, 500–505, 511, 513–22 roof 29, 416 room 29, 31, 153, 425 Rufus 87, 326, 467 Rufus, Tineius 446, 469, 486 Ruphina 127 Ruth 215, 218, 302, 496 Sabaoth 177, 182, 183, 242 Sabazius 301 Sabbath 12, 28, 56, 64, 71, 126, 127, 134, 154, 155, 162, 169, 172, 173, 199, 292, 298, 379, 389, 392, 405, 471, 475, 495 Sabi 298 Ṣābians 162 Sabina 361, 362, 476 Sabina Augusta 476 Sabinus 317 Šabuhragān 189 sacred 190, 216, 289, 296, 299, 333, 334, 459, 494, 499, 507 sacrifice 13, 168, 169, 172, 199, 237, 293, 295, 319, 329, 331, 338, 351, 354,



Index of Subjects

356, 374, 390, 415, 421, 433, 497–99, 511, 519 Saddok, Saddokos 146, 147, 325, 326 sage 79, 168, 172, 175, 176, 193, 204, 280, 448 Sakla, Saklas 183 Salamis 89 salaries 97 Salome Grapta/Gropta 456, 457 Salome Komaïse 12, 37, 39, 101, 229, 453, 454, 456, 502 salvation 12, 59, 143, 161, 167, 178, 200, 261, 274, 277, 297, 373, 380, 420, 422, 503, 513 Samael 183, 184 Samaria, Samarian 21, 22, 33, 35, 40, 124, 142, 224, 315, 318, 340, 353, 367, 369, 370, 376, 387, 405, 506–7, 513, 517, 518 Samaritan 86, 187, 188, 196, 217, 219, 221, 238, 240, 253, 319, 326, 333, 340, 341, 346, 368, 369, 371, 403, 497, 507, 513 Sambatheion 127 Sammouos son of Simon 456, 457 Samuel 54, 191, 211, 214, 407 sanctification 260 sanctuary 389, 497 Sanhedrin 166, 202–8, 238, 315, 360, 374, 376, 381, 382, 447, 493, 494, 516, 518 Sarcophagus 127 Sardinia 129, 323 Sardis 114, 123, 126, 216 Sariel 253 Sassanian 189, 246 Satan 61, 72, 78, 126, 127, 183, 184, 187, 254, 256 Satires 198 satrap 134 Saturn 343 saucers 34 Saul 59, 375 saviour 67, 258, 260, 279, 284 scapegoat 73, 131, 253, 254, 299 scepter 256 school 9, 54, 57, 165, 212, 322, 450, 451 science, scientists 99, 192, 195, 196, 218, 422, 502 Scotland 7, 437, 439

633

scribe 63, 70, 175, 212, 219, 221, 228, 231, 235, 241, 269, 276, 374, 450, 500 Scribonia 313 Scriptores Historiae Augustae (also Historia Augusta) 83, 462, 464 Scriptures 52, 86, 177, 178, 212, 217, 384, 504 scroll 11, 38, 39, 70, 73, 214, 218–20, 247, 248, 253, 256, 368, 418, 424 Scythopolis 35, 392, 403, 405, 431, 483, 484 seal 224 Sebaste 35, 356, 364, 392 Sebon 392 Sebouaioi 162 secretary 53, 372 sect, sectarian 12, 13, 32, 57, 60, 65, 66, 70, 89, 124, 138, 139, 141, 143, 145– 47, 149, 151, 153–55, 157–67, 175, 177, 186, 187, 189, 190, 236, 253, 263, 272, 284, 300, 379, 380, 383, 434, 450, 451, 478, 500–502, 508, 514, 521, 522 Seder Olam Rabba 463 Sefer ha-Razim 192, 195 Sejanus, Seianus 130, 320, 321, 329, 332, 333, 343 Selame 398 Seleucia 398, 442 Seleucid 119, 236, 282, 477, 493, 507, 509, 510, 512–14 Seleucus 135, 510 Semitic 17, 68, 70, 130, 180, 182, 183, 241, 263, 265, 465 Semitism 68, 286, 287, 290 Semyaza 184, 185 senate, senator 7–9, 45, 81, 83, 84, 113, 120, 130, 313, 320–23, 344, 352, 353, 357, 363, 376, 400, 436, 439–41, 443, 445, 467, 472, 515, 518 Seneca 9, 358, 361, 362 Sennabri 404 Sepphoris 27, 106, 317, 326, 336, 337, 394, 398, 399, 402 Septuagint 54, 218, 240, 241, 256 sepulchre 30, 36 Seraphim 254, 278 Seron 391 serpent 182, 184 servant 142, 240, 261, 262, 266, 268, 271, 368, 375

634

Index of Subjects

Seth 182, 183, 209, 325 Sethian 60 settlement 21, 23, 26, 36, 37, 82, 108, 292, 357, 362, 471 Severus, Catillius 127 Severus, Cn. Minicius Faustinus Sex. Iulius 446 Severus, G. Claudius 35 Severus, Julius 82, 323, 446, 467 Severus, Sulpicius 416, 417, 419 Sex. Hermetidius Campanus 446 Sextus 52, 179, 403 Shades 193, 361 Shammai 450, 451 Shechem 35, 86, 408, 513 Sheqel, Shekel 14, 43, 46, 133 Shelamzion 229, 235, 456 Shemihazah 184, 185 Sheol 248, 281 Shephelah 23, 465, 470 Shepherd 142, 143 Shim‘on ben Koziba 468 Sibyl 64, 257 Sica 146 Sicarii 13, 15, 136, 139, 143, 146–51, 167, 371, 373–75, 384, 390, 391, 410, 424, 426, 428 Sicily 243 Sidon 124, 345, 355, 393 Sigoph 398 Silas 127, 353, 402 Silva, Flavius 422–24, 426, 427, 446 Silvanus Q. Coredius Gallus Gargilius Antiquus 446 Silver 42, 46, 96, 101, 103, 104, 247, 469 Simeon b. Yohai, Rabbi 485 Simon 6, 46, 101, 142, 143, 146, 147, 150, 178, 187, 188, 200, 209, 210, 319, 326, 353, 354, 360, 366, 394, 396, 397, 399, 406, 407, 410, 411, 413, 416, 420, 421, 456, 457, 468, 469, 486, 487, 513 Simon bar Giora 146, 150 Simon Cantheras son of Boethus 210 Simon Magus 178, 188, 200 Simon son of Boethus 209 Simon son of Camithus 209 Simon son of Gioras 143, 394, 397, 410, 421 Simon son of Thaceas 407

Simpulum 44, 330 sin 59, 68, 69, 182, 260, 269, 392, 417, 497, 499 singers 360, 376, 381 Singra 442 Sippar 133 skeletons 28 slander 179, 344, 361, 362 slave, slavery 8, 60, 66, 88, 94, 99, 109, 127, 153, 193, 304, 325, 370, 372, 402, 404, 421, 422, 432, 457, 472, 474 Slavonic 65, 66, 74, 76 sling, slingers 404, 413, 471 Smyrna 126, 127 Soaemus 393, 394, 401, 409 Soganaea 398 soldier 11, 41, 107, 317, 329, 331, 332, 346, 348, 352, 356, 364, 368, 380, 388, 391, 392, 394, 395, 401–5, 409, 413, 414, 416–19, 421, 422, 427, 429, 430, 432, 437, 462, 470, 515 Solomon 23, 48, 57, 63, 64, 67, 78, 79, 83, 193–95, 216, 240, 241, 244, 246–50, 252, 273, 274, 281, 284, 384, 468, 501, 516 song 169, 172, 173, 199, 216, 218 Sophists 55 sorcery 131 Spain 38, 313, 340, 363, 389, 443 spear 29, 44 spirit 58, 63, 75, 83, 170, 182, 191, 193, 194, 196, 201, 241, 242, 244, 253–57, 266, 267, 272, 277, 281, 421, 462, 489, 520 squadrons 401 stadium 27 standards 11, 329, 331, 338, 418 star 88, 173, 254, 256, 274, 277, 282, 288, 467, 469, 485, 487, 488 statue 15, 55, 56, 121, 127, 136, 223, 293, 294, 307, 315, 342, 344, 347, 354, 356, 372, 376, 446, 460, 461, 463, 476–78, 501, 518 stela 113, 513 Stephen 208, 270, 499 Stoicism, Stoics 251 Strabo 97, 223, 289, 322, 513 stratēgos 458 strategy 6, 10, 94, 194, 405, 429, 470



Index of Subjects

Suetonius 81, 83, 85, 109, 124, 128–30, 132, 133, 258, 319, 328, 337, 343, 344, 352, 361, 370, 388, 395, 403, 409, 420 suicide 135, 312, 321, 343, 345, 349, 352, 400, 403, 409, 425–27, 430, 515 Sukkah, Sukkot 46, 47, 499 supernatural 168, 193, 259, 265, 267, 284, 478 surrender 28, 391, 393, 405, 407, 414, 423 swords 184, 329, 331, 413 Syllaeus 314, 338 Symeon (see Simon) Symmacho 135 Symmachus 220 Sympathizer 304, 305, 408, 496, 503 Symposium 192 Synagogue 13, 14, 23, 26, 27, 33, 121, 123–28, 159, 166, 196, 211, 212, 220, 224, 225, 237, 289–91, 295, 299–301, 303–4, 330, 350, 353, 387, 453, 460, 463, 494, 496, 498, 502, 504, 522 Synod 213, 216, 449 Synoptic Gospels 61, 62, 263 Syphas son of Aregetes 406 Syria, Syrian 35, 38, 42, 67, 68, 82, 97–98, 102, 116, 123–25, 135, 136, 142, 187, 192, 203, 209, 288, 289, 317, 321, 324, 325, 332–34, 336–38, 340, 341, 345, 348, 353, 354, 356, 362–65, 386– 88, 393, 409, 427, 434, 438, 443–46, 465, 470, 483, 489, 507, 510, 517 Syriac 74, 75, 264, 280, 463 Tabernacles 46, 394, 499 table 29, 30, 34, 47, 121, 233, 323, 392, 418, 434, 450, 451, 511 tablet 113, 183 tableware 30 Tacitus 4, 6, 9, 48, 84, 85, 102, 103, 128, 130, 158, 159, 243, 258, 298, 312, 320– 23, 327, 328, 337, 344, 349, 351, 352, 360, 362, 366, 367, 369, 370, 378, 383, 388, 402–3, 409, 412, 414, 416–17, 419–20, 439, 519 tactics 326, 400, 413, 471, 512, 521 tailor 358 talents 149, 335, 346, 387, 389 Talmud 79, 169, 176, 194, 195, 246, 463

635

Talpiot, Talpiyot 32, 41 Tamid 415, 498 Tammuz 415 Tannaitic 79, 80, 176, 194, 246, 260 Targum 184, 220, 247, 251, 252, 264, 466, 473 Targum Onkelos 220 Targum Jonathan 220 Tarichaeae 28, 371, 398, 399, 404 Tarsus 125 Tartarus 65, 185, 275, 279 Taunus mountains 440 Taurus 196 tax, taxation 14, 15, 93, 95–98, 100–104, 109, 110, 113, 118, 120, 122, 158, 291, 316, 321, 323–25, 334, 353, 362, 374, 389, 400, 432, 435, 436, 439–41, 445, 453, 456, 460, 461, 509, 516 teacher 31, 73, 89, 157, 160, 165–67, 175, 189, 249, 297, 316, 485, 501 technology 413, 422 Tekoa 483 temple 4, 6, 8, 10–16, 22–26, 28, 30–32, 34, 36, 38, 40–44, 46–50, 52, 54–62, 64–66, 68, 70–82, 84, 86, 88, 90, 94, 96, 98–106, 108–11, 113, 114, 116, 118, 120–22, 124, 126, 128–30, 132, 134, 136, 140, 142, 144–46, 148, 150, 152, 154, 156, 158, 160–62, 164, 166–78, 180, 182–84, 186, 188, 190, 192–200, 202–4, 206, 208, 210–12, 214, 216, 218, 220–26, 228, 230, 232, 234, 236– 39, 241–46, 248–50, 252–54, 256, 258, 260, 262–64, 266, 268, 270–72, 274, 276, 278–80, 282–84, 287, 288, 290, 292–94, 296, 298–302, 304, 306, 307, 312, 314–16, 318–20, 322, 324, 326, 328–32, 334, 336, 338, 340, 342, 344– 48, 350, 352–54, 356, 358–60, 362, 364–66, 368, 370, 372–77, 379–82, 384–92, 394, 396, 398, 400–402, 404, 406–8, 410–22, 424, 426–28, 430–36, 438, 440, 442, 444, 446, 448, 450–54, 456, 458–60, 462–64, 466–68, 470, 472–80, 482, 484, 486, 488, 493–22 tenant 105, 107, 108 terrorist 146, 149, 167, 312, 371, 374 Tertullian 297

636

Index of Subjects

testament 6, 48, 60, 63, 66, 68–71, 74, 78, 79, 156, 159, 163, 170, 174, 183, 191, 192, 194, 195, 205, 208, 212, 241, 247, 254, 268, 273, 275, 276, 279–82, 287, 465 Tetradrachma 43, 224 Tetragrammaton 241 tetrarch, tetrarchy 44, 312, 318, 334–40, 344, 346, 359, 370, 376, 377, 517, 518 Teucheira 459 text 22, 36–41, 52, 54, 58–63, 65–74, 77, 85, 88, 90, 98, 108, 116, 117, 119, 121, 122, 130, 137, 155, 162, 164, 169–74, 178–80, 182–89, 191, 195, 196, 199–201, 207–8, 211–14, 217–23, 225, 226, 229, 231, 233, 238, 239, 241–43, 245–48, 251, 253, 257, 260–66, 268, 272–74, 278, 280, 281, 284, 287–89, 291, 296, 301, 304, 306, 327, 328, 333, 337, 338, 365, 366, 427, 451, 453, 462, 464, 473, 486, 498, 505 Thackery 420 Thamna 397, 402, 408 theatre 27, 126, 344, 354, 360, 396, 444 Thebaid 89, 366 theft 139, 346, 388 theios, theos 174, 176, 241 theodicy 74–76 Theodosius 175 Theodotus 14, 41, 127, 169, 211, 212, 504 theophany 191 Theophilus 22, 209–11, 353, 360, 376 Theophilus son of Ananus, brother of Jonathan 210 Theophrastus 288 Theosebeis 302 Therapeutae, Therapeutrides 55, 71, 152, 154–56 Thessalonica 128 Theudas 142, 364, 366 Theurgy 191 Tholomaeus 142, 364 Thucydides 4 Thyatira 127 Thyrsus 298 Tiberias 14, 27, 28, 35, 44, 45, 51–53, 106, 211, 212, 225, 326, 336, 337, 345,

348, 354, 359, 361, 371, 398, 399, 402, 404, 504 Tiberius 27, 44, 45, 51, 55, 63, 85, 97, 102, 115, 120, 128–31, 142, 147, 305–6, 313–14, 320, 321, 327–30, 332–38, 341, 343, 346, 353, 356, 365–68, 377, 393, 400, 409, 412, 427, 428, 437, 496, 519 Tiberius Julius Alexander (see Alexander) Tiburtinus 327 Tigris 61, 135, 442, 459 Timaeus 54 Tishri 394, 480, 481, 498 Titans 275 Tithe 372, 375, 380 Titus 30, 42, 45, 46, 49, 151, 206, 316, 345, 358–61, 365, 367, 377, 401–6, 408–9, 412, 414–21, 423, 427, 437–39, 445, 463, 520 tolerance 12, 121, 287, 291, 294, 295, 349, 350, 380, 449, 511 toll 102, 422 tomb 22–24, 30–32, 34, 38, 41, 83, 124, 126, 127, 136, 224, 274, 336, 444, 468, 479, 502 toparchy 394, 410 Torah 54, 154, 172, 174, 201, 237, 248, 252, 368, 379, 387, 418, 434, 450, 495, 498, 522 Tosefta 80, 260, 473 Trachonitis 143, 318, 335, 359, 370, 432, 517, 518 trade, traders 35, 93–96, 108, 399, 469 tradition 8, 16, 45, 48, 53, 54, 57–62, 65, 67–69, 72–74, 78, 79, 86, 114, 119, 152, 156, 160, 163, 164, 166, 169, 170, 172– 76, 178, 182, 183, 185–89, 191–98, 201, 207, 214–17, 219–22, 245, 246, 249–53, 264, 268, 271, 274, 276, 282, 286, 291, 301, 323, 333, 336, 344, 345, 352, 355, 357, 361, 370, 385, 412, 415, 422, 423, 433–35, 448–51, 469, 472, 485–87, 502, 506, 514, 522 Tragedian 169, 173 Traiana (Legion) 35, 444, 445, 465, 482 Traianus Quintus 463 traitors 410, 512 Trajan 17, 65, 82–84, 87, 97, 122, 158, 260, 291, 403–4, 431, 432, 434–36,



Index of Subjects

440–43, 445, 458, 459, 461–63, 473, 474, 488 Transjordan 338, 408 translation 17, 38–41, 59, 62, 63, 66, 68, 70, 74, 75, 85, 87, 128, 151, 169, 171, 177, 179, 189, 192, 193, 196, 213, 215, 217, 218, 220, 226, 228, 241, 242, 267, 343, 366, 370, 453, 458, 462, 475, 477, 485, 504, 508 transmigration 276 treasurer, treasury 42, 77, 317, 322, 331, 346, 353, 360, 387, 388, 396, 406, 421 treaty 7, 45, 439, 513 trial 121, 123, 202, 204–7, 209, 317, 321, 333, 339, 341, 353, 355, 362, 369, 373, 374, 400, 439, 440, 518 tribe 35, 113, 261, 278, 357 tribulations 270 tribune, tribuneship 369, 388, 389, 402, 437, 438 troop 9, 16, 142, 143, 325, 333, 344, 351, 360, 367–69, 375, 387, 388, 391, 393, 401–4, 409, 412, 413, 418, 424, 426, 437, 461, 508 truce 413 trumpets 47, 298, 499 Trypho 86, 159, 162, 244 Tryphon 86, 513 Turbo, Marcius 87, 458 tyrant 139, 349, 391 Tyre 35, 43, 124, 224, 355 Ugarit 192 underworld 277–79, 281, 282, 356 unleavened bread 155 uprising 37, 332, 368, 377, 431, 434, 458, 459, 461, 462, 464, 465, 470, 488, 516 urban 22, 145, 149, 294, 472, 509 Ushan 204 Valentinus 179, 188 Valerius Gratus 44, 209, 326, 328 Varro 223, 243 Varus 25, 27, 316–18, 359, 393, 517 Varus, Publius Quinctilius 316–18, 517 vegetarian 162, 190 Ventidius Cumanus 367 Venus 289, 290

637

Vergil 9 Vespasian 15, 16, 27, 28, 30, 42, 45, 101, 107–9, 150, 198, 208, 258, 259, 312, 316, 317, 358, 360, 361, 367, 398, 400–406, 408, 409, 412, 416, 418, 420, 427–29, 431, 432, 435–41, 444, 445, 449, 463, 520 Vesuvius 65, 84, 370 Veterans 97, 108, 317 Vetilianus 409, 423 Vettulenus, Sextus Cerealis 403, 446 Via Nova Traiana 35 Vienna 319 village 12, 22, 23, 26–28, 35, 83, 106, 134, 139, 142, 149, 179, 232, 317, 319, 333, 365, 368, 369, 371, 379, 393, 394, 402–3, 406, 408, 454, 467, 471, 501 vines 298 vision 75, 76, 78, 169, 170, 172–74, 189, 192, 196, 197, 200, 260, 263, 265, 268– 70, 277, 278, 282, 283, 298, 507, 509 Vitellius 203, 210, 333, 334, 337, 338, 340, 341, 360, 400–401, 409 Vologeses 135, 136 Vrevoil 254 Vulgate 220 Wales 437, 439 wall 22–24, 26, 29, 30, 36, 82, 89, 142, 225, 258, 344, 353, 354, 359, 360, 371, 373, 394, 395, 397, 404, 409–10, 412–15, 424–26, 471 war 3–6, 11, 16, 22–24, 27, 28, 30, 37, 42, 48–53, 59, 77, 79, 81–84, 87–89, 97, 99, 102, 104, 106–9, 113–16, 119, 123–25, 135, 137, 141–43, 145–52, 160, 167, 175, 191, 198, 205, 206, 208, 210, 211, 257–59, 276, 279, 283, 291, 295, 316, 317, 319, 322, 324, 326–32, 334–38, 340, 342, 345–49, 351, 352, 354, 358–61, 363–69, 371–79, 381–411, 413–32, 434, 435, 437, 441, 442, 444, 445, 447, 458, 461–63, 465–68, 470– 75, 479–83, 485–86, 488, 496, 507, 511, 512, 514, 515, 519–21 Watchers 190, 281, 508 weapon 82, 118, 134, 146, 392, 397, 413, 422, 467, 468 weaver 134, 428

638

Index of Subjects

widow, widowhood 49, 213, 228, 318, 370, 514 wife 26, 27, 72, 125, 134, 135, 225, 227–35, 237, 238, 313, 314, 318, 320, 326, 335–39, 341, 345, 346, 357, 362, 369, 370, 373, 376, 386, 392, 410, 440, 453–56, 514 willow 46, 47 wine 33, 298, 301 Wisdom 48, 57, 63, 64, 67, 72, 74, 170, 172, 180, 182, 186, 193, 197, 198, 204, 216, 240, 244–53, 255–57, 266, 268, 271, 273–75, 281, 284, 342, 501 wolves 83, 468 women 10, 12, 39, 55, 59, 72, 76, 87, 93, 97, 127, 149, 152, 153, 156, 165, 182, 184, 187, 225, 238, 290, 303, 314, 357, 405, 408, 414, 420, 423, 425, 426, 451, 453, 454, 457, 467, 496, 502, 505 worker, workmen 14, 15, 104–6, 140, 165, 175–77, 194, 198, 348, 360, 376519 worms 72, 355, 356 worship 6, 8, 12–14, 51, 84, 115, 129, 134, 145, 152, 165, 212, 223, 225, 237, 238, 243, 290, 293–95, 297–301, 307, 350, 380, 387, 434, 488, 489, 494, 497–500, 503–5, 511, 518, 522

Xanthicus 427 Xiphilinus 36 Yahweh 182, 183, 186, 187, 241 Yaldabaoth 182, 185 Yao 182, 183 Yavneh 16, 79, 80, 187, 216, 221, 347, 447–52, 488, 521, 522 Yehud 43, 224, 506, 507 Yehudah bar Menasheh 465 Yehudah son of ’El’azar 455 Yhwh 224, 241, 243, 247, 248, 250, 251, 266, 299, 497 Yodefat (see Jotapata) Yohanan 449, 450, 485 Yohanan ben Zakkai 449 Zacharias son of Amphicalleus 150 Zamaris 143 Zealot 13, 139, 142, 146, 149–52, 167, 382, 386, 397, 405, 407, 409–11, 413, 423, 506 Zebedee 355 Zechariah 197, 505, 508 Zeus 275, 344, 475, 479 Zion 46, 74, 301, 327, 412, 415, 433, 460 Zodiac 193, 195, 196 Zoē 182