Aphrodite and the Rabbis

by Burton L. Visotzky

  Another ancient city of Asia Minor, Aphrodisias, also is located in modern Turkey not far from Sardis. The extensive archeological site at Aphrodisias yielded a long Greek synagogue inscription among the many now piled up there. Listed alongside the row of names of the Jewish supporters of that synagogue are a group of townsfolk styled as “God-fearers,” which possibly refers to Gentiles who have adopted some Jewish customs or who have other affinities with the Jewish community, while not formally converting. This category of God-fearers or semi-converts is referred to in both rabbinic literature and church literature. But if I try not to read through rabbinic lenses, the only thing I can really say about the archeological remains at Aphrodisias is that the Jewish community had friends in the Gentile community. Perhaps they simply donated sufficient funds to the synagogue to have their names inscribed as “God-fearing.” Or perhaps they were non-Jews who were married to Jewish members of the Aphrodisias congregation. But in both of these possible scenarios, I run the danger of anachronizing from the customs of the current American Jewish community.

  Antioch on the Orontes, also located in current-day Turkey, was a major center of the Roman East. Back in the day, Antioch’s Jews were wealthy enough to have influence beyond their own city. Rabbinic literature contains references to rabbis traveling from Roman Palestine north to Antioch to collect charitable funds for their students and poor. They tell of the time that

  Rabbi Eliezer and Rabbi Yehoshua and Rabbi Aqiba went to the suburbs of Antioch to collect charity for the sages. There was a man there nicknamed “Father of the Jews” because he gave charity so generously. But then he lost his fortune. When he saw the rabbis coming to his house he felt sick. His wife asked him what was the matter and he explained that the rabbis had arrived and he had nothing to contribute. His righteous wife asked, “Don’t we still have one field? Go sell half and give them the proceeds.”

  He did so and when he gave them that small contribution they said, “May the Omnipresent restore your losses.”

  The rabbis went their way and he went to plow his remaining half field. While plowing, his ox stumbled and the ground cracked open. There he found a treasure!

  When the sages returned the next time they asked after him. They were told, “Who can even get in to see the Father of the Jews? He who has sheep, goats, oxen, donkeys, camels!”

  When they came to him he said, “Your prayer has borne fruit, and then interest on the fruit!” (Lev. Rabbah 5:4)

  Whether or not there actually was a man called “Father of the Jews” is incidental. The rabbis of fifth-century Galilee who wrote this little story about earlier rabbis imagined their Jewish neighbors to the north as quite well-off. Further, there is literary evidence that the Palestinian Jewish patriarch in the years ca. 364–396 CE carried on a correspondence with the great Antiochene pagan teacher of rhetoric, Libanius, who was supposed to be instructing his son (the boy took the money and spent it on a road trip).

  In the same period, the fiery church father John Chrysostom railed against the Jews and the synagogue they attended in the Antioch suburb of Daphne, which was famous for its shrine to the Greek god Apollo. The synagogue in Daphne was called the Matrona, and according to Chrysostom, Jews there celebrated “Trumpets, Booths, and Fasts”—most likely the autumn festivals of Rosh HaShannah, Yom Kippur, and Sukkot. Bishop Chrysostom also complains that pagans and Christians used that synagogue for the administration of vows, which they imagined to be especially effective there. He characterizes the Jewish fast as being accompanied by the ritual of taking off one’s sandals and going barefoot in the marketplace. He knows his own congregants admire the synagogue as a place of books, and he excoriates his flock for going to the Jews of Daphne for healing remedies, spells, amulets tied on their arms, and potions.

  All of this comports with the textual traditions about rabbinic Judaism of that era. In other words, there is both church and rabbinic evidence of a major Jewish community whose Judaism was not all that different from rabbinic Judaism. Rabbinic Jews took off their sandals when they fasted on Yom Kippur. They also tied “amulets” on their arms, in the form of phylacteries (tefillin). They said Hebrew prayers that would have sounded like spells to a Greek listener. And there were rabbis who were famous as healers. But the name of the synagogue, “the Matrona,” or Roman matron, doesn’t sit all that well as a name for a rabbinic locale. On the other hand, rabbinic literature does refer to a matrona. Scholars debate whether this word is a generic reference or a proper name. Here’s a tale of a matron or Matrona:

  A matron [Matrona] asked Rabbi Yosé ben Halfota, “How many days did it take God to create the world?”

  He replied, “Six days, as it is written (Ex. 31:17), ‘In six days God made the heaven and the earth.’ ”

  She asked, “And what’s he been doing since?” . . .

  Rabbi Berechiah said, this is what Rabbi Yosé ben Halfota answered her: “God is sitting and making ladders. Some folks get brought down, while others are raised up. As it is written (Psalm 75:8), ‘God judges, bringing one down and uplifting another.’” (Lev. Rabbah 8:1)

  It is fairly clear from elsewhere in the story that this matron is not Jewish. But still, she would have liked Rabbi Yosé’s clever answer, for already in the second century a pagan writer had written that “Pittacus made a ladder for the temples in Mytilene, not for any purpose other than as an offering. His intention was to hint that fortune moves up and down, with the lucky, as it were, climbing up and the unlucky climbing down.”

  Rabbis and pagans employed similar metaphors, perhaps particularly when speaking with one another. The Jews of Daphne lived and worked in a suburb of Antioch famous for its pagan shrines. Indeed, some of those Jews probably worked in the tourist industry serving the pagan pilgrims. Others commuted into Antioch proper to work in the Roman government or to study. It is not very likely that the Matrona synagogue was named for a pagan, unless she was a donor, as at Aphrodisias. But what kind of synagogue might be named for a non-Jewish donor? And how much of a donation would that take? I think we are better off not trying to over-read the evidence one way or another. I am content to know that there was a large Jewish community in Antioch that attracted the attention of rabbis (for contributions) and church fathers (for censure).

  Turning south, we come to the port town of Tyre in modern southern Lebanon. It is mentioned as a Jewish community by the New Testament, in Matthew 15. The later rabbis also know about it and what might be its very peculiar Jewish practices. In the fifth century they tell the story of a certain rabbinical student who perhaps got his Jewish law all mixed up:

  Jacob of the village of Nevorayah once taught in Tyre that fish require kosher slaughter. Rabbi Haggai heard about this and sent him the message: “Come, be whipped!”

  The student demurred, “Would you whip me for that which is taught in the Torah?” The rabbi patiently inquired, “And where in the Torah do you think it says that fish must be slaughtered according to rabbinic law [and not merely hauled out of the water]?”

  Jacob offered, “It is written in Genesis 1:20, ‘Let the waters swarm with living creatures and birds that fly.’ Just as birds require kosher slaughter, so fish must require kosher slaughter,” he proclaimed.

  Rabbi Haggai said, “You did not reason correctly.”

  Jacob impudently asked, “Where will you prove this from?”

  The teacher replied, “Bend over to be whipped while I prove it to you! It says in Numbers 11:22, “The cattle and beasts will ye slaughter . . . and the fish of the sea will ye gather.’ It doesn’t say slaughter, but gather.”

  Jacob conceded, “Whip away, I guess I need the lesson.” (Gen. Rabbah 7:2)

  Perhaps the Jews of Tyre had a different notion of what was kosher than did the rabbis to their south. This would be of some interest, as it might indicate a community that was actually more stringent than rabbinic laws dictate, at least
when it came to eating fish. This is no small thing, as fish were undoubtedly a mainstay of the port community. But perhaps I should not jump to conclusions, as the stringency is laid at the feet of a zealous, if foolish, fellow. Later in the passage quoted, he offers his opinion that a child born of a non-Jewish mother can be circumcised on Shabbat. This is tantamount to saying that Jewish lineage follows the father’s religion, an opinion diametrically opposed by the rabbis, who support the matrilineal principle. In fairness to poor Jacob of Nevorayah, in the Bible itself Israelite lineage is determined by patrimony, as he had ruled. But once again, Jacob was whipped by his rabbinic mentor.

  Is this, then, a case of an outlier who simply does not know his stuff? Or might this indicate a very different custom in the Jewish community of Tyre? In one instance they would be zealous about preparation of fish. In the other they might follow what was biblical custom and prefer patrilineal descent as an indicator of Jewishness. Again, we simply cannot know.

  To return to Roman Palestine, I remind you that the disastrous Bar Kokhba rebellion against Rome from 132 to 135 CE was fueled by zealotry and misplaced messianism. The extreme Roman repression of this rebellion, which centered in the Judean South, caused Jewry in the Land of Israel to become more concentrated in the Galilee. As a punishment for two successive revolts, from 66 to 70 CE and again from 132 to 135 CE, Rome banned Jews from Jerusalem, which was refounded as the pagan city Aelia Capitolina. Despite the ban, other Jewish centers did flourish in Judea, scattered from Gaza to Ein Gedi and Jericho. On the Mediterranean coast and in the Galilee, large Roman urban centers such as Caesarea, Tiberias, and Sepphoris anchored Jewish settlement. Each of these cities was thoroughly Hellenized, with pagan art prominent among the archeological materials that remain. These same motifs are also found in the Byzantine-era synagogues of the Galilee. With very few exceptions, these synagogue buildings resemble the churches and Roman broad-house and basilica structures found locally. They are identified as synagogues primarily by details such as mosaics depicting biblical scenes (similar to those found in churches) and bas reliefs displaying menorahs, shofars, and the like. Of course these synagogues also display the ubiquitous donor inscriptions in Hebrew (rarely), Aramaic (often), and, in very significant measure, Greek.

  Synagogues across the oikoumene served as places for many functions—praying, studying, having meals—and they often served as hostels for travelers or, possibly, as housing for officers of the Jewish community. They appear to have been places to deposit communal funds, hold communal gatherings (hence the Greek name: synagogue, whose literal meaning is “gather together”), administer oaths, and hold sessions of local Jewish tribunals. In virtually none of these functions did the synagogues of the Land of Israel differ appreciably from those of the Diaspora. Synagogues in the Holy Land and throughout the remainder of the Roman world also seemingly have in common their apparent ignorance of rabbinic law. I use the term “ignorance” consciously, for we cannot know whether they did not know about rabbinic law or whether they knew but simply ignored it. Very few of the synagogues’ physical remains thus far discovered follow rabbinic ordinances regarding the physical layout of the building and its entrances. If I were to rely only on archeological remains of synagogues and the inscriptions found there, I would be hard-pressed to know that rabbinic Judaism existed (let alone was founded) in Roman Palestine.

  The one apparent exception to the rule among synagogues unearthed thus far is in the Beth Shean valley in northern Israel, a crossroads for travel both east to west and north to south. The Rehov synagogue there has a large mosaic floor that quotes from a range of still-extant rabbinic literature regarding the permissibility of Sabbatical-year agricultural produce that might otherwise be prohibited by biblical law (see Lev. 25). This mosaic text is the earliest physical quotation of rabbinic literature and the only mosaic discovered thus far that attests to the Judaism of the rabbis. Other physical evidence for the rabbis of classical rabbinic literature comes from the Golan, east of the Jordan River, in the village of Dabbura. There, archeologists found a lintel that identifies the academy of Rabbi Eliezer Hakkapar, who is regularly mentioned in early rabbinic literature. Complicating matters, though, the lintel postdates the rabbi by a couple of centuries. Maybe the academy was named for him posthumously.

  There is one other archeological site where rabbis are mentioned. In Beth Shearim, in the lower Galilee, the burial chambers of well-known Talmudic and political leaders, along with the family of the Palestinian Jewish patriarchs, were excavated in the late 1930s and again following World War II. Dozens of figures of menorahs are found in the catacombs there, as well as over two hundred Greek inscriptions. The very few Hebrew inscriptions consist of names, and repeatedly, the word shalom. There is even a dual-language inscription, first in Hebrew and then in Greek, of the name Rabbi Gamaliel, possibly the same rabbi who was patriarch of the Jewish community. Artistic motifs on the Beth Shearim sarcophagi include the ark or desert tabernacle, palm fronds, and lions (of Judah?)—all commensurate with rabbinic religion. But there are also eagles, bulls, Nike (the goddess of victory), Leda and the swan (aka Zeus), a theater mask, a spear-carrying warrior fragment, and yet other fragments of busts, statues, and bas reliefs of humans, none of which might be considered very “Jewish” by the rabbis of the Talmud. It’s hard to know what to make of this mishmash of pagan and Jewish burial symbols.

  Even more confusing, perhaps, is the fact that in a number of synagogues from the Byzantine period that have been unearthed across the Galilee, the mosaics on the floors, most often in the central panels, display a zodiac with the twelve months, depicted in a circle enclosed in a square frame. At each corner of the square is a personification of the season of the year in that quadrant—except for the one mosaic, where the floor guy got the order of the seasons confused and laid them in the wrong corners. I suppose a zodiac is conceivably within the pale, except it has a whiff of paganism about it. But what is truly astonishing about these mosaics is that in the center of the circle in each of these synagogues, there is Zeus-Helios, riding his quadriga (a chariot drawn by four horses) across the floor-bound sky!

  Beit Alpha synagogue mosaic, Helios

  Berlin Brandenburg Gate

  To say the least, the god Zeus is unexpected on a synagogue floor, and there is no scholarly consensus whatsoever as to what this possibly can mean about Judaism in Roman Palestine. The quadriga is, however, a fairly popular and perhaps even universal symbol of strength. Above is the famous quadriga atop Berlin’s Brandenburg Gate.

  But really, Zeus-Helios riding across the floor of Holy Land synagogues? We’ll discuss this more later. But if we add to this artistic record the Samaritan’s Temple on Mt. Gerizim (near modern Nablus), we must conclude that the overwhelming physical evidence of Judaism, even in Roman and Byzantine Palestine, is decidedly not the Judaism of the Talmudic rabbis.

  At some point in the 220s CE, emerging rabbinic Judaism, now represented by a compendium of its teachings called the Mishnah, found its way from Roman Palestine eastward into the Sasanian Empire. In 224 the Sasanian army—which professed the religion of Zoroastrianism—conquered the Parthian Empire to Rome’s east. Their laissez-faire treatment of non-Zoroastrians allowed for new expressions in the Jewish community. It helps us to recall that Jews had been part of that region, which they called Babylonia and we call Mesopotamia or Iraq, since the Babylonian exile in 586 BCE. This adds up to eight hundred years by 220 CE! Aside from what the Bible says—and that isn’t very much—what is known about that region has been learned from the singular lens of the Babylonian Talmud, the quintessentially rabbinic Jewish document. But were there forms of Judaism situated somewhere between the Bible and the Talmud? Is there any evidence of Hellenistic influence on that Judaism, too?

  By and large, I prefer to think of the Talmud as imbibing its Hellenism from the rabbinic traditions it imported from the rabbis of the Land of Israel, rather than to imagin
e Hellenistic influences in the severe Zoroastrian society of the Sasanian Empire. But Rome’s empire stretched east while the Sasanians’ stretched west, and just at the point where their borders met, at a town called Dura-Europos, was a treasure trove of evidence about Jewish life in the first half of the third century CE. The town had served as a Roman garrison for approximately a century, from 166 to 256 CE, when it was destroyed by the conquering Sasanians. Following its destruction, it lay desolate, covered by sand until its rediscovery, beginning in the 1920s. Among the buildings that were excavated then were several temples to Roman and Eastern gods, as well as a church. The synagogue that was discovered on the street adjacent to the wall of Dura revealed floor-to-ceiling wall paintings of biblical scenes, neatly arrayed in three registers, surrounding a so-called “seat of Moses” and a shell-arched Torah niche. The paintings are captioned in Aramaic, Greek, and Persian. It is a spectacular archeological discovery with a clear date for the synagogue in the mid-third century, at the very moment when rabbinic Judaism first finds expression in Babylonia. The archeologists brought their finds to the Damascus Museum, where they are now largely inaccessible, except for a few images on the museum website. I fear for the survival of this archeological treasure and worry that it, too, may be destroyed in the seemingly endless battle that is consuming Syria.

  Dura synagogue, long wall

  The wall paintings are a mix of Roman and Persian styles, and the scenes of the Bible run the gamut from Jacob to Esther. Some of the scenes are not literal but are interpretive depictions of Bible stories. In these cases, the “texts” of the wall of the Dura-Europos synagogue often predate existing works of rabbinic midrashic interpretations by centuries. The ceiling of the synagogue has been reconstructed. As usual, there is a donor inscription, found on one of the tiles and preserved in Aramaic. The finds at Dura-Europos show us a distinctly Jewish community living cheek by jowl with their Christian and pagan neighbors. The artistic and building conventions of that Jewish community are of the same style, if not content, as those of their neighbors. They apparently lived in comfort with the non-Jews of that town at the very border of the Roman world and died there together with them under the siege of their Sasanian enemy.