Reverence & Resistance

Reverence & Resistance The term ‘yoke’ in Matthew 11,28-30 as elucidated by the theories of Bildfeld & Hidden Transcripts

Instructors: Dr. Eric Ottenheijm & Prof. Dr. Annette Merz

Department of Theology Faculty of Humanities Utrecht University

Course: Master Thesis Course-code: GGLMV1003

Student: Marijn Zwart (3232913)

June/August 2011

CONTENTS

I. Introduction ...... 2 II. Bildfeld ...... 3 III. Hidden transcripts ...... 6 IV. ‘Yoke’: semantic breadth and origin ...... 8 V. ‘Yoke’, its Bildfeld, and its political connotations ...... 9 The term ‘yoke’ in the Septuagint and Hebrew Bible ...... 9 The term ‘yoke’ and its political connotations in Second Temple texts ...... 12 The term ‘yoke’ in Qumran ...... 13 The term ‘yoke’ in Flavius Josephus (37 – c. 100 CE) ...... 15 VI. ‘Yoke’, its Bildfeld, and its political connotations in rabbinic literature ...... 17 Mekhilta deRabbi Ishmael: introduction ...... 17 Mekhilta deRabbi Simon bar Yochai: introduction ...... 18 Sifre on Deuteronomy: introduction ...... 18 Mishna Avot: introduction ...... 19 Rabbinic attitudes towards Rome ...... 20 God’s kingly rule and its political ramifications in tannaitic texts ...... 20 Mekhilta deRabbi Ishmael: breaking off of the yoke ...... 25 Mekhilta deRabbi Simon bar Yochai: yoke of the Torah and yoke of kingdoms . 27 Mishna Avot: the yoke of the Torah, the kingdom, and the way of the world ..... 28 Conclusions ...... 29 VII. The yoke ritual of the Romans ...... 31 The Second Samnite War: introduction ...... 31 Dionysius of Halicarnassus (60 – post 7 BCE): introduction ...... 32 Dionysius of Halicarnassus: yoke ritual explanation ...... 34 Dionysius of Halicarnassus: yoke ritual in Second Samnite War ...... 37 Titus Livius (c. 59 BCE – 17 CE): introduction ...... 38 Livy: yoke ritual explanation ...... 38 Livy: yoke ritual in Second Samnite War ...... 39 Cassius Dio (c. 163 – post 229 CE): introduction ...... 41 Cassius Dio: yoke ritual explanation ...... 41 Cassius Dio: yoke ritual in Second Samnite War ...... 42 Tacitus (c. 56 – 117 CE): introduction, the yoke ritual ...... 42 Other mentionings of the yoke ritual in Roman literature ...... 43 Yoke ritual: conclusions and secondary literature ...... 45 VIII. ‘Yoke’ and the gospel of Matthew ...... 49 First century Galilee and Judea: Imperial rule ...... 49 The gospel of Matthew and the Roman Empire ...... 51 The Bildfeld of the term ‘yoke’: what have we found? ...... 53 A hidden transcript in Matthew 11,28‐30? ...... 54 Matthew 11,28‐30: Scholarly interpretations ...... 55 Matthew 11,28‐30 and the ‘yoke’ as hidden transcript: the consequences ...... 57 IX. Conclusion ...... 59

Bibliography ...... 60

I. INTRODUCTION

In this master thesis, I want to explore the political significance of the term ‘yoke’ in order to shed light on Matthew 11,28‐30. This is a subject to which little attention is paid in scholarly research. Only one article explicitly engages in this question, and another article implicitly touches upon it in its periphery.1 Thus, this subject seems ripe for engagement. I will do this by first setting out the theory of the Bildfeld in chapter II. I will do this in order to create an image of the possible meaning of the term ‘yoke’ and the connotations it carried in the first century CE. Next, in chapter III, I will set out the theory of hidden transcripts. By doing this I am trying to create a strong foundation for interpreting Jesus’ words in their full significance in relation to the context of political domination and subjugation in which they are uttered. Then, I will briefly gauge the semantic breadth of the term ‘yoke’ in the Greek and Latin languages in chapter IV in order to get a general image of the way these terms can be used. In chapter V, I want to briefly survey relevant primary sources, in order to get a clearer picture of what the term ‘yoke’ could signify. I will first survey the Septuagint and Hebrew Bible, and then move on to certain Second Temple texts, after which I will survey the Dead Sea Scrolls and Josephus. In chapter VI, I will end this survey with a more extensive look at early rabbinic literature and the use of the term ‘yoke’ in a political context contained therein. Following this, in chapter VII, I will take a look at the ‘yoke ritual’ as described by various Roman historians in order to possibly create a fuller and clearer image of the political connotations the term ‘yoke’ could carry with it in the first century. Finally, I want to combine the two theories and my findings, and apply them to Matthew 11,28‐30 in chapter VIII. I will do this by first setting out the context of Roman domination in the first century as the stage of the historical Jesus and the gospel of Matthew. Next, I will look at the gospel of Matthew itself, in order to briefly survey it to establish the recurrence of the Roman Empire in this text. Then, I will look backwards to what our findings were on the Bildfeld of the term ‘yoke’ in order to apply this on the text of Matthew 11. I will continue by engaging the question whether a hidden transcript is to be found in Matthew 11,28‐30 according the theory as set out in chapter III. Finally I will briefly survey scholarly views on Matthew 11,28‐30 and the term ‘yoke’ and add my perception of the consequences for the interpretation of our passage arising from my own work. I will end this master thesis with some concluding thoughts on what we have encountered during our renewed reading of Matthew 11,28‐30.

1 Respectively, a chapter in: Warren Carter, Matthew and Empire: Initial Explorations, Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 2001, and the following article: Blaine Charette, ‘”To Proclaim Liberty to the Captives” Matthew 11.28‐30 in the Light of OT Prophetic Expectation’, New Testament Studies 38, 1992, pp. 290‐297. 2

II. BILDFELD

In his 1976 opus, Sprache in Texten, Harald Weinrich devotes one chapter to the subject of the so‐called ‘Bildfeld’ in relation to the metaphor.2 He is driven by his dissatisfaction with the then current methodologies concerning research into the “Bildhaftigkeit” of the metaphor. Starting from De Saussure’s famous distinction between ‘langue’ and ‘parole’, Weinrich proposes that the most fruitful way into describing what a metaphor is all about, is by setting aside the research into the ‘parole’ side of the metaphor, and instead engaging with the ‘langue’ of the metaphor. The ‘parole’, the speech act, of a metaphor is its actualization in one individual use. This is a highly subjective, singular way into the metaphor. Driven by his observation that “die außerordentlich weitgehende Übereinstimmung im Metapherngebrauch bei den Angehörigen eines Kulturkreis, zumal einer Epoche, schwerlich auf Zufall beruhen [kann],”3 Weinrich intends to take on the ‘langue’ side of the metaphor, which is, contrary to the ‘parole’ side, an objective, super‐individual complex of images, awakened from the collective knowledge of a cultural group whenever the metaphor is used. This way of studying a metaphor can be subdivided into a diachronic, and a synchronic method. The diachronic way delves into the history of a certain metaphor, to arrive, in the end, at the (supposed) origin of this image. This by itself is, however, unsatisfying to Weinrich. It is too isolated, and by researching only the history of one metaphor it gives too meagre an image of the full meaning of a metaphor. A metaphor does not stand alone, isolated, ready to be picked up and analysed by way of its predecessors. Instead, a metaphor stands within a synchronic field of metaphors, all interconnected, all part of a matrix of metaphors. In Weinrich’s words: “Sie [die Metapher] steht jedoch nicht nur – diachronisch – in einem linearen Traditionsstrang, sondern auch – synchronisch – in sprachinternen Zusammenhängen mit anderen Metaphern, die deskriptiv‐systematisch dargestellt werden können.”4 He also emphasizes the fact that the two concepts which are connected in a metaphor – for instance, when we think of a metaphor relevant in our current writing, the concept ‘king’ as an image for the concept ‘God’ – in this way also link their respective Bildfelder together. Two fields of images become in this way connected. Those related to, located in the “Sinnbezirk” of, ‘king’ and those related to ‘God’ together form a group, a complex, a matrix of images: a Bildfeld. In the area of the research on the New Testament and early and rabbinical Judaism, Catherine Hezser engages with this theory and applies it to the research on New Testament and rabbinic parables.5 In doing this, she takes as central Weinrich’s conception of Bildfeld as “eine überindividuelle Bildwelt als objektiven, materialen Metaphernbesitz einer Gemeinschaft.”6 This “Gemeinschaft”, community, is not restricted to a group sharing one mother tongue, its boundaries may well surpass the barriers of language. Neither is this community as broad as the whole of humanity. Rather, the borders surround a group sharing a culture, a “Kulturkreis.”7 Additionally, Hezser notes in reading Weinrich, the originality of an author is not without its bounds. The creation of a

2 Harald Weinrich, ‘Münze und Wort. Untersuchungen an einem Bildfeld’, in: H. Weinrich, Sprache in Texten, Stuttgart: Ernst Klett Verlag, 1976, pp. 276‐290. 3 Weinrich, ‘Münze und Wort’, pp. 277‐278. 4 Weinrich, ‘Münze und Wort’, p. 279. 5 Catherine Hezser, Lohnmetaphorik und Arbeitswelt in Mt 20,1‐16: Das Gleichnis von den Arbeitern im Weinberg im Rahmen rabbinischer Lohngleichnisse, Freiburg: UV/Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1990, pp. 220‐226. 6 Weinrich, ‘Münze und Wort’, p. 277. 7 Hezser, Lohnmetaphorik, p. 223, citing Weinrich, ‘Münze und Wort’, p. 287. 3 new Bildfeld is very rare. Rather, the creativity of an author is displayed in the art of using a Bildfeld in surprising ways. Reaching back to the fundamental realization of Weinrich mentioned above, Hezser emphasizes the corporality of the possessors of a Bildfeld. Bildfelder are not possessed by an isolated individual, they are the property of a group: “Die gemeinsame Teilhabe von Sprecher/Schriftsteller und Hörer/Leser an den jeweils aktualisierten Bildfelder ist also unabdingbare Voraussetzung dafür, daß Verständigung überhaupt zustande kommt. Dabei is unser Weltbild enscheidend von unseren Bildfelder bestimmt.”8 Furthermore, the context of a metaphor in a text or speech act, determines its often surprising meaning. A context of related images from the Bildfeld of a metaphor makes the metaphor more readily understandable, the reader/hearer feels at home in the matrix of images, knows what is meant.9 Hezser also makes the important observation resting on two facts. First, the boundaries of a Bildfeld are vague and impossible to determine. Second, the study of cultures inhabiting a world a great distance in both space and time from ours in which both Hezser and we engage, makes sure that the Bildfelder which we try to find are not part of our cultural baggage. The observation following from this is that we need to trace the Bildfelder inductively from the sources at our disposal. In doing this, we need to be aware of the nature of the texts we study. In using merely literary texts of an elite, we might well deprive ourselves of a full and rich picture of a, most importantly, broadly shared, Bildfeld. Hezser focuses on these types of concerns at the beginning of her book.10 There, she emphasizes the need to read texts produced by the elite “gegen den Strich.”11 While she, in her research, has the possession of non‐elitary texts such as the Zenonpapyri, we lack such texts without an obvious social bias and an unintended survival: texts by Roman historians, rabbi’s, and others within our purview have clear aims for writing, and a clear wish for leaving their work for posterity. The most we can, and must, do is making the bias of the texts explicit, and collecting a most wide array of different types of texts, from different outlooks within the ‘Kulturkreis.’ On the boundaries of this Kulturkeis, Hezser gives a brief note in her short reiteration of her Weinrich‐based Bildfeld theory in an article on the comparing of rabbinic parables with their New Testament counterparts.12 In her words, “Juden und Christen im römischen Palästina des ersten bis fünften Jahrhunderts können als Kulturgemeinschaft gelten, die durch das biblische Erbe einerseits und den griechisch‐ römischen Kontext andererseits geprägt war.”13 If five hundred years seems like a broad area, then the boundaries she sets in her 1990 study are almost beyond where the eye can see. There, she moves geographically from Egypt to Greece to Iran to Palestine, and chronologically from the middle of the second millennium BCE to the second century CE to the fifth century BCE to the sixth century CE and many places in between.14 In our present study, we will try to keep the boundaries more tight, focusing mainly on texts from the first century BCE to the third century CE (besides the Hebrew Bible and LXX, which evidently are very real components of the Jewish and Christian culture(s) of this time span),

8 Hezser, Lohnmetaphorik, p. 223. 9 Hezser, Lohnmetaphorik, pp. 223‐224, reading Harald Weinrich, ‘Allgemeine Semantik der Metapher’ in: H. Weinrich, Sprache in Texten, Stuttgart: Ernst Klett Verlag, 1976, pp. 317‐320. 10 Hezser, Lohnmetaphorik, pp. 50‐56. 11 Hezser, Lohnmetaphorik, pp. 50‐54. 12 Catherine Hezser, ‘Rabbinische Gleichnisse und ihre Vergleichbarkeit mit neutestamentlichen Gleichnissen’, in: Ruben Zimmerman & Gabi Kern (eds.), Hermeneutik der Gleichnisse Jesu: Methodische Neuansätze zum Verstehen urchristlicher Parabeltexte, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008, p. 236. 13 Hezser, ‘Rabbinische Gleichnisse’, p. 236. 14 Hezser, Lohnmetaphorik, pp. 99‐154. 4 and all from within the Roman Empire, mainly Italy, Asia Minor, and Palestine. Having set out the theory of the Bildfeld, we will now continue with setting out the theory of hidden transcripts, returning to the use of both theories throughout the rest of our endeavour.

III. HIDDEN TRANSCRIPTS

Power is a key concept in the theory of hidden transcripts. This is clear already from the title of James Scott’s 1991 elaboration on this theory, Domination and the Arts of Resistance.15 The theory of hidden transcripts works to engage with and uncover in a situation of domination and subjugation. In this situation of domination and subjugation, there are two parties, one with power, and one (largely) without. There has to be the weaker party, not possessing the larger chunk of power. And there has to be the stronger party, powerful and in possession of the largest amount of power. The latter dominates the former. Yet, they have to coexist. And they do. Both parties are well‐served by a relatively peaceful coexistence, and both parties will try to make and keep this a reality. One way of doing this is by engaging in a public performance that pleases the other party. Thus, the weaker party will act as is expected: polite, pleasing, answering to the expectations and wishes of the dominant party. “With rare, but significant, exceptions the public performance of the subordinate will, out of prudence, fear, and the desire to curry favor, be shaped to appeal to the expectations of the powerful.”16 Scott calls this public performance aimed at pleasing “one of the key survival skills” the weaker party has at its disposal, and describes it succinctly as “impression management in power‐laden situations.”17 Furthermore, Scott notes the interdependence between the difference in power between dominant and subordinate and the level of stereotypezation and ritualization of public performances by the latter. The higher the stronger rank in terms of power over the weaker, the more control they possess, the “thicker the mask” of the weak. Scott calls these public performances by both parties ‘public transcripts.’ They are public in the sense that they are openly acknowledged to the other group, and they are transcripts in the sense that they contain everything that is said, written, or done. The implication of the above is that public transcripts will not and cannot give us an adequate idea of the convictions of the weaker party. The public transcript is aimed at coexisting with the dominant party, not at divulging contents that could disrupt this unequal relationship. This means that the willing and consenting character of the public transcripts of the weaker may only be the fruit of a survival tactic. Furthermore, Scott points to the prominence of “survival and surveillance” in these kind of relations. The weak will keep their mask on, while simultaneously trying to find out the real intentions of the dominant. The latter, on the other hand, will publicly parade their power while trying to peek behind the weaker’s mask, creating a suspicious attitude. The way to peek behind this mask for us, readers at a certain distance to the power relation, is to focus our attention on what Scott calls the ‘hidden transcripts.’ These hidden transcripts are what is said “offstage” within the subordinate group, inaccessible to the dominant group. In “power‐laden” contexts, there is the public performance captured in the public transcript, in the “offstage” situation, there is the hidden transcript. This does not mean that all that is said in public transcripts is necessarily false and deceitful, and what is said outside of the power‐laden context necessarily without constraint and absolutely free. “What is certainly the case, however, is that the hidden transcript is produced for a different audience and under different constraints of power than the public transcript.”18

15 James C. Scott, Domination and the Arts of Resistance: Hidden Transcripts, New Haven/London: Yale UP, 1991. 16 Scott, Domination, p. 2. 17 Scott, Domination, p. 3. 18 Scott, Domination, p. 5. 6

One of Scott’s main contentions is that there is an area between the public and the hidden transcript. This area is the field of ambiguity. A performance is publicly presented in order to convey one meaning to the dominant group, and at the same time quite another to the own subordinate group. “This is a politics of disguise and anonymity that takes place in public view but is designed to have a double meaning or to shield the identity of the actors.”19 According to Scott, this is not a rarity in unequal power relations. Rather, the opposite is true. He argues “that a partly sanitized, ambiguous, and coded version of the hidden transcript is always present in the public discourse of subordinate groups.”20 When put into practice in order to find traces of hidden transcripts, there seems to be an obvious danger to this theory: will the amount of hidden transcripts we find be equal to our eagerness to find them? Solid proof as to a certain text containing a hidden transcript or not will surely be impossible to find. A decision has to be made on the grounds of probability. I would suggest that besides establishing a context of domination and subordination, the main ground on which to decide whether a hidden transcript is actually present or not, is the contrasting of two different messages within the same text. One is the public transcript, the other hidden transcript. If a reading is plausible which sees these two opposed messages encoded in one text, the plausibility of encountering hidden transcripts in said text is greatly increased. We will take up this problem again in our discussion of Matthew 11,28‐30.

19 Scott, Domination, p. 19. 20 Scott, Domination, p. 19. 7

IV. ‘YOKE’: SEMANTIC BREADTH AND ORIGIN

As said, we will focus on the term ‘yoke’ in Matthew 11,28‐30. A general impression of the semantic breadth of the term ζυγός (‘yoke’) can be gained by taking a look at its entry in Liddell‐Scott.21 There, the following meanings are noted: 1. Yoke of a plough or carriage. 2. A crossbar. 3. In plural, thwarts or benches joining the opposite sides of a ship, panels of a door. 4. Beam of balance, and its constellation, Libra. 5. The yard‐arm at the mast head. 6. The cross‐strap of a sandal. 7. A pair of persons. 8. A rank or line of soldiers. 9. A certain game, and 10. a measure of land. The first meaning seems to be its primary meaning, and this idea of a beam crossing over and holding two things together, as in a yoke, seems to be present in some other meanings as well, such as 2., 3., 5., 6., probably also 4., and 7. also seems to be connected to this idea of yoking two animals together. Our attention in this present undertaking goes out to the first meaning, which has an agricultural Sitz im Leben, but can also be used metaphorically, as Liddell‐Scott notes. John Nolland comments on the origin of the image and its subsequent metaphorical usage in the Hebrew Bible: “Though a yoke normally linked two animals together for work, the idea of pairing plays no role in the extensive metaphorical use of ‘yoke’ in the OT and Apocrypha. A yoke is seen rather as a means of placing the animal in service: burden, obedience, subordination, and servitude are in view.”22 Its Latin equivalent ‘iugum’/’jugum’, has the following semantic breadth, according to Lewis‐Short:23 1. A yoke for oxen, a collar for horses. 2. A pair, among others of horses, and from there solely the chariot itself can be meant. 3. A beam, a lath. 4. The yoke of the yoke ritual. 5. The constellation Libra. 6. The beam of a weaver’s loom. 7. A rower’s bench. 8. The ridge of a mountain. 9. Metaphorical usages in connection to: slavery, marriage, subjugation, and working with equal efforts. Glare’s dictionary has some minor differences, but shows the same semantic breadth as Lewis‐Short does.24 The overlap of the semantic breadth of the Greek and the Latin term for ‘yoke’ is considerable, both flowing from the idea of a beam holding two things together, and from there moving on to other meanings by means of association.

21 Henry George Liddell & Robert Scott, A Greek‐English Lexicon (ninth ed., rev. and augm. by Henry Stuart Jones et al.), Oxford: Clarendon Press, 91977 [orig. 91940], s.v. ‘ζυγόν’. 22 John Nolland, The Gospel of Matthew: A Commentary on the Greek Text, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005, p. 476. See also Edith M. Humphrey, ‘The Enigma of the Yoke: Declining in Parables (Mt. 11.28‐30)’, in: Mary Ann Beavis (ed.), The Lost Coin: Parables of Women, Work and Wisdom, London/New York: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002, p. 284. 23 Charlton T. Lewis & Charles Short, A Latin Dictionary: Founded on Andrewsʹ Edition of Freundʹs Latin Dictionary: Revised, Enlarged, and in Great Part Rewritten, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1879, s.v. ‘jugum’, p. 1016. 24 Peter G.W. Glare (ed.), Oxford Latin Dictionary, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1982, s.v. ‘iugum’, p. 981. 8

V. ‘YOKE’, ITS BILDFELD, AND ITS POLITICAL CONNOTATIONS

On trying to establish the Bildfeld of the term ‘yoke’ and its political connotations, we survey a wide array of texts that can plausibly inform the Bildfeld of first century (Jewish) listeners to Jesus and readers of the gospel of Matthew. We will first look at the Septuagint and Hebrew Bible, then move on to the Sibylline Oracles and 1 Enoch, Qumran, and conclude our survey with Josephus.

The term ‘yoke’ in the Septuagint and Hebrew Bible

In this section we will look at the occurrences of the term ‘yoke’ in the Septuagint and Hebrew Bible, focusing on the majority of the occurrences of the term which have political connotations. The term yoke is used in many different political contexts, one of them being the context of God as king, which we shall encounter more often in other groups of texts. Marc Zvi Brettler in his study on understanding and “unpacking” the metaphor of king as used for God in the Hebrew Bible, notes the dominance of this image in ancient Israel. The Israelite king and God as king share a lot of “royal appellations,” their positive qualities are described in similar ways, their courts are structured similarly, they are treated in a similar way, enact the same rituals, and the image of God as king thus pervades the Hebrew Bible From the resulting constellation of terms surrounding the 25.מלך beyond the simple word concept of king flows the image of God’s kingly rule. Within this constellation, the term ‘yoke’ has its role. :LXX ,ע(ו)ל :When looking at the occurrences of the term ‘yoke’ in the Septuagint (MT ζυγος),26 we may first pay attention to those occurrences that fit in this field of metaphors surrounding God’s kingship and rule. Jeremiah 2,20 LXX states:

For of old thou hast broken thy yoke [συνέτριψας τὸν ζυγόν σου], and plucked asunder thy bands; and thou has said, I will not serve thee, but will go upon every high hill, and under every shady tree, there will I indulge in my fornication.27

Here Israel is presented as disobeying God and evading his rule. Something similar occurs in Jeremiah 5,5 LXX (Similarly in Isaiah 5,18 LXX):

I will go to the rich men, and will speak to them; for they have known the way of the Lord, and the judgment of God: but, behold, with one consent they have broken the yoke [συνέτριψαν ζυγόν], they have burst the bonds.

The opposite is also accounted for, Israel taking up the yoke of God:

25 Marc Zvi Brettler, God is King: Understanding an Israelite Metaphor (JSOT Supplement Series 76), Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1989, pp. 159‐165. 26 I will focus here on the occurrences in the LXX. Besides using my own research, I will draw upon Warren Carter’s classification of ‘yoke’ texts in the LXX: Carter, Matthew and Empire, pp. 121‐125. 27 All passages from the LXX use the following translation, except where noted: Lancelot C.L. Brenton (trans.), The English Translation of The Septuagint Version of the Old Testament, London: Samuel Bagster and Sons, 1851. 9

For You will have compassion on the people Israel forever and You will not reject them. And we are under your eternal yoke [καὶ ἡμεῖς ὑπὸ ζυγόν σου τὸν αἰῶνα], and under the whip of your discipline. (Psalms of Solomon 7,8‐9 LXX)

The term ‘yoke’ is also used in a context in which the nations oppose God (and his messiah):

Wherefore did the heathen rage, and the nations imagine vain things? The kings of the earth stood up, and the rulers gathered themselves together, against the Lord, and against his messiah; saying, Let us break through their bonds, and cast away their yoke from us [ἀπορρίψωμεν ἀφ᾽ ἡμῶν τὸν ζυγὸν αὐτῶν]. (Psalm 2,1‐3 LXX)

And, to complete the circle, the “son of David” subjugating the nations in Psalms of Solomon 17,30‐31 LXX (Similarly in Zephanaiah 3,9 LXX):

And he will have gentile nations serving him under his yoke [δουλεύειν αὐτῷ ὑπὸ τὸν ζυγὸν αὐτοῦ] and he will glorify the Lord in a place visible from the whole earth. And he will cleanse Jerusalem to reach a sanctification as she has from the beginning so that nations will come from the ends of the earth to see his glory, bringing as gifts her children who had become quite weak, and to see the glory of the Lord with which God has glorified her.

These texts talk about God’s actions, affecting the political realm, either accepted or resisted by Israel or the nations. More often, however, the term ‘yoke’ is used, not in a context of God’s direct rule over Israel or the nations, but in a context of nation ruling nation. So, 1 Maccabees 8,17‐18 LXX:

In consideration of these things, Judas chose Eupolemus the son of John, the son of Accos, and Jason the son of Eleazar, and sent them to Rome, to make a league of amity and confederacy with them, and to intreat them that they would take the yoke from them; for they saw that the kingdom of the Grecians did oppress Israel with servitude [καὶ τοῦ ἆραι τὸν ζυγὸν ἀπ᾽ αὐτῶν ὅτι εἶδον τὴν βασιλείαν τῶν Ἑλλήνων καταδουλουμένους τὸν Ισραηλ δουλεία].

And in Isaac’s speech to Esau (Edom), concerning him and his brother Jacob (Israel):

And thou shalt live by thy sword, and shalt serve thy brother; and there shall be a time when thou shalt break and loosen his yoke from off thy neck [καθέλῃς καὶ ἐκλύσεις τὸν ζυγὸν αὐτοῦ ἀπὸ τοῦ τραχήλου σου]. (Genesis 27,40 LXX)

Yet behind this power play among Israel and the nations, God is often revealed as pulling the strings and bending world politics to his divine plan.

And the Lord will have mercy on Jacob, and will yet choose Israel, and they shall rest [ἀναπαύσονται] on their land. [...] And they that took them captives shall become captives to them; and they that had lordship over them shall be under their rule. And it shall come to pass in that day, that the Lord shall give thee rest [ἀναπαύσει] from thy sorrow and vexation, and from thy hard servitude wherein thou didst serve them. [...] The Lord has broken the yoke of sinners, the yoke of princes [συνέτριψεν ὁ θεὸς τὸν ζυγὸν τῶν ἁμαρτωλῶν τὸν ζυγὸν τῶν ἀρχόντων]. (Isaiah 14,1‐5 LXX)

And the nation and kingdom, all that shall not put their neck under the yoke of the king of Babylon [καὶ τὸ ἔθνος καὶ ἡ βασιλεία ὅσοι ἐὰν μὴ ἐμβάλωσιν τὸν τράχηλον αὐτῶν ὑπὸ τὸν ζυγὸν βασιλέως Βαβυλῶνος], with sword and famine will I visit them, saith the Lord, until they are consumed by his hand. [...] But the nation which shall put its neck under the yoke of the king of Babylon, and serve him [καὶ τὸ ἔθνος ὃ ἐὰν εἰσαγάγῃ τὸν τράχηλον αὐτοῦ ὑπὸ τὸν ζυγὸν βασιλέως Βαβυλῶνος καὶ ἐργάσηται αὐτω], I will even leave it upon its land, and it shall serve him, and dwell in it. (Jeremiah 34,8.11 LXX (= MT 27,8.11))

In total, ζυγος occurs 68 times in the Septuagint (including two readings from the is also translated as κλοιός in the LXX at times ע(ו)ל Theodotian text of Daniel. The Hebrew (e.g. Deut 28,48; I Kgs 12,4.9.10.11.14), I have not included these readings here), of which the vast majority (46 times) refers to some form of control. The other 22 occurrences of ζυγος concern contexts of measurements, in which ζυγος means ‘scale,’ ‘balance.’ From the 46 occurrences that denote control 38 concern political control, and the other 8 other miscellaneous forms of control. Thus, from the total of 68 occurrences of ζυγος, more than half of them refer to some form of political control. Below is a complete categorized list, in which I follow the division of Carter, supplemented with a new subcategory and five additional occurrences which he somehow missed (Carter talks about 63 occurrences and divides 62 of them over his categories):28

1. Ζυγος in a context of measurement (22) Literal (10): Lev 29,35.36; Prov 11,1; 16,11; 20,23 Sir 42,4; Isa 46,6; Jer 39,10 (MT 32,10); Ezek 5,1 Metaphor (12): Ps 62,9; Job 6,2; Sir 21,25; 28,25; Job 31,6; Isa 40,12.15; Hos 12,7; Amos 8,5; Mic 6,11; Ezek 45,10; Dan (θ)29 5,27

2. Ζυγος in a context of control (46) a) Miscellaneous control, both literal and metaphorical usage of the term (8) Of animals (3): Num 19,2; Deut 21,3; Job 39,10 Of slaves (1): Sir 33,27 Of the tongue (2): Sir 28,19.20 (2x) Of souls under Wisdom’s instruction (1): Sir 51,26 Of travail created for every man (1): Sir 40,1

b) Political control, metaphorical usage of the term (38) God’s direct control (7): Isa 5,18; Jer 2,20; 5,5; Ps 2,3; PssSol 7,9; 17,30; Zeph 3,9 Nation over nation, with or without explicit mentioning of God’s control (31): Gen 27,40; Lev 26,13; 2 Chron 10,4 (2x) 10,9.10.11 (2x) 10,14; 1 Macc 8,18.31; 13,41; 3 Macc 4,9; Isa 9,4; 10,27 (2x); 14,5 (2x) 14,25.29; 47,6; Jer 34,8.11 (MT 27,8.11); 35,2.4.11.14 (MT 28,2.4.11.14); 37,8 (MT 30,8); Lam 3,27; Ezek 34,27; Dan (θ) 8,25

28 Carter, Matthew and Empire, p. 122. 29 θ = Theodotian. 11

The term ‘yoke’ and its political connotations in Second Temple texts

The Sibylline Oracles as we have them today consist of twelve books filled with prophetic oracles which are either Christian or Jewish in their final redaction. Some probably stem from Second Temple times, such as books III, IV, and V, whereas others, such as book VIII are thought to be substantially younger, dating from the second century CE.30 Below follow some of the fourteen occurrences of the term ζυγὸς in these oracles, leaving aside matters of exact dating and whether they underwent a Jewish or a Christian final redaction. These matters are peripheral to our current undertaking, which is establishing the political connotation of the term ‘yoke’ in late Second Temple times and the early post‐destruction era. In the Sibylline Oracles, the term ‘yoke’ shows its political connotations abundantly. Thus, the term is used in a political way as a punishment by God:

For upon all nations who dwell on the earth the Most High shall send a grievous scourge. [...] Then all Hellas shall lie under the yoke of slavery [δούλειος δ᾽ ἄρα ζυγὸς ἔσσεται Ἑλλάδι πάσῃ], and war and pestilence shall come upon all mankind at once. (III, 518‐519.537‐538)31

And thou, Rhodes, shalt for a long time escape slavery, thou daughter of the day, and great shall be thy wealth in later times, and on the sea thou shalt have strength pre‐ eminent over others. But in the end thou shalt be a prey to thy lovers with thy beauty and thy wealth: a grievous yoke shalt thou put upon thy neck [δεινὸν ζυγὸν αὐχένι θήσῃ]. (III, 444‐448)

This political yoke of subjugation naturally brings forth images of servitude and slavery:

Woe unto thee, Thrace: how shalt thou come to the yoke of bondage [ζυγὸν ὡς εἰς δούλιον ἥξεις]: when Galatians mingled with the sons of Dardanus swoop on to ravage Hellas, then shall be thine evil day, and to a strange land thou shalt give thine own and receive nought. (III, 508‐511)

But from the west a great Italian war shall blossom forth, whereby the world shall serve as slaves under the yoke of the sons of Italy [λατρεύσει δούλειον ἔχων ζυγὸν Ἰταλίδῃσιν]. (IV,102b‐104)

With images of gold and silver and stone you are ready, that unto the bitter day you may come to see your first punishment, O Rome, and gnashing of teeth. And no more will Syrian or Greek nor foreigner, nor other nation lay down his neck beneath you servile yoke [κοὐκέτι σοι δούλειον ὑπὸ ζυγὸν αὐχένα θήσει]. Plundered you will be and made to suffer what you did exact, and in fear wailing you will give, until you pay back all things; and you for the world will be a triumph and reproach of all. (VIII, 123‐ 130)

30 John J. Collins, ‘The Sibylline Oracles’, in: Michael E. Stone (ed.), Jewish Writings of the Second Temple Period (CRINT 2/II), Assen: Van Gorcum/Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1984, pp. 357‐358. 31 All passages from the Sibylline Oracles use the following translation, except where noted: Craig E. Evans et al. (trans.), The Pseudepigrapha (Bibleworks Electronic Edition), 2008. 12

But he will come again and every nation of valiant men will put their neck again under the yoke [καὶ ὑπὸ ζυγὸν αὐχένα θήσει], serve the king as before. (XI, 76‐77)

And then for you, Tyana and Mazaka, there will be a capture; you will be enslaved and put upon your neck again a fearful yoke [λατρεύσεις, τούτῳ δὲ ὑπὸ ζυγὸν αὐχένα θήσεις]. (XIII, 93‐94)

The first book of Enoch is a compilation of five apocalyptic books. The whole work has survived in Ethiopian, and large fragments in Greek and the original Aramaic.32 The citation below is from the part titled ‘The Epistle of Enoch’, which contains moral instructions with an eschatological emphasis.33 As in the Sibylline Oracles, in 1 Enoch, the term yoke has a political significance, drawing “attention to the injustice behind the community’s circumstances,”34 here effected by those who are “lawless”, disobedient to God, thus explicitly connecting the political and the religious:

Being crushed we have also been destroyed, and we have despaired and no longer know day by day salvation. We hoped to become the head, (but) we became the ta[il]. Working we gr[ew] weary and we have had no authority over our wages. We became food for sinners. [The law]less35 made heavy upon us the yoke [οἱ ἄνο]μοι ἐβάρυναν ἐφ᾽ ἡμᾶς τὸν ζυγόν]. (103,10‐11)36

The term ‘yoke’ in Qumran

The term ‘yoke’ occurs nine times among the non‐biblical texts of the Dead Sea Scrolls. A first occurrence is in 1QpHab VI,6, a pesher of Habakkuk. This commentary on Habakkuk expounds the biblical text by first citing it and then separately commenting on the text just cited. Among the methods to comment on the biblical text are paraphrasing, expansion, interpretation by using another biblical text, specifying what is left vague, changing referents of clauses (e.g. from ‘the Lord’ to ‘the faithful’), and actualizing prophecy, reading it as if referring to the author’s own day.37 Consequently, Moshe Bernstein can state that “Pesher Habakkuk [...] probably has more to teach us about the history of the late Second Temple period than about the meaning of Habakkuk.”38 Thus, the “Kittim” mentioned in the text

32 Michael E. Stone, ‘Apocalyptic Literature’, in: M.E. Stone (ed.), Jewish Writings of the Second Temple Period (CRINT 2/II), Assen: Van Gorcum/Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1984, p. 396. 33 Stone, ‘Apocalyptic Literature’, p. 405. 34 Loren T. Stückenbruck, 1 Enoch 91‐108 (Commentaries on Early Jewish Literature), Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2007, p. 556. 35 In the Ethopian version both the “sinners” and the “iniquitous ones” (the latter occurs in the Greek text as “the lawless [οἱ ἄνομοι]”) are the ones for whom “we” became food, and who subsequently made their yoke heavy upon “us”. Stückenbruck, 1 Enoch 91‐108, p. 555. 36 All passages from 1 Enoch use the following translation, except where noted: Craig E. Evans et al. (trans.), The Pseudepigrapha (Bibleworks Electronic Edition), 2008. 37 Moshe J. Bernstein, ‘Pesher Habakkuk’, in: Lawrence H. Schiffman & James C. VanderKam (eds.), Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls – Vol. 2, Oxford, Oxford UP, 2000, p. 648. 38 Bernstein, ‘Pesher Habakkuk’, p. 649. 13 should be read as referring to the Romans and the text dated to the first century BCE.39 When and their taxes”40 by the [עולם] we read our text this way, the imposition of “their yoke Kittim, is an acute and relevant usage of the term ‘yoke’ in a very political and very real context of the Roman Empire dominating other nations.41 Another occurrence is as part of the book of Jubilees, using the term in its non‐political, agrarian context (4Q223‐224 2iv11). The term also once again occurs in a political context in Pseudo‐Ezekiel, in 4Q385 3,7, where of Egypt.” This work is an expansion on the biblical book of [עול] there is talk of “the yoke Ezekiel. Our occurrence of ‘yoke’ stands in a context of a vision of an eschatological resurrection (based on Ezekiel 37) after which the resurrected thank God,42 whereupon God seems to order the prophet to tell these (?)43 people (now apparently still dead) that they will have to lie in their graves until they will be resurrected. This is followed by the mentioning of the “yoke of Egypt”. Its precise connection to the foregoing is unclear due to the extremely fragmentary nature of the surviving manuscript. Devorah Dimant dates the origin of the work in the second century BCE or earlier, noting that its terminology and ideas diverge from those common to the Qumranic literature.44 Similarly, in the Apocryphon of Jeremiah, 4Q389 8ii3, the term occurs in a political context. This work is concerned with expanding on the biblical text of Jeremiah and seems to have been part of a larger corpus of works devoted to tradition concerning the prophet Jeremiah, as indicated by its overlap in themes with the biblical book of Jeremiah and other pseudo‐ Jeremianic works. Sidnie Crawford thus judges it to not be of sectarian origin, but rather part of “the general literature of the Second Temple period.”45 The occurrence of the term is as in the [על] follows: “And the children of Israel will be crying out because of the heavy yoke lands of their captivity.” In a wisdom text called Ways of Righteousness, 4Q421 1aii‐b,10, mention is made of “the yoke ’This is the only explicitly non‐political occurrence of the term ‘yoke ”.[עול ח כמה] of wisdom used metaphorically among the Dead Sea Scrolls. Two other occurrences of the term are in the hymns of praise to God called Barkhi Nafshi, 4Q438 3,3 and 5,3.46 The context of the latter of the two is irretrievable, but the former seems [בעולך] to envision taking upon oneself the yoke of God: “my neck I will submit to your yoke and discipline.” Whether either of them functions in a political context cannot be retrieved from the heavily fragmented manuscripts.

39 So also: Philip S. Esler, ‘Rome in Apocalyptic and Rabbinic Literature’, in: John Riches & David C. Sim (eds.), The Gospel of Matthew in its Roman Imperial Context, London/New York: T&T Clark International, 2005, p. 19. 40 All passages from the Dead Sea Scrolls use the following translation, except where noted: Donald W. Parry & Emanuel Tov (eds.), The Dead Sea Scrolls Reader (6 vols.), Leiden: Brill, 2004‐2005. 41 Bernstein, ‘Pesher Habakkuk’, p. 649, although it is up for debate whether this section talks specifically about the domination of Palestine by the Romans. 42 Devorah Dimant, ‘Pseudo‐Ezekiel’, in: Lawrence H. Schiffman & James C. VanderKam (eds.), Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls – Vol. 2, Oxford, Oxford UP, 2000, p. 283. 43 The text is fragmentary and thus unclear. 44 Dimant, ‘Pseudo‐Ezekiel’, p. 284. 45 Sidnie W. Crawford, ‘Pseudo‐Jeremiah’, in: Lawrence H. Schiffman & James C. VanderKam (eds.), Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls – Vol. 2, Oxford, Oxford UP, 2000, p. 401. 46 David R. Seely, ‘Barkhi Nafshi’, in: Lawrence H. Schiffman & James C. VanderKam (eds.), Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls – Vol. 1, Oxford, Oxford UP, 2000, 76. 14

The final two occurrences are in the Temple Scroll, a document which can be characterized as ‘rewritten bible’, rewriting Deuteronomy 12‐23, integrating laws from Exodus, Leviticus, and Numbers and expanding upon them. García Martínez judges this text to be, for its author(s) and readers, “the only legitimate way for understanding the true sense of the biblical text” of used with ,”[עול כבד] Deuteronomy.47 In 11Q19 LIX,2 and LIX,6 there is talk of a “heavy yoke the political connotations of God’s people submitting to the yoke of other nations as a punishment of God.

The variety of the uses of the term somewhat resembles the variety as we saw it in the Hebrew Bible/LXX. Besides its non‐metaphorical usage in an agrarian context, there is one notable occurrence in a wisdom context, but the majority of the occurrences are in a political context.

The term ‘yoke’ in Flavius Josephus (37 – c. 100 CE)

Josephus is a Jewish historian writing after the Jewish Revolt in which he himself participated on the Jewish side before he surrendered to the Romans. His writings are the most important source of information on events concerning the Jews from the second century BCE until the destruction of the Temple. The reliability of his writings as history has often been doubted, with Josephus walking the line between his Jewish identity and loyalty to his Roman protectors.48 For our purposes, however, a judgement on historical reliability is not needed, merely a look into his use of the term ‘yoke’. And this image, used to denote political control, is positively present in his writings, both in his retelling of biblical events, as in his histories concerning more recent events. Thus, in relating biblical politics in his Judaean Antiquities:

So the rulers of the people, as well as Jeroboam, came to him, and besought him, and said that he ought to relax, and to be gentler than his father, in the servitude he had imposed on them, because they had borne a heavy yoke [βαρὺν γὰρ ὑπ’ ἐκείνῳ ζυγὸν αὐτοὺς ὑπενεγκεῖν]. (Book VIII.213)49

And in relating his own speech to the people of Jerusalem as they were under siege by the Romans in his Judean War:

That they must know the Roman power was invincible, and that they had been used to serve them; for, that in case it be allowed a right thing to fight for liberty, that ought to have been done at first; but for them that have once fallen under the power of the Romans, and have now submitted to them for so many long years, to pretend to shake

47 Florentino García Martinez, ‘Temple Scroll’, in: Lawrence H. Schiffman & James C. VanderKam (eds.), Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls – Vol. 2, Oxford, Oxford UP, 2000, p. 930. 48 See e.g.: Louis H. Feldman, ‘Introduction’, in: L.H. Feldman & Gohei Hata (eds.), Josephus, the Bible, and History, Detroit: Wayne State UP, 1989, p. 17; Shaye J.D. Cohen, Josephus in Galilee and Rome: His Vita and Development as a Historian, Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1979, p. 232ff. 49 All passages from Josephus use the following translations, except where noted: William Whiston (trans.), Antiquities of the Jews, Auburn/Buffalo: John E. Beardsley, 1895; W. Whiston, (trans.), The Wars of the Jews, Auburn/Buffalo: John E. Beardsley, 1895. 15

off that yoke [ἀποσείεσθαι τὸν ζυγὸν] afterward, was the work of such as had a mind to die miserably, not of such as were lovers of liberty. (Book V.366)

And while recounting Domitian’s actions as emperor:

He had a courageous mind from his father, and had made greater improvements than belonged to such an age: accordingly he marched against the barbarians immediately; whereupon their hearts failed them at the very rumor of his approach, and they submitted themselves to him with fear, and thought it a happy thing that they were brought under their old yoke [ὑπὸ τὸν αὐτὸν πάλιν ζυγὸν ὑπαχθῆναι] again without suffering any further mischiefs. (Book VII.88)

Thus, Josephus continues the use of the term ‘yoke’ in a political way, just as we have seen in the LXX/Hebrew Bible, other Second Temple texts, and Qumran.

Looking at the literature surveyed thus far, we can safely state that there is a huge amount of occurrences of the term ‘yoke’ in political contexts. The vast majority of the occurrences surveyed have political connotations, over against not even a handful of occurrences in a wisdom context, let alone other miscellaneous occurrences. By reviewing such a broad array of texts, the Bildfeld surrounding the metaphoric use of the term ‘yoke’ can, depending on the context in which it is used as a metaphor, at least plausibly be said to be political.

VI. ‘YOKE’, ITS BILDFELD, AND ITS POLITICAL CONNOTATIONS IN RABBINIC LITERATURE

In this section we will take a look at some occurrences of the term ‘yoke’ in the earliest (tannaitic) rabbinic texts of those that have survived until our days. This will not be an exhaustive overview of the occurrences of ‘yoke’ in tannaitic literature. Rather, it will be a look at some texts where the term ‘yoke’ seems to function in a Bildfeld with political connotations. To do this we will first give a short introduction to the rabbinic works that will be the focus of attention. Then, we will briefly sketch the rabbinic attitudes towards Rome as a context for reading the tannaitic texts which put forward a Bildfeld surrounding the metaphor of God as king which we will then explore. Next, we will look at some occurrences of the term ‘yoke’ and its place in this Bildfeld. Finally, we will look at our findings and draw our conclusions.

Mekhilta deRabbi Ishmael: introduction

The Mekhilta deRabbi Ishmael (MdRI) is a tannaitic document from Palestine, receiving its final redaction in the early amoraitic period, the second half of the third century. It is classified under the so‐called halakhic midrashim since it mainly comments on the legal portions of Exodus (Exodus 12‐23, 31, and 35, also including some narratives, and resulting in a aggadic nature for nearly half the document50) in nine tractates following the order of the is Aramaic for ‘rule’, ‘norm’, and the word also (מכילתא) biblical verses. The name Mekhilta designates halakhic exegesis, as well as tractates containing it.51 The document contains in itself many different and even opposing tendencies, and it thus impossible to fully characterize the document as a whole. We will see below, however, that the document is pervaded by a notion of God as a king with a kingdom. But even this is restricted to certain portions of the document.52 Even so, Beate Ego can conclude: “Das Motiv vom Königstum Gottes kann so als Leitmotiv der Mekhilta de R. Yishma̒el verstanden werden.”53 MdRI is generally classified by modern scholars as belonging to the school of Rabbi Ishmael (the other school being that of Rabbi Akiva). The school of R. Ishmael interprets verses in a more moderate way, while staying closer to the simple meaning of the verses, compared to the school of R. Akiva. This enables R. Ishmael to see the clash between halakhah and Torah, and to conclude that the halakhah supersedes the biblical text,54 although he harmonizes scripture and halakhah at many places as well. Besides this exegetical difference between the schools, the division of texts between the schools of R. Akiva and R. Ishmael are mainly founded on their use of terminology, the main sages appearing in the texts and criteria

50 Menahem I. Kahana, ‘The Halakhic Midrashim’, in: Shmuel Safrai et al. (eds.), The Literature of the Sages – Second Part: Midrash and Targum, Liturgy, Poetry, Mysticism, Contracts, Inscriptions, Ancient Science and the Languages of Rabbinic Literature (CRINT II/3), Assen: Royal Van Gorcum/Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2006, p. 6. 51 Günter Stemberger, Introduction to the Talmud and Midrash (2nd English ed.) (trans.: M. Bockmuehl), Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 21996, p. 252. 52 Beate Ego, ‘Gottes Weltherrschaft und die Einzigkeit seines Namens. Eine Untersuchung zur Rezeption der Königsmetapher in der Mekhilta de R. Yishma̒el’, in: Martin Hengel & Anna Maria Schwemer (eds.), Königsherrschaft Gottes und himmlischer Kult, Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr, 1991, p. 281. 53 Ego, ‘Gottes Weltherrschaft’, p. 283. 54 So in Midrash Tannaim Deuteronomy 24,1. Cited by Kahana, ‘The Halakhic Midrashim’, p. 23. 17 derived from those mentioned. 55 The differences between the two schools are larger in halakhic than in aggadic material, although one main difference apparent in aggadic material seems to be that the school of R. Ishmael has a more universalist bent, displaying a more positive attitude towards non‐Jews than the school of R. Akiva.56

Mekhilta deRabbi Simon bar Yochai: introduction

The Mekhilta deRabbi Simon bar Yochai (MdRSY) is, like MdRI, classified under the halakhic midrashim, and commenting on parts of Exodus. It is younger than its namesake, however, and is to be dated somewhere in the fourth or fifth century in Palestine. It possibly used MdRI and other tannaitic halakhic works, and also treats traditions from the Mishna in its own specific way.57 Menahem Kahana extensively compared the same tractate within the two Mekhiltas. And compared to MdRI, MdRSY presents itself in a “more developed literary and theological nature that was rather independent from the linkage to the verses.” Also apparent is a “simplification of content bordering on popularization.”58 MdRSY is generally classified by modern scholars as belonging to the school of R. Akiva. The school of R. Akiva focuses more than the school of R. Ishmael on individual verses and the individual words and letters contained in them. For, R. Akiva, every particle in the Torah has a distinct and consistent meaning. This type of exegesis seems to be more suited to harmonize halakhah and the biblical text, as opposed to the school of R. Ishmael. Kahana describes this exegetical method of R. Akiva (and thus his school) as – compared to the school of R. Ishmael – resulting in “far‐reaching midrash.”59 Meaning: less moderate than R. Ishmael’s midrash, and farther away from the simple meaning of biblical verses.60 As noted above, the school of R. Akiva seems to be less universalist than that of R. Ishmael, as most pointedly becomes clear from comparing parallel passages in MdRI and MdRSY, where the latter often displays a less positive attitude towards non‐Jews, and even omits passages with a positive attitude towards non‐Jews that the former does have.61

Sifre on Deuteronomy: introduction

The Sifre on Deuteronomy (SifDeut) is a tannaitic document from Palestine, dateable in the late third century. Like the Mekhiltas, it is classified by modern scholars under the halakhic midrashim. It comments on parts of Deuteronomy. Most of the document can be classified under the school of R. Akiva, although the school of R. Ishmael seems prevalent in the aggadic sections (piskaot 1‐54, 304‐357).62

55 For a more complete discussion of the division in the two schools, see Kahana, ‘The Halakhic Midrashim’, pp. 17‐39, 44‐45. 56 Marc Hirshman, ‘Rabbinic Universalism in the Second and Third Centuries’, The Harvard Theological Review 93, 2000, pp. 101‐115, focusing on MdRI and Sifre Numbers. See also Kahana, ‘The Halakhic Midrashim’, pp. 51‐52. 57 Stemberger, Introduction, p. 259; Kahana, ‘The Halakhic Midrashim’, pp. 75‐76. 58 Kahana, ‘The Halakhic Midrashim’, p. 76. 59 Kahana, ‘The Halakhic Midrashim’, p. 24. 60 For a more complete discussion of the division in the two schools, see Kahana, ‘The Halakhic Midrashim’, pp. 17‐39, 44‐45. 61 Kahana, ‘The Halakhic Midrashim’, p. 52, see esp. n. 216. 62 See Kahana, ‘The Halakhic Midrashim’, pp. 95‐98; Stemberger, Introduction, pp. 272‐273. 18

Mishna Avot: introduction

The Mishna, a tannaitic document from the first half of the third century, from Palestine, is described by Abraham Goldberg as “a study book of halakha”63 in view of actual, contemporary halakhic discussions64 and thus with the purpose of actualizing tradition. In light of this general description of the whole Mishna, tractate Avot is all the more peculiar. This tractate, located in the order Nezikin (damages), does not contain any halakhah, and instead presents numerous sayings by the tannaitic rabbis and their forebears. Its name, Avot, can be translated in different ways. It is often translated as “fathers”, but can also be translated as “major authorities”, or even as “fundamental principles.”65 It is a possibility that Avot was only inserted into the Mishnah at the end of the third century.66 Amram Tropper, however, disagrees with this point of view and offers an extensive counter argument, concluding that tractate Avot was part of the original Mishna and had its final redaction under Rabbi Judah haNasi or his circles.67 It is not relevant to engage in this discussion, if we take the assertion that tractate Avot was redacted by the circle around the patriarchate somewhere in the third century. Tropper tries to place Avot within its Graeco‐ Roman context, concludes that the form and contents of Avot point to it being composed and redacted precisely this way in order to promote the rabbinic order: “A Torah‐oriented lifestyle, the Mishnah, the scholastic credentials of the tannaim, and the authority of the patriarch are probably the most conspicuous features of the rabbinic reality legitimated in Avot. Whereas the Mishnah is primarily a compilation of rabbinic law, Avot comes across as a rhetorical treatise especially designed to endorse the knowledge and the representatives of the rabbinic order.”68 Furthermore, Avot stands out from the other Mishna tractates in its aim of molding character, and can be seen as a late product of the Hebrew wisdom tradition. Tropper also proposes that the redactor of the Mishna (as said, Judah haNasi according to him), lived in close “proximity to the society and culture of the neighbouring gentiles” due to his function as a patriarch.69 This proximity is notable in the close similarity between various Graeco‐Roman intellectual movements (captured under the heading of the Second Sophistic) and literary genres.

63 Abraham Goldberg, ‘The Mishna – A Study Book of Halakha’, in: Shmuel Safrai (ed.), The Literature of the Sages – First Part: Oral Tora, Halakha, Mishna, Tosefta, Talmud, External Tractates (CRINT II/3), Assen: Van Gorcum/Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1987, pp. 211‐262, esp. 211‐215. 64 Goldberg, ‘The Mishna’, p. 114; Eric Ottenheijm, Disputen Omwille van de Hemel: Rol en betekenis van intentie in de controverses over sjabbat en reinheid tussen de Huizen van Sjammai en Hillel, Amsterdam: Amphora Books, 2004, pp. 27‐28, 31, 35. 65 Myron B. Lerner, ‘The Tractate Avot’, in: Shmuel Safrai (ed.), The Literature of the Sages – First Part: Oral Tora, Halakha, Mishna, Tosefta, Talmud, External Tractates (CRINT II/3), Assen: Van Gorcum/Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1987, pp. 263‐264. 66 Stemberger, Introduction, p. 122. 67 Amram Tropper, Wisdom, Politics, and Historiography: Tractate Avot in the Context of the Graeco‐Roman Near East, Oxford: Oxford UP, 2004, pp. 88‐107. 68 Tropper, Wisdom, p. 243. 69 Discussions on the lack of political or legal authority of the patriarch are irrelevant for Tropper’s argument, he restricts himself to researching cultural influences, not political. See Tropper, Wisdom, p. 126. For the lack of legal and political authority of the early patriarchate until the end of the fourth century, see: Seth Schwartz, Imperialism and Jewish Society: 200 B.C.E. to 640 C.E., Princeton: Princeton UP, 2001, pp. 103‐104, 119‐128; Catherine Hezser, The Social Structure of the Rabbinic Movement in Roman Palestine, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1997, pp. 405‐449. Lee Livine judges this authority to have developed already by the early third century, Lee I. Levine, The Rabbinic Class of Roman Palestine in Late Antiquity, Jerusalem: Yad Izhak Ben‐Zvi Press/New York: The Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1989, pp. 41‐42. 19

Rabbinic attitudes towards Rome

As we will encounter in some texts below, biblical Edom, the arch enemy of Israel, was identified with Rome in rabbinic texts.70 Consequently, this also holds true for Edom’s ancestor, Esau. As we will see below, there certainly seems to have been criticism on the Roman Empire. However, just as the relationship between Jacob/Israel and Esau/Edom was ambivalent in the Bible, so the relationship between the Jews and Romans they represent is ambivalent in rabbinic literature. In relating the attitude towards the Roman Empire, both the image of Jacob and Esau as enemies and the image of them as brothers are used. As Louis Feldman writes: “The very fact that the rabbis choose to emphasize the tradition that the Romans are descended from Esau is an indication of this ambiguity [...].”71 Thus, Feldman presents a picture of division among the rabbis concerning their view on Roman rule, some espousing a positive view, others a decidedly negative view.72 Friedrich Avemarie concurs with this two sided relation between Israel and Rome, but further notes that the metaphor of Esau/Edom for Rome draws attention to its oppressive relation to Israel, Edom “bleibt [...] die Projektionsfigur aller erlittenen Unterdrückung und Demütigung, der ganzen eigenen Ohnmacht.”73 Sacha Stern further notes the interdependence between Rome and Israel in rabbinic sources: “As rival brothers, constantly struggling against one another, their histories are bound up with each other and fully interdependent.”74 According to Stern’s judgment, however, this brotherhood is “ultimately to no avail,” the rivalry will reign supreme.75 This also becomes clear in how Jewish identity is created in rabbinic works. Rome is made equivalent to non‐Jews, the Romans are the Other of the Jews. The Romans deserve no ethnic distinction, and are instead presented as the wicked Others, over against God’s Israel.76 Martin Goodman concurs with this estimation of the Rabbis (the views of other Jews than the Rabbis on Rome in the tannaitic times are lost to us) as mostly looking negatively at Rome.77 In what follows, this negative view of Rome will come to the fore.

God’s kingly rule and its political ramifications in tannaitic texts

As we have seen above, the image of the God of Israel as a king is already present in the Hebrew Bible. It is thus not without precedent that the image features in the literature of the Rabbis. Yet while drawing on this biblical idea of God as a king, the use of the image is

70 Nicholas R.M. de Lange, ‘Jewish Attitudes to the Roman Empire’, in: Peter D.A. Garnsey & Charles R. Whittaker (eds.), Imperialism in the Ancient World, Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1978, pp. 269‐271; Samuele Rocca & Moshe D. Herr, ‘Rome: In Talmudic Literature’, in: Fred Skolnik (ed.), Encyclopaedia Judaica – Second Edition: Vol. 17 (of 22 vols.), Detroit: Thomson Gale, 2007, pp. 409‐411. 71 Louis H. Feldman, ‘Some Observations on Rabbinic Reaction to Roman Rule in Third Century Palestine’, in: L.H. Feldman, Studies in Hellenistic Judaism, Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1996, p. 445. 72 Feldman, ‘Some Observations’, pp. 438‐483. Esler takes on the same view: Esler, ‘Rome in Apocalyptic and Rabbinic Literature’, pp. 28‐32. 73 Avemarie, Friedrich, ‘Esaus Hände, Jakobs Stimme: Edom als Sinnbild Roms in der frühen rabbinischen Literatur’, in: Reinhard Feldmeier & Ulrich Heckel (eds.), Die Heiden: Juden, Christen und das Problem des Fremden, Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr, 1994, p. 205. 74 Sacha Stern, Jewish Identity in Early Rabbinic Writings (Arbeiten zur Geschichte des antiken Judentums und des Urchristentums 23), Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1994, p. 21. 75 Stern, Jewish Identity, p. 21. 76 Stern, Jewish Identity, pp. 14‐17. 77 Martin Goodman, Rome and Jerusalem: The Clash of Ancient Civilizations, London: Allen Lane, 2007, pp. 501‐504. 20 intensified. The many facets of this image of a king as applied to God, and the way this image can function in tannaitic Judaism is instructively laid out by Ego in her 1991 article Gottes Weltherrschaft und die Einzigkeit seines Namens in which she researches the way the image of the king for God functions within MdRI.78 Let us briefly look at the facets she discovers. A first proclamation of God as king occurs in a midrash on Exodus 14,22,79 which relates the passing through the Red Sea. Nahshon is the first that dares to pass through the sea, whereupon he almost drowns, causing God to rescue him. Upon God’s rescuing miracle of the parting of sea the whole of Israel proclaims God as king. A final proclamation by God ends the midrash: “He who was the cause of My being proclaimed king at the sea, him will I make king over Israel.”80 By making God a king, Nahshon will himself be made king: among his offspring will be David, king of Israel. The kingship of David and the kingship of God are here presented as connected, intertwined. Then in Shirata III81 in a midrash on Exodus 15,2, which relates the song at the sea, God’s incomparable highness is expounded upon. Unlike a human king, who might not even be recognizable among his fellow human beings, God the king can only be immediately recognized and honoured. Similarly, in Shirata I82 God is again compared to a human king. This human king does not deserve the praise he gets, God the king however, transcends the praise he gets. God’s kingship also has political ramifications in the Mekhilta. The nations become enraged heard [אומות העולם] as God leads Israel into their land: “As soon as the nations of the world that God was exalting the horn of Israel and was bringing them into the land, they began to tremble with rage. Said God to them: Fools that you are! How many were the kings who :and yet the Israelites did not get angry, as it is said ,[מלכים מלכו מכם] reigned among you ‘And these are the kings that reigned in the land of Edom,’ etc. (Genesis 36,31).”83 As we have seen above, in rabbinic times, Edom is a well‐known cypher for Rome. The reading, transmitting, or creation of such a text while deprived of a home country, under Roman rule, can hardly have failed to evoke the notion of the strong opposition between God’s kingly rule and Rome’s actual rule. Even so, the Mekhilta treads even more explicit grounds. A king’s proper house is a palace, and he wields his power from his seat of honour, his throne. Thus, in an account on the Temple of God, the Mekhilta makes clear that the mirror image of the earthly Temple is the heavenly house of God, with his throne, which is also mirrored.84 And thus, God’s throne is in his house, his Temple, both in heaven and on earth. This complex of God as king, the Temple as his palace, and his throne inside his Temple is further politicized in the continuation of this series of midrashim on Exodus 15,17‐18. The nations of What do they ![אומות העולם] the world are reprimanded: “Woe unto the nations of the world

78 Ego, ‘Gottes Weltherrschaft’, pp. 255‐283. In this section I am highly indebted to (besides Ego) Solomon Schechter, Aspects of Rabbinic Theology, Woodstock: Jewish Lights Publishing, 1999 [orig. 1909], pp. 46‐115. 79 Beshallach VI, Lauterbach, Mekilta de‐Rabbi Ishmael, vol. I, pp. 234‐235. 80 All passages from the Mekhilta deRabbi Ishmael use the following translation, except where noted: Jacob Z. Lauterbach, (trans. & ed.), Mekilta de‐Rabbi Ishmael: A critical edition on the basis of the manuscripts and early editions with an English translation, introduction and notes (3 vols.), Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society of America, 1933. 81 Lauterbach, Mekilta de‐Rabbi Ishmael, vol. II, pp. 24‐25. 82 Lauterbach, Mekilta de‐Rabbi Ishmael, vol. II, pp. 8‐9. 83 Shirata IX, Lauterbach, Mekilta de‐Rabbi Ishmael, vol. II, p. 71. 84 Shirata X, Lauterbach, Mekilta de‐Rabbi Ishmael, vol. II, p. 78. 21 hear with their own ears? Behold the Temple was regarded as a work by Him, and they arose and destroyed it.”85 The Temple stays the subject of the midrashim, and it is described as precious to God, more precious even than the earth. The next midrashic component of the series continues with opposing God’s rule with that of the oppressors of his people:

“The Lord shall reign. (Exodus 15,18)” When? When Thou wilt again build it [the Temple] with both Thy hands. To give a parable, to what is this to be compared? To the ,despoiled his property [לפלטין של מלך] following: Robbers entered the palace of a king והרגו פמליא של מלך ] killed the royal household and destroyed the palace of the king After some time, however, the king sat in judgment over them .[והחריבו פלטרין של מלך Some of them he imprisoned, some of them he killed, some of .[ישב עליהן המלך בדין] He then again dwelt in his palace. And .[תפש מהם הרג מהם צלב מהם] them he crucified In this sense it is .[נתודעה מלכותו בעולם] thereafter his reign was recognized in the world said: “The Sanctuary, o Lord, which Thy hands have established. The Lord shall reign for ever and ever. (Exodus 15,17)”86

The parable paints quite a grim and realistic picture. The king judges those who destroyed his property, his household, his palace. God is the king, and his household was also killed, his property and his palace destroyed. The opposition between God’s rule and the rule of those who destroyed his Temple cannot be clearer. They are polar opposites, and once God’s judgment comes, only the king will rule, his enemies being vanquished. Needless to say, the Romans ruled God’s people and destroyed his Temple. As Ego puts it: “Gottes Königsherrschaft steht in direkter Opposition zur Herrschaft Roms und ist mit ihr nicht vereinbar.”87 It is interesting then, to note that the king does use the methods of his enemies in punishing them. Crucifixion is a typical Roman punishment.88 This combination of opposition against Rome and the appropriation of its methods for God’s punishment also features in the New Testament, and at times poses heavy questions for scholars and lay readers alike. Beth Berkowitz tries to view this appropriation of the oppressive ways of the dominating not as something “perversely internalized”, but as a “potentially subversive strategy.”89 She sees it not as a mere “unexamined borrowing”, but as a shifting of the axes of power, in such texts, the Rabbis become the dominators, and the Romans the dominated. This can also be seen as a form of hidden transcript, certainly since rabbinic literature was inaccessible to the Romans, and this thus constitutes ‘offstage’ talk.90 This does not mean, however, that all is well and good now, for there also seems to be a notion of the dangers of mimicry, of becoming the Romans, in rabbinic literature.91 God’s kingly rule is furthermore connected with his war against the nations. The eradication of idolatry and its worshippers coincides with the establishment of God’s reign.92 Thus,

85 Lauterbach, Mekilta de‐Rabbi Ishmael, vol. II, p. 79. 86 Lauterbach, Mekilta de‐Rabbi Ishmael, vol. II. pp. 79‐80. 87 Ego, ‘Gottes Weltherrschaft’, p. 268. 88 Richard Horsley, ‘Jesus and Empire’, in: R. Horsley (ed.), In the Shadow of Empire: Reclaiming the Bible as a History of Faithful Resistance, Louisville/London: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008, p. 75. 89 Beth A. Berkowitz, Execution and Invention: Death Penalty Discourse in Early Rabbinic and Christian Cultures, Oxford: Oxford UP, 2006, p. 162. 90 Berkowitz, Execution and Invention, pp. 162‐163. 91 Berkowitz, Execution and Invention, p. 163. 92 Amalek II, Lauterbach, Mekilta de‐Rabbi Ishmael, vol. II, pp. 157‐159. 22

God’s kingly rule is here being connected to the removal of idolatry, and thus to the first commandment. In this context, Zachariah 14,9 is also cited: “And the Lord will become king over all the earth; on that day the Lord will be one and his name one.” This connection of God’s kingly reign to the unity of God will also be further developed in later rabbinic traditions. Thus, the reciting of the Shema will also be connected to God’s kingly rule. So Mishna Berachot 2,2: “Why does the section ‘Hear, o Israel’ precede ‘And it shall come to pass if ye shall hearken?’ So that a man may first take upon him the yoke of the kingdom of כדי שיקבל עליו עול מלכות ] heaven and afterward take upon him the yoke of the commandments 93”.[שמים תחלה ואחר כך יקבל עליו עול מצות We see here the image of the yoke connected to the image of the kingdom of heaven. These three elements of the removal of idolatry, the unity of God, and God’s kingly rule are all closely interwoven: “Die Absage an die fremden Götter und die Aufgabe des Götzendienstes ist lediglich die praktische Konsequenz aus der Tatsache der Einzigkeit Gottes.”94 Thus, the religious notion of the unity of God flows through the commandments into the rejection of idols and the destruction of idolatry, which is fulfilled in the final war of God. Politics and religion touch each other here: “Die politische Durchsetzung der Königsherrschaft Gottes dient der Anerkennung der Einzigkeit seines Namens.”95 This line of thought is furthered in later midrashim. Thus, in the notoriously hard to date Midrash Tehilim96 it says: “When shall אימתי אני מלך, ] I be king? When the exile and Esau’s kingdom cease to exist in the world In other tannaitic literature, this same connection of 97”.[כשתעבור הגלות והמלכות שלה מן העולם the yoke of heaven (God) and idolatry occurs. Thus, in SifDeut, piska 117, commenting on and ”[בלי עול] is explained both as “without yoke 98”[בליעל] Deuteronomy 15,9, “base thought as referring to idolatry, since the same term refers to idolatry in Deuteronomy 13,14 (gezera sheva). In the same document, God’s kingship is established with Abraham, as opposed to the establishment at the Red Sea in the Mekhilta: “Until Abraham came into this world, the מלך ] Holy One, blessed be He, reigned, if one dare say such a thing, only over the heavens as it is said: ‘The Lord, the God of heaven, who took me (Genesis 24,7)’; but ,[אלא על השמים when Abraham came into the world, he made Him king over both the heaven and the earth as it is said: ‘And I will make thee swear by the Lord, the God of ,[המליכו על השמים ועל הארץ] heaven and the God of the earth. (Genesis 24,3)’”99 Besides these ideas, similar to what we found in the Mekhilta, we see here a sort of reverse relation between God’s rule over Israel and the nations. Here we see that God’s rule can be dependent on human choices. Thus, the neglecting of the Torah seems to result in foreign domination: “’And didst forget God that bore thee. (Deuteronomy 32,18)’ [...] R. Nehemiah interprets it as ‘God that made you vulnerable to any (nation) in the world when you do not fulfil the Torah.’”100 A few piskaot

93 All passages from the Mishna use the following translation, except where noted: Herbert Danby (trans.), The Mishnah, Oxford: Oxford UP, 1985 [orig. 1933]. 94 Ego, ‘Gottes Weltherrschaft’, p. 274. 95 Ego, ‘Gottes Weltherrschaft’, p. 274. 96 Stemberger, Introduction, pp. 322‐323. 97 Midrash Tehilim 121,3. All passages from Midrash Tehilim use the following translation, except where noted: William G. Braude (trans.), The Midrash on Psalms (2 vols.), New Haven: Yale University Press, 1959. 98 All passages from Sifre Deuteronomy use the following translation, except where noted: Reuven Hammer, (trans.), Sifre: A Tannaitic commentary on the book of Deuteronomy, New Haven: Yale UP, 1986. 99 Piska 313. 100 Piska 319. 23 further, still building on the same theme, the fact that “Israel voided the good counsel given to them, and ‘counsel’ always means Torah” caused God to give them over to the nations. This is then made very concrete:

It once happened during the revolt in Judea that a mounted decurion pursued an Israelite in order to kill him. For a while he could not overtake him, but just as he was about to reach him, a serpent emerged and stung the Israelite on his heel. Said the Israelite to the decurion, “Do not think that because you are mighty we have been delivered into your hands, ‘Except their Rock had given them over. (Deuteronomy 32,30)’”101

The next piska takes up a host of interconnected terms, formulating very clearly the political aspect of the kingdom and its acceptance, and resulting foreign domination when the Torah or kingdom is not accepted:

“If they were wise, they would understand this, (they would discern their latter end) (Deuteronomy 32,29)”: If Israel would but look closely at the words of Torah which I לא שלטה בהם אומה ] have given them, no nation or kingdom could dominate them The word) ‘this’ always means Torah, as it is said, “And this is the Torah) .[ומלכות which Moses set (before the children of Israel) (Deuteronomy 4,44).” Another interpretation: “If they were wise, they would understand this:” If Israel would but look closely at what their father Jacob had said to them, no nation or kingdom could dominate them. What did he say to them? Accept upon yourselves the kingdom of vie with each other in fear of heaven, and act toward ,[קבלו עלי כם מלכות שמים] heaven each other with loving‐kindness.102

The term ‘yoke’ is here not used, but the terminology is precisely the same. When we look at ,(מלכות שמים) mBerachot 2,2 as quote above, the same terms are used: kingdom of heaven yourselves, only the yoke is omitted in SifDeut. To round off this brief (קבל על) receive upon overview of the kingship of God in tannaitic literature and its ramifications, two further outtakes from MdRI. First, Bachodesh V: “Rabbi says: this proclaims the excellence of Israel. For when they all stood before mount Sinai to receive the Torah they all made up their mind Here once again the 103”.[לקבל מלכות אלהים בשמחה] alike to accept the reign of God joyfully interrelation between accepting God’s kingly rule and the acceptance of his Torah is made clear. The same becomes clear in a passage from Bachodesh VI, this time also including the primacy of the forbidding of idols. The passage is a midrash on Exodus 20,3: “You shall have no other gods before me”, and concludes as follows: “What is said here: ‘I am He whose :and when they said to Him ’,[שקבלתם עליכם מלכותי] reign you have taken upon yourselves קבלתם מלכותי ] Yes, yes,’ He continued: ‘You have accepted My reign, now accept My decrees‘ Thou shalt not have other gods (Exodus 20,3).’”104‘ :[קבלו גזירותי Emerging from all this is a matrix of interrelated terms surrounding the concept of God as king. The contours of a Bildfeld centring on God as king have become clearer and clearer.

101 Piska 322. 102 Piska 323. 103 Lauterbach, Mekilta de‐Rabbi Ishmael, vol. II, p. 230. 104 Lauterbach, Mekilta de‐Rabbi Ishmael, vol. II, p. 238. 24

From the image of God as king, the step to God’s kingdom and his kingly rule is small. This is then further related to the keeping of the Torah. For when Israel accepted the Torah, they accepted God’s reign. The connection is made clear when we focus on the concept of God’s unity, which is often connected with his kingship. God’s unity speaks against idolatry, is opposed to it, and so is his Torah and its commandments. Political ramifications flow from this in two ways. On the one hand it is clear that God’s kingdom which Israel accepts on themselves (every day when saying the Shema) is irreconcilable with Roman rule. God will one day put an end to this foreign domination.105 On the other hand, precisely this domination can be seen as a consequence of Israel not accepting on themselves this yoke of the kingdom of God. Accepting or rejecting the kingdom of heaven has political consequences, one way or the other. We have already seen the image of the yoke come up in this Bildfeld in the Mishnah and SifDeut. We will now continue with treating some more texts that mention this metaphor of the yoke to look how it is placed in this Bildfeld of God’s kingly rule.

Mekhilta deRabbi Ishmael: breaking off of the yoke

In tractate Pischa of MdRI, chapter V, we see a lot of the above mentioned elements. The context is, of course, the exodus. Still in the land of Egypt, on the verge of leaving, this chapter consists of midrashim on Exodus 12,6. One important problem that is addressed is why Israel had to perform certain religious duties to be eligible for redemption from Egypt. Four virtues of Israel are being presented as to why they would be worthy. After these four virtues are extensively presented and proven to be true, the question remains: why does Israel have to perform these religious duties? The answer: “Because the Israelites in Egypt were steeped in idolatry. And the law against idolatry outweighs all other commandments in the Torah.”106 The consequences are vast:

פורק ] breaks off the yoke [ כל מצות] Just as the transgression of all the commandments and misrepresents the ,[ומפר ברית] annuls the covenant between God and Israel ,[עול so also the transgressor of this one commandment breaks off ,[ומגלה פנים בתורה] Torah the yoke, annuls the covenant between God and Israel, and misrepresents the Torah. For one .[עבודה זרה] Now what can this commandment be? The one against idolatry who worships idols breaks off the yoke, annuls the covenant, and misrepresents the Torah. And whence do we know that he who transgresses all the commandments breaks off the yoke, annuls the covenant, and misrepresents the Torah? From the scriptural passage: “That thou shouldest enter into the covenant of the Lord they God (Deuteronomy 29,11),” for “the covenant” here simply means the Torah, as it is said: “These are the words of the covenant which the Lord commanded Moses

105 Adiel Schremer points to the efforts of the Rabbis to put the exaction of vengeance solely in the hands of God: Adiel Schremer, ‘Eschatology, Violence, and Suicide: The Role of an Early Rabbinic Theme in the Middle Ages’, a paper delivered at a conference entitled “Apocalypse and Violence,” at Yale University, May 5, 2002, sections II, III, and IV. 106 Lauterbach, Mekilta de‐Rabbi Ishmael, vol. I, p. 36. 25

(Deuteronomy 28,69).” Therefore he said to them: withdraw your hands from idol worship and adhere to the commandments.107

Here we once again find a host of elements that are common to the Bildfeld we have seen emerging from the previously surveyed texts: idolatry, the yoke, the Torah, in a context of repression in and under Egypt. It is once again clear that the commandments are closely tied to the idea of the unity of God. Of all commandments the one against idolatry is the most important one, it weighs as heavy as all the other commandments together. Idolatry compromises the unity of God, and obviously this unity was not recognized by the Israelites in Egypt. They were steeped in idolatry. Although it is not made as explicit as in some of the texts we reviewed above, the connection between foreign oppression and idolatry is evident here. The Israelites need to become eligible for redemption by performing religious duties because they are severely blemished by their idolatrous behaviour. Thus, the breaking off of the yoke seems to be tied in here to the current situation of Israel: under foreign rule. This breaking off of the yoke stands in the same line as annulling the covenant which is later explained to be the Torah itself, as in this way the covenant between God and his people is given a written form. This covenant, given even physical form in the Torah, of course signifies the relationship between God and Israel. Gordon Freeman emphasizes the reciprocal character of this relationship (although he also notes a rabbinic current that is closer to a more forceful and independent view of God), God influences Israel and vice versa. When Israel does God’s will, God will act on their behalf, if Israel goes against God’s will or ignores it, God retreats or punishes Israel. Within this covenant, Israel’s acknowledgement of God’s unity by sanctifying his name is Israel’s answer to God’s choice for establishing an exclusive relationship with Israel. This acknowledgement on behalf of Israel thus also, in this reciprocal relationship, legitimizes God’s rule.108 The misrepresenting מגלה פנים of the Torah is interpreted by Jacob Lauterbach as being an abbreviated form of as it occurs in mAvot 3,11.109 This would point to a wrong exegesis of the בתורה שלא כהלכה Torah leading to faulty halakhah. Urbach agrees with this reading, specifying this wrong exegesis as expounding the Torah in “an allegorical sense.”110 Wilhelm Bacher, however, as a later שלא כהלכה does not agree with this interpretation and sees the addition of .to point to an impudent way of treating the Torah מגלה פנים בתורה development. He takes not yet having the meaning of the possible ways in פנים to reveal,’ and‘ ,גלה coming from מגלה then comes to mean “with מגלה פנים ,גלוי פנים which a biblical text can be explained. Similar to ,against the Torah.111 Both interpretations ,בתורה .a free countenance.” Impudent, audacious however, result in the meaning of not treating the Torah as it should be treated, a grave violation in this context. Thus, although the ‘breaking off of the yoke’ here is not explicitly tied to a political circumstance, it is clear that it is used in a well‐known matrix of terms and concepts.

107 Lauterbach, Mekilta de‐Rabbi Ishmael, vol. I, pp. 37‐38. 108 Gordon M. Freeman, The Heavenly Kingdom: Aspects of Political Thought in the Talmud and Midrash, Lanham: University Press of America, 1986, pp. 74‐100 109 Lauterbach, Mekilta de‐Rabbi Ishmael, vol. I, p. 37, n. 10. 110 Ephraim E. Urbach, The Sages: Their Concepts and Beliefs – Vol. 1 (trans.: I. Abrahams), Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1975, p. 296. 111 Wilhelm Bacher, Die exegetische Terminologie der jüdischen Traditionsliteratur – Vol. 1, Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1905, pp. 149‐151. 26

Idolatry, repression by another people, the commandments, the relationship between God and his people as captured in the covenant, the yoke. It is hard to imagine that when such a text is read while living under Roman rule, the reader is not for a moment reminded of his current situation under foreign rule.

Mekhilta deRabbi Simon bar Yochai: yoke of the Torah and yoke of kingdoms

Chapter 51 of this Mekhilta is concerned with interpreting Exodus 19,18: “Now Mount Sinai was all in smoke, for the Lord had come down upon it in fire. The smoke rose like the smoke of a kiln, and the whole mountain trembled violently.” This is connected with a text from Ezekiel, which reads: “I will set my face against them. They escaped from fire, but fire shall consume them.” (15,7) Combined, this yields the following interpretation:

which ,[כל המקבל עליו עול תורה] Anyone who accepts upon himself the yoke of the Torah ,[פורקיו ממנו עול מלכיות] is compared to fire, removes from himself the yoke of kingdoms which are compared to fire. And anyone who removes from himself the yoke of the which is compared to fire, places upon himself the yoke ,[וכל הפורק ממנו עול תורה] Torah which are compared to fire.112 ,[נותנין עליו עול מלכיות] of kingdoms

The account of the giving of the Torah on Sinai as being accompanied by fire in Exodus 19,18 gives rise to comparing the Torah with fire, as happens in both Mekhiltas in interpreting this verse. Thus, MdRSY in the same chapter 51: “Concerning fire, Scripture teaches that the words of Torah are compared to fire.” And MdRI: “’Because the Lord descended upon it in fire.’ This tells that the Torah is fire, was given from the midst of fire, and is comparable to fire.”113 The Torah is here connected with kingdom language of the yoke, and the consequence of removing this yoke: the yoke of kingdoms, the yoke of foreign rule. The political connotations of the term yoke are all too clear in this text. That the text might point to a very real political reality is indicated by the comparison of “the kingdoms” with fire. There seems to be no solely exegetical reason for this equation, which is present for the comparison between fire and Torah (Exodus 19,18 would seem to me reason enough). That Ezekiel 15,7 is read as referring to the “yoke of kingdoms” however, is not self‐evident. A reason might be the Roman practice of the burning of cities,114 giving a very real and political incentive for this exegesis.

112 All passages from the Mekhilta deRabbi Simon bar Yochai use the following translation, except where noted: David W. Nelson, (trans. & ed.), Mekhilta de‐rabbi Shimon bar Yohai, Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society, 2006. 113 Bachodesh IV, Lauterbach, Mekilta de‐Rabbi Ishmael, vol. II, p. 220. 114 Esler, ‘Rome in Apocalyptic and Rabbinic Literature’, p. 12. See also the burning of a city by a king in a New Testament parable, where this imperial image is appropriated for God: Matthew 22,7. 27

Mishna Avot: the yoke of the Torah, the kingdom, and the way of the world

Mishna Avot 3,5 gives us the following saying:

Rabbi Nehunya ben HaKanah115 said: He that takes upon himself the yoke of the Torah, from him shall be taken away the yoke of the kingdom, and the yoke of the way of the world; but he that throws off the yoke of the Torah, upon him shall be laid the yoke of כל־המקבל עליו עול תורה מעטירין ממנו ] the kingdom and the yoke of the way of the world 116.[עול מלכות ועול דרך ארץ וכל הפורק ממנו עול תורה נותנין עליו עול מלכות ועול דרך ארץ

עול דרך Most of the terms used are terms we have already seen in different contexts. The term literally דרך ארץ .is worth illuminating, if possible, since we have not yet encountered it ארץ means: “way of the world.” It is already used throughout the Hebrew Bible, there to denote sexual behaviour. It also occurs throughout all strands of rabbinic literature: tannaitic, amoraic, aggadic, halakhic. In searching for the meaning of the term, Max Kadushin arrives at the idea that the term is most often used with an ethical significance, although the term can be and is “applied to whatever is typical or characteristic of man.”117 Similarly in respect to the broadness of the term, Shmuel Safrai comes to the conclusion that the primary meaning of the term is to be found in the ‘right way of living’ that man has to follow, even though the particular meanings of the term may vary from work, earning one’s livelihood, to etiquette or sexual behaviour.118 Marcus van Loopik comes to a similar insight: “The term ‘derekh ̉eretz’ refers to social and civil conduct resting in universal human insights.”119 The most probable meaning here would be in the area of work and the earning of one’s livelihood, which could be seen a yoke that is heavy to bear. This term then, seems devoid of any political significance. This, however, does not negate the obvious political flavour of the ,which seems to once again address the point of the opposition between God’s rule ,עול מלכות and the rule of (foreign) kingdoms. One can only bear one of these עול תורה through his yokes, the other one will be cast off. This line of thought is also followed in Avot deRabbi Nathan, where it is stated after this mishna:

[וכל שאינו נותן דברי תורה על לבו] But he who does not take to heart the words of the Torah is given over to many preoccupations – preoccupations with hunger, foolish preoccupations, unchaste preoccupations, preoccupations with the evil impulse, preoccupations with an evil wife, idle preoccupations, preoccupations with the yoke of For thus is it written in Deuteronomy by Moses our .[הרהורי עול בשר ודם] flesh and blood master: “They shall be among you and your descendants as a sign and a portent for

115 A Rabbi who lived in the first and second centuries CE: Jacob Neusner (ed.), Dictionary of Ancient Rabbis: Selections from The Jewish Encyclopaedia, Peabody: Hendrickson Publishers, 2003, p. 322. See also: Wilhelm Bacher, Die Agada der Tannaiten ‐ Erster Band, Straßburg: Verlag von Karl J. Trübner, 1903, pp. 54‐56. 116 Translation: Danby, adapted. 117 Max Kadushin, Organic Thinking: A Study in Rabbinic Thought, New York: Bloch Publishing Company, 1976, p. 118. 118 Shmuel Safrai, ‘De betekenis van de term ‘derech erets’ in de rabbijnse literatuur’, in: Ido Abram et al. (eds.), Tora met Hart en Ziel: artikelen aangeboden aan Yehuda Aschkenasy bij zijn 65e verjaardag, Hilversum: Gooi en Sticht, 1989, p. 274. 119 Marcus van Loopik, The Ways of the Sages and the Way of the World, Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr, 1991, p. 4. 28

ever. Because you did not serve the Lord your God joyfully and with gladness of heart for the abundance of everything, therefore you shall serve your enemies whom the Lord will send against you, in hunger and thirst, in nakedness and lack of everything. ונתן על ברזל על־צוארך .He will put an iron yoke on your neck until he has destroyed you] Deuteronomy 28,46‐48)”120) [עד השמידו אתך

seem to be worked out in the many עול מלכות and the עול דרך ארץ Here both the “preoccupations” listed. The political ramifications of not ‘taking to heart’ the words of the Torah – not taking upon oneself the yoke of the Torah – are very clear from the proof‐text, Deuteronomy 28,46‐48. This text makes explicit the political consequences: God will send enemies against the people of Israel, brought to life by the metaphor of the yoke. It is worth noting that in the text from Avot, the subject of the taking upon himself and casting off of the yoke and their consequences is an individual121 (as opposed, for example, to the notion of the breaking of the covenant in MdRI, obviously related to the people as a whole), a development also present in the text of MdRSY, although that texts stands in the context of the communal receiving of the Torah in fire, which makes it retain some of its non‐ individual flavour. In the text from Avot, however, the individual seems to be in full view. What this taking away of the yoke of the kingdom from the individual as consequence of an individual taking upon oneself of the yoke of the Torah could mean in practice is something we will further delve into in the section dealing with Matthew 11,28‐30. For now, it suffices to note that this text from Avot with its centring on the individual that takes up a yoke, is an interesting parallel to Matthew 11.

Conclusions

From this brief survey of occurrences of the word yoke in political contexts in tannaitic literature, we can draw our conclusion on a possible Bildfeld in rabbinic literature. This Bildfeld has strong political connotations, and seems to have been used in this politically charged way. A foundation for this Bildfeld is the metaphor of God as king. Consequently, God has a kingdom and rules over a people. This people is Israel, who accepted his reign by taking up his commandments, specifically by acknowledging his unity, and denying all other (divine) rulers by the removal of idolatry. The yoke also figures in this Bildfeld. Either being the yoke of God, heaven, the Torah, and when taken up removing this other yoke, the yoke of the kingdoms. The yoke of God is diametrically opposed to the yoke of the kingdoms. When we place these texts in the contexts of their time of writing/redaction, it seems hardly possible to envision a reading unconcerned with their then current oppressors: the Romans. Besides those texts in which the reference to Roman rule seems more explicit (mentionings of the destruction of the Temple, of crucifixion, and also, slightly more ‘hidden’, of Edom/Esau), the plausibility of seeing those texts who merely enter our Bildfeld as referring to this oppressive reality is severely heightened. This reality is then seen from two sides. On

120 ARN‐A 20. All passages from Avot deRabbi Natan A use the following translation, except where noted: Judah Goldin (trans.), The Fathers According to Rabbi Nathan (Yale Judaica 10), New Haven: Yale UP, 1967 [orig. 1955]. The citation of Deuteronomy follows the NRSV. 121 Thanks to Prof. Dr. Annette Merz for pointing this out. 29 the one hand oppression can be seen as divine punishment. On the other hand this oppression will also be removed when Israel takes upon herself the divine yoke. As Freeman states: “The logic of a defeated people at the hand of the Romans implies that Israel is rejected by God. However, the people’s own historical experience that God punished Egyptian oppressors on Israel’s account should encourage them that he would also punish her Roman oppressors. Because Israel is loyal to God, he will exact punishment from those who oppress her.”122

122 Freeman, The Heavenly Kingdom, p. 101. 30

VII. THE YOKE RITUAL OF THE ROMANS

In this section we will survey some texts by (mainly) Roman historians to get a clear picture of what the ritual of the yoke signified. We will do this by first introducing the context of one of the most famous occurrences of this ritual, in the Second Samnite War. After this we will treat several Roman historians by briefly introducing them and then moving on to their mentionings of the yoke ritual besides that in the Second Samnite War, to conclude with each historian by treating the yoke ritual as described by them in the context of the Second Samnite War. After treating the Roman writers, we will engage with secondary literature on this subject and will finally draw our conclusions.

The Second Samnite War: introduction

Here, I will give a brief overview of the Second Samnite War (326 – 304 BCE), in which the Samnites and the Romans fought in Italy, in so far as it is relevant for our topic, up to and including the event we will look at in different authors: the peace at the Caudine Forks in 321. Our main source in reconstructing this war is Livy. Diodorus Siculus offers some details not recounted by Livy.123 But beside him there are many others who supply material similar to Livy, such as Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Cassius Dio, Appian, Pliny the Elder, and others. This similarity in material is most probably due to the use of the same source material: the (mainly lost) writings of the so‐called Younger Annalists from the first century BCE, such as Valerius Antias, Licinius Macer and Claudius Quadrigarius, mentioned by Livy as a source for his writing. Not much is known about these Annalists, or about their sources: the Older Annalists. An increasing amount of (fictive) elaboration and empty rhetoric is sometimes assumed moving from the older writers to the younger, yet the evidence seems to be too meagre to draw definite conclusions.124 The difficulties in reconstructing this history are many, yet most are irrelevant for our topic. Our modest aim is to become acquainted with the ritual of sending a group of opponents under the yoke, not to endeavour in the precarious undertaking of writing a reliable history of the Second Samnite war. What is important to note, however, is that all sources we have concerning this war are Roman. We necessarily see every event through these Roman eyes. An honourable victory is likely to be exaggerated, and a shameful loss is likely to be mitigated in some way. This should certainly be kept in mind when reading Dionysius, Livy, and Dio, as we shall do shortly. What is worth noting, in this respect, is the fact that even though we read through Roman eyes, a shameful event such as the defeat of the Romans after a few years of the Second Samnite War is recounted. This must have been because it

123 For a brief and complete discussion of the main sources for reconstructing the Second Samnite War, see Edward T. Salmon, Samnium and the Samnites, Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1967, pp. 7‐11. 124 The assumption that an increased length of an account compared to its source must be coupled with an invention of ‘facts’ seems unnecessary as well. For a discussion of this problem, see Tim J. Cornell, ‘The Formation of the Historical Tradition of Early Rome’, in: Ian S. Moxon & J.D. Smart & Anthony J. Woodman (eds.), Past Perspectives: Studies in Greek and Roman Historical Writing, Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1986, pp. 67‐86, esp. 76‐81. 31 simply could not be denied to have happened. That some sort of mitigation, at times, follows immediately only serves to underscore this point.125 The Second Samnite War had, according to Edward Salmon, two main causes. The first was the tendency of both the Roman and the Samnite nation to expand. Both worked to enlarge their territory, and the Romans aimed at containing their rival, and succeeded by encircling the Samnites using diplomatic means. Most probably the Samnites had similar aspirations, even though our pro‐Roman sources do not mention specifics. The second cause can be seen as the immediate cause, namely the dispatching of a Latin Colony to Fregellae in the south of Italy by the Romans in 328. By acquiring this territory, the Roman economy received an enormous boost, gaining control of a region “with industrial enterprises and commercial connexions, [which] must have had a revolutionary effect on the economy of the Roman state.”126 The Samnites reacted by ensuring continuing influence in the south. This incited the Romans to send troops there, and using military pressure and trickery, they ensured themselves of complete control of Naples at the end of 326. Five years of border wars between the two opponents ensued until the Roman army was brought to their knees in 321. Livy connects this fateful event to a Samnite peace offering which is met with an arrogant rejection by the Romans in 322.127 Due to this Roman arrogance, the gods are with the Samnites, as Livy makes the Samnite captain‐general Gaius Pontius say: “But if human law leaves no rights which the weak share with the stronger, I can still fly to the gods, the avengers of intolerable tyranny, and I will pray them to turn their wrath against those for whom it is not enough to have their own restored to them [...].” “[I]f in your former wars you were fighting against the gods even more than against men, in this war which is impending you will have the gods themselves to lead you.”128 In 321 the Roman army invades Samnium. A fatal error, however, is made by leading the army through a narrow pass. The end of the pass toward Caudium is blocked by the Samnites, and once the Roman army is moving within the pass, the entry is also blocked. The Romans are ambushed, and eventually they surrender. This is the Roman defeat at the Caudine Forks, and this is what forced the Romans to agree with the demands of the Samnites when signing the Caudine Peace.

Dionysius of Halicarnassus (60 – post 7 BCE): introduction

Very few biographical facts are known to us about Dionysius of Halicarnassus. All that we do know is gleaned from the sparse remarks in his Roman Antiquities. He is a native of Halicarnassus, a Greek city in Asia Minor, and went to Rome, Italy at the end of the civil war in 30/29 BCE. There, he learned Latin, and spent twenty‐two years preparing his historical work. Dionysius is the writer of several rhetorical works, some letters of him survive, but his largest and best known work is his Ρωμαικης Αρχαιολογιας.

125 The same point is made by Cornell when describing the view of scholars before him, who had a more critical view of the Roman historians: Cornell, ‘The Formation’, p. 74. 126 Salmon, Samnium and the Samnites, p. 216. 127 Livy, Ab Urbe Condita, book VIII, 39; IX, 1. 128 Livy, Ab Urbe Condita, book IX, 1. All passages from Livy use the following translation, except where noted: Benjamin O. Foster (trans.), Livy (14 vols.) (Loeb Classical Library), Cambridge: Harvard UP/London: William Heinemann, 1976 [orig. 1919]. 32

His Roman Antiquities, published in 7 BCE, recounts the history of Rome, starting in pre‐ Roman times: “I begin my history, then, with the most ancient legends, which the historians before me have omitted as a subject difficult to be cleared up with diligent study.”129 He ends with the beginning of the First Punic War. The first nine of the twenty books which comprised this work have survived, the tenth and eleventh came to us partially, and of the rest we only possess fragments. This work is often criticised for its unreliable nature due to the primacy and importance of rhetoric, instead of history. Thus, in a classic essay, Eduard Schwartz writes: “Schon die Wahl des von der Gegenwart weit abliegenden Themas zeigt, daß das Werk der in speziellem Sinne rhetorischen Geschichtschreibung angehört, derjenigen nämlich, welcher die Redekunst nicht bloß als ein Kunstmittel neben anderen gilt, sondern umgekehrt der historische Stoff nichts weiter ist als ein Objekt, an welchem diese Kunst gezeigt und dokumentiert wird [...].”130 More recent scholarship judges more favourably, however. Matthew Fox emphasizes that “it is also abundantly clear that rhetoric means educated discourse, language consciously controlled to a particularly appropriate end.”131 He describes Dionysius’ work as a writing driven by the proclamation of virtues, gleaned from the past, and to be displayed by the Romans in the present and the future. This glorious virtuous past is rooted in Rome’s Greek past. Dionysius writes a story of continuation between Greeks and Romans, “[i]l vit aussi entre deux mondes, la Grèce et Rome, Rome et la Grèce, et entre eux il ne va cesser de tisser des liens.”132 In writing this story, he carefully chooses his subjects, for they reflect the character of the writer, and furthermore they are to be instructive to his readers, making them virtuous. Also, he imitates writers of the past (μίμησις), transmitting their virtues. These ways of writing together help perpetuate a stream of virtue: “Associée à l’idéal de μίμησις, la relecture du passé permet de tracer la voie pour un avenir meilleur: tel est le souhait ambitieux inscrit par Denys dans son projet historiographique.”133 Where needed, however, Dionysius is not afraid to voice criticisms against the writers of the past. Thus, he judges as offensive Thucydides’ way of writing speeches. These speeches, orated by their own ancestors, put words in their mouths that were far from virtuous. This goes against the grain of what Dionysius represents: “The historian should, with speeches, concern himself with portraying a coherent image, an image that matches not only the particular occasion described but also the overall ideal handed down by tradition.”134

129 Dionysius, Roman Antiquities, book I, 8. All passages from Dionysius of Halicarnassus use the following translation, except where noted: Earnest Cary (trans.), The Roman Antiquities of Dionysius of Halicarnassus (7 vols.) (Loeb Classical Library), Cambridge: Harvard UP/London: William Heinemann, 1968 [orig. 1937]. 130 Eduard Schwartz, ‘Dionysios von Halikarnassos’, in: E. Schwartz, Griechische Geschichtschreiber, Leipzig: Koehler & Amelang, 1959, p. 319 = E. Schwartz, ‘Dionysios von Halikarnassos’, in: Georg Wissowa et al. (eds.), Paulys Realencyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft: Bd. V.9/10 (Neue bearbeitung) (of 84 vols.), Stuttgart: Alfred Druckenmüller Verlag, 1890‐1980, p. 934. 131 Matthew Fox, ‘History and Rhetoric in Dionysius of Halicarnassus’, The Journal of Roman Studies 83, 1993, pp. 31‐47, p. 47. 132 Anouk Delcourt, Lecture des Antiquités romaines de Denys d’Halicarnasse: Un historien entre deux mondes, Louvain‐ la‐Neuve: Académie Royale Belgique, 2005, p. 105. See pp. 36‐38, 105ff. Cf. Schwartz, ‘Dionysios von Halikarnassos’, 1959, p. 319 = Schwartz, ‘Dionysios von Halikarnassos’, Pauly, p. 934: “Die überaus klägliche Ausführung des Gedankens einer griechisch‐römischen οἰκουμένη [...].” 133 Delcourt, Lecture des Antiquités romaines, p. 47. See also Fox, ‘History and Rhetoric’, pp. 38‐42. 134 Emilio Gabba, Dionysius and The History of Archaic Rome (Sather Classical Lectures 56), Berkeley et al.: University of California Press, 1991, pp. 67‐69, citation on p. 69. 33

So, his method of writing, his use of rhetoric, and his idea of an overarching story come together, this is his view of history. “For Dionysius history is a source of political and moral inspiration, and its aesthetic effect empowers its utility.”135 This more positive view on his historiography gives full attention to the preconditions for the particular way in which Dionysius arrives at his truth. This does away with harsh and destructive criticism, and gives way to an appreciation of Dionysius’ work within his own cultural context. For our undertaking it is enough to keep in mind Dionysius’ general aims as described above: the historicity of the event we will look at is not in doubt, as discussed above.136

Dionysius of Halicarnassus: yoke ritual explanation

The most elaborate description of the ritual of the passing under the yoke in Dionysius’ work is given in book III of his Roman Antiquities. There, he relates the story of six men, two groups of three brothers, whose mothers were twin sisters. They come to face each other in battle, the three Horatian brothers fighting for the Roman honour, the three Curiatius brothers fighting for the Alban honour. Eventually, five of them are slain, and only one brother remains, the Roman Horatius (Book III 13‐20). Upon arriving at the city his sister runs out towards him together with the crowd. Her brother looks at her with “honourable and generous [ἐπιεικεῖς καὶ φιλανθρώπους]” feelings, even though she disregards her decorum (εὐσχημόνων). It appears, however, that she does not come to congratulate her brother or mourn her other two brothers that died in battle. Rather, she is heavily upset by the death of one of her nephews, to whom she was promised by her father. She lashes out at her brother for rejoicing in the death of his cousins: “Of what wild beast, then, have you the heart?” Her brother reacts by making clear that the defence of their city and the slaying of their brothers should be her first concern, and in his anger “he ran his sword through her side.” (Book III 21, 1‐7) This does not remain without consequences. The king of the Romans is asked to judge Horatius, who is brought before him by “some citizens of importance [τῶν πολιτῶν ἄνδρες οὐκ ἀφανεῖς].” The claim pressed against Horatius is that he killed his sister, a kinsman, and this without a trial. This was forbidden by law, and instances were recounted where the gods unleashed their anger against those “cities which neglected to punish those who were polluted [ταῖς μὴ κολαζούσαις πόλεσι τοὺς ἐναγεῖς διεξιόντες].” Horatius’ father, however, defends his son, claiming the right to judge his own family, and declaring his son’s act a punishment, not murder (τιμωρίαν οὐ φόνον). The king is indecisive. On the one hand he does not want to let a murderer go unpunished and risk transferring “the curse and pollution from the criminal to his own household [ἵνα μὴ τὴν ἀρὰν καὶ τὸ ἄγος ἀπὸ τοῦ δεδρακότος εἰς τὸν ἴδιον οἶκον εἰσενέγκηται].” On the other hand he did not want to punish a man who fought for his country, and who was acquitted of the blame by his father to whom the right belongs to take vengeance in the case of his daughter. Thus, he leaves the judgment to the Roman people. They take the side of the father and acquit Horatius of the murder. However, the king takes some measures to assure that “those

135 Matthew Fox, ‘Dionysius, Lucian, and the Prejudice against Rhetoric in History’, The Journal of Roman Studies 91, 2001, p. 90. 136 See the discussion under ‘The Second Samnite War: introduction’. 34 who desired to observe due reverence toward the gods [τοῖς βουλομένοις τὰ πρὸς τοὺς θεοὺς ὅσια φυλάττειν]”are satisfied. Horatius is purified (καθῆραι) with lustrations which serve to expiate (ἁγνίζεσθαι καθαρμοῖς) for involuntary homicides. Next, sacrifices are made on two altars, “one to Juno, to whom the care of sisters is allotted,” and the other to a lesser god. Then, “they finally, among other expiations, led Horatius under the yoke [τοῖς τε ἄλλοις καθαρμοῖς ἐχρήσαντο καὶ τελευτῶντες ὑπήγαγον τὸν Ὁράτιον ὑπὸ ζυγόν].” Where this ritual comes from is explained next, and it is worth quoting this at length:

It is customary among the Romans, when enemies deliver up their arms and submit to their power [παραδιδόντων τὰ ὅπλα γένωνται κύριοι], to fix two pieces of wood upright in the ground and fasten a third to the top of them transversely, then to lead the captives under this structure [ὑπάγειν τοὺς αἰχμαλώτους ὑπὸ ταῦτα], and after they have passed through, to grant them their liberty and leave to return home [καὶ διελθόντας ἀπολύειν ἐλευθέρους ἐπὶ τὰ σφέτερα.]. This they call a yoke [ζυγόν]; and it was the last of the customary expiatory ceremonies [τοὺς καθαρμοὺς νομίμων] used upon this occasion by those who purified [οἱ καθαίροντες] Horatius. (Book III 22, 7)

1. Dionysius seems to emphasize the liberating nature of this ritual. In the story of Horatius, it is clear that the passing under the yoke is one of the rituals performed to effect expiation, cleansing, purification (καθαρμός). The motivation for this seems to be twofold: First, in order to show reverence (ὅσιος) to the gods. Second, in order to prevent pollution, guilt (ἄγος) and curse (ἀρά) to spread to the king’s household. Consequently, in the reference to the ritual as used in times of war, the emphasis is on the liberating nature of the yoke. The submitting to the power of the Romans is mentioned, yet the effect of the ritual is expounded here in terms of liberation. It is worth looking more closely at this liberating aspect of the ritual. Even from this brief account of the ritual it is clear that this liberty does not consist of total freedom. This liberty is to be qualified. First, of course, we have the comment that this ritual only takes place “when enemies deliver up their arms and submit to their power [ὅταν πολεμίων παραδιδόντων τὰ ὅπλα γένωνται κύριοι].” A tension seems to exist with this submitting and the liberty that is received. Second, however, it is illuminating to realize what this liberty consisted of. In ancient Italy, there were different ways of dealing with the losing party of a war. In the case of the conquering of a territory, such harsh measures as putting to death citizens of the captured area or enslaving them were not practised. Dionysius places the origin of this mild behaviour in the mythical beginnings of Rome, with Romulus:

There was yet a third policy of Romulus, which the Greeks ought to have practised above all others, it being, in my opinion, the best of all political measures, as it laid the most solid foundation for the liberty of the Romans and was no slight factor in raising them to their position of supremacy. It was this: not to slay all the men of military age or to enslave the rest of the population of the cities captured in war or to allow their land to go back to pasturage for sheep, but rather to send settlers thither to possess some part of the country by lot and to make the conquered cities Roman colonies, and even to grant citizenship to some of them. (Book II 16, 1)

It was different, however, when an opposing army surrendered, forced by encroaching defeat. And all the more when military defeat was already there. The victors had three ways of dealing with them. A first option was quite final, they might simply put them to death. If they were not put to death, the second option of keeping them alive and enslaving them, was practised most often. The third option was to let them go free (mostly after agreeing to certain conditions set by the victors). 137 This last option thus cannot be described as some form of total, unconditional freedom. This is perhaps more aptly described as a freedom from death and enslavement. They are allowed to “return home”, to return to τὰ σφέτερα, themselves, their people, their own property.138 2. An aspect not mentioned here, which must undeniably have been an effect of this ritual, both in the case of Horatius, and even more so in the ritual is used after was, is the aspect of shame. In a culture where honour and shame are of such a huge importance,139 surrendering to an enemy, delivering up your arms, and submitting to the power of the enemy must without a doubt have been painfully shameful. The public ritual sealing all this, making this submitting a reality, therefore must have been the most utterly shameful moment of the whole process. Illustrative is also the opposite of this ritual, the processions of triumph engaged in after the winning of a war. The resulting “system of battle honours stimulates not only those who see them awarded [...] but also those who remain at home. Those who win them become famous, take the places of honour in processions when they return home, and put up their spoils in conspicuous places in their houses.”140 3. There is, of course, a religious aspect to this all. Below, it will be argued that the significance of the yoke ritual as used in times of war and this Horatian ritual need to be separated, a distinction needs to be made. But even when we ignore the ritual Horatius undergoes with its obvious religious connotations, the religious aspect prevails. First off, it is important to note that, in these ancient times, religion was not sharply demarcated from other spheres of the lived world, as it feels natural to us, inhabitants of a 21st century Western world. We could say this in another way: it would be strange if elements of what we would now call religion would not play a role in this yoke ritual. The more explicit religious connotations are worth mentioning, however.141 Again, it is illustrative to look at the opposite of losing a battle: winning one. The resulting displays of triumph were accompanied by “act[s] of devotion and thanksgiving offered by the community to the gods who protected the city domi and manifested their good will militiae by giving courage, strength, and victory – in a word felicitas – to Roman armies.”142 The triumph of the victors bestowed honour and praise upon both man and gods. This was no more than normal, for the preservation of the pax deum by the appeasing and genuine thanking of the gods was an

137 Coleman Phillipson, The International Law and Custom of Ancient Greece and Rome – Vol. 2, London: Macmillan and co., 1911, p. 253‐256. 138 See Liddell‐Scott, s.v. ‘σφέτερος’. 139 See Jon E. Lendon, Empire of Honour: The Art of Government in the Roman World, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997. Peter D.A. Garnsey & Richard Saller, The Roman Empire: Economy, Society and Culture, London: Duckworth, 1987, p. 118: “A Roman’s status was based on the social estimation of his honour, the perception of those around him as to his prestige.” 140 William V. Harris, War and Imperialism in Republican Rome, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1979, p. 43. 141 See also Livy’s recounting of Pontius’ statement concerning the involvement of gods in human wars. 142 Miriam R.P. Pittenger, Contested Triumphs: Politics, Pageantry, and Performance in Livy’s Republican Rome, Berkeley et al.: University of California Press, 2008, p. 292. Italics hers. 36 integral part of Roman society.143 The losing of a battle, then, and its acknowledgement in a deep moment of shame under the yoke, must have had an undeniable religious component. Moreover, note has to be taken of the ritual of evocatio. This is a ritual “through which a Roman general offered to the patron deity of the enemy a better form of worship in Rome if the deity consented to cross to the Roman side [...].”144 Alternatively, but not less shameful, was the display of victory over (a) god(s), instead of just over man. Such is displayed in the triumphal celebrations after the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem. During these processions, the most sacred objects from the Temple were displayed, including a Torah scroll. “There could not be a clearer demonstration that the conquest was being celebrated not just over Judaea but over Judaism.”145 As we will see, however, the notion of a religious element remains highly implicit in most occurrences of the yoke ritual in Roman literature. Therefore, it seems advisable to concentrate on the two first elements, mentioned above, which obviously form the defining components of our ritual. Thus, we will continue to talk of the main two elements of the ritual.

Dionysius of Halicarnassus: yoke ritual in Second Samnite War

Dionysius is one of the historians who tell of Second Samnite War. His account of the defeat of the Roman army at the Caudine Forks and the subsequent passing under the yoke of the Roman army is preserved in a fragment of book XVI. The mentioning of the passing under the yoke is brief, and immediately counterbalanced by a Roman retaliation. Dionysius relates the ambush of the Samnites, the Romans being stuck in the narrow pass, “from which escape was impossible.” (Book XVI 1,4) They only surrendered when they were about to starve to death. 40,000 soldiers admitted defeat “and leaving behind their arms and effects, they all passed under the yoke, which is a token that men have come under the power of others [καὶ καταλείψαντες τά τε ὅπλα καὶ τὰ χρήματα τὸν ζυγὸν ἅπαντες ὑπῆλθον∙ τοῦτο δὲ σημεῖον τῶν ὑπὸ χεῖρας ἐλθόντων ἐστί].” This shameful event is immediately countered with a defeat of the Samnites which Salmon judges to be “utterly incredible”146 (when evaluating Livy’s version of this event): “But not long afterwards Pontius also suffered the same fate at the hands of the Romans, when both he himself and those with him passed under the yoke [καὶ τὸν ζυγὸν ὑπῆλθον καὶ αὐτὸς καὶ οἱ σὺν αὐτῷ].” The same two elements present in the yoke ritual of book III can be discerned in this brief mentioning as well. First, we have the qualified liberation. In order to avoid death, the Romans surrender themselves (παρέδωκαν ἑαυτοὺς), leave their weapons and property behind (καταλείψαντες τά τε ὅπλα καὶ τὰ χρήματα), and pass under the yoke (τὸν ζυγὸν [...] ὑπῆλθον). This frees them from death, as explicit in the text, and from slavery as well (not explicitly mentioned). We can see here very clearly how qualified this freedom was, for a word with that meaning is not even used. Only escaping death is mentioned, and most importantly, the coming “under the power of others [τῶν ὑπὸ χεῖρας ἐλθόντων].”

143 Pittenger, Contested Triumphs, p. 268. See also Robert Payne, The Roman Triumph, London: Robert Hale Limited, 1962, p. 170. 144 Goodman, Rome and Jerusalem, p. 452. 145 Goodman, Rome and Jerusalem, p. 453. 146 Salmon, Samnium and the Samnites, p. 229. 37

The liberating nature is thus deemphasized, only to make clear that the Romans soon retaliated, and made the Samnites undergo the same. The same shame, we may add. This second element is, again, not made explicit. Yet the surrendering, stripping of arms, and the public passing under the yoke must have been shameful indeed.

Titus Livius (c. 59 BCE – 17 CE): introduction

Livy was born in 59 BCE in Patavium (Padua) in northern Italy. He wrote numerous works, but only his Ab Urbe Condita Libri survives: a history of Rome (“a complete history of the Roman people from the very commencement of its existence”147) consisting of 142 books of which 35 survive virtually completely, along with fragments and summaries of some of the other books. As described above, Livy probably used the Young Annalists as sources for his work. We need not go into the discussion on the reliability of his historical work since our undertaking pertains to the Caudine Peace.148 Livy’s aims and motivations in writing Ab Urbe Condita Libri are set out in his preface. Livy appears to be mainly interested in the character the leading men he writes about possessed, rather than political power play. He is a “non‐political moralist.”149 His love for high moral standards makes him long for the years long gone by, when Rome was still worth being imitated:

There is this exceptionally beneficial and fruitful advantage to be derived from the study of the past, that you see, set in the clear light of historical truth, examples of every possible type. From these you may select for yourself and your country what to imitate [imitere], and also what, as being mischievous in its inception and disastrous in its issues, you are to avoid. Unless, however, I am misled by affection for my undertaking, there has never existed any commonwealth greater in power, with a purer morality, or more fertile in good examples [...].150

Thus, one can describe Livy as thinking “of history in general and particular (that is, his book) as a medicine for the state”151 which was suffering from a moral decline.

Livy: yoke ritual explanation

Just as Dionysius, Livy also relates the story of Horatius’ murder and his expiation (book I 26). He does not, however, connect the ritual Horatius underwent as closely to the yoke ritual as Dionysius does. Livy writes: “After offering certain expiatory sacrifices he erected a beam across the street [transmisso per viam tigillo] and made the young man pass under it, as under a yoke [velut sub iugum misit iuvenem], with his head covered. This beam exists to‐day, having always been kept in repair by the State: it is called ‘The Sisterʹs Beam

147 Livy, Ab Urbe Condita, preface. 148 See the discussion under ‘The Second Samnite War: introduction’. 149 Patrick G. Walsh, Livy (Greece & Rome: New Surveys in the Classics 8), Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1974, p. 11. 150 Livy, Ab Urbe Condita, preface. 151 Christina S. Kraus & Anthony J. Woodman, Latin Historians (Greece & Rome: New Surveys in the Classics 27), Oxford: Oxford UP, 1997, p. 55. 38

[sororium tigillum].’” A comparison seems to be made to the yoke ritual, but the intimate (genealogical?) connection is absent. The word used for the beam, ‘tigillum’, is not the word used for the yoke in the yoke ritual, ‘iugum’.152 A first main indication of the significance of the yoke ritual as used in times of war is to be found in the third book, where Livy relates the struggles between the Aequi and the Romans in the fifth and fourth centuries. In 458 BCE, the Romans defeat the Aequi under the Roman dictator Cincinnatus and the consul Minucius. Thereupon the Aequi plead for their lives, that they might be set free, “not to make the victory a massacre, but to take their arms and let them go [ut inermes se inde abire sinerent].” The consul gives them over to the dictator, “who in his anger added ignomy [ignominiam] to their surrender.”

He said that he did not require the blood of the Aequi; they might go [licere abire]; but, that they might at last be forced to confess that their nation had been defeated and subdued [sed ut exprimatur tandem confessio subactam domitamque esse gentem], they should pass beneath the yoke as they departed [sub iugum abituros]. A yoke was fashioned of three spears, two being fixed in the ground, and the third laid across them and made fast. Under this yoke the dictator sent the Aequi [sub hoc iugum dictator Aequos misit]. (Book III 28,10‐11)

As with the texts of Dionysius, the same two elements seem to be present in this account of the yoke ritual. First, the qualified liberty: the Aequi were allowed to depart, yet they could only depart as a subjugated nation. Of the three options of death, slavery, and qualified liberty, the first and last are mentioned, once again indicating the nature of the liberty they will receive. This liberty is escaping death. The second element, the shame, is certainly also in view here. In Livy, this element is explicitly named, and not merely as a side‐effect, but as a proper goal. Cincinnatus is said to have aimed at the humiliation of the Aequi. Once again there is a surrendering, a giving up of arms, and finally a public ritual, this time explicitly aimed at humiliation, the incurring of shame.

Livy: yoke ritual in Second Samnite War

Livy’s account of the yoke ritual in the Second Samnite War is more elaborate than that of Dionysius. After the consuls of the Romans meet with the Samnites and agree upon the conditions of their liberation “a time was set for the delivery of the hostages and the dismissal of the army without their arms.”153 Livy blames the consuls of the Romans for their defeat and paints a picture of a Roman army angry with their leaders for the shame that would soon come upon them. Consequently, an exaggerated picture emerges of a shameful event caused by a few rash and cowardly leader. The common soldiers “pictured to their mind’s eye the hostile yoke, the victor’s taunts, and fleering countenance; and how they must pass unarmed between the ranks of their armed enemies [...].”154 Then comes the actual hour of shame:

152 Sextus Pompeius Festus (late second century CE) describes it in the same way as Livy, “velut sub iugum missus”, in his Epitoma operis de uerborum significatu Uerrii Flacci, s.v. ‘Sororium Tigillum’. 153 Livy, Ab Urbe Condita, book IX 5,6. 154 Livy, Ab Urbe Condita, book IX 5,8‐9. 39

[T]he fateful hour of their humiliation [ignominiae] came, an hour destined to transcend all anticipations in the bitterness of its reality. To begin with, they were ordered to pass outside the rampart, clad in their tunics and unarmed, and the hostages were at once handed over and led off into custody. Next, the lictors were commanded to forsake the consuls, who then were stripped of their generals’ cloaks, ‐ a thing which inspired such compassion in those very men who a little while before had cursed them and had declared that they deserved to be given up and put to torture, that every man, forgetting his own evil case, averted his eyes from that degradation [deformatione] of so majestic an office, as from a spectacle of horror. (Book IX 5,11‐14)

After which the actual ritual is described:

First the consuls, little better than half‐naked, were sent under the yoke [sub iugum missi], then their subordinates were humbled [ignominiae obiectus], each in the order of his rank; and then, one after another, the several legions. The enemy under arms stood on either side, reviling them and mocking them; many they actually threatened with the sword, and some, whose resentment of the outrage showing too plainly in their faces gave their conquerors offence [offendisset], they wounded or slew outright. Thus they were sent under the yoke [traducti sub iugum], and, what was almost harder to bear, while their enemies looked on. (Book IX 6,1‐3)

The humiliation seems exaggerated, and the unlikely Roman payback follows soon enough, in book IX 15,8 Livy tells “that Pontius the son of Herennius, the Samnite general‐in‐chief, was sent with the rest under the yoke [sub iugum cum ceteris est missus], to expiate the humiliation of the consuls [ut expiaret consulum ignominiam].”155 This mainly concerns the consuls. There is, however, an even more immediate abolition of the shame just heaped upon the Romans concerning the whole of the people. Livy notes that the Caudine peace was made, not by a treaty (foedus), but by a sponsio, which is an agreement made by the officers and consuls pledging upon their honour to observe the conditions contained therein.156 After returning in shame to Rome, one of the consuls responsible for this sponsio, Postumius, volunteers to return to the Samnites to annul the agreement, at the cost of his own honour. By this ingenious construction – which is absolute fiction according to Salmon157 – Livy shows his audience what honour really is, without blemishing the virtuous image of the ancient Romans.158 Still, when stripped of its flair, the description of the yoke ritual stands. Both the elements of qualified liberty and of humiliation feature. What is new here is the extensive description of the (humiliating) way the ritual was performed. The stripping of the cloaks and arms, showing the powerlessness of those undergoing the ritual and the shame heaped upon them. But the most interesting elaboration must be the closeness of the victors to those undergoing the ritual. They were close enough to mock and revile them, and even to kill them when they were perceived as offensive. This brings the shame to a very physical area, to the point that

155 See the paragraph ‘The Second Samnite War: introduction’ for Salmon’s judgment on this Roman payback. 156 See Phillipson, The International Law ‐ Vol. 1, pp. 293‐295. 157 Salmon, Samnium and the Samnites, pp. 226‐228. 158 Heinz Bruckmann, Die römischen Niederlagen im Geschichtswerk des T. Livius, Bochum‐Langendreer: Heinrich Pöppinghaus, 1936, pp. 26‐31. 40 the ritual becomes dangerous for those who are not humble enough. Even if we assume an exaggeration, the physical closeness is an added aspect of the ritual, heightening the shamefulness of the public passing under the yoke.

Cassius Dio (c. 163 – post 229 CE): introduction

Dio was a Roman senator from Greek descent. He wrote in Greek, and came from Bithynia in Asia Minor, which he always kept seeing as his homeland, even though he had property in Italy.159 In writing his Historia Romana, Dio seems to have had no overall conception of history, nor a motivation or aim which guided his writing, Fergus Millar concludes. “Dio has no explicit framework in terms of which he interprets the events he narrates, and there is nothing to show that he had any specific aim in view save that of composing the work itself and leaving his name with it to posterity.”160 And: “The long years of working through the whole of Roman history brought Dio to formulate no general historical views whatsoever.”161 His own voice is only to be heard when he recounts the origins of the particular institutions still relevant for him in his days.

Cassius Dio: yoke ritual explanation

Just as Livy, Dio relates the significance of the yoke ritual in the context of the battle between the Aequi and the Romans. They do differ in details, however, and it is worth quoting Dio’s account:

[Cincinnatus], upon being elected dictator, took the field that very day, used wariness as well as speed, and joining with Minucius in attacking the Aequi, killed great numbers of them and captured the rest alive; the latter he led under the yoke and then released [οὓς ὑπὸ ζυγὸν διαγαγὼν ἀφῆκεν]. The nature of the yoke was somewhat as follows. The Romans used to fix in the ground two poles (upright wooden beams, that is to say, with a space between them) and across them they would lay a transverse beam; through the frame thus formed they led the captives naked [τοὺς ἁλόντας διῆγον γυμνούς]. This conferred great distinction [δρῶσι λαμπρότητα] upon the side that conducted the operation, but vast dishonour [πολλὴν δ’ ἀτιμίαν] upon the side that endured it, so that some preferred to die [παθεῖν προαιρεῖσθαι θανεῖν] rather than to submit to any such treatment. (Book V, Zonaras 7,17)162

Here, the element of qualified liberation is not made explicit, although the choice between death and a release after passing under the yoke is clear. The element of humiliation is made explicit, and this time in both ways. Great distinction (λαμπρότης) is conferred upon the victors, those who make their opponent pass under the yoke. Vast dishonour (ἀτιμία) is

159 Fergus Millar, A Study of Cassius Dio, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1964, p. 10. 160 Millar, A Study of Cassius Dio, p. 73. 161 Millar, A Study of Cassius Dio, p. 118. 162 All passages from Cassius Dio use the following translation, except where noted: Earnest Cary (trans.), Dio’s Roman History (9 vols.) (Loeb Classical Library), Cambridge: Harvard UP/London: William Heinemann, 1961 [orig. 1914]. 41 conferred upon those that pass under the yoke. The humiliation is so great that some choose death over this dishonouring ritual. Here, a description of stripping of arms and cloaks is omitted, it is simply mention that those passing under the yoke do so naked (γυμνός).

Cassius Dio: yoke ritual in Second Samnite War

Dio’s description of the passing under the yoke during the Second Samnite War is close to Livy although less elaborate, and placing the blame on the Romans in general, and not just their leaders. Dio relates this as follows:

Among the many events of human history that might give one cause for wonder must certainly be reckoned what occurred at this time. The Romans, who were so extremely arrogant as to vote that they would not again receive a herald from the Samnites in the matter of peace and moreover expected to capture them all at the first blow, succumbed to a terrible disaster and incurred disgrace as never before [ἐν αἰσχύνῃ οἵᾳ οὐ πώποτε ἐγένοντο]; while the enemy, who we badly frightened to begin with, and thought their failure to gain terms a great calamity, captured alive the entire Roman army, and sent them all under the yoke [καὶ πάντας ὑπὸ τὸν ζυγὸν ὑπήγαγον]. So great a reversal of fortune did they experience. (Book VIII 36,10)

The element of qualified liberty remains implicit. The element of shame is abundantly present. Disgrace (αἰσχύνη) is incurred upon the Romans, and this all through Roman arrogance, since the odds were on their side before this calamity befell them. This seems to be a moralizing presentation of the events, blaming shame and defeat on arrogance – yet this does not mean that both the defeat and the shame were very real.

Tacitus (c. 56 – 117 CE): introduction, the yoke ritual

With Tacitus, we can bring the performing of the yoke ritual to the first century of the Common Era. Firstly, he lives in the first and the beginning of the second century himself. And secondly, he also writes about these first century years in his partly surviving Annals (describing 14‐69 CE) and Histories (describing 69‐96 CE). As we have seen with other ancient historians, Tacitus sees his task of writing history as closely connected to the teaching of moral behaviour by pointing out examples of good and bad moral conduct. He also strives to show, through history, the character of the ruler, thus giving his readers a guide on how to deal with the powerful men.163

In Tacitus, there are some brief mentionings of the ritual in the first century. Thus, in book XII 50 of his Annals, he writes, describing an event in a war between the Romans and Armenians on the one side, versus the Iberians and the Parthians on the other side, during the year 51 CE: “On the advance of the Parthians, the Iberians dispersed without a battle, and

163 Miriam T. Griffin, ‘Tacitus as a Historian’, in: A.J. Woodman (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Tacitus, Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2009, p. 175; Ronald Mellor (ed.), Tacitus: The Classical Heritage, New York & London: Garland Publishing, 1995, pp. 47ff. 42 the Armenian cities, Artaxata and Tigranocerta submitted to the yoke [iugum accepere].”164 Concerning a second war, between the same parties, eleven years later in 62 CE , Tacitus relates in book XV 15: “Rumour added that the legions had been passed under the yoke, with other miserable disgraces [sub iugum missas legiones et alia ex rebus infaustis], of which the Armenians had borrowed imitations.”

The yoke as a metaphor for (political) power and control (just as we have surveyed in the LXX, Josephus, etc.) is also present in Roman authors around the first century CE. Thus, Tacitus can write in Histories, in an account of a speech held in 69 CE:

“The Batavians,” he said, “though free of tribute, have yet taken up arms against our common masters. In the first conflict the soldiers of Rome have been routed and vanquished. What will be the result if Gaul throws off the yoke [quid si Galliae iugum exuant]? What strength is there yet left in Italy?” (Book IV, 17)

Similarly, in his Agricola, recounting events from 61 CE:

For, after all, what a mere handful of soldiers has crossed over, if we Britons look at our own numbers. Germany did thus shake off the yoke [Sic Germanias excussisse iugum], and yet its defence was a river, not the ocean. With us, fatherland, wives, parents, are the motives to war; with them, only greed and profligacy. (Ch. 15)

And a speech from 84 CE:

Under a womanʹs leadership the Brigantes were able to burn a colony, to storm a camp, and had not success ended in supineness, might have thrown off the yoke [exuere iugum potuere]. (Ch. 31)

We will return to the relation between these two different uses of the term ‘yoke’ below in our conclusion of this section.

Other mentionings of the yoke ritual in Roman literature

Other mentionings of the yoke ritual include Cicero (106 – 43 BCE), in his De Officiis book III, 30, on the Second Samnite War: “[...] lost the battle at the Caudine Forks, and our legions were sent under the yoke [sub iugum missis].”165 Julius Caesar (100 – 44 BCE) in his De Bello Gallico book I, 7 writes: “Caesar, inasmuch as he kept in remembrance that Lucius Cassius, the consul, had been slain, and his army routed and made to pass under the yoke [sub iugum missum] by the Helvetii [...].”166 The same memory reoccurs in I, 12 of the same work. Sallust

164 All passages from Tacitus use the following translations, except where noted: Alfred J. Church & William J. Brodribb (trans.), The History, London/New York: Macmillan, 1888; A.J. Church & W.J. Brodribb (trans.), Agricola, London/New York: Macmillan, 1877; A.J. Church & W.J, Brodribb (trans.), The Annals, London/New York: Macmillan, 1888. 165 All passages from Cicero use the following translation, except where noted: Walter Miller (trans.), Cicero: On Duties (Loeb Classical Library), Cambridge: Harvard UP/London: William Heinemann, 1975 [orig. 1913]. 166 All passages from Julius Caesar use the following translation, except where noted: W.A. McDevitte & W.S. Bohn (trans.), Ceasar’s Gallic War (Harper’s New Classical Library), New York: Harper & Brothers, 1869 43

(86 – 35 BCE) mentions the ritual in his Bellum Iugurthinum, describing a situation in which the Numidians have the advantage over the Romans (in the late second century BCE), and their commanders negotiate: “He said that he had the general and his army at the mercy of starvation or the sword; yet in view of the uncertainty of human affairs, if Aulus would make a treaty with him, he would let them all go free after passing under the yoke [incolumis omnis sub iugum missurum], provided Aulus would leave Numidia within ten days. Although the conditions were hard and shameful [gravia et flagiti plena erant], yet because they were offered in exchange for the fear of death, peace was accepted on the kingʹs terms.” (38, 9)167 Later on, this is remembered by the Numidian leader Jugurtha: “They [Numidia] were to fight, he said, with men [the Romans] whom they had already vanquished and sent under the yoke [sub iugum miserint].” (49, 2) Curtius Rufus’ (first century CE) History of Alexander the Great also contains a mentioning of the ritual (book VIII 7,11): “[...] bis du uns dann den Barbaren ausliefertest und [...] die Sieger unter das Joch schicktest [sub iugum mitteres].”168 Sueton (c. 70 – 130 CE), in his De Vita XII Caesarum, book VI, 39, relating fortunes during Nero: “a shameful defeat in the Orient, in consequence of which the legions in Armenia were sent under the yoke [sub iugum missis].”169 Appian (c. 95 – 165 CE), in his Historia Romana, also relates the subjugation of the Romans by the Samnites in the Second Samnite War. It would not add much to the discussion to treat his account extensively, a brief look will suffice. He writes: “A god humbled this haughty spirit [τῆς μεγαληγορίας] [of the Romans], for soon afterwards the Romans were defeated by the Samnites and compelled to pass under the yoke [καὶ ὑπὸ ζυγὸν ἤχθησαν].”170 Pontius, leader of the Samnites, when deliberating with his father on what to do with the Romans, says: “Yet, in order to humble the pride [τοῦ φρονήματος περιέλοιμι] of the Romans to some extent, and to avoid the censure of others, I will take away the arms they have always used against us, and also their money (for even their money they get from us). Then I will make them pass safe and sound under the yoke [ἐκπέμψω δ’ ὑπὸ ζυγὸν σώους], this being the mark of shame [αἰσχύνῃ] they are accustomed to put upon others.”171 This shame is elaborated upon:

When these terms were communicated to the camp there was wailing and lamentation, long and loud, for they considered the disgrace of passing under the yoke worse than death [θανάτου γὰρ ἡγοῦντο εἶναι χείρονα τὴν ὕβριν τὴν ὑπὸ τῷ ζυγῷ]. [...] When the oaths had been taken, Pontius opened a passage from the defile, and having fixed two spears in the ground and laid another across the top, caused the Romans to go under it as they passed out, one by one. He also gave them some animals to carry their sick, and provisions sufficient to bring them to Rome. This method of dismissing prisoners [τὸ εἶδος τῆς ἀφέσεως], which they call sending under the yoke [ὃ καλοῦσιν

167 All passages from Sallust use the following translation, except where noted: John C. Rolfe (trans.), Sallust (Loeb Classical Library), Cambridge: Harvard UP/London: William Heinemann, 1931. 168 All passages from Curtius Rufus use the following translation, except where noted: Herbert Schönfeld (trans.) & Konrad Müller (ed.), Q. Curtius Rufus ‐ Geschichte Alexanders des Grossen: Lateinisch und Deutsch, München: Heimeran, 1954. 169 All passages from Sueton use the following translation, except where noted: John C. Rolfe (trans.), Suetonius (2 vols.) (Loeb Classical Library), Cambridge: Harvard UP/London: William Heinemann, 1914. 170 Appian, Historia Romana, book III 6. All passages from Appian use the following translation, except where noted: Horace White (trans.), Appian: Roman History (2 vols.) (Bohnʹs Classical Library), New York, 1899. 171 Appian, Historia Romana, book III 8. 44

οἱ τῇδε ζυγόν], seems to me to serve only to insult the vanquished [ὀνειδίζειν ὡς δοριαλώτοις]. (Book III 10)

The resulting shame is elaborated upon even further, with comments such as: “The women mourned for those who had been saved in this ignominious way [τοὺς αἰσχρῶς περισεσωσμένους] as for the dead.”172

In these texts we see the two elements of qualified liberty and shame explicitly being mentioned. This seems to confirm the importance of these two elements as defining characteristics of the yoke ritual.

Yoke ritual: conclusions and secondary literature

From the literature we surveyed it is clear that the yoke ritual was performed by fixing two spears upright, and placing a third one horizontal on top of them, thus creating a gate‐like space under which people can pass. This was called a yoke (ζυγόν, ζυγός / iugum).

Whole armies were sent under this yoke, either after a voluntary surrendering, or after a forced surrendering or defeat. Some characteristics of the ritual seem to be: 1. Those highest in rank were sent under the yoke first. Following them were those just below them, all the way to the common soldiers, who were sent to pass under the yoke last. 2. Those sent under the yoke left their weapons behind. They were also stripped of some of their clothes, resulting in those undergoing the ritual wearing “the dress rather of slaves than of soldiers or citizens.”173 3. The public nature of the ritual is also worth mentioning. But the ritual seems to go beyond a merely public nature, into a physical nature. The victorious army is described by Livy as being so close that they could taunt those undergoing the ritual, and even wound or kill those that did not seem humble enough.

As we have seen, two elements or aspects of the yoke ritual seem persistent in the descriptions by the Roman historians. First, there is the element that I have called ‘qualified liberty’. This unites the notions of the yoke ritual granting liberty to those undergoing it, and the notions of the ritual as a public symbol of the subjugation of those undergoing it. The subjugated are free from death and enslavement. They are, however, the losing party, defeated in war. The terms set for their liberty came from the victors, and one can be sure that any deal or treaty made was for their benefit. The second element is that of shame. The three characteristics of the ritual mentioned above all increase the shamefulness of the ritual. The victorious are honoured for their victory, the defeated are dishonoured for their defeat. In public, stripped of their clothes, the most honourable men first. The third element often remains implicit, but must certainly have been part of the experience of those undergoing the yoke ritual: the religious aspect. Losing a battle must mean not having (the) god(s) at your side, or simply having the weaker god(s).

172 Appian, Historia Romana, book III 11. 173 William Warde Fowler, ‘Passing Under the Yoke’, The Classical Review 27, 1913, p. 48 = William Warde Fowler, ‘Passing Under the Yoke’, in: W.W. Fowler, Roman Essays and Interpretations, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1920, p. 70. 45

We are not left with our own interpretation of the primary sources, however. We will proceed with giving a brief overview on what has been said in scholarly literature on the yoke ritual, and then evaluate our findings to see what this may add to our understanding of it. In a short note, published in 1913 in The Classical Review, Warde Fowler shares his thoughts on what the significance of the yoke ritual might have been.174 He compares it with – following Dionysius, Livy, and Festus – the passing under the tigillum of Horatius. He then goes on to connect it with another ritual of passing under an arch‐shaped object, the passing under the porta triumphalis. In doing this, he comes to the conclusion that the significance of the yoke ritual was not just the incurring of shame on a subjugated group of people. The different rituals seem to be rites of passage, the persons undergoing it are transferred from one state to another. Just like Horatius had to be cleansed from the curse which lay upon him and could even spread further, as the king feared, so the yoke ritual also transfers those undergoing it, to another state of being. “They had to be brought out of one status into another; they must not be any longer the same beings they were before the deditio [surrender]; just as in historical times the dediticius passed out of his former status into a new one, and became absorbed in the body politic of the conqueror, to be henceforward harmless.”175 Thus, Fowler thinks, the yoke ritual did not just incur shame on those undergoing it, it also transferred them from the status of harmful enemy to that of harmless citizen. This same view was already put forward by James Frazer in his The Golden Bough.176 There he wonders if “the ancient Italian practice of making conquered enemies to pass under a yoke may not in its origin have been a purificatory ceremony, designed to rid the foe of some uncanny powers before dismissing him to his home.”177 He is moved to this line of thought by the many similar rituals (involving the passing through something, which leaves behind some negative properties)178 he adduced on the preceding pages, and by his insight that the yoke ritual was imposed on those who stayed alive, not on those who were about to die, which Frazer thinks is an indication that originally, humiliation, shame, was not the main goal of this ritual, if it was a goal at all. Thus, “it may have been the angry ghosts of slaughtered Romans from the enemy’s soldiers were believed to be delivered when they marched under the yoke before being dismissed by their merciful conquerors to their homes.”179 This line of thought is followed by William Halliday in a one‐and‐a‐half page note in 1924. He summarizes this way of viewing the yoke ritual as follows: “If the victorious army was purified from the infection of bloodshed, the conquered, who passed under the yoke after being disarmed of their material weapons, were thereby rendered spiritually harmless as

174 Fowler, ‘Passing Under the Yoke’, 1913, pp. 48‐51. Reprinted with slight changes in Fowler, ‘Passing Under the Yoke’, 1920, pp. 70‐75. 175 Fowler, ‘Passing Under the Yoke’, 1913, p. 51, italics his. Somewhat differently worded in Fowler, ‘Passing Under the Yoke’, 1920, p. 75. 176 First edition 1890, second 1900, third 1911‐1915. 177 James Frazer, The Golden Bough: A Study in Magic and Religion (11 vols.), London: Macmillan, 31911‐1915, vol. VII, pp. 193‐194. 178 Beginning with rituals in which the life of trees are connected to life of persons from p. 159 on, which moves on to the passing through holes of trees on p. 168, and further to the passing through numerous other objects from p. 177 on. 179 Frazer, The Golden Bough, 31919, vol. VII, pp. 194‐195. 46 well.”180 Besides this, he adds another “analogy” to the yoke, tigillum, and porta triumphalis rituals from 1246 CE, which does not anything to our discussion. In the section on Rome in the 1925 Lehrbuch der Religionsgeschichte, Ludwig Deubner writes in the same vein as his predecessors. Connecting the tigillum, the porta triumphalis, and the yoke, he writes on the function of the latter: “Man glaubte, der Feind müßte auf diese Weise alles zurücklassen, was dem Sieger irgendwie schaden könne.”181 Arthur Nock continues in the same vein in an article in 1926,182 supporting the view of seeing the main significance of the three rituals as lying in their being rites of passage, effecting the transformation of those undergoing it, rituals of purification and removal of unwanted properties. He also dismisses as highly unlikely an alternative explanation: “An alternative explanation, which seems less attractive, of intrare sub iugum would be that the god here given the name Saturnus is a Baal of primarily celestial character, and the iugum a cosmic symbol: the stars and crescent moon accompanying the inscription may signify sky, the pomegranates earth”183 Herbert Rose reiterates these viewpoints in his 1926 Primitive Culture in Italy, while adding nothing of significance, and concludes with the observation that “the degrading ‘yoke’ is in origin practically the same as the triumphal arch.”184 In 1947, Hendrik Wagenvoort builds on the discussion of the first two decades of the century. He tries to clearly define what happens in the yoke ritual, and in doing this comes to employ the concept of ‘mana’. In the rituals of passing through a gate such as our yoke ritual, the tigillum, the porta triumphalis, and the numerous other examples put forward by Frazer, the function of this gate is to deprive those passing under it of mana, be it good or bad mana. Wagenvoort describes mana as some sort of “power” or “energy”, possessed by persons, tribes, formulae, or gods.185 This mana is drawn away by the gate beneath which one passes through touching (‘contactus’) the gate with the head.186 This is applied to the yoke ritual, which functions to drain the defeated army of their mana. This view is criticised, however, by Henk Versnel, in his 1970 study, Triumphus. Versnel takes issue with the unwieldy broad and contradictory definition of mana by Wagenvoort, concluding that according to Wagenvoort an army which passed under the yoke was drained from mana which, by virtue of their defeat, they had shown not to possess.187 In view of this confusing interpretation of mana and the yoke ritual, Versnel gives his own observations. He draws attention to the “nature of the gate or passage” which seems to him to be very important in realizing the effect of the passing under it: there is a vast difference between increasing and drawing away mana.188 Thus Versnel discards the notion of mana in this context, and he furthermore objects to the identification of this yoke with a gate. Instead he focuses on the material the yoke was made of, and the outward appearance of those passing under it. He draws attention to the

180 William R. Halliday, ‘Passing Under the Yoke’, Folklore 35, 1924, pp. 93‐94. 181 Ludwig Deubner, ‘Die Römer’, in: Chantepie de la Saussaye (ed.), Lehrbuch der Religionsgeschichte: Vol. 1 (of 2 vols.), Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr, 41925, p. 426. 182 Arthur D. Nock, ‘Intrare svb ivgvm’, The Classical Quarterly 20, 1926, pp. 107‐109. 183 Nock, ‘Intrare svb ivgvm’, italics his. 184 Herbert J. Rose, Primitive Culture in Italy, London: Methuen & Co. Ltd., p. 97. 185 Henk Wagenvoort, Roman Dynamism: Studies in ancient Roman thought, language and custom, Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1947, pp. 7‐10. 186 Wagenvoort, Roman Dynamism, pp. 154‐156. 187 Henk S. Versnel, Triumphus: An Inquiry into the Origin, Development and Meaning of the Roman Triumph, Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1970, p. 142. 188 Versnel, Triumphus, pp. 143‐144. 47 magic powers inherent in the lances of which the yoke was made. Together with the disarming and undressing of those about to pass under it, this effects the desired result. By undressing oneself and subsequently locating oneself under the lance, its magic together with the undressing and disarming works to make the enemy harmless. These observations make Versnel conclude that the yoke is similar to the tigillum of Horatius, but not to the actual gate‐like Porta Triumphalis.189

What does this scholarly discussion add to our understanding of the yoke ritual in view of our specific aims? I would venture to say that it adds very little but an interesting peak into the (well‐founded or not) speculations on a ritual which is not the ritual we are trying to understand. As we have seen in our overview of the mentionings of the yoke ritual, the only places where the ritual is connected to something else than the three elements we have found (1. qualified freedom, 2. honour/shame, 3. religion) is in the association with it, worked out primarily by Dionysius. It is perhaps not coincidental that he is our earliest source, and at the same time the one who most explicitly connects the yoke ritual to the tigillum of Horatius, he even calls the tigillum a ζυγόν. Festus and Livy, who also mention the story of Horatius, also associate it with the yoke ritual, yet they do not, like Dionysius, expound of the meaning of the yoke ritual at that point, nor do they use the word ‘iugum’ for the object, but the word ‘tigillum’. Furthermore, they do not equate both rituals, but describe the passing under the tigillum “as [velut] under a yoke.” The other authors make no connection with Horatius whatsoever. It also clear from our overview that nowhere a function of the yoke ritual is seen as draining away the powers of the enemy. I refer back to our three elements. Even from the secondary literature we discussed it can be gleaned that our aims are not the same. Thus, Rose notes the following: “The Italians of historical times appear to have forgotten what this was for, retaining the custom occasionally simple as a mark of humiliation to the vanquished [...].”190 Since our aim is not the uncovering of a supposed original function of the ritual, but an understanding of what it was understood to signify in the first century CE, this whole scholarly discussion seems largely irrelevant to our present purposes.

Even so, Wagenvoort point us to an interesting direction. In search of the original function of this ritual, he finds the “error” of conflating this ritual with “the yoke of slavery”191 as we have seen the metaphor in the LXX and the other texts we treated. Thus, Livy in book IX 6,12 of his Ab Urbe Condita Libri: “as if they still bore on their necks the yoke under which they had been sent [tamquam ferentibus adhuc cervicibus iugum sub quod missi essent].” This conflation of the political metaphor of the yoke with the actual practice of the yoke ritual does not seem all that far‐fetched, since both in both expressions the word ‘yoke’ is used, and both usages of this word are political in nature. And as we have seen, a writer like Tacitus uses both ‘types’ of yokes in his writings. Finding such a conflation as in Livy in our sources, however, increases the likelihood that these two different uses of the term ‘yoke’ more often shared a Bildfeld. However, since we have found only one such conflation, we can impossibly say with confidence that the yoke ritual plausibly consistently has a place in the political Bildfeld of the term ‘yoke’.

189 Versnel, Triumphus, pp. 146‐152. 190 Rose, Primitive Culture in Italy, p. 97. 191 Wagenvoort, Roman Dynamism, p. 155, n. 6. 48

VIII. ‘YOKE’ AND THE GOSPEL OF MATTHEW

‘Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.’192

In the following pages we will try to apply our findings to a New Testament passage in which the term ‘yoke’ appears: Matthew 11,28‐30. We will do this by combining the theories of Bildfeld and hidden transcripts. But to apply the latter theory to the gospel of Matthew, we must first set the stage by making it plausible that Matthew 11,28‐30 somehow is or contains a hidden transcript. We will do this by first considering the context of first century Galilee and Judea in which the gospel traditions find their origin. We will try to highlight the domination of imperial Rome over the subordinated Jews. Then, we will move on to the text of Matthew, considering the traces of dominating imperial Rome and its subjugated Jewish people. We will do this both by reading the texts ourselves and by evaluating the recent scholarly discussion in this field. Next, we will look at back at our findings so far, concerning the Bildfeld of the term ‘yoke’. After this, we will look at the plausibility of Matthew 11,28‐30 containing a hidden transcript. Finally, we will try to make start with gauging the consequences of our findings when applied to the text, looking at previous explanations of the text and adding our own new insights.

First century Galilee and Judea: Imperial rule

In the first century CE, Galilee and Judea were under Roman rule. This rule was concretised by the Herodian client‐kings, and in Judea after 6 CE by direct Roman rule under their prefects. One of the most well‐known resistances to Roman rule from around the turn of the millennium is that of Judas of Galilee (6 CE). He rebelled against Roman rule on the ground that God alone reigns.193 A direct incentive for this opposition was Quirinius’ census in order to exact more taxes. This explicit resisting of Roman rule was not just a Jewish phenomenon. In Gaul and Cicilia similar rebellions against Roman taxes occurred around the same time.194 This exacting of taxes by the dominating and subsequent rebelling by the dominated is an adequate example of the power relations between the Romans and the Jews beyond the mere imposing on the one hand, and rebelling against the imposing on the other. John Collins notes that the issue at stake was not simply economic (nor, we may add, religious), it was

192 Matthew 11,28‐30, translation: NRSV. 193 See Gerd Theissen & Annette Merz, The Historical Jesus: A Comprehensive Guide (trans.: J. Bowden), Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1998, pp. 142‐143. 194 12 BCE and 36 CE. John J. Collins, ‘The Jewish World and the Coming of Rome’, in: J.J. Collins, Jewish Cult and Hellenistic Culture: Essays on the Jewish Encounter with Hellenism and Roman Rule, Leiden: Brill, 2005, p. 213. See also: Esler, ‘Rome in Apocalyptic and Rabbinic Literature’, pp. 11‐18. 49 also a matter of status: “Taxation by a foreign power had implications for status, and symbolic significance.”195 Beyond the bare fact that Rome ruled over Judea and Galilee, the consequences and resulting tensions are a matter of debate. One position taken in this debate can be exemplified by Richard Horsley. Having written in this area of study for many years, Horsley presents a sort of summary of some of his work in 2003’s Jesus and Empire. In this work he presents first century CE Galilee and Judea as areas with a high level of tension and resulting rebellion,196 even going as far as posing that “the Judeans and Galileans were perhaps the most adamant in reasserting their independence and defending their traditional way of life [...]”197 compared to other peoples under Roman rule.198 Gerd Theissen and Annette Merz concur with the view of first century Galilee (against Sean Freyne, who has a more moderate view199) as “riven by deep structural tensions,”200 tensions between those who dominate and those who are dominated. In support of this view mention is made (once again) of several rebellions against Roman rule in connection with the imposition of taxes, of Jewish prophecies concerning the death of Herod Antipas, of the execution of John the Baptist, various other rebellions, and the self‐protective moves of the Herodian client‐kings.201 Furthermore, Theissen and Merz envision tensions between the Hellenized cities and the Jewish villages in Galilee, as well as tensions between the rich (who mainly lived in the cities) and the poor.202 Against these views, I will follow Peter Richardson, who presents a more moderate view. He tries to find a balanced middle between those who see less economic tension in Galilee, and less Romanization and those who emphasize the economic tensions in Galilee, and its Romanization. Richardson notes that too strong an opposition between Hellenized city and Jewish village is not warranted. Neither is a view of of Galilee steeped in poverty.203 Concerning the political and social tensions (whether resulting from economic conditions or not) Richardson notes that there seems to have been continuing brigandage, and “protest movements rising and waning according to political and social conditions,” being on the one hand critical of the use of Josephus for constructing a reliable view of the social unrest in Galilee,204 yet on the other hand affirming a “culture of resistance” in Galilee.205 It is to be noted that John Dominic Crossan draws attention to the public transcripts (this term is not used by him) with which Rome ‘advertised’ its power and might throughout the Roman Empire. This advertising spread around the empire as “poems and inscriptions, coins

195 Collins, ‘The Jewish World and the Coming of Rome’, p. 214. 196 Richard A. Horsley, Jesus and Empire: The Kingdom of God and the New World Disorder, Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2003, pp. 35‐52. 197 Horsley, Jesus and Empire, p. 35. 198 See also Horsley, ‘Jesus and Empire’, pp. 81‐83. 199 Sean Freyne, ‘Hellenistic/Roman Galilee’, in: David N. Freedman (ed.), The Anchor Bible Dictionary – Vol. 2, New York: Doubleday, 1992, pp. 895‐899. 200 Theissen & Merz, The Historical Jesus, p. 175. 201 Theissen & Merz, The Historical Jesus, pp. 173‐175. 202 Theissen & Merz, The Historical Jesus, pp. 170‐173. 203 Peter Richardson, ‘Jewish Galilee: Its Hellenization, Romanization, and Commercialization’, in: Fabian E. Udoh et al. (ed.), Redefining First‐Century Jewish and Christian Identities: Essays in Honor of Ed Parish Sanders, Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2008, pp. 214‐216. 204 “[Josephus] uses the brigands as an anticipation of his program to lumber a small group of revolutionaries with the responsibility for the revolt [...].” Richardson, ‘Jewish Galilee’, p. 218. 205 Richardson, ‘Jewish Galilee’, p. 218. 50 and images, statues, altars, and structures.”206 Crossan calls this “imperial theology,” and this does not just refer to the divinity of the emperor, but also to his might, power, being supremely on continuously victorious, he is the bringer of peace, the liberator, the redeemer. He and his proclamation hold the empire together.207

Hundreds of pages, dozens of books even, could be filled on this subject. For our enterprise, however, this very brief overview suffices. Galilee and Judea were under Roman rule. This rule was supported by public transcripts throughout the empire, endorsing its power. Under this domination, resistance often took the form of active rebellion, which was not unique to the Jewish areas. If, however, resistance was this noticeable physically, how much more can we expect a more ‘silent’ form of resistance? The ground seems ripe for hidden transcripts.

The gospel of Matthew and the Roman Empire

The research concerning the political nature of Jesusʹ words and actions is immense. Even when we move our focus away from the historical Jesus and the gospels of Mark, Luke, and John to focus merely on Matthew, the possibilities of engaging in a search for the possible political aspects of Jesusʹ actions and words in this text are large. I do not intend here to give a full picture of the political nature of the gospel of Matthew. In view of our present undertaking it is enough to merely sketch out the political nature of the gospel of Matthew by touching upon some of the current scholarship on this issue and briefly surveying a few examples from the gospel where the political nature comes to the fore with great clarity. Horsley is one of the leading scholars in the current trend of connecting the New Testament and ‘Empire.’ More relevant for our undertaking, he is one of the leading scholars in the ‘Jesus and Empire’ research. In a recent article, Horsley sets out to show the ‘silent’ resistance Jesus led against the Roman Empire by surveying different gospel passages and highlighting their connection to the Roman Empire and Jesus’/the gospels’ resistance against it.208 This way of showing that the gospels contain resistance to the Roman Empire, however, heavily relies on the acceptance of Horsley’s exegesis. Horsley, for instance, interprets Jesus’ exorcisms as a form of resistance against the Roman Empire on the basis of cross‐cultural anthropology.209 He also sees Jesus’ cleansing of the Temple as an act of political resistance which was one of the main reasons he was crucified by Pilate.210 Furthermore, he interprets the famous ‘render to Ceasar’ passage on the payment of taxes211 as Jesus denying the emperor’s right to receive taxes that rightfully belong to God.212 These interpretations, however, are subject to critique. Thus, Robert Gundry, in an article criticizing Horsley’s methods and conclusions, comes to the opposite exegesis of this passage.213 Furthermore, he

206 John Dominic Crossan, ‘Roman Imperial Theology’, in: R. Horsley (ed.), In the Shadow of Empire: Reclaiming the Bible as a History of Faithful Resistance, Louisville/London: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008, p. 61. 207 Crossan, ‘Roman Imperial Theology’, pp. 59‐73. See also Warren Carter, Matthew and the Margins: A Socio‐ Political and Religious Reading, Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000, pp. 36‐40. 208 Horsley, ‘Jesus and Empire’, pp. 75‐96. 209 Horsley, ‘Jesus and Empire’, pp. 85‐86. 210 Horsley, ‘Jesus and Empire’, pp. 92‐93. 211 Mark 12,13‐17; Matthew 22,15‐22. 212 Horsley, ‘Jesus and Empire’, pp. 89‐90. 213 Robert H. Gundry, ‘Richard A. Horsley’s Hearing the Whole Story: A Critical Review of its Postcolonial Slant’, Journal for the Study of the New Testament 26, 2003, p. 139. 51 disagrees concerning the function of Jesus’ exorcisms as well, rejecting the possibility that these are aimed at restoring an order disrupted by Roman rule.214 Finally, he also rejects Horsley’s view of the cleansing of the Temple as one of the chief reasons for his crucifixion.215 In view of the difficulties in establishing a firm connection between the gospel of Matthew and the Roman Empire in this way, and thereby avoiding having to support numerous exegeses with even more arguments, I will start by merely trying to show that the Roman Empire does play a role in the gospel of Matthew.

In doing this, there are two points that deserve attentive consideration. First, we must realize that politics and religion were not separated in antiquity. This is often emphasized by Horsley.216 Church and state were not separated, and this is most bluntly visible in the ‘imperial theology’ mentioned above, religion and politics being closely intertwined. The second point worthy of attention is what we set out above. Judea and Galilee were dominated by the Romans. From this power relation between Roman dominators and Jewish subordinates the tensions arose which now and then caused physical rebellion. Being that the world the gospel of Matthew describes was dominated by the Romans, we can first look at some of the major occurrences of imperial imagery in the gospel. In looking for these occurrences, we do not have to look far. Already in chapter 2 we have the mediator of Roman rule in the person of Herod making his entrance into the story. He is portrayed very negatively, is introduced as a king, and immediately set over against the just‐ born Jesus, called “king of the Jews” (2,2), just as Herod was called “king of the Jews.”217 Moreover, this king, puppet of the Romans, is afraid of the news of the king of the Jews (2,3). After the outwitting of king Herod by the magi (2,12.16), and the honouring of king Jesus by the very same magi (2,11), Herod’s role in the story is done, and he dies and is removed from the stage (2,19). Another occurrence of Roman imperial rule is in chapter 14, where Herod’s son, Herod Antipas, is featured. As another representative of Roman rule, he is not portrayed much more positively than his father. It is reported that he killed John the Baptist (14,10), even though he was afraid of him at first, for the people considered John a prophet (14,5). These two mentionings of kings can be supplemented by a host of other personages in Matthew representing Roman imperial power: Pilate (ch. 27‐28), his wife (27,19), centurions (8,9), and normal soldiers.218

214 Gundry, ‘Richard A. Horsley’s Hearing the Whole Story’, p. 137. 215 Gundry, ‘Richard A. Horsley’s Hearing the Whole Story’, p. 138. 216 Horsley, ‘Jesus and Empire’, p. 76; Richard A. Horsley, ‘Introduction – Jesus, Paul, and the “Arts of Resistance”: Leaves from the Notebook of James C. Scott’, in: R.A. Horsley (ed.), Hidden Transcripts and the Arts of Resistance: Applying the Work of James C. Scott to Jesus and Paul, Leiden: Brill, 2004, pp. 20‐21; Richard A. Horsley, ‘The Politics of Disguise and Public Declaration of the Hidden Transcript: Broadening Our Approach to the Historical Jesus with Scott’s “Arts of Resistance” Theory’, in: R.A. Horsley (ed.), Hidden Transcripts and the Arts of Resistance: Applying the Work of James C. Scott to Jesus and Paul, Leiden: Brill, 2004, p. 63. Also: Warren Carter, ‘James C. Scott and New Testament Studies: A Response to Allen Callahan, William Herzog, and Richard Horsley’, in: Richard A. Horsley (ed.), Hidden Transcripts and the Arts of Resistance: Applying the Work of James C. Scott to Jesus and Paul, Leiden: Brill, 2004, pp. 82‐84. 217 Carter, Matthew and the Margins, p. 76, referring to Josephus, Antiquities 16.311. 218 See Dorothy J. Weaver, ‘”Thus you will Know Them by Their Fruits”: The Roman Characters of the Gospel of Matthew’, in: John Riches & David C. Sim (eds.), The Gospel of Matthew in its Roman Imperial Context, London/New York: T&T Clark International, 2005, pp. 107‐127. 52

Another obvious imperial image in the gospel of Matthew is the famous question on paying taxes to the emperor already mentioned above (22,15‐22). Regardless of how we interpret the passage, it is clear that the Roman Empire is in full sight. The taxes are imposed by Rome, to be paid to the emperor, and his image is even on the coins (22,20‐21), the latter being part of the imperial advertising machine as discussed above. Finally, of course, mention is to be made of the crucifixion of Jesus. This was a typical Roman punishment used mainly for “recalcitrant slaves and provincial insurgents against their rule.”219 When we move back to the first point that deserved attention, the being intertwined of politics and religion alerts us of the fact that when Jesus criticizes the religious elite, this is not just an act of religious protest, this also has undeniable political aspects. Thus in 21,33‐46, where the chief priests, elders (21,23), and the Pharisees (21,45) are being condemned by Jesus, this is not merely a condemnation on religious grounds, but an act of political resistance as well. Carter points to the continued description by Josephus of the chief priests, the most notable Pharisees, and the Sadducees “as defenders of the societal status quo and as allies of Rome.”220 Similarly, whatever precisely the connection between Jesus’ crucifixion and his actions in the Temple, these actions cannot have had purely religious connotations. Both Horsley and Carter recognize that “the temple was not primarily or solely a religious institution isolated from social‐political and economic forms of domination. Nor was the Jerusalem leadership primarily or solely interested in isolated religious matters [...].”221

The imperial context we have just sketched, obviously one of domination and subordination, increases the plausibility of there being hidden transcripts in the gospel of Matthew. It is to be noted, however, that the hidden transcripts in the gospel of Matthew can be found at two different levels. On the one hand, we can look at the historical Jesus and wonder whether he was uttering hidden transcripts. One the other hand, we can look at the text of the gospel of Matthew and try to discern hidden transcripts on that level. Here, we will not concern ourselves with the authenticity of the words of Jesus in Matthew, and thus take the latter route, merely concentrating on the gospel of Matthew.

The Bildfeld of the term ‘yoke’: what have we found?

From our survey of the broad Kulturkreis of Matthew – that is: LXX, 1 Enoch, the Sibylline Oracles, the Dead Sea Scrolls, Josephus, and tannaitic literature – it has become clear that there is an overwhelming stream of metaphorical usages of the term ‘yoke’ with an undeniable political aspect. The answer to the question of what our survey of the Roman yoke ritual adds to this, if anything, comes less natural. The main problem is whether we can assume that this ritual can plausibly be thought to have been part of the metaphor of the ‘yoke’ in a political context. The only evidence we have that these two usages of the term ‘yoke’ were connected is, as we have noted above, to be found in Livy. Furthermore, Tacitus uses both the ‘yoke’

219 Horsley, ‘Jesus and Empire’, p. 75. 220 Carter, Matthew and the Margins, p. 430. 221 Carter, ‘James C. Scott and New Testament Studies: A Response’, p. 83. 53 metaphor of political domination and subjugation, and talks about the yoke ritual, which too has a connotation of political domination and subjugation. This relatively meagre result does not help us much further, however. We do not know to what extent the yoke ritual was familiar to the average citizen of the Roman Empire, and even if it was, there is no way to know whether it was on their minds when using the term ‘yoke’ as a metaphor with political connotations without explicit evidence that is sometimes was. Thus, it seems that the most we can say is that if we take a minimum position, we have to discard the evidence of the yoke ritual for establishing the Bildfeld of the ‘yoke’, at least until more explicit evidence comes to the fore. A maximum position would consist of the realization that the yoke ritual could, at the most, add further weight and depth to a political connotation which would have been there without taking into account the ritual. In practice it would seem that both positions differ little, and for our current purposes it is of little consequence which position we take. Yet, let us be as cautious as possible, and take the minimum position. This gives us a Bildfeld of the term ‘yoke’ when used in a (possible) political context, which itself has an abundance of political and religious connections. The image of political domination and subjugation comes to the fore. Within a Jewish(‐Christian) context, the image of God as a king comes to the fore, a king with his own kingdom.

A hidden transcript in Matthew 11,28‐30?

As we have observed in our discussion on the theory of hidden transcripts, the question of whether there is a hidden transcript to be found in a certain text is a dangerous one, and furthermore one without the possibility of hard evidence pushing us either way. We have already prepared the road for our discussion concerning Matthew 11,28‐30 however, by painting an image of Roman domination in the first century, and by pointing out the role which the Roman Empire plays in the gospel of Matthew. This has undoubtedly created a fruitful context in which to find a hidden transcript. Our decisive criterion was, however, the presence of both a public and a hidden transcript in one and the same text, since according to Scott’s theory, these always go together. By noticing the contrast between these two can we plausibly assume that the document in question may contain more hidden transcripts. On this point Horsley can be criticized, as Alan Appelbaum has rightly done. For Horsley seems to find a lot of hidden transcripts in the gospels from the mouth Jesus, even declared publicly to the oppressors, yet public transcript is nowhere in view for the subjugated, merely for the dominators.222 In view of this, the exegesis by Herzog of the earlier mentioned passage in which Jesus is asked on the payment of taxes.223 Herzog contends that this is a prime example of precisely the ambiguity that Scott mentions. Thus, in effect, Jesus gives a public transcript of cooperation with the Roman Empire, and a hidden transcript of resistance to it. In a way, he validates both the reading of Horsley and that of Gundry as enumerated above. The first is the hidden transcript, the second is the public transcript. Given this context of flattering public transcript, the more ‘silent’ resistance of Jesus against the Roman Empire becomes possible in the gospel of Matthew.

222 Criticism of Horsley by Appelbaum on pp. 215‐216 of Alan Appelbaum, The Rabbis’ King‐Parables: Midrash From the Third‐Century Roman Empire (Judaism in Context 7), Piscataway: Gorgias Press, 2010. 223 Mark 12,13‐17; Matthew 22,15‐22.. William R. Herzog II, ‘Onstage and Offstage with Jesus of Nazareth: Public Transcripts, Hidden Transcripts, and Gospel Texts’, in: Richard A. Horsley (ed.), Hidden Transcripts and the Arts of Resistance: Applying the Work of James C. Scott to Jesus and Paul, Leiden: Brill, 2004, pp. 53‐58. 54

I will propose here to accept this exegesis of Herzog, which opens up the possibility of finding more hidden transcripts in the gospel of Matthew. Matthew 11,28‐30 could then be seen as containing a hidden transcript, not necessarily in the sense of an ambiguous proclamation, but as an ‘offstage’ uttering. What further enlarges the plausibility of this assumption is the political Bildfeld which we have established for the term ‘yoke’ which fits perfectly with this hidden transcript, pointing precisely towards the issue of domination and subjugation, the issue that gives birth to hidden transcripts. Having established this, we will turn our attention to the text of Matthew 11,28‐30, starting with a brief glance at previous scholarly discussion on that passage.

Matthew 11,28‐30: Scholarly interpretations

In the past decades of scholarly research on our passage and the meaning of the term ‘yoke’ in this passage, results have accumulated that can be roughly divided in three different groups. The first group relates the yoke‐saying to Sirach 51,26, laying an emphasis on learning and wisdom, sometimes even seeing Jesus as personified Wisdom.224 The second group emphasizes the imitation of Jesus’ meekness which the yoke represents.225 The third group sees the yoke as a relief from the Law, as opposed to the heavy burden of other religious teachers (Pharisees, etc.), sometimes combined with Jesus’ meekness:226 “To those burdened by the Law’s demands he promises ‘relief’.”227 Many within these rough divisions combine multiple of the above options. Blaine Charette seems to be the first scholar that draws some attention to the political connotations of the term ‘yoke’.228 He points to the breaking of foreign domination (their

224 R. T. France, The Gospel of Matthew (The New International Commentary on the New Testament), Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007, p. 449; Combining it with meekness, Alexander Sand, Das Evangelium nach Matthäus (Regensburger Neues Testament), Regensburg: Friedrich Pustet, 51965, p. 252; Considering Jesus personified Wisdom, Celia Deutsch, Hidden Wisdom and the Easy Yoke: Wisdom, Torah and Discipleship in Matthew 11,25‐30, Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1987; Combining it with the other options, Hubert Frankemölle, Matthäus Kommentar 2, Düsseldorf: Patmos Verlag, 1997, p. 128; Considering Jesus personified Wisdom, Ben Witherington III, Matthew (Smyth & Helwys Bible Commentary), Macon: Smyth & Helwys Publishing, 2006, pp. 239‐240. 225 Johannes B. Bauer, ‘Das milde Joch und die Ruhe, Matth. 11,28‐30’, Theologische Zeitschrift 17, 1961, pp. 99‐106; M. Maher, ‘”Take my Yoke Upon You” (Matt. XI. 29)’, New Testament Studies 22, 1978, pp. 97‐103; Ulrich Luz, Das Evangelium nach Matthäus – Teilband 2 (Evangelisch‐katholischer Kommentar zum Neuen Testament), Neukirchen‐Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1990, pp. 220‐222; Leon Morris, The Gospel According to Matthew (A Pillar Commentary), Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1992, pp. 296‐297; Wolfgang Wiefel, Das Evangelium nach Matthäus (Theologischer Handkommenater zum Neuen Testament), Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 1998, p. 225; Although keeping the options open, John Nolland, The Gospel of Matthew: A Commentary on the Greek Text, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005, pp. 476‐478. David L. Turner, Matthew (Baker Exegetical Commentary on the New Testament), Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2008, p. 305; Craig S. Keener, The Gospel of Matthew: A Socio‐Rhetorical Commentary, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009, p. 349. 226 A. Schlatter, Der Evangelist Matthäus: Seine Sprache, sein Ziel, seine Selbständigkeit, Stuttgart: Calwer Verlag, 1963, p. 386; William F. Albright & Christopher S. Mann, Matthew (The Anchor Bible 26), Garden City: Doubleday, 1971, p. 146; David Hill, The Gospel of Matthew (New Century Bible), London: Oliphants, 1972, p. 208; William Hendriksen, Exposition of the Gospel According to Matthew (New Testament Commentary), Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1973, p. 504; Robert H. Gundry, Matthew: A Commentary on his Literary and Theological Art, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1982, pp. 219‐220; Daniel Patte, The Gospel According to Matthew: A Structural Commentary on Matthew’s Faith, Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1987, p. 166; Donald A. Hagner, Matthew 1‐13 (Word Biblical Commentary 33a), Dallas: Word Books, 1993, pp. 324‐325. 227 A.M. Hunter, ‘Crux Criticorum – Matt. XI. 25‐30 – A Re‐appraisal’, New Testament Studies 8, 1962, p. 248. 228 Charette, ‘To Proclaim‘, pp. 290‐297. 55 yoke) by God, and ends up seeing Jesus as “beckon[ing] the nation to return from captivity to Yahweh’s yoke and therein to find the eschatological blessing of rest that Yahweh has prepared for his servants.”229 His exegesis, however, does not focus on the political aspects of our text, but rather on the prophetic aspects in our text and throughout the gospel of Matthew. He starts off by pointing to the origin of prophetic talk on the breaking of the yoke of foreign domination and the ensuing rest. This origin is to be found in the Pentateuch, where the deuteronomistic idea of punishment following the disobedience of Israel to God finds it expression in terms of the imposition of a yoke, whereas obedience to God results in the breaking of the yoke of domination over Israel whereupon Israel may find rest in the land promised to them by God. It is this idea that is taken up in prophetic books such as Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and Isaiah. Both the terms ‘yoke’ and ‘rest’ occur in these works, describing respectively God’s punishment following disobedience in the form of political domination over Israel by a foreign power and the ensuing peace and blessing Israel will experience when they do obey God’s commandments. Charette notes that Zephaniah 3,9 (LXX) uses the term ‘yoke’ in a positive sense, designating the yoke of Yahweh under which all people will serve: “For then will I turn to the peoples a tongue for her generation, that all may call on the name of the Lord, to serve him under one yoke [δουλεύειν αὐτῷ ὑπὸ ζυγὸν ἕνα].” Charette then moves on and tries to show that this prophetic theme is alluded to multiple times throughout the gospel of Matthew. First off, within our text, Matthew 11,29 is a quotation of Jeremiah 6,16, thus connecting the gospel of Matthew and specifically our passage to the prophetic theme. Next, Charette observes that Matthew 4,12‐16 portrays Jesus’ ministry as fulfilling Isaiah 9,1‐2: Jesus “arrival in Galilee is described with reference to the prophecy which announces a time when light would break in upon the people’s darkness and the yoke would be broken.”230 Furthermore, Matthew 11,20‐24 alludes to Isaiah 14,13‐15. Also, Jesus is presented as “the messianic shepherd who gathers the scattered flock of Israel,”231 and idea which Charette sees as paralleling the breaking of the yoke and the bringing to rest of the prophetic texts. Charette thus proposes to read Matthew 11,28‐30 in the light of this prophetic theme of the breaking of the yoke, gathering the people of Israel, and bringing them to a place of rest. He notes that Luke utilizes a similar image in presenting Jesus and his mission, referring to Isaiah 61, having Jesus “proclaiming release to the captives” and setting free “those who are oppressed”. Charette sees both Matthew and Luke referencing to the same prophetic theme in describing Jesus’ role.232 Following Charette in the political aspects of his interpretation, Carter tries to show that this passage “utilizes a series of terms [...] that are frequently associated with the exercise of power, especially imperial and political rule.”233 First, he takes on the sentence: “All who labor and are heavy laden” (Matthew 11,28) He connects those who labour to the hard labouring under Roman rule, in order to simply survive economically.234 The burden of those who are heavy laden is also connected to Roman rule: Carter views Jesus’ polemics against the Jewish religious leaders in Matthew as a polemic against their association with Roman rule and their preserving of the status quo, thus burdening the Jews with this foreign reign.235

229 Charette, ‘To Proclaim’, p. 297. 230 Charette, ‘To Proclaim’, p. 293. 231 Charette, ‘To Proclaim’, p. 293. 232 Charette, ‘To Proclaim’, pp. 293‐294. 233 Carter, Matthew and Empire, p. 112. 234 Carter, Matthew and Empire, pp. 115‐116. 235 Carter, Matthew and Empire, pp. 116‐118. 56

Carter continues by reading the “rest” that is offered in 11,28 in the light of the “rest” that is upon peoples when they are not threatened by war with foreign nations. Rest is God’s purpose, which he gives to his people after saving them from foreign subjugation.236 Carter then views the term ‘yoke’ in the light of the Septuagint, Josephus, the Sibylline Oracles, and 1 Enoch, discovering the large amount of associations with political rule, as we have also seen above.237

Matthew 11,28‐30 and the ‘yoke’ as hidden transcript: the consequences

Charette concludes his article by posing that the bringing to the fore of the prophetic aspects of the text are in direct opposition to the scholarly interpretation of connecting our text to Sirach, and thus emphasizing the aspect of wisdom in our text.238 I would rather keep the option open that these different interpretations might be complementary and need not be mutually exclusive. In the following paragraphs I would like to point towards some avenues in which to search for fruitful ways of seeing the consequences of seeing Jesus’ use of the term ‘yoke’ as a hidden transcript and recognizing its political import. I will refrain here from giving a complete exegesis of Matthew 11,28‐30, incorporating all its different possible meanings, since the limited availability of space and time do not permit this. Like Carter, I would like to view Matthew 11,28‐30 as pointing to the fundamental opposition between the kingdom of God and the kingdom of Rome. Matthew draws upon prophetic themes concerning the gathering of the people of Israel and the bringing of rest, as shown by Charette, a theme which is perfectly combinable with the political reading of Carter. From our observations on the text of mAvot 3,5 the individual character of our text is emphasized. Matthew presents Jesus as extending an invitation to each of his individual hearers, and thus to each individual reader of the gospel. The invitation is to take upon oneself the yoke of Jesus. Besides a call to follow the teachings of Jesus, this has a strong political aspect to it. The call of Jesus stands in direct opposition to the rule of the Roman Empire, under which all lived. How then is this silent resistance of Jesus to be read, what are the practical consequences of reading our text this way? I would propose to see this as an invitation to create (or join) a community with its own specific outlook as shaped by the teaching of Jesus, actively rejecting the morals and life‐ordering espoused by the Roman Empire (a sort of anti‐kingdom, with fits perfectly with Jesus’ talk of the “kingdom of God”). Within this dominating empire, from which escape is impossible without violence, Jesus calls to the creation of an alternative lifestyle, sustained in a community of his followers, those who have taken up his yoke.239 It is interesting to note, that once again an image with mainly negative connotations (i.e.: the yoke of foreign domination as God’s punishment) is here taken up and used in a positive sense, precisely to oppose the workings of the ‘negative yoke’ in reality. This seems to be a potentially quite effective use of mimicry, the use of

236 Carter, Matthew and Empire, pp. 118‐121. 237 Carter, Matthew and Empire, pp. 121‐125. 238 Charette, ‘To Proclaim’, p. 297. 239 This would fit with the notion of “community formation” which Richard Ascough discusses concerning the community from which the gospel of Matthew would have originated: Richard Ascough, ‘Matthew and Community Formation’, in: David E. Aune (ed.), The Gospel of Matthew in Current Study, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2001, pp. 96‐126. 57 which we pointed to in our discussion of rabbinic literature (see p. 22). We have to note, however, the positive use of the term ‘yoke’ in Zephaniah, as pointed out by Charette. When we put this form of silent resistance in the context of the first century CE it immediately forms a contrast to groups within Judaism that strove to bring about the abolition of the Roman Empire and the subsequent coming of the kingdom of God themselves, by force. A prime example of a group exhibiting such a stream of thought (and action) are the Zealots, present in the times of Jesus who engaged in active resistance against the Roman empire, expecting Godʹs help in destroying this enemy, yet not passively waiting for God to act.240 Gerd Theissen also emphasizes the political importance of this rejection of violence by Jesus, famously given expression in Jesus’ command to love your enemies, not put in singular, as its antithesis, but in the plural, indicating the presence of a group of enemies: the Roman Empire, and not merely individual enemies.241 Thus, the invitation of Jesus to take upon oneself his yoke is a call to a silent resistance to the Roman Empire, effectively rejecting more violent resistance, an option that was certainly available among the Jews of the first century.242 We thus agree with Carter that, in silent resistance to Rome, the “missional community of alternative commitments and practices”243 serves as an anti‐kingdom to the Roman Empire, already becoming visible reality in the here and now. I would like to finish this section by pointing towards one final aspect, namely that of Christology. Jesus takes up the use of the term ‘yoke’, which as we have seen above can be used to denote the Torah of God (as in some rabbinic texts), or God’s commandments (as in Zephaniah). He does, however, not talk about taking upon oneself the yoke of God, but rather: his yoke. The authority that Jesus here appropriates for himself is significant. By opposing the Roman Empire he effectively creates an anti‐kingdom with himself at its head. That God is also in view as the head of this kingdom is clear from Jesus’ repeated preaching on the kingdom of God. How exactly to value his taking of a position of such a high authority remains a question For a full appreciation of Jesus’ statement one would have to take the whole of the gospel in account, and relate this statement to the character of the Christology of the rest of Matthew, something which falls outside the area of our undertakings here. Therefore I would like to end here with the notion that Jesus here taking the place of where one would expect God to stand is sure to have severe Christological implications.

240 See: Martin Hengel, The Zealots: Investigations into the Jewish Freedom Movement in the Period from Herod I Until 70 A.D. (trans.: D. Smith), Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1989, pp. 302‐312. 241 Gerd Theissen, ‘The Political Dimension of Jesus’ Activities’, in: Wolfgang Stegemann et al. (eds.), The Social Setting of Jesus and the Gospels, Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2002, pp. 233‐234. 242 I will here once again mention Schremer, who sees a similar non‐violent attitude taken towards Rome by the Rabbis of tannaitic literature: Schremer, ‘Eschatology, Violence, and Suicide’, sections II, III, and IV. 243 Carter, Matthew and Empire, p. 129. 58

IX. CONCLUSION

In the end, we are left with a game of plausibilities. It is hard to prove anything, yet I trust the plausibility of our reading is established as sufficiently high. Looking for the dynamics between dominators and subordinates in the gospels is an adventurous task, and not without its consequences. On the one hand because of the political implications the words of Jesus in the gospels might now have, on the other hand in view of the dangerous game of surviving domination without becoming tainted ourselves, as we have seen in our discussion of the rabbinic literature, but which is certainly not less relevant in our reading of New Testament texts. There is enough in the text of Matthew 11,28‐30 to give us pause for thought. Not merely the challenging invitation of Jesus to engage in non‐violent resistance, but also the authority assumed by this first century teacher. In view of the latter aspect, Jesus is able to authoratively claim the former. This struggle on how to cope with domination seems to be something which stays relevant in all times and places. Engaging the question from the opposite side is relevant as well however, and has been for an enormous group of Christians since the Christianization of the Roman Empire starting in the fourth century. Perhaps the confrontation of the Christian past with the words of its purported founder and leader is the biggest struggle of them all. Does not a non‐violent resistance towards a violent dominant force motivate, even imply, the need to transform the role of the dominant force to a less violent one when the tables are turned? It seems to me that this is a gripping question jumping towards us, readers in a different context, readers with a history of following this Jesus. A gripping question of importance, to be sure.

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