The Jews of Hellenistic Egypt, Rather Than Being Oppressed, Were Often

Home , Aryeh Kasher, Hellenistic Judaism, Osarseph

RETURN FROM EXODUS: JEWS OF EGYPT DURING THE HELLENISTIC PERIOD

A thesis submitted to the faculty of San Francisco State University In partial fulfillment of The requirements for The degree

Master of Arts In Special Major: Jewish Studies

Patricia Keer Munro

San Francisco, CA

May 2004

CERTIFICATION OF APPROVAL

I certify that I have read Return from Exodus: Jews of

Egypt during the Hellenistic Period by Patricia Keer

Munro, and that in my opinion this work meets the criteria for approving a thesis submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree Master of Arts in Special

Major: Jewish Studies at San Francisco State University

______Fred Astren Professor of Jewish Studies

______Pamela Vaughn Professor of Classics

______Marc Dollinger Professor of Jewish Studies

RETURN FROM EXODUS: JEWS OF EGYPT DURING THE HELLENISTIC PERIOD

Patricia Keer Munro San Francisco State University 2004

During the Hellenistic period, the Jews of Egypt were a successful Jewish community in that they explicitly identified themselves as Jews; they were identified as Jews by the surrounding society; and they maintained or expanded their population for several centuries. Until the destruction of this community in 115-117 CE, these Jews functioned in both non-Jewish and Jewish spheres. This thesis will examine the ways in which the

Jews of the Egyptian Jewish community to maintained a balance between integrating into and separating from the majority culture through analyzing three texts that may categorized as “popular literature.”

I certify that the Abstract is a correct representation of the content of this thesis.

______Fred Astren, Professor of Jewish Studies Date Chair, Thesis Committee

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This thesis has taken shape over a long period of time. I could not have written it without the help and support of many people. Daniel Boyarin pointed me in the right direction at a critical time. Erich Gruen told me how to pare it down to the essentials. Stephanie

Green and Ruth Haber provided moral support, intelligent reading, and good friendship.

Marc Dollinger and Pamela Vaughn gave of their time to read it and give thoughtful commentary. I thank them all, but particularly Fred Astren, whose encouragement originally started me on the path, and who provided direction and support as I wrote.

Finally, and most especially, I thank my family: Miranda and Deborah, who didn’t roll their eyes too much when Egyptian Jews were mentioned, and Dave, whose patience, humor, and love provide the foundation of our lives together.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter One: Let My People Go—to Egypt……………………………………….…..…1

Chapter Two: Jews in Hellenistic Egypt…………………………………………….…..28

Chapter Three: From Egyptian to Jew: Joseph and Asenath…………………………… ..………...……..51

Chapter Four: Shock and Awe in Judea and Egypt: III Maccabees………………………………..………..……….…70

Chapter Five: The Wisdom of the Jews comes to Alexandria: The Letter of Aristeas………………………………………..…..86

Chapter Six: Jews and Others in All Times and All Places……….……………...…….105

Bibliography……………………………………………………………..…..…………121

Chapter One: Let My People Go—to Egypt

Introduction

In the mythic narrative of Judaism, Egypt is a land of slavery and the Egyptians are the people who enslaved the Israelites until God brought them out of Egypt “with a strong hand and an outstretched arm,” and led them, circuitously, into the land of Israel.

In this narrative, both Egypt and Israel are symbols: Egypt of slavery and Israel of freedom. Further, the goal, both of the narrative and within Jewish prayer, is to seek

Israel—whether as reality or as symbol. A Jew makes “Aliyah” or “goes up to Israel.”

This phrase elevates both the place and the person: if one goes up to Israel, everywhere else is down. To be out of Israel is to be in the Galut, in exile, and therefore is a condition, which—at least symbolically—must be overcome. And, while Jews may live

in other countries besides Israel, Egypt represents the place to leave, as confirmed by the name of the Exodus itself: “Yitzi’at Mitzraim.”

With this background, it might seem incongruous that through the Second Temple period and beyond, Jews came to live in Egypt and that there they developed a large, stable community that survived for several centuries. The perception of this community is further complicated in two ways. First, the Egypt in which Jews thrived was not the

Egypt of the Pharaohs and Egyptian religion, nor the Roman Egypt of the desert monks and other early Christian thinkers, but the Egypt of Hellenistic rule, a world in which

Jews had to understand themselves in relation to both Egyptian and Hellenistic worldviews. While the traditional narrative casts the Jews as slaves and the Egyptians as oppressors, the Jews of Hellenistic Egypt, rather than being oppressed, were often

(though by no means always) part of the privileged class. Second, Egyptian Judaism was

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a Judaism that successfully reconciled the dominant Hellenistic milieu with both religious and ethnic aspects of Judaism. That is, the Jews of Hellenistic Egypt neither abandoned

Judaism, nor rejected the majority culture in which they lived. Rather, until riots of the first century of the Common Era and the subsequent destruction of the Egyptian Jewish community in 115-117 CE, these Jews functioned in both non-Jewish and Jewish spheres.

During the intervening centuries, Christianity emerged as the dominant religion and culture, while rabbinic Judaism became the hegemonic type of Judaism, a model that has endured until modernity. However, the secular rationalism of the post-Enlightenment world, as well as the prevailing pluralist environment, have challenged its authority and its ability to “succeed” in the future. Longevity, while necessary, is obviously not sufficient to define success in all circumstances.

Rather than using the hegemonic form of Judaism to define “successful” or “real”

Judaism, another definition could use the following three criteria. First, it remains

“Jewish” in form—that is, it neither defines itself nor is defined by other Jews as another religion (as happened with Christianity). Second, it is perceived as Jewish by surrounding dominant cultures. Finally, it persists despite assimilation or acculturation, a point that can be further characterized as a Jewish population that maintains or increases its numbers over a substantial length of time, which I would define as two hundred years.

These three criteria share the virtue of simplicity: rather than defining Judaism according to particular practice or belief, which has the effect of privileging one particular Judaism over another, this definition assumes that only Jews would claim to be

Jewish (although different groups of Jews will argue as to who is truly a Jew) or would be so identified by the society around them.1 The criterion of longevity is admittedly

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somewhat arbitrary. Clearly, a few generations—under one hundred years—is too short to establish longevity. However, as a criterion for success, a millennium is too long, excluding, for example, the Roman empire. Within Jewish tradition, the span of ten generations, or approximately two hundred years, has been used to indicate the passage of time and, indeed, seems a reasonable minimum for cultural continuity. These criteria—self-identification, identification by the dominant culture, and persistence—can be applied to the Egyptian Jewish community under Hellenism. The Hellenistic (and early Roman) period, which lasted from Alexander’s conquest in 333 BCE and ended following the riots in 117 CE, provided a relatively favorable environment for a stable

Jewish community. During this time, the Egyptian Jewish community met the criteria for success defined above: they explicitly identified themselves as Jews, interpreting

Judaism to themselves and the surrounding world; they were identified as Jews by the surrounding society; and they persisted, with the Jewish population not only maintaining, but expanding during that time.

The specific problems these Jews faced appear in the surviving papyri, as well as in historical and philosophical literature, all of which provide evidence of a diverse people confronting issues common to any minority culture. These writings show that

Jews came to Egypt for many reasons: some as slaves, some as part of the Ptolemaic army, and still others for the trade opportunities in Alexandria. These Jews were fluent in

Greek (but not necessarily Hebrew), exhibited an ongoing struggle to reconcile Jewish beliefs with Hellenistic ideology, and even, in some cases, intermarried or converted

(both to and from Judaism). Egyptian Jews, as with other Jews of this period, had few

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identifying features and therefore could have assimilated into the Hellenistic world. That they, as a group, did not indicates some degree of choice.

While the Jews of Egypt are intrinsically interesting, it was the parallels between this community and the American Jewish community that particularly caught my attention. Both Hellenization and modernity functioned in pluralistic worlds with competing ideologies. Both, either explicitly or in effect, distinguished between the public and the private domains of society. And both were overarching worldviews that seemed ready to supplant all others. In fact, the comparison both between public religion of Hellenism and the civil religion of America and the Jewish response to each era has been noted by H. A. Green: “The infatuation with Greek culture and thought by Jews in

Egypt 2000 years ago is not that dissimilar to Jews of the twentieth century experiencing the American dream. Both ancient and modern Jews living in the Diaspora are faced with a variety of choices concerning the intensity of their Jewish identification.

Sociologically, their choices can be characterized by the institutional matrix within which they develop: family, religion, economy, community, etc.”2

Like the Jews of Hellenistic Egypt, American Jews must balance life in the dominant culture with commitment to and participation in Judaism. The different ways modern Jews choose to combine these elements speaks to the equilibrium between individuality and commitment peculiar to this age. The Jews of Egypt lived in a multi- cultural world in which Hellenism served as an overarching philosophy. As in the present day, Egyptian Jews, whether they embraced or rejected new paradigms, were compelled to incorporate them into an older ideology. Further, while the Jews of Egypt struggled with the philosophy of Hellenism, they did not face the self-defining battles

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which began with the development of rabbinic Judaism and nascent Christianity and which have persisted until modernity. While it would be difficult to say that Christianity does not affect the Jews of the twentieth century, it is also true that Christianity, like

Judaism, has confronted rationalism and secularization, so that the self-definition of each religion is not only in response to the other, but also in response to that secularization.

Some of the issues of the present day—underlying Christian values, individualism, secularism, and civil religion—are unique to modernity and post- modernity. Nevertheless, many of the issues that the Egyptian Jews faced are similar to those that confront American Jews, and so the Jews of Egypt offer a particularly interesting window on our own time. In each case, the constraints and choices sanctioned by the majority culture limit each Jewish community in different ways, but the primary issue—how to maintain a coherent culture as a minority—remains constant. Despite deep differences between the two historical periods, examining Hellenistic Jewry in

Egypt provides a perspective on our own time, a way of sharpening and defining the issues and choices which confronted Jews then and which confront Jews today.

Both individuals and societies understand their roles and make sense of their physical and mental world through the construction of boundaries or categories—those defining rules, rituals or characteristics of a group which distinguish them from the surrounding groups. These boundaries, which are constructed and maintained by both dominant and minority cultures, can be defined as those values, laws, and customs that members of society use to define their roles as individuals, as members of the dominant or minority culture, and as participants in the larger society. On the one hand, the minority culture must erect boundaries to preserve its unique identity, while on the other

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hand, the dominant culture may use boundaries to restrict or to include members of different minority cultures.

So this thesis will first consider the characteristics of the Egyptian Jewish community that enabled it to survive, to thrive, and to remain unassimilated during the

Hellenistic period. Or, in other words, I will examine the boundaries that enabled these

Jews to maintain a balance between completely integrating into the majority culture and completely separating from it. The texts written by the Hellenistic Jews provide answers—incomplete though they may be—to these questions. It is well beyond the scope of this project to analyze even a fraction of the available material. Therefore I have chosen to analyze three works, to be discussed below, that may be categorized as

“popular literature.” My intent is to use a rubric which defines ethnicity to understand how the Jews of Egypt constructed these boundaries. Whether this rubric can then be applied more broadly to consider whether there are a set of general traits which enable minority cultures living in pluralistic surroundings to endure and thrive is a subject for further work.

Relevant Theories

I am hardly alone in examining the Hellenistic Jewish community. A number of recent works on Hellenistic Jewry3 have examined the way in which Hellenistic Judaism maintained a unique identity, looking at religion, nationality, and ethnicity as ways in which Jews have identified themselves and created boundaries. But it is no easier to separate Judaism into religious, ethnic and national categories in the Hellenistic Egypt than it is in the United States. The distinction between religion and ethnicity was not

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clear then (for any group), though nationality (or identification with a particular polis) clearly categorized groups. In a recent article, Koen Goudriaan4 examines ethnicity as it is used to create boundaries for individuals and groups within the Hellenistic world and discusses how ethnic divisions can lead to discord between these groups. While

Goudriaan’s focus is specific to ethnicity, his methods of categorization can be used more generally to examine how boundaries are created in Hellenistic society and more specifically to provide a rubric through which to answer the questions raised above.

Goudriaan proposes his model in the context of explaining the changes in

Alexandrian and Egyptian society which led to anti-Jewish rioting in 38 CE, expressed with exquisite pain in Philo’s “In Flaccus.” In his examination of this troubling period,

Goudriaan argues that ethnic definitions distinguished one group of Alexandrians from another, and that ethnic categorization became the over-riding factor which allowed the non-Jews to collaborate against the Jews. However, the way in which he examines the construction of ethnic boundaries is particularly relevant here.

Goudriaan begins with Barth’s definition of an ethnic category as one that

“classifies a person in terms of his basic, most general identity, presumptively determined by his origin and background. To the extent that actors use ethnic identities to categorize themselves and others for purposes of interaction, they form ethnic groups.”5 This definition is too broad—what is “identity” and how does one define “background”?—and so Goudriaan expands and clarifies the original definition, as follows.6

1) Ethnicity is an internal, not an objective category, determined by the group as it defines itself and others. There is nothing inherent about ethnicity.

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2) Particular “features of culture,” which are arbitrary and which may vary over time, serve as boundary markers between one ethnic group and another. Their function is to signify difference; they have no intrinsic meaning.

3) Ethnicity is an “independent dimension of social life.” It may include features of other aspects of society (Goudriaan lists religion, occupation, mode of life and language), but is neither a part nor synonymous with them.

4) Survival of an ethnic group is ultimately a matter of choice on the part of the ethnic group to maintain particular boundaries: “the outcome of a continued interest on the part of its members in maintaining the boundaries. Each generation must decide for itself whether or not to adopt the transmitted ethnic identity. As soon as the maintenance of ethnic identity is considered irrelevant, the ethnic group disappears....”7

5) Ethnicity is normal within human society. When there is lack of agreement as to status and roles of the different ethnicities, tension and conflict may arise between different ethnic groups, but this conflict is not inherent in the ethnic divisions themselves.

6) Finally, ethnicity, as a way to mark boundaries between groups, is a universal feature in human society, although the way it appears can vary from society to society.

While Goudriaan’s definition is useful for examining the relationships between groups within Hellenistic society, I would make two modifications. First, Goudriaan does not say, but does imply that ethnicity is characteristic of minority cultures within a dominant culture. Thus he uses “culture” to refer primarily to the dominant culture, while “ethnicity” refers to the particular characteristics of the minority groups within the greater society. Although this is not a strictly accurate use of the term, it does help to clarify the different societal roles of dominant and minority cultures.

Second, Goudriaan argues that ethnicity is an “independent dimension of social life” and that other areas of social life may or may not be incorporated into the ethnicity.

While this holds for particular areas—status and occupation, for example,—the same cannot be said for religion. In fact, Goudriaan assumes a rather modern definition of

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religion which encompasses beliefs and practices around god or gods, separate from ethnicity. It has been argued that, prior to Christianity, ethnicity and religion were inextricably linked. So, while Goudriaan agrees that ethnicity may (but does not have to) include religion, during this period religion was an integral part of the ethnicity of all groups.

Goudriaan continues his discussion by comparing ethnic groups in a society to liquids in containers connected by semi-permeable filters. Through osmosis, the liquids will have similar composition. Because of the filters, particular constituents will be present in one liquid and not in the other. The liquid (or culture) can change over time, as can the filter, but so long as the filter functions, there will be ethnic differences.8 If the filter vanishes, the ethnic group has assimilated. If the composition of the filter is called into question (that is, if the boundary markers of the ethnic group are given either positive or negative weight), there can be conflict between the different ethnic groups or between an ethnic group and the dominant culture.

This analogy of ethnicity as filter is particularly helpful when visualizing the function ethnicity plays in dominant society. Often boundaries are visualized as a wall— low or high, but solid. The sense that the barrier is permeable in some ways, but not in others, that there is a variable flow between cultures, and that the barrier can have a valence provides a better analogy through which to understand the creation of boundaries in society.

Goudriaan intended his definition to be a general statement about ethnicity, albeit ethnicity in a particular time and place. My goal is slightly different: I intend to use his rubric to understand how the Jews of Egypt were able to define themselves in a coherent

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way. To do this, I will modify his rubric accordingly. In doing so, it is clear that the rubric can be broken into three general areas: how Jews defined themselves, how the

Jews perceived the majority culture’s relationship to and perception of the Jews, and how

Jews reconciled themselves and Judaism with the majority culture. More specifically it appears as follows:

1) Jewish self-definition: a) Judaism is a category that is determined by the group as it defines itself internally and against others. b) There are particular features of Judaism that are arbitrary and might change over time. Their function is to define the group or to signify difference; they have no intrinsic meaning. c) Jews must choose to maintain particular boundaries.

2) Jews and Judaism as they imagine themselves defined by majority culture: a) Judaism as an ethnic-religious dimension of social life is separate and independent from other areas of life. It may include other aspects of society, but is neither a part of nor synonymous with them. b) Jews are recognized as a distinct group and one of many ethnic groups within the majority society, although Jewish group status vis a vis other groups may vary. c) When there is lack of agreement as to status and roles of the Jews, tension and conflict may arise between or against different ethnic groups, but this conflict is not essential to the nature of any group.

3) Jews, as a group, in relation to majority culture: Jews must find a way to reconcile religion/ethnicity with the majority culture, whether through emphasizing universal or particular elements with the religion.9

This rubric implies that an ethnic community sees itself as being shaped both by internal and external forces; both by how the group sees itself and how the group is seen by others. However, above I described this project as one that primarily examines the group’s self-definition, rather than examining the way in which the majority culture regarded Jews. The majority culture (any majority culture) plays a central role in establishing the parameters under which the Jews can construct their individual and

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community lives, and so I would by no means discount the importance of the non-Jewish texts and other works. An extensive examination of these texts is beyond the scope of this work, although I will include at least one in my analysis. However, I will primarily discuss this second category in three ways. First, each Jewish work to be discussed contains a Jewish view of the non-Jews. Because these portraits originate from Jewish authors, they are the means by which Jews “choose to maintain particular boundaries.”

They do not originate out of nothing, but out of some social milieu and, with caution and at some remove, that milieu can be examined. Second, in the chapter following, I will discuss the context of the Jews in Egypt, which will address some of the sub-points within the second category. Finally, in the next section, I will discuss some of the specifics of the Hellenistic worldview, an overarching attitude to which every minority culture had to reconcile itself.

The boundaries between the dominant and minority culture in Hellenistic Egypt can fruitfully be approached by considering the concepts of private and public spheres that develop as a result of increased rationalization. While Weber, in particular, developed these concepts out of the changes he observed in his modern world, they can be applied—with caution—to the Hellenistic world, a world which bore some striking similarities (amid the many differences) to that of modernity.

Secularization can be said to designate the movement of “persons, things, functions, meanings, and so forth, from their traditional location in the religious sphere to the secular spheres.”10 It refers to a very specific period in history: that time during which the domains of society which had previously been consolidated under the purview of the church separated from each other. Weber’s theory of differentiation11 examines

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the different spheres of society as they interact with religion and provides the paradigmatic understanding of this period. His work still provides the starting point for discussions of secularization. Weber discusses the interaction of the religious sphere with the economic, the political, and the intellectual—the three spheres that, for Weber, were secular and rational.12 The economic sphere is, clearly, the realm of business— agriculture, artisanship, trade, and the relations between employer and employee. The political sphere includes both the identification of an individual as a citizen or not, as well as the ability to participate in government. The intellectual sphere deals with the rational exploration of the world, whether through philosophy or science. Religion, which for

Weber constitutes the acting out of beliefs primarily concerned with different understandings of salvation, collides in different ways with each of these areas and, in the modern world, becomes a private matter.

This rational and secular understanding of this world, as expressed through a scientific approach, is at once part of the public sphere and underlies the modern worldview. It is also that a theory that has developed from worldview shaped by

Protestantism, which assumes the importance of the individual freewill over and above group (ethnic) actions, an assumption which does not apply to the Hellenistic world. This does not meant that the concept of public and private spheres cannot be used, but that it must be redefined.13 Further, Weber wrote in the full flush of early twentieth century rationalism. Almost a century later, his theory has been challenged as “private” religion interacts with and intrudes on the “public” arenas of politics, economics, and even science.14 Nevertheless, both his initial theory and the challenges to that theory provide insight into the Hellenistic world.

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Hellenization, like secularization, provided the ideological canopy under which all participants in the Hellenistic world functioned. As Martin Hengel has noted:

“...Hellenistic civilization was by no means an exclusively or even predominantly military, civic and socio-economic phenomenon—these were simply the areas in which its effects first become visible; rather, it was the expression of a force which embraced almost every sphere of life. It was a force of confusing fullness, an expression of the power of the Greek spirit which penetrated and shaped everything, expressive and receptive.”15

Like secularization, Hellenism requires further definition. Most obviously, it refers to a period of time: that time between the Alexander’s conquest of the Middle East and the Roman conquest of that region. Even here, the definition blurs, since Hellenistic culture continued to flourish through the first centuries of Roman rule. However, its more common usage (as above) refers to the dominant culture that existed throughout the region during Hellenistic rule. That culture—which stressed education, Greek philosophy, and civilization—was first glorified by Plutarch, under the influence of Stoic philosophy, during the first century of the Common Era—well after Hellenistic rule had ended.16 However, while Plutarch may have exalted Hellenism, there is certainly evidence that what he praised was not created out of whole cloth. While Hellenism in

Egypt will be discussed in more depth in the succeeding chapter, my intention here is to discuss those areas which were part of public life and those which were private.

Here it is worth comparing Weber’s differentiation of the separate spheres of modernity to the construction of Hellenistic society. While this differentiation is often seen as a development of modernity, I would argue that Hellenism, too, gave rise to a

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differentiated society. Within the Hellenistic world, as in modernity, there are distinct political and societal categories. Who became a citizen and who participated in city rule depended on the group affiliation of the individual; in other words, one’s ethnic makeup mattered. On the other hand, economics was not ethnically determined: Jews were scattered through the economic classes and occupations. Intellectual exploration assumed a Hellenistic worldview. Jews who wished to engage in philosophy or poetry did so with the awareness that the Hellenistic model of encountering the material was the

“correct” model. Judaism might be a valid religion, even “the best,” but that statement must be proved by the use of Hellenistic tools. Finally, while religion in the ancient world did not stay within neat boundaries,17 Hellenistic Jews examined and rationalized the beliefs, rituals, and root myths of the Jews.

The most significant factor for the Jews—as for other minorities—was that they were minorities. Like secular rationalism, Hellenism did not openly reject other religions, merely overlooked them. This meant that any non-Hellenistic religion, Judaism included, was forced to—willingly or no—understand itself in the context of Hellenism.

For the Hellenistic Jews in Egypt, individual religion was thus removed from the public arena, in which Hellenistic values, practices and rules applies.

Literature Review

Over the past fifty years, the different Jewish societies of Hellenistic period have been reexamined by many scholars, with the intent of better understanding the people and the period which led to the development of early Christianity and rabbinic Judaism.

While the reasons for this turn are not germane to this thesis, a summary of the different

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approaches very much is. As the field has evolved, an awareness has developed that all

Jews of the period, regardless of their attitudes toward Judaism and toward Hellenism, lived in a Hellenistic milieu and were therefore compelled to interact with the dominant culture—albeit with different results depending on the particular Jewish faction. While older attitudes viewed the Egyptian Jews as those who assimilated away from Judaism or as a precursor to triumphant Christianity,18 in the past several years, scholars have examined particularly the questions of Jewish identity and religiosity during the

Hellenistic period: Was Judaism an ethnicity, a religion, or a nationality? In what ways could one identify a Jew during this period?

The recent literature on the Jews of Hellenistic Egypt falls into three categories.

First, several works focus on the history of Jews in Egypt during this time—these would include the work of Victor Tcherikover, Aryeh Kasher, and Joseph Meleze-

Modrzejewski. Second, the relationships—positive and negative—between the Egyptian

Jews and others in Egypt have been examined by Martin Hengel, Victor Tcherikover,

Elias Bickerman, Louis Feldman and Peter Schafer. Third, and lastly, there are a number of recent works on Jewish self-definition. The last category, particularly, sheds light on the questions under consideration here and I will take a close look at three authors who have written on the subject in the recent past.

In two recent books, Erich Gruen has argued for “the reinvention of Jewish tradition,” to quote his subtitle.19 In both Heritage and Hellenism and, more recently, in

Diaspora, Gruen focuses on a reassessment of the role of Jews in the Hellenistic world, arguing strongly that Jews viewed themselves as both Jewish and Hellenistic. He argues that:

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“...Jews occupy an ambiguous perch as both “external” and “internal” witnesses. They carried their peculiar culture, background, tradition, and history. Yet in the Hellenistic era and in the Greek East of the Roman period, they were part and parcel of a Greek cultural community. Hence Jews needed both to establish their own secure place within a Hellenistic framework and also to avoid being swallowed up by the prevailing culture. Jewish self- conception constituted an ongoing, shifting process, one that was inescapably entangled in the construction of Greek character, values, and beliefs.”20

Gruen uses the Greek sources entirely, discussing a wide range of literary and pseudo-historical sources from the period to support his point. In both books, he emphasizes the ways Jews maintained their own (superior) identity, while at the same time supporting the Hellenistic rulers.

John J. Collins, who has written voluminously on this period, adds to his body of work with the recent Between Athens and Jerusalem. While Gruen looks at the balance

Jews strike between insularity and assimilation, Collins looks specifically at the construction of the identity of a people—particularly when that people no longer lives in one place, but is scattered in a number of different places, of which the home nation is only one. He uses a quote from Psalm 137—“How shall we sing the song of the Lord in a foreign land?”—as a metonym for the way a people maintains their unique identity,21 a task that is particularly difficult for a group which “holds unusual views”—such a group is “inevitably under pressure to establish its plausibility, not only to win the respect of outsiders, but primarily to maintain the allegiance of its own members.”22 Like Gruen,

Collins notes that Jews were eager to participate in Hellenistic culture and to do so outside of Israel: in Babylonia, in Syria, in Egypt. However, he is less sanguine about the response of other cultures, noting that the response to Jews and Judaism was mixed—

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ranging from indifference, to ridicule, to dislike, and arguably leading to anti-Jewish feeling in first century CE.23

To explain Jewish responses to Hellenism, Collins argues that Jews who participated in the Hellenistic world would feel cognitive dissonance—the need individuals have to reconcile two inconsistent or incompatible thoughts—in two ways.

First, Jewish self-understanding of origins and the Hellenic understanding of Jewish origins were quite different, and second, Jews were traditionally told to hold themselves apart, while Hellenic world expected different groups to interact with each other. Collins argues that: “what was at stake was the plausibility of Jewish tradition in a new environment.”24 While cognitive dissonance is a useful tool with which to explain the ways in which Jews rationalized their environment, it is debatable precisely how

“incompatible” Hellenistic and Jewish life were. Despite this quibble, Collins’ examination of the way Jews reconciled the two systems of thought has made an important contribution to work on this period.

While Gruen and Collins examine the texts to in order to find the ways in which

Jews shaped their identity, Shaye J. D. Cohen looks specifically at the definition of

Jewish identity. He argues that there was no conclusive way to define a Jew; that Jew and Judean were often synonymous, which is to say that place (or perhaps ethnicity) and person were identified with “Jew” and that there were few obvious markers of Jewishness in dress or behavior. Therefore, he believes that “Jewishness was a subjective identity, constructed by the individual him/herself, other Jews, other gentiles, and the state.”25

Cohen makes a clear distinction between religion and ethnicity, arguing that “the boundary between Us and Them is a combination of religion or “culture”…and ethnicity

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or birth….In a number of passages Philo, Josephus, and the rabbis explicitly acknowledge the duality of the boundary, but do not seem to realize that its two aspects are fundamentally irreconcilable. The identity system that would attain canonical form in rabbinic Judaism was a union of disparate elements, Jewishness as a function of religion and Jewishness as a function of descent.”26

How or if a distinction can be made between religion and ethnicity is a matter for debate. However, both religion—that is, practice and belief—and ethnicity—that is, birth and culture—were central to the creation of Jewish identity in the Hellenistic period and the issues that Cohen addresses regarding the way in which Jews could be identified, the definition of an “ethno-religion,” and the ways in which boundaries to and from Judaism could be crossed all have bearing on the subject at hand.

Given the care with which the issues of boundaries and identity have already been addressed, it takes a certain amount of brashness to claim that there is anything to be added to the field. Certainly the authors mentioned have analyzed the primary sources to be discussed below in depth. And, as we have seen, the issues themselves—identity formation as well as the creation and maintenance of effective boundaries—have also been explored. Nevertheless, through applying the rubric discussed above to selected primary sources, I hope to find a way to understand my original questions: What are these boundaries that the Jews created for themselves and how can these be generalized to minorities within a majority culture?

Context and Texts

Jewish engagement with Hellenistic culture... represents both an exercise in ethnic promotion as well as ethnic self-preservation....In spite

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of their various approaches, they all, most assuredly, write from a perspective sympathetic to the Jewish tradition. Their appropriation of these new forms suggest not only that Hellenistic culture was speaking to them, but that they were speaking to Hellenistic culture. (“Jewish Responses to Hellenistic Culture in Early Ptolemaic Egypt,” Carl R Holladay, p. 144)

I have chosen what is ultimately a sociological approach to a topic for which there is little—if any—reliable sociological data: no population surveys, no census data (if one excepts the Jewish poll tax, the reliability of which is doubtful), no opinion polls. There are three ways in which we can know about the period: archeological evidence in the form of artifacts; papyri which vary in quality and distribution; and texts from different groups, which have been preserved deliberately or accidentally. All vary in type, in quality, and in subject matter.

To examine the context of Egyptian Jewry, I will make use of papyri collections, particularly those collected in the Corpus Papyrorum Judaicarum, a collection of documents ranging over 400 years—from the Ptolemaic period through the first centuries of the Common Era. Volume I, which covers the Ptolemaic period, collects 141 documents of different kinds and from different places, documents that record economic transactions, irrigation disputes, life-cycle events, and legal issues, and as such, provide the texture of everyday life. There is, however, an arbitrary character to these documents.

The hot, dry climate of the desert areas preserves documents well, but reflects primarily the agrarian environment. So, while multi-cultural Alexandria served as Egypt’s window into the Mediterranean, the wet climate of the Delta caused virtually all papyri from that area to decompose.27 Though incomplete, these documents still provide a picture of the way Jews interacted on a daily basis with each other and with the other societal groups.

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It is in the extensive Hellenistic Jewish writings on philosophy and social relations, not (with a few exceptions) in the non-Jewish writings, nor in legal and economic documents, that there is evidence of the effort to define the boundaries between

Jew and non-Jew. This is significant in two ways: first, it indicates that the non-Jewish world did not restrict Jewish writing and second, that it was, with a few notable exceptions, unconcerned with these writings.28 During this period, the way in which

Jews wrote changed, incorporating new philosophical views and new literary forms.29

Through these literary works Jews grappled with their position as an ethnic/religious minority in the Hellenistic milieu. These works can be placed into three categories as described below.

First, there is religious exegesis, such as that found in the writings of Ben Sira,

Daniel, the lives of the Patriarchs, Greek Esther and others. This writing is extensive, but due to its allegorical and moralistic nature, it is does not readily lend itself to the questions I am addressing. Further, while the Hellenistic world clearly influenced the writing of these works, they do not directly refer to Egypt and to Jewish-Egyptian relations, and so they will not be included in this analysis.

Second, there are philosophical works that show Jews struggling with the differences between Jewish and Hellenistic approaches to the world. Of this latter type,

Philo is perhaps the best-known and certainly most prolific example, wrestling directly with the way in which Greek and Jewish thought can be integrated in areas central to

Jewish belief and practice. His work is both abundant and important, and for both reasons has generated its own enormous body of work. For the most part, his work is philosophical in nature—explaining and rationalizing Jewish practice and belief to Jews

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and, perhaps to non-Jews as well. Due to the limited scope of this work, I have chosen not to focus on this type of literature, valuable though it may be.

Finally, there are stories from which one can observe the structure of Egyptian

Jewish society, if not in “reality,” at least as the writers would have it be. I have characterized these works as “popular literature,” as they share features that make them appealing to a broad readership: strong characters, dramatic plot, exciting setting, and heroes with which the (arguably Jewish) readership can identify. From these, I have chosen three works to analyze and compare: Joseph and Asenath, in which the relations between Egyptians and Jews (ostensibly in Biblical times) are explored through what can be called a romance; III Maccabees, which shows the dramatic and troubled relationships between the three groups in Egypt and Judea: Jews, Egyptians, and Greeks; and the Letter of Aristeas, which describes the translation of the Septuagint in lavish and exaggerated detail. While there is no definitive agreement on the dates for any of these works, there is a reasonable scholarly consensus that all date from a similar period—around 150 BCE to

50 BCE—and so demonstrate different literary approaches to the same populations.

In the Jewish Novel in the Ancient World, Lawrence M. Wills discusses a extensive list of Jewish novels. Many of these narratives have been preserved, lending credence to the judgment that these were both common and popular forms of entertainment.30 These novels are similar to Greek novels in that they “play upon the alternation of a descent into the threat of chaos and an ascent to deliverance and create a surfeit of emotions in the reader’s response,”31 but are “shorter, and written in non- elevated language, and so likely to appeal to a ‘lower’ social status.”32 Wills describes the Jewish novel as being characterized by the sweep of history and importance of place,

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along with a cavalier approach to dates and personages; grave dangers that threaten the

Jewish people as a group; an exploration of the inner life of the characters, often through prayers; the depiction of emotion; and the use of women.33

At least two of the works to be discussed share some of these characteristics.

Joseph and Asenath begins with the one sentence in Torah that names Joseph’s wife and from that depicts the imagined relationship between Jews and Egyptians at an important time and place in Jewish history by using one particular story of a few individuals. It is notable that about one-third of the narrative taken up with the transformative experience of a woman—that is, Asenath—as expressed through prayer and visions. III Maccabees purports to be a history and, while some have argued that there are historical elements within it, the story itself is so fantastic as to be unbelievable. As in Joseph and Asenath, the text places its characters in an important time and place: following the conquest by

Ptolemy Philopater near Raphia around 221 BCE.34 As in Joseph and Asenath prayer plays a central and life-saving role in the narrative. However, unlike in Joseph and

Asenath, III Maccabees posits grave danger alongside miraculous salvation for the Jewish people as whole, rather than focusing on individuals. And in stark contrast to Joseph and

Asenath, women, as individuals or separate from the Jewish community, are scarcely mentioned.

The Letter of Aristeas falls into another category of “fiction.” It is singularly lacking in tension—in fact, boring in its repetition of questions and banquets—yet still conveys a sense of pride and superiority in a manner that is at least nominally dramatic.

While Joseph and Asenath looks at the individual, and III Maccabees takes the Jewish people as a character, the primary character in Letter of Aristeas is Judaism itself, not

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presented though the philosophical argumentation of Philo, but through the rich setting of banquets and important men—a tactic still used in our own day.

Whether formally novels or not, all of these examples show ways in which Jews used “fiction” to understand their place in Egypt. The rubric, as described above, identifies three areas by which the Jewish place in majority culture can be evaluated: self- definition, categorization by the majority culture, and the relationship between Jewish and majority cultures. However, the texts I am using are all Jewish texts. A complete analysis should include texts by Hellenes and Egyptians that discuss Jews. However, it is beyond the scope of this work to take on that analysis. Rather, I will be looking within the Jewish texts for indications of how the Jews saw the majority culture viewing them: the majority view as reflected through Jewish writing. While this only gives the Jewish perspective on the majority, it does address my question. By using the rubric discussed above to examine these works, I can begin to answer the original question: How could the

Egyptian Jews establish boundaries that enabled them to thrive through the Hellenistic period?

Endnotes:

1 There are periods in history, particularly during the Inquisition, where this latter definition would require some modification. For the period under question here, no such modification should be needed. 2 Green, H. A, “Jewish Identification and Assimilation,” 505. 3 Discussed in the literature review below. 4 Goudriaan, “Ethnical Strategies.” 5 Barth, 11 and 13f, quoted in Goudriaan, “Ethnical Strategies,” 75. 6 Summarized from Goudriaan, “Ethnical Strategies,” 75-77. 7 Ibid., 76. 8 Goudriaan, “Ethnical Strategies,” 77. 9 This last addition is the way in which the “permeable barrier” analogy can be applied to the Jews of Egypt. 10 Casanova, Jose, “Public Religion,” 13. 11 Weber, “Sociology of Religion,” 333 and following. 12 Weber also examines the erotic and the esthetic spheres; these are less useful in discussing both modernity and the Hellenistic world.

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13 The underlying assumption which excludes ethnicity has proved to be a great weakness in Weber’s theory. 14 As Jose Casanova explores in detail in Public Religions in the Modern World. 15 Hengel, “Judaism and Hellenism,” 57. 16 Hengel, “Jews, Greeks and Barbarians,” 52. 17 Although, as noted earlier, the boundaries between private religion and public life are not sharply defined in the modern world. 18 For example, H. I. Bell, writing about the cults of Greco-Roman Egypt in 1953, includes a brief history of the Jews in Egypt, the beginnings of Christianity, and the “Christian triumph.” 19 Gruen, “Heritage and Hellenism.” 20 Gruen, “Diaspora,” 214 21 Collins, “Between Athens and Jerusalem,” 1. 22 Ibid., 2. 23 Ibid., 6-10 24 Ibid., 15 25 Cohen, “The Beginnings of Jewishness,” 3. 26 Ibid., 344. 27 Bell, “Egypt,” 10. 28 This is a rather large overstatement: there are, of course, a number of non-Jewish Hellenistic works that at least mention Judaism. These have been examined by Feldman, Gruen, Bickerman and others. However, the majority concur that Jews were far more concerned with the Hellenistic world than the Hellenistic world was with Jews. For Hellenes, Jews were, at best, a curiosity; for Jews, Hellenes were a force that must be engaged. 29 Holladay, in “Jewish Responses,” 144, notes that the form of these Jewish texts “exhibit levels of Greek literacy that presuppose more than casual participation in the Greek educational system.” 30 Wills, “The Jewish Novel,” 3. 31 Ibid., 26. 32 Ibid., 27. 33 Ibid., 4-5. These women would include Esther, Asenath, and Judith, among others. 34 III Maccabees 1:1,“New Oxford Annotated Bible,” 286f.

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Chapter Two: Jews in Hellenistic Egypt

Introduction

Sabbataios, son of Horos and his son Dosas, Jewish potters from the Syrian village [Fayum], to Petesouchos and his sons Nepheros and Nechthanoupis, greeting. We agree we should share with you the pottery at Neiloupolis at present belonging to Paous son of Sabbataios, from Tybi 25, Year 7, till Mesore 30 in the same year, according to the division ¼ share to me and ¾ of the quarter for my son. We shall pay the tax together, each according to his share; and if there is any loss or profits, it shall be in common and divided up. We may not leave the pottery until the aforementioned year is out, nor may you turn us out of the pottery. And if we do not act as is here set down, we shall pay into the treasury 40 silver drachmai. This contract shall be binding everywhere. Written on behalf of the contracting parties by Chairemon son of Kallikrates at their request, since they declare that they are illiterate... (No. 46: An agreement about the joint use of a pottery; second or first century BCE1)

This document, dated from the Ptolemaic period, was written by a scribe for Jews with little education, who bear Egyptian names, who engage in work as artisans, and who intend to share that work with Egyptians. The contract indicates rough equality of economic and social status at least between these two parties, with only the designation

“Jewish potters” to show that this document is not a transaction between two Egyptians.

This record and others in the CPJ combine to give a partial picture of the economic and political standing and integration of Jews into Hellenistic Egyptian society. While, as noted in the previous chapter, the surviving records are far from complete, a few well- chosen documents can provide a wealth of information about particular aspects of

Egyptian Hellenistic society, as the one document above demonstrates. Within this chapter, I intend to examine both material within the CPJ and secondary source material regarding Hellenistic Egypt with the intent of understanding the context of the Egyptian

Jews, as well as their interactions in the public spheres of economics and in relation to the governmental administration.

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Before discussing the texts, it is essential to establish both context and place of the Egyptian Jews. I begin, therefore, by describing the physical and cultural milieu of

Egypt during the Hellenistic period and by characterizing the Jews who chose—or were taken—to settle there, for (the story of the Exodus notwithstanding) Jews have found it attractive since Biblical times and it is necessary to understand that attraction. Further, it is important to understand not only the political and societal structure of Egypt under the

Ptolemies but also the relationship between Jews and other groups within Egypt. Once this background has been established, I will discuss the material found in the CPJ.

Egypt and its Geography

Egypt is not an easy country to access: a map of Egypt shows virtually all towns and cities located along the banks or Delta of the Nile. The Delta itself is a morass of swamp and canal, rich in growing ability, but not easy to navigate, which opens onto the

Mediterranean world. Only from the Delta was travel out of Egypt easy: any other path led through the Egyptian deserts that surrounded the fertile Nile growing regions. This geography should have made Egypt difficult to conquer, yet the Persians, the Greeks and the Romans in turn ruled Egypt, using its abundance to feed their empires.

Both the fertility of the Nile valley and the sterility of the surrounding deserts have created Egyptian civilization. The Nile and the silt that washed down during flood season made for a narrow band on which much could be grown. To either side of the

Nile, deserts—the Western Desert and the Arabian Desert to the east—limit growth and confine the population to the river banks, giving Egypt the shape of “a tadpole with a large head and a very long tail.”2 The Nile also dictates the common mode of travel— water. Away from the Nile, the country is defined by the desert, with small villages

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connected to each other. The deserts limited travel: Egypt was, in effect, accessible only through the Delta and down the Nile. So the Nile’s function as Egypt’s primary highway dictated both transportation and communication, with its shape allowing only limited cultural exchange with the Mediterranean world. This is not to say that Hellenism did not penetrate, especially to those districts, such as Oxyrynchus and the Fayum which lay south of the Delta, merely to point out that, because communication was not easy, upper

Egypt tended to be culturally isolated.

The Nile’s cycle of flooding and recession also defined the economy and the

Egyptian perception of the gods, who relate to the Nile and its seasons. Egypt has three river-based seasons: flooding—from approximately July to November, planting—from

December to March, and harvest—from April to June.3 The success of the crops was dependent on both the local weather and the rise and fall of the Nile, which was determined by the weather far upriver. As the critical source of sustenance for Egypt, it is not surprising that the Nile itself was worshipped as a goddess. And, while the arable land in Egypt is a tiny part of the whole, its richness was sufficient to export crops for

Hellenistic rulers, thus playing a critical economic role in the empire.

This agricultural function and the rural society which supported it contrasted with the life of Alexandria, the most cosmopolitan of the Egyptian cities, which represented the height of the Hellenistic world. From Alexandria, ships could travel the

Mediterranean, making the city part of the greater world, while the inland portions remained relatively separate. So Egypt can be seen as a land of contrasts: at once cosmopolitan and rural, fertile and sterile, accessible and isolated, yet ultimately attractive to others.

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Structure of Egyptian Life under the Ptolemies

In 333 BCE Alexander seized Egypt from its Persian overlords. In several later accounts,4 it is written that the Egyptians welcomed him and called him both a liberator and a god—using the ancient pharonic title.5 “The few short months of his stay in Egypt were enough to determine the whole of his future policy, and in consequence shaped the politics of this realm for centuries to come, in the sense that it was to be at once

Hellenistic and Egyptian. Alexander treated the Egyptian gods with respect and sought the co-operation of Egyptian institutions. Yet his rule was based on Macedonian and

Greek elements in the population.”6

While Alexander’s conception of Hellenism was a total worldview, for the purposes of this chapter, the area that is significant for this chapter is the politeuma, or community, which defined the ethnic/religious groups, as well as the polis, the city, in which the Hellenes—or those accepted as Hellenes— were citizens. With his death and the subsequent division of his empire, the Ptolemies took on the title of Pharaoh, as a continuation of the ancient and divine rulers, and were regarded as such by the population. However, although they ruled as pharaohs, they never learned Egyptian.

Ptolemy I viewed Egypt as a business investment and the Egyptians as the tools which provided income. He imported mercenaries, including Jews, and gave them

Egyptian land to use and to tax farm. He changed the economy from barter-based to currency-based. He introduced Greek methods of irrigation to increase cultivated land.

And, in keeping with the universalism of Hellenism, the language of power in Egypt was

Greek.7

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Under the Ptolemies, Egypt became stratified into three classes, in which the

Hellenes were the highest class, while the Egyptians were, by and large, the lowest.

Other groups, such as Jews, made up distinct entities (politeumata) within the larger society. As happens whenever two cultures are in contact, some Egyptians took on the new rules and “acted” Greek, while the Hellenes, though their culture ostensibly remained superior, also adapted to the Egyptian way of life. These three groups: the

Hellenes, the other immigrants, and the Egyptians, made up the population of Egypt during the Ptolemaic rule.

The Ptolemies divided Egypt into thirty nomes, or districts, each with its own capital, or metropolis, and governor. While in other nations, the Hellenes constructed cities based on the Greek model, in Egypt the Ptolemies built only three: Alexandria,

Naucratis, and Ptolemais. Instead the Ptolemies settled immigrants—soldiers and civil servants—in existing towns.

Within town and country there were three civic categories. The laoi, the native residents of the towns and the countryside, held the lower legal status than the non- natives, had separate courts and laws, and did not own property. The laoi were primarily, though not exclusively, Egyptian. They did not own land, but either leased it directly from the king, paying rent to a government official, or leased it from a military settler, who had been awarded the land by the government. The laoi were the working class of

Egypt: they might also be shepherds, fishermen, or craftsmen. Their inferior legal status was evident in separate courts, separate laws and separate punishments. Their low civic status did not mean that they were necessarily poor: tenants expected their landlords to maintain the rented property and, if this was not done had legal recourse.8

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Higher in status than the laoi, but still without full rights, were the metoikoi— permanent, non-native residents without the rights of a citizen. While these residents did have the protection of their own community, they were subjects to the courts and laws of the polis, or city, rather than the jurisdiction of the native courts.

The highest category included the politai, the citizens of the poleis. Within the

Aristotelian ideal, the politai were more than inhabitants of a city, but constituted the city and were governed under the politeia, a term used to mean both government and constitution.

Within the cities, each different ethnic group formed its own community, or politeuma, that is “a national (or religious) group enjoying certain political privileges, first and foremost the maintenance of an independent judicial system and community establishment, on the basis of the right to preserve ancestral customs.”9 These groups, most of whom had come to Egypt as part of the military or as civil servants, included

Macedonians, Greeks, Syrians and Jews. The members of the politeuma could be either metokai or politai.

The resultant society was decentralized, with individual cities relatively self- determining. It was stratified, though not completely: members of the politeuma held the power of politai, so that metokai could change categories. Further, the politeuma provided a separate arena for law and community.10

Jewish Life in Hellenistic Egypt

Egypt’s fertility has made the country attractive to Jews from Biblical times on.

The Torah speaks again and again of sojourning in Egypt when there is famine in

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Canaan: both Abraham and Isaac visit; Joseph’s place in Egypt as second under Pharaoh saves his family; and the Jews under Moses suffer slavery, but not starvation. Within the

Biblical text, the matter-of-fact usage and repetition of place indicate that, in time of famine, Egypt is the place to go for food. And while there is little or no corroborating historical evidence of the stories above, there is evidence that Jews lived in Egypt from the time of the Persian conquest, when Cyrus conquered the Assyrian empire and when the Jews returned from Babylonia to the land of Israel. During this period, Jews served in the army and in the garrison of Elephantine (Porten argues Jews arrived there as early as the seventh century BCE11).

Both the Letter of Aristeas and III Maccabees recount how tens of thousands of

Jews were brought to Egypt as slaves during the Hellenistic period. While the numbers may be in doubt, it is clear that some Jews did enter Egypt in this way. Jews also came for economic and political reasons of their own—partially resulting from Antiochus conquering Palestine, thereby changing the political and religious situation. “Egypt, the richest of all the contiguous countries, presented manifold opportunities to new-comers, and so attracted the population of Palestine.”12 Jews settled everywhere in Egypt and were a substantial part of the population, though how numerous is difficult to say; the figures given both by Philo and Aristeas are much too high for plausibility.13 They were well-integrated in the population, as soldiers,14 as tax-farmers, as artisans, as merchants and as policeman. Further, Jewish communal life was strong, if one can judge by the many synagogues.15

How were Jews distinguished from other groups? Cohen maintains that “Jews looked like everyone else, dressed like everyone else, spoke like everyone else, had

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names and occupations like those of everyone else, and, in general, closely resembled their gentile neighbors.”16 However, Jews—and other ethnicities—constituted a politeuma, and, as in any large city, tended to live together, though there was no compulsion to do so. Gruen, arguing that Jews in Alexandria were well-integrated says,

“Whether or not politeuma is the proper term, the Alexandrian Jews plainly had governing officials of their own: an ethnarch, a gerousia, or both. And they possessed political standing in the city, including the exercise of (unspecified) civic privileges, as well as a claim on designations like politai, dikaia politika, even politeia—and, indeed, the label ‘Alexandrians.’”17 Jews also were given the right “to live according to their ancestral laws,” while the Jewish way of life in Alexandria was described as reverencing

God, and observing dietary laws.18

That the Jews participated in public life and that they were, for the most part, indistinguishable from others in Hellenistic society speaks to the idea that there were public spheres—most notably the economic sphere, but also, to some degree, the political—which were open to Jews. That Jews formed their own politeuma and lived

“according to their ancestral laws” indicates that the private sphere, composed of practice

(keeping kosher) and belief (reverencing God) played a part in Hellenistic Jewish life.

Egyptian-Jewish Relationships

The dominant culture in Egypt was, of course, Hellenism. The result, for

Egyptians was that, like the Jews, they became a minority culture. As is not uncommon, the relations between the two minority cultures were not good. Jews looked down upon

Egyptians; Egyptians were no less contemptuous of Jews. The anger between the two

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groups has been examined by a number of authors, particularly as it relates to the anti-

Jewish riots of 38 and 115 CE. As noted in Chapter One, one surmise has been that it was ethnic friction between the two groups that fed the riots, and further that ethnicity as a way of dividing one group from another may have become the point of cleavage at this time. The literature on this subject is large and fascinating; however, it touches on this thesis on only in the way the Jews understood themselves against both Egyptians and

Greeks.

For the Jews, while Hellenistic civilization was something that must be reconciled with Jewishness, the same need not be said of Egyptian civilization. And while Jews may have returned to Egypt from the land of Israel, they did not need to embrace the

Egyptians with the land. So, in much of the literature, Egyptians take on the character of the villain, while the Greeks, regardless of actual behavior, are the allies of the Jews. On the other hand, in villages and in everyday life, Jews and Egyptians lived and worked together as can be seen in the documents collected in the Corpus Papyrorum Judaicarum.

Jews as presented in the “Corpus Papyrorum Judaicarum”

In the early 1950s, Victor Tcherikover collected much of the published papyri and ostraka concerning Jews that originated in Egypt during the Ptolemaic Period through the

Arab conquest. He used several criteria—Jewish names, technical Jewish terms, or documents originating from Jewish settlements—with the intent of making a systematic collection which would “provide a detailed picture of the Jews in Egypt…”19 The resulting work shows not only the areas for which we have much information, but displays many gaps. CPJ I consists of documents which mention Jews (or reasonably can

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be conjectured to mention Jews) from 323-30 BCE, CPJ II continues through the Jewish revolt of 115-117 CE, and CPJ III through the Byzantine period, well out of the scope of this thesis.

Because of the period it covers, volume I contains the most relevant information for this thesis. It is divided into six sections, which consist almost entirely of material outside of Alexandria, particularly (though not exclusively) from the Fayum. Two of these sections are from the Zenon papyri, a collection of papyri named after one of the central characters, who was an official of Ptolemy II. In the first section, Tcherikover presents representations of Jews of Palestine, one of whom—Toubias—is particularly prominent in the texts as a merchant. This section does not concern the Egyptian Jews, except inasmuch as it shows a level of communication between Jews and Hellenes throughout the region. The second section concerns Zenon’s activities as the manager of an estate in the Fayum. The Jews mentioned here are poor: a shepherd, day-laborers, a guard, and the wealthiest, vine-dressers, who had the wherewithal to lease vineyards.20

The third section groups together Jews in the military. Again, these documents are primarily from the Fayum. The military was a profitable profession—those who served became landholders and hence were among the wealthier Jews of the region. Hence, these documents also reflect agricultural and land issues: there are mortgages, partnerships, and other legal documents that indicate the economic and social conditions of these Jews.21 Tcherikover has collected fifteen documents of non-military groups in the Fayum, but does not feel most are worthy of much attention and, in aggregate, they do not add to the discussion.22 In fact, while there are few documents in this category, some contain interesting material In the fifth section, Tcherikover moves from the Fayum

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to upper Egypt, where the majority of texts are written on ostraca, rather than papyri, and are primarily tax-receipts.23 The final section contains all documents that could not otherwise be categorized.24

Despite the apparent number, the amount of information that can be learned from this collection is circumscribed in two ways. First, it is geographically and temporally limited: the earlier documents primarily originate from the Fayum, with some (of limited use) from upper Egypt, while the later documents originate in Alexandria. Second, the kind of documents that are collected almost entirely concern economic and legal transactions of one kind or another, making social commentary more difficult, though not impossible.

For my purposes, there are five sections within the two volumes which provide useful information. In volume I, sections two, three, four, and six provide the most useful information from outside Alexandria, while in volume II, section one provides similar information (though slightly later in date) for Alexandria. Rather than examining the documents as Tcherikover has laid them out, it is more useful to group them according to what the kind of information they reveal about the society. I have chosen not to examine those documents which are primarily lists or tax receipts. While these have their own value, they are not useful here. Rather, I am examining those documents in which Jews interact in some manner with others in society, with the intent of looking at a number of questions. First, how are Jews identified in these documents? Second, what is the nature of the documents and the relationships between the individuals in the documents?

Finally, what does this say about public-private sphere and ethnicity?

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Identification of Jews in CPJ

Zenon to Krotos, greeting. As soon as you receive this letter, get 25 minae of wool from Pasis the Jew and give it to Artemidoros to make a mattress….I have also written to tell Pasis to give you the wool. (No. 9 Pasis the Jew, 17 September 253 BCE)

While there is much that can be learned from this document—notably, that Pasis the Jew served a Hellenistic master, Zenon, that his occupation was that of farmer and shepherd—my concern here is his name, which is Egyptian and the fact that he is identified as a Jew by the Hellenes. Tcherikover comments that Pasis is a common

Egyptian name,25 so there is no way to determine the value of the term Jew. Certainly, it is plausible, given the context, that it simply identifies one Pasis as opposed to another.

Jews are identified as Jews throughout the CPJ documents, but not with any consistency. So in document 38, Harmiysis filed a complaint against “Seos, a Jew living in Alabanthis.”26 While Harmiysis’ complaint is a detailed exposition paying for wool that was never delivered along with a request for justice in the matter, that Seos is labeled as a Jew seems to be a mere statement of fact and identification, especially since, as in the case of Pasis, Seos is an Egyptian name. There is no way to determine how consistent this practice is, however; elsewhere Jews with Jewish names describe themselves as Jews, while Jews with Egyptian names who are not specifically labeled as

Jews could pass unnoticed and not appear in any collection of Jews.27

Jews could belong to more than one group. So in several documents, notably 19,

20, and 21, the phrase “Jew of the Epigone”28 is used to identify individuals. This label places the individual with two different ways—first, as a Jews, and second, as a member of a particular group within the military. The names themselves are telling, as well: these

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are individuals who have been identified as Jewish and as members of the military, but they are also part of the Hellenistic world through their Greek names: Dositheos and

Theophilos being translations of Hebrew; while Mousaios, Timaios and Philsition are simply common Greek names.

Names and labels then, seem not to be significant in Jewish identity. Jews choose names that are Hebrew (e.g. Simon, in document 20, Judas, in document 24), Egyptian or

Greek (as above). They were identified as Jews by others but without any consistency and without any apparent pejorative intent. The point that names were not one of the ways that Jews identified themselves or were identified by others was made by Cohen,29

(among others) who lists, in addition to names, several other possible ways by which

Jews could have but did not distinguish themselves from others: dress, speech, appearance, clothing, and occupation. So, in examining ethnicity as a semi-permeable boundary, at this time, names were apparently permeable artifacts, meaning little or nothing as a way to identify as a Jew.30

Nature of the documents

These documents fall into three categories. First, there is the category of civil and criminal matters which are brought to a court. This category includes theft, deceit, and even murder, as well as loans and mortgages. Document 19, from about 226 BCE, provides a lengthy example of a dispute between two Jews which is brought to the Court of Ten in the Fayum. The document is divided into four parts: an elaborate description of the date on which and place where the court convened, along with a list of the judges; a statement of the case and injured parties; a description of the events leading to trial; and

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the supporting documents with the subsequent dismissal of the case. The case itself is worthy of gossip: Dositheos, identified as a Jew of the Epigone, brought suit against

Herakleia, identified as a Jewess, charging that she abused him because he had called her names. Whereupon he returned the favor and she escalated the situation, spitting upon him and seizing his cloak—quite a pretty brawl, indeed. He brought suit against her for damages from the assault.

However, when the trial began Dositheos did not appear, while Herakleia, accompanied by her guardian, Aristides, identified as an Athenian of the Epigone. As one of the parties to the case did not appear, it was dismissed.

What is notable in this case is the impartiality with which all parties are mentioned. Individuals, whether Greek or Jewish (or, in one case, Persian) are described in the same way. Herakleia, while Jewish, has an Athenian guardian (although this may simply be a way of identifying the regiment, not the individual31). Further, this is a clear example of a situation where the politeuma did not operate. The Jews herein made their complaints to and were heard by the Hellenistic courts. While all parties are identified by their ethnicity or military affiliation, that ethnicity seems to matter not at all—in this context, it is a neutral marker.

In another physical assault, taking place in the mid-second century BCE, a pregnant Jewish woman was beaten by another Jewish woman. In this document

(number 133), the report was recorded by the village scribe, and the petitioner, one

Sabbataios, requested that the assailant be taken into custody until the birth or miscarriage of the child. As with the previous case, while all the participants are Jewish, it is the Hellenistic administration, not the Jewish council, which is called upon to act.

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Civil suits are less exciting than the example above, but nevertheless provide another example of the way Jews interacted with Hellenistic courts. In document 37, three men, presumably Jews from their names, write to King Ptolemy regarding land that they have leased which is not producing. They request of Ptolemy that he “order

Diophanes the strategos to write telling Meleagros the epistates of the village of

Boubastos to summon Demetrios [the lessor] to Diophanes the stategos, and, if the allegations made in this complaint are correct, to make him promise to give us our rights.” The language and style they use to write to Ptolemy, as well as the situation itself, in which Jews and Hellenes interact around business as equals, implies that in civic disputes, ethnicity is not a factor.

One final example, document 33, from the third century BCE, shows Jews and

Greeks identified as two different groups, both of which were expected to pay an equal tax: “to be collected from all those who live in Psenyris, for the village granaries, from the Jews and the Greeks, ½ drachme per person.” Again, what is notable here is that ethnicity is mentioned, but seems not to be an issue.

Second, there are business matters and employee relations, which include buying and selling, contracts between individuals, and disputes or discussions between employer and employee. Document 12, which comes from the Zenon papyri regarding Jews of the

Fayum, is an example of this type:

To Zenon from Somoelis, the guard at Philadelphia, greeting. We have sown the piece of ground here called Amande…; so I am keeping 20 artabai of wheat for you for sowing. I have the following report to make; and I hope Etearchos will not wrong me any more either in this or in any other matter. He has been very hard on my son, putting him to all sorts of forced labour. So please be good enough to write him a letter for me, so that he will be careful of me and I won’t be ill- treated anymore. I can buy also 1,000 artabai of barley for you from the

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cavalrymen, but not from any of the farmers, so that nobody can say anything against me. And, if possible, have another granary made; the present one is not big enough to hold the year’s corn. I guard the village granary here, too, and get nothing for it. The people from Philadelphia give me 1½ artabai of wheat, and that isn’t even enough to feed the kids unless I do some extra work for myself. Farewell.32

This is a good example of the issues discussed in this category of document. The address is simple—Somoelis identifies himself to his employer, but uses no honorifics.

There are two types of business undertaken here. Somoelis informs his employer of purely business matters: the ground that is sown, the barley that can be purchased, and the need for another granary. However, he also discusses matters that relate to his person: the poor relationship between the unidentified Etearchos and his family and a meager salary that is not sufficient to allow him to feed his children. Other than the

Jewish name, there is no indication that Somoelis is Jewish. Indeed, the letter communicates only about various economic issues.

Other examples of this type include documents 1433 and 15,34 which concern a vineyard leased by Samoelis and Alexander from Zenon and his partner Sostratos.

Number 14 consists of a police report filed by the two vintners following a robbery of thirty thousand reed canes, clearly a heavy loss. Within the year, the two lessees complain that they have been prevented from accessing their land by neighbors and are planning to abandon it. Zenon’s concern, in document 15, is how to prevent them from abandoning the property.

While the police report technically belongs in the first category, the situation between Zenon, the vintners and the neighbors places this in the category of business relations. Again, there is no indication of ethnicity being an issue between the vintners and the landowner. There is, however, an underlying situation mentioned in document

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15: the lack of access to the vineyards. I am not suggesting that the reason for preventing the vintners to approach their land was ethnic disputation, only pointing out that documents of this type leave a great deal unsaid.

Despite the minimalist nature of the material, there is no point within this material where Jews are pointed out in more than a passing way. Business is business. Jews work for and with Hellenes and with Egyptians (as in the example beginning this chapter).

There is no indication from the material given that being Jewish was taken note of in more than a cursory way.

Finally, and there are only a few examples of this type, is the category of personal contracts, which include divorce documents and wills. While the range is broad, in fact, what stands out is the Hellenistic character of the documents in form and in use of the appropriate forum for redress. There is no evidence of the Jews as a politeuma within these particular documents.

One example that contradicts the generalization above is the letter (document

128) written by Helladote to King Ptolemy on 11 May, 218 BCE. In it Helladote complains that she is: “being wronged by Jonathas the Jew…He has agreed in accordance with the law of the Jews to hold me as wife…Now he wants to withhold…hundred drachmai, and also the house…does not give me my due, and shuts me out of my house…and absolutely wrongs me in every respect…”35 This letter is unusual in a number of ways. First, the man is identified as Jewish, but not so the woman. The suggestion has therefore been raised that this might be an intermarriage. Tcherikover discusses and rejects the possibility that this is the case, arguing that the woman’s Greek name alone is not sufficient evidence.36 Second, it is unusual, if not unique, that Jewish

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law is cited in a Greek document, with the expectation that the Hellenistic courts will uphold said law. Many of the instances cited above do correspond to Ptolemaic law, however the peculiar mix of Jewish and Greek law, as well as the combination of Greek and Jewish names stands out as an unusual mixing of public and private.

Jews in the Public Life of Hellenistic Egypt

The documents in CPJ are, for the most part, concerned with economics, government and politics. Within these documents, there was little or no mention of the

Jews as an ethnic-religious group, as opposed to as individual tenants, farmers, soldiers, or artisans, although it is clear that Jews were identified by the dominant society as Jews:

However, though those individual Jews were (sometimes) identified as Jews, CPJ I provides little or no evidence that this distinction led to discrimination between an individual Jew and his neighbor. So while it is true that, as my rubric puts it, “Jews were recognized as a distinct group with the majority culture,” it also seems that it is true that

“Judaism is an ethnic-religious dimension of social life that is separate and independent from other areas.” While the literature that follows shows Jews in conflict with different segments of society, particularly as regards religious practice, there is no evidence in CPJ

I that Jews were disliked or were differentiated in civic treatment from the Hellenes.

(That situation changed—the final document in CPJ I, from the first half of the first century BCE, cites the famous quote: “You know they [unspecified] loathe the Jews.”37

However, in the documents from the third and second century, no such sentiment is evident.) Further, there is little evidence in these documents of the way in which the society determined Jewish ethnicity: names alone were not sufficient and there is no

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mention of other forms of identification. Yet in the literature that follows it is clear that

Jews are a group, identifiable by practice and by association.

Endnotes:

1 Tcherikover, “Corpus Papyrorom Judaicarum,” 190-191. 2 Bell, “Egypt,” 2. 3 In Egypt in Late Antiquity, 20- 25, Bagnall has an excellent description of the rotation of the agricultural year. 4 Arrian of Nicomedia (2nd century, CE) and Diodorus of Sicily, “(first century BCE), who follows Cleitarchus of Alexandria (end of fourth century BCE)”). Modrzejewski, “The Jews of Egypt,” 54. 5 Hegermann, “The Diaspora…,” 117. 6 Ibid., 117 7 Bell, “Egypt,” 35-37. 8 Tcherikover, “CPJ I,” 13 and 14. 9 Kasher, “The Jews in…Egypt,” 5. 10 The description of the civic structure is largely drawn from Kasher, “The Jews in Hellenistic and Roman Egypt.” 11 Porten, “Archives from Elephantine.” 12 Tcherikover, “CPJ I,” 3. 13 Ibid., 4. 14 Kasher, “The Civic Status of the Jews,” 107. 15 Gruen, “Diaspora,” 68-69; Tcherikover, “CPJ I,” 1957. 16 Cohen, “The Beginnings of Jewishness,” 67. 17 Gruen, “Diapora,” 75 18 Kasher, “The Civic Status of the Jews,” 109. This is cited in III Maccabees 3:4 and supported by Josephus. 19 Tcherikover, “CPJ I,” xvii. 20 Ibid., 129. 21 Ibid., 147-8. 22 Ibid., 177. 23 Ibid., 194. 24 Ibid.,. 227. 25 Ibid., 134. 26 Ibid., 185. 27 This problem is hardly confined to the Hellenistic world. In determining Jewish populations in the United States, demographers may choose to develop a sample pool by, among other methods, searching phone books for Jewish names. As in Egypt, this method will lead to including some non-Jews with names that appear Jewish and will miss others who have apparently non-Jewish names. 28 Tcherikover, “CPJ I,” 264, defines ‘epigone’ as one of the younger generation of Egyptian soldiers. The phrase is also associated with Persians (p. 51) and seems to indicate a particular group of soldiers. 29 Cohen, “The Beginnings of Jewishness,” 35-36. 30 Several questions come to mind in considering the importance of a name. Names are frequently given much significance in families and in communities. Names are given great meaning in Torah. However, in society after society, Jews (and others) choose to adopt the names of the dominant culture, regardless of the level of separation between the dominant and minority culture. While I will do no more than note the problem here, the question of why names are rarely used as ethnic markers remains. 31 Tcherikover, “CPJ I,” 51f. 32 Undated, but Tcherikover places it during the reign of Philadelphos (138).

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33 Tcherikover, “CPJ I,” 142-3. 34 Ibid., 144-5. 35 Ibid., 237. The ellipses represent missing text in the papyrus. 36 Ibid., 237-8. While Tcherikover is correct that there is not enough evidence, neither does that rule out the possibility of intermarriage. 37 Ibid., 256.

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Chapter Three: From Egyptian to Jew: Joseph and Asenath

Introduction

“And this girl had nothing similar to the virgins of the Egyptians, but she was in every respect similar to the daughters of the Hebrews; and she was tall as Sarah and handsome as Rebecca and beautiful as Rachel.”1

This description, coming near the beginning of Joseph and Asenath, introduces the reader to Asenath. The text continues the description by portraying her as a virgin of eighteen, protected from men and wrangling suitors, and pampered by rich and doting parents. Mostly importantly for the story, however, she is described as being like the

Hebrews and unlike the Egyptians. So, from the beginning, the narrative distinguishes between Jews and Egyptians. It is a distinction that is more complex than the quote above might imply, as the whole story includes not only differentiating Asenath from other Egyptian women but also differentiating “good” people, both Jews and Egyptians, from “bad” people, again both Jews and Egyptians. This complexity and the apparent contradictions between universal and particular values make this an ideal text in which to explore Jewish self-understanding.

The story itself originates in the text of Genesis 41:45, “Pharaoh then gave Joseph the name Zaphenateh-paneah; and he gave him for a wife Asenath daughter of Potiphera, priest of On.” Asenath is mentioned only twice more in the Hebrew Bible—as the mother of Joseph’s sons, Ephraim and Manasseh.2 However, as with many other Biblical characters who rate only brief references,3 from these few words a whole tale was created. It is an exceeding odd story: part romance, part mystical conversion vision and experience, and part adventure. Structurally, it is divided into two parts, with the first part subdivided into three scenes. What follows is a brief summary of the narrative.

It begins during the first of the seven abundant years that are to be followed by seven lean years. Joseph has set out to gather grain “like the sand of the sea.”4 In

Heliopolis,5 he arrives at the house of an advisor to Pharaoh, the priest Pentephres, a man both rich and kind. Here the text introduces Asenath. While it describes her, as above, as beautiful and desired, even by Pharaoh’s son (although his father would have preferred a match with the daughter of the king of Moab6), Asenath has scorned all her suitors and closeted herself in her rooms.

With Joseph’s arrival, Pentephres determines that he will marry Asenath to

Joseph, who he calls “the Powerful One of God”7 and “a man who worships God, and self-controlled, and a virgin like you...powerful in wisdom and experience.”8 Asenath replies that Joseph is a foreigner, a fugitive, and an ex-con—hardly worthy of a woman of her status—and that she intends to marry the Pharaoh’s son. Pentephres, ashamed of his daughter’s rudeness, sends her to her room, and welcomes Joseph without her.

Ironically, Asenath sees Joseph from her window and falls in love at first sight. Now it is she who wants her father to arrange a marriage with Joseph and, from her room, she appeals to Joseph’s God to “be gracious” to her.

But Joseph is not interested in taking an Egyptian wife. He is courteous to

Pentephres and his attendants, but sets very clear boundaries, holding himself apart from the Egyptians while they are eating: “Joseph never ate with the Egyptians, for this was an abomination to him.”9 and forcefully refusing women who wish to sleep with him because he “remembered his father’s commandments.”10 However, after being reassured that Asenath is “a virgin hating every man,”11 he agrees to meet with her in a brotherly way, although he rejects her idol worship. When she emerges, clearly sexually aroused,12

Joseph recites a lengthy prayer on her behalf,13 in which he asks his God to bless her and this first scene closes.

The second section of this first part begins as both Asenath’s parents and Joseph leave the house, setting off in two different directions, while Asenath is left alone with her attendants. This section of the narrative, fully one-third of the whole, describes

Asenath’s conversion experience. It differs markedly from the preceding material: there are but two characters in this section, Asenath and a “messenger” of God. While prayer punctuates the entire narrative, more than half of this scene’s text is prayer. She fasts, disposes of her idols and jewels, wears a black mourning tunic and ashes for seven days, and cries so much that the ashes become mud.14 She gives two speeches, one in which she agonizes over rejecting and being rejected by her parents, the second in which she contemplates calling on the “Most High.” In the third prayer, she calls on God and asks to be given to Joseph. This prayer is answered by a “messenger” who renames her “City of Refuge,” tells her that she is given to Joseph, and has her perform a strange ceremony involving bees and honeycombs, which are an opaque (at least to us) sign of some kind for Asenath, then departs after blessing all in house. Asenath remains alone.

The third section of the first part begins as Asenath’s parents and Joseph return separately to Pentepres’ home to find that Asenath has been transformed from a teenage brat to a radiant bride. On seeing her, her father comments: “At last the Lord God of heaven has chosen you as a bride for his firstborn son, Joseph.”15 He takes her to Joseph, who accepts her as his bride. Their marriage is performed by Pharaoh, who “turn[ed] them around toward each other face to face and brought them mouth to mouth and joined

them by their lips, and they kissed each other.”16 This section concludes with a final prayer in which Asenath confesses her sins.

Part two, which is substantially shorter, is set during the seven years of famine.

Its tone is markedly different than that of the first part. While part one describes actions and emotions in detail, part two summarizes the incidents it describes. While the characters in part one pray often and eloquently, part two contains few prayers (although references to “fear of the Lord” occur on several occasions). And, while part one has only four characters (and arguably only one main character—Asenath), part two has a whole cast of Egyptians and Jews.

It begins as Joseph’s family moves to Egypt. When Joseph and Asenath visit them in Goshen, Asenath is captivated by Jacob’s vitality and Levi’s goodness. However, it transpires that Joseph’s brothers are split in regard to Asenath: while the sons of

Jacob’s wives favor Asenath, the sons of his concubines are hostile. The plot thickens as

Pharaoh’s son, seeing and desiring Asenath, attempts to talk Joseph’s brothers into murdering Joseph. Gad and Dan, the sons of the concubines, agree to assist him, but

Simeon and Levi, are opposed. They threaten Pharaoh’s son, who is intimidated, whereupon Levi reassures him that he has no reason to be afraid, so long as he does not endanger Joseph.

The intrigue continues: Pharaoh’s son (still nameless) attempts patricide, but is foiled. He and the “bad” brothers ambush Asenath, who is out walking with Benjamin

(and six hundred men). A battle ensues during which the sons of Jacob by Bilhah and

Zilpah fight the sons of Jacob by Leah and Rachel. Pharaoh’s son is wounded and dies as a result, followed by the grief-stricken Pharaoh, who, before dying, leaving the throne to

Joseph as guardian of the kingdom and of Pharaoh’s youngest son, still an infant. Joseph rules forty-eight years before turning the crown over to the then middle-aged heir.

Setting, Audience, and Purpose

It is obvious why this story, combining as it does romance, intrigue, mystical experiences with supernatural beings, and adventure, has attracted much attention from scholars. It appears to be a stew in which every dramatic element has been tossed in and stirred not so gently, leaving many contrasting ingredients. Because there are several versions, but none that date as early as the Hellenistic period and because of the complex nature of the plot, the story raises any number of questions about motivation of the writer, the authenticity of the several different versions of the text,17 and the time and place that is was written. It is beyond the purview of this work to address these questions in detail.

However, a brief response to all these questions must be made, simply to allow the text to be used at all.

I would concur with the majority that it originated in late Hellenistic Egypt, prior to the Roman occupation. First, and most obviously, it is set in Egypt. The simplest explanation for the setting is that the text originated there. However and more importantly, Jews in Egypt had a compelling reason to explain to themselves who they were and what their relationship to the Egyptians was, a reason that would not have existed for the Jews in Judea. As to the time, the issues around the relationship between even the most important of Egyptians and the Joseph point to a relationship between Jew and Egyptian which could have been imagined during the Hellenistic period, but would have been difficult to imagine afterwards. The increase in anti-Jewish sentiment as

recorded in the CPJ II, as well as the attitudes reflected in Philo’s accounts of the anti-

Jewish riots of 41 CE, make a story in which Jews and Egyptians mix and marry unlikely.

Even more so, Ross Kraemer’s argument that Joseph and Asenath has a Christian genesis and a much later date does not fit either character use or societal elements. However, it could be argued that some of the language, particularly in the prayers, does presage later language and reference. According to Gruen, the attitudes expressed in Joseph and

Asenath are more typical of the late Hellenistic period, so an earlier date is unlikely.18

Finally, the problem of the correct text is perhaps the most difficult as there are several compelling deconstructions of the text. Wills, for example, argues that the prayer is a later substratum.19 Others argue that, based on the narrative and thematic differences between part one and part two, part two was appended at a later date.20 Fortunately, the themes within the texts do not require me to choose. Both parts deal with the relation between Jew and other, so even if they come from two sources, both address my topic.

On a final note, because the prayers within Joseph and Asenath parallel those in III

Maccabees, I would argue that they, at least, are part of the original story.

Joseph and Asenath is, first and foremost, a romance, and a romance with a heavy dose of mysticism. Further, like Judith, it features a female heroine in a very active role.

It seems likely that it is intended for the common population, those who would be more interested in story than in philosophizing, and that its primary purpose was to entertain.

Both romance and mysticism have a long history of appealing to a broad segment of population: women as well as men poor as well as rich, ignorant as well as educated. So

I would argue that this text, too, had in mind the entertainment of the masses. That these readers were primarily Jewish seems apparent as well. Given the subservient portrayal of

the Egyptians, it seems unlikely that this text would have been directed to them. It may, on the other hand, have had some Greek readers. The mystical scenes are comparable to those in Greek literature of the time, while the story, aside from the unflattering portrayal of the Egyptians, can be read in a universal way. Further, as discussed below, if this was, in fact, a text that responded to Manetho’s writings, it may well have been partially directed at the Greeks. Nevertheless, simply because of its subject matter, it is likely that its audience was predominately Jewish.

Analysis of the text

According to the rubric, Jewish self-definition comprises three parts. First, it examines what characteristics the “group,” or community of Jews identifies as key to define a “good-enough” Jew. Then, looking outward, it examines what characteristics or lack thereof make a non-Jew. In both cases these characteristics are arbitrary in function— not meaning that they have no relationship to the root metaphors of the religion, but rather that they function primarily to define the ethnicity. Lastly, the rubric looks at the willingness to maintain these boundaries, as without the will to maintain some separation between Jew and non-Jew, the community will vanish.

The definition assumes that the ethnicity is determined by the community and yet, for the first part of the Joseph and Asenath, the community is noticeably absent. There are, in fact, only four main characters—Joseph, Asenath, Pentephres, and the angel.

There is, then, hardly a “group” to which Joseph, as a Jew, can belong—not surprising, since the setting of this part of the tale is prior to the arrival of Joseph’s family.

Nevertheless, the tale is noteworthy because of its emphasis on the actions of the

individuals, each of whom has a distinct personality and each of whom represents part of a community. Joseph may not have a community, yet he clearly represents Jews in Egypt even while he is their sole representative.

Asenath’s role is less obvious. She is not Jewish, yet she is “like” the Jews. She prays to the “High God,” who responds by making her a Jew, where Jew is defined as one who worships “Joseph’s God” and has renounced idols. However, the element which most defines her is her ability to pray and have her prayers answered. She is, in some sense, a true believer. This aspect of being a Hellenistic Jew is perhaps the part that later

Jews find uncomfortable and that led Kraemer to argue for a Christian genesis for the story. Yet it seems clear that conversion and prayer—both difficult and demanding—are part of what defines this Jewish community.

In the second part, there is a community—or, at least, a family—of Jews, as well as many Egyptians. Within this society, there are both God-fearing and wicked brothers, as well as good and evil Egyptians. While it is clear that the Hebrews—whether good or evil—are not Egyptians, nevertheless (and thrilling plot aside), there is a strong universalistic thread to this part. Juxtaposed against this, however, is the result of the evil plot against Joseph’s family: God responds in a miraculous way to the prayer of Asenath and Joseph, a Jew, ends up on the throne of Egypt for almost half a century.

So, while not an obvious theme within the story, the need for self-definition still pervades the story. Within Joseph and Asenath, two elements define a Jew: separate ritual practice from that of the general population and the importance of prayer, particularly the right prayer by the right person. Though he does not specifically refer to dietary practices (as is done in both Letter of Aristeas and III Maccabees), nevertheless

Joseph takes care to separate himself from the Egyptians while he eats and he refuses to kiss Asenath—both refusals because the Egyptians worship idols. It should be noted, however, that this separation does not extend to speaking with, doing business with, or being married by idol-worshippers.

While maintaining distance from idol worshippers is one theme within the text, a second and arguably more important theme is that of an individual’s connection to God, as seen by both by prayer and by the section in which Asenath converts.

The initial scene of Joseph and Asenath demonstrates both separateness from others and association with God. Joseph maintains separate eating customs from the

Egyptians, and also is repeatedly associated with God by the Egyptians—Pentephres calls him the “Powerful One of God,” for example. While this name could simply be the title of Pharaoh’s highest servant,21 Pentephres also lists “worshipping God” (the God of

Joseph) among Joseph’s good qualities. There is no Jewish ritual mentioned, simply the omniscient God of Joseph. Further, belief in this God is not simply a matter for Jews: the

Egyptians as a group seem to accept Joseph’s God. Asenath’s maids are quite willing to be “converted” and her parents, while not abandoning their own idols, are happy for their daughter’s fine marriage.

Asenath’s conversion sequence shows both separateness from others and relationship to God dramatically. The plot is universal—describing a young girl’s sexual awakening—but it surrounds that story with elaborate ritual, the function of which is to bring her to life (albeit a sexual life within a “separate” Jewish context). Unlike in the

“conversion” story told by the book of Ruth, Asenath does not become part of a society— rather, she, as an individual, rejects idols and accepts Joseph’s God.

In her transformative process, Asenath unequivocally and dramatically rejects idols, symbolically “kills” herself (through covering herself with ashes), and is “reborn” through passionate, desperate prayer. This type of prayer, both in Joseph and Asenath and elsewhere, has the power to persuade God to change people and situation. It is also distinctive in that the prayer of certain individuals in certain situations has more power than that of others. It is only after Asenath has placed herself in an extreme position (by isolating herself, fasting, removing her ornate clothing and replacing it with sackcloth and ashes, and renouncing all other gods) that she prays.

Asenath addresses her prayers to Joseph’s God, who is: “Lord God of the ages,/ who created all (things) and gave life (to them)…”22 Asenath’s prayers, like others to discussed below, address the God of the Jews, who is also a universal God. She appeals to God as creator and supreme being, begging for rescue from her particular situation.

And, while she explicitly recognizes the commandments, she is not Jewish and hence her prayers have a universalistic tone. Since Joseph and Asenath is a tale of conversion, in which Asenath is not praying to her God, but asking God to rescue her from her past life, this makes sense. The prayer continues by summarizing the creation and the ten commandments23 in virtually one breath (showing the use of Jewish motifs by non-

Jewish characters).

Her prayer is answered by the mysterious messenger with his honey and bees who renames her “City of Refuge,” an act which seems to make her Jewish (or Hebrew—Jew is not mentioned in Joseph and Asenath), thus enabling her to marry Joseph. Within this first part, Jewish self-definition occurs through rejecting idols and an individual

relationship (expressed though prayer) with the “High God,” who is identified as

“Joseph’s God.”

Within the second part, the themes are somewhat different. Asenath is the exemplar of “righteousness,” attracted to those of Joseph’s family who are worthy and defending herself with the righteous of Joseph. Rather, the text makes a distinction between those who are righteous and favored by God—Levi, Benjamin, and, of course

Asenath—and those who are not—the Egyptian son of Pharaoh, but also the Hebrew sons of Jacob’s concubines. On the one hand, this subdivides the Jewish community into good

Jews and bad Jews—it is no accident that Levi, from whom the priests descend, is one of the “good” Hebrews. On the other, there is no doubt that a universal standard of behavior is being applied, although that standard is clearly Jewish in nature, relating to “Joseph’s

God,” who is also the universal God.

Here too, the saving power of prayer is emphasized. When Asenath is in danger of losing her life, this time at the hands of “the sons of Bilhah and Zilpah,”24 she prays:

“Lord, my God, who made me alive again/ and rescued me from the idols and the corruption of death/ who said to me, ‘Your soul will live for ever,’/ rescue me from the hands of these wicked men.”25 At this, the swords of the wicked brothers are consumed by fire and, naturally, they are utterly defeated. Here, as before, the story shows that God will respond actively to the proper prayer directed to Him by a righteous individual in extreme danger (whether of body or soul).

In summary, Joseph and Asenath shows Jewish self-definition as a matter of separate rituals (particularly related to food) and a perceived distinction from the surrounding peoples, related to the special relationship with God. However, this

relationship was not exclusive. Others could “become Jewish”—meaning partake of that special relationship and act righteously—provided they were willing to forgo other gods.

So Judaism was both a matter of practice and prayer, of ethnicity and of belief.

While Joseph and Asenath portrays a Jewish imagining of the Egyptian view of

Jews, there is in this case alone, a possibility that the story of Jews in Egypt is, in fact, reflected in some Egyptian writing. There may have been an ongoing debate between the

Egyptian and Jewish communities in Alexandria. Josephus, some time later, quotes two stories from Manetho, an Egyptian author of the Ptolemaic period. Manetho portrays the

Jews first as invaders and destroyers, then as lepers who were expelled from Egypt. In one story, he tells of foreign invaders, called the Hyksos, who rule Egypt for a time, but are eventually defeated and expelled.26 The Hyksos are subsequently defeated by Syria and go on to settle in Judea. A second story tells of how Amenophis “conceived a desire to behold the gods” and was told that, in order to do so, he must expel all lepers and

“polluted persons.” The king collected these people and sent them off to the stone quarries. They revolted, led by a priest of Heliopolis named Osarseph, who subsequently made laws which were in contradiction to Egyptian practice. The expelled group then turned on the Egyptians—burning villages, pillaging temples, and mutilating gods. In addition, they used the temples as places to sacrifice animals they worshipped.27 Here,

Manetho identifies Osarseph with Moses. There is debate about when each piece of this story was penned, with speculation that the identification of Osarseph with Moses was a late addition.28 Whether this is the case or not, the story as it stands shows Egyptian dislike for Jews, dislike that may be long-standing or may reflect tensions within the

Hellenistic Egyptian world.

Sorensen notes that “What made [Manetho’s story] worth telling in the early

Ptolemaic era were the themes of ethnicity and religion systematized in it There is the anti-semitic theme which upset Josephus: the Jews...are identified with the Hyksos and associated with the lepers and the crippled. There is also the idea of a foreign regime in

Egypt, destructive and blasphemously opposed to Egyptian religion....the purging...of

Egypt of all its impure inhabitants is said to make the gods visible to the king.”29

Many of these themes are present in Joseph and Asenath, though, naturally, turned on their heads. Joseph and Asenath, not surprisingly, presents a view of Egyptian society in which the Jews (though, as noted above, not all Jews) are far superior to

Egyptians. However, this superiority is expressed not through superiority of religion, but through status. God, while “Joseph’s God,” is, in fact, universal and available to all who call on Him (although that may have its own ashy consequences). But Joseph, who (at least in the first part) must stand in for all Jews, has the highest possible status— politically, economically, and socially—as well as enormous power. Power and status, not ethnicity, define Joseph’s relationship with Pentephres, as well as Pentephres’ attitude toward his daughter’s marriage. Initially, Pentephres favors Pharaoh’s son as a mate for his daughter. However, on seeing Joseph and recognizing his power, he encourages his daughter to make a match. It is not that Pentephres ignores Joseph’s Jewishness—after all, Joseph does eat separately from the idol-worshipping Egyptians and will not touch

Asenath so long as she is an idol-worshipper—but these restrictions do not cause

Pentephres (or other Egyptians) to express dislike for him. In fact, Pentephres expresses his respect for Joseph’s God repeatedly.

Pharaoh’s son, particularly in second half, directs his anger against Joseph, but more particularly against Asenath, because she did not marry him. Again, this is not linked directly to ethnicity, but to jealousy and power—that is, Joseph has all (both wife and political power) that Pharaoh’s son believes is his.

So, within the text, the majority culture is portrayed as subordinate to the Jews in both political and social status. One might conclude that the text protests too much, and, indeed, the evidence from Manetho supports this.

Summary

On the face of it, Joseph and Asenath is a tale in which universalism reigns. After all, Joseph works for the government, Asenath converts, Pharaoh officiates at a Jewish marriage, and there are both good and bad Egyptians and Jews. But amidst the universalism, there is the clear sense that Jews are better than Egyptians. It is possible to convert, however conversion is a rebirth. The society in which Joseph and Asenath was written does not seems to care to whom Asenath was born (although the fact that she

“looked Jewish” partially challenges this), rather, the one requirement for the two to marry was that Asenath renounce her gods and accept Joseph’s God—a God that, in any case, seems to be acknowledged by all the Egyptians as a fine fellow indeed. Indeed, in this tale, political status seems to be much more important than religious or ethnic identity.

Further, the text, from the start, portrays good Egyptians: Pentephres, the priest of Heliopolis, is called “rich and prudent and gentle.”30 He is clearly subservient to

Joseph, delighted to offer him refreshment and eager to offer his daughter in marriage to

Joseph. None of this need relate to Jew-Egyptian relations; rather it seems related to a more general status. Pharaoh’s son wishes to marry Asenath, but his father—the

Pharaoh—feels that marriage would be beneath him. Pentephres’ actions toward Joseph lie somewhere between respectful and obsequious, but do not in anyway relate to his being a Jew. Having said that, Pentephres does refer to him as the “Powerful One of

God.” So, in this Jewish text—as in many others31—the Jewish God is acknowledged by the non-Jew as a force—perhaps the Force.

Most significantly, the second part of the tale, in which Asenath and the “good brothers” triumph over Pharaoh’s son and the “bad brothers” makes a strong case for the universalism of good people—those that believe in and pray to the One God—and the bad people—those who don’t and who, furthermore, choose to behave like highway brigands.

Joseph and Asenath allows its audience to understand that Jews and their God were superior to Egyptians and their idols. It allows its audience to remind itself, at least, that Joseph had ruled in Egypt and very nicely, thank you. And, in a time when neither

Egyptians nor Jews had much political power, it allows its audience to remember a time when that was not the case.

Joseph and Asenath balances a sense of Jewish superiority over even the highest

Egyptian with a universalistic message. On the one hand, allegiance to the One God is demanded in the strongest terms, both in the way prayer is used and in the separation between idol-worshipper and believer. On the other hand, conversion is a matter of renouncing idols, good and bad individuals are judged by behavior, rather than group allegiance, and life-cycle events are not restricted to the group. It tells its story primarily

through individuals and the individual relationship to God, rather than a Jewish

“community” or group. In the next chapter, many—but not all—of these elements will be found in a very different tale.

Endnotes:

1 Burchard, “Joseph and Aseneth,” 203. I will be using page numbers alone from Burchard’s translation, as he uses two sets of verse numbers to indicate textual variations. 2 Genesis 41:50-52; Genesis 46:20. 3 Enoch being another such example. 4 Burchard, “Joseph and Aseneth,” 202. 5 On the basis of the location, which is where the temple of Onias was built, Bohak argues that the prayer scene is an analogy to temple ritual. 6 Burchard, “Joseph and Aseneth,” 203. 7 Ibid., 206. 8 Ibid., 206. 9 Ibid., 210. 10 Ibid., 211. 11 Ibid., 211. 12 A sentence that could have been taken from a paperback romance of today describes the meeting: “And as Asenath went up to kiss Joseph, Joseph stretched out his right hand and put it on her chest between her two breasts, and her breasts were already standing upright like handsome apples.” Burchard, p. 211. 13 This prayer includes a number of significant elements which will be discussed below. 14 Lending new meaning to the phrase, “cry me a river.” 15 Burchard, “Joseph and Aseneth,” 233. 16 Burchard, “Joseph and Aseneth,” 235. The prolonged description culminating in the kiss, as well as the emphasis on the kiss in Joseph and Asenath’s first meeting, imply either some symbolic meaning—physical or ritual—to the action or, as with romance novels of today, enjoying the moment. 17 These are labeled a, b, c, d. The shortest version is d; the longest b. (Chestnutt, “Revelatory Experiences,” 65-66.) 18 Gruen, Heritage and Hellenism, 93. More specifically, he argues that comparable attitudes to those in Joseph and Asenath are “discernable in works like the Letter of Aristeas, III Maccabees, and the writings of Artapanus” but does not feel that a date can be established with certainty. 19 Wills, “The Jewish Novel,” 177-179. 20 Pervo, “Joseph and Aseneth and the Greek Novel,” 178. 21 Though Pharaoh is never referred to as “god,” but as “king.” 22 Burchard, “Joseph and Aseneth,” 220. 23 Ibid., 222. 24 Ibid., 245. 25 Ibid., 245. 26 Meleze-Modrzejewski, “The Jews of Egypt,” 7. 27 Contra Apion I, 248f. 28 Schafer, “ Judeophobia,” 21. 29 Sorensen, “Native Reactions to Foreign Rule,” 166. 30 Burchard, “Joseph and Aseneth,” 202. 31 For example, Ezra-Nehemiah, in an earlier time, or Daniel at a comparable time.

Chapter Four: Shock and Awe in Judea and Egypt: III Maccabees

Introduction and Summary

“The Jews, however, continued to maintain goodwill and unswerving loyalty toward the dynasty; but because they worshipped God and conducted themselves by his law, they kept their separateness with respect to foods.” (3.3-3.4) “Let it be shown to all the Gentiles that you are with us, O Lord, and have not turned your face from us; but just as you have said, ‘Not even when they were in the land of their enemies did I neglect them,’ so accomplish it, O Lord.” (6:15)

Upon reading both Joseph and Asenath and III Maccabees, it is the differences between them that stand out—differences in characters, plot, and setting.

The main characters within Joseph and Asenath are individuals, with distinct personalities. The broader community may be understood from these individuals; nevertheless, the story is one of specific people with unique characteristics, both Jews and Egyptians. In III Maccabees, the entire Jewish community—in Judea and then in

Egypt—acts as one character. The main non-Jew in this tale is, however, an individual—the king. The drama in Joseph and Asenath centers around Asenath’s conversion to Judaism through the action of God. The drama in III Maccabees, by contrast, twice tells an extremely dramatic tale of how God saved the Jewish people from their non-Jewish ruler. From the standpoint of the Hellenistic Jews, Joseph and

Asenath is set entirely in a long-ago Egypt, while III Maccabees is set in both Judea and Egypt, in times that are not far removed from current.

Despite these acknowledged differences, there are similarities. The most obvious is in form—both are examples of the Hellenistic novel. In addition, both have a substantial emphasis on the efficacy of prayer to God.

However, for the purposes of this work, III Maccabees is of interest because it particularly engages the issue of the reaction of the Egyptians and Hellenes toward the Jews, a subject that exists only peripherally in Joseph and Asenath. As before, I begin with a synopsis of the work.

The story is told in two parallel sequences: the first taking place in Jerusalem; the second in Egypt. The story opens abruptly outside the battle of Raphia (217

BCE), where Theodotus—arguably a Jew—attempts to assassinate Ptolemy

Philopator, but is thwarted by Dositheus, an apostate Jew. Ptolemy goes on to win the battle and enters Jerusalem, where the Jews greet him with gifts and he sacrifices to

“the supreme God” (1.9), then declares his intention to enter the Holy of Holies. This dismays the entire Jewish community, which attempts to first reason with, then placate, then protest against Ptolemy—all to no avail. Finally the High Priest Simon prays to God “entreaties of the prescribed form” (2.21), he enumerates God’s virtues, refers to Sodom and to Pharaoh, describes the holiness of the place, and reminds God of His faithfulness. God responds by forcibly shaking Ptolemy who departs for Egypt with full of anger toward the Jews, threatening them with death.

In Egypt, Ptolemy and his drinking buddies carry out these threats: they slander the Jews, restrict those who do not sacrifice according to Greek custom, and lower the status of the Jews. However, those Jews who take on the Hellenistic customs—who are branded with the leaf of Dionysus and who are “initiated”—may return to their former status. Some Jews do accommodate; most do not. In the meantime, gossip against the Jews—saying that they prevent others from observing laws—grows.

Here, the text is careful to point out that, because the Jews had been loyal citizens and upright individuals, they were held in good repute. However, the differences in food and worship were used to prejudice the population (that is, the

Egyptians) against the Jews. While the “population” continues to mistreat the Jews, the Greeks give comfort—making clear the distinction between the two societies that the author wished to point out to his audience.

In the meantime, Ptolemy’s anger continues to increase. He writes a letter to the chora instructing them to send all Jews to him, so that they can be killed. At this, the populace rejoices, while the author describes the sad departure of the Jews in detail: old men, brides and husbands, all marching to a central location, where they are joined by the Jews from Alexandria. There scribes began to take a census of the

Jews, stopping after forty days, as they had run out of ink and paper (an act attributed to God).

The king, growing angrier and angrier, declares that he will have 500 elephants trample the Jews to death. The Jews pray to God; God causes Ptolemy to sleep through the whole affair, thanks to God, so the Jews live. But when he wakes, he is furious and the elephants are readied once more. Again the Jews pray and this time Ptolemy forgets his purpose and declares that the Jews are loyal citizens. This is a temporary reprieve—a few verses later, Ptolemy is ready to kill the Jews again.

This time his kinsmen question his sanity but Ptolemy swears that this time he means it and further, but he plans raze Judea as well.

Just before the third and final “attack” of the elephants, amidst great lamentation of parents and children, babies at the breast, mothers and daughters,

Eleazar, a priest of note, old and virtuous, prays alone. He invokes Abraham and

Jacob and the sacred inheritance, reminds God of Pharaoh, Sennacherib, “three companions in Babylonia” in the furnace, Daniel, and Jonah. He closes with a plea that God should not forget His people in the “land of their enemies.” At that two fearsome angels appear and turn the elephants against Ptolemy’s own army. The king—not surprisingly—undergoes a change of heart. The Jews return to the favored status he had bestowed on them in Jerusalem, while he turns on his courtiers, who he now blames for all the foregoing. The Jews feast solemnly for seven days at

Ptolemy’s expense, then return to their homes, with a supporting letter by Ptolemy which states that “God in heaven surely defends the Jews, always taking their part, as father does for his children” (7.6). As in the Book of Esther, the Jews kill their enemies at the end, but here, those enemies are specifically the apostate Jews, rather than the gloating populace, or the king’s supporters.

There are a couple of obvious points of interest in the manuscript. First, there is clear parallelism between the events in Judea and the events in Egypt. In both cases, Ptolemy threatens a catastrophic act against the Jewish people, who protest, then pray to God. Neither action is successful until at the time of utmost extremity— as Ptolemy is about to enter the Holy of Holies or as the elephants are about to trample the people—a Jewish priest offers a long and elaborate prayer, after which

God intervenes dramatically to save the Jews. The events in Egypt are substantially more drawn-out, nevertheless, the overall shape of both dramas are virtually identical.

This is clearly not accidental, so any conclusions about the narrative must explain both stories.

Second, as noted earlier, prayer assumes utmost importance. While III

Maccabees refers to the practices of the Jews as distinguishing them from the populace, it is prayer in both Judea and Egypt that effects a change. Both Simon’s prayer in Judea and Eleazar’s prayer in Egypt share common traits: Both begin with entreating God as King and as ruler of creation. Both include references (at different points in each text) to God’s relationship to Jews of the past. Eleazar specifically refers to Abraham and Jacob; Simon’s prayer is more general. Both refer to past times when God has destroyed evil. Here, the common villain is Pharaoh, though

Eleazar reminds God that he once ruled Egypt, while Simon reminds God that He led the Jews out of Egypt, which gives an interesting specificity to each prayer. At last,

Simon begs God to not punish the Jews by allowing Philopator to enter. Eleazar’s ending for his prayer is that “God’s holy people” should not be destroyed, which makes a nice parallel between the Temple and the Jewish people. So there are similarities in the way God is viewed and in the relationship between God and the

Jewish people, although each prayer is quite specific to the needs of the particular circumstance. Finally, the parallel between the people and the Temple further identifies the Egyptian Jews with Judea, hinting that their Jewish status equal to that of the Temple.

Setting, Audience, and Purpose

As with Joseph and Asenath, no firm date has been established for the publication of III Maccabees and, as with Joseph and Asenath, much of the literature concerns that dating. Several dates have been proposed. On the one hand, looking at comparable historical crises have led some to argue that it was written to respond to

these crises: either the persecution of the Jews under Caligula in 38-41 CE or on the occasion of Egypt becoming a Roman province in 24 BCE,1 at which time Jews were required to pay a poll-tax. On the other, literary analysis, specifically regarding the opening, which is similar to that in Letter of Aristeas, as well as similarities in

“vocabulary, style, and content” to II Maccabees (dated between 125 and 63 BCE) suggest the two were written about the same time,2 which argues for a composition date of about 100 BCE. I would agree with the earlier dating, for, while the Jews in the first century CE did undergo great destruction, the manner in which III

Maccabees is written—the exaggerated elements of melodrama, the wild mood swings of the king, and the ultimate reconciliation between Jews and king—point to a work written during a time when danger was not so present.3 However, the dating is not the critical issue in this work. As Erich Gruen points out: “There is nothing in III

Maccabees that requires belief in a specific historical event or set of circumstances….

The wider subject of the Jewish situation in a Hellenistic monarchy is at issue here.”4

The intended audience for III Maccabees has also been the subject of debate.

While some have argued that III Maccabees is meant for non-Jews, as well as Jews,5 this argument seems weak on the face of it: the non-Jews presented within are not presented in any sympathetic way, being either part of a mob or drunken fools. The intended audience, fairly clearly, must be Jews. The question is: which Jews?

On the one hand, III Maccabees appears to be a tale of rejection of Jews by the majority culture. However, as Erich Gruen has pointed out,6 while it is true that

Philopator is portrayed as a powerful villain, he is also a fool. Further, at both beginning (in Judea) and end (in Egypt) of the tale, Philopator likes and admires

Jews. His desire to enter the Holy of Holies has more than a touch of obsession and to transfer his anger to the Jews of Egypt is totally crazy—as, in fact, he becomes through the action of God. Perhaps the strongest evidence that this not a tale about rejection of the majority is that the Jews in Egypt never intend to leave it; rather their goal is to remain there as loyal subjects of the state.

Both the parallelism and the ultimate conclusion imply two things: first, that the Jews in Egypt and the Jews in Judea are connected in some important way—the parallel between of violation of the Temple and the destruction of the Egyptian

Jewish community is too strong to be accidental. This is a story both of separation— the Jews are a single community, whether in Egypt or in Judea—and of acculturation—the Jews in Egypt are at once loyal to the state and to their people (as can be seen by the death visited upon the apostates).

David Williams makes a similar argument, writing that III Maccabees was written as a defense of Egyptian Jewish life specifically directed to a Palestinian

Jewish audience, with the intent of demonstrating that both Egyptian and Judean Jews are legitimate. In evidence, Williams offers the possible estrangement between Judea and Egyptian Jews on account of the temple of Onias at Leontopolis7 and the possibility that Judean Jews did not consider the Greek used by Egyptian Jews to be legitimate.8 As I did, he notes the parallels between the two stories, however he goes on to argue that God acts more quickly to intervene on behalf of the Egyptian Jews than He did in Judea.9

There are, however, other explanations. The delay may have been to increase dramatic tension or to mirror the Exodus story (in which Pharaoh changes his mind a

number of times before releasing the Jews). Another reading might interpret God as being slower to act in Egypt—while He immediately acts to prevent Philopator’s action in Judea, in Egypt there are several false starts, which, while not allowing the

Jews to come to grief, do not definitively remove them from a very sticky situation.

Williams misses a key element: prayer is efficacious when 1) it is the right prayer invoked by 2) the right person in 3) extreme circumstances. Further, while at least part of the raison d’être for this work is to link the two Jewish communities, it is less clear which Jewish community was being addressed. III Maccabees’s primary purpose may have been to convince the Palestinian community that the Egyptian Jews were equally worthy as Jews. It is also possible, however, that the Egyptian Jews were the primary audience, with the narrative intended to convince them that they and the Palestinians were one people. That it is the apostates who die, rather than the non-Jewish population, supports this.10

This approach is maintained in two articles by Cousland. In the first, he argues that III Maccabees was written primarily for an Egyptian Jewish audience susceptible to the majority culture, saying, “3 Maccabees is designed as a response to the claims and pretensions of the ruler cult by offering an ‘anti-aretalogy’, demonstrating that Dionysus and Philopator, called Dionysus, are anything but divine.”11 While an interesting argument, this does not explain the portion of the book that takes place in Palestine. If, however, Egyptian Jews needed to be reminded of their loyalty to Palestine, as well as to God, this work could serve both purposes.

In the second article, Cousland analyzes the text by examining reversals found therein: e.g. Ptolemy publicly reproaches the Jews in 2:27 and commends them in

7:5-9.12 Cousland lists more than fifteen of these parallel reversals and argues that their purpose is to encourage the Jews of Egypt toward orthopraxy, by warning them of consequences for apostasy and reminding them of God’s ultimate power.13

Two other reasons have been proposed for the purpose of the text. First, there was a holiday celebrated by the Egyptian Jews14 for which this work provides an etiology. Second, and more apropos to this thesis, the narrative provides a way for

Egyptian Jews to reassure themselves and others of their allegiance to the government: “III Maccabees belongs in a category with the other traditions discussed here that linked Jewish fortunes with the power of the Hellenistic monarchy.

Allegiance to the crown as a characteristic trait of the Jews reappears with consistency in all of them. And, of course, the obeisance paid by the king to the majesty and authority of God, thus recognizing the special place of Jewish worship within the kingdom, constitutes a central feature in the tale of Ptolemy IV…”15

That there is little agreement on the audience or purpose is not surprising—it is a complex narrative. However, I believe the parallelism of the text cannot be accidental. That the Egyptian Jews are placed in a parallel place to the Temple argues that this text in some way validates the place of the Egyptian Jews as equal to those of

Judea. Ultimately, despite the ways in which this addresses the relationship to the majority culture, it is about Jewish self-definition and the relationship between center and periphery.

Analysis of the text

As noted above, the protagonist of this work is the whole Jewish people,16 both in Judea and in Egypt, with everyone—from nursing mothers to brides to the elderly—united in pleading (in Judea) for the Temple, a central symbol of holiness, and (in Egypt) for their survival. There is only one element of disunity in Egypt, and that comes from those few who become apostates and are subsequently killed. Their death only reinforces the notion of the group as one—though a group with a slightly threatening edge. The Jews are also defined against others as a group—in fact, while their distinctive habits (which are not elaborated on) have been noted, it is not until

Philopator begins his persecution that these peculiar customs become a problem, a situation that is just as quickly reversed in the end. While the Jews define themselves through their customs, there are also internal issues that are less clear, but nonetheless present.

The story makes a point of connecting the Jews of Judea and of Egypt in a way so parallel that it implies there is some larger issue at stake. At the very least, it is clear that there is some strong connection between these two communities— whether through mutual support or through disagreement. However, whatever the motives of the author, both communities are Jewish and the parallels between them encourage the reader to define both as one ethnic group.

In Joseph and Asenath, where Judaism is an individual affair, between a person and God, self-definition must focus more on the individual’s relationship to

God. Here, where the Jewish community is the main character, self-definition is not about an individual relationship to God, but about God’s actions on behalf of the whole people. Yet, Joseph and Asenath and III Maccabees have in common two

elements that define the Hellenistic Jew: separate ritual practice from that of the population and the importance of prayer, particularly the right prayer by the right person. In addition to these elements, the initial event which enrages Philopator—

God’s preventing him from entering the most sacred inner chamber of the Temple— demonstrates the importance of the Second Temple in Jewish life. As the narrative progresses to Egypt, one of the calumnies spoken against the Jews is that they have separate, though unspecified, customs. In both texts prayer is used in extremity to effect change, so in III Maccabees, leaders of the community—priests—call upon

God in elaborate prayers to avert disaster. The message then, is that God will respond actively to the proper prayer directed to Him by an individual in danger. There are two occasions—one in Judea, as Philopator attempts to enter the Holy of Holies.

Here, the entire population rises up—mothers with suckling babes, brides, and old men—to protest. But it is not until Simon, the High Priest, prays to God, just as

Philopator is about to enter the space, that God intercedes forcefully. Simon’s prayer, like Eleazar’s later in the tale, begins with identifying God as the God of creation, then goes on to remind God of the connection He has to the Jews through ancestry and through other miracles.

In Egypt, as the Jews are gathered up to be slaughtered in the hippodrome, a similar event occurs. There have been other, smaller miracles along the way—pens running dry and Philopator oversleeping—but the big miracle, in which the 500 elephants turn on the soldiers rather than on the Jews, occurs after Eleazar prays to

God, like Simon, invoking creation, ancestry, and past history. Whereas at other times and places the proper manner of sacrifice or the particular number of hours

between eating meat and milk were critical in defining a Jew; here it seems that the emphasis is on the specific manner of prayer.

The prayers in III Maccabees particularly emphasize elements of what it means to be Jewish: the connection to the past as well as the reminders of past miracles provide as sense of peoplehood and particularity. The emphasis on separateness is much more pronounced in III Maccabees than in Joseph and

Asenath.17 Unlike in Joseph and Asenath, this narrative does not discuss this aspect of the text directly. However, in the way the Jews relate to the crown—as loyal citizens—and the fact that they come from and return to all walks of life, both in

Egyptian chora and the city, imply that their lives have other dimensions.

We can see that the authors of III Maccabees placed great importance on the choice Jews had to make in order to maintain allegiance, particularly around idol worship, both by examining the issue of the apostates and by recalling that the Jewish people are portrayed as one single character acting together. By portraying the Jews as a single body, the authors reduce the apparent ability of the individual to choose.

How, after all, can a person choose to leave something to which he or she belongs so completely? Thus, that the apostates abandon what is, in effect, their body, becomes that much more heinous a crime. And, that this was so viewed, can be seen in their ultimate punishment. While the apostates were not responsible for the actions against the Jews, in the end, they were the only ones who were killed (aside from the unfortunates who died under the feet of the elephants).

Turning from the way in which the Jewish community constituted itself, we examine how Jews sought to define themselves vis a vis the majority culture. The

story hinges on how Philopator treats the Jews. He is changeable: moving from victorious ruler to mad king and then finally, through God’s actions, to sane ruler again. The Jews, by contrast, are totally consistent throughout. Both in Judea and in

Egypt, they offer their support to the king and are dismayed at their dismal treatment.

Yet they do not rebel; rather again and again they profess their loyalty. In this they are in competition with other ethnic groups. So Barclay notes that “the framework within which our author places such relationships is that of competing ethnic groups.

The Jews as a ‘nation’…with fellow Jews defined as ‘fellow nationals’…and non-

Jews as ‘those of another nation’….”18 If this observation carries the weight that

Barclay assigns it, one of the narrative’s points is to distinguish Jews, not only from the majority culture as whole, but also from other groups within. Despite the venom with which the text treats the others in the text, it goes to great lengths to point out how the Jews are loyal citizens, how their customs, while distinctive, do not interfere with their loyalty. Here, that distinction between the Jews as an ethnic group and

Jews as worthy citizens points to these independent dimensions of life—the ethnic

(and religious) and the social/political.

Summary

This text differs from the other two in that the status of the Jews changes radically throughout the course of the narrative. This reflects a reality with which any minority must reconcile itself: that its fortunes are bound up in the way the majority culture perceives it and with the status accorded to that minority by the majority. The debates in the academic literature around dating the narrative reflect this as well,

recognizing that the events surrounding the Jews will influence the writing that takes place. (It is not so easy to say, of course, how the events and the writing interact.)

The authors of this work were very concerned with the status of Jews in Egypt, not as regards belief, philosophy, or practice, but as regards relationship with the

“population” (that is, the Egyptians) who are—in the eyes of the author—lower in status, the Greeks, who are equal, and the rulers, who are superior. As in Joseph and

Asenath, all are trumped by God and God’s actions, which lead back to the internal

Jewish conviction of superiority that trumps any external placement of status.

This text appears, a first glance, to be a tale in which the others—the Greeks and the Egyptians—are completely separate from the others. Yet, while III

Maccabees appears far more separatist than Joseph and Asenath, as Gruen noted, it is designed at least in part designed to remind Jews (or others) of the Jewish allegiance to the government, specifically the king, as well as to remind them of the power of

God above all.

Endnotes:

1 Tcherikover, Hellenistic Civilization and the Jews, 1977, pp. 317-18. 2 Williams, “3 Maccabees,” 20. 3 The contrast in tone between III Maccabees and In Flaccus supports this. The latter work describes the riots of 38-41CE quite indignantly and without any humor whatsoever. 4 Gruen, “Heritage and Hellenism,” 227. 5 E.g., Delcor, “Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha” and Tromp, “The Formation of the Third Book of Maccabees.” 6 Gruen, “Heritage and Hellenism,” 234. 7 Williams, “3 Maccabees,” 23. 8 Ibid., 24. 9 Ibid., 26 10 Parente uses the phenomenon of apostasy as a means of avoiding the poll-tax to argue for a date following the beginning of Roman rule. Parente, “The Third Book of Maccabees.” 11 Cousland, “Dionysus theomachus?,” 548. 12 Cousland, “Reversal, Recidivism and Reward,” 44.

13 Ibid., p. 44-45. 14 Williams, “3 Maccabees,” 21. 15 Gruen, “Heritage and Hellenism,” 233. 16 The fact that the saving prayers are entreated by individuals does not diminish this—in both cases the individuals are representatives of the community. 17 This follows since Joseph and Asenath is a tale of conversion, in which Asenath is not initially praying to her God, but rather asking God to rescue her from her past life—a life among the idol- worshippers. In a sense, her prayer is a mirror image of the prayers in III Maccabees. 18 Barclay, “Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora,” 197.

Chapter Five: The Wisdom of the Jews comes to Alexandria: Letter of Aristeas

Introduction

God, the overseer and creator of all things, whom they worship, is He whom all men worship, and we too, Your Majesty, though we address Him differently, as Zeus and Dis; by these names men of old not unsuitably signified that He through whom all creatures receive life and come into being is the guide and lord of all. (Letter of Aristeas 16)

Letter of Aristeas is presented as a letter written by a Greek official to his brother, which describes both the wonders of the Jews in Judea and the relationship between the translators of the Septuagint and Ptolemy II in Egypt. It is extremely long—322 verses— with a variety of subjects woven throughout. It has been used in antiquity and beyond as the “historical” narrative of the genesis of the Septuagint, but in fact, only seventeen verses are spent on the translation itself. The text itself places far more emphasis on its argument that Judaism is the superior culture and the one to which all others—including

Hellenistic—look for guidance.

While Joseph and Asenath tells the story of individual Egyptians and Jews and III

Maccabees treats the Jews as a single protagonist, the “character” within the Letter of

Aristeas is Judaism itself, as represented by the words of its leaders. More than the narratives discussed previously, this is most clearly about integrating Judaism and

Hellenism—of being both a Jew and a Hellene. However, the two worldviews are not viewed as being equal. While overtly a lovefest between the two cultures, in the end and in a most Hellenic and amiable way, Judaism—both practice and the belief—confronts and conquers Hellenism.

Setting, Audience, and Purpose

As with the previous two narratives, the Letter of Aristeas has been discussed extensively. Two main themes emerge from the narrative. First, it purports to be a narrative of the translation of the Torah into Greek. As a result, both Philo and Josephus have used the Letter of Aristeas as the true account of the writing of the Septuagint.

However, even Tcherikover notes: “A Torah with a universal teaching ought to be written in a universal language. Hence the importance of the translation, which is Aristeas’ main subject in the Letter.”1 More recently and with more evidence, Erich Gruen has argued that the Torah was indeed translated into Greek in some way that left an imprint in the memory of the community: “That Hellenistic Alexandria was the site for a translation of the Pentateuch we may well believe. As late as the time of Philo, Egyptian Jews still celebrated an annual festival on the island of Pharos to mark the completion of that task.

The needs of Greek-speaking Jews who had lost command of or even contact with

Hebrew surely motivated the project to provide a Greek version for liturgical or instructional purposes or even for private worship.”2 However, as Gruen makes clear, the need for a translation of the Torah did not originate in Egypt’s Greek ruler, but rather in the needs of the Jewish community.

But while the translation is the purported reason for the Letter of Aristeas, the actual space devoted to it is very small. This fact has not escaped the notice of scholars, who have noted at least three other issues within the text. First is the argument by

Jellicoe that the Letter of Aristeas is intended to discredit supporters of Leontopolis by showing how the Jews of Judea had the true understanding of Torah.3 A second thesis turns this around and argues that the intention was to justify Hellenistic Judaism to the

Palestinian Jews.4 Finally Barclay has argued that it provides a view of how Jews wished to viewed by non-Jews: “The stance of the narrator, as that of a well-informed and high- level participant in the story, thus lends authority to the massively favourable impression of Jews which the work provides. In no other Jewish document is this fictional perspective so effectively employed; it enables us to see with peculiar clarity how certain

Jews wished themselves to be perceived by non-Jews and on what basis they wished their relationships to be conducted.”5

None of these purposes are mutually exclusive, however, it seems clear, simply from the amount of space devoted to them, that there are two themes that Aristeas wishes to emphasize: the first is to rationalize the very non-rational rituals of Judaism, particularly dietary practices; while the second is to underscore the wisdom of the sages, wisdom couched in particularly universal tones. Finally, by emphasizing the mutual respect between the king and translators, this text makes clear a desired relationship of respect between diaspora Jews and their king.

Who was the audience for Letter of Aristeas? Some have argued that this was directed primarily to the Hellenistic audience, using the large amount of technical explanation of Jewish ritual to explain this. However, because the king is (at least at a first reading) portrayed as equal or subservient to Jews, I would argue that this text is particularly directed at a Jewish audience. The fact that the story moves between

Jerusalem and Egypt, too, indicates some kind of internal Jewish reconciliation. A naïve reading of the text leads me to believe that it was written primarily for the Egyptian

Jewish community, to enable them to visualize and enjoy the images of Jerusalem and to understand their own practices in light of word of Jerusalem. As we are reminded by

Ahad Ha-Am, writing in the late 19th century about the relationship between a Jewish state and a Jewish diaspora, the state can be a source of culture for that diasporic Jewish culture. This seems comparable to the way in which Aristeas uses Jerusalem. Yet, at the same time he tells his audience to be loyal to Jerusalem, he also tells them to integrate king and country with Jewish values. As with the other works, there is no firm consensus as to date. However, many argue for a date in the latter half of the second century BCE.6

In other words, as with the other two texts, it can be give a likely date of somewhat prior to Roman rule and the breakdown of Jewish life in Egypt.

Synopsis and Analysis of the text

While the Letter of Aristeas is one coherent—if rather dull—story, because of its length and the different subject matters addressed, it is more easily understood by dividing it into eight segments, albeit of widely varying length. For this reason also, I have incorporated my analysis within the summary itself.

Prologue (1-8): Aristeas’ reason for writing his brother Philocrates is that

Philocrates has a “characteristic love of learning” (1) and is respectful of the Holy Law.

From the beginning, then, the audience is determined—those for whom learning is paramount, but also those for whom the “Holy Law” has meaning. In this short introduction, Aristeas still makes mention of his desire to convince the king to free the

Jewish slaves in Egypt.

There are three points that stand out here. First, Aristeas—ostensibly a Greek and a member of the majority culture—points out the respect due to the Holy Law, a defining element within Judaism. Second, both he and his brother view it with respect,

demonstrating one way Jews can reconcile Jewish and Hellenistic cultures, through both elevating and universalizing Jewish texts. Finally, the text clearly shows an absolute ruler. The king is an autocrat—though benevolent—and the Jews of Egypt have been made slaves by his father. The text thus portrays an ambivalent relationship to majority culture: this ruler is no less absolute than his father, yet perhaps a better person (meaning more willing be “good to the Jews”). Yet the author advocates a good political relationship between the Jews and the king. As Erich Gruen notes: “The treatise thereby associates Jewish interests with a king who not only possesses authority to confer benefits but who enjoys the refined sensibility to appreciate their distinctive qualities.”7

Motive and Emancipation (9-27): The story continues as Demetrius, the librarian of the great library of Alexandria, notes that, despite the fact that he has collected

200,000 books, the collection will not be complete without the holy books of the Jews, books that must be translated from Hebrew into Greek.

This gives Aristeas the opportunity to convince the king that he cannot ask

Judeans to translate their holy books while Jewish slaves, who had been brought to Egypt by the king’s father, remained in Egypt. Aristeas argues that it is illogical to receive laws that apply to all Jews when some are enslaved in his very kingdom and, further, that they should be released because God—who is the same for Jews as for Greeks (although given different names)—would approve. The king offers little resistance, frees the slaves, and the plan for translating the books is put into action.

This section primarily shows the author’s interpretation—or imagined conception—of the majority culture’s view of Jews. Once again the absolute power of the king is portrayed: Aristeas makes no pleas that involve justice to persuade the king to

free his Egyptian Jewish slaves. Rather he invokes God and logic to persuade the absolute monarch to free the slaves. Should the king have refused, there would have been no recourse (and, of course, no letter). However, while the king is absolute, God— the universal God of both Jews and Greeks—trumps the king.

This section also, again, highlights the importance of the Jewish texts: even a library of 200,000 books is incomplete without the books of the Jews. Further, that these books must be translated adds an air of mystery and importance to them.

Within these two sections, the roles are set. The Jewish Holy Law is established both as a document of particular and universal significance and the representative of the majority culture, a man with ultimate human (as opposed to Godly) power has recognized their worth.

Correspondence and Description of Gifts (28-82): Demetrius, the librarian, now makes a formal request to the king regarding the translation: “It is necessary that these books too, in an emended form, should be given a place in your library, for their legislation is most philosophical and flawless, inasmuch as it is divine.” (31) The king acts promptly, sending a letter to Eleazar the High Priest that begins by addressing him as an equal, points out that the Jewish slaves had been given good treatment “so that the native Egyptians might be in awe of them; and we too…meet all men in a very humane manner but your countrymen to a special degree…” (36), sends a “thank-offering to God the Most High, who has preserved our kingdom” (37), and finally offers to help in any other way that he can. For a king who has absolute power, this letter appears to be remarkably subservient.

Eleazar responds as to an equal, then goes on to agree to the king’s plan, and to list the names of the men chosen: six men from each of twelve tribes. While the names of the men are listed, the tribes are not—not a surprising fact, given that ten of the twelve tribes had vanished some centuries previously.

This exchange of letters is followed by a thirty-two verse discourse on the amazing and very expensive gifts sent to Eleazar for use in the Temple: the intricately made table of dedication/sacrifice, five golden bowls, and fifty gold and silver flagons.

As Aristeas transitions to the next section, he apologizes to Philocrates for the length of the foregoing description, stating that it was essential—although precisely why it was necessary remains unclear.

As with the previous sections, both the divine importance of the Torah and the ultimate authority (but for God) of the king are stressed. However, this section also introduces a new character: Eleazar. Aristeas describes the relationship between the two men by painting a picture of utmost mutual respect, as the king going to great lengths to provide respectful gifts and words for Eleazar, who responds in kind. Although there is an appearance of equality, in the end Eleazar, despite some hesitation, must agree to the king’s request. This hints at the real disparity between a minor (in the real world of

Hellenism) priest and the king. As Erich Gruen notes: “The dependence of the Jews upon royal power is unequivocally acknowledged. These are not subversive documents.”8

While this section apparently shows the relationship between Greek king and

Jewish High priest, there is another theme as well: the connection between the Jews of

Egypt and the Jews of Judea. The very emphasis on the high priest and on the gifts points out the importance of Judea as a central place in Jewish life. Kasher refers to the

Jews of Egypt swearing allegiance to Judea,9 however this text may serve the purpose, not of demonstrating their allegiance to Judea, but of convincing them to become more loyal. The next section, introducing the imagined place of Judea, could lend support to this.

Travelogue (83-120): This section, which takes place in Jerusalem and Judea, includes twenty-two verses on the Temple architecture and décor, on the behavior and dress of the priests, and on Eleazar himself, of whom Aristeas writes, “The total effect of the whole arouses awe and emotional excitement, so that one would think he had passed to some other sphere outside the world.” (99) It is heavily based on descriptions in the

Bible. From the Temple, Aristeas spends sixteen verses describing the country: economics, and geography and practices.

As above, this emphasizes the nature—hardly realistic—of the country. This fits within a element of Jewish self-definition, as above. If the Jews of Egypt (who hardly exist in the text, except as slaves) were to imagine a native land, this would not be a bad one, nor would Eleazar be a bad ruler of their land.

Introducing the translators (121-126): The preceding three sections—an introduction to the premise for the letter, to the two leaders (one a king, the other a High

Priest), and to the two countries comprise a little more than a third of the book. Much ink has been spilled describing the amazing gifts of a king to a priest—which gives glory to both parties—and the wonders of the land of Judea, wonders that could never be encountered by an actual traveler. It is only following all these introductions that the translators are introduced in five short verses. They are paragons indeed: men who know not only the Law, but also Greek, who are temperate in nature and avoid crude behavior,

as well as conceit, and who know how to listen and respond appropriately. They are, in short, not only Torah scholars, but models of Greek virtue as well.

This is an excellent example of the way Aristeas integrates Jewish ethnicity with

Hellenistic values. These are men who are exemplars of Jewish life, but they are also nameless, as are their tribes. I suggested above that the protagonist of Letter of Aristeas is the Torah itself, not as translated, but as sought and then explained. That these men are left nameless, as one group, supports this—they are but representatives of the book itself.

However, that is not all they are. They are also universal exemplars of the Hellenistic ideal man, with all the virtues, not only of the Jew, but of the Hellene. Rather than one culture diluting another, these men are portrayed as more than the sum of their parts. A

Jew reading this could only be proud of the way these Jews are models not only for Jews, but for Hellenes.

Jewish practice explained to the “non-Jews” (127-171): Just before the ship departs for Alexandria, Aristeas puts several questions regarding Jewish practice to

Eleazar. He particularly wants to understand the dietary laws: “for I believe that most men feel some curiosity concerning passages in the law dealing with food and drink and animals regarded as unclean.” (128) Eleazar’s response begins with a description of general human behavior, points out that God, a universal God, gave laws that direct humans toward good behavior, and then contrasts the believers in God with the fools and deceivers who worship idols.10

But this general explanation is not sufficient; it is, rather, an introduction to the particular relationship between God and the Jews: “When, therefore, our lawgiver, equipped by God for insight into all things, had surveyed each particular, he fenced us

about with impregnable palisades and with walls of iron, to the end that we should mingle in no way with any of the other nations, remaining pure in body and spirit, emancipated from vain opinions, revering the one and mighty God above the whole of creation.” (139)

If this explanation is not sufficiently rational, Eleazar has another: you are— symbolically—what you eat. Food is a symbol by which God allows humans to understand that “they must be just and achieve nothing by violence, nor, confiding in their own strength, must they oppress others.” (148) In this same vein, cud-chewing takes on particular meaning; it is “nothing else than recalling life and its subsistence, since life appears to subsist through taking food.” (154)

This section discusses the single most difficult area of Jewish practice in great depth. The reasons for dietary practices have been debated in Talmud, by Maimonides, and into the modern period. It is not surprising that the Hellenistic Jews would need answers that fit their day, nor would it be unlikely for non-Jews to question the practice— non-Jews today still question dietary practices on any number of levels: from asking what it means, to asking why it still relevant in these modern times. Simply because it separates one group from another, it becomes a primary feature of Jewish self- definition—and one which, in the words of the rubric “has no intrinsic meaning” other than to act as a form of self-definition.11 However, inasmuch as non-Jews might be curious about dietary practices, so might the Jews of Egypt need to be convinced that there are rational (by Hellenistic standards) reasons for keeping kosher.

At the same time as an explanation of dietary practices is being given, so are they being rationalized and reconciled in light of the Hellenistic world. They must be explained through Hellenistic logic, through the symbolism derived from Hellenistic

sources. However, the very Hellenistic logic that rationalizes dietary practices is also drawing a clear distinction between the Jews and their God and their practices and others.

Judaism must both be able to take its place among the other groups in Hellenistic society and be distinct enough to maintain itself.

This passage supports both of those goals. It is distinctly Jewish, in that it supports Jewish practice—the distinctive features of Judaism—but it also rationalizes by using Hellenistic logic and universalizes by referring, yet again, back to the universal

God. As Birnbaum notes: “Perhaps the work in general addressed how Jews could have participated in the larger culture and, at the same time, maintained pride in their ancestral heritage, offering the possibility that one could really do both.”12

The symposia (172-300): The arrival of the ship back in Alexandria takes place approximately at the half-way point in the letter. The greeting and the wining and dining that follow consume another forty percent of the narrative. By sheer weight of verbiage, this section compels our attention. It begins with the king greeting the ship and paying homage to the Torah of the Jews: “inscribed in Jewish letters with writing of gold, the material being wonderfully worked and the joinings of the leaves being made imperceptible.” (176)

That the discussion that follows takes place in the form of a symposium is not surprising. And, given the preceding passages, that is dull, is no less surprising. “From

Plato on, the form of the Symposium became a favorite among the authors of dialogues…The Symposium, described in the letter,…goes beyond all other Symposia in its lack of any poetic feeling, and in its dry didactic manner.”13 However, the bulk of this section is devoted to seven succeeding symposia, catered with kosher food,14 during

which the king questions each translator and receives, in every case, a perfect answer.

On each night the king poses a question to ten of the Judeans. There is no apparent logic to the order of the questions and both questions and answers are commonsense, of the type that would be labeled self-help in our day. However, while there may not be an order to the questions, there is a pattern to the responses that is absolutely consistent. In some way, no matter how forced, every respondent refers to God in his response. And in every case, the king commends the wisdom of both answer and respondent before continuing to the next question. Not only does the kind commend the Judeans, but so do members of his court: “The philosopher Menedemus of Eretria said, “True, Your

Majesty; for inasmuch as all things are governed by providence, and these men are right in holding that man is a creature of God, it follows that all power and beauty of discourse have their starting-point from God.” (201) Barclay puts it well: “In this radically theocentric version of ethics, the Jews are judged to have the edge over all other systems of thought, so that even the philosophers in the most cultured Hellenistic court recognize that they are outclassed (235)!”15 And, putting his money where his mouth was, the king also gives each Judean three talents of silver and a slave.

This section combined with the preceding section, comprise fully half of the

Letter of Aristeas. By sheer weight of verbiage, it compels the reader’s attention. In both these sections, Aristeas makes his argument for a very specific form of Judaism, couched in very Greek terms. The setting is Greek; the questions are put by a Greek king; and the answers are given in a universal form. Unlike the preceding section, where the rituals of the Jews are rationalized for the reader, here there are no rituals—the questions the king asks are those of governance or basic human life. The responses the translators give are

hardly specifically Jewish in content. Rather they are universal in nature, but in every single case include God—the God of the Jews, Who is also a universal God—in the response. This is the clearest example of the way Jews of this era found a way to reconcile their two worlds.

Translation and epilogue (301-322): Following the symposia, the translators are installed in a fine dwelling. “When they had washed their hands in the sea, as is the custom of all Jews, and had offered prayer to God, they addressed themselves to interpretation and clarification of each passage.” (305) They completed the translation without error, it was read aloud to the king, who once again expressed his amazement at the wisdom of the book and asked why it had not been translated before. It transpired

(such was the power of the book) that when non-Jews attempted a translation, they were beset by problems—illness, cataracts, and mental illness. Only those who were worthy

(and Jewish) could successfully translate the Torah.

The king, well-pleased, regretfully sends the translators home, urging them to return anytime, saying that it was “a privilege to associate with cultured men, and [he] would rather lavish his wealth upon such men than on vanities.” (321)

The translation, the ostensible reason for Letter of Aristeas, takes up a mere twenty verses. Had this text any dramatic tension, the brevity would simply be that appropriate to a climax. Lacking that tension, the translation simply is one more moment in which the superiority of the Jewish text is demonstrated to the admiring Hellenes. It is distinguished, however, by some sort of mystical power that is unlike anything mentioned before—a conflation, perhaps, of God and Torah. The conclusion is a lovefest in which

the king demonstrates his culture by admiring the Jews—certainly an interesting view of power and of the majority culture.

Summary

It seems clear that part of Aristeas’ goal is to define Judaism, both to some group of Jews (though, as above, the audience remains unclear) and, at least within the text, to non-Jews. As with III Maccabees, the two Jewish communities of Egypt and of Judea are engaged. However, whereas in III Maccabees, the Jewish communities are made parallel, here Egypt exists without a Jew in sight. It is ostensibly the Greeks who write this text and it is the Greeks who inhabit Alexandria. One would not know from reading

Letter of Aristeas that Egypt was inhabited by Egyptians, nor that Jews, as well as other groups, lived there. Yet, Letter of Aristeas was written in Greek for a Greek-speaking audience of Jews.

The areas within the text that particularly speak to group definition include the emphasis on the Temple, on the country, and on Jewish practice. In the first two cases, the author plays up ethnic origin and symbolic place; the third case defines and rationalizes Jewish practice. Unlike in the first two texts, where Jewish practice was minimal, in this case many verses are spent discussing the precise meaning of Jewish practice, stated in Greek rationalistic terms. It is interesting that the focus here is not on

“different practice” nor on “being separate on account of idol-worship,” but on dietary practices as a rational practice given by the universal God of all. The three elements are contradictory in places—as Barclay notes: “Eleazar’s speech gives us the clearest possible statement of the function of the food laws in preserving the Jews’ distinct

identity. Yet a few chapters later his delegates are merrily feasting with Philadelphus and his entourage. What has happened to the impenetrable fences and iron walls?”16

While there is no element of choice—either toward or away from Judaism—the entire text itself is an argument for Jews and Judaism. It is possible that there was a

Greek audience for this, but, as noted above, given that Greeks and Greek wisdom were portrayed as inferior to Jews and Jewish wisdom, this seems less likely than the text was a vehicle to justify Judaism to the Jews. If there was a need to do so, then some choice must have been an option for the reader. Further, I would argue that that choice was around the very things that Eleazar chose to defend: that is, dietary practices and the

“fence around the law.”

The elements of separation and integration are hard to separate in Letter of

Aristeas. Unlike in Joseph and Asenath, where Joseph eats separately, or in III

Maccabees, where the Jews are simply described as separate, here the discussion is all around the religious life, so there is no “separate.” Further, the several day long question and answer symposia indicate the opposite—Jewish learning is being questioned in order to incorporate it into secular life—very definitely not being kept separate by the Jews, nor by the Greeks. As the same time, the distinction between them and the Greeks is maintained—and it is a one-way street; the Greeks do not contribute to Jewish values or practices. So they are portrayed as the pupils, albeit pupils with pull, at the feet of the masters.

Clearly, part of Letter of Aristeas’s goal is to establish that the Jews were viewed as a distinct group—one of many—as per the librarian’s discussion with Aristeas. Not only are they a distinct group, but a group that has high status because of the values of the

king, who values learning about all else.. It is clear, both here and in III Maccabees, that status is dependent on the majority culture. That the translators are so appreciated is a function of the attitude of the king. In this case, he is a learned man, able to appreciate the Jews, but this is not necessarily have to be the case.

The main focus of Letter of Aristeas, as is agreed on by many commentators from

Tcherikover to Gruen, seems to be the integration and elevation of Jewish culture into

Greek culture. In this case, both universal and particular elements are agreed upon: the particular elements of practice are made Greek; the advice of the Jews is universal, but made particular, as coming from the universal God.

Endnotes:

1 Tcherikover, “CPJ I,” 73. 2 Gruen, “Heritage and Hellenism,” 210. 3 Jellicoe, “The Occasion and Purpose…” 4 Howard, “The Letter of Aristeas,” 348 5 Barclay, “Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora,” 139. 6 Collins, “Between Athens and Jerusalem,” 98. 7 Gruen, “Heritage and Hellenism,” 215. 8 Ibid., 214. 9 Kasher, Aryeh. “Political and National Connections,” 36. 10 “Our lawgiver, then, in the first place laid down the principles of piety and justice and expounded them point by point, not alone by prohibitions but by commandments, and he made clear the discomfiture and visitations that would be inflicted by God upon the guilty. But first of all he taught that God is one, and that His power is made manifest in all things, and that every place is filled with His sovereignty…” (131-2) 11 There are other interpretations and meanings beyond self-definition, but self-definition is integral to all ritual, this not excepted. 12 Birnbaum, “Allegorical interpretation,” 314. 13 Tcherikover, “CPJ I,” 64. 14 The food was prepared “according to their usages.” (181) 15 Barclay, “Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora,” 145. 16 Ibid., 147.

91 Chapter Six: Conclusion: Jews and Others in All Times and All Places

The Letter of Aristeas appears as a typical work of Alexandrian Jewry in the Ptolemaic period. There is no unity in the book, as there was no unity either in the heart of the author or in the social class to which he belonged. Like most of the people who strive to be “citizens of two worlds,” Aristeas did not actually belong to either of them. It is difficult to class Aristeas amoung the nationalist Jews; his Judaism is pale and colorless, imbued with foreign influences, and it lacks the inner warmth of a genuine national feeling. Even less does Aristeas belong to the Hellenes. His aspirations to be like the Greeks only emphasize the great distance between him and the of the true Greek intelligentsia. (“The Ideology of Letter of Aristeas,” Tcherikover, p. 84)

He is a fine example of a cultured Greek Jew who thrived in the tensions which Hellenization produced. (“Allegorical interpretation and Jewish identity,” Ellen Birnbaum, p. 317)

These two different quotes regarding Aristeas exemplify the changes over fifty years in the way the Egyptian Jews of this period have been viewed in the literature. In those fifty years, Aristeas has gone from an individual (or, more accurately, character)

who did not fully belong to either culture to one who successfully combines Greek and

Jewish cultures. The way in which both historians use the text to comment implicitly on the present can be summed up by Barclay, who writes: “That these texts are offering lessons to the Jews who read them today is implicit—and to some degree explicit—in the analyses of recent historians.”1 So it is with this thesis: it began with the intention of examining the characteristics that enabled the Egyptian Jewish community to maintain a balance between completely integrating into the majority culture and completely separating from it. However, ultimately it must reflect the culture out of which it is written. And, rather than allowing that to remain implicit, I will take the opportunity to point to ways in which the Egyptian Jews can act as a model for Jews in a pluralistic environment.

92 I begin by summarizing the work of the preceding chapters, in three texts, in three different ways have shown how these Jews understood themselves not only as Jews but also as participants in the majority culture. Four similarities in particular stand out: the portrayal of a universal God; tension between the particular and the universal; the positive relationship between Jews and the state; and an implicit definition of Judaism as incorporating (to varying degrees) practice, belief, and community.2 While most of these similarities are attitudes, rather than specific practices or beliefs, they do run through all the texts.

The single most important element within these narratives is the emphasis on the one, universal God who is open to anyone, but who has a particular relationship to the

Jews. Joseph and Asenath emphasizes the universal aspect, as “Joseph’s God” is respected by the Egyptians, however Asenath undergoes an individual and particular

“rebirth” to reach that universal God. III Maccabees, at some level, is precisely about

God’s power over human kings, a theme that can be seen throughout Jewish writings from Isaiah on. The way in which the Greeks are forced to recognize God’s power

(eventually) is particularly vivid, as God is shown as a very active participant in the drama. In yet another way, the Letter of Aristeas brings together both universal and particular relationship to God, as the Greeks again and again emphasize their awe of the

Jewish (yet also Hellenistic) God.

While God is portrayed in both universal and particularistic ways, the tension between universal and particular can also be seen in both in the way the texts balance the

Jew as citizen and as member of a Jewish ethnic group and in the way Hellenistic language and ideas are used to rationalize Jewish belief or practice. Joseph and Asenath

93 is, at some level, about identity as a Jew, but also about universal values; III Maccabees emphasizes the importance of identifying with the ethnic group (as witness the fate of the apostates) and of remaining part of the land; and Letter of Aristeas expressly makes the connection between particular Jewish practice and belief and “universal” Hellenistic belief.

All of the texts stress the bond between Jews and the state, so that the Jews, whether powerful as Joseph or helpless as the masses in the arena, are portrayed as the good and especially loyal citizens. In Joseph and Asenath, Joseph is, of course, an integral part of the Egyptian state and ultimately its ruler (in effect). While Jews do not rule in Egypt in the Letter of Aristeas, the king is shown as deferential to the Jews and to

Eleazar, the High Priest.3 In III Maccabees, even in extremity, calling upon God for rescue, the Jews do not denounce the state; rather, they plead to be allowed to return to their role as citizen.

Finally all three texts have an implicit definition of Judaism as incorporating practice, belief, and community, although to different degrees. In fact, Joseph and

Asenath might be said to be primarily about belief, however both practice and community appear in the way Joseph eats and in the relationship to family. III Maccabees emphasizes the oneness of community, but practice is mentioned as well, while belief in

God (as with all the texts) is central. Letter of Aristeas spends more time than the other two texts discussing practice, but much of the text is devoted to belief in God and God’s power, as well as community as exemplified by the description of the land of Israel.

There are two significant themes that appear in two each of the three works. First, in III Maccabees and Letter of Aristeas, the relationship between Judea and Egypt is a

94 central theme. That this is not the case for Joseph and Asenath, may due to the

“historical” setting, in which there was no land of Israel with which to have an association. It could be argued that Joseph’s brothers stand in for Israel and the relationship between the two Jewish communities, although there is not enough evidence to make more than a speculative case for this. However, for both III Maccabees and

Letter of Aristeas, the relationship between the two communities is clearly of central importance. These texts have been described as mirrors of each other—one a response to the other (although there is no agreement on which is the response). It is more likely that they are both reflect the ambivalent relationship between the Egyptian and Judean Jews, indicating some controversy around the issue of self-definition.

Second, while totally absent in the Letter of Aristeas, the use of prayer in extremity is central to the drama in both Joseph and Asenath and III Maccabees. While all three texts emphasize God’s universal nature, it is only in these two that God’s power is called upon in an almost ritualistic way. That it is not present in Letter of Aristeas is, I believe due to the bland nature of the text.

These similarities, whether occurring in two or in three texts, can be categorized through my rubric.

Jewish self-definition

Judaism is a category that is determined by the group as it defines itself internally and against others.

In all of these texts, there is some effort to define who is in the group and who is not. Joseph and Asenath stands out as presenting a different way of defining a Jew than that presented in the other texts. Because it is set in Biblical times (as noted earlier, there

95 are not two communities which must be reconciled), Joseph and Asenath shows concern over who is a good Jew and who is not. The determining factor in this case is the jealousy on the part of both Egyptians (in the form of Pharaoh’s son) and Jews (on the part of the sons of the maidservants).

In the other two texts, some relationship exists between the Jews of Egypt and those of Judea. While there has been ample speculation as to the motives of the authors in including both places, there is not enough evidence to conclude that these texts were designed to persuade the Jews of Egypt to connect to the Jews of Judea or vice versa.

Ultimately, it is the connection itself that matters—that Judea and Egypt were, in the eyes of the authors at least, linked in some way.

There are particular features of Judaism that are arbitrary and might change over time. Their function is to define the group or to signify difference; they have no intrinsic meaning.

The specific features that are used for self-definition are, as above, a strong belief in the saving power of God (in two cases) or simply in faith in God (in the third case).

Regardless of how connection to God is expressed, belief in or adherence to the universal

God remains a central element in all these texts, whether as “the God of Joseph,” the saving God of III Maccabees, or the universalized God of Letter of Aristeas. These different representations of the one God make a continuum from Joseph’s God, the Most

High, to Letter of Aristeas’s God, acknowledged by all as the Supreme Being, but who happens to have given the Jews a special set of laws.4 This is, perhaps, simply one response to the pluralistic dilemma, where different groups must find ways to reconcile to

96 each other. In these cases, simply in order to live in relative peace, groups must find ways to understand each other and universalizing God may be one common solution.

A second feature is that of Jewish practice. While Jewish law is not present to any great degree within Joseph and Asenath, the separation between the two groups—

Joseph and those who worship one God on the one hand and idol-worshippers, that is, the

Egyptians on the other—plays a crucial role within the text. As the one text to focus on

Egyptians, rather than on Greeks, the difference in the way the two groups are treated is worth noting. The Egyptians in Joseph and Asenath are idol-worshippers, though respectful of Joseph’s God, and hence off-limits (at least in some respects). In the other texts, the Greeks are assumed to understand the nature of one God and are not portrayed as idol-worshippers, but as worshippers of the same God, only under another name. This is a very different portrayal of Greeks and Egyptians.

The laws of the Jews are hardly mentioned in III Maccabees—but when they are mentioned it is in a manner similar to the way they are described in the Book of Esther.

That is, the Jews observe these unspecified laws, but the Greeks and Egyptians can misinterpret this observance and assume the Jews are disloyal. And, of course, there is a long discourse on the meaning of the food laws in Letter of Aristeas, ostensibly to clarify them for the non-Jews. Whether assumed or not, all these texts use Jewish law to distinguish Jews from others.

I also want to note the way in which Letter of Aristeas opens—the whole premise of the work is to celebrate the Torah. While, as noted previously, the actual translation takes up very little space within the narrative, the importance of the book, the physical

97 trapping of the book and specific laws derived therefrom all provide these “arbitrary features.”

Jews must choose to maintain particular boundaries.

Within this society, there is evidence, as noted earlier, that Jews could choose to be a part of the society—or not. Clearly there are “bad Jews,” as witness the sons of the maidservants in Joseph and Asenath. Just as clearly, when confronted with a choice, some Jews choose not to maintain a connection—as in III Maccabees. The consequences for this are extremely severe, which I would take as confirmation that choosing not to be

Jewish was a real choice. While III Maccabees threatens death to the unbeliever, Letter of Aristeas makes convincing arguments for choosing to remain Jewish based on status— after all, even the king admires the teaching of the Jews.

Jews as they imagine themselves (and Judaism) defined by majority culture.

Judaism as an ethnic-religious dimension of social life is separate and independent from other areas of life. It may include other aspects of society, but is neither a part of nor synonymous with them.

All three texts demonstrate this: Joseph and Asenath through Joseph’s “business and social” relationship with Pentephres and Pharaoh; III Maccabees, as the people plead to be allowed to be members of society; and Letter of Aristeas in the way common life is addressed in the questions the king puts to the translators. In all cases, however, the majority culture is represented not by the common folk, but by the relationship to power.

The Jewish view of the majority culture has to do with the relationship between the

98 Jews—whether as individual, group, or “Torah”—and the representative of power, that is, the king, who can impact the Jews for good or for evil.

Jews are recognized as a distinct group and one of many ethnic groups within the majority society, although Jewish group status vis a vis other groups may vary.

Jews clearly recognized that they were one of many ethnic groups. The ruling heads within all the texts understand this and one underlying theme of the texts is precisely how much power and respect and status is given to the Jews. In Joseph and

Asenath, this is very directly correlated to power—Joseph’s status is entirely political, though clearly allegiance to Joseph’s God (and the One God) is another theme. While

Asenath has the relationship with God, Joseph takes the political role. He is the one with the political clout to make decisions and ultimately he is one who ends up on the throne

(though not officially as king). In III Maccabees, the precariousness of that association is seen as Ptolemy’s whims change the status of the Jews from positive to negative and back again. And, as that status changes, conflict between the different ethnic groups occurs again and again, until in the end, it is resolved by God’s softening Pharaoh’s heart.

And in Letter of Aristeas, the king is positive and remains so. There is no conflict around the Jewish status, hence the boring nature of the work.

When there is lack of agreement as to status and roles of the Jews, tension and conflict may arise between or against different ethnic groups, but this conflict is not essential to the nature of any group.

This is not a major theme in two of the three texts,5 however, it is integral to III

Maccabees, in which the population, when roused, turns the “filter” of Judaism against

99 the Jews, arguing that their practices make them untrustworthy. This is an excellent example of what happens when that metaphorical filter gains a valence. However, as the ending also shows, when the situation between king and Jews is resolved, Jews resume their previous status.

Jews, as a group, in relation to majority culture

Jews must find a way to reconcile religion/ethnicity with the majority culture, whether through emphasizing universal or particular elements with the religion.

Turning from the content to form, one critical way in which these Jews reconciled

Judaism and Hellenism was through the use of Greek forms to interpret Judaism. There is no rejection of Judaism, but there is a strong need to understand it in light of the society in which they lived. It simply had to be explained. Of the texts discussed, Joseph and Asenath explains the least, with no discussion of practice or of ethnicity (though

Asenath is described as being like the Jews6). Yet simply by having a non-Jew become a

Jew, a boundary has been crossed. Within the other two texts, III Maccabees seems to reject Greek culture, but, as pointed out earlier, the authors were not rejecting the majority culture, rather they were asking to be included in it—as Jews. They were asking to be both/and—both Hellenes and Jews. The role of Ptolemy ultimately was to affirm that. And the Jews did not, as in Esther, kill either the Egyptians or the Hellenes, but rather the Jewish apostates. The implication of the ending is that one could be a good

Jew and a good Hellene, but woe betide the one who rejected his Judaism completely.

Letter of Aristeas is, of course, the most obvious example of reconciling the two cultures,

100 with Greek motifs and reasoning used to argue for a very Jewish (and clearly superior) approach to the world.

Summary

In the Hellenistic Egyptian world, Jews were able to succeed by finding ways to define themselves, albeit not as one singular culture, by defining a relationship (both real and imagined) with the majority culture, and by reconciling Jewish and majority culture.

The characteristics that the Egyptian Jews used to make up these categories included: belief in God and the efficacy of prayer, particularly in extremity; some form of practice; the assumption that the Jews in both Egypt and Judea had some relationship; and the assumption of status within the majority culture.

These were sufficient in the Hellenistic world to enable the Jews to survive. The combination of belief and practice on the one hand and willingness to use Hellenistic tools to explain their own beliefs enabled those beliefs to be flexible enough to endure. It will never be clear why the Egyptian Jewish community’s relationship to the majority culture deteriorated as it did shortly after the period I have examined. But it was following that deterioration that the Jewish community of Egypt was largely destroyed— or vanished. Speculation as to why includes anti-Jewish riots, assimilation into the population, or the assimilation into Christianity. However, whether these or another reason is the case, that doesn’t change the fact that the means used by these Egyptian

Jews to understand themselves as Jews and as Hellenes were successful, so long as the majority culture remained open.

101 The Hellenistic world I have examined in these texts is one in which both Jew and

Hellene was possible. But I would argue that it is not unique, simply one example of a pluralistic world. In such a world there will always be a need to put religion in its own place, that is, there will be a need to explain one religion in the language of another.

And, where that language is the language of the majority, the minority religion will be, in

Weber’s terms, rationalized to conform in meaning to the that majority language. In that kind of world, there will be a separation of spheres, because unless the different areas of life are identified with particular groups of people, they must be separate so that people can communicate with each other when need be.

I have suggested that my rubric can be applied not only to one culture, but to other pluralistic societies as well. I would go even further and argue that these three categories of self-definition, definition (both real and imagined) by the majority culture, and reconciliation between Jewish and majority culture can be applied to any period in which the Jews were a minority.

In all cases, self-definition must take place; there must be ways in which Jews know that they are Jews and not others. How Jews define themselves has remained an ongoing question, even the least pluralistic periods. So, to has the question of defining practices. Those features of Judaism which particularly identified Jews as opposed to, say, Jewish Christians (and eventually Christians) are an example of this. Choice—the ability to remain Jewish or to vanish into the majority is very much a function of a pluralistic period. While Jews have always found ways to assimilate into majority culture, it is much more difficult during less open periods.

102 In this thesis, the relationship of the majority culture to Jewish culture has been examined only as reflected through Jewish writings. And, while this is critical in defining Jewish culture, it is not sufficient. How Jews are defined by the majority culture, whether a positive or a negative valence is given to Jewish ethnicity, and what status is given to Jewish ethnicity/religion by other ethnicities are all matters that Jews do not decide and yet which affect their ability to mediate both cultures. I have chosen to examine a period where being Jewish had a relatively neutral valence. However, the period ended shortly thereafter, as the writings of Philo and the events of 115-117 CE show. So, in understanding the way Jewish culture understands itself, the impact of the constraints placed on it by the majority culture cannot be overstated.

This leads to the way in which Jews integrate Jewish and majority culture.

Clearly, during times when Judaism has a relatively neutral or positive valence in the majority culture, Jews may and must reconcile the two cultures, understanding one in terms of the other without rejecting either. However, during times when Judaism had a negative valence, it was not reconciliation between two cultures, but rejection of the other culture that took place. Even here, however, the majority culture intruded, so that even the rejection took place through the methods of the majority culture.7

Using these three categories to examine Jewish minority cultures can, I believe, provide a useful way to understand the different elements of engagement with Jewish and with majority culture, leading to a better understanding of the pressures on the particular culture. I will close by suggesting several areas within the American Jewish context in which the rubric could be employed. First, there is the way in which holidays are used within the American Jewish context. The most striking example is Passover, both as

103 observed in ritual and as mediated by a wide variety of Haggadot. In this case, the holiday both defines Jews, but also incorporates the majority value of freedom. Life-cycle rituals are another place which could be fruitfully examined. Here the best example is the

Bar/Bat Mitzvah in which self-definition is the named purpose, though both of the other areas become central to the process as well. Finally, the concept of chosenness is clearly central to Jewish identity, yet has been reinterpreted in light of universalistic impulses within American society. In all these cases, the impulse to maintain Jewish identity, but within a majority context remains. The Jews of Egypt found a balance between that

Jewish identity and the majority context. They serve as a worthy model for any Jew living a pluralistic society.

Endnotes:

1 Barclay, “Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora,” 150. 2 With the exception of the first, these similarities are tendencies or attitudes within the text, rather than specific traits. I have chosen a rather small sample of texts, so it is perhaps not surprising that all three do not share more specific attributes. These are more evident when examining similarities between two texts, as will be done below. 3 Although, as noted earlier, one undercurrent within the text is the fragility of kingly favor. 4 This is, in some ways, similar to one current pluralistic view of religions as being different paths to one God. 5 It could be argued that Joseph and Asenath incorporates this theme, with the conflict in the final section, however, as discussed elsewhere, I believe there are other issues at stake. 6 Interestingly, converts to Judaism today are often described as having a special affinity for Judaism, or of having been “Jewish in their souls,” who never knew who they were until they converted. Asenath’s description could fall into this category. 7 As happened in the medieval disputations of Christian Spain and France, for example.

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