Judaism

The present collection makes available in fresh translations all of the ancient examples of the Jewish novels, and introduces them for the student and general reader. The texts are divided into three categories: novels, historical novels, and testaments, and each text is given its own introduction. Similarities and differences are discussed in regard to other ancient popular literature, such as Greek novels, Roman novels, Christian novels, and Apocryphal Acts, and the distinction between fiction and history is explored. Jewish identity and the competition of ethnic groups are generally the themes, but with the large number of women characters, we are also afforded insights into gender constructions in Jewish popular literature. The protagonists of Jewish novels are often figures otherwise unknown to Jewish history, but are sometimes also biblical patriarchs (Moses, Joseph, Abraham, Job), although their stories are told here in a way surprisingly different from what is found in the Hebrew Bible. There are also possible allusions to Jewish mysticism and mysteries in some of the texts.

The texts are: Greek Esther, Susanna, and Bel and the Dragon (or Bel and the Serpent) from Greek Daniel, Tobit, Judith, Third Maccabees, The Marriage and Conversion of Aseneth (or Joseph and Aseneth), The Tobiad Romance, The Royal Family of Adiabene, the Testament of Joseph, the Testament of Job, and the Testament of Abraham. Some of the novels are found in the Old Testament Apocrypha, while others derive from other sources, such as Josephus or the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs.

Becoming Hebrew is a study of the ways in which a Zionist national culture was generated in the Jewish Yishuv (prestate community) of Palestine between 1900 and 1914. The book addresses three principal lacunae in the study of Zionist culture to date. The first of these is chronological. Much of the literature to date has assumed that a distinctive Zionist national culture began to appear in Palestine during the interwar period, whereas Becoming Hebrew argues that its formative period in fact predates the war. Out of this chronological claim emerge the two additional, more conceptually and theoretically substantive, correctives. In the first instance, the book shows that the relationship between the Zionist cultural undertaking and traditional Jewish culture is far more complicated and nuanced than has often been recognized. Joining a new and important historiographical trend, the book suggests further that the Zionist case sheds important light on nationalism generally, which itself emerges in a more complex and dialectical relationship with the religious cultures and traditional societies out of which it grows than has often been acknowledged in much of the now classical literature. Finally, in its conceptualization of “culture” as created in Zionist Palestine, the book synthesizes a literary‐like study of imageries and discourses and a more anthropological examination of observable cultural practices and tangible, public social processes to produce a history of culture as a broad interweaving of many aspects of human life.

Auschwitz is the center of the twentieth century, its dark core, yet, in the postwar years in America few intellectuals dared to come to grips with the horror and the suffering. Jewish theologians too were slow to respond until, in the turbulent years of the sixties and beyond, a small number of Jewish thinkers came to realize that the survival of Judaism and continued Jewish life require first and foremost confronting Auschwitz; looking into the abyss had become unavoidable. In this book, Michael Morgan tells the story of these theologians, and offers the first comprehensive overview of post‐Holocaust Jewish theology. He gives an account of the encounter with the death camps in the postwar writings of figures such as Hannah Arendt, Elie Wiesel, and Primo Levi and describes the role of the Six Day War in 1967 on the development and reception of post‐Holocaust Jewish thought. In chapters on each of the central thinkers (Richard Rubinstein, Eliezer Berkovits, Irving Greenberg, Arthur Cohen, and Emil Fackenheim), he analyzes the way they have struggled with the dialectic of history and identity, and with the threat of radical rupture. Throughout the book, the intellectual developments are set in their historical context and there are chapters on the reception of post‐Holocaust Jewish thought and its legacy for today. This is a book of philosophical and theological analysis as well as a work of intellectual history and will interest a wide spectrum of readers.

Empathy is a way of re-membering oneself with the religious other that buttresses an interreligious unity-in-diversity. This book therefore proposes a way of strengthening the bonds of friendship and dialogue between Judaism and Catholicism is through a more detailed consideration of the phenomenological category of empathy vis-à-vis Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel (1907–1972) and Edith Stein (1891–1942). The book's methodology is phenomenological and narrative in approach, and is therefore necessarily contextual in so far as it takes seriously the post-Shoah situation. Heschel's call for a prophetic return to God, a call that is “ecumenically” expansive and supportive of humanity's need to receive otherness, is a call to live life in the form of response to God's pathos. This call finds a prophetic response through Edith Stein's interreligiously attuned scholarship and witness of empathy, as narratively “drawn” from within the chiarascuro horizon of the Shoah. Stein's portrait rises in the typology of “mandorla” figure—as one capable of dialectically bridging sameness with otherness—conveying an em-pathos in word and deed that is less narrow and more interreligious in kind, precisely because her “way” of martyrdom is as a re-memberer with the religious other(s) who is same: she neither distances herself nor denies her consanguinity with the Jewish people. Stein's Jewish and Christian fidelity, while being an archetype for interreligious relations, also challenges Catholicism to do the teshuva work of remembering its Jewish heritage through new categories of witnessing and belonging with otherness.

Over the last several decades, an astonishing phenomenon has developed: a Jewish rebirth of sorts occurring throughout Africa. Different ethnic groups proclaim that they are returning to long forgotten Jewish roots and African clans trace their lineage to the Lost Tribes of Israel. This book addresses the elaboration and the development of Jewish identities by Africans. Africans have encountered Jewish myths and traditions in multiple forms and under a number of situations. The context and circumstances of these encounters produced a series of influences that gradually led, within some African societies, to the elaboration of a new Jewish identity connected with that of the Diaspora. The book presents one by one the different groups of Black Jews from western central, eastern, and southern Africa, and the ways in which they have used and imagined their oral history and traditional customs to construct a distinct Jewish identity. The purpose of the book is to review the processes and immensely complex interactions which shaped these new religious identities. It explores the way in which Africans have interacted with the ancient mythological sub-strata of both western and Africans idea of Jews in order to create a distinct Jewish identity. It particularly seeks to identify and to assess colonial influences and their internalization by African societies in the shaping of new African religious identities. Along with these notions the book examines how, in the absence of recorded African history, the eminently malleable accounts of Jewish lineage developed by African groups inspired by Judaism co-exist with the possible historical traces of a Jewish presence in Africa.

The book analyses and assesses the various methods and approaches used by nineteenth‐ and twentieth‐century scholars researching into the theme of the unity and diversity of the compositional structure of the Old Testament book of Isaiah. It considers the differences between the traditional, historical–critical, form of Old Testament study and the more modern, post‐critical literary reading, and argues that a more intensive application of the traditional methods would be of great value in studying the unity of the book of Isaiah and in interpreting its message. Focusing on one particular phase in the composition of Isaiah and on the relationship of the central section, known as ‘Deutero‐Isaiah’, to the other parts of the book and to other Old Testament writings, it investigates the literary influences on Deutero‐Isaiah and analyses his subsequent editorial contribution to the continuing prophecy of the judgement and salvation of Israel, thereby reinforcing the argument that critical analysis must precede interpretation.

This book analyzes the history of the interpretation of the book of Job by medieval Jewish exegetes. The scholarship on medieval Jewish thought has focused largely on the systematic philosophical aspects of this literature. The author, however, is concerned with exegesis qua exegesis. He offers a close examination of commentaries on Job written by six major thinkers: Saadiah Gaon (882-942, Egypt and Babylon), Moses Maimonides (1138-1204, Spain and Egypt), Samuel ibn Tibbon (1160-1230, Provence), Zerahiah Hen (13th Century, Barcelona and Rome), Levi Gersonides (1288-1344, Provence), and Simeon ben Zeham Duran (1361-1444, Majorca and Algiers). Saadiah and Maimonides wrote in Arabic, the other four in Hebrew. The author looks at the relationship between the commentaries and their antecedent sources as well as their relationship to the broader context of medieval Jewish thought. He also provides an overview of the questions the commentators confronted about the historicity, national origin, and “Jewishness” of the text. He argues that the commentaries on Job are linked in a coherent and evolving tradition of interpretation and he identifies various views of providence as the central concern of them all.

Traces the development of the Jewish calendar—how months and years were reckoned—from its earliest descriptions in the second century b.c.e. until it reached, in the tenth century c.e., to its present form. Solar and lunar calendars are attested in the early period, but by the first century c.e., the Jewish calendar had become predominantly lunar. A wide range of sources (literary, documentary/epigraphic, Jewish, Graeco‐Roman, and Christian) reveals, however, that Jewish communities in Palestine and the diaspora reckoned their lunar calendar independently from one another, and hence, would often celebrate the same festivals at different times. This diversity persisted until the end of antiquity, although some general trends can be identified. Until the first century c.e., Jewish lunar calendars tended to be late in relation to the solar year, and Passover would always occur after the spring equinox; whereas, by the fourth century, intercalations were adjusted in such a way that Passover was frequently earlier. In the fourth century, moreover, many communities began to calculate the day of the new moon instead of relying on observation of the new crescent, as had previously been the norm. The change from observation to calculation is particularly evident in the case of the rabbinic calendar, for which there is more evidence than any other Jewish calendar. Largely under pressure from the Babylonian rabbinic community, the rabbinic calendar gradually evolved from the third century c.e. into a fixed, calculated calendar, which became dominant in the Jewish world by the tenth century. The general evolution of the Jewish calendar throughout our period, from considerable diversity (solar and lunar calendars) to unity (a single, normative rabbinic calendar), can be explained as epitomizing the emerging solidarity and communitas of the Jewish communities of late antiquity and the early medieval world.

During the medieval period of intense Bible study, one of the most vexing problems facing Jewish interpreters of the Hebrew Bible was how to forge ahead using the new interpretive strategy of uncovering the plain, contextual meaning (peshat), without neglecting revered ancient rabbinic modes of interpretation (derash). This book investigates the ubiquity and necessity of derash‐type interpretations in the biblical commentaries of Radak (R. David Kimhi, c. 1160–1232), a preeminent thirteenth century exegete, analyzing the standard structures in his commentaries with their consistent juxtaposition of peshat and derash-type rabbinic comments. Carefully parsing Radak’s methodological statements and each of the structures he typically employs, the book demonstrates how at times he uses rabbinic traditions to resolve textual questions that arise in exegesis, while at other times, these traditions perform only ancillary functions in his commentaries. The book also examines in detail Radak’s criteria when challenging rabbinic teachings, both in narrative and legal contexts, concluding that most often he rejects rabbinic traditions when they appear to contradict textual biblical evidence, but occasionally also on the grounds of implausibility. Particularly noteworthy is Radak’s questioning rabbinic legal interpretations of Scriptures, which most other exegetes hesitated to do. The book considers the anomaly of Radak’s ample quotation of rabbinic traditions, constantly relying on traditional authority in multiple ways, while simultaneously challenging this same authority by rejecting some rabbinic interpretations. Ultimately, the book concludes that Radak did not find this quotation and challenging of rabbinic traditions as contradictory