One syllabus, “Judaism,” has been updated, and Powerpoint presentations have been attached.
I have also added pdf and Word versions of a new undergraduate course, “The Jews: History, Culture, and Religion (Bible to Middle Ages).”
Both syllabi are best accessed by clicking here.
The book was reviewed in Choice (June, 2007):
. Creating Judaism: history, tradition, practice. Columbia, 2006. 340p bibl index afp ISBN 0-231-13488-6, $69.50; ISBN 0231134894 pbk, $24.50; ISBN 9780231134897 pbk, $24.50. Reviewed in 2007jun CHOICE. According to Satlow (Brown Univ.), “Judaism” cannot be the name of a single phenomenon; it marks a diverse set of religious conceptions and practices that has evolved in unpredictable ways for over 2,000 years and will continue to evolve in the future. The best that can be said–though it is important to say this much–is that the term indicates communities that identify with the historical people of Israel, seek religious authenticity through interpreting a known (though not completely fixed) canon of sacred texts, and act out their beliefs through a similarly familiar (though also not quite fixed) set of practices. This approach accounts for the remarkably varied history of Judaism and the strikingly varied character of Jewish life in the modern world without having to choose certain phenomena as more authentic or more righteous than others, and without falling into a shapeless relativism in which one thing is as good as anything else. Despite occasional errors of fact and lapses of style, this book will give readers a new perspective on a very old product of human creativity. Summing Up: Recommended. Lower-/upper-level undergraduates, professionals/practitioners, and general readers. – R. Goldenberg, SUNY at Stony Brook
I have asked Professor Goldenberg to forward me the mistakes he found. I will post them when I receive them.
On page 33 of Creating Judaism there is a picture of the sanctuary of Congregation Emanu-El of the City of New York, at 1 East 65th St., which the congregation generously supplied. I recently had an opportunity to actually go into the sanctuary, which has recently been redone (the reconstruction is documented in the museum there). The picture does not even begin to do justice to the majesty and awe of the sanctuary, which outstrips many of the gothic cathedrals of Europe. From the enormous soaring roof to intricate mosaic windows to the imposing dais in front of a vast number of pews, it is quite a structure. The virtual tour can be seen through the congregation’s website, but I highly recommend a visit.
Incidentally, at least on the day that I visited (no religious services were being held then) there was an American but no Israeli flag on the dais. It has become common for modern synagogues to have both, and I suspect that the absence of an Israeli flag hearkens back to the Congregation’s history without making a modern statement about the importance of Israel.
An article in the Forward by Jay Michaelson discusses the anticipated destruction of Sabbatai Tzvi’s former residence in Turkey and, more surprisingly, the reaction of the doenmeh, who continue to see the house as a shrine:
Far away from the eyes of the Jewish mainstream, in modern-day Turkey there live hundreds, if not thousands, of crypto-Jews — and today, one of their most sacred shrines is in danger.
Tzvi chose to convert, and most of his followers lost hope — but not all of them. Many saw the conversion as a heroic act of tikkun, or repair, and followed their messiah’s lead by outwardly becoming Muslims while secretly maintaining their messianic Jewish faith. They were called doenmeh, meaning “turncoats”— a pejorative term not unlike marrano (“pig.”) Among themselves, they were called ma’aminim, “believers.” Sabbateanism did not die out in 1666, or even 10 years later when Tzvi himself died. There were subsequent messiahs — largely forgotten men like Baruchiah Russo and Jacob Frank — and, as recent scholarship has shown, Sabbateanism greatly influenced the 18th-century emergence of Hasidism. And then there are the doenmeh, who live on until the present day, in secretive communities, at first primarily in Salonika and today almost entirely in present-day Turkey.
[….]
Barry Kapandji is one of the few doenmeh descendants willing to openly acknowledge his ancestry — and even he wouldn’t use his real name (“totally out of the question,” he said). Kapandji, 33, was told by his father that he was a doenmeh when he was nine years old. Since then, he has been fascinated by his heritage. Kapandji first contacted me a few months ago, when he learned that the house in Izmir (formerly Smyrna) in which Tzvi is believed to have lived was slated for demolition by the municipality to make way for a park. No one would help him: The doenmeh he knew were afraid of going public, and the Jewish community wanted nothing to do with this sect of heretics.
“This is a crime against culture, history and my heritage,” Kapandji told me. “The Jewish community elders do not want the house turned into a museum.… They would like Sabbetai’s name to be eradicated from history.”
[…]
Surely, though, if this house is what Sisman and Kapandji believe it to be, it is an important relic of a key episode in Jewish history. Of course, as shown by Israel’s many Crusader tombs doubling as the supposed burial places of prophets and rabbis, the fact that a place is venerated by believers does not mean that it is what they believe it to be. Then again, there are reasons to think that this instance might be different. The doenmeh, after all, have lived in the same place, continuously, since the time of Tzvi himself, and have maintained a secret tradition of belief, liturgy, ritual, even recipes. Kabbalah scholar Avraham Elqayam recently published an article describing the mystical significance of a newly unearthed doenmeh cookbook, and Zeek, an online journal of which I am an editor, is publishing translations of Sabbatean hymns and first-person accounts of Tzvi at prayer, compiled by David Halperin, professor emeritus of religion at the University of North Carolina….
I do not know much about the history and current practices of the doenmeh, but they offer an excellent theoretical example of the complexity of Jewish identity. They appear to be embedded within larger, “mainstream” Jewish communities while at the same time maintaining additional traditions of belief and ritual. It will be interesting to see these new translations.
The newspapers are reporting the discovery of what appears to be Herod’s tomb in the fortress that he built, Herodium. Archaeologists discovered pieces of an elaborately carved sarcophagus, but no bones or inscriptions indicating who was once interred within it. Nevertheless, the identification might well be correct. At the end of book 1 of his work the Jewish War, Josephus mentions Herod’s burial:
So there was an acclamation made to Archelaus, to congratulate him upon his advancement; and the soldiers, with the multitude, went round about in troops, and promised him their good-will, and besides, prayed God to bless his government. After this, they betook themselves to prepare for the king’s funeral; and Archelaus omitted nothing of magnificence therein, but brought out all the royal ornaments to augment the pomp of the deceased. There was a bier all of gold, embroidered with precious stones, and a purple bed of various contexture, with the dead body upon it, covered with purple; and a diadem was put upon his head, and a crown of gold above it, and a secptre in his right hand; and near to the bier were Herod’s sons, and a multitude of his kindred; next to which came his guards, and the regiment of Thracians, the Germans. also and Gauls, all accounted as if they were going to war; but the rest of the army went foremost, armed, and following their captains and officers in a regular manner; after whom five hundred of his domestic servants and freed-men followed, with sweet spices in their hands: and the body was carried two hundred furlongs, to Herodium, where he had given order to be buried. And this shall suffice for the conclusion of the life of Herod. (Whiston translation)
It is not very surprising not to find the golden accouterments described by Josephus; grave-robbers would have taken these years ago.
The real interesting story here is not the possible discovery of Herod’s tomb but the fact that it entered mainstream media. Historically, the discovery of Herod’s tomb doesn’t really tell us anything; we don’t need more evidence that Herod once lived. Nor do modern religions venerate Herod; he’s made out in many Jewish and Christian texts (perhaps a bit undeservedly) as quite the villain. So why should anyone care?
That people in fact do care about all kinds of archaeological discoveries tangentially related to the Bible and their own faith commitments is both puzzling and fascinating in its own right. Is this a case of craving some material, palpable connection to the past, and/or is there an element of “contagion,” as if being in the presence of such material artifacts brings us close to greatness? (This reminds me of the many houses with plaques that George Washington once slept there.) The Biblical Archaeology Society publishes two periodicals appealing to this desire, but it is the desire itself that deserves further reflection.
The semester is over. Almost. Well, enough to open the mental space that allows me to begin the process of self-evaluation of my classes. Here are some preliminary musings.
As a teacher, one of my central goals has always been to develop in my students “critical thinking skills,” and this semester was no exception. I have always also had a vague idea of what that meant: to think more like me. Or, as one colleague eloquently expressed it recently, to jam a crowbar between a person and his or her beliefs, not to separate them but just to let in a little light. Recently, though, I’ve been growing uncomfortable with simply reiterating that I want to teach “critical thinking.” What, exactly, is that supposed to mean?
In many of my classes, such as the ones in which I use Creating Judaism, I teach a kind of “conceptual map,” a way of thinking about a topic or time period. Students frequently have a difficult time grasping these mental maps, if only because they frequently differ from those with which they entered the class. It’s hard to change the way you think about something! So the first hurdle is to get students to understand a new way of thinking, not necessarily to replace what they had but rather to give them a different perspective that they can then choose to integrate into their intellectual toolbox, or not.
But this is only the first step. What I now realize that I am really after is not just knowledge of this map, but knowledge to the point of being able to use it. One aspect of critical thought, then - and this is the hypothesis - is the ability to take a conceptual model and apply, expand, and critique it, more or less in this order.
A student’s true understanding of the model, then, should be judged not by his or her ability to simply recite it, but the ability to use it in these three ways. A final exam, for example, should test the student’s ability to apply, expand, and critique the class model.
This is really, really hard on all counts: to design appropriate assessment techniques, for the student in answering the questions, and then again on the teacher to assess the answers fairly and helpfully. This is why, I suspect (and here is my second hypothesis), grading in the natural and social sciences tend to be lower than in the humanities. The former disciplines (as I remember well from my pitiful experience as an organic chemistry students) test application, and the answer is as objective as one can get in this world. In a science course, the answer might really just be “7″, whereas academics in the humanities often give far more leeway. The grade curves are relatively low not because the science is inherently hard, but because the mental process of application is.
I do not mean to suggest that the humanities must necessarily be “softer” than the sciences, but that if I am right that I at least can do a better, and tougher, job of helping students to apply, expand, and critique the models they learn in class.
Who can fail to like the memoirs of Gluckel of Hameln (1645-1724)? Her account, as rendered in the English translations of the Yiddish original, give a detailed, first-hand account of a pious Jewish woman (who had also raised 12 children and took over her first husband’s business after he died). Her memoir has a modern feel to it and stands as one of the very few extant literary writings by a pre-modern Jewish woman.
Well, it turns out that that if Gluckel’s memoirs have a modern feel to them, it is because the English translations give it to them. In his Being for Myself Alone: Origins of Jewish Autobiography (Stanford University Press, 2006), pp. 155-175, Marcus Moseley demonstrates just how peculiar Gluckel’s Yiddish work is. The translators, he argues, selectively left out huge swathes of it that did not appeal to their own sensibilities of what a “memoir” should be. One such omitted passage, for example, tells a story of a learned Jew stranded on an island with cannibals. He marries a naked, hairy woman and father’s a child with her, but when he has the opportunity to flee the island on a boat of “civilized” people he leaves both wife and child, and watches with no emotion as the wife kills their child in rage. Gluckel puts this story close to her account of her own betrothal: What she meant by doing so might be anyone’s guess, but it is certainly not characteristic of the author we know through the popular translations. Gluckel has written a far more interesting and complex “memoir” than has been commonly taught and thought, and as Moseley points out at the end of his discussion a new, full translation is a desideratum.
Reading Moseley’s fascinating discussion also raised for me a secondary story. Gluckel’s manuscript was apparently copied by her children and passed down through the generations; her great-granddaughter, Bertha Pappenheim (’Anna O.’ of Freudian fame) published a German translation. The printed Yiddish edition was made by David Kaufmann in 1896. I suspect that there is an also an interesting story to be told about the transmission of this work - perhaps more on that in a later post.
I am pleased to report that I’ve been awarded a Guggenheim Fellowship (the press release from Brown University can be seen here). The award will allow me to spend the 2008-9 academic year working on my next book project, on Jewish piety in late antiquity. While the parameters of this project change daily (sometimes more than once), my basic goal is to try to tease out how most Jews, who may not have known or cared much for the Rabbis, understood and served their God.
I recently read A Kingdom of Priests: Ancestry and Merit in Ancient Judaism (Jewish Culture and Contexts)
What interests me here is the inherent tension between these two modes of authority and the way that all later Jewish communities attempt to solve it. Is Israel a “kingdom of priests” based on their genes or their (present or past) actions? What are the material and historical conditions that tilt a community in one direction or the other? Most modern Westerners are inherently more comfortable understanding authority as theoretically open to all; the racial component can cause discomfort.
This makes me think about “Jews by choice.” According to classical rabbinic and later halakhic texts, non-Jews can become Jews and in so doing are equivalent to Jews in every significant way; they in fact are said, legally, to lose their former identity and family ties (hence raising a question of whether a man who converted to Judaism can marry his mother or sister, who ceases to have this relationship to him post-conversion). Yet in antiquity, Jewish converts typically marked their grave epitaphs with the designation “proselyte” - even in death they were not simply “Jews.” (This might complicated Himmelfarb’s thesis that the emphasis on biology was a rabbinic response to Christianity; it might have been a more popular preference for other, unclear reasons.) Today, quite unscientifically, I notice a similar trend in the tendency of Jews by choice to identify themselves as such, and Jews by birth to note (although not necessarily in any negative way!) the converts among them. It would be interesting to explore further why this might be.
This week I had a chance to see the exhibition, “Glass, Gilding, and Grand Design: Art of Sasanian Iran (224-642)” at the Asia Society in New York. The exhibit was particularly interesting in helping to understand the cultural context in which the Babylonian Talmud took shape. I was struck by the (already well-noted) similarity of some Sasanian art and mosaics to those in the Greek and Roman worlds, as well as several motifs that are not to be found in the art of the west. This is well worth a visit before it leaves on May 20.
