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“Prometheus Found” moves back to the German sphere in order to contend with the discourse of the neuer Mensch (new human) developed in German Expressionism, a movement that explicitly rejected Impressionism and fin-de-siècle refinement. For Expressionists like Else Lasker-Schüler, dispensing with the bourgeois pieties they attributed to nineteenth-century liberalism required imagining new anthropological entities, new humans, much in the mold of the Nietzschean Übermensch. In the case of Lasker-Schüler, though, the “new human” became a means for modeling a Volk rather than a Mensch, and in particular, the Jewish Volk at a moment when Zionism was at apogee.
Street signs in Italian, Hebrew and Arabic, installed in the twenty-first century, mark Palermo's former Jewish quarter, over half a millennium since Sicily last had a substantial Jewish population. They recall a medieval Jewish minority, but also symbolise what some consider to be Palermo's essentially pluralistic character. What motivates this inchoate revival of ‘Jewish space’, and what does it mean for contemporary Palermo? ‘Rebranding’ Palermo as a crossroads of civilisations encourages tourism, but this alone does not explain the re-evaluation of its multi-religious heritage. Palermo is an often-overlooked case study for the contemporary emergence of Jewish ‘sites of memory’. Using a micro-scale ethnographic study to analyse a narrative rooted in history, I show how the ‘rediscovery’ of Jewish history can have multiple catalysts. In Palermo, these include a Europe-wide interest in ‘things Jewish’, and Sicily's increasing religious diversity in the present.
Jesus of Nazareth, deeply rooted in Second Temple Judaism, lived and taught within its religious and cultural traditions. He observed Jewish customs like the Sabbath and dietary laws, while offering fresh interpretations in light of the kingdom of God. His teachings, often in dialogue with different Jewish sects, emphasized a relational approach to Torah, prioritizing love and ethical conduct over ritual precision. Jesus saw himself as a messenger for this inaugurated kingdom, foregrounding his own and his followers’ relationship to God as a compassionate Father.
The final chapter provides an examination of how the Merovingian world was shaped by opposition to paganism, heresy, Judaism, and, at the end, the new Islamic world of the Arab caliphate. The Franks (or at least some of them) had started as pagans themselves in the fifth century, and stories of conversion created important reminders of the journeys to salvation. Whether ‘real paganism’ is easily identifiable in stories or grave goods we may doubt. Similarly, the presence of heresy or Judaism can seem ambiguous when the sources are interrogated. But the creation of Frankish Christianity relied on its contrasts and those fed to it by the Byzantine Empire. Through Merovingian accounts of religious conflict we can discern how the Frankish kingdoms saw their place in the wider world.
Once Christian Europe’s most paradigmatic internal Other, Jews are now mostly seen as a well-integrated and successful religious minority group. For centuries, Jews faced political, social, and legal exclusion. Now, politicians proudly invoke the West’s shared ‘Judeo-Christian’ heritage. Compared to the past, public expressions of antisemitism have become increasingly taboo. Jews have seemingly moved from being paradigmatic outsiders to accepted insiders. Despite this undoubted success, there are still moments when this position can become suddenly unsettled. There are not only the terrible attacks on Jewish life, such as the synagogue shootings in Halle in 2019 and a year earlier in Pittsburgh, the still alarming rates of antisemitic violence, the groups of white supremacists chanting in the streets that Jews will not replace them, or the flourishing antisemitic conspiracy theories in the online and offline worlds. Uneasiness with Jews and Judaism also still manifests in less extreme and less overtly hostile ways in the midst of society on the terrain of liberal law.
This chapter is the first of two that examine the legal encounter with Jewishness in public space by focussing on the Orthodox practice of the eruv. The eruv is a distinctly Orthodox practice and fault lines here do not run simply between Jews and non-Jews but also between different Jews. In the modern secular legal arena, questions of non-establishment and the boundaries of religious freedom serve as the dominant legal frames, turning the eruv into a matter of excessive religiosity to be contained by law. Yet underneath the lofty language of constitutional separation often lurk concerns about national and local identity as well as sovereignty and ownership. Moreover, while circumcision has often galvanised Jews of different denominations, the eruv exposes internal Jewish rifts about Jewish identity and difference in contemporary societies. Indeed, some Jews themselves have not shied away from mobilising the authority of secular law to enforce their vision of what they consider the acceptable boundaries of Jewishness today.
George Eliot and Mary Ward explicitly reject orthodox Christianity and hold a prominent place in standard accounts of Victorian doubt. However, their professed unbelief and yet simultaneous interest in liturgy reveals once again the problem with excarnated accounts of religion. To reduce religion merely to interior belief is to miss how Eliot and Ward use ritual forms to embody their post-Christian ethics. In Eliot’s Daniel Deronda (1876), Jewish ritual galvanizes Daniel’s own ethical aspirations, and Christian liturgy frames key scenes in Gwendolen Harleth’s moral progress. Similarly, the protagonist of Ward’s Robert Elsmere (1888) is more than just a moral exemplar who imitates a purely human Jesus by working for social justice. Rather, he founds a new religion with its own liturgical forms, some of them borrowed directly from traditional liturgies. Thus, even the unorthodox Eliot and Ward feel the threat of excarnation and the attraction of ritual.
This chapter comprehensively lays out all the possible ways that artificial intelligence (AI) might interact with Jewish sources as their relationship develops over the next many years. It divides the scope of the relationship into three parts. First, it engages with questions of moral agency and their potential interactions with Jewish law, and suggests that this path, while enticing, may not be particularly fruitful. Second, it suggests that Jewish historical sources generally distinguish human value from human uniqueness, and that there is therefore quite a bit of room to think of an AI as a person, if we so choose, without damaging the value of human beings. Finally, it considers how Jewish thought might respond to AI as a new height of human innovation, and how the human–AI relationship shares many characteristics with the God–human relationship as imagined in Jewish sources.
In “Impressions of Isaiah in Classical Rabbinic Literature,” Joshua Ezra Burns surveys the reception of Isaiah in postbiblical Jewish culture. Focusing on the works and folkways of the rabbinic sages, the author illustrates how early Jewish interpreters understood the book of Isaiah as a testament to the life and vocation of its ancient namesake and as a source of reassurance for future generations of Jews. Innocent of contemporary science concerning his book’s composition, the sages portrayed Isaiah as a brash prophet of unmatched visionary ability who foretold the destruction of the first Jerusalem Temple and its restoration with uncanny accuracy. The fulfillment of his visions made Isaiah’s prophecies valuable resources for liturgies, homilies, and other rabbinic literary compositions expressing hope in another national revival led by their long-promised Messiah following the loss of the second Jerusalem Temple and subjection of the Jews to Christian imperialism.
This is the first of two chapters concerned with the Jewish practice of infant male circumcision. In this chapter, I trace the history of circumcision as a trope for Jewish difference in European Christian thought and consider its symbolic role in debates about the legal equality of Jews. Christian thinkers spent much time pondering Jewish circumcision and what it told them about the supposedly ‘carnal’, particularistic, and anachronistic nature of Jews. Apart from constituting a trope for what differentiated Jews from Christians, the bodily sign eventually also became enmeshed in discussions about the possibility of Jewish emancipation where it offered a site to debate the fitness of Jews to become citizens. However, regardless of how much Christians disdained circumcision, they mostly respected the Jewish right to circumcise and due to a curious twist of history, some Christian societies eventually even embraced circumcision themselves. More recently, circumcision has emerged as a human rights issue and I explore the role of Christian ambivalence in contemporary calls for a ban on the practice in the name of children’s rights and gender equality.
After centuries of persecution and discrimination, Jews are today often seen as a successful and well-integrated religious minority group in a 'Judeo-Christian West'. This book qualifies this narrative by exploring the legacy of Christian ambivalence towards Jews in contemporary secular law. By placing disputes over Jewish practices, such as infant male circumcision and the construction of eruvin, within a longer historical context, the book traces how Christian ambivalence towards Jews and Christianity's narrative of supersession became secularised into a cultural repertoire that has shaped central ideas and knowledge underpinning secular law. Christian ambivalence, this book argues, continues to circumscribe not only the rights and equality of Jews but of other non-Christians too. In considering the interaction between law and Christian ambivalence towards Jews, the book engages with broader questions about the cultural foundations of Western secular law, the politics of religious freedom, the racialisation of religion, and the ambivalent nature of legal progress.
Karl Barth is one of the most influential theologians of the past century, especially within conservative branches of Christianity. Liberals, by contrast, find many of his ideas to be problematic. In this study, Keith Ward offers a detailed critique of Barth's views on religion and revelation as articulated in Church Dogmatics. Against Barth's definition of religions as self-centred, wilful, and arbitrary human constructions, Ward offers a defence of world religions as a God-inspired search for and insight into spiritual truth. Questioning Barth's rejection of natural theology and metaphysics, he provides a defence of the necessity of a philosophical foundation for Christian faith. Ward also dismisses Barth's biased summaries of German liberal thought, upholding a theological liberalism that incorporates Enlightenment ideas of critical inquiry and universal human rights that also retains beliefs that are central to Christianity. Ward defends the universality of divine grace against Barth's apparent denial of it to non-Christian religions.
This article seeks to contribute to the growing scholarship on object-focused Roman histories by expanding the conversation to previously overlooked archaeological finds from Roman Palestine. This case study focuses on “Northern Collar-Neck Lamps,” which have been found throughout Roman Galilee and date to the first two centuries CE. I argue that their distinctive high collar, perhaps designed to reduce spillage, also served as an affordance that invited additional modes of interaction, namely placing a supplemental reservoir for oil – such as a pierced eggshell – over the filling hole. Once set up, this would allow for a slow drip of oil to prolong illumination time without human intervention. This usage is suggested from chronologically and geographically proximate sources, namely early rabbinic literature: Hebrew and Aramaic writings from the first centuries that reference physical details and uses of hundreds of objects and could prove helpful for future material histories of the Roman era.
In the opening verses of the Book of Ezra-Nehemiah, King Cyrus exhorts the exiled Judeans to return to Jerusalem to restore worship in Jerusalem. It then narrates this restoration through the construction of the temple, the repair of the city walls, and the commitment to the written Torah. In this volume, Roger Nam offers a new and compelling argument regarding the theology of Ezra-Nehemiah: that the Judeans' return migration, which extended over several generations, had a totalizing effect on the people. Repatriation was not a single event, but rather a multi-generational process that oscillated between assimilation and preservation of culture. Consequently, Ezra-Nehemiah presents a unique theological perspective. Nam explores the book's prominent theological themes, including trauma, power, identity, community, worship, divine presence, justice, hope, and others – all of which take on a nuanced expression in diaspora. He also shows how and why Ezra-Nehemiah naturally found a rich reception among emerging early Christian and Jewish interpretive communities.
The apostle Paul was a Jew. He was born, lived, undertook his apostolic work, and died within the milieu of ancient Judaism. And yet, many readers have found, and continue to find, Paul's thought so radical, so Christian, even so anti-Jewish – despite the fact that it, too, is Jewish through and through. This paradox, and the question how we are to explain it, are the foci of Matthew Novenson's groundbreaking book. The solution, says the author, lies in Paul's particular understanding of time. This too is altogether Jewish, with the twist that Paul sees the end of history as present, not future. In the wake of Christ's resurrection, Jews are perfected in righteousness and – like the angels – enabled to live forever, in fulfilment of God's ancient promises to the patriarchs. What is more, gentiles are included in the same pneumatic existence promised to the Jews. This peculiar combination of ethnicity and eschatology yields something that looks not quite like Judaism or Christianity as we are used to thinking of them.
Jews and Christians have interacted for two millennia, yet there is no comprehensive, global study of their shared history. This book offers a chronological and thematic approach to that 2,000-year history, based on some 200 primary documents chosen for their centrality to the encounter. A systematic and authoritative work on the relationship between the two religions, it reflects both the often troubled history of that relationship and the massive changes of attitude and approach in more recent centuries. Written by a team leading international scholars in the field, each chapter introduces the context for its historical period, draws out the key themes arising from the relevant documents, and provides a detailed commentary on each document to shed light on its significance in the history of the Jewish–Christian relationship. The volume is aimed at scholars, teachers and students, clerics and lay people, and anyone interested in the history of religion.
Chapter 4 highlights the way in which vegetarianism may be understood as an alternative (to) religion. The first part of the chapter suggests that after 1962 vegetarianism is central to the fiction of Isaac Bashevis Singer, and that no proper understanding of that fiction can be obtained without first understanding Singer’s vegetarian epistemology. This stands in contrast to the traditional view which is that Singer’s vegetarianism was only a kind of sublimation of Jewish dietary laws. The second part of the chapter focuses on Graham Greene’s The Comedians, arguing that the vegetarianism of Mr and Mrs Smith, which appears at first to be only comic relief, comes to take on much greater significance since it emerges as a powerful kind of surrogate faith – the kind of faith that Brown, the narrator, has lost.
Chapter 7 examines Goethe’s unconventional attitudes to religion and religious authority, and their influence on his creative work. It emphasises that, despite his opposition to institutionalised Christianity, Goethe remained interested in Christian beliefs and convinced of the value of scriptural reading. The chapter details his engagement with Spinozist Pantheism (the view of God as embodied in the world), with Judaism and the Hebrew Bible, and with Islam. It argues that we should see in Goethe’s approach not the rejection of religious narratives, but their reframing and rewriting.
This chapter discusses the teachings of the rabbinic sages in Late Antiquity who worked in fundamental ways with the biblical traditions transmitted to and by them. The Hebrew Bible, whose precise shape was still under discussion in the first century CE, provided the rabbinic sages with ancient normative and legal traditions that they reinterpreted and expanded. The large archive of rabbinic traditions provides us with a tremendous wealth of representations of sexual practices, desires, and discourses, often in tension with each other, that reverberate throughout Jewish history. It further provides a framework and language for contemporary Jewish discourses of sexuality, including newly emerging identities, individual and communal, specifically for Jewish LGBTQ+ people. Three topics out of many possible have been selected for this chapter: obligations of marriage, reproduction, and same-sex and queer sexualities. They represent three topics of perennial debate in Jewish traditions around the world. For each, rabbinic texts and especially the Talmud have played a pre-eminent role in shaping the debates over the centuries.