For Julius Wellhausen, the German biblical scholar best known for formulating “the documentary hypothesis,” prophecy served as a marker of religious authenticity. He portrays Ezekiel as denigrated, deceitful, and weak – the linchpin in the story of the transformation of ancient Israel from tribal vitality to priestly fossilization. Yet the carefully constructed scholarly story Wellhausen tells about ancient Israel is structured through fanciful Romantic dichotomies; he maligns scribal culture while evoking a nostalgia for an imaginary oral culture. Wellhausen was deeply influenced by the orientalist fantasies of writers like Goethe and Herder; furthermore, their melancholia about European writing culture continues to influence biblical scholarship’s (mis)understanding of prophecy. Moving away from Wellhausen, I ask how we could read Ezekiel’s weakness, specifically through his face-turning prophecies – not as “diminished” gestures of once-powerful mantic acts, but as creative, rhizomatic acts which expand the possibilities of the prophetic genre?

This chapter considers grounds for hearing listening in The Tempest as a Jewish, and specifically Rabbinic, virtue, namely, the virtue of a “listening ear” (middat shmiat ha’ozen) described in Pirke Avot, a core text of Jewish ethical literature, published in Latin in 1541. I suggest that this publication witnesses a tension in the Reformation’s re-inscription of supersessionary tropes of Jewish otherness as spiritual deafness. I theorize this tension as sublimation of the memory of Jewish virtue ethics and ethical listening. I trace the oneiric distribution of signifiers of Jewish alterity in the figures of the vengeful, bookish, exiled Prospero and the dispossessed indigene alike, considering the implications of this reading of the spiritual subaltern as one who can hear but not access the spiritual bounty of their birthright. I suggest that the suppressed memory of Jewish virtue ethics in the Tempest surfaces in the memory of drowned books and fathers and in the play’s echoes of the Book of Jonah, particularly its auditory compulsion to mercy and its song of the deep. I demonstrate how the play bears witness to this sublimation in its “sounding” (plumbing and amplifying) of submerged memory and in the auditory virtue demonstrated by its percipients.

This article examines the earliest rabbinic comment on Deuteronomy 32:36, which is part of Moses’s final words to the Israelites before he dies and they enter the Promised Land without his charismatic prophetic guidance. The Hebrew noun mitzvah and verb tzivah, usually understood to mean “commandment” and “command” (“enjoin” in NJPS) respectively, are understood in their biblical context and rabbinic explication to suggest as well the sense of passing something on at death as a legacy or inheritance. Whereas a commandment is usually understood as authoritatively imposed from without, a legacy is understood as something voluntarily received (transmitted) from within. The midrash suggests that at the age of 120 years, and unable to accompany the Israelites as they enter and settle the Promised Land, Moses can no longer command with authority but must cajole and implore with gratitude the Israelites in each generation to maintain the Torah through voluntary acceptance. In a striking scene, Rabbi Judah the Patriarch is depicted imploring his students in the same words as did Moses. By implication, the auditors of the midrash in each generation, down to the present, are similarly besought, with the greatness of the Torah and Moses being continually at stake.

Just like other late antique societies, Jewish society in late antique Palestine was a slaveholding society in which slavery was a common phenomenon of daily life. Even though the proportional numbers of slaves within the population would not have reached the extent of Roman mass slavery, many similarities existed between Jewish and Roman slave practices and attitudes towards slaves. At the same time, we must ask whether Jews, who were subjugated to Roman and Byzantine Christian imperial rule and considered the Torah their most authoritative moral guide, developed different perspectives on slavery and treated slaves differently than non-Jewish Romans, whether pagan or Christian, in late antiquity. Was there something specifically Jewish about Jewish slaveholding practices in late antiquity? Did Jews, who commemorated the Exodus from Egyptian slavery in the annual Passover holiday and who were seen as a ‘servile’ people by Roman rulers, develop alternative approaches to slavery?

The roles language played in shaping and articulating one’s identity in Greco-Roman and Jewish antiquity constitute a backdrop against which the new developments attested in early Christianity can be measured. The ways in which foreign language speakers appeared in the Jewish Bible and Classical literature provided tropes, references, and allusions widely employed by early Christian authors. The chapter starts with an analysis of ancient Greek literary, historical, and philosophical compositions, from Homer to Aristotle, and investigates why the thought universe of the Classical Greek literati was virtually monolingual. It then proceeds to an overview of developments in the Hellenistic and early Roman eras and traces how the monolingual antiquity of Classical Greece gradually became the bilingual universe of the Roman empire, where Latin always shared its prestigious status as a vehicle of culture with Greek. The final section focuses on how early Jewish traditions depicted foreign languages and their speakers and how this culture adapted multilingual self-expression. In the conclusion, we discuss why language was rarely a decisive factor of group identity in these cultures and problematize the idea that the presence of linguistic differences by itself is a sufficient factor to trigger the processes of identity consolidation and objectification.