Al Reguel Ajat

Reconstructionist Judaism is a modern religious movement based on the ideas developed by Mordechai Kaplan (1881-1983). Its beginnings date back to 1922, when Kaplan founded the Society for the Advancement of Judaism, a synagogue in New York City where he brought together a group of Jews dissatisfied with other congregations and who committed themselves to «reconstructing» Judaism.

Kaplan rejected the belief that the Torah and the Talmud had been revealed by God at Mount Sinai, so that observance of the commandments of halacha was not obligatory. Reconstructionism understands Judaism as a religious civilization that has progressively evolved and changed throughout its existence. The faith of the ancient Israelites during the time of Solomon’s Temple is not the same as that of the early rabbis of the Mishnah, and both are different from the faith of Western Jewry today.

This civilization is more than just a religion. For them, the Jewish people share a memory and a historical destiny, a homeland, a language, a culture, ethics, a philosophy, customs, literature, and art, in addition to a religion. They believe that the Jewish people must actively participate in this continuous evolutionary movement of Judaism. They reject the classical concept of God and redefine it as the sum of all natural forces and processes that allow humanity to self-realize and improve morally. They also do not accept the idea of ​​the chosen people, considering it a morally unsustainable concept. They affirm that Judaism is indeed unique, but that does not imply superiority over other peoples.

They consider halacha to be a valuable cultural heritage that must be preserved, unless there is a compelling reason to change it. Reconstructionism promotes many traditional Jewish practices, such as using Hebrew in prayer, wearing the kippah, tallit, and tefillin, observing the holidays, and studying the Torah, although it does not consider these to be commandments but rather customs with historical value. It is a completely gender-egalitarian movement and recognizes a person as Jewish whether they are descended from a Jewish mother or father, as well as those who have converted by choice. They do not accept the traditional concept of the Messiah or the resurrection of the dead at the end of time.

Kaplan did not see the need to create another movement within Judaism, but his followers realized that this was the only way to realize their vision. In 1940, they established the Reconstructionist Foundation, in 1954 the Federation of Reconstructionist Congregations, and in 1968 the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College in Wyncote, Pennsylvania. Reconstructionism uses the foundations and bricks inherited from the past, rearranging them and adding new elements to adapt them to the needs, values, and tastes of current generations, but without undermining their richness or altering them beyond recognition. Reconstructionists give the past a vote, but not a veto.

By Marcos Gojman

Bibliography: Material from the Federation of Reconstructionist Congregations and other sources.

No one questions that the Seder is the central ritual of the Passover holiday. It is written in Exodus 13:8: “Thus you shall recount to your son on that day, because of what the Lord did for me when I came out of Egypt.” From this verse comes the commandment to tell the story of the Exodus from Egypt on the night before the 15th of Nissan.

Initially, the Torah clearly indicated that Passover was to be celebrated by eating a roast lamb, matzah, and bitter herbs. People arrived in Jerusalem, and the Temple was the only place where lambs were sacrificed and roasted. But this changed when the Romans destroyed the Second Temple, and the sacrifices were canceled. The first mention of a Seder service for Passover night is in the Mishnah’s tractate Pesachim, chapter 10. In it, the sages specify several commandments: one must wait until nightfall to eat the roast lamb, one must drink four cups of wine, one must eat a vegetable soaked in water before eating the matza, and then one must eat a mixture of apples, walnuts, and wine. When pouring the second cup, the son must ask the father why this night is different from the others, why only unleavened bread (matza) is eaten, why bitter herbs are eaten, why only roasted meat is eaten, and why vegetables are soaked twice. The Mishnah then mentions that Rabban Gamliel, head of the Sanhedrin in 90 CE, said: «He who has not mentioned these three words: Passover, Matza, and Maror, has not fulfilled his duty.» Finally, the last two cups must be drunk with the meal. An important change to what was specified in tractate Pesachim was the prohibition of eating roast lamb, as this could not be done due to the lack of a Temple to sacrifice the animal. For the same reason, the third question was changed, and now the question is raised about why we eat reclining.

But where do all the elaborate rituals we practice today at the Seder come from? Some scholars argue that the Seder rituals are based on Greco-Roman customs. Siegfried Stein, in particular, argues that the rituals were borrowed from the Hellenistic banquet or symposium, albeit with a change in content. While the Greeks and Romans discussed beauty and love while eating, the sages spoke of the Exodus from Egypt and Divine redemption.

The Passover Haggadah is not a book in the classical sense of the term. It is a collection of literary works from different periods. It contains biblical passages, psalms, hymns, blessings, rituals, prayers, explanations of rituals, stories, dialogues, and rabbinic literature.

Some explain that celebrating the Seder is the true reason God brought the Israelites out of Egypt: so that the story could be told every year. David Hartman argues that the Haggadah turns parents into storytellers. It is parents who connect their children with their historical roots. By retelling the Exodus, we learn to commemorate moments of family and national crisis and to celebrate with gratitude our transition to a better life. The Haggadah is undoubtedly much more than just telling a story.

By Marcos Gojman.

Bibliography: Articles by David Golinkin, Siegfried Stein, David Hartman, and others.

King David is credited with establishing the first Hebrew orchestra and choir. Most of the musicians and singers were from the tribe of Levi. It is recorded in Chronicles 1:15 that David asked the Levites to appoint singers from among them to sing joyful songs accompanied by musical instruments such as the lyre, harp, and cymbals. The Mishnah (Ar. 2:6) states that, in the Second Temple in Jerusalem, «there were never fewer than twelve Levites on the platform [as a choir], but there was no limit to the maximum number of singers.» After the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 CE, the sacrificial rite was canceled, and with it the music that accompanied it.

Even though the core elements of Jewish tradition survived the destruction, the musical culture of the Levites was lost. Yet Jews always longed for the sounds of a choir in religious services. Even Maimonides, the great Jewish philosopher of the 12th century, permitted a choir to sing God’s praise in the synagogue and on religious holidays. In the Middle Ages, some Ashkenazi services included two singers alongside the cantor, providing musical support with chords, rhythm, and harmony. The first choirs in a synagogue were established in the 16th century. Choirs of six to eight members sang prayers such as «Aleinu,» «Ein Keloheinu,» and «Adon Olam.» Some opposed this practice, but Solomon Hazzan of Metz, in his manual for cantors, stated that, «just as it is impossible for the earth to exist without wind, a chazan cannot exist without choristers.»

The most celebrated composer for synagogue choirs of this period was Salamone Rossi (1570–1630), court musician to the Dukes of Mantua. Rossi published a collection of thirty-three Jewish motets, in the style of late Italian Renaissance music. However, it was not until the 19th century, with the emancipation and enlightenment of European Jews, that choral singing became a regular feature of the synagogue.

Soon, composers of religious music emerged, such as Solomon Sulzer (1804–1890) and Louis Lewandowski (1823–1894). Male a cappella choirs were also formed in Orthodox synagogues, such as that of Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch (1808–1888) in Frankfurt. The first choir in the United States was organized in 1818, in New York City, at Congregation Shearith Israel. In 1897, the Reform movement published its first collection of music, comprising 129 hymns for four-part choir. At the end of the 19th century, secular Jewish choirs emerged that were not affiliated with a synagogue. They sought to express Jewish cultural identity. The first was the Hazomir, founded in 1899 in Lodz.

From its beginning, the Reform Jewish movement promoted male and female choirs. In contrast, the Orthodox movement does not allow mixed choirs, based on an interpretation by the Sage Shmuel in Berachot 24a, which considers a woman’s voice as «nakedness.» He relies on the Song of Songs 2:14, which says: «Let me hear your voice, for your voice is sweet.» This position is questioned by many scholars. Salomon Sulzer argued that synagogue service needed to be restored without losing its historical foundations.

The original forms of the liturgy had to be rediscovered and the demand for music in prayer met without losing its Jewish character. Music has always been part of the religious service. If not, ask King David.

By Marcos Gojman

Bibliography: Articles by Jonathan L. Friedmann, Rabbi Raymond Apple, and other sources.

The Shield of David, or Magen David in Hebrew, is a six-pointed star formed by two equilateral triangles with the same center and facing opposite each other, forming a hexagon inside. This figure has been used as an ornament and also as an amulet since the Bronze Age, in places as far away as Mesopotamia, Great Britain, and India. Its use was very common in the Middle East and North Africa. It occasionally appears in Jewish designs, such as a stone relief in the synagogue of Capernaum, dating from the 4th century CE, but it was only an ornamental element. At that time, the closest thing to a symbol representing Judaism was the Menorah, the seven-branched candelabrum.

Among the most common talismans people wore were the 5-pointed star and the 6-pointed star. For a long time, both were known by a single name: «Solomon’s Seal» (Jotham Shlomo). But in the 13th century, a legend became popular according to which King David wielded a shield engraved with the «Great Name» (a combination of sacred names that protected him from his enemies). The Great Name on the Shield of David gradually replaced the Seal of Solomon, but in such a way that the stylized lines of its text followed the design of the 6-pointed star. The 5-pointed star continued to be called «Solomon’s Seal,» and the 6-pointed star «Magen David,» the Shield of David.

In 1354, the Jewish community of Prague, with the permission of Emperor Charles IV, was the first to include the Magen David on its official flag. That flag flies to this day at the Altneuschul, Prague’s oldest synagogue. During the 17th and 18th centuries, Jewish communities in Bohemia, Moravia, Austria, and southern Germany used the Star of David as their seal. The symbol appears on tombstones and synagogues, in the same sense that the Church used the cross. At the beginning of the 19th century, its use spread from Central Europe to Poland and Russia.

In the Middle Ages, Jews were required to wear an identifying badge, but the closest thing to the six-pointed star was an asterisk-shaped insignia. In the 19th century, the Star of David was adopted as its symbol by the Zionist movement at its 1897 congress, giving it a presence throughout the Jewish world. In the 20th century, unfortunately, the Star of David became even more entrenched as a symbol of Judaism when the Germans used it as an identifying badge, forcing them to wear the yellow star on their clothing. After the Holocaust, the Star of David became part of the flag of the nascent State of Israel.

The Star of David is the symbol most associated with Judaism today, although, like its symbol, it is relatively new. It supposedly represents the shape of David’s shield, but there is no evidence to prove this. Furthermore, the Star of David is not mentioned at all in the Bible or the Talmud. It is very rare to find it in an illustrated book from ancient times. Scholars have tried to find some religious significance in it, but in reality, it has none.

The Star of David as a design is very old, but, like the quintessential symbol of Judaism, it is relatively recent.

By Marcos Gojman

Bibliography: Encyclopaedia Judaica and other sources.

The beginning of a new month, Rosh Chodesh in Hebrew, was determined in ancient times by observation. The beginning of a new month was marked by the appearance of the new moon or crescent moon. Observers would report their sighting to the Sanhedrin, and after verifying this with two witnesses, the Sanhedrin would proclaim the beginning of the new month. This was very important, as it served as the basis for celebrating the other festivals of the Hebrew calendar. The Sanhedrin would send messengers to announce when the month had begun. The appearance of the moon was announced the next day with the sound of the shofar and was celebrated with family feasts.

It is written in Exodus 12:1-2: “And God spoke to Moses and Aaron in the land of Egypt, saying, ‘This month shall be the beginning of months for you; it shall be the first month of the year for you.’” This verse indicates, for the first time, that the year is divided into months. And Numbers 10:10 says, “On the great occasions, at the festivals and on the days of the new moon, you shall blow the trumpet over your offerings and your fellowship sacrifices; and this shall be for you as a reminder before your God.” Aside from the blowing of the trumpets and the sacrifice, the Torah does not establish any other rituals or commandments for celebrating Rosh Chodesh, which was the Jewish response to the pagan festival of the moon god, a very common celebration in that ancient time.

Today, “Birkat HaChodesh,” “the blessing of the new moon,” is a ritual widely observed in synagogues around the world. On the last Shabbat of the Hebrew month, the cantor raises the Torah scroll and announces the day of the week on which the new moon, Rosh Chodesh, will fall. Another ritual, «Birkat Halevanah,» involves going outdoors, contemplating the crescent moon at the beginning of the month, and blessing and praising God for the new moon (Sanhedrin 41b).

In the Talmud (Hagigah 18a), Rosh Chodesh is mentioned as a holiday on which work is permitted, unlike other holidays, such as Shabbat. However, elsewhere in the Talmud (Megilah 22b), they comment that Rosh Chodesh is a holiday on which people do not work and that they could therefore remain in the synagogue longer. This contradiction was resolved by medieval Talmudic commentators, such as Rashi and the Tosafot, explaining that men could work, but women could not. The Shulchan Aruch, in its laws of Rosh Chodesh, section 1, states that work is permitted, but that it is a «good» custom for women not to work. There is a legend that tells that when the Israelites were about to create the golden calf, the men asked the women for all their jewelry and gold to melt it down. The women refused to give them their jewelry, and God rewarded them with a special holiday: Rosh Chodesh.

Today, women who do not work on Rosh Chodesh form groups that gather to celebrate the holiday through prayer, ritual, study, song, and discussion of topics relevant to women. It’s like a Shabbat exclusively for women.

By Marcos Gojman

Bibliography: Material from the Schechter Institute of Jewish Studies, Women of the Wall, and other sources.

Donniel Hartman, in his book, “Putting God Second: How to Save Religion from Itself,” tells the story of a famous Hasidic master who, walking down a street, heard the cry of a baby coming from the home of one of his students, a cry that pierced the night. He rushed into the house and saw his student enraptured in prayer, swaying in pious devotion. The rabbi went to the baby, took her in his arms, sat down, and rocked her until she fell asleep. When the student emerged from his prayers, he was surprised and saddened to see his master in his home, holding his baby. “Master,” he said, “what are you doing? Why are you here?” “I was walking when I heard crying,” he replied, “so I followed and found her alone.” “Master,” the student replied, “I was so absorbed in my prayers that I didn’t hear her.” The teacher replied, “My dear student, if praying makes one deaf to the cry of a child, there is something wrong with that prayer.”

Hartman explains that humankind’s desire to live an intense relationship with God often distracts us from the fundamental moral principles of tradition and, inadvertently, renders us morally blind. A life of faith, while presupposing moral sensitivity, also unleashes immoral impulses that flourish under the cloak of a so-called religious piety. Decency toward our neighbors must always take priority over acts of religious devotion. Faith in God should not be understood as an inspiration to worship Him, but rather to change the behavior of those who worship Him. Hartman analyzes the phenomenon and calls it “divine intoxication,” which is when the obsession with paying greater attention to the divine takes away from awareness of the human condition. He calls it “divine manipulation” when God is used to serve human selfishness. Hartman argues that believers must simultaneously be inspired by and judge the divine word and that putting our fellow human beings first is the true path to fulfilling the divine mandate.

In the Talmud itself, there are agadoth that criticize giving priority to the divine over attending to our relationships with our fellow human beings. Ketubot 62b tells the story of Rabbi Rehumi, a student at Raba’s academy in Mahuza. Rabbi Rahumi remained at the academy all year and only returned home to be with his wife on the eve of Yom Kippur. On one occasion, Rabbi Rahumi was so focused on what he was studying that he forgot to return home. His wife would wait for him at any moment, saying, “He will come soon, he will come soon.” When he didn’t arrive, she became so depressed that tears began to flow from her eyes. And at that moment, in the academy, the roof collapsed and killed Rabbi Rahumi. The message of our sages could not have been clearer or more forceful. Hartman concludes: Believers must demand that their religious traditions adhere to the highest moral values. Decency toward one’s neighbor must always precede acts of religious devotion. Devotion to God must follow responsibility toward one’s fellow human beings.

By Marcos Gojman.

Bibliography: Donniel Hartman: “Putting God Second: How to Save Religion from Itself.”

The Midrash is a method of interpreting biblical stories that goes beyond their simple meaning. It fills in the gaps in the biblical narrative that are only hinted at in relation to an event. The purpose is to understand difficult passages, such as the story of the sacrifice of Isaac, recounted in Genesis 22 and which leaves many questions. The Midrash explains Akedat Yitzchak thus:

“God said to Abraham: Take now your son. Abraham replies: I have two sons, which one do you mean?” God says: Your only son. Abraham replies: They are both only sons, Isaac is the only son I have with his mother, and Ishmael is the only son I have with her who is his mother. God says: The son whom you love. Abraham replies: I love them both. God says: Very well, then Isaac. Why all this argument? So that Abraham’s mind would not be confused by what she was going to ask him: And offer him there as a sacrifice on one of the mountains.

Abraham pondered in his heart, saying, What shall I do? How shall I tell Sarah? And Abraham said to him: Prepare food and drink. And during the meal, he said to him: When I was three years old, I became conscious of the Creator, but this boy has not yet been taught about the Creator. Now, there is a place far away where young men are taught about Him. Sarah said, «Take him in peace.»

And Abraham got up very early in the morning. Why early in the morning? Because Sarah might reconsider what she said yesterday and refuse to let Isaac go. We will leave while she is still asleep. And he saddled his donkey and took two of his servants with him… On the third day Abraham lifted up his eyes and saw the place from afar. And Abraham asked Isaac, «Do you see what I see?» Isaac replied, «I see a mountain, radiant and majestic, with a mysterious cloud hanging over it.» Then Abraham took the wood of the sacrifice and laid it on Isaac his son. And they both went together: one to bind, one to be bound, one to sacrifice, and one to be sacrificed.

And fear and terror fell upon Isaac, when he saw nothing suitable for a sacrifice. Then Isaac spoke… and said, «Behold, the fire and the wood, but where is the lamb for the sacrifice?» Abraham said, «God has chosen you.» Isaac said, «If He has chosen me, my life is His, but I grieve for my mother.» And he laid him on the altar. And Abraham’s eyes looked at Isaac’s, and Isaac looked up to heaven. Tears flowed from Abraham’s eyes. He took the knife to cut his throat as deep as possible. At that, God opened the firmament and said to the angel, «Why are you standing here? Go and stop Abraham.»

Then the angel of the Lord called to him from heaven and said, «Abraham, Abraham, what terrible deed are you about to commit?» Abraham asked him, «Who are you?» He replied, «An angel.» Abraham said, «When God told me to sacrifice my son, He Himself spoke to me. If He wants something else now, He Himself must speak to me.» Then God opened the firmament and said, «By Me I swear.» And Abraham said, «I will not come down from this altar until I have said all that I want to say. Did you not say to me, ‘Count the stars, and so shall your seed be?’ And where will they come from?» God: They will come from Isaac. Abraham: When you commanded me to sacrifice Isaac, I should have answered you: Yesterday you told me: In Isaac your seed will be called, and now you tell me: Offer him now as a sacrifice. Even so, I restrained my impulse and did not respond as I should have. Now I tell you: When Isaac’s children sin and fall into disgrace, you must act with compassion and remember that you were going to sacrifice Isaac.

By Marcos Gojman

Bibliography: Sefer Ha Agadah, edited by Chaim Nachman Bialik and Yehoshua Hana Ravnitzky.

Both Conservative or Masorti Judaism and Orthodox Judaism consider the observance of halakha as fundamental. Both maintain that Jewish law, halakha, is defined by the Torah, the Mishnah, the Talmud, the codes, and rabbinic responsa. Both believe that the commandments or mitzvot reflect divine will and derive from the covenant between God and the people of Israel.

What, then, is the difference? The difference is not in which mitzvot we fulfill (they are the same for both), but how we apply them. A Masorti rabbi understands the world differently than an Orthodox rabbi. As a matter of principle, Masorti Judaism recognizes the value of scientific advances and therefore seeks to interpret Jewish tradition in light of these postulates. He maintains that the reason for following a tradition is because that tradition is based on truth.

Another difference is the attitude toward change. Our society is characterized by constant social change. A society that does not adapt to changes in its environment becomes irrelevant. For Masorti Judaism, change only occurs when it is definitely necessary. The history of halacha is full of examples of changes that have occurred in each generation. Today, one of those changes is the role of women in Judaism. Women today are fully integrated into society, are educated, hold important positions in politics, social and economic institutions, and enjoy equal rights with men. We understand that halacha developed in a time when this was not the case, but that has changed, Masorti Judaism grants equal rights to both sexes.

The Masorti movement believes that Judaism is constantly evolving. The Talmud itself reveals the rabbis’ passion for open discussion and willingness to present various opinions on a topic, provided they are rooted in the mitzvot, love of God, learning, and reason. Jewish law lends itself to more than one interpretation. Our sages combined their commitment to tradition with the courage to adapt it to a new environment. They did not hesitate to present new visions or rules that contrasted with established practices.

Solomon Schechter, one of the great ideologues of Conservative Judaism, said that ultimately the highest authority in Judaism resides in the consensus of the Jewish people, who, through their practice, are the ones who truly decide what is valid or not. Biblical scholars have shown that the Torah has a history, so it is difficult to accept that it was literally given to us in its entirety at a given moment. The Masorti movement understands the giving of the Torah metaphorically and sees the Jewish people not as mere passive recipients of its mitzvot, but as creators of them under the guidance and inspiration of God.

It is very satisfying to know that we observe tradition in the same way our parents and grandparents did. A stance that is too open to change, risks losing that entire historical heritage. But a closed stance risks becoming anachronistic. Masorti Judaism is the balance between the two. The difference is not in what, but in how.

By: Marcos Gojman

Bibliography: Articles by Masorti Olami and other sources.

Celebrating Purim, like Hanukkah, does not derive from a divine commandment, unlike the festivals mentioned in the Torah, so it is a holiday of more recent origin. Some biblical scholars, such as Hayyim Schauss, maintain that Purim initially arose among Persian Jews, who had adopted the custom from their neighbors, who annually celebrated the end of winter with a festival filled with laughter, games, and jokes.

From Persia, it spread to Babylon and later to the Land of Israel. They also base their argument on the fact that both the Greek translation of the Bible, the Septuagint, and the works of the historian Flavius ​​Josephus refer to Purim as Furdaia, a distortion of an ancient Persian festival called Farwadigan. In any case, whatever the true history of Purim, by the second century CE, a Mishnah tractate called the Megillah had been devoted to the details of its observance.

The Book of Esther, Megilat Esther, nowhere mentions the name of God, nor does it speak of the Temple in Jerusalem, nor of any religious practices, such as praying or eating kosher. It could be considered the most secular of the books of the Jewish Bible. Its only religious merit is that it was the origin of the festival of Purim. Chapter 9 states: “Therefore, they called these days Purim, from the name of Pur… So these days were to be remembered and celebrated throughout every generation, every family, every province, and every city.”

The origins of the Book of Esther remain obscure. Due to the style of the Hebrew text and the lack of corroboration of the events and figures described there with the history of ancient Persia, scholars believe it was created much later, at the end of the Second Temple period. Some also consider the story to have parallels with various Middle Eastern myths, especially with the Babylonian gods Marduk and Ishtar, whose names were transformed into Mordechai and Esther, and whose stories were adapted to the circumstances of the Jews in the Babylonian exile. Theodore Gaster believes that Purim originated with the Babylonian New Year, when the gods determined the fate of mankind with a lottery, «puru» in Babylonian.

The Mishnah’s tractate Megillah establishes that we should celebrate Purim with: a feast where one must drink heavily, giving away food, the «mishloach manot,» reading Megillat Esther in the synagogue, and including the paragraph «al hanisim» in the daily prayers.

Surprisingly, the practice of wearing masks and costumes on Purim is not mentioned in the Talmud or the Midrash. The first to mention it was R. Yehuda ben Eliezer ha-Levi Minz, in the 15th century, in Teshuvot Mahari Minz; however, he does not explain the origin or the reasons for the disguise. Some rabbis and historians believe that this custom was copied from the European Christian carnivals celebrated at the same time of year, although a symbolic explanation is now sought, saying that Esther hid (disguised) her Judaism or that Mordechai was paraded dressed as a prince.

The festival of Purim is one of the most beloved celebrations within Jewish tradition. But its time and true meaning remain to be fully “unmask”.

By Marcos Gojman

Bibliography: Articles by Rabbi Ronald H. Isaacs, Theodore Gaster, and Adele Berlin.

Josephus ben Mattithiahu was born in Jerusalem in 37 CE, during the Roman occupation of the Land of Israel, and died in Rome at the end of the first century CE. As a young man, he was sent to that city to negotiate the release of some priests held hostage by Emperor Nero. When he returned, he found a nation in rebellion against its occupiers.

Despite his feeling that the struggle was in vain, he agreed to command the Jewish rebel forces in Galilee. During the fall of the city of Jodfat (Jotapata) to Vespasian’s army, Josephus and his men took refuge in a cave, agreeing to commit suicide rather than surrender. Josephus, however, was one of the two who did not commit suicide.

When Vespasian took him prisoner, he remembered an oracle stating that the general would be the next emperor of Rome and told him so. When the «prophecy» came true, Josephus spared his life and richly rewarded him. Emperor Vespasian was the founder of the Flavian dynasty, so Josephus changed his name to Flavius ​​Josephus in gratitude to his protector. For the remainder of the war, Josephus assisted the commander Titus, Vespasian’s son, in his fight against the Jewish rebels, trying to negotiate a peace with them, but was unsuccessful.

Josephus witnessed the destruction of Jerusalem and the Temple, for which he was considered a traitor to the cause.He emigrated to Rome with Titus’s retinue and dedicated himself to writing the history of the war he had witnessed, first in Aramaic and later in Greek. He later wrote a long treatise on the history of the Jews. Both works, «The Jewish Wars» and «Antiquities of the Jews,» along with his autobiography, are among the most important sources we have for understanding the last two centuries of the Second Temple period (530 BCE to 70 CE).

Louis H. Feldman, a professor at Yeshiva University and an expert on the work of Flavius ​​Josephus, considers him one of the first systematic commentators on the Bible and one of the leading historians of the early Common Era (1st century). He describes him as pro-Roman and opposed to extreme Jewish nationalism, but also as a zealous defender of Jewish religion and culture.

Professor Magen Broshi of the Israel Museum in Jerusalem has worked to corroborate the accuracy of the sources Josephus used in writing his works and concludes that, in terms of archaeological evidence, the writings are quite accurate. His population figures also appear to be quite reliable. It seems he obtained his information from the reports of Roman army commanders, since he wrote everything while already living in Rome. But in other areas, Josephus was somewhat vague and even exaggerated.

Josephus interpreted the Jewish revolt as a confrontation between the corruption of the Roman governors sent by Emperor Nero and Jewish religious nationalism, already divided into factions, such as the Pharisees, the Sadducees, and the Essenes. Was Flavius ​​Josephus a traitor to the Jewish people? For many years, he was considered that way, although his contributions as a historian have recently been revalued, giving him a new place in Jewish history. What would have happened if he had been listened to during the revolt? No one knows.

By Marcos Gojman

Bibliography: Articles by Louis H. Feldman, Magen Broshi, G. Goldberg, and others.