Flesh of Our Flesh: translation of the book's epilogue
From: Tsvi Sadan, Flesh of Our Flesh: Jesus of Nazareth in Zionist Thought, Carmel, 2008
epilogue
WHEN THE POLEMICS SUBSIDE
The previous chapter concluded a comprehensive survey of the ways in which Zionist thinkers and artists of the first half of the twentieth century regarded Jesus of Nazareth. While Jesus may have been relegated to an obscure corner in the historical works of this era, hundreds—if not thousands—of articles, compositions, and books about Jesus were written in Hebrew over this period. This “noise” abated when the extent of the horrors of the Holocaust was revealed, but the resonances generated by the publication of Pinhas Sadeh’s book Life as a Parable (1958) indicate that Jesus was still part of the public discourse in the State of Israel in the 1950s. In fact, the appearance of New Testament motifs, particularly in art, have become so common since the 1950s that, in the words of Avner Holtzman, “Israeli writers […] integrate Christian motifs into their works out of a clear empathy towards Jesus, which seems natural and self-understood, nothing to make a fuss about.”[1]
This book provides evidence that Jesus was the subject of discussion from salon conversations all the way to theological reflections. This is clear from the amount of attention paid to Jesus in the popular media, historical research devoted to the Second Temple period, philosophical debate, literature, poetry, art, and the many letters written to journals during this period. Jesus was thus a topic of interest in virtually every field and discipline, whether religion, culture, or politics. The fact that in most cases he did not claim center stage does not mean that the discussion of his place in Judaism failed to become a significant motif in the formation of Zionist identity. This book presents, perhaps for the very first time, an evaluation of the extent to which Zionist identity was in fact influenced by the figure of Jesus.
The previous chapter demonstrates how such scholars as David Roskies, Noah Rosenbloom, Shalom Lindenbaum, Avner Holtzman, and Hannan Hever have interpreted this preoccupation with Jesus, a preoccupation which was at times quite passionate. The very necessity of such an examination points to the occurrence of a watershed in Jewish attitudes towards Jesus in a society which, up until the end of the nineteenth century, had been very suspicious of and alienated from the New Testament. David Roskies describes a turning point in Jewish attitudes towards the New Testament that took place in the wake of the 1905 Russian Revolution. At that point, “Christian motifs” began entering Hebrew literature at an unprecedented level. This trend continued until the period following the First World War, which shattered all sorts of myths, including the Jewish taboo against the New Testament.
Avner Holtzman suggests an alternative theory to explain the increasing attraction of Jewish writers to Christian themes from 1918–1945. While the usage of such motifs was frequently employed to disavow religious Jewish identity,[2] it also bore witness to the allure of European aesthetics and the universal values championed by European society. The link between universalism and Judaism was forged by the “Judaization” or “neutralization” of the religious element within Judaism. Those seeking to combine Judaism with universalism considered the religious an entity foreign and hostile to European culture.[3] Holtzman notes that the element of “protest” exhibited similar features: the incorporation of Christian motifs into Hebrew culture was designed to engender a reexamination of Jewish attitudes towards the “cultural other” and, frequently, to encourage the latter’s acceptance.[4] For his part, Hever suggests that the new Jewish view of Jesus was linked to the central role played by the messianic idea within the Zionist movement.
Whichever theory we accept, they all point to an extraordinary degree of openness within Jewish society towards the New Testament during this period. In my opinion, this constitutes an unparalleled phenomenon.In her article “The Distress of Secularization: The Dialogue with the New Testament in Israeli Literature,” Ruth Karton-Blum states that: “No student of Israeli literature can fail to note the fact that reference to the New Testament has become a present force in the Israeli cultural experience.”[5] She adds: “The Christian narrative has become the cultural sounding box in which the politics of identity (identities) takes place. Such preoccupation with the New Testament redefines our cultural boundaries: the processes of both exclusion and inclusion.”[6] While this assertion blurs the distinction between the New Testament and the “Christian narrative,” Karton-Blum claims that Israeli creative artists themselves differentiate between the text of the New Testament and Christianity.
The above statements reinforce the argument, made in the Preface to this book, that Zionism forged its identity by fusing tradition and innovation. It is worth recalling Israel Bartal’s comment in this regard: “You cannot have a national culture without an expropriation of the pre-national past in favor of the invention of the national future.”[7]
In her effort to understand what has been excluded and what included, Karton-Blum raises several important points which add to and sharpen her earlier comments (And it should be noted that the very act of inclusion constitutes an innovation). At the outset, she notes the distinction between the approach to the New Testament adopted by the “collective” on the one hand and the “individual” on the other. The former—the national, Zionist—examines the New Testament from the perspective of the confrontation between Judaism and Christianity. Karton-Blum suggests that this point of view is reflected in the works of Joseph Klausner and A.A. Kabak. The individual approach, in contrast, corresponds to the creative artist’s personal needs. On the seam between the emphasis on the collective and that on the individual occurs the transition “from the historical-biographical story to the paradigm of the individual: Jesus as a paradigmatic figure […] not Jesus the Redeemer and not Jesus the Messiah.”[8] Karton-Blum further argues that Israeli creative artists devote their attention almost exclusively to the Synoptic Gospels, ignoring the remainder of the New Testament documents.
At this juncture it is worth recalling again Tamar Wolf-Monzon’s claim that Uri Zvi Greenberg replaced Christian symbolism with Jewish symbolism. While made in the context of a discussion of Greenberg in particular, Wolf-Monzon’s assertion is applicable to other writers. Those whose work is examined here did not consider themselves to be substituting Jewish for Christian symbolism. From their perspective, the New Testament was itself a Jewish text. In consequence, its symbolism was first and foremost Jewish. Only subsequently was it incorporated into Christianity, wherein it was distorted and improperly employed. Uri Zvi Greenberg’s own phrase “the Hebrew cross” constitutes a prominent example of this phenomenon. In this regard, Brenner, Klausner, Kabak—and Greenberg himself—all considered their work to be part of the endeavor to restore the Jewishness of the New Testament; or, in other words, to divest an originally Jewish text, dealing with topics and events fateful in and for Jewish history, of its Christian veneer.
This viewpoint is highlighted by the fact that these writers differentiate between the “Jewish” gospels and the “Christian” epistles. Even in this regard, however, differences of opinion exist, with Brenner, for example, perceiving the entire New Testament as forming part of the “treasure” of the Jewish people. It is nonetheless clear that, in line with the modern view, most of the writers under discussion preferred to focus upon the Gospels. Separating Paul—as the founder of Christianity—from Jesus allowed them to adopt the figure of Jesus himself while continuing to hold reservations concerning Christianity as a whole. This distinction lay behind the development of one of the central changes in the Jewish attitude towards Jesus. By recognizing the validity of the move to “Judaize” the Christian “Jesus” (for after all, one can only Judaize someone who is not originally Jewish), the way was opened for the emergence of a new orientation towards Jesus. Thereby, the virtually total oblivion to which he had traditionally been consigned was replaced by concerted attempts to perceive him as part of the Jewish people—an asset which they owned.
This book opened with an examination of Ahad Ha’am’s confrontation of this new orientation. Ahad Ha’am was perhaps the person most responsible for shaping the Zionist attitude towards Jesus. At the core of Ahad Ha’am’s argument lays the claim that an unbridgeable gap exists between Jesus’ universal ethics (you shall love your neighbor more than yourself)—which lead to the destruction of the social-national fabric—and the just ethics of Judaism (you shall love your neighbor as yourself). Such an ethical contention is an innovation in itself. Prior to Ahad Ha’am, most Jews had rejected Jesus on the grounds that he lacked all morality and was a false messiah. Ahad Ha’am relates to neither of these objections.
His most important argument which, in my opinion, established the boundary of Jewish identity, was his deep apprehension that Jesus’ transformation into a “paradigmatic figure” would subsequently transform him also into a “religious figure.” The deep bitterness Ahad Ha’am generated by his accusation that the “young Zionists” of the second aliyah exhibited an attraction to Christianity reveals that the “young Zionists” were themselves unaware of any danger in this attraction. When it was brought to their attention, however, virtually none of them objected to Ahad Ha’am’s view that the glorification of the figure of Jesus—to the extent of being turned into a “religious tremor”—represented neither the Jewish past nor the Jewish future. They considered his characterization of them as being “drawn to Christianity” to be paternalistic and unwarranted, which led to a rupture between them and Ahad Ha’am.
Thus within the debate concerning Jesus’ place in the Zionist movement, Ahad Ha’am’s claims—expressed in novel ways and dressed in modern garb—ensured that Jesus remained outside the consensus. While other “false messiahs” were acknowledged and treated as paradigmatic figures, Jesus continued to be denied any place. An excellent example lies in the new value attributed to the reconstructed image of Bar Kokhva (a name preserved only in Eusebius’ Ecclesiastical History).
The desire to disavow Jesus was not shared by all Jewish thinkers of the first half of the twentieth century. Some within the anti-nationalist camp challenged the consensus—such as Claude Montefiore, for example, who was convinced that if Judaism were to adopt Jesus it would thereby find a way to escape from the suffocating bosom of nationalism into the expanse of pan-humanity. In Montefiore’s opinion, Judaism could only represent a viable option for the future if it understood that it had to return to its true nature as a proselytizing religion. Without this drive towards the conversion of the world, neither Judaism itself nor humanity in general would be able to attain the messianic age in which the wolf would lie down with the lamb—an age of pan-human fellowship based on faith in the God of Israel and the ethics propounded by the prophets of Israel. Montefiore considered that Jesus’ historical incarnation embodied this faith and ethic to perfection, and that Judaism should consequently adopt him. However, Montefiore’s view remained peripheral amongst Zionist and anti-Zionist camps alike.
Shai Ish-Horowitz was one of the most vocal within the Zionist movement. He made repeated efforts to persuade his colleagues that Zionism could reap great benefit from adopting the “unofficial” Jewish narrative of Jesus as a preacher of the kingdom of righteousness “beyond the letter of the law.” Horowitz perceived in Jesus’ historical appearance and ethical teaching the possibility of Jewish deliverance from that very tradition which was causing Jewish existence to degenerate and perpetuating its decline. He believed that since “official Judaism” possessed neither the tools nor the capacity to rescue itself from the decadence into which the Jews had fallen, it was incumbent upon it to adopt the teachings of Jesus, which called for “liberty for the man within the Jew.” Despite the apparent affinity of Horowitz’s views with those of Montefiore, Horowitz held that Zionism constituted a necessary transitional phase between nationalism and utopian socialism.
Horowitz’s opinion that Jesus represents “unofficial Judaism”—its revolutionary and energetic character—remained a minority view, however. Very few people shared his vision that the adoption of Jesus’ teaching would hasten the end of days. It was Horowitz, however, who set the ostensibly legal precedent establishing that the very act of raising ideas such as his did not constitute heresy within the Zionist movement. The “Lviv trial” of 1908 took place entirely within the framework of the Zionist movement. When that trial failed to indict Horowitz of missionary activity, it effectively granted a form of legitimacy to the existence of a more open discussion concerning Jesus’ place within Zionism. However, Horowitz’s acquittal cannot be interpreted as representing general concurrence with his ideas (despite the fact that his adversary, Lazar, felt the acquittal was tantamount to public agreement with Horowitz’s views).
While Horowitz’s opinion remained a minority one, he was able to slightly widen the breach through which Jesus could enter the Zionist camp. In contrast to the traditional view, which expressed no tolerance for his kind, the Zionist movement accepted and contained within itself a vocal minority which sought to transform the underground narrative which had consistently run through Judaism into its central narrative, perceiving the Gospels as “good news” for the Jewish people.
When the discussion of Jesus’ place in Judaism reached the shores of Eretz Israel—primarily via the “young Zionists” of the second aliyah—its boundaries expanded yet further. In addition to his willingness to tolerate a perspective which perceived Jesus as a “paradigmatic figure,” Yosef Haim Brenner also endeavored to discover whether or not Jesus could enter the nationalist movement as a “religious figure.” He stated that he failed to perceive any ideological constraint against the possibility of Zionists relating religiously to Jesus. The lengthy and fiery debate which erupted in the wake of his statement underscores the sensitivity of the subject. The ultimate rejection of Brenner’s position required a debate which lasted around three years. Since, like many of his peers, Brenner was a Jewish atheist, he was surprised by the vehemence with which the argument was conducted—as were those on the opposite side.
Free from the dictates of tradition, Brenner regarded the New Testament as part of the spiritual heritage of the Jewish people. In this spirit, he could see no reason to prefer the prophet from Anatoth (Jeremiah) over the prophet from Nazareth. In his view—and he was not alone in this matter—no necessary link exists between religion and nationality. In consequence, a person may relate to Jesus as a religious figure and remain a faithful Zionist—a Jew who puts his shoulder to the plow and works towards the building of a just, productive, creative Jewish society in Eretz Israel.
The breadth of this polemic, and the people who participated in it, shows that those who objected to Brenner’s views understood that he did not stand alone. They felt that this breach—the license to accept Jesus as a “religious figure”—must be dammed, even at the price of erecting barriers against freedom of speech. The “Brenner Episode” was thus a formative event and in its wake, the repudiation of the separation of religion and nationalism was strengthened, the refusal to recognize Jesus as “one of us” being based not on religious but on nationalist ideological grounds.
The clearest expression of this new attitude towards Jesus was given form by Joseph Klausner in his book Jesus of Nazareth. In his attempt to reveal the true historical Jesus, Klausner found a completely novel way to prove that Jesus was a “kosher Jew” whose overzealousness for ethical values led him to overstep the boundaries in the direction of universalism. He presented Jesus as a Jew who took his perception of Judaism to such an extreme that it ultimately annihilated Jewish nationality. Klausner thus hoped to resolve the problem of the attraction of so many Jews to Jesus’ ethical teachings, a road which in his eyes could only lead to their assimilation or the adoption of Jesus as a “religious figure.” He also sought thereby to diminish Christian resentment against that Judaism which so grossly rejected Jesus. Since Jesus’ ethics were Jewish in essence, Klausner argued, Jews had no grounds whatsoever to convert to Christianity, while Christians had no reason to hold a grudge against Judaism, from whence sprang the founder of their religion.
Jesus of Nazareth became a bestseller. It is possible to claim that the reason for this lay in the fact that Klausner’s moderate, middle-of-the-road approach to Jesus—that he should be rejected not because he embodies religious apostasy but because he endangers Jewish nationalism—was shared by many others. Jesus of Nazareth may consequently be said to reflect a wide public rejection of the traditional view that Jesus has no place in the Jewish “collective” on the one hand and of the modern perspective that he does not belong in the “collective” Zionist framework on the other. At the same time, Klausner also considered that no grounds exist for preventing the “individual” from perceiving in Jesus a figure of mystery par excellence.
The above statements do not permit us, however, to assert that Jesus of Nazareth resolved the public debate concerning Jesus’ place within Zionism. Evidence of this fact lies in A.A. Kabak’s book The Narrow Path. The first historical novel written in Hebrew about Jesus, it was composed in the wake of a religious experience Kabak reported that he had undergone. It consequently contains a fusion of the “paradigmatic figure” and the “religious figure.” It, too, however, became a bestseller. Kabak claimed that The Narrow Path was not merely a novel but a book that called for a change of values. Kabak intended that his readers should weigh the possibility that this “still, small voice” urging people to become free—to rise from the death of meaningless human existence—was that emanating from Jesus’ mouth. The significance of his appeal for a transformation of values lay in the fact that, before a just society could be built, people were called upon to mend their personal faults. Kabak portrays Jesus as the ultimate halutz (pioneer), both Jew and man: while he observes the commandments, he also strives towards religious and social reform; at the same time as he is consumed by a sense of supreme commission, he is tolerant towards others; he is both farmer and scholar (talmid khakham).
It is very likely that Kabak’s depiction of Jesus as halutz fascinated his readers, who found it easy to identify with such a figure. It is also possible, however, that the warm reception given to The Narrow Path derived from the fact that it did not challenge the national “collective.” It should be recalled that Kabak’s reasons for writing the novel remained unknown, making it difficult for his audience to fully comprehend the ideas embedded in it. In contrast to Jesus of Nazareth, in which Klausner explicitly sought to shape the opinion of the “collective,” Kabak appealed to the “individual”—to the “I” of every person. Despite Kabak’s efforts to draw his readers in and the suspicion with which the book was regarded (indicated by the refusal to award him the prestigious “Bialik Prize”), he left sufficient space for his audience to enjoy both a sense of identity with the novel’s hero and a feeling that this identification did not impinge on the national-religious commitment which Zionism fulfilled.
In this book, I have traced the attitude to Jesus displayed by the Zionist movement during the first half of the twentieth century, concluding with a discussion of the work of Uri Zvi Greenberg, which covered a literary output spanning a period of thirty-five years—from the outbreak of the First World War to the beginning of the 1950s. In his constant insistence that Jesus should be regarded as a “paradigmatic figure” crucial for the Zionist movement, Greenberg recalls the arguments propounded by Shai Ish-Horowitz. The views of both writers were characterized by a radical messianic concept. Likewise, neither of them shrank from challenging the attitude of the Zionist movement towards Jesus.
The similarities between the two men end at this point, however. Horowitz perceived Zionism to be a means for achieving other ends, whereas Greenberg considered Zionism itself as the end. In contrast to Horowitz’s representation of Jesus as a paradigm of the shift from Judaism to pan-humanity, Uri Zvi Greenberg saw in Jesus a powerful symbol of the Jewish yearning for redemption, an event that could only occur in Eretz Israel. Jesus’ uncompromising commitment to the messianic vision of the reestablishment of the “kingdom of David,” accompanied by his virtually ceaseless suffering, his ethical standards, and his faith are what make him worthy to inherit David’s crown. Jesus, in Greenberg’s eyes, is not simply a “paradigmatic figure” but a truly messianic figure. This status is what gives Jesus so much significance not merely for the “individual” but for the Jewish “collective.” Identification with Jesus—the willingness to fall at his feet, to call upon him to come down from the cross, to that he return to the Land—constituted for Greenberg the embodiment of Zionism’s true goals. Indifference towards Jesus, not to speak of shrinking from him, represented in Greenberg’s eyes a sign of betrayal of the messianic Zionism which would establish the “Third Kingdom.”
Rather surprisingly, Greenberg’s supporters and his detractors alike have preferred to ignore the centrality Greenberg accords Jesus within his worldview. His opponents have only pointed to the messianic element within his writing. They have been very wary of this element because his radical messianism put off not only the traditionalists in Jewish society but also the pragmatic elements within the various streams of Zionism—despite the fact that the latter chose to emphasize a form of messianic radicalism in order to undermine cherished traditions.[9] Although Greenberg was himself aware of this tension, he interpreted it as a betrayal of the Zionist vision. His critics regarded his views as representating a form of “fascism.”
With respect to Greenberg’s followers, it would appear that the issue is more complicated and lies beyond the reach of this book. Thus, for example, the writer Binyamin Shvily gave a lecture in 2003 on the subject of Jesus in Greenberg’s poetry in the “Uri Zvi Greenberg Heritage House.” Geula Cohen, who, like myself, was present at the lecture, was deeply shocked by the revelation of Greenberg’s attitude towards Jesus, of which she had previously been completely ignorant. The embarrassment and scandal of the exposure of Jesus’ centrality in the poetry of the great ideological teacher of the radical renaissance may well have contributed to the fact that this subject has been left in obscurity, virtually to the point of oblivion.
In review, Jesus’ harnessing to the Zionist wagon constituted no more than an experiment on the part of an isolated few, who, apart from their commitment to the Zionist cause, possessed very little in common. Some of them never immigrated to Eretz Israel, some were part of the second aliyah, some of the third. The minority who concurred with Horowitz’s or Brenner’s views, or with those of Kabak or Uri Zvi Greenberg, never attempted to organize or establish a movement. Even within their own ranks, their members held diverse or even contradictory opinions. Horowitz regarded Jesus as the person who would lead the Jews toward pan-humanity; Brenner sought to find acceptance for the New Testament, as a whole, within Judaism; Klausner gave modern garb to the Jewish “No” to Jesus; Kabak considered Jesus to be a conduit for the process of “new birth”; while Uri Zvi Greenberg understood him to be a messianic figure.
This minority did, however, possess one important common denominator: its members were all convinced that Jesus’ inclusion in Jewish thought and life held both significance and benefit: it would strengthen current Jewish existence and guarantee its future existence. In their view, claiming Jesus as the source of all European culture—of which Jews in the modern world were so envious—would contribute to the elevation of Judaism’s wretched image in Jewish as well as in non-Jewish eyes. This same minority also considered that the ideological basis for assimilation and conversion would be destroyed as a natural outcome of the growth of a greater esteem for Judaism. By the same token, support for Jewish national aspirations would burgeon. In consequence, those who fully comprehended the viewpoint of this minority refused to perceive in it a group of missionaries leading the Jewish people towards apostasy. Even when they did not concur with the opinions it expressed, they understood that this small segment within Zionism was calling for reconciliation with “Yeshu”—not with “Jesus.” This fact explains why the attempts to stigmatize Horowitz, Brenner, and even Klausner as “inciters” or missionaries failed.
With the subsiding of the polemics, the Zionist position towards Jesus appears in a new light. Although Jesus was banished from the “collective,” the Zionist movement made room for him within its ranks by refraining from denouncing or expelling those who gave him a central place in their worldview, even as a “religious figure.” Such inclusion was only possible, however, when everyone concerned understood that it constituted a purely peripheral phenomenon, the province of a small minority. When apprehensions arose that this minority view was likely to sweep the majority after it, a polemic erupted which promptly closed off access to ideas which threatened to blur or stretch the boundaries of Jewish identity.
In this fashion, the formative thinkers of the Zionist movement—among whom Ahad Ha’am deserves particular mention—succeeded in finding a way to preserve the principle of freedom of expression while delineating the boundaries of national identity in accordance with traditional attitudes. Thus, in an age characterized by the breaching of borders, the breaking of taboos, and far-reaching political and cultural changes, the need to determine, yet again, the question of Jesus’ place in Judaism and within the Jewish people contributed to the process of redefining the borders of Jewish nationality. Yet in the end, it was not rational considerations whose weight proved decisive but the latent fear noted above that Jesus’ acceptance within the Jewish fold would unwittingly cause Jews to make the transition from “image” to “tremor.”
Despite the openness which Zionism displayed towards Jesus, its breaking off from the ties of tradition, and its wide-scale alienation from religion, the Zionist movement consequently stymied all attempts to blur the lines of Jewish identity. Modern historical scholarship has largely stripped Jesus of any religious aspect and reduced him to a purely historical figure—the more comfortable role of teacher, prophet, revolutionary nationalist, and so forth. But the “discoveries” made have not possessed sufficient power, in the face of open European (i.e., Christian) hostility towards Judaism, to remove the traditional fear that Judaism will be destroyed if it acknowledges Jesus within its ranks. In spite of all its innovations, Zionism as a whole remained firm in its resistance to those processes which sought to renounce the disavowal of the “Son of God.”
[1] Avner Holtzman, Aesthetics and National Revival (Tel-Aviv: Haifa University/Zemora-Beitan, 1999), 223 (Hebrew).
[2] Ibid, 218.
[3] Ibid, 134.
[4] Ibid, 164.
[5] Ruth Karton-Blum, “The Distress of Secularization: The Dialogue with the New Testament in Israeli Literature,” Dimui 27 (2006), 7 (Hebrew).
[6] Ibid, 9.
[7] Israel Bartal, Cossac and Bedouin: Land and People in Jewish Nationalism (Tel-Aviv: Am Oved, 2007), 12 (Hebrew).
[8] Karton-Blum, “The Distress of Secularization,” 12 (original italics).
[9] Bartal, Cossac and Bedouin, 206.