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PDF FormatIndeed, the study of the natural world proves, if anything, that altering creation not only does not violate the laws of nature, but is in fact a basic obligation of existence, a critical element, perhaps, of nature itself. The severance of the umbilical cord, that first human intervention in the process of nature, is a requirement for life. And if nature itself is in need of intervention and alteration, circumcision cannot be conclusively dismissed as an act of damage. Indeed, it may even be seen as one of repair.
The concluding sentence of the story—a narrator’s note, which is not part of the preceding debate—helps to elucidate R. Akiva’s position. Like the rabbi, the narrator takes a universal cultural analogy and uses it to explain the Jewish worldview. The commandments in general, and the commandment of circumcision in particular, are likened here to the goldsmith’s task of “refining” gold. The word “to refine,” l’tzaref, is drawn from metallurgy. For just like gold—a material of no use for man’s survival, but nevertheless of great significance for human civilization—the commandments take their “raw material” from nature, and refine it through a lengthy process to the level of human concepts. Moreover, the similarity of the commandments to the goldsmith’s craft explains that the Jew, like the goldsmith, does not seek to breach the laws of nature; instead, he seeks to turn the world nature has given man into a more civilized, “human” place. In this instance, the raw material is the body; altering it, according to this explanation, is an act of fulfilling its human potential.
The rabbi’s final answer is met with silence. Could it be that Rufus was convinced? Read in isolation, as a debate among intellectuals lounging in the shade of the pillars of Caesarea’s Cardo, one could easily conclude that the rabbi won. Placed in a broader context, however, the discussion takes on a different cast. For these are not merely intellectuals who are speaking, but also political leaders engaged in historic battle. The debate may have taken place in Caesarea, but most definitely not in the royal colonnade; more likely, it took place in the dungeon beneath the ruler’s palace, where R. Akiva was being held prisoner. And from what we know of R. Akiva’s fate, Rufus’ silence should not be taken to mean capitulation. Indeed, this may very well have been their last exchange. As the Talmud tells us, Rufus was R. Akiva’s torturer, and possibly his executioner as well.5
Judea at this time was in turmoil. The Romans, normally tolerant occupiers, were deeply troubled by Jewish customs such as the Sabbath, Tora study, and tefilin, and outlawed their practice in any part of the Empire. Most offensive of all to the Romans, however, was circumcision. As governor of Judea, Rufus—whose given name was Tineius, not Turanus—took vigorous, cruel measures to make sure the Roman ban on circumcision was effected in full. R. Akiva, however, an outspoken critic of Rome, defied the edicts. He appears in rabbinic sources as one of the rebellion’s leading voices, possibly even its spiritual leader. Later sources even describe him as the “arms-bearer” for the leader of the revolt, Simon Bar Kosiba, better known as Bar Kochba.6 According to rabbinic sources, R. Akiva proclaimed Bar Kochba to be none other than the Messiah himself.7
What looks like a philosophical debate between two men, then, was really a life-and-death struggle for both a nation and a religion. Tineius’ critique of Jewish theology did not derive from mere curiosity; rather, it was the flashpoint in a clash of civilizations. The Jewish insistence on defacing the body was too much even for tolerant Rome to bear. The only solution, it seemed, was bloody conflict in Judea.
At this point, the concept of tragedy enters the picture. The Hellenistic adoration of nature was not limited to the dimension of space; it also applied to time. Not only was the material world perceived as existing in a static and predetermined system, but so was the fate of man, as well. History for the Greeks was shaped not by human beings, but by the Fates, mythological goddesses of destiny who were never to be disobeyed. For the cultured Hellenist, Prometheus and Oedipus served as cautionary tales: Respect Fortuna. Never rebel against the gods.
Thus R. Akiva and Tineius Rufus are not only representatives of conflicting worldviews, but also historical figures who fought on opposing sides of a battle that was first and foremost political and military. The controversy over the injury to the human body may well signal a debate over the very notion of fate and human history. Should an individual or a nation succumb to fate, or fight against it? Should one accept Roman rule, or rebel? The arguments of the Roman ruler carry a powerful resonance. To the Judean rebels he asks: Do you not accept the authority of heaven? Do you not recognize—stiff-necked people that you are—that the desire of your own God is that you submit to the power of the mighty Roman Empire?
Rufus was not the only historical figure to ask this question. Many Jews at the time reconciled themselves to Roman rule, and justified their acceptance with similar arguments. The ideas of one of them—first a Jewish general, and later a Roman historian—are preserved in his writings. The views of the second, a rabbinic sage, appear in the Babylonian Talmud.
The first was Josephus Flavius, who participated in, and later wrote about, the Great Revolt of 66-72 C.E., the first of a series of Judean rebellions against Rome half a century prior to the Bar Kochba rebellion and the setting for R. Akiva’s debate. Josephus justifies his surrender to the Romans after the fall of Jodefat as follows:
He put up a secret prayer to God and said: “Since it pleases you, who have created the Jewish nation, to depress the same, and since all their good fortune (tyche) is gone over to the Romans, and since you have made choice of this soul of mine to foretell what is to come to pass hereafter, I willingly give them my hands, and am content to live. And I protest openly that I do not go over to the Romans as a deserter of the Jews, but as a minister from you.”8
Here Josephus rationalizes not only his resignation to Roman dominion, but also his defection—under the direction of Tyche, goddess of fortune—to the side of the conquerors. His petition to God and the justification of his decree show that he perceives it to be part of God’s own revelation in the world.
The second case is that of R. Yose ben Kisma, a contemporary of R. Akiva who was friendly with the Roman administration and opposed the rebellion.
When R. Yose ben Kisma fell ill, R. Hanina ben Teradyon went to visit him. He said to him: “Hanina, my brother, do you not know that this nation [i.e., Rome] was assigned sovereignty from Heaven? For it has destroyed his house [i.e., the Temple of Jerusalem] and burned his hall, and has murdered his righteous, and has slain his finest, yet still it continues to survive. Yet I hear that you sit and study Tora and a scroll lies in your lap?” He replied to him: “May mercy come from Heaven.”[R. Yose ben Kisma] said to him: “I speak to you reasonably, and you tell me, ‘May mercy come from Heaven’! I will be surprised if they do not burn you and your Tora scroll in fire.”9
R. Yose is a kind of Jewish seer; in a number of other talmudic tales, he is depicted as foretelling the future.10 In our story, his prophecy is fulfilled all too quickly: Soon after his discussion with R. Hanina, he is arrested by the authorities and burned alive, his body wrapped in a Tora scroll. His ability to prognosticate positions him close to the determinist view—that is, when all is foretold, the only thing left is for one to adjust oneself to the movement of the world, not to resist it.
R. Akiva’s view must thus be seen against the backdrop of the historical fatalism of Josephus and R. Yosse ben Kisma. His support for the rebellion is not only a political matter; it is a theological pronouncement. Just as circumcision reflects the assertion that not everything that nature gives us should be accepted without correction, so too does it make the point that not every ruler imposed upon us by history must be accepted without struggle. Man is not the product of circumstance. Rather, he fashions history through his willful acts.11
