The title of this chapter comes from the famous verse at Exodus 19:6. That verse appears in the preliminaries leading up to the theophany at Mount Sinai. When the Israelites arrive at the wilderness of Sinai, Yahweh gives Moses a message to deliver to them. I shall quote the passage (Verses 3b–6) in the fairly literal translation of the Revised Standard Version.

Of interest to us here is how later readers and hearers understood Verse 6. In Chapter 1 I mentioned the Bible's use of the word “goy” to refer to Israel as well as to other nations. Our passage explains how the Israelite nation will differ from those others as a result of its special relationship with Yahweh. It will be “holy” and “a kingdom of priests.” It is this last phrase that intrigues me, just as it has exercised exegetes.

The original meaning of the passage is not our concern.

Historians of the jews in antiquity have often used the words “nation,” “nationalism,” and related terms when writing of their subject. In some cases this was a conscious choice. For an author committed to the Zionist cause like Michael Avi-Yonah, referring to the Jews in antiquity as a nation in 1946 had an ideological motivation. But even authors innocent of such commitments show no hesitation in using these terms. Three late twentieth-century illustrations of this phenomenon will suffice here. E. Mary Smallwood's The Jews Under Roman Rule from Pompey to Diocletian has long been a standard survey. A glance at her index shows a considerable number of entries under “nationalism, nationalist, Jewish in Palestine.” Martin Goodman, in his Ruling Class of Judaea, puts “Jewish nationalism” in quotation marks when speaking of the treatment of this subject by other scholars. But he goes on to mention the Jews' “hopes for national restoration” without qualification. Finally, Erich S. Gruen discusses embellishments and rewritings of biblical narratives by Hellenistic Jews in his Heritage and Hellenism. He concludes that these fictions “display a strong sense of identity and national self-consciousness.” In addition to these examples of casual and occasional usage of such concepts, I am aware of three monographs devoted to Jewish nationalism in antiquity from the beginning, middle, and end of the second half of the twentieth century.

The present book is the result of a decade's worth of research and reflection. Several sources inspired my interest in the topic of ancient Jewish nationalism. One was the work of Fergus Millar that culminated in his book The Roman Near East 31bc–ad337 (Cambridge, MA/London: Harvard University Press, 1993). Another was (partial) exposure to the mass of social scientific research on collective identity, ethnicity, and nationalism. Once I began pursuing this interest, I benefited greatly from the work on the topic by Doron Mendels, Shaye Cohen, and Seth Schwartz. As the reader will see from the footnotes, numerous other scholars contributed through their publications to the advancement of my project.

My primary focus will be on the province of Judah (Yehud, Ioudaia) of the Achemenid, Ptolemaic, and Seleucid empires, on (nominally) independent, Hasmonean–Herodian Judah, and on the Roman province of Iudaea. Occasionally I will also look at the situation among the Jews of the Diaspora, and occasionally I will take the discussion into the later Roman period. The later period will also come into play in the final chapter where I discuss theories of the “fall” of Jewish nationalism after 70 or 135 c.e. Given my focus on Judah and its residents, I considered using the phrase “Judean nationalism,” rather than “Jewish.” The ancient languages all had only one word to denote the human subjects of this study: (in the singular) Hebrew yehudi, Aramaic yehudai, Greek Ioudaios, and Latin Iudaeus.

The use of the name “israel” by the rebels of 66 and 132 is understandable in the light of ancient Hebrew literature and the precedent of the pre-exilic Kingdom of Israel. The use of the name “Judah” (or its Greek and Latin equivalents) by the Hasmonean and Herodian rulers also had biblical warrant and the precedents of the Kingdom of Judah and the Persian, Ptolemaic, and (presumably) Seleucid provinces of Judah. In this chapter we look at another name that may have served to denote or invoke ancient Jewish nationalism. This is the name “Zion.” The evidence is limited, but – especially in view of modern history – tantalizing. The first clue comes from the bronze coins of the first revolt. As noted earlier, one side of these coins bears dates of year two through year four. Some of the year four issues also bear denominations of “half” or “quarter” on the same side that has the date. For all three years of issue the opposite side of the bronze coins has a legend mentioning “Zion.” In years two and three the inscription is “freedom of Zion.” In year four it is “for/of the redemption of Zion.” The mention of Zion is both unprecedented and unparalleled in ancient Jewish numismatics. The name did not appear on Persian, Ptolemaic, or Hasmonean era issues, nor was it used later on the coins of the revolt of 132–5.

As we saw in chapter 1, both historians and social scientists have noted the existence in ancient Jewish society of something that looks very much like nationalism. Or to use more recent jargon, they have noticed discourses that sound very much like modern national discourse. In other words, and in view of the definitions discussed earlier, belief in a shared kinship and a common culture was widespread among ancient Judeans. Assuming as I do that this observation is correct, the following question arises. How could such a belief achieve an audience large enough to make mass political mobilization possible? It is unlikely that family traditions went back far enough, or extended broadly enough, to lead thousands of people spread over a fairly extensive geographical area to believe they were all related. And as to culture, all indications are that Judeans shared not only the general material culture of the area but also the language and customs of most of their neighbors. We noted above that Aramaic was the common spoken language of most inhabitants of the area including many or even most Judeans. And Judeans, like their neighbors, used Aramaic for legal documents and for much literary production as well. And, to cite another cultural marker, male circumcision was not unique to the Judeans. Yet despite similarities such as these, many (most?) Judeans believed they constituted a nation distinct from their neighbors. Where could such an idea have originated?

In the previous chapter 1 alluded to the role of the hebrew language in the construction and preservation of a Jewish national identity. Here I shall address this subject in detail. The connection between language and identity was recognized in antiquity. As seen earlier, Herodotus included common language as one of the components of “Greekness.” Indeed, common language appeared right after common blood, the first item listed. Sharing in that common language resulted in “grecization” according to Thucydides (II.68.5). He distinguished between those Amphilocians who “hellenized” by adopting the Greek language from their Ambraciot neighbors and the rest of the Amphilocians who remained “barbarians.” Half a millennium later, Tacitus included study of Latin as a factor in the Romanization of the Britons during the governorship of Agricola (Agricola 21). For these authors, use of the appropriate language seems to be a necessary condition for membership in, or adoption into, a national group. Other ancient authors, though, added that language by itself was not a sufficient condition for belonging. According to a report in Livy, for example, Achaean ambassadors dismissed the Aetolians as people who merely speak Greek without really being Hellenes. The reservations of the ambassadors have their modern counterpart in theoretical discussions of the components of ethnicity. Contemporary scholars recognize that the relation between language and identity is not always simple. The complexity of that relation can be illustrated with an example from the Jewish experience.

According to the biblical narratives, judah was one of the twelve sons of Jacob/Israel. All the sons engendered tribes that bore their names, and these constitute the twelve tribes of Israel. Thus the tribe of Judah was one of the twelve, and members of the tribe were part of “the sons/children of Israel.” The biblical account further related how a member of the tribe of Judah, David, became king of the united Israelite monarchy. Though the united monarchy split in the time of his grandson, the dynasty founded by David retained the kingship of the rump southern kingdom that took the name “Judah.” As already noted, some skeptical scholars doubt the existence of the united monarchy and even the existence of a historical David. Even more moderate critics debate the nature of the relation between the tribe of Judah and the tribes that formed the northern kingdom of Israel. Despite all these doubts and debates, the existence of an Iron Age kingdom of Judah is beyond question. Assyrian and Neo-Babylonian epigraphic material attests such a state from the late eighth century b.c.e. onward. The precise status and fate of this territory during the half century of Neo-Babylonian domination is unclear. In any case, “Judah” appears in the Persian period as the name of the imperial subprovince located on (part of) the territory of the former kingdom. Thus the Persian-appointed governor bore the title “החפ of Judah” as both biblical and extrabiblical evidence attests.

The title of this chapter alludes to the book by doron Mendels, The Rise and Fall of Jewish Nationalism. As should be evident by now, I agree with Mendels on a number of issues. Like him I am comfortable using the concepts of national identity and nationalism in the context of antiquity. I too do not see any useful distinction between national identity and ethnicity. And I agree that the concept of nationalism can be useful in understanding ancient Jewish history. My disagreement concerns the concept of a “fall” of Jewish nationalism after 135 c.e. In fact, even that disagreement dissolves once we pay careful attention to what Mendels argues. He makes clear that his book will focus on “political nationalism,” and that in its “activist” form. In the case of the Jews, “political activism” meant “the wish for a Jewish state in Palestine.” It is the active striving for such a state that disappears, according to Mendels, after 135 c.e. However, a “passive political nationalism” survived among the rabbis at least. By this he seems to mean that the wish for a Jewish state did not cease, only that it did not lead to “a revolution on a grand scale.” Mendels further narrows his focus by concentrating on what he calls the “symbols of political nationalism.” These include the temple, territory, kingship, and army. It is actually the “fall” of these four during the century plus following the Roman conquest of Judah in 63 b.c.e. that his book argues.

In his brief excursus on the name “vietnam,” benedict Anderson makes the following observation.

Anderson's observation illustrates the need to avoid the genetic fallacy when considering the history of a nation. A name whose conception was in imperialism could still become the slogan of a nationalist movement. The case of Palestine provides a contemporary example. Deriving from the ethnonym of invading colonizers from the West, imposed on the country by the Roman Empire after suppressing a native revolt, and resurrected by British imperialists after they seized the area from the Ottomans, the name has been adopted by Arabs claiming to descend from the ancient, autochthonous inhabitants of the country. Despite the ironies suggested by the sagas of Viêt Nam and Palestine, studying the names chosen to express national identity could be useful. The choice of a name and the circumstances that led to its adoption may illuminate the history of the nationalist movement in question. In the next three chapters I shall examine in turn three different names that have played a role in ancient Jewish nationalism: Israel, Judah, and Zion. Using these names as an organizing principal will, it is hoped, contribute to an understanding of this phenomenon and its history. I begin with Israel.