JJMJS 10 (2023)

Issue 10 2023

J M JJ S Journal of the Jesus Movement

in its Jewish Setting

From the First to the Seventh Century

JOURNAL OF THE JESUS MOVEMENT IN ITS JEWISH SETTING: FROM THE FIRST TO THE SEVENTH CENTURY Editor-in-Chief Anders Runesson (University of Oslo, Norway) Editorial Committee Genevive Dibley (Rockford University, USA) Oded Irshai (The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Israel) Alexei Sivertsev (DePaul University, USA) Managing Editor: Knut H. Høyland (managingditor@jjmjs.org) Co-Managing Editor: Wally V. Cirafesi (Lund University, Sweden; assistantmanagingeditor@jjmjs.org) Editorial Secretary: Frank An Trong Dinh (f.a.t.d.le@teologi.uio.no) Forum Director: Ralph J. Korner (Taylor Seminary, Canada) Linguistic editing and layout: Jay Cirafesi (JayCiraEditing@gmail.com) Cover Design: Mathias Eidberg (University of Oslo, Norway) The Journal of the Jesus Movement in Its Jewish Setting (JJMJS) is an independent open-access peer-reviewed journal. It is published online in co-operation with the Faculty of Theology, University of Oslo; The Centre for the Study of Christianity, Hebrew University; and the Department of Religious Studies, DePaul University.

All content in JJMJS is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution License.

Papers for submission should be directed to the Editor-in-Chief, Anders Runesson, at anders.runesson@teologi.uio.no. For further information regarding the journal please visit our website or contact our managing editor, Knut H. Høyland at managingeditor@jjmjs.org.

ISSN 2374-7862 (Print) ISSN 2374-7870 (Online)

JOURNAL OF THE JESUS MOVEMENT IN ITS JEWISH SETTING: FROM THE FIRST TO THE SEVENTH CENTURY Issue 10 (2023)

www.jjmjs.org

Circumcision, Gender, and Ethnicity In May 2019, Karin Neutel invited numerous scholars who specialize in circumcision in the ancient world to the University of Oslo to discuss our research (some of the research that was shared at that event later became JJMJS Issue 8 [2021]). At the end of that conference, Karin jokingly suggested I should host another circumcision conference in Edinburgh once we had more to say on the topic. Two years and one global pandemic later, there was more to be said. With the support of the University of Edinburgh’s Centre for the Study of Christian Origins, I did indeed host another circumcision conference—this time online—with the theme “Circumcision, Gender, and Ethnicity in Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity.”

The theme of this conference focused on two central aspects of Jewish circumcision in the ancient world that make it a fascinating ritual practice to study; it is both gendered and ethnically specific. Within the context of ancient Judaism and early Christianity, it is male and Jewish; it is performed on the bodies of male Jewish infants on the eighth day after birth. Given that the practice of circumcision is an embodied ritual that confirms a particular identity, the fact that it only applies to a specific subset of people raises several interesting questions. How do Jewish women relate to the ritual? For those who performed circumcision on male converts to Judaism, is there a comparable ritual for female converts to Judaism? What was the status of uncircumcised Jewish men? When we turn to the New Testament—specifically the letters of Paul—how is the issue of circumcision treated in non-Jewish assemblies? Does Paul replace the physical ritual with circumcision of the heart, extending the rite to include women and non-Jews? Why would a non-Jew even seek to be circumcised? The conference papers that now make up this issue answer these questions and more.

Isaac Soon’s article explores the status of uncircumcised Jewish men and uncircumsizable Jewish women within the ancient Jewish community context.

He highlights how their lack of circumcised bodies brings about a liminal status within the community, in which they are Jewish but on the threshold of being non-Jewish. Carmen Palmer’s contribution looks at female converts in the Dead Sea Scrolls, specifically enslaved non-Jewish women. She proposes that in the Temple Scroll and 4QDamascus fragments, marriage and a seven-year integration period function as a visible marker of conversion for these women, which is analogous to the visible mark of circumcision. Continuing the theme of women and circumcision, Thomas Blanton traces the history of female participation in the ritual from ancient Judaism to late antiquity. His reassessment of the relevant sources shows that mothers or fathers initially performed the ritual in a household context, but by late antiquity it was being performed by ritual specialists (mohels) outwith the household.

4 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) The second half of the issue explores concerns related to circumcision in the letters of Paul. Martin Sanfridson looks at Paul’s letter to the assemblies in Galatia and—rather than asking, “Why does Paul oppose the circumcision of non-Jews?—he asks, “Why did the Galatians want to get circumcised?”

Sanfridson proposes that by giving the non-Jews in his assemblies a new cultic life and genealogy linking them to Abraham, Paul inadvertently makes them more susceptible to a message that requires them to be circumcised. My contribution to this issue reassesses the role that circumcision of the heart plays in Paul’s letters. While many readers of Paul have argued that Paul replaces physical circumcision with circumcision of the heart or note that circumcision of the heart is the “true circumcision” for Paul, I argue that this does not play a central role in Paul’s thinking. In his letters, we find no repudiation of the circumcision of Jews nor the explicit promotion of heart-circumcision for nonJews. In the final essay, Andrew Rillera looks at different types of circumcision ancient Jews performed and how understanding the varieties of circumcision can help us understand the individuals Paul opposes in Philippians and Galatians. Rillera argues that in these letters, Paul opposes those practicing a novel and more severe circumcision (periah) than was the norm, aiming to surgically guarantee control over their passions. In the concluding essay, Matthew Novenson offers a summative assessment of the essays in this special issue and their contribution to the study of circumcision in ancient Judaism and early Christianity.

I must thank all who participated in our online conference: Thomas Blanton, Kathy Ehrensperger, Matthew Novenson, Karin Nuetel, Carmen Palmer, Andrew Rillera, Martin Sanfridson, Isaac Soon, Matthew Thiessen, M Adryael Tong, and everyone who attended these papers and engaged with our research. Thank you to Anders Runesson for showing interest in publishing these articles in JJMJS and to Knut Høyland and Wally Cirafesi for their work on this issue. Finally, I give many thanks to our anonymous reviewers for giving us their time and numerous insightful comments.

Ryan D. Collman Guest Editor

The Liminality of the Uncircumcised and Uncircumcisable Jew Isaac T. Soon Crandall University | Isaac.Soon@crandallu.ca JJMJS No. 10 (2023): 5–21

Abstract This article ascertains what effect the uncircumcision of uncircumcised Jewish men and the uncircumcisability of Jewish women had on their social status in ancient Jewish communities and their relationship to God’s covenant. To answer this question, I make use of the concept of liminality. In anthropological and ethnographic literature, liminality broadly describes things that exist at the threshold between two states, hence the emphasis on “rites of passage.” In this article, I use liminality to describe a physical condition that does not completely adhere to the corporeal ideal of ancient Jewish society yet is still classified as being within the boundaries of such a community. In particular, I highlight the ways these uncircumcised Jews and uncircumcisable women deviate from the ideal Jewish body, that is, a circumcised body. Such difference pushed them into liminal spaces, where they remained Jewish yet on the threshold with non-Jews.

This study is exploratory and does not aim to be comprehensive. Nevertheless, it endeavors to shed light on the neglected effect of non-circumcision on the status of women and uncircumcised Jewish men in the early Jewish period.

Keywords Circumcision, Uncircumcision, Women, Liminality, Foreskin

1. Introduction Almost thirty years ago, Judith Lieu argued that in “new experiences” and “new frameworks,” Gen 17 invites an exploration of the “ambiguity... inherent in male circumcision as the covenant marker.”1 With the diffusion of Greek and Roman culture amongst ancient Jewish cultures in the time after Alexander, two “new experiences” invited Jews to re-examine the importance and value of circumcision. First, during the time leading up to and after the Maccabean revolt, the re-appearance of uncircumcised Jewish men for the first time explicitly in our extant sources since the Exodus (Josh 5), as well as the emergence of “re-foreskinned Jewish men” (via epispasm) forced many Jewish 1

Judith M. Lieu, “Circumcision, Women and Salvation,” NTS 40 (1994): 367.

6 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) writers to reaffirm the importance of circumcision in Israel’s covenant with God.2 Second, the question of why circumcision was not required by women was raised by Philo of Alexandria. Philo was the first in a long tradition of interpreters in rabbinic and anti-Jewish early Christian material to raise this issue (e.g., Justin Martyr, Origen, Genesis Rabbah, and eventually the Talmud).3 To my knowledge, there has not been any study on the effect uncircumcision or noncircumcision had on the status of either uncircumcised Jewish men or women in early Judaism.4 The primary focus has been on circumcised Jews and their proselytes to Judaism.5 For circumcision and women, numerous studies have broached the subject but are primarily focused on its relevance in other time periods and literature. So, in Judith Lieu’s 1994 article, she analysed the relationship between circumcision and women (native or proselyte) as it was raised in the second century with Justin Martyr and then later in works like Genesis Rabbah.6 Along a similar vein, Maren Niehoff briefly mentions Philo’s comments about female circumcision in her discussion of circumcision as an identity marker between Philo, Origen, and early rabbinic literature.7 John Goldingay, in an article from the year 2000, brings the significance of circumcision and women to bear on the “bridegroom of blood” scene of Exod 4:24–26.8 By far, Shaye Cohen has done the most work on the history of Jewish women and circumcision, although the majority of his analyses focus on the sages and medieval interpretations and how they might be synthesised for proponents of rabbinic Judaism today.9 Cohen’s focus on the 2

There are such occasions as Jeremiah 9:26 (which may be taken figuratively and polemically). Instances in Ezekiel may also point to times when members of Israel were uncircumcised (Ezek 32:28, 44:7).

3 On this dialogue, see Maren R. Niehoff, “Circumcision as a Marker of Identity: Philo, Origen and the Rabbis on Gen 17:1–14,” JSQ 10.2 (2003): 89–123.

4 The use of “early Jewish”/ “early Judaism” nomenclature is here meant to circumvent the past use of the vague “Second Temple Period.” This analysis covers the period following the Babylonian exile to the period of the Tannaim (ca. 538 BCE to 200 CE).

5 E.g., Solomon Zeitlin, “The Jews: Race, Nation or Religion: Which? A Study Based on the Literature of the Second Jewish Commonwealth,” The Jewish Quarterly Review 26.4 (1936): 341–342; Shaye J. D. Cohen, The Beginnings of Jewishness: Boundaries, Varieties, Uncertainties (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999); Christine E. Hayes, Gentile Impurities and Jewish Identities: Intermarriage and Conversion from the Bible to the Talmud (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 78–79; Matthew Thiessen, Contesting Conversion: Genealogy, Circumcision, and Identity in Ancient Judaism and Christianity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011).

6 Lieu, “Circumcision, Women and Salvation.”

7 Niehoff, “Circumcision as a Marker of Identity,” 97.

8 John Goldingay, “The Significance of Circumcision,” Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 88 (2000): 3–18.

9 Shaye J. D. Cohen, “Why Aren’t Jewish Women Circumcised?” Gender & History 9.3 (1997): 560–578; Shaye J. D. Cohen, Why Aren’t Jewish Women Circumcised? Gender and Covenant in Judaism (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005); Shaye J. D. Cohen,

Soon, The Liminality of the Uncircumcised 7 subject primarily concerns canonical Jewish literature and so his investigation into extra-canonical early Jewish literature is limited to Philo.

This article explores the social effects of uncircumcision for both uncircumcised Jewish men and women, especially in relation to their covenantal status with the God of Israel. Drawing on Arnold van Gennep’s notion of liminality, this article demonstrates how uncircumcision pushed Jewish men and women into liminal spaces as they deviated from the ideal Jewish body (the circumcised body).10 2. The Circumcised Jewish Man as the Ideal Jewish Body To discuss how uncircumcised Jewish men and women deviated from what was an established norm in early Judaism, we must first clarify what the established Jewish bodily ideal was in the first place. Here, we are concerned with ideal Jewish genitalia. From this perspective, there might be four class types of human bodies: the circumcised male, the uncircumcised male, the female, and the eunuch. From such a list, it seems intuitive that the circumcised male was the ideal member. Nevertheless, based on ancient evidence, how might one assess whether the circumcised male was considered the ideal?

Significant weight to the idyllic nature of circumcised male bodies comes with the fact that it is the only body type with the privilege of bearing the sign of the covenant (Genesis 17). Eunuchs were considered mutilated (Deut 23:1). The uncircumcised retain their foreskin. Women possess no foreskin. The physical witness to the covenant with God is inscribed only upon circumcised males.

Saul Olyan argues that circumcision was “both ritually and socially enabling and physically normative.”11 Circumcised men could do and be more.

If you were a woman or a eunuch or an uncircumcised male you could not serve as a priest in a temple, and as far as the limitations of our evidence are concerned, we have no substantial record of women as rabbis, members of the Sanhedrin, scribes, Pharisees, Essenes, Sadducees or core members of the yahad at Qumran.12 One notable exception to this pattern were the senior women of “‘Your Covenant that You Have Sealed in Our Flesh’: Women, Covenant, and Circumcision,” in Studies in Josephus and Varieties of Ancient Judaism. Louis H. Feldman Jubilee Vol, ed. Shaye J. D. Cohen and Joshua J. Schwartz (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 29–42.

10 This term had its moorings in the work of anthropologist Arnold van Gennep and was popularized by the work of Victor Turner. In anthropological and ethnographic literature, liminality broadly describes things that exist at the threshold between two states, hence the emphasis on “rites of passage.” Arnold van Gennep, The Rites of Passage, trans. Monika B. Vizedom and Gabrielle L. Caffee (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1960), 21; Victor Turner, The Forest of Symbols: Aspects of Ndembu Ritual (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1967), 93–111.]

11 Saul M. Olyan, Disability in the Hebrew Bible: Interpreting Mental and Physical Differences (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 37, emphasis mine.

12 Although, there were some texts that addressed women in particular (e.g., 4Q415 2 ii;

8 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) the so-called “Theraputae” described in Philo’s De vita contemplative (71-72).13 Bernadette Brooten’s classic study on the limited epigraphic evidence also shows Jewish women as heads, elders, and mothers of synagogues—possibly even as priests—show rare exceptions to this pattern.14 While circumcision was socially enabling, there was perhaps no greater indicator that this was the physical ideal than when Jewish texts begin differentiating between those circumcised after “birth” and those who were “born” circumcised. In Jubilees, angels that are the most proximate to God are said to have been circumcised from “birth” (15:27), “from the day of their creation.”15 If the text presumes that circumcision is possible for angels, then it must also imply that angels have foreskin to circumcise in the first place and that they might even have physical forms typical of male physiology. Since they dwelled near God’s presence, such transmundane forces should be understood as holy. By extension, their circumcised bodies betray a sanctified form. In other words, the circumcised angelic bodies represent corporeal perfection.16 Circumcision as a sign of bodily perfection is ascribed to the patriarchs in some rabbinic literature. Pseudo-Philo portrays Moses as being born circumcised (LAB 9.13).17 In Midrash Tanchuma (Yelammedenu, 4–6th CE) on Gen 6:9 (Noach 5.3) the rabbis understand the phrase ‫נח אישׁ צדיק תמים היה בדורותיו‬ (“Noah a righteous man, perfect in his generations”) as an indication that he was born circumcised (‫נח נולד מחול‬, “Noah was born circumcised”). In b. Soṭah 12a, the rabbis explain that the description in Exod 2:2 that Moses is “good” indicates that he was born circumcised (‫)אחרים אומרים נולד כשׁהוא מהול‬.18 1Q26 1 4–6). It should be noted that in highlighting that it was uncommon for women to occupy senior positions in ancient Jewish communities, this did not preclude them from being philosophers or exegetes themselves, as the works of Joan Taylor and Tal Ilan have shown. Joan E. Taylor, Jewish Women Philosophers of First-Century Alexandria: Philo’s ‘Theraputae’ Reconsidered (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 237–240; Tal Ilan, Jewish Women in Greco-Roman Palestine (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1996), 192– 194. Also, Acts 9:36; John 20:15-16; Luke 10:38-42.

13 Taylor, Jewish Women Philosophers, 246–248.

14 Bernadette J. Brooten, Women Leaders in the Ancient Synagogue: Inscriptional Evidence and Background Issues, Brown Judaic Studies (Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 2020).

15 Translations on Jubilees from James C. VanderKam, trans., The Book of Jubilees, CSCO 511 (Louvain: Peeters, 1989), 92.

16 Isaac Kalimi, “‘He Was Born Circumcised’: Some Midrashic Sources, Their Concepts, Roots and Presumably Historical Context,” ZNW 93 (2002): 5.

17 Translation by Daniel J. Harrington, “Pseudo-Philo,” in The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha and the New Testament: Expansions of the “Old Testament” and Legends, Wisdom, and Philosophical Literature, Prayers, Psalms and Odes, Fragments of Lost Judeo-Hellenistic Works, vol. 2, ed. James H. Charlesworth (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1985), 316.

18 Indeed, the Hebrew of Exod 2:2 could be playfully translated as “And she saw his sign for [he was] good” (‫)ותרא אותו כי טוב‬. The Midrash Tanchuma (Noach 5.3) lists seven men

Soon, The Liminality of the Uncircumcised 9 In the examples above, the criteria for being born circumcised is that a person is “good” (‫)טוב‬, “perfect” (‫ תם‬or ‫)ישׁר‬, or “righteous” (‫)תמים‬. However, sometimes, figures are born circumcised because they are in the likeness of their fathers who were also born circumcised (e.g., Seth after Adam, Joseph after Jacob [Tanḥ. Noach 5.3]).19 This latter point raises an interesting quandary. In Midrash Tanchuma (Noach 5.3), Adam is born circumcised, but the text does not explain the rationale for why this is so. The midrash merely cites Gen 5:3 (‫בילד בדמותו כצלמו‬, “He begat a son after his likeness and image”). However, the text also implies that Gen 1:26–27 is relevant, that Adam was made in God’s image and likeness. Such a reading is confirmed in Avot D’Rabbi Natan 2.5, which says that “the first man came forth circumcised as it is written, ‘And God created man in his image’ (Gen 1:27)” (‫אדם חראשׁון יצא מהול שׁנאמר ויברא אלהים את האדם‬ ‫)בצלמו‬. These two passages assume that Adam is circumcised because God himself is circumcised. Adam was born circumcised because he reflects the form of his father, God. A physical interpretation of the imago dei, though perhaps not the only legitimate one, makes most sense of the language of ‫ צלם‬and ‫ דמות‬in Gen 1:26– 27, 5:3 and again in 9:6 (only ‫)צלם‬. Such an interpretation may reflect a more ancient Israelite belief, one that by the time of the Priestly editor(s) would unlikely have been favorable. However, just because the priestly tradition was not comfortable with representations of God in physical form, this is not to exclude that God had a physical form.20 In fact, it confirms the opposite, that God had some bodily form able to be imitated in “likeness” and “image” in some way, but it was forbidden to try to manufacture an image in place of that form.

As Benjamin Sommer has argued, it is not that the Hebrew Bible denies that God has a body, so much as it attests to the various competing agendas ancient Jews had in dealing with it.21 One of the ways in which God’s presence is made manifest arises with born circumcised: Adam, Seth, Noah, Jacob, Josephus, Moses, and Job (Buber’s Tanchuma mentions ten). Avot D’Rabbi Natan 2.5 lists Adam, Seth, Noah, Shem, Jacob, Joseph, Moses, Balaam, Samuel, David, Jeremiah, Zerubabel, and Job. A Midrash on Ps 9:7 gives a list of thirteen. The Prophet Muhammed is also said to have been born circumcised in a Hadith transmitted by Anas b. Mālik and recorded by Al-Munāwī. See M. J. Kister, “‘...and He Was Born Circumcised...’: Some Notes on Circumcision in Hadith,” Oriens 34 (1994): 12–13.

19 So Kalimi, “‘He Was Born Circumcised’,” 4–5.

20 Similarly argued by Ithamar Gruenwald, “God the ‘Stone/Rock’: Myth, Idolatry, and Cultic Fetishism in Ancient Israel,” The Journal of Religion 76.3 (1996): 441; Benjamin D. Sommer, The Bodies of God and the World of Ancient Israel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 8.

21 Sommer, The Bodies of God. Sommer outlines the priestly and deuteronomic traditions which try to limit God’s body to a singular body, in juxtaposition to other traditions which are more comfortable with God having multiple “bodies” (things that denote presence in time and space, See Sommer, The Bodies of God, 2).

10 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) the odd and oblique references to oaths sworn by Abraham’s genitals (‫ )ירך‬in Gen 24:2 (cf. Gen 47:29–31, Gen 21:23). Although circumcision is not mentioned explicitly here, ancient and modern interpreters of this text understood it as a reference to Abraham’s circumcised penis.22 The reason why the grasping of the circumcised penis was significant in these texts is less clear.

David Freedman puts forward the most convincing argument, drawing on ancient Babylonian practices of holding a divine image in hand as a surrogate for the presence of the deity in order to swear oaths: “When the temple of the god was too far away, or if other circumstances prevented going to the temple to try the case in the presence of the god, then a part of the god’s image was sent from the temple to the site of the dispute; and this part of the god’s image was used to represent the divine presence.”23 The circumcised penis was a “sacred object” (‫חפצא‬, b. Šeb. 38b) by which the ancient patriarchs made oaths before the God of the covenant.24 The rationale was that circumcision as a sign of the covenant itself was a viable alternative to images of God.25 The rabbinic interpretations combined with our understanding of the imago dei and circumcision as an appropriate symbol for oaths in Genesis has explanatory power for why circumcision (especially circumcision native to a body) might be associated with bodily perfection in the early Jewish period. If God is holy and a requirement to be in his presence is to be like God in holiness, then circumcision as a sign of perfection allows angels, Moses, and Israel, for that matter, to be “with God.” The privilege of being born circumcised like the angels reflected a nature pure enough to be in the presence of the holy God. Circumcision was synonymous with holiness. If God is holy, then it follows that circumcision is an adequate image like him or that God was circumcised.26 Indeed, if we take seriously Paula Fredriksen’s recent arguments about the “Jewishness” of God, then we may be more confident that underlying Jubilees is the idea that God was circumcised. In Jubilees, God is himself a staunch keeper of the Sabbath (Gen 2:2–3; weekly in Jub. 2:17–20).27 The 22

Gen. Rab. 59.8; b. Šeb. 38b; Tg. Ps.-J. 24:2, Nahum M. Sarna, “Genesis,” The JPS Torah Commentary (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1989), 162.

23 R. David Freedman, “‘Put Your Hand under my Thigh’–The Patriarchal Oath,” BAR 2.2 (1976): 22.

24 That the circumcised penis could be a sacred object is later affirmed by Rabbi Berekiah in Genesis Rabbah: “Because it [the penis] was given to them in privation, therefore it is precious and nothing was sworn except by it.” Gen. Rab. 59.8. ‫אמר רבי ברכיה לפי שׁנתנה להם‬ ‫ב צ ע ר ל פ י כ ך ה י א ח ב י ב ה ו א י ן נ שׁ ב ע י ן א ל א ב ה‬.

25

Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1991), 747.

26 Also recognised by Howard Eilberg-Schwartz, God’s Phallus and Other Problems for Men and Monotheism (Boston: Beacon Press, 1994), 182 and Thiessen, Contesting Conversion, 74.

27 Paula Fredriksen, “How Jewish Is God? Divine Ethnicity in Paul’s Theology,” JBL 137.1 (2018): 198–199. See also Paula Fredriksen, Paul: The Pagans’ Apostle (New Haven: Yale

Soon, The Liminality of the Uncircumcised 11 language at least of kingship and perhaps also of parentage might be drawn from Jub. 15:31–32, where the author says while other nations have angels and spirits to rule them, the Lord is ruler of Israel, to guard and bless them and “so that they may be his and he theirs from now and forever.”28 The author recognizes that Adam was made in God’s image (Jub. 6:8). Furthermore, God’s “body” is not absent from Jub. 15 but is implied since the closest angels to him are called the “angels of the presence” (Jub. 2:2; 15:27). In Jubilees, God is there, among the closest and holiest layers of his angels (those of “presence” and “sanctification”) who are born circumcised with him, and the author states that he has “sanctified Israel” (sanctification being synonymous with circumcision in the context) so that they might be with him. It is not farfetched to infer that in the assembly of the circumcised, God, the epitome of holiness, would also bear the marks of covenant.

What follows from this is that the most ideal ancient Jewish body was the circumcised body of God himself. Considering this above analysis, both the angels of the presence/sanctification in Jubilees and Moses in Pseudo-Philo reflected this ideal. Admittedly, most Jewish men were not born circumcised.

However, males circumcised on the eighth day were as close as men could be to the idyllic circumcised bodies of Moses, Noah, the angels, and even God himself.

They were the Jewish ideal.

Since the circumcised body was seen at least by some Jews in the early Jewish period as the ideal Jewish body, what then did this mean for bodies that differed? Saul Olyan, stimulated by a conversation with Victor Horowitz, recognized the overlap between the treatment of the disabled and the uncircumcised in the Hebrew Bible but came just short of calling it a disability.29 How did this apply to those born as Jews? Were uncircumcised or noncircumcised Jewish bodies impaired? Did it have a negative social impact on them? To this, we now turn.

3. The Uncircumcised Jewish Man The proliferation of worries concerning uncircumcision arose in the early Jewish period, due in particular to the pogroms of Antiochus Epiphanes in Judea

University Press, 2017). Fredriksen does not say explicitly that God is circumcised but her language is suggestive: “If heaven itself holds circumcised angels—who keep God company on Shabbat while lower angelic orders keep the world running to time— and if God himself, not only in Genesis but also evermore thereafter ‘rests’ one day out of seven (with these circumcised angels for company), then God is ‘Jewish.’” Fredriksen, “How Jewish Is God? Divine Ethnicity in Paul’s Theology,” 199.

28 VanderKam, The Book of Jubilees, 93.

29 Indeed, Olyan’s focus is on circumcision as an exception to defects in the Hebrew Bible.

Olyan, Disability in the Hebrew Bible, 37–38. For the origination of the Olyan’s idea see Saul M. Olyan, Rites and Rank: Hierarchy in Biblical Representations of Cult (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2000), 173, n. 43.

12 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) (1 Macc 1:48). But even before Antiochus outlawed circumcision, 1 Maccabees suggests that the encounters between Israel and the Greeks led to a number of Jews “making foreskins for themselves” (1 Macc 1:15).

The evidence we have of uncircumcised Jewish men in the early Jewish period is scant and often relies on inference. We find that the bulk of our sources come from Palestine. So, Mattathias and his friends circumcised uncircumcised youth in the land of Israel (1 Macc 2:46).30 In Jubilees, the writer anticipates that the Israelites will not circumcise their sons properly, either leaving some of the flesh or leaving them completely uncircumcised (15:33), corroborating the accounts in 1 Maccabees. In the late first or early second century C.E., the prophet in 2 Bar 66:5 sees a vision of the king “Josiah” (king of Israel ca. 640– 609 B.C.E.) leaving none uncircumcised. There is no explicit mention of Josiah circumcising anyone in 2 Kgs 22–23 or 2 Chr 34–35.31 It is therefore most likely that like 1 Maccabees and Jubilees, 2 Baruch emphasizes uncircumcision because of its prevalence in this period. Amongst the rabbis, in t. Šabb. 15.9, we find indicators also that during the Bar Kochba revolt, numerous Jewish men extended their foreskins (‫ )המשׁוך צריך למול‬to be uncircumcised.

Amongst Diaspora Jews, one might take the apostle Paul’s injunction in all his churches that those who were uncircumcised should remain uncircumcised (1 Cor 7:18–20). While this command would have applied predominantly to Gentile members, we cannot exclude the possible presence of uncircumcised Jewish men in Paul’s churches. In Greek locales like Corinth or Asia Minor, for Diaspora Jews to participate in civic life (the gymnasium, baths where business was conducted, etc.), uncircumcision was the social physical norm.32 Jewish men were either at the mercy of parents to leave them uncircumcised in order to conform to Greek social ideals or to uses prosthesis like a Greek kynodesme or a Roman fibula to secure the foreskin in place.33 Also, depending on the way one interprets Acts 16:3, Timothy may also be an example of a Jew in the Diaspora who was left uncircumcised by his parents. Taken cumulatively, we know that uncircumcised Jewish males did exist in the early Jewish period in both Palestine and likely in the Diaspora.

While an uncircumcised Jewish male reflected his parents’ abandonment of parts of Jewish religious custom, such an abandonment did not necessarily prevent either them or him from being Jewish. There is no indication 30

See Isaac T. Soon, “‘In strength’ not ‘by force’: Re-reading the Circumcision of the Uncircumcised ἐν ἰσχύι in 1 Macc 2:46,” JSP 23.3 (2020): 149–167.

31 It is possible but unverifiable that 2 Baruch may be drawing on information from nonextant sources noted in 2 Kgs 23:28 or 2 Chr 35:27.

32 Robert G. Hall, “Epispasm: Circumcision in Reverse,” BRev 8 (1992): 52–57.

33 Martial jibes on a Jew whose fibula has fallen out (Epigrams 7.82). On kynodesme in Greece and Rome see Frederick M. Hodges, “The Ideal Prepuce in Ancient Greece and Rome: Male Genital Aesthetics and Their Relation to Lipodermos, Circumcision, Foreskin Restoration, and the Kynodesme,” The Bulletin of the History of Medicine 75.3 (2001): 375–405.

Soon, The Liminality of the Uncircumcised 13 in the ancient material that uncircumcision ever stopped these men from being Ioudaioi, especially since genealogy was one critical aspect of being Jewish.34 Parentage (whether of the father or mother) was a determining factor whether one was Jewish or not in a way that circumcision never was.35 There is, however, plenty of indication that uncircumcision caused men to violate God’s covenant with the patriarchs and Israel. What tied uncircumcised Jews to Israel was their ancestry since it was to them and their forefathers (!) that God’s covenant was made in Genesis 17. By not being circumcised, they jeopardized their access to God’s eschatological blessings.

The liminality of uncircumcised Jewish men is expressed by the two forces exerted upon them. Uncircumcised Jewish men were either pushed away from God’s people or pulled into conformity with the ideal Jewish body, the circumcised Jewish man. From its inception in Gen 17, uncircumcised Jewish males were commanded to be “cut off” from their kin (Gen 17:14). Jubilees intensifies this consequence by saying the person who has not been circumcised on the eighth day “does not belong to the people of the pact” but belongs “to the people (meant for) destruction” (Jub. 15:26).36 While this primarily applies to Jews circumcised apart from the eighth day, this statement presumably also includes uncircumcised Jewish males.37 What is perplexing is that at such an early age, a Jewish male is not able to decide whether to be circumcised or not.

Still, Jubilees says that “he has violated the covenant of the Lord our God” 34

I use the terminology “Jews,” “Judaism,” and “Jewish” to refer to those who lived as

Ἰουδαῖοι in the early Jewish period. The scholarship on whether the term Ἰουδαῖος should

be translated as “Jew” or “Judean” is complex (a prodigious overview and evaluation of the arguments can be found in David M. Miller, “The Meaning of Ioudaios and its relationship to Other Group Labels in Ancient ‘Judaism’,” Currents in Biblical Research 9.1 [2010]: 98–126; David M. Miller, “Ethnicity Comes of Age: An Overview of Twentieth-Century Terms for Ioudaios,” Currents in Biblical Research 10.1 [2012]: 293– 311; David M. Miller, “Ethnicity, Religion and the Meaning of Ioudaios in Ancient ‘Judaism’,” Currents in Biblical Research 12.2 [2013]: 216–265). I follow Cohen, The Beginnings of Jewishness, who understand the term as encompassing both the ethnic (shared ancestry, history, geographical associations, customs, etc.) and the religious. So, Miller, “Ethnicity, Religion and the Meaning of Ioudaios in Ancient ‘Judaism’,” 257; John M. G. Barclay, Against Apion, Flavius Josephus: Translation and Commentary (Leiden: Brill, 2007), LX-LXI; John J. Collins, The Invention of Judaism: Torah and Jewish Identity from Deuteronomy to Paul (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2017), 18–19.

35 See Shaye J. D. Cohen, “Was Timothy Jewish (Acts 16:1–3)? Patristic Exegesis, Rabbinic Law, and Matrilineal Descent,” JBL 105.2 (1986): 267.

36 Here I am using VanderKam’s more recent translation: James C. VanderKam, Jubilees 1–21, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2018).

37 Segal (The Book of Jubilees: Rewritten Bible, Redaction, Ideology and Theology, Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism [Leiden: Brill, 2007], 244) proposes that the group the author of Jubilees argues against here is in fact the Pharisees with their views represented in m. Šabb. 19. The problem with this view is the lateness of the Mishnaic text, as Thiessen (Contesting Conversion, 82–83) notes.

14 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) (15:26).38 For an uncircumcised Jewish male, then, without circumcision (and with the issue of eighth-day circumcision aside) there was “no sign on him that he belongs to the Lord.” Being uncircumcised not only meant that one looked physically like the nations but that he was also covenantally in the same position as foreigners, being marked for expulsion from God’s blessing in the land (Jub. 15:26, 28, 34) and whose ultimate end was divine judgment (15:28, 33–34). Since he broke the law of an “eternal command,” an uncircumcised Jewish male was thus excluded from God’s covenant people.

The association of foreigners with uncircumcision was already present in the Hebrew Bible (e.g., Philistines). It is clear from the development of the Hebrew Bible that circumcision becomes identified with covenantal boundaries and access to God’s promises to Abraham. For example, in the law of Passover (Exod 12:43–51), circumcision becomes the pre-requisite for participating in the festival. Those who are not circumcised cannot be a part of the ritual. From this passage, the mark of circumcision distinguishes “citizens/natives” (‫אזרח‬, 12:48) of the “community of Israel” (‫עדת ישׂראל‬, 12:47) from “foreigners” (‫בן־נכר‬, 12:43).

Likewise, the stipulation for Shechem to marry Dinah and for the Jacobites and Shechemites to become “as a people-one” (‫לעם אחד‬, Gen 34:16), was circumcision. Intriguingly, the use of ‫ עם‬as well as the specific expression ‫המול‬ ‫( לכם כל־זכר‬word for word from Gen 17:10) suggest an invitation to become a part of the descendants of Isaac and thus the promise of Abraham. In short, like those who want to take Passover, for Dinah to marry a non-Israelite, and for the two nations to become one, the Shechemites “must lose ‘foreign’ status by being circumcised.” Josephus echoes the sentiment in Jubilees and the Hebrew Bible when he notes that Abraham was circumcised so that his descendants would not be confused with other nations (A.J. 1.192). It is not suggesting that an uncircumcised Jewish male’s genealogical connection with Abraham comes into question (thus marking him a non-Jew). Rather, should a Jewish male remain uncircumcised, there would be little to distinguish him physically from the nations around him.

Uncircumcised Jewish males were also often viewed as unclean just by association with uncircumcision. For example, the author of 1 Maccabees viewed sons left uncircumcised as equivalent to profaning the sabbath, defiling the sanctuaries, and sacrificing swine to idols; all things which Mattathias and Judas Maccabeus had to correct in the land.39 Additionally, one of the hymns from the Hodayot at Qumran (1QHa XIV, l. 20) equates the paths the uncircumcised take with those of “the unclean” (‫ )טמא‬and “the lawless” (‫)פריץ‬.

38

Philo offered an allegorical interpretation (QG 3.52) that what is meant is not the physical man should be cut off but his soul (his intellect) that should be cut off. Thus, for Philo a Jewish boy is exempt from the consequences from the decisions of his parents.

39 Aside from the reversal of 1 Macc 2:46 compare also 1 Macc 1:45 and 4:53–56; 1:46 and 4:36–51; 1:49 and 3:48, 56; This pattern suggests that Mattathias and Judas liberated the land and restored it to its previous state before Antiochus’s prohibitions.

Soon, The Liminality of the Uncircumcised 15 Even for Philo, uncircumcision leaves the body both physically and morally unclean (Leg. 1.5; QG 3.46, 48).

In sum, the foreignness, profanity, and covenantal violation of an uncircumcised Jewish male point to its abnormality when compared to the ideal Jewish body. An uncircumcised Jewish male is still Jewish, but he is unable to participate as a covenant member of the Jewish nation by nature of the fact that he exists in a perpetually law-breaking state. The nature of the uncircumcised Jewish male was liminal outside of God’s people, but he did not have to remain there.

While some Jews forced uncircumcised Jewish males to the margins of the covenant, others desired to bring their abnormal bodies into conformity with standards of covenantal corporeality. Indeed, the effect of texts like Jub. 15, which condemns uncircumcision in many forms, is to pressure the uncircumcised to be circumcised (although there is the question of whether circumcisions after the eighth day would be legitimate). The pressure to circumcise uncircumcised Jews has precedence in the Hebrew Bible, such as in Exod 4:24–26 (the Bridegroom of Blood episode, both in the case of Moses or Gershon) and Josh 5 (the “second” circumcision of the Israelites before celebrating Passover). In the early Jewish period, we have several instances where uncircumcised Jewish males were circumcised. To draw on 1 Macc 2:46 once again, Mattathias circumcises the sons of Israel who have been left uncircumcised due to Antiochus’s anti-Jewish laws.40 Also in 2 Bar 66:5, as mentioned above, no one is left uncircumcised in the land by King Josiah, likely meaning that any uncircumcised Jews (whether due to be circumcised or left uncircumcised because of previous sin) were properly circumcised. In both 1 Maccabees and 2 Baruch, one senses the magnetic pull for uncircumcised Jewish males to be brought firmly back into the fold, or rather to have their folds firmly brought back.

Later early Christian tradition preserved/transmitted Jewish traditions that endorsed a similar animosity against uncircumcised Jewish males. So, the third-century heresiologist Hippolytus of Rome, in his Refutation, records a particular sub-group (“party”) of the Essenes whom he designates with the label Sicarii/Zealot.41 This group, “when they hear someone discoursing concerning God and his laws, if he is uncircumcised, one of them watches closely until he is in some place alone. He threatens to kill him unless he is circumcised.”42 The

40

Steven Weitzman, “Forced Circumcision and the Shifting Role of Gentiles in Hasmonean Ideology,” HTR 92.1 (1999): 37–59.

41 Scholars generally argue that underlying Hippolytus’s accounts of the Essenes, Sadducees, and Pharisees are Josephus’s accounts, although the specific details of the Sicarii/Zealots here are not found in his works (cf. J.W. 2.254–255; 7.253–255).

Unmentioned here is Origen who suggests that the Sicarii may have practiced selfcircumcision (Cels. 2.13).

42

ἔτεροι δέ, ἐπὰν ἀκούσωσί τινος περὶ θεοῦ διαλεγομένου καὶ τῶν τούτου νόμων, εἰ άπερίτμητος

16 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) likelihood that the person meant here is a gentile is unlikely since forced circumcision on Gentiles was rare. Most ancient sources are ambiguous, with the only “clear evidence” of forced non-Jewish circumcision happening under the hand of John Hyrcanus against the Idumeans (Ant. 13.257–258), even though some scholars debate whether Josephus and Ptolemy should be accepted over and above Strabo’s account as well as whether the Idumeans as a whole were reticent towards adopting Jewish customs.43 Gentiles in Josephus as well as in early Christian texts like Galatians record Gentiles adopting circumcision voluntarily, whether through conversion (so Izates in Ant. 20.17ff), marriage (A.J. 20.139ff), or social pressure (Paul’s Galatian agitators).44 What there is not evidence for is Jews forcibly circumcising non-Jews. Thus, Hippolytus’s account of the Sicarii/Zealots likely refers to Jews who were bringing uncircumcised Jews into conformity with the law of Moses. But can we trust Hippolytus’s account of the Jews? Eisenman suggests that his account may be based on a variant version of Josephus.45 His description of their customs and social life lacks the kind of invective found in other anti-Jewish writings, with the concentration of his critique focusing on their views of the resurrection and the Messiah. There seems to be little reason to doubt Hippolytus (and the source he is using).

The practice of circumcising uncircumcised Jews reveals both a fervent zeal on behalf of some Jews for the Torah as well as some of their blatant disgust toward uncircumcision as a physical abnormality. Rabbi Eleazar ben Azariah (c.

80–120 CE) said in m. Ned. 3:11 “Foreskin is disgusting since the wicked by it are disgraced” (‫)רבי אלעזר בן עזריה אומר מאוסה ערלה שׂנתגנו בה הרשׁעים‬. That uncircumcision is viewed as an impairment can be seen in the way uncircumcision becomes synonymous with malfunctioning body parts. Moses’s well-known claim that he is a “poor speaker” (NRSV) is an idiomatic rendering of the much more specific phrase ‫ערל שׂפתים‬, “foreskinned (uncircumcised) lips” (Exod 6:12, 30). Considering Exod 4:10, it seems clear that Moses had some kind εἴη, παραφυλάξας <τις αὐτῶν> τὸν τοιοῦτον ἐν τὸπῳ τινὶ μὸνον, πονεύειν ἁπειλεῖ εἰ μὴ περιτμηθείη.

For critical editions of the text see Mirosalve Marcovich, ed., Hippolytus Refutatio Omnium Haeresium, PTS (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1986), 371 and M. David Litwa, Refutation of All Heresies, Writings from the Greco-Roman World (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2016), 682.

43 Katell Berthelot, In Search of the Promised Land? The Hasmonean Dynasty Between Biblical Models and Hellenistic Diplomacy, trans. Margaret Rigaud (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2018), 293. Others have argued that the Itureans, also recorded by Josephus, most likely already practised circumcision and Josephus merely imposed the example of the Idumeans upon their alliance with Judea. Berthelot, In Search of the Promised Land? 314.

44 On the coercion of the Galatian communities see Isaac T. Soon, “The Bestial Glans: Gentile Christ Followers and the Monstrous Nudity of Ancient Circumcision,” JJMJS 8 (2021): 90–104.

45 Robert Eisenman, “Sicarii Essenes, ‘Those of the Circumcision,’ and Qumran,” Journal of Higher Criticism 12.1 (2006): 17.

Soon, The Liminality of the Uncircumcised 17 of problem speaking or at least that he felt insecure about his speaking.46 Either way, his ability to speak is viewed as impaired, and Moses fears that he will not be able to speak properly and communicate to Pharoah what is necessary for Israel to be freed from slavery. A similar expression occurs in the Hodayot (1QHa X, ll. 18) when it says men of deceit against the hymn-writer have altered God’s knowledge with “foreskinned lips and another tongue” ( ‫בערול שׂפה ולשׁון‬ ‫)אחרת‬. What is significantly stressed in these texts is that uncircumcised (read: impaired) body parts distort divine knowledge. Likewise, also with physical uncircumcision. Circumcision is first and foremost a sign of God’s covenant (Gen 17:10). Epistemologically speaking, uncircumcision not only obfuscates knowledge of God’s covenant but also indicates the lack of knowledge on the part of the uncircumcised Jewish male (and his parents). They knew what God had commanded, what the law of Moses stated, and yet they refused to act on it.

Uncircumcision for a Jewish male was a sign of both epistemological as well as physical impairment.

4. Uncircumcised and Uncircumcisable Jewish Women Because they lacked male genitalia, Jewish women were not caught up in the exact same social and cultural centrifugal liminality as uncircumcised Jewish men. They could not be forced “in” or driven “out” since there were no physical realia that gave way to such an opportunity.47 In light of this fact, one might wonder why the question of circumcision should ever have been applied to women in the first place. Obviously, circumcision was intended for men, and so judgments applicable to uncircumcised Jewish men who were supposed to be circumcised were not necessarily applicable to women, on whom circumcision was not required nor possible. Yet, the fact that the issue came up for Philo suggests that it is not as illegitimate a question as one might think.48 Indeed, the text in Gen 12 invites the question: What about Sarah? What piece of her flesh marks the covenant?

Even though Philo is the only writer to address the issue of why women are left uncircumcised, his account in QG 3.49, extant only in Armenian, is terse.

Shaye Cohen analyses the passage in detail, concluding, “Since Philo nowhere says that circumcision is an essential criterion for membership in the people of Israel … for him the status of women within Israel is not affected by the absence

46

On Moses’s disability see Nyasha Junior and Jeremy Schipper, “Mosaic Disability and Identity in Exod 4:10; 6:12, 30,” BibInt 16 (2008): 428–441.

47 The evidence of Strabo’s account of Jewish excision of women is suspect. See Cohen, Why Aren’t Jewish Women Circumcised?, 59–61, who argues that the best explanation is simply that Strabo thinks Jewish circumcising practices mimic exactly those of Egyptians.

48 Niehoff argues that Philo’s audience here is are non-Jewish practitioners of circumcision who want to understand its significance more deeply. Niehoff, “Circumcision as a Marker of Identity,” 97, n. 28.

18 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) of circumcision. Circumcision does not determine status.”49 While Cohen is correct that Jewish women remain a part of God’s people, he is wrong to state that in Philo, their uncircumcision does not affect their status within his people.

For our purpose here, I focus on Philo’s second reason for why women were not circumcised: it was because they were the least indispensable part of procreation: The second [reason] is that the matter of the female in the remains of the menstrual fluids produces the fetus. But the male (provides) the skill and the cause. And so, since the male provides the greater and more necessary (part) in the process of generation, it was proper that his pride should be checked by the sign of circumcision, but the material element, being inanimate, does not admit of arrogance.50 Niehoff notes that Philo specifically highlights these “biological” givens because he is apologetically making a distinction between Jewish and Egyptian customs.51 The active role of the male and the passive role of the female reflects the Aristoteilian theory of generation.52 Aristotle argues that in generation the female provides all the material of the child’s substance in her menstrual blood while the male semen acted as a kind of catalyst (some use the language of enzyme) in order to actively act on the female substance (Gen. an. 1.20–21 [729a–730b]).53 As Nolan notes, “So it is true that Aristotle sees the male matter as active and the female matter as passive in the act of fertilisation [male viewpoint] or conception [female viewpoint], but this is not to say that he sees the female as passive in the entire process of reproduction.”54 Philo takes up this active/passive view of generation and argues that circumcision restrains men’s pride for being the catalyst for procreation. Conversely, he shows the “humble position” of Jewish women who do not need to face the same temptation to arrogance.

49

Cohen, Why Aren’t Jewish Women Circumcised?, 63.

QG 3.49 translation by Marcus (LCL), emphasis mine.

51 Niehoff, “Circumcision as a Marker of Identity,” 97.

52 e.g., Niehoff, “Circumcision as a Marker of Identity,” 97, n. 28. Lieu says that Philo’s understanding is in line with “contemporary biology” Lieu, “Circumcision, Women and Salvation,” 362.

53 In connection with Jesus’s conception, Aristotle’s theory adds an interesting angle: “On Aristotle’s theory, a woman accepts no physical contribution from a man when she becomes a mother. The fact therefore that Jesus had no physical father did not make him less human. In a sense, for Aristotle no one has a physical father, that is, one whose substance comes to form part of the child’s substance.” Michael Nolan, “Passive and Deformed? Did Aristotle Really Say This?” New Blackfriars 76.893 (1995): 247.

54 Nolan, “Passive and Deformed?” 249.

50

Soon, The Liminality of the Uncircumcised 19 Cohen, drawing on Dorothy Sly’s work, recognizes that Philo views the feminine “with passivity, incompleteness, and irrationality.”55 But his analysis focuses solely on Philo’s metaphysical argument, on concepts of pride and passion without recourse to the physical reality of the Jewish women Philo whose bodies and substance are acted upon and the implications this relationship entails both to men and the status of women.

With his explanation of generation in connection with circumcision, Philo recalls the themes of generation, fertility, and family that underlie circumcision in Genesis 17. A man (Abraham) inseminates his wife (Sarah) to produce a son (Isaac). Although Philo focuses on circumcision as a physical restraint on male pride, his illustration cuts to the structural core of the Jewish people: the family and its continuation. As noted by Lieu, Philo’s association of circumcision with procreation can also be found among the latter rabbis (Gen. Rab. 46.4).56 In this family, the uncircumcised woman has but one role: to be inanimate, breathless, and lifeless material (anjoawntch). Certainly, some of her leftovers are used in the generation process, but she remains inert. Implicit in what Philo says is that a Jewish woman’s body is a lifeless vessel that a circumcised male penetrates to generate the life of another male to be circumcised. An uncircumcised Jewish woman is thus a covenantal waypoint through which circumcised men pass through. She is a liminal member of God’s community. An ancient Jewish woman provided the means of the covenant, while the man provided the instrument. For Philo, the absence of circumcision did determine status, not whether one was in or out of God’s people, but how one lived as a part of that community.

The uncircumcision of women had further implications for their association and function within Jewish communities. The statement about an uncircumcised Jewish male in Jub. 15:26, that “there is no sign on him that he belongs to the Lord,” has a haunting corollary for a Jewish female. Not only was there no sign on a woman’s body of God’s covenant, but there was no sign that she belonged to God at all. Even more so, there was no physical opportunity for a woman’s body ever to signal kinship with God. Ultimately, there was no physical opportunity for a woman’s body ever to physically resemble God. On the other hand, when Josephus remarks that the purpose of circumcision was to keep Abraham’s descendants “unmixed” from other nations (A.J. 1.192), it implies that men’s bodies serve as the boundary marker for both Abraham’s children and the Jewish people. Both Israelite ancestry and covenantal significance are unidentifiable from a woman’s body alone. One had to refer to her husband or son or father or brother.57 55

Cohen, Why Aren’t Jewish Women Circumcised? 145. Cohen quotes with reference to Dorothy Sly, Philo’s Perception of Women, BJS 209 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1990).

56 Lieu, “Circumcision, Women and Salvation,” 362.

57 As Cohen notes that before the second century C.E. regardless of the ethnicity of the mother, what determined the Jewishness of her children was if they were the offspring of

20 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) The liminality of ancient Jewish women due to uncircumcision in these readings can be summarised by two relationships: The first is at a familial level.

What is clear from Philo and Josephus’s reading of Genesis 17 is that in terms of circumcision, Sarai/Sarah is bracketed by her circumcised husband, Abraham, and her circumcised sons, Ishmael and Isaac. Her sole blessing, though not insignificant, is not just the ability to contribute material that eventually becomes children but the ability to contribute material that eventually generates male descendants who can then bear the covenant of God. Covenantally, she is significant because she is married to a circumcised Jewish man and bears circumcised Jewish sons.

The second liminal relationship can be described on an ethnic level.

Women are also bracketed between circumcised Jews (by which we mean circumcised Jewish males primarily) and the nations (foreigners, uncircumcised non-Israel). She is Jewish, but her body does not represent the Jewish bodily ideal. She bears no mark of God’s covenant with the Jewish people yet is a part of that covenant by nature of the fact that she has been born from a father who bears that mark.

The gravitation toward ideal bodies in ancient Judaism can be seen in Joseph and Aseneth. One of the principal conclusions of Jill Hick-Keeton’s book on Joseph and Aseneth is that “Jewishness,” however defined, was not accomplished singularly by circumcision.58 This is demonstrated precisely in Aseneth’s case because she is a woman and women were not required by Jewish law to circumcise. Although Aseneth is not required to circumcise, this does not mean that the text lacks a cultural inertia to conform this gentile woman’s body to a Jewish physiological ideal. While her genitals might not match the features of the patriarch Abraham, in the very first chapter of Joseph and Aseneth, the narrator describes aspects of her physical appearance that matched the matriarchs: “...and she was tall as Sarah and handsome as Rebecca and beautiful as Rachel” (Jos. Asen. 1.5).59 It is not portrayed merely as novelistic beauty, as in other ancient romances. It is explicitly Jewish. Her body is later rendered immortal, a forever beauty (Jose. Asen. 16.16), and Aseneth later realizes her body (her eyes, cheeks, lips, teeth, hair, neck, and breasts) has been transformed, almost on a cosmic scale (Jos. Asen. 18.9).60 So while Aseneth is not required to a Jewish father. Shaye J. D. Cohen, “Crossing the Boundary and Becoming a Jew,” HTR 82.1 (1989): 25.

58 Jill Hicks-Keeton, Arguing with Aseneth: Gentile Access to Israel’s Living God in Jewish Antiquity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018), 137.

59 Translation from C. Burchard, “Joseph and Aseneth” in The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha and the New Testament: Expansions of the “Old Testament” and Legends, Wisdom, and Philosophical Literature, Prayers, Psalms and Odes, Fragments of Lost Judeo-Hellenistic Works, vol. 2, ed. James H. Charlesworth (New Haven; London: Yale University Press, 1985), 203.

60 For an analysis of the latter passage in the context of Aseneth’s epiphanies see Rivkah Gillian Glass, “Aseneth’s Epiphanes,” JSJ 53 (2022): 54–56.

Soon, The Liminality of the Uncircumcised 21 circumcise, she is portrayed as embodying as much of the ideal Jewish woman’s body as possible—if not also surpassing that ideal—coming as close as she could to the Jewish body so often portrayed as central to the covenant with the God of Israel, the circumcised man. In this reading, the debate on circumcision is not bypassed or circumvented; rather, it is stalled by the physical limitations of Aseneth’s body as a woman, unable to incorporate circumcision.

5. Conclusion Uncircumcision on Jewish bodies signals liminality and abnormality from the ideal. While both uncircumcised men and women were liminal, they were so in different ways. Uncircumcised men were caught in the Jewish desire to resolve that liminality through exclusion or conformity. In a sense, both exclusion from the Jewish people and surgery into the community may be conceived of as a “cure” for the uncircumcised Jewish male, either removing the abnormality from the community or removing it from the person. Either way, his liminality was eliminated. The excising of the foreskin of a Jewish male was the nexus through which he gained admittance into the community of those who inherit the promises of Genesis 17, a sign of covenant loyalty, and also a transformation from an impure, uncircumcised state to a normal clean circumcised state.

Jewish women were never “out” of God’s people, but they were never as far “in” as was physically possible. At least uncircumcised Jewish men could escape their impairment by simply circumcising. Jewish women did not have the same luxury. For women there was no opportunity for resolution. Being uncircumcised and uncircumcisable, women did not and could not reflect the ideal Jewish body. They remained permanently bracketed between the men in their lives.

Women and Conversion in the Dead Sea Scrolls: Finding a Viable Marker of Intent Where There Is No Circumcision Carmen Palmer Stetson University | cpalmer4@stetson.edu JJMJS No. 10 (2023): 22-37

Abstract The matter of the circumcision of women, or more accurately, the lack thereof, is approached variably by authors in ancient Judaism. Within the Dead Sea Scrolls, both female and male enslaved gentiles may enter the “covenant of Abraham,” according to the Damascus Document (CD XII, 10–11). For the male, this entrance would mean circumcision, in light of Abraham’s circumcision on “the day of his knowledge” in CD XVI, 6, but what would this covenantal entrance entail for the enslaved woman? The present essay argues that within certain Dead Sea Scrolls (Temple Scroll and 4QDamascus fragments), the gentile enslaved woman enters through marriage and a sevenyear process of timed integration. This process calls to mind the maintaining of a Hebrew enslaved woman in the seventh year upon her expressed intent to remain in service, as found in Deut 15:17. The essay proposes that for female gentile converts in the sectarian movement, this seven-year process is chosen as a marker of “conversion” because it is considered the only viable expression of her intent to turn away from idolatry, as physical circumcision is not an option for her.

Keywords Circumcision, Conversion, Enslavement, Women, Dead Sea Scrolls, Deuteronomy, Roman Law

1. Introduction The circumcision of women, or more accurately, the lack thereof, is approached variably by authors in ancient Judaism. For example, it is thought that Philo saw women as inferior to men and therefore the absence of a covenantal mark on

Palmer, Women and Conversion 23 their bodies would be natural.1 Josephus, for his part, is argued to indicate that female converts to Judaism are only “doing” like Jews due to their lack of circumcision.2 As one last example, it is also unclear whether Aseneth’s conversion in Joseph and Aseneth centers on the abandonment of idols,3 or, whether Aseneth’s eight-day transformation process parallels male circumcision on the eighth day after birth and is thus legitimized through that means.4 What about female converts in the sectarian movement affiliated with the Dead Sea Scrolls? Both female and male enslaved gentiles enter the “covenant of Abraham,” according to the Damascus Document (CD XII, 10– 11).5 For the male, this entrance would mean circumcision, in light of Abraham’s circumcision on “the day of his knowledge” in CD XVI, 6, but what would this covenantal entrance entail for the enslaved woman? In order to ensure adherence to purity requirements to keep apart from gentiles, such as evidenced in CD XI, 14, regulating to keep away from gentiles on the Sabbath, some sort of transformation through conversion would be required.

The present essay argues that within certain Dead Sea Scrolls (the 11Q19 Temple Scroll and 4QDamascus fragments), the gentile enslaved woman enters through a seven-year marriage process and timed integration. This process calls to mind the maintaining of a Hebrew enslaved woman in the seventh year upon her expressed intent to remain in service, as found in Deut 15:17. The essay proposes that for female gentile converts in the sectarian movement, this seven-year process is chosen as a marker of “conversion” because it is considered the only viable expression of her intent to turn away from idolatry, as physical circumcision is not an option for her. For that same reason, in relating seven years to waiving manumission as in Deut 15, only female gentile slaves may convert, not free women.

In terms of method, the essay pursues the present question through both an assessment of examples found within the Dead Sea Scrolls in which female slaves enter the sectarian movement, as well as comparisons to other male and female enslaved individuals who make conversions or citizenship changes in materials from both ancient Judaism and Roman legislation, to see 1

Dorothy I. Sly, Philo’s Perception of Women (Providence, RI: Brown Judaic Studies, 2020); Shaye J. D. Cohen, “Why Aren’t Jewish Women Circumcised?,” Gender and History 9 (1997): 560–578.

2 Daniel R. Schwartz, “Doing Like Jews or Becoming a Jew? Josephus on Women Converts to Judaism,” in Jewish Identity in the Greco-Roman World, ed. Jörg Frey, Daniel R. Schwartz, and Stephanie Gripentrog (Leiden; Boston: Brill, 2007), 93–109.

3 For example, Judith M. Lieu, “Circumcision, Women and Salvation,” NTS 40 (1994): 358–370.

4 Matthew Thiessen, “Aseneth’s Eight-Day Transformation as Justification for Conversion,” JSJ 45 (2014): 229–249.

5 Unless noted otherwise, English translations of the Dead Sea Scrolls are according to Florentino García Martínez and Eibert J. C. Tigchelaar, The Dead Sea Scrolls Study Edition, 2 vols. (Leiden; Boston: Brill, 1997–1998).

24 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) what mechanisms and processes are effected to enable their entrance. For the essay, a general understanding of “conversion” as a transformation in elements relating to both kinship and culture is entertained. In other words, “conversion” is not regarded as solely a “religious” affair, but, especially where the sectarian movement affiliated with the Dead Sea Scrolls is concerned, entails a change in identity components relating to kinship, culture (including “religious practice”), and connection to land.6 In terms of outline, the essay opens with a brief expansion of the examples named above that offer a comparative lens regarding views toward women and their uncircumcision. Then it moves into examples from the Temple Scroll and 4QD fragments regarding the female captive woman. Her period of timed integration will be compared to that of the male slave in rabbinic literature to establish a rationale for Deuteronomy 15 as a scriptural antecedent for the female enslaved woman. The essay will then consider as a point of comparison Roman freedwomen who gain citizenship and what lingering sentiments or duties remain, prior to drawing final conclusions.

2. The Presence and Absence of Circumcision: An Overview We will start with a brief expansion of the “problem” of a woman’s uncircumcision in light of the requirement for a Jewish male’s circumcision, as viewed within the work of Philo, Josephus, and the pseudepigraphical book Joseph and Aseneth. While not suggesting that circumcision, or, even more specifically, eighth-day circumcision (per Gen 17:12), was universally upheld among Jewish circles within ancient Judaism, nevertheless, its requirement in general seems to have been the dominant perspective.7 6

For a summary of scholarship on conversion as a change in full identity within the ancient Mediterranean more broadly and the sectarian movement affiliated with the Dead Sea Scrolls more specifically, see Carmen Palmer, Converts in the Dead Sea Scrolls: The Gēr and Mutable Ethnicity, STDJ 126 (Leiden; Boston: Brill, 2018), Section 1.2.2, 23– 31.

7 For example, that Antiochus IV would ban circumcision (1 Macc 1:48) indicates its perception as a normative practice within Judaism. Later Constantinian Roman legislation, too, indicates the ongoing affiliation of Jewish tradition with circumcision, by creating legislation that would make it unfavorable to circumcise a non-Jewish enslaved individual (upon circumcision, the enslaved individual would go free; another rule indicates capital punishment of the owner who circumcises a non-Jewish slave). See Amnon Linder, The Jews in Roman Imperial Legislation (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1987), 147–151, esp. nos. 10 and 11. One may also consider forced circumcisions in 1 Macc 2:46, though the ultimate motivation may not be for cultic reasons. See Steven Weitzman, “Forced Circumcision and the Shifting Role of Gentiles in Hasmonean Ideology,” HTR 92 (1999): 37–59. Whether a gentile man can circumcise or not to convert is an entirely different question relating to stringency regarding the requirement of eighth-day circumcision. For an overview of perceptions within the Dead Sea Scrolls, Jubilees, Philo, and the writings of Paul on the topic of circumcision regulations and the permission or prohibition of adult male circumcisions, see Carmen Palmer,

Palmer, Women and Conversion 25 Where Philo is concerned, while circumcision of the heart is also necessary and required of male converts (QE 2.2), physical circumcision is also required, as evidenced in Migr. 92: [N]or because the rite of circumcision is an emblem of the excision of pleasures and of all the passions, and of the destruction of that impious opinion, according to which the mind has imagined itself to be by itself competent to produce offspring, does it follow that we are to annul the law which has been enacted about circumcision.8 General scholarly opinion finds in favor of the view that Philo considers physical circumcision to be a necessary act upon entrance into Judaism.9 Maren Niehoff establishes that for Philo, according to QG 3.46, the mind is male, and circumcision of the heart is metaphorical and of the mind. Arguably, then, women can achieve neither physical nor spiritual circumcision, that is, circumcision of the heart. Philo argues that physical circumcision serves as “a symbol of the excision of the pleasures which delude the mind” (Spec. 1.9), and Shaye Cohen calls attention to the fact that Philo believes men need their minddeluding lust to be checked more so than women, according to QG 3.47, which is why only men receive physical circumcision. That said, Cohen argues that for Philo, nevertheless, “both males and females need the lesson [emphasis added] taught by circumcision,” implying the need to curb lust and pride.10 Cohen suggests this lesson would be that thing called “spiritual circumcision” by Christians.11 It is not clear if Cohen distinguishes this spiritual circumcision from something similar to that circumcision of the heart, described by Philo in QG 3.48. Either way, I would argue that in light of Niehoff’s framework, women, having neither a male mind nor a male part, simply do not need (and cannot achieve) circumcision of any sort. This conclusion fits hand-in-hand with “Circumcision of the Heart in the Dead Sea Scrolls and in the Second Temple Period: Spiritual, Moral, and Ethnic,” in Dead Sea Scrolls, Revise and Repeat: New Methods and Perspectives, ed. Carmen Palmer, et al., EJL 52 (Atlanta, GA: SBL Press, 2020), 327–351.

8 English translations from Philo are according to C. D. Yonge, trans., The Works of Philo: Complete and Unabridged (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1993).

9 For example, Maren R. Niehoff, “Circumcision as a Marker of Identity: Philo, Origen and the Rabbis on Gen 17:1–14,” JSQ 10 (2003): 89–123 esp. 101; John J. Collins, “A Symbol of Otherness: Circumcision and Salvation in the First Century,” in “To See Ourselves as Others See Us”: Christians, Jews, “Others” in Late Antiquity, ed. Jacob Neusner and Ernest S. Frerichs, Literary editor Caroline McCracken-Flesher (Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1985), 163–186 esp. 173–174. For a brief overview of this view that where Philo is concerned, physical circumcision (in addition to the circumcision of the heart, not discussed above) is required, see Palmer, “Circumcision of the Heart,” 341.

10 Cohen, “Jewish Women,” 565.

11 Cohen, “Jewish Women,” 565.

26 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) Dorothy Sly’s conclusion that for Philo, a woman’s “spiritual growth” was a moot point in that her function is to serve a man’s ends.12 Nevertheless, it should be noted that due to this non-necessity for male circumcision, it appears a woman can convert, based on Philo’s rendering of Tamar. Here, her conversion is made possible through marriage to an Israelite man, along with idol repudiation, in Virt. 220–222: This nobleness has been an object of desire not only to Godloving men, but likewise to women, who have discarded the ignorance in which they have been bred up, which taught them to honour, as deities, creatures made with hands, … for Tamar was a woman from Syria Palestina, who had been bred up in her own native city, which was devoted to the worship of many gods, being full of statues, and images, and, in short, of idols of every kind and description. … [S]he then, at the risk of her life, exerted all her energies to arrive at piety … and yet she, having married two wicked brothers in turn, … in the case of the first husband not having left any family, but nevertheless, having preserved her own life free from all stain, was able to attain to that fair reputation which falls to the lot of the good.

The text seems to indicate that the first marriage enabled her to preserve her life “free from all stain.” The reference to idols, too, highlights that in addition to marriage, her own deeds also had to align with those required to arrive at “piety,” as well.

Where Josephus is concerned, again, circumcision is regarded a necessary step for men to become Jewish: the Roman Metilius judaizes “as far as circumcision” (B.J. 2.454).13 What does Josephus think about women converts and their uncircumcision? Daniel Schwartz makes the case that for the accounts of possible converts Fulvia (A.J. 18.82), Helena (A.J. 20.34-35), and the women of Damascus (B.J. 2.560), Josephus words the accounts so that the women are described to do Jewish regulations, to fear God, and to be drawn to the Jewish cult, respectively, but never to become Jewish.14 For example, in A.J. 20.34, Schwartz observes that Josephus describes Helena and other women fearing God like (as, ὡς) the Jews.15 Meanwhile, men, who can circumcise, can become

12

Sly, Philo’s Perception of Women, 223.

Cohen argues that this passage clarifies the point of conversion as opposed to adherence. See Shaye J. D. Cohen, “Respect for Judaism by Gentiles According to Josephus,” HTR 80 (1987): 409–430 esp. 427. The citation here is from Cohen.

14 Schwartz, “Doing Like Jews or Becoming a Jew?,” 96–98.

15 Here, Schwartz, “Doing Like Jews or Becoming a Jew?,” 97.

13

Palmer, Women and Conversion 27 Jews, such as Helena’s own son in A.J. 20.38.16 Schwartz concludes that for Josephus, circumcision marks a real change in a person such that he can “become” (drawing on the verb “to be,” here, εἶναι) Jewish. As women cannot be circumcised, they cannot make this full transformation.17 Even if one does not take this argument as far as Schwartz, it certainly seems that women are at a disadvantage from a clear qualifier between Godfearer and Jew. As one final example in which we find both articulations of the requirement of male circumcision in addition to views (even if not explicit) toward women converts and their uncircumcision, we turn to the text of Joseph and Aseneth. While this text is fictive, nevertheless, it may convey relevant sentiments held about circumcision and the necessity for its symbolic, eighthday representation. In this text, Aseneth the Egyptian undergoes a conversion whereby after seven days of repenting with ashes and fasting, on the eighth day, a heavenly man arrives and causes Aseneth to eat honeycomb, and she is transformed (Jos. Asen. 11–18). We know that she has undergone a fundamental conversion: whereas eight days ago, Joseph would not kiss Aseneth, as at that time, she would use her mouth to bless idols (Jos. Asen. 8:5– 6), now, Joseph will kiss her (Jos. Asen. 19:10–11). Matthew Thiessen makes the observation that Aseneth’s eight-day conversion process parallels and evokes the circumcision requirement of the Jewish male infant on the eighth day after birth, according to Gen 17:14 LXX.18 Thus, while other elements such as idol repudiation and consumption of honeycomb seem to play a part in the conversion as well,19 the actual process of eight days seems significant, too.

These three examples highlight different ways that texts and authors dealt with the issue of a woman’s uncircumcision, whether it be to conclude that a woman, having neither a male mind nor a male part, cannot and need not entertain male physical circumcision for conversion, or that a woman simply cannot fully transform and convert due to her inability to circumcise, or finally, that a woman must have something that symbolically mirrors eighth-day circumcision for conversion, such as an eight-day period of repentance and transformation. From this point of departure, let us investigate how the Dead Sea Scrolls deal with the matter regarding female converts to Judaism and their uncircumcision.

16

Schwartz, “Doing Like Jews or Becoming a Jew?,” 98.

See esp. Schwartz, “Doing Like Jews or Becoming a Jew?,” 99, 107–108.

18 See esp. Thiessen, “Aseneth’s Eight-Day Transformation,” 236–239.

19 This comment refers to examinations that may or may not use the term conversion, though they describe a transformation process for Aseneth. For example, Lieu, “Circumcision, Women and Salvation,” 365; Anathea E. Portier-Young, “Sweet Mercy Metropolis: Interpreting Aseneth’s Honeycomb,” JSP 14 (2005): 133–157.

17

28 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) 3. Circumcision, Abrahamic Covenant, and Alternatives for Women in the Dead Sea Scrolls First, one should note that it appears that circumcision is required of sectarian members affiliated with the Dead Sea Scrolls.20 As we saw above, CD XVI, 4–6 describes Abraham circumcising on the day of his knowing, reworking Gen 17:9–14. We also find a Damascus fragment (4Q266, Frag. 6, II, 6) that describes the regulation for a male child to undergo circumcision on the eighth day after birth, according to Lev 12.21 Despite this fragment’s specification of infanthood, it does seem that for at least the stream of the sectarian movement that followed the Damascus Document, adult male circumcision was nevertheless also permitted, in accordance with CD XII, 10–11, which calls for the male and female slave to enter into the covenant of Abraham. Based on the Damascus Document’s own allusion to Abraham and his circumcision, it seems that an understanding of circumcision is paired with the phrase “covenant of Abraham.” In this sense, then, it appears that some sort of process that either mirrors or replaces male circumcision is required for a female slave’s entrance into this covenant. To that end, we will look at two passages that report such incidents.

3.1 11Q19 Temple Scroll LXIII, 10–15 Whether intended as a descriptor of current realities or idealized rendition to counter current conditions,22 the Temple Scroll’s reworking of the case of the beautiful female captive in Deut 21:10–14 is nevertheless revealing as to a gentile enslaved woman’s process of conversion into the sectarian movement, when circumcision is not available to her. Deut 21:10–14 describes the process whereby a female captive woman is taken in, goes through a month-long purification process, and becomes the captor’s wife: When you go out to war against your enemies, and the Lord your God hands them over to you and you take them captive, 11 suppose you see among the captives a beautiful woman 20

Sandra Jacobs has argued that circumcision is not a requirement for sectarian members. See Sandra Jacobs, “Expendable Signs: The Covenant of the Rainbow and Circumcision at Qumran,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls in Context: Integrating the Dead Sea Scrolls in the Study of Ancient Texts, Languages, and Cultures, vol. 140/2, ed. Armin Lange, Emanuel Tov, and Matthias Weigold; in association with Bennie H. Reynolds III, VTSup (Leiden; Boston: Brill, 2011), 563–575.

21 See Palmer, Converts, 146–147.

22 Lawrence Schiffman suggests that the Temple Scroll is a polemic against the current order under Hyrcanus. See Lawrence Schiffman, “The Temple Scroll and the Nature of Its Law: The Status of the Question,” in The Community of the Renewed Covenant: The Notre Dame Symposium on the Dead Sea Scrolls, ed. Eugene Ulrich and James VanderKam (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1994), 37–55 esp. 49–51.

Palmer, Women and Conversion 29 (‫ )אשת יפת תאר‬whom you desire and want to marry, 12 and so

you bring her home to your house: she shall shave her head, pare her nails, 13 discard her captive’s garb, and shall remain in your house a full month, mourning for her father and mother; after that you may go in to her and be her husband, and she shall be your wife. 14 But if you are not satisfied with her, you shall let her go free and not sell her for money. You must not treat her as a slave, since you have dishonored her.23 The narrative indicates that she has become Israelite at this point in time, evidenced by the fact that after the completion of this process, if the husband decides that he is not satisfied with this new bride, she should be released as a free person. This stipulation calls to mind Lev 25:39–46 and the prohibition against selling Israelites as enslaved individuals.

Where the Temple Scroll diverges most noticeably from the Deuteronomic account is what happens following the marriage.

When you go out to war against your enemies and I place them in your hands, and you make prisoners, 11 and you see among the prisoners a woman of beautiful appearance (‫)אשה יפת תואר‬, and you desire her and you take her as a wife for yourself, 12 you shall bring her into your house, and shave her head and cut her nail/s/, and you shall remove 13 the prisoner’s clothes from her. And she will live in your house, and she will weep for her father and her mother a full month.

14 Afterwards you shall enter her, /and/ marry her, and she will become your wife. But she may not touch your purities (‫ )טהרה‬for 15 seven years, nor may she eat the peace offering (‫ )זבח שלמים‬until seven years pass; afterwards she may eat.

(11Q19 LXIII, 10–15) Here, following the month of purification and marriage, the woman entertains a subsequent seven-year period of purification during which she cannot consume the pure food nor the peace offering until this period is completed.

This process calls to mind a two-year period of graduated entry for male admittands into the sectarian movement, who can only consume pure food after one year and pure drink after two years: 23

English translation of the Masoretic Text is according to the NRSV. Emanuel Tov specifies that thirty-five percent of the “biblical” corpus of the Dead Sea Scrolls make use of a proto-Masoretic text, permitting the use of the Masoretic Text as a point of comparison to examples of scriptural rewriting in the Dead Sea Scrolls. See Emanuel Tov, Textual Criticism of the Hebrew Bible, Second Revised ed. (Minneapolis; Assen: Fortress Press; Royal Van Gorcum, 2001), 22–39, esp. 115.

30 JJMJS No. 10 (2023)

When he is included in the Community council, he must not touch the pure food (‫ )טהרת‬of 17 the Many until they test him about his spirit and about his deeds, until he has completed a full year; … 20 … He must not touch the drink (‫ )משקה‬of the Many until 21 he completes a second year among the men of the Community. (1QS VI, 16–21 excerpts) We take “pure food” to mean a kind of food consumed on special ritual occasions, and not quotidian fare.24 That the woman can eat of pure food indicates her more complete entrance into the group, in addition to her consumption of peace sacrifices, to be divided according to Lev 7:11–35, among the Lord, the priests, and the children of Israel. This captive woman has truly become Israelite and entered the cultic practices of the group, qualifying as the markers of kinship and culture involved in a conversion, presumably into the “covenant of Abraham.”

Highly noticeable, of course, is the fact that her purification period endures a full seven years. This notion of seven years in the Temple Scroll is not an outlier and a one-off oddity. We find another fragmentary text within the Damascus fragments that also seems to draw on a similar time frame.

3.2 4Q270 Frag. 4, lines 14–16 and 4Q266 Frag. 12, lines 6–8 While fragmentary, when combined, 4Q270 Frag. 4, lines 14–16 and 4Q266 Frag. 12, lines 6–8, create the following regulation: Regular script = 4Q270; italics = 4Q266; underline = overlap 4Q266 and 4Q270 13 […let no] ma[n] lie with a woman 14 […] the slave-woman who was designated ( ‫)ה[שופח֯ה החרופה‬ 15 […seven ye[ars…] (‫ )֯שבע ֯ש]נים‬he said, (you shall) not t[…]

16 […he shall] take her or (assign her) for [his] so[n…] (‫)י[קחנה א ֯ו לב]נו‬25 24

Contra Hannah Harrington, who argues for this pure food to represent quotidian fare and that the Temple Scroll’s seven-year restriction is farcical. Hannah Harrington, “Intermarriage in Qumran Texts: The Legacy of Ezra–Nehemiah,” in Mixed Marriages: Intermarriage and Group Identity in the Second Temple Period, ed. Christian Frevel, LHBOTS 547 (London; New York: T&T Clark, 2011), 251–279, esp. 267. The fact that male admittands in 1QS VI, 17 cannot eat pure food until the completion of one year, however, in addition to the reference to a peace offering in 11Q19 LXIII, 15, suggests that this food is a special food consumed under specific ritual circumstances.

25

Text and English translation for these passages from 4QD are according to Joseph M. Baumgarten, “Damascus Document,” with James. H Charlesworth, Lidija Novakovic, and Henry W. M. Rietz, in Damascus Document II, Some Works of the Torah, and Related Documents, in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek Texts with English Translations, ed. James H.

Palmer, Women and Conversion 31 The passage combines reworkings of both Lev 19:20 and Exod 21:9.

Would this enslaved woman have been regarded to be gentile or Jewish, according to the Damascus rule fragments? In terms of the passages reworked, Lev 19:20 itself is ambiguous, though rabbinic interpretation veers toward understanding the woman as gentile.26 On the other hand, Exod 21:9 refers to an Israelite enslaved woman.27 Finally, though, the newly added reference to seven years seems to bring the full passage in line with the Temple Scroll’s regulation for the gentile captive woman. It appears that here we have again a situation whereby a female gentile enslaved woman enters into the sectarian movement through presumed marriage and a seven-year period of what one may identify as “timed integration.”

Are we to consider this conclusion of seven years as a greatly multiplied corollary to the seven days a male infant must wait prior to his circumcision on the eighth day or the seven days of repentance as experienced by Aseneth? While feasible, I would suggest that something in addition is also taking place that links the element of time with expressed intention.

4. Circumcision and Timed Integration as Mechanisms of Authentic Intention to Convert In the passage from the Rule of the Community (1QS) used above as comparison, at the end of the first year, the male admittand is tested about his spirit and his deeds. The implication is that time is required not only to “learn the ropes” of the particular halakic regulations to follow (his deeds) but also to gauge the newcomer’s inner motivations and intent in joining (his spirit). The element of patiently awaiting the passage of time to achieve partial and then full status becomes a visible marker of the admittand’s proper intent. Where the Rule of the Community is concerned, this free and autonomous individual would be Jewish and circumcised already: no circumcision is mentioned along with the tiered permissions of touching pure food and drink, indicating it is an assumed and completed expectation. The rituals of testing and timed integration, requiring waiting certain periods of time on the sidelines prior to Charlesworth, asst ed Henry W. M. Rietz, PTSDSSP 3 (Tübingen; Louisville: Mohr Siebeck; Westminster John Knox Press, 2006), 1–185.

26

Here, see Schiffman, who outlines the opposing views of Rabbi Akiva versus Rabbi Ishmael on whether the woman is a “Canaanite handmaiden.” Lawrence H. Schiffman, “Laws Pertaining to Women and Sexuality in the Early Stratum of the Damascus Document,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls and Contemporary Culture: Proceedings of the International Conference Held at the Israel Museum, Jerusalem (July 6–8, 2008), ed.

Adolfo R. Roitman, Lawrence H. Schiffman, and Shani Tzoref, STDJ 93 (Leiden; Boston: Brill, 2011), 547–569, esp. 561–562.

27 The Exod 21:9 allusion leads Schiffman to conclude that this enslaved woman is Israelite, not gentile. Schiffman, “Women and Sexuality in the Damascus Document,” 561–562.

32 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) accessing pure food and drink, offer signs of intent apart from that of circumcision.

In other instances, where the matter is that of a gentile male entering, such as the male slave of CD XII, 10–11, there, circumcision would be the sign, or the final sign, of commitment and intent.28 Think back on Josephus’s claims for Metilius, who Judaizes to the point of circumcision. This description indicates that Godfearing is one thing, and circumcision is another. To continue with this idea, in the rabbinic text b. Yebam. 48b, we find an interesting combination of both elements of circumcision and intent: purchased enslaved males are permitted twelve months to consider whether they want to be circumcised or not; if not, they are resold.

Said R. Joshua b. Levi, “He who acquires a (male) slave (‫)עבד‬ from a gentile and he (the slave) does not consent (‫ )ולא רצה‬to be circumcised, he may bear with him for twelve months ( ‫י''ב‬ ‫)חדש‬. If not circumcised (by that time) he returns and sells him to gentiles.29 The point is that the waiting period is somehow indicative of intent, demonstrated through time spent in contemplation and learning the ropes of what, exactly, is expected as an in-group member.

Thus, for the female enslaved woman, how will she show her intent, if not through physical circumcision? It seems that a lengthy period of waiting is part of the equation—seven years of waiting, in fact. One may question the significance of this particular amount of time. It is here that we turn to Deut 15:12–17 as a possible source of inspiration. In this passage, if a male or female slave completing a period of six years of indentured slavery decides not to be manumitted in the seventh year, they may carry on as an enslaved individual in perpetuity.

12 If a member of your community, whether a Hebrew man or a Hebrew woman, is sold to you and works for you six years, in the seventh year you shall set that person free. 13 And when you send a male slave out from you a free person, you shall not send him out empty-handed. 14 Provide liberally out of your 28

Here, no extant passages indicate whether the act is considered authentic depending on the individual’s agency in the circumcision. This leads me to imagine that circumcision alone, regardless of “agency,” is adequate when combined with proper adherence to the community’s regulations. See, for example, Katell Berthelet’s reflections on various ancient interpreters and their views regarding forced or voluntary circumcisions in Katell Berthelot, “La notion de ‫ גר‬dans les textes de Qumrân,” RevQ 19 (1999): 171–216, esp, 211–212, and n. 142.

29 English translation is that of the present author.

Palmer, Women and Conversion 33 flock, your threshing floor, and your wine press, thus giving to him some of the bounty with which the Lord your God has blessed you. 15 Remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt, and the Lord your God redeemed you; for this reason I lay this command upon you today. 16 But if he says to you, “I will not go out from you,” because he loves you and your household, since he is well off with you, 17 then you shall take an awl and thrust it through his earlobe into the door, and he shall be your slave forever. You shall do the same with regard to your female slave.

In the 11Q19 Temple Scroll LXIII, it is most likely that the enslaved woman has already become Jewish at least to an initial degree, after her marriage. The marriage would function as part of the conversion, as in the case of Tamar in Philo’s reworking of Gen 38 in Virt. 220–222, and also the beautiful captive woman’s newfound Israelite status in Deut 21:10–14. It seems unlikely that the beautiful captive woman could have functioned on a day-to-day basis within the community, if she were deemed gentile, at least certainly if regulations within CD that caution keeping distance from gentiles on the Sabbath (CD XI, 14–15) are at all similarly adhered within the worldview of Temple Scroll authorship.

Nevertheless, certainly, it is a status that is not complete. Is the extended period of seven years intended to mirror the idea that it is only in this way that she can show her intent to abandon idols? This time mirrors the occasion of the Hebrew enslaved woman naming her intent to remain.

Of course, there is another point to be made, which is that this woman does not have a choice—which is exactly part of the issue. Has she even been freed over the course of these seven years? The reference to avoiding reselling the woman as a slave from Deut 21:14 is not in evidence in the Temple Scroll reworking. If the base issue at hand is that seven years are required for any gentile woman to join, then perhaps only enslaved women can join, either because the relevant scriptural passage serving as antecedent involves an enslaved woman, or because it is only under those conditions that one would wait seven years to partake in the consumption of pure food. Or, possibly, in theory, any gentile woman could join if she agreed to wait seven years, but the instance is that no woman of free status could be guaranteed to wait such a lengthy period of time to ensure the abandonment of idols. To weigh among these possibilities, another point of comparison may be drawn.

5. The Additional Role of Enslavement in a Woman’s Conversion in the Dead Sea Scrolls To address these questions of the possible additional role or necessity of enslavement as a part of the female captive woman’s conversion, we might look to Roman tradition as a point of comparison. Yael Wilfand has observed the

34 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) manner in which certain rabbinical materials appear to mirror Roman regulations concerning concepts of membership granted upon manumission.

Freedmen of Roman citizens would receive Roman citizenship after manumission: in parallel, argues Wilfand, tannaitic texts suggest that for nonJewish slaves, upon manumission, conversion is complete. In other words, according to Wilfand, “servitude was considered an avenue for non-Jews to join Judaism.”30 One could ask then, when looking at the case of the beautiful captive woman, whether a look at Roman texts may hint at the status of non-Jewish enslaved women who are taken into the movement through the initial act of marriage.

Matthew Perry has observed that according to Roman law, women slaves could be manumitted for free if the purpose of the manumission were to marry the Roman owner: Slaves manumitted under the age of thirty should not become Roman citizens unless their manumission were vindicta, and upon adequate cause approved by the council. There is such adequate cause when, for instance, in the presence of the council, a man manumits his natural child, brother, or sister, or his foster-child, his children’s instructor, a slave that he means to make his procurator, or a woman-slave whom he means to marry. (Gaius, Inst. 1.18–19)31 In other words, she could be freed in order to become a wife, and her freedom represented both “reward” and the “foundation” for a new relationship.32 Furthermore, manumission could be perceived to necessitate citizenship, as freedom, citizenship, and meritorious service became connected.33 Nevertheless, there was the assumption that there was still obligation on the part of the woman, in terms of her marriage.34 Her freedom was not complete.

Using this comparison, could we correlate the Roman freedwoman’s manumission and gained citizenship for the sake of marriage to the beautiful

30

Yael Wilfand, “Roman Concepts of Citizenship, and Rabbinic Approaches to the Lineage of Converts and the Integration of Their Descendants into Israel,” JAJ 11 (2020): 45–75, esp. 52. One might also consider here b. Hor. 13a, in which one finds that a proselyte precedes a freed slave in terms of hierarchy, implying that the freed slave is also a convert.

31 English translation is according to James Muirhead and Studemund Wilhelm, The Institutes of Gaius and Rules of Ulpian: The Former from Studemund’s Apograph of the Verona Codex (Edinburgh; London; New York: T&T Clark, 1880), 6–7.

32 Matthew J. Perry, Gender, Manumission, and the Roman Freedwoman (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 54.

33 Perry, Gender, 61. Perry cites as example Cicero, Balb., 24.

34 Perry, Gender, 56.

Palmer, Women and Conversion 35 captive woman’s marriage and seven-year process leading to fuller membership, evidenced in the consumption of pure food? Could her Jewish sectarian membership correlate to Roman citizenship, and thus also imply that manumission takes effect?35 Or, is the Roman freedwoman’s continued expectation of obligation to her spouse the key point—that despite marriage and membership (corresponding to citizenship), she does not gain full freedom. The trouble with the case of the beautiful captive woman is that unlike manumission preceding marriage for the (soon-to-be) Roman freedwoman, marriage happens first—she is already a wife prior to full membership after a wait of seven years.

In other words, manumission is not a prerequisite to marriage.

However, here we do find an interesting question to pursue—whereas the enslaved woman in Roman law becomes manumitted in order to be married, the inverse happens with the Temple Scroll’s rewriting of the beautiful captive woman. It appears that she needs to be an enslaved woman in order to marry the community member. Indeed, the only articulation of a female gentile’s conversion and entrance into the group is that of an enslaved woman.

Meanwhile, 11Q19 Temple Scroll LVII, 15–17 articulates a prohibition against marriage to a (presumably free) gentile woman: “And he shall not take a wife from among all the daughters of the nations, but instead take for himself a wife from his father’s house, from his father’s family.” Certainly, the individual to whom the prohibition applies is the king and not an average layperson. Through the omission of an actual prohibition of a lay Israelite’s marriage to a free gentile woman, could this indicate that such a marriage and conversion could be entertained? It seems unlikely, especially in light of another intertextual observation made by Hannah Harrington, this time regarding 11Q19 Temple Scroll II, 12–15.36 This passage warns against idol worship arising from marriage to a foreign spouse, in a reworking of Exod 34:15–16: Take care not to make [a covenant with the occupants of] 13 [the land, they whore] after [their] go[ds and] make sacrifices to t[hem, lest they entice] 14 [you and you eat (part) of their sacrifices and acc]ept [their daughters for your sons,] 15 [and their daughters will whore after their gods.... (11Q19 II, 12– 15) It appears that only an enslaved gentile woman may marry and enter the 35

Here again we may consider the close rapport between “citizenship” and “sectarian membership,” when thinking of conversion as a kind of change in “citizenship” that comprises all aspects of an individual’s ethnicity, meaning the individual’s full identity, including elements of homeland, sacred texts, and customs, in other words, concepts of kinship and culture. See Steve Mason, “Jews, Judaeans, Judaizing, Judaism: Problems of Categorization in Ancient History,” JSJ 38 (2007): 457–512, esp. 491–492.

36 Harrington, “Intermarriage,” 266.

36 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) movement as a kind of “convert.” In the case of a woman, she must literally be a gentile slave in order to enter the movement, mirroring the fact that it is through an ongoing enslaved status that the woman of Deut 15:17 shows her intent to remain. And what about after her marriage? Does she attain freedom, then? Here, in the hopes of finding an answer, we should turn again to the unusual duration of seven years required prior to eating the community’s pure food. It seems that we have two possibilities: as a first possibility, she is freed in the seventh year, as in Deut 15:12, but with the ongoing “expectation” of service, as with the Roman freedwoman. This outcome would sit well with Lev 25:39’s requirement that Israelites may not keep fellow Israelites as slaves. As she is fully converted, and this conversion includes a change in kinship, she has become Israelite and could be in contravention of the requirement of Lev 25:39 if not freed.

As a second possibility, she decides not to be manumitted in the seventh year and instead decides to carry on as an enslaved individual in perpetuity, as in Deut 15:16–17. In this regard, Deut 15:16–17 seems to counter Lev 25:39, making the ongoing enslavement now a possibility due to her “intent” to join. Furthermore, we recall that 11Q19 Temple Scroll LVII prohibited marriage to a free gentile woman, thus excluding free female converts in general.

If so, it appears that a gentile woman must be enslaved in order to enter the movement as a convert, and is either manumitted but with the understanding of ongoing service obligation, or offers express intent to join through “waiving” her right to manumission. For the female convert, her servitude is ongoing and literal.

6. Conclusions and Thoughts for Ongoing Exploration We draw this essay to a close by circling back to where we began and compare the manner in which the Dead Sea Scroll passages from the Temple Scroll and Damascus Document fragments respond to gentile women entering the community and their uncircumcision with those other texts we assessed briefly.

In the case of Philo women are not capable of spiritual growth and, therefore, have no need for circumcision. In this case, a notion of spiritual growth and development is connected to the act of circumcision. Nevertheless, women can convert through marriage and idol repudiation, which also requires a kind of cultic decision-making. Philo thus seems conflicted on the matter.

Where Josephus is concerned, a woman’s uncircumcision means that she can act like a Jew, but cannot become Jewish. Here, too, she can follow the laws, but that alone is not enough. In the case of Joseph and Aseneth, Aseneth can indeed convert, as readily available to her are both the ability to integrate correct practices, and also the ability to have an inner transformation, through a sort of symbolic circumcision, expressed in eight days of repentance and reflection.

Where does that leave women converts of the Dead Sea movement?

First, it seems that no mechanism is available to free, gentile women. However,

Palmer, Women and Conversion 37 certain enslaved women will enter the community, and purity regulations necessitate some sort of mechanism for their conversion, despite their uncircumcision. One constant across the board is that simply repudiating idols and following laws is not enough on their own to constitute a gentile woman’s conversion. However, for the Dead Sea movement, neither is marriage combined with following the laws adequate, as it appears to be for Philo. There must be a way for the woman to show her intent, or, said differently, to have her spirit be examined, to borrow the language from the Rule of the Community.

This intent is demonstrated through marriage and a subsequent period of waiting seven years prior to consuming the community’s pure food, mirroring the account in Deut 15 of the seven years an enslaved Hebrew woman endures prior to waiving away her manumission forever if she so chooses. A comparison to the case in Roman law of the marriage of a female slave to her owner serves as a further argument that the woman of the Temple Scroll remains enslaved: unlike her Roman counterpart, she is not freed prior to marriage. In this regard, the moment at which full membership of the beautiful captive woman is granted is a true contradiction: she has gained cultic freedoms, or freedoms of the “spirit,” as a full member and convert, but also, she remains, seemingly, an enslaved woman forever.

Did Jewish Women Circumcise Male Infants in Antiquity? A Reassessment of the Evidence Thomas R. Blanton IV John Carroll University | trbiv@mac.com JJMJS No. 10 (2023): 38-66

Abstract: Two diametrically opposed assumptions have influenced interpretations of circumcision rituals in ancient Judaism: either women performed the operation on their infant sons because children at birth and during infancy remained under the purview of the mother; or, conversely, men—specifically a ritual agent known as the mohel—performed circumcisions, because only they were typically granted authority to carry out the ritual. This study reassesses the pertinent texts, including Exodus 4 and passages from the books of Maccabees and the Babylonian Talmud (b. Šabb. 134a; b. Yebam. 64b; b. ʿAbod. Zar. 27a), to determine whether women in ancient Judaism may have circumcised their infant sons; and shows that an older, family-based ritual practice in which either mothers or fathers performed the operation was being replaced by late antiquity by a specialist-based ritual performed by mohels from outside the household.

Keywords: Circumcision, Ritual, Ancient Judaism, Mohel, Women’s ritual agency

1. Introduction As a “sign of the covenant” between God and his people, ideological aspects of circumcision have been elaborated in detail.1 Preferential treatment given to the I thank Ryan D. Collman and Matthew Novensen for inviting me to present a version of this paper at the online Edinburgh Circumcision, Gender, and Ethnicity Conference (16, 23, 30 August 2021) and Matthew Thiessen for his response. I am grateful to Claudia D. Bergmann, John J. Collins, Rebecca Ullrich, Susan Ackerman, and an anonymous reviewer for reading and commenting on earlier drafts of this paper. Any remaining shortcomings are entirely my own responsibility.

1 See, e.g., Lawrence A. Hoffman, Covenant of Blood: Circumcision and Gender in Ancient Judaism, Chicago Studies in the History of Judaism (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996); Andreas Blaschke, Beschneidung: Zeugnisse der Bibel und verwandter Texte (Tübingen: Francke, 1998); Simon Claude Mimouni, La circoncision dans le monde judéen aux époques grecque et romaine: Histoire d’un conflit interne au judaïsme (Leuven:

39 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) symbolic aspects of the ritual leaves curious lacunae with respect to its material realia: How exactly was the procedure performed, with what instrument(s), with what effects on the body and its functioning, and who performed it? Moreover, as Jewish circumcision has traditionally been practiced only on males during infancy, the ritual raises important questions about sex and gender, the life cycle, and ritual agency. Female agents—mothers, midwives, and wet-nurses—are typically associated with the care of newborns, infants, and children, yet male actors—mohels—have, at least since the medieval period, been viewed as the agents responsible for performing the cutting ritual on eight-day-old boys. How and when did this apparent paradox arise? This study considers the possibility that women exercised agency as circumcisers of their infant sons in ancient Judaism and sheds light on the development of the mohel as a ritual agent by late antiquity.

In an article on the importance of women’s ritual activity within ancient Israelite households, Carol Meyers identifies practices that “were part of the religious culture associated with women’s reproductive concerns,” including those designed to ensure fertility and the protection of newborns, cutting the umbilical cord and washing the newborn. Meyers adds that naming children and circumcising male infants fell into the same category.2 Similarly, commenting on the story of Zipporah’s circumcision of her son Gershom in Exod 4:24–26, Meir Bar-Ilan claimed that “as a rule, women cared for the newborn infant, severed the umbilical cord, nursed and clothed him, so it is not at all surprising that they also removed the foreskin.”3 The evidence for the view that Judean or Jewish women sometimes served as the primary agents in circumcising their sons in antiquity is, however, contested. Susan Haber, for example, argued that although women were understood as bearing the responsibility for having their male children circumcised in the Second Temple period, nevertheless they did not perform the ritual themselves, but enlisted male ritual agents to carry out the task.4

Peeters, 2007); David Gollaher, Circumcision: A History of the World’s Most Controversial Surgery (New York: Basic Books, 2000); Shaye J. D. Cohen, Why Aren’t Jewish Women Circumcised? Gender and Covenant in Judaism (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005); Hugh Young, “Circumcision as a Memeplex,” in Bodily Integrity and the Politics of Circumcision: Culture, Controversy and Change, ed. George C. Denniston et al. (New York: Springer, 2006), 1–16; and Matthew Thiessen, Contesting Conversion: Genealogy, Circumcision, and Identity in Ancient Judaism and Christianity (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011).

2 Carol Meyers, “From Household to House of Yahweh: Women’s Religious Culture in Ancient Israel,” in Congress Volume: Basel 2001, ed. André Lemaire, VTSup 92 (Leiden: Brill, 2002), 277–303 (citation 289).

3 Meir Bar-Ilan, Some Jewish Women in Antiquity (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1998), 17–18.

4 Susan Haber, “They Shall Purify Themselves”: Essays on Purity in Early Judaism, ed.

Adele Reinhartz, EJL 24 (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2008), 75–92.

Blanton, Did Jewish Women Circumcise 40 This paper assesses the sources pertinent to the question of whether Judean or Jewish women performed circumcisions on male infants from around the eighth or sixth century BCE through around the end of late antiquity (ca. the eighth century CE); recognizing from the outset that, as Karin Neutel points out, the “sources that can shed light on what happened during a circumcision are remarkably scarce” during that period.5 Moreover, the sources do not present unmediated images of ancient social and ritual practices, but rather constitute literary narratives, with all of the problems that the devices of characterization, plot, stereotypical themes, and so on imply for historiography.

The pertinent sources, including Exod 4:24–26 and portions of the books of Maccabees, the Babylonian Talmud, and the Scroll of Antiochus will be assessed in what follows.

2. Zipporah’s Circumcision of Gershom (Exod 4:24–26) As we have already noted, Bar-Ilan cites Exod 4:24–26 in his claim that women performed circumcisions in antiquity. The narrative, from the nonpriestly portion of the Pentateuch written in the late exilic or postexilic period, that is, around the sixth to fifth centuries BCE, or, for proponents of the Documentary Hypothesis, in the eighth century BCE or earlier, offers the oldest extant account in Judaic literature of a woman performing a circumcision ritual; in this case, on Zipporah’s son Gershom.6 Numerous difficulties, however, attend the interpretation of the brief text, and the referent of the pronouns is ambiguous. According to the Hebrew text, Yahweh meets and desires to kill “him”—probably Moses, who was addressed by Yahweh in the previous passage (Exod 4:21–23); and less likely the

5

Here I take Peter Brown’s delimitation of “late antiquity” as extending from the third to the eighth century CE as indicative of antiquity’s terminal period (Peter Brown, The World of Late Antiquity: From Marcus Aurelius to Muhammad [London: Thames & Hudson, 1971]). On the limited information available: Karin B. Neutel, “Circumcision Gone Wrong: Paul’s Message as a Case of Ritual Disruption,” Neot 50, no. 2 (2016): 373– 396, esp. 376. The information for later periods is more plentiful; see, e.g., Hoffman, Covenant of Blood; Cohen, Why Aren’t Jewish Women Circumcised?; Elisheva Baumgarten, Mothers and Children: Jewish Family Life in Medieval Europe (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2004), 55–89. I thank Claudia Bergmann for bringing Baumgarten’s work to my attention.

6 On the dating of the sources: Thomas B. Dozeman, Commentary on Exodus, ECC (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), 37–43; John J. Collins, Introduction to the Hebrew Bible (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2004), 47–65, 107; Ernest Nicholson, The Pentateuch in the Twentieth Century: The Legacy of Julius Wellhausen (Oxford: Clarendon, 1998); Thomas B. Dozeman and Konrad Schmid, A Farewell to the Yahwist? The Composition of the Pentateuch in Recent European Interpretation (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2006); Konrad Schmidt, “The Neo-Documentarian Manifesto: A Critical Reading,” JBL 140, no. 3 (2021): 461–479.

41 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) son, Gershom, who has not yet been introduced at that point in the narrative.7 In order to prevent the attack, Moses’s Midianite wife, Zipporah, takes a flint knife and “cuts off” (‫ ) ַוִתְּכר ֹת‬the foreskin of Gershom, subsequently touching “his” “feet” with it—“feet” here being a euphemism referring to the phallus.8 Presumably the phallus so touched is Moses’s and not Yahweh’s (a possibility entertained by Dozeman), since Zipporah next exclaims, “You are a bridegroom of blood to me!”—a phrase indicating Zipporah’s marital relation to Moses.9 The narrative specifies the ritual agent responsible for severing the foreskin— Zipporah—and the object utilized in the performance of the ritual, a stone knife, most likely made of flint.10 Zipporah’s ritual expertise serves an apotropaic function; and in this case, it is Yahweh whose hostile attack is deflected (Exod 4:26 NRSV: “So he [Yahweh] let him [Moses] alone.”). As Dozeman notes, blood, which is mentioned twice in the passage, is also used to prevent Yahweh “the destroyer” from attacking the Israelite firstborn in Exod 12:21–23.11 While the mythic episode can hardly be imagined to depict the way in which the circumcision ritual was typically carried out, it is noteworthy that the narrator attributes to Zipporah the agency required to perform the circumcision both readily and successfully. Perhaps this is because, as Bar-Ilan indicates, “as a rule, women cared for the newborn infant … so it is not at all surprising that they also removed the foreskin.” On the other hand, perhaps Zipporah’s ritual agency is only a literary device: both Meyers and Dozeman indicate that the narrative presents Midianites as agents whose ritual expertise allows them successfully to interact with the god Yahweh, who is introduced to Moses on the “mountain of God” in Midian (Exod 3:1–6).12 Moreover, as Dozeman notes, Zipporah’s saving of Moses by circumcising Gershom develops the theme of Moses’s salvation by women, a theme encountered already in Exod 1:15–2:10, where as an infant his life is saved by the interventions of Hebrew midwives and nurses.13 Deploying Victor Turner’s notions of liminality and anti-structure, Susan Ackerman has argued that Zipporah usurps her father’s role as circumciser, assuming male and priestly prerogatives during a liminal period of wandering in which traditional gender roles were suspended or inverted.14 7

Similarly, Susan Ackerman, “Why Is Miriam Also among the Prophets? (And Zipporah among the Priests?),” JBL 121, no. 1 (2002): 47–80, esp. 73.

8 Similarly in Exod 4:25; Isa 6:2 (see HALOT, s.v. “‫ ֶר ֶגל‬,” 4); Dozeman, Exodus, 366.

9 Dozeman, Exodus, 349 (see also 366), writes, “The antecedent to ‘his’ is unclear in the MT, whether Moses, his son, or Yahweh.”

10 On flint blades, see Steven A. Rosen, “The Canaanean Blade and the Early Bronze Age,” IEJ 33, nos. 1–2 (1983): 15–29; Rosen, Lithics after the Stone Age: A Handbook of Stone Tools from the Levant (Walnut Creek, CA: AltaMira, 1997).

11 Dozeman, Exodus, 368.

12 See Exod 3:1; 4:18; 18:1–10, 13–27; Carol Meyers, Exodus, NCBC (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 63–64; Dozeman, Exodus, 356–360, 367–368.

13 Dozeman, Exodus, 366.

14 Ackerman, “Why Is Miriam Also among the Prophets?,” 71–75. In a different vein,

Blanton, Did Jewish Women Circumcise 42 Due to the problems the literary construction of the narrative poses for historiography, the relation of Exodus 4 to actual ritual practice is complex: parts of the narrative utilize verisimilitude and thus likely reflect actual ritual practices (i.e., the use of a flint knife [cp. Josh 5:2–3; Josh 21:42d; 24:31, 31a LXX], and the severing of the foreskin during circumcision). Other parts, however, reflect literary invention: Gershom’s circumcision occurs on the road, during his family’s journey from Midian to Egypt, rather than at home (on circumcision in domestic contexts, see section 6 below). Moreover, the circumcision appears as an unplanned and ad hoc response to Yahweh’s hostile attack against Moses; and, as a result, does not appear to be tied to any particular part of the life cycle of the circumcised, whether infancy (e.g., Gen 17:9–14, 23– 27) or puberty and marriage (e.g., Gen 17:25; 34:13–17; Josephus, Ant. 1.12 [§2]; cp. Zipporah’s statement, “you are a bloody bridegroom” in Exod 2:26), as would be expected.15 Since Gershom is circumcised by his mother, he may very well be understood as an infant, not yet weaned and remaining in the domain of maternal influence, in the episode (see further section 10 below).

William H. C. Propp, Exodus 1–18: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, Hermeneia (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1999), 32–34, analyzes the narrative as a “heroic adventure story,” relying on the typology of fairy tales developed

by Vladimir Propp, Morphology of the Folktale, 2nd ed., trans. Laurence Scott, American Folklore Society Bibliographical and Special Series 9 (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2009).

15 For puberty as the most common time for circumcision cross-culturally and for circumcision as a rite of premarital initiation, see Emil G. Hirsch, Kaufmann Kohler, Joseph Jacobs, Aaron Friedenwald, and Isaac Broydé, “Circumcision,” Jewish Encyclopedia, 12 vols. (New York: Funk & Wagnalls, 1901–1906), 4:92–102; D. Doyle, “Ritual Male Circumcision: A Brief History,” Journal of the Royal College of Physicians of Edinburgh 35 (2005): 279–285 (the idea that the procedure protects against HIV/AIDS and penile carcinoma is, however, a flimsy rationale to justify the prophylactic removal of healthy tissue on medical grounds); Meyers, Exodus, 64–65. On the contrary, Ulrich Zimmermann, “Beschneidung (AT),” WiBiLex: Das wissenschaftliche Bibellexikon im Internet, Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, https://www.bibelwissenschaft.de/wibilex/dasbibellexikon/lexikon/sachwort/anzeigen/details/beschneidung-at/ch/ 56e1af39f3c2c295f462b405515b991a/, last accessed Aug. 24, 2021, does not think that the connection of circumcision with puberty and marriage is evident in the Hebrew Bible.

Zimmermann thinks that in the preexilic period, circumcision functioned as a “sign of tribal affiliation” (Stammeszeichen). On Gershom’s age: In the redacted, “biblical” form of the text, an indeterminate amount of narrative time elapses between Gershom’s birth (Exod 2:22) and his circumcision; according to Exod 2:23, it is “a long time” (so NRSV; lit., “many days,” an idiom that could imply years). However, as Propp (Exodus 1–18, 170, 174, 191) notes, Exod 4:24–26 is related to the literary activity of the “Yahwist” or is perhaps an “excerpt from another, unknown source,” whereas the temporal notice in Exod 2:23 cannot easily be assigned to any particular “source” within the framework of the Documentary Hypothesis; thus Exod 2:23 tells us nothing of the child’s age as it is imagined in Exod 4:24–26. I thank Susan Ackerman for pointing this out.

43 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) In sum, although the Exodus narrative attributes significant agency to Zipporah as she circumcises her son, the details of the ritual are shaped by literary and narrative considerations. For this reason, the extent to which Zipporah’s role as maternal circumciser constituted a typical practice when the text was written remains unclear. That said, evidence that some mothers circumcised their sons occurs in later periods, as we will see.

3. Women as Circumcisers in the Books of Maccabees Moving from the exilic or postexilic (or earlier) narrative in Exodus 4, we turn to the Hellenistic- and Roman-period books of 1, 2, and 4 Maccabees, where we encounter additional references to women performing circumcisions. The interpretation of these passages, however, has been the subject of debate, the issue hinging on whether or not the relevant verb, περιτέμνω (“to circumcise”), is to be understood in a causative sense.

Written in Hebrew (now lost) perhaps in the last decade of John Hyrcanus’s rule (135/134–104 BCE) and subsequently translated into Greek, 1 Maccabees narrates events surrounding the Hasmonean Revolt.16 After the Seleucid king Antiochus IV Epiphanes had reportedly outlawed the observance of the laws of the Torah in 167 BCE, 1 Macc 1:60–61 narrates the following: 60

καὶ τὰς γυναῖκας τὰς περιτετμηκυίας τὰ τέκνα αὐτῶν ἐθανάτωσαν κατὰ τὸ πρόσταγμα 61καὶ ἐκρέμασαν τὰ βρέφη ἐκ τῶν τραχήλων αὐτῶν, καὶ τοὺς οἴκους αὐτῶν καὶ τοὺς περιτετμηκότας αὐτούς.

And the women who had circumcised their children they put to death according to the ordinance, and they hung the babies from their necks and put to death their families and those [masc.] who circumcised them. (NETS)17 The verb περιτέμνω, “to circumcise,” occurs twice in the passage. In the first instance, the verb appears as an attributive participle modifying “women” (τὰς 16

On the dating, see Uriel Rappaport, “Maccabees, First Book of,” in The Eerdmans Dictionary of Early Judaism, ed. John J. Collins and Daniel C. Harlow (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2010), 903–905; Michael Tilly (1 Makkabäer, HTKAT [Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 2015], 48) argues that the Hebrew version of 1 Maccabees was written in Jerusalem around the time of the death of John Hyrcanus (i.e., ca. 104 BCE). Jonathan A. Goldstein (I Maccabees: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 41 [Garden City: Doubleday, 1976], 62–64) dates the text to the reign of Alexander Jannaeus (i.e., 103–76 BCE). On the lost Hebrew version and its Greek translation: Goldstein, I Maccabees, 14–15 (“extremely literal ‘translatese’”), 176; George T. Zervos, “1 Makkabees,” in A New English Translation of the Septuagint, ed. Albert Pietersma and Benjamin G. Wright (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 478–479 (“extremely literal Jewish-Greek translational style”).

17 Translation of Zervos, “1 Makkabees,” in A New English Translation of the Septuagint (abbrev. NETS), 478–502.

Blanton, Did Jewish Women Circumcise 44 γυναῖκας τὰς περιτετμηκυίας); and in the second instance, it appears in a masculine

plural form that functions as a substantive; that is, “those (men) who had circumcised” (τοὺς περιτετμηκότας) infants. The Hebrew Vorlage may have featured a finite verb and a participle (underlined) rather than two participles as in the Greek versions; Seckel Isaac Fränkel’s (1830) rendering of the Greek into Hebrew reads: ‫ ואת המלים אותם הרגו‬... ‫והנשים אשר מלו את בניהן הומתו‬.18 Since the underlying Hebrew can only tentatively be reconstructed on the basis of the Greek versions, however, the interpretation of the passage proceeds primarily on the basis of the latter.

In his commentary on 1 Maccabees, Jonathan Goldstein writes, “In the time of Antiochus IV seeing to the circumcision of babies appears to have been the responsibility of the mother, even though she did not perform the operation herself.”19 The evidence that Goldstein cites, however, including 1 Macc 1:60– 61, 2 Macc 6:10, and even Exod 4:24–26, does not adequately support his position. It is odd that Goldstein cites Exodus 4, which, as we have seen, most likely envisions Zipporah as carrying out the circumcision herself; thus the citation contradicts Goldstein’s claim. He also cites the article on circumcision in the Jewish Encyclopedia (1903) for support. The encyclopedia article, however, indicates that “while in Biblical times the mother (perhaps generally) performed the operation, it was in later times performed by a surgeon … also called by the specific name ‘mohel’” (the article, in turn, cites Josephus, Ant. 20.2, 4; b. B. Bat. 21a; b. Šabb 130b, 133b, 135, 156a). The Josephus account, however, refers to the circumcision of Izates, king of Adiabene in the early- to mid-first century CE, by what was likely a non-Jewish royal physician; thus, this says nothing about typical Judaic practice in or around the first century CE.20 18

Seckel Isaac Fränkel, Later Writings Known by the Name “Apocrypha…” [Hebrew] [Fleischer: Leipzig, 1830] renders the text (numbered 1 Macc 1:58–59): ‫והנשים אשר מלו את‬ ‫ ואת המלים אותם הרגו בחרב ויבוזו את בתיהם‬... ‫“( בניהן הומתו על פי המלך‬And the women who had circumcised their sons were put to death in accordance with the decree of the king … and those circumcising [masc.] them they killed with the sword, and they plundered their houses”). Fränkel’s Hebrew text largely corresponds with the readings of a “corrector” of Sinaiticus (Sc) and the Lucianic version (L). In contrast, I utilize the Greek as printed in Alfred Rahlfs and Robert Hanhart, Septuaginta: Editio altera (Stuttgart: Deutsche Gesellschaft, 2006), whose critical text prefers the “more difficult” readings of Sinaiticus (S) and Alexandrinus (A) in this passage. Fränkel’s translation is viewable online at the Hathi Trust Digital Library: babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=hvd.ah5jef&view=1up&seq=37; and (unpointed) on Sefaria: https://www.sefaria.org/The_Book_of_Maccabees_I.1.59?lang=bi&with=all&lang2=en.

19 Goldstein, I Maccabees, 139.

20 On the passage, see Mark D. Nanos, “The Question of Conceptualization: Qualifying Paul’s Position on Circumcision in Dialogue with Josephus’s Advisors to King Izates,” in Paul within Judaism: Restoring the First-Century Context of the Apostle, ed. Mark D. Nanos and Magnus Zetterholm (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2015) 105–152; Thomas R. Blanton IV, “Circumcision in the Early Jesus Movement: Perspectives of Simon Claude

45 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) The references to Talmudic passages pertain to the ritual practices of the fifth through the eighth centuries CE, when the Babylonian Talmud was compiled.

As we will argue below in section 8, some of the compilers of the Talmud advocated that only males could perform circumcisions, and therefore could not countenance the possibility that Zipporah herself circumcised Gershom. A Babylonian position advocated in the Gemara, however, cannot be assumed to have been normative in Judea some seven centuries earlier.

Goldstein also cites the Codex of Justinian (issued in 534 CE) for support, but the relevant passages list penalties for any Jew who circumcises a Christian, has him circumcised (Cod. Just. 1.9.16), or circumcises a Christian slave (Cod. Just. 1.10.1).21 The codex provides no evidence pertaining to the circumcision of Jewish infants. In short, none of this evidence supports the claim that a mother could “not perform the operation herself” during the second century BCE. (On the passages in 1 and 2 Maccabees, see further below.)

Susan Haber espouses a position similar to that of Goldstein: women were viewed as being “responsible” for having their sons circumcised, but they did not carry out the rite themselves. Commenting on 1 Macc 1:60–61, Haber writes:22 In this account, the women are mentioned first, indicating that they were the ones held responsible for the circumcision of their children. It is evident, however, that they did not perform the circumcisions themselves, as the text specifies that both the families and those who performed the ritual circumcisions were put to death along with the mothers. Here the use of the masculine participle περιτετμηκότας indicates that the procedure was likely performed by a man.

Haber’s interpretation of 1 Macc 1:60–61 receives support from the NRSV, which translates the passage as follows: “According to the decree, they put to death the women who had their children circumcised, and their families and those who circumcised them.”23 Mimouni, ‘Paul within Judaism,’ and ‘Lived Ancient Religion,’” JJMJS 8 (2021): 105–131, esp. 147, 152–153.

21 For the text and an English translation, see Bruce W. Frier, ed., The Codex of Justinian: A New Annotated Translation, with Parallel Latin and Greek Text; Based on a Translation

by Justice Fred H. Blume, 2 vols. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016). See further section 9 below.

22 Haber, “They Shall Purify Themselves,” 80.

23 Tilly, 1 Makkabäer, 82, similarly translates: “Und gemäß dem Befehl töteten sie die Frauen, die ihre Kinder hatten beschneiden lassen…. Und sie töteten auch ihre Familien und die, die sie beschnitten hatten” (“And in accordance with the order, they executed the women who had their children circumcised.… And they also executed their families and those who had circumcised them”).

Blanton, Did Jewish Women Circumcise 46 Andreas Blaschke provides the most detailed argument in favor of seeing only male circumcisers in 1 Maccabees 1; and indeed, in all of the books of Maccabees.24 Like Haber, he notes that “the explicit mention of the (male) circumciser suggests a causative understanding of τὰς γυναῖκας τὰς περιτετμηκυίας: the women have [ließen] circumcision [performed].”25 Blaschke further argues that the mention of “those (masc.) who had circumcised” children in 1 Macc 1:61 constitutes “the first trace [die erste Spur] of the ‫מוהל‬ [mohel] or similar terms of the rabbinic texts.”26 A mohel or mohel-like ritual expert may be envisioned, Blaschke suggests, because the males who had circumcised children are distinguished from the “members of the household” in 1 Macc 1:61 (καὶ τοὺς οἴκους αὐτῶν καὶ τοὺς περιτετμηκότας αὐτούς); the circumcisers therefore must have come from outside the household.

As Blaschke makes clear, the denial that women themselves performed circumcisions on their infant sons is predicated on the understanding that the verb περιτέμνω has a causative sense, “to cause to be circumcised,” “to have someone circumcised”; in addition to the more common, transitive usage: “to circumcise (someone).” We must therefore briefly consider the evidence for the purported causal usage of the verb περιτέμνω.

4. A Causative Usage of περιτέμνω?

In his classic reference work, Greek Grammar, Herbert Symth defines the causative active as a verbal usage in which “an action [is] performed at the bidding of the subject”; as, for example, ἀποκτείνω, “to put to death”; and οἰκοδομέω, “to build” (in the sense “to have [something] built [by others]”).27 Smyth also lists a category of denominative verbs (i.e., those derived from the stems of nouns) ending in -όω that are typically used causatively, “denoting to cause or to make”: δηλόω, “to make clear”; δουλόω, “to enslave”; and μαστιγόω, “to whip.”28 More recently, Daniel Wallace has offered a more detailed treatment: causative (or ergative) active verbs are those whose “subject is not directly involved in the action, but may be said to be the ultimate source or cause of it.… Often the causative idea is part of the lexeme (especially with -όω and -ίζω verbs), though other verbs can also be ergative without any help from the verbal stem”: ἀνατέλλω, “to cause to rise”; βρέχω; “to cause it to rain.”29 David Alan Black expands the list of verbal endings that may connote causation to include 24

Blaschke, Beschneidung, 171–176.

Blaschke, Beschneidung, 174 (emphasis is Blaschke’s).

26 Blaschke, Beschneidung, 174 (emphasis is Blaschke’s). Similarly Zimmermann, “Beschneidung”: “In 1Makk 1,61 [Lutherbibel: 1Makk 1,64] sind für das Judentum erstmals spezielle Beschneider erwähnt.”

27 Smyth, Greek Grammar, 390, §1711.

28 Smyth, Greek Grammar, 245, §866.3 (emphasis is Smyth’s).

29 Daniel B. Wallace, Greek Grammar Beyond the Basics: An Exegetical Syntax of the New Testament (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1996), 413–414.

25

47 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) -αίνω and -ύνω as well as -όω and -ίζω, adducing φανερόω, “to make manifest”; αἰσχύνω, “to make ashamed”; and φωτίζω, “to illumine” among his examples.30 Wallace’s comments imply that we must distinguish lexically causative verbs—those whose causativity may be seen as inherent in the verbal stem or ending—endings typically including -όω, -αίνω, -ύνω, or -ίζω, from contextually causative ones; that is, verbs whose causativity may be inferred from the context.31 Neither Smyth nor Wallace lists any criteria for assigning contextual causality to verbs, although the examples they give offer indications: contextually causal verbs are those that do not end in -όω, -αίνω, -ύνω, or -ίζω and that refer to actions not typically performed by the verbal subject but delegated to agents. Similarly, situations in which a service involving professional or contracted labor fall into this category; for example: οἰκοδομέω, “to have a house built.”

Ending in neither -όω, -αίνω, -ύνω, or -ίζω, the verb περιτέμνω cannot be considered to be lexically causative. The lexica bear this out: LSJ defines περιτέμνω as “cut or clip round about,” “to cut off,” noting that it is used of circumcision.32 For its part, BDAG offers the gloss “to circumcise,” noting instances where the verb is used with an object in the accusative case (e.g., Luke 1:59; 2:21; John 7:22; Acts 7:8; 15:5; Barn. 9:8), indicating a transitive usage.33 The Greek-English Lexicon of the Septuagint similarly indicates that in the active voice, the verb takes an object in the accusative (e.g., Gen 17:27: περιέτεμεν αὐτούς; Gen 17:23 Αβρααμ … περιέτεμεν τὰς ἀκροβυστίας αὐτῶν).34 The lexica thus offer no indication that the verb is lexically causative; this is consistent with the fact that περιτέμνω is not formed on the basis of any of the endings that characterize lexically causative verbs.

Although περιτέμνω is not lexically causative, it remains possible that it could in some cases act as a contextually causative verb. In his A Grammar of the New Testament in the Light of Historical Research, A. T. Robertson lists περιτέμνω as (contextually) causative in one instance: when Paul is the subject in Acts 16:3: ὁ Παῦλος … λαβὼν περιέτεμεν αὐτὸν; “Paul took him and circumcised him (NRSV: ‘had him circumcised’)”; “him” referring to Timothy.35 It is not necessary to attribute a causative sense to περιτέμνω in this verse, however. Hans Conzelmann, for example, translates, “[Paul] circumcised him,” opining,

30

David Alan Black, Linguistics for Students of New Testament Greek: A Survey of Basic Concepts and Applications, 2nd ed. (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1995), 69.

31 Although Wallace lists -ίζω verbs in this category, Smyth (Greek Grammar, 245, §866.6) indicates that verbs ending in -ίζω typically denote action.

32 LSJ, s.v. “περιτέμνω.”

33 BDAG, s.v. “περιτέμνω.”

34 Johan Lust, Erik Eynikel, and Katrin Hauspie, eds., Greek-English Lexicon of the Septuagint, 3rd ed. (Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 2015), s.v. “περιτέμνω.”

35 A. T. Robertson, A Grammar of the New Testament in the Light of Historical Research, 2nd ed. (New York: Hodder & Stoughton, 1915), 801.

Blanton, Did Jewish Women Circumcise 48 “Circumcision can be performed by any Israelite.”36 Similarly, Richard Pervo writes: “To enhance Timothy’s fitness for mission, Paul circumcised him.”37 Thus, the evidence for the causative usage of περιτέμνω is either slim or nonexistent in the sources examined here. Admittedly, a wider study of the usage in Josephus, Philo, and other Greek literature could yield different results, but that is beyond the scope of the present discussion. My claim here is not that περιτέμνω never has a contextually causative sense, only that we need to examine each usage carefully to determine whether, in any given instance, a causative usage can plausibly be asserted. This very brief lexical discussion does, however, suggest that the “default” usage of the term is transitive, but not causative (see also the additional examples cited below).

5. On the Usage of περιτέμνω in 1, 2, and 4 Maccabees Although Blaschke did not distinguish between lexically and contextually causative verbs, his thesis requires that the verb be understood as contextually causative in 1 Macc 1:60, 2 Macc 6:10, and 4 Macc 4:25. We next examine the latter two passages, and subsequently revisit 1 Macc 1:60–61 in more detail.

The verb περιτέμνω also occurs with women as the subjects in 2 Macc 6:10 and 4 Macc 4:25. The first passage reads δύο γὰρ γυναῖκες ἀνήχθησαν περιτετμηκυῖαι τὰ τέκνα (NETS/NRSV: “two women were brought in [or: ‘brought up’] for having circumcised their children”). In this case, women are said to have circumcised their children and, unlike 1 Macc 1:60, no men are mentioned.

Although Blaschke attributes a causal sense to the verb in this case, translating “weil sie ihre Söhne hatten beschneiden lassen” (“because they had their sons circumcised”), the grounds for doing so are in this case weaker than in 1 Macc 1:60, as no male circumcisers are mentioned. In his commentary on 2 Maccabees, Goldstein translates “Two women were brought to trial for having circumcised their children,” which seems to imply that women performed circumcisions themselves. In his comments on the passage, Goldstein does not directly address the issue, instead referring the reader to his earlier comments on 1 Macc 1:60–61, which, as we have seen, are based on insubstantial evidence.38 In contrast, Robert Doran sees women as themselves performing

36

Hans Conzelmann, Acts of the Apostles: A Commentary on the Acts of the Apostles, trans. James Limburg, A. Thomas Kraabel, and Donald H. Juel, Hermeneia (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987), 125.

37 Richard I. Pervo, Acts: A Commentary, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2009), 388.

As Ryan S. Schellenberg and Heidi Wendt state in their introduction to The T&T Clark Handbook to the Historical Paul, ed. Schellenberg and Wendt (London: T&T Clark, 2022,) 3, n. 11, I “do not wish to cite his [Pervo’s] work without acknowledging his 2001 conviction for the possession and distribution of child pornography and the violence entailed in these actions.”

38 Jonathan A. Goldstein, II Maccabees: A New Translation, with Introduction and Commentary, AB 41A (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1983), 279.

49 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) circumcisions in 2 Macc 6:10: “The women here are said to have circumcised their sons, in contrast to the narrative in 1 Macc 1:60–61, where the women are said to have had their children circumcised.”39 Since men are nowhere mentioned in the passage, there seems to be scant reason to attribute a causative sense to the verb περιτέμνω. Moreover, since, as we have seen, the verb is not lexically causative, in the absence of any contextual clue to warrant it, it is gratuitous to attribute a contextually causative sense—unless, of course, one begins with the assumption that women could not perform circumcisions in the Hellenistic period; but that would be putting the exegetical cart before the horse.

Thus the active, transitive translation of NRSV, NETS, and Doran is to be preferred to that of Blaschke, who reads περιτέμνω as causative, even in the absence of any contextual clues that might support that reading.

The same issue occurs in 4 Macc 4:25, which reads in part, ὥστε καὶ γυναῖκας, ὅτι περιέτεμον τὰ παιδία, μετὰ τῶν βρεφῶν κατακρημνισθῆναι προειδυίας ὅτι τοῦτο πείσονται (NRSV: “even to the extent that women, because they had

circumcised their sons, were thrown headlong from heights along with their infants, though they had known beforehand that they would suffer this”).40 Blaschke renders the relevant portion as “daß Frauen, weil sie ihre Knaben hatten beschneiden lassen” (“that women, because they had their boys circumcised”), again taking the relevant verb as causative.41 We note that as with 2 Macc 6:10, no men are mentioned in this verse. Thus the objection lodged with respect to Blaschke’s reading of 2 Macc 6:10 applies to 4 Macc 4:25 as well: in the absence of any contextual clues to warrant it, περιτέμνω ought not be translated causatively.

By way of comparison, we note that the verb περιτέμνω is regularly translated as transitive but not causative when men appear as the subjects. To the usage in 1 Macc 1:61 (τοὺς περιτετμηκότας; “the men who had circumcised”); we may add Gen 17:23–24 LXX (Αβρααμ … περιέτεμεν τὰς ἀκροβυστίας αὐτῶν.… Αβρααμ … περιέτεμεν τὴν σάρκα τῆς ἀκροβυστίας αὐτοῦ; Abraham … circumcised their foreskins.… Abraham … circumcised the flesh of his foreskin”); 21:4 (περιέτεμεν δὲ Αβρααμ τὸν Ισαακ τῇ ὀγδόῃ ἡμέρᾳ; “and Abraham circumcised Isaac on the eighth day”); Josh 5:2–3 LXX (εἶπεν κύριος τῷ Ἰησοῖ Ποίησον σεαυτῷ μαχαίρας πετρίνας … καὶ καθίσας περίτεμε τοὺς υἱοὺς Ισραηλ.… καὶ … Ἰησοῦς … περιέτεμεν τοὺς υἱοὺς Ισραηλ; “The Lord said to Joshua, ‘Make for yourself stone

knives … and, while sitting down, circumcise the sons of Israel.…’ And …

Joshua … circumcised the sons of Israel.”), Josh 5:7 LXX (ἀντὶ δὲ τούτων ἀντικατέστησεν τοὺς υἱοὺς αὐτῶν, οὓς Ἰησοῦς περιέτεμεν; “and in their place, he substituted their sons, whom Joshua circumcised”).42 These few examples 39

Robert Doran, 2 Maccabees: A Critical Commentary, Hermeneia (Philadelphia: Fortress, 2012), 148 (emphasis added).

40 Emphasis added.

41 Blaschke, Beschneidung, 175, emphasis added in the translation.

42 On Abraham’s self-circumcision in the LXX, see Blaschke, Beschneidung, 109, where

Blanton, Did Jewish Women Circumcise 50 suffice to show that in the typical usage of the verb περιτέμνω in reference to circumcision, the subject performs the action (circumcision) on an object, indicated in the accusative case. The object may either be the foreskin, which is cut off, or the person whose foreskin is so removed. The same pattern is clearly evident in 4 Macc 4:25: γυναῖκας, ὅτι περιέτεμον τὰ παιδία.

One might argue that περιτέμνω was used causatively in 1 Macc 1:60, 2 Macc 6:10, and 4 Macc 4:25 on the grounds that it falls into the category of services involving professional or contracted labor; similar, for example, to the case of οἰκοδομέω, “to have a house built.” Thus, in Blaschke’s view, 1 Macc 1:61 offers “the first trace [die erste Spur]” of the mohel that we encounter in later Jewish texts such as the Babylonian Talmud (discussed below, section 9). Thus, the mohel plausibly falls into the category of a “professional” or a comparable ritual expert. But is it safe to postulate the existence of a designated mohel or similar ritual agent in the second century BCE, some seven to ten centuries before we encounter terms denoting such agents in the Babylonian Talmud?

Linked to Blaschke’s postulate of the existence of a mohel-like ritual agent already in the Hellenistic period is an apparent assumption that males and not females were recognized as agents authorized to carry out the ritual activity. In effect, this is what Blaschke proposes when, commenting on 1 Macc 1:60–61, he writes, “As long as there were men … they must have carried out the circumcision” (“Solange es Männer gab … dürften diese die Beschneidung durchgeführt haben”).43 The result of Blaschke’s reasoning is that each time the verb περιτέμνω occurs with a male as subject, that male is assumed to have performed the circumcision; and each time the same verb occurs with a female as subject, the verb is understood to be causative: males circumcise infants, but females have infants circumcised. This procedure implies an exegetical double standard that imposes a predetermined view on the texts, ignoring the fact that syntactically, the subject-verb-object pattern remains the same whether the subject happens to be male or female. Against this approach, we note that unless the text itself provides a clear warrant for doing so, there is no reason to deny women the same ritual agency attributed to men in performing circumcisions. Following this criterion, both 2 Macc 6:10 and 4 Macc 4:25 would seem to indicate that the authors of those texts envisioned situations in which women themselves circumcised their infant sons, as male circumcisers do not appear in those texts, and women are the stated or implied subjects and their infants the objects of the verb περιτέμνω.

The facts that περιτέμνω is not lexically causative, the lexica do not support a causative usage, and the syntax remains the same whether males or females are the subjects of the verb (x circumcises y) should give us pause, not only when approaching the relatively straightforward cases of 2 Macc 6:10 and he rightly reads περιτέμνω as transitive, but not causative.

43 Blaschke, Beschneidung, 174 (emphasis is Blaschke’s).

51 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) 4 Macc 4:25, but 1 Macc 1:60–61 as well. Although, as both Haber and Blaschke note, the presence of male circumcisers in 1 Macc 1:61 offers the best evidence of any of the passages surveyed that περιτέμνω might be used there in a contextually causative sense, such an inference is not necessary. In the New English Translation of the Septuagint, for example, George Zervos renders the verb transitively, but not causatively: “And the women who had circumcised their children they put to death according to the ordinance, and they hung the babies from their necks and put to death their families and those who circumcised them.” But given the prevailing view that a causative sense is to be understood (even the NRSV translates the verb causatively, although it does not do so with 2 Macc 6:10 and 4 Macc 4:25), the syntax and interpretation of the passage remains to be worked out if a noncausative, transitive interpretation of the verb περιτέμνω in 1 Macc 1:60 is to be maintained. In what follows, I suggest that 1 Macc 1:60–61 ought to be understood similarly to 2 Macc 6:10 and 4 Macc 4:25. This suggestion is based on two observations: the parallel structures of 1 Macc 1:60 and 1:61, and the possibility that the second καί in 1:61 is explicative.

First, we note first the parallel construction of the passage: v. 60: καὶ τὰς γυναῖκας τὰς περιτετμηκυίας τὰ τέκνα αὐτῶν ἐθανάτωσαν … v. 61: καὶ τοὺς οἴκους αὐτῶν καὶ τοὺς περιτετμηκότας αὐτούς [ἐθανάτωσαν]. “and they executed the women who had circumcised their children …” “and [they executed] their households and those (masc.) who had circumcised them.”

The bracketed verb ἐθανάτωσαν in verse 61 is supplied from the previous line in order to make the parallelism clearer.44 Syntactically, there is no distinction between the relation of subjects to the objects of verbal action in the parallel formulations; in both cases, the objects of the verbal action are indicated in the accusative case, and there is no apparent distinction between the active character of the action whether the subject is female or male. The parallelism would seem to indicate that in both cases, the subject, x, circumcises the object, y, irrespective of the subject’s gender. Thus, the text names two groups of circumcisers, and not one, as Blaschke, Goldstein, and Haber argue: women in 1 Macc 1:60 and men in the following line. The clear parallelism argues against translating περιτέμνω as causative in 1 Macc 1:60 and noncausative in 1 Macc 1:61.

Second: on the explicative καί. We look again at the text: καὶ τὰς γυναῖκας τὰς περιτετμηκυίας τὰ τέκνα αὐτῶν ἐθανάτωσαν … καὶ τοὺς οἴκους αὐτῶν καὶ τοὺς περιτετμηκότας αὐτούς. The three καὶ… clauses sit awkwardly together.

Consideration of the syntax is further complicated by the fact that the Greek text

44

Both a “corrector” of Codex Siniaticus and the Lucianic version add the verb

ἐθανάτωσαν at the end of 1 Macc 1:61. However, as Goldstein (I Maccabees, 227) notes, this expedient is unnecessary, as it is likely that the accusatives τοὺς οἴκους … τοὺς περιτετμηκότας are governed by the verb ἐθανάτωσαν that appears in 1:60.

Blanton, Did Jewish Women Circumcise 52 represents a translation of a Hebrew exemplar. Goldstein speculates that the conjunction in the phrase καὶ τοὺς οἴκους αὐτῶν may translate an underlying Hebrew wegam (“and also”).45 Goldstein, like Blaschke, reads the final καί in the phrase καὶ τοὺς περιτετμηκότας αὐτούς as indicating the simple connective “and.”

On this reading, three groups are included among those executed for violation of Antiochus’s ban on practices stemming from the Torah: women, their households (or possibly, “their husbands”), and male circumcisers from outside the household. It is the mention of the third group that Blaschke takes as an indication that mohels or mohel-like ritual agents are in view.46 As for the second group, Goldstein has some difficulty with the idea that Antiochus would have had an entire household executed due to a circumcision performed in its midst, noting, “To wipe out the entire family in which a circumcision occurred would not be too bloodthirsty a procedure for Antiochus, but it could lead to awkward results: what if a member of such a family was an apostate?” To resolve the problem, he translates the term oikous (“households”) as “husbands” on the basis of the claim that “house” can indicate “spouse” in rabbinic Hebrew.47 (N.B.: Marcus Jastrow’s lexicon of the Targumim indicates that the Hebrew term ‫ בית‬can be used to indicate “wife,” but does not list an analogous usage to refer to the husband.48) The difficulty that Goldstein notes is removed, however, if we understand the final καί as a καί explicativum, or epexegetical καί, which introduces a phrase specifying or defining what preceded it.49 The passage would then admit of the following translation: “And they executed the women who had circumcised their children … and their households; that is, those who had circumcised them.” The fact that the Greek was translated from Hebrew presents no difficulty for this reading, as waw also functions epexegetically.50 On this reading, the death penalty is limited to two groups: women who had 45

Goldstein, I Maccabees, 227.

Blaschke, Beschneidung, 174.

47 Goldstein, I Maccabees, 227.

48 See Marcus Jastrow, A Dictionary of the Targumim, the Talmud Babli and Yerushalmi, and the Midrashic Literature (New York: Judaica Press, 1992), s.v. “‫ַבּ ִית‬,” 5.

49 On the epexegetical καί, see BDAG, s.v. “καί,” 1c; BDF, §442.9; Maximilian Zerwick, Biblical Greek: Illustrated by Examples, trans. Joseph Smith (Rome: Editrice Pontificio Instituto Biblico, 1994), §455ζ; G. K. Beale et. al., An Interpretive Lexicon of New Testament Greek: Analysis of Prepositions, Adverbs, Particles, Relative Pronouns, and Conjunctions (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2014), s.v. “καί,” 2.

50 On the epexegetical waw, see Bruce K. Waltke and M. O’Connor, An Introduction to Biblical Hebrew Syntax (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1990), §39.2.4; E. Kautsch and A. E. Cowley, Gesenius’ Hebrew Grammar, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Clarendon, 1910), §154, n.

1b; Ronald J. Williams, Hebrew Syntax: An Outline, 2nd ed. (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1992), §434, citing Gen 4:4: ‫“( ְוֶהֶבל ֵהִביא ַגם־הוּא ִמְבּכֹרוֹת צ ֹאנוֹ וֵּמֶחְלֵבֶהן‬while Abel on his part brought some of the first-born of his flock, specifically their fat portions”).

46

53 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) circumcised their children, and the women’s households, with “households” being limited specifically to males within the household who had themselves circumcised a male infant (τοὺς περιτετμηκότας).

Caution, however, is in order: both a “corrector” of Codex Sinaiticus and the Lucianic version read καὶ τοὺς οἴκους αὐτῶν προενόμευσαν καὶ τοὺς περιτετμηκότας αὐτούς ἐθανάτωσαν (“and they plundered their houses, and they killed those who had circumcised them”), adding the underlined words. In those readings, the “houses” were plundered, not put to death; and the identity of “those (masc.) who circumcised them” is undetermined. Probably the glosses were added to smooth out a difficult text.51 On the whole, the passage provides only the slimmest of threads on which to hang the theory that mohels existed already in the Hellenistic period; we can only say, tentatively, that the text seems to envision both female and male circumcisers, and the male circumcisers may well be from within the household; that is, husbands and fathers.

6. Household-Based Circumcision around the Second Temple Period To ground this reading of 1 Macc 1:60–61 in its ancient context, we note that there is sufficient evidence to indicate that circumcision was a household-based ritual in the Second Temple period and in the first centuries CE, just as Meyers indicated was the case in ancient Israel. In addition to the “households” of 1 Macc 1:60–61, we mention Luke 1:57–66, where neighbors and relatives come to visit Elizabeth to witness the circumcision of John the Baptizer, apparently in the home; and m. Šabb. 19.2, where the mention of courtyards in connection to circumcision implies a domestic setting.52 While these passages tell us where circumcision took place, they do not yet indicate who held the blade. In their respective Abraham narratives, however, both Gen 17 and Jub. 15 imagine that it is a male head of household—in this case, Abraham—who circumcises his sons, Isaac and Ishmael, as well as male servants and retainers. Although Jubilees freely revises the biblical text in other respects, it does not substitute a mohel in place of Abraham: apparently, during the Hellenistic period, circumcision was still viewed as an inner-household affair, as it was in Gen 17 and Exod 4.53 If this inference is correct, then the phrase “those (men) who had

51

Cp. Goldstein, I Maccabees, 227; and n. 44 above. The critical text of Rahlfs and Hahnhart relegates the variant readings to the apparatus. Fränkel’s Hebrew translation corresponds to the Sinaiticus and the Lucianic versions, as noted above (n. 18).

52 See also Blanton, “Circumcision in the Early Jesus Movement,” 126.

53 One example of Jubilees’s revisionary work: the covenant ritual in which animals are neatly bisected and laid in two rows, between which the parties to the covenant walked (Gen 15:7–21), is transformed into a sacrificial scene in which the victims’ blood is poured out on an altar in Jub. 14:7–20; see James C. VanderKam, Jubilees: A Commentary, 2 vols., Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2018), 1:493, 496–497. On the ceremony in Genesis 15, see Moshe Weinfeld, “Covenant of Grant in the Old Testament and in the Ancient Near East,” JAOS 90, no. 2 (1970): 184–203.

Blanton, Did Jewish Women Circumcise 54 circumcised” infants in 1 Macc 1:61 would point specifically toward fathers, and not to ritual experts recruited from outside the household, a mohel or mohellike agent, as Blaschke imagines. The parallelism between the female and male circumcisers in 1 Macc 1:60–61 indicates that the scenario envisioned in 1 Maccabees corresponds with practices described in the Pentateuch, where in some cases, the male head of household performed circumcisions (i.e., Abraham in Genesis 17); and in others, the female head of household—the mother—did the same (i.e., Exod 4:24–26).

To summarize: The reading of 1 Macc 1:60–61 proposed here resolves the problem that Goldstein finds with the notion that entire households were executed under Antiochus’s ban on circumcision and respects the evident parallelism established between the clauses τὰς γυναῖκας τὰς περιτετμηκυίας τὰ τέκνα and τοὺς περιτετμηκότας αὐτούς. It dispenses with the need to posit two different usages of the verb περιτέμνω in 1 Macc 1:60–61, one causative and one noncausative. And it respects the fact that the verb περιτέμνω is not lexically causative. Lastly, it obviates the need to impose an exegetical double standard onto the text by asserting that the verb is contextually causative when applied to women in the text, but not when applied to men. Thus it seems that the texts in 2 and 4 Maccabees envision situations in which women themselves circumcised their sons, Zipporah-like. In 1 Maccabees, both women and men were understood to circumcise children in their own households: men from within households, probably the infants’ fathers, were envisioned as circumcising their sons in cases when the mothers did not do so.

One additional issue remains to be addressed concerning the books of Maccabees: Ohr Margalit and Chariklia Tziraki-Segal argue that in antiquity, women “performed and assumed responsibility for fulfilling the commandment of circumcision” only during periods characterized by “‘stressful’ and unusual circumstances”; that is, women assumed the male prerogative during times of crisis, when men were unable to fulfill their “normative” roles.54 It is significant, though, that the books of Maccabees offer no indication that it was irregular or unusual for women to circumcise their sons, and no explanation or apology for the women’s performance of the ritual is given. What was irregular and unusual was rather the interdict against circumcision and the harsh penalties against those who performed it.

As Margalit and Tziraki-Segal themselves note, the situation was quite different in the eighth–ninth century CE Scroll of Antiochus, a text that BarIlan describes as “a re-working of the Books of Maccabees, incorporating additional material unknown to us from other sources.”55 In contrast to the 54

Ohr Margalit and Chariklia Tziraki-Segal, “Circumcision: Man’s Obligation and Woman's Praxis,” Nashim 12 (2006): 20.

55 Margalit and Tziraki-Segal, “Circumcision,” 21–22; Bar-Ilan, Some Jewish Women in Antiquity, 16. On dating the Scroll of Antiochus, see Hermann L. Strack and Günter Stemberger, Introduction to the Talmud and Midrash (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992), 364–

55 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) books of Maccabees, in the Scroll of Antiochus 34–36, a woman who had circumcised her son flings both herself and her offspring from a city wall in an act of infanticide-suicide (rather than being hurled from the wall as a penalty: 2 Macc 6:10; 4 Macc 4:25). An explanation is provided as to why a woman and not a man had carried out the ritual: the woman’s husband had died. The late antique or early medieval Scroll of Antiochus seeks to justify a significant departure from what by that time had become a male-dominated ritual. A similar need to explain or reinterpret older texts depicting women’s circumcision of their sons occurs in a Talmudic passage concerning Zipporah’s circumcision of Gershom, which we examine in section 8.

7. Talmudic Traditions Attributed to Rabbis of the Roman Period56 Several traditions in the Babylonian Talmud and Tosefta, however, take for granted that women performed circumcisions on their infant sons.57 A tradition associated with Rabbi Nathan (a tanna of the second century CE), for example, reads as follows: ‫ וָּבאת ִאָשּׁה ַאַחת ְלָפ ַני‬,‫ ַפַּעם ַאַחת ָהַלְכִתּי ִלְכ ַרֵכּי ַה ָיּם‬:‫ ָאַמר ַרִבּי ָנָתן‬,‫ְדַּת ְנ ָיא‬ .‫ ְרִאיִתיו ֶשׁהוּא ָאדוֹם‬,‫ ֱהִביַאתּוּ ְלָפ ַני‬,‫ ְשִׁליִשׁי‬,‫ ֵשׁ ִני ָוֵמת‬,‫ֶשָׁמָּלה ְבּ ָנהּ ִראשׁוֹן ָוֵמת‬ ‫ וָּמָלה‬,‫ ִהְמִתּי ָנה לוֹ ַעד ֶשׁ ִנְּבַלע בּוֹ ָדּמוֹ‬,‫ ַהְמִתּי ִני לוֹ ַעד ֶשׁ ִיָּבַּלע בּוֹ ָדּמוֹ‬:‫ָאַמ ְרִתּי ָלהּ‬ .‫ ְוָהיוּ קוֹ ִרין אוֹתוֹ ״ ָנָתן ַהַבְּבִלי״ ַעל ְשִׁמי‬,‫אוֹתוֹ ְוָח ָיה‬

As it was taught in a baraita, Rabbi Nathan said: On one occasion, I went to the coastal cities,58 and one woman came before me who circumcised her first son and he died, and she circumcised her second son and he died, and since she feared circumcising the third due to concern that he might die as well, she brought him before me. I saw that he was red. I said to her: Wait until his blood is absorbed into him. She waited until his blood was absorbed into him and then circumcised him, and he lived. And they would call him Nathan the Babylonian after 365. A Hebrew version of the text with an English translation is printed in Philip Birnbaum, Daily Prayer Book: Ha-Siddur Ha-Shalem (New York: Hebrew Publishing Company, 1949), 713–726.

56 Roman Period: ca. 37 BCE–324 CE; following Christian Frevel, History of Ancient Israel, ABS 32 (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2023), 563.

57 I am grateful to the anonymous reviewer, who first pointed me to b. Šabb. 134a; the other references discussed in this section followed from there.

58 The “cities by the sea” refers to indeterminate coastal towns, perhaps including Tyre or Caesarea Maritima; see Marcus Jastrow, Dictionary of the Targumim, Talmud Bavli, Yerushalmi and Midrashic Literature (New York: Judaica Press, 1992), s.v. “‫ְכּ ָרְך‬,” glossing ‫ ְכ ַרֵכּי ַה ָיּם‬as “sea towns, mercantile ports (Tyre &c.).” Jordan D. Rosenblum (“Cities of the Sea: In Search of ‫כרכי הים‬,” Hebrew Studies 51 [2010]: 211–221) argues that the location serves literary and pedagogical functions and need not be connected to any particular geographic location.

Blanton, Did Jewish Women Circumcise 56 my name. (b. Šabb. 134a [§15]; trans. Adin Steinsalz and Israel V. Berman [modified])59 The story is followed immediately by another adhering to the same basic pattern: a woman from Cappadocia had circumcised her first and second sons, both of whom had died. Before circumcising her third son, however, she consulted Nathan, who again recommended that circumcision be delayed, but for the opposite reason. In the first story, the woman’s third son was “red” due to an overabundance of blood, which required time to be “absorbed” into the body; and in the second, the third son was “pale” or “yellowish green”; that is, “jaundiced” (‫) ָירוֹק‬. As the Steinsaltz edition glosses the passage, “he had a blood deficiency,” similarly requiring a period of delay before circumcision could safely be administered. The third son of the first story had too much blood; that of the second story, too little. Both narratives are patterned around the number three (two lethal, one nonlethal circumcision), maternal consultation with Nathan, opposite sanguine diagnoses (too much or too little blood), the motif of ritual delay, and, most importantly, the sage’s life-saving medico-halakic advice. Aside from such literary considerations, notably in both episodes it is unnamed women who are understood to circumcise their sons. The narratives raise no objection to the women’s performance of the ritual; it is simply assumed that was a normal, or at least acceptable, practice for women to do so.

Similar stories are told in b. Yebam. 64b, where women are also presumed to act as circumcisers; as, for example, in a baraita attributed to Rabbi Yehudah Ha-Nasi, a tanna of the second and early third century CE: “If a woman circumcised her first son and he died as a result of the circumcision, and she circumcised her second son and he also died, she should not circumcise her third son” (‫ ְשִׁליִשׁי—ל ֹא ָתּמוּל‬,‫ ֵשׁ ִני ָוֵמת‬,‫)ָמָלה ָה ִראשׁוֹן ָוֵמת‬. A more stringent opinion, attributed to Shimon ben Gamliel (tanna of the first century CE), indicates that three deaths, not two as per R. Yehudah, were necessary to exempt subsequent sons from the requirement of circumcision. Again, it is assumed that a woman performs the ritual: ‫ ְרִביִעי—ל ֹא ָתּמוּל‬,‫“( ְשִׁליִשׁי ָתּמוּל‬She should circumcise her third son, … but she should not circumcise her fourth”). Another story is attributed to the third-century amora Yoḥanan bar Nappaḥa, as transmitted by Ḥiyya bar Abba: three sisters living in Sepphoris each circumcised a son, and each son died in turn. A fourth sister brought the question before Shimon ben Gamliel, a tanna See also the parallels in b. Ḥul. 47b and t. Šabb. 15:8; on the latter, see Amram Tropper, “Children and Childhood in Light of the Demographics of the Jewish Family in Late Antiquity,” JSJ 37, no. 3 (2006): 299–343, esp. 316–317. The text and translation are those of Adin Steinsalz and Israel V. Berman, eds., The Talmud / Talmūd Bavlī: The Steinsaltz Edition (New York: Random House, 1989–1999), available online at Sefaria: A Living Library of Torah, https://www.sefaria.org/texts, last accessed Aug. 10, 2021. By using italic font, I indicate the explanatory glosses added to the text by Steinsalz. All translations of the Bavli herein are from the Steinsaltz edition.

59

57 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) of the first century CE, who ruled that she should not circumcise her son due to the mortal danger in which it would evidently place him. One need not assume that each of these episodes transmits historically accurate information to appreciate the fact that the compilers who brought these traditions together in the Talmud had no trouble envisioning women performing circumcisions in Galilee, Cappadocia, and—depending on the referent of the “coastal cities” of b. Šabb. 134a—perhaps Judea or Coele-Syria during the first three centuries CE. 8. A Dissenting Opinion: The Zipporah Episode in Talmudic Interpretation In contrast to the narratives in Exodus 4, the books of Maccabees, and Talmudic traditions associated with Nathan, Yehudah ha-Nasi, and Shimon ben Gamliel, but similar to the Scroll of Antiochus, the attribution of significant ritual agency to women as circumcisers proved unacceptable to some (not all) compilers of the Babylonian Talmud in the fifth to eighth centuries CE.60 In the tractate Abodah Zarah, two opinions are expressed regarding the halakic rectitude of women acting as circumcisers: one for and the other against. An objection is promptly raised to refute the latter position: Zipporah’s circumcision of Gershom provides a seemingly clear halakic precedent. That precedent, however, is subsequently discounted on the basis of a rereading of Exodus 4: ‫ כה( ותקח צפורה צר קרי‬,‫ומי איכא למאן דאמר אשה לא והכתיב )שמות ד‬ ‫ביה ותקח והכתיב ותכרות קרי ביה ותכרת דאמרה לאיניש אחרינא ועבד‬ .‫ואיבעית אימא אתיא איהי ואתחלה ואתא משה ואגמרה‬

The Gemara raises a difficulty against this explanation: And is there anyone who says that a woman may not perform circumcision? But isn’t it written: “Then Zipporah took [wattiqqaḥ/‫ ] ַוִתַּקּח‬a flint and cut off the foreskin of her son” (Exod 4:25). This verse explicitly states that a circumcision was performed by a woman. The Gemara answers that one should read into the verse: “And she caused to be taken [wattaqqaḥ/‫ ;”] ַוַתַּקּח‬that is, she did not take a flint herself. But isn’t it written: “And she cut off [wattikrōt /‫ ?”] ַוִתְּכר ֹת‬Read into the verse: “And she caused to be cut off [wattakrēt/‫] ַוַתְּכ ֵרת‬,” as she told another person to take a flint and cut off her son’s foreskin, and he did so. The Gemara provides an alternative explanation: And if you wish, say instead: She came and began the act, and Moses came and completed the circumcision. (b. ʿAbod. Zar. 27a [§14]; trans. Steinsalz and Berman [modified])

60

On dating the Babylonian Talmud and its sources, see Strack and Stemberger, Introduction to the Talmud and Midrash, 211–225.

Blanton, Did Jewish Women Circumcise 58 The debate hinges on the stems or binyanim of the verbs lqḥ, “to take,” and krt, “to cut (off).” In the MT of Exod 4:25, Zipporah both “takes” (wattiqqaḥ/‫) ַוִתַּקּח‬ and “cuts off” (wattikrōt/‫) ַוִתְּכר ֹת‬, using the qal or G-stem, an active form. Both verbs, “to take” and “to cut,” are used transitively; that is, they take direct objects, indicating the object of the verbal action. In Exod 4:24, the object of wattiqqaḥ is ṣôr, “a flint knife”; and the object of wattikrōt is ʿārlat, the foreskin, the latter being additionally indicated by the object marker ʾet.61 Thus, the MT understands that Zipporah both “took” the flint knife and “cut off” the foreskin of Gershom. One of the Talmudic interlocutors understands the verbs differently, employing a distinction between ketiv and qere, that which is “written” in the consonantal text and that which is to be “read” and pronounced; a distinction indicated in the Steinsalz translation by “isn’t it written?” and “one should read into the verse.”62 What is to be read, in this opinion preserved in the Gemara, is not wattiqqaḥ but wattaqqaḥ, and not wattikrōt but wattakrēt. In each case, the Gemara does not vocalize the verbs as qal forms with the MT, but instead vocalizes (“reads”) them as hiphil or H-stem forms. As Bruce Waltke and M. O’Connor note, “Roots that are transitive in Qal … in the Hiphil tend to be causative”; that is, the verbal subject causes an object to engage in an action. The transitive hiphil often takes two objects, “the object of the causing (usually a person) and the object of the basic or root verb.”63 Thus, as the explanatory gloss in Steinsalz’s translation makes perfectly clear, Zipporah did not herself take the flint but caused someone to take it, and she did not cut the foreskin but “told another person to take a flint and cut off her son’s foreskin, and he did so.” By this reading, Zipporah’s ritual agency is reduced in the sense that she enlists another agent, understood to be male, to perform the circumcision; she herself is viewed as unauthorized to take a “hands on” role in its performance.

A problem attends the Talmudic understanding, however, as in its transitive use, the hiphil typically takes two objects, the first, as Waltke and O’Connor note, is “usually a person”; that is, the person who is enlisted to perform the verbal action. The presence of a personal agent as object must be supplied by the imagination of the Talmudic interlocutor, as the explanatory gloss makes clear: Zipporah “told another person to take a flint and cut … and he did so.” But the reference to a person as object is entirely lacking in the Exodus passage, so the vocalization of the MT is more likely the correct one: Zipporah serves as the subject of the verbs, which are used transitively with the qal stem, each taking one object: Zipporah (herself) takes the knife and cuts the foreskin. Perhaps to account for the grammatical problem the Gemara’s interpretation raises, an alternative solution is proposed: Zipporah “came and 61

On the object marker, see Waltke and O’Connor, Introduction, 55, §3.3.4e.

On the ketiv/qere distinction, see GKC, §17.1; Israel Yeivin, Introduction to the Tiberian Masorah, trans. E. J. Revell (Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1980), §93–107.

63 Waltke and O’Connor, Introduction, 441, §27.3a–b.

62

59 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) began the act, and Moses came and completed the circumcision.” The Gemara’s grammatical and exegetical maneuvers indicate that by late antiquity, some (not all) Jewish interpreters had become uncomfortable with the idea that women could perform circumcisions on their sons.

There is, however, evidence to suggest that, despite the denial that Zipporah herself circumcised Gershom in b. ʿAbod. Zar. 27a (§14), women may have continued to perform circumcisions even in late antiquity. There is a running debate in b. ʿAbod. Zar. 27a over whether legal reasoning regarding circumcision should proceed on the basis of Gen 17:9, ‫ ְוַאָתּה ֶאת־ְבּ ִריִתי ִתְשֹׁמר‬, “And you shall keep my covenant,” or Gen 17:13, ‫ִהמּוֹל ִימּוֹל‬, “he must surely be circumcised.” Those basing their legal reasoning in the former verse conclude that women are not permitted to perform circumcisions: since “a woman is not subject to the mitzva of circumcision … therefore she is not included in those who must ‘keep God’s covenant.’” Those who based their reasoning on the latter verse, on the other hand, argue that “there is reason to permit a woman to perform circumcision, as a woman is considered as one who is naturally circumcised” (b. ʿAbod. Zar. 27a; trans. Steinsalz [slightly modified]). The discussion is not grounded in case law (i.e., the interlocutors do not seem to be reflecting on an actual case brought before them) but reads more as a theoretical reflection on the limits and possibilities inherent in the biblical passages cited.

That said, the discussion indicates that some Babylonian legal authorities of late antiquity could, at least in theory, envision the possibility that women might perform circumcisions. In the twelfth century CE, Maimonides envisioned a hierarchy of classes of people authorized to perform circumcisions. Although women were subordinated to men in this hierarchy, they were nonetheless viewed as authorized—in the absence of a qualified male—to perform the procedure: “Where there is no adult circumcised male (Israelite), it is performed by an uncircumcised Israelite, a bondman, a woman or a minor” (Mishneh Torah, Circ. 2.1 [trans. Moses Hyamson]).64 Thus it seems that the late antique attempt to exclude women from performing the ritual was largely but not entirely successful.65

64

Moses Maimonides, Mishneh Torah: Edited according to the Bodleian (Oxford) Codex; With Introd. Bibl. and Talmudic References, Notes and English Trans., ed. Moses Hyamson, 2 vols. (Jerusalem: Boys Town Jerusalem, 1937–1965); online at Sefaria, https://www.sefaria.org/Abodah_Zarah.27a.13?lang=bi&with=Mishneh%20Torah,%20 Circumcision&lang2=en, last accessed Aug. 12, 2021. For a discussion of circumcision in Medieval Ashkenaz, see Baumgarten, Mothers and Children, 55–89.

65 This observation fits into the broad pattern involving the exclusion of women from circumcision ceremonies in late antiquity and the Middle Ages outlined in detail by Hoffman, Covenant of Blood.

Blanton, Did Jewish Women Circumcise 60 9. The Emergence of Male Ritual Experts Specializing in Circumcisions in Late Antiquity The opinions registered in b. ʿAbod. Zar. 27a and the Scroll of Antiochus point to a development in late antiquity in which older texts designating women as circumcisers were explained or reinterpreted to revoke women’s agency in performing the ritual. This corresponds to a parallel development with respect to the terms designating male ritual agents either performing or specializing in circumcisions. It is not until the fifth to eighth centuries CE that the Babylonian Talmud names classes of ritual experts who specialized in circumcision: b. Šabb.

130b (§6) mentions one Rabbi Yehudah “the Cutter” (‫ )ַהגּוֹ ֵזר‬in the context of a discussion about circumcision on the Sabbath. By way of contrast, we note that the first-century BCE Prayer of Nabonidus text from Qumran (4Q242 1.3–4) features a gazar (‫)גזר‬, an “exorcist” or “diviner,” characterized as a “Judean from among the exiles,” who heals the “severe inflammation” (‫ )שחנא באישא‬of the Babylonian king Nabonidus by forgiving his sin.66 The Aramaic stem ‫גזר‬, “to cut, decree” perhaps refers in this context to the cutting of roots and herbs for medicinal use (cp. 1 En. 7:1; Jub. 10:12–13). It is well known that in Mediterranean antiquity, a line between magic, medicine, and exorcism was not always clearly drawn.67 The relation between these two types of “cutter” and the possibility of a transition from one to the other are topics that merit further study.

The Aramaic form of the term mohel (Aram. ‫ָמהו ָֺלא‬: “circumciser”) appears, for example, in b. Šabb. 135a (§7); 156a (§11). The “physician” (‫ ;רו ֵֺפא‬b. ʿAbod. Zar. 26b [§10]; 27a [§1]) and the “skilled practitioner” (‫ ;אוָּמּן‬b. Šabb.

133b [§11]) are similarly viewed as agents authorized to perform circumcisions.68 These grammatically masculine terms provide evidence that by the late antique period, various categories of male ritual experts had begun to encroach on what was apparently in earlier periods a procedure that been carried out in the context of the family, with either the mother or the father performing the operation. Thus, the scenes envisioned by biblical and postbiblical writers in which male or female heads of household themselves circumcised their infant sons had by late antiquity largely given way to a trend in which male ritual specialists from outside the household were called upon to complete the rite. Whether this trend might have been spurred by the development of the practice of periah in the second century CE, with the 66

For the Aramaic terms, see Edward Cook, Dictionary of Qumran Aramaic (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2015), s.v. “‫באיש‬,” “‫גזר‬.” See the text in Florentino García Martínez and Eibert J. C. Tigchelaar, The Dead Sea Study Edition, 2 vols. (Leiden: Brill; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000), 1:487–488.

67 See, for example, Michael Zellmann-Rohrer, “Hippocratic Diagnosis, Solomonic Therapy, Roman Amulets: Epilepsy, Exorcism, and the Diffusion of a Jewish Tradition in the Roman World,” JSJ 52 (2021): 1–25.

68 For the terms, see also Hirsch, “Circumcision,” 4:95.

61 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) additional degree of surgical skill required to perform that operation, is a possibility that it is beyond the scope of the present study to address.69 In a prescript dated April 9, 423 in Constantinople, the Christian emperors Honorius and Theodosius II issued the following order (Cod. Just.

1.9.16): “Jews will be condemned both to the confiscation of their property and to permanent exile, if it is shown that they have circumcised a man of our faith or had others circumcise him [si nostrae fidei hominem circumcidisse eos vel circumcidendum mandasse constiterit].”70 It appears unlikely that the edict applies to (formerly) Christian converts to Judaism since it mentions men “of our [Christian] faith”; more likely it pertains specifically to Christians enslaved under Jewish ownership, as is the case in a related edict (Cod. Just. 1.10.1).71 Although the prescript does not deal with the circumcision of Jewish infants, it is nonetheless significant that it assumes that male Jewish heads of household could either themselves circumcise their male slaves (corresponding to the pattern seen in Gen 17, where Abraham circumcises his male slaves) or “have others circumcise them.” It is unclear whether the “others” who might be enlisted to circumcise household slaves would have been ritual experts, such as the mohel, or other persons called upon to perform the operation. The prescript indicates that even in late antiquity, circumcision could be seen as an innerhousehold ritual performed by the male head of the household, whose property could be confiscated for violating the edict. Female circumcisers are not envisioned; this could be either because females were associated only with the circumcision of their own sons, and not slaves (I am unaware of any source indicating that women circumcised household slaves); or because by the fifth century CE, circumcision had already become a ritual performed largely by males; or both.

69

Periah involves amputating both the external foreskin and the inner preputial mucosa, fully denuding the glans. On the development of periah in the second century CE, see Shaye J. D. Cohen, The Beginnings of Jewishness: Boundaries, Varieties, Uncertainties (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999), 225; Nissan Rubin, “Brit Milah: A Study of Change in Custom,” in The Covenant of Circumcision: New Perspectives on an Ancient Jewish Rite, ed. Elizabeth Wyner Mark (Hanover, NH: Brandeis University Press 2003), 87–97; Emil Schürer, The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ (175 B.C.– A.D. 135), rev. ed., 3 vols., ed. Geza Vermes, Fergus Millar, Matthew Black, and Pamela Vermes (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1973), 149, n. 28. Ra‛anan Abusch, “Negotiating Difference: Genital Mutilation in Roman Slave Law and the History of the Bar Kokhba Revolt,” in The Bar Kokhba War Reconsidered: New Perspectives on the Second Jewish Revolt against Rome, ed. Peter Schäfer (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003), 71–91, refutes the notion that periah was introduced due to a supposed Hadrianic ban on circumcision.

70 Translation of Fred H. Blume and Bruce W. Frier (Frier, Codex of Justinian, 1:235).

71 For comment on the prohibition of Jews from circumcising their Christian slaves, see Simon Corcoran, “The Codex of Justinian: The Life of a Text through 1,500 Years,” in Frier, Codex of Justinian, 1: xcvii–clxiv (esp. cxii).

Blanton, Did Jewish Women Circumcise 62 10. Variegated Ritual Practice: The Pertinence of Age and Familial Relation The previous section attempted to demonstrate that chronology was an important factor in the development of the circumcision ritual, as male ritual agents from outside the household came to displace household-based ritual agency, both maternal and paternal, in earlier periods. The reference to the circumcision of adult male slaves in the Code of Justinian raises another important issue that must now be discussed: the age of the circumcised at the time the ritual is performed. As Elisheva Baumgarten demonstrates in Mothers and Children: Jewish Family Life in Medieval Europe, the period including pregnancy, birth, and infancy was largely the province of women: mothers, midwives, and their female attendants.72 By and large, men remained on the periphery of such activities, remaining outside the door during birthing, for example. Circumcision provided opportunity to a brief exception to the rule: “If the newborn was a boy, he was separated from this group of women for the first time on the day of his circumcision. On this occasion, his father first formally recognized him as his son. After the circumcision ceremony, the infant was returned to the sphere and care of the women.”73 Infants remained largely in the domain of women, especially that of the mother and/or wet nurse, until the child was weaned after a legally defined period of twenty-four months,74 but that in actual practice could range “from two to four or five years.”75 The situation was not dissimilar in antiquity, when, as Meyers notes, “rituals surrounding pregnancy, labor, and birth, along with those securing fertility before pregnancy and those dealing with postpartum lactation, infant care, and circumcision, constitute the religious culture of women more than of men.”76 In the Hebrew Bible, children remain in the domain of the mother and of women until they are weaned around the age of three (cp. 1 Sam 1:21–28). In 2 Kgs 4:11–20, the child of the unnamed Shunnamite woman is transferred from the maternal to the paternal sphere at an age vaguely specified, “when the child had grown” (‫) ַו ִיּ ְג ַדּל ַה ָיֶּלד‬, only to be transferred back to the mother when he became fatally ill.77 In the narrative in Genesis 21, Isaac appears in the domain of his mother Sarah until the time of his weaning (Gen 21:1–8); but by the time Abraham considered sacrificing Isaac, the lad had clearly passed into the domain of the father (Gen 22:1–19).78 Given the temporal division of 72

Baumgarten, Mothers and Children, 21–54.

Baumgarten, Mothers and Children, 53–54 (citation: 53).

74 Baumgarten, Mothers and Children, 123–124.

75 Baumgarten, Mothers and Children, 126.

76 Meyers, “From Household to House of Yahweh,” 283.

77 I thank Susan Ackermann for pointing out the relevance to the present argument of the several passages cited here.

78 On the festival mentioned in Gen 21:7–8 to mark the occasion of Isaac’s weaning, see Claudia D. Bergmann, “Infant Israel Growing Up: The Theme of Breastfeeding in the Hebrew Bible,” Bib 102, no. 2 (2021): 161–181, esp. 164–166.

73

63 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) responsibility in which children existed largely in the domain of their mothers and of women until the time of their weaning, and subsequently entered the domain of fathers and of men, it is easy to understand how Meyers could make the assumption, as in the quotation above, that the circumcision of male infants fell into the domain of women’s ritual activity.

Fig. 1. “Egypt, wall carving showing a circumcision scene, Sakkara” (cropped). Wellcome Collection.

Image available under the Creative Commons Attribution (CC BY 4.0) license.

Conversely, as Ackerman has remarked: it is difficult “to imagine that pubescent or marriage-age sons, who have been absorbed into the world of their fathers and the world of men, would be put back into the hands of their mothers for something that is so male-focused; i.e., circumcision. So I suspect that puberty-age or marital-age circumcision had to be performed by fathers.”79 In support of the idea that pubertal or postpubertal males were circumcised only by other males, whether fathers or other adult group members, we may point to the examples of Joshua circumcising (postpubescent male) soldiers at Gilgal (Josh 5:2–8), and of Abraham circumcising both the thirteen-year-old Ishmael and his male slaves (Gen 17:23–27). By way of comparison, we may also point to the depiction of a “priest of the dead” undergoing a genital cutting operation by another adult male ritual agent in the Tomb of Ankhmahor from Saqqara, Egypt, circa 2300 BCE; the apparent depiction of the same priest having his pubic hair shaved (see fig. 1, right register) indicates that he was of pubertal or postpubertal age.80 The narratives of Abraham’s circumcision of his thirteen79

Susan Ackerman, email message to author, Feb. 11, 2022.

For the interpretation of the scene, see Joachim Friedrich Quack, “Zur Beschneidung im Alten Ägypten,” in Menschenbilder und Körperkonzepte im Alten Israel, in Ägypten und im Alten Orient, eds. Angelika Berlejung, Jan Dietrich, and Joachim Friedrich Quack (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012), 561–651, esp. 568–573. For Egyptian techniques of male genital cutting, see Richard-Alain Jean, “Anatomie humaine. Le bassin \–VIII. 80

Blanton, Did Jewish Women Circumcise 64 year-old son Ishmael along with all of the male household slaves in Gen 17:23– 27, and presumably the circumcision of Shechemites in Gen 34:13–31, follows a similar pattern: the circumcision of adult males is performed by adult males, either a father or another male figure.

What then do we make of Abraham’s circumcision of the eight-dayold Isaac in Gen 21:3–4? Possibly a situation similar to that which pertained in medieval Europe is presupposed: the child, although not yet weaned, briefly passes out of the mother’s domain and into that of the father, who serves the role of circumciser. On the other hand, some aspects of the narrative depart significantly from known ritual procedures, which raises questions about the extent to which the text sheds light on “actual” ritual performance in antiquity.

Here I refer to Abraham’s apparent self-circumcision in Gen 17:24, discussed in Gen. Rab. 49.1 and Midr. Tanḥ., Vayera 2; and pictured in the medieval Bible (see fig. 2) illuminated by the Master of the Bible of Jean de Sy, or the Master of the Boqueteaux (active 1350–1380 CE).81

Fig. 2. “Circumcision of Abraham (Bible of Jean de Sy).jpg.” Wikimedia Commons. Image in the public domain under the CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication license.

Abraham is named as the ritual agent responsible for severing all the foreskins in the household in Gen 17:23, and no other ritual agent is mentioned L’appareil génito-urinaire de l’homme–Atlas (2), Atlas chirurgical–La circoncision,” http://medecineegypte.canalblog.com/pages/anatomie---bassin---viii---bassin-homme--atlas-2---circoncision/34010268.html, on Histoire de la médecine en Egypte ancienne, 25 June 2016, last accessed 18 June 2023.

81 See also Blaschke, Beschneidung, 109. I thank Matthew Thiessen for the references to Genesis Rabbah and Midrash Tanhuma.

65 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) in Gen 17:23–27.82 Self-circumcision is a practice that, while attested at least twice in medieval contexts, nevertheless deviated significantly from otherwise known procedures, in which normally a ritual agent other than the circumcised carried out the ritual.83 It appears that in depicting Abraham as the circumciser par excellence, standard forms of male ritual agency (i.e., circumcising a pubescent son and household slaves) were broadened to encompass what otherwise might be viewed as the mother’s prerogative (i.e., to circumcise an infant who had not yet left the maternal domain), and indeed broadened so far as to include even the unlikely scenario of self-circumcision. Conversely, bearing in mind the temporal aspects of maternal and paternal domains of contact with and control over children, it does not seem unreasonable to suppose that Zipporah’s circumcision of Gershom in Exod 4, for all its literary coloring, might plausibly reflect a known ritual procedure in which mothers circumcised their infantile sons, not yet weaned; a procedure otherwise attested in the books of Maccabees and Talmudic traditions associated with Nathan, Yehudah ha-Nasi, and Shimon ben Gamliel.

11. Concluding Remarks One final note is in order: all of the sources discussed or mentioned here, including Exod 4, Gen 17, 1 Macc 1, 2 Macc 6, and 4 Macc. 4, b. Šabb. 134a, b.

Yebam. 64b, and b. ʿAbod. Zar. 27a, constitute stylized literary constructions; and for that reason, they cannot be said to offer an unmediated view of actual ritual practices during the Second Temple and Roman periods. That being the case, it is nevertheless significant that the authors and editors of the various accounts could, without apology or explanation, envision situations in which women themselves circumcised their sons. This stands in stark contrast to a competing view that had developed by late antiquity, when male ritual experts from outside the household had begun to displace the household-based agency attributed to mothers and fathers evident in texts and traditions of the exilic and postexilic, Hellenistic, and Roman periods; and consequently, one Talmudic authority could no longer countenance the possibility that Zipporah had circumcised her own son. The late-antique curtailing of women’s ritual agency is also evident in the Scroll of Antiochus, whose author felt the need to specify that a woman had taken the initiative to circumcise her son only because her husband had died. Although, due to the nature of the evidence at our disposal, the shift that we witness from the Second Temple period to late antiquity 82

For discussion, see Thomas R. Blanton IV, “A Relational Account of Structure and Agency via ‘Lived Ancient Religion’ and the ‘Processing Approach,’ with a Case Study of Circumcision in Ancient Judaism,” Religion in the Roman Empire 8, no. 3 (2022): 270– 300, esp. 287–289.

83 Leonard B. Glick, Marked in Your Flesh: Circumcision from Ancient Judea to Modern America (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 83.

Blanton, Did Jewish Women Circumcise 66 indicates above all a change in modes of literary representation, in my opinion it does not stretch the imagination too far to suggest that parallel developments in ritual practice lay underneath the observable shift in representation.

Like the literature that imperfectly depicts it, the ritual itself may have undergone various permutations: in domestic contexts, being performed on infants by either mothers or fathers, and later by mohels arriving from outside the household; and in collective contexts by male heads of household (e.g., the circumcision of adult male slaves), or by other males understood as authorized ritual agents, perhaps based on specific or even unique contextual factors (e.g., Joshua’s circumcision of soldiers at Gilgal; the unspecified circumcisers of adult Shechemites). At the very least, the data presented here serve to warn us against assuming either (1) that a mohel or mohel-like figure was already present during and shortly after the Second Temple period, (2) that only males were viewed as authorized to perform circumcisions throughout all antiquity, or (3) that norms and specifications concerning the agent or agents who performed circumcisions within the context of a given household had developed prior to late antiquity.

Circumcision in Galatia: Why Did Some Gentile Christ Followers Seek Circumcision in the Early Jesus Movement?

Martin Sanfridson Uppsala | martin.sanfridson@outlook.com JJMJS No. 10 (2023): 67–88 Abstract This article aims to answer the question of why gentile Christ followers in the Galatian ekklēsia wanted to get circumcised. I suggest that one part of the answer can be found in the fact that Paul reshapes their ethnicity in two ways.

First, Paul incorporates the gentile Christ followers into Abraham’s family and gives them a new genealogy in Christ. The gentile Christ follower is no longer a gentile but has become one in Christ with Jewish Christ followers, a son of Abraham, son of the god of Israel, and a child of Sarah, the free woman.

Second, by belonging to the Galatian ekklēsia gentile Christ followers have joined a new cult, a cult which in many ways required them not to engage in their previous cults to the same degree as before. The most important cultic requirement Paul asks of his gentile Christ followers is that they only worship the god of Israel as their god, no other gods. By reshaping the gentile Christ followers’ identity in this way, Paul makes them more Jewish. Hence, I argue that for these gentiles, it would seem quite natural that getting circumcised would be the next step in their journey as Christ followers.

Keywords Galatians, 1 Corinthians, Circumcision, Ethnicity, Cult, Genealogy 1. Introduction Paul’s letter to the gentile Christ followers in Galatia is arguably the apostle’s most pointed letter.1 The problem, as Paul sees it, is that the Galatians are abandoning his message for another (Gal 1:6–9). Moreover, the key issue for 1

On the gentile audience of this letter, see Mark D. Nanos, The Irony of Galatians: Paul’s Letter in First-Century Context (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2002), 75–85; Hans Dieter Betz, Galatians: A Commentary on Paul’s letter to the Churches in Galatia, Hermeneia (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979), 4. Pace Verena Jegher-Bucher, Der Galaterbrief auf dem Hintergrund antiker Epistolographie und Rhetorik Ein anderes Paulusbild, ATANT 78 (Zürich: Theologischer Verlag, 1991), 98–115; Bas Van Os, “The Jewish Recipients of Galatians,” in Paul: Jew, Greek, and Roman, ed. Stanley E. Porter, Pauline Studies 5, (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 51–64.

Sanfridson, Circumcision in Galatia 68 Paul lies in the Galatians’ wish to fully adopt the Jewish law, which includes getting circumcised.2 Much has been written regarding why Paul opposed circumcision in the case of the Galatians and his attitude toward the Jewish law.3 Hence, my focus lies elsewhere. Whereas it is clear that Paul argued against circumcision in the case of the gentile Christ followers in Galatia, it is unclear why the Galatians wanted to get circumcised in the first place.4 In this article, I explore one possible motive that may have been behind the desire of the gentile members of the ekklēsia to get circumcised, namely that Paul rewrites these gentiles’ genealogy so that they become Abraham’s offspring and that their membership in the Jewish Jesus movement required them to change their cultic, and therefore also social, customs.5 Given the proximity between genealogy and cult and their bearing on one’s ethnicity in antiquity, I argue that when Paul incorporates his gentiles into Abraham’s line of descent and instructs them to follow certain Jewish customs, he is also making them “more Jewish.” Consequently, this made the gentile Christ followers more susceptible to a message that required them to adopt the Jewish law and get circumcised since they were already well on their way to adopting a more Jewish way of life.

2. Constructing Ethnicity through Genealogy and Cult In the modern West, we often view religion, ethnicity, and one’s personal life or customs as three separate spheres. During Paul’s time, things were different, 2

Cf. Philip F. Esler, “Group Boundaries and Intergroup Conflict in Galatians: A New Reading of Galatians 5:13–6:10,” in Ethnicity and the Bible, ed. Mark G. Brett (Leiden: Brill, 1996), 215–240, esp. 215; Nils A. Dahl, “Galatians: Genre, Content, and Structure,” in The Galatians Debate: Contemporary Issues in Rhetorical and Historical Interpretation, ed. Mark D. Nanos (Peabody: Hendrickson, 2002), 117–142, esp. 136; William S. Campbell, “‘I Rate All Things as Loss:’ Paul’s Puzzling Accounting System.

Judaism as Loss or the Re-evaluation of All Things in Christ,” in Celebrating Paul: Festschrift in Honour of Jerome Murphy-O’Connor, O.P., and Joseph A. Fitzmyer, S.J, ed.

Peter Spitaler, CBQMS 48, (Washington: The Catholic Biblical Association of America, 2011), 39–61, 46; Paula Fredriksen, “Judaism, the Circumcision of Gentiles, and Apocalyptic Hope: Another Look at Galatians 1 and 2,” in The Galatians Debate: Contemporary Issues in Rhetorical and Historical Interpretation, ed. Mark D. Nanos (Peabody: Hendrickson, 2002), 235–260, esp. 235.

3 For a concise overview of scholarly approaches to Paul and the Jewish law, see Panayotis Coutsoumpos, “Paul’s Attitude towards the Law,” in Paul: Jew, Greek, and Roman, ed. Stanley E. Porter, Pauline Studies 5 (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 39–50.

4 On some of the common explanations why Paul argued against circumcision in Galatians, see Ryan D. Collman, The Apostle to the Foreskin: Circumcision in the Letters of Paul, BZNW 259 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2023), 56–60.

5 I use the word “cult” rather than “religion” when discussing the Jesus movement and other groups that worshiped a god or several gods.

69 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) and lines were blurrier. “Religion,” a concept that did not exist at the time, and ethnicity went hand in hand, shaping and influencing each other.6 Furthermore, one’s personal life and customs could not be distinguished from the culture and cultic life (“religion”) of the city—especially not since virtually every household, at least in the Roman empire, would have their own deities (the Lares and Penates) and to which parts of food and drink were offered during dinners.7 Paula Fredriksen aptly captures the sense of the ancient understanding of ethnicity, cult, and social life: “In antiquity, gods were local in a dual sense. They attached to particular places … and gods also attached to particular peoples; ‘religion’ ran in the blood. In this sense, one’s genos was as much a cult-designation as what we, from a sociological or anthropological

6

The issue of the anachronism in applying the modern concept and word “religion” to ancient people has become increasingly recognized in scholarship. John S. Kloppenborg (Christ’s Associations: Connecting and Belonging in the Ancient City [New Haven: Yale University Press, 2019], 10–18) points out two of the major flaws in applying the modern term “religion” to antiquity. First, our modern concept and word “religion” does not correspond to any word in Greek, Latin, or Hebrew. The closest word to the English “religion” is the Latin religio, but religio does not mean religion in our modern sense but refers rather to “rites” or “worship.” The problem, however, goes beyond semantics since not only did those writing in Greek, Latin, or Hebrew not have a word for “religion,” but they did not have the concept of religion in mind when writing. For many modern people, “religion” is on the one side of the spectrum and on the other we find “secularism.” Consequently, we can divide the world into religious and1secular parts. Ancient people did not. For Cicero (Nat. d. 2.28.71–72; cf. 1.42.117), the opposite of religio was superstitio (which, in contrast to secularism, entailed carrying out rites and worship to the extreme). Moreover, many things we today would deem secular were closely connected with the gods in antiquity, e.g., politics, wars, and family life.

The second problem with applying “religion” to antiquity, Kloppenborg notes, is that religion today often refers to an individual and intrinsic belief. In antiquity, the outward life of the cult—with its processions, prayers, festivals, and perhaps most importantly, its sacrifices—were the key features of a pious life. On the modern concept of religion and how the modern concept of religion cannot be applied to antiquity, see Brent Nongbri, Before Religion: A History of a Modern Concept (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2013); Wilfred Cantwell Smith, The Meaning and End of Religion: A New Approach to the Religious Traditions of Mankind (New York: The New American Library, 1964); Carlin A. Barton and Daniel Boyarin, Imagine No Religion: How Modern Abstractions Hide Ancient Realities (New York: Fordham University Press, 2016).

7 For mentions of the Lares and Penates in the house, see Tibullus, Elegies 1.3.34–35; Juvenal, Sat. 12.83–92. More generally on these divine beings, see Beth Severy, Augustus and the Family at the Birth of the Roman Empire (London: Routledge, 2003), 97, 119– 123. On the role of cults in Roman households, see John Bodel, “Cicero’s Minerva, Penates, and the Mother of the Lares: An outline of Roman Domestic Religion,” in Household and Family Religion in Antiquity, ed. John Bodel and Saul M. Olyan, The Ancient World: Comparative Histories (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2008), 248–275.

Sanfridson, Circumcision in Galatia 70 perspective, see as an ‘ethnic’ one: ethnicity expressed ‘religion’…. And religion expressed ‘ethnicity’.”8 One of the earliest extant and most well-known articulations of ethnicity in the ancient world comes from the Greek author Herodotus (fifth century BCE). He writes: “Being Greek (Ἑλληνικός) is sharing the same blood (ὅμαιμός), same language (ὁμόγλωσσος), the shrines of the gods (θεῶν ἱδρύματά), common sacrifices (κοινὰ καὶ θυσίαι), and the same customs (ἤθεά τε ὁμότροπα).”9 This brief text aptly illuminates how some thought ethnicity, cult, and customs were all intertwined and could not easily be separated.10 It is noteworthy that to be Ἑλληνικός does not seem to be a strictly static thing, but “Greekness” is made up of genealogy, language, cult, and customs.11 8

Paula Fredriksen, “What ‘Parting of the Ways’? Jews, Gentiles, and the Ancient Mediterranean City,” in The Ways that Never Parted: Jews and Christians in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages, ed. Adam H. Becker and Annette Yoshiko Reed (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007), 35–63, 39 (emphasis original). I think David G. Horrell (“Religion, Ethnicity, and Way of Life: Exploring Categories of Identity,” CBQ 83 [2021]: 38–55, 45) is correct in noting that “‘running in the blood’ should not be taken to imply that ‘ethnicity’ (and ‘religion’) are thereby fixed or determined from birth. On the contrary … both were part of a fluid and flexible field of identity construction.”

Ethnicity, or kinship, also had a profound impact on other parts of ancient societies, e.g., politics (which, in turn, also was dependent, so ancient Greeks and Romans thought, on good relationships with the gods). Cf. Christopher P. Jones, Kinship Diplomacy in the Ancient World, Revealing Antiquity 12 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1999).

9 The Persian Wars 8.144 (my translation). See also Rosalind Thomas, “Ethnicity, Genealogy, and Hellenism in Herodotus,” in Ancient Perceptions of Greek Ethnicity, ed.

Irad Malkin, Center for Hellenic Studies Colloquia 5 (Washington: Center for Hellenic Studies: 2001), 213–233; Rosaria Vignolo Munson, “Herodotus and Ethnicity,” in A Companion to Ethnicity in the Ancient Mediterranean, ed. Jeremy McInerney, Blackwell Companions to the Ancient World (Chichester: Wiley Blackwell, 2014), 341– 355.

10 Jonathan M. Hall (Ethnic Identity in Greek Antiquity [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997], 39) argues that cults and rituals often played one of the most crucial roles when it came to ethnicity in ancient Greece: “Even more significant than common customs were the cults and rituals that were thought to unite the members of an ethnic group.” Albrecht Dihle (“Response,” in Images and Ideologies: Self-Definition in the Hellenistic World, ed. Anthony W. Bulloch et al., Hellenistic Culture and Society 12 [Berkley: University of California Press, 1994], 287–295) corroborates this emphasis on cult: “Being conscious of one’s own Greek identity was brought about through participation in the cult of the city.”

11 According to Hall (Ethnic Identity, 47), the Persian Wars constituted a shift in how Greek ethnicity and self-definition were created: “If, from the fifth century, Greek selfdefinition was oppositional, prior to the Persian Wars it was aggregative. Rather than being defined ‘from without’, it was constructed cumulatively ‘from within’. It was a definition based not on difference from the barbarian but on similarity with peer

71 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) Consequently, Herodotus displays what modern scholarship on ethnicity refers to as a subjectivist understanding of ethnicity.12 Therefore, it is plausible to think that if one were to alter any of these components, one would also alter the degree to which one was Greek.13 In this sense, I argue that when gentiles joined the Jesus movement they altered aspects of their genealogy, language, cult, and/or customs.

Joining the Jewish Jesus movement during the first century CE as a gentile not only meant that you now belonged to a new group; it meant that you, in many ways, had to leave behind your old way of life.14 Several texts groups which attempted to attach themselves to one another by invoking common descent from Hellen.” On the Greek-barbarian antithesis, see Hyun Jin Kim, Ethnicity and Foreigners in Ancient Greece and China (London: Duckworth, 2009).

12 On the two predominant understandings of ethnicity in modern scholarship, objectivist and subjectivist, Rogers Brubaker (Grounds for Difference [Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2015], 48) comments that there has been a significant shift “from objectivist to subjectivist understandings [of ethnicity]. For the former, race and ethnicity exist independently of people’s beliefs and practices; for the latter, they are generated by such beliefs and practices. For the former, racial and ethnic divisions are prior to the classification practices through which they are subsequently recognized (or misrecognized); for the latter racial and ethnic divisions are constituted by classification practices. For the former, in short, race and ethnicity are things in the world; for the latter, they are perspectives on and constructions of the world” (emphasis original). As an example of this shift, Jeremy McInerney (“Ethnicity: An Introduction,” in McInerney, A Companion to Ethnicity in the Ancient Mediterranean, 1–16, esp.

3) writes in the introduction: “What ethnicity is emphatically not is a fixed biological entity based on primordial ties of kinship.” Further on the topic of modern developments in research on ethnicity, see Adriana J. Umaña-Taylor, “Ethnic Identity Research: How Far Have We Come?” in Studying Ethnic Identity: Methodological and Conceptual Approaches Across Disciplines, ed. C. E. Santos and Adriana J. UmañaTaylor (Washington: American Psychological Association, 2015), 11–26.

13 Denise Kimber Buell (Why This New Race: Ethnic Reasoning in Early Christianity [New York: Columbia University Press, 2005], 38) points out that the criteria of Greek ethnicity that Herodotus mentions were also called upon in later Greek texts.

Nevertheless, Buell further notes, “We should not presume that these criteria are either essential to Greek ethnicity or the only criteria ever cited” (emphasis original). On the topic of how the criteria Herodotus employs were used, altered, or dropped by later authors, see Suzanne Saïd, “The Discourse of Identity in Greek Rhetoric from Isocrates to Aristides,” in Ancient Perceptions of Greek Ethnicity, ed. Irad Malkin, Center for Hellenic Studies Colloquia 5 (Washington: Center for Hellenic Studies: 2001), 275–299.

14 The difficulties in leaving the old life behind can be readily seen in 1 Cor 8, where Paul urges some Christ followers who frequent cultic meals to consider not doing so for the sake of those Christ followers who perceive the dinners to amount to idolatry. On 1 Cor 8, Jason T. Lamoreaux (“Ritual Negotiation,” in Early Christian Ritual Life, ed.

Richard E. DeMaris, Jason T. Lamoreaux, and Steven C. Muir [London: Routledge, 2017], 133–145, esp. 143) comments: “Participation in sacrifice and sacrificial meals

Sanfridson, Circumcision in Galatia 72 produced in the early stages of the Jesus movement, Paul’s included, demonstrate the notion that non-Jewish members had to abandon at least some of their previous customs.15 For example, Acts 21:25 (cf. 15:29) makes it clear that gentile Christ-followers must abstain from a number of things: “Concerning the faithful gentiles (πεπιστευκότων ἐθνῶν), we send this judgement: they are to stay away from food offered to idols (εἰδωλόθυτος), blood (αἷμα), meat from strangled animals (πνικτός), and sexual immorality (πορνεία).”16 The Didache also mentions the ban on εἰδωλόθυτος. In 6.3, we read: “Now concerning food, endure what you are able. But make certain to stay away from food offered to idols; for it is the worship of dead gods.”17 Like Acts, the Didache is unambiguous in its ban on food offered to idols. Indeed, Huub van den Sandt and David Flusser argue that Did. 6.2–3 is a later addition to the Didache—which is grounded in Acts 15—made by Jewish and gentile Christ followers in order to inform the latter that they need not keep the whole of the Jewish law, only what they are able to and to avoid food offered to idols.18 Paul, too, discusses the concept of food offered to idols and whether Christ followers can eat of such food or not (more on this below). For him, however, the main aspect of their previous life gentile Christ followers had to leave behind was the worship of gods other than the god of Israel. As Fredriksen puts it: “We should see clearly what Paul is asking of his pagans, and what (so far as we know) absolutely all of the apostles in the early years of this messianic movement were demanding of their gentile followers: No λατρεία to native gods.”19 establishes and maintains familial ties and identities. In asking the Corinthians to abstain from idol meat, Paul does not simply ask the knowledgeable to avoid idolatry or contamination from such things…. If ritual is an indicator of identity, Paul is asking— commanding, really—the knowledgeable to distance themselves from familial activities and their ties to households outside of the Jesus group…. So, what Paul demanded of them amounted to social violence, an act that would cut them off from social, as well as material, resources.”

15 On this topic in Paul and other Christ following authors, see Michele Murray, “Romans 2 Within the Broader Context of Gentile Judaizing in Early Christianity,” in The So-Called Jew in Paul’s Letter to the Romans, ed. Rafael Rodríguez and Matthew Thiessen (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2016), 163–182.

16 All translations are my own unless otherwise stated.

17 Based on the Greek text from The Apostolic Fathers: Greek Texts and English Translations, 3rd ed., ed. and trans. Michael W. Holmes (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2007). Greek: Περὶ δὲ τῆς βρώσεως ὅ δύνασαι βάστασον ἀπὸ δὲ τοῦ εἰδωλοθύτου λίαν πρόσεχε λατρεία γάρ ἐστιν θεῶν νεκρῶν.

18 Huub van den Sandt and David Flusser, The Didache: Its Jewish Sources and Its Place in early Judaism and Christianity, CRINT 5 (Assen: Royal Van Gorcul; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2002), 238–270.

19 Paula Fredriksen, “Judaizing the Nations: The Ritual Demands of Paul’s Gospel,” NTS 56 (2010): 232–252, esp. 251.

73 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) I now turn to two key tenets regarding the creation of ethnicity in antiquity: genealogy and cult. First, I go through several examples of how these two facets created and maintained ethnicity; second, I turn to Paul’s letter to the Galatians to see how Paul reshapes the genealogy and cultic life of his gentile Christ followers and why that might have led them to seek circumcision.

3. Genealogy Genealogy, kinship (συγγένεια), and descent (γένος) were important facets of creating ethnicity in the ancient world. This is evident in an account from 1 Macc 12:19–23. This account tells how the king of the Spartans, Areios, sends a letter to the high priest Onias with the information that “it has been found in writing about the Spartans and the Jews that they are brothers (ἀδελφοὶ) and that they are from the offspring of Abraham (ἐκ γένους Αβρααμ).” This purported discovery on the part of the Spartans further leads the king to claim that everything the Jews own now belongs to the Spartans and vice versa. We find the same letter in Josephus’s Jewish Antiquities (12.226). In this version of the letter, Areios writes that he discovered in a writing that Jews and Lacedaemonians are of shared descent (ἐξ ἑνὸς εἶεν γένους) and related through Abraham (ἐκ τῆς πρὸς Ἄβραμον οἰκειότητος).20 By claiming a shared ancestry, the Spartans claim that they are now genealogically connected to the Jews, and they can both therefore expect certain things from each other.

Now, this claim of shared Abrahamic descent should be taken with a grain of salt. John Bartlett notes that “the Spartan correspondence must surely belong to the genre of diplomatic fiction.”21 Nevertheless, the examples from 1 20

The Spartans in 1 Macc 12:19–23 and the Lacedaemonians mentioned in Josephus’s work refer to the same thing: Lacedaemon was the city-state in which Sparta was the main settlement.

21 John R. Bartlett, 1 Maccabees, Guides to Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998), 95. Bartlett (ibid) suggests that the reason why the Jewish author of 1 Maccabees wanted to associate the Jews with the Spartans was because “the Spartans were famous in the ancient world for their militarism, and for their laws, and perhaps for these reasons the Jewish author was anxious to associate the Jewish state, founded on the law and on the military successes of Judas, Jonathan, Simon and John Hyrcanus, with such a famous exemplar.” For a fuller analysis of the accounts in 1 Maccabees and Josephus, see Jones, Kinship Diplomacy, 75–79; Erich S. Gruen, “Jewish Perspectives on Greek Culture and Ethnicity,” in Ancient Perceptions of Greek Ethnicity, ed. Irad Malkin, Center for Hellenic Studies Colloquia 5 (Washington: Center for Hellenic Studies: 2001), 347–373, esp. 361–363; idem, “The Purported Jewish-Spartan Affiliation,” in Transitions to Empire: Essays in Greco-Roman History, 360–146 B.C., in Honor of E. Badian, ed. Robert W. Wallace and Edward M. Harris, Oklahoma Series in Classical Culture 21 (Norman, OK: University of Oklahoma Press, 1996), 254–269.

Sanfridson, Circumcision in Galatia 74 Maccabees and Josephus show that ethnic ties could be altered based on a newly discovered shared descent.22 Furthermore, the shared descent was deemed genuine as long as both parties accepted it, regardless of how factually or biologically accurate the claim was.23 We find another example of the malleability of ethnicity in the writings of Philo.24 In his On the Virtues, Philo turns to Moses’ instructions vis-à-vis the foreigner (ἔπηλύτης) who wants to join the Jewish community.

Philo writes: [Moses] holds that the foreigners also should be accorded every favour and consideration as their due, because abandoning their kinsfolk by blood (γενεὰν μὲν τὴν ἀφ᾿ αἵματος), country (πατρίδα), customs (ἔθη), temples (ἱερὰ), and images of the gods (ἀφιδρύματα θεῶν), but also the tributes and honours paid to them, they have taken the journey to a better home, from idle gables to the clear vision of truth and the reverence of the one and truly existing God (τοῦ ἑνὸς καὶ ὄντως ὄντος θεοῦ).25 These foreigners, Philo continues, should be treated “not only as friends and kin (ὡς φίλους καὶ συγγενεῖς), but as themselves.” In a similar passage in On The Special Laws, Philo writes that non-Jews who have decided to join the Jewish community have left “their country, friends, and kinsfolk (πατρίδα καὶ φίλους καὶ

22

The malleability of descent could work both ways. On the one hand, one could include people in it, like 1 Maccabees and Josephus show; on the other, one could exclude people from it. For example, according to Philo, Abrahamic descent was only passed on via Isaac and then Jacob (Cf. Praem. 57; Virt. 207). Paul makes a similar statement in Rom 9:7: “Because not all Abraham’s children are his descendants, but ‘in Isaac a descendant will be named for you’ (οὐδ’ ὅτι εἰσὶν σπέρμα Ἀβραάμ, πάντες τέκνα, ἀλλ’· ἐν Ἰσαὰκ κληθήσεταί σοι σπέρμα).”

23 Rather than creating shared kinship through connections between gods and humans, Hellenistic Jews, who worshiped a god who did not leave any offspring behind, instead drew on connections to the patriarchs to get as close as possible to the Greco-Roman way of creating kinship between peoples. Cf. Paula Fredriksen, “The Question of Worship: Gods, Pagans, and the Redemption of Israel,” in Paul Within Judaism: Restoring the First-Century Context to the Apostle, ed. Mark D. Nanos and Magnus Zetterholm (Lanham: Fortress, 2015), 175–201, esp. 179.

24 In this article, I focus on those ancient writers who thought ethnicity was malleable.

However, not everyone agreed with this idea. For example, Matthew Thiessen (Contesting Conversion: Genealogy, Circumcision, and Identity in Ancient Judaism and Christianity [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011], 108) has shown “that there was a constant stream of Jewish thought,” opposing the idea non-Jews could become Jews.

25 Virt. 102–103 (slightly altered from LCL).

75 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) συγγενεῖς) because of virtue and piety.”26 It is clear from these two passages that

Philo envisioned that the foreigner who wanted to be a part of the Jewish community at the expense of any other would consequently give up his or her ancestors and kinsfolk in order to do so. Philo then goes on to appeal to his fellow Jews that the foreigner who wants to become a part of the Jewish community must not be denied “another citizenship, family, and friends (ἑτέρων πόλεων καὶ οἰκείων καὶ φίλων).” Even though Philo does not explicitly say that these foreigners gain a new ethnicity—although he strongly alludes to it— when abandoning their old way of life for a new one with an exclusive commitment to Jewish laws and customs, David Horrell is right to point out that “Philo’s description of the welcome that should be accorded to ‘incomers’ to the Jewish community…constitutes a rich description of a transition that encompasses a number of features commonly associated with ethnic identity.”27 I now turn to discuss the importance of cult in the creation of ethnicity.

4. Cult On the close connection between cult and ethnicity during the Roman era, Larry Hurtado comments: “For at least most people of the Roman era, their ethnic identity was basically given at birth, and gods linked to that ethnic group came as part of the package.”28 We see the connection between belonging to a people and worshiping that people’s gods in Josephus’ two writings, Against Apion and The Jewish Antiquities. In the first text, Apion, commenting on the Jews in Alexandria, is baffled at the idea that these Jews, though citizens, do not worship the same gods as the other Alexandrians do.29 In Antiquities, Josephus records how the Ionians plead with Marcus Agrippa that if Jews were to become kin (συγγένεια) to the Ionians, the former should also worship the Ionians’ gods.30 The logic at work in both these accounts is 26

Spec. 1.52.

Horrell, “Way of Life,” 49. On this passage in Philo, Shaye J. D. Cohen (“Crossing the Boundary and Becoming a Jew,” HTR 82 [1989]: 13–33, esp. 26–27) comments: “It is striking that Philo does not explicitly associate the process of conversion with the observance of the special laws, notably circumcision; we may presume that Philo would have required the proselyte, upon acquiring membership in the Israelite polity, to observe all the laws observed by the Israelites.”

28 Larry Hurtado, Destroyer of the Gods: Early Christian Distinctiveness in the Roman World (Texas: Baylor University Press, 2016), 78.

29 Against Apion 2.65. Josephus answers Apion by saying that he should not be surprised by the fact that the Jews in Alexandria obey their own ancestral laws, even when in Egypt.

30 The Jewish Antiquities 12.126. On conflicts between Jewish communities in Asia Minor and other people groups, see Christopher D. Stanley, “‘Neither Jew Not Greek’: Ethnic Conflict in Graeco-Roman Society,” JSNT 64 (1996): 101–124. On the role of 27

Sanfridson, Circumcision in Galatia 76 that if one people group are to be a part of the people they live among, they should also participate in the worship of the local gods.31 The notion that cult and ethnicity were interconnected during the first century CE, Denise Kimber Buell argues, was widely held in the Mediterranean: By the first century C.E., religion was well established as a public discourse that was especially useful for asserting, contesting, and transforming ethnoracial as well as civic identities across the Mediterranean basin. How and who one worshipped could indicate or create one’s ethnoracial and/or civic membership, even as it was viewed as a product of that membership.32 One can see the transformation of ethnicity via cult in 1 Peter.33 The author of the letter implores the members of the Christ cult to live their new life in fear cultic participation in the Greek world Albrecht Dihle (“Response,” in Images and Ideologies: Self-Definition in the Hellenistic World, ed. Anthony W. Bulloch et al., Hellenistic Culture and Society 12 [Berkley: University of California Press, 1994], 287– 295, esp. 295) comments: “The traditional cult of the traditional city gods turned out to remain the main factor of social integration for many centuries.”

31 In both texts, Jews are accused by non-Jews for not worshiping the gods of the place where they live and are citizens; however, it should be noted that in both cases, they are free to continue worshipping their own ancestral god and not forced to adopt the gods of others. Even though some maintained that people who were part of a particular city or country should worship the local deities, this was not enforced on everyone.

Fredriksen (“Judaizing the Nations,” 239) comments on this topic: “Refusal to worship the gods was the public behavior that pagan critics universally associated with Jews. It offended them. Nonetheless, majority culture, by and large, tolerated this singular aspect of Jewish behavior precisely because it was a demand of the Jewish god and was therefore ancient and ancestral.” On the relationship between Jewish customs and the life of the Greco-Roman city, Tessa Rajak (The Jewish Dialogue with Greece and Rome: Studies in Cultural and Social Interaction, AGJU 48 [Leiden: Brill, 2001], 302) suggests: “Jewish nomoi were not formally incompatible with city requirements, though they could become contentious if the populace of the officials wanted to make life awkward.

That was when the authorities might create difficulties with Sabbath observance, close special food markets, deny ownership of meeting places, and prevent the export of funds. But it was not in the very nature of the polis to exclude such activities, and in the normal course of events, they must have proceeded without question.”

32 Buell, New Race, 49 (my emphasis).

33 Likely written c. 80–90 CE. Cf. Paul J. Achtemeier, 1 Peter: A Commentary on First Peter, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1996), 43–50. For more on 1 Peter and ethnicity, see Janette H. Ok, Constructing Ethnic Identity in 1 Peter: Who You Are No Longer, LNTS 645 (London: T&T Clark, 2021).

77 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) (ἐν φόβῳ) of their heavenly Father (1:17). They are to adopt this new way of life since they have been liberated from their vain manner of life, which they had inherited from their ancestors (πατροπαράδοτος), by the precious blood of Christ.34 “The result of this moral and religious change,” Buell points out, “is portrayed ethnoracially.”35 This is perhaps most clear in 1 Pet 2:9–10: “But you are a chosen γένος, a royal priesthood, a holy ἔθνος, a λαός for his possession….

Those who were once not a λαός are now the λαός of God.” The denseness with which these ethnicity-related terms occur in these two verses suggests that the author wishes to emphasize that a real ethnic change had occurred when these Christ followers had abandoned their ancestral cults and customs for those of the Jesus movement.36 This is further suggested by the reference to rebirth in 1:23: “You have been born again, not out of a perishable seed (σπορά) but of imperishable, through the living and abiding word of God.”37 John Elliot makes the following remark on this theme: “The image of birth … symbolize[s] not only an event of religious conversion but also the termination of previous social ties and the commencement of new associations.”38 Combining both the idea of genealogy and cult, Nancy Jay demonstrates how the ritual of sacrifice can create patterns of descent.39 Focusing on patrilineal descent, Jay writes: “Sacrificial ritual can serve in various ways as warrant of, and therefore as means of creating, patrilineal descent—as a principle of social organization, not as a fact of nature.”40 She 34

The previous lifestyle of the Christ followers addressed in 1 Peter is further explained in 4:3: “For you have already spent long enough time doing the will of gentiles (τὸ βούλημα τῶν ἐθνῶν), living in licentiousness, desire, drunkenness, feasting, drinking, and lawless worship of idols (ἀθεμίτοις εἰδωλολατρίαις).”

35 Buell, New Race, 45.

36 On these verses, Horrell (“Way of Life,” 54) remarks: “It is notable too that 1 Peter takes particularly emphatic steps toward identifying Christians as a ‘people’ in the climactic declaration of 2:9–10…. Drawing on various scriptural phrases, the author here combines all three people words—γένος, ἔθνος, and λαός—in a single verse, and initiates what became an influential designation of Christians as a γένος.” Cf. idem, Becoming Christian: Essays on 1 Peter and the Making of Christian Identity, LNTS 394 (London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2013), 133–163.

37 Cf. 1 Pet 1:3.

38 John Elliot, A Home for the Homeless: A Sociological Exegesis of 1 Peter, Its Situation and Strategy (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1981), 119.

39 Nancy Jay, Throughout Your Generations Forever: Sacrifice, Religion, and Paternity (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1992), 30–46. This seems to have been especially important when it came to how men established their parenthood. Cf. Stanley K. Stowers, “Greeks Who Sacrifice and Those Who Do Not: Toward an Anthropology of Greek Religion,” in The Social World of the First Christians: Essays in Honor of Wayne A. Meeks, ed. L. Michael White and O. Larry Yarbrough (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995), 293–333, esp. 300–306.

40 Jay, Throughout Your Generations, 37. Caroline Johnson Hodge (If Sons, then Heirs:

Sanfridson, Circumcision in Galatia 78 also points out that “when a form of social organization [such as patrilineal descent] is dependent on sacrifice for its identification and maintenance, it can also be lost by failure to sacrifice, and improper sacrifice can endanger it.”41 Since the ancients could not guarantee biological patrilineal descent, unlike matrilineal descent, sacrifice was a powerful tool to create social patrilineal descent.42 It was the latter type of patrilineal descent that was the most important in the Roman world. Caroline Johnson Hodge’s remark is instructive: “In Rome, legal descent passed through the pater, the socially recognized father, not the genitor, the biological father, a distinction even reflected in the language by these two words for father in legal contexts.”43 Having illustrated how genealogy and cult were essential components in creating and maintaining ethnicity in the Greco-Roman world, I now focus on how Paul used these two concepts to reconstruct the Galatians’ identity.

5. The Galatians’ Longing to Adopt the Jewish Law as an Expression of Wanting to Adopt a New (Jewish) Ethnicity When non-Jews joined the Christ group, they not only had to give up their native gods for an exclusive relationship with the god of Israel and this god’s Messiah, Jesus from Nazareth, but they also had to give up those aspects of their lives that were inextricably linked to their old gods. Hence, for gentiles, becoming a member of the ekklēsia in Galatia meant that they had to change key features of their own identities to become and remain acceptable members, such as ethnic identity and their previous cultic activities and rituals. Karin Neutel puts it well: “Gentiles who gave up their gods [when joining the Jesus movement] but did not circumcise could be seen to enter an ethnic no man’s land. As the hallmark of a Jew and a convert, circumcision would relieve the tension that this situation might be felt to create.”44 For the remainder of this article, I focus on how Paul rewrote the Galatians’ genealogy and made new cultic demands of them to provide one reason why they wanted to get circumcised.

A Study of Kinship and Ethnicity in the Letters of Paul [New York: Oxford University Press, 2007), 17) points out that “Paul’s kinship logic derives primarily from the ideology of patrilineal descent.” This is clear in Galatians, but Paul’s reference to the Galatians being children of Sarah (4:31) shows that he did not regard patrilineal descent as the only important type of descent.

41 Jay, Throughout Your Generations, 38.

42 Jay, Throughout Your Generations, 36.

43 Johnson Hodge, If Sons, 29.

44 Karin B. Neutel, A Cosmopolitan Ideal: Paul’s Declaration ‘Neither Jew Nor Greek, Neither Slave Nor Free, Nor Male and Female’ in the Context of First-Century Thought, LNTS 513 (London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2015), 99.

79 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) 6. A New Genealogy in Christ One of Paul’s main objectives in Galatians, I argue, is to rewrite his gentile Christ followers’ genealogical background.45 By doing this, Paul hopes he can convince the Christ followers that what they could gain by adopting the Jewish law, they have already gained in Christ.46 Put differently, in order to enjoy the blessings bestowed on Abraham, gentile Christ followers do not need to— indeed, should not—adopt Torah or seek to “become” Jews, since they access those blessings via Christ.47 In fact, as Neutel points out: “it seems likely that becoming associated with Abraham through circumcision would for Paul entail a rejection of the Abrahamic lineage that already exists through Christ…. Paul’s argument about alienation from Christ suggests that for gentiles, the two forms of kinship cannot coexist.”48 But how does Paul rewrite the Galatians’ genealogy, and what does he achieve by doing so?

In several instances in Galatians, Paul claims that through Christ followers’ being in Christ, they are incorporated into Abraham’s family and 45

Many readers of Paul have argued that what Paul proclaimed was a non-ethnic, universal “religion.” Several Pauline scholars, however, have started to question such a reading. For example, Johnson Hodge (If Sons, 48) writes: “The bifurcation of body and belief, ethnicity and religion, was foreign to first-century thinkers. I challenge this basic dichotomy by arguing that ethnic categories and religious categories cannot be disentangled in Paul. Paul does not reject an ethnic religion for a universal religion but deploys ethnic discourses to realign the relationship between two groups of peoples, Ioudaioi and gentiles. Indeed, Paul offers no non-ethnic alternative; even being ‘in Christ’ is ethnically defined.”

46 Cf. Lloyd Gaston (Paul and the Torah [Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 1987], 32): “The Gentile counterpart to living in the covenant community of Torah is being ‘in Christ’.” See also, Karin B. Neutel and Matthew R. Anderson, “The First Cut is the Deepest: Masculinity and Circumcision in the First Century,” in Biblical Masculinities Foregrounded, ed. Ovidiu Creangă and Peter-Ben Smit (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2014), 228–244, esp. 238.

47 Matthew Thiessen (Paul and the Gentile Problem [New York: Oxford University Press, 2016], 105) remarks: “Circumcision and adoption of the Jewish law are a dead end for gentiles because God did not intend for the Jewish law to make gentiles into sons of Abraham.” Thiessen further points to Pamela Eisenbaum’s observation (“A Remedy for Having Been Born of Woman: Jesus, Gentiles, and Genealogy in Romans,” JBL 123 [2004]: 671–702, esp. 700) that the Torah did not even have this effect on Jews.

48 Karin B. Neutel, “Circumcision Gone Wrong: Paul’s Message as a Case of Ritual Disruption,” Neot 50 (2016): 373–396, esp. 383. Peter-Ben Smit (“In Search of Real Circumcision: Ritual Failure and Circumcision in Paul,” JSNT 40 [2017]: 73–100, esp.

80–81) sees the Galatians attempt to circumcise as a case of ritual failure since the ritual of circumcision in the case of this group of gentile Christ followers would cancel the ritual of being obedient to Christ. On Paul’s opposition against gentile circumcision, see Martin Sanfridson, “Are Circumcision and Foreskin Really Nothing? Re-Reading 1 Corinthians 7:19 and Galatians 5:6; 6:15,” SEÅ 86 (2021): 129–146.

Sanfridson, Circumcision in Galatia 80 have a part in the blessing God bestowed on Abraham and his offspring. Paul lays the groundwork for his genealogical reasoning in Gal 3:6–9, and we can construct Paul’s argument that gentile Christ followers are descendants of Abraham in the following way. Paul starts in Gal 3:6 by quoting Gen 15:6 LXX: “Abraham put his trust in God and it was reckoned to him as righteousness.”

From this, Paul concludes that those of faithfulness are the sons of Abraham in the following verse (οἱ ἐκ πίστεως οὗτοι υἱοί εἰσιν Ἀβραάμ). Not only are Christ following gentiles sons of Abraham, but they are also blessed with Abraham, something Paul states that the scripture had foreseen already in Abraham’s own time (cf. Gen 12:3). Consequently, those who are of faithfulness are also sons of Abraham and blessed with the patriarch. 49 Thus far, Paul has not mentioned Christ’s role in all of this, but in 3:15–18, Paul elaborates on how Christ fits into this picture. God’s promise to Abraham and his offspring, Paul claims, was not to all of Abraham’s descendants but to only one offspring.50 This one offspring is Christ, and it is through him that God promised that the gentiles would be blessed in Abraham. However, as Paul further argues in 3:26, being in Christ does not only mean that the Galatian gentiles take part in Abraham’s blessing and descent, but they also become sons of God (υἱοὶ θεοῦ). Paul then transitions to his famous statement with regard to those who have been immersed in Christ, “there is no Jew or Greek, there is no slave or free, there is no male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus” (3:28).51 He follows this by stating that 49

I am inclined to agree with Johnson Hodge (If Sons, 83–86) and understand the phrase οἱ ἐκ πίστεως in that it refers to the πίστις of Abraham, but also that of Christ.

50 Paul here draws advantage of the singular form of σπέρμα in Gen 13:15, 17:8, and 24:7 to make his argument.

51 Regarding this statement, some have argued that Paul is doing away with those things that differentiate between peoples (e.g., ethnicity and social status). Cf. Martinus C. De Boer, Galatians: A Commentary, NTL (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2011), 245; N. T. Wright, Galatians, CCF (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2021), 194. One can question this reading of Gal 3:28. First, Paul elsewhere differentiates between people groups (cf.

Rom 1:18–32; 9:4–5; Gal 2:15) and seems very aware of his ethnicity (Phil 3:5). Second, I think Gal 3:28 should rather be understood as Paul’s way of saying that whatever identity markers a Christ follower may identify with (i.e., being Jewish, Greek, slave, free, male, or female), these markers are second to their identity as being in Christ (cf.

Rom 6:3; 1 Cor 12:13). This understanding of Gal 3:28 is favored by, inter alia, Johnson Hodge, If Sons, 126–131; John M. G. Barclay, “‘Neither Jew Nor Greek’: Multiculturalism and the New Perspective on Paul,” in Ethnicity and the Bible, ed.

Mark G. Brett (Leiden: Brill, 1996), 197–214; Patrick McMurray, Sacrifice, Brotherhood, and the Body: Abraham and the Nations in Romans (Lanham: Lexington Books/Fortress Academic, 2021), 97. See also Stanley K. Stowers (“Does Pauline Christianity Resemble a Hellenistic Philosophy?” in Paul Beyond the Judaism/Hellenism Divide, ed. Troels Engberg-Pedersen [Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2001], 81– 102, esp. 89–90) who compares the Pauline version of the Jesus movement to

81 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) those who are of Christ are Abraham’s seed (τοῦ Ἀβραὰμ σπέρμα) and heirs according to the promise of God. Christ, then, is the key in Paul’s reasoning when it comes to the question of how gentiles can take part in the blessings previously only bestowed on Israel and be incorporated into Abraham’s offspring.52 As Buell and Johnson Hodge argue: “Paul establishes a kinship for gentiles with Israel that is based not on shared blood but on shared spirit. This kinship is portrayed as even more ‘real’ than that of blood, so it is a mistake to interpret Paul’s rhetoric in terms of a mere metaphor. At baptism gentiles receive something of the ‘stuff’ of Christ when they receive his pneuma. Christ serves as the link for the gentiles to the lineage of Abraham.”53 At this point, there should be little doubt that Paul deliberatively rewrites the gentile Christ followers’ genealogy. These gentiles are no longer whatever they were before they joined the Jesus movement and the Galatian ekklēsia but have now become one in Christ, sons of Abraham, sons of God, children of the promise, and children of Sarah, the free woman.54 Paul’s Hellenistic philosophies and argues that, like some Hellenistic philosophies, Paul worked with a hierarchy of ‘goods,’ of which the highest good was being in Christ. As Denise Kimber Buell and Caroline Johnson Hodge (“The Politics of Interpretations: The Rhetoric of Race and Ethnicity in Paul,” JBL 123 [2004]: 235–251, esp. 238) point out: “If we interpret Paul by viewing ethnicity as a dynamic discourse that negotiates between the poles of fixity and fluidity, then Gal 3:28 can be seen as an attempt to define a communal vision in terms of ethnicity—not over against ethnicity. Paul uses ‘ethnic reasoning’ to solve the problem of excluding gentiles from God’s promises to Israel. He constructs his arguments within the scope of ethnoracial discourse but shifts the terms of membership and the relationship between existing groups—Greek and Judean—such that they can be brought into an ethnoracial relationship with one another. Ethnic reasoning serves Paul well, offering a model of unity and connection among peoples while maintaining differences. He preserves the categories of Greek or gentile and Judean while uniting them, hierarchically (‘first the Judean, then the Greek’), under the umbrella of Abraham’s descendants and God’s people.”

52 The comments of Buell and Johnson Hodge (“Politics of Interpretation,” 245) are apt: “Paul formulates his central theological problem in terms of ethnicity: gentile alienation from the God of Israel. Not surprisingly, then, Paul conceives of the solution also in terms of kinship and ethnicity…. Through Christ the gentiles receive a new ancestry and a new identity. Far from treating ethnicity as something merely fixed which Christ has broken, Paul portrays Christ as an agent of ethnic transformation.”

53 Buell and Johnson Hodge, “Politics of Interpretation,” 245. Cf. Thiessen, Gentile Problem, 105–106. Albert Schweitzer (The Mysticism of Paul, trans. William Montgomery [New York: Henry Holt and Company, 1931], 206) rightly notes that it is not πίστις per se that makes the gentile Christ followers righteous; it is the fact that they are in Christ that makes them righteous.

54 On Paul’s interpretation of Hagar and Sarah, Daniel Boyarin (A Radical Jew: Paul and the Politics of Identity [Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994], 34) writes: “All of the antitheses that he [Paul] has set up to until now work together to convince

Sanfridson, Circumcision in Galatia 82 rewriting of genealogies is not unique to Galatians but can be seen in his other letters as well. In Romans 4, Paul makes an argument similar to the one in Gal 3:6–9. Later in Romans, he describes how gentile Christ followers are grafted into the same olive tree as Israel springs from (11:17–24).55 In 1 Corinthians, too, Paul is in the process of rewriting genealogical backgrounds. First, he includes the gentile Christ followers in the story of the Israelites by writing, “our fathers (πατέρες ἡμῶν) were all under the cloud, and all crossed the sea” (10:1).56 Paul takes this one step further in 12:2 by saying that the non-Jewish Christ followers in Corinth who used to worship idols are no longer gentiles (ὅτε ἔθνη ἦτε).57 Hence, the ethnic language in Romans, 1 Corinthians, and the Galatians that they have but one choice, to remain in the spirit and not recommit themselves to the flesh, to remain in the covenant that was made according to the promise to the one seed of Abraham, the (spiritual) body of the risen Christ, and not return to the slavery of the covenant with Sinai…. By undertaking to fall into the fleshly hermeneutic of literal interpretation of circumcision.”

55 On this passage, see Caroline Johnson Hodge, “Olive Trees and Ethnicities: Judeans and Gentiles in Rom. 11:17–24,” in Christians as a Religious Minority in a Multicultural City: Modes of Interaction and Identity Formation in Early Imperial Rome, ed. Jürgen Zangenberg and Michael Labahn, JSNTSup 243 (London: T&T Clark International, 2004), 77–89.

56 The ekklēsia in Corinth was most likely made up of both Jewish and gentile Christ followers (cf. 7:18; 12:2, 13). On this question, see Kloppenborg, Christ’s Associations, 84–85; Joseph A. Fitzmyer, First Corinthians: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 32 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2008), 308. Hans Conzelmann, Der erste Brief an die Korinther, 11th ed., KEK 5 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1969), 151. On 1 Cor 10:1 and Paul’s use of πατέρες ἡμῶν, Cavan Concannon (“When You Were Gentiles”: Specters of Ethnicity in Roman Corinth and Paul’s Corinthian Correspondence [New Haven: Yale University Press, 2014], 159– 160) comments: “The pasts of the Corinthians, like that of the Israelites, were always open to being recast, rewritten, and reinterpreted as part of constructing ethnic and civic identity in the present…. 1 Cor 10:1–13 write[s] new Corinthians into a history that was not originally theirs, but Paul uses that history as an example to encourage his audience to mark boundaries between themselves and others based on particular cultic and dietary practices.”

57 On this verse, Erich S. Gruen (Ethnicity in the Ancient World—Did it Matter? [Berlin: De Gruyter, 2020], 191) comments: “Paul, in other words, implies that a transformation from the status of ethnos, which included (perhaps preeminently) the worship of idols, to that of Christ-worshipper entailed the shedding of a previous identity.” Even though Paul does claim that gentile Christ followers are descendants of Abraham and are no longer gentiles, he does nowhere write that they have become Israel or Jews; gentile Christ followers are still a separate (and somewhat ambiguous) group in Paul’s mind.

As Caroline Johnson Hodge (“The Question of Identity: Gentiles as Gentiles—but also Not—in Pauline Communities,” in Paul Within Judaism: Restoring the First-Century Context to the Apostle, 153–173, esp. 172) notes: “To be in Christ, gentiles give up their gods and religious practices, profess loyalty to the God of Israel, accept Israel’s messiah,

83 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) Galatians show that Paul had an active interest in the gentile Christ followers’ genealogy.

7. The Galatian Ekklēsia as a New Cult Cultic belonging played a crucial role in the world Paul was a part of—this included worshiping specific deities, carrying out rituals, and leading a life that was in accordance with the cult’s social code.58 Furthermore, as Fredriksen has rightly pointed out, cultic belonging and ethnicity often went hand in hand.59 As we have already seen, Paul rewrote the genealogical background of his gentile Christ followers in several of his letters, Galatians included. But what kind of cultic obligations did Paul expect of these gentiles, and how did it affect their social identity?60 One of the most significant cultic requirements Paul introduced to his gentiles was the exclusive worship of the god of Israel. This demand, which from the extant evidence seems to have been a demand that all early leaders of the Jesus movement made, “was specifically a Judaizing demand.”61 As such, it is plausible that Paul’s insistence on exclusive worship of the god of Israel led the Galatians to think that they were living more “Jewishly”—which they were.62 The apostle himself articulates the shift from the deities the Galatians Scriptures, and ancestry. All of these are Jewish ethnic markers, yet the gentiles do not become Jews. They are tucked into the seed of Abraham as gentiles and they remain gentiles, of a special sort, after they are made holy through baptism. This complex and mixed status for gentiles-in-Christ is crucial to Paul’s argument: their separateness is necessary for God’s plan for Israel, as Paul sees it” (my emphasis). Indeed, Terence Donaldson (Gentile Christian Identity from Cornelius to Constantine: The Nations, the Parting of the Ways, and Roman Imperial Ideology [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2020], 310) rightly points out that even though Paul says to the Corinthians that they were gentiles, “ethnē was an essential element of the new identity ascribed to them.”

58 Failure to adhere to the cult’s rules and regulations could result in expulsion. For example, on the communal meal the Corinthian ekklēsia celebrated (1 Cor 11:17–34), Kloppenborg (Christ’s Associations, 156) comments: “The Christ assembly in Corinth used ritual eating to mark belonging and compliance with the group’s ethical codes. It is for this reason that 1 Cor 5:11 counsels excluding from the communal meal those who do not comply with the ethical rules of the group.”

59 Fredriksen, “Parting of the Ways,” 39 (quoted above).

60 On cultic groups in antiquity, including ekklēsiai devoted to Jesus Christ, see Philip A. Harland, Associations, Synagogues, and Congregations: Claiming a Place in Ancient Mediterranean Society (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003), 44–52; Kloppenborg, Christ’s Associations, 29–32, 86–88.

61 Fredriksen, “Judaizing,” 251.

62 On the proximity between the gods one worshiped, on the one hand, and the ethnic group one belonged to, on the other, Johnson Hodge (If Sons, 49) comments: “Loyalty to a deity or deities, often manifested in specific worship practices, signaled membership in particular ethnic groups.”

Sanfridson, Circumcision in Galatia 84 used to worship before they accepted Paul’s message to their current relationship with the god of Israel in Gal 4:8–9: “But then, when you did not know God, you were enslaved to beings which are not gods by nature (τοῖς φύσει μὴ οὖσι θεοῖς); but now, having come to know God, or rather having become known by God, how can you turn back (ἐπιστρέφω) again to the weak and lowly elements, to which you yet again want to be slaves?” In other words, when the Galatians came to know and be known by the god of Israel, there was no other deity or spiritual being to which they should turn.63 The understanding that members of the Jesus movement should only worship one god is further seen in 1 Cor 8:5–6: “For even if there are so-called gods, whether in heaven or on earth (just as there are many gods and many lords), yet for us there is one God (εἷς θεὸς), the Father…. And one Lord (εἷς κύριος), Jesus Christ.”64 Hence, whatever gods, deities, spiritual beings, or idols the gentiles who became Christ followers had previously worshiped, they were now only allowed, Paul said, to worship the one god of Israel.65 This message 63

Throughout his letters, Paul mentions several types of spiritual beings and powers that are active in the world: τῶν ἀρχόντων τοῦ αἰῶνος τούτου, 1 Cor 2:8; ὁ θεὸς τοῦ αἰῶνος τούτου, 2 Cor 4:4; ἀρχή, ἐξουσία, and δύναμις, 1 Cor 15:24; δαιμόνιον, 1 Cor 10:21; στοιχεῖον, Gal 4:9; ἄγγελος, Gal 1:8, 4:14; 2 Cor 11:14; Σατανᾶς, 2 Cor 11:14. On Paul’s view of the many powers that inhabited the cosmos, see Fredriksen, “The Question of Worship,” 176–177; Dale B. Martin, “When Did Angels Become Demons?” JBL 129 (2010): 657–677, esp. 674.

64 Many have claimed that Paul was a monotheist, but as seen in the previous footnote, the spiritual world Paul imagined was heavily populated with several different beings.

Thus, the term “monotheist” (which, like “religion,” is anachronistic to Paul’s time in the sense we use it today) does not capture Paul’s view of the (spiritual) world. For scholarly corrections of the concept of “monotheism” in ancient Judaism and in the early Jesus movement, see Michael S. Heiser, “Monotheism, Polytheism, Monolatry, or Henotheism? Toward an Assessment of Divine Plurality in the Hebrew Bible,” BBR 18 (2008): 1–30; Nathan MacDonald, Deuteronomy and the Meaning of “Monotheism,” FAT II/1 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003); Richard Bauckham, Jesus and the God of Israel: God Crucified and Other Studies on the New Testament’s Christology of Divine Identity (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008), 107–126; Peter Hayman, “Monotheism—A Misused Word in Jewish Studies?” JJS 42 (1991): 1–15; Paula Fredriksen, “Mandatory Retirement: Ideas in the Study of Christian Origins Whose Time Has Come to Go,” SR 35 (2006): 231–246; Michael C. Legaspi, “Opposition to Idolatry in the Book of Habakkuk,” VT 67 (2017): 458–469; Larry Hurtado, “What Do We Mean by ‘FirstCentury Jewish Monotheism’?” in SBL 1993 Seminar Papers, ed. E. H. Lovering, SBLSP 32 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1993), 348–368.

65 Here I do not deal with how Paul viewed Jesus and his relationship to God, the Father. On this question, see Larry Hurtado, One God, One Lord: Early Christian Devotion and Ancient Jewish Monotheism, 2nd ed. (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998); idem, Lord Jesus Christ: Devotion to Jesus in Earliest Christianity (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003); Richard Bauckham, “Confessing the Cosmic Christ (1 Corinthians

85 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) was something Paul had preached from the very beginning. In his earliest letter, he writes to the Thessalonians and commends them for having “turned to God from idols to serve a living and genuine god” (ἐπεστρέψατε πρὸς τὸν θεὸν ἀπὸ τῶν εἰδώλων δουλεύειν θεῷ ζῶντι καὶ ἀληθινῷ).66 The exclusive commitment to the god of Israel was perhaps the most significant cultic demand Paul made of his gentile Christ followers. This commitment, however, came with some noticeable changes in the life of these Christ followers.67 For example, Paul instructs the members of the Corinthian ekklēsia in several ways regarding how their membership affects their social life. In 1 Cor 5–6, we find instructions from the apostle to the Corinthians.

First, he chastises the Corinthians for allowing a male member of the ekklēsia to live in a kind of sexual immorality that is not even practiced among gentiles, Paul claims (τοιαύτη πορνεία ἥτις οὐδὲ ἐν τοῖς ἔθνεσιν). This man is to be handed over to Satan so that his flesh is destroyed. Paul then goes on to further explain the instructions he gave to the Corinthians in an earlier letter in 5:9–13. His point is that the gentile Christ followers can associate with those outside the ekklēsia—no matter their moral conduct—but that they must not interact with anyone who is called a brother and who is “sexually immoral, greedy, an idol worshiper, an abuser, a drunkard, or a robber. Do not even eat with such a one” (1 Cor 5:11b).68 Consequently, Paul seems to have in mind a more or less 8:6 and Colossians 1:15–20),” in Monotheism and Christology in Greco-Roman Antiquity, ed. Matthew V. Novenson, NovTSup 180 (Leiden: Brill, 2020), 139–171.

66 Some have argued that 1 Thess 9–10 is a pre-Pauline text, but Morna D. Hooker (“1 Thessalonians 1.9–10: A Nutshell—But What Kind of Nut?” in Geschichte–Tradition– Reflexion: Festschrift für Martin Hengel zum 70. Geburtstag, ed. Hubert Cancik, Hermann Lichtenberger, and Peter Schäfer (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1996), 3.435– 448) has established the Pauline authorship of these two verses. Since Paul already, in his earliest extant letter, mentions the turning from other objects of worship, in this case, idols, it is safe to assume that the turning from idols and other objects of worship was a cornerstone in Paul’s message. Cf. Carey C. Newman, “God and Glory and Paul, Again: Divine Identity and Community Formation in the Early Jesus Movement,” in Monotheism and Christology in Greco-Roman Antiquity, ed. Matthew V. Novenson, NovTSup 180 (Leiden: Brill, 2020), 99–138, esp. 136; Mark D. Nanos, “The Question of Conceptualization: Qualifying Paul’s Position on Circumcision in Dialogue with Josephus’s Advisors to King Izates,” in Paul within Judaism: Restoring the First-Century Context to the Apostle, ed. Mark Nanos and Magnus Zetterholm (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2015), 105–152, esp. 127.

67 For Jewish Christ followers, the exclusive worship of the god of Israel was nothing new and therefore not something they had to adapt to. As Johnson Hodge (“The Question of Identity,” 172) comments on Jews who joined the Jesus movement: “Jews do not cross ethnic boundaries by virtue of their commitment to Christ; they do not change their God, their ancestry, or their ancestral customs.”

68 Derek McNamara (“Shame the Incestuous Man: 1 Corinthians 5,” Neot 44 [2010]: 307–326, esp. 320–321) argues “that v. 10 indicates Paul’s anticipation of resistance, or

Sanfridson, Circumcision in Galatia 86 clear behavioral code for those inside the ekklēsia; and the members cannot live like gentiles outside the Jesus movement.69 As J. Brian Tucker puts it: “[Paul] desires to establish a distinct ethos of identity.”70 In 1 Corinthians 6, Paul reminds the Corinthians that before they joined the Jesus movement, some of them lived a life unworthy of the kingdom of God. However, when they joined the Jesus movement, they were washed, made holy, and made righteous in the name of the Lord Jesus and in the spirit of God (1 Cor 6:11). Even though Paul here credits their new way of life to the work of Jesus and the Spirit, this new life also required a fair bit of commitment from the side of the Christ follower. As an example, the discussion that follows in 1 Cor 6:12–20 makes it clear that Christ followers cannot have intercourse with prostitutes and must abstain from all forms of πορνεία. Later in 1 Corinthians, it becomes evident that some members had frequently been visiting the city’s temples for worship and banquets. In 1 Cor 8 and 10:14–22, Paul instructs them that whereas reclining for dinners in temples (ἐν εἰδωλείῳ κατακείμενον) was acceptable for the most part, taking part in the sacrifices of these cults was unacceptable; one could not, as Paul puts it in 1 Cor 10:21, “drink from the cup of the Lord and the cup of daimonia, nor take part in the table of the Lord and the table of daimonia.”71 Thus, gentiles it may be actual resistance voiced by the Corinthians.” However, I think this verse is better understood as Paul’s way of establishing clear boundaries for the ekklēsia and how they can and should view those inside and outside of it, as is the concern of this whole passage.

69 On Paul’s vision for the communities he wrote to, Stanley Stowers (“The Concept of ‘Community’ and the History of Early Christianity,” MTSR 23 [2011]: 238–256, esp.

242) comments: “Paul did not merely try to persuade those whom he wanted as followers that they ought to become a very special kind of community. He told them that they had in their essence already become such a community.” As 1 Corinthians and Galatians show, the Pauline communities did not always live up to the community Paul envisioned.

70 J. Brian Tucker, “The Role of Civic Identity on the Pauline Mission in Corinth,” Didaskalia 19 (2008): 71–91, esp. 84. Cf. Michael Wolter, “Ethos und Identität in paulinischen Gemeinden,” NTS 43 (1997): 430–444; idem, “‘Let No One Seek His Own, but Each One the Other’s’ (1 Corinthians 10,24): Pauline Ethics According to 1 Corinthians,” in Identity, Ethics, and Ethos in the New Testament, ed. Jan G. van der Watt, BZNW 141 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2006), 199–217.

71 Scholars interpret 1 Cor 10:21 in several ways. One common interpretation is that Paul here forbids the eating of “food offered to idols” (εἰδωλόθυτος) and that 1 Cor 10:21 is a further qualification of Paul’s discussion on εἰδωλόθυτος in 1 Cor 8. For this view see, e.g., Gordon D. Fee, The First Epistle to the Corinthians, rev. ed. NICNT, (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2014), 521–522; Ben Witherington, Conflict and Community in Corinth: A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary on 1 and 2 Corinthians (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans; Carlisle, Paternoster, 1995), 226. My view is different, as I do not think Paul forbids the eating of εἰδωλόθυτος in 1 Cor 10:21, but that he forbids the Corinthian

87 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) who became members of the Jesus movement had to give up their former way of life for a new, in many ways more Jewish, way of life.

8. Conclusion: The Impact of a New Genealogy and Cult on the Gentile Christ Followers in Galatia Since the gentile Christ followers in the Galatian ekklēsia had been incorporated as descendants of Abraham and had adopted new cultic practices, which meant that they no longer could take part in their old cults to the extent they had done previously, I argue that they were open to the message of those who proclaimed that they should get circumcised. Such a message, ironically, could have been viewed as the natural continuation of Paul’s own message.72 He had made them genealogically connected to the father of the Jews and told them to only worship the god of Israel. Put differently, the apostle to the gentiles had asked his Christ-obedient gentiles to Judaize in no subtle way. As Mark Nanos puts it: “In Paul’s arguments, faith(fulness) to God is expressed by Christ-following non-Jews when they choose to turn from the worship of the gods of their nations and concomitant Christ followers to actively participate in the sacrifices in the cults of Corinth. I elaborate on my view of 1 Cor 8 and 10:14–22 in Martin Sanfridson, Paul and Sacrifice in Corinth: Rethinking Paul’s Views on Gentile Cults in 1 Corinthians 8 and 10, WUNT II (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, Forthcoming). See also Derek Newton, Deity and Diet: The Dilemma of Sacrificial Food at Corinth, JSNTSup 169 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998).

72 Depending on how one reads Paul’s elusive statement in Gal 5:11 (“but if I still preach circumcision”), one could argue that Paul once had preached that gentiles needed to get circumcised if they were to be saved after his call to become an apostle of the Jesus movement. If this was the case, it is not unlikely that some of the gentile Christ followers in Galatia thought that Paul still did preach circumcision. For this argument, see Douglas A. Campbell, “Galatians 5.11: Evidence of an Early LawObservant Mission by Paul?” NTS 57 (2011): 325–347. For a discussion and refutation of Campbell’s argument, see Justin K. Hardin, “‘If I Still Proclaim Circumcision’ (Galatians 5:11a): Paul, the Law, and Gentile Circumcision,” JSPL 3 (2013): 145–163.

The more common view of Paul’s statement in 5:11 is that he preached that gentiles needed to get circumcised before he joined the Jesus movement as an apostle. Cf. Terence L. Donaldson, Paul and the Gentiles: Remapping the Apostle’s Convictional World (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1997), 270–284. For a nuanced discussion of various interpretations of Gal 5:11, see Collman, The Apostle to the Foreskin, 99–107. Collman (The Apostle to the Foreskin, 108–112) argues that “circumcision” does not necessarily refer to the act of circumcising one’s penis, but that “circumcision,” in Gal 5:11, can refer to the Jewish people. Thus, Collman (The Apostle to the Foreskin, 109) suggests that “proclaiming circumcision could mean proclaiming that only the circumcised (i.e., Jews) are members of Abraham’s family or the people of God” (emphasis original).

This message Paul left behind since he “now believes that Abrahamic sonship is also available to gentiles through the work of the Messiah” (ibid, 110).

Sanfridson, Circumcision in Galatia 88 behavior to the very ideals of righteousness incumbent upon Israelites as articulated in Israel’s Torah.”73 Surely, to the Galatians’ mind, adopting the Jewish law, and with it, circumcision, was the next step. We know that this was not how Paul viewed things; for him, wholesale adoption of the Jewish law in the case of gentile Christ followers was a serious mistake.74 But, again, for them, it must have made sense since they had already adopted significant markers of Jewish identity. For, as Fredriksen reminds us, “to fully change gods was tantamount to changing ethnicity.”75 Consequently, the Galatians’ openness to a message where they were told to circumcise appears perfectly sensible—especially in the light of how Paul had reconstructed their genealogy and cultic life.

73

Nanos, “The Question of Conceptualization,” 127.

Cf. William S. Campbell, Paul and the Creation of Christian Identity (London: T&T Clark, 2008), 57; Magnus Zetterholm, The Formation of Christianity in Antioch: A Sociological Approach to the Separation Between Judaism and Christianity, Routledge Early Church Monographs (London: Routledge, 2003), 161. As Nanos (“The Question of Conceptualization,” 135) points out, this is not to say that Paul did not want his gentile Christ followers to adopt certain practices and aspects of the Jewish law. As I have argued throughout, Paul envisioned his gentiles to adhere to several customs and practices that were thoroughly Jewish, but he did not want them to seek to “become” Jews. For a succinct account of why Paul did not want his gentiles to circumcise, see Paula Fredriksen, Sin: The Early History of an Idea (Princeton, Princeton University Press, 2012), 30–31.

75 Fredriksen, “The Question of Worship,” 183.

74

(Un)Making a eological Mountain Out of a Cardiological Mohel: Heart-Circumcision in Paul’s Epistles* Ryan D. Collman Edinburgh, Scotland | ryan.collman@gmail.com JJMJS No. 10 (2023): 89–105

Abstract is article offers a reexamination of the place of heart-circumcision in Paul’s epistles. Historically, Paul’s interpreters have understood that he repudiates the necessity of physical circumcision and redefines the category of “the circumcision” by replacing the physical practice with the spiritualized circumcision of the heart. To make this claim, readers typically appeal to Rom 2:28–29, Phil 3:3, and Col 2:11 as evidence. rough my reassessment of these texts, I argue that Paul does not repudiate the necessity of physical circumcision for Jews and that heart-circumcision does not play an important role or have a prominent place in his epistles.

Keywords Paul, Circumcision of the Heart, Romans, Philippians, Colossians

1. Introduction: Redefining Circumcision It is no secret that circumcision was a point of contention within the early Jesus movement. Given that Jesus’ earliest followers comprised a Jewish messianic sect, as soon as non-Jews began to join them in their veneration of Jesus as God’s messiah, the questions of circumcision and ethnicity were unavoidable.1 What

*

Portions of this article were originally published in Ryan D. Collman, The Apostle to the Foreskin: Circumcision in the Letters of Paul, BZNW 259 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2023), and appear here with permission. Alexi Chantziantoniou, Emily Gathergood, Logan Williams, and Paula Fredriksen are all owed thanks for their insightful feedback that improved this article.

1 Of course, the question of how to include non-Jews within Judaism pre-dates Jesus and his followers. For a comprehensive treatment of this, see Terence L. Donaldson, Judaism and the Gentiles: Jewish Patterns of Universalism (to 135 CE) (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2007); see also, Christine E. Hayes, Gentile Impurities and Jewish Identities (New York: Oxford University Press, 2002), esp. 68–91; Matthew Thiessen,

Collman, (Un)Making a Mountain 90 did it look like for non-Jews to join this messianic group? Did they need to become circumcised and, therefore, become Jews?2 Texts from some early Jewish followers of Jesus, notably Paul and the author of Acts, are clear that nonJews should not be circumcised to participate in these Christ-assemblies (e.g., Gal 2:3; 5:2–6; 1 Cor 7:17–20; Acts 15).3 But shortly aer this messianic movement began—roughly a decade or so aer Jesus’ death—gentile Christians began identifying with and claiming for themselves the symbol of circumcision.

Despite not bearing the mark of circumcision upon their bodies, they began to proclaim that they possessed a superior circumcision—namely, a spiritual circumcision, the circumcision of the heart—which displaced the physical, fleshly rite. As Andrew Jacobs observes, this type of “repudiation and appropriation” of circumcision became a common feature in gentile Christian polemics against Judaism.4 Notably, Justin does not appeal to Paul (or any NT text) for his argument that heart-circumcision has replaced physical circumcision. Like the Epistle of Barnabas, he primarily looks to Deut 10:16 and Jer 4:4 and 9:25–265 as evidence for this replacement (Dial. 15.7; 16.1; 28.2–3; 137.1).6 While other early, gentile Christian interpreters also look to references to heart-circumcision in the Hebrew Bible to justify its superiority, many ascribe this perspective to the apostle Paul (e.g., Irenaeus, Haer. 4.16.1; Clement, Strom. 7.9; Tertullian, Marc.

5.13).7 Of particular interest is Origen of Alexandria, who appeals to both Phil 3:2–3 and Rom 2:28–29 to argue that Paul elevates this spiritual form of

Contesting Conversion: Genealogy, Circumcision, and Identity in Ancient Judaism and Christianity (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011). For a lucid account of early Christianity as a movement within Judaism, see Paula Fredriksen, When Christians Were Jews: The First Generation (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2018).

2 This is inherently androcentric, failing to address the situation of women.

3 On the Jewish identity of the author of Acts, see Isaac W. Oliver, Torah Praxis after 70 CE, WUNT 2/355 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), esp. 447–448.

4 Andrew S. Jacobs, Christ Circumcised: A Study in Early Christian History and Difference (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2012), 35.

5 In addition to these classic heart-circumcision texts, Justin also interprets the “second circumcision” of Josh 5:2 as prefiguring the circumcision of the heart Christ performs (Dial. 113.6–7; 114.4; cf. Origen, Hom. Gen. 3.6; Hom. Jos. 5.5).

6 While the author of Barnabas and Justin do not directly reference Paul or his epistles, the reasons for their lack of appeal to Paul are complex but can partially be attributed to their anti-Jewish rhetoric. Rather than appeal to Paul—a “Christian”—they may only appeal to the Hebrew Bible to discredit their rhetorical Jewish foes. See James Carleton Paget, “Paul and the Epistle of Barnabas,” NovT 38 (1996): 359–381. On the possibility that Justin was familiar with Paul’s epistles, see Rodney Werline, “The Transformation of Pauline Arguments in Justin Martyr’s Dialogue with Trypho,” HTR 92 (1999): 79–93.

7 For more on early Christian interpreters and spiritual/heart-circumcision, see Everett Ferguson, “Spiritual Circumcision in Early Christianity,” SJT 41 (1988): 485–497.

91 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) circumcision, while deriding its physical practice. In his third homily on Genesis, Origen says: We, therefore, instructed by the apostle Paul, say that just as many other things were made in the figure and image of future truth, so also that circumcision of flesh was bearing the form of spiritual circumcision about which it was both worthy and fitting that “the God of majesty” give precepts to mortals.

Hear, therefore, how Paul, “a teacher of the Gentiles in faith and truth,” teaches the Church of Christ about the mystery of circumcision. “Behold,” he says, “the mutilation”—speaking about the Jews who are mutilated in the flesh—“for we,” he says, “are the circumcision, who serve God in spirit and have no confidence in the flesh” [Phil 3:2–3]. is is one opinion of Paul about circumcision. Hear also another: “For he is not a Jew who is so outwardly; nor is that circumcision which is outwardly in the flesh. But he is a Jew who is one inwardly with circumcision of the heart in the spirit, not in the letter” [Rom 2:28–29]. (Origen, Hom. Gen. 3.4 [Heine])8 Origen understands that he shares Paul’s allegorical interpretation of circumcision, which leads him to conclude that “the circumcision of the Church is honorable, holy, worthy of God; that that of [Jews] is unseemly, detestable, disgusting, presenting a thing vulgar both in condition and appearance” (Hom. Gen. 3.6 [Heine]).9 Building on his interpretation of Phil 3:2–3, Origen even claims that the “true circumcision of the flesh of the foreskin” (vera circumcisio carnis præputii, Hom. Gen. 3.6 [PG 12:181a]) belongs to Christians.10

8

Origen, Homilies on Genesis and Exodus, trans. Ronald E. Heine, FC 71 (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1982). Origen makes a similar argument about heart-circumcision in Comm. Rom. 2.12.1, where he discusses Phil 3:2–3 and Rom 2:28– 29 alongside each other (cf. Princ. 4.3.6).

9 Origen’s argument about the allegorical interpretation of circumcision is fascinating and complex. For a helpful overview of his views on circumcision, see Maren R. Niehoff, “Circumcision as a Marker of Identity: Philo, Origen and the Rabbis on Gen 17: 1–14,” JSQ 10 (2003): 89–123, esp. 108–114; Susanna Drake, Slandering the Jew: Sexuality and Difference in Early Christian Texts (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2013), 45–50.

10 Here, Origen argues that physical circumcision leads to the control of one’s sexual impulses and chastity, which is similar to the perspective found in Philo’s writing (e.g., QG 3.48; Spec. 1.9). Since Origen believes that Christians are exceedingly chaste and do not give in to improper sexual relations, he can claim that they do possess truly circumcised penises. On Philo and circumcision, see Niehoff, “Circumcision,” 92–102; Carmen Palmer, “Circumcision of the Heart in the Dead Sea Scrolls and in the Second

Collman, (Un)Making a Mountain 92 Many of Paul’s interpreters throughout history broadly share Origen’s understanding of Paul and his repudiation and appropriation of circumcision.

A brief survey of the vast literature on Paul shows that it is fairly common to appeal to Phil 3:2–3 and Rom 2:28–29 in the same breath to demonstrate the superiority of heart-circumcision and its replacement of physical circumcision.11 While there has been a shi in thinking about how some scholars understand Paul’s supposed repudiation of circumcision over the past decade or so, many still find Paul redefining or universalizing circumcision in these texts.12 As outlined by Joshua Garroway, the majority position is that in Phil 3:3, Paul’s statement that, “we are the circumcision,” indicates that the category of circumcision has been transformed so that it can include both the

Temple Period: Spiritual, Moral, and Ethnic,” in Dead Sea Scrolls, Revise and Repeat: New Methods and Perspectives, ed. Carmen Palmer et al., EJL 52 (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2020), 327–351, esp. 339–343.

11 Daniel Boyarin, A Radical Jew: Paul and the Politics of Identity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994), 78–82, cf. 94–95; Gordon D. Fee, Paul’s Letter to the Philippians NICNT (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995), 298–299; Andreas Blaschke, Beschneidung: Zeugnisse der Bibel und verwandter Texte, TANZ 28 (Tübingen: Francke, 1998), 403–404, 412–414; Ralph P. Martin and Gerald F. Hawthorne, Philippians, WBC 43, rev. ed. (Nashville: Nelson, 2004), 175; Shaye J. D. Cohen, Why Aren’t Jewish Women Circumcised? Gender and Covenant in Judaism (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005), 69; Simon Claude Mimouni, La circoncision dans le monde judéen aux époques grecque et romaine: Histoire d’un conflit interne au judaïsme, CREJ 42 (Paris-Louvain: Peeters, 2007), 229; John M. G. Barclay, “Paul And Philo on Circumcision: Romans 2.25– 9 in Social and Cultural Context,” NTS 44 (2009): 536–556, esp. 553; Joshua W. Jipp and Michael J. Thate, “Dating Thomas: Logion 53 as a Test Case for Dating the Gospel of Thomas within an Early Christian Trajectory,” BBR 20 (2010): 237–256, esp. 248–249; N. T. Wright, Paul and the Faithfulness of God, (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2013), 921; 1076; 1146; 1432–1433; Michael Wolter, Paul: An Outline of His Theology, trans. Robert L. Brawley (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2015), 443; Christopher Zoccali, Reading Philippians After Supersessionism: Jews, Gentiles, and Covenant Identity (Eugene, OR: Cascade, 2017), 22–23, 87, n.6.; cf. Joshua D. Garroway, “The Circumcision of Christ: Romans 15.7–13,” JSNT 34 (2012): 303–322, esp. 317–318; Peter-Ben Smit, “In Search of Real Circumcision: Ritual Failure and Circumcision in Paul,” JSNT 40 (2017): 73–100, esp. 92–93.

12 This shift has been a result of the way scholars have approached Paul’s identity as a Jew. Interpreters who identify with the broadly defined “Paul within Judaism” perspective tend to uphold the significance of physical circumcision in Paul’s thought, though their readings of Phil 3:3 and Rom 2:28–29 are nuanced in various ways. For an overview of the continuing significance of physical circumcision for Paul, see Ryan D. Collman, “Just A Flesh Wound? Reassessing Paul’s Supposed Indifference Toward Circumcision and Foreskin in 1 Cor 7:19, Gal 5:6, and 6:15,” JJMJS 8 (2021): 30–52; Paula Fredriksen, “‘Circumcision Is Nothing’: A Non-Reformation Reading of the Letters of Paul,” in Protestant Bible Scholarship: Antisemitism, Philosemitism and Anti-Judaism, ed.

Arjen F. Bakker et al., JSJSup 200 (Leiden: Brill, 2022), 79–105.

93 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) circumcised (Paul) and the uncircumcised (the gentile believers in Philippi).13 e circumcision referred to in Phil 3:3 is the circumcision of the heart that Paul speaks of in Rom 2:28–29. In this reading, most of “the circumcision” are actually uncircumcised in the flesh of their foreskins.14 us, “ose in Christ require no circumcision in the flesh because they already have been circumcised in the way that truly matters, figuratively in the heart by means of the spirit.”15 My aim in this article is not to argue against the importance of heartcircumcision in ancient Judaism or in the history of Christian thought, but to contend that Paul’s epistles do not share in the universalizing vision of heartcircumcision that is commonly attributed to him. Paul does not redefine the category of “the circumcision,” nor does he replace physical circumcision with heart-circumcision. I argue below that given the scarcity of evidence for this theme in Paul (and the NT), it is possible that Paul’s interpreters—both ancient and modern—have overemphasized the centrality of this theme in his thought.

Or, to state it differently, Paul’s interpreters have made a theological mountain out of a cardiological mohel.

2. e Data: Mountain or Molehill?

In Paul’s undisputed epistles, the noun περιτομή (“circumcision”) occurs twentyfive times (Rom 2:25 [2x], 26, 27, 28, 29; 3:1, 30; 4:9, 10 [2x], 11, 12 [2x]; 15:8; 1 Cor 7:19; Gal 2:7, 8, 9, 12; 5:6, 11; 6:15; Phil 3:3, 5) and the verb περιτέμνω (“to circumcise”) occurs eight times (1 Cor 7:18 [2x]; Gal 2:3; 5:2, 3; 6:12, 13 [2x]).

In the disputed Pauline epistles, the noun περιτομή occurs six times (Eph 2:11; Col 2:11 [2x]; 3:11; 4:11; Titus 1:10) and the verb περιτέμνω occurs once (Col 2:11). In all of these instances, a direct reference to circumcision of the heart (περιτομὴ καρδίας) only occurs in Rom 2:29.16 In the vast majority of these

13

Garroway, “Circumcision of Christ,” 317–318.

For many interpreters, this also means that women can be the recipients of this "superior" form of circumcision. Whereas they were excluded from the physical rite, they can now participate as circumcised equals alongside men. The issue of circumcision and women is raised by a number of ancient Christian interpreters who argue for the superiority of heart or spiritual circumcision (e.g., Justin, Dial. 23.5; Cyprian, Test. 1.8; Epiphanius, Pan. 30.33.2; Zeno, Tract. circ. 1.3.21, 23). On the issue of women and circumcision, see Cohen, Why aren’t Jewish Women; see also, Joshua D. Garroway, “Engendering Judaism: Paul, Baptism, and Circumcision,” in Paul the Jew: Rereading the Apostle as a Figure of Second Temple Judaism, ed. Gabriele Boccaccini and Carlos A. Segovia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2016), 219–243; M Adryael Tong, Difference and Circumcision: Bodily Discourse and the Parting of the Ways (Oxford: Oxford University Press, forthcoming).

15 Garroway, “Circumcision of Christ,” 318.

16 The only other reference to heart-circumcision in the New Testament is in Acts 7, when Stephen accuses some fellow Jews of having “uncircumcised hearts” (ἀπερίτμητοι καρδίαις, Acts 7:51)—like the prophet Jeremiah (9:26)—to critique their failure to 14

Collman, (Un)Making a Mountain 94 occurrences, Paul uses circumcision—typically in contrast to foreskin (ἀκροβυστία)—to refer to the state of a penis or as a metonym for Jews.17 For example, in 1 Cor 7:18 those who were circumcised (Jews) when they were called to join the ekklēsia are contrasted with those who were called in foreskin (nonJews). In Rom 3:30, both the circumcision (Jews) and the foreskin (non-Jews) are rightwised based on trust. In Gal 2:7–9, Paul uses circumcision three times to refer to Jews in contrast to people from other nations (τὰ ἔθνη). is employment of circumcision to refer to Jews is also present in the disputed Pauline epistles (Eph 2:11; Col 3:11; 4:11; Titus 1:10). What Paul signifies with the circumcision language is mostly consistent in his extant writings.18 ere are, of course, two instances in the Pauline corpus that interpreters have commonly appealed to as instances of Paul redefining circumcision and/or referencing the circumcision of the heart, despite not explicitly using this language: Phil 3:3 (“We are the circumcision”) and Col 2:11 (“circumcision made without hands”). In addition to Rom 2:28–29, these texts serve as the primary pieces of data for this article to reexamine the place of heartcircumcision in Paul’s epistles. In what follows, I first examine the undisputed Pauline texts (Phil 3:2–3; Rom 2:28–29) and then turn to a disputed Pauline text (Col 2:11).

3. Phil 3:3: Who are the Circumcision?

Similar to his discussion of circumcision in Galatians, Paul introduces the topic of circumcision in Philippians due to the threat of a group of rival teachers who seek to promote circumcision amongst the Philippians: “Beware the dogs!

Beware the wicked workers! Beware the mutilation!” (Phil 3:2). Aer this brief philippic, Paul states, “For we are the circumcision; the ones who serve by the pneuma of God and boast in Christ Jesus and put no confidence in the flesh” (3:3). Despite Paul’s consistent pattern of usage, interpreters are nearly unanimous in agreeing that Paul’s reference to circumcision in Phil 3:3 indicates

recognize Jesus as the Righteous One. In the Hebrew Bible, heart-circumcision and foreskinned hearts are referred to in Lev 26:41; Deut 10:16; 30:6; Jer 4:4; 9:25–26; and Ezek 44:7, 9.

17 Paul’s use of this metonym is overwhelmingly androcentric. It seems possible, however, that Paul includes Jewish women when using this androcentric metonym to refer to the Jewish people.

18 The exception to this rule is how Paul uses the present passive/reflexive participial form of περιτέμνω (οἱ περιτεμνόμενοι) in Galatians. In Gal 6:13 (cf. 5:2–3), Paul uses this to refer to gentiles who “have had themselves circumcised” or “have received circumcision,” not to natural-born Jews. On this, see Michele Murray, Playing a Jewish Game: Gentile Christian Judaizing in the First and Second Centuries CE, SCJud 13 (Ontario: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 2004), 35–36; Matthew Thiessen, Paul and the Gentile Problem (New York: Oxford University Press, 2016), 95–96.

95 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) that he is redefining what it means to be a member of the circumcision.19 Here, it is typically claimed that circumcision does not refer to actual penises or to Jews, but has been redefined to refer to “Christians” who possess the “true” circumcision of the heart.20 In one particularly flagrant display of this type of supersessionist thinking, Ralph Martin and Gerald Hawthorne write: Because Israel lost sight of the spiritual significance of circumcision, focused on the external ritual, and failed to boast in the Lord alone (cf. Jer 9:23–25), it has forfeited its right to the title ‘e Circumcision.’ e church of Jesus Christ, however, is the true Israel (Gal 6:16), heir of all the rights and privileges belonging to it (Rom 9:24–26; cf. 1 Pet 2:9–10), including the right to the title περιτομή, ‘circumcision’.21 is type of interpretation, which is deeply rooted in Christian exceptionalism, assumes that since Paul is a representative of Christianity and is opposed to circumcision, the object of Paul’s warning must be a group of Jews. He renounces their identity as the circumcision and claims it for Christians.

Interpreters then try to read Paul’s tripartite invective back through the lens of this assumption. While “dogs” and “wicked workers” have been used to justify that Paul’s opponents are Jews, his identification of them with mutilation is commonly taken to be his harshest critique of Jewish circumcision.22 Here, Paul

19

N. T. Wright: “The covenant God has not given up on the category of ‘circumcision’, on the idea of there being an elect people; he has merely redefined it, as in Philippians 3:3” (Faithfulness of God, 921, emphasis added).

20 Thus, the RSV translation of ἡμεῖς γάρ ἐσμεν ἡ περιτομή: “We are the true circumcision.”

The inclusion of the adjective “true” is unwarranted, given that ἀληθινός does not appear here or anywhere with περιτομή until Justin, Dial. 18.2.

21 Martin and Hawthorne, Philippians, 175. See also, John Henry Paul Reumann, Philippians: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 33B (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2008), 474–475. For an alternative treatment of Paul and Israel, see the discussion in Matthew Thiessen and Paula Fredriksen, “Paul and Israel,” in The Oxford Handbook of Pauline Studies, ed. Matthew V. Novenson and R. Barry Matlock (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2022), 371–388.

22 Since the time of Chrysostom (Hom. Phil. 11), Paul’s usage of “dog” has been interpreted as a clever inversion of a supposed Jewish slur about gentiles. Recently, a few scholars have dismantled the idea that Jews were in the habit of referring to gentiles as dogs; there is no evidence that Jews in the ancient world did this. On this, see Mark D. Nanos, “Paul’s Reversal of Jews Calling Gentiles ‘Dogs’ (Philippians 3:2): 1600 Years of an Ideological Tale Wagging an Exegetical Dog?,” BibInt 17 (2009): 448–482; Matthew Thiessen, “Gentiles as Impure Animals in the Writings of Early Christ Followers,” in Perceiving the Other in Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity, ed. Michal Bar-Asher Siegal, Wolfgang Grünstäudl, and Matthew Thiessen, WUNT 394 (Tübingen: Mohr

Collman, (Un)Making a Mountain 96 uses paronomasia to contrast mutilation (κατατομή) with circumcision (περιτομή) for a powerful rhetorical effect. While κατατομή and περιτομή are aurally similar and share a common root, their intended meanings from an ancient Jewish perspective could not be further from one another; one signifies pagan ritualistic cuttings (OG/LXX Lev 21:5; 3 Kgdms 18:28; Hos 7:14; Isa 15:2; cf. Lev 19:28) and the other the mark of the covenant with Abraham and the Jewish people. erefore, this is not only taken to be a critique of circumcision but a critique of Judaism in general.23 While Paul’s language suggests he is critiquing these individuals because of their practice or promotion of circumcision, how is it that Paul could equate Jewish circumcision with mutilation?24 Elsewhere, Paul affirms the ongoing significance of circumcision for Jews (Rom 3:1–2) and continues to identify Jews with circumcision (Rom 3:30; 4:9, 12; 15:8; Gal 2:7–9, 12). Paul even appeals to his own eighth-day circumcision in Phil 3:5 as one of the reasons why he is able to have confidence in his flesh (3:4). Adding to this perplexing equation of circumcision with mutilation is Paul’s later remark about these individuals as those “whose god is the belly and the glory in their shame” (Phil 3:19).25 Both belly (κοιλία) and shame (ἀσχημοσύνη) are used in Greek translations of the Hebrew Bible as euphemisms for genitals (Exod 20:26; Lev 18:6–19; 2 Kgdms 7:12; 16:11; 1 Chr 17:11; Ps 131:11).26 So in Phil 3, Paul is not only equating their circumcisions with mutilation, but he accuses them of worshiping their own circumcised penises!

But who are these individuals, and why does Paul not recognize them as “the circumcision”? In light of Paul’s statements elsewhere, it seems implausible—if not absurd—that Paul would denounce the circumcision of Jews

Siebeck, 2017), 19–32; Ryan D. Collman, “Beware the Dogs! The Phallic Epithet in Phil 3.2,” NTS 67 (2021): 105–120. Here Paul uses “dogs” as a phallic epithet.

23 See, for example, Heikki Räisänen, Paul and the Law, WUNT 29 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1983), 258; Friedrich Wilhelm Horn, “Der Verzicht auf die Beschneidung im frühen Christentum,” NTS 42 (1996): 479–505, esp. 501; John Paul Heil, Philippians: Let Us Rejoice in Being Conformed to Christ (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2010), 118-119.

24 On this, Hyam Maccoby comments, “The great mystery about Paul is, how did a person of his allegedly Pharisaic background and upbringing arrive at views so incompatible with Judaism and hold such a contempt for Judaism's holiest rite?” (“Paul and Circumcision: A Rejoinder,” JQR 82 [1991]: 177–180, esp. 180).

25 Grammatically, belly (κοιλία) and glory (δόξα) are functioning as a single subject joined by καὶ with θεὸς functioning as the predicate (Martin and Hawthorne, Philippians, 225).

The punctuation attests to this in most Greek editions; however, the majority of translations overlook this (e.g., “[T]heir god is the belly; and their glory is in their shame.” NRSV).

26 Chris Mearns, “The Identity of Paul’s Opponents at Philippi,” NTS 33 (1987): 194–204, esp. 198–200; Smit, “Real Circumcision,” 84.

97 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) as mutilation or that he would accuse Jews of phallus worship. A more likely explanation is that Paul is not critiquing a group of Jews (or Jews en masse) but a group of gentile proselytes who have undergone circumcision and seek to impose it upon other gentiles. is group is comparable to the agitators in Galatia “who have themselves circumcised” (περιτεμνόμενοι, Gal 6:13) and encourage the Galatian men to undergo adult proselyte circumcision.27 us, the type of thing Paul is critiquing is not the standard eighth-day circumcision practiced by Jews, but the proselyte circumcision of gentiles. He does not denigrate the circumcision of Jews but objects to the unnatural and lawbreaking circumcisions practiced by these non-Jewish individuals.28 In this reading, then, the “we” of “we are the circumcision” can be understood in its natural Pauline sense of referring to Jews—specifically Paul and Timothy,29 the Jewish authors of the letter (1:1).30 While these individuals claim to be the circumcision and are characterized by their improper proselyte circumcisions, Paul and Timothy (“we”) actually are the circumcision and are characterized by serving by the pneuma of God, boasting in Christ Jesus, and not placing confidence in the flesh (3:3).31 is is not to say Paul is claiming that all of the circumcision do these things or that doing these things constitutes membership within the circumcision,32 but that the circumcised individuals in question do these things in contradistinction to those who claim to be the circumcision but are merely mutilated. us, in Phil 3:3, Paul does not redefine circumcision as the (true) circumcision of the heart that belongs to Christians but uses circumcision in a specific rhetorical context to identify a group of Jews against a group of circumcised, gentile poseurs.33

27

Murray, Playing a Jewish Game, 35–36; Thiessen, Gentile Problem, 95–96.

On non-Jews being naturally foreskinned (Rom 2:27) and Jews being naturally circumcised (cf. Gal 2:15), see Collman, “Just A Flesh Wound?,” 33–34. On Paul and the laws of circumcision, see Thiessen, Gentile Problem, esp. 67–68, 78–82, 91–95. For these individuals, their circumcisions can be considered law-breaking because they were not performed with the correct timing (eighth day), and they were not performed on descendants of Abraham.

29 For Timothy’s circumcision in Acts 16, see Collman, Apostle to the Foreskin, 143, n.88.

30 Lionel J. Windsor, Paul and the Vocation of Israel: How Paul’s Jewish Identity Informs His Apostolic Ministry, with Special Reference to Romans, BZNW 205 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2014), 53–55; Thiessen, “Gentiles as Impure Animals,” 28. D. W. B. Robinson (“We Are the Circumcision,” ABR 15 [1967]: 28-35) expands this to include all Jewish Christfollowers. Here, Robinson uses the category of “true circumcision” to describe Jews who trust in the Messiah over against those who do not recognize Jesus as the Messiah. Within the rhetorical context of 3:2–3, however, it should be understood as simply referring to Paul and Timothy.

31 The next occurrence of the first–person plural pronoun in 3:17 (“the example you have in us”) further supports this interpretation.

32 Contra Smit, “Real Circumcision,” 87.

33 This identification of circumcision as referring to Jews (Paul and Timothy) is also 28

Collman, (Un)Making a Mountain 98 4. Rom 2:28–29: Who Receives Praise from God? In the only explicit mention of heart-circumcision in Paul’s epistles, the interpretive consensus is that in Rom 2:28–29, Paul redefines what it means to be a Jew and what constitutes proper circumcision.34 For example, John Barclay writes, “…what [Paul] argues in 2.25–9 thoroughly redefines the terms 'Jew' and 'circumcision' in a way which preserves their honorific status but cancels their normal denotation.”35 Andreas Blaschke comments, “In 2:17–29, Paul redefines who actually is a Jew and what circumcision actually is.”36 Similarly, Nina Livesey notes, “With such [metaphorical] definitions, Paul provides a means by which a foreskinned Gentile can be both a ‘Jew’ and ‘circumcised.’”37 If Paul is redefining circumcision and Jewish identity in this text, then this would be a departure from how he uses the terms Jew and circumcision elsewhere in his writings. Every other instance of Ἰουδαῖος in Paul’s epistles refers only to ethnic Jews, and nowhere is the category of περιτομὴ applied to non-Jews.38 While Paul could be redefining these terms to include non-Jews, this would be startlingly novel in the ancient world. As far as I am aware, no other ancient Jewish source applies the categories of circumcision and Jew to foreskinned gentiles.39 Furthermore, if Paul is decoupling heart-circumcision from physical penilecircumcision in 2:28–29, this would constitute a departure from all ancient Jewish sources.40 In contrast to the majority of interpreters, William S. Campbell rightly comments on Rom 2:28–29 stating, “ere are not many texts in Paul that offer clear evidence for an explicit redefinition of Jewish tradition, and this

bolstered by Paul’s appeal to his ethnic bona fides in 3:5–6.

34 See the representative reading in Timothy W. Berkley, From a Broken Covenant to Circumcision of the Heart: Pauline Intertextual Exegesis in Romans 2:17–29, SBLDS 175 (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2000), 151–155. On the impact of this line of interpretation and how it influenced Nazi ideology, see Boyarin, A Radical Jew, 209–224.

35 Barclay, “Paul and Philo,” 546. Barclay’s comments on this text in Paul and the Gift (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2015) are more nuanced: “Paul by no means wishes to exclude Jews in favor of Gentiles, and there is no reason to think that he here applies the label “Jew” to all believers, Gentiles as well as Jews. Rather, he is asking how, in the sight of God, Jewish identity is received and recognized” (469).

36 Blaschke, Beschneidung, 414 (my translation). “Paulus definiert in 2,17–29 neu, wer eigentlich Jude und was eigentlich Beschneidung ist.”

37 Nina E. Livesey, Circumcision as a Malleable Symbol, WUNT 2/295 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010). 111.

38 Rom 1:16; 2:9–10, 17; 3:1, 9, 29–30; 4:9, 12; 9:24; 10:12; 1 Cor 1:22–24; 7:19; 9:20; 10:32; 12:13; 2 Cor 11:24; Gal 2:7–9, 12–15; 3:28; 1 Thess 2:14; cf. Eph 2:11; Col 3:11; 4:11. The only instance where this may be the case is Phil 3:3, but as I have argued above, Paul uses περιτομὴ in his typical way to refer to Jews—himself and Timothy.

39 m. Ned. 3:11 does the opposite and treats circumcised goyim as if they are still foreskinned, and foreskinned Jews as if they are circumcised.

40 The lone exception may be the allegorists Philo mentions in Migr. 89–93. Heartcircumcision is not in view there but the internal excision of pleasure is.

99 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) is not one of them.”41 While Paul may be offering an innovative take on these categories based on his revelation of the Messiah (Gal 1:15–16), we should not rush to try and see him as innovating at every turn. I contend the syntax of Rom 2:28–29 demonstrates that Paul’s perspective on heart-circumcision is not innovative or new. e standard reading of Rom 2:28–29 relies on supplying several additions to the elliptical Greek text. is is how the NA²⁸ renders this passage: οὐ γὰρ ὁ ἐν τῷ φανερῷ Ἰουδαῖός ἐστιν οὐδὲ ἡ ἐν τῷ φανερῷ ἐν σαρκὶ περιτομή, ἀλλʼ ὁ ἐν τῷ κρυπτῷ Ἰουδαῖος, καὶ περιτομὴ καρδίας ἐν πνεύματι οὐ γράμματι, οὗ ὁ ἔπαινος οὐκ ἐξ ἀνθρώπων ἀλλʼ ἐκ τοῦ θεοῦ.

C. E. B. Cranfield fills in the gaps in this text and renders it in his Romans commentary this way, with his additions in brackets: οὐ γὰρ ὁ ἐν τῷ φανερῷ [Ἰουδαῖός] Ἰουδαῖός ἐστιν οὐδὲ ἡ ἐν τῷ φανερῷ ἐν σαρκὶ [περιτομή] περιτομή [ἐστιν] ἀλλʼ ὁ ἐν τῷ κρυπτῷ Ἰουδαῖος [Ἰουδαῖός ἐστιν], καὶ περιτομὴ καρδίας ἐν πνεύματι οὐ γράμματι [περιτομή ἐστιν], οὗ ὁ ἔπαινος οὐκ ἐξ ἀνθρώπων [ἐστιν] ἀλλʼ ἐκ τοῦ θεοῦ.42

For the Jew on display is not [a Jew], nor [is] the circumcision on display in the flesh [circumcision], but the Jew in secret [is a Jew], and the circumcision of the heart by the pneuma, not the letter, [is circumcision]; the praise for such a person [is] not from people, but from God.43 While such additions make for an easier text to translate, they drastically alter the content of the text and lead the reader to particular interpretive conclusions.44 As Matthew iessen and Matthew Novenson demonstrate, there is a straightforward, alternative way to translate this difficult text that does not

41

William S. Campbell, Romans: A Social Identity Commentary, T&T Clark Social Identity Commentaries on the New Testament (London: T&T Clark, 2023), 108.

42 C. E. B. Cranfield, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans, 2 vols., ICC (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1975–1979), 1:175. See the similar additions in Robert Jewett, Romans: A Commentary, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007), 219.

43 My translation of Cranfield’s reconstruction. Compare this with the NRSV: “For a person is not a Jew who is one outwardly, nor is circumcision something external and physical. Rather, a person is a Jew who is one inwardly, and circumcision is a matter of the heart, by the Spirit, not the written code. Such a person receives praise not from humans but from God.” 44 In contrast to the RSV, Cranfield’s additions avoid the insertion of the adjectives “real” and “true” when referring to Jews and circumcision.

Collman, (Un)Making a Mountain 100 rely on excessive additions.45 While the standard translation of this text interprets Paul as asking “Who is a Jew?” and “What is circumcision?” on their translation, the question being asked is “Who receives praise from God?”46 For it is not the Jew on display, nor the circumcision on display in the flesh, but the Jew in secret, and the circumcision of the heart in pneuma, not letter, whose praise [is] not from man, but from God. In this translation of the text, the traditional interpretation is le without legs to stand on.47 Paul is not redefining who is a Jew or what counts as circumcision but is arguing that displays of Jewishness and physical circumcision do not automatically translate into receiving praise from God. e rhetorical context of this passage further confirms this reading of the text. Since Rom 2:17, Paul has been engaging an individual who “calls himself a Jew” (σὺ Ἰουδαῖος ἐπονομάζῃ). While this individual is commonly understood to be a Jew, Paul’s language does not necessarily indicate this. Paul does not address this individual as a Jew but as one who calls himself a Jew. To be a Jew and call oneself a Jew are not the same thing.48 As some recent interpreters have argued—following the work of Runar orsteinsson—Paul’s interlocutor is not a natural born, ethnic Jew, but a circumcised, gentile proselyte.49 He has sought to receive praise from God through his Jewishness on display via the circumcision of his flesh, but lacks the hidden Jewishness and circumcised heart necessary to receive praise.50 As Paul has argued in 2:17–27, this type of

45

Matthew Thiessen, “Paul’s Argument against Gentile Circumcision in Romans 2:17– 29,” NovT 56 (2014): 373–391, esp. 337; idem, Gentile Problem, 58; Matthew V. Novenson, “The Self-Styled Jew of Romans 2 and the Actual Jews of Romans 9–11,” in The So-Called Jew in Paul’s Letter to the Romans, ed. Rafael Rodríguez and Matthew Thiessen (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2016), 133–162, esp. 138, 149–150.

46 On the traditional understanding of the question Paul seeks to answer, see Berkley, From a Broken Covenant, 152. See Ralph Bisschops, “Metaphor in Religious Transformation: ‘Circumcision of the Heart’ in Paul of Tarsus,” in Religion, Language, and the Human Mind, ed. Paul Chilton and Monika Kopytowska (New York: Oxford University Press, 2018), 294–329.

47 As Novenson (“The Self-Styled Jew,” 138) notes, regardless of one’s interpretation of Romans 2:28–29, this translation (or a version of it) should become the standard.

48 Cf. Origen, Comm. Rom. 2.11.4; John Chrysostom, Hom. Rom., Homily 6 (NPNF¹ 11:368); Euthymius Zigabenus, Comm. Rom. 2.17.

49 Runar M. Thorsteinsson, Paul’s Interlocutor in Romans 2: Function and Identity in the Context of Ancient Epistolography, ConBNT 40 (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 2003).

See also the essays in The So-Called Jew. 50 Like the “neither/nor” texts in 1 Cor 7:19 and Gal 5:6 and 6:15, Paul is not negating the importance of being a visible Jew or possessing circumcision in the flesh but is employing

101 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) individual boasts in the law, yet is a transgressor of the law. Even the circumcision he possesses constitutes a violation of the law because it was not performed on the eighth day on a descendant of Abraham.51 His circumcision and Jewishness on display will only earn him praise from men (cf. Matt 6:1– 18).52 e praise that comes from God is given to the Jew in secret,53 whose physical, penile-circumcision is accompanied by circumcision of the heart (cf.

Jer 9:25–26).54 It is important to note that Paul is not unique in his emphasis on the importance of heart-circumcision. Like many ancient Jewish thinkers, Paul notes that circumcision of the foreskin should be accompanied by circumcision of the heart (Deut 10:16; 30:6; Lev 26:41; Jer 4:4; 9:25–26; Ezek 44:7, 9; 1QpHab 11.13; 4Q434 Frag. 1, 1.4; Jub. 1:23; Odes Sol. 11.1–3 Philo, Spec. 1.304–5; QG 3.46; cf. 1QS 5.5).55 In all of these texts, circumcision of the heart is never

the “not/but” contrast to make his point about what receives praise from God. On these texts, see Collman, “Just a Flesh Wound?”

Regarding the status of having a circumcised heart, I agree with the assessment of Mark Nanos that since circumcision of the penis does not apply to non-Jews, neither does the circumcision of the heart (“Paul’s Non-Jews Do Not Become ‘Jews,’ But Do They Become ‘Jewish’?: Reading Romans 2:25–29 Within Judaism, Alongside Josephus,” JJMJS 1 [2014]: 26–53, esp. 51). On this understanding, Paul’s emphasis on heart-circumcision may also have a polemical edge to it since it would exclude the judaizing gentile interlocutor from receiving praise from God as a “so-called Jew.” This is not to say that Paul is speaking polemically against Jewish identity or circumcision, but against an interlocutor who incorrectly thinks that judaizing and circumcision can earn him praise from God and deliver him from being under sin (3:9).

51 Paul’s statement in 2:27 that it is “though the letter and circumcision” (διὰ γράμματος καὶ περιτομῆς) this individual breaks the law. See Thiessen, “Paul’s Argument,” 385–388.

52 Cf. Eduard Schweizer, “Der Jude im Verborgenen..., dessen Lob nicht von Menschen, sondern von Gott kommt”: Zu Röm 2,28 f und Mt 6,1–18” in Neues Testament und Kirche: Für Rudolf Schnackenburg, ed. Joachim Gnilka (Freiburg: Herder, 1974), 115– 124.

53 While the reference to the “Jew in secret” is likely analogous to the pattern of hidden piety encouraged by Jesus in Matt 6, this identification could indicate a special status beyond being Jewish. Carmen Palmer argues in the DSS Serekh tradition, circumcision of the heart turned a normal Judean into a “supra-Judean” (Converts in the Dead Sea Scrolls: The Gēr and Mutable Ethnicity, STDJ 126 (Leiden: Brill, 2018), 129–157, esp. 153– 154). Notably, this special status is closed off from gentile converts since this tradition rejects gentile converts due to their perceived genealogical impurity (see Palmer’s [116– 121, 127] discussion of 4QpNah Frags. 3–4, II, 7–10 and 4QFlor Frag. 1, I, 1–4).

54 This reading helps make sense of the questions that the interlocutor asks in 3:1: “What then is the advantage of the Jew? Or what is the benefit of circumcision?” If Paul has just stated that not all Jews and circumcisions receive praise from God (2:28–29), then it is logical for the interlocutor to ask if there is any value in being a circumcised Jew. 55 On heart-circumcision in the Hebrew Bible and ancient Judaism, see Hans-Jürgen Hermisson, Sprache und Ritus im altisraelischen Kult: zur „Spiritualisierung” der

Collman, (Un)Making a Mountain 102 divorced from physical circumcision of the foreskin, nor is there any privileging of the former over the latter.56 It is incorrect to assume that by emphasizing the circumcision of the heart Paul is in any way denigrating penile-circumcision or claiming that is no longer necessary for Jews.57 Similarly, both Jeremiah and Jubilees are stringent regarding the proper implementation of circumcision while also maintaining the importance of the circumcision of the heart (Jer 9:25–26; Jub 1:23; 15:14, 25–26).58 In Rom 2:28–29, Paul does not redefine or replace physical circumcision of the penis with heart-circumcision. Like the prophet Jeremiah, Paul argues that physical circumcision alone is not sufficient to receive praise from God— one must also possess a circumcised heart. Within the context of his dialogue with a circumcised, gentile proselyte—one who calls himself a Jew—Paul employs heart-circumcision in a polemic against those who think that physical circumcision on its own will merit praise from God. Despite the long history of interpreting this text, there is no redefinition or replacement of circumcision to be found here.

5. Col 2:11: What is Hands-Free Circumcision? e final text under examination is Col 2:11, where the author writes, “In whom you were also circumcised with a circumcision not made by hands, by stripping off the body of flesh, by the circumcision of Christ.”59 Here, the author describes the circumcision that the Colossians have experienced in three ways: it is not

Kultbegriffe im Alten Testament, WMANT 19 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1965), 72–76; Roger Le Déaut, “Le thème de la circoncision du coeur (Dt. XXX 6; Jér. IV 4) dans les versions anciennes (LXX et Targum) et à Qumrân,” in Congress Volume: Vienna 1980, ed. J. A. Emerton, VTSup 32 (Leiden: Brill, 1981), 178–205; Werner E. Lemke, “Circumcision of the Heart: The Journey of a Biblical Metaphor,” in God So Near: Essays on Old Testament Theology in Honor of Patrick D. Miller, ed. Brent A. Strawn and Nancy R. Bowen (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2003), 299–319; Palmer, Converts, 148–152.

See the discussion of the relevant heart-circumcision texts in Blaschke, Beschneidung.

56 It must be noted that many of these texts do not explicitly discuss circumcision of the foreskin alongside heart-circumcision. This fact, however, does not indicate that their employment of heart-circumcision functions as a replacement of or polemic against physical circumcision.

57 For example, Barclay comments that the circumcision of the heart is “the only sort that matters” (“Paul and Philo,” 552”). Similarly, Le Déaut (“Le théme,” 203–204) says Paul follows the pattern of the Hebrew Bible in which the theme of spiritual circumcision prevails over material circumcision. See also, James D. G. Dunn, Romans 1–8, WBC 38A (Dallas: Word, 1988), 127.

58 See Thiessen, Gentile Problem, 68–70.

59 While the authorship of Colossians is debated, its author is familiar with Paul’s thoughts and writes authoritatively in his name. For an up-to-date evaluation of the question of the authorship of Colossians, see Paul Foster, Colossians, BNTC (London: Bloomsbury, 2016), 61–81, esp. 78–79.

103 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) made by hands (ἀχειροποίητος), it constitutes the removal of the body of flesh, and it occurs through the circumcision of Christ.60 Given that the author describes this circumcision as being made without hands and experienced through baptism (2:12), most interpreters conclude that this rules out physical circumcision of the foreskin and points toward a spiritual circumcision or the circumcision of the heart.61 But this may not be the case.

Joshua Garroway proposes that the adjective ἀχειροποίητος does not necessitate that circumcision of the foreskin is not in view; rather, the adjective serves to highlight the agent or means of this circumcision. “e author’s point is simply that the circumcision has been achieved through divine, rather than human, agency.”62 While one expects circumcision to be performed by hands, this circumcision is noteworthy not because it is anything other than circumcision of the foreskin, but because it occurs without human intervention. is follows the standard usage of circumcision and foreskin language in the Hebrew Bible and New Testament where it always refers to the foreskin of the penis unless a different object is specified (e.g., heart, lips, ears).63 at circumcision of the foreskin is in view is supported by the author’s reference a couple of verses later to the Colossians’ former state of being “dead in [their] trespasses and the foreskin of [their] flesh” (2:13). While interpreters generally take “the body of flesh” in Col 2:11 to refer the sinful nature of humanity,64 the author clarifies that the flesh that they previously possessed in their state of

60

Here, I take the two dative clauses (ἐν τῇ ἀπεκδύσει τοῦ σώματος τῆς σαρκός and ἐν τῇ περιτομῇ τοῦ Χριστοῦ) to function instrumentally. See Garroway, “Circumcision of Christ,” 314.

61 F. F. Bruce, The Epistles to the Colossians, to Philemon, and to the Ephesians, 2nd ed., NICNT (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995), 103–104; James D. G. Dunn, The Epistles to the Colossians and to Philemon: A Commentary on the Greek Text, NIGTC (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996), 156; Foster, Colossians, 262–263; cf. Cohen, Jewish Women, 71.

Eduard Lohse proposes that the circumcision spoken of here is simply baptism (Colossians and Philemon, trans. William R. Poehlmann and Robert J. Karris, Hermeneia [Philadelphia: Fortress, 1971], 101–103).

62 Garroway, “Circumcision of Christ,” 315. See the similar usage in Mark 14:58 and 2 Cor 5:1. Garroway takes this observation further, “Such insistence may even suggest a kind of circumcision that can be hand-made, which would rule out a circumcision of the heart, as it cannot be circumcised manually.”

63 The texts mentioning non-penile circumcision or foreskin are: Exod 6:12, 30; Lev 26:41; Deut 10:16, Jer 4:4; 6:10; 9:25; Eek 44:7, 9; Acts 7:51; Rom 2:29.

64 See the discussion in Foster, Colossians, 263–265. This interpretation made its way into the textual transmission of this verse. Some later manuscripts and scribal correctors inserted τῶν αμαρτιών into the text so that it reads “the body of the sins of the flesh.”

Additionally, some see this as a reference to Christ’s death, e.g., Markus Barth and Helmut Blanke, Colossians: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, trans. Astrid B. Beck, AB 34B (New York: Doubleday, 1994), 365–367; cf. Garroway, “Circumcision of Christ,” 314.

Collman, (Un)Making a Mountain 104 death that was shed was foreskin. Since they have been made alive (συζωοποιέω) with Christ, they are no longer dead in their trespasses, and it stands to reason that this transformation also modifies the foreskin of their flesh.65 If this is the case, how does one experience a hands-free circumcision of their foreskin through baptism?

Here, I think the author’s reasoning broadly follows Paul’s thought on baptism and the individual’s union with Christ. e overarching logic of this section focuses on the Colossians’ union with Christ, as indicated by the continued use of “in him” (2:6, 7, 9, 10), “in whom” (2:11), and “with Christ” (2:20).66 e author also highlights this theme by using συν- compound verbs (συνθάπτω, συνεγείρω, συζωοποιέω) in 2:12 and 13 to describe what these individual’s experience. In Paul’s epistles, baptism unites all believers into one physical body and joins them to Christ.67 “For in one pneuma, we were all baptized into one body” (1 Cor 12:3; cf. Rom 7:5; 1 Cor 10:17; Gal 3:27–28). Paul notes that God has blended together this body (συνεκέρασεν τὸ σῶμα, 1 Cor 12:24) from many members into a single unified body (1 Cor 12:27) and that all who are united to Christ are one pneuma with him (1 Cor 6:17). us, by receiving the divine pneuma and sharing in the physical body of Christ in baptism, believers can physically participate in Christ’s circumcision.68 rough their pneumatic union with him they are circumcised with a hands-free circumcision, which removes the flesh of their foreskin, by their participation in Christ’s physical circumcision.69 While I’m not confident that Paul would agree with this author who writes in his name regarding the pneumatic hands-free circumcision of nonJews through union with Christ, this text does not offer a redefinition of

65

Garroway, “Circumcision of Christ,” 315–316. Garroway also offers a helpful comparison with the similar discussion in Eph 2:11–13.

66 On the theme of union in this section, see Foster, Colossians, 254, 261.

67 Albert Schweitzer, The Mysticism of Paul the Apostle, trans. William Montgomery (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1998), 101–140.

68 The author of Colossians indicates he is familiar with this idea of a shared, pneumatic corporeality in 2:5. “For though I am absent in the flesh, I am with you in the pneuma.”

69 While Origen links the individual’s participation in Christ’s circumcision to the purification of baptism through a clever interpretation of Luke 2:21–24, he seems to present a similar line of reasoning in Hom. Luc. 14. Origen notes that Christians “have no need for circumcision of the flesh” because “[Christ’s] circumcision took place for us” and “we were circumcised with him” (Hom. Luc. 14.1). See the discussion of this passage in Jacobs, Christ Circumcised, 123–125. I take the “circumcision of Christ” to be an objective genitive rather than a subjective genitive. It is not the circumcision that Christ performs on individuals, but the circumcision that Christ received as an infant (Luke 2:21). On the function of this genitive, see Jacobs, Christ Circumcised, 26–28. One could also take this to be a “mystical genitive.” On this, see Foster, Colossians, 264–265; Adolf Deissmann, Paul: A Study in Social and Religious History, trans. William E. Wilson (New York: Harper, 1957), 162–164.

105 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) circumcision or a replacement of it with heart-circumcision. e novelty of the author’s approach to circumcision is that now the rite can be performed without the need for human intervention. ose who were once dead and in foreskin have now been raised to life with Christ and have shed their foreskin by participating in Christ’s circumcision.

6. Conclusion: Where is the Cardiological Mohel? is brief examination of heart-circumcision in the authentic and disputed Pauline epistles has demonstrated that Paul had little to say about the topic. In fact, he only discusses it once (Rom 2:28–29), and there it serves a specific rhetorical purpose in his ongoing discussion with a judaizing gentile. Heartcircumcision has a rich tradition in ancient Judaism and early Christianity. Still, Paul’s epistles should not continue to be used as evidence for this theme in the early days of the Jesus movement.70 While early Christian writers adopted this theme from the Hebrew Bible and by reading Paul in light of those texts, Paul’s epistles (and Colossians) do not actually add to this discussion. Rather, in their attempt to separate Christianity from Judaism, they read their supersessionist assumptions into Paul’s texts, assuming that he said what they already knew: that the church was the true Israel and that heart-circumcision replaced physical circumcision. Indeed, Paul’s interpreters have made a theological mountain out of a cardiological mohel.

70

If this idea was as central to Paul’s thinking as some interpreters claim, it should be surprising that Paul does not utilize heart-circumcision in Galatians. If Paul believes that non-Jews can receive the only kind of circumcision that matters—circumcision of the heart—then it seems that Paul would have used this to his rhetorical advantage in his critique of the circumcision proposed by the agitators. This Pauline lacuna is noted by Garroway, Paul’s Gentile-Jews: Neither Jew nor Gentile, but Both (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012), 132–133. He argues that Paul may have avoided discussing heartcircumcision because it could have confused the Galatians. It could also be that Paul had not developed this line of thinking by the time he wrote Galatians. I think, however, that this lacuna has a simpler explanation. Paul does not use heart-circumcision to his rhetorical advantage in Galatians because he does not think it applies to foreskinned gentiles and because he does not think it replaces circumcision of the penis.

Polemicizing with Preputial Precision: What We Can Learn about Paul’s Opponents in Galatians and Philippians by Understanding the Differences between Two Types of Physical Circumcision* Andrew Remington Rillera The King’s University | andrew.rillera@kingsu.ca JJMJS No. 10 (2023): 106–132

Abstract Asha Moorthy has observed, “there has…been little if any real attention in New Testament studies to the question of how circumcision was physically carried out in Paul’s time.” This is unfortunate because almost no other NT scholars seem even to be aware that there are different types of circumcision and that there are significant differences between them. Being aware of these types of circumcision and their relative popularity or rarity has the potential to cast much-needed light on Paul’s polemics in Galatians and Philippians. I argue that Paul is accustomed to a type of circumcision that only removes a small ring of skin (the akroposthion) and that this is by far the most prevalent circumcision practice among Jews of his time (following Nissan Rubin). Also, there is evidence that Philo advocated for a more severe form of circumcision, which removes the entire cylindrical prepuce, and that he advocated for this more severe circumcision due to his unique theology of circumcision. Philo is the only witness in Early Judaism of the view that the physical act of circumcision actually has a moral-ethical effect on the person. I show that Paul encounters opponents in Galatians and Philippians who share Philo’s ideas and practices of circumcision. I argue that Paul’s polemics in Galatians in Philippians are not aimed at Jews or circumcision per se, but rather at a more contingent and occasional problem, namely, specific opponents who practice a novel and more *

I want to thank my former PhD colleagues at Duke, Ian Mills and Adam Booth, for their helpful feedback on a previous draft of this article. Thanks are due as well to Matthew Novenson for his incisive comments and questions responding to a summarized version of this essay I presented at the “Circumcision, Gender, and Ethnicity in Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity” online conference in August 2021 through the Centre for the Study of Christian Origins at The University of Edinburgh. I am also grateful for Ryan Collman not only for putting together the conference and inviting me to participate, but also for serving as editor of this special issue in JJMJS. Finally, I’m thankful for my friend and former colleague, Mondo Scott, for creating the visual figures used here.

107 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) severe circumcision than what was the norm to surgically guarantee control of the passions. Paul thinks this ostensible “moral surgery” is dubious and a direct affront to the work of Christ in the believer.

Keywords Circumcision, Philo, Paul, Paul within Judaism, Galatians, Philippians

1. Introduction As Asha Moorthy observes, “there has, historically, been little if any real attention in New Testament studies to the question of how circumcision was physically carried out in Paul’s time.”1 This is unfortunate because almost no NT scholars seem even to be aware that there are different types of circumcision and that there are significant differences between them.2 Being aware of these types of circumcision and their relative popularity or rarity has the potential to cast much-needed light on Paul’s polemics in Galatians and Philippians.

Although there are a few different styles of circumcision that will be discussed here, the main ones this essay will be concerned with I will name milah and periah.3 First, I will set forth the differences between these two circumcisions and show why milah is the customary practice among Jews of Paul’s time. I will also argue that Philo likely endorses a type of circumcision that is very similar to periah and that this is probably due to his unique belief that circumcision is morally operative—it surgically engineers morality. Then, I will argue that Paul encounters opponents in Galatians and Philippians who share these notions and that knowing the Philonic background, as well as the differences between milah and periah, can illuminate Paul’s polemics. That is, his polemics in Galatians in Philippians are not aimed at Jews or circumcision per se, but rather at proselytes

1

Asha Moorthy, “A Seal of Faith: Rereading Paul on Circumcision, Torah, and the Gentiles” (PhD diss., Columbia University, 2013), 52, https://academiccommons.columbia.edu/catalog/ac:166824.

2 Besides Moorthy, Matthew Thiessen is the only NT scholar I have come across who seems aware of milah and periah circumcisions, but he does not entertain the possibility that this has something to do with Paul’s polemics in Galatians and Philippians (Thiessen, Contesting Conversion: Genealogy, Circumcision, and Identity in Ancient Judaism and Christianity [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011], 54–55).

3 While milah derives from the Hebrew verb ‫“( מול‬to circumcise,” cf. Gen 17:10-14), periah is a rabbinic term meaning “open/expose” (indicating the full uncovering of the glans down past the corona) and is thus technically anachronistic when talking about the time of Paul and before. It is used here heuristically to refer to the same type of circumcision that became the rabbinic standard that was also practiced limitedly before the Tannaitic period.

Rillera, Polemicizing with Preputial Precision 108 who practice periah, a novel and more “severe [circumcision] regimen” than milah.4

2. Penile Anatomy, Lipodermos, and Foreskin Regeneration To determine what kind of circumcision is envisioned by an ancient text and thus to grasp the physical differences between milah and periah, it is necessary to get an elementary handle on some penile anatomy and vocabulary (see Fig. 1).5 The penis consists of a shaft and the glans penis or simply glans (i.e., the head). The rim around the glans that meets the shaft is called the corona or coronal ridge. The point at which the shaft meets the corona is the sulcus. The preputial skin is a complex structure consisting of (a) outer skin coterminous with the shaft skin and it lays atop the glans, (b) the inner skin or mucosal membrane that is the underside of the outer skin and thus is the skin touching the glans, (c) the junction or boundary between the outer skin and inner mucosal skin is called the ridged band and it is the opening or tip of the preputial skin that protrudes beyond the glans in infancy (and usually still for most intact adults) and, (d) the frenulum on the ventral (under) side pulls and keeps the entire foreskin-structure covering the glans when flaccid (it is a band between the meatus [urethral opening] and the ridged band). The frenulum and ridged band work together to keep the entire foreskin covering the glans while flaccid so that the preputial skin does not retract easily/automatically and thus expose the glans. I will use “entire foreskin” or “foreskin-structure” to refer to all the 4

Shaye J. D. Cohen, Why Aren’t Jewish Women Circumcised? Gender and Covenant in Judaism (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005), 25.

5 Sorrells Morris L. et al., “Fine-Touch Pressure Thresholds in the Adult Penis,” BJU International 99.4 (2007): 864–869; R. K. Winkelmann, “The Cutaneous Innervation of Human Newborn Prepuce,” Journal of Investigative Dermatology 26.1 (1956): 53–67; R. K. Winkelmann, “The Erogenous Zones: Their Nerve Supply and Its Significance,” Proceedings of the Staff Meetings. Mayo Clinic 34.3 (1959): 39–47; Nissan Rubin, “Brit Milah: A Study of Change in Custom,” in The Covenant of Circumcision: New Perspectives on an Ancient Jewish Rite, ed. Elizabeth Wyner Mark (Hanover, NH: Brandeis University Press, 2003), 87–97, 223–228.

109 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) components of the preputial skin just listed, but these parts will be important for what follows.

For our purposes, it is also necessary to see how the Greeks used their terminology. Frederick M. Hodges observes: The Greeks understood the prepuce to be composed of two distinct structures: the posthē (πόσθη6) and the akroposthion (ακροπόσθιον7)…. Rufus of Ephesus, a physician under Trajan (98–117 C.E.), describes the penis accordingly: The tip of the shaft is called the glans [balonos], and the skin around the glans [is called the] prepuce [posthē], and the extremity of the prepuce is called the akroposthion.8 Thus, I will use posthē to refer to what the Greeks called the πόσθη (sometimes ποσθία or πόσθιον) and akroposthion to refer only to the skin that hangs over beyond the glans (hence the ἄκρος-prefix: ἀκροπόσθιον—term favored by the Greeks—ἀκροβυστία—term favored by the LXX/NT).9

6

Along with its variations, such as πόσθιον or ποσθία.

Along with its variations, such as ἀκροποσθία and ἀκροποσθίη.

8 Frederick M. Hodges, “The Ideal Prepuce in Ancient Greece and Rome: Male Genital Aesthetics and Their Relation to Lipodermos, Circumcision, Foreskin Restoration, and the Kynodesmē,” Bulletin of the History of Medicine 75.3 (2001): 377–378; brackets original; cf. 395.

9 According to LSJ, -βυστία might have derived from the Babylonian root “buśtu ‘pudenda’” and the Hebrew “bōsheth ‘shame’” (s.v. “ἀκροβυστία” II, 2). As Moorthy keenly observes, “If ἄκρος is taken to mean ‘highest’ or ‘farthest point’ then ἀκροβυστία might signify…the ‘height (in metaphorical sense) of shame’” represented in the physical ἀκροπόσθιον (“Seal,” 56, n.40).

7

Rillera, Polemicizing with Preputial Precision 110 Due to variations in human biology, some males have a short foreskin structure so that the ridged band does not hang over the glans but rather rests somewhere along the glans itself, leaving part of the glans exposed (see Fig. 2).

The Greeks called this lipodermos, “lacking skin,” because even though there was an intact prepuce, there was no akroposthion, only a posthē.10 Although Greeks and Romans exercised nude, exposing the glans in any fashion in public was shameful.11 Thus, there were various “treatments designed to lengthen defectively short foreskins” (see Fig. 3).12

For example, Soranus13 advises: If the infant is male and it looks as though it has [lipodermos {λειπόδερμον}] gently draw [ἐπισπάσθω] the tip of the foreskin forward or even hold it together with a stand of wool to fasten it. For if gradually stretched and continuously drawn forward [ἐπισπωμένη], it easily stretches and assumes its normal length and covers the glans [βάλανον] and becomes accustomed to keep the natural good shape. (Gynecology 2.34)14

10

Hodges, “Ideal Prepuce,” 394–395.

Hodges, “Ideal Prepuce,” 392–393, 405.

12 Robert G. Hall, “Epispasm and the Dating of Ancient Jewish Writings,” JSP 2 (1988): 71.

13 Soranus “practiced during the reigns of Trajan and Hadrian” (Hall, “Epispasm,” 71).

14 Soranus, Soranus’ Gynecology, trans. Owsei Temkin (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1991); Greek from Soranus, Sorani Gynaeciorum Libri IV: De Signis Fracturarum, De Fasciis, Vita Hippocratis Secundum Soranum, ed. Ioannes Ilberg, Corpus Medicorum Graecorum 4 (Leipzig: Teubner, 1927).

11

111 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) Galen (ca. 129–210 CE) similarly recommends tensioning the skin of the posthē to create an akroposthion, but he outlines directions for fashioning a device rather than manually tensioning the posthē (De methodo medendi 14.16). These versions of akroposthion restoration work because constant tensioning of the skin induces mitosis, and new skin cells grow, thus expanding the surface area of the skin.15 Another solution was a κυνοδέσμη (“dog leash”). The κυνοδέσμη was “a thin leather thong wound around the akroposthion that pulled the penis upward and was tied in a bow, tied around the waist, or secured by some other means.”16 It served to ensure that the glans did not get exposed during athletic performance (i.e., it was worn for modesty insurance). It was also used to lengthen the prepuce of those with lipodermos by drawing the posthē beyond the glans and thus providing sufficient tension to induce mitosis and grow an akroposthion.

Still, another remedy is infibulation (Celsus, On Medicine 7.25.2; Martial, Epigr. 7.82).17 This is where the short prepuce would be stretched past the glans and then secured with “a pin called a fibula” that is pierced through the left and right sides of the posthē. The fibula prevents the posthē from retracting and exposing part or all of the glans (i.e., the glans is stopped from protruding past the fibula).

Finally, Celsus (before 90 CE)18 gives directions for how to surgically restore an akroposthion for both those who were born with lipodermos or who have been circumcised (Med. 7.25.1).

3. Milah and Periah Whereas milah circumcision only excises the akroposthion, periah excises the akroposthion and the posthē “peeling back…the mucosal membrane lining the [inner]foreskin, thus fully uncovering the glans” (cf. m. Šabb. 19:2, 6) (cf. figs.

1, 2, and 4).19 The Mishnah says that after the milah (‫ )מולים‬cut, the “circumcision,” what follows is periah (‫)פורעים‬, the “exposing,” to fully uncover the “corona” (m. Šabb. 19:2; cf. 19:6).20 Milah names the first cut and periah

15

Cf. Dioscorides Pedanius who suggests an herbal treatment of Thapsia for lipodermos to cause swelling in the prepuce (Mat. med. 4.153.4). There is a plethora of research in medical journals under “tissue expansion.” For more, see Hodges, “Ideal Prepuce,” 397.

16 Hodges, “Ideal Prepuce,” 381–384, esp. 381. For more details on epispasm, infibulation, and the κυνοδέσμη, see Andreas Blaschke, Beschneidung: Zeugnisse Der Bibel Und Verwandter Texte, TANZ 28 (Tübingen: Francke, 1998), 139–144.

17 Hall, “Epispasm,” 72; cf. Hodges, “Ideal Prepuce,” 381.

18 E. Mary Smallwood, The Jews under Roman Rule: From Pompey to Diocletian, SJLA 20 (Leiden: Brill, 1976), 376.

19 Rubin, “Brit Milah,” 88.

20 Hebrew from Ms. Kaufmann. Hungarian Academy of Sciences, Budapest, Ms. A 50.

Accessed through OakTree Software, Inc. (2009).

Rillera, Polemicizing with Preputial Precision 112 names a second cut whereby the corona is “uncover[ed]…by cutting off the membrane [i.e., the posthē] that adheres to it [the glans].”21 The posthē is fused to the glans at birth usually up to puberty (and sometimes beyond),22 which is why milah leaves it adhering to the glans. There are thus two cuts in a periah circumcision: (1) the excision of the akroposthion (milah) and (2) the tearing of the posthē down past the corona and excising all remaining “shreds” of preputial skin (periah). According to the Mishnah, “the inner lining” of the prepuce needs to be “torn” because if “flesh … covers the greater part of the corona” (i.e., if there is even enough prepuce skin remaining to crest the corona), then “these shreds” would “render the circumcision invalid” (m. Šabb. 19:6).23 This means milah leaves behind what periah excises according to the Mishnah’s procedural definitions. That is, milah leaves the posthē fused to the glans.24 This is enough preputial skin to extend beyond the glans if stretched, but without a ridged band and a severed frenulum it would not stay in place on its own and would inevitably retract off the glans somewhat (hence the need for a fibula or a κυνοδέσμη, “dog leash,” if the person wanted to “cover up” their circumcision [see Fig. 3]). Milah is therefore medically equivalent to lipodermos from the Greco-Roman perspective (Fig. 2).

This is evident not only from the definitions of milah and periah in the Mishnah but also because Jewish males regularly partook in the above remedies for lipodermos. If a Jewish male wanted to participate in the gymnasium (e.g., 2 Macc 4:12–13), they could either use one of the many epispasm methods, e.g., a fibula or a κυνοδέσμη, to ensure that their glans would not be exposed (Fig. 3).

By using these techniques, they continually stretch their posthē down past the glans. This tension induces tissue expansion of the preputial skin. Before long, they would re-grow sufficient posthē that hangs beyond the glans again, thereby regenerating an akroposthion. Or they might opt to undergo a surgery like the one described by Celsus. But it is important to realize that Celsus assumes the presence of sufficient remaining posthē even in one who has been circumcised (i.e., he cannot be talking about periah). He says that the surgery requires “the 21

Shaye J. D. Cohen, “Tractate Shabbat,” in The Oxford Annotated Mishnah: A New Translation of the Mishnah with Introductions and Notes, ed. Shaye J. D. Cohen, Robert Goldenberg, and Hayim Lapin, vol. 1 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2022), 423, cf.

425.

22 This is why “skin bridges” can form after some circumcisions: Lee E. Ponsky et al., “Penile Adhesions after Neonatal Circumcision,” The Journal of Urology 164.2 (2000): 495–496.

23 Translation from Cohen, “Tractate Shabbat,” 425.

24 While we cannot know exactly how much of the akroposthion is removed with milah, we know it does not cut the posthē because (a) it is fused to the glans until puberty, (b) the posthē—the preputial skin covering the glans from the corona to the urethra (Fig. 1)—is specifically what periah tears away and removes (“the shreds [of the foreskin]...that covers the greater part of the corona,” m. Šabb. 19:6), and (c), as discussed just below, without a posthē future foreskin regeneration would be impossible.

113 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) adjacent skin [to the glans—i.e., the posthē—to be] rather ample” (Med. 7.25.1 [LCL]), which rules out periah because the whole point of periah is removing all the posthē so that the entire corona is fully exposed (m. Šabb. 19:2, 6).25

If the entire posthē is removed, as it is with periah, then there is physically no preputial skin to draw down to cover the glans and secure with a fibula or a κυνοδέσμη or to surgically repair (Fig. 4).26 This indicates that Celsus and the other medical advocates for akroposthion restoration techniques were not aware of anything like periah, but only of something like milah. In fact, Nissan Rubin argues that “the requirement of periah … was instituted by the Rabbis following the Bar Kokhba Revolt for the purpose of…. mak[ing] decircumcision no longer a feasible undertaking for Hellenizing Jews.”27 With periah, not only is the glans fully exposed, but any remaining preputial skin is cut off as well since the entirety of the prepuce is drawn down toward the base of the penile shaft past the corona and sulcus (m. Šabb. 19:2, 6). As Rubin makes clear, after this process of “a radical circumcision that removes the maximum outer skin and rolls back completely the inner membrane, the stretching of a sufficient amount of skin from the shaft of the penis to create a pseudo-foreskin would take years, according to reports from [modern] foreskin restoration

25

Cohen, “Tractate Shabbat,” 423, 425.

See Blaschke, “Die ‫ פריעה‬machte das Anlegen einer κυνοδέσμη unmöglich und erschwerte den Epispasmos” (Beschneidung, 144; cf. 143).

27 Rubin, “Brit Milah,” 88; cf. Cohen, “Jewish Women,” 25–26, 232, n. 69. Thus, Blaschke is mistaken when he thinks periah was instituted after the Maccabean rebellion (Beschneidung, 141, 144). The evidence points to the supposition that periah was instituted after Hadrian since epispasm was popularized again during Hadrian’s reign (Gen. Rab. 46.13), which would not have been possible if these men underwent periah.

26

Rillera, Polemicizing with Preputial Precision 114 groups” and this renders “the drawing down of the foreskin…no longer feasible” for the ancient Jew.28 Without a posthē, all the medical remedies for lipodermos could not physically work. These types of akroposthion restoration are only possible for an ancient Jewish male if they have a posthē left to stretch. Although Andreas Blaschke knows that periah renders non-surgical epispasm “considerably difficult” (“da die ‫ פריעה‬den Vollzug eines nichtchirurgischen Epispasmos zumindest erheblich erschwert”),29 he assumes that epispasm after the Maccabean period refers to surgical (“chirurgische”) foreskin re-creation as prescribed by Celsus above.30 But this assumption profoundly misunderstands how much preputial skin is removed with periah. There is simply not enough skin to do what Celsus prescribes since he requires having “rather ample” preputial skin for the operation (Med. 7.25.1). So much skin is removed with periah that such a large portion of the remaining skin on the penile shaft would have to be cut from the pubic base and pulled over the glans, leaving an equivalent portion of the penile shaft as an entirely open wound.31 Celsus, however, imagines that the patient only needs a “small ring” of additional skin to grow (7.25.1 [LCL]), which is exactly what one would expect for a patient that has a posthē, but is just missing the akroposthion, consisting of the “small ring,” which is the ridged band plus however much preputial skins hangs over the glans (Fig. 1). This is why periah as a widespread practice had to come much later than Blaschke supposes.32 As long as some form of akroposthion regeneration is considered viable, this means milah was the norm.33 Therefore, the vast amount of evidence there is for Jewish males undergoing various forms of foreskin restoration from the Maccabean era up to Hadrian from a wide range of sources means that the milah cut was standard

28

Rubin, “Brit Milah,” 88, 92; also note that modern Western circumcision gives the same result as periah (Leonard B. Glick, Marked in Your Flesh: Circumcision from Ancient Judea to Modern America [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005], 5–6).

29 Blaschke, Beschneidung, 141.

30 Blaschke, Beschneidung, 141; his emphasis.

31 While milah only removed the overhanging skin, periah removed a lot of surface area.

To calculate an estimate of the amount of skin removed, think of the lateral surface area of a cylinder (i.e., a cylinder without the top or bottom circles) as opposed to an o-ring of skin with milah, which is mainly just the circumference of the ridged band plus the amount of akroposthion overhanging the glans. With periah, however, the radius of the corona needs to be multiplied by 2π and by at least the length of the glans (posthē) plus the amount of akroposthion overhanging the glans. This would only account for the surface area of the outer skin, however. Thus, the total needs to be multiplied by two to account for the prepuce’s outer layer of skin covering the length of the glans and an inner layer of mucosal skin covering the length of the glans.

32 Rubin, “Brit Milah,” 95–96.

33 Rubin, “Brit Milah,” 92.

115 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) in this period (1 Macc 1:11–15; 2 Macc 4:1234; Jub. 15:33–34; Josephus, Ant. 12.241; T. Mos. 8:3; 1 Cor 7:18; Gen. Rab. 46.13; Celsus, Med. 7.25; Martial, Epigr. 7.82). Also, Paul explicitly referring to epispasm in 1 Cor 7:18 (μὴ ἐπισπάσθω)—he and Soranus are the only ones to use this “technical term” for lengthening the posthē 35—means that Paul understands circumcision to only consist of the singular milah cut.36 Moreover, the Samaritans did not and do not practice periah, which then also attests that milah is the earliest type of Israelite circumcision.37 Therefore, as Rubin concludes, “periah was an innovation instituted over the course of time, most likely in response to the drawing down of the foreskin…practiced during the of the Hadrianic persecutions.”38 This means that “until the middle of the second century CE the sanctioned method of circumcision [milah] allowed for the possibility of stretching and drawing down remaining foreskin tissue and thereby ‘crossing the border’ of Jewish society.”39 One of the reasons foreskin restoration may have gained popularity in the late first century could due to the fiscus Judaicus instituted by Vespasian.40 In the context of discussing this tax under Domitian and how some Jews “concealed their origin and did not pay the tribute levied upon their people” Suetonius records, “I recall being present in my youth when the person of a man ninety years old was examined before the procurator and a very crowded court, to whether he was circumcised” (Dom. 12.2 [LCL]). Whether or not this public stripping was common, the fear of such a humiliating experience would be sufficient reason for Jewish males who wanted either to avoid the tax or abandon Torah-observance altogether to go through some form of foreskin regeneration.

Periah becoming the norm was likely reactionary to the possibility of foreskin regeneration among concerned Jews not wanting their sons to be physically capable of foreskin regeneration later in life. We know that later many considered foreskin regeneration to be blatant apostasy (b. Sanh. 38b; y. Peʾah 1:1, 54; y. Sanh. 10:1, 2; t. Hor. 1:5; cf. y. Yebam. 8:1, 11, 13; cf. 1 Macc 1:11–15; 2 Macc 4:12–17) so perhaps these parents and earlier rabbis were already trying to prevent the viability of re-growing an akroposthion on the supposed 34

Following Sara Parks, “thesis: the author uses humour elsewhere, the gymnasium is mentioned as a contentious topic, circumcisions were being reversed at this time, ergo I think “greek hat” is a joke for foreskin” (“When a Hat Isn’t a Hat: Continuing the Tradition of Hebrew Penis Euphemisms in a Hellenistic Anti-Hellenistic Text,” paper presented at the Sheffield Institute of Interdisciplinary Biblical Studies [SIIBS] Seminar Series, Feb 22, 2021). That is, “submitting under the Greek hat” (ὑποτάσσων ὑπὸ πέτασον) is likely a metaphor for re-growing an akroposthion, the Greek “hat” for the glans.

35 Hall, “Epispasm,” 73.

36 Cf. Moorthy, “Seal,” 58.

37 Rubin, “Brit Milah,” 94–95; Thiessen, Contesting Conversion, 55.

38 Rubin, “Brit Milah,” 92–93.

39 Rubin, “Brit Milah,” 88.

40 Josephus, J.W. 7.218; cf. Smallwood, Jews, 376–377; Hall, “Epispasm,” 78.

Rillera, Polemicizing with Preputial Precision 116 theological grounds that it would constitute “a deliberate act of defection from the Jewish public, not justified by external duress.”41 Rubin thus concludes that periah became a common practice to preemptively prevent foreskin regeneration “because the procedure renders epispasm extremely difficult.”42 I would only add that knowing the anatomical realities means that periah renders foreskin regeneration not just “extremely difficult,” but essentially impossible for ancient Jews. Whatever the specific impetus, the motive to practice periah seems to be aimed specifically at preventing the possibility that an adult male would be able to restore their remaining posthē into an akroposthion through any of the above means of skin-tissue expansion.

4. Philo and Periah Even though the surgical procedures for periah are outlined in the Mishnah, the Rabbis likely did not invent this new type of circumcision. It seems that (proto)periah might have been practiced by a minority of Jews earlier.43 It may have been practiced by those who wrote/received Jubilees:44

41

Rubin, “Brit Milah,” 90–92, esp. 91.

Shaye J. D. Cohen, “Judaism to the Mishnah: 135–220 C.E.,” in Christianity and Rabbinic Judaism: A Parallel History of Their Origins and Early Development, ed. Hershel Shanks (Washington, DC: Biblical Archaeology Society, 1992), 200.

43 One example Moorthy points to needs to be dismissed immediately, however.

Referring to the archeological work of Philip King who “points out that the Assyrian reliefs depicting naked and impaled Israelites at the battle of Lachish seem to present Figures with the “entire glans” exposed,” she concludes along with King that “since the Lachish reliefs were carved in the 8th century BCE, this would seem to suggest that periah was introduced at a much earlier date than posited by Rubin” (“Seal,” 54). But the mere fact of an exposed glans does not automatically mean that periah was practiced at the time. That is a fallacious assumption due to not understanding the foreskin anatomy and function of its parts. A milah circumcision would also expose the glans because the circumcision excised the ridged band and severed the frenulum. Without these two pulling and keeping the posthē over the glans, the posthē easily retracts back to the corona and stays that way unless held in place with some sort of device (like a fibula or κυνοδέσμη). Also, as will be highlighted below, the Egyptians practiced a type of circumcision that was very much like milah, and it also exposed the glans (see Guy Cox and Brian J. Morris, “Why Circumcision: From Prehistory to the Twenty-First Century,” in Surgical Guide to Circumcision, ed. David A. Bolnick, Martin Koyle, and Assaf Yosha [Dordrecht: Springer, 2012], 246, 251–252). Therefore, an exposed glans is hardly evidence for periah circumcision. (Moorthy is referring to Philip J. King, “Gezer and Circumcision,” in Confronting the Past Archaeological and Historical Essays on Ancient Israel in Honor of William G. Dever, ed. Seymour Gitin, J. Edward Wright, and J.P. Dessel [Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2006], 333–340.)

44 Translations of Jubilees from James C. VanderKam, Jubilees: A Commentary in Two Volumes, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 2018), 1:507.

42

117 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) I am now telling you that the Israelites will prove false to this ordinance. They will not circumcise their sons in accord with this entire law because they will leave some of the flesh of their circumcision when they circumcise their sons. (Jub. 15:33) Moorthy notes that “It may be suggested that ‘the flesh of their circumcision’ which ‘they will leave’ is equivalent to the ‘shreds of the foreskin’ which ‘remain’ referred to in Mishnah (m. Šabb. 19:6).”45 But as Rubin brings out, “not all scholars agree about the translation of the Ethiopian text…. E.g., Charles translates: ‘… for in the flesh of their children they will omit this circumcision of their sons’…. Therefore it is not clear whether 15:33 talks about leaving flesh.”46 Because of this difficulty, we ought not base anything substantial on this evidence even if it has to be noted for the sake of comprehensiveness.

Nevertheless, if “for they have made themselves like the nations” (Jub. 15:34) refers to akroposthion restoration (even though it could mean simply that parents are not circumcising their sons per Charles), then this again would indicate that milah was the norm when Jubilees was written since akroposthion restoration is physically impossible after periah.

The best evidence that something like periah was practiced by some Jews while milah was the widespread norm comes from Philo (and then Paul’s polemics in Galatians and Philippians).47 This comes out especially in Spec. 1.3– 11 when he discusses the physical and moral benefits of circumcision and seems to be corroborated by what he says about a “two-fold circumcision” in Somn.

2:24–25. From Philo’s vocabulary, it is clear he thinks circumcision involves the removal of both the ἀκροποσθία as well as the ποσθία: he uses ἀκροποσθία only once in his writings in Spec. 1.4, but he uses a version of ποσθία three times: ποσθένης in Spec. 1.4, ποσθίαις in Spec. 1.5 (the plural here likely indicates posthēand-akroposthion), and ποσθίας in Spec. 1.7.

Just as significant, Philo talks about circumcision involving “severe pains” and describes it as mutilation: “so many myriads in each generation are mutilated [ἀποτέμνεσθαι], with miserable pains in maiming [ἀκρωτηριαζούσας] the bodies of themselves…. it seemed necessary to the legislators to maim [ἀκρωτηριάζειν] the organ serving such instances-of-sexual-intercourse” (Spec.

1.3, 9).48 The removal of the entire foreskin-structure (posthē-and-akroposthion)

45

Moorthy, “Seal,” 55; Thiessen likewise thinks Jubilees “advocates periah” (Contesting Conversion, 172, n. 52).

46 Rubin, “Brit Milah,” 224, n. 18. VanderKam has a textual note for Jub. 15:33 that aligns with this. The translation might be: “they will leave the circumcision of their flesh” (Jubilees, 1:509); i.e., they simply will not circumcise.

47 Cf. Moorthy who also thinks Philo advocated for periah (“Seal,” 58–60), but here I give unique reasons as to why this is the case.

48 Translations of Philo are mine unless otherwise noted. The Greek comes from the LCL volumes.

Rillera, Polemicizing with Preputial Precision 118 was a radically invasive procedure involving the removal of a significant amount of skin and Philo’s use of “mutilate” and “maim” suggests that he is aware that his contemporaries would view what he is describing as a kind of genital mutilation.

Diodorus Siculus (ca. 90 BC–30 BCE) and Strabo (ca. 63 BC–23 CE) differentiate between “circumcision” and “mutilation,” and Philo’s vocabulary indicates that he is aware of this. Diodorus writes: All the Trogodytes are circumcised [περιτέμνονται] like the Egyptians with the exception of those who, because of what they have experienced, are called “colobi” [κολοβῶν i.e., “mutilated ones”]; for these alone of all who live inside the Straits have in infancy all that part cut completely off with the razor which among other peoples merely suffers circumcision [ἐκ νηπίου ξυροῖς ἀποτέμνονται πᾶν τὸ τοῖς ἄλλοις μέρος περιτομῆς τυγχάνον]. (Bib. hist. 3.32.4 [LCL]) It is unlikely that “all that part” (πᾶν τὸ...μέρος) refers to “the penis” or “the glans” (βάλανος)—i.e., the κολοβοί did not amputate their penis or the glans. “All that part” more likely refers to the entire “foreskin-structure” (posthē-andakroposthion) because it is referring to what in other peoples is “circumcised” and it is the akroposthion of the preputial skin, not the penis or the glans, that is cut in circumcision. Those who are “merely” circumcised cut the akroposthion and retain the posthē. Diodorus is thus saying the κολοβοί have their entire foreskin-structure (“all that part”) removed, leaving them without a posthē and thus with a permanently exposed glans. Speaking about κολοβός more broadly, Pierre Cordier agrees that it does not have to do with amputating the glans but with excising the entire foreskin-structure.49 This is why knowing penile anatomy is important. If Diodorus were saying the κολοβοί cut their penis and/or glans off, he would just say that. He would not say it is a more severe cut of the thing that is trimmed in circumcision, which is the preputial structure (posthēand-akroposthion), leaving only the posthē.

Similarly, Strabo talks about the “Troglodytes,” some of whom have “mutilate[d] [κολοβοὶ] their bodies,” and “some of them [who] are circumcised [περιτετμημένοι], like the Aegyptians” (Geogr. 16.4.17; cf. 16.4.5 [LCL]).

Although he mistakenly thinks Jews practice female circumcision too (16.4.9), he nevertheless views the Jews as circumcisers (cf. αἱ περιτομαί in 16.2.37), not κολοβοί like the Troglodytes.

This is corroborated by the fact that the type of circumcision the Egyptians practiced, which both Diodorus and Strabo use as their referent, was similar to milah in that the posthē remained afterward. While milah excised the 49

Pierre Cordier, “Les Romains et la circoncision,” REJ 160 (2001): 337–355, esp. 343; see also, Moorthy, “Seal,” 57.

119 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) circular ridged band on the akroposthion (the overhanging tip of the preputial orifice), “[t]he Egyptian procedure involved either the excision of a triangular section from the dorsal [upper] face of the foreskin or simply a longitudinal incision along the median line of the dorsal face allowing retraction of the foreskin and exposure of the glans.”50 Egyptians practiced a form of circumcision that is mostly identical to modern day preputioplasty. That is, to facilitate easier retraction of the preputial skin down past the corona, a perpendicular cut is made to the ridged band on the dorsal side so that it can no longer contract and close when it overhangs the glans. Significantly, when looking at two different preputial cuts, Diodorus names the one that removes less skin “circumcision” and the more severe kind as “mutilating” (ἀποτέμνω, Bib. Hist. 3.32.4). This is the same word (ἀποτέμνω) Philo uses in Spec. 1.3 (cf. ἀκρωτηριάζω in 1.3, 9). The simplest reason Philo speaks about “miserable pains,” “mutilating,” (ἀποτέμνω) and “maiming” (ἀκρωτηριάζω) is that he is intentionally talking about a similar severe form of genital cut known to Diodorus and Strabo. This is supported by the fact that, especially considering the “precise terminology” of the Greeks,51 Philo repeatedly uses ποσθία, thereby implying that circumcision removes the entire preputial foreskin-structure rather than just the akroposthion.

Furthermore, when one considers the extensive measures involved in “ensuring that no tissue remained that might facilitate the successful accomplishment of meshikhat orlah [i.e., epispasm],” then Philo’s wording was not an exaggeration if he was talking about a procedure at all similar to periah.52 Since the posthē is fused to the glans at birth (and usually up to puberty and sometimes beyond),53 as Rubin highlights, this means the mohel for periah has “to force the removal of as much tissue as possible, both foreskin [akroposthion] and mucosal tissue [posthē], so as to preclude the stretching of vestigial [posthē] tissue in a process of decircumcision.”54 This process of removing the entire preputial structure by tearing off the posthē from the glans and cutting it (m. Šabb. 19:2, 6) involves a lot more pain—requiring either a knife or fingernails to scrape off the fused posthē55— than a mere single excision that removes the overhanging akroposthion. When describing Samaritan circumcision, John Mills notes, “The most painful part of the ceremony as performed by the Jews— the rent [i.e., the rending of the entire fused posthē in periah]—is never done by 50

Richard C. Steiner, “Incomplete Circumcision in Egypt and Edom: Jeremiah (9:24-25) in the Light of Josephus and Jonckheere,” JBL 118.3 (1999): 503. Although Cox and Morris do not identify Egyptian circumcision with preputioplasty (I think mistakenly), they nevertheless classify it with what we are calling milah (their “Type 1a”) in contrast to other forms such as periah (their “Type 1b”) (“Why Circumcision,” 246, 251–252).

51 Hodges, “Ideal Prepuce,” 377.

52 Rubin, “Brit Milah,” 95.

53 Cf. Cohen, “Tractate Sabbat,” 423, 425.

54 Rubin, “Brit Milah,” 94.

55 Rubin, “Brit Milah,” 92.

Rillera, Polemicizing with Preputial Precision 120 the Samaritans. ... they ... call it a superfluous cruelty.”56 Moreover, periah also involves a longer and more arduous recovery time as is evidenced by comparing the recovery times between modern circumcisions, which remove most of the posthē like periah, and preputioplasty, which appears to be exactly what the Egyptians practiced and is very similar to milah.57 It is thus most probable that Philo has in mind a severe kind of circumcision, a proto-periah.

In contrast to the Rabbis who, as argued above, advocate for periah to make akroposthion regeneration physically impossible (perhaps so that the covenant cannot be broken), Philo seems to have advocated for this severe circumcision for moral-ethical reasons (which the Rabbis never mention) and never mentions circumcision as having anything remotely to do with covenant concerns. In Spec. 1.1–11 it is clear that removing the ποσθία “guarantees… the excision of the pleasures, which bewitch the intellect… the excision of excessive and abounding pleasure” (1.8–9).58 That is, for Philo, circumcision is not merely

56

Mills, Three Months’, 190.

For tissues removed in modern Western neonatal or adult circumcisions, see Sorrells Morris L. et al., “Fine-Touch Pressure”; Glick, Marked, 5–6, 149–214.

58 Philo talks about circumcision as “a guarantee of two of the most indispensable things” (σύμβολον ἡγοῦμαι τὴν περιτομὴν δυοῖν εἶναι τοῖν ἀναγκαιοτάτοιν) (Spec. 1.8), the first of which is the “the castration of the pleasures” (1.9). It is important to note that the word σύμβολον is potentially a false cognate in English. “Symbol” does not quite capture what σύμβολον conveys. According to LSJ (s.v. “σύμβολον”), a σύμβολον is a “guarantee” or “proof” of something. Whereas the English word “symbol” conveys a metaphor, σύμβολον is a stronger term. This is evidenced when Philo refutes extreme allegorizers in Migr. 92– 93, where he again calls the laws σύμβολα. If σύμβολον meant “metaphorical,” then the literal keeping of the laws would be otiose. This is precisely what Philo is arguing against, namely, a metaphorical understanding of the laws! Philo is not merely asserting that the literal laws must still be kept for no other reason than that he says so. Rather, Philo is mounting a vigorous counterargument by urging a different view of the laws that is more robust than a mere metaphor that attends only to an “inner meaning.” Philo is, in effect, saying, “Do not be like those who think these are ‘metaphors’ or ‘symbols.’ No, these are σύμβολα. And precisely because they are σύμβολα the literal keeping of them cannot be neglected.” The fact that Philo thinks it is the actual “keeping” (φυλάσσω) of the laws that makes possible the true knowledge “of which these are σύμβολα” (93) means that we need to think of σύμβολον more in terms of something that accomplishes that which it signifies (akin to a “treaty” or a “contract,” LSJ, s.v. “σύμβολον”). Philo’s entire polemic against the extreme allegorizers depends upon an inseparable connection between literally keeping the law and the inner meaning and significance of the law. The word σύμβολον seems especially equipped to convey such a connection. The first definition given for σύμβολον in LSJ is a “tally, i.e. each of two halves or corresponding pieces of an ἀστράγαλος or other object, which two ξένοι, or any two contracting parties, broke between them, each party keeping one piece, to have proof of the identity of the presenter of the other.” It is thus likely that Philo chooses σύμβολον because he wants to communicate that one cannot have “one half” (i.e., the “deeper sense”) without the “other half” (literally keeping the law).

57

121 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) metaphorical, it is physically effective as it “suppresses the undue impulses of the male,” which is why only males are circumcised (QG 3.47 [LCL]).

Philo’s insistence “that morality could be surgically engineered” through circumcision coupled with the fact that the Greeks and Romans fetishized the akroposthion and posthē further suggests that Philo promotes (proto-)periah.59 As Hodges demonstrates, “[i]n the domain of pleasures ... the longer prepuce often serves as the object of erotic interest and as a signifier of the sexually attractive male.”60 But it was not simply the protruding prepuce (i.e., the akroposthion) that was a symbol of erotic pleasure, the posthē was as well.

Hodges relates: The eroticization of the prepuce is also evident in the Thesophoriazusae of Aristophanes, where the lusty father-inlaw, pressing to his face a garment owned by the young and handsome poet Agathon, exclaims: ‘By Aphrodite, this has the pleasant smell of [a little] prepuce [πόσθιον]!’ The diminutive posthion (πόσθιον), as opposed to the standard word posthē (πόσθη), is most likely used here as a term of endearment.61 Given the fetishizing of the posthē and akroposthion, Hodges believes Philo’s “dismissal of opposition to circumcision as ‘childish mockery’ (Spec. 1.3) betrays his failure to understand the philosophical and aesthetic underpinnings of the Greeks’ high regard for the cultivation of physical health and beauty.”62 I think the precise opposite is going on, however. Philo understands the Greco-Roman eroticization of the posthē and akroposthion, and this is precisely why he promotes a severe circumcision that removes the ποσθία. In Greco-Roman society, the posthē and akroposthion symbolized the pleasures, and Philo agrees. He says, “all the other [pleasures]” are embedded in erotic pleasure, which is “the most forcible” (Spec. 1.9; cf. QG 3.46–48; Migr. 92–93) and that “the flesh of the foreskin, symboliz[es] those sense-pleasures and impulses” (QG 3.52 [LCL]). The Greeks may have been aware of this only intuitively for apparent reasons, but modern studies show that the ridged band and the posthē are the most innervated, erogenous, and sensitive tissues of the penis.63 Thus, periah “circumcision ablates the most sensitive parts of the penis.”64 Also, since periah necessarily exposes any leftover mucosal inner skin as it gets rolled down past the corona, this skin undergoes keratinization or 59

Hodges, “Ideal Prepuce,” 388.

Hodges, “Ideal Prepuce,” 379.

61 Hodges, “Ideal Prepuce,” 379; his brackets.

62 Hodges, “Ideal Prepuce,” 387.

63 Winkelmann, “The Erogenous Zones,” 40–41, 46; Winkelmann, “The Cutaneous Innervation”; Sorrells Morris L. et al., “Fine-Touch Pressure.”

64 Sorrells Morris L. et al., “Fine-Touch Pressure,” 864.

60

Rillera, Polemicizing with Preputial Precision 122 “epithelialization, eventually taking on the character of an outer skin covering.”65 The body produces a buildup of keratin to desensitize the mucosal tissue so that what was once inner skin can now tolerate being on the outside indefinitely.

Therefore, not only does Philo use the correct vocabulary, he also has a motive. It appears Philo wants to excise the enfleshed representation and source of Greco-Roman pleasure by removing the whole posthē-andakroposthion structure. To make his point explicit, he says that circumcision “is the excision [ἐκτομῆς] of pleasures, which bewitch the intellect … the excision [ἐκτομὴν] of excessive and abounding pleasure, not only of one [pleasure], but through the most forcible one also of all the others” (Spec. 1.9) precisely because the ποσθία/ποσθένη (1.4, 5, 7) is “excised,” “mutilated,” and “maimed” (ἐκτομή, ἀποτέμνω, ἀκρωτηριάζω) (Spec. 1.3–5, 7, 9). As repugnant as a typical Greek would find circumcision of any type, Philo feels about Greek sexuality. Thus, not only does the akroposthion need to be removed, but the “excessive and abounding” remaining skin of the posthē must also be severed. This is why Hodges concludes, “Circumcision for Philo was a surgical means of obtaining moral objectives through a deliberate numbing, desexualization, disinvigoration, and uglification of the body.”66 In fact, although Philo usually allegorically interprets eunuchs as barren of virtue, he explicitly endorses castration to curb the passions.67 He writes that “it is surely better to be made a eunuch [ἐξευνουχισθῆναί] than to be raging after illicit sexual unions” (Det. 176). Again, “to become a eunuch would be the best thing, if our soul, by thus escaping wickedness, will be able to unlearn passion” (Leg. 3.236). Therefore, it seems safe to suspect that Philo errors on the side of removing as much prepuce as physically possible, given his vocabulary surrounding circumcision and endorsement of actual castration.

Finally, Diodorus and Strabo provide further evidence for Rubin’s argument that milah was by far the most common practice of Jews until the second century AD, for if the Jews were known for anything like periah, then these writers would not have hesitated to call them mutilators as they both do with the Troglodytes. In other words, if Jews were known for a more radical preputial cut, then they most likely would have been characterized as κολοβοί, not περιτεμνόμενοι. Indeed, that (a) Strabo views Jewish and Egyptian circumcision in the same category versus more severe types of circumcision that both Strabo and Diodorus consider to be mutilation, and (b) Egyptian circumcision was very similar to milah, in terms of leaving ample posthē,

65

Rubin, “Brit Milah,” 88.

Hodges, “Ideal Prepuce,” 387–388.

67 Ra’anan Abusch, “Circumcision and Castration under Roman Law in the Early Empire,” in The Covenant of Circumcision: New Perspectives on an Ancient Jewish Rite, ed. Elizabeth Wyner Mark (Hanover, NH: Brandeis University Press, 2003), 80–82.

66

123 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) indicates that Philo is advancing a very minority view for Jews at the time— though it became the customary circumcision practice near the time of Hadrian.

5. Paul Opposing Philonic Beliefs and Practices Paul’s opponents in Galatians are advocating for circumcision to “perfect themselves in the flesh” (σαρκὶ ἐπιτελεῖσθε) (Gal 3:3). Also, this “perfection” is specifically about mastery over the “desires” (ἐπιθυμίαι) and “passions” (παθήματα) of “the flesh” (5:16, 24) and they seem to think circumcision is effective for those ends. This is because receiving circumcision is the subject of 5:1–15, and then Paul turns to say that walking in the Spirt (5:16) and belonging to Christ crucifies the passions and desires (5:24; cf. 5:16–26), all of which strongly suggests that the crux of the disagreement is over how best to remedy the passions and desires—through circumcision or through Christ and the Spirit. That is, Paul is arguing against what Peder Borgen calls Philo’s view of “ethical circumcision.”68 Thinking that circumcision has an effect on ἐπιθυμίαι and παθήματα is peculiar to Philo; indeed, it is not until the twelfth century with Maimonides that this view resurfaces in Judaism.69 And, while there is insufficient space to get into it here, just about every bit of Paul’s argument in Galatians can be read as a point for point rebuttal of views only found together in Philo (e.g., circumcision as moral surgery, enslavement to the στοιχεῖα τοῦ κόσμου, Law as a παιδαγωγὸς, allegoresis of Abraham, Sarah, Isaac, Hagar, and Ishmael, etc.).70 It is worth pausing, however, to observe that Philo explicitly links becoming δίκαιος and possessing δικαιοσύνη by doing “works” (Det. 18) and that one merits blessings by doing the “works” of the Law (Praem. 126)—the very issues at stake in Gal 3. Philo comments that the command in Deut 16:20 “to pursue justice justly” (δικαίως τὸ δίκαιον διώκειν [LXX uses διώξῃ]) is “so that we might follow after justice [δικαιοσύνη] and every virtue by means of [doing] the works akin to it [τοῖς συγγενέσιν ἔργοις αὐτῆς]” (Det. 18). Concluding his comments on the blessings in Deuteronomy, Philo offers this summary: “These are the blessings invoked on behalf of good people, who fulfill the laws by works” (αὗται μὲν αἱ ὑπὲρ τῶν ἀνθρώπων τῶν ἀγαθῶν εἰσιν εὐχαὶ καὶ τοὺς νόμους ἔργοις ἐπιτελούντων) (Praem. 126; see ἐπιτελέω in Gal 3:3; for other instances of “works” and “Law[s]” see Praem. 82, 119; Mos. 2.48; Abr. 5).

On account of these observations, what I mean by Philonic is that the opponents referenced in Galatia evince a curious similarity with the beliefs and 68

Peder Borgen, “Observations on the Theme ‘Paul and Philo’: Paul’s Preaching of Circumcision in Galatia (5:11) and Debates on Circumcision in Philo,” in Die Paulinische Literatur Und Theologie: The Pauline Literature and Theology (Århus: Forlaget Aros, 1980), 88, 91, 92, 101.

69 Cohen, Jewish Women, 143–173; Borgen, “Observations,” 96–97.

70 Ernest P. Clark, “Enslaved Under the Elements of the Cosmos” (PhD diss., University of St Andrews, 2017).

Rillera, Polemicizing with Preputial Precision 124 practices that together are distinctive to Philo’s corpus: e.g., surgically engineered morality via circumcision and calendar observance to become δικαιοσύνη and merit blessings rather than curses.71 By Philonic I mean only that the distinct material in Galatians matches well with the distinct material that makes Philo “Philo.” Moreover, Philo is also our best witness that (proto-)periah was practiced by a minority of Jews in Paul’s time when milah was the norm.

This background enables one to discern from Paul’s polemics that he is arguing specifically against the Philonic belief in the ethical efficaciousness of circumcision and the concomitant practice of periah.

To avoid “parallelomania,” what frequently matters most with comparative studies according to Samuel Sandmel, is “a restricted area which makes each of these groups distinctive within the totality of Judaisms; it is the distinctive which is significant for identifying the particular, and not the broad areas in common with other Judaisms.”72 Therefore, since what Paul is arguing against matches the “distinctiveness”73 that makes Philo “Philo” over against his Jewish contemporaries, this study avoids “parallelomania” and instead proceeds with the exact type of comparison Sandmel argues is worth pursuing; namely, interrogating connections when the overlap concerns markedly “distinctive” views relative to “other Judaisms.”

Even though the “passions and desires” only appear in Galatians, the other (distinctive) commonalities between Galatians and Philippians 3 (discussed further below) suggest that the “dogs” in Phil 3:2 are likewise concerned with the passions. In fact, the accusation that their “belly” (κοιλία) is their god in Phil 3:19 may very well be an ironic rebuke of their obsession to curb their bodily appetites. Paul takes this obsession to be a form of idolatry.

Philo says that we find “pleasure” (ἡδονή) “in the breast and belly [κοιλίᾳ], where anger and desire [ὁ θυμὸς καὶ ἡ ἐπιθυμία] are, portions of the irrational: for in the irrational is to be found alike our faculty of decision and the passions [ἡ κρίσις ἡ ἡμετέρα καὶ τὰ πάθη]” (Leg. 3.116; cf. Plato, Resp. 9.588c–591b). In my reading, Paul is saying that his opponents are so obsessed with their bodily appetites that they effectively worship them even while trying to dull them. (This is corroborated when we look at what kind of circumcision they promote below.)

If Paul is dealing with Philonic opponents, it makes sense that he would find this new type of circumcision baffling, not only for its attendant belief in surgically engineered morality but also because it is halakhically novel given the

71

On Philo’s general view that the Law is aimed at controlling the passions, desires, and pleasures see, e.g., Spec. 2.163; Praem. 119–124; Migr. 93. That the Jewish calendar is effective to this end, see Spec. 2.39–214 (esp. 2.39, 145, 150, 160, 195). On Sabbath, see Spec. 2.60–64; Mos. 2.210–216; Decal. 98–101; Migr. 91. On the food laws, see Spec. 4.91, 96–97, 100, 118.

72 Samuel Sandmel, “Parallelomania,” JBL 81 (1962): 1–13, esp. 3.

73 Sandmel, “Parallelomania,” 4; cf. 3.

125 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) large amount of flesh removed. Modern day Samaritans critique periah precisely on this latter point. Samaritan high priest Jacob ben Aaron writes: But circumcision with us means only the cutting off of the foreskin [i.e., the akroposthion]. The Jews make an addition to what God has commanded; for their hacham, ‘doctors,’ make necessary the removal of a larger portion of the skin than the prepuce [i.e., removing the posthē], sometimes denuding the phallus, which they call perih, which does not correspond with the circumcision known in the Hebrew language as nemileh.

We do not practise this as the Jews do, for we think theirs is an addition to the divine command, and has not been revealed as such.74 Coordinating our insights thus far with some of Paul’s statements in Galatians and Philippians, Paul reveals he likely had a similar attitude.

5.1. Proselyte Opponents Scholarship has long been aware of the similarities across Romans, Galatians, and Philippians 3:1–21 due to the concentration of similar distinctive themes (e.g., works, faith[fullness], justification, righteousness, Law, circumcision, athletic metaphors, etc.). No matter how one identifies Paul’s opponents in these epistles (e.g., Jewish, Jewish-Christian, proselytes, etc.), scholars tend to identify these opponents, if not as the same people, then as espousing the same unique set of beliefs and practices.75 Here it suffices to highlight a few key observations in Galatians and Philippians as an exercise demonstrating how knowledge of milah and periah illumines Paul’s polemics.

The idea that Paul is opposing proselytes rather than born-Jews or Jews qua Jew in Phil 3 and Galatians can be observed from a few angles. Beginning with Philippians, there is a marked difference between Paul’s polemics against fellow Christ-evangelists in chapter 1 and against the “dogs” in chapter 3. For instance, Paul acknowledges his animosity with other evangelists in 1:15–18. He says that while some preach Christ from “goodwill” and “love,” others are doing it from “jealousy,” “strife,” and “selfishness,” “not sincerely,” but “expecting to cause affliction” for him (1:15–17). Despite this, Paul emphatically says: “whether by pretense or by integrity, Christ is proclaimed, and I am rejoicing in 74

Jacob ben Aaron, “Circumcision Among the Samaritans,” trans. Abdullah ben Kori, BSac 65 (1908): 697.

75 Cf. Douglas A. Campbell, Framing Paul: An Epistolary Biography (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2014), 133–146, 156–157; Douglas A. Campbell, The Deliverance of God: An Apocalyptic Rereading of Justification in Paul (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), 883–899; B. J. Oropeza, Jews, Gentiles, and the Opponents of Paul: Apostasy in the New Testament Communities (Eugene, OR: Cascade, 2012), 136, 208–211.

Rillera, Polemicizing with Preputial Precision 126 this. Yes, and I will continue rejoicing” (1:18). These cannot be the same people he mentions in 3:18–19 who he says are “enemies of the cross of Christ” that he “weeps” over. The former preach Christ so Paul can rejoice even though they are personal enemies of his, but the latter are enemies of Christ, and that is why Paul weeps.

The likelihood that the opponents in Phil 3 are proselytes of some kind comes into sharp relief when juxtaposing Paul’s comparison of himself to them and how he compares himself to the “super-” or “pseudo-” “Apostles” in 2 Cor 11 (vv. 5, 13).76 With respect to the super-Apostles Paul is equal to them in being a Hebrew, an Israelite, a descendant of Abraham, and a servant of Christ (11:22– 23). What distinguishes Paul, however, is the amount of suffering he has endured as a servant of Christ (11:23–33), thereby embodying Christ-Crucified (12:9–10; cf. 4:7–12; 6:4–10). The problem Paul is facing in 2 Corinthians is over apostolic style and authority, not circumcision and justification as he is dealing with in Phil 3.

The similarities between 2 Cor 11 and Phil 3 serve to accentuate significant differences between them. In Philippians, the opponents are similarly “putting confidence in the flesh” (Phil 3:3; cf. 2 Cor 11:18). But whereas as in 2 Cor 11 Paul is simply matching the boasts of the super-Apostles only managing to surpass them in sufferings, here in Phil 3 Paul is outpacing his opponents with everything he lists. He fronts his list with the assertion that what he is about to name constitutes “more” (μᾶλλον) reasons “to put confidence in the flesh” (3:4). That is, Paul thinks his being born a Jew, circumcised on the eighth day of the biological stock of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew of Hebrews, and a Pharisee puts him far above whoever it is he has a problem with (3:5). The point of Paul’s list is that these “dogs” (3:2) cannot make similar claims. They cannot claim an eighth-day circumcision. They cannot claim to come from one of the twelve tribes of Israel. That is, they are proselytes, or, as Karl Barth humorously phrased it in his commentary on Philippians, they are “zealous fresh-baked Jews.”77 If Paul was trying to outdo other Christ-evangelists, then we can reasonably expect him to list all the suffering that went along with Christ-service as he did in 2 Cor 11 (cf. 2 Cor 4–6; Phil 1:12–20, 29–30). He also likely would have acknowledged that they claim to be servants and preachers of Christ (cf. 2 Cor 11:13, 23; Phil 1:15, 17). Instead, he calls them “enemies of the cross of Christ” (3:18), which Paul uses as an epithet for outsiders (Rom 5:10; 11:28; cf.

Col 1:21; 2 Thess 3:15).

76

For other arguments on why the opponents in 2 Corinthians are not the same as those in Phil 3, Romans, and Galatians, see Campbell, Framing, 142–146.

77 Karl Barth, The Epistle to the Philippians: 40th Anniversary Edition, trans. James W. Leitch (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2002), 96; Also, Kenneth Grayston, “The Opponents in Philippians 3,” ExpTim 97.6 (1986): 171.

127 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) With respect to Galatians, the evidence that Paul is dealing with proselytes can be seen in the precise way he distinguishes between the noun περιτομή and the verbal forms of περιτέμνω. The crucial text is the present participle περιτεμνόμενοι found in 6:13a. A form of περιτέμνω is used in 2:3; 5:2, 3; 6:12, 13b and refers to (potential) proselytes in every instance. The noun περιτομή, however, is used in 2:7, 8, 9, 12, and undoubtedly refers to born-Jews in these passages. The use of περιτομή in 5:6 and 6:15 also refers to a sociological group vis-à-vis another: the foreskinned (ἀκροβυστία).78 When Paul wants to refer to born-Jews or baptized-born-Jews he uses περιτομή. When he wants to talk about proselytes receiving circumcision, he uses a verbal form. Therefore, the use of the present participle in 6:13b is likely the same. It refers to non-Jews who are undergoing proselyte circumcision and trying to pressure others to do the same. The participle is in the present to emphasize these are not born-Jews but relatively recent “fresh-baked” proselytes.79 5.2. Paul Opposing Periah Since these opponents are, in all likelihood, proselytes attracted to circumcision for moral reasons and because Philo is our only witness to this view “that morality could be surgically engineered” through circumcision,80 then they have likely had significant influence from somewhere that shares this distinctive Philonic belief. And, if what was argued earlier about Philo and periah is considered, then these proselytes probably underwent periah, and thus we should expect this to be acknowledged in Paul’s polemics. This is what we indeed find.

Paul’s wish that “those who are troubling you” “will also amputate themselves [καὶ ἀποκόψονται]” (5:12) likely “expresses a polemic against the practice of periah.”81 From Paul’s perspective where milah is normative, a periah-like cut would be novel, and since it is quite severe in the amount of preputial skin removed, Paul would understandably be shocked (just as the Samaritans still are). In this interpretation, Paul is saying: “They are taking off so much flesh already so I wish they would cut all the way down and amputate 78

Gal 5:11 also has περιτομή, but here it refers to the rite of circumcision itself as the object of proclamation.

79 For similar arguments about the present participle περιτεμνόμενοι in Gal 6:13, see Johannes Munck, Paulus Und Die Heilsgeschichte (Aarhus: Aarhus University Press, 1954), 79–81; Matthew Thiessen, Paul and the Gentile Problem (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016), 96; A. E. Harvey, “The Opposition to Paul,” in Studia Evangelica: Papers Presented to the Third International Congress on New Testament Studies Held at Christ Church, Oxford, 1975: Part I: The New Testament Scriptures, ed. F. L. Cross, vol. 4 of TUGAL 102 (Berlin: Akademie, 1968), 321–332; more cautiously, Peter Richardson, Israel in the Apostolic Church, SNTSMS 10 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1969), 85, 87–88, 97.

80 Hodges, “Ideal Prepuce,” 388.

81 Moorthy, “Seal,” 221.

Rillera, Polemicizing with Preputial Precision 128 their penis.” Paul is perhaps aware of the Philonic endorsement of making oneself a literal eunuch to curb one’s passions. He is taunting his opponents to keep going and amputate themselves if they are so obsessed with dulling their sexual desires. In any case, in their zeal to cut off “the flesh with its passions and desires” (Gal 5:24; cf. 5:16), the proselytes seem to have submitted to a severe form of circumcision that removes the entire flesh of the (fetishized) foreskinstructure, but in doing so they have “mutilated” and “maimed” themselves (to use Philo’s words ἀποτέμνω and ἀκρωτηριάζω in Spec. 1.3, 9) and are thus in danger of being counted among the ἀποκεκομμένος who are not allowed into the covenant assembly (Deut 23:1 LXX; cf. ἀποκόπτω in Gal 5:12).

Turning to Phil 3, although Paul’s description of the opponents as τὴν κατατομήν (Phil 3:2) is often taken as an ironic rebuke of Jews and Judaism in general and “refusing to allow the name circumcision to the Jewish rite,”82 this is likely a simple way of describing the procedure of periah at a time when it was not normative and thus lacked a specific designation. As noted above, Diodorus and Philo use ἀποτέμνω (Philo also uses ἀκρωτηριάζω) to describe the more severe preputial cutting involved, but Paul is clearly drawn to using a wordplay between κατατομή and περιτομή.

Paul’s wordplay, however, is not meant to disinherit all unbaptized born-Jews from belonging to “the circumcision,” whom he explicitly says cannot be disinherited (Rom 11:28–29; cf. 15:8).83 Also, the fact that κατατομή is missing in all of Paul’s other references to unbaptized Jews, esp. Rom 9–11, and that he consistently refers only to born-Jews as “the circumcision” (e.g., throughout Galatians and Rom 15:8; cf. Col 4:11) makes this idea that Paul is trying to disinherit all unbaptized born-Jews doubtful. Knowing about milah and periah, however, makes the notion that Phil 3:2–3 is meant to contrast two types of circumcision that map onto milah and (proto-)periah the simplest explanation. On the one hand, milah cuts “around” (περί); it excises the ridged band, removing the akroposthion. On the other hand, periah tears down (κατά) the inner mucosal skin so that the corona is fully exposed and all remaining “shreds” of the preputial skin are cut off (m. Šabb. 19:6, 2). Likely, Paul is simply making clear the type of cut being performed. Paul thinks the opponents are advocating for a form of circumcision that cuts too far down; hence κατατομή, which would remove the posthē.84 Paul may also intend κατατομή to have the connotation of “mutilation” as the NRSV takes it (“those who mutilate the

82

Grayston, “The Opponents,” 170 (Grayston does not hold to this view, but this is a fair summary of the view of the majority of NT scholars, which Grayston is opposing in his own way).

83 Cf. Andrew Remington Rillera, “Paul’s Philonic Opponent: Unveiling the One Who Calls Himself a Jew in Romans 2:17” (PhD diss., Duke University, 2021), 234–245.

84 Moorthy likewise understands κατατομή “to suggest that which is cut down” (“Seal,” 222; her emphasis).

129 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) flesh”) especially if Philo and Diodorus’s vocabulary and Gal 5:12 are kept in view.

In any case, given the cumulative evidence discussed, the primary reason for this word choice is probably to describe a group of people who “cut down” instead of “cut around.” More specifically, it refers to a particular set of opponents, who are ostensibly proselytes, by giving them an epithet that poetically describes their unique surgical practice as something distinct from what he considers to be the proper mode of circumcision since it cuts “down” instead of “around.”

Since Philo is the only one we have evidence for who advanced this form of circumcision at this time for moral reasons, it is likely that those who “cut down” are doing so for similar reasons. It strains credulity that this unique preputial procedure, paired with the distinctive Philonic belief that circumcision has a moral effect on the passions, also coincidentally appears in Paul’s letters and is similarly paired with concerns about the passions of the flesh. The hypothesis that Paul is opposing Philonic (proto-)periah plausibly explains Paul’s charge in 3:19 that this obsession over curbing their appetites is akin to worshipping their bellies. It would explain why he talks about an alternative route to being “perfected” (Phil 3:12) as he did in Gal 3:3 and that perfection is only possible in the eschaton (cf. Gal 5:5), not now, let alone through genital surgery.

I also suspect there is something more going on with the epithet “dogs” (Phil 3:2).85 This is because the Greeks used “dog” (κύων) as a euphemism for the penis and also for the sexually aroused, erect, penis with an exposed glans (hence the word κυνοδέσμη [“dog leash”] for the leash around the foreskin that ties up the “dog” from being exposed).86 In the context of speaking about genital surgery, this meaning of κύων would be unmistakable to a Greco-Roman audience. The context makes the association inescapable. This is what would happen when Paul used κύων in Phil 3.

It is also important to realize that the Greek word for “having an erection,” ψωλός, is also used simply for an exposed glans whether or not an erection is present. This is why an exposed glans is the source of ridicule and shame.87 That is, a male can be rendered ψωλός through lipodermos or through 85

See also, Ryan D. Collman, “Beware the Dogs! The Phallic Epithet in Phil 3.2,” NTS 67 (2021): 105–120.

86 Hodges, “Ideal Prepuce,” 382. He quotes from the second-century grammarian Phrynichus Arabius who writes that “the people of Attica … call the penis kyon [dog].”

Cf. “κύων, dog, usually stands for the male member (Hsch.). In Pl Com 174.16 κυνί τε καὶ κυνηγέταιν, dog and dog-drivers, refer to the phallus and the testicles, and the vox κυνέπασαν (κύν᾽ἀνέσπασαν?) = ἀναστῦψσαι, cause to be erect (Poll. 2.176), at CA 1057 is a pun glossed by Hsch. as meaning ἐξέδειραν, that is, excite oneself into having an erection” (Jeffrey Henderson, The Maculate Muse: Obscene Language in Attic Comedy, 2nd ed.

[New York: Oxford University Press, 1991], 127).

87 Hodges, “Ideal Prepuce,” 392–393, 405.

Rillera, Polemicizing with Preputial Precision 130 circumcision if they do not make use of a fibula or a κυνοδέσμη, or if these malfunction, as in the case of Menophilus, leaving the glans exposed (Martial, Epigr. 7.82).88 Thus, no matter if a male is aroused, when they have an exposed glans for whatever reason they can be mocked as if they were aroused.89 Although with milah one has enough remaining slack posthē to cover up the glans if they so desired through infibulation or a κυνοδέσμη, this is physically impossible with periah (figs. 3 and 4). From a Greco-Roman perspective, therefore, periah is equivalent to a permanently aroused state (ψωλός) because their “dog” (glans) can never be “leashed.” Therefore, I take it to mean that “dogs” in Phil 3:2 is more than a simple pejorative (i.e., Paul is saying more than “these folks are unclean animals”). It is Paul using sexually vulgar language purposefully and ironically. The best way, then, to translate the vulgarity in Paul’s expression would be to render κύων into an equivalent modern slang with an explanatory gloss: “Beware of the upright cocks.” (And scholars thought Paul’s use of σκύβαλον in v. 8 was vulgar!)

This use of “dog” would again further explain Paul’s polemic in 3:19.

From the (Philonic) perspective of these opponents, undergoing periah has a noble purpose: to control one’s passions and desires by maiming the organ that serves the most enslaving desire of all: sexual lust. But, because of what this physically does to the penis by permanently exposing the glans, Paul can use the notion of ψωλός to ironically shame them. Martial makes a connection between lustfulness and Jewish circumcision (Epigr. 7.55; 11.94), and Tacitus also stereotypes the Jews as lustful (Hist. 5.5).90 Tacitus is likely basing this on their being circumcised (which he mentions immediately after their lustfulness and says is the distinguishing feature of Jews), which results in an exposed glans even for milah (absent something like infibulation or a κυνοδέσμη) because the physical mechanisms to keep the remaining posthē covering the glans (the ridged band and frenulum) are cut. Therefore, turning back to Philippians, by the κατατομή attempting to curb their passions in this manner of cutting down, Paul is playing up the reality that their genitals will always look as if they are aroused by capitalizing on κύων’s association with ψωλός. This is why he says their “glory is their shame” (Phil 3:19). They glory in their shame because what they think makes them “upright” in the sense of righteous really makes them “dogs”— “upright” in the sense of permanently aroused and therefore shamed.

Their very attempt to curb their desires (what they see as their glory) is the source of their shame because they will look perpetually aroused, especially since

88

Hodges, “Ideal Prepuce,” 392–394.

Troy W. Martin, “Whose Flesh? What Temptation? (Galatians 4.13-14),” JSNT 21 (1999): 65–91, esp. 88–89.

90 For more on how the Romans conceptualized the Jews as chronically aroused on account of circumcision, see Cordier, “Les Romains,” 347–350, 352, 354.

89

131 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) they have removed the posthē and thus any means to “leash” their “dog” with a κυνοδέσμη.91 Furthermore, I agree with Thiessen that when Paul says, “every person who undergoes circumcision is obligated to do the entire Law [ὅλον τὸν νόμον]” (Gal 5:3) that Paul is likely intending “the phrase ὅλον τὸν νόμον to refer to the entirety of the law of circumcision, not the entirety of the Jewish law.”92 This is because Jubilees uses a similar phrase precisely regarding the law of circumcision in 15:33: “the Israelites will prove false to this ordinance. They will not circumcise their sons in accord with this entire law” (my emphasis).93 Thiessen also observes that a synonymous phrase appears in Deut 24:8 LXX “where it means the entirety of the one specific commandment” being discussed (i.e., leprosy).94 It says that Israel “shall be very watchful to do according to all the law [ποιεῖν κατὰ πάντα τὸν νόμον]” (NETS). Thus, in Gal 5:3, Paul is likely saying, “unless one performs the entirety of the law of circumcision, one has in fact not kept that law.”95 Although I disagree with Thiessen that Paul thinks any circumcision post-eighth-day is invalid,96 it seems that Paul would likely think a periah-like cut violates the law of milah circumcision in Gen 17 akin to the Samaritan point of view cited earlier.

This would also explain another curious statement that “those who are undergoing circumcision [οἱ περιτεμνόμενοι] do not keep the Law themselves” (Gal 6:13).97 If Paul intended to say that born-Jews do not keep the Torah (because it is too hard or it is just an ontological impossibility), then his comments about his own blamelessness with respect to the Torah pre-Christ make no sense (Phil 3:6) as well as the fact that he assumes his peers kept to the 91

This is not to say that Paul agreed with the Greco-Roman perspective that any showing of the glans equates to arousal. It is only to say that Paul is capitalizing on this idea for his own polemical agenda against these Greco-Roman proselytes.

92 Thiessen, Gentile Problem, 93.

93 Cf. Thiessen, Gentile Problem, 93 94 Thiessen, Gentile Problem, 93.

95 Thiessen, Gentile Problem, 93.

96 Thiessen, Gentile Problem, 92. The Samaritans were inflexible about eighth-day circumcision, and yet, despite this stringency, Samaritans still welcomed proselytes and would circumcise them upon conversion! In fact, “In his book De Mensuris et Ponderibus, Epiphanius of Salamis relates that both the Samaritans who converted to Judaism and the Jews who became Samaritans were, respectively, required to undergo a second circumcision, thus attesting to the mutual negation of the other group’s practice” (Rubin, “Brit Milah,” 95; cf. Pummer, “Samaritan Rituals,” 658–659). But Thiessen does not acknowledge this fact. The Samaritans’ willingness to accept proselytes and circumcise them well past the eighth day suggests, to use E. P. Sanders’ famous phrasing, that the eighth-day ordinance in Gen 17:12, 14 is about “staying in” rather than “getting in.” The Samaritans prove that being obstinately fixated on eighth-day circumcision only applies to those born to covenant members and in no way is a hindrance to the conversion and circumcision of outsiders.

97 Cf. Thiessen, Gentile Problem, 95–96.

Rillera, Polemicizing with Preputial Precision 132 Jewish ancestral traditions even if he was more zealous than they were (Gal 1:13– 14). Rather, Paul is likely saying that these proselytes are not even keeping the law of circumcision because they cut off too much flesh, and this violates the law of circumcision in his view.

6. Conclusion This discussion has shown how knowledge of milah and periah is significant for illuminating both Philo’s view of circumcision as well as Paul’s polemics against circumcision in Galatians and Philippians. Paul’s context in these letters is one of combating moral and ethical (Philonic) circumcision, and there is evidence that proto-periah was also involved. This reframes Paul’s polemics from being against Jews or circumcision per se to being a more contingent and occasional polemic against a distinctive Philonic belief and practice at the time.

According to Paul, the opponents’ position in Galatians and Philippians cannot be more ironic. They are trying to be Law-observant, but by undergoing proto-periah they are breaking the law of circumcision. They are trying to control their passions, but by undergoing proto-periah, they will always look as if they are permanently aroused, destined to serve their appetites in shame.

Circumcision and Circumcisability Matthew V. Novenson University of Edinburgh | matthew.novenson@ed.ac.uk JJMJS No. 10 (2023): 133–142

Justin Martyr perceived—in his own Christianizing way—that Jewish circumcision lay at the cultural intersection of gender and ethnicity,1 as per the theme of this special issue of JJMJS.2 Like Justin, but with more critical acumen, the articles in this issue examine the gendered and ethnic logics of Jewish circumcision in our ancient sources. Together, they illustrate the tremendous social and religious importance not just of circumcision but of circumcisability, that is, of having the kind of body that can undergo this status-conferring ritual.

Most women do not have such bodies, though Jewish women in antiquity participated in circumcision as ritual experts themselves. Most men do have such bodies, though Jewish men with certain medical conditions of the penis may not have, which illustrates the problem of coordinating circumcision with (male) Jewishness. And gentile men pose a real conundrum: Having foreskins, they might well seem to be circumcisable in principle, yet they are not subject to the covenant of circumcision (Gen 17). So, are they, or are they not, circumcisable? On this question, our sources disagree vehemently among themselves, and this vehemence is itself a measure of what is at stake in the question.3 In this article, I intervene in some of these ancient debates by means of dialogue with the other contributors to this special issue.

First, then, let us consider Isaac Soon’s article. Soon helpfully draws our attention away from the great mass of ancient Jews who were circumcised to the equal or greater number of ancient Jews who were not: Jewish women, especially, but also Jewish men who either were never circumcised or who reversed their circumcisions through surgical or mechanical means. Such people, Soon argues, occupied a liminal space vis-à-vis their own tradition: Jewish they certainly were, but not as Jewish as the notionally ideal circumcised Jewish man. I find Soon’s case mostly persuasive and certainly illuminating of many important social relations. But possibly also obscuring of some other social relations; hence, I have a few questions around the edges of Soon’s thesis.

1

See Justin, Dial. 23, and the discussion by Judith M. Lieu, “Women, Circumcision, and Salvation,” NTS 40 (1994): 358–370.

2 All thanks and credit go to Ryan Collman for his expert organizing of the conference that led to this special issue and of the special issue itself.

3 On this ancient disagreement, see especially Matthew Thiessen, Contesting Conversion: Genealogy, Circumcision, and Identity in Ancient Judaism and Christianity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011).

Novenson, Circumcision and Circumcisability 134 Here is one: Soon is, of course, right to say that “If you were a woman or a eunuch or an uncircumcised male you could not serve as a priest in a temple.”

But then, even if you were a duly circumcised Israelite man, you still could not serve as a priest unless you also happened to be Levite, and perhaps—depending on the era and regime—Aaronide, Zadokite, Oniad, etc. In other words, circumcision, though necessary for priestly service, was not anywhere near sufficient for it. There were very important and very fraught genealogical conditions, too.4 Soon knows all this, of course, but one wonders whether his singular focus on circumcision as social currency might obscure by omission.

Another related issue: I am intrigued by Soon’s perceptive point about angels representing bodily perfection, which in some texts and for some purposes, they probably do. Soon writes plausibly about the angels of the presence in Jub. 15: “Their circumcised bodies betray a sanctified form. In other words, the circumcised angelic bodies represent corporeal perfection.” Just here, however, I was reminded of the rabbinic discourse about the putative disability of the angels on account of a supposed bodily incapacity to keep the Torah, as in this passage from Song of Songs Rabbah: “[The angels said to God:] ‘It is your happiness that your Torah should be in the heavens.’ God, however, said to them [the angels]: ‘You have no concern with it.’ R. Judan said: ‘It is as if a man had a son with stumped fingers and took him to an embroiderer to teach him the art.

The latter looked at his fingers and said: ‘The very essence of this art depends upon the fingers. How can this one possibly learn it?’ Thus you have no concern with it” (Song Rab. 8.11.2, trans. mod. from Simon). The text cites several illustrative commandments concerning menstruation and death, of which (it assumes) the angels are bodily incapable. The lesson I take from this text is that disability is relative; one might imagine angels as super-able (as Soon does, following Jubilees) or as disabled (as Song of Songs Rabbah does), depending on the particular norm one chooses to apply.5 And we could raise a similar question, a fortiori, about human resemblance (or not) to God. Soon reasons that if angels are circumcised, and they are sons of God, then God, too, is circumcised.6 Further, Soon reasons, this implies that only human men, not human women, have the distinction of bodily resembling God (in this particular respect, presumably, since in other respects human women surely could resemble God). He writes, “Ultimately, there was no physical opportunity for a woman’s body ever to physically resemble God”

4

See Martha Himmelfarb, A Kingdom of Priests: Ancestry and Merit in Ancient Judaism (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2006).

5 See further discussion of this text in Matthew V. Novenson, Paul and Judaism at the End of History (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, forthcoming); and on the issue more generally Candida R. Moss, Divine Bodies: Resurrecting Perfection in the New Testament and Early Christianity (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2019).

6 See the recent discussion by Francesca Stavrakopoulou, God: An Anatomy (New York: Macmillan, 2021).

135 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) (emphasis original). Consequently, for Soon, “her body does not represent the Jewish bodily ideal.” I wonder, however, whether we ought to think in terms of the (singular) Jewish bodily ideal at all. It is not evident that there could only be one such ideal rather than several, nor that resemblance to the (putative) anatomy of God in that respect should be the only or the principal measure thereof. Here I think of the saying in m. ʾAbot 3:19: “R. Eleazar Hisma said: [The rules about] bird-offerings and the onset of menstruation—these are the essentials of the halakhot.” Pirkei Abot is, of course, not any kind of feminist manifesto, but the fact that it singles out for praise the commandments about menstruation suggests—to my mind, at least—that it can imagine more than one Jewish bodily ideal. Which is a pretty humane position, come to think of it.

In her article, Carmen Palmer gives us an excellent discussion of the “problem”—as perceived by the primarily male authors of our sources—of the conversion of gentile women to Judaism in antiquity.7 Setting aside for the moment those few authors, like Jubilees and Paul, who refuse to countenance proselyte circumcision at all, that ritual was, for male proselytes, a wonderfully clear marker of transition from gentileness to Jewishness. Hence the telling Greek idiom μέχρι περιτομῆς ἰουδαΐζειν, “to judaize up to and including circumcision” (Josephus, J.W. 2.454; and cf. OG Esth 8:17). For the majority who did recognize proselyte circumcision, once that deed was done, you knew where the candidate stood. But here we encounter once again the thorny issue of circumcisability. What about women proselytes, who, not being equipped with foreskins, were not eligible for circumcision? How could you ever really know that they were now Jewish, no longer gentile? (Just take their word for it?

That is one viable option, though many of our sources find it insufficient.)8 Maybe you never could know! That is arguably Josephus’s view, if Daniel Schwartz is correct, as Palmer cautiously suggests he is.9 On one plausible reading of Josephus, women proselytes can only ever conduct themselves like Jews (ὡς Ἰουδαίοις in Ant. 20.34, used of the wives of Izates), never actually become Jews (εἶναι βεβαίως Ἰουδαῖος in Ant. 20.38, used of Izates himself). Harsh but consistent, if you accept the premise that proselyte circumcision is the only possible rite of transition.

Other sources, however, do not accept that premise. As Palmer persuasively argues, the Damascus Document assumes that enslaved gentiles, whether male or female, can indeed join the covenant of Abraham, though it

7

See further Jill Hicks-Keeton, Arguing with Aseneth: Gentile Access to Israel’s Living God in Jewish Antiquity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018).

8 On this issue, see Shaye J. D. Cohen, “How Do You Know a Jew in Antiquity When You See One?” in idem, The Beginnings of Jewishness: Boundaries, Varieties, Uncertainties (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999), 25–68.

9 Daniel R. Schwartz, “Doing Like Jews or Becoming a Jew? Josephus on Women Converts to Judaism,” in Jewish Identity in the Greco-Roman World, ed. Jörg Frey, Daniel R. Schwartz, and Stephanie Gripentrog (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 93–110.

Novenson, Circumcision and Circumcisability 136 does not specify how an enslaved gentile woman would do so.10 The Temple Scroll and 4QDamascus fragments, however, do specify: marriage to a Jewish man, plus a seven-year period of “timed integration” (Palmer’s apt term). “You shall go in to her and marry her, and she will become your wife. But she may not touch your purities for seven years, nor may she eat the peace offering until seven years pass; after that she may eat” (11Q19 LXIII, 14–15). The point of the seven years, Palmer plausibly argues, is “to test her about her spirit and about her deeds”—to borrow a phrase from 1QS VI, 17—that is, to confirm the genuineness of her “conversion.” But why seven years, and why only an enslaved gentile woman? Palmer argues—and I can think of no better reason—that both stipulations come from scriptural precedents: the enslaved Hebrew woman who may be manumitted or choose to stay after seven years (Deut 15:12–18) and the gentile woman enslaved during wartime (Deut 21:10–14). The former passage provides the seven-year term, the latter the case of an enslaved gentile woman.

The interesting upshot of all this, Palmer rightly notes, is that there is no path to citizenship (so to speak) for a free gentile woman, only an enslaved one. This contrasts with the famous cases of Ruth the Moabite and Aseneth the Egyptian, perhaps because the Temple Scroll restricts itself to precedents from among the commandments God gave to Moses. Possibly telling, however, is the parallel between the seven years of the enslaved woman’s probation in the Temple Scroll and the seven days of Aseneth’s probation in the Joseph and Aseneth romance.11 Proselyte circumcision for gentile men, by contrast, is conspicuous for its immediate effect.

Jewish women may not have been circumcisable, but they were likely circumcisers in more than a few cases, as Thomas Blanton’s article helpfully demonstrates. Contra Andreas Blaschke12 and others who have tended to read the late ancient rabbinic mohel—a male ritual expert from outside the household—back into Roman, Hellenistic, and even earlier texts, Blanton persuasively argues that prior to the clear attestation of the office of mohel in the Talmud, Jewish circumcision seems to have belonged to domestic religion, such that the person normally responsible for circumcising Jewish boys was either the mother or the father. And this is more or less exactly what we find in our (admittedly few) extant sources. (Here, Blanton builds on excellent discussions of this issue by Carol Meyers and Susan Ackerman.)13 Literary

10

Palmer discusses all this at greater length in her Converts in the Dead Sea Scrolls: The Ger and Mutable Ethnicity (Leiden: Brill, 2018).

11 And perhaps also the seven days antecedent to the circumcision of an infant boy. See Matthew Thiessen, “Aseneth’s Eight-Day Transformation as Scriptural Justification for Conversion,” JSJ 45 (2014): 229–249.

12 Andreas Blaschke, Beschneidung: Zeugnisse der Bibel und verwandter Texte (Tübingen: Francke, 1998).

13 Carol Meyers, “From Household to House of Yahweh: Women’s Religious Culture in Ancient Israel,” in Congress Volume: Basel 2001, ed. André Lemaire (Leiden: Brill, 2002),

137 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) artifices these sources may be, but even so, they seem generally to assume that the circumciser is a male or female head of household. Whether, and under which circumstances, it is a specifically male or female head of household is a more interesting and complex question. To the extent that Jewish circumcision was performed in infancy (as per the norm prescribed in Gen 17:12), the portrayal of mothers as circumcisers—such as in the famous story of Zipporah and Gershom in Exod 4:24–26—is historically quite plausible. In those cases where (contrary to the norm prescribed in Gen 17:12) pubescent or postpubescent boys or men underwent circumcision, the portrayal of fathers as circumcisers—such as in the famous story of Abraham and Ishmael in Gen 17:23–27—is likewise historically plausible. In either case, however, it belongs to the religion of the household.

One striking consequence of Blanton’s argument is the very fact of a ritual role for women in ancient Jewish circumcision. It is striking precisely because of the point raised by Justin Martyr, Shaye Cohen, Isaac Soon (above), and many others, namely, that women would seem to be excluded from the covenant of Gen 17 by virtue of their putative uncircumcisability.14 And yet, Jewish women are Jewish. It seems that the very interpretive tradition that restricts the covenant of Gen 17 to boys and men also seeks and finds ways to integrate girls and women through other means. (Life finds a way, one is tempted to say.) The ancient role of mothers as circumcisers is one example par excellence. But so, too, is the rabbinic rule that any child born to a Jewish mother—though not any child born to a Jewish father—is Jewish.15 Or, from a later period, the interpretation of Gen 17:11 by the twelfth-century commentator R. Joseph Bekhor Shor: “Since God commanded the males, and not the females, we may deduce that God commanded to seal the covenant on the place of maleness. And the blood of menstruation that women observe by telling their husbands of the onset of their periods—this for them is covenantal blood.”16 As Shaye Cohen rightly notes, Bekhor Shor ingeniously reads menstrual blood as the counterpart to the blood of circumcision, a sign of the covenant on the bodies of Jewish women to complement that on the bodies of Jewish men.17 As with my comment about m. ʾAbot 3:19 above, I am not implying that this is at all feminist in a modern sense. But it does acknowledge the fact—obvious and yet all too easily ignored—that circumcisable infant boys do not just spring directly from the loins of their fathers.

277–303; Susan Ackerman, “Why Is Miriam Also among the Prophets? (And Is Zipporah among the Priests?),” JBL 121 (2002): 47–80.

14 See Shaye J. D. Cohen, Why Aren’t Jewish Women Circumcised? Gender and Covenant in Judaism (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005).

15 On this matrilineal principle, see Cohen, Beginnings of Jewishness, 263–307.

16 Yehoshafat Nebo, ed., The Commentary of R. Joseph Bekhor Shor on the Torah (Jerusalem: Mosad HaRav Kook, 1994) (Hebrew).

17 Cohen, Why Aren’t Jewish Women Circumcised, 192–198.

Novenson, Circumcision and Circumcisability 138 I turn now to Martin Sanfridson’s article. If Carmen Palmer drew our attention to gender in circumcision, then Sanfridson does to ethnicity. He asks why the gentile-men-in-Christ whom Paul addresses in Galatians would have been attracted to Jewish circumcision at all. And he argues, convincingly to my mind, that it had to do primarily with ethnic belonging. Paul himself had exhorted these gentiles to judaize to a considerable extent already (although he, Paul, balks from using that word for what he tells them to do),18 and there were tangible social benefits to their taking one step further to proselyte circumcision.

So much so that the transitory pain of the ritual may have been a small price to pay. It was better to be a Jew-by-proselytism than a socially alienated neitherJew-nor-gentile of the kind Paul engineered. On this whole issue, Sanfridson gives us a quite compelling reading of Galatians.19 I have two questions of significant detail, however. First: What exactly should we make of the relevance of Nancy Jay’s ingenious hypothesis to the circumcision controversy in Galatians? Sanfridson cites Jay about halfway through his article, quite rightly, as a preeminent authority on the relation between genealogy and cult in antiquity.20 I was waiting for him to make an explicit connection to circumcision, but I do not think it ever came.

Interestingly, Jay herself mentions circumcision almost not at all in her magisterial Throughout Your Generations Forever. (She only briefly cites Joshua 5, where Joshua circumcises the Hebrews before their march on Jericho, in her introduction, and not in connection with sacrifice.) Jay shows that “sacrifice was a powerful tool to create social patrilineal descent,” as Sanfridson aptly puts it.

But is circumcision such a tool? Or, more provocatively still, is circumcision itself a form of sacrifice in Sanfridson’s use of Jay’s theory? I could not tell, and he does not say. Pamela Eisenbaum has argued that Jay’s theory fits Paul’s argument in Romans, where the death of Jesus is a sacrifice effecting gentile adoption as sons of Abraham.21 Patrick McMurray argues that the son-making sacrifice in Romans is not the death of Jesus but the living sacrifice of gentile bodies in Rom 12:1.22 But what about Galatians? Does Sanfridson think that proselyte circumcision is a kind of living sacrifice of gentile body parts, foreskins, effecting sonship (not by Paul’s lights, of course, but by his rivals’)?

Second question: What kind of new cult, actual cult, does Paul offer his gentiles-in-Christ in Galatians? I take Sanfridson’s point that we can think of 18

See Paula Fredriksen, “Judaizing the Nations: The Ritual Demands of Paul’s Gospel,” NTS 56 (2010): 232–252.

19 See Martin Sanfridson, “Are Circumcision and Foreskin Really Nothing? Re-reading 1 Corinthians 7:19 and Galatians 5:6; 6:15,” SEA 86 (2021): 130–147.

20 Nancy Jay, Throughout Your Generations Forever: Sacrifice, Religion, and Paternity (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992).

21 Pamela Eisenbaum, “A Remedy for Having Been Born of Woman: Jesus, Gentiles, and Genealogy in Romans,” JBL 123 (2004): 671–702.

22 Patrick McMurray, Sacrifice, Brotherhood, and the Body: Abraham and the Nations in Romans (Lanham, MD: Lexington/Fortress, 2021).

139 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) the Galatian Christ ekklēsia as a “cult” in the sense that other voluntary associations are, or at least involve, cult. But there is a stricter sense of cult (re: Latin cultus, Greek λατρεία, Hebrew ‫ )עבדה‬that means service to the gods at shrines, by priests, with sacrifices. Paul gives his gentiles-in-Christ precisely none of these things: no shrines, no priests, no sacrifices.23 Sanfridson says, more or less accurately, that Paul’s gentiles must now worship only the God of Israel.

But in fact, they are ineligible to worship him, that is, to bring sacrifices to him at his temple in Jerusalem (hence the riot in Acts 21:27–29). Paul certainly gives his gentiles cultic prohibitions: no idols! no feasts with demons! But how many positive cultic provisions does he make for them? (Teresa McCaskill has recently made a plausible case that the pneumata and charismata are all that Paul can offer gentiles by way of compensation.)24 In Ryan Collman’s article, Collman highlights the fact—which, to my embarrassment, I had not appreciated until reading his work—that there is only a single mention of heart-circumcision in the letters of Paul (Rom 2:29), and that this is the only such reference anywhere in the New Testament. Given the importance of the idea to Justin, Irenaeus, Tertullian, Origen, and other gentile Christian writers,25 I assumed it must have lain more on the surface of their canonical sources. And of course, it does in their canonical Old Testament: Lev 26:41; Deut 10:16, 30:6; Jer 4:4, 9:25–26; Ezek 44:7, 9. But as Collman convincingly argues, in all these scriptural references, heart-circumcision is a supplement to, not a replacement for, Jewish genital circumcision. Ritual circumcision of Jewish baby boys is assumed to continue, but it should be accompanied by a moral renewal, which is figured as a circumcision of the heart.

Moreover, Collman argues—provocatively but again, convincingly—this is also what Paul means in Rom 2:29: “Circumcision of the heart, in spirit not letter, receives praise from God.” Paul speaks of heart-circumcision as Jeremiah and Ezekiel do, not as Justin and Tertullian do. Paul insists that gentiles-in-Christ receive righteousness, the spirit, and much else, but not heart-circumcision. The idea that gentiles receive heart-circumcision, it turns out, is a gentile Christian innovation.26 This is confirmed by the few other New Testament references that are at all proximate to the question. The jeremiad by Stephen the martyr in Acts 7 includes one suitably prophetic reference to uncircumcised hearts and ears: “O 23

It was for this reason that Edwin Judge (“The Early Christians as a Scholastic Community,” JHR 1 [1960]: 1–60) ruled earliest Christianity a philosophy, not a religion at all. His conclusion was overdrawn, but we do owe some account of the phenomena, in any case.

24 Teresa Lee McCaskill, Gifts and Ritual: The Charismata of Romans 12:6–8 in the Context of Roman Religion (Lanham, MD: Lexington/Fortress, 2023).

25 Everett Ferguson, “Spiritual Circumcision in Early Christianity,” SJT 41 (1988): 485– 497.

26 Collman explains this development further in his The Apostle to the Foreskin: Circumcision in the Letters of Paul (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2023).

Novenson, Circumcision and Circumcisability 140 stiff-necked people, uncircumcised of heart and ears, you always oppose the holy spirit; as with your ancestors, so also with you! Which of the prophets did your ancestors not persecute?” (Acts 7:51–52) But here, as in the scriptural texts that this speech is meant to echo (Deut 9–10, especially), the point is that the Jewish audience needs to supplement their (ritual) flesh circumcision with (moral) heart circumcision; gentiles are nowhere in view.27 Colossians 2 is a different case entirely. It does not mention circumcision of the heart at all. (And the author does speak more than a little about the heart, at Col 2:2; 3:15, 16, 22; 4:8, so he certainly could have mentioned circumcision of the heart had he wanted to!) Colossians speaks instead of “a circumcision not made with hands” and “the circumcision of Christ,” but this is not a circumcision of the heart.

Ironically, the author expressly says that it is a circumcision of the flesh: not just the foreskin, but the entire body. Περιετμήθητε περιτομῇ ἀχειροποιήτῳ ἐν τῇ ἀπεκδύσει τοῦ σώματος τῆς σαρκός, ἐν τῇ περιτομῇ τοῦ Χριστοῦ, “You were circumcised with a not-manual circumcision, in the putting off of the body of flesh, in the circumcision of Christ” (Col 2:11). For this author, human beings hope to put off their fleshly bodies, like a circumcised foreskin, and this is precisely what Christ achieved for them by his death and resurrection (Col 1:22; 2:11–13). Admittedly, this is a kind of “circumcision” for gentiles, but not of the foreskin nor of the heart.

Now to Andrew Rillera’s article. As Rillera rightly insists, we know that the distinction between milah and periah was crucial for Jews (at least those who worried about this kind of thing) in late antiquity, from the tannaim onward.28 Thus m. Šabb. 19:2: “The things necessary for milah are cutting [‫]מוהלין‬, periah, sucking [the wound], and applying a bandage and cumin.” And m. Šabb. 19:6: ‫מל ולא פרע את המילה כאלו לא מל‬, “If one is circumcised without periah, it is as though he had not been circumcised.” But Rillera makes a strong case that this rabbinic policy was an innovation, that prior to Hadrian and Bar Kokhba, simple milah was the norm, and the more radical periah the exception. (Otherwise, we would not hear so much about the possibility of epispasm in our sources.)29 This is mostly persuasive, but what about Jub. 15:33? “I am now telling you that the Israelites will prove false to this ordinance. They will not circumcise their sons in accord with this entire law because they will leave some of the flesh of their circumcision when they circumcise their sons” (trans. VanderKam). Does

27

A. F. J. Klijn, “Stephen’s Speech—Acts VII.2–53,” NTS 2 (1957): 25–31 notes a parallel between our verse and 1QS V, 4–5, from which he infers a close relation between the two, but in fact the parallel is easily explicable in terms of their shared dependence on Deuteronomy.

28 Nissan Rubin, “Brit Milah: A Study of Change in Custom,” in The Covenant of Circumcision: New Perspectives on an Ancient Jewish Rite, ed. Elizabeth Wyner Mark (Lebanon, NH: Brandeis University Press, 2003), 87–97.

29 The chronological issue is noted by Robert G. Hall, “Epispasm and the Dating of Ancient Jewish Writing,” JSP 2 (1988): 71–86.

141 JJMJS No. 10 (2023) Jubilees already insist on periah, a century-and-a-half before Philo and three centuries before the Mishnah?

Whether Jubilees does or not, it does not strike at the heart of Rillera’s argument. But does Philo insist on periah? That question does strike at the heart of Rillera’s argument. I think I am mostly persuaded, although if it were that important to Philo, I might have expected him to be clearer about it. Other texts that insist on periah (e.g., Jubilees perhaps, Mishnah and Bavli certainly) expressly contrast it with mere milah, which (as far as I know) Philo never does, alas. (He does famously contrast Jews who circumcise with Jews who only allegorize circumcision in Migr. 89–93, but that is another matter.) His use of πόσθη in Spec. 1 is admittedly suggestive but not decisive. One wishes that he spoke unfavorably of λιπόδερμος somewhere, but I do not know of such a reference. There might be more grist for Rillera’s mill in Somn. 2.25, where Philo speaks of τὸ δὶς περιτέμνειν, “the twofold circumcision,” which he glosses with περιτομῆς περιτομή, “circumcision of circumcision.” But I am not certain what Philo means by this.

Finally, and most interestingly, is Paul’s circumcision polemic (especially in Galatians, but also Philippians and Romans) directed at this ostensibly Philonic periah for gentiles? Rillera gives a pretty impressive reading of a large mass of evidence. Much of it is spot on: Paul never redefines circumcision to exclude born Jews; he never says or even implies that the law of Moses is un-doable; his opponents (and here I am out on the same limb with Rillera) are not born Jews but recent proselytes. Amen and amen.30 On Rillera’s key claim that Paul’s quarrel is with periah, however, I struggle to be convinced.

My objection is as follows: Let us assume for argument’s sake that Rillera is right.

If Paul’s opponents were to suddenly repent and agree to a more modest milah circumcision, would Paul be satisfied? Would there then have been no need for a Letter to the Galatians? That seems unlikely. I think that Paul’s beef in Galatians (and elsewhere) is not with one circumcising procedure as opposed to another, but with proselyte circumcision as such (because—and here I agree with Matthew Thiessen—there is no going back to your eighth day after birth).31 Paul thinks Jewish infant circumcision is natural, gentile proselyte circumcision unnatural (κατατομή in Phil 3:2). I reckon that Rillera is correct that the Jewish circumcision Paul approves is milah, not periah. But what Paul objects to is not just periah, but any proselyte circumcision at all.

Or so it seems to me. I think I am right in the interpretations I have advanced in this short article. But if not, the answers are likely to be found in the excellent contributions from Isaac Soon, Carmen Palmer, Thomas Blanton, 30

See my discussion in Novenson, Paul and Judaism at the End of History.

Matthew Thiessen, “Paul’s Argument against Gentile Circumcision in Romans 2:17– 29,” NovT 56 (2014): 373–391; idem, Paul and the Gentile Problem (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016).

31

Novenson, Circumcision and Circumcisability 142 Martin Sanfridson, Ryan Collman, and Andrew Rillera above. These colleagues have helped us all see more clearly how circumcision and foreskin, circumcisable and uncircumcisable bodies work in the logic of our primary sources, for whom these questions were very pressing indeed.

Issue 10 2023

JJM JS Journal of the Jesus Movement in its Jewish Setting

ISSN 2374-7870

Issue 10 2023

J M JJ S Journal of the Jesus Movement

in its Jewish Setting

From the First to the Seventh Century