Israel in Europe

by G. F. Abbott

In 361 Julian, whom the Church stigmatised by the title of Apostate, ascended the throne of Constantine the Great. Julian’s ambition was to banish the worship of the Cross from his Empire, to reform paganism and to restore it to its ancient glory. Brought up under wise Greek teachers, he was early imbued with a profound love and reverence for the beliefs and customs of Hellas. He felt strongly the instinctive repugnance of the Hellenic spirit to Oriental modes of thought. The Christian creed repelled him, and the pathos of Christ’s career left him unmoved. To Julian Jesus was simply the “dead Jew.” His philosophical attachment to paganism and contempt for “the religion of the Galileans” were strengthened by his experience of the Christian tutors to whom his later education had been entrusted by his cousin Constantius. While in his cousin’s power, Julian had been forced to conceal his views and to observe outwardly the rules of a creed which he despised. Compulsory conformity deepened his resentment towards the Christian Church, without, however, blinding him to the beauty of the principle of toleration which she denied. Although, on becoming Emperor, he favoured those who remained faithful to the old religion, Julian did not oppress the followers of the new, holding that the intrinsic superiority of paganism would eventually secure its triumph. His confidence was misplaced. The classical ritual was no longer acceptable to serious men, and the Neo-Platonic mysticism which endeavoured to transform sensuous polytheism into a spiritual philosophy possessed no attraction for the multitude. Christianity had adopted enough of pagan speculation to conciliate the educated and more than enough of pagan practice to satisfy the ignorant. The Greek pantheon had ceased to have any reason for existing. All that imperial encouragement could do was to galvanise into a semblance of life a body that was already dead.

But though Julian’s success was ephemeral and the revival of polytheism impossible, yet the attempt brought for a while pagan tolerance to a world distracted by Christian sectarianism and the sanguinary squabbles of metaphysicians and priests. Towards the Jews Julian proved particularly gracious. He introduced Jehovah to his chorus of deities, and treated Him with especial reverence. It was enough for Julian that Jehovah was a god. He cared little about the claims to universal and exclusive veneration advanced on His behalf by some of His worshippers. The Emperor’s desire to humble the Christians, combined with his genuine pity for the suffering Jews, suggested to him the design of rebuilding the Temple of Jerusalem, of investing it with its ancient splendour, and of recalling the children of Israel to the home of their fathers.

Alypius of Antioch, Julian’s faithful friend, was entrusted with the execution of the scheme, and was sent to Palestine for the purpose. The Jews saw the finger of God in the Imperial enthusiast’s resolve. It seemed to them that the long-expected day of redemption had dawned, and they answered the summons with alacrity. Leaving their homes and their occupations, they crowded to Zion from far and near, both men and women, bringing with them their offerings for the service of the Temple, gold and silver and purple and silk, even as their ancestors had done in obedience to the call of the Lord through Moses, and again on their return from Babylon in the days of yore. No Pharaoh with a taste for monumental architecture had ever exacted from his subjects a larger tribute in money and labour than this pagan Prince of Zionists now received freely from the children of Israel. To share in the work was a title to everlasting glory, while ignominy would be the portion of those who shirked it. But there were few who wished to do so. The building of the Temple was a labour of love, and no sacrifice was deemed too great, no service too painful for the realisation of the dream which so many generations of Jews had already dreamt, and which so many more were fated to dream in the future.[35]

♦363♦

Alas! the glorious self-denial of a whole race was wasted, and its hopes were dashed to the ground by the Emperor’s untimely death. The work was abandoned six months after its inception, all traces of it soon vanished, and the site over which the plough had once been drawn remained a final loneliness. The pilgrims dispersed, disheartened and abashed, and their enemies rejoiced. The Christians, in their turn, detected the finger of God in this failure of the Jews to escape the lot assigned to them from above, as a punishment for their sins, and continued to assist Providence.

♦364–378♦

Under the Arian Emperor Valens the Jews were left unmolested. ♦379–395♦ Theodosius the Great also protected them against the attacks of fanaticism, and ♦395–408♦ under the rule of Arcadius they were able to purchase peace by bribing the Emperor’s favourites. ♦408–450♦ But with the accession of Theodosius the Younger orthodoxy and intolerance, which had been interrupted by the short reign of heresy, were restored to power.

The effects of this restoration were soon felt by the Jews. John Chrysostom had been denouncing them in Antioch, and the preacher’s eloquence was translated into acts of violence by the people of the neighbouring town of Imnestar. ♦415♦ The occasion of the riot was the Feast of Purim, when the Jews celebrated their triumph over Haman by a carnival of intoxication and ribaldry accompanied with the crucifixion of their enemy in effigy. The merriment, it appears, was further accentuated by coarse jokes at the expense of Christianity. The Christians of the town, who had frequently complained of these orgies in vain, now accused the Jews of having crucified not a straw-Haman but a live Christian lad. The charge led to the severe punishment of the revellers.[36]

The same year witnessed a persecution of the Jews on a far larger scale in Alexandria. In that city Jews and Christians had long lived on terms of mutual repugnance, which not rarely resulted in reciprocal outrage. An episode of this kind afforded Cyril, the dictatorial and bigoted Patriarch, an excuse for indiscriminate vengeance. Early one morning the pugnacious ecclesiastic led a rabble of zealots against the Jews’ quarter, demolished their synagogues, pillaged their dwellings, and hounded the inmates out of the city in which they had lived and prospered for seven centuries. Forty thousand of them, the most industrious and thrifty part of the population, were driven forth to join their brethren in exile. The Prefect Orestes, unable to prevent the assault, or to punish the culprits, was fain to express his disapproval of their conduct—an indiscretion for which he narrowly escaped being stoned to death by the monks.

In the meantime the Christian inhabitants of Antioch volunteered to avenge the grievances of their brethren at Imnestar by ejecting their Jewish fellow-citizens from the synagogues. The Emperor Theodosius compelled them to restore the buildings to the owners. But this decision was denounced by Simeon the Stylites, who on ascending his column had renounced all worldly luxuries except Jew-hatred. From that lofty pulpit the hermit addressed an epistle to the Emperor, rebuking him for his sinful indulgence to the enemies of Heaven. The pious Emperor was not proof against reprimand from so eminent a saint. ♦423♦ He immediately revoked his edict and removed the Prefect who had pleaded the cause of the Jews.