Newsletter: Vol. 10. Iss. 2
May 2011
The Christian Significance
of Masada
Peter J. Miano
Mark Twain once said, “Never let
the facts get in the way of a good story.” The usual telling of the
Masada story is one part nationalist myth and one part Disneyland entertainment.
The facts never get in the way! Indeed, the facts are usually ignored and
so is the Christian significance of the site. However, prior to its exploitation
by modern Israeli tourism, the last occupants of the site were Christian monks.
Moreover, the original telling of the story of Masada illuminates our reading
of the passion narratives in the Gospels. It also assists in the contextualization
of all New Testament narrative writings. These observations merit careful
consideration. However, they are obscured by the popular sensation surrounding
Masada. Rarely do they enter the public discourse.
No archaeological site in Israel generates as much sensation and popular interest
as Masada. The site and the popular story about it figure prominently in the
collective imagination of the Israeli public. Foreign tourists, too, are attracted
to the site both for its stunning location and for its dramatic story. Lost
in the sensation is the significance of the site to Christians.
Perched on a desert mountaintop about 1,300 feet above the floor of the Dead
Sea valley, Masada, meaning ‘mountain fortress,’ is in a striking
setting. It offers spectacular views across the Dead Sea to the mountains
of Jordan and north towards Ein Gedi. It is approached either by foot along
the well worn ‘serpentine,’ by way of the Roman ramp, or by the
cable car, which itself never fails to illicit its share of excitement.
Equally arresting is the story of Masada. It has been the subject of TV mini
dramas and is a feature of any guided tour of Israel. Tour guides—even
Palestinian ones—rarely forget to relate the ancient story of heroic
sacrifice to modern Israel. Indeed, in the popular imagination, the defenders
of Masada are a symbolic stand-in for modern Israelis. Both are represented
as patriotic, heroic defenders holding out against overwhelming odds, willing
to sacrifice all for their righteous cause rather than submitting to ignominious
defeat. As an illustration of the collective consciousness of the Israeli
people, no site tells us more about modern Israel. The sincerity of the storytellers
is not the subject of this essay. For now, I am interested in how the actual,
original telling of the Masada story illuminates the significance of the site
for Christians.
Modern interest in Masada was precipitated by the excavation of the site from
1963 to 1965 by Israeli general turned archaeologist Yigal Yadin. The 1967
War enabled Israel to construct a new road that made access to the site from
Jerusalem much more convenient. Since then it has been a standard visit on
almost every guided tour in Israel as well as a mandatory destination for
school excursions. Many of Yadin’s findings are the product of his fertile
imagination. They have been reexamined and overturned. For example, his claim
to have discovered the bodies of 28 defenders is now regarded as imaginary.
They were Roman bodies. Nonetheless, the story has attained a life of its
own, obscuring archaeological fact and Christian significance as well.
For providing information about the dramatic events at Masada, Josephus’
narrative about it is more important than the archaeology of the site. Josephus
is a 1st Century writer. He is an historian of sorts, but one should take
care to note that ‘history’ as it was understood in the 1st Century
is very different than ‘history’ as it is understood today. Then
and now, history is always more about the interpretation of facts than it
is about facts themselves, but that truism was taken for granted in the ancient
world. The values of the modern world persuade us that history should always
be about facts. We project this modern preference back onto ancient writers.
Consequently, we frequently misread ancient texts, biblical texts included,
through our modern lenses. Since no reader in the ancient world really expected
the unvarnished truth from a text, ancient authors were less constrained by
a presumed need to depict facts. They were always ready to embroider their
narratives with editorial details about the significance of events and opportunities
for self- aggrandizement were rarely passed by. This is true of the Gospel
writers no less than it is of Josephus. Their concern was to answer the question
“What does the event mean to us?” When we read ancient texts,
we would do well to suspend our modern historical preferences and values and
try to adopt those of an ancient reader. In approaching any ancient text,
one should ask how an ancient reader would approach it.
It is significant that Josephus is a Judean author. He is one among many 1st
Century Judean authors, but he is unique in that he was resident in Judea.
No other Judean author was. The authors of the Gospels are also Israelites,
but they did not reside in Judea and Galilee and do not claim to be eye witnesses,
as Josephus sometimes does. Like Josephus, the Gospel writers probably also
were socially situated in the upper echelons of society, although perhaps
not quite as high and not enjoying such lofty privilege as Josephus. Paul
was situated socially somewhere relatively high on the social ladder, too.
He refers to himself as an “Israelite” (2 Cor. 11:22) and as a
member of the “people of Israel” (Phil. 3:5), but he does not
claim extensive experience in or familiarity with Judea. Because Josephus
was resident in Judea, because he wrote at about the same time as the authors
of the Gospels and only slightly later than Paul, his writings are an invaluable
source in our efforts to contextualize Gospel history.
In his autobiography, Josephus tells us that he was raised in Jerusalem and that he was of the class of the Sadduccees, i.e., the upper crust of Judean Jerusalemite society. He tells us that he was affiliated with the Pharisees and that for a time, he was among the Essenes. Scholars usually identify this latter group with the community at Qumran and the Dead Sea Scrolls, although these identifications are circumstantial at best. One could call them ‘wishful.’ Josephus does not neglect to remind his readers that he was the commander of the Judean forces in the Galilee during the 1st Judean revolt against Rome. Like Paul, he never fails to appeal to his pedigree to improve his credibility with his readers. This was a standard rhetorical strategy.
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