the religious beliefs and practices
of subject peoples. Most of the lands they conquered were allowed to maintain their
temples unmolested. Rival gods, far from being vanquished or destroyed, were often
assimilated into the Roman cult (that is how, for example, the Canaanite god Baal
became associated with the Roman god Saturn). In some cases, under a practice called
evocatio
, the Romans would take possession of an enemy’s temple—and therefore its god, for
the two were inextricable in the ancient world—and transfer it to Rome, where it would
be showered with riches and lavish sacrifices. Such displays were meant to send a
clear signal that the hostilities were directed not toward the enemy’s god but toward
its fighters; the god would continue to be honored and worshipped in Rome if only
his devotees would lay down their arms and allow themselves to be absorbed into the
empire.
As generally tolerant as the Romans may have been when it came to foreign cults, they
were even more lenient toward the Jews and their fealty to their One God—what Cicero
decried as the “barbarian superstitions” of Jewish monotheism. The Romansmay not have understood the Jewish cult, with its strange observances and its overwhelming
obsession with ritual purity—“The Jews regard as profane all that we hold sacred,”
Tacitus wrote, “while they permit all that we abhor”—but they nevertheless tolerated
it.
What most puzzled Rome about the Jews was not their unfamiliar rites or their strict
devotion to their laws, but rather what the Romans considered to be their unfathomable
superiority complex. The notion that an insignificant Semitic tribe residing in a
distant corner of the mighty Roman Empire demanded, and indeed received, special treatment
from the emperor was, for many Romans, simply incomprehensible. How dare they consider
their god to be the sole god in the universe? How dare they keep themselves separate
from all other nations? Who do these backward and superstitious tribesmen think they
are? The Stoic philosopher Seneca was not alone among the Roman elite in wondering
how it had possibly come to pass in Jerusalem that “the vanquished have given laws
to the victors.”
For the Jews, however, this sense of exceptionalism was not a matter of arrogance
or pride. It was a direct commandment from a jealous God who tolerated no foreign
presence in the land he had set aside for his chosen people. That is why, when the
Jews first came to this land a thousand years earlier, God had decreed that they massacre
every man, woman, and child they encountered, that they slaughter every ox, goat,
and sheep they came across, that they burn every farm, every field, every crop, every
living thing without exception so as to ensure that the land would belong solely to
those who worshipped this one God and no other.
“As for the towns of these people that the Lord your God is giving you as an inheritance,”
God told the Israelites, “you must not let anything that breathes remain alive. You
shall annihilate them all—the Hittites and the Amorites, the Canaanites and the Perizzites,
the Hivites and the Jebusites—just as the Lord your God has commanded” (Deuteronomy
20:17–18).
It was, the Bible claims, only after the Jewish armies had “utterly destroyed all
that breathed” in the cities of Libnah and Lachish and Eglon and Hebron and Debir,
in the hill country and in the Negeb, in the lowlands and in the slopes—only after
every single previous inhabitant of this land was eradicated, “as the Lord God of
Israel had commanded” (Joshua 10: 28–42)—that the Jews were allowed to settle here.
And yet, a thousand years later, this same tribe that had shed so much blood to cleanse
the Promised Land of every foreign element so as to rule it in the name of its God
now found itself laboring under the boot of an imperial pagan power, forced to share