Artículos de revistas sobre el tema "Hymns (Jewish)"

Religious audiences frequently hear prose hymns as a part of their ceremonies. The “Lord Jesus Christ” hymn in Philippians 2.6–11 is one such example. The Philippian hymn fits an audience’s performance expectations compared to other Greek and Jewish prose hymns and performances. A slave lector likely recited or sang the hymn when delivering the epistle and directly addressed at least four named recipients. This article examines the narrative links between the hymn and the address in 4:1–3. Utilizing performance-critical methods, we explore how this hymn likely functioned for the ancient audience. The reading of the “Lord Jesus Christ” hymn localized the worship of Jesus in Philippi, encouraged financial giving to Paul and Timothy, taught moral lessons, and prepared the audience to address their conflict “in the Lord”.

AbstractRachel Neis' article treats Hekhalot Rabbati, a collection of early Jewish mystical traditions, and more specifically §§ 152–169, a series of Qedusha hymns. These hymns are liturgical performances, the highlight of which is God's passionate embrace of the Jacob icon on his throne as triggered by Israel's utterance of the Qedusha. §§ 152–169 also set forth an ocular choreography such that the gazes of Israel and God are exchanged during the recitation of the Qedusha. The article set these traditions within the history of similar Jewish traditions preserved in Rabbinic literature. It will be argued that §§ 152–169 date to the early Byzantine period, reflecting a Jewish interest in images of the sacred parallel to the contemporaneous Christian intensification of the cult of images and preoccupation with the nature of religious images.

The Byzantine hymnography was considered a “stumbling stone” of the Jewish–Orthodox Christian dialogue because of the harsh anti-Jewish elements kept in the modern liturgical texts without any revision. This article analyses the often-mentioned texts of the Triodion—the liturgical period before Pascha—using a quantitative approach. The starting point of this research states that we must keep in mind the broader view on the state of the hymnography without labelling the entire Byzantine hymnography as anti-Jewish by looking at some concrete stanzas from Holy Week services. The results demonstrate that we can speak only about very few hymnographical texts containing anti-Jewish elements compared to the entire Triodion. This approach helps us in the Jewish–Christian debates to focus on what exactly are we speaking about, and what precisely those texts are saying. After a short analysis of the content of selected hymns, I propose three concrete categories of hymns that could be more easily approached by either excluding them or transforming them through translation into modern languages.

In his 6th Hymn De crucifixione that is consecrated to the interpretation of three days problem of Jesus’ resurrection, the Syriac poet-theologian Ephrem the Syrian (4th c.) functions as a teacher of astronomical and calendric lore. The article focuses on the probable sources of the construction of Ephrem’s authority as a teacher in this hymn. The author demonstrates that the astronomical discourse in the Syriac hymn is constructed with the specific structural devices, e.g., the first-person discourse, the term “calculation” and metaphorically expressed with the image of the scribe. These elements have obvious parallels within the Jewish Aramaic texts of the Second Temple, e.g., “the Aramaic Astronomical Book” and “the Document of Levi”. Like in Ephrem’s Hymn De crucifixione, in these texts are used the astronomical and other arithmetical calculations. The Jewish scribes who composed these works, transformed the old Babylonian mathematical lore into new narrative forms. In the course of this, these real scribes used fictive authority of the biblical figures associated with writing, e.g., Moses, David, Enoch, Noah and others. The author gives heed to the similar use of these biblical figures in Ephrem’s hymns and draws a conclusion about the self-definition by Ephrem as the scribe who is inspired by God and obtain a capability to interpretate God’s “secrets”. As a result, Ephrem “blends” the Christological typological interpretation of the “secret” or “symbol” with ancient Jewish and Mesopotamian connotations. Hence, in his sixth Hymn De crucifixione, the Syrian poet functions not as a theologian but as a teacher with quasi-prophetic status who is aligned with Moses and David and imitates their writing and interpretative activities. In the opinion of the author, these conclusions could shed light not only on the origins of Ephrem’s works, but on the origins of the Syriac Christianity as a whole.

The liturgy of the Jews of Cochin, Kerala, is extant in several manuscripts, the oldest dating back to the end of the seventeenth century. Among the Hebrew pieces, we find two compositions in Old Spanish written in Hebrew characters, Alto dio de Abraham and Todos kiriados . Here we provide for the first time an edition of these texts (from MS. Roth 33 of the Brotherton Library, University of Leeds and MS. Or. 2242 of the Cambridge University Library). A philological analysis reveals that these two texts – a supplication paraphrasing Psalm 121 and a translation of a medieval Hebrew pizmon, Kol bĕruʾe – are orally transmitted versions of prayers belonging to the liturgy of the Hispano-Portuguese New Christians. A comparison with their European counterparts and the study of the linguistic peculiarities of these Indian versions show influences from Portuguese and Malayalam. In the context of the history of Jewish and Marrano migrations to the Malabar Coast, these texts represent an important vestige of a Judeo-Iberian heritage within Indian Jewish culture.

Abstract This article discusses the role of Byzantine liturgical hymnography within the Jewish-Orthodox Christian dialogue. It seems that problematic anti-Jewish hymns of the Orthodox liturgy were often put forward by the Jewish side, but Orthodox theologians couldn’t offer a satisfactory answer, so that the dialogue itself profoundly suffered. The author of this study argues that liturgical hymnography cannot be a stumbling stone for the dialogue. Bringing new witnesses from several Orthodox theologians, the author underlines the need for a change of perspective. Then, beyond the intrinsic plea for the revision of the anti-Jewish texts, this article actually emphasizes the need to rediscover the Jewishness of the Byzantine liturgy and to approach the hymnography as an exegesis or even Midrash on the biblical texts and motives. As such, the anti-Jewish elements of the liturgy can be considered an impulse to a deeper analysis of Byzantine hymnography, which could be very fruitful for the Jewish-Christian Dialogue.

The paper is focused on the astronomical and calendrical lore which the Syriac poet-theologian Ephrem the Syrian abundantly uses in his 6th hymn De crucifixione. In this hymn devoted to the interpretation of three days problem of Jesus’ resurrection, the Syriac poet and theologian employs some astronomical data, i.e., the duration of solar and lunar years, the duration of the lunar months, the necessity of the intercalations in the calendars etc. The author analyses this lore in the context of the astronomical knowledge existing to Ephrem’s epoch. On the one hand, the article pays attention to the similar use of the astronomical data in a lot of Jewish and Christian works of the 3rd and 4rd centuries. In this period the astronomical calculations have been used actively both in Christian and Jewish milieux. On the other hand, the calculations by Ephrem mirror the peculiarities of the region of the north Mesopotamia where he lived and created his works. For example, the author demonstrates that Ephrem could be influenced by the old Babylonian astronomical theory and use in his computations the Babylonian “double hour”. In the article is also demonstrated that the calculations by Ephrem are striking similar to the ones in the “Panarion” by Epiphanius of Salamis. Epiphanius seems to be acquainted with Ephrem’s works or to use the similar tradition stretching back to the Babylonian one. The author draws a conclusion that the calculations in the hymns are used to express Ephrem’s self-presentation as the scribe and the sage who obtains the cosmic “secrets”. This picture is deep rooted as in the old Mesopotamian literature as in Jewish Aramaic writings. The author points out that Ephrem uses the astronomical lore in the liturgical context and not in the theological “scientific’’ tractate. Hence, Ephrem constructs a new religious and poetic “myth” about the Crucifixion and feast of Pascha upon the astronomical dimensions it has both in the Christian and in the Jewish traditions.

The Greek writings of early Christians and Hellenized Jews have three terms in common to refer to and designate song and singing: humnos, ōdē and psalmos and cognate forms of these. In the literature the terms and their cognates appear frequently, both in isolation and variously together. In the Septuagint (see below), for example, in 3 Maccabees, it is to be found that freed Jewish captives included ōdēn (6: 32), psalmois (6: 35) and humnois (7: 16b) in their celebratory singing. In the Greek New Testament, in Ephesians 5: 19 and Colossians 3: 16, the members of the Christian congregations to whom these letters are addressed are urged to sing psalmois, humnois and ōdais pneumatikais (‘psalms’, ‘hymns’ and ‘spiritual songs‘).

Preaching is a daring undertaking. Whether through music, sermons, reading scripture, or personal conversation, speaking of God is an interpretive act. One never quite knows how what one plays, says, writes, or depicts is received. The distance between minds is vast. And given that every set of eyes may read the same words differently and each set of ears hear each interpretive utterance differently, hoping to communicate meaningfully with those watching and listening is nothing short of audacious. Among these challenges, one of the most delicate is preaching on Judaism and Jews. Yet Christians cannot avoid it. Judaism and Christianity are one another’s nemeses. Some biblical texts lend themselves to anti-Jewish attitudes and stereotypes that may be unrecognized so deep is Christian contempt for Jews and Judaism. This paper offers suggestions for avoiding anti-Jewish preaching. To do that effectively it will be necessary to awaken a sensibility to the concern that pervades and penetrates Christian thought. That requires slogging through some “unprettiness.” The paper first illustrates anti-Jewish preaching by interrogating a popular text, Luke’s story of the Pharisee and the tax collector. It then briefly considers Christian hymns and sacred choral music and then focuses on four sermons: The Letter to the Hebrews, Melito of Sardis’s On Passover, Augustine’s sermon 122 on John 1:48-51, and a recent sermon on Galatians 3:23-29. It concludes with suggestions for preachers, musicians and congregations and includes guidelines for preaching on Jews and Judaism and a bibliography for further study.

Abstract Building on the insights of Jon Levenson's work, Sinai and Zion: An Entry into the Jewish Bible, this article endeavors to show that a similar approach, which could be labeled "theophanic," has traditionally guided the Christian—perhaps especially the Eastern Orthodox—entry into the Bible. Relating the Sinai theophany and the transfiguration on Tabor was crucially important for early Christian theology. It underlay their appropriation of the Scriptures of Israel as "OT," it lent itself to polemical use against dualism and monarchianism, and it was eventually absorbed into Byzantine festal hymnography and thereby into the mainstream of theology as performed and experienced in liturgy. Similar interpretive strategies are at work in early Christian works and later Byzantine festal hymns and icons that take up theophanies centering on God's throne in Zion. After discussing hymns and icons dealing with Sinai, Zion, and Tabor, I argue that this type of exegesis is difficult to frame within the categories commonly used to describe patristic exegesis and that a more suitable category would be that of "rewritten Bible," current among scholars of the OT pseudepigrapha. I then examine the relationship between the Christology emerging from the hymns under discussion and the normative conciliar Christology. Finally, I sketch a few ways in which today's readers can benefit, both exegetically and theologically, from Byzantine hymnographic and iconographic exegesis.

Abstract Building on the insights of Jon Levenson's work, Sinai and Zion: An Entry into the Jewish Bible, this article endeavors to show that a similar approach, which could be labeled "theophanic," has traditionally guided the Christian—perhaps especially the Eastern Orthodox—entry into the Bible. Relating the Sinai theophany and the transfiguration on Tabor was crucially important for early Christian theology. It underlay their appropriation of the Scriptures of Israel as "OT," it lent itself to polemical use against dualism and monarchianism, and it was eventually absorbed into Byzantine festal hymnography and thereby into the mainstream of theology as performed and experienced in liturgy. Similar interpretive strategies are at work in early Christian works and later Byzantine festal hymns and icons that take up theophanies centering on God's throne in Zion. After discussing hymns and icons dealing with Sinai, Zion, and Tabor, I argue that this type of exegesis is difficult to frame within the categories commonly used to describe patristic exegesis and that a more suitable category would be that of "rewritten Bible," current among scholars of the OT pseudepigrapha. I then examine the relationship between the Christology emerging from the hymns under discussion and the normative conciliar Christology. Finally, I sketch a few ways in which today's readers can benefit, both exegetically and theologically, from Byzantine hymnographic and iconographic exegesis.

AbstractThe transformation of Noah into a Christian ideal in the writings of Aphrahat and Ephrem (4th century), with the resulting denigration of Noah in much rabbinic exegesis, is well documented. The purpose of this essay is to examine the characterization of Noah in the liturgical (as opposed to the scholarly) setting. Four groups of works are examined: the Hebrew Avodah poems and the hymns of Ephrem the Syrian (4th century); and the kontakia of Romanos the Melodist and the liturgical poems of the Jewish poet Yannai (6th century). These sources reveal that the individual poets felt great freedom to shape the character of Noah in distinctive ways, engaging with the various traditions of interpretation evident in the prose sources but using them in individualized ways. The resulting picture of Noah, when these poetic sources are brought to bear on the discussion, is much less predictable and more dynamic than might be assumed from study of the more“academic” prose sources alone.

This article examines Psalms of Solomon with an eye toward how these compositions may have functioned within the setting of a first-century B. C. E. Jewish community in Jerusalem. Several of these psalms should be understood as didactic hymns providing instruction to their audience through the medium of psalmody. Attention to the temporal register of Pss. Sol. 8, 9, and 17 shows how the poet’s use of historical review and historical allusion contributed to a vision of present reality and future hope, which the audience was invited to embrace. Issues relating to the place of these psalms in the tradition of Solomonic discourse are also addressed insofar as they contribute to the didactic function of this psalm collection.

The goal of this article is to situate the Manichaean Bema Psalms from the Coptic Manichaean Psalmbook in the late antique Roman Empire, on the one hand, and to introduce it as a point of comparison for scholars interested in comparative liturgy, on the other. It argues that public expressions of adoration in the late antique Roman Empire, especially acclamations and panegyrics, functioned as the cultural scaffolding for the performance of the Bema Festival in the Roman Near East. To support this claim, it will first show how Bema Psalm 222 uses imperial acclamations and topoi drawn from panegyrics to welcome Mani to the bema. It then turns to compare the Bema Psalms with Christian and Jewish liturgy, thereby demonstrating that the Bema Psalms participate in the same liturgical developments as their neighbors in the Roman Empire. It shows how various “hailing” acclamations found throughout Bema Psalms parallel Christian hymns in praise of Mary, the Theotokos (God-bearer) in both form and epithets used. It then pivots to compare the role of refrains in a Jewish liturgical text for Passover with another Bema Psalm, ultimately arguing that both locate the congregation within a liturgical drama through the performance of acclamatory refrains.

Abstract Philo draws on the Wisdom of Solomon in his tripartite critique against idols found in On the Decalogue and On the Contemplative Life. As he fashions these critiques in the pursuit of upholding Mosaic law, Philo not only criticizes Greek and Egyptian forms of worship, he also integrates the notion of moderation evident in Hellenism and Hellenistic-Egyptian Isis worship. This essay demonstrates ways in which the pursuit of moderation and Isis as lawgiver are integrated into Philo’s concepts of Moses as lawgiver and pursuit of law in opposition to Roman forms of excess. The essay considers various texts, including excerpts from Greek philosophers and Hellenistic Egyptian hymns to Isis, in addition to considerations of contemporary Roman excesses vis-à-vis Philo’s Decalogue, Contempl. Life, and his uses of Wis. Philo’s Hellenistic Judaism emerges from a simultaneous criticism yet also integration of both Hellenistic and Hellenistic-Egyptian concepts and traditions.

A. K. Coomaraswamy writes in The Dance of Shiva that Nataraja, the Hindu dancing figure, is the “clearest image of the activity of God which any art or religion can boast of.” Nataraja's dance activates dormant vital energy (kundalini) and resonates with the primordial sacred seed sounds (bijas) of the cosmos. Sanskrit seed sounds such as Aum are described in the Katha Upanishads as “consciousness or God (Brahman) itself.” In his book, Healing Mantras, Ashley-Farrand writes that the practice of mantra brings about positive changes in matter and consciousness by the agency of a subtle vibration. Cyndi Dale in The Subtle Body correlates each note of the ancient Solfeggio scale used in Gregorian chants to the energy centers (chakras) in the body. Sacred sounds are recited in Buddhist chants, Jewish hymns (Zemirot), and the dances of Sufi whirling dervishes, among other traditions. The dancer, through mastery of breath, form, and heightened awareness of sound, possesses the potential to “ride” on the crests of musical waves of sacred sound and harmoniously vibrate with wavelike patterns of energy or “cosmic strings,” identified in quantum physics as the essence of matter, and thereby facilitate healing and self-integration. However, in mainstream dance practice and research, sound/movement spiritual practices are largely relegated to the separate category of “new age,” dance therapy, or yoga. This performative paper discusses how the integration of the mindful use of sacred sound in contemporary dance training has profound implications for expanding consciousness, heightening creativity, and enhancing physical capabilities.

Grundtvig som fortolker af Det Gamle Testamente[Grundtvig 's reception of the Old Testament]By Jesper HøgenhavenThis article analyses aspects of Grundtvig’s reception of the Old Testament. In his historical works from 1812, 1814, and 1833, Grundtvig makes a number of important remarks on the role and significance of the Old Testament. His position has sometimes been characterised as “fundamentalist”, but as is shown in a discussion with recent contributions (Ole Vind, Kim Ame Pedersen), this is hardly a precise description. While Grundtvig repeatedly defends the Old Testament texts as historically reliable - and as authentic prophecies related to the coming of Christ - and makes polemic remarks against historical criticism, he nevertheless demonstrates a critical position regarding the canonical status of Old Testament books, and in his later works, he explicitly renounces the doctrine of verbal inspiration and directs polemical remarks at both rationalists and orthodox adherents of verbal inspiration. The Jewish scriptures are not the foundation upon which the church is built, as the orthodox theologians would have it. This does not mean that the Old Testament loses its importance for Grundtvig. His work amply demonstrates the centrality of biblical texts and motifs. In his sermons he makes extensive use of Old Testament quotations, interpreting them according to the classic patterns as prophecies directly relevant for the church, or as typological models for Christians. What is interesting, however, is that whereas explicit quotations are found less frequently in Grundtvig’s later sermons, his sermons are permeated with biblical motifs and imagery from the Old Testament. In his hymns, he achieves the creation of a universe which is biblical in a comprehensive sense.

AbstractScholarship on Phil 2:6–11 has long wrestled with the question of “interpretive staging.” While acknowledging that Jewish sapiential and apocalyptic literature as well as Roman apotheosis narratives provide important matrices for the hymn, the following study pinpoints a third backdrop against which Paul's dramatic christology would have been heard in Philippi: Euripidean tragedy. Echoes of Dionysus's opening monologue from Euripides'sBacchaein thecarmen Christisuggest that Roman hearers of Paul's letter likely understood Christ's kenoticmetamorphosisas a species of Dionysian revelation. This interpretive recognition accomplishes a new integration of the hymn's Jewish and imperial-cultic transcripts. Jesus's Bacchic portraiture supports a theology of Christ's pre-existence, while simultaneously establishing him as a Dionysian antithesis to the imperial Apolloniankyrios Caesar. These Dionysian echoes also elevate the status of slaves and women, and suggest that “the tragic” remains modally present within the otherwise comicfabulaof the Christ myth.

Abstract The oldest record of the notion of “mercy”, raḥmān, in Aramaic is known from a bilingual text in which the word is the translation of the Akkadian rēmēnû. The latter is used in Mesopotamian onomastics, hymns and prayers, which delivered the oldest formulae of calls for the mercy of gods, especially in a recurrent expression: “the merciful god, that is good to pray,” translated verbatim in the Aramaic text of the statue of Tell Fekheryeh. Almost a thousand years later, the same wording has been inherited unchanged in Palmyrene Aramaic. Nevertheless, the Palmyrene interest on the divine epithet raḥmān and its revival in Palmyrene epigraphy may be explained by the influence of the new Roman concept of clementia. Meanwhile, this contribution proposes to outline a chronology of the Aramaic inscriptions from Syria and Palestine, in which raḥmānāʾ is either the main substitute for the divine name, or a major divine epithet. As the Akkadian phonetic assimilates the consonant <ḥ> to the laryngeal <ʾ> but preserves the velar <ḫ>, the supposed East Semitic root was rḥm, not rḫm. On the contrary, in the Arabian Peninsula, the earliest attested root is rḫm, as evidenced by South Arabic onomastics or toponymy. A late use of rḥm in South Arabic as a verb or noun is the result of a loan from Aramaic and does not appear until the fifth century AD. The first South Arabian inscriptions naming the monotheistic god raḥmānn are preceded by the Palmyrene inscriptions by almost two centuries and are contemporary with the Jewish-Aramaic inscriptions in the Palestinian synagogues, which call the God Raḥmānāʾ. Late, the Aramaic epithet was transferred to the Arabic al-raḥmān, through South Arabian.

Ernst Käsemann's theory that the Christ hymn in Col 1. 15–20.is an adapted pre-Christian hymn about the GnosticUrmensch-Erlöser, who had both a cosmological and a soteriological significance, has not fared well. Even with the deletion of the words δι⋯τοû αἴματος τοû σταυροû αύτοû in v. 20, the sentiment persists that the second part of the hymn – which is soteriological – cannot speak of anyone else than Christ. More importantly, evidence for the existence of a GnosticUrmensch-Erlöseris lacking until Mani's time. As a matter of fact, even pre-Manichean Gnosticism, in which we find both variousUrmenschfigures and redeemers, cannot be proven to antedate Christianity.

"Three aspects of the Prologue and its background in the Gospel of John make it clear that in the Bible God meets people where they are. He inspires ordinary human beings to write in the language, culture, and concepts that would be familiar to their original readers. First, John made use, for example, of an early Christian hymn to express his exalted insights into the nature and character of Jesus Christ. Second, he also structured the Prologue in ways that would make logical sense to a Jewish reader. Third, he gave Jesus a title (the Word) that was far better known in the pagan Gentile world than such Jewish titles such as Messiah or Son of Man. By these strategies John, under inspiration, created a Prologue that would speak powerfully to every reader of his day, whether Christian, Jewish, or pagan. These three strategies will be examined in greater depth."

A connection exists between the Christological hymn of praise and protest in Col 1:15–20 and popular protest music. The connection is the lyrical ability to transform political and socio-cultural realities, as well as to empower and mobilize protest and resistance against imperial power and coercive structures of domination. A special focus is on Billie Holiday’s song, “Strange Fruit,” a contemporary model of a protest song in comparison to Col 1:15–20. In the comparison, the Colossians hymn draws upon the political ideology and imagery of the Roman Empire in the form of a counter-discourse, as was Jewish resistance poetry, in ways analogous to how Holiday’s “Strange Fruit” evokes the imagery of white racial terror for the sake of raising political consciousness.

Hindemith's setting of Whitman's When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd has been called his only "profoundly American" work. However, the double entendre of its original subtitle, "An American Requiem," alluding to Brahms's Ein deutsches Requiem, mirrors Hindemith's ambivalence about his own postwar cultural identity. Although the work's intertextual links with the German polyphonic tradition extend back to Bach, "Taps" is the only overt "American" reference. But the phrase in quotation marks within the final subtitle, "A Requiem 'For those we love,' " is the incipit of a World War I hymn of commemoration, "For those we love within the veil." Hindemith quotes verbatim the melody for this hymn from the 1940 Episcopal Hymnal, which identifies it as "Gaza," a "Traditional Jewish Melody" (in turn derived from a Yigdal). The Requiem may be reinterpreted as a covert commentary on Whitman's text from the post-Holocaust perspective of Hindemith's conflicted personal and artistic circumstances.

Paul was claimed as the most controversial person in his theology. Many scholars said that he was influenced by Hellenistic Judaism in his theology; while others claimed it was affected by Jewish thinking. The concept of ‘protokoj’ (firstborn) was stated being influenced by Hellenistic Judaism and did not imply the rest of New Testament Theology. Some said that firstborn in Colossian 1: 15–20 was a hymn in praise of Christ, while others would say that firstborn in the Hymn Christology is congenial, but not identical with Paul’s theology. This research aimed to show the concept of firstborn as the main window showed Pauline Christology significance in the light of Paschal theology. The methods used in this research were descriptive and biblical text analysis. The conclusion of this research is that the death of Christ is the main point to see how firstborn of all creation not counted as ontological in meaning, but it has the power to show the readers about Pauline Christology. The firstborn of all creation is seen in the context of redemptive history and bring the audience to see how powerful the title to see Pauline Christology.

Psalm 148 is a hymn inviting all beings in the celestial world and the earthly world to praise God. Even though the Psalm seems simple and easy to understand, two questions have been raised in the history of the exegesis of this Psalm: why are these specific creatures and no others mentioned in the Psalm?, and why are they placed in this particular order? In Ancient Judaism no much attention was given to the explanation of this Psalm from a scientific perspective; however, in the thirteenth century, in the context of the reception of Aristotelianism in southern France, important exegetes such as David Qimhi and Menahem ha-Meiri interpreted this Psalm to the light of Aristotelian cosmology, and more especifically in consonance with scientific ideas exposed in Aristole’s Meteorology. Abraham ibn Ezra was the first Jewish exegete who wrote a systematic commentary on Psalm 148 to demonstrate that the biblical text describes the structure, composition and laws of the Universe according to Aristotelian principles. Ibn Ezra’s scientific comments on this Psalm were the starting point for the future scientific analysis of later exegetes in southern France, such as David Qimhi and Menahem ha-Meiri. It is the purpose of this article to analyze how Psalm 148 has been interpreted by these three Jewish exegetes from a scientific perspective and to prove how later exegetes explained, developed or even refuted the scientific interpretations of their predecessors. It also examines the sources that Ibn Ezra may have used to know Aristotle’s ideas.

Moses versus the Messiah: a Samaritan tradition: Eschatological expectations among Jewish and Samaritan groups offer a vast field of study. One of the intriguing aspects is the way in which the profile of messianic figures is influenced by the expectations of opposing groups. In orthodox Samaritan theology Moses, being revered as the sole medium of God's revelation, is put up against figures like Dositheus. Messianic claims of the Dositheans are countered by the laudation of Moses. The same trend isfollowed in the controversy against the Christian messiah: Epithets of a polemic nature in the honor of Moses are encountered in abundance. Even theologumena like the pre-existence of the messiah are attributed to Moses. A poem called "The hymn of the birth of Moses" from the Samaritan Liturgy offers a text-book example of this polemical profiling of Moses, the absolute Prophet.

"Abstract The worship of the Orthodox Eastern Church involves a multitude of references hints and images of the Old Testament, in all the sequences (liturgies) and hymns. Particularly in the Holy and Great Week, the texts of the Old Testament are used with particular emphasis. On Holy Monday and on Holy Tuesday there is use of the texts of the Old Testament. Holy and Great Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday remind us of the eschatological meaning of Pascha. In this paper we are going to analyze the real and deep influence of the Old Testament to these days of Holy Monday and Tuesday and why the Orthodox Church chose to use the Old Testament although the Jews refused Christ and led him to death. The goal is to show that Orthodox Greek Christians use these texts from the Old Testament because they have no hostile attitude against Jews. Keywords: Old Testament, Holy Week, Holy Monday, Holy Tuesday, liturgy, psalms"

AbstractStudents of early Christianity recognized long ago that the canonical psalms of the Jewish Bible provided a framework of meaning in which the followers of Jesus could make sense of his crucifixion. This novel hermeneutic is evident in the allusions to the Psalms in the passion narrative of the Gospel according to Mark. It appears also in the Markan Jesus's explanation of the need for the Son of Man to suffer. Most students of the New Testament today understand Philippians 2:6-11 as a pre-Pauline hymn that was composed for early Christian worship. More recent studies suggest that it is exalted prose rather than poetry. The hypothesis of this article is that Paul composed it, either for worship or for the purposes of the argument of his letter to the Philippians. In doing so, he adapted a common social practice of the local culture. The "theologos" was an official in the organized worship of an ancient deity whose duty it was to compose brief speeches, sometimes in prose, sometimes in poetry, in honor of the deity. The organized worship of the emperor included such officials. Paul acted as a "theologos" in writing a brief speech in exalted prose honoring Jesus Christ, whom he had taught the Philippians to honor instead of the emperor.

We do not know how hymns in Late Antiquity sounded. We do know that refrains became an important aspect of hymnody in the period, not only among Christians in the capital accustomed to acclamations, but also among Hebrew-speaking Jews and Syriac-speaking Christians further east. This article investigates ways that the refrains contributed to shaping soundscapes or sonic space. The article constitutes a study of three of the era's most outstanding liturgical poets: Yose ben Yose and Yannai who wrote piyyutim in Hebrew and Romanos the Melodist who wrote kontakia in Greek. Refrains should ring loudly, and all three poets show a distinct awareness of the refrain's ability to shape the performative space. Throughout the song, the refrain would return repeatedly as an echo and saturate the room with loud voices. The hymnographers used this feature semantically, to dye the soundscapes with highly charged or pregnant notions, so that eventually the singing of the songs themselves gave way to the experience of community and deliverance. Conducted by poets, voices gathered to create soundscapes of salvation.

An illegitimate son of a Russian Jewish immigrant, born in Paris on April 23, 1918 and one of the France’s most prolific men of letters, Maurice Druon made a name for himself as a patriotic egophiliac. Through his critically acclaimed series of historical novels, Les Rois Maudits, and Les Grandes Familles, for example, he intended to revive the long-lost French medieval egotistic glory. With his wartime resistance hymn, “Chant des Partisans”, which he and his uncle, Joseph Kessel, adapted from the Russian-born troubadour Anna Marly’s lyric song, he infused a strong sense of ego in the French fighters against the German wartime occupiers. It was for all such contributions to nation building and for his unflinching determination to promote French linguistic and political culture that he was made Minister of Cultural Affairs in Pierre Messmer’s cabinet (1973-1974), a Deputy of Paris (1978-1981) and a ‘perpetual secretary’ of the Académie Francaise. But in between his writing Les Rois Maudits, as he said in the preface to the story, he wanted to try his hands in something else and ended up writing Tistou Les Pouces Verts. This paper makes use of the properties of ecocritical theory in order to investigate the importance of Maurice Druon’s stride from egotistic to eco-conscious writing meant for children.

Псалом 132 по Синодальному тексту (133 - по нумерации масоретского текста), является одной из пятнадцати «песней восхождения», входящих в состав Псалтири (Пс. 119-133). Данный псалом интересен литургической привязкой к ритуалу Иерусалимского храма, с которым его связывает упоминание о елее, сходящем на бороду Аарона (Пс. 132, 2). Автор использует метафору елея для усиления оттенка радости собратьев по вере, собравшихся в храм для совместной молитвы (ст. 1). Целью настоящего исследования является обзор методов интерпретации образа елея, сходящего на бороду Аарона в ранней еврейской и греческой языковых традициях толкования Священного Писания. Для этих целей проводится анализ метафоры елея в источниках иудейской экзегезы (Сифрей Бамидбар, Сифра, Талмуд, Мидраш Танхума) и христианской экзегезы (Климент Александрийский, Ориген, Афанасий Александрийский, Василий Кесарийский, Иоанн Златоуст, Феодорит Кирский). Далее на основе историко-филологического метода определяется место «елея» в содержании псалма по современным экзегетическим исследованиям. В результате было выявлено, что в источниках иудейской экзегезы значительное внимание уделяется поиску исторической основы помазания священства благовонным елеем в контексте обрядов Иерусалимского храма. Источники христианской экзегезы тяготеют к мессианской интерпретации гимна, в которой помазание Аарона миром толкуется как прообраз помазания Христа и верующих в Него Святым Духом. Итак, образ елея мог рассматриваться в древних религиозных традициях как отправная точка для актуальных на то время рассуждений о роли Аарона или Христа, а также об этических требованиях к кандидатам на помазание. Psalm 133 according the numeration of the Masoretic text, or 132 according the numeration of the Septuagint, is one of the fifteen «songs of ascents» (Psalms 119-133 - hereinafter numbering according to the Synodal text) that are part of the Book of Psalms. Рsalm 132 is interesting for its liturgical attachment to the ritual of the Jerusalem Temple, with which it is associated with the mention of «precious oil on the head, running down on the beard, on the beard of Aaron» (Ps. 132, 2 ESV). The author uses the «oil» metaphor to enhance the shade of joy of fellow believers gathered in the temple for prayer (v. 1). The purpose of this study is to review methods for interpreting the image of «oil falling on Aaron’s beard» in the early Jewish and Greek exegetical traditions. For these purposes, an analysis of the «oil» metaphor is carried out in the sources of the Jewish exegesis (Sifra Bamidbar, Talmud, Midrash Tanhuma) and the Christian exegesis (Clement of Alexandria, Origen, Athanasius of Alexandria, Basil of Caesarea, John Chrysostom, Theodore of Cyrus). Further, on the basis of the historical-philological method, the place of «oil» in the content of the psalm according to modern exegetical studies is determined. As a result, it was revealed that in the sources of Jewish exegesis was considerable attention to the search for the historical basis of the anointing of the priesthood with «incense oil» in the context of the rites of the Jerusalem temple. Sources of Christian exegesis lean toward a messianic interpretation of the hymn, in which the anointing of Aaron was interpreted as a prototype of the anointing of Christ and those who believe in Him with the Holy Spirit. Thus, the image of the «oil» could be considered as a starting point for discussions about the role of Aaron or Christ, as well as the ethical requirements for anointing candidates.

Псалом 132 по Синодальному тексту (133 - по нумерации масоретского текста), является одной из пятнадцати «песней восхождения», входящих в состав Псалтири (Пс. 119- 133). Данный псалом интересен литургической привязкой к ритуалу Иерусалимского храма, с которым его связывает упоминание о елее, сходящем на бороду Аарона (Пс. 132, 2). Автор использует метафору елея для усиления оттенка радости собратьев по вере, собравшихся в храм для совместной молитвы (ст. 1). Целью настоящего исследования является обзор методов интерпретации образа елея, сходящего на бороду Аарона в ранней еврейской и греческой языковых традициях толкования Св. Писания. Для этих целей в первой части статьи проводится анализ метафоры елея в источниках иудейской экзегезы (Сифрей Бамидбар, Сифра, Талмуд, Мидраш Танхума) и христианской экзегезы (Климент Александрийский, Ориген, Афанасий Александрийский, Василий Кесарийский, Иоанн Златоуст, Феодорит Кирский). Далее, во второй части статьи, на основе историко-филологического метода определяется место «елея» в содержании псалма по современным экзегетическим исследованиям. В результате было выявлено, что в источниках иудейской экзегезы значительное внимание уделяется поиску исторической основы помазания священства благовонным елеем в контексте обрядов Иерусалимского храма. Источники христианской экзегезы тяготеют к мессианской интерпретации гимна, в которой помазание Аарона миром толкуется как прообраз помазания Христа и верующих в Него Святым Духом. Итак, образ елея мог рассматриваться в древних религиозных традициях как отправная точка для актуальных на то время рассуждений о роли Аарона или Христа, а также об этических требованиях к кандидатам на помазание. Psalm 133 according the numeration of the Masoretic text, or 132 according the numeration of the Septuagint, is one of the fifteen «songs of ascents» (Psalms 119-133 - hereinafter numbering according to the Synodal text) that are part of the Book of Psalms. Рsalm 132 is interesting for its liturgical attachment to the ritual of the Jerusalem Temple, with which it is associated with the mention of «precious oil on the head, running down on the beard, on the beard of Aaron» (Ps. 132, 2 ESV). The author uses the «oil» metaphor to enhance the shade of joy of fellow believers gathered in the temple for prayer (v. 1). The purpose of this study is to review methods for interpreting the image of «oil falling on Aaron’s beard» in the early Jewish and Greek exegetical traditions. For these purposes, an analysis of the «oil» metaphor is carried out in the sources of the Jewish exegesis (Sifra Bamidbar, Talmud, Midrash Tanhuma) and the Christian exegesis (Clement of Alexandria, Origen, Athanasius of Alexandria, Basil of Caesarea, John Chrysostom, Theodore of Cyrus). Further, on the basis of the historical-philological method, the place of «oil» in the content of the psalm according to modern exegetical studies is determined. As a result, it was revealed that in the sources of Jewish exegesis was considerable attention to the search for the historical basis of the anointing of the priesthood with «incense oil» in the context of the rites of the Jerusalem temple. Sources of Christian exegesis lean toward a messianic interpretation of the hymn, in which the anointing of Aaron was interpreted as a prototype of the anointing of Christ and those who believe in Him with the Holy Spirit. Thus, the image of the «oil» could be considered as a starting point for discussions about the role of Aaron or Christ, as well as the ethical requirements for anointing candidates.

Abstract When Martin Luther wrote his famous hymn Ein feste Burg ist unser Gott in the 1520s, it was uncommon to understand Ps. 46:1–3 [45:1–3 LXX] as a celebration of the peace available to those taking refuge in God amidst raging hostility—as the earth shook and mountains moved into the heart of the sea. Instead, for over a millennium, Augustine’s allegorical interpretation of verse 3 held sway. These verses contained ‘hidden’ truths made known when Christ came, so the shaking earth was the Jews, the mountains were Christ and his apostles, and the sea was the Gentiles in 46:3. According to Augustine, then, 46:1–3 celebrates God’s being a refuge amidst the working out of his plan to redeem the Gentiles through the mission of Christ and his apostles. This essay recounts the reception of 46:1–3 from the Septuagint to the time of Luther in a way that demonstrates the influence of the Septuagint’s translation of the superscription (verse 1), the dominance of Augustine’s allegorical interpretation of 46:1–3 for over a millennium, and how Luther’s growing appreciation of the historical sense shifts his interpretation of 46:1–3 away from Augustine to align with most interpreters in the early church and Nicholas of Lyra.

In 1CorHom, edited in the autumn and winter of 392 and 393 AD, John Chrysostom found a natural opportunity to return to his numerous utterances on the role of love in the lives of people. Obviously, the opportunity was the 13“ chapter of this Letter - The Song of Love. Among his works, we will find a few more smali works which were created with the intention of outlining the Christian ideał of love. Many of the contemporary monographs which were devoted to the ancient understanding of Christian „love” have the phrase „Eros and Agape” in their titles. In contemporary languages, this arrangement extends between sex and love. Both in the times of the Church Fathers (the 4th century AD) and currently, the distance between sex and love is measured by feelings, States and actions which are morę or less refined and noble. The awareness of the existence of many stops over this distance leads to the conviction that our lives are a search for the road to Agape. As many people are looking not so much for a shortcut but for a shorter route, John Chrysostom, like other Church Fathers, declared: the shortest route, because it is the most appropriate for this aim, is to live according to the Christian virtues that have been accumulated by the Christian politeia. There are to be found the fewest torments and disenchantments, although there are sacrifices. Evangelical politeia, the chosen and those who have been brought there will find love) - as a State of existence. In the earthly dimension, however, love appears as a causative force only in the circle of the Christian politeia. Obviously, just as in the heavenly politeia, the Christian politeia on earth is an open circle for everyone. As Chrysostom’s listeners and readers were not only Christians (in the multi-cultural East of the Roman Empire), and as the background of the principles presented in the homilies was the everyday life and customs of the Romans of the time, the ideał - dyam] - was placed by him in the context of diverse imperfections in the rangę and form of the feelings exhibited, which up to this day we still also cali love. It is true that love has morę than one name. By introducing the motif of love - into deliberations on the subject of the Christian politeia, John Chrysostom finds and indicates to the faithful the central force that shaped the ancient Church. This motif fills in the vision of the Heavenly Kingdom, explains to Christians the sense of life that is appropriate to them in the Roman community and explains the principles of organised life within the boundaries of the Church. It can come as no surprise that the result of such a narrative was Chrysostonfs conviction that love is „rationed”: Jews, pagans, Hellenes and heretics were deprived of it. In Chrysostonfs imagination, the Christian politeia has an earthly and a heavenly dimension. In the heavenly politeia, also called by him Chrisfs, the Lord’s or the

<p>The research interest of the author of the article in the ethnosis living in Latgale, intercultural communication is related to the compilation of the entries for „Latgalian Linguo-Territorial Dictionary” with ESF project „Linguo-Cultural and Socio-Economic Aspects of Territorial Identity in the Development of the Region of Latgale” (Nr. 2009/0227/1DP/1.1.1.2.0/09/APIA/VIAA/071). The tasks of this research: 1) to prepare a review about the frequency of linguistic contacts and themes for conversations in jokes; 2) to determine the linguistic attitude of the addressee and the sender; 3) to trace linguistic processes in the event of intercultural communication.</p><p>The theoretical background of the research is based on the speech act in theory (J. Searle), highlighting the impact of social and historical factors on the speech act (D. Hymes). In order to describe the results of linguistic contacts linguistic, social and historical factors shall be taken into consideration. Jokes (131 unit in total) have been selected according to the following components of the speech act: form of message – dialogue; sender and addressee – Latvians and non-ethnic Latvians (Russians, Poles, Jews, Gypsies, etc.) of Latgale and representatives of other regions; communication channel – oral and written communication; code – patois, dialect, language; theme – daily life, culture, religion, politics etc.; situation – Latgale of 20th century (episodically – Latvia, Russia, Germany, USA, Lithuania).</p><p>The analysis of the expressions of language contacts in the texts of jokes lets conclude how intensive the mutual contacts of various languages and their users were in Latgale in the 20th century: if in the first half of the century the linguistic contacts were extremely diverse (interaction of Latgalian Latvians, Russians, Jews, Gypsies, Polish), then in the second half of the century mostly the linguistic contacts of Latvian (Latgalian) and Russian speaking population were domineering under the impact of the russification policy.</p><p>The result of linguistic contacts are: 1) a tolerant attitude towards other languages and their users is typical for a Latgalian (character of jokes), but he/she has a negative position to an strange language (Latvian, Russian) as an expression of enforced power; 2) in the communication process one can observe intentional of code-switching and unintentional of code-mixing (basis of the comic: interlinguistic homonyms, homoforms); 3) linguistic interference: phonetic, lexical and grammatical borrowings (from Latvian, Russian, English); 4) foreign language skills (in the beginning of 20th century the modest foreigner language skills led to more frequent misunderstandings).</p><p>The achievement of the aim put forward, result is a significant component of the speech act. The analyzed material of jokes proves that in many communicative situations this aim is not reached due to the weak communicative competence of the addressee and addresser (lack of awareness, understanding and recognition of the linguistic and cultural features of the representative of another ethos). Therefore, a conversation takes place, but an intercultural dialogue is not formed. Under current complex economic, political and linguistic situation in Latvia these are significant reasons for splitting of the society.</p>

Some aspects of the formation of the cult of saints and miraculous, first of all, the icons of the Mother of God, which relate to the development of the main mythological series of the Christian ecumene and its individual ethno-national manifestations are analyzed. It is noted that the appearance of icon painting was one of the testimonies of Christianity’s departure from the ethno-national Jewish environment and the first step towards its transformation into a world religion. This step further removed Christianity from Judaism and at the same time, despite its usual representative form, from various Hellenistic cults. It is significant that the founder of iconography, St. Luke, is credited with a large number of icons of the Mother of God, as well as icons of Peter and Paul, and none of them – of Christ. It can be said that the formation of such a mythological figurative series of the Christian sacred topos testifies to the introduction of the Feminine Principle into the Christian mythologeme as an important component of it. Myth formats a new social reality, so the appearance of this tradition is natural: it creates the sacred, and therefore deep foundations of Christian art as an important component of Christian culture. This process was not vector/linear, but consisted of many parallel ethno-national components, which at their core were largely spontaneous, although their final formation had all the signs of purposeful action. However, we cannot exclude the conscious implementation of the fundamental principles of previous religions in the Christian mythological Model: Primary Chaos as the primary basis or root cause of all things, including the Cosmos, its connection with the Feminine Principle, the embodiment of the latter in the Great Mother Goddess as the creator of the entire phenomenal world (prafemimonotheism), the triad of the Creator, ect. The first icons attributed to the brush of St. Luke were the icons of Eleusa (the Virgin of Tenderness), Hodegetria (Lady of the Way) and, probably, Oranta (the Virgin Orans). The name “Hodegetria” – “guide”, “the one who points the way”, indicates the content of the primary mythologeme. The path in the sacred toposphere of various religions is the transition of an initiate to a higher level, the qualitative transformation of a disciple or pilgrim, the achievement of the condition/level of Buddha, God – Man, etc. (the path in Buddhism, the path of a Sufi, the path of Christ). In Orthodox nationalized Christianity, this hidden esoteric meaning disappears, leaving only an external form: “the guide/ the one who points the way” turns into a completely independent external factor that helps a person to receive eternal salvation not through his own efforts (passing the way), but through prayers/requests and the intercession of the Mother of God. The Orthodox interpretation goes against the compositional semantics of the image of Hodegetria, since on all its icons the dominant, central image is the image of the Virgin. And the compositional center is also a semantic Center. Not the Mother of God added to the Child, but the Child added to the Mother of God; Christ is with her, not she with Christ. Hodegetria leads (as a guide), shows the road, which in the sacred topos is the road to the Highest Principle, which can only be achieved by passing the path of radical transformation of one’s human nature. Therefore, there is every reason to interpret the image of Hodegetria as a guide on the way to the God-man that Christ was (or became). This is connected with the fact that Hodegetria holds/shows Christ as the personification of the path, as one who has passed it, but it leads along this path. And it is not surprising that in the hymn of the Greek Orthodox Church, Mary is referred to as “mystis” (the one that initiates). The cult of miraculous images of the Mother of God is a widespread phenomenon, but each country and each ethnic group forms its own hierotopic series. Keywords: Mother of God, hierotopia, Isis, icon, cult, Great Mother Goddess, Christianity, church, miracle

This article offers a translation of the hymn De Crucifixione 4 by Ephrem, the Syrian theologian, which forms part of his cycle of hymns for the celebration of Easter. The symbolic interpretation of particularly the tearing of the temple veil in this hymn – together with the cosmic signs which occurred at the death of Jesus – is investigated. An attempt is made to correlate Ephrem’s fierce anti-Jewish polemics with the intentions of the authors of the Synoptic Gospels and with Ephrem’s circumstances at the probable time of composition of the hymn.

ABSTRACT In 1899, Francis L. Cohen and David M. Davis published Kol Rinnah U’Tefillah: The Voice of Prayer and Praise. This pioneering ‘Handbook of Synagogue Music for Congregational Singing’ standardized the body of liturgical music used in Anglo-Jewish worship to this day. Early references to the volume as a ‘hymnal’ highlight parallels with Anglican music publications of the period, notably Hymns, Ancient and Modern (1861), the unofficial hymnbook of the Church of England. Published over thirty years apart, there are nonetheless striking correlations between the purpose, reception, and content of the two collections. This article explores these correlations, tracing the histories of Hymns Ancient and Modern and The Voice of Prayer and Praise in relation to two other prominent volumes published in mid-century: John Mason Neale and Thomas Helmore’s Hymnal Noted (1851) and Emanuel Aguilar and David Aaron De Sola’s The Ancient Melodies of the Spanish and Portuguese Jews (1857).

The Jews living in the state of Kerala enact their diasporic identities through a unique narrative network including songs, stories, and memoirs. Drawing on memory studies and affect theory, this article aims to examine selected Jewish folk songs as an example of entanglement of memory and culture, nostalgia and narrative. We study Oh, Lovely Parrot (2004), which is a compilation of 43 typical Kerala “parrot songs” – devotional hymns and songs for special occasions – translated from Malayalam into English by Scaria Zacharia and Barbara C. Johnson. Performances of these songs constitute cultural as well as affective phenomena that bring together Jewish identities, especially female rituals, in a collective effort to preserve their ethnic memory and its associated social identity. The music unique to this community illustrates the ancestry and tradition of the Kerala Jews which held them together even after ‘aliyah’ (a Hebrew word referring to the migration to the nation state of Israel post-1948). Using selected songs from the book, the article aims to examine the community’s cultural identity markers related to experiential and discursive diasporic memory. It also draws on the memoir Ruby of Cochin: An Indian Jewish Woman Remembers (2001) by Ruby Daniel and Barbara C. Johnson to analyse the affective quality of songs which unites the community in collective imagination and in complex nostalgia narratives.

A translation project was started during October 2004 with a small number of senior students in order to translate the Sep- tuagint (LXX) psalms into Afrikaans for the first time. The importance of the LXX for Christianity cannot be overestimated and this is an attempt to make people aware of this important first translation of the Jewish Scriptures on the African con- tinent, to give people access to it in a translation in their mother tongue, and to contribute to the importance of the psalms as a collection of hymns and prayers that is of value for the liturgy and the ministry of the church. However, a number of significant problems were encountered, among them the fact that (a) no satisfactory Greek critical text edition of the LXX psalms exists currently; (b) the LXX is already a translation from the Hebrew; (c) words have different connotations and meanings in the receptor language (Afrikaans) for different members in the group; (d) being poetic language, to what extent would a literal or a dynamic translation be more appropriate?; (e) given the pace of translation and the extent of the project, it will take quite a number of years to complete; and (f) existing dictionaries and grammars are mainly focused on the New Testament – not on the LXX. These problems are discussed by means of practical examples encountered in Psalms 1-3.

Contemporary American synagogue congregations love to sing a flowing melody for the hymn “Shalom Aleichem” to welcome the Sabbath on Friday evenings. The song has entered the Jewish folk tradition, and speaks to singers of home and nostalgia. However, the song’s history and construction reveal both its genesis in an American Jewish community in the midst of a significant transformation of nation and practice and the crucial role that it played in bringing that community together and forming the basis of a truly American style of Jewish worship. I approach this song on two fronts. My primary approach is historical, delving into the immediate circumstances under which Rabbi Israel Goldfarb composed the song in May of 1918, and the broader forces affecting Jewish religious life in the United States in the early years of the twentieth century. I address changes taking place in American Jewish life, generation gaps between American Jews, and the rise of the Jewish education movement, and I demonstrate how Goldfarb’s song reached a significant audience of adults and children alike and helped to address these transitional challenges in Jewish life. My secondary approach is socio-cultural. I ask why this particular one of the many melodies that Goldfarb composed caught the American Jewish imagination and became a foundation of contemporary American synagogue song. Its mode and its structure reveal Goldfarb’s compositional skill at combining both Jewish and Western elements into a flexible song that children could learn and pass on to their children, creating a folk song through generations of use. Taken together, these approaches demonstrate how a four-stanza hymn could pave the way for the development of an American Jewish soundscape.

In this paper, the polarity Jews :: Christians in the hymns on Easter of the fourth-century Syrian theologian Ephrem is investigated. This polarity is found to be polemical against the Jews. But since polarity is a constant feature in the work of Ephrem which serves to communicate his theological frame of mind, the question is asked whether anti-Judaism does not also serve to convey theological ideas. An attempt is made to demonstrate that anti-Judaism indeed had a theological function for Ephrem: Anti-Judaism seems to have been an aspect of Christian self-definition. It was also a way of expressing the concepts of theological balance and reciprocity.

This article presents an exegetical investigation of several Pauline texts in which he encourages early Christian communities to praise God with song and music. Paul encourages the congregation in Rome to praise God in unity. The Colossians and Ephesians are exhorted to sing in order to instruct and to admonish one another to glorify God. Furthermore Paul remarks on hymn singing in the Corinthian congregation. In this article it is indicated that influences from Jewish, Roman and Greek cultures in these different communities are probable. Each of these three cultures had a long musical tradition and thus the content and typical features of their musical traditions are investigated. Furthermore, the issue whether Paul utilised features from these musical traditions to encourage the early Christians to praise God with song and music is also explored. The article concludes that insight in these features results in a better understanding of Paul’s teaching with regard to the use of song and music in Christian worship – also for today.

Apocalyptic biblical literature has played a significant role in motivating and mobilising Christians. As part of this genre, the Apocalypse of John has played this mobilising role within the church throughout its history. Jerusalem is often incorporated into this genre to conjure up different emotions and images to impact many different people. For example, the Jew annually recites the words to fellow Jews at every Passover meal: ‘Next year in Jerusalem’. Most Christians know the hymn ‘The holy city’, originally penned by Frederic Weatherly in 1892. It lifts many a spirit as it conjures up the idea of a beautiful, perfect, heavenly city of God. However, there is more to this apocalyptic vision, which will be explored in this article. The city upholds the hope of decent godly living today. Whilst Jerusalem is a city with an extremely chequered history, it remains to be the launching pad of a dream that believers can embrace in order to impact society for the better. The vision in Revelation 21–22 is the launch of the ‘idea’ of God’s intention for society today, and the ‘implementation impetus’ is the primary role of the church. In the greater scheme of things, the world community is the target group for a better society for everyone.Aanneming van ’n visioen van die Nuwe Jerusalem (Op 21:1–22:5) ten einde ’n invloed op lewe en die samelewing uit te oefen. Apokaliptiese Bybelliteratuur het ’n beduidende rol in die motivering en aansporing van Christengemeenskappe gespeel. Die Openbaring van Johannes het hierdie motiveringsrol deurgaans in die geskiedenis van die kerkas deel van dié genre vertolk. Jerusalem is dikwels hierby ingesluit om ’n verskeidenheid van emosies en beelde op te roep ten einde ’n impak op ’n verskeidenheid mense te maak. Die Jood, byvoorbeeld, haal jaarliks die volgende woorde teenoor mede-Jode tydens die Paasmaaltyd aan: ‘Volgende jaar in Jerusalem’. Die meeste Christene ken die gesang ‘The holy city’ wat oorspronklik deur Frederic Weatherly in 1892 geskryf is. Dit hef menige gelowiges se gemoedere op omdat dit die beeld van ’n pragtige, perfekte stad van God oproep. Daar is egter meer aan hierdie openbaringsuitsig wat in hierdie artikel verder ondersoek word. Die hemelstad bekragtig die hoop vir ’n godvrugtige lewe vandag. Alhoewel Jerusalem ’n stad met ’n uiters veelbewoë geskiedenis is, is dit tog die beginpunt vir hierdie droom van gelowiges om die samelewing te verbeter. Die visioen in Openbaring 21–22 is die bekendstelling van die ‘idee’ van God se bedoeling vir ons hedendaagse samelewing en die ‘vervullende beweegkrag’ is die primêre rol van die kerk. Holisties beskou, is die wêreldgemeenskap die teikengroep vir ’n beter samelewing vir almal.

Photograph by Gonzalo Echeverria (2010)“I must plunge again and again in the water of doubt” (Wittgenstein 1e). The Holy Grail in the phenomenology of religion (and, to a lesser extent, the sociology of religion) is a definition of religion that actually works, but, so far, this seems to have been elusive. Classical definitions of religion—substantive (e.g. Tylor) and functionalist (e.g. Durkheim)—fail, in part because they attempt to be in three places at once, as it were: they attempt to distinguish religion from non-religion; they attempt to capture what religions have in common; and they attempt to grasp the “heart”, or “core”, of religion. Consequently, family resemblance definitions of religion replace certainty and precision for its own sake with a more pragmatic and heuristic approach, embracing doubt and putting forward definitions that give us a better understanding (Verstehen) of religion. In this paper, I summarise some “new” definitions of religion that take this approach, before proposing and defending another one, defining religion as non-propositional and “apophatic”, thus accepting that doubt is central to religion itself, as well as to the analysis of religion.The question of how to define religion has had real significance in a number of court cases round the world, and therefore it does have an impact on people’s lives. In Germany, for example, the courts ruled that Scientology was not a religion, but a business, much to the displeasure of the Church of Scientology (Aldridge 15). In the United States, some advocates of Transcendental Meditation (TM) argued that TM was not a religion and could therefore be taught in public schools without violating the establishment clause in the constitution—the separation of church and state. The courts in New Jersey, and federal courts, ruled against them. They ruled that TM was a religion (Barker 146). There are other cases that I could cite, but the point of this is simply to establish that the question has a practical importance, so we should move on.In the classical sociology of religion, there are a number of definitions of religion that are quite well known. Edward Tylor (424) defined religion as a belief in spiritual beings. This definition does not meet with widespread acceptance, the notable exception being Melford Spiro, who proposed in 1966 that religion was “an institution consisting of culturally patterned interaction with culturally postulated super-human beings” (Spiro 96, see also 91ff), and who has bravely stuck to that definition ever since. The major problem is that this definition excludes Buddhism, which most people do regard as a religion, although some people try to get round the problem by claiming that Buddhism is not really a religion, but more of a philosophy. But this is cheating, really, because a definition of religion must be descriptive as well as prescriptive; that is, it must apply to entities that are commonly recognised as religions. Durkheim, in The Elementary Forms of Religious Life, proposed that religion had two key characteristics, a separation of the sacred from the profane, and a gathering together of people in some sort of institution or community, such as a church (Durkheim 38, 44). However, religions often reject a separation of the sacred from the profane. Most Muslims and many Calvinist Christians, for example, would insist strongly that everything—including the ostensibly profane—is equally subject to the sovereignty of God. Also, some religions are more oriented to a guru-pupil kind of relationship, rather than a church community.Weber tried to argue that religion should only be defined at the end of a long process of historical and empirical study. He is often criticised for this, although there probably is some wisdom in his argument. However, there seems to be an implicit definition of religion as theodicy, accounting for the existence of evil and the existence of suffering. But is this really the central concern of all religions?Clarke and Byrne, in their book Religion Defined and Explained, construct a typology of definitions, which I think is quite helpful. Broadly speaking, there are two types of classical definition. Firstly, there are substantive definitions (6), such as Tylor’s and Spiro’s, which posit some sort of common “property” that religions “have”—“inside” them, as it were. Secondly, functionalist definitions (Clarke and Byrne 7), such as Durkheim’s, define religion primarily in terms of its social function. What matters, as far as a definition of religion is concerned, is not what you believe, but why you believe it.However, these classical definitions do not really work. I think this is because they try to do too many things. For a strict definition of religion to work, it needs to tell us (i) what religions have in common, (ii) what distinguishes religion on the one hand from non-religion, or everything that is not religion, on the other, and (iii) it needs to tell us something important about religion, what is at the core of religion. This means that a definition of religion has to be in three places at once, so to speak. Furthermore, a definition of religion has to be based on extant religions, but it also needs to have some sort of quasi-predictive capacity, the sort of thing that can be used in a court case regarding, for example, Scientology or Transcendental Meditation.It may be possible to resolve the latter problem by a gradual process of adjustment, a sort of hermeneutic circle of basing a definition on extant religions and applying it to new ones. But what about the other problem, the one of being in three places at once?Another type identified by Clarke and Byrne, in their typology of definitions, is the “family resemblance” definition (11-16). This derives from the later Wittgenstein. The “family resemblance” definition of religion is based on the idea that religions commonly share a number of features, but that no one religion has all of them. For example, there are religious beliefs, doctrines and mythos—or stories and parables. There are rituals and moral codes, institutions and clergy, prayers, spiritual emotions and experiences, etc. This approach is of course less precise than older substantive and functional definitions, but it also avoids some of the problems associated with them.It does so by rethinking the point of defining religion. Instead of being precise and rigorous for the sake of it, it tries to tell us something, to be “productive”, to help us understand religion better. It eschews certainty and embraces doubt. Its insights could be applied to some schools of philosophy (e.g. Heideggerian) and practical spirituality, because it does not focus on what is distinctive about religion. Rather, it focuses on the core of religion, and, secondarily, on what religions have in common. The family resemblance approach has led to a number of “new” definitions (post-Durkheim definitions) being proposed, all of which define religion in a less rigorous, but, I hope, more imaginative and heuristic way.Let me provide a few examples, starting with two contrasting ones. Peter Berger in the late 1960s defined religion as “the audacious attempt to conceive of the entire universe as humanly significant”(37), which implies a consciousness of an anthropocentric sacred cosmos. Later, Alain Touraine said that religion is “the apprehension of human destiny, existence, and death”(213–4), that is, an awareness of human limitations, including doubt. Berger emphasises the high place for human beings in religion, and even a sort of affected certainty, while Touraine emphasises our place as doubters on the periphery, but it seems that religion exists within a tension between these two opposites, and, in a sense, encompasses them both.Richard Holloway, former Bishop of Edinburgh in the Scottish Episcopal Church and arch-nemesis of the conservative Anglicans, such as those from Sydney, defines religion as like good poetry, not bad science. It is easy to understand that he is criticising those who see religion, particularly Christianity, as centrally opposed to Darwin and evolution. Holloway is clearly saying that those people have missed the point of their own faith. By “good poetry”, he is pointing to the significance of storytelling rather than dogma, and an open-ended discussion of ultimate questions that resists the temptation to end with “the moral of the story”. In science (at least before quantum physics), there is no room for doubt, but that is not the case with poetry.John Caputo, in a very energetic book called On Religion, proposes what is probably the boldest of the “new” definitions. He defines religion as “the love of God” (1). Note the contrast with Tylor and Spiro. Caputo does not say “belief in God”; he says “the love of God”. You might ask how you can love someone you don’t believe in, but, in a sense, this paradox is the whole point. When Caputo says “God”, he is not necessarily talking in the usual theistic or even theological terms. By “God”, he means the impossible made possible (10). So a religious person, for Caputo, is an “unhinged lover” (13) who loves the impossible made possible, and the opposite is a “loveless lout” who is only concerned with the latest stock market figures (2–3). In this sense of religious, a committed atheist can be religious and a devout Catholic or Muslim or Hindu can be utterly irreligious (2–3). Doubt can encompass faith and faith can encompass doubt. This is the impossible made possible. Caputo’s approach here has something in common with Nietzsche and especially Kierkegaard, to whom I shall return later.I would like to propose another definition of religion, within the spirit of these “new” definitions of religion that I have been discussing. Religion, at its core, I suggest, is non-propositional and apophatic. When I say that religion is non-propositional, I mean that religion will often enact certain rituals, or tell certain stories, or posit faith in someone, and that propositional statements of doctrine are merely reflections or approximations of this non-propositional core. Faith in God is not a proposition. The Eucharist is not a proposition. Prayer is not, at its core, a proposition. Pilgrimage is not a proposition. And it is these sorts of things that, I suggest, form the core of religion. Propositions are what happen when theologians and academics get their hands on religion, they try to intellectualise it so that it can be made to fit within their area of expertise—our area of expertise. But, that is not where it belongs. Propositions about rituals impose a certainty on them, whereas the ritual itself allows for courage in the face of doubt. The Maundy Thursday service in Western Christianity includes the stripping of the altar to the accompaniment of Psalm 22 (“My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me”), ending the service without a dismissal (Latin missa, the origin of the English “mass”) and with the church in darkness. Doubt, confusion, and bewilderment are the heart and soul of this ritual, not orthodox faith as defined propositionally.That said, religion does often involve believing, of some kind (though it is not usually as central as in Christianity). So I say that religion is non-propositional and apophatic. The word “apophatic”, though not the concept, has its roots in Greek Orthodox theology, where St Gregory Palamas argues that any statement about God—and particularly about God’s essence as opposed to God’s energies—must be paradoxical, emphasising God’s otherness, and apophatic, emphasising God’s essential incomprehensibility (Armstrong 393). To make an apophatic statement is to make a negative statement—instead of saying God is king, lord, father, or whatever, we say God is not. Even the most devout believer will recognise a sense in which God is not a king, or a lord, or a father. They will say that God is much greater than any of these things. The Muslim will say “Allahu Akhbar”, which means God is greater, greater than any human description. Even the statement “God exists” is seen to be well short of the mark. Even that is human language, which is why the Cappadocian fathers (Saints Basil the Great, Gregory of Nyssa, and Gregory Naziansus) said that they believed in God, while refusing to say that God exists.So to say that religion is at its core non-propositional is to say that religious beliefs are at their core apophatic. The idea of apophasis is that by a process of constant negation you are led into silence, into a recognition that there is nothing more that can be said. St Thomas Aquinas says that the more things we negate about God, the more we say “God is not…”, the closer we get to what God is (139). Doubt therefore brings us closer to the object of religion than any putative certainties.Apophasis does not only apply to Christianity. I have already indicated that it applies also to Islam, and the statement that God is greater. In Islam, God is said to have 99 names—or at least 99 that have been revealed to human beings. Many of these names are apophatic. Names like The Hidden carry an obviously negative meaning in English, while, etymologically, “the Holy” (al-quddu-s) means “beyond imperfection”, which is a negation of a negation. As-salaam, the All-Peaceful, means beyond disharmony, or disequilibrium, or strife, and, according to Murata and Chittick (65–6), “The Glorified” (as-subbuh) means beyond understanding.In non-theistic religions too, an apophatic way of believing can be found. Key Buddhist concepts include sunyata, emptiness, or the Void, and anatta, meaning no self, the belief or realisation that the Self is illusory. Ask what they believe in instead of the Self and you are likely to be told that you are missing the point, like the Zen pupil who confused the pointing finger with the moon. In the Zen koans, apophasis plays a major part. One well-known koan is “What is the sound of one hand clapping?” Any logical answers will be dismissed, like Thomas Aquinas’s statements about God, until the pupil gets beyond logic and achieves satori, or enlightenment. Probably the most used koan is Mu—Master Joshu is asked if a dog has Buddha-nature and replies Mu, meaning “no” or “nothing”. This is within the context of the principle that everything has Buddha-nature, so it is not logical. But this apophatic process can lead to enlightenment, something better than logic. By plunging again and again in the water of doubt, to use Wittgenstein’s words, we gain something better than certainty.So not only is apophasis present in a range of different religions—and I have given just a few examples—but it is also central to the development of religion in the Axial Age, Karl Jaspers’s term for the period from about 800-200 BCE when the main religious traditions of the world began—monotheism in Israel (which also developed into Christianity and Islam), Hinduism and Buddhism in India, Confucianism and Taoism in China, and philosophical rationalism in Greece. In the early Hindu traditions, there seems to have been a sort of ritualised debate called the Brahmodya, which would proceed through negation and end in silence. Not the silence of someone admitting defeat at the hands of the other, but the silence of recognising that the truth lay beyond them (Armstrong 24).In later Hinduism, apophatic thought is developed quite extensively. This culminates in the idea of Brahman, the One God who is Formless, beyond all form and all description. As such, all representations of Brahman are equally false and therefore all representations are equally true—hence the preponderance of gods and idols on the surface of Hinduism. There is also the development of the idea of Atman, the universal Self, and the Buddhist concept anatta, which I mentioned, is rendered anatman in Sanskrit, literally no Atman, no Self. But in advaita Hinduism there is the idea that Brahman and Atman are the same, or, more accurately, they are not two—hence advaita, meaning “not two”. This is negation, or apophasis. In some forms of present-day Hinduism, such as the International Society for Krishna Consciousness (commonly known as the Hare Krishnas), advaita is rejected. Sometimes this is characterised as dualism with respect to Brahman and Atman, but it is really the negation of non-dualism, or an apophatic negation of the negation.Even in early Hinduism, there is a sort of Brahmodya recounted in the Rig Veda (Armstrong 24–5), the oldest extant religious scripture in the world that is still in use as a religious scripture. So here we are at the beginning of Axial Age religion, and we read this account of creation:Then was not non-existent nor existent: there was no realm of air, no sky beyond it.Death was not then, nor was there aught immortal.Darkness there was: at first concealed in darkness this All was indiscriminated chaos.All that existed then was void and form less.Sages who searched with their heart's thought discovered the existent's kinship in the non-existent.Who verily knows and who can here declare it, whence it was born and whence comes this creation?The Gods are later than this world's production. Who knows then whence it first came into being?He, the first origin of this creation, whether he formed it all or did not form it,Whose eye controls this world in highest heaven, he verily knows it, or perhaps he knows not.(Rig Veda Book 10, Hymn 129, abridged)And it would seem that this is the sort of thought that spread throughout the world as a result of the Axial Age and the later spread of Axial and post-Axial religions.I could provide examples from other religious traditions. Taoism probably has the best examples, though they are harder to relate to the traditions that are more familiar in the West. “The way that is spoken is not the Way” is the most anglicised translation of the opening of the Tao Te Ching. In Sikhism, God’s formlessness and essential unknowability mean that God can only be known “by the Guru’s grace”, to quote the opening hymn of the Guru Granth Sahib.Before I conclude, however, I would like to anticipate two criticisms. First, this may only be applicable to the religions of the Axial Age and their successors, beginning with Hinduism and Buddhism, Taoism and Confucianism, and early Jewish monotheism, followed by Jainism, Christianity, Islam and so on. I would like to find examples of apophasis at the core of other traditions, including Indigenous Australian and Native American ones, for example, but that is work still to be done. Focusing on the Axial Age does historicise the argument, however, at least in contrast with a more universal concept of religion that runs the risk of falling into the ahistorical homo religiosus idea that humans are universally and even naturally religious. Second, this apophatic definition looks a bit elitist, defining religion in terms that are relevant to theologians and “religious virtuosi” (to use Weber’s term), but what about the ordinary believers, pew-fillers, temple-goers? In response to such criticism, one may reply that there is an apophatic strand in what Niebuhr called the religions of the disinherited. In Asia, devotion to the Buddha Amida is particularly popular among the poor, and this involves a transformation of the idea of anatta—no Self—into an external agency, a Buddha who is “without measure”, in terms of in-finite light and in-finite life. These are apophatic concepts. In the Christian New Testament, we are told that God “has chosen the foolish things of this world to shame the wise, the weak to shame the strong…, the things that are not to shame the things that are” (1 Corinthians 1:27). The things that are not are the apophatic, and these are allied with the foolish and the weak, not the educated and the powerful.One major reason for emphasising the role of apophasis in religious thought is to break away from the idea that the core of religion is an ethical one. This is argued by a number of “liberal religious” thinkers in different religious traditions. I appreciate their reasons, and I am reluctant to ally myself with their opponents, who include the more fundamentalist types as well as some vocal critics of religion like Dawkins and Hitchens. However, I said that I would return to Kierkegaard, and the reason is this. Kierkegaard distinguishes between the aesthetic, the ethical and the religious. Of course, religion has an aesthetic and an ethical dimension, and in some religions these dimensions are particularly important, but that does not make them central to religion as such. Kierkegaard regarded the religious sphere as radically different from the aesthetic or even the ethical, hence his treatment of the story of Abraham going to Mount Moriah to sacrifice his son, in obedience to God’s command. His son was not killed in the end, but Abraham was ready to do the deed. This is not ethical. This is fundamentally and scandalously unethical. Yet it is religious, not because it is unethical and scandalous, but because it pushes us to the limits of our understanding, through the waters of doubt, and then beyond.Were I attempting to criticise religion, I would say it should not go there, that, to misquote Wittgenstein, the limits of my understanding are the limits of my world, whereof we cannot understand thereof we must remain silent. Were I attempting to defend religion, I would say that this is its genius, that it can push back the limits of understanding. I do not believe in value-neutral sociology, but, in this case, I am attempting neither. ReferencesAldridge, Alan. Religion in the Contemporary World. Cambridge: Polity, 2000.Aquinas, Thomas. “Summa of Christian Teaching”. An Aquinas Reader. ed. Mary Clarke. New York: Doubleday, 1972.Armstrong, Karen. The Great Transformation. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2006.Barker, Eileen. New Religious Movements: a Practical Introduction. London: HMSO, 1989.Berger, Peter. 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