City Of The Beloved

OTHER CONCEPTUALIZATIONS:

So what of the notion of a “New Jerusalem” (qua eschatological locution) after JoN’s fabled ministry?  As it turns out, this idiom became all the rage during Late Antiquity.

In the 2nd century, the Christian cynosure, Montanus, proclaimed Pepuza and Tymion (in Phrygia) as the site of this “New Jerusalem” (alt. “Zion”).  In the 5th century, Roman Catholic proselyte, Augustine of Hippo famously posited the “New Jerusalem” as a HEAVENLY city, the “Civitate Dei” [“City of God”], which–according to his eschatological musings–was pitted against the dominion of the dastardly pagans.  This had spiritual significance as well–hence the adage, “the kingdom of god is within you” found in the Gospel of Matthew.

The trope persisted into the modern age.  Tolstoy echoed Kant’s idiom (that the “divine law” is within each of us), asserting that the “kingdom of god” is within each of us.  The “New Jerusalem” was not on a tract of land to be seized; it was an ideal to be realized.

It should come as little surprise, then, that Christian Puritans who arrived in what they saw as the New World claimed various places throughout the Americas to be the anointed place.  Others continued the convention of associating the “temenos” with a specific location:

• English Puritan, Oliver Cromwell, designated London as the new Zion.
• Dutch prophet, Jan Matthias of Haarlem designated Münster, Germany as the “New Jerusalem” (effectively making Westphalia the new Zion.)
• In concocting his cult of the “Supreme Being”, Maximilien Robespierre claimed it was Paris.
• Solomonic Christians and Rastafarians placed it in Ethiopia.
• And to this day, Mormons claim it shall be in Jackson County, Missouri. 

In every one of these cases, we encounter the conceit of a “chosen people” with an eye on a certain worldly location which is reserved EXCLUSIVELY FOR THEM.

In 1890, the founder of the “Social Gospel” movement declared of the American frontier: “Here upon these plains, the problems of history are to be solved.  Here–if anywhere–is to rise that city of God, the New Jerusalem, whose glories are to fill the Earth.”  For him, the chosen people were WASPs who were settling the lands ever-farther westward.

Prophets who claimed to be leading the way to a “New Jerusalem” had begun with Y’hez’qel of Anathoth (a.k.a. “Ezekiel”).  In Christendom, it had continued on through Montanus of Phrygia (in Mysia) to John Calvin (in Geneva).  Irrespective of time and place, the idiom had an undeniable poignancy for many people.

In the so-called “New World”, Puritan fanatic, John Winthrop (of “city upon a hill” fame) dubbed his settlement in New England “the place where the Lord will create a New Heaven and a New Earth”…echoing Augustine of Hippo’s “City of God” motif.  The “Promised Land” would thenceforth be the land of promise: the Americas.  It’s not for nothing that Winthrop christened his base of operations in the Massachusetts Bay Colony, “Salem”: the Biblical name for the “temenos” that preceded the City of David.  And what of the indigenous population?  As heathens, they had no claim upon the land.  (Impelled by delusions of Providentialism, Winthrop can be said to have been the father of American Exceptionalism.)  When the “New Jerusalem” is at stake, there is unlimited license to effect “lebensraum” for the Chosen.

Behold an eschatology in which the in-group is exalted while the out-group is denigrated.  The designated location invariably ended up being whatever place on which they had their sights set.  It’s not so much that they staked their claim on the place because it was the temenos; it was fashioned as the temenos because that is where they wanted to stake their claim.  (After all, one glorifies one’s tribe by, well, STAKING ONE’S CLAIM.)  It is no coincidence, then, that these proclamations are shot through with self-serving Providentialism. 

A pattern here is easy to note.  The envisioned “Promised Land” was more a land that OFFERED promise than a land that had BEEN promised (to the Hebrews or to anyone else).  That is to say: It was a place that was seen as, well, promising.  For any group that fashioned itself as specially-selected for a divinely-ordained mission, these iterations of Zion-redux ended up being wherever votaries happened to fancy their worldly telos.  (How quickly a farcical etiology translates to farcical eschatology!)

This is, of course, standard when it comes to Holy Writ, as verbiage is super-saturated with possible connotations.  What with so much (often chimerical) subtext, verses are ripe for exegetical shenanigans.  Indeed, unscrupulous exegetes engage in endless bouts of hermeneutic chicanery to get things to mean what they want them to mean.  (Importing the desired interpretation INTO the source-material is known as “eisegesis”: a kind of exegesis-in-reverse.)  In assaying any sacred text, we must always be wary of those with a vested interest in certain foregone conclusions.  Why bother?  Hermeneutic chicanery comes in very handy when it comes to justifying an agenda; for an exalted legacy can be parlayed into an exalted destiny.  A confabulated heritage is be put in the service of entitlements (e.g. “Jerusalem” as the eternal capital of Beth Israel).

As discussed in the previous essay (on the Land of Purple), the Promised Land was not so much a particular place as it was an IDEAL.  This poignant idiom withstood the test of time, and continued into the modern age.  In his final speech (Memphis, 1968), Martin Luther King Jr. averred: “[God] has allowed me to go up to the mountain.  And I’ve looked over and seen the Promised Land.  I may not get there with you.  But I want you to know tonight that we as a People will get to the Promised Land.”  For those smitten with the Abrahamic tradition, “Zion” was a vision that held bounteous promise rather than a title-deed to a piece of real estate.  It provided believers with something to look forward to.  (Such is the nature of eschatons.)  The idiom goes back to Genesis 32:1-2, where Judea is initially referred to as the “Land of Promise”.

Symbolically, Jerusalem (alt. “Zion”) was a panacea more than it was a physical location–in the Levant or anywhere else.  But, of course, an ACTUAL location needed to be anointed so as to assert a presence.  After all, that’s how the positing of a temenos works.  But that was a matter of couching geo-political designs in theological terms.

We might note that the theme of a celestial “promised land” is not unique to Abrahamic theology.  We find a similar motif in Buddhism–as with “Pure Land”, which was derived from the ancient notion of the “buddhakshetra” (“Buddha-Field”).  Every Grand Narrative needs a “once upon a time” AND a “happily ever after”–something to which one may harken back and something to which one can look forward.  Such thinking stands to reason, as legacy and destiny are often symbiotic.  This is especially so when it comes to grandiose proclamations of divine Providence.

The diversion of attention from the material world (“dunya”) to the hereafter (“akhira”) would be put into overdrive in Islamic theology.  For Muslims, the promised land is NOT of this world; it was ONLY in heaven.  (Again: for further discussion of the variegated treatment of a “Promised Land” in Abrahamic lore, see my previous essay on “The Land Of Purple”.)

The yearning for a “New Jerusalem” seemed to reflect an inclination to MOVE ON–that is: to forge a new path into uncharted territory–both metaphorical and geographical–based upon what had (purportedly) been prophesied by forebears.  In an important sense, then, this theological panacea was not a specific (worldly) place to be settled; it was an ideal to be realized.  This is why it made sense to his (Jewish) followers when Jesus of Nazareth–who considered himself a Jew carrying on the Abrahamic tradition–specified that “my kingdom is not of this world”. {24}

The New Testament bears this out.  For the early Christians, a non-geographic sense of the “New Jerusalem” (alt. “Zion”) was in keeping with the idea that the “kingdom of god” was a frame of mind, not a specific place–as when we are told that the kingdom of god is “at hand” in the Gospel of Matthew (3:2).  And so it went in Christian eschatology: Kingdom Come is not a physical location, it is something that is PREACHED–as in Matthew 4:17/23 and 10:7; Luke 4:43 and 10:9; as well as Luke’s “Acts of the Apostles” (8:12, 14:22, 19:8, 20:25, and 28:23/31).

So if not the city-in-question, then was there a location with which the Jewish people were primarily affiliated?  No.  Luke’s Book Of Acts reminds us that Jews were not affiliated with any specific PLACE–as when it states that at the time of the Pentecost, there were some “devout Jews from every nation under heaven” residing in Jerusalem (2:5).  In other words, the majority of “Beth Israel” did not hail from Palestine.  Of course, the Maccabees and Essenes–followed by the Sadducees and Pharisees–associated themselves with Judea (which was at various points Assyrian, Persian, Seleucid, Ptolemaic, and Roman); but–pace the Hasmoneans–the main centers of Hellenistic Judaism were Alexandria in Egypt and Antioch in Syria…along with the Talmudic academies of Mesopotamia.

During Late Antiquity, the majority of the world’s Jews were not in Palestine; they were predominantly located in Mesopotamia, Anatolia, Egypt, the Maghreb, and Andalusia.  Over time, the remainder of the diaspora came to be scattered across the Mediterranean basin–as “Sephardim”.  Thus the third book of the “Oracula Sibyllina” (from the 2nd century B.C.) said of Beth Israel: “Every land is full of thee and every sea.”  Pace the Samaritans, the oldest continuous Judaic community in the world, the Romaniote Jews, trace their origins to Greece.

Tellingly, Jewish scholars founded the famed “Geniza” library–the primary repository for Judaic texts–at Fustat (Cairo) in Egypt, not in the city of David.  This was not because the rabbinic sages were somehow prevented from founding it in Palestine–as both Egypt and Palestine were typically under the same rulers (the Fatimids, then the Mamluks), or under Muslim rulers that were comparably hospitable–as with the Seljuks / Ayyubids in the Levant.  Meanwhile, the great Talmudic academies (spec. Pumbedita and Sura) were in Babylonia, not in the city of David.  Again, this was not because the Muslim rulers were preventing such schools from being established in one location and not another.

As already mentioned, the city of David came to be referred to as “Aelia Capitolina” by the Romans during the pre-Christian era of the empire.  During the Middle Ages, the Judaic moniker for the city was eventually Romanized to “Hiero-solyma” [alt. “Hiero-solymitanum” / “Hiero-solymitanus” / “Hiero-solymitanae”] by the magisterium of the Christianized empire.  This moniker became especially salient when the city became one of the focal points of the Crusades.

The etymology seems to have come directly from the Koine Greek, “[h]Ierousalem”, which was an exaltation of the (pre-Jewish) Canaanite deity.  The key element in this nomenclature was the Greek lexeme for “sacred” / “holy” (“[h]Ierous”) combined with the ancient city-name “S[h]alem” (not–as has been contended by Revisionist Zionist historiographers–with the Hebrew term for “peace”: “shalom”).  Thus: Sacred / Holy S[h]alem.  (The etymological relation between the place named “Salem” and the god named “Shalim” is up for debate.  The morphologic similarity may or may not be a coincidence.  Either way, that “S[h]alim” was the Ugaritic name for a Canaanite deity is something Revisionist Zionists would much prefer we forget.)  Thus the real etymology is elided by changing the moniker from “Yir’eh Shalem” [Shalem Sees] to “Yerushalayim”.

It entered the medieval European lexicon largely through the Franks, who undertook the Crusades and became fixated on the city in a way that no European ever had before.  The familiar moniker was thus inaugurated–as used in the Frankish “Chanson de Jérusalem” c. 1100.

Places are often re-branded in order to assert cultural ownership.  (Even DEITIES are often re-branded.)  Such re-branding was illustrated when the earliest Mohammedans re-named the city-in-question, “Madinat Bayt al-Maqdis[h]” [“City of the Holy House”] upon seizing it in the 7th century.  Where might THAT moniker have come from?  “m’K-D-Sh” was based on the Judaic term for Solomon’s Temple (rendered “Beit ha-Mikdash”), as “K-D-Sh” was the Semitic tri-root for “holy”.

Palestinian Arabs later referred to the location as “Al-Quds” [that which is holy].  When the Caliph Umar seized the city a few years after MoM’s death, not once did he refer to it as “Yerushalem” (or the Hebraic variants thereof).  To the Muslims of the Middle Ages, the city came to be known as the venue for “Al-Aqsa” (the farthest sanctuary, later assumed to have been located on the Temple Mount).  Even with regards to the fabled “Night Journey” in the Koran, whereupon MoM was whisked away to the site on his magical steed, it was STILL not called “Yerushalem”.  To the present day, the location is simply referred to as “Al-Aqsa”.

Meanwhile, the Persians referred to it in Pahlavi as “Kang Diz Huxt”.

To review: The familiar (Anglo-Saxon / Latin / Hebrew) monikers for the city of David end up being roughly-hewn cognates of the following:

• Yeru-Shalim: “Foundation of Shalim” in Sumerian
• [u]Ru-sh[a]lim[a]: “City of Shalim” in Ugaritic
• Uru-shlem: Old Aramaic (derived from the Ugaritic)
• Yerushalem [alt. “Yarushalem”]: “Dwelling place of Shalem” in Biblical Aramaic
• Yir’eh Shalem: “Shalem Sees” [alt. “He will see Shalem”] in Classical Hebrew (adapted from the Biblical Aramaic)
• Urishlem: Syriac (derived from the Old Aramaic, possibly via Samaritan)
• [h]Ierousalem: “holy S[h]alem” in Koine Greek
• Yerushalayim: Mishnaic Hebrew (a modification of the Classical Hebrew)
• Hiero-solyma: Vulgar Latin (a hybridization of the Greek and Mishnaic Hebrew)
• Jérusalem: Frankish

Recall that the moniker used when the city was associated with the Jebusites in the 2nd millennium B.C.: “Yabusu” (rendered “Jebus” in Classical Hebrew).  In fact, when the Babylonian scribes FIRST referred to the city-in-question in their composition of the Torah, they simply referred to it as “the Jebusite city”.  This tells us how the Jews thought of the city even during the Exilic Period. (!)  The appellation used when the city was first affiliated with the Abrahamic tradition was “Ir David” (city of David).

We might also recall the appellations used elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible: “Har [t]Siyon” (mount Zion) and “Bet[h]-El” (House of El).  And let’s not forgot Ezekiel’s positing of the nebulous “YHWH-Shammah” (place where Yahweh dwells): an explicit repudiation of the antecedent moniker used in Biblical Aramaic (place where Shalim dwells).  Branding is a powerful tool when it comes to managing perceptions.

When it comes to the city-in-question, the pivotal hermeneutic transition occurred at some point in Classical Antiquity, whereupon the Biblical Aramaic (the language in which the Babylonian scribes would have initially composed Judaic scripture) was rendered in Classical Hebrew (established as the liturgical language of Judaism).  As mentioned, the first time the city is referred to–in Judaic scripture–using the familiar moniker (“Yerushalem”) is AFTER the Torah–in the Book of Joshua (chapt. 10), and then in Second Samuel, as well as First and Second Kings…followed by supplementary material in First and Second Chronicles. {18}  In other words: The Jews did not start designating the city in this manner until after the cognate had already been in use for many centuries…by various other peoples.

Thereafter, the familiar moniker was used in the Books of Isaiah, Ezekiel, Jeremiah, Zechariah, and Ezra / Nehemiah.  It also occurs in the poetic literature: Ecclesiastes, the Song of Solomon, the Psalms, and the BoL–all of which were not compiled until the Hasmonean period.

Bottom line: The prevailing moniker was an inheritance from antecedent cultures…going back to the Sumerians.  In the advent of the Exilic Period, there came a point when the Jews stopped designating the location simply as “the city of David” and “House of El”, and adopted the pre-existing moniker.  They did so by adapting the extant Aramaic phonemes to their new liturgical language.  It is likely that this was done as a way for them–as practitioners of a distinct new Faith–to stake their claim on the city.  This would have been seen as an important thing to do since it was the place associated with the rule of David and Solomon (according to their own lore)…even as it had mostly been ruled by pagans ever since.

As we have seen, during Late Antiquity, the writers of the Mishna decided to further modify the moniker by inserting a yod between the lamedh and the mem.  Why did they do this?  A good guess: semiotic elision.  They wanted to nullify the part that referred to the Canaanite deity, “Shalim” (by rendering that part of the word “-shalayim”).  Tellingly, this onomastic modification would later be reflected in the Vulgar Latin version of the moniker. {19}  Note, though, that the modification does not exist in the Koine Greek version that preceded it (demonstrating it to be a later development).

Koine Greek was used from the 3rd century B.C. (as attested by the earliest Septuagint) into the 3rd century A.D., when it fell into disuse.  But the Romans did not start using Vulgar Latin for scripture until the end of the 4th century–when the Empire officially became a Christian theocracy (and thereby became especially invested in Abrahamic lore).  Lo and behold: It was precisely during this intervening period (the 2nd century thru the 4th century A.D.) that the major Mishnaic texts were composed (e.g. the writings of Judah the Prince and Rabbi Meir).  It would make sense that the Rabbinic sages would insert the yod pursuant to the devastating failure of the Bar Kokhba revolt, when–in an effort to assert a gilded legacy–they sought to sever the city’s ties with its pagan past; and identify it as an exclusively Abrahamic city.  (If the Jews could not lay claim to the city in fact, they could at least take ownership of the prevailing nomenclature.)  By simply inserting the yod, the moniker was given a semiotic re-set.  This was a way of staking their claim on the city SYMBOLICALLY even as it could not be a Jewish city geo-politically.  The moniker’s etymological origins in the pagan “Shalim” were thereby occluded by a subtle onomastic tweak.  This semiotic elision remains firmly in place–as a version of the yod-inclusive moniker (“Yerushalayim”) is used to the present day.

During the Middle Ages, some of those who composed the Midrash re-jiggered the etymology yet again–retroactively interpreting the moniker as “City of Peace”.  This philological hornswoggle was done by exploiting the fact that “shalom” is phonetically similar to “shalem”.  (That the city has been the most hotly-contested–and thus the LEAST peaceful–city on the planet since the Iron Age is an irony that seems to be lost on those who countenance this confabulated etymology.)  We know this is baloney, as treating the “shalem” as a variant of “shalom” does not explain why Mishnaic scribes found the need to insert the yod.  Nor does it explain why Talmudic sages sometimes interpreted the extant phonology as a reference to the city of Melchizedek–which was named “S[h]alem”. {2}  Clearly, the inclusion of the yod was an innovation intended to obfuscate the fact that the city was originally named after a pre-Judaic Canaanite deity.

As can be seen in the adumbration above, there occurred an onomastic metamorphosis that was based more on phonology than on semiotics.  Such a metamorphosis is commonplace–especially when it comes to the etymology of city names.

And so it went with the Christians of medieval Europe: Staking their claim on this auspicious Palestinian city for Christendom was largely about making a religious statement–and asserting imperial power–rather than about, say, restoring a place to its rightful Hebrew heirs (which was certainly not something they believed they were doing, nor would have wanted to do).  After all, Roman Catholics notoriously harbored virulent antipathies toward the Jews; and so were hardly concerned with revivifying Judaic legacies.  The Christians’ nomenclature-of-choice was for the Crusaders, not for Beth Israel.

That denizens of the Holy Roman Empire opted for their own (Romanized) version of the moniker makes sense–especially once we consider the eschatology of the “New Jerusalem” discussed above.  The religiously-charged onomastics gave prodigious narrative ballast to the Providentialism that they so assiduously touted.  Moreover, THIS moniker could be held in contradistinction to the favored moniker of the despised Mohammedans: “Al-Quds”.

To recapitulate: During the Middle Ages, the Jewish presence in Jerusalem was somewhat limited.  There are several tell-tale signs that this was the case.  In the 13th century, the Andalusian Kabbalist, Moses ben Nahman of Girona / Catalonia (a.k.a. “Nachmanides”; “Ramban”) sought to establish a Jewish presence in the city (spending three years in Palestine, though–tellingly–he resided primarily in Acre, not in Jerusalem).  This means that there was not ALREADY a prominent Jewish presence there.  Then, in the late 15th century (pursuant to the Jews being expelled from the Iberian peninsula), the Italian rabbi, Obadiah ben Abraham of Bertinoro [Emilia-Romagna] was celebrated for his efforts to bolster Judaic activity in the city.  Again, if it was already understood to be a Judaic city, this would not have been considered such a big deal. {20}

It is telling that these Renaissance figures earned their fame for their endeavor to jump-start a Jewish presence in Jerusalem.  In other words: These men became renown simply for evangelizing there; which tells us that the city was in no way thought of as (already) Jewish.  Otherwise, mere proselytization there would not have warranted such notoriety.

What WOULD have been noteworthy in the medieval world would have been, say, a Sufi “wali” promulgating Islam in London (never happened)…or, say, a Trappist monk promulgating Christianity in Medina (never happened)…or, as was actually the case, rabbis trying to augment the (limited) Jewish presence in Jerusalem.  The key difference, of course, was that the city of David was part of Judaic lore; so the motives for doing so were relatively straight-forward.

Barring the legends of David and his heir, Solomon, during its earliest centuries, the City of David was not the center of Judaic activity.  In its earliest centuries, the Abrahamic deity was worshipped variously at S[h]alem, Gibeon, She[c]hem, Bethel, Gilgal, Mizpah, Ramah, and Dan (a.k.a. “Shfela”). {2}  Thereafter, the Jewish kingdom (that of Judah) had its capital at Hebron before being re-located to “Ir D-w-D” [City of the Beloved] (a.k.a. the city of David).

In Late Antiquity, the city of David was typically not the center of Judaic activity.  For instance: In the late 1st century, the Pharisees (who were still in descent standing with the Roman authorities) opted to set up shop on the coast, in Yavneh.  And in the late 2nd century, even as the “tanna”, Judah ha-Nasi spent his career in Judea, his famed student (“Abba” Arikha bar Aybo; a.k.a. the “Rav”) opted to practice not in the city of David, but in the Babylonian academy at Sura.

Throughout the Middle Ages, the city of David was STILL not the center of Judaic activity.  (As mentioned, the primary Talmudic academies were in Babylonia.)  Indeed, the vast majority of the geonim were located in Mesopotamia, Egypt, the Maghreb, and Andalusia.  During the Renaissance, Jerusalem was STILL not a center for Judaic activity.  The most well-known rabbi to go to Palestine was Joseph Saragossi, who–in the late 15th century–opted to establish a yeshiva at Safed in Galilee.  The only figure to attempt to establish a small community in Jerusalem was the Italian rabbi, Obadiah ben Abraham of Bertinoro (Romagna) c. 1500.  Yet he ultimately opted for Hebron instead.  (His focus seemed to primarily be the Jews in Alexandria.)  And when Joseph Nasi sought to establish a small community in Palestine in the 1560’s, he opted for Tiberias and Safed (both in Galilee).  During the Middle Ages, the majority of Palestinian Jews could be found in places like Haifa, Ramla (alt. “Ramleh”), Caesarea Palaestina [Maritima], and Ashkelon. {9}

When Kabbalists of the era sought to teach in Palestine, they opted for places other than Jerusalem.  In the mid-16th century, Isaac ben Solomon Luria (said to have been born in Jerusalem, though that may be apocryphal) opted for Safed.  Then, in 1599, Abraham ben Mordecai Azulai–who hailed from Fez, Morocco–opted for Hebron.  When he had to temporarily leave Hebron, he opted for Gaza City.  He was never inclined to step foot in Jerusalem.  This was not because the option was unavailable to him.  The Ottomans did not forbid Jews from residing in–and observing in–the City of David.

As recently as the early 18th century, the most renown rabbi in Palestine (Hayyim Abraham Israel ben Benjamin Ze’evi) operated out of Hebron, not Jerusalem.  It was not until the Zionist movement began in the late 19th century that the City of David became an axis mundi for Beth Israel.  Subsequently, a tiny subset of world Jewry started to assert a god-given right to the city.  That Revisionist Zionists now proclaim Jerusalem to be OUR city–and ONLY OURS–is nothing short of preposterous.

The identities of cities around the world have undergone onomastic metamorphoses.  In each case, we find a meandering process whereby a given urban center comes to be associated with different ethnicities over time.  Sometimes this involves a continuum of epochs that pertain to a distinct lineage; but it often involves momentous transitions: pivotal points in time whereby the city comes to be associated with an entirely different legacy.  How this goes depends on who’s doing the labeling (read: who’s controlling the narrative).  As it turns out, most of the world’s great cities have undergone numerous name-changes.  (China’s capital, “Bei-jing”, has undergone at least FIFTEEN such name changes.)

As we have seen, over the course of the Middle Ages, the city of David came to be referred to in emphatically Biblical terms.  Hence: “Hiero-solyma” (and the aforementioned Latin variants) by those in Christendom.  To reiterate: This was an appellation coined in the midst of the religious turmoil of the epoch, employed throughout the Occident for primarily ideological purposes.  This nomenclature was espoused because, in the midst of the fervor of the Crusades, the (Roman Catholic) Franks sought to emphasize the (farcical) Judeo-Christian heritage of the fabled city, thereby legitimizing THEIR claim (rather than the heretical Saracens’ claim) upon it.  That claim was more about religious symbolism than it was about anything else.  For it was necessary to rationalize their god-given claim on what was purported to be the City Of God.

The Roman Catholics’ nomenclature reflected this thinking…just as the Mohammedans’ choice of moniker, “Al-Quds” [the holy place] served THEIR claim upon the city.  Meanwhile, throughout the Early Modern period, the Ottomans referred to the city as “Kud[u]s-i Sherif”, another case of re-branding for political purposes.  Such onomastic ramification is typical.

And so it went: In the modern age, “Yerushalayim” became the preferred moniker for virtually anyone living in the Occident.  It was for primarily ideological reasons that the Judeo-Christian folklore surrounding the storied Palestinian city eventually took on a life of its own.  The contrived legacy became completely disconnected from historical reality.  Ironically, this farcical heritage would be a boon for the fascistic incarnation of Zionism that emerged in the 20th century.

Today, we simply assume–erroneously–that the city has always been “Jerusalem” (the Anglicized version of the Semitic moniker).  According to this thinking, such a portrayal is perfectly in keeping with the tales found in the Hebrew Bible…which was written during and after the Exilic Period…primarily by Babylonian scribes.  As a consequence of this misapprehension, those enraptured by a fantastical Judeo-Christian historiography are inclined to suppose that the city is somehow inherently Judaic…or at least inherently Biblical.

The flights of fancy involved here are demonstrated by the Judaic pilgrimage of the modern era.  Insofar as the former venue of Solomon’s storied temple is considered consecrated Abrahamic ground, delusive thinking is afoot; as the rational for Jews’ exclusive claim upon the site are based largely on farce.  The “Kotel” (a.k.a. the “Wailing Wall”), which is purported to be the “western wall” of what was once the second temple, is–it turns out–the remains of a rampart that was erected by the Romans under Herod.  (For more on Herodian construction projects, see the Appendix.)

The Romans razed the temple of this era in 70 A.D.  In the opening passage of Book VII of “Ioudaikou Polemou” (written about five years later), the Jewish chronicler, Josephus relays that the entire structure was demolished: “It was so thoroughly laid level with the ground–by those who [even] dug up the foundation–that there was nothing left to indicate to anyone who went there that it had ever existed.”  Obviously, what is now a large wall could not be part of something that no longer existed.

It is ironic that devout Jews now bow before a structure that was built by those who oppressed and persecuted their forebears.

It should come as no surprise, then, that this wall was not rendered a place of prayer for Jews until almost 1700. (!)  It became a slightly more common site to pray in the advent of (secular) Zionism in the 1890’s.  It was not until fifty years after THAT (in the 1940’s) that the wall became an iconic structure–and thus a significant (sacred) location for Jewish propitiation.  The myth that this wall was part of Solomon’s temple is part of more recent (Revisionist Zionist) propaganda.  (Note that Jews are not alone in their delusion.  Muslims fashion the location to be the launching-point for their prophet’s glorious ascent into heaven on a winged horse, during the fabled “Night Journey”.)

We might note that the early Zionists did not consider Jerusalem a place that was to be annexed–let alone a trophy to be won.  They were primarily concerned with setting up humble kibbutzim in the Galilean countryside and peaceably settling in coastal towns.  That was the original vision of the (secular) socialist movement–who’s participants merely sought a safe haven for the oppressed Jews of Europe (a measure that was warranted at the time).

In the advent of the Zionist movement of the 19th century, the Jewish population in the city increased appreciably.  By 1900, there were roughly 30 thousand Jews in the city.  (To put this in perspective: During the Nakba of 1948, over 30 thousand Palestinian Arabs were forced out of their homes in west Jerusalem alone.)

Different groups perceive the world through different prisms; as they are inclined to project their own (current) interests onto a re-rendering of history tailored to suit their needs.  Ideologues are quick to subscribe to a bespoke narrative that legitimizes all their claims.  Consequently, they view past events through a certain lens (i.e. one that validates their beliefs).  By doing so, past events–portrayed in a “just so” manner–can be put in the service of present agendas.

Take, for instance, the famed Yeshua ben Eliezer ben Sira[ch], author of the “Book of All-Virtuous Wisdom [of Sirach]” and the “Alphabet of Sirach” from the 2nd century B.C.  He is often (misleadingly) referred to as “Ben Sira of Jerusalem”; yet Ben Sira was actually a resident of Alexandria, in Ptolemaic Egypt.  So why the modified appellation?  This is an example of self-serving historical revisionism.

There are several cases of this when it comes to archeology.  Note the strategic re-naming of the vaults built by the Judean vassal-king, Herod (or possibly by Roman Emperor Hadrian): “Solomon’s stables”…which long post-dated Solomon.  Also note the so-called “Millo” structure: an Amorite / Jebusite structure…which long pre-dated the Israelites.  Revisionist Zionist historiographers insist that THAT is Solomonic as well.  (They do so by invoking Second Samuel 5:9, as well as select passages in Kings and Chronicles.)  This is a lie.

Indeed, there is more archeological evidence for the Herodian pools and the administrative courtyard “Gabbatha” (alt. “Lithostrotos”) than there is for anything that might have been Solomon’s temple.   (For more examples of fraudulent explanations for architecture, see the Appendix.)

Revisionist Zionism employs a rigged historiography in order to make it seem as though (what used to be known as) the city of David has always been a Judaic city; and that said city–now referred to as “Yerushalayim” within Beth Israel–has always been the center of activity for the world’s Jewish people.  It hasn’t. {2}  The point of doing so is to re-purpose myth (in this case: the site of the throne of a fabled Hebrew king) as historical reality (in this case: the eternal city of the Jewish people). {22}  This is a semiotic swindle that becomes apparent once the relevant history is understood.  It is demeaning to anyone–including the world’s Jewish people–to suppose that they cannot come to terms with ACTUAL history; and that they can only subsist on self-ingratiating illusions.

Was the city of David REALLY the site of the fabled “Moriah” hill, where Abraham was asked to sacrifice his son to prove his fealty to Yah-weh?  Probably not.  (If anything, the man in that tale would have lived near Hebron…assuming, that is, the tale was based on a historical figure.)  Either way, it doesn’t matter.  Is the Temple Mount REALLY the place to which Mohammed of Mecca was taken on his “Night Journey” (whisked away to the farthest “masjid”, on a flying horse)?  It doesn’t matter.  For it’s all just legend; and legend is not something on which to base responsible geo-political (or any) decisions…especially when many of those involved don’t subscribe to those legends.

The Dutch no longer lay claim to the city at the mouth of the Hudson River.  Granted, this is primarily because the location does not play a key role in Netherlandish folklore. {23}  Yet EVEN IF IT DID, the Dutch would probably not be vying to seize it from its American inhabitants.  As with New York City, Jerusalem has a long tradition of ethnic diversity–and cannot be said to have ever belonged to only one people.  The next time someone refers to Jerusalem as “the eternal city of the Jews”, simply respond by noting that–by the same logic–the Big Apple might be considered the eternal city of the Frisians.