Hannah Senesh Bids Farewell to Her Brother Giora

Hannah Senesh did not believe she would meet her brother Giora before leaving on a mission from which she thought she might not return. When her brother arrived in Mandatory Palestine a few days before she was to depart for Egypt, Senesh gave him a letter. He could not have understood its full meaning at the time…

Hannah Senesh. Yad Vashem Photo Archive 3213/2

My dear Giora,

Some letters are written without the intention of sending them. Letters that must be written, without asking whether they fulfill their purpose or not.

The day after tomorrow I start something new. Perhaps foolish, perhaps imaginary, perhaps dangerous; perhaps one in a hundred, perhaps one in a thousand will pay with their life; perhaps with less than life, perhaps more. Do not ask what; a time will come when you will know what it is all about.

My dear Giora, I must explain something to you, to justify myself. I have to prepare for that moment when you stand here, within the borders of the country, looking forward to the moment when we are to meet after six years and when you will ask: Where is she? – They will answer you in short: She is not here. She is gone!

With these poignant words, Hannah Senesh (Szenes) began a letter to her older brother Giora (George), from whom she had parted years earlier when she immigrated to the Land of Israel. Giora was expected to arrive in the country imminently and Senesh wanted the letter to be delivered to him when he came. Not knowing exactly when he would arrive, she was surprised to discover that she could deliver the letter to him in person, about a month before she was scheduled to leave for a parachuting course in Egypt before setting out on the mission from which she believed she would never return.

 

Hannah’s Mission

First, a brief reminder of Hannah’s life story. Hannah Senesh was born in Budapest to a middle-class Jewish family. Her father Bela, who was a well-known journalist, writer and playwright, died when Hannah was six years old, leaving her mother Kathrine to raise Hannah and her older brother Giora alone. She studied at a public high school (gymnasium), where she encountered antisemitism, which turned her into an ardent Zionist.

At the age of 18, she immigrated on her own to Mandatory Palestine and began attending the Nahalal Agricultural School. After completing her studies there, she moved to Kibbutz Sdot-Yam near Caesarea, where she composed her best-known poem, “A Walk to Caesarea.” When she was 13, Hannah Senesh began keeping a diary documenting the life of a Jewish girl in Hungary. Up until the point she immigrated to the Land of Israel, she wrote exclusively in Hungarian. Hannah began learning Hebrew upon her arrival in Palestine. The outbreak of World War II and the early reports regarding the fate of the Jews who remained in Europe convinced Senesh to switch to writing exclusively in Hebrew.

This private and minor step—the transition from her native language to the revivified Hebrew language, the language of the Jewish people—signified a greater change, which would later make Senesh a recognized Israeli symbol. In late 1943, she joined the Yishuv’s paratrooper training course, and in mid-March 1944 she parachuted (along with several other members of the group) into Yugoslavia. For about three months, she roamed the forests of Croatia waiting for an opportunity to cross the border to Hungary, which was her destination. In Croatia, she wrote the poem Blessed Is the Match, and gave the note on which she wrote it to her comrade, the paratrooper Reuven Dafni.

The poem “Blessed Is the Match,” in Hannah Senesh’s handwriting (preserved in the Ghetto Fighters’ House Museum)

 

Blessed is the match consumed in kindling flame.

Blessed is the flame that burns in the secret fastness of the heart.

Blessed is the heart with strength to stop its beating for honor’s sake.

Blessed is the match consumed in kindling flame.

 

On June 7, 1944, she managed to cross the border into Hungary only to be captured by the Hungarians that same day. She was transferred to a prison in Budapest, where she remained for about five months, until her execution on November 7, 1944. Her mother, Katherine, was the one who brought her writings, letters and diaries to Israel, where they are now preserved at the National Library.

Some may ask why Hannah Senesh is the most well-known member of the group of Hebrew paratroopers who risked their lives trying to save the Jews of Europe. In fact, for many, hers is the only recognizable name among these 37 heroic soldiers. An answer can be found in the introduction to the printed edition of Hannah Senesh’s collected writings. Thanks to her diaries, poems and letters, we have a clear, true and definitive testimony about her life. All the details of her life, her mission and her death add up to a singular figure, “adorned with the splendor of supreme Hebrew heroism”. Her natural gift for writing certainly helped to solidify her place in the pantheon of Jewish national heroes.

Giora, who was a year older than Hannah, had not seen her since she left Hungary. They reunited for a very short time, on the eve of Hannah’s departure for Egypt, when she let him read the farewell letter she had written for him. In her diary, Senesh added what she could not say to her brother Giora in the letter itself, nor in their meeting. This is because the mission she embarked on was secret. She wrote:

I wrote this letter before the parachuting course. When I let you read it, you could not understand what it was about.

Forgive me, Giori, that I was forced to lie to you even in the happy moments of our meeting. You were so new in our lives that I couldn’t tell you the truth. I’m sure that now you’ll understand me.”

Senesh wrote this final entry in her diary less than a month after her letter to Giora and their reunion: “This week I will go to Egypt. I am an enlisted-soldier. As for the terms of my enlistment, my feelings about it, the most recent news—and what lies ahead for me – I do not wish to write about all that. I want to believe that what I have done and will do is right. Only time will tell. 

The final entry in Hannah Senesh’s diary, the Senesh Family Archive, courtesy of Ori and Mirit Eisen

 

You can read Hannah Senesh’s original diaries on the National Library of Israel website. Click here for her fourth and last diary, which she wrote from 1941 until she left for the mission in early 1944.

The Senesh Family Archive at the National Library of Israel has been made accessible courtesy of Ori and Mirit Eisen.

 

Below is the complete text of the letter Hannah Senesh wrote to her brother:

Haifa, December 25, 1943:

My dear Giora,

Some letters are written without the intention of sending them. Letters that must be written, without asking whether they fulfill their purpose or not.

The day after tomorrow I start something new. Perhaps foolish, perhaps imaginary, perhaps dangerous; perhaps one in a hundred, perhaps one in a thousand will pay with their life; perhaps with less than life, perhaps more. Do not ask what; there will come a time when you will know what it was all about.

My dear Giora, I must explain something to you, to justify myself. I have to prepare for that moment when you stand here, within the borders of the country, looking forward to the moment when we will meet again after six years and when you will ask: Where is she? – They will answer you in short: She is not here. She is gone!

Will you understand? Will you believe that more than the desire for adventure, more than childish romance has brought me this far? Will you understand, feel, that I could not do otherwise, that I had to do this?

There are events, in the light of which human life loses its meaning; man becomes a worthless toy, or the demand is raised: something must be done, even at the cost of life.

I fear that the feelings burning inside me become empty sentences when they are cloaked in words. I don’t know if you will sense behind them the struggles, the doubts and after every crisis—the renewed decision.

It’s difficult for me because I’m lonely. If only I had someone I could talk to openly and simply, if only the whole burden wasn’t on me alone, if only I could talk to you… If there is someone who is able to understand me—it’s you. Although, who knows… six years—such a long time. But enough about myself—maybe too much. I want to tell you some things about the new homeland, about the new life—as I see it. I have no intention of influencing you. You will see what the land is with your own eyes. I want to describe how I see it.

From the first—I love it. I love it. I love its many landscapes, the diverse climate, the many colors of its life; I love the new and the old in it, love it, because it is ours! No, not ours yet. But for ourselves and in the depths of our being we are determined that it is ours.

Second—I cherish it. Not all of it. But I respect and cherish the people who believe in something, who are willing to fight in this day-to-day reality in the name of what is dear to them; I respect those who live their lives not only for one moment, for one lira. And here there are more of them than anywhere else.

And finally, I believe that this is the only solution for us, therefore I do not doubt for a moment its future, despite the awaiting difficulties and obstacles in our path.

And as for the kibbutz—I don’t think it is perfect. Surely, there will still be many stages of development; but there is no doubt that in the current conditions, this is the most appropriate form for the fulfillment of our ambitions, the most suitable for our ideas.

There is a need for courageous people, free of preconceived notions. People who can and want to think for themselves—who are not mechanical slaves to thoughts set in stone. And this is the most difficult part, it is easy to carve out a law for a person: live according to this. It is more difficult to live according to these carved molds. But the most difficult [is] to cut a path of life for ourselves, while being constantly self-critical. It seems to me that this is the only moral way to establish a law for a person. And only in this way is it possible to build a new life, a complete life.

Sometimes I ask myself: What will the future of the kibbutz be like when the magic of building is over, when the deliberations and struggles over creating a new life are finished, when life is peaceful, organized, planned? What will motivate the person and what content will fill their life? I have no answer. But this vision is still so far away—and we should think of things which are more current.

Don’t think I see everything as rosy.  My faith stems from internal conditions, and is not the result of an existing reality. I am well aware of both internal and external difficulties. But I also see the positive sides —and as I said: this is the way and there is no other.

I didn’t write to you about what most occupies my thoughts: Mother! I can’t write about her.

Enough of this letter. I hope that it will not reach you; and if it does, then only after we meet.

And if it be otherwise—with boundless love,

Your sister

 

Are you in possession of a diary from 1948? We have begun collecting personal diaries written by the men and women of Israel’s founding generation, in order to preserve these accounts in the collective memory of the Jewish people. Find more information here!

The Man Whose Moves Made Mediocre Melodies Into Modern Marvels

Baruch Agadati was almost certainly the most controversial Jewish dancer of his time, building up large followings both of people who loved him, and loved to hate him. He simultaneously fought against antisemitism, angered most of the Jewish community, challenged gender roles, and built long-lasting cultural traditions. Oh, and he was also the person who created Israeli Folk Dance.

ברוך אגדתי אמן הרקוד העברי, Tel Aviv 1925, Asher Barash, Yitzhak Katz, & Menashe Rabinowitz, via the National Library of Israel Collections

Many claim to be the ‘father of Israeli dance’ and the truth is that Israeli folk dancing has had so many important contributors that it would be impossible to crown any of them with this title, but if we were to try, Baruch Agadati would certainly make the shortlist.

ברוך אגדתי אמן הרקוד העברי, Tel Aviv 1925, Asher Barash, Yitzhak Katz, & Menashe Rabinowitz, via the National Library of Israel Collections
ברוך אגדתי אמן הרקוד העברי, Tel Aviv 1925, Asher Barash, Yitzhak Katz, & Menashe Rabinowitz, via the National Library of Israel Collections
ברוך אגדתי אמן הרקוד העברי, Tel Aviv 1925, Asher Barash, Yitzhak Katz, & Menashe Rabinowitz, via The National Library of Israel Collections

Baruch Agadati’s Israeli dances weren’t just a light-hearted hop, skip, and jump, like they may seem to the uninformed eye – in fact, Agadati revolutionized the art of movement in Israel, from pivoting away from the former heteronormativity of Jewish dance, to taking antisemitic rhetoric and turning it into a powerful tool of Zionist storytelling. Baruch Agadati may have choreographed some sweet holding-hands-in-a-circle dances, but deep down they actually represented an entire ideological schema, reflecting the nonconformitive philosophy of this enigmatic man.

ברוך אגדתי אמן הרקוד העברי, Tel Aviv 1925, Asher Barash, Yitzhak Katz, & Menashe Rabinowitz, via the National Library of Israel Collections
ברוך אגדתי אמן הרקוד העברי, Tel Aviv 1925, Asher Barash, Yitzhak Katz, & Menashe Rabinowitz, via the National Library of Israel Collections
ברוך אגדתי אמן הרקוד העברי, Tel Aviv 1925, Asher Barash, Yitzhak Katz, & Menashe Rabinowitz, via the National Library of Israel Collections

Baruch Agadati was born ‘Baruch Kaushansky’ in Bessarabia, where he lived with his parents and his brother Yitzchak. Considering the fact that it was Eastern Europe in the 1800s, the standard of life for Jews in Bessarabia was actually acceptable, but like with most places in the region, by the end of the century things weren’t looking so great for you if your names were Baruch and Yitzchak, so the two brothers started to make some swift plans to leave Ukraine.

In 1910, Agadati left home to study at the Bezalel Art School in Jerusalem, and he thoroughly enjoyed the dance and film scene in pre-state Israel (Ottoman Palestine at the time). The local culture suited him well, but with the outbreak of World War I, Baruch returned to Eastern Europe to fight in the Russian Army and do what he could to help with the war effort. However, after the war ended, Agadati maneuvered back into the world of dance, trading rifles for rond-de-jambes, and he enjoyed a successful career dancing with the Odessa Ballet. Classically trained and very talented on his toes, Agadati’s booming artistic career gave him enough confidence to start a new life back in the Land of Israel.  So, during the period of the Third Aliyah, Baruch and his brother set sail on the SS Ruslan from Odessa and arrived safely, if a little sea sick, at the port of Jaffa.

Following his nose to the source of the emerging art scene in pre-state Israel, Agadati moved to Tel Aviv’s Neve Tzedek neighborhood and earned his living by performing solo dance recitals, which he called his “concerts,” and choreographing routines for local dance troops. His name was already becoming well known at this point, and in 1922 Baruch Agadati embarked on a world tour with his dances.

The Palestine Bulletin, 10 August 1927, via the Historical Jewish Press Collection at the National Library of Israel
The Palestine Bulletin, 5 August 1927, via the Historical Jewish Press Collection at the National Library of Israel
The Palestine Bulletin, 14 August 1928, via the Historical Jewish Press Collection at the National Library of Israel

One might think that a career in dance is fairly innocuous, but this was decidedly not the case for Baruch Agadati. In the 1920s, the predominant style of dance in Mandatory Palestine consisted of Jewish folk dances, in which spritely youths would hold hands and blithely move around in circle formation, smiles on their faces and light on their feet. Agadati was bored of this. He took the traditional Jewish folk dance and decided to flip it on its head (not literally, although with Agadati one never knows!) He would go on to rewrite this choreography in his signature expressionist style, and add intricacies to the folk dances which no one had ever seen before.

It was in this way that the “Hora Agadati” was born. The Hora Agadati is one of the earliest “Israeli Dances.” Choreographed by Baruch Agadati in 1929, in his series of revitalized traditional Jewish folk dances, this is the choreography that most people still remember Agadati by today. A nonobservant but deeply traditional and culturally-connected Jew, Agadati took the outmoded Jewish dances and reframed them using a new, secular yet acutely Israeli, perspective. This refreshing style of circle dance, with its Debka-Jumps and Twisting Hips, helped shape what most people now call Israeli Folk Dancing. The Hora Agadati is still a popular dance today, and one need only visit the promenade in Tel Aviv on a Saturday night to see people of all ages and denominations dancing to Baruch Agadati’s signature Israeli folk style.

Hora Agadati – Baruch Agadati, People’s Dances, Tel Aviv, 1968, via the National Library of Israel collections

If our story ended here, we could be led to believe that Baruch Agadati was an inoffensive, perhaps even somewhat dull cultural figure in the artistic scene of pre-state Israel. But that wouldn’t be any fun, so luckily our story takes a turn for the weird.

Baruch Agadati, dancing. 1920-1935, this item is part of Archive Network Israel, made accessible by collaboration between the Yad Ben Zvi Archive, the Ministry of Jerusalem and Heritage and the National Library of Israel.

From early on in his dance career, Baruch Agadati was making waves. During his first stint in Jerusalem in 1913, he performed a recital of the well-known Mephisto Waltz. But, breaking with tradition in a fairly explicit way, Agadati “donned a black coat as his only attire and, during the performance, right in front of the audience, in a beautiful turn of the waltz, in the moment when one side of his coat had been very indecently raised, he appeared naked, completely naked as on the bright day on which his holy and good mother brought him forth into the world” (Isaac Katz, 1927). This naked dancing fiasco was actually the scandal that led Baruch to change his original last name and adopt the name Adagati instead, after the embarrassment that his series of nude performances caused his poor mother.

Agadati continued to overturn the standard motifs in dance with the way he dressed, the way he played with gender norms on stage, and his use of unconventional and pointedly imperfect moves. He embraced new concepts of movement by using his body in jerky and sometimes awkward ways which undermined the ideas of grace and elegance to which most people were accustomed to seeing in dance. In the words of Clair Croft (2017) he “refused monolithic signification and instead forged a politics from the productive frictions among identities.”

Authentic Israeli folk dances – presented by Brandeis Camp Institute – 16 authentic Israeli folk dances, Los Angeles: Capitol, 1960s, via the National Library of Israel collections

If those concepts sound a bit dense and impenetrable, don’t worry, we will explore some examples to elucidate the point. We’ve already mentioned the Hora Agadati, so let’s start there. A little-known fact is that this dance was originally set to a traditional Moldavian antisemitic propaganda tune, picked on purpose for its hatefulness by Baruch himself. Baruch wanted to reclaim this work inspired by antisemitic sentiment, in an act of rebellion exemplifying that even the vilest racist hatred would not be permitted to destroy or humiliate Jewish culture. As time went on, this subtle meaning was lost to the masses, and it was decided that the tune should be exchanged for a new melody composed by Alexander Uriya Boskovitz, after many Jews took offence at the notion of dancing to the tune of an antisemitic song.

But this rebellion against antisemitic tropes was a theme that kept reappearing in Agadati’s work. He set out to reclaim racist stereotypes associated with Jews by taking what was considered to be a typical Jewish style of movement, but instead of allowing himself to be mocked for the very moves and gestures that inspired such antisemitism, he turned them into a delicate artform instead  (Marlene Gallner, 2017.) “He took the lowly, often crude, exaggerated gestures of the antisemitic cartoon and ‘ennobled’ it, lifting it, so to speak, from the rubbish-heap onto the stage” (Giora Manor, 1986.) In reframing these antisemitic caricatures, Agadati constructed a style of Hebrew dance which proudly reclaimed the idea of the masculine Jew that antisemitic narratives had tried to destroy (Alexander H. Schwan, 2022.)

Baruch Agadati as Hassid, from the Dance “Melaveh Malka” – Atelier Willinger, Vienna, Bat Sheva and Yitzhak Katz Archive, Information Center for Israeli Art, Israel Museum Jerusalem

This may all sound quite positive from a Jewish perspective, but Agadati’s takes on Judaism varied, and some of his dances were not so positively received. In his dance “Melave Malkva,” Agadati personifies four different hassidim on stage. In Jewish ritual, Melave Malka is the period on Saturday night after the end of Shabbat during which Jews often eat, drink and sing away the Sabbath, as they prepare to leave behind the holiness of Shabbat and enter the mundane week ahead. Agadati used this concept as a basis to dress up as four different pious men with varied takes towards the end of Shabbat: Reb Meir, Reb Netta, Reb Joel, and Reb Shachna. Reb Meir is the wise man, for whom the end of Shabbat is a sad and deeply religious time, which he related to via the divine; Reb Netta is a poor and humble Jew who is far more down-to-earth. Reb Joel embodies the ghost of the late grandfather of Reb Meir, who is just visiting from heaven, as you do, and Reb Shachna,  exemplifies a normal hassid who would be a familiar face if seen walking down the street. The twist, though, is that Baruch Agadati performed each of these four hassidic personas in drag – something which would surprise many religious Jews today, let alone 100 years ago!

The Oxford Handbook of Jewishness and Dance – edited by Naomi M. Jackson, Rebecca Pappas, and Toni Shapiro-Phim, Oxford University Press, via the National Library of Israel collections

In fact, Agadati’s performances often saw him taking on the personas of various characters who had impacted him during his conservative upbringing in the Eastern European shtetl, but he often embodied these roles in controversial ways. For example, in his early 1920s performance, “Galut Cycle,” Agadati portrayed a young Torah scholar, studying in a Yeshiva, completing the daily custom of laying tefillin, a practice in which religious Jewish men wrap black leather cords around their arm and forehead. Except, in Agadati’s interpretation, the Yeshiva student is wearing nothing but the tefillin! He posed nearly nude with the holy tefillin straps, leaving most of the room speechless.

It is sometimes surprising what Agadati deemed appropriate. He usually self-published the advertisements for his “concerts” and would invite adults and children alike to his shows, despite his frequent nudity and overt sexual euphemisms. In perhaps the most shocking of his performances, Baruch Agadati donned an elaborate costume and performed his show dressed as an Arab living in Jaffa. His stereotypical cultural appropriation would have made the news as it was, but that offense was far overshadowed when he opened his trousers and urinated live on stage against the wall, as part of his dance routine (Raz Yosef, 2004) (Achim Rohde, Christina von Braun, Stefanie Schüler-Springorum, 2017).

The Carnival, 1930 – Baruch Agadati, Ephemera Collection, the National Library of Israel

After this scandalous escapade, and the press reviews that went along with it, Agadati took a break from dance and moved into other areas of art instead. He worked with his brother Yitzchak on films, paintings, and controversial cultural events such as his divisive Jewish beauty pageants. Agadati never stopped being a pioneer in the world of dance, but his sights were now set on other pursuits – making movies rather than moves.

Baruch Agadati, 1961 Tel Aviv-Jaffa City Archive, via the National Library of Israel Digital Collection

Baruch Agadati undoubtably helped shape Israeli dance, breaking through mainstream ideals of religion, nationalism, and identity, and in a way both opening and closing the question of how Jewishness could be expressed via the medium of dance. Artist and historian Liora Bing-Heidecker describes Agadati as a pioneering gay man, and Agadati is certainly thought of today as a gay icon and activist. But what is surprising to learn is that although he certainly unlocked the stage for LGBT+ activism through his art, Agadati lived and died not actually mentioning his own personal persuasion in this area, despite public opinion.

As it goes, we can speculate all we want (and people often do) about the meaning of his art, the hidden messages behind his religious, explicit, and controversial pieces, the real story of his spiritual ties, sense of identity, and culture. The only thing we can know for certain is that Israeli Dance is the way it is today because of Baruch Agadati. Love him or hate him, we all dance to his tune.

 

This article has been published as part of Gesher L’Europa, the National Library of Israel’s initiative to connect with people, institutions and communities across Europe and beyond, through storytelling, knowledge sharing and community engagement.

A special thank you is extended to Alexander H. Schwan, whose article “Queering Jewish Dance: Baruch Agadati” aided in the research of this blog post. 

A Cry for Change: Protesting in the Promised Land

The protests taking Israel by storm this month are part of a long, heartfelt history of Israelis taking to the streets to make their voices heard. Whether their demands are peaceful or passionate, one thing has always remained constant: The power of ordinary Israeli people to affect big change when they put their mind to it

A protest in Haifa over the cost of living, photo by Yossi Zamir, published in "J. The Jewish News of Northern California", 23 September 2011

Baby Strollers, tents, and cottage cheese – the protests that changed the face of Israel started from the smallest, most innocuous of sparks, which burst into flames that couldn’t be ignored.

Israelis demonstrating in front of the Italian Embassy in Tel Aviv in protest over ties with the PLO, 1982, photo by IPPA staff, the Dan Hadani Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel
Photo by Yossi Zamir, published in J. The Jewish News of Northern California, 23 September 2011

Anyone who lives in Israel right now will be aware of significant changes happening in the country. Even if you aren’t politically-minded, when every bus ride through town is diverted, when quiet days are interrupted by remote chants over distant megaphones, and when poster board is sold out in every stationary shop, you sit up and pay attention!

“Right vs. Left”, 1993, photo by Zeev Ackerman, the Dan Hadani Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

But in case you didn’t know, for the last two months or so, nearly half a million Israelis have taken to the streets in protest of judicial reforms being proposed by the current government. This is one of the biggest demonstrations ever held in Israel against government legislation. In short, this new legislation would allow the Knesset, Israel’s parliament, to overrule supreme court decisions far more easily, allow the ruling coalition much more influence over the process of appointing judges, and administer a few other contentious points.

Photo by Yossi Zamir, published in J. The Jewish News of Northern California, 19 August 2011, the National Library of Israel

Believing this to be undesirable, or simply undemocratic, thousands of Israelis have donned blue and white garb, while waving Israeli flags and taking to the streets in what often looks like a cross between Israeli Independence Day celebrations, a street party, and an uprising. In reality, it is none of those things. It is, however, the latest in a long succession of protests which have been gracing the streets of Israel since long before there was even a state to protest against.

Photo by Miri Ekshtein Prager, published in J. The Jewish News of Northern California, 4 September 2020, the National Library of Israel

They say that two Jews have three opinions, but this is a sore underestimation. The scope of this article could never be wide enough to cover all of Israel’s various protests, but we will explore some of the most impactful ones from the last ten(ish) years.

Over the last decade, the price of housing has risen all over the world, and Israel is not immune to this trend. ‘A nation of renters’ is the phrase sometimes used when referring to the new generation of youngsters in Israel. So, just over ten years ago, across Jerusalem, Haifa, Be’er Sheva, Tel Aviv and other vital locations, tents started springing up in small communes. What better way to show the consequences of rising house prices than displaying to the government a snippet of a potential future homeless-population. At its height, around 400,000 protestors gathered in Tel Aviv, with small stores and water stations popping up in the midst of the sea of tents to service the masses of people temporarily living on the streets. In 2022, ten years later, the next generation of Israelis were facing the exact same housing problem – and decided to implement the exact same solutions.

Protesters call for affordable housingThe Jerusalem Post lite, 4 March 2015. Photo: Reuters

Housing prices were up by 15% at the beginning of 2022, after a year of prices rising monthly by 1.5%. Again, the makeshift town of tents arose, this time incorporating singalongs, public debates and even a daily Daf Yomi Jewish learning group! So, did it work? Well, it’s impossible to say for sure but in October 2022, the Knesset unveiled a program to build 280,000 new homes and approve 500,000 more, meaning that the government had essentially pledged to spend over 18 billion shekels on affordable housing.

Photo by Oded Balilty, published in J. The Jewish News of Northern California, 12 August 2011

Soon after the success of the tent protest, tens of thousands of parents with children between the ages of 1 and 4 years old, decided that it was time for them to take charge as well. Israeli parents, notorious for impeccable organizational skills, mobilized quickly and took to the streets with their strollers to protest the cost of raising young children in Israel.

Generally, parents of young children have more fixed routines and less time to take part in politics, so when these mothers and fathers – dressed in neon colors with yellow balloons tied to their baby buggies – gave up a day of sensible parenting to stand outdoors and protest, people took notice.

School children with their parents demonstrating in front of the Knesset in protest against the Education Ministry, 1970. Photo by IPPA staff, he Dan Hadani Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel
School children with their parents demonstrating in front of the Knesset Building in protest against the Education Ministry, 1970. Photo by IPPA staff, the Dan Hadani Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, The National Library of Israel

The main issue revolved around what many Israelis scornfully call their “second mortgage.” Daycare for infants costs around 3000 shekels per month, if not more, and with a mode Israeli monthly income of 7700 shekels, it is easy to see why young children prove to be such an expense in Israel. As a result, many women don’t return to work after giving birth, which results in an unnatural gender pay gap.

Initially, the organizers of the stroller protest requested a permit for just 500 protestors, but the week before the march more than 6,000 parents had pledged to show up. In the end, tens of thousands participated. Consequentially, the government agreed to implement free education starting a year earlier, at age 3 instead of age 4, saving families an average of 30,000 shekels per child. Eventually the stroller protest sparked a new demonstration, called the Sardines protest in which parents aimed to reduce how many children could legally be taught in a single classroom. Again, it was successful and the state reduced the maximum number of children in classrooms from 40 to 34.

University students protesting against the cost of higher education, 1987. Photo by Yossi Aloni, the Dan Hadani Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

Having covered accommodation and child care, the next obvious culprit was food. In the UK, young people (genuinely) judge the rising cost of living based on a chocolate bar called a Fredo. In the year 2000, Fredos cost 12 pence. Over time, the cost of a Fredo rose by a few pence annually, and now it is rare to find a Fredo bar being sold for less than 80 pence. The metric for economic downturn in the UK is routinely measured by the cost of a chocolate bar. Israeli chocolate, however, is known for being subpar, so in leu of a sweet treat with which to judge the economy, the metric used in Israel is cottage cheese.

“Thousands of people demonstrate” -photo by Chen Leopold, published in J. The Jewish News of Northern California, 9 September 2011

With the growth of social media, 90,000 Israelis took to Facebook to rage against the price of cottage cheese in Israel, but the online campaign was not enough and eventually 300,000 people stormed Tel Aviv in anger over the price of the cheese. Hand-in-hand with the protests, a boycott was issued, urging people to only buy cottage cheese if the tub was sold for less than 5 shekels, as opposed to the 8 shekels it had risen to by the end of 2011.

Israelis demonstrating in front of the Italian Embassy in Tel Aviv in protest over ties with the PLO, 1982, photo by IPPA Staff, the Dan Hadani Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

In response, the government reduced taxes on the import of dairy products and increased import rates of food products, to promote wider market competition. An investigation into Israeli food prices was also launched. The price of dairy was set to be regulated by the Knesset and on December 30, 2013, the government imposed price controls on Israel’s largest dairy manufacturer, Tnuva, forcing the price of cottage cheese down by 20%, after the Prime Minister created a committee of experts to propose adequate socio-economic reform.

Photo by Oded Balilty, published in J. The Jewish News of Northern California, 26 August 2011, the National Library of Israel Newspaper Collection
Israelis demonstrating in front of the Italian Embassy in Tel Aviv in protest over ties with the PLO, 1982, IPPA staff, the Dan Hadani Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

Despite the fairly-priced cheese and additional year of daycare, peace in Israel didn’t last. The following year, the Knesset proposed a plan to gradually incorporate the country’s Haredi population into the armed forces, which was met with heavy protests from the Ultra-Orthodox community. Haredim had, until this point, been exempt from military service due to religious reasons. They argued they were contributing to the safety of Israelis on a spiritual realm by studying Jewish scriptures in yeshivas, instead of physically fighting.

Israelis demonstrating in front of the Italian Embassy in Tel Aviv in protest over ties with the PLO, 1982, photo by IPPA staff, the Dan Hadani Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

After the founding of the State of Israel, David Ben-Gurion reached an agreement with Ultra-Orthodox leaders that exempted Haredim from military service. In 1977, Menachem Begin entrenched this arrangement in law, permitting all yeshiva students to avoid the military draft. However, in February 2012, Israel’s Supreme Court decided that this law was discriminatory, and demanded that everyone should be drafted equally to the IDF. Thus it was, that on May 16, 2013, around 25,000 Haredim demonstrated outside the IDF recruitment office in Jerusalem.

Protesting for women’s rights in Mea Shearim, 1990. Photo by Eli Harati, the Dan Hadani Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel
Haredi Jews protest in New York, published in Kosher English, 14 June 2013. JTA, KE Staff

As it currently stands, all Haredim are technically required to join the army, but can easily succeed in getting an ishur – an opt-out – from their yeshiva or rabbi. Therefore, the vast majority of Haredim do not enlist in the army today. This remains a contentious aspect of Israeli culture, and many smaller protests take place both for and against this status quo on a regular basis.

Photo by Marc Israel Salem, published in The Jerusalem Post lite, 5 March 2014

On some matters, however, Israelis stand united. In 2015 the Israeli government proposed a deal to give an international consortium led by companies Delek and Noble the rights to the newly-found Leviathan gas field off the coast of Israel, which contained around 18.9 trillion cubic feet of gas, in exchange for reducing their involvement in other, smaller gas fields across the country. This plan would have furthered the goals of the Israeli government, who sought independence in those smaller fields, but it also represented the selling of Israeli goods to international firms, who would then manufacture the gas before selling it straight back to Israel at a higher price, paid for, of course, by the consumer. Professor Yaron Zalika, one of the main speakers at the resulting protests, said that “the government is plundering the largest national natural resource ever found here, after handing it — without tender — to a group of wealthy people, for almost nothing in return!”

Photo by Flash 90, published in The Jerusalem Post – Christian Edition, 1 June 2013

Despite being the largest protest to take place since 2011, the deal went ahead, with minor amendments, and the Leviathan gas field was sold to Delek, Noble Energy, and Ratio Oil Exploration who still own the gas field today.

So, was hope lost for good? Well, no, but for those who supported the gas protests, it was certainly a blow to their spirits to see their demonstrations being so adeptly ignored. But despite the many people who felt knocked down by the escapade, no one can be silenced forever. In 2020, thousands of Israelis made a comeback – one of the biggest so far!

A “Peace Now” protest outside the Defense Ministry calling for peace and withdrawal of settlements. Photo by Shaul Rachamim. the Dan Hadani Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel
Russian immigrants protest, photo by Danny Lev, the Dan Hadani Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

As COVID-19 took over not just Israel, but the whole world, tensions started to build. There were those who demanded more vaccines, those who insisted that vaccines were harmful; people who advocated for masks, and people who wanted to do away with masks all together; some people wanted more public closures and some wanted the country to remain open. As such, it would have been impossible for a government to please all of their constituents. Even if someone happened to totally agree with government policy, there would have been other members of society who were violating what they considered to be sacred moral codes during the pandemic. Tensions rose, and people were angry. On top of that, Israel was in the midst of what felt like a million governmental elections, and the country seemingly couldn’t agree on who would run parliament, as election after election was called. Add to this an unemployment rate which rose alarmingly in a matter of months, and you had near-chaos in the streets.

Photo by Dimai Vazinovich, published in J. The Jewish News of Northern California, 12 August 2011

Protests sprung up quickly, and each Saturday night the numbers grew. Walking through the protests, the demonstrations were divided into small groups, each with their own flags and colored clothing, many shouting personalized slogans or playing their own music. Entering the protests from King George Street in Jerusalem, the first group one would encounter was the Breslov community, angry that their annual trip to Uman was being thwarted by travel closures. Next, one would meet supporters of the Meretz political party, with their vehement anti-right-wing chants. If you continued westward, you would get to a small but loud group of anti-mask protestors, followed by the large anti-Bibi Netanyahu group, decked out with blow up figurines and fancy-dress costumes. Further forward were the women’s rights’ activists, bearing pink flags of Israel, followed by a large floor-based meditation circle of peace activists. You would then pass by the unemployed group who demanded financial compensation from the government, and so on until you emerged, exhausted, from the other end.

As bars and restaurants were closed, large swaths of bored youngsters joined the protests, sometimes latching onto a cause, other times showing up with alcohol and music. There was even a 10 person jump-rope, live band, and fire dancers at times. Between the genuine anger and frustration, there was also a street party taking place.

University students protesting, photo by Yossi Aloni, the Dan Hadani Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

That’s the beauty of protesting in Israel. People show up, in a big way, and express their democratic right whenever they have the desire to do so. In the most recent protests this month, parents bring their children along, completely unafraid. Elderly people have joined the ranks, knowing that they will be safe. Whole families have taken part, and been allowed to release their hard feelings. Prayer quorums have been formed at the protest site so that no one need miss their daily minyan due to demonstrating, and during the protests, merchants sell food and water to those who didn’t bring their own peanut butter sandwiches. The Israeli public gets to voice their opinion, knowing that they are not only completely safe to do so, but actually protected by the general good will of society, and those who enforce it.

Protest against the lifting of an arms embargo on Syria. Photo by Gideon Markowiz, the Dan Hadani Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

No matter your opinion, you can find a demonstration in Israel which would fit your beliefs, and allow you to release any pent-up tensions. And perhaps that’s why, in a society comprised of so many religions, ideologies, and walks of life, Israel is able to keep going.

Protesting antisemitism. Photographer: Vered Peer, the Dan Hadani Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel
Protesting antisemitism, photo by Vered Peer, the Dan Hadani Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel
Israelis demonstrating in front of the Italian Embassy in Tel Aviv in protest over ties with the PLO, photo by IPPA Staff, the Dan Hadani Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

The Queen Who Loved the Destroyer of the Second Temple

Who was Queen Berenice? Was she a cold, calculating seductress or simply a woman captivated by a young, charismatic general? Here we give you the story of the Second Temple-period Jewish queen forced to survive in a tumultuous world, whose love affair with Titus - the future Roman emperor and notorious suppressor of a Jewish rebellion—remains a bone of contention

"Juive de Tanger" by Charles Landelle, Musée des beaux-arts de Reims

By Amit Naor

It is customary to think of the Jews in antiquity as a small, insular people that dwelled alone, a people forced to interact from time to time with the great powers around them. Once it might be Babylon and Assyria, on another occasion the Greeks or the Romans. But during the early years of the great Roman Empire, not all Jews were zealots hiding out in the desert, waiting for an opportunity to ambush Roman soldiers. Jews were sometimes willing and committed stakeholders in the Empire, holding positions of power and influence. In this article, we will tell of a Jewish woman, a queen, who lived during this time, and whose dramatic life story might resemble something out of Game of Thrones or House of the Dragon.

Queen Berenice was not just another queen. She was a princess by birth, daughter of a union between two of the most important families in the Roman province of Judea at that time. At one point, she was even considered a threat to the stability of the Empire. Here we can attempt only to summarize the complicated life story of this daughter of Jewish royalty and how she came to meet such historical figures as Emperor Vespasian and the Christian apostle Paul; how she found herself present at decisive moments in the revolt against the Romans; and above all, how she became the mistress of one of the most reviled figures in Jewish collective memory, a man who would later become Emperor of Rome—”Titus the Evil”. But, as with any multi-character saga, we begin at the beginning, with the birth of Berenice.

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Berenice’s father, Agrippa I. Source: Wikipedia]

Berenice was probably born in the year 28 CE to King Agrippa I and his wife Cypros. On her father’s side, she descended from the Herodian dynasty; her roots on her mother’s side traced back to the Hasmoneans. These were the two most significant Jewish families of the Second Temple-period. When she was about 10 years old, her father, a friend of Emperor Caligula, was made King of Judea, thereby officially making Berenice a princess.

Like other powerful women from antiquity, her historical portrait was drawn for posterity by the men around her. Many historians and writers of the past accused her of scheming, licentiousness, and even incest. In a recent biography of Berenice, historian Professor Tal Ilan takes a fresh look at the Second Temple-period queen, putting aside judgmental perspectives of the past that were rooted in anachronistic, ultra-conservative values. “…she is often described by ancient sources in negative terms”, Prof. Ilan writes, “[…] this is because the historians and authors who mention her conform in their writing to genres of poetry and prose prevalent in their days, that viewed women as the cause of all intrigue and scheming in the world. The sources on Berenice will be judged according to the actions they describe and not in line with their own judgement of these. The values of the ancient Jews and of the ancient Romans […] are not our values. Their conventional expectations of women are not our expectations”, says Prof. Ilan in the introduction to her book.

We hope to do the same.

 

Berenice Appears on the Historical Stage

When she was still a young girl—a child—Berenice was betrothed to Marcus Julius Alexander, son of the leader of the distinguished Jewish community in Alexandria, and nephew of the important Jewish philosopher Philo of Alexandria. The marriage was consummated when Berenice was 14 years old, apparently. It was short-lived however, as her much older husband soon died, leaving Berenice a widow.

In the same year Berenice was widowed, her father, Agrippa I, also died unexpectedly while attending a festival honoring the Emperor. According to the historian Josephus, on the second day of the festival, “a severe pain also arose in his belly; and began in a most violent manner.” Before his death, Agrippa managed to arrange a second marriage for his by now 16-year-old daughter—this time to his widowed brother Herod, King of Chalcis. Chalcis was a small kingdom in the mountains of Lebanon, and it was there that Berenice first received the title of Queen. That same year, she became pregnant and gave birth to her first son, Berenicianus, who was named for her. Prof. Ilan believes Berenice herself thought up the name, which became popular in the Chalcis region of the time. She named her second child Hyrcanus, an undeniably Hasmonean name. Was it she or her husband Herod who wanted to remind the kingdom’s subjects of their monarch’s illustrious roots?

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Roman and Crusader ruins in ancient Banias (Caesarea Philippi), where Berenice spent many years of her life. Postcard published by Max Jaffe, for Jüdische Verlag (Wien), this item is part of Archive Network Israel, made accessible by collaboration between the Yad Ben Zvi Archive, the Ministry of Jerusalem and Heritage and the National Library of Israel

After Agrippa I’s death, the Emperor Claudius decided to appoint a procurator for Judea rather than transfer the kingdom to Berenice’s brother. The new procurator was none other than Berenice’s former brother-in-law from her first marriage, Tiberius Julius Alexander. After enlisting in the Roman army, Tiberius had an impressive career, not only as procurator of Judea but also as the brutal suppressor of a Jewish uprising in Alexandria that broke out at the same time as the revolt in Judea.

After four years of marriage, the 20 year-old Berenice once again found herself a widow. With the death of Herod of Chalcis, who also oversaw the Temple in Jerusalem, Emperor Claudius contemplated what to do with the province. He eventually chose to name Berenice’s brother as King, who was by then older and more skilled. He took the name Agrippa II.

“The first twenty years of Berenice’s life witnessed some of the most dramatic events of Jewish and even world history”, Prof. Ilan writes in her book, “Jesus was crucified in Jerusalem […] a mad emperor attempted (yet again) to induce the Jews to abandon their religion and worship him.” According to Ilan, Berenice was only a bystander during this period—her father married her off as soon as he could, and she did not take an active part in these dramatic events. “The next 20 stormy years of Berenice’s life thrust her to the fore of the historical stage”, she says.

 So what happened next?

The Apostle Paul explains the Tenets of faith in the presence of King Agrippa and his Sister Berenice, Vasily Surikov, 1875, Tretyakov Gallery, Moscow

Agrippa II arrived in great splendor to his new kingdom that included both Judea and Chalcis, now reuniting with his sister as well. Berenice, twice widowed in just four years, and with two young children in tow, was not the best candidate for a new match. Ilan mentions the Talmudic dictate, Isha Katlanit (“lethal woman”), in this respect. According to this religious rule, a woman who is widowed twice is not permitted to marry for a third time.

In terms of our story, it seems that over the next few years Berenice became her brother’s companion, living with him in his various palaces in Chalcis, Jerusalem and in the city of Caesarea-Philippi, or Banias, located today in northern Israel. Berenice is also mentioned in several places in the historical record alongside her brother, the King. Josephus says that she stood next to Agrippa when he gave a conciliatory speech to the people of Jerusalem shortly before the outbreak of the Great Revolt. The New Testament mentions Berenice as being present with her brother at the trial of the Apostle Paul and that she was among those who thought he did not deserve punishment. The close relationship between the siblings also led to the spread of malicious rumors, with various sources claiming that Agrippa and Berenice had incestuous relations. Perhaps in order to stave off the gossip, Berenice quickly found herself another royal match and once again became a queen.

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The ancient city of Tiberias with Mount Berenice in the distance. It is believed that her palace was situated on this mountain, but no trace of it has ever been found. This item is part of Archive Network Israel, made accessible by collaboration between the Yad Ben Zvi Archive, the Ministry of Jerusalem and Heritage and the National Library of Israel

This time she married Polomon, King of Cilicia, a small kingdom in the south of Asia Minor. In order to facilitate the marriage, she convinced him to undergo circumcision and accept the commandments of Judaism. However, this marriage did not last long either. For one reason or another, Berenice left husband number three and returned to her palace in Banias.  And so it happened that Berenice arrived in time for what was perhaps the most important event in Jewish history of the first century CE—the Great Revolt against the Romans.

By then, it seems that Berenice was more than a passive figure swept along by the currents of her life. There is evidence that, after the death of her second husband, Berenice herself managed the affairs in Chalcis, at least until her brother was crowned King. Various historians described her as a Cleopatra-like queen who used her charms to influence the men around her. But it seems that when the reins of power fell into her hands, Berenice proved herself adept and used them wisely.

 

A Last Attempt to Save Jerusalem

Up until the outbreak of the Great Revolt (66–73 CE), Berenice apparently tried to use all her powers to prevent rebellion and save Jerusalem. She happened to be in the city during one of the most famous incidents leading up to the rebellion. The procurator of Judea at the time, Florus, coveted a portion of the Temple’s treasures for himself. When the Jews protested against this, he sent his soldiers to quell the unrest by carrying out a pogrom in Jerusalem. Berenice was alone in the city at the time, recovering from an illness for which she had taken a vow of ascetism. At the end of this period of abstinence, she shaved her head and probably came to Jerusalem in order to offer a thanksgiving sacrifice following her recovery.

While Florus’s soldiers were raiding the city, Berenice sent her officers to the procurator to try to stop the massacre and looting. After her plea was ignored, she risked her own life and went herself, shaven-headed and barefoot, to Florus’s palace to beg him to spare the lives of the city’s residents. She eventually made her way back to her palace where she anxiously spent the night, surrounded by her guards. The next day, the Jerusalemites drove Florus and his soldiers out of the city. With Judea now on the brink of rebellion, Berenice and Agrippa addressed the people in the center of Jerusalem, but their attempt at appeasement failed and the Great Revolt erupted.

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Titus and Berenice, ornamental watch cover, unknown artist. Wikimedia

During this period, a young man by the name of Titus entered Berenice’s life. A popular general, he also happened to be the son of Vespasian, the man sent by Rome to suppress the rebellion in Judea. Berenice spent the war years in Agrippa II’s palace in Banias, Caesarea-Philippi. It was there she most likely met Vespasian’s son for the first time. “Titus the Evil”, as he is often referred to in the Jewish sources, would later become Emperor of Rome. Berenice was then about 40 years old. Titus was in his late twenties, but the age gap was no match for their passionate love.

We will do our best to trace their love story, though after the dramatic scene describing her and her brother’s appeal to the rebellious crowds, Berenice all but disappears from Josephus’s account of the rebellion in The Jewish War. Some contend that Josephus refrained from writing about her at the express request of Titus. In his later work, The Life of Flavius Josephus, written after the death of Titus, Josephus allows himself a bit more leeway regarding her story. There, for example, he describes how Berenice intervened in favor of the historian Justus of Tiberias whom Vespasian had sentenced to death. Agrippa spared his life at his sister’s request, another example of Berenice’s influence on political affairs.

Titus probably first met Berenice in the year 67, during the Roman campaign against the Jewish rebels in Galilee. Agrippa apparently invited Vespasian and his son Titus to rest for a while in his palace in Caesarea Philippi—where Berenice was also staying. The affair between the two seemed to finally resolve the question of the Herodian dynasty’s support for the Roman forces suppressing the rebellion. This alliance likely saved the city of Tiberias, which Vespasian ordered not be looted nor its walls destroyed after it was conquered, as a gesture to King Agrippa.

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The Emperor Titus, marble, the Louvre, Paris

The alliance may have also helped Vespasian himself. By the end of the “Year of the Four Emperors” (69 CE), Vespasian was intent on declaring himself Emperor and was in urgent need of allies. One of his supporters was none other than Tiberius Julius Alexander, Berenice’s former brother-in-law. Could she have been the one who convinced Tiberius to support her lover’s father? The Roman historian Tacitus seemed to think so.

Whatever happened, it worked. Vespasian became Emperor and Titus became commander of the military operation to suppress the rebellion in Judea. As fate would have it, Berenice was now the mistress of the very person who would go down in history as the destroyer and looter of the Temple in Jerusalem. What was her role in these events? We’ll probably never know. In the film Legend of Destruction which describes the destruction of Jerusalem, the claim is made that Berenice intended to seduce Titus in order to save the city. In her biography of Berenice, Prof. Ilan believes that the truth is more straightforward—the two were simply in love, and Titus looked for any excuse to remain close to her. In The Jewish War, Josephus describes Titus as merciful, as having tried to avoid killing Jews who surrendered and waiting until the last possible moment before destroying Jerusalem and burning down the Temple. Some have claimed that Josephus wrote the account this way out of friendship with Titus who was also his patron. Ilan, on the other hand, believes Josephus’s account to be an unflattering description of Titus in the eyes of the Romans who were the book’s target audience. Instead, she contends, it was Titus’s idea to portray himself in this way for the benefit of none other than Berenice—as a kind of mea culpa for the actions he had been forced to commit in Judea.

 

A Second Cleopatra

After the suppression of the rebellion, Agrippa II continued to rule over Judea until his death, probably in the nineties of the first century CE. Titus, now the decorated conqueror of Jerusalem and heir to the imperial throne, embarked on a triumphal journey to cities in the eastern provinces of the Empire. It is possible that Berenice accompanied him. Eventually, Titus had to return to Rome, and Berenice apparently returned to Caesarea-Philippi. Throughout the period between the arrival of Vespasian’s forces in Judea and the destruction of the Temple, Titus and Berenice cohabited, but there were now reasons that prevented them from marrying. The age difference, for one. It was clear to them that the young Titus must find a suitable, young wife who would be able to provide him with heirs for the new dynasty ascending the imperial throne. And there was the matter of Berenice’s Jewishness, which prevented her from marrying a non-Jew without renouncing her religion.

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Victory procession with the treasures of the Temple, relief on the Arch of Titus, Rome. Photo: Th. Benzinger. This item is part of Archive Network Israel, made accessible by collaboration between the Yad Ben Zvi Archive, the Ministry of Jerusalem and Heritage and the National Library of Israel

But this was not the end of that extraordinary romance. What began as a love affair between a queen, a daughter of a royal family, and a dashing young general—one of many—in the Roman army, ended with roles and power-relations reversed: a client queen and a future emperor.  In the year 75, Berenice arrived in Rome, four years after she separated from Titus. She came with her brother, and according to the sources, she stayed there for close to four years. She apparently lived with Titus in his palace and they were effectively a couple. Four Roman sources claimed Berenice to be his greatest weakness, raising the concern that she would cause him to become another Nero, bringing about Rome’s destruction. Titus proved he was made of different stuff. After seeing the Roman people’s displeasure with the match—either out of antisemitic feelings towards the people who had rebelled, or fear of a “second Cleopatra”—he sent Berenice home.

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Farewell Between Berenice and Titus, Adriaan Schoonebeek, 1694, engraving. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam

Berenice tried to return to Rome again a few months later, when Titus finally became Emperor, but he refused to see her. This was the end of their relationship and Queen Berenice disappears from the annals of history at this point. We have no information about what happened to her after she was sent away from Rome for the second time. Some believe that she remained in Italy and died there, but it is likely that she returned to Judea and lived in Banias until her death. We do not know what year she died. Her extraordinary story has inspired writers, poets, playwrights and screenwriters. Given the incredible events we have described here, we can only hope for a historical drama series…

 

Further Reading:

Queen Berenice: A Jewish Female Icon of the First Century CE, by Tal Ilan,
Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2022