Acculturation and Identity in the Diaspora: A Jewish Family and 'Pagan' Guilds at Hierapolis[1]

Philip A. Harland (York University, Toronto)

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Originally published in Journal of Jewish Studies 57 (2006) 222-244.  Reproduced here by permission of the journal editors, representing the Oxford Centre for Hebrew and Jewish Studies.  The policies of this journal require that you not download this article here (the pdf settings have been set to disable saving).  Please respect this policy.  To subscribe and access the entire journal online go to: http://www.jjs-online.net/

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[222]

Introduction                                                                                       

Recent studies of the diaspora in the Roman period are beginning to address regional variations among Jewish gatherings and are giving attention to the relationships between these groups and the societies in which they found themselves.[2]  The graves of those who had passed on can also further our understanding of cultural interactions among the living.[3]  Leonard Victor Rutgers’ study of Jewish burials at Rome (second-fourth centuries), for instance, demonstrates this well and finds that instead ‘of living in splendid isolation or longing to assimilate, the Roman Jews. . . appear as actively and, above all, as self-consciously responding to developments in contemporary non-Jewish society’.[4]  Careful attention to burial customs in other parts of the empire can provide a new vantage point on questions of acculturation and [223] identity among minority cultural groups such as Jewish synagogues.[5]

This paper explores cultural interactions in the ancient context with special attention to Jewish epitaphs from Hierapolis in Asia Minor, some of which are newly published by Elena Miranda.[6] In particular, I focus my attention on the family grave of P. Aelius Glykon and Aurelia Amia (c. 200 CE), recently re-published by Tullia Ritti (formerly CIJ 777).[7]  This grave illustrates well the complexity of cultural identities and the potential for interaction between Jews and their neighbours in the cities of Asia Minor.  It involves Glykon’s bequest to local guilds of purple-dyers and carpet-weavers in order to regularly perform ceremonies at this family grave on Jewish (Passover and Pentecost) and Roman (Kalends) holidays.

Few scholars fully explore this family grave within the framework of burial practices among Jews in Hierapolis and in relation to guild-life in Asia Minor.  In looking at this case, I also work to resolve an ongoing debate regarding the composition of the guilds mentioned in the inscription.  While several scholars make known their differing views on the identity of these groups (Jewish, non-Jewish, or mixed), few sufficiently investigate this issue in relation to other evidence for the purple-dyers at Hierapolis.  I conclude with comments on the dynamics of acculturation and assimilation among minority cultural groups in the diaspora.

Jews at Hierapolis

Recent discoveries of graves have added to our knowledge of Jews at Hierapolis.  Miranda’s recent publication (1999) includes a total of twenty-three Jewish grave-inscriptions (out of a total of over 360 published epitaphs from Hierapolis), including thirteen new inscriptions beyond those previously published by Walther Judeich (in 1898) and by Fabrizio A. Pennacchietti (in 1966-67).[8]  [224] The majority of the Jewish inscriptions (IHierapMir 1-21) are from the northern necropolis, which was extended from the time of Antoninus Pius (138-161 CE) and whose monuments date mostly from the middle of the second to the third centuries;[9] two Jewish tombs were found elsewhere in the area of the eastern burial grounds (IHierapMir 22-23).  The Jewish inscriptions range in date from the second half of the second to the third or fourth centuries based on onomastics (especially the presence of Aurelius-related names), and on the forms of the lettering in relation to other dated inscriptions; it is difficult to date them with any more certainty, as none expressly supply a date and rarely are named figures known from other sources.

The majority of these inscriptions (eighteen) involves an individual identified as ‘Jewish’ / ‘Judean’ (Ioudaios) making provisions for the burial of him or herself and family members, without explicit reference to a Jewish community.  Almost all of these identify the owners of the grave and surrounding area and list other family members that were to be buried there, and  several go further in following standard forms of burial inscriptions in this part of Asia Minor by warning that no one else should be buried there and by providing for fines in the event that anyone attempted to do so.[10]  Fines were most often payable to the ‘most sacred treasury’ (tamion) or, in one case, to the civic ‘elders’ organization’ (gerousia).[11]  Several of those that specify fines also mention that a copy of the inscription was placed in the civic archives,[12] which was another important formal institution in the Greek cities of Asia Minor.  The act of placing a copy of these stipulations in the civic archives is suggestive of the formal legal procedures that would be followed in the courts of Hierapolis in the event that provisions for care and protection of the grave were violated in some way.[13]

Several inscriptions (three, or perhaps four, of the twenty-three) use terminology suggestive of a group or association of Jews, providing the only information we have about the local synagogue (or perhaps synagogues, over time) at Hierapolis (IHierapMir 5, 6, 14b, 16).   The epitaph which is inscribed with [225] the plural possessive Ioudeon (sic), ‘(Grave) of the Jews’, alongside the depiction of a menorah and lion likely refers to a family of Jews, rather than an association, but there are three other definite references to an association or group of Jews (see photo in fig. 1; IHierapMir 6 = IJO II 187; cf. IHierapMir 10).

Yet, interestingly enough, each of the three epitaphs uses different terminology for the group.  In one, a woman and a man explicitly identify themselves as belonging to the ‘people (laos) of the Judeans (or Jews)’ and make fines for violation of their grave payable to this group (see photo in fig. 2):

The grave and the burial ground beneath it together with the base and the place belong to Aurelia Glykonis, daughter of Ammianos, and her husband Marcus Aurelius Alexander Theophilos, also known as Aphelias, of the people of the Judeans.[14]  They will be buried in it, but it is not lawful for anyone else to be buried in it.  If this is violated, the guilty one will pay a fine of 1000 denaria to the people of the Judeans.  A copy of this inscription was placed in the archives. 

[Greek text coming soon] (IHierapMir 5 = IJO II 206; late-second or third century)[15]

The Jewish couple of this epitaph are following the standard form of burial inscriptions at Hierapolis, providing for fines to be paid for violation, in this case to a local association to which they presumably belonged.

A second inscription refers to the ‘settlement’ (katoikia) of Judeans in Hierapolis:

This grave and the surrounding place belong to Aurelia Augusta, daughter of Zotikos.  In it she, her husband, who is called Glykonianos, also known as Hagnos, and their children will be buried.  But if anyone else is buried here, the violator will pay a fine of 300 denaria to the settlement of the Judeans who are settled in Hierapolis and 100 denaria to the one who found out about the violation.  A copy of this inscription was placed in the archives of the Judeans.

[Greek text in pdf version] (IHierapMir 16 = IJO II 205 = CIJ 775; mid-late second century CE)[16]

[226] Here the group is described with terminology that is commonly used by groups of foreigners or ethnic-based associations in Asia Minor.  This is especially well attested in the case of associations of Romans (hoi katoikountes Romaioi), such as the ‘settlement’ of Romans that existed at nearby Phrygian Apameia (north-east of Hierapolis) from the first to third centuries, at least.[17]  This suggests that ‘Judeans’ or ‘those from Judea’ (in an ethno-geographical and cultural sense) is the best way to translate Ioudaioi in this case.  The seemingly redundant ‘settlement of Judeans who are settled in Hierapolis’ also further suggests this sense of settled immigrants originally from elsewhere.[18]   This inscription also includes the common provision for storage of a copy of the inscription, but in this case this is expressly the archives ‘of the Judeans’ rather than the civic archives, as was the norm in other Jewish (and non-Jewish) inscriptions.  This suggests a well-established Jewish group (by the mid-late second century), such that it would begin to maintain its own archives for a time.

One face (side b) of a third inscription, now published for the first time by Miranda, refers to a group of Jews as ‘the most holy synagogue’: 

          (Side a)

The grave, the burial ground beneath it, and the area around it belong to Nikotimos Lykidas, son of Artemisios.  In it he has buried Apphia, his wife.  A copy of this inscription was placed into the archives.  Jewish. 

[Greek text in pdf version]

(Side b)

The grave and the place around it belong to Aur. Heortasios Julianus, Tripolitan, Jew / Judean, now living in Hierapolis.  In it he and his wife, Glykonis, will be buried, and let their children be buried here as well.  It is not lawful for anyone other to be buried in it.  If someone does such things, he will pay two silver coins to the most holy synagogue.                                                           

[Greek text in pdf version]  (IHierapMir 14 = IJO II 191; side a, late second century CE; side b, third or [227] fourth century CE)[19] 

The earlier of the two sides of the monument (side a) mentions only that the family members buried there were ‘Jewish’, and does not mention a community.  The reverse of the original inscription (side b) pertains to a family of Jews whose relation to those buried earlier is unclear.  They were previous inhabitants, or perhaps citizens, of nearby Tripolis and they assign any potential fines to ‘the most holy synagogue’.[20]

Overall, then, the evidence from Hierapolis indicates that there was a notable number of Jews living in the city in the period from the mid-second to third or fourth centuries who openly identified themselves as such on their family tombs.  Through the accidents of survival and discovery, we happen to encounter about twenty or so families who felt it was important to express Jewish aspects of their identities in this way (two of them decorating their graves with a menorah or other related symbols).  There was at least one ongoing gathering or association of Jews, though few families chose to mention such an association on their epitaphs.  By the late second century, an association of Jews was well-organized enough to have its own archives.  Yet many of the known Jewish epitaphs seem to follow local custom in having copies of the inscription placed in, and/or fines for violation payable to, civic institutions of Hierapolis.

The Family Tomb of P. Aelius Glykon and Aurelia Amia

One epitaph at Hierapolis does not explicitly use the term ‘Judean / Jew (Ioudaios)’, nor does it refer to an established Jewish association.  Instead, it clearly indicates Jewish connections by referring to holy days, or festivals.  The family grave of P. Aelius Glykon and Aurelia Amia dates to the late-second or early-third century of our era, based on the wife’s family name, Aurelia, and the forms of the lettering (see photos in fig. 3).[21]  This is a limestone sarcophagus (with a partially damaged lid) inscribed on its long side (facing north-west), which is located in the south-eastern necropolis of Hierapolis near the remains of the Martyrium of St. Philip, with no other surviving graves in its immediate vicinity.[22]  Tullia Ritti’s re-discovery and thorough new reading of the inscription, [228] which was first inadequately published in 1868, has significantly filled in previously gaps, including the important reference to the feast of Kalends in lines 9-10 and to the name of Glykon’s wife.[23]

The inscription provides important evidence regarding the complexity of cultural identities and the nature of Jewish interactions with others in the Greek city, and reads as follows:

This grave and the burial ground beneath it together with the surrounding place belong to Publius Aelius Glykon Zeuxianos Aelianus[24] and to Aurelia Amia, daughter of Amianos Seleukos.  In it he will bury himself, his wife, and his children, but no one else is permitted to be buried here.  He left behind 200 denaria for the grave-crowning ceremony to the most holy presidency of the purple-dyers, so that it would produce from the interest enough for each to take a share in the seventh month during the festival of Unleavened Bread.  Likewise he also left behind 150 denaria for the grave-crowning ceremony to the association of carpet-weavers, so that the revenues from the interest should be distributed, half during the festival of Kalends on eighth day of the fourth month and half during the festival of Pentecost.  A copy of this inscription was put into the archives. 

[Greek text in pdf version].[25]

                                                                                                            

            1. Jewish facets of identity

The request that customary grave-ceremonies be held on two Jewish holidays clearly points to this family’s identification with Judaism.  Glykon has [229] consciously made a decision that his death (and that of his family members) be commemorated indefinitely on the feasts of Unleavened Bread (in the month of Nisan [March-April]) and on Pentecost (the spring harvest festival), two of the most important Jewish festivals.[26]  The inscription nowhere identifies the owner (Glykon) as Ioudaios, as do some other Jewish epitaphs at Hierapolis, but this would be unnecessary in light of the explicit mention of Jewish holy days.[27]

There is the question, then, of whether Glykon and his family were (born) Jews or whether they were gentiles who adopted important Jewish practices (“judaizers”) and then arranged that others (guilds) also engaged in these practices after their deaths.  It seems probable, in my view, that Glykon was Jewish based on the primary concern that Jewish festivals be celebrated in connection with the family grave, as most who discuss the inscription also suggest.  As Ritti notes, seemingly ‘non-Jewish’ elements in the inscription which entail local or Roman practices, including the grave-crowning ceremonies and the celebration of the Roman New Year, can readily be understood within the framework of a Jewish family well-adapted to life in Greco-Roman Hierapolis.[28]

This is not to discount the possibility that Glykon and his family were gentiles with a significant level of involvement in Jewish practices, along the lines of the ‘god-fearers’ in Aphrodisias in the fourth century (IJO II 14).[29]  In the event that Glykon was a gentile adopting Jewish practices and then arranging for others to participate in some way in the Jewish festivals, then we would be witnessing strong signs of acculturation to Jewish ways on the part of a non-Jew rather than acculturation of Jews to local or Greco-Roman ways.[30]  The problem is that, unlike the case of the god-fearers at Aphrodisias, nothing in the Glykon inscription itself provides a basis for building a solid case that Glykon or his family was gentile rather than Jewish.[31]  As we shall see, although there is no clear evidence that Glykon was a gentile, there is indeed corroborating evidence that some members of the purple-dyers’ guild [230] mentioned in this inscription were gentiles.  The discussion here explores the multiple and intertwined facets of identity in the case of this family and the purple-dyers’ guild, returning in the conclusion to the implications for acculturation depending on whether Glykon was a Jew or a gentile judaizer.

 

            2. Roman facets of identity and the feast of Kalends

Alongside this family’s clear identification with Judaism are various signs of intertwined Hierapolitan, Hellenistic, and Roman elements, which I explore throughout this paper.  As recent studies of the diaspora stress, Jewish identities were by no means incompatible with a sense of belonging within the Greco-Roman world.  Before considering indications of assimilation to local cultural life in Hierapolis, which inevitably also involves intertwined Roman elements, it is important to note some clear signs of this family’s Roman identity specifically.

First, P. Aelius Glykon’s name indicates that he is a Roman citizen.  If the inscription pre-dates or immediately follows the universal grant of citizenship in 212 CE (Constitutio Antoniniana), as most suggest, then Glykon’s choice to include his tria nomina indicates some sense of pride in possessing the status of Roman citizen.[32]  It is possible that Glykon or his ancestors were formerly slaves who gained Roman citizenship upon manumission, though there is nothing in the inscription or from other sources relating to Hierapolis that would confirm that. With regard to this man’s cognomen, it is worth mentioning that personal names with the root Glyk- (‘sweet’) are very common in Hierapolis and Phrygia generally, and that this was likewise quite common among Jews at Hierapolis.[33]  So even this man’s name indicates Roman and Hierapolitan dimensions of his identity.

Beyond Roman citizenship, we lack clear indications of Glykon’s social-economic status within Hierapolis.  Still, it is worth mentioning that most monuments in which a family provides a foundation to a local association or guild to perform grave ceremonies, the deceased (or deceased-to-be) was a Roman citizen with some degree of wealth (compare section four below on the grave-crowning ceremony).  Glykon’s total amount of 350 denaria (200 plus 150) for the grave-crowning ceremonies (stephanotikon) is greater than, yet comparable to, the case of Aurelius Zotikos Epikratos, who gave 150 denaria to the guild of nail-workers (IHierapJ 133).  On the other hand, Glykon’s foundation is less than Publius Aelius Hermogenes’ substantial grant of 1000 denaria to the guild of dyers (IHierapJ 195).  Tiberius Claudius Kleon, whose position as high-priest (archiereus) suggests he is among the civic elites,[34] [231] donated the largest attested amount for the grave-crowning ceremony at Hierapolis, granting the sum 2500 denaria to the civic elders’ organization (gerousia; IHierapJ 234).  So Glykon is among many other Roman citizens, some of higher and others of lower social-economic or civic status, at Hierapolis, but do not know whether he was a citizen and, if so, whether we can consider him among the civic elites who assumed important offices.

A second, more significant sign of the adoption of things Roman has been revealed only with the new edition of the epitaph.  Glykon chooses to have his family remembered not only on principal Jewish holidays, but also on the feast of Kalends, the Roman New Year celebration (held in January).  Glykon leaves funds (150 denaria) to the association of carpet-weavers, specifying that half of the proceeds from the foundation be used during the feast of Kalends (and half during Pentecost).

It is important to say a few words regarding this Roman New Year festival to assess its significance here at Hierapolis.  The sparseness of our evidence for the celebration of this particular Roman festival in Asia Minor makes the Glykon inscription all the more relevant to issues of Romanization.[35]  Michel Meslin’s study of the festival emphasizes two complementary dimensions: the official (‘civic’) and the unofficial (‘private’).[36]  The official side of the festival was focussed on vows for the well-being of Rome and its empire as one year ended and the new began.  Pliny the Younger provides some limited evidence that this aspect of the festival was celebrated in northern Asia Minor by the early second century (Pliny, Ep. 10.35-36, 100-101; cf. Suetonius, Nero 46.4).  The Glykon inscription now confirms the continuing adoption of this festival in another area of Asia Minor a number of decades later.

There were also unofficial dimensions to the Roman New Year festival, which would likely be of greater relevance to the situation within a local guild at Hierapolis.  These informal celebrations were ‘anchored in the collective psyche of the Romans’ and charged with social and religious significance, as Meslin puts it.[37]  Although the festival originally focussed its attention on the old Italian god Janus (two-faced protector of doors), its significance expanded beyond this focus.  Ovid’s famous poetic tribute to the Roman festivals (the Fasti), written in honour of Augustus, emphasizes the exchanges of ‘good wishes’ and gifts which accompanied the celebration, including ‘sweet’ gifts (e.g. dates, figs, honey), as well as cash, indicating an omen of a sweet year to come (Fasti 1.171-194).  Ovid also alludes to the common practice of workers [232] dedicating their occupational activities in connection with the commencement of the new year (Fasti 1.169-70), which may be of relevance to workers such as the carpet-weavers at Hierapolis.  A statement by Herodian, a third century Greek historian, confirms the importance of ‘exchanging friendly greetings and giving each other the pleasure of interchanging gifts’ (History 1.16.2).  If Tertullian’s negative assessment of Christians’ participation in New Year’s gift-giving as ‘idolatry’ is any indication, the exchange of gifts (strenae) specifically remained prominent as the festival made its way into the provinces, at least in regions like North Africa around the turn of the third century.[38]

 It is likely these social aspects of celebrating the end of the old year and the beginning of the new, exchanging positive wishes and gifts, that remained the focus of attention in many contexts, including this case at Hierapolis.  Not surprisingly, diaspora Jewish attitudes and practices in relation to such festivals could extend beyond the views expressed in rabbinic sources (in the Abodah Zarah tractates), which simply assume that Jews should distance themselves from any relation to major gentile festivals, including Kalends specifically.[39]

 

            3. Funerary practices and associations in Roman Asia

The nature of this family’s participation in local cultural practices can be better understood in relation to other Jews in the city and in relation to other (non-Jewish) Hierapolitans who involved guilds in funerary provisions.  Glykon’s choice to include guilds in funerary commemorations on Jewish and Roman festivals excluded – whether incidentally or not – the local Jewish association from any direct relation to the burial and upkeep of the family grave.  Glykon was certainly not alone in failing to even mention the local synagogue (with which he likely associated) on his epitaph, however, as many other known Jewish and non-Jewish epitaphs make no mention of any local group or synagogue with which the family was affiliated.

A discussion of funerary involvements among associations (including Jewish groups) in western Asia Minor will provide important context here, pointing toward common burial customs shared by Jews (or possibly gentile Judaizers) such as Glykon and his family.[40]  There were three main ways in which [233] guilds and other associations participated in grave-related activities.  First, associations could play a role in the burial of their members, sometimes collecting ongoing fees for later use in funerary related expenses (actual burial or funerary banquets, for instance).[41]  Local custom varied in the details and in the importance of this role, however.  There is limited evidence that associations in some regions of Asia Minor might also have their own group burial plot or collective tomb for this purpose.  This was the case with the guild of flax-workers at Smyrna, who received a vault as a donation, and the guild of bed-builders at Ephesos, who dedicated a common burial plot.[42]  As with associations generally, it seems that collective burial by association was not the norm among synagogues in the diaspora; instead, the shared family tomb was standard among both Jews and non-Jews (including those who happened to belong to an association).  Still, there is one clear example from Tlos (in Lycia) in which a man named Ptolemais adopts this (local, Tlosian) practice by preparing a common burial area (hēroon) for his son and for ‘all the Jews’ (first century CE).[43]  Having noted this role of associations in the burial of individual members and a few cases of common burial by association, it is important to point out that there are many epitaphs that simply do not refer to such groups at all.  So the Jews at Hierapolis who failed to mention any affiliation with a Jewish association or who did not involve a local guild in funerary arrangements there are not out of the ordinary in this respect.

A second funerary role involves associations being named as recipients of fines for any violation of the grave alongside other civic institutions (e.g., civic treasury, council, people, elders’ organization), or alone.  Several guilds at Kyzikos are designated as recipients of any fines for violation of the grave, for instance, and a similar picture emerges at Smyrna, where two different families chose an association of porters who worked in the harbour.[44]  So in some ways the ‘head of the synagogue’ at Smyrna in the second or third century (a woman named Rufina) was following local custom when she made fines for violation of her household’s grave payable to the ‘most sacred treasury’ [234] of Smyrna (1500 denaria) and to an association (1000 denaria), in this case the ethnos of the Jews of which she was a leader or benefactor.[45]

A third area of funerary involvement on the part of associations in Asia Minor entails groups being designated recipients of a foundation that made them responsible for visiting and maintaining the grave, including yearly (or more frequent) ceremonies at the site.[46]  It was not necessarily the case that the owner of the grave was a member of the association in question.[47]  It seems that the more important factor in decision-making (on the part of the deceased-to-be or family members of the deceased) concerned choosing a group that could indeed be trusted to help protect the grave and fulfill other obligations, and sometimes this was a group to which a family member belonged.                              

Several inscriptions from Ephesos illustrate this function of associations, for instance.  In one first century epitaph, a silversmith and his wife designate the association (synedrion) of silversmiths as recipient for any fines, but they also leave behind specific funds so that the group can ‘take care of’ (ke;detai) the grave-site (IEph 2212).[48]  In another, a physician and his wife leave behind an endowment for the ‘association (synedrion) of physicians in Ephesos who meet in the “museum” (mouseion)’ to take care of the grave (IEph 2304).  Quite interesting for our present purposes is the family epitaph of a chief-physician at Ephesos (named Julius), who asked that ‘the Jews in Ephesos’ (not the synedrion of physicians) maintain the tomb.[49]  It is unclear as to whether Julius was a Jew or not, but either way we are seeing Jews participating in local customs in places like Ephesos.

Along similar lines, a devotee of the Jewish God (either a Jew or a Christian) in third-century Akmoneia donated several tools to ‘the neighbourhood of those near the first gateway’ (IJO II 171).[50]   He did so on the condition that [235] this neighbourhood-association yearly decorated his wife’s grave with roses (rodisai), performing the Roman ceremony of rosalia, which would have most likely included a banquet.[51]  This offers an interesting parallel to Glykon’s request to have grave-crowning ceremonies held on the Roman New Year, led by the carpet-weavers’ association.[52]  In both cases a traditionally Roman festival is adapted to local custom (involving associations) by families devoted to the Jewish God, presumably omitting practices that would evoke honours for Greco-Roman deities (namely, sacrifice).

 

            4. Guilds at Hierapolis and the identities of the purple-dyers

Turning to Hierapolis specifically, it is important to give some sense of what role the guilds played in funerary practices there, which will then shed more light on the significance of Glykon’s decision to include guilds (and the purple-dyers in particular) in his bequest.  Of the sixteen extant inscriptions that refer to occupational associations at Hierapolis, ten are epitaphs, and six of these expressly involve a guild or guilds in some ongoing grave ceremonies or superintendence of the grave (including the Glykon inscription).  Most of these (four) involve the local practice of providing ‘funds for the grave-crowning’ (stephanotikon), which in this form of expression seems peculiar to the Lycos valley, primarily Hierapolis.[53]  Another refers to the responsibility of a guild (purple-dyers or, if they fail, the livestock-dealers) in ‘burning the incense (papoi) on the customary day’ (IHierapJ 227b; c. 190-250 CE).  Furthermore, five of the ten epitaphs also mention guilds as recipients of any fines for violation of the grave.[54]

Since there are cases where several guilds are involved on one epitaph, in all there are a total of ten guilds mentioned in connection with funerary arrangements in the extant monuments of Hierapolis: dyers, nail-workers, copper-smiths, purple-dyers, livestock-dealers, water-mill engineers, farmers, wool-cleaners, carpet-weavers, and an unknown ‘guild’.   The association of purple-dyers, in particular, stand out prominently as a favourite in the funerary [236] monuments that have survived to us, appearing as recipients of fines or bequests for visitation ceremonies on nearly half (four out of ten) of the grave-inscriptions involving guilds, including the Glykon family grave itself.[55]

The fact that a family devoted to the Jewish God specifically chose to call on the services of the purple-dyers, as well as the carpet-weavers (known only from the Glykon inscription), begs a question regarding the composition or ethnic identities of the membership of these guilds.  This issue is important in evaluating the possibilities regarding dynamics of assimilation or interaction that we are witnessing.  Scholarly discussions of this inscription, including many based on the earlier reading which lacked the reference to Kalends, address the question of whether the guilds were (1) solely Jewish, (2) solely gentile (‘pagan’), or (3) a mixture of both, but seldom with reference to other epigraphical evidence for the purple-dyers.  Such evidence shows that, for the purple-dyers, at least, the first option is untenable, the second plausible, and the third most likely.

Erich Ziebarth was among the first to suggest that these two guilds were solely Jewish in membership, and other scholars have followed suit, including William Ramsay and Shimon Applebaum.[56]  Most recently, Miranda suggests that the purple-dyers, at least, were solely Jewish, based on the fact that Glykon chose to have the purple-dyers provide their services only on a Jewish holiday, whereas the bequest to the carpet-weavers involves both a Roman and a Jewish holiday, reflecting Glykon’s choice of separate holidays for the gentile and Jewish members of that mixed group, in her view.[57]  However, the Glykon inscription does not give any clear indication that either of these guilds were distinctively Jewish, nor that they stood out from other such groups in Hierapolis.

More importantly, numerous inscriptions (seven in all) concerning purple-dyers in this period (mid-second to early-third centuries) show that, rather than being distinctively Jewish, this guild consisted principally of gentiles (at the points we have any evidence for them) and were viewed as a typical guild in the city.[58]  Thus, for instance, the purple-dyers (he; techne twn porphyraba[phon]) joined with the polis in about 209 CE to dedicate a portion [237] of the theatre (two levels of the architrave) to Apollo Archegetes (‘the Founder’), to other gods of the homeland, and to the emperors Septimius Severus and Caracalla.[59]  And beyond the Glykon inscription, none of the other four families who included the purple-dyers (or its leadership, ‘the board of presidents of the purple-dyers’, te synedrie es proedrias ton porphyrabaphon) in funerary arrangements expressly indicate any Jewish connections regarding either the family who owned the grave or the guild in question.[60]

When the ‘sacred guild of purple-dyers’ (he; semontate ergasia ton porphyrabaphon) set up its own honorary monuments for civic and imperial officials, once again there is no indication that they were distinctively Jewish in composition.[61]  It is certainly possible, however, that the guild included Jews in its membership when such honorary activities took place (the membership would no doubt change over generations), especially in light of evidence from elsewhere concerning Jews’ interactions with imperial-connected individuals who were not Jewish.[62]  So, although we cannot necessarily assume that the purple-dyers were solely gentile, we do know that they were not solely Jewish during the era of the Glykon inscription.

In light of this, there are two main possibilities regarding the composition of these guilds.  In either case we have evidence not only for the participation and integration of Jews in civic life but also for Jewish affiliations with, or even memberships in, local occupational associations at Hierapolis.  On the one hand, if the guild was composed exclusively of gentiles, as Judeich and Cichorius suggested early on, we have a Jew following burial conventions of non-Jews in Hierapolis (and Asia generally) by including guilds in funerary provisions.[63]  In this case, the reason for Glykon’s asking these guilds (instead of a Jewish group, for instance) to perform the grave rituals would presumably relate to the fact that he had contacts with purple-dyers and carpet-weavers in the context of commercial networks, perhaps as a regular customer or benefactor of the groups.[64]

[238] What seems even more likely is that, although consisting principally of gentiles, at Glykon’s time these two guilds included individual devotees of the Jewish God (Jews, or perhaps gentile sympathizers or judaizing Christians),[65] who happened to be purple-dyers or carpet-weavers.  Paul R. Trebilco is among those who mention this third possibility, yet he is hesitant to take a stand on which of the three options seems most or least likely.[66]  Suggesting the presence of devotees of the Jewish God in the guilds would have the advantage of better accounting for Glykon’s request that gentile guilds perform the customary grave-ceremony on Jewish holidays, and we know that Jews sometimes did engage in clothing and other related occupations.[67]

If this is indeed the case, then we can begin to imagine processes whereby ordinary gentiles might become gentile sympathizers or god-fearers (such as those at Aphrodisias in the fourth century), since the Glykon family’s choice to corporately involve these guilds in celebrating Jewish festivals would involve some gentiles who had little or no previous involvement in Jewish practices per se.  Social network connections based on common occupation could become the basis of new adherences, in this case perhaps leading to an increase in the number of gentiles with some level of attachment to the Jewish God or community.[68]

If there were Jews (or sympathizers) as members of these guilds at Hierapolis, as I argue, Glykon’s reasons for choosing these two guilds (rather than other known guilds) would involve a combination of factors, including his contacts (for commercial and/or benefaction purposes) with both Jews and gentiles and his ethno-cultural affiliations with fellow-Jews (or at least gentile devotees of the Jewish God) in Hierapolis.  It is this combination of attachments which makes this third option concerning the mixed composition of the guild most effective in making sense of our evidence.  The theory that Jews at Hierapolis maintained affiliations with or memberships in other groups or associations within the city is also consistent with Jewish evidence from other [239] areas.[69]  In cases where we know the occupation of Jews there is a range of activity comparable to the known guilds, and the fact that occupations are mentioned at all on Jewish monuments suggests that this was an important component in their identities.[70]  So it is not too surprising to find Jews affiliating with their fellow-workers within occupational networks and guilds.

Conclusion: Dynamics of Acculturation and Interaction in the Diaspora

Throughout this discussion we have encountered members of minority cultural groups, namely Jews at Hierapolis, adopting and adapting to local cultural practices and interacting with their Greek or Roman neighbours.  The case of Hierapolis demonstrates well some dynamics of cultural and structural assimilation in the ancient context, and it is worthwhile placing this evidence within a broader social scientific framework here.[71]

J. Milton Yinger’s sociological study defines assimilation as ‘a process of boundary reduction that can occur when members of two or more societies or of smaller cultural groups meet’.[72]  Yinger and others distinguish between sub-processes of assimilation, the most important here being (1) cultural assimilation, or acculturation, and (2) structural assimilation.[73]  First, acculturation refers to processes which occur when individuals or groups of differing cultural backgrounds come into first-hand contact with one another, with resulting transformations in the cultural patterns of one or both groups.[74]  Acculturation can involve the selection, adoption, and adaptation of a variety of cultural traits including language, dress, religion, funerary practices, and other cultural conventions, beliefs, and values of a particular cultural group.  This process is selective and transformative as ‘the patterns and values of the receiving culture seem to function as selective screens in a manner that results [240] in the enthusiastic acceptance of some elements, the firm rejection of other elements’; furthermore, ‘the elements which are transmitted undergo transformations’ in the process.[75]

It is important to emphasize that in this theoretical framework acculturation can progress significantly without the disintegration of a group’s boundaries in relation to a larger cultural entity.  Cultural adaptation can be a two-fold process entailing the ‘maintenance of cultural integrity as well as the movement to become an integral part of a larger societal framework’, as John W. Berry points out.[76]

The second main sub-process of assimilation, structural assimilation, entails both informal and formal levels.  At the informal level, individual members of a given ethnic or cultural group can interact with persons from other cultural groups through personal, social network connections, including memberships in neighborhoods, clubs, and associations.[77]  The formal level of structural assimilation involves members of a particular minority cultural group participating in political, legal, social, or economic institutions of society.

These concepts about processes of assimilation provide a framework in which to to make better sense of the ancient evidence--albeit fragmentary--for Jewish or other immigrant groups within the cities of the Roman empire.  Moreover, both the form and content of the Jewish epitaphs at Hierapolis illustrate both cultural and structural assimilation.  First of all, we have seen that the form of Jewish grave-inscriptions indicates acculturation to patterns of other non-Jewish graves from the same locale.[78]  Moving beyond the form of epitaphs to the content and its implications, we should notice important, though subtle, evidence of formal structural assimilation in relation to important institutions of the polis.  The inclusion of formal institutions, usually the civic (‘most sacred’) treasury, as recipients of fines in many (nine) Jewish inscriptions at Hierapolis (and on Jewish epitaphs elsewhere) implied some level of civic responsibility for preservation or maintenance of the family tomb.[79]  Violators would have to answer not only to the descendants of the family, if any, but also to the city of Hierapolis itself, so to speak.  Including local associations, alongside civic institutions or alone, was thought to further bolster this insurance that the family grave would remain intact and undisturbed.

There are other signs of formal structural assimilation among Jews here. Like their non-Jewish counterparts, nearly half (ten) of the Jewish epitaphs [241] from Hierapolis (the Glykon grave included) also clearly mention that a copy of the epitaph was placed in the archives.  This, too, has a structural significance beyond its seemingly incidental mention.  For placing a copy in the civic archives further ensured that, if anyone should fail to obey the will of the deceased or actually modify (or remove) the original inscription from the tomb, legal action could follow.  This expectation of justice from relevant civic institutions is a significant indication of structural integration in local society.

It is within this context of interaction and acculturation that we can better understand the Glykon family grave itself.  If, on the one hand, Glykon and his family were gentile sympathizers (or judaizing Christians, for instance)[80] who had adopted important Jewish practices, which is possible though difficult to establish, then this provides an interesting case of gentile acculturation to the ways of local Jews while also continuing in burial customs characteristic of Hierapolis and Asia Minor.  Furthermore, the involvement of a guild which did include gentiles in its number (the purple-dyers) is suggestive of at least some level of acculturation to Jewish practices on the part of these gentile guild-members at Hierapolis; yet here it is the family, not the gentiles in the guilds, who have chosen to have the guilds participate on Jewish holy days and on a Roman festival.  Unlike the case of the god-fearers at Aphrodisias, we have no clear indication that the gentile guild-members were members in the synagogue or in an association devoted solely to the Jewish God.

If, on the other hand, Glykon and his family were Jews, this inscription provides further evidence of both cultural and structural assimilation among Jewish families at Hierapolis.  We have found that the fabric of this family’s identity consisted of intertwined Jewish, Roman, and Hierapolitan strands.  Most prominently in setting this family apart as Jewish is the concern to have the grave visited on the festivals of Passover and Pentecost.  While many Jewish families did assert their identity (in relation to non-Jews) by using the designation Ioudaios, the Glykon inscription stands out among the epitaphs of Hierapolis, and even Asia Minor or the empire, in its special concern to carry on Jewish observances even after death, thereby continuing to express this aspect of identity within Hierapolis indefinitely.

At the same time, Glykon felt himself to be Roman, both in proudly indicating his status as Roman citizen and by choosing to include the Roman New Year festival as a time when the family would be remembered by a guild in Hierapolis.  In fact, the rarity of epigraphic evidence concerning the celebration of this Roman festival in the provinces draws further attention to its significance here as a sign of Romanization among Jews.

  Alongside these Jewish and Roman facets of identity, the family clearly [242] experienced a sense of belonging within the community of Hierapolis specifically in many respects.  At the formal structural level, this family, like other Jews, deposited a copy of the inscription in the civic archives, indicating an expectation of some level of justice from local legal procedures and institutions.  Furthermore, these Jews were acculturated to Hierapolitan practice in leaving ‘grave-crowning funds’ and followed regional custom in entrusting their final bequest to occupational associations.  Not only that, but the family also chose one of the most popular and, it seems, widely trusted local guilds to fulfill this duty.

Both Glykon and the devotees of the Jewish God who belonged to the guilds of purple-dyers and carpet-weavers illustrate the potential for multiple affiliations with sub-groups of local society.  This is an important factor in the process of informal structural assimilation.  Moreover,  information concerning the Glykon family, as well as other Jews at Hierapolis, points toward significant levels of integration on the part of these Jews within the society of Greco-Roman Hierapolis alongside a continued sense of being Jewish.

 

[The figures appear at the end of the original article:   figure 1 appears on p. 242, figure 2 on p. 243, and figure 3 on p. 244]

Notes