Jewish Studies at the Crossroads of Anthropology and History: Authority, Diaspora, Tradition

Preface

This volume of important essays emerged from the yearlong deliberations of a talented group of scholars invited in 2003–4 to what is now the Herbert D. Katz Center for Advanced Judaic Studies. Their charge was to explore the theme Prescriptive Traditions and Lived Experience in the Jewish Religion: Historical and Anthropological Perspectives. As always, the year was devoted to interdisciplinary scholarship of the highest order, to the rigorous discussion of differing academic perspectives, and to a breaking down of the barriers set up by specialized training and circumscribed fields of study. In this instance, historians with specialties ranging from antiquity to the present were partnered with anthropologists, folklorists, and sociologists for an invigorating conversation about how their methods of scholarly inquiry could intermesh. How might a focus on texts complement or clash with a focus based on lived experience? And how might this fascinating dialectic play out in the traditionally text-oriented fields of Jewish studies?

The exciting results of much of this conversation are now before the reader. It would not be an exaggeration to consider the volume at hand as field-defining, even as expanding and moving Jewish studies into a new era and into a new self-perception of what constitutes Jewish learning. It would also not be an exaggeration to say that just as the conversations upon which it was based were not easy to stage, this volume was not easy to produce. It is one thing to encourage a dialogue between historians and anthropologists; it is quite another to reach a consensus and a common language about the subject of these inquiries. The credit for this achievement rests in the prodigious efforts of the volume’s three editors: Ra‘anan Boustan, a scholar of rabbinic literature and ancient Jewish history; Marina Rustow, a historian of medieval Jewish culture and society; and Oren Kosansky, an anthropologist who works on Jewish communities in Muslim North Africa. Besides their efforts to shape a coherent volume, their introduction stands as a bold and thoughtful statement about their respective disciplines and places within the study of Jewish culture and society. I wish to thank these three individuals for their achievement; I also wish to thank the other contributors to this volume as well as the fellows who are not represented in the book but who contributed significantly to the intellectual community from which it has emerged.

DAVID B. RUDERMAN

Joseph Meyerhoff Professor of Modern Jewish History

Ella Darivoff Director, Herbert D. Katz Center for Advanced Judaic Studies

Introduction

Anthropology, History, and the Remaking of Jewish Studies

RA‘ANAN S. BOUSTAN, OREN KOSANSKY, AND MARINA RUSTOW

This volume is organized around three terms—authority, diaspora, and tradition—that have exerted a tenacious hold on the field of Jewish studies. The centrality of these terms reflects their analytical utility for the study of the Jewish past and present: Jews from antiquity onward have made use of competing sources of legitimacy, followed patterns of geographic dispersion, and lodged claims to historical continuity; print capitalism, the existence of a Jewish state, and post-Enlightenment secularism have not rendered these terms outmoded in the least. The rough correspondence between these concepts and native Jewish ideas such as masoret (authoritative tradition) and galut (exile) further helps to explain their enduring status in the field. Indeed, the terms authority, diaspora, and tradition refer not only to conceptual tools derived from modern social philosophy and postcolonial theory, but also to domains of discourse within Judaism itself.

The seductive congruence between analytical and indigenous categories signals the fundamental problem that the present volume addresses. One major challenge of Jewish studies in the twenty-first century is to rethink these governing categories of inquiry and their relationship to the historical phenomena they are meant to capture. This challenge, as the field is already taking it up, begins with the recognition that analytical categories provide neither natural nor neutral frameworks of inquiry and that they can distort Jewish historical experience as much as illuminate it. It is clear enough, for instance, that the reduction of Judaism to a matter of private conscience and personal faith, following the Protestant model, risks obscuring the institutional forms and embodied practices that have created Jewish tradition from the ground up. Analytical categories derived from normative Jewish discourse are equally limiting: for instance, paradigms of diaspora that unequivocally valorize a sacred center can hinder an appreciation of the ways Jews have sanctified certain places in diaspora; approaches that see Jewish law as the reflection of actual behavior, or even as a set of authoritative ideals, often fail to account for the fact that authority is not an imminent property of canonical texts but rather an emergent effect of the social institutions and practices in which they are embedded.¹

The field’s most important response to an excessive reliance on normative categories has been to take a more inclusive stance toward the study of Jews. Over the past forty years, Jewish studies has been characterized by a phenomenological approach that embraces all varieties of Judaism rather than privileging certain dominant ones. At its best, this particularizing approach hesitates to favor any single Jewish variant (e.g., rabbinic authority, Zionist conceptions of diaspora, Ashkenazi tradition), and thereby avoids the analytical pitfalls of anachronism, teleology, and ethnocentrism. Such pluralistic strategies have been especially evident in comparative projects organized around Jewish traditions, diasporas, cultures, societies, and identities, now typically rendered in the plural.²

The multicultural turn in Jewish studies is the culmination of developments that reach back to the mid-twentieth century. The new Jewish studies, as one commentator has dubbed this pluralist trend, is characterized by increasing emphasis on several forms of heterogeneity. First, pluralists have turned to a much wider assortment of texts, including previously overlooked genres and authors (qabbalistic and Hasidic writings, women’s prayer manuals), newly uncovered sources (the Dead Sea Scrolls, documents from the Cairo Geniza), and recently exploited archives in Europe and its former colonies. Second, scholars are now looking beyond the text to other modes of expression, including ritual practices, spatial arrangements, artistic production, and oral performances. Third, numerous studies now pay attention to previously neglected social groups: the study of women, children, magical practitioners, tradesmen, peasants, and laborers indicates the extent to which social heterogeneity has moved to the center of Jewish studies. Finally, the field now attends more systematically to temporal and geographic heterogeneities, focusing increased attention on periods and regions previously relegated to its periphery.³

While recognition of these types of heterogeneity productively challenges essentialist conceptions of Judaism, the regnant pluralistic framework has its own potential limitations. Nominalist views that judge a phenomenon as Jewish according to whether some Jews recognize it as such re-essentialize the boundaries of Jewish tradition by adopting a monothetic approach, in which inclusion in the category rests on a single criterion—in this case, what Jews recognize as Jewish. Polythetic approaches to Judaisms and Jewish traditions avoid this problem by refusing to rely on any single criterion. But they just as often fail to attend adequately to the historical processes that have led to the domination of certain traditions over others, suggesting instead that each bears equal importance. The chapters in this volume put power at the center of analysis by demonstrating how the heterogeneous elements of Jewish civilization can be studied as the products of asymmetrical social relations, global political forces, and instituted textual practices. Embracing certain aspects of pluralism but also moving beyond it, the authors gathered here foreground the practices that authorize texts, artifacts, beliefs, customs, places, and populations as Jewish in the first place, and then transmit them as such throughout their historical duration.⁴

Our claim is that the best response to the dangers of essentialism is neither to give up on the potential of analytical categories such as authority, diaspora, and tradition nor to treat them merely as catchments for the empirical study of Jewish diversity. What is required, rather, is to rethink these categories in a manner that not only makes room for Jewish heterogeneity, but that also accounts for hegemony in determining the scope and substance of what has historically been incorporated into the Jewish tradition.

Beyond Disciplinary Pluralism

The increasing number of academic disciplines included within Jewish studies is one hallmark of the multicultural turn. History, religious studies, and the philological fields (most often included in departments of Near Eastern and Middle Eastern studies) still operate at the core of Jewish studies and continue to play a role in maintaining the textual emphasis that, in the past, circumscribed the field more completely. Now, however, anthropology, comparative literature, the history of art, and other disciplines are bringing non-textual and non-Western phenomena under fuller consideration. Yet accumulating a larger repertoire of methodologies to capture more levels of Jewish experience, or turning to new academic disciplines to expand our coverage of the globe, does not necessarily help us to rethink the analytical categories and frameworks with which the field continues to work.

The current trend to include anthropology, in particular, within Jewish studies’ inventory indicates the advantages as well as the potential pitfalls of disciplinary expansion. There are good reasons to applaud the recent anthropological turn: ethnographic methods shed light on social categories and processes that textual sources never fully capture, and often obscure; anthropology’s still-reigning orientation toward the non-Western world facilitates the collection of detailed knowledge about previously understudied populations; and anthropology’s focus on the present expands the scope of research on living Jewish communities. Anthropology has, for these reasons, taken its place as one of the privileged social sciences within a field increasingly oriented toward representing Jewish diversity on a global scale.⁵

Although a big-tent approach that includes anthropology is commendable, it also reproduces the major fault lines that continue to underlie pluralistic approaches to Jewish diversity. Within Jewish studies, anthropology functions largely to help fill the lacunae left by disciplines that typically focus on masculine, textual, and Western Jewish traditions. One less salutary effect of this disciplinary division of labor is that, beyond simply increasing our appreciation of Jewish heterogeneity, it also naturalizes the geographic and cultural boundaries according to which Jewish diversity is mapped. Indeed, because anthropology has tended to cover the more quotidian aspects of Jewish experience and its geographically exotic forms, there remains the danger of reinstating the old distinctions along disciplinary lines. An alternative approach requires not only new methods and topics but also new concepts that situate Jewish phenomena on both sides of the borders between texts and practices, the elite and the popular, Jews and non-Jews, the past and the present, and the East and the West.⁶

Recent developments at the crossroads of history and anthropology have helped move Jewish studies in this direction. The old distinctions between the two disciplines—one diachronic, the other synchronic; one textual, the other ethnographic; one focused on the elite, the other on the popular; one oriented toward the West, the other toward the rest—no longer hold. The revision of these vulgar contrasts and the emergence of a research agenda situated at the boundaries between them suggest alternatives to a naïve pluralism. In what follows, we delineate three such alternatives and indicate how they are already taking hold in Jewish studies. The first, following on the textual turn in anthropology and the hermeneutic turn in history, focuses on what we call textual hegemony as a way to rethink Jewish authority. The second uses the lens of postcolonial theory to refocus the study of Jewish diaspora. The third suggests that discursive tradition, as the concept is being developed especially in anthropology and religious studies, offers a productive frame for rethinking Jewish tradition.

Textual Hegemonies

The historical turn in twentieth-century anthropology reflected a recognition that history and anthropology, despite their methodological differences, shared the common hermeneutical problem of interpreting unfamiliar cultural texts. Texts had previously been a point of differentiation between the two disciplines, with anthropology focused on preliterate societies and history attending to civilizations documented in written records. By the 1970s, the text, taken metaphorically to include the social actions that ethnographers observed as well as the archival evidence that historians gathered, emerged as an idiom of common purpose. Written texts themselves have also become a concrete point of intersection between the two disciplines: anthropologists attend to the textual artifacts and practices that circulate even in ethnographic societies, while historians look to anthropology for conceptual tools, modes of analysis, and cross-cultural comparisons to assist in the interpretation of textual sources.⁷

This interpretive and methodological rapprochement has been palpable in Jewish studies. Historians of Judaism now regularly draw on anthropological concepts and cases in the study of texts, and not only when dealing with characteristically ethnographic topics such as magic, pilgrimage, sacrifice, and rites of passage. Anthropologists, for their part, approach Jewish texts as sources of cultural history, objects of ritual and pedagogical practice, and artifacts of symbolic value. The chapters in this volume demonstrate some of the ways in which research in Jewish studies is capitalizing on the overlapping interests in textual materials and material texts that have defined the crossroads of anthropology and history.⁸

Recently, scholars working at this crossroads have moved beyond the treatment of texts as repositories of meaning, prescriptive blueprints for social life, or objects of ritual significance. This shift has been motivated by a recognition that texts are embedded within regimes of power, as are the practices with which they are associated and the institutions that mediate their production, dissemination, and use. The turn toward the study of textual hegemony entails a focus on how concrete textual forms (legal documents, census reports, textbooks, prayer manuals, ethnographic accounts, amulets) and institutions (synagogues, mass media, courts of law, schools, archives) operate in the variable contexts of state structures, colonial empires, and global economies.⁹

Textual hegemony, as we use the idea, does not refer primarily to the power of texts to fix singular versions of otherwise heterogeneous oral narratives, or to displace previously non-textual modes of expression. While these processes have occurred in the history of Judaism, a restricted focus on the hegemony of texts fails to account for the more dynamic relationship between textual codification and non-textual forms of expression. The ascendancy of textual authority—whether represented by the early modern canonization of the printed Talmud and the Shulḥan ‘arukh or late-modern orthodoxy’s reliance on offset printing—has never entailed a monopoly of texts within Jewish life. Indeed, medieval and early modern efforts to fix the form of the Jewish liturgy led to a proliferation of diverse and competing prayer manuals rather than their reduction to a single form. Moreover, Jewish prayer books continued to mediate liturgical experiences that entailed oral recitation, bodily comportment, and a range of visual practices.¹⁰

Jewish textual hegemony is characterized, then, not necessarily by the supremacy of texts but by the variety of positions they occupy within an array of oral, corporeal, and visual forms of expression.¹¹ Because those positions have been subject to radical transformation, we use the concept of textual hegemonies to refer to the ways in which texts and textuality have crystallized into relatively enduring structures of authority. Consistent with the pluralistic approach, this analytical strategy insists that the significance of Jewish texts must be understood in their contingent historical contexts. But unlike many pluralistic approaches, the study of textual hegemonies stresses the hierarchical arrangements among various expressive media and among competing textual regimes.

To take an early example, the formation of a scribal hegemony in the temple polities of antiquity entailed the ascendancy of a restricted class of textual specialists who commanded both religious authority and political power. The monopolization of public performances of writing, reading, recitation, and textual interpretation was crucial to the consolidation of priestly and dynastic power. In the Hellenistic and Roman periods, a competing set of sociopolitical institutions and pedagogical disciplines formed an alternative mode of Jewish textual hegemony. Dominated by the elite citizenry of the emergent polis, this rhetorical hegemony centered on the mastery of grammar, persuasion, and memorization as filtered through oral practices that competed more vigorously with textual ones. Rhetorical hegemony, however, did not replace scribal hegemony: the two overlapped in a productive tension out of which novel forms of textual power emerged.¹²

Jewish textual hegemonies are never fully autonomous, but always embedded within more extensive forms of textual domination that reach beyond Jewish society. The Temple in Jerusalem, dominated by a priestly class at the center of a sacred polity, was situated within patterns of priestly oligarchy that operated throughout the ancient Mediterranean. The emergent rabbinic movement, within which the rhetorical arts were transmitted through master-disciple relationships, was part and parcel of Greek paideia. A similar embeddedness can be seen with respect to the forms of the liturgical-legal hegemony that emerged in the medieval period, when the biblical text, the prayer service, and the Jewish legal corpus were canonized into written form. The attempt to fix Judaism according to textual standards controlled by rabbinic literati reflected the more widespread distribution of new technologies (for example, paper and the codex) that had measurable effects on Christianity and Islam as well. Likewise, the development or adoption of new textual genres such as responsa, institutions such as law courts, and authorities such as judges and court clerks went hand in hand with emerging forms of law, administration, and governmentality that remade both Christian and Islamic societies.¹³

The concept of textual hegemony shifts the focus from Jews’ acculturation to outside forces to their engagement with communicative regimes across religious boundaries. Beyond taking into account the broader forms of textual discipline and domination that function at any given historical moment, the study of Jewish textual hegemonies examines how Jewish institutions and practices constitute those broader processes themselves. Thus, when a modern Jewish textual regime emerged with the return to Scripture, the standardization and diversification of prayer books, and the textual objectification of Judaism, a new denominational hegemony recast the Jewish text alternatively as a vehicle of confessional faith, a source of universal ethics, and an incontrovertible locus of tradition and authority. This happened precisely as print capitalism and the nation-state reconfigured the confessional landscape of Christian Europe. It would be wrong, however, to conclude that the modern textualization of Jewish authority was simply derivative of the Christian enlightenment or dependent on new technologies of mass communication. Rather, Jews were an integral part of European religious transformation, just as the Jewish press was formative in the expansion of public literacy in Eastern European and Ottoman society.¹⁴

This reappraisal also refines pluralistic approaches that continue to rely on facile—and teleological—distinctions between modernity (conceived of as secular, democratic, and global) and tradition (conceived of as religious, stratified, and provincial). As recent research in anthropology and history makes clear, the secular emerged through new relationships between religion, polity, and power rather than through their slow disaggregation. The modernness of Jewish denominational hegemony, in this light, is characterized not by the receding reach of religion into politics, but rather by a reconfiguration of the relationship between the two. The maskilim of early modern Europe were no less implicated in states and empires than were the priests of antiquity. Along the same lines, the effects of modern mechanical reproduction and mass dissemination cannot be reduced to the secular fragmentation and democratization of Judaism. Jewish textual traditions had never been monolithic, and they continued to be structured by hierarchies of authorship, production, and distribution. The contemporary technologies and economies of Judaism are modern, rather, primarily insofar as they have exposed increasingly literate Jewish publics to textual discipline through institutions such as publishing houses, schools, universities, and seminaries.¹⁵

Similarly, the modernity of Jewish denominational movements is not reducible to their global scale. Jewish mobility is not, of course, unique to recent centuries: trans-regional trade networks, pilgrimage routes, charitable missions, travel in pursuit of learning, and forced relocations have facilitated the dissemination of Jewish textual hegemonies across global empires since antiquity. Movements such as the Alliance Israélite Universelle, with a network of Jewish schools that once extended across several continents, and Ḥabad Hasidism, with its worldwide outreach, are modern because they have relied on modes of communication (print media; the Internet) and transportation (steamships; air travel) that reworked, rather than created, Jewish diasporic globalism. As significantly, these movements are modern because they were made possible by European and American empires: the Paris-based Alliance was an extension of the French imperial project; the missionary reach of the Brooklyn-based Ḥabad movement reflects the expansion of American political and economic power. Accordingly, new directions in Jewish studies focus on how colonialism and empire reconstituted the diaspora as a terrain of Jewish diversity and an object of knowledge.¹⁶

Trans-regional historical processes are, therefore, inseparable from the formation of Jewish textual hegemonies. For this reason, a fully adequate approach to Jewish authority demands consideration of the circulation of people, objects, and practices across global terrains.

Beyond Diaspora Essentialism

A second salient point of intersection between anthropology and history is diaspora studies. The study of diaspora is no longer associated primarily with the Jewish case, but also with colonial and postcolonial migrations and with global circuits of labor. This broader conception of diaspora has productively destabilized the boundaries that were once thought to define relatively isolated societies and national territories. Insofar as the Jewish diaspora preceded recent patterns of mobility and fragmentation, the study of Jews has provided a historical counterpoint to postmodern inclinations to view diaspora as a resolutely contemporary condition.¹⁷

Surprisingly, the concept of diaspora has played a largely conservative role within Jewish studies. While Zionist-oriented scholarship has cast the diaspora as the defining counterpoint to a more genuine national-territorial Jewish identity, a countervailing tendency has been to claim extraterritoriality itself as the principle locus of Jewish historical identity. Even some scholars who otherwise insist on flexible and non-hermetic forms of identity have asserted that the diaspora is the sine qua non of Jewish authenticity. The substitution of the diaspora for a territorial homeland as the uniquely genuine space of Jewish identity reverts to the very forms of essentialism that the concept has so usefully disrupted when deployed in other cases. Recent academic disputes over whether the Israeli nation-state represents the zenith of Jewish vitality and the fruition of Jewish national destiny or Jewish agency and creativity have thrived primarily in the diaspora demonstrate the point. Both sides of this hoary debate share the reflex to search for a single mode of authentic Jewish identity that excludes others. Discounting territoriality, in any of its ancient or modern forms, as a central Jewish motif bears as much potential for essentialism as does rooting Jewish identity exclusively in a territorial homeland.¹⁸

Other scholars have avoided the question of authenticity, preferring to demonstrate the intricate dialectics of Jewish homelands and diasporas.¹⁹ Research in this vein shows, for example, how Jews have identified with diasporic homes by creatively revising and reapplying Jewish idioms of sacred homeland. The existence of little Jerusalems across the globe provides only a glimpse of the social and semiotic mechanisms through which Jews have made diasporic places into Jewish homelands. Conversely, even Jews motivated partly by liturgical fervor to return to Jerusalem have experienced modern Israel as a place of exile. The celebration of the Moroccan festival of mimuna in Israel, for instance, is partly an expression of postcolonial nostalgia for a lost North African homeland. At their best, studies of such phenomena destabilize the homeland-diaspora paradigm by demonstrating that it has never provided a single, simple, or uncontested map of Jewish space.²⁰

Yet even the most nuanced approaches to diaspora and homeland, in which they are taken as mutually constituting categories and geographically fluid spaces, do not necessarily call into question the dualistic terms of the model itself. This oversight partly reflects the analytical internalization of native Jewish and Zionist categories. But it also points toward the fact that Jewish studies emerged as a Western academic discourse in an age of European colonialism and nation building. A deep-seated dualism also reflects discourses of empire that bifurcate global space in other binary terms, such as Occident and Orient, metropole and colony, and First World and Third World. Indeed, Jewish studies emerged as part of a long history in which Jews were both objects and propagators of orientalist discourses and colonial projects. Only recently has the field started coming to grips with what Ivan Kalmar and Derek Penslar have identified as a significant relationship between orientalism and the Jews.²¹

Within Europe, Jews were for centuries cast as others whose semitic bodies, Levantine roots, and Eastern mentalities placed them outside the religious, racial, geographic, and civilizational sphere of the West. European Jews were subjected to forms of ethnographic representation, administrative regulation, residential segregation, and bodily violence that were concurrently and subsequently applied to colonized societies.²² But Jews were not only the passive objects of representational and regulatory practices. Although over the course of the Enlightenment, some Jews (and Christians) attempted to recuperate the oriental Jewish past as the origin of Western rationality and spirituality, the rhetoric of European Jewish emancipation relied heavily on teleological narratives in which that past gave way to a modern European or Zionist future. Indeed, European Jews applied their own orientalist discourses to non-European Jews, representing them with the same oppositions—between civilized and savage, rational and superstitious, literate and oral—that justified the Western imperial project and that framed the implementation of colonial rule. In the Jewish case, orientalism also reflected a unique investment in the teleological narratives of Jewish emancipation, which cast Arab, Turkish, Persian, and Russian Jews as exemplars of the feudal, superstitious, and parochial past that Western Jews had already escaped. As colonizers, Jews established their own imperial ventures couched in term of education, philanthropy, and advocacy for their Eastern European, North African and Middle Eastern coreligionists. Organizations such as the Alliance, and later the American Joint Distribution Committee, reproduced imperial hierarchies of cultural difference and mapped the Jewish diaspora accordingly.²³

One enduring effect of Jewish orientalism has been the resignification of the terms Sefaradi and Ashkenazi to encompass the entire Jewish diaspora and to divide it along a single axis of difference. The globalization of these terms partly reflected the late medieval and early modern migrations and expulsions that led Sefaradi and Ashkenazi liturgies, customs, and legal precepts to dominate those of local Jewish communities. The meaning of the term Sefaradi ultimately expanded to include not only Jews who traced their ancestry directly to the Iberian Peninsula but also all those located within Europe’s Islamic colonies; this semantic generalization entailed the leveling of locally salient distinctions between Sefaradi immigrants and native Jewish communities (such as megorashim and toshavim in Morocco and Sefaradim and Romaniote in Ottoman realms). In the lexicon of Jewish ethnicity in Israel, the term Mizraḥi (oriental) has largely replaced Sefaradi, with the new term retaining, and even augmenting, the capacity to encompass and homogenize Jews from Europe’s former colonies.²⁴

The academic representation of the Jewish diaspora has perpetuated these modern topographies of European hegemony. Jewish studies continues to be organized into subdivisions, research centers, conference panels, and edited volumes that follow from the colonial heritage. Sefaradi studies and Mizraḥi studies are marked categories in Jewish scholarship in a way that, with rare exceptions, Ashkenazi studies is not. Likewise, the study of Jews in the modern Islamic world remains predominantly an anthropological and folkloric enterprise, whereas Jews of the Christian West have been taken up primarily as objects of historical and sociological inquiry.²⁵

The growing number of ethnographic studies that deal with Jewish communities in postwar Europe as well as of historical monographs about Jews in former colonies represents a welcome change from disciplinary conventions that follow closely from the colonial bifurcation of the Jewish diaspora.²⁶ Likewise, other conventional dichotomies are now being questioned. Rather than retrojecting binaries such as Christians and Jews, priests and rabbis, and Qaraites and Rabbanites onto periods before they existed, scholars are now attending to the gradual and uneven processes through which these categories emerged.²⁷

Along these lines, recent research in Jewish studies works explicitly across imperial and national boundaries. In the wake of 1391 and 1492, Sefaradi identity functioned as a mode of Jewish cosmopolitanism that reached from Europe across the Mediterranean and into the Levant. In the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, Jews continued to play an important role as diplomatic, economic, and cultural intermediaries between Europe and its colonial possessions. As North Africans and Middle Easterners, Jews were selectively cultivated as colonial intermediaries through the efforts of institutions such as the Alliance and through diplomatic regimes such as the protégé system by which European powers granted some Jews limited legal protection. Recent research has demonstrated how Jewish trade networks, commodity exchanges, diplomacy, philanthropy, and ritual practices linked empires (e.g., European and Ottoman) and moved between metropoles and colonies.²⁸

The study of global networks within the Jewish diaspora also prompts a reconsideration of the nationalist scaffolding that still girds much work within Jewish studies. For the most part, pluralistic approaches have moved well beyond the competing nationalisms, both European and Zionist, previously embedded in the practice of Jewish history. Devoid of such commitments, the study of Jewish diasporic diversity along national lines succeeds best in documenting the wide variety of traditions and identities that took shape in local and national contexts. A growing set of historical and ethnographic monographs dedicated to premodern and non-European Jewries moves even further by questioning the applicability of nation-state idioms to Jewish society.²⁹

Even so, the uneven mapping of the Jewish diaspora continues to reflect postcolonial and nationalist legacies. In comparison with the vast library of meticulous historical monographs on Jews of Western Europe and North America, there are fewer full-length studies about colonial and postcolonial Jewish communities. The nation-states that emerged from former colonies tend to be lumped together into regions that recapitulate orientalist topography. The recent spate of edited volumes on Jews from non-Western regions of the world is an important development, but such collections bear the potential to reinscribe a colonial divide on the far side of which lie the cumulative populations of the East.³⁰

Explicitly comparative studies also tend to portray a world divided along the lines of the nation-state. To take one prominent example, it has been proposed that the diaspora offers laboratory-like conditions for the study of Jewish adaptation to diverse national environments. But national contexts are not naturally bounded ecosystems; they come into being and change through long histories of interaction that contaminate the purity of the samples (the local Jewish communities) upon which the model depends for its coherence. This model also focuses on how Jews (as dependent variables) adapt to their environments, while paying less attention to the converse process. Medieval European religious disputations, for example, did not merely force Jews to respond to their Christian environment; such events were part of the processes though which medieval Christianity came into being and defined itself. The same can be said for German National Socialism, Moroccan monarchism, or the American civil rights movement.³¹

Comparative projects of this sort also represent the stubborn persistence of host society models, in which the diaspora appears to be made up of bounded national or imperial contexts into which Jews intruded or, at the very least, in which they remained a discrete minority. The analytic approach to Jews as guests is, of course, not the same as characterizing them as parasites, but both implications of the host society metaphor follow the same exclusionary logic according to which Jewish difference is objectified and taken as the axiomatic starting point for analysis. Conversely, the host-society model implies a homogenous national context against which Jewish difference is thrown into unique relief. Insofar as ancient and modern empires were linguistically, ethnically, and religiously diverse, applying the concept of a host society to premodern contexts seems to retroject a nationalist logic onto contexts from which that logic was largely absent.³²

In its blunter forms, the host-society model has framed studies of Jewish assimilation and acculturation into societies presumed to preexist the Jews. Critiques in the pluralist mode have pointed to this model’s failure to recognize that Jews also contributed to the creation of those societies. Among the insights to emerge from this more nuanced and dialectical approach is the recognition that Jews have crafted their own distinctive identities by borrowing and subverting motifs from the cultures in which they live—a process that Ivan Marcus has termed inward acculturation.³³ But the underlying structure of the host society–minority model persists even in some pluralistic approaches that dispense with those terms. One is left confused, for example, by contradictory exhortations to avoid seeing Jews as outsiders who borrowed from surrounding cultures, and at the same time to appreciate how Jewish minorities adopted non-Jewish beliefs or practices but infused them with traditional Jewish symbols.³⁴ The idea that Jewish communities should be viewed as one organ in a larger organism corresponds with old sociological models that presupposed a boundary of discrete identity (the organ) within an encompassing context (the organism). Likewise, acculturation, assimilation, and adaptation have surprisingly remained part of the analytical tool kit of Jewish studies even as those terms have been increasingly challenged in history and anthropology.³⁵

An acute contradiction, then, characterizes the pluralistic turn in Jewish studies. On the one hand, new approaches offer a better appreciation of how Jewish beliefs, practices, and identities come into being at the social and cultural border between Jews and others. On the other hand, such studies continue to rely on concepts, models, and metaphors that presume that the boundary has already been fixed. Moving beyond these approaches requires a full-fledged revision of how we understand the scope and substance of diaspora. It also requires accounting in a more complex fashion for Jewish tradition and the formation of Jews within it.

Judaism as a Discursive Tradition

Tradition, as the concept has been revised at the junction of anthropology and history, is no longer a catch-all category for everything premodern. The study of tradition is now characterized, rather, by a more complex understanding of the relationship between a putatively static past and a dynamic present. The distinguishing elements of colonized cultures (social structures, religious rituals, legal systems, languages) no longer appear as timeless holdovers, but instead as traditions invented by ethnographic practices of representation and harnessed to administrative strategies of control. Modernity, in turn, is no longer studied as the successor to tradition, but rather as its golden age, within which both long-standing cultural practices and new ones are institutionally objectified by reference to the legitimating past.³⁶

Within Jewish studies, cataloging the varieties of Jewish historical expression across time and place goes a long way toward dispelling the view that tradition is a homogenous counterpoint to modernity. Examining Zionism as a manifestation of Jewish modernity, for example, suggests some of the ways in which novel political forms rely heavily on traditionalizing claims to communal and territorial continuity. Other modern Jewish projects that claim to be deeply conservative, such as denominational orthodoxy, have utilized modern means (bureaucratic, mechanical, capitalist) to objectify tradition and make it into a new kind of authorizing discourse. The geography of tradition and modernity is likewise being remapped. Jewish law in the traditional Middle East, for example, has been shown to be at least as flexible as its modern reformist and orthodox counterparts in the West.³⁷

An emphasis on the multiplicity and dynamism of Jewish traditions does not, however, necessarily lead to an effective critique of the analytical models that continue to essentialize tradition within Jewish studies. Pluralistic scholarship has yet to offer a fully developed alternative to the essentialization of either Jewish textual unity (the Jewish tradition) or Jewish heterogeneity (Jewish traditions). We suggest that the idea of discursive tradition, as elaborated by Talal Asad, can productively reorient our approach to the various types of Jewish heterogeneity (textual, expressive, social, and temporal/geographic) that pluralistic approaches to Jewish traditions have highlighted but not adequately reconceptualized.³⁸

Judaism is a discursive tradition only partly because it makes reference to a set of foundational texts. Those practicing in the name of Judaism have generally agreed on the authority of texts, but just as significantly, Jews have contested which texts are canonical, which interpreters authoritative, and which hermeneutical methods legitimate. The notion of discursive tradition, then, takes us beyond a limited corpus of foundational texts and instead focuses our attention on the processes through which every Jewish text potentially participates in the creation of a canon and the modes of authority associated with it.³⁹

The study of Jewish textual heterogeneity cannot, therefore, be simply a matter of collecting texts while presuming or leaving unquestioned the processes that made them canonical or failed to do so. This is one insight that follows from the phenomenological turn in Jewish studies, in which Gershom Scholem and Jacob Neusner stand as towering figures. As a result of their work, the field attends more carefully to what is at stake in the dynamic processes of textual canonization. Subsequent scholarship has extended their phenomenological approach from the centers of Jewish canonical authority deeper into the peripheries. Studies in this vein demonstrate that even the most marginal of hagiographic, magical, mystical, millennial, or paraliturgical texts do not simply draw on more authoritative textual traditions; marginal texts themselves are constitutive elements of those traditions.⁴⁰

Ethnographic research can be especially useful in forging an appreciation of how even the most marginal of Jewish texts are read, understood, and employed as full constituents of Torah, that is, of authoritative textual tradition—only sometimes against the grain of competing elite propositions. A Moroccan Jew, for example, can see a twentieth-century Judeo-Arabic hagiographic text as an exemplar of Torah by virtue of her familiarity with the graphic forms—typefaces, page arrangements, decorative motifs—it shares with the prayer books, volumes of Talmud, Hebrew texts framed for home decoration, Torah scrolls, and mezuzot that she knows from the bibliographically dense Jewish landscape she inhabits. Such a phenomenological rethinking of Jewish textual canonicity moves well beyond the now largely suspect model of great and little traditions, which presumed a wide gap between the universal, textual, and elite aspects of world religions and their local, ritual, and popular manifestations. The well-recognized problems with this model pertain no less to Judaism: local Jewish beliefs and practices have their cosmopolitan dimensions; texts circulate among illiterate Jews; religious elites engage in ritual practices from which they draw much of their authority.⁴¹

It would therefore be a mistake to limit the phenomenological investigation of Jewish canonicity to the ethnographic study of how texts are received by the Jewish masses. Rather, ethnographic and textual approaches must converge in a phenomenological approach to the expansion and experience of the canon itself. The marginal books, vernacular hymns, and local liturgies encountered by Jews less well versed in texts are likely to have been written by rabbis schooled in the canonical arts of Jewish learning and literacy. Local Jewish authors compose texts using rhetorical and generic strategies that determine Jewish canonicity more universally. Such authorizing strategies include the use of Hebrew, Hebrew characters, rabbinic attributions, biblical quotations, commentary in the midrashic style, ancient and medieval liturgical forms, and so forth.⁴² Those who deny the canonicity of heterodox texts must ignore, willfully or not, the densely packed literary mechanisms that function to authenticate the work in question.

Neither the masses nor the elites, then, monopolize textual canonicity. The rabbi who writes a hagiography, those who read it to themselves or to their children, and those who hear it all partake in the text’s incorporation into the Judaic canon. Moreover, rather than dividing Jewish societies into elite and popular classes, it helps to recall that most Jews are situated somewhere in the middle as semiliterate, modestly schooled, and institutionally intermediate social actors. Circumcisers, ritual butchers, cantors, schoolteachers, scribes, mortuary guardians, minimally trained bar mitzvah boys, pious lay-people, and anyone who can recognize and appreciate the formal qualities of a Jewish text without necessarily being able to read it him- or herself all confirm the authority of situated canonical Jewish texts without necessarily being able to compose or even read them.⁴³

Understanding Jewish textual heterogeneity is not simply a matter of pushing back the boundaries of the Jewish canon; it requires rethinking the idea of the canon itself. Jewish texts do not naturally sort into an authoritative hierarchy based on relative proximity to a canonical core, whether defined by the Hebrew Bible, the Talmud, or other formative Jewish texts. Putatively foundational and marginal texts alike become and remain canonical as the result of concrete social, semiotic, and rhetorical mechanisms with which Jews authenticate, promote, and contest the inclusion of certain texts as Torah. That even those Jewish texts whose normative status has been most widely accepted harness such mechanisms more or less effectively is clear from the myriad works rejected as noncanonical, from modern reform movements back through the long processes of rabbinic redaction and biblical canonization.⁴⁴

To ignore these points is to substitute the leveling aesthetics of multiplicity, pluralism, and conversation for the historical realities of imposition, debate, and dissension. Approaching Judaism as a discursive tradition, by contrast, entails recognizing that the assertion of power is integral to the formation of any recognizable canon. The discursive quality of Jewish tradition alludes to what Brinkley Messick has called the authority in texts, by which he means the way their authority emerges formally, rhetorically, and graphically in relationship to other texts, both within the tradition and outside it. Messick also calls our attention to the authority of texts as they function in relationship to non-textual modes of practice. What makes a tradition discursive, then, is not only that it is textually mediated, but that textual mediation itself takes place within a broader range of expressive forms that have their own authoritative weight.⁴⁵

While the pluralistic turn has brought Jewish studies to this important recognition, most scholarship continues to presume that texts provide the anchor for other modes of Jewish expression. Even the pluralists within Jewish studies continue to proclaim the text as the authoritative and centripetal force that binds together diverse Jewish traditions. Of course, historians must rely on texts when other evidence is absent. Yet, the textual emphasis that still dominates Jewish studies has its own modern genealogy. Although textual authority has obviously operated within Judaism since antiquity, modern communicative regimes recentered the text as the unequivocal source of normative, traditional, and authentic Judaism; the scripturalist values of religious reformism converged with print capitalism to reify the text as both the unparalleled receptacle of divine revelation and a fetishized commodity with its own generative power. This is not to say that texts were insignificant to Judaism before the modern period. It is simply to point out that modern modes of producing, distributing, and reading texts have determined how scholars of Judaism conceive of Jewish textuality. The scholarly focus on the text also reflects modern Judaic aversions to the material, embodied, and visual manifestations of Jewish tradition.⁴⁶

In recent decades, historians and ethnographers of Judaism have begun to work against the textualist grain by studying Jewish artifacts (art, crafts, architecture, gravesites, amulets, clothing, tools, machines, broadsheets, codices) and practices (pilgrimage, magic, pietism, gastronomy, life-cycle events) as integral constituents of Jewish tradition. Yet, even as Jewish studies attends more closely to non-textual forms of expression, textual analysis remains the default mode of research in the field.⁴⁷ Moreover, the balanced attention that some scholars now give to the interactions between texts and practices has not extended equally to the study of Jewish traditions across the globe. In some cases, in fact, the challenge facing Jewish studies is to focus more intently on texts. The long Christian history of representing Jews as carnal rather than spiritual, material rather than philosophical, orthoprax rather than orthodox, is still evident in scholarship on Middle Eastern Jews that overemphasizes the practical and material sides of Judaism and neglects the textual. The folklorization of North African and Levantine Jews reflects the once dominant scholarly inclination to view these groups as traditional—illiterate, oral, practical, superstitious—and therefore as more appropriately studied with ethnographic methods than textual ones. Judeo-Arabic, Judeo-Spanish, and Judeo-Persian literatures were seen to occupy non-serious popular genres; scholars mostly overlooked the prolific textual production and venerable literary traditions that extended well beyond what was preserved in the Cairo Geniza or produced during the Andalusian golden age.⁴⁸ Only recently have scholars begun to redress these oversights by looking more closely at the pervasive textuality of non-European Jewish communities: historical studies now focus more regularly on Middle Eastern rabbinic and literary traditions, and ethnographic studies deal with the production of textual artifacts, the centrality of textual institutions, the circulation of textual materials, and the practice of textual rituals in North African and other societies.⁴⁹

The pluralistic turn in Jewish studies also represents the recognition that the placement of texts in evaluative and experiential Jewish hierarchies is always subject to negotiation. Texts are rarely absent from fields of Jewish experience and authority, even when books are relatively unavailable and illiteracy prevalent; but neither does textuality always dominate within hierarchies of expressive authority that include other practices as well.⁵⁰ Beyond this insight, however, the relationship between text and practice remains ill conceptualized. Judaism is composed not only of texts and practices, with the latter either flouting or enacting normative written prescriptions; it is also composed of textual practices through which the tradition performatively emerges. A discursive approach highlights the capacity that such textual practices harbor to endure as citable marks of Jewish tradition, a tradition that is thereby inscribed in the writings, images, sounds, and habits that, transmitted across generations, contribute to the formation of Jews as Jews.⁵¹

Attention to the transmissibility of Judaism across a range of media also provides an alternative to pluralistic approaches: a discursive approach to Jewish tradition shifts focus from seemingly static social divisions across lines of gender, class, education, and prestige to the social production of internally differentiated Jewish subjects. Such an inquiry begins with the instituted practices through which Jews are disciplined into Jewishness across the entire range of expressive media and contexts. This approach requires the study of Jewish education and pedagogy, but also of the pietistic, artistic, professional, medical, judicial, and other institutions through which Judaism is daily transmitted. Every iteration of Jewish expression is necessarily an act of transmission for those who experience and witness it, just as every strategy of Jewish transmission is also a form of Jewish expression. Like all traditions, Judaism is, in this sense, a performative one. The fact that its transmission is always imperfect—characterized by both rupture and continuity—need not be viewed as a threat. It is an inherent feature of all living traditions, which must remain mutable in order to survive.⁵²

Even practices performed and identities cultivated against the grain of the dominant forms of Judaism in any given context are part of the discursive tradition. This seems clearest at those formative moments when the difference between the Jewish and the non-Jewish was unclear and debated. But the principle holds no less with respect to crypto-Jews in Spain and the Sefaradi diaspora, Ethiopian Hebrews, or modern Jewish messianists (Jews for Jesus). Our point is not the nominalist one that all those who call themselves Jewish are part of the tradition, though this is a conclusion to which the present analysis may lead. Our point is rather that the supposed boundaries of Jewish tradition are the emergent effects of social interactions, theological apologetics, heresiologies, legal pronouncements, and other statements and iterations of power. The boundaries are not intrinsic or transcendent features of Jewish tradition itself.⁵³

Likewise, the boundaries that distinguish Jews from others are determined neither entirely by Jews, as theorists of Jewish agency would have it, nor by others, as ideologues of Jewish victimization in the diaspora once held. Rather, Jewish identity is established dialogically by Jews and non-Jews who possess, wield, and resist the power to set those boundaries. In some cases, boundary setting occurs collusively, as when the Jews of modern France denied their racial distinctiveness (as juifs) while emphasizing their spiritual inclusion in what elsewhere came to be called the Judeo-Christian ethic; non-Jewish republican apologists accepted and elaborated similar discourses of French national identity within which secularized Jews appeared as exemplary citizens whose confessional religious identity (as israélites) properly receded into the private sphere of civil society. In other cases, Jews have had identities inescapably foisted upon them, as when those very same claims to citizenship came under fire from countervailing discourses of French national purity and racialized semitic difference.⁵⁴

The boundaries between competing Jewish identities and variant Jewish traditions come into being though a similarly dialogic process. European Jews represented themselves as brethren to Jews in the colonies, often by reference to common ancestral identity. At the same time, European Jews also emphasized both the superiority of their own civilization, in which they positioned themselves as beneficiaries of emancipation, and the backwardness of their Arabic-speaking coreligionists. Colonized Jews did not remain silent, as when local rabbinic authorities called into question the Jewish authenticity of religious educators in the Alliance schools. At the same time, colonized Jews resisted their treatment as undifferentiated natives (indigènes), often by denying the Arab identity imposed upon them.⁵⁵

This fraught play of identities indicates that Judaism and Jewishness are not transmitted homogenously through disciplinary institutions with a monopoly on determining what remains inside and outside the boundaries of tradition. Rather, the tradition is transmitted heterogeneously through competing institutions. The Alliance schools, for instance, never fully displaced other institutions of Jewish socialization in shaping the subjectivities of their colonized Jewish students: students cut class to make pilgrimages to saints’ shrines; Jewish parents who sent their children to study science continued to patronize magicians and amulet writers; just when the Alliance had successfully inculcated Francophonie and French came to prevail over Arabic in quotidian Jewish conversation, the popular Judeo-Arabic press experienced unparalleled growth. Moroccan Jewish subjectivity, like all forms of subjectivity, is not merely divided along lines of class, gender, educational achievement, and so forth; it is divided within every individual.⁵⁶

This view of discursive subjectivity also puts us in a position to rethink the local and global extents of Jewish tradition. Calling Judaism a total way of life is misleading if, by that claim, one means that Jews in the traditional past led lives determined entirely by precepts of Jewish law and custom: the Jew who served time in an Ottoman jail, paid port taxes in Aden, apprenticed as a metalworker in Tunisia, composed a sonata in Germany, or went to a baseball game in Brooklyn indicates otherwise. Judaism has never had the exclusive capacity to form the identities and subjectivities of individual Jews. Judaism is a total system only in the sense that every act committed in its name indexes a set of institutional practices that does not necessarily respect the boundaries that ideally define the autonomous realms of modern civil society (religious, legal, educational, economic, domestic, and political).⁵⁷

Nor should the totality of Judaism be confused with the assertions of particular orthodoxies, whose power to shape what is normative is always limited. The secular American Jew who gives money to the Ḥabad movement represents both the power and weakness of