Cohen begins Christ Killers by making it exceedingly clear that his interest is not whether Jews are responsible for the death of Jesus: that is an historical issue which has been and will continue to be debated. Instead, his focus is to explain the “historical realities that conditioned interpreters to see and understand as they did.” Why did the story of Jews being responsible for Christ’s death develop in the particular way that it did — from being a relatively benign debate in the early years to the blame-obsessed Passion stories of the Middle and late Middle Ages and on to the reality of the Holocaust?
{sa 195178416}Cohen locates the roots of the New Testament Passion story in the Old Testament, in the story of Abraham being asked by God to sacrifice his only son, Isaac. Remember, Jesus was a Jew, and His life and story needs to be seen in the context of Jewish life at that time. Cohen urges the reader to understand that for Jewish leaders Jesus broke many traditional Jewish laws and therefore some of His teachings were seen to be questionable, even offensive. The first 100 or so years of Jewish/Christian conflict needs to be recognized, according to Cohen, as “a conflict that transpired within the Jewish community.” Some historians feel the definitive break between Judaism and Christianity did not come until the second Jewish revolt against Rome in the year 131.
Early Christian theological leaders debated whether the Jews, as a people, could be blamed for Jesus’ death. The debate presented the audience with numerous conclusions, but generally speaking there were two predominant directions:
- that the role played by Jews was a part of God’s plan for salvation, a role that was prophesied and therefore necessary; and
- that those Jews who supported Christ’s crucifixion did not believe that Christ was the Messiah, and therefore needed to be forgiven for any role they may have inadvertently played.
Early Christian leadership emphasized that Christianity was rooted in the Old Testament. In spite of the fact early church leadership avowed that Jews should not suffer (or at least not suffer too much) for whatever role they were seen as having played, the seeds had been sown for casting the Jews into the role of Christ’s killers.
By the Middle Ages the debate over the Jewish role in Christ’s crucifixion was beginning to change substantively. Jews were now to blame for His death and were to be held accountable.
We learn that the tipping point took place because of a story — the story of William of Norwich. William was a young Christian boy who was found dead in the forests near his home. Thomas of Monmouth ignored whatever facts were available at the time and created the first story of Jewish ritual murder. Local Jews, according to Thomas, murdered and sacrificed William in a way that was reminiscent of the murder of Jesus. From that point on the Christ-killer myth grew and became entrenched in our stories and lives, in spite of the words and lessons of Christ Himself and attempts by many Christian leaders to prevent this.
Why did Thomas of Monmouth do this? The simple answer, Cohen writes, was that Thomas “had much to gain: the fame of a local martyr and saint would enhance the reputation of Norwich and its cathedral, just as a stream of pilgrims to William’s relics would bring tourism and good business to town.”
The broader answer would include understanding that William was alive during the 12th century equivalent of globalization, and stories which cast blame and created an us-and-them attitude were an historic and, unfortunately, human reaction to perceived outside threats (the rise of Islam), poverty, famine and the 12th-century version of overpopulation.
The essential message of Cohen’s book is that the myths and stories developed by our cultural, religious and political leadership do not necessarily reflect the intentions of our spiritual ancestors. We need to recognize that the perspectives of those cultural leaders can be a response to socioeconomic realities, a political agenda (what some refer to as spin) or very human emotions such as fear or greed. Whether it is the William of Norwich story, The Passion of The Christ (according to Mel Gibson) or The Lost Tomb of Jesus (according to James Cameron and Simcha Jacobovici), stories gain a life of their own and can undermine the ultimate truths we hold in common. Sometimes these stories are created unintentionally, sometimes deliberately for the sake of profit and a place in history and sometimes to ensure we remain separated — to prevent us from getting to know each other as neighbours and friends.
In a conversation I had with the very gracious Jeremy Cohen, he elegantly summarized his position: “Perhaps the important thing is that mythic stories about the past derive from the needs of those who tell, receive and relay them. Understanding the dynamics and functions of such stories can help us overcome their deplorable effects,” he said.
Cohen’s book encourages us to be brave enough to recognize a spin for what it is and to understand what our own agendas are when we come to the table.
(Boraks is executive director of Christian-Jewish Dialogue of Toronto.)