CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHRISTIANS, JEWS AND MUSLIMS IN BYZANTINE ITALY

Medieval conflicts in local perspective

Youval Rotman

INTRODUCTION

Sicily and southern Italy hold a special place in the history of the Byzantine empire. Thanks to their geographic situation as middle Byzantium’s most western regions,¹ separated from the Balkan mainland by the Adriatic Sea, they could well be considered a peripheral region. In what follows I will subject this to scrutiny. Much has been written over the past two decades on center–periphery relationships in matters of society, economy and most of all culture. I would like to examine the definition of Byzantine Italy and Sicily as a peripheral region in view of the special place that this region held on the general medieval map. I shall avoid, therefore, the definition of a periphery in relation to a center by focusing here not on the relations between Constantinople and Italy/Sicily, but on the particularities of the southern Italian and Sicilian region and the way in which they were perceived by the local population.

The lands of the region in question included Sicily, Calabria, Apulia, Lucania/Basilicata and Campania, all of which were brought under the sway of Constantinople in the sixth century by Justinian’s military enterprise. The seventh and eighth centuries witnessed a growing Lombard presence in southern Italy.² Following the Iconoclastic crisis in the eighth century, and the new pro-Carolingian policy of the papacy, Rome and Constantinople did not see eye to eye.³ The local Greek population found itself part of the Byzantine empire, but enjoyed increasing religious influences from Rome. In the eighth and ninth centuries, Constantinople and Rome competed between themselves for political and religious influence in the region, part of which had passed from Rome’s jurisdiction to Constantinople’s.⁴ The Carolingian-Roman pact manifested in the coronation of Charlemagne as emperor by Pope Leo III in the year 800 increased the impact that this conflict had in the South, and made Rome more influential at the expense of Constantinople.⁵ Another consequence of the Carolingian presence in Italy was the independence of Lombard Benevento.⁶ This political constellation, which had also a religious dimension to it (with communities oriented toward Constantinople or toward Rome), became even more complex in the ninth century, following the arrival of Islam in the region.

The Arabs got their first hold in Sicily in 827, and arrived in the Adriatic ten years later.⁷ By the end of the ninth century and the beginning of the tenth, they had completed the conquest of Sicily and were making continuous attacks on Calabria. In 918 they captured Reggio. Their presence was of major concern to Byzantium, since Arab forces in the Adriatic endangered the Byzantine domination of this part of the Mediterranean and deprived Byzantium of access to its Italian territories. Battles between the two powers continued in the region throughout the ninth, tenth and eleventh centuries. The Arab forces that appeared in the region did not always act on behalf of a single political authority. The emirate of Bari, for instance, acted as an independent principality.⁸ The same was also true for the Lombard principalities.⁹ During this period, the frontiers between the Byzantine, Lombard and Arab states were in constant flux, sometimes to the advantage of the Byzantines, who succeeded in resuming their Adriatic hegemony and their hold on part of their Italian territories in the tenth century. In the eleventh century a new political force appeared in southern Italy, the Normans. By the twelfth century they had conquered all Byzantine and Arab territories in Calabria, Apulia, Basilicata and Sicily and reorganized the entire region in the framework of a single independent kingdom.

Between the eighth and the eleventh centuries, therefore, southern Italy and Sicily were the scene of constant political conflicts. These were also religious conflicts, since each of the forces in question had a different medieval religious agenda. The different religious communities of the region – the Orthodox who were faithful to Constantinople, Roman Catholics and Muslims – met yet a fourth medieval religious culture, Judaism. Present in the region since antiquity, Jewish communities were now spread all over southern Italy and Sicily. Though not forming a polity, the local Jewish communities were connected to the great yeshivas of Palestine and Mesopotamia/‘Babylonia’ (modern Iraq) and played their part in the formation of a wider medieval Jewish culture.¹⁰

Sicily and southern Italy was the only region in the medieval world where all four medieval cultures met. However, the different religious communities which coexisted there were in constant political and religious conflict. In what follows, therefore, I will examine conflict, focusing not on the way the Byzantines viewed their Italian territories and the local population, but on the way the local population perceived itself in relation to its local religious and political context, most notably through religious and moralizing literary production: local hagiography. Such an analysis of the local literary production will help to address whether the population of the region saw itself as related to the Byzantine political and cultural center, or whether it was mainly concerned with local issues. The question of whether Byzantine Italy was more Byzantine or more Italian is, naturally, impossible to answer fully. However, an answer can be attempted by analyzing the ways in which its population perceived its particular political-religious situation.

CHRISTIAN–JEWISH RIVALRY IN LOCAL PERSPECTIVE

The representation of religious conflicts in the hagiography of southern Italy in the eighth and ninth centuries has been dealt with by Evelyne Patlagean and Augusta Acconcia Longo, and Stéphanos Efthymiades has dealt with the tenth and eleventh centuries.¹¹ Both Patlagean and Acconcia Longo analyze the literature concerning the local Sicilian dioceses in the eighth and ninth centuries in the light of the major religious event of the period: the iconoclastic crisis. Both take this literature as important evidence of the concerns that touch the region in the period that saw the Sicilian and Calabrese dioceses passing under the patriarchal jurisdiction of Constantinople. Patlagean reads the hagiography of the Sicilian bishops, written at this time, as part of the Roman propaganda intended to bring the local Greek communities into the Roman orbit of influence. Acconcia Longo, on the other hand, identifies in some of the same hagiographic texts (and others) religious and political trends that could well testify to an inclination toward Constantinople.

For both historians the different references to Constantinople, the emperor and the patriarch on the one hand, and to Rome and the pope on the other, are indications of the religious trends in a region that finds itself between two opposing centers of religious influence during the iconoclastic crisis. It is important to state that almost all of these references are slight.¹² No text places Rome and Constantinople explicitly in confrontation, and none refers directly to the iconoclastic conflict. In this they are very different from texts from other parts of the empire, which present a definite conflict over icon veneration in polemical tones.¹³ Nevertheless, the lack of explicit references to Iconoclasm does not exclude its presence as a pivotal event that divided the region between Orthodoxy according to Constantinople, and emerging Catholicism according to Rome.

The Life of Pankratios of Taormina opens a tenth-century manuscript dedicated almost exclusively to Sicilian saints, all of whom are from eastern Sicilian dioceses: Pankratios of Taormina, Markianos of Syracuse, Agathon of Lipari and Alphios, Filadelhios and Quirinos, the three martyrs of Lentini.¹⁴ Copied in 964, Vat. gr. 1591 is the earliest source for these texts, and is considered to be a creation of the Rossano region in Calabria.¹⁵ The fact that Theodore Stoudite refers to the Life of Pankratios of Taormina in his defense of icons in three of his letters is well known.¹⁶ The text is preserved in twelve manuscripts. The six manuscripts of the first recension were edited by Cynthia Stallman-Pacitti in her unpublished dissertation “The Life of S. Pancratius of Taormina.”

The icon is indeed present in the text. The Life narrates the Christian mission with which Peter charges Pankratios and Markianos in order to Christianize Sicily. Pankratios is sent to Taormina, Markianos to Syracuse. Both are armed with icons and crosses. Peter orders Joseph the painter to copy the icon of Christ in his possession, and to prepare two more icons depicting himself and Pankratios.¹⁷ Pankratios carries the icons with him, and uses them in his miracles, but the iconoclastic crisis in itself is not mentioned directly.¹⁸ The two saints combat the local pagan priests, destroy the pagan temples and convert the local pagan population. Acconcia Longo has demonstrated how this assimilation of the local pagans with the Christians portrays an iconodule propaganda against iconoclast accusation of idolatry. She has shown how the Life of Pankratios could well be read as an iconodule reply to the Life of Leon of Catania, where the mage Heliodoros would originally have been an iconodule figure.¹⁹ The battle between the saint’s magic forces and the local non-Christian magical forces symbolizes, therefore, the iconoclastic–iconodule conflict. In the Life of Pankratios, it is the saint himself who is charged with magical powers, thanks to which he manages to destroy the pagan idols and temples, and converts the local pagans.

There are, however, other local idolaters whom the saint does not manage to convert. These are the Jews and the Montanists, who combine forces with Taormina’s archon and fight Pankratios. They organize an orgy and order two Christian virgins, Pankratios’ deaconesses, to attend. The newly Christianized community, enraged by the decapitation of the two maidens, is led by the saint waging war against both Jews and Montanists, which ends in the drowning of the latter outside the city’s port.²⁰ This representation of the Montanists, who are otherwise unknown in the region, and the Jews, has no further particulars except for the fact that both communities are presented as idolaters. This is manifested by their religious practices described throughout the text.²¹

The representation of the Jews as sorcerers is, of course, a topos in Christian texts.²² However, their representation as idolaters is quite unusual.²³ This, combined with the probably fictitious local Montanist community, suggests an iconodule argument against the iconoclastic accusation of idolatry.²⁴ The representation of the Jews as such would then be a contra-iconoclast argument. For this purpose, the Jewish and Montanist figures are completely fictional. Indeed, “the faith of the Jews” (h pistis ton Ioudaion) is portrayed here as disconnected from biblical Judaism. The Jews are described as polytheists, worshippers of the Golden Calf, and since they are here called oi Ioudaioi (in contrast to the biblical to laos tou Israel), they are clearly differentiated from the biblical narrative.²⁵

The author uses exactly the same description of idolaters and polytheists for the Jews of Syracuse too.²⁶ Here the Life of Pankratios indeed serves as an iconoclast mirror to the Life of Leon of Catania, where the Jew summons up Satan using sorcery. While idolatry is used in the Life of Leon of Catania as part of an icono-clastic accusation against iconodules, its attribution to the Jews and Montanists in the Life of Pankratios could well be an iconodule contra-argument. In other words, the Jews and Montanists are being used in the text as part of an iconodule statement, so as to lay the iconoclasts’ accusation of idolatry on others, in contrast to the holy magic that Pankratios and Markianos perform.²⁷ The icons are therefore not the only reference in the text to the iconoclast conflict. Moreover, the religious conflict of the time is presented on the basis of another religious conflict, the conflict between the Jews and the Christians.

The political conflict in the region at that time is also presented by the author of the Life using a completely different conflict. By the end of the eighth century, the Lombards had occupied most of the Byzantine territories in Apulia, Lucania and part of Calabria.²⁸ In the Life of Pankratios the Lombard presence in Calabria is made incarnate in the figure of the mighty Remaldos “of the blond race,” who, together with Akulinos, “Calabria’s king,” had conquered the entire southern coast down to the Salento.²⁹ Evagrios, Pankratios’ disciple and the author of his Life, reads from “the history book” how Remaldos adopted Tauros (one of the two founders of the city of Taormina). The author narrates the entire mythology of the region, but contextualizes the history of Taormina, not in the history of Sicily, but in that of Calabria. Moreover, this mythology is presented as the historical context of political events contemporary with Pankratios: Akulinos’ descendant (also named Akulinos) prepares an invasion of 600,000 men from Calabria to conquer Taormina. Pankratios, who learns about this plan in a dream, warns Bonifatios, the hegemon of Taormina, but recommends no military preparation.³⁰ “It is that war, the invasion of Akulinos’ fathers, that I want now to revenge,” he says to the hegemon. The saint then defeats the Calabrian soldiers by the power of the cross and the icon of Christ, “in the same manner that Joshua conquered Jericho.”³¹ Once the saint has repulsed the Calabrese attack, he converts the Calabrese soldiers. He ordains a few of them priests and deacons, and sends them back to convert Calabria “before Peter passed through Ravenna and ordained Stephanos sending him to Reggio.”³² This is a clear indication of the political and religious aspirations of the author of the Life: Taormina is presented not only as the first base of Christianity in Sicily, but also the first in Calabria. Moreover, Pankratios’ presence in Italy even preceded Peter (who according to the opening of the Life had sent Pankratios from the East and only later arrived in Rome).³³

The general religious and political context does not interest the local hagiographer for itself. His objective is to build a case for the primacy of Taormina, which has to be portrayed as iconodule and victorious. The author makes use of the Christian– Jewish conflict, much as he uses the local political rivalries between Lombard Calabria and Byzantine Sicily. Neither conflict interests him in itself. This could explain why the Life of Pankratios does not exhibit a clear iconoclast agenda. Iconoclasm is not the main issue here. The Life was written according to a completely local Sicilian agenda, where the religious enemy, whether iconoclast or iconodule, is portrayed in the figure of the Jew. This enemy can, nevertheless, be converted to Orthodoxy.

The same Vat. gr. 1591 contains a hagiographic cycle (BHG 57–62) dedicated to the three martyrs of Lentini: Alphios, Philadelphios and Quirinios.³⁴ The last story attributed to them narrates the conversion of the rabbi and part of the Jewish community of Lentini to Christianity by the miraculous post-mortem intervention of the three martyrs. The figure of the Jew who acknowledges the falsity of his faith and converts to Christianity is, of course, a hagiographic topos.³⁵ But as Maria Vittoria Strazzeri has recently shown, here there is some reason to argue that the story is based on a historical conversion of part of a Jewish local community. She dates the story to the second half of the seventh century (649–98) and sees references in it to both the Monothelite heresy, and the forced baptism that took place during the reign of Herakleios.³⁶

In this story, Samuel has been stricken with a serious case of leprosy which has lasted for twenty-two years. His wife Shoshana goes to seek advice from a wise woman. The latter recommends the Christian faith as a remedy, which Shoshana, naturally, refuses to accept. In the meantime Samuel has a revelation. The three martyrs of the city visit him in his dream, and cure his right hand of leprosy. They advise him to go to Thekla if he wants to be completely cured. When he wakes up, Samuel orders his sons and daughters to carry him to Thekla’s house. There, at midnight, the martyrs put on flesh mysteriously and cure him. When he wakes up healed he immediately renounces Judaism, and so do his children. But the Jewish community will not accept the loss of their rabbi. They go directly to Thekla’s house and demand to have their rabbi back: “What have you done to us, O kyria Thekla!” they cry, “Why did you take our father and leave us, like a herd without a shepherd, orphans?” Samuel then steps out from Thekla’s house and confronts the Jews, who claim the miracle to be the divine providence of their gods (oi theoi hmon) “whom the emperors used to worship.” This is the third time in the text that the Jews are portrayed as polytheists. In the second part of the story, the martyrs save Samuel together with a large group of men buried alive, a miracle which convinces more Jews (yet not all of them) to convert.

The text offers a detailed description of a Jewish community, probably of a seventh- or eighth-century Sicilian town. Both the Jewish and the Christian communities are portrayed as equals in their size, in their actions and in the dialogue between them. Unlike the Jews in the Life of Pankratios, the Jewish community of Lentini is not portrayed as a real threat to Christianity, but as its local rival. The story is a story of a rivalry between the two communities and between the two religions. In order to change this balance, the conversion of the rabbi is required. The representation of the Jewish faith as polytheism, which we also saw in the Life of Pankratios, points here to the new place Judaism has acquired: Jews are now playing the role once attributed to pagans, that is, they are destined for conversion.³⁷

In both hagiographies, the one dedicated to Pankratios and Markianos, and the one dedicated to the martyrs of Lentini, we find that the Jewish presence in Sicily is presented as a challenge to Orthodoxy.³⁸ Incarnating either idolatry or polytheism, the Jews are destined for destruction or conversion, both of which would symbolize the victory of Orthodoxy. In this the Greek Italian hagiographers are not different from hagiographers elsewhere in the empire. However, they make use of this rivalry in order to present contemporary conflicts in local perspective. This becomes evident once a new religion appears in the region: Islam.

CHRISTIAN–MUSLIM RIVALRY IN LOCAL PERSPECTIVE

We have seen that hagiographers in the eighth century and the beginning of the ninth century made the slightest of references to the political and religious circumstances disturbing the empire.³⁹ This “hagiographic strategy,” which was apparent in the use it made of the figure of the Jew, completely changed once Islam began to play a leading political role in the region. According to Aldo Messina, the hagiographic cycle that we find in Vat. gr. 1591 was composed in the first half of the tenth century, so close to the date that the manuscript was copied in the monastery community of S. Filippo di Fragalà in Sicily. It expresses nostalgia for the period of Greek Christianity in Sicily, in view of the Arab conquest of Sicily.⁴⁰ However, this theory does not hold for local hagiography written in Calabria in the tenth to eleventh centuries in light of the Arab presence in Sicily and Italy.⁴¹

Most of the Lives described and analyzed by Da Costa Louillet, and which refer to this last phase in the history of Byzantine rule in Italy, are, in contrast to earlier Lives, relatively easy to date.⁴² If we follow Caruso’s division between “historical” and “unhistorical” hagiographies, all of the later Lives fall within the first category.⁴³ This is mainly due to the information that they give about political events. In contrast to local hagiographers writing before the advent of the Arabs, who do not provide explicit references to contemporary events, the hagiographers of the tenth to eleventh centuries contextualize the saint’s activities in the local political reality. The Arab invasions and conquests are explicitly mentioned throughout the texts, along with other political forces, such as the Lombards and the Germans, as well as several Byzantine leaders. This serves the hagiographer’s objective of portraying the saint as a political figure. For this purpose it is essential to depict the saint on the background of contemporary political reality, rather than of a mythological or legendary past.

The Life of Elias the Younger, the Life of Elias the Cave-dweller (spelaiotes), the Life of Vitalis, the Life of Sabas the Younger, the Life of Luc of Demena and the Life of Nil of Rossano are all products of Byzantine Calabria, and all were written when Sicily was already under Aghlabid rule and Calabria was a target for Arab raids. Historians have noted that all of these Lives are dedicated to monks, in contrast to the Lives written in Byzantine Italy prior to the coming of the Arabs, in which the saint is often a local bishop. This difference corresponds to the new role that monasteries began to play in the region, as foci of protection for the local inhabitants.⁴⁴

There is, however, another significant quality that sets these saints apart: they were all born in the region. In contrast to earlier saints who came to Sicily from the east and the north, the saints of the ninth to the eleventh century were all natives, who, if they travel, always return to southern Italy. The native Sicilians among them, such as Elias the Younger, Leo-Luc of Corelione or Sabas the Younger, move around Sicily, before they turn to Calabria.⁴⁵ The Life of Elias the Younger, for example, which is dated by its editor to the 930s or 940s, testifies to the gradual Arab conquest of Sicily. Elias himself is captured twice by Arab raiders. His destiny leads him on a Mediterranean journey to Ifriqiya, Egypt, Palestine and back through North Africa to Italy, where he becomes known for his prophetic capacities.⁴⁶ He is able to foresee the Arab attacks and becomes famous throughout the empire.⁴⁷ His journeys lead him to Epirus, the Peloponnese and Thessalonika.⁴⁸ He becomes known to Emperor Leo VI, and is asked to pray for the safety and salvation of the empire. He is even invited to Constantinople, but dies on his journey.⁴⁹

In fact, not one of these saints gets to Constantinople, and the city itself is very rarely mentioned. Nil of Rossano explicitly refuses an invitation to go there.⁵⁰ Unlike Constantinople, Rome is frequently present. All of these saints go to Rome on pilgrimage and meet the pope, who is not, however, always presented as the supreme authority. Nil of Rossano, for instance, intervenes out of his own initiative in the matter of the antipope John Philagathos, and refuses to take Otto III’s side.⁵¹ It is his disciple, Bartholomew, who meets the antipope, and makes him renounce his position by excommunicating him.⁵² This is a clear indication of the religious authority that the authors attribute to the local saint, an authority which is recognized by both Rome and Constantinople. In other words, the Byzantine saints of southern Italy are not secondary to either Rome or Constantinople.⁵³ Their fame makes them known as such outside the region as well.⁵⁴

All of these Lives refer to the Arab invasions and the difficulties that the local population encountered. As the protector and guardian of the local community, the saint was able to predict the invasion and forewarn the locals.⁵⁵ This also makes him indispensable for the Byzantine military commanders.⁵⁶ Thus Elias the Younger is visited by the commander of the Byzantine navy and gets specific instructions for his soldiers to fast and pray, in order to defeat the Arab navy.⁵⁷ The saint acquires such an important local influence in political matters that the Byzantine governors need his help in other matters as well. Nil of Rossano manages to appease the inhabitants of Rossano, who burn ships and kill their commanders as a response to the governor’s dictates.⁵⁸ When there is a threat of German invasion from the north, Romanos, the Byzantine commander of Italy, asks Sabas to negotiate with the “Franks’ king” (Otto II) and to reach an accord in order to stop the forthcoming German attack.⁵⁹ Sabas is depicted by his hagiographer, Orestes the patriarch of Jerusalem, as a figure who plays a key role in the politics of Italy between the Byzantines, the Lombards and the Germans. Sabas manages to convince the same German king (rex ton Fragkon) to release the son of the prince of Salerno whom he took as hostage.⁶⁰ He is also approached by the prince of Amalfi, who implores him to do the same for his son.⁶¹

The special political constellation of southern Italy in this period, which was composed of different and often hostile political forces, demanded a new type of saint who would play the mediator and resolve political conflicts. The saint sometimes acts as the political military leader himself. Elias the Younger is described by his hagiographer as the one who had killed the Arab leader Ibrâhim (Brakhimos in the Greek text) whose objective was to seize Constantinople.⁶² Both Luc of Demena and Vitalis confront the Arab forces by themselves, the first armed with the cross, the second with a sword (but using the sign of the cross all the same).⁶³ In fact, the two Lives do not mention any other Byzantine political or military leader. The saint plays that role, and succeeds where the Byzantine ruler fails: he brings protection and calm to the local inhabitants. The local community no longer presents an outsider as its leader, but a native.

In contrast to earlier Lives, the Jews are hardly mentioned in the hagiographic texts from the Arab period. A priori the Christian–Muslim conflict has taken over the place of the Christian–Jewish conflict. However, the two rivalries are not presented on the same level. The Christian–Jewish conflict is presented as an entirely internal Byzantine religious affair, and is used by the hagiographer to portray other internal conflicts that disturb Byzantine society. The Muslims, on the other hand, are presented as outsiders, and the Christian–Muslim relationship is portrayed as it was perceived at the time, as a political danger.⁶⁴ The only Life in which both Arabs and Jews appear is the Life of Nil of Rossano.

Nil confronts Jews on two occasions. On the first, a young Christian who has murdered a Jewish merchant is turned over by the Christian authorities to the Jewish community, which intends to crucify him. Nil manages to save his life by citing a theological regulation, according to which the life of one Christian equals the lives of seven Jews.⁶⁵ On the second occasion, Nil’s healing powers and faith are confronted with those of the most famous Jewish physician of the time, Shabbetai Donnolo. In two episodes, Nil refuses Donnolo’s medical help; in one case, he himself is sick. On both occasions Nil is victorious over Donnolo’s Jewish scientific knowledge through his strong Christian faith in the power of God.⁶⁶

The text is also rich in descriptions of Byzantine–Arab relationships. Nil corresponds with the emir of Palermo, and manages to secure the release of three monks from the Arab prison. In another episode, he opposes the efforts of the metropolitan Blatton to ransom Byzantine captives from Ifrikia. The latter pretends to be a relative of the Arab ruler (Al-Muizz).⁶⁷ Thus, a major difference is here revealed between the representations of the Jews and the Arabs in Byzantine hagiography.

A LOCAL JEWISH POINT OF VIEW

Whether in local hagiography of the eighth–ninth centuries or in later texts, Christian saints confront Jewish leaders on a religious, a magical or a scientific level. This is not, however, how the Jews perceived this rivalry. The main problem in analyzing the Jewish point of view is that we have only one representative text against the abundance of Greek hagiography. The Chronicle [scroll] of Ahimaaz, written in 1054 by a Jew from Capua, contains a rich description of the Jewish communities of Byzantine Apulia.⁶⁸ The text is so rich and contains so many elements, that it can certainly be compared to the Christian texts. It is in fact the only source we have from Byzantine Italy that we can use as equivalent to hagiography, for its mélange of genres makes it impossible to distinguish between its historical, mythical and literary elements.⁶⁹

In order to collect stories about his family, Ahimaaz ben Paltiel travels from Capua to Apulia for his research. Ahimaaz’s goal is to glorify his fathers, who are all rabbis. It is the same goal as that of a Christian disciple who sets out to write down the Life of his spiritual father. If we compare the literary representation of the Byzantine rabbi to that of the Byzantine saint, we will see that both figures fulfill the same function. Their role is first and foremost to protect their local community and to preserve the social and religious order. To that end, the rabbi uses the sacred Name of God, known only to him. Although this is very different from the way Christian miracles are performed, the miracle in itself is used for the same objectives by both rabbis and saints.⁷⁰

Just like the Christian saints, the rabbis in The Chronicle of Ahimaaz move all around southern Italy. Ahimaaz reveals a network of local leaders spread all over the Jewish communities: Oria, Bari, Beneventum, Venosa, Capua and others. In regard to the Jewish–Christian relationship, The Chronicle of Ahimaaz portrays this relationship as entirely in the rabbis’ hands. Moreover, all relationships between the two communities are portrayed on the level of their leaders. But while the Jewish leaders are the rabbis, the Christian leaders are bishops and emperors. No saint or monk is mentioned.⁷¹ In one episode, Rabbi Shefatya is summoned to Constantinople by Basil I who is troubled by a serious problem: which is bigger, Hagia Sophia or Solomon’s Temple? Rabbi Shefatya proves that the Old Temple was larger.⁷² He then manages to exorcize a demon that has possessed the emperor’s daughter. In return, he receives a charter of immunity for his community that saves it from the forced conversion that the emperor has inflicted on the Jews.

This political function of the rabbis is even more explicit in the second part of the text, where Arab emirs and caliphs replace the Byzantines as the main political enemy. Rabbi Shefatya saves the Jewish community of Oria during Savdan’s conquest by getting back to the city in time to warn his community of the forthcoming attack.⁷³ The Jewish community evacuates the city in the same manner as the Christian communities which are warned by the local saint of an approaching Arab attack. The rabbis confront the Arab leaders both on Italian and African lands. They are successful in confronting the Arab ruler just as they were successful in confronting the Byzantine authorities.⁷⁴ Here we find that the representation of the Arabs in the Hebrew text is analogous to their representation in the Greek texts. They symbolized a threat. Both the rabbis in the Jewish literature, and the saints in the Christian literature, have here a political function to fulfill vis-à-vis the Arab enemy. This is not the case for Christian–Jewish rivalry.

We saw that Christian–Jewish rivalry is presented in local hagiography as a local Byzantine affair. The Greek hagiography of Byzantine Italy presents it as a religious, not a political, matter. However, this is not how the Jews perceive the situation by any means. The rabbis in The Chronicle of Ahimaaz confront the Christian leaders, both emperors and bishops, at a political level. Vis-à-vis the Christian Byzantines and the Muslim Arabs, the Jews present themselves as independent, both religiously and politically. A conversion might make them Orthodox Byzantines, but from a Jewish point of view it would destroy their identity as Jews. Faced with the Arabs, the Christian Byzantines fear much the same thing: that they will lose their freedom and be taken away to Arab lands where they would face conversion.⁷⁵ In order to deal with such fears, a new type of Byzantine saint is elaborated in the literature of Byzantine Italy, a saint who can confront the Arabs on the political level and provide protection for his community. This is the same model the Jews develop in the figure of the local rabbi.

CONCLUSION

The reality as depicted in the hagiography of the tenth and eleventh centuries presents the local Greek Christian population as constantly menaced. The danger could come from German invaders, but is mainly from the Arabs. Although a Byzantine army was always present, and indeed was successful in repulsing the Arabs from Calabria, Apulia and the Adriatic Sea, its successes are hardly ever mentioned in local hagiography. When they are noted, they are credited to the saint’s intervention. In this the representation developed by the local hagiographers of Byzantine Italy, and followed up by them, was unique. The hagiography of the same period written in other meeting points between the Byzantines and the Arabs, namely Asia Minor and the Aegean region, did not produce political saints.⁷⁶ The Byzantine hagiographers of Italy present the local and native saints as the true political leaders of the region, who became successful to the point of negotiating with and being recognized by princes, emperors and emirs.

This local hagiographical perspective, which was different from hagiographical texts from other parts of the empire, also resembled the way the Jewish leadership of southern Italy was portrayed in view of its rivalry with both Christian and Muslim authorities. Moreover, we can identify its roots in the local hagiography of the eighth century, which was produced in order to portray a local point of view on contemporary events. The letters of Theodore Stoudite, as well as the proliferation of the Lives of southern Italian saints, testify to the success of the local hagiographers outside the borders of their region, and reveal a Byzantine periphery which local writers portrayed as a center with its own particular qualities and leaders.

NOTES

1 Without taking into consideration the case of Sardinia: Rowland 2001; Corrias and Cosentino 2002.

2 Congresso internazionale di studi sull’alto medioevo 2003; von Falkenhausen 1983.

3 Patlagean 2002.

4 Anastos 1957; Burgarella 1988; von Falkenhausen 1979; Acconcia Longo 2006.

5 Bertolini 1966.

6 von Falkenhausen 1983: 257–61; Bertolini 1966; Cammarosano 2003; Azzara 2003.

7 Ahmad 1975; Salierno 2000.

8 Musca 1964.

9 See n. 2.

10 Simonsohn 1997; Bucari et al. 2002; Rutgers 2002; Lacerenza 2002; Kislinger 2002.

11 Patlagean 1964; Acconcia Longo 2006; Efthymiades 2006.

12 Compare: Acconcia Longo 2001b.

13 Although most of these Lives are posterior to the Iconoclast controversy: Ševenko 1977. For a different view see van Esbroeck and Zanetti 1988.

14 Gerbino 1992; van Esbroeck and Zanetti 1988; Acconcia Longo 1990.

15 Lucà 1989; Lucà 1991; following Re 2007: 51–2.

16 Fatouros 1991: 346, 536, 779. In letter no. 532 from 826 directed to the emperors Michael II and Theophilos the author narrates how the icon of Christ was carried by Pankratios in order to manifest Christ’s existence to the pagans. Note that Aldo Messina argues that there is no evidence that Theodore Stoudite referred to the same text that we have in Vat. gr. 1591: Messina 2001.

17 I am grateful to Elizabeth Jeffreys, who directed me to Cynthia Stallman-Pacitti’s thesis at the Bodleian Library: Stallman-Pacitti 1986: vol. 1, 11–12. These could well have been the three images painted on the same icon. However, later in the text they are referred to as individual icons: Stallman-Pacitti 1986: vol. 1, 67.

18 Note that only two icons, of Jesus and of Peter, are later mentioned: Stallman-Pacitti 1986: vol. 1, 67. Stallman-Pacitti has argued that the reference to a third (in fact fourth icon) of the Mother of God was a later insertion, added by the early ninth century in response to Iconoclasm: Stallman-Pacitti 1986: vol. 2, 160–2. Stallman-Pacitti suggests that the Life was written in the early eighth century, i.e. after Sicily had become a thema, but before Iconoclasm and the transfer of the local ecclesiastical jurisdiction from Rome to Constantinople: Stallman-Pacitti 1986: vol. 2, 1–8, 157–62.

19 Acconcia Longo 1989: 55–6. Whether the Life of Leon of Catania was written as an iconoclast Life is a subject of debate between Augusta Acconcia Longo and Marie-France Auzépy: Auzépy 1992; Acconcia Longo 1992; Auzépy 1993; Acconcia Longo 1993.

20 Stallman-Pacitti 1986: vol. 1, 23–5, 181–2, 231–61, 281, 340–2.

21 See previous note.

22 For example, in the Life of Leon of Catania: Acconcia Longo 1989: 83–4. Compare the accusation that Pankratios was a magos, by the inhabitants of Taormina enraged that they were not warned by the saint of the Calabrese attack: Stallman-Pacitti 1986: vol. 1, 398–9.

23 Compare with Leontios’ Apology, in which the author defends the Christian veneration of the icon in view of Jewish accusations of idolatry: Déroche 1994: 67–70, 87–94.

24 Compare with Cameron 1996: 261–3, 268–70. Note that in Leontios’ Apology, which precedes Iconoclasm, the Jews’ representation as idolaters has an entirely polemical argument: “the veneration of the icon and the cross cannot be considered idolatry more than the Jewish veneration of the Torah and the images in Salomon’s Temple”: Déroche 1994: 90. The author refers here to the Old Testament in order to argue that the Sons of Israel had used objects as intermediate to God, in the same manner that the Christians use the icon and cross. Compare with another anti-Jewish pre-iconoclastic text: Andrist 1999, where idolatry is hardly used as a prospective Jewish anti-Christian argument.

25 Compare: Stallman-Pacitti 1986: vol. 1, 25, 89–125, concerning the biblical narrative, with: Stallman-Pacitti 1986: vol. 1, 118, 242 and Leontios’ Apology: Déroche 1994.

26 Stallman-Pacitti 1986: vol. 1, 337–42.

27 Idolatry is attributed to the adversary in both iconoclastic and iconodule hagiography: Acconcia Longo 2001b.

28 von Falkenhausen 1983.

29 Stallman-Pacitti 1986: vol. 1, 374–6.

30 Stallman-Pacitti 1986: vol. 1, 376–94. No such battle has come down to us in other sources. The Lombards apparently did not make it to Sicily. As for Remaldos, he could well be either the duke Romualdus I (671–87) or Romualdus II (706–31/2) who managed to conquer Calabria: von Falkenhausen 1983: 287–8.

31 Stallman-Pacitti 1986: vol. 1, 396–405.

32 Stallman-Pacitti 1986: vol. 1, 405–7; Acconcia Longo 2006: 148, n. 142. For Stephanos of Reggio (BHG 1668): AASS Iul. II: 217–20; Acconcia Longo 1991.

33 Evagrios himself arrives in Rome and meets Peter only after Pankratios’ death: Stallman-Pacitti 1986: vol. 1, 413. See also Acconcia Longo 2006: 148.

34 I am grateful to Mario Re for sending me his exhaustive recent study on the different versions of the three martyrs, and their manuscript tradition: Re 2007.

35 See e.g. the Doctrina Jacobi: Dagron and Déroche 1991.

36 Strazzeri 2006: 666–9. I am grateful to Vera von Falkenhausen for this article.

37 Vat. gr. 1591 fol. 204r II – fol. 216v II. Note that in the text the Jews clearly argue that the emperors used to adhere to their faith: Vat. gr. 1581 fol. 209v II. In fact, the whole cycle of the three martyrs opens up with the conversion of a Jew.

38 Note that in the Life of Gregorios of Agrigento, no Jew is mentioned, though its editor, Albrecht Berger, suggests that the idol Eber, whom the saint fights, could be a reference to the Jews (from the word ‘Ebraioi): Berger 1995: 46–7, 266. Compare with the attack on the synagogue of Syracuse in the Latin Life of Zosimos of Syracuse (BHL 9026), written prior to Iconoclasm: AASS Mars. III: 839–43, 842 (following Berger 1995: 47). On the Greek origin and Synaxarion versions of the Life see: Acconcia Longo 1999; Re 2000; Re 2001. As for the famous dialexis between Gregentios of Taphar and the Jew Herban: Berger 2006: 450ff.; according to its editor it was probably composed in Constantinople in the mid-tenth century and definitely not in southern Italy or Sicily: Berger 2006: 107.

39 I focus here on the Jewish figure, but this is also evident in texts which do not refer to Jews. See Acconcia Longo 2001b: 41.

40 Messina 2001. See the critics of Augusta Acconcia Longo: Acconcia Longo 2001a.

41 Efthymiades 2006 has explored how Christian–Muslim relationships are portrayed in the Greek literature of southern Italy and compared this with representations from the Byzantine–Arab border regions of Anatolia.

42 Da Costa Louillet 1960.

43 Caruso 1999. Compare to the Life of Zosimos which, as Augusta Acconcia Longo showed, deifies such a division: Acconcia Longo 1999.

44 Acconcia Longo 2006: 127–30; Pertusi 1974.

45 Rossi Taibbi 1962: 36–44; AASS Mar. I: 99–100; Cozza-Luzi 1893: 13–28.

46 Rossi Taibbi 1962: 4ff.

47 Rossi Taibbi 1962: 36–8, 42, 58, 74, 104.

48 Rossi Taibbi 1962: 40, 58, 106–10.

49 Rossi Taibbi 1962: 74, 104.

50 Giovanelli 1972: 106–7.

51 Giovanelli 1972: 126–8.

52 PG 127: 484, following da Costa Louillet 1960: 170.

53 In contrast to the local bishops. Compare with Photios’ reply to Leon, the archbishop of Reggio, in view of the Muslim presence in the region: Martin 1998.

54 As Orestes, the patriarch of Jerusalem and a disciple of Sabas the Younger writes in the Life of Sabas the Younger: “his greatest miracle was not inferior to that of Elias, Eliashas or Peter the Great”: Cozza-Luzi 1893: 37.

55 As does Elias the Younger: Rossi Taibbi 1962: 38–42, 74; as well as Elias the Cave-dweller: AASS Sept. III: 856.

56 Rossi Taibbi 1962: 42; Giovanelli 1972: 90–4.

57 Rossi Taibbi 1962: 42.

58 Giovanelli 1972: 101–3.

59 Cozza-Luzi 1893: 37.

60 Cozza-Luzi 1893: 63–4.

61 Cozza-Luzi 1893: 64–6.

62 He did that by praying and fasting: Rossi Taibbi 1962: 82.

63 AASS Oct. VI: 340; AASS Mar. II: *30.

64 Though there are a few references to good neighborliness, such as the bread Nil receives from the Muslims in his escape: Giovanelli 1972: 51–3.

65 Giovanelli 1972: 81.

66 Giovanelli 1972: 93, 98. For Shabbetai Donnolo: Sharf 1995: 160–77; Sharf 1976.

67 Giovanelli 1972: 108–10.

68 Klar 1974; English translation: Salzman 1924.

69 For its mixed genre: Bonfil 1996a. For its hagiographic characteristics: Benin 1985, who does not compare it, however, to Byzantine hagiography of Italy.

70 Christian hagiographers present both Jewish and pagan supernatural power as magic. In this they are completely in line with the Jewish literature, in which magic and witchcraft are performed by using the sacred Name of God. Moreover, in both Christian and Jewish sources these magical capacities are related to the Hebraic script. Thus, for example, the hero of the Life of Leon of Catania, Heliodoros the magician, receives from a local Jew a script which enables him to contact the devil: Acconcia Longo 1989: 83–4.

71 See the confrontation between Oria’s bishop and Rabbi Khanan’el: Klar 1974: 23–4.

72 Klar 1974: 17–19.

73 Klar 1974: 20–1.

74 For instance, Rabbi Paltiel’s ability to read the stars enables him to rise in the court of Al-Mu‘izz and becomes the caliph’s chief advisor: Klar 1974: 31–2.

75 Note that the only place where there is a question of the conversion of Christians is in an Arab land and far away from Italy: Rossi Taibbi 1962: 24.

76 Efthymiades 2006.