Religion and Politics Among the Jewish Leadership of Early Medieval Palestine

Abstract

This article investigates how the Jewish leadership in early medieval Palestine employed religious elements to consolidate its power among Jewish communities across the Muslim world. It suggests that the Palestinian Academy in Jerusalem leveraged its location to enhance its authority. The first section analyzes the 921/922 calendar dispute between the Palestinian and Babylonian Jewish centers. I argue that this ostensibly religious conflict was fundamentally a political struggle for leadership, demonstrating how religious authority was utilized for political gain. The second section examines the Hoshana Rabbah ceremony on the Mount of Olives, a key event presided over by the Palestinian Academy and its head, the Gaon. Taking place on the final day of Sukkot, this ceremony attracted Jewish pilgrims from across the Muslim world to Jerusalem. This part analyzes how the Palestinian Academy strategically employed this significant religious gathering—acknowledged even by rival Jewish centers—as a political demonstration to assert its leadership over the Jewish world. Furthermore, the analysis delves into the ceremony’s historical origins, the motivations behind its establishment, and its deep connection to Jerusalem.

1. Introduction

Throughout history, the intricate nexus between religion and politics has been readily apparent. Political institutions and figures, irrespective of their religious, racial, or gender identities, have frequently instrumentalized popular anxieties, the perception of vulnerability, and the pervasive yearning for religious solace to establish and consolidate their authority. Furthermore, the identification of societal weaknesses has often correlated with an intensification of control, sometimes manifesting in the deliberate construction or manipulation of religious rituals and traditions intended to subordinate believers to political imperatives.

The political scientist Jonathan Fox begins his book, An Introduction to Religion and Politics: Theory and Practice, with the following statement: “Religion and politics have been interconnected throughout history. For every ancient political entity for which we have records, religion was intimately connected to politics. This is true of ancient Egypt and Greece as well as the Mesopotamian, Babylonian, Persian, Greek, and Roman Empires, and it continued in the feudal states that followed the fall of the Roman Empire” (Fox 2013, p. 1).

The intricate nexus between religion and politics can be demonstrated to have persisted within Jewish society throughout the medieval period. In Babylonia, for instance, a distinctive leadership structure emerged, the origins of which originated in the Second Temple era. This leadership was characterized by a triadic configuration consisting of the Exilarch (Resh Galuta), the official leader of the Jews of Babylonia, together with the heads of the two prominent academies (yeshivot), Sura and Pumbedita. These two academies engaged in the production of responsa addressing quotidian legal and religious inquiries, and their interpretations garnered significant recognition and authority across individuals and communal structures. This model of leadership attained hegemonic status in late antiquity and the early Middle Ages. Concurrently, in Palestine, the Sanhedrin functioned under the authority of the Patriarch (Nasi), who was recognized as the official representative of the Jewish population under Byzantine imperial rule. The Sanhedrin, which during the Second Temple period had constituted the central politico-religious institution within the Palestinian region, progressively experienced a decline in its authority and status, potentially culminating in its dissolution with the abolition of the Patriarchate in 425.

At an indeterminate juncture, for which precise documentation remains elusive, a novel leadership institution—the Palestinian Academy—emerged in Palestine. The precise nature of its genesis—whether it was a reconstitution of the antecedent Sanhedrin or a distinct entity arising from its dissolution—remains a subject of scholarly inquiry. Traditional narratives associate the establishment of the Palestinian Academy with the arrival in Palestine, circa the year 520, of Mar Zutra, son of the Exilarch Mar Zutra, who is purported to have “immigrated to the Land of Israel as Exilarch and was installed as head of academy… and he was head of the Sanhedrin” (Seder Olam Zuta, p. 76).

As noted above, the evidentiary basis concerning the genesis of the Palestinian Academy is exceedingly limited, precluding definitive conclusions regarding the precise circumstances and conditions of its emergence. Eve Krakowski offers a more radical revision, positing that the conventional interpretation of extant sources is erroneous, and that the Academy, in its recognizable form, only coalesced during the Fatimid period (Krakowski 2024, pp. 526, 532–34, 539). Irrespective of these uncertainties, the ascent of the Palestinian Academy to a position of influence constituted a protracted and multifaceted process, during which it was compelled to contend with the more established and authoritative Jewish center situated in Babylonia.

This article examines the ways in which the Palestinian leadership in the early Middle Ages (636–1099) utilized religious resources to establish its power and status within Jewish communities in the Muslim world. It argues that the Palestinian Academy strategically capitalized on its Jerusalem location to bolster its authority and influence, both locally and internationally.

The subsequent analysis will consist of two parts, each examining a specific case study that elucidates the Palestinian Academy’s utilization of its religious prerogatives to augment its influence.

The first section will analyze the calendar controversy that unfolded in 921/922. This period witnessed the establishment of divergent calendrical systems by the Babylonian and Palestinian centers, resulting in the observance of religious festivals on disparate dates and precipitating a direct confrontation between these influential hubs. While ostensibly rooted in theological disagreements, this conflict in fact reflected an underlying political contest for hegemonic influence within the Jewish communities of the Muslim world, the resolution of which held significant implications for the future distribution of authority. This section will examine the contextual factors that precipitated the outbreak of this dispute, delineate the diverse arguments articulated by each side, assess the impact of the resolution of the controversy on the prevailing power dynamics within the Muslim world, and demonstrate how a seemingly religious debate served as a vehicle for a discernible political struggle.

The subsequent section will be dedicated to an analysis of the Hoshana Rabbah ceremony conducted on the Mount of Olives. On the final day of the Feast of Tabernacles (Sukkot), Jewish pilgrims from across the Muslim world, and occasionally from Europe, congregated in Jerusalem for communal prayer, ritual observance, and to conduct public affairs pertaining to the Palestinian Jewish community. This ceremony was presided over by the Gaon—the preeminent figure of the Palestinian Academy—and constituted the most significant annual Jewish religious event within the Muslim world in the early Middle Ages, garnering recognition and a degree of legitimacy even from competing politico-religious centers such as those in Babylonia, Egypt, and North Africa. This analysis will examine the mechanisms through which the Academy transformed this religious observance into a demonstrative display of political authority intended to establish and reinforce its leadership within the broader Jewish diaspora. Furthermore, this section will examine the genesis of the ceremony, the underlying motivations and socio-political conditions that facilitated the conception of the ceremony, and its profound and enduring connection to the city of Jerusalem.

The overlapping of religious and political spheres constitutes a central axis for comprehending the administrative and hierarchical organization of any society. This article aims to contribute to the scholarly investigation of this nexus within the broader field of Jewish history in the Muslim world, with a particular focus on the Jewish communities of Palestine. To this end, the analysis will draw upon literary sources, Genizah documents, and relevant prior scholarship, including Sacha Stern’s monograph on the calendar controversy and research by Moshe Gil and Miriam Frenkel. In conclusion, this study endeavors to delineate a nuanced and comprehensive depiction of the dynamic interplay between religious and political authority within the Jewish leadership in Palestine during the early Middle Ages.

2. The Calendar Controversy

The early Islamic period, with the rapid Muslim conquests in the seventh century, dramatically transformed the political structure of Palestine, Syria, Iraq, and Egypt. Under the Rāshidūn Caliphate (632–661) and then the Umayyad Caliphate (661–750), Syria became the empire’s heartland, with its capital in Damascus, while Iraq and Egypt served as key provinces providing resources and manpower. Palestine was included as a military district within Syria. A significant turning point occurred with the rise of the Abbasid Caliphate (750–1258), which shifted the political center eastward to Iraq, establishing Baghdad as their new capital. This reduced the centrality of Syria and Palestine, while Egypt began to gain greater autonomy under local dynasties like the Tulunids and Ikhshidids. The peak of this autonomy was the establishment of the Fatimid Caliphate (909–1171) in Cairo, which emerged as a rival to the Abbasids. This era, leading up to the arrival of the Crusaders in the late 11th century, was characterized by a transition from centralized rule under a unified Caliphate to a more complex system of regional dynasties, often warring amongst themselves and ruling over vast territories, creating a diverse political mosaic. These transformations significantly influenced Jewish political dynamics.

Throughout the extended period of their activity, the Babylonian academies sustained their position as the preeminent political and religious centers in the Muslim world. In contrast, the Palestinian Academy, initially operating from Tiberias, did not achieve the comparable status, power, and influence that characterized the Babylonian institutions. This hierarchical disparity, as articulated by Moshe Gil, had its genesis in the pre-Muslim era, during which the Babylonian Academies underwent a prolonged phase of consolidation, prosperity, and intellectual flourishing, thereby establishing their ascendancy in the competition with the Palestinian Academy (Gil 1983, p. I 442; Gil 1992, p. 537; Gil 1997, p. I 149–150; Gil 2004, p. 150). Over many decades, Babylonian authorities actively sought to extend their religious customs and doctrines to Palestinian communities, both at home and in the diaspora, claiming that their traditions stemmed from the transmissions introduced by Babylonian exiles in the sixth century BCE. Robert Brody argues further that the silence of Palestinian sources suggests that even the Palestinians themselves acknowledged Babylonian religious superiority (Brody 1998, pp. 115–17).

The pivotal juncture in the process culminating in the emergence of the Palestinian Academy as a religious–political alternative to the established Jewish center in Babylonia occurred in the year 921 with the eruption of the calendrical controversy. The Jewish calendar, based on the lunar cycle, in which each month begins with the heliacal rising of the new moon, traditionally required visual observation to determine the beginning of each month. Historically, the prerogative of establishing the calendar resided with the leadership of the Jewish community in Palestine, who based their calendrical pronouncements on direct astronomical observation. However, with the increasing dispersion of the Jewish diaspora, this observational methodology gradually yielded to a fixed, mathematically calculated calendar, a system that persists to the present day (Stern 2005, p. 155). This transition from direct observation to mathematical computation effectively emancipated diaspora communities from their former reliance on the Palestinian center as the calendrical authority. While, in principle, the Palestinian community retained its nominal primacy in dictating the calendrical order, its practical necessity in this domain diminished significantly. Each community possessed the capacity to independently compute the calendar cycle and ascertain the dates of religious festivals based on a standardized algorithm accessible across Jewish communities (regarding the algorithm for determining the calendar, see Stern 2005, pp. 191–94). Notably, according to contemporary sources, the computational frameworks employed by the Babylonian and Palestinian centers were founded upon the same principles, resulting in centuries of calendrical alignment.

However, in the year 921, the calendrical congruence between the two centers was fractured, resulting in the promulgation of divergent dates for the subsequent Passover and Rosh Hashanah (Jewish New Year) holidays in each locale. While the Palestinian authorities asserted that Passover should commence on a Sunday and Rosh Hashanah on a Tuesday, their Babylonian counterparts maintained that Passover should begin on a Tuesday, followed by Rosh Hashanah on a Thursday (Gil 1983, p. I 462; Gil 1992, p. 564). This controversy, while ostensibly concerning matters of religious observance, also constituted a significant contest for hegemonic influence between the two established centers. The underlying motivations were indeed rooted in theological interpretations, yet, as Sacha Stern astutely observes: “It was, above all, a fight for legitimacy and authority, part of a much broader struggle between Palestine and Babylonia for religious and political hegemony” (Stern 2019, p. 3).

The calendrical schism compelled every Jewish community within the Muslim world to align itself with one of the contending centers, the adoption of a particular calendar signifying recognition of that authority’s claim to ultimate jurisdiction. This contest for the allegiance of the Jewish populace was characterized by intense intellectual and rhetorical engagement. Throughout 921/922, the Palestinian and Babylonian authorities engaged in a rigorous polemical exchange with their respective rivals and with other influential parties, endeavoring to substantiate their calendrical calculations and to garner the support of the broader Jewish diaspora.

Neither the Palestinian nor the Babylonian authorities grounded their respective positions in rigorous scientific–astronomical argumentation; rather, the debate centered primarily on the assertion of authority and the weight of tradition. Stern characterizes the arguments presented within the extant corpus of sources as “superficial, simplistic and perfunctory” (Stern 2019, p. 525). In their defense, the Palestinian faction asserted that their geographical proximity to the Land of Israel conferred upon them paramount authority in calendrical determinations, while their Babylonian counterparts maintained that this authority had long since lapsed, and that the established practice in Babylonia represented the preservation of the ancient computational methodologies. In essence, each faction claimed the mantle of the most authentic tradition (Stern 2019, p. 6). Moshe Gil elucidates this dynamic, describing it “as if the Nesi’im (patriarchs) of Palestine and the Babylonian Exilarchs of Talmudic times had returned to life and were struggling with each other over the hegemony of the diaspora, with the proclamation of a leap year and the others of the holidays serving as significant symbolic expressions of supremacy. In conclusion, Gil further posits that, irrespective of the intricacies of the substance of the dispute, in principle, the dispute became a distinct struggle over the hegemony of the communities” (Gil 1983, p. I 465; Gil 1992, p. 568). The unfolding of the calendrical controversy is documented in several contemporary sources as well as in later sources. However, a critical approach to the information presented within these texts is imperative, as they exhibit occasional contradictions and articulate historical arguments often congruent with the partisan objectives and agendas of their respective authors or the factions they represented. The most detailed and comprehensive account is found in a polemical pro-Babylonian treatise named by Stern as “The Book of the Calendar Controversy”, which mounts a sharp critique against the Palestinian leader Ben Meir (in Hebrew: Son of Meir). Earlier scholarship attributed this work to Sa’adia Gaon (head of the Sura Academy, 928–942), naming it the “Book of Festivals” (Sefer ha-Mo’adim). However, Stern underscores the fact that this title is a later addition, absent in any contemporary sources, and that no conclusive evidence substantiates Sa’adia’s authorship. This attribution is therefore a textual conjecture proposed by Abraham Harkavy in his edition of Sa’adia’s “The Book of the Revealed” (Sefer ha-Galuy), wherein Sa’adia alludes to a description he composed concerning the calendrical dispute (The Book of the Revealed, pp. 151–53; Stern 2019, p. 89). Furthermore, contra the prevailing scholarly consensus, Stern demonstrates that Sa’adia did not spearhead the Babylonian campaign; rather, the leadership of the contemporary Babylonian academies directed the opposition. Sa’adia, who had not yet acceded to the Gaonate, participated in a subordinate capacity (Stern 2019, p. 5).

At the helm of the Palestinian faction stood the Gaon, commonly referenced in contemporary sources as “Ben Meir”, whose full name, Aaron ben Meir, is explicitly cited in a responsum by Hai Gaon (Hayye Gaon, Responsum, pp. 448–49). Indeed, a Gaon bearing the name Aaron ben Meir is documented in the list of Geonim compiled by Sahlān ben Abraham, the prominent leader of the Babylonian community in Fustat during the first half of the 11th century (TS NS 312.82: line 5). However, Moshe Gil posits that the Gaon active during the calendrical controversy was Meir, Aaron’s father (Gil 1983, p. I 462; Gil 1992, p. 564). Gil’s contention rests on the demonstrably active involvement of the Gaon’s son, as evidenced by the extant corpus of sources pertaining to the dispute. “The Book of the Calendar Controversy” even attributes the initiation of the “incorrect” (from the Babylonian perspective) calendrical calculations to the son and portrays him as the instigator who hardened his father’s stance in the confrontation with Babylonia (The Book of Calendar Controversy, pp. 124–25). Nevertheless, a careful examination of the broader corpus of sources clearly indicates that “Ben Meir” was the reigning Gaon, not his son. Shraga Abramson proposed an alternative identification, suggesting that “Ben Meir” refers to Aaron ben Moshe ben Meir, who also appears in Sahlān ben Abraham’s aforementioned list (TS NS 312.82, line 1). Abramson argues that while Meir was Aaron’s grandfather, rather than his father, the appellation “Ben Meir” may have functioned as a form of family name. To support this hypothesis, he refers to the text, which states that after Aaron’s tenure as Gaon, he was followed by a Rabbi Yitzchak. Furthermore, Abramson notes the mention of a Yitzchak in Ben Meir’s initial letter as his Av Beit Din (head of the court, second in the Academy’s hierarchy) (Ben Meir’s First Letter, pp. 226–27; Abramson 1965, pp. 29–30). Stern builds upon Abramson’s argument, suggesting that if the Ben Meir associated with the calendrical controversy is indeed Aaron ben Moshe ben Meir, then it is very likely that he was succeeded by Yitzchak, his Av Beit Din (Stern 2019, p. 213). Another possible interpretation is to accept the name at face value. Given Hai Gaon’s explicit attribution of the name “Aaron ben Meir” to the Gaon presiding over the calendrical controversy, there is no need to seek an alternative identification. Consequently, the most parsimonious conclusion is that the Gaon who headed the Palestinian faction during the calendrical controversy was Aaron ben Meir, who, as noted above, is included in Sahlān ben Abraham’s list of Geonim.

The formal promulgation of the Palestinian Academy’s calendar occurred on Hoshana Rabbah of the Jewish year 4682 AM, corresponding to 27 September 921. “The Book of the Calendar Controversy” recounts this event in the following terms:

And he sent his son in the seventh1 month of the fifty-third year, and he came to Jerusalem and made a proclamation at the day of Assembly, saying: ‘In the name of our God through his prophets and sages, a sign of the covenant: Marḥeshwan and Kislew will be defective, and the first month (Nisan, will begin) on Sunday…’ (The Book of Calendar Controversy, pp. 120–21).2

This promulgation initiated a protracted conflict spanning several months between two institutions, each asserting its primacy within the Jewish world. Ben Meir’s rationale for announcing a calendrical system divergent from that of Babylonia was initially interpreted by scholars as an endeavor to reassert the authority of the Palestinian leadership. Haim Yechiel Bornstein characterized it as an attempt “to restore the crown to its former glory”, while also situating the event within a broader historical context. In his analysis, Bornstein posited that Ben Meir strategically exploited the contemporaneous leadership vacuum within the Babylonian academies to challenge their authority through his alternative calendar, thereby seeking to establish his own ascendancy (Bornstein 1904, p. 11).

The sources indicate that the Babylonian authorities reacted with utter shock to Ben Meir’s announcement. “The Book of the Calendar Controversy” states:

And it so happened that when our Exilarch, the heads of the Academies, the leaders (alufim), all the selectmen and all the learned and disciples who dwell in Babylonia heard of this evil that he had done, they trembled exceedingly and were angry, for this had never happened or been seen from the day when the Israelite came up from Egypt… (The Book of Calendar Controversy, pp. 122–23).

While no prior calendar disputes between Babylonia and Palestine are documented, this absence of evidence does not preclude the possibility of past differences in calendar calculations. The Babylonians’ astonishment at Ben Meir’s announcement, underscored by the statement “for this had never happened or been seen from the day when the Israelite came up from Egypt”, suggests that such discrepancies might have occurred, with the Palestinians eventually aligning with the Babylonian system. This possibility is further illuminated by an 835/6 letter from Babylonia attributed to the Exilarch to a likely Palestinian recipient. The letter advocates challenging the Palestinian monopoly on calendar determination, with the aim “that we and all Israel be [one] band [in all] months and all festivals” (TS 8G7.1: recto, lines 1–2). Although the letter is fragmentary and its content somewhat ambiguous, its concluding declaration is particularly noteworthy: “I, the heads of the Academies, the rabbis, and all of Israel rely on the calendar that was sent before the ḥaverim (members of the Palestinian Academy)” (TS 8G7.1: verso, lines 15–17). This phrasing suggests that the Babylonians had their own calendar, which they dispatched to Palestine, presumably with the intention of promoting its adoption. However, despite acknowledging this straightforward interpretation, Stern finds it improbable, given the Babylonian Academies’ general recognition of the Palestinian calendar authority. He thus proposes an alternative translation, “sent from before the ḥaverim”, thereby reversing the meaning to imply a calendar originating from Palestine rather than being sent to it. Nevertheless, the original wording could point to a calendar disagreement in 835/6, where Babylonian leadership asserted its calendar, even while acknowledging Palestinian de jure authority. The letter’s expressed hope for calendar unity “so that Israel should not be split into factions” (TS 8G7.1: verso, line 15)—a sentiment Krakowski interprets as a potential declaration of Babylonian calendar independence and, I would add, a warning to Palestine to adopt the Babylonian calendar in order to avoid division. This enigmatic episode raises the prospect of an earlier, undocumented dispute in 835/6, potentially leading to Palestine’s yielding its calendar supremacy to the more influential Babylonian center, perhaps for the sake of internal harmony.

The Babylonian leaders offered the Gaon a chance to recant, gently urging him to cooperate by accepting their calculation as correct. However, he remained steadfast in his opinion. The text reveals that their shock, as previously presented, stemmed not from religious desecration but rather from the Gaon’s refusal to acknowledge the authority of the Babylonian sages. Consequently, Ben Meir became a public adversary. Employing a pun, they labeled Ben Meir “destructive” (Mam’ir), portraying him as a dangerous contagion whose spread required immediate containment. To prevent this “disease” from taking hold, the Babylonian leaders dispatched letters to various communities, “to warn them lest they stray after the words of the destructive” “The Book of the Calendar Controversy” indicates that the Palestinian Gaon held sway over significant portions of the Jewish people, likely encompassing Palestine, Syria, and Egypt, and, as the book states, “whoever feared his tongue did not rebel against him”. Therefore, the Babylonian leadership focused its efforts on those “free from the yoke of his burden” (The Book of Calendar Controversy, pp. 124–25).

The Book of the Calendar Controversy highlights the role of the Gaon’s son in this affair. The book initially states that the Gaon sent his son (a point I will elaborate on below), while a letter to the Gaon, also mentioned in the book, claims that it was his son who “set the festival not in accordance with the law” (The Book of Calendar Controversy, pp. 124–25). The veracity of this claim remains unclear, prompting the question of whether the entire affair originated with the son. Alternatively, and more likely in my view, this accusation may be an attempt to belittle the Gaon, portraying him as weak and his son’s so-called puppet. We know that Geonim’s sons often assisted their fathers, as exemplified by Abraham, son of Gaon Shelomo ben Yehuda (r. 1025–1051), who acted and signed documents on his father’s behalf (Gil 1983, p. I, 559; Gil 1992, p. 687). However, the Babylonian letter’s emphasis on attributing primary blame to the son seems to have been overstated. The Babylonian leadership again raises the possibility of a “mistake”, offering the Gaon a chance to admit that “I have made a mistake” or that his son “made a mistake”. Yet, according to the book, the Palestinian Gaon remained resolute, asserting that “the truth is with me, and in accordance with the law I have made my announcement”. Far from conceding, the Gaon boldly counterattacks, demanding that the Babylonians also follow his instruction: “It is not for you to rebel against my mouth or to deviate from my words right or left” (The Book of Calendar Controversy, pp. 124–27).

At this point, a deliberate attempt to invert the power dynamic becomes evident. The Gaon shifts from defense to offense, not only asserting Palestinian autonomy but also claiming Babylonian subordination to his authority. In essence, the Gaon leverages the differing calendar calculations not merely to declare independence from the more powerful Babylonian center but to assert his authority over it as the head of Palestinian Jewry. Viewing this as a declaration of war, the Babylonians terminated their correspondence with the Gaon and refrained from issuing any further response, claiming that they “understood for themselves that all his actions were wanton and devious” (The Book of Calendar Controversy, pp. 132–33), and that Ben Meir “contrived in his heart at this time, and was not from the mouth of the ancients” (The Book of Calendar Controversy, pp. 158–59).

Beyond The Book of the Calendar Controversy, several letters from Sa’adia (written before his Gaonate) discussing the calendar controversy have survived. In one letter to his students (presumably adherents of the Palestinian calendar), Sa’adia questions them sharply: “Are you not ashamed of what your countrymen have done, and you as well?” Continuing in a vein similar to “The Book of the Calendar Controversy”, he initially dismisses their actions as potentially stemming from confusion or “the foolishness of the common people in sighting the new moon”, offering them a chance to acknowledge error before it was too late (Sa’adia’s First Letter, pp. 292–95).

In another letter, Sa’adia recounts having received news of Ben Meir’s plan during his time in Aleppo. He states that he immediately wrote to him “to warn him not to do this”. While ostensibly framed as amicable counsel aimed at preventing a calendrical error, the use of the verb warn conveys a more menacing undertone. Sa’adia’s warning against adopting a different calendar effectively cautions Ben Meir against defying the established Babylonian practice, revealing a political dimension beneath the religious guise. Thus, Ben Meir’s action is portrayed not as an innocent miscalculation but as a deliberate deviation from the Babylonian calendar, intended to undermine Babylon’s religious–political dominance in the Muslim world. Sa’adia laments Ben Meir’s disregard for his warning, noting that “all our rabbis and the academies became worried, because nothing like this had ever been or ever been seen, to declare festivals against the law”. The so-called worry here likely stems not from fear of the calendrical heresy itself but from the potential erosion of Babylonian authority. In my view, Sa’adia’s assertion that “nothing like this had ever been or ever been seen, to declare festivals against the law” signifies an unprecedented challenge to Babylonian decisions from Palestine, a novel situation demanding a response (perhaps echoing the events of 835/6 discussed above). According to Sa’adia, the Babylonian leadership acted swiftly, disseminating a message to various communities emphasizing their unified adherence to the Babylonian calendar and their firm stance against the Palestinian challenge (Sa’adia’s Second Letter, pp. 308–11).

A similar sentiment echoes in another letter from Sa’adia. Upon receiving news of Ben Meir’s declaration, Sa’adia again reports that “all our scholars and the heads of the academies were astounded, because nothing like this had ever been, to declare the festivals against the law”. Here, too, the Babylonian reaction is portrayed not merely as astonishment but as genuine anxiety, stemming from the threat that this challenge posed to their hegemony within the Muslim world. Consequently, “in fear, they wrote to all Israel who are in all places to inform them that we are all in agreement on this matter”. Sa’adia further adds that the Babylonian leadership dispatched letters on this issue to various communities, and that he himself also corresponded “to the many mighty cities” (Sa’adia’s Third Letter, pp. 314–15).

In a letter from an anonymous pro-Babylonian author to someone suspected of supporting the Palestinian camp along with his students, Ben Meir is twice labeled a trespasser (Stern translates: “remover of the boundary”) (Pro-babylonian Letter, pp. 340–41). The author regards Ben Meir and the Palestinian Academy as having overstepped their legitimate bounds, affirming Babylon’s supreme and exclusive authority in matters of Jewish law. Consequently, anyone contradicting Babylon has, in effect, undermined the very foundations of Jewish leadership within the Muslim world. Furthermore, the author brands followers of the Palestinian calendar as “someone brazen, brazen in the eyes of all Israel, the congregation of the Lord, and in the eyes of our God”. The repeated use of brazen underscores the perception of this behavior as a departure from established Jewish societal norms, which were presumed to recognize Babylonian supremacy (Pro-babylonian Letter, pp. 342–43). Thus, opposition to the Babylonian calendar is portrayed as a disruption of the established world order, an act capable of destabilizing the very framework upon which the Jewish community in the Muslim world existed and operated.

The term trespasser reappears in a letter from Babylonia to the head of the Palestinian Academy, where the author asserts that the Babylonian leadership had never “trespassed” because “the custom of our fathers is already in our hands”. The letter claims that Babylonia and Palestine had historically determined the calendar independently without apparent discrepancies (a claim warranting caution, as I will discuss below). The author accuses the Palestinians of employing an incorrect calculation method, alleging that they “changed the custom, and transgressed the words of your rabbis”. In essence, the Babylonians accuse the Palestinians of disrupting the established order, which encompassed both religious and political dimensions. Their alleged use of an incorrect calculation method renders them “trespassers” who have overstepped their authority and disregarded Babylonian supremacy. The author of the letter declares, “and we have never seen a disruption like this one, or a breach like this”, and publicly states, “There are elders in the academies who have reached the age of strength, and they are very old, and not one of all them remembers that the men of Babylonia ever needed to seek the intercalation of years and the setting of months from the land of Israel” (Letter to the Head of the Academy, pp. 366–67). This effectively dismisses as ludicrous the very notion of Babylonian dependence on Palestinian calendrical authority.

Given the aforementioned context, the question that arises is as follows: What motivated the Palestinian leadership to confront the powerful Babylonian center? I believe the answer lies in the Academy’s location during the calendar controversy. As noted, “The Book of the Calendar Controversy” states that the Gaon “Sent his son in the seventh month of the fifty-third year, and he came to Jerusalem and he made a proclamation on the day of Assembly” (The Book of Calendar Controversy, pp. 120–21). Based on this, Bornstein inferred that the Academy was not yet in Jerusalem at that time, and this became the accepted view (Bornstein 1904, pp. 60–61, n. 3; Gil 1983, p. I 534; Gil 1992, p. 654). However, the passage does not explicitly state that the Gaon had sent his son to Jerusalem. The sentence comprises two distinct clauses: “sent his son” and “he came to Jerusalem”, with the subsequent sentence of “and he made a proclamation on the day of Assembly”. Following Bornstein and others, Stern used punctuation in the text to imply that the Gaon had sent his son to Jerusalem, where he then delivered the proclamation. If this were the intended meaning, why would the book not simply state that the Gaon had sent his son to Jerusalem, or even that the Gaon’s son “had gone to Jerusalem”? The use of the verb came, suggesting a return, raises the possibility that the Gaon had dispatched his son to a different location, from which he later returned to the Academy in Jerusalem, and only then issued the proclamation. This raises the question of where the son had initially been sent.

It is crucial to acknowledge that issuing a calendar divergent from the Babylonian calendar constituted an extraordinary and highly consequential act. The Gaon likely sought assurance of support from Palestinian communities before such a move, suggesting that he had dispatched his son to assess the atmosphere within these communities. Only after his son’s return to Jerusalem, presumably confirming communal backing, did the Gaon’s court issue a proclamation stating, “Marḥeshwan and Kislew will be defective, and the first month (Nisan) will begin on Sunday”. Thus, after this preparatory groundwork, the Gaon declared the calendar during the ceremony on the Mount of Olives, based on the Palestinian calculation method and diverging from the Babylonian one.3

This interpretation of the sentence aligns with additional contemporary evidence suggesting that the Palestinian Academy was already located in Jerusalem during the calendar controversy. Firstly, Ben Meir’s initial letter to Babylonia mentions Jerusalem, stating the following: “It is a commandment to act on the authority of the sages…and the only praise of Israel is Jerusalem the holy city and the great Sanhedrin that is within it” (Ben Meir’s First Letter, pp. 224–25).

While Stern translates the sentence in the past tense, the Hebrew original is explicitly in the present, referring to the Sanhedrin, or the Academy, which is currently located in Jerusalem. Thus, Ben Meir emphasizes Jerusalem’s (and the Academy’s role as the Sanhedrin) centrality as the source of authority for the Jewish people. Had the Academy been in Tiberias at the time, Ben Meir most likely would have emphasized the importance of the Land of Israel in general, rather than specifically mentioning Jerusalem. Ben Meir concludes his letter on behalf of “all the rest of the congregation of Israel who live in the sanctuary of the Lord” (Ben Meir’s First Letter, pp. 226–27), with “sanctuary of the Lord” clearly denoting Jerusalem. In other words, Ben Meir signs on behalf of the entire Jewish leadership residing in Jerusalem, not Tiberias.

Additional evidence supporting the Academy’s presence in Jerusalem during the calendar controversy lies in Ben Meir’s frequent references to the ceremony on the Mount of Olives. As I will argue in the following section, this ceremony is closely tied to the Academy’s relocation to Jerusalem, and its origin, in its known form as it appears in 11th-century sources, coincides with the Academy’s move from Tiberias to Jerusalem. Ben Meir invokes the ceremony on the Mount of Olives as a demonstration or declaration of power, intended to underscore the legitimacy that the Academy’s Jerusalem location conferred upon its authority. In his first letter, Ben Meir writes:

Until today, favorable mention of you has not left our mouth, and our prayer for you and your honorable elders has been constant, on the Mount of Olives, facing the sanctuary of the Lord, the place of the footstool of God, at the Priest’s Gate and the gates of the temple of the Lord, at the gathering of all Israel to celebrate the festival of the Lord, the festival of Tabernacles.

(Ben Meir’s First Letter, pp. 226–29)

His reference to praying for the Babylonians on the Mount of Olives suggests a tone of irony and condescension, functioning as subtle yet a clear assertion of authority: We are in Jerusalem; we possess the power and authority, and therefore we pray for you.

This assertion reappears in Ben Meir’s second letter, where he argues: “We repeatedly praised and blessed you on the Mount of Olives facing the sanctuary of the Lord and at the Priest Gate, and we read out your writs in all places, and we supported you very much against your enemies, who bore us grudge because of this…” (Ben Meir’s Second Letter, pp. 382–85). Ben Meir continues referring to the ceremony on the Mount of Olives, stating: “And you mentioned that you were sitting astounded, and that fear and tremor befall you over our disciples’ announcement of the order of the festivals on the Mount of Olives”. Furthermore, he makes an interesting assertion: “Your fathers… used to accept the announcement on the Mount of Olives, and never did your fathers… change this custom nor did they change the law” (Ben Meir’s Second Letter, pp. 378–79).

Ben Meir states that the Babylonians had in the past accepted the calendar declaration on the Mount of Olives. However, this assertion contradicts the aforementioned Babylonian letter to the head of the Palestinian Academy, which claimed independent calendrical authority, the explicit denial in the anonymous pro-Babylonian letter that Babylonia had ever followed the Palestinian calendar, and the Exilarch’s letter from 835/6. Consequently, Ben Meir’s statements appear to be political propaganda intended to establish Palestinian supremacy over Babylonia. Generally, declarations from either side regarding historical calendrical dependence and conditions should be treated with caution, as the various sources present conflicting accounts often laden with politically motivated claims that may not reflect historical accuracy.

Palestinian tradition presented the ceremony on the Mount of Olives as an ancient practice. This notion of the ceremony’s antiquity, and consequently Palestine’s long-standing authority over Babylonia, emerges later in Ben Meir’s letter in a reproachful tone: “You ignored the announcement of the Mount of Olives, and you threw it away behind your backs… this secret, the Palestinians rely on it from days of old” (Ben Meir’s Second Letter, pp. 382–85).

In his letter, Ben Meir portrays the ceremony on the Mount of Olives as ancient, a representation that I will refute below. The ceremony was not old; rather, this claim of antiquity served a political agenda. By presenting this tradition as ancient, the Palestinian Academy sought to establish its centrality during a period when it was politically marginalized within the Muslim world and operated under the influence of the Babylonian center.

Marina Rustow relates the calendar controversy to the Academy’s relocation to Jerusalem, hypothesizing that this move (which she dates to the mid-10th century) resulted from conclusions drawn after the controversy. She contends that the Academy’s aspiration to reclaim traditional privileges once held by the Palestinian center—such as authority over calendar determination—required a Jerusalem-based location to confer the necessary legitimacy (Rustow 2008, p. 65). While I agree with the link proposed by Rustow between the calendar controversy and the move to Jerusalem, I propose a reversal of cause and effect. In my view, the Academy’s presence in Jerusalem emboldened it to confront Babylonia and insist on its own calendar calculation, providing the confidence and legitimacy essential to advancing its claims—an outcome that would have been improbable had it remained in Tiberias.

Earlier scholarly research has often concluded that the calendar controversy resulted in a Babylonian victory. Gil, for instance, summarizes the dispute as follows: “The fact that the Babylonians prevailed in the long run proves that their authority was greater than that of the Palestinian geonim” (Gil 1983, p. I 464; Gil 1992, p. 565). Elsewhere, he declares that “The clash between the two centers ended with Babylonia’s clear victory” (Gil 1997, p. I 217; Gil 2004, p. 218). However, Marina Rustow and Sacha Stern challenge this view. Rustow argues that “there was… no final Babylonian triumph during the Gaonic period. To look for one is to write history backwards—to use present monopolies to limit our interpretation of a past full of contingencies” (Rustow 2008, p. 22). Indeed, the Babylonian calendar did not supersede the Palestinian one; Palestinian calendrical traditions contested in 921/922 persisted in some circles even into the 12th century. According to Stern, the resolution of the dispute in the summer of 922 stemmed not from a decisive victory but because both sides had abandoned the argument (Stern 2019, p. 6). The two calendars were aligned again by early 924. This natural cessation was likely short-lived, as similar calendrical discrepancies resurfaced in 927 when Palestinian and Babylonian calculations for Passover and Rosh Hashanah differed again. It is plausible that another dispute arose between the centers that year, mirroring the conflict five years earlier, though it apparently did not escalate into a major confrontation (Stern 2019, p. 23).

However, I contend that the victory was actually by the Palestinians. While they did not impose their calendar on the Babylonians, they coldly confronted the leading Jewish center in the Muslim world. Their presence in Jerusalem conferred a legitimacy absent in Tiberias, granting them the audacity to directly confront the highest Jewish authorities. Consequently, the Babylonians ceased making any attempts to impose their calendar on the Palestinians. This Palestinian assertion of independence paved the way for the Academy to rise to a position of leadership rivaling—and in the eyes of its supporters—equaling Babylonian authority. Even Krakowski—who argues against the Palestinian Academy’s antiquity—views the calendar controversy as the genesis of unified, hegemonic Jewish leadership in Palestine modeled after the Babylonian structure (Krakowski 2024, p. 532). Krakowski’s stance notwithstanding, the calendar controversy initiated a clear process of strengthening and establishing a Jewish power base in Palestine. This development reached its zenith under Fatimid rule, with the Fatimid recognition of the Academy led by the Gaon as the empire’s official leadership institution for Rabbinic Jews.

The calendar controversy continued to resonate for over a century. Paleographic analysis reveals that all surviving manuscripts detailing the controversy date to the eleventh century, with one precisely dated 25 April 1028. Rustow and Stern propose that this rekindled interest was not theological, but rather a reflection of the intensifying rivalry between the Palestinian and Babylonian Jewish communities. This struggle, centered in the Palestinian region, was fundamentally about regional political dominance (Rustow and Stern 2014, pp. 91–92).

The calendar controversy also resonates in the Scroll of Evyatar, a polemical work penned around 1094. Written at the court of Gaon Evyatar in Tyre, it celebrated his triumph over his rival, David ben Daniel. David, a descendant of the Babylonian exilarchic family, aimed to depose Evyatar and extend his authority over Palestinian communities from his base in Egypt, where he held influential positions as head of the Jews and Exilarch. In this treatise, Evyatar delves into an extensive discussion of the secret of intercalation (sod ha-‘ibbur). He meticulously traces its transmission through generations to the heads of the Palestinian Academy. Ultimately, Evyatar asserts that the secret of intercalation is an exclusive monopoly of the “heads of the Academy” (TS 10K7.1: IX, line 5), declaring that “the ordination of all is that the head of the Sanhedrin, who is the head of the Academy, shall sanctify and establish it” (TS 10K7.1: IX, line 10).

The inclusion of the right to intercalate the year in this conflict was no accident. David’s Babylonian origin recast his rivalry with Evyatar as another chapter in the long-standing historical tension between the rabbinic centers in Babylonia and Palestine. Once more, a religious polemic became a tool in a political power struggle, even though, to our knowledge, Evyatar’s calendar did not actually differ from the Babylonian one. That Evyatar even raised this claim suggests the issue remained potent in the minds of the people at that time, serving as a powerful political bargaining chip (Rustow and Stern 2014, p. 81–82).

Though Evyatar never explicitly quotes from Sa’adya and Ben Meir’s letters, it seems he was quite familiar with them. He consistently echoes Ben Meir’s core arguments: that only the Palestinian Gaon, acting from the Land of Israel, held the exclusive right to determine and intercalate the Jewish calendar.4 Ultimately, the Scroll of Evyatar aimed to assert his dominance over his Babylonian rival, mirroring Ben Meir’s efforts nearly two centuries prior. Stern and Rustow even propose that at least one of the surviving late eleventh-century copies of the controversy’s texts may have originated directly from Evyatar’s circle within the Palestinian Academy. The calendar controversy’s ultimate demise and subsequent disappearance into oblivion appear to coincide with the profound political upheavals of the 12th century. The arrival of the Crusaders, coupled with the dissolution of the dual leadership model between Palestine and Babylonia, triggered a fundamental reorientation of power dynamics within the Palestinian region. Leadership subsequently gravitated towards the political center in Egypt. From that point onward, the controversy not only vanished from historical sources but also faded entirely from Jewish historical consciousness, only to be rediscovered by scholars in the late nineteenth century (Rustow and Stern 2014, p. 93–94).

3. The Ceremony on the Mount of Olives

In the later centuries of the early Muslim period, Jewish worship in Palestine, and more broadly throughout the Muslim world, prominently featured a ceremony held on Hoshana Rabbah on the Mount of Olives. Contemporary sources describe a festive public event, which was endorsed by Muslim authorities, during which pilgrims journeyed to Jerusalem to “entreat its dust and circle the Temple gates and pray upon them” (TS 13J11.5: recto, line 15). The ceremony on the Mount of Olives exemplifies how the Palestinian Academy leveraged religious worship to assert its leadership within the Jewish sphere across the Muslim world and beyond. As Miriam Frenkel states, “pilgrimage was a central means by which the Jewish leadership sought to create legitimacy for its rule, to establish ties of loyalty, and to ensure solidarity and cohesion among the Jewish communities” (Frenkel 2011, p. 137).

The sources depict a magnificent and well-attended ceremony, drawing pilgrims from across the Muslim world and even occasionally from Christian Europe. During this event, pilgrims would gather before the Priest’s Gate (the exact location of which is still debated), and from there, a vibrant procession led by the Academy heads would ascend the Mount of Olives. Upon reaching the summit, the Gaon would ascend the “Seat of the Cantors”—a rock traditionally believed to have been a dwelling place for the Shekhinah (Divine Presence) after the Temple’s destruction—to deliver a festive sermon (Frenkel 2011, p. 142). From this vantage point, which symbolized the Academy’s continued leadership of Palestinian Jewry, the Gaon conducted the ceremony, consisting of a scholarly sermon and a series of joyous proclamations (Ben Sasson 2004, p. 31–32).

The ceremony on the Mount of Olives unfolded in distinct stages. First, new communal appointments were announced, existing ones confirmed, and Academy titles conferred, encompassing not only new Academy members but also high-ranking officials, including the seven elders at its helm (Frenkel 2011, p. 142). Second, the names of Academy donors were proclaimed, accompanied by prayers for their well-being. These financial contributions, vital to the Academy’s sustenance, underscored its authority and that of its head. Publicly acknowledging donors, reciting their names, and offering prayers served both as encouragement for further donations and as a demonstration of the Academy’s widespread support and influence within Jewish communities. The third stage involved the pronouncement of excommunications against those who had transgressed religious laws or rejected the authority of the Academy-appointed judges, its official representatives. Given its religious weight and social consequences, excommunication served as a powerful means of control, most effectively employed during the well-attended ceremony on the Mount of Olives. The presence of numerous witnesses amplified its social impact, while the sacred location imbued it with religious weight. Thus, the public announcement of excommunications served as a potent display of the Academy’s power, leveraging the public humiliation of the excommunicated before their peers (Frenkel 2011, p. 144).

A significant portion of the ceremony on the Mount of Olives involved general excommunication declared against the Karaites, a Jewish sect recognizing only the Bible’s supreme authority and rejecting the Oral Torah and Rabbinic tradition. The Karaites began settling in Jerusalem in the mid-ninth century, a development that Marina Rustow links to the Academy’s move to Jerusalem (though concurring with the consensus that the move occurred no earlier than the mid-10th century) (Rustow 2008, p. 65). Abraham Ibn Daud, in his “Book of Tradition” (Sefer ha-Qabbalah, 1160), describes the excommunication declaration:

And when Israel celebrated the Feast of Tabernacles on the Mount of Olives, they would encamp on the mountain in friendly groups, blessing one another. And the heretics (=the Karaites) would encamp opposite them… And the Rabbis would take out a Torah scroll and pronounce the names of the heretics under the ban in their presence, and they would remain silent like mute dogs (The Book of Tradition: 68, lines 351–354).

Rustow rightly identifies this as a literary depiction, arguing that the Karaites never actively participated in or even attended the ceremony on the Mount of Olives (Rustow 2008, p. 233). As they were outside the Rabbinic social sphere and lacked economic, political, or religious dependence on the Rabbinic population, they had no incentive to participate in such a humiliating and exclusionary event. The declaration, therefore, was purely symbolic, intended to establish the legitimacy of the Rabbinic leadership in Jerusalem as the official authority over the Jewish people in the Muslim world—a legitimacy that the Karaites did not acknowledge. Consequently, the Karaites were excluded from this unifying event, which was fundamentally about asserting pure Jewish–Rabbinic sovereignty in Jerusalem. As noted by Rustow, it was a symbolic ceremony aimed at creating a separation between the groups (Rustow 2008, pp. 206–7).

At an unspecified time, the excommunication of the Karaites was discontinued and entirely removed from the ceremony on the Mount of Olives’ schedule. This change most likely correlates with the ascent of the influential Tustari brothers, Abraham and Ḥesed, in the Fatimid court during the reign of Caliph al-Mustanṣir (r. 1036–94). These affluent Karaite bankers and merchants occupied prominent positions and served as liaisons between the government and the broader Jewish community. Consequently, the Rabbinic community required the Tustaris’ assistance, support, and influence within the Caliph’s Cairo court (Ben Shammai 1987, pp. 175–76). Shulamit Sela even posits that Ḥesed served as “Ra’īs al-Yahūd”, or head of the Jews—a Fatimid political office recognizing its holder as the supreme leader of all Jewish communities in the empire, including Rabbanites, Karaites, and even Samaritans, even though they were not considered Jewish (Sela 1998, pp. 269–70). This status afforded the Karaites significant influence over the entire Jewish community, compelling the Rabbinic Academy to revise its stance towards them. This demonstrates a policy of realpolitik where religious ceremonies were reshaped to align with the Academy’s pragmatic needs. When Karaite support became crucial, the “problematic” excommunication was dropped, and a new ceremony schedule reflecting this reality was adopted. This change underscores the Academy’s pragmatism and its willingness to adapt to evolving circumstances to preserve its status and influence.

The sanctification of the Mount of Olives appears as early as the late Byzantine period. The poet Ḥaduta writes: “And the Mount of Olives will split when He rises, and then the elders of His people will behold Him” (TS NS 243.199: lines 28–29). Similarly, Eleazar beRabbi Qallir writes: “He comes with myriads of Kittim to stand on the Mount of Olives—heralding and saying as He approaches with the shofar to sound beneath Him, the mountain will split—serving and saying” (The Sukkot, Shemini Atzeret, and Simchat Torah Cycle: 202). These liturgical poems (piyyutim), depicting the Mount of Olives as a site of divine revelation, indicate the nascent sanctification of the mountain. However, early pilgrimage is not yet evident. As Ze’ev Safrai notes, the mountain is absent from early commentaries (midrashim) of redemption and is not included among the traditional four or five holy mountains, suggesting its status had not yet been established (Safrai 2009, p. 114). Furthermore, a Palestinian religious prayer book (Siddur) regulating pilgrimage rituals makes no mention of the Mount of Olives, further indicating that its veneration had not yet gained popular acceptance during the late Byzantine period when the prayer book was composed (Halakhot Eretz Israel from the Genizah, pp. 139–41; Safrai 2009, p. 114).

The earliest evidence of gatherings on the Mount of Olives appears in a liturgical poem (piyut) by Rabbi Pinchas of Kfara: “When the people ascend to celebrate the three festivals on the Mount of Olives” or “When you ascend to see on the Mount of Olives” (Eretz-Israel and Pilgrimage in the Piyyutim of Rabbi Pinhas, in: Zulay: Piyyut 4, line 1, Piyyut 7, line 35). Rabbi Pinchas, who lived in the second half of the eighth century, suggests that pilgrimage to the Mount of Olives was a known, and possibly widespread, practice during his time (Safrai 2009, p. 112). Safrai summarizes this development, noting that while the honor, status, and sanctity of the Mount of Olives increased in the late Byzantine period, it only became an established destination for pilgrims by the middle of the eighth century at the latest (Safrai 2009, p. 114). This progression indicates a gradual evolution in the status of the Mount of Olives from that of a mountain imbued with symbolic sanctity to an active cultic center.

A later tradition links the inception of the ceremony on the Mount of Olives to the Muslim conquest of Jerusalem in 638. An official letter dispatched by the Palestinian Academy in 1057 to Egyptian communities, seeking donations for the Academy, recounts the following:

And it was from our God that He extended favor upon us before the kingdom of Ishmael (=Muslims). When their hand prevailed and they captured the Land of the Deer (Eretz HaTzvi, a poetic name for The Land of Israel found in Jewish literature) from the hand of Edom (=Christians), and when they came to Jerusalem, there were with them men from the Children of Israel, who showed them the place of the Temple, and they have dwelt with them from then until this day… And they purchased the Mount of Olives, upon which the Divine Presence rested… And were it not for the mercies of our God, who extended favor to the early ones and vouched for their lives to provide all the needs of the city, to clear its refuse, to clean its sewers, to repair its walls and guards, to appease its governors and officials and young men, were it not so, we would not have been able to dwell with them… And were it not so, we would not have been able to circle the gates and stand on the Mount of Olives to pray aloud with no object (Unidentified Manuscript from the Firkovitch Collection: I, lines 10–16, 33, IV, line 4).

This letter, part of a fundraising appeal, underscores the significance of the ceremony on the Mount of Olives as a symbol of the Jewish community’s deep connection to Jerusalem. The letter conveys a foundational myth providing a divine rationale for the Jewish presence in the city. Although a later tradition, this myth reflects the evolution of Jewish worship on the Mount of Olives and its importance as a religious center. As Frenkel explains, this historical event (or at least its mid-11th-century perception) “is recounted as an inseparable link on the axis of Jewish history and connects directly to the present. Thanks to it, Jews in the time of the writer are permitted to ascend the Mount of Olives and perform their ceremonies there without hindrance” (Frenkel 2011, p. 138). In Frenkel’s view, “The myth provided legitimacy for the exaltation of the ceremony, and the ceremony gave theatrical expression to the mythical story” (Frenkel 2011, p. 155).

In conclusion, the ceremony on the Mount of Olives was a highly significant political event that the Academy utilized to legitimize its authority and leadership, forging a close connection between the holy site, the sacred ceremony, and, arguably, the Academy itself—a potent triad establishing the relationship between religion and politics in Palestine during the later early Muslim period. However, as Sacha Stern notes, while the custom was considered ancient, “its historical origins are not really known”, adding that “it may have been, in fact, a relatively recent institution, because there is no record of it in any earlier source” (Stern 2019, p. 9).

In fact, to my knowledge, the earliest description of the ceremony on the Mount of Olives, as depicted in 11th-century sources, appears in the letters of Ben Meir cited above. As discussed in the previous section, the Palestinian Academy attempted to portray the ceremony on the Mount of Olives as an ancient and established tradition. Ben Meir, for instance, leverages this purported tradition to bolster his authority and assert the Palestinian Academy’s superiority over Babylonia, claiming that “your fathers… used to accept the announcement on the Mount of Olives, and never did your fathers… change this custom nor did they change the law” (Ben Meir’s Second Letter, pp. 378–79).

However, as previously noted, no evidence supports the claim that this was an ancient tradition. In contrast, early sources from the first centuries of Muslim rule in Palestine emphasize pilgrimage to the holy sites in the Galilee, particularly the tombs of the sages. This raises the following questions: When was the ceremony on the Mount of Olives established in its known form? And when did Jerusalem become the primary pilgrimage site for Jews, not only in Palestine but also throughout the wider Muslim world?

The establishment of the Mount of Olives ceremony appears to be linked to the Academy’s relocation from Tiberias to Jerusalem, a connection first proposed by Elhanan Reiner. He suggested that “it is possible that the crystallization of the Mount of Olives ceremonies should be linked to the transfer of the Palestinian Academy to Jerusalem, as seems to emerge from the central role of the head of the Academy in managing the ceremonies”. However, Reiner does not elaborate on this connection. Furthermore, his dating of the Academy’s move to 748, following the earthquake of that year, is demonstrably incorrect (Reiner 1988, p. 183). Sources detailing the Academy’s involvement in the Exilarchate succession dispute between David ben Yehuda and Daniel ben Shaul in 825 clearly date the Academy in Tiberias at the beginning of the ninth century (Laufer 2024, 105–6; on the affair, see: Gil 1997, pp. I 102–8; Gil 2004, pp. 105–11).

To my understanding, the emergence of the ceremony on the Mount of Olives stemmed from the Palestinian Academy’s endeavor to solidify its political standing through religious means and to shift the central cultic focus of the Jewish population from its former seat in the Galilee to its new base in Jerusalem. While the Academy resided in the Galilee, pilgrimage to the tombs of the sages there aligned with its political agenda, allowing for direct oversight and control within its vicinity. However, with the Academy’s relocation to Jerusalem (most likely in the late ninth or early tenth century), its leaders recognized that continued emphasis on the Galilean pilgrimage no longer served their interests. Consequently, they strategically established a new ceremony in Jerusalem, drawing upon existing traditions. The Mount of Olives, already sanctified during the late Byzantine period, provided an ideal setting for this religious–political event. This new ceremony effectively met the Academy’s needs, establishing and reinforcing its status as operating from Jerusalem—the Holy City and perceived center of the Jewish world—thereby imbuing its authority and decisions with an unchallengeable aura of sanctity. Indeed, following the Academy’s move to Jerusalem and the establishment of the ceremony on the Mount of Olives, evidence of pilgrimages to Galilean tombs gradually diminished, with the Mount of Olives becoming the primary pilgrimage site for Jews across the Muslim world. This reflects a conscious effort by the Academy’s leadership to institutionalize a popular religious impulse in a way that directly benefited the political aims of the Jewish leadership in Jerusalem. The earlier personal pilgrimage to Galilean holy sites prevalent in the initial centuries of Muslim rule was superseded by a large public ceremony that connected pilgrims—regardless of origin—to the new Jewish political center in Jerusalem, fostering loyalty to the Gaon, the Academy head, and the leader of Rabbinic Jews in the Fatimid kingdom. Only with the decline of the ceremony on the Mount of Olives, coinciding with the Academy’s departure from Jerusalem in the 1070s and its subsequent move to Tyre, did the holy sites in the Galilee experience a resurgence, becoming the central pilgrimage destinations during the Crusader period (Laufer 2024, pp. 111–12; Laufer 2023, p. 146).

In conclusion, the Academy’s Jerusalem location during the calendar controversy was crucial. This presence, coupled with the ceremony on the Mount of Olives, provided the Palestinian Academy with the legitimacy to demand adherence to its rulings from all Jews. The Geonim astutely leveraged this narrative, as evidenced in the 1057 letter from the current Av Beit Din and future Gaon (1062–83), Eliyahu ben Shelomo ha-Kohen: “For we watch over you for all that will come, and it is fitting for you to [help us with your] donations and righteous deeds and gifts” (Unidentified Manuscript from the Firkovitch Collection: IV, lines 19–20). According to Frenkel, this novel narrative, emerging after the Muslim conquest and integrated into Jewish tradition, assigned the Academy heads a historically significant role as protectors of the Jewish community in Jerusalem and as those solidifying Jewish control over the holy sites (Frenkel 2011, p. 140).

The announcement of the ban on the Karaites during the ceremony on the Mount of Olives mentioned earlier provides further evidence that the ceremony’s inception is linked to the Academy’s move to Jerusalem. As Rustow argues, this relocation was a direct consequence of the establishment of a Karaite community in Jerusalem that threatened Rabbinic hegemony and their leadership within the Jewish world under Muslim rule. This Karaite presence directly challenged the Rabbinic Academy’s status, forcing it to take measures to secure its authority. Thus, the ban likely originated during the early stages of the development of the ceremony. When the ceremony attained its definitive form, the anti-Karaite declaration was most likely already an inherent part of the ceremony. In short, the ceremony evolved in a context where a cohesive Karaite community in Jerusalem was already challenging Rabbinic dominance. To establish its authority after arriving in Jerusalem, the Academy likely presented the Karaites as a threat. Consequently, the ban served as a unifying tool, rallying the Rabbinic community around the Academy against this perceived common enemy.

The ceremony on the Mount of Olives served to consolidate the Academy’s power as the undisputed leader of the Jewish people, not only in Jerusalem but globally. This Hoshana Rabbah event showcased the Academy’s control over public life through its appointments to communal offices, its supervision of officials, and its imposition of bans against any perceived threat to its authority. The ceremony projected an image of Jewish unity, effectively eliminating differences between Babylonians and Palestinians by underscoring their shared submission to the Jerusalem leadership. The Mount of Olives, a sacred site resonating with themes of destruction and redemption, invested the Academy with significant authority and reinforced its role in ensuring the continuity of Jewish life in the Holy City. Moreover, the ceremony enabled Jews from across the world to forge a direct link with Jerusalem and their faith through rituals such as circling the Temple Mount gates and participating in large-scale prayers at holy sites. These pilgrimages transformed Jerusalem into a tangible focal point, allowing participants to experience a profound sense of integration within the broader Jewish world (Ben Sasson 2004, pp. 31–32).

The Academy’s move from Jerusalem to Tyre resulted in a loss of its former status. Following the Turkmen conquest of Jerusalem in the early 1070s, the Academy, along with the majority of the Rabbinic population, relocated to Tyre (Laufer 2023, pp. 54–56). The immediate consequence of this move was the termination of the Mount of Olives pilgrimage ceremonies. This cessation underscores the strong dependence of the ceremony on the Academy’s presence in Jerusalem, lending further credence to the argument that the Jerusalem ceremony was a development subsequent to the Academy’s arrival there. The Academy’s efforts to replicate the ceremony on the Mount of Olives after its exile proved unsuccessful. There are records of two such attempts: one in Tyre in 1081 and another in Haifa in 1082, within the borders of the Land of Israel (TS 10K7.1: II, lines 19–20).

The events described took place against the backdrop of a political struggle with the aforementioned David ben Daniel, a member of the Exilarchs’ family and the son of the former Palestinian Gaon Daniel ben Azariah (r. 1051–1062), who, after consolidating control over Egyptian communities, now sought to extend his authority over Palestinian ones. In this context, Gaon Eliyahu ben Shelomo strategically employed the established pilgrimage orders, adapting them to the prevailing political climate. His decision not to hold these ceremonies in Jerusalem, despite the fact that it was far from David ben Daniel’s control, but rather in Tyre and Haifa, is significant. Eliyahu Gaon’s choice of location underscores the inherent link between the ceremony on the Mount of Olives and the Academy’s geographical base, revealing an attempt to bolster the political and religious legitimacy of the Academy’s seat in Tyre. Driven by the desire to secure his family’s dynastic succession, Eliyahu used both gatherings to formally appoint his son Evyatar as his official successor in the Gaonate (or potentially as a co-Gaon, as implied by a literal reading of the sources), aiming to ensure his family’s continued leadership within the Palestinian Jewish community. At these same events, Eliyahu appointed new Academy members from various communities to serve as judges. They were most likely selected for their unwavering loyalty to the Academy and the ruling lineage. The Academy seems to already have been under considerable strain from David ben Daniel’s growing support, evidenced by his success in winning over the Egyptian communities (Gil 1983, p. I 603; Gil 1992, p. 745). To counteract this threat, the Gaon declared a ban “on anyone who disputes and deviates and on anyone who sets and restores boundaries”, a clear move directed at David ben Daniel’s followers. This ban was even formalized as law in a signed document by all those present (TS 10K7.1: II, lines 21–22).

This demonstrates that the Academy’s attempts to reclaim its former authority in its new setting in Tyre were ultimately futile. Its separation from Jerusalem and the Land of Israel—as Tyre was not within its holy borders—resulted in the erosion of its inherent sanctity. The Academy in Tyre never attained the sacrality that defined its Jerusalem tenure, and Tyre lacked the magnetic pull necessary to attract pilgrims willing to undertake long, costly, and potentially dangerous journeys. The limited participation in the Hoshana Rabbah ceremonies in Tyre and Haifa was likely to have consisted mainly of Palestinian residents, particularly those from the neighboring Galilee and Syrian communities, such as Aleppo and Damascus. Significant communities, such as Egypt and Ashkelon, probably did not participate due to the reasons cited above, compounded by their growing allegiance to David ben Daniel. There were most likely few attendees from these areas, presumably those who were loyal to the ruling family. Consequently, having lost its cultic center, the Academy in Tyre could not restore its standing as a spiritual and political hub, and its efforts to recreate the ceremony on the Mount of Olives were unsuccessful.

4. Conclusions

This article examined how the Palestinian Academy strategically employed religious elements and its cultic status to assert its authority over the Jewish population under Muslim rule. To illustrate this political manipulation of religion, I focused on two key case studies, namely, the calendar controversy and the Hoshana Rabbah ceremony on the Mount of Olives. Both demonstrate the Palestinian Academy’s efforts to strengthen its power and influence.

The calendar controversy of 921/2 was a pivotal event in the Palestinian Academy’s emergence as a religious and political rival to the Babylonian Jewish center. This schism arose from the differing dates set by each Academy for Passover and Rosh Hashanah, with both expecting universal Jewish adherence. Babylonia’s astonishment at this defiance likely stemmed from past instances where Palestinian calculations had yielded to Babylonian authority, a possibility supported by the Exilarch’s 835/6 letter advocating the end of Palestinian dominance and hinting at the dispatch of a Babylonian calendar to Palestine. The Babylonian reaction was not rooted in a perceived religious desecration but in the Palestinian Gaon Ben Meir’s disregard for Babylonian political authority, leading them to label him a “contagious disease” whose influence needed to be contained.

Contemporary sources reveal that the Palestinian Gaon aimed to leverage the calendar controversy to seize hegemony and shift the balance of power in his favor, even asserting Palestinian superiority over Babylonia. Sa’adia Gaon, a key figure in the conflict, responded with a threatening letter warning Ben Meir against deviating from the Babylonian calendar, thus employing religious rhetoric to convey a clear political message of opposition to Ben Meir’s independent actions.

The Babylonian center reacted sharply to Ben Meir’s actions and the Palestinian Academy’s approach. They denounced him as a “trespasser”, one exceeding his authority, while asserting Babylonia’s supreme religious authority and arguing that any contradiction undermined the established Jewish leadership. Moreover, adherence to the Palestinian calendar was labeled “brazen”, that is, insolent and offensive, and opposition to the Babylonian calendar was portrayed as a disruption of world order.

Throughout this article, I have challenged the conventional view placing the Palestinian Academy in Tiberias during the calendar controversy, arguing instead for its presence in Jerusalem at that time. Analysis of “The Book of the Calendar Controversy” reveals that the Gaon’s son returned to Jerusalem after his mission, which likely aimed to assess Palestinian public opinion before the announcement of the Palestinian calendar. This interpretation aligns with other evidence supporting the Academy’s Jerusalem location. Ben Meir’s initial letter to Babylonia identifies Jerusalem as the current seat of the Sanhedrin, or Academy, emphasizes Jerusalem’s pivotal role as an authority, and even bears the signature of the entire Jewish leadership residing in the “sanctuary of the Lord”, that is, Jerusalem. Furthermore, Ben Meir frequently refers to the ceremony on the Mount of Olives, which is closely tied to the Academy’s move to Jerusalem, to underscore his authority. This evidence contradicts the Tiberias-based assumption and reinforces the claim that the Academy was already situated in Jerusalem during this controversy.

Relocating to Jerusalem emboldened the Palestinian Academy to challenge the powerful Babylonian center. This presence in Jerusalem conferred a religious authority unattainable in Tiberias. Contrary to interpretations portraying the conclusion of this episode as a Babylonian victory or a stalemate, I argue that the Palestinians emerged victorious. While their calendar was not universally adopted, they preserved their independence, and Babylonia failed to impose its own. This victory positioned the Palestinian Academy to become a center of leadership equal in status (or at least aspiring to parity) with Babylonia.

The Hoshana Rabbah ceremony on the Mount of Olives evolved into a central pillar of Jewish worship in Palestine and the broader Muslim world during the later early Muslim period. This publicly sanctioned ceremony became instrumental for the Palestinian Academy in establishing its leadership over the Jewish world. Initially, the ceremony included a symbolic ban on the Karaites, who had established themselves in Jerusalem from the mid-ninth century. This ban was intended to solidify Rabbinic legitimacy and create a clear distinction between the communities but was later removed, probably due to the ascendance of the Tustari brothers to key positions in the Fatimid court in Cairo. Recognizing its need for Karaite support, the Rabbinic Academy shifted its stance. This change reveals a pragmatic approach by the Academy, adapting religious ceremonies to serve its political objectives.

Liturgical poems that describe the Mount of Olives as a scene of divine revelation provide evidence for the early sanctification of the site, even before pilgrimage became associated with it. The sanctity and status of the mountain grew notably during the late Byzantine period, culminating in its emergence as a vibrant pilgrimage center in the mid-eighth century. This process demonstrates the staged development of the Mount of Olives’ significance, transitioning from a mountain with symbolic sanctity to a central focus of worship.

A later tradition ascribes the inception of the ceremony on the Mount of Olives to the Muslim conquest of Jerusalem, but the evidence suggests a later development. Ben Meir’s letters provide the earliest descriptions of the ceremony in its recognized form, with no earlier tradition documented. In the initial centuries of Muslim rule in Palestine, the Galilee, with its venerated tombs of sages, served as the primary focus of pilgrimage, not Jerusalem. I have argued that the ceremony on the Mount of Olives was intentionally established upon the Palestinian Academy’s relocation to Jerusalem as a means of consolidating its political influence through religious symbols and deliberately shifting the focus of pilgrimage from the Galilee to Jerusalem. While situated in the Galilee, the Academy’s interests were served by pilgrimages to the sages’ tombs; however, its move to Jerusalem necessitated the development of a new pilgrimage center. The Mount of Olives, which attained sanctity in the late Byzantine period, provided a strategic location for a religious–political ceremony aimed at bolstering the Academy’s standing in Jerusalem as a spiritual and political nucleus and drawing pilgrims to this new center. The Galilee’s holy sites only reassumed their central role as sites for pilgrimages after the Academy’s departure from Jerusalem at the end of the 11th century.

The declaration of a ban on the Karaites during the ceremony on the Mount of Olives strongly supports the claim that the ceremony was established with the Academy’s move to Jerusalem. It is likely that this ban was intended to solidify the Academy’s authority in response to the Karaite presence and may have been an integral component of the ceremony from its inception. Consequently, the ban served as a tool for consolidating the Rabbinic community around the Academy by fostering unity against a perceived external threat.

The disappearance of the Mount of Olives pilgrimage ceremony concurrently with the Academy’s move from Jerusalem to Tyre points to a strong dependence of the ceremony on the Academy’s location. The exiled Academy’s failed attempts to revive the ceremony in Tyre and Haifa unfolded during a political contest against David ben Daniel, who aspired to gain control over the Palestinian communities. While Gaon Eliyahu ben Shelomo tried to employ the ceremony to establish his dynastic authority in Tyre, his deliberate avoidance of Jerusalem as a venue further emphasizes the close relationship between the ceremony’s location and that of the Academy, illustrating his intention to grant politico-religious legitimacy to the Academy’s presence in Tyre.

Following its relocation to Tyre, all of the Academy’s efforts to restore its status and the ceremony on the Mount of Olives proved futile. Its separation from Jerusalem and the Land of Israel diminished its sanctity, and Tyre lacked the allure to attract widespread pilgrimage. Most likely, only residents of Palestine and Syria continued to participate in the Tyre and Haifa ceremonies, while communities like Egypt and Ashkelon did not attend due to David ben Daniel’s influence. Consequently, the Academy in Tyre failed to regain its spiritual and political prominence, and its attempts to revive the Mount of Olives ceremony were unsuccessful.

In conclusion, religious worship clearly played a pivotal role in the Palestinian Academy’s efforts to preserve, establish, and expand its political power. Demonstrating a keen understanding of the influence of religion, the Palestinian Academy strategically harnessed religion to advance its objectives. It employed religious symbols to compete with rival political centers, such as the Babylonian academies and the Egyptian Jewish leadership, and to establish itself as a leading political force within the Jewish world under Muslim rule. The Palestinian Academy astutely exploited religious elements to accrue authority and influence, thereby evolving from a purely political institution into a body imbued with sanctity, which lent religious legitimacy to its decisions and the advancement of its political interests.