Is he really a traitor, the one who saved our history?
- Nir Topper
- 3 hours ago
- 4 min read
He is one of the most controversial figures in the history of our people, and in my opinion, one of the most fascinating. Joseph ben Matityahu (Josephus), born into the highest Jerusalem aristocracy—a combination of the first priestly division and royal Hasmonean blood—became a man who evokes mixed feelings in many. But has history done him an injustice? When we dive into historical sources and cross-reference them with findings on the ground, a complex picture emerges: a brilliant young leader who embarked on a spiritual journey in the desert, understood the invincible power of Rome, and was ultimately thrust into an impossible situation as the commander of the revolt in the Galilee.
In the winter of 66 CE, following the surprising victory at the Ascent of Beth Horon over the 12th Legion ('Fulminata') of the Syrian governor Cestius Gallus—a seminal event that intoxicated the people with a false sense of power that the Empire could be defeated, sweeping even the moderate leadership, which had previously tried to prevent the collision, into the vortex—the leadership in Jerusalem realized that the Great War was inevitable. The provisional government, led by Ananus ben Ananus and Joseph ben Gurion, divided the country into military districts. Joseph ben Matityahu, then a 29-year-old priest with no combat experience, was surprisingly chosen to command the most critical sector—the Galilee.
The choice was not accidental; the Jerusalem aristocracy hoped that a moderate like him would succeed in restraining the local zealots and managing the campaign with discretion. As a commander, Josephus worked feverishly: he raised an army of about 100,000 men (at least on paper) and attempted to train them in Roman methods. He fortified 19 strategic settlements, including Yodfat (Jotapata), Gamla, Mount Tabor, and Tiberias. But the enemy was not just Rome—Josephus had to contend with fierce internal opposition, led by John of Gischala, a zealot leader who viewed him as a traitor from the very first moment and constantly tried to undermine his authority. The great drama of his life culminated in the fall of Yodfat in July 67 CE.
After a brutal 47-day siege, during which the Jewish defenders used daring tactics such as pouring boiling oil on the Romans, Josephus fled with 40 of the city's dignitaries to a hidden cave. There, in a moment of decision between life and death, he managed to survive a chilling group suicide pact through a calculated manipulation (the "Josephus Problem") and surrendered to the enemy. This transition, from a Jewish commander to a Roman prisoner, is the moment "the betrayal" was born, but it is also the moment the history of the Second Temple period was saved.
Surprisingly, his survival story was not just luck, but a brilliant strategy. Josephus prophesied to the Roman general Vespasian that he would become Emperor—a prophecy remarkably corroborated by Roman historians Suetonius and Cassius Dio. Vespasian spared his life, and when the prophecy came true, Josephus became "Flavius Josephus," the court historian in Rome. From there, in the heart of the empire that destroyed his home, he dedicated 30 years to writing works in defense of the Jewish people and documenting the Great Revolt, driven by a desire to clear his name and explain Judaism to the Gentile world.
But can we believe a "traitor"? Here, modern archaeology enters the picture as a key witness. Excavations at Yodfat, Gamla, and Masada repeatedly verify Josephus's descriptions with chilling accuracy: from the casemate wall hastily built at Yodfat to the Roman arrowheads found at the site. While Josephus tended to exaggerate numbers and compose dramatic speeches, his physical and geographical descriptions have proven to be reliable and trustworthy. Without his testimony, Yodfat would have remained an anonymous mound of stones, and the story of Masada's heroism would have vanished into the abyss of oblivion.
Joseph ben Matityahu's legacy is not summed up merely by survival, but by four monumental books that form the basis of our knowledge of the period:
The Jewish War: A detailed (and painful) description of the Great Revolt and the destruction of Jerusalem, written from the perspective of an eyewitness who was in the eye of the storm.
Antiquities of the Jews: A massive undertaking in which Josephus retells the entire Bible and Jewish history for the Roman reader, to prove that the Jewish people are an ancient and honorable nation.
The Life of Josephus: An apologetic autobiography in which he attempts to deflect criticism against him and justify his actions in the Galilee.
Against Apion: Perhaps the first Zionist composition—a brilliant defense of Judaism against the blood libels and antisemitism of the Hellenistic world.
The four books he authored in Rome in Greek have been preserved in their entirety for generations, a rather rare occurrence among ancient writers, most of whose works have been lost. This is due to the added value his works "The Jewish War" and "Antiquities of the Jews" held for Christian theology, which also influenced the preservation of his other works to this day. Unlike the Church, Judaism did not incorporate his writings, and renewed Jewish interest in them arose only in the 19th century. We know the stories of Masada, Yodfat, Gamla, and other plots and tales of that era exclusively from Josephus's writings, and we have no other source to cross-reference or verify with his texts. However, to this day, all archaeological findings and geographical descriptions align with Josephus's writings and descriptions, and the accepted assumption today is that while he occasionally exaggerated, he spoke the truth.
Ultimately, Joseph ben Matityahu is the great paradox of Jewish history. Perhaps he saw himself as the Jeremiah of his generation, a prophet of doom trying to save the people from national suicide against a world power. Whether we view him as a lowly traitor or a political realist, the truth remains: without Josephus's pen, the historical memory of the Second Temple's destruction would have been almost completely erased. He may have lost his world among his own people, but he gifted us our past.
Image: Memorial to the defenders of Yodfat (killed defending Yodfat in 67 CE).
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