No enmity burns more fiercely than that which erupts from kindred blood. The earliest and most persistent opposition to Christianity came not from the pagan world, but from the house of Israel — from the people to whom the covenants were given, the prophets sent, and the Messiah born. Jewish hostility to the nascent Church was intense and enduring, driven by theological conviction, wounded national identity, and the painful rupture of messianic expectation. Though eventually stripped of political power, the Jewish nation maintained its hatred in spirit and tradition, leaving a complex legacy of opposition, suffering, and paradoxical witness.
Sources
The narrative of Jewish persecution of Christians in the early centuries is drawn from several key sources. Dio Cassius (Hist. Rom. LXVIII. 32; LXIX. 12–14) provides Roman testimony to the Jewish revolts under Trajan and Hadrian. Justin Martyr (Apol. I. 31, 47) and Eusebius (Hist. Eccl. IV.2 and 6) document Jewish opposition to the Church and involvement in martyrdoms. Rabbinic traditions preserved in Derenbourg’s Histoire de la Palestine (pp. 402–438) provide the Jewish side, often defensive, yet revealing persistent antagonism. Among secondary works, Münter, Ewald, Milman, Grätz, and Schürer have all shed light on this tumultuous intersection of faith and politics.
First Century Hatred and Hostility
The Gospels and Acts of the Apostles record the first waves of persecution. The crucifixion of Christ, the stoning of Stephen, the execution of James the Elder, the repeated imprisonments of Peter and John, the violent rage against Paul, and the eventual murder of James the Just all point to a relentless Jewish campaign to extinguish the Nazarene sect.
This hostility, born of zealous concern for the Law and temple, was intensified by the Christian claim that the Messiah had come — and had been rejected. The fall of Jerusalem in A.D. 70 shattered Jewish political power but not their animosity. Christians, who had heeded Christ’s warning and fled to Pella, interpreted the destruction as divine judgment — a bitter conclusion that only widened the chasm between the old and the new covenant communities.
The Bar-Cochba Revolt and the Death of Palestine
A century after the crucifixion, another wave of blood was spilled. Under Trajan and Hadrian, oppressive policies — especially the prohibition of circumcision and the pagan desecration of Jerusalem — provoked the Jews to revolt once more. The pseudo-Messiah Bar-Cochba (“son of the star,” cf. Num. 24:17), later derided as Bar-Cosiba (“son of the lie”), led the final desperate insurrection (A.D. 132–135).
His rule was marked by messianic fanaticism and brutal intolerance. Christians who refused to recognize his messiahship were slaughtered. The rebellion ended in disaster. Over half a million Jews were killed, hundreds of villages and fortresses destroyed, and Jerusalem once again razed. In its place, the Romans built Aelia Capitolina, a pagan colony adorned with temples to Jupiter, Venus, and Serapis. Jews were forbidden, on pain of death, from entering the sacred city, save for one day a year — a day of mourning.
Jerome, writing centuries later from nearby Bethlehem, describes aged Jews buying from Roman guards the privilege of weeping over the ruins of their temple from Mount Olivet: “They who once bought the blood of Christ, now buy their own tears — and not even their mourning is free.” In time, under Muslim rule, Jews were permitted more frequent access, though the city’s soul remained foreign to them.
The Talmud and Rabbinic Polemic
Though deprived of the power to wield the sword, Jewish opposition did not die. It was transmuted into literature and legal tradition — most notably the Talmud, the great codex of post-Temple Judaism.
The Mishna (ca. late 2nd century) and the Gemara (3rd–5th century), which together form the Talmud, are saturated with rabbinic reasoning and casuistry. The Babylonian Talmud (430–521), far more extensive than its Jerusalem counterpart, eclipsed all others and became the supreme authority in rabbinic Judaism.
The Talmud preserves not only halakhic rulings and ethical reflections but also bitter calumnies against Jesus and Christians. The pratio haereticorum, a curse against apostates composed at Jafna under Rabbi Gamaliel, was aimed squarely at Jewish converts to Christianity.
Though it contains flashes of moral beauty and poetic wisdom, the Talmud — as Franz Delitzsch observed — is often a “chaos” of brilliance and blasphemy, a rabbinical Bible without prophecy, Messiah, or hope. It is a monumental testament to the spiritual exile of a people who turned their Scriptures against their fulfillment.
And yet, the very existence of the Talmud, and of Judaism itself, bears involuntary witness to Christianity. One eminent historian, when asked for the best argument for the truth of the gospel, replied: “The Jews.” Their preservation in judgment, and their ultimate role in redemption, remain mysteries of divine providence.
The Church’s Guilt
Tragically, the Church did not mirror Christ’s love toward the people from whom He came. After Constantine, Christian society turned from victim to persecutor. Laws forbade circumcision, intermarriage, and eventually stripped Jews of civil rights. The fifth century already witnessed their full marginalization within Christian states.
The cycle of enmity continued. From Byzantine decrees to the Inquisitions, from medieval ghettos to modern pogroms — notably the savage Judenhetze in 19th-century Germany and Russia — Christian nations brought shame upon the gospel by their treatment of the Jewish people. What began as doctrinal disagreement often devolved into cruelty and contempt.
Yet even here, grace is not silent. Through centuries of wandering and woe, God has preserved the Jewish people — both as a warning and a promise. In the words of Paul, they remain beloved for the sake of the fathers. Their future, veiled in mystery, remains bound up with the consummation of God’s kingdom.
The Tragic Paradox
Jewish persecution of the early Church was real, fierce, and formative. But so too was Christian persecution of the Jews — a deep and enduring wound in Church history. Between the synagogue and the Church stands the figure of the crucified Messiah — rejected by one, and all too often misrepresented by the other.
The Jewish people, though tragically hardened, remain God’s chosen — not unto privilege, but unto purpose. The same God who scattered them still holds them in His plan. The day will come when the veil is lifted, and the ancient people shall see in the pierced One not their enemy, but their Redeemer.
