Alexander the Great in Jerusalem
October 2025 | Vol. 13.10
By Ory Amitay
One of the famous scenes of antiquity, certainly one that still raises interest today, is that of the visit purportedly paid by Alexander the Great to the temple of Jerusalem. Josephus’ vivid portrayal of the scene has the young Makedonian approaching the holy city, ready to wreak vengeance on it for disobeying his orders, only to be smitten by the image of the Judean high priest and bow down before him. It is easy to see how such a powerful story, especially when it involves one of history’s proudest and ablest warriors, has captured the imagination of readers over centuries, even millennia.
But did Alexander the Great visit Jerusalem, or didn’t he? That is the single most frequently asked question when people hear the title of my new book, Alexander the Great in Jerusalem: Myth & History. It is encouraging in our day and age that people still care about facts. The truth of the matter is, however, that there is really no way to tell. After more than 20 years of studying the evidence, my answer to this basic question is a definite maybe.
On the other hand, even if Alexander did visit Jerusalem, we can be certain that nothing momentous took place during the event. To be sure, such a visit would have left a huge impression on the Judeans who lived at the time — how could Alexander not leave a huge impression anywhere he visited? — but from his point of view Jerusalem will have been yet another local center of religious and political power, whose government did its best to curry his favor by throwing a lavish reception. Nothing will have taken place during such a putative visit to merit a place in history books, certainly nothing as dramatic as the half-year long siege of Tyre, or even the hard-fought siege of Gaza and its cruel, epic finale.
Achilles dragging Hektor’s body; Louvre CA601, early 5th BCE. Following the Gaza siege Alexander performed the same punishment on the still-living Betis, commander of the Gaza garrison. Photo © 1998 GrandPalaisRmn (Musée du Louvre) / Hervé Lewandowski
But does it really matter, whether Alexander physically visited Jerusalem or not? From the standpoint of Alexander histories, it does not. From the Judean standpoint, the matter at stake is not a point in Judean political history, but rather a literary issue: the nascence of Alexander in Jerusalem tradition. If there was a visit, imaginative stories about it must have started even before it happened, certainly afterwards. But if Alexander himself never set foot in Jerusalem, then the literary event in which he first does gains in importance.
Either way, a much more important question for me — indeed, it stands at the heart of my book — is not what happened when Alexander passed through the Levant, but rather what it was that generations of Judean storytellers intended when they made up stories about Alexander in Jerusalem that were clearly fictional. These fictions are themselves historical facts, and they each contain their storyteller’s assumptions and agenda. Methodologically, my point of attack lies with the alternative facts presented by each story. By considering these fictive factoids together with each story’s tendencies and attitudes, I attempt to offer a historical context for each of the four stories studied in the book.
The Seleukid Version
The first of these four stories has lay hidden in the unlikeliest of places: the 9th century CE epsilon recension of the Greek Alexander Romance. The Alexander Romance is the title applied in modern scholarship to a literary tradition deriving from antique Alexandria that tells Alexander’s life story. Unlike the usual Alexander histories, or even Plutarch’s biography, the Alexander Romance is an ancient fictional novel, or rather an allegorical history. The object of the allegory is of course Alexander; the subject depends on the context of each stage in the chain of tradition. This tradition, with its many recensions, was one of the literary best-sellers throughout Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages, from Central Asia all the way to the Atlantic.
One of the main sources of the very rarely studied 9th century epsilon recension, so I argue, is a hitherto unrecognized piece of Judean literature, written in the early years of Seleukid rule in Judea, specifically the 190s BCE. This identification relies first of all on the strong Seleukid interest shown by writer, expressed by the prominent and symbolical roles assigned to two friends of Alexander named of Seleukos and Antiochos — two names which do not appear prominently is Alexander’s actual histories, and are also almost completely absent from the mainstream version of the Alexander Romance. To this is added the unique and ahistorical route assigned to Alexander’s military campaign, first to Persia and only then to the Levant and to Egypt. This route echoes the historical res gestae of Antiochos III “the Great”, who, after performing his own successful anabasis, moved on to conquer the Levant in the Fifth Syrian War – including Judea and Jerusalem.
Silver Coin (tetradrachm) of Antiochos III “the Great” (ca. 222-187 BCE) of the Seleukid Dynasty. Photo courtesy of the Classica Numismatic Group, CC By-SA 2.5.
This Seleukid version of the Alexander Romance brings Alexander to the Judean temple and establishes one of the most salient features of the tradition: Alexander’s fascination with the Jerusalem temple’s priestly order, with an oddly keen interest in apparel fashion. It also establishes another salient feature: peripeteia, an unexpected turn in the plot that turns everything on its head. All four stories contain this literary element in one form or another. A third feature of the story, which stands at the heart of the entire Alexander in Jerusalem tradition, is that Alexander is used as a cipher, a symbol for the current world power ruling it over Judea.
The tradition as a whole comes up at times of major geo-political change — which is exactly what brings Alexander to mind as a prototype for historical fiction. In this case, impetus for literary creation is supplied by the sudden Seleukid takeover after more than a century of rarely interrupted Ptolemaic rule. Excitingly, the Seleukid Romance not only acted internally as means of coming to terms with the new overlords, but also reached out to Antiochos with a revolutionary message: greater things might come for his realm, if, like Alexander in the story, he would put his faith in the god of the Judeans. It is this far-reaching vision, I suggest, that is referred to in Daniel 11:14b, where the prophet berates the boundary-breakers who tried to establish a Vision, but failed.
The Pompey Version
The second story takes us to a new literary context: that of rabbinic literature and lore. It also takes us more than a century forward, and introduces a new foreign overlord that from this point would dominate Judean history — Rome. Alexander in the story stands for Pompey (another “Great”), who was the first Roman to appear in Jerusalem and conquer it, in 63 BCE.
The Roman general Pompey “the Great”, Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Venice. Public Domain via Wikimedia.
In history, Pompey famously entered the temple’s inner sanctum. In the story, it is Alexander who demands to do so. This is by far the least optimistic story among the four. It is the only one that presents us with an ultimately sinister Alexander, reflecting the pain and humiliation inflicted by the Roman conquest, the dismantling of the small Hasmonean empire, and the effective end of Judean independence.
Map of the province of Judea, 6-41 CE. By DEGA MD, CC By-SA 4.0.
Alexander and Simon the Just
The third story keeps us in the realm of rabbinic studies and involves the transition from the Herodians to direct Roman rule in the newly established provincia Iudaea (6 CE). As in the previous story, Alexander stands for Roman power. The story’s attitude, on the other hand, has once again changed for the better: the story begins with tension and peril, reaches the customary peripeteia, and ends with Alexander favoring the Judeans over their Samaritan enemies.
This story derives from a historical event reported by Josephus, when in 8 or 9 CE, a couple of years after the installation of the province, some Samaritans defiled the Jerusalem temple with human bones during Passover! The attitude of the literary Alexander represents the perceived Roman preference of Judeans over Samaritans. Yet in this story Alexander does something more: for the first (but not last) time in the tradition he performs proskynesis before the Judean high-priest Simon the Just, and acknowledges that his victories are achieved through the Judean god’s support. The reality of direct Roman rule, so the story implies, is also the will of God.
Alexander the Great and the High Priest of Jerusalem, 16th century engraving from Italy. The Cleveland Museum of Art, Gift of The Print Club of Cleveland 1944.19. Public Domain.
Josephus’ Alexander
The final version discussed is also the most famous one, that of Josephus. Writing his Antiquities in the 90s CE, a generation after the destruction of the Judean temple, Josephus had an ambitious plan. First of all, he intended to solve the impossible conundrum of Persian period Judea. Secondly, he borrowed freely both from the Seleukid Romance version and from the rabbinic Simon the Just story, and combining both elements with a healthy dose of historical reconstruction and conjecture, he created the most lively and detailed story of the tradition so far.
Josephus’ Alexander reflects a new stage in the long march of history, that of post-temple Judea, when provincia Iudaea had become its own province, with a resident legion to boot. Here the literary Alexander steps outside of his role in the tradition so far as the representative of new foreign rule, and assumes a position of a beneficent precedent. Josephus uses the story in order to lobby for a rapprochement of Rome and Jerusalem following the destructive year 70 CE, and in particular for the rebuilding of the temple.
This study of the Alexander in Jerusalem tradition stops with Josephus. To be sure, there is plenty to study in later tellings of the story, from the histories of the Church Fathers to the late-antique Alexandrine world chronicle known (in Latin translation) as the Excerpta Latina Barbari, and from the Hebrew medieval Alexander Romance recensions to even later Samaritan chronicles, not to mention the various versions of the episode in various Alexander Romance renderings in medieval European vernaculars. Putting aside the main reason why all this must remain a future endeavor — that it will take many more years to research and write — there is also a thematic reason.
Up till now, the story told by Josephus has generally been perceived as representing the earliest instance of the tradition. In many scholarly discussions, it is the only story of the four to be addressed in detail, or at all. Presenting Josephus’ version as the end product of a long chain of tradition, and in particular showing how he used the tradition to mold his own creation, provides a convenient stopping point, and an invitation for others to join the discussion.
From Tradition to Political Message
Finally, it is time to say something about the tradition as a whole. As I claimed above, the Alexander-in-Jerusalem tradition comes to life at historical intersections, where the identity, or the form of foreign rule over Judea changed drastically. With one exception — the story of Alexander-Pompey and the end of Hasmonean imperialism and independence, which differs from the other three not only in its political attitude but also in its literary makeup — the tradition as a whole conveys a clear political message, in the spirit of the prophet Jeremiah (ch. 27): foreign rule over Judea is a reality imposed by God’s will. Good faith Judeans should therefore accept it and collaborate happily. Resistance is futile, dearly paid-for, and potentially catastrophic.
Bronze medal with the bust of Pope Paul III, from Italy. 17th century CE. © The Trustees of the British Museum / CC By-NC-SA 4.0
This humble political position makes up for its painful self-awareness by inspiring a faith-based sense of superiority. This is expressed most lucidly in the powerful image of Alexander prostrating himself before the Judean high-priest. Consider the medallion above, issued by Pope Paul III (himself an Alessandro by birth), now in the British Museum. The motto on the medallion: omnes reges servient ei, clearly still carried political weight during the major upheavals of the Reformation, the Counter Reformation and the Wars of Religion in the first half of the 16th century CE. The message remained the same. World powers and their monarchs enjoyed their prosperity and luck at God’s will, were all recruited to His service, and would do well to listen to His main man on the ground.
Alexander the Great in the Temple of Jerusalem (1736) by Sebastiano Conca. Digital Image ©Museo Nacional del Prado.
But there is another side to the story, and another image to accompany it, this time by the 18th century CE Italian painter Sebastiano Conca. This picture (above), clearly representing Josephus’ story, depicts the high-priest as he shows Alexander how the book of Daniel had prophesied about his coming. Unlike the medallion of Paul III, the picture here is not one of subordination, but rather of coordination. The high-priest, the victorious king, and the holy book itself form a triangle that dominates the entire scene. All three elements combine to form together the heart of the matter. It is this image, therefore, that I chose for the book’s cover. It demonstrates, in my mind, a clear and intuitive understanding of the tradition as a whole.
Ory Amitay is Senior Lecturer in the School of History at the University of Haifa. His book, Alexander the Great in Jerusalem: Myth & Fiction, was recently published by Oxford University Press.
How to cite this article:
Amitay, O. 2025. “Alexander the Great in Jerusalem”, The Ancient Near East Today 13.10. Accessed at: https://anetoday.org/alexander-great-jerusalem/.
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