Ever hear a story so outlandish, so dripping with bias, that you just have to raise an eyebrow and ask, "Really?" That's exactly the kind of tale we're diving into today, thanks to the writings of Josephus in his work, Against Apion.

Josephus, a first-century Romano-Jewish scholar and historian, wrote Against Apion as a defense of Judaism against its detractors. And believe me, there were detractors aplenty. One such critic, whose name Josephus doesn't even bother to grace with permanence, is the target of our scrutiny today. This unnamed individual spins a yarn about the Jewish people that's… well, let's just say it's a creative interpretation of history.

According to this critic, the Jews didn't exactly have a divine mandate to the land. Oh no. Instead, they were a bunch of diseased folks, gathered at temples, seeking oracles from [Jupiter] Hammon. I know, right? Hammon? Where did that come from? Josephus is just as perplexed as we are. He wonders if this refers to all Jews or just those afflicted with skin diseases. And why are they being called Jews if they're supposedly Egyptians? The whole thing is a tangled mess of contradictions.

This critic claims that after the king (again, conveniently unnamed) drowned many of these… individuals… in the sea and banished the rest to the desert, a vast multitude still managed to cross that very desert, build a city, and erect the Beit Hamikdash (בית המקדש), the Temple, "which hath been so famous among all mankind." It's a logistical nightmare! How did they survive? How did they build? Our critic offers no explanation.

And what about Moshe Rabbenu (משה רבינו), Moses, the lawgiver? He's barely mentioned, just a name tossed into the mix. There's no discussion of his origins, his motivations for creating these new laws, or the journey through the wilderness. Why would Egyptians suddenly abandon their customs? And if they were foreigners, wouldn't they have brought their own traditions and laws with them?

Josephus rightly points out the absurdity of it all. Sure, these people might have sworn animosity towards those who ejected them. That's understandable. But to declare war on everyone, especially when they needed assistance from everyone? As Josephus puts it, "this demonstrates a kind of mad conduct indeed; but not of the men themselves, but very greatly so of him that tells such lies about them."

Then comes the real kicker. Our critic claims that the city was originally named something akin to "Robbers of the Temples" – Hierosyla in Greek, though Josephus is quick to note that there's no equivalent single word for this in Hebrew. Apparently, the city-builders thought this was an honorable name! Josephus finds this suggestion utterly ridiculous. He sees it as a desperate attempt to smear the Jewish people, even if it means twisting logic and language beyond recognition.

What's fascinating is how this ancient smear campaign resonates even today. We still see misinformation and prejudice swirling around, often based on flimsy evidence and outright lies. It reminds us to question narratives, to seek out truth, and to be wary of those who seek to divide us with fear and falsehoods.

Josephus, clearly exasperated, declares that he's said enough to this person peddling nonsense. He concludes this section of Against Apion, promising to continue his defense of the Jewish people in the next "book," or section. He leaves us pondering the power of words, the persistence of prejudice, and the importance of knowing our own history so that we can recognize and refute the lies when we hear them.