This first section is a brief explanation of my Italy blog posts, which were inspired by my 2-week trip to Italy in May, 2025. Feel free to skip this section if you’ve read it before.
Dear Reader, If you read my Italy posts in the order in which they’ve come out, it may seem as though we hopped back and forth all over the country, but I have decided not to write these posts sequentially. I want to write about the things that interest me most, as the spirit moves me. For some topics, I may even combine cities. I hope that by doing so, you’ll find it a lot more interesting than if I just give you a tedious day by day description of our itinerary, as if I were your Aunt Mabel forcing you to sit down and watch all her Super 8 films of the family road trip to Niagara Falls from 1966.
If you have any questions, comments or suggestions about how I’m approaching this travelogue-within-a-blog, please let me know in the comments below!
*Fair warning, Dear Reader: This is one of my longer posts. But I genuinely believe it’s one of my most interesting ones, so I hope you’ll hang in there to the end.
I had intended to include a brief description of the Arch of Titus in one of my blog posts about the Colosseum, Palatine Hill, or in my upcoming post on the Roman Forum, and have done with it. It is, after all, “just” an arch, and it stands practically in the center of all three venues. But the more I learned about it, the more I realized that, as with so many relationships in life, its relationship with all three of these locations is, well… complicated. Because of this, it deserved a post all its own.
But to understand why it exists, you actually have to go back to AD 69, the Year of the Four Emperors. This was a tumultuous year in the Roman Empire. That was the year the empire experienced its first battles over who should be emperor, because, basically, everybody was sick and tired of Nero, but had different ideas about who should take his place. As a result, 4 different emperors ruled, one after another.
I won’t get into the weeds about that year, because a lot of political and military shenanigans went on. (Really. It’s enough to make one’s head spin.) But when the dust settled, the Julio-Claudian Dynasty, which had ruled the empire for 95 years, was out, and the Flavian Dynasty was in.
To say that this dynasty had reason to feel insecure was putting it mildly. First of all, while no Roman emperor, especially when viewed through a modern-day lens, could be declared a saint, the Julio-Claudians were the only emperors any Roman had ever known prior to the Year of the Four Emperors, which, one imagines, was an experience that everyone was heartily sick of. People were probably longing for the good old days.
Augustus, Tiberius, and Claudius had been relatively popular. They had ruled for 77 out of the 95 Julio-Claudian years. It was just the 18 years under Caligula and Nero that were a complete and utter sh*t-show, and even then, it depended on whom you asked.
Another thing working against the Flavians was their social standing. Whereas the Julio-Claudians were Patricians of the Senatorial class, the cream of the crop as far as Romans were concerned, the Flavian family was of the Equestrian class, so they, too, were Patricians, but they weren’t nearly as wealthy or as politically privileged as the Senators. (Equestrians were sort of like those vulgar nounveau riche people who move into the mansion next door and make the Rockefellers have the vapors every time they look out their windows and see them having a Hawaiian-themed backyard barbecue over the hedgerow. You can put those people in tuxedoes, but you’ll always have an image of their cargo shorts in your mind, won’t you?) That was the Flavian family in a nutshell, and everybody knew it. And the Flavians knew that everybody knew it.
But I must say that despite all the despicable things that Vespasian, the first Flavian emperor, did in his lifetime, I do admire his tenacity. It appears that his primary goal in life was to drag the Flavian family into the Senatorial class come hell or high water, and he kept trying and failing and trying again to an almost shocking degree for decades, until he finally succeeded. And you could argue that that success is having a significant real-time impact on every single one of us to this very day. (Bear with me.)
Vespasian grew up in small town central Italy, and his father was a tax collector. He joined the military when he was 18 and did not particularly stand out amongst his peers. At 21, he returned to Rome and took a job overseeing street cleaning crews. He wasn’t very good at it. At least Caligula didn’t think so, as he apparently stuffed street muck down the front of Vespasian’s toga to prove his point. (I bet he did that in public, too. Caligula really enjoyed engaging in public humiliation, not unlike a certain pumpkin-colored piggy-shouter we all know.)
Eventually, Vespasian stood for election as a minor public official, but could only secure a spot out in the middle of nowhere in Crete. That was a bit of a slap in the face, but at least he had finally obtained a senatorial office, albeit a low-ranking one. He tried and failed to get a promotion, but kept trying, and finally got one at age 30, probably because it was a time of upheaval in the elections department, and his girlfriend was the secretary to a courtier of Emperor Caligula, who must have been in an indulgent mood, and perhaps had forgotten the name of the incompetent street cleaning crew chief of yore.
Also, right around this time, Vespasian married a woman who was also of equestrian rank, but whose family had much more money. Her name was Domitilla the Elder. The reason her family approved the match, I suspect, was that she had been the mistress of another equestrian man, and was therefore “damaged goods”. Rather quickly after that, she and Vespasian had their first child. Titus was born in 39AD. His wife did bring with her a good family name, but her questionable reputation could not have helped Vespasian’s social climbing overmuch. But she later died, of reasons that are not known to us, before he became emperor. (I can’t help but think the timing was rather convenient, but that’s pure speculation on my part.) But I’m getting ahead of myself.
When Claudius became emperor, he was more predisposed to help Vespasian advance his career. He was put in charge of one Roman legion. He participated in the Invasion of Britannia and acquitted himself well.
At the age of 42, Vespasian finally became a Roman Consul, the second highest elected office. Around that time, he and his wife had his son Domitian. After that he retired, because Claudius’ wife, Agrippina, saw in him the threat to the Julio-Claudian Dynasty that he ultimately became. Hate was not too strong a word for what she felt for Vespasian.
Ten years later, after Nero had been in power and got around to killing his mother Agrippina (whom he appeared to adore, right up until he didn’t), Vespasian felt it was safe to come out of retirement, and in 63 AD he was sent to govern the Africa Province, where Tacitus described his rule as “infamous and odious”, but Suetonius writes that it was “upright and highly honorable”, but then admits that on one occasion Vespasian was pelted with turnips, which would lead one to believe that it tipped more toward the odious end of the scale. After his tenure in Africa, he had a falling out with Nero when it was alleged that he fell asleep during one of Nero’s lyre recitals. Tsk tsk.
In 66 AD, at age 57, he was sent to Judea to suppress the Jewish revolt. He was in charge of two legions, 8 cavalry squadrons, and 10 auxiliary cohorts. His son Titus was in charge of another legion. Vespasian’s forces quelled most of the province of Judaea (mainly by burning every town to the ground), and most of the rebels and refugees fled to Jerusalem.
But then Nero died, possibly by suicide, after the senate had declared him a public enemy, and the Year of the Four Emperors began. Vespasian had to go back to Rome to claim the throne. What with all the traveling and the civil warring and the aforementioned political shenanigans, it took him 13 months to do so, which gave Titus plenty of time to really f**k up Jerusalem. (More on that in a minute.)
So imagine. Along comes Vespasian, a guy from relatively humble beginnings, who clawed his way into the Senatorial class. He sweeps into Rome from the east, with several legions under his command, to throw out the latest civil war emperor. The Senate officially declares him emperor the next day. But from Vespasian’s point of view, there were lots of Roman generals roaming around with equal or better bona fides, whose legions were just as capable of sweeping in, and, after all, three other guys had just tried to be emperor and hadn’t even lasted a year.
Not a particularly stable foundation on which to form a dynasty, is it? Yeah, no. He needed to stabilize his dynastic edifice if it had any hope of standing, and he had to do it quickly, and in a way that the people of Rome would never forget. Fortunately, he was sitting on top of a huge pile of war booty and free labor in the form of prisoners of war from Judea that would allow him to do just that.
Vespasian became emperor in December of ’69. He broke ground on the Colosseum on top of part of the site of where the hated Nero’s Domus Aurea (which I blogged about here) once stood. He did so as a symbolic way of peeing on Nero’s legacy. He built something grand for the people that didn’t cost them a penny, on top of something grand that had been built strictly for Nero, that had been paid for by using the people’s money whether they liked it or not.
Well played, Vespasian. Well played. And by the way, the official name of the Colosseum is actually the Flavian Amphitheatre. Back then, people just called it the Amphitheatre. But just as Rome was not built in a day, neither was the Colosseum/Amphitheatre, so let’s go back to Judaea for a bit.
Vespasian became emperor on the strength of burning down most of the province except for Jerusalem, where all the rebels and refugees went, along with a few other strongholds, such as well-known Masada. His son Titus was left to deal with Jerusalem. Boy, oh, boy, did he take the job seriously.
The Siege of Jerusalem went on from April 13th to September 8th, 70AD, and it was brutal. The city was already weakened by its own civil war, so it is estimated it had about 23,400 exhausted men, who weren’t getting along with one another, left to fight the Romans. So when Titus came along with his 48,200 soldiers, the battle was rather one-sided. It’s impressive that Jerusalem held out as long as it did.
Early on in the siege, Titus began having captives crucified outside the city walls to demoralize the Jewish fighters. Later, according to Wikipedia, Titus “staged a four-day parade of cavalry and infantry in polished armor, publicly distributing their pay to demonstrate Roman power. He again offered peace through Josephus, who addressed the people in their ‘ancestral tongue’, likely Hebrew or possibly Aramaic. Josephus argued that the Romans had respected Jewish holy sites, unlike the rebels who endangered them, and urged repentance, claiming that Rome’s victories signaled that God now favored the Romans. When met with mockery and violence, Josephus responded by recounting Jewish history from the Exodus to the return from the Babylonian exile, asserting that past triumphs came through obedience to divine will, not armed resistance. Comparing himself to the prophet Jeremiah, he warned that their struggle was not against Rome but against God, and urged repentance to spare the city, the temple, and their families.”
When this didn’t make a noticeable difference, Romans started torturing and crucifying fugitives in varied positions for the soldiers’ amusement, apparently exceeding 500 a day, until they depleted the available supply of wood. Many within the city died of starvation.
Finally, as the Romans broke through wall after wall, and as more and more of the city burned and more and more people surrendered, often to be killed on the spot or enslaved, the remaining people were huddled in and around the Second Temple. Surely, they thought, this was a sacred refuge. No one would defile a temple.
There is some controversy as to whether Titus actually wanted the Second Temple destroyed, calling it a magnificent structure that would make a great ornament of Roman rule. Whether that’s true or not is a moot point. Things got out of hand. A soldier threw a burning piece of wood. A fire started. Titus may or may not have ordered that the fire be extinguished. But his soldiers did not listen. Another version of the story is that Titus was in on it or possibly directly responsible for it, as it would be a good way to eradicate the weird monotheistic religions of both the Jews and the Christians.
I struggle with his innocence, because he was traditionally really hard on his soldiers, so he would have come down on those who ignored his orders like a ton of bricks. And yet I could find no record of anyone having suffered any consequences at all. And Titus was definitely not shy about parading the sacred objects he had stolen from the temple through the streets of Rome when he had his triumph.
The Roman soldiers went wild, killing everyone, including those who begged for their lives. 6,000 people, including women and children, hid in a courtyard, and the Romans set the place ablaze. None of them survived. A group of priests tried to surrender, but Titus had them executed, saying that it was fitting that they should go with their temple.
Once all that was done, the soldiers went on to destroy what was left of the city. In the end, the Romans had systematically razed the city, leaving nothing standing except 3 towers and a few sections of the wall, and a garrison remained there for many years afterward to ensure that nothing was rebuilt. (Yet another reason why it is so absurd to think that all the religious sites that St. Helena “identified” 300 years later are legitimate. I blogged about her here.)
by David Roberts
So, three cheers for Titus! You evil monster! You conquering “hero”! Way to secure the Flavian Dynasty! About 8 months after Vespasian became the emperor, he probably could finally breathe easy, thanks to the horrible behavior of his son. The Flavians had definitely made their mark on the Roman empire.
Almost immediately after that, Vespasian started issuing “Judaea Capta” coinage in every denomination, all over the Roman empire, including Judaea itself, to remind everyone of their victory in Judaea and of the destruction of the Second Temple. Those coins continued to be minted for the 25 years of the Flavian Dynasty.
In the Spring of 71AD, the senate decided that both Vespasian and Titus each deserved a triumph for their victories, but being the savvy spin doctors that they were, they decided that one big triumph would be better than two smaller ones, and it was such a noteworthy event that we can still read about it and see descriptions and images of it 1,955 years later.
An estimated 300,000 Romans attended the grand spectacle. The parade included floats that were several stories high, depicting key moments during the war, and all the riches that had been plundered from Judaea, including silver, gold, gems, ivory and tapestries. Thousands of prisoners were marched by in chains, disfigured, yes, but dressed lavishly, along with the leader of the Jewish resistance, who was led to the Roman Forum, where he was brutally lashed and then executed.
But the most notable sights in the triumph came at the very end. They were the sacred items that had been taken from the Second Temple: the table of showbread, the menorah, gold or silver trumpets, and fire pans used to remove ash from the altar. All of this followed first by Vespasian, then Titus, both riding in a chariot, with Domitian on dressed in military garb (although he had nothing to do with it), riding a white horse off to the side.
This triumph was for Vespasian and Titus, but it was really for the people of Rome. They were celebrating their victory in the war against the Jews, and the end of civil disorder. They were reveling in their rising expectations of peace and prosperity.
For the Jews in the Roman empire, it was a day of mourning. The destruction of the Second Temple radically altered Judaism. The menorah that was stolen from the temple has been forever after a symbol of the Jewish Diaspora.
After the triumph, the treasures of the Second Temple were placed in the ironically named Temple of Peace. Rome has been sacked and looted many times since then, and those treasures, of course, have disappeared. There are many theories as to what happened to them, but they have never been seen again.
It’s hard for me to reconcile Vespasian and Titus’ horrific treatment of the Jews with all the good they reportedly did for the Romans during their rules. Yes, these acts may have been self-serving, but they were also generous. During his rule, Vespasian spent a lot on public works and the restoration and beautification of Rome. He built the Temple of Peace and new public baths, and, of course, the very popular Colosseum. Shortly after Titus took over, he stepped up to relieve the suffering after two horrible disasters: the eruption of Mount Vesuvius that destroyed Pompeii and Herculaneum, and a fire in Rome that raged for 3 days. He also put an end to the execution of senators for slander and libel against current and past emperors, and indeed none were executed during his brief and popular reign. He also banished informants from the city.
It’s such a pity that Vespasian never got to see the Colosseum completed. He died June 23rd, 79 AD. (He was declared a god 6 months later, thus giving the Flavians even more credibility.) His son Titus became emperor the next day.
There is some slight conflict in the records, but by our modern calendar, it appears that the Colosseum was kicked off with 100 days of continuous games around May 24th in the year 81AD. On the 100th day, Titus officially dedicated the Colosseum, and then he died the very next day. His little brother Domitian became emperor the day after that, on September 14th, 81 AD.
Now, for a long time, Domitian has been painted as the jealous, petulant little brother who was never allowed any of the glory, and who knew he wasn’t his father’s favorite, and therefore hated his brother Titus and may have had a hand in his death, despite the fact that his first act as emperor was to deify Titus. However, modern historians are beginning to question this. They are starting to realize that the documentarians at the time had to be biased to preserve their own lives. Also, many were biased simply because of the political side they were on.
Writers in ancient Rome, just as in any time in history, tended to be more educated, and had more disposable income, which allowed them more free time to write. In the Roman Empire, writers were often Senators and friends of Senators, because those friends were sponsored by Senators.
Titus, as you may recall, stopped assassinating senators. Domitian, on the other hand, took up the practice again. So writers at the time would be predisposed to not appreciate him as much as they might have. So the bad light he was painted in might be exaggerated. But he was whipping up a great deal of paranoia and informants amongst the senators. The man was no saint. We’ll never be completely sure in exactly what light we should paint him.
Either way, since Domitian had no military bona fides of his own, it is believed that he felt that an arch glorifying his brother’s military victories, under which all other conquering military generals would have to pass when returning to Rome, was the perfect way to validate his worth as an emperor. And so the Arch of Titus was born, and still stands today, in all its controversial glory.
The arch is 50 feet tall and straddles the Via Sacra, along which the aforementioned triumph would have passed. It’s made of the same gleaming white marble as the Parthenon in Athens. It is pretty much the gold standard of arches, and it has inspired the Arc de Triomphe in Paris and the Washington Square Arch in New York, among many others around the world. It is obviously crafted by skilled artisans, but the grunt labor was most likely performed by Jewish slaves, which is rather horrible to contemplate, given its symbolism.
The two main panels inside the arch depict the triumph described above, and the most startling one is the one which almost looks like a snapshot of the section of the parade in which Roman soldiers go marching past, carrying the treasures stolen from the Second Temple. You can’t help but pick out the menorah right away. And once you understand what you’re seeing, you can easily spot the table of showbread, the trumpets, and the fire pans.
When I looked at that, and I realized that the bulk of the arch was most likely erected by Jewish slaves, I felt sick to my stomach. How humiliating for those poor men. Because of this, for centuries, the Jews of Rome have refused to pass under this arch. Until quite recently, anyway. More on that below.
The second main panel shows Titus triumphant in his quadriga, accompanied by Victory and Virtus. I find the fact that they had to spell these qualities out kind of amusing. We all know what Victory means, even to this day. But Virtus is more than just what we think of as virtue today. According to Wikipedia, it means “a specific virtue in ancient Rome that carried connotations of valor, masculinity, excellence, courage, character, and worth, all perceived as masculine strengths.”
So yeah. For those who were illiterate (which was about 90 percent of the Romans at the time), here was a great big comic book that said, basically, here’s this guy, Titus. He was a manly man, because he could drive a quadriga. He was victorious. He was… see Virtus, above. In other words, people, the guy was no dope.
Oh, and guess what? Look straight up to the top of the arch. See him flying on the back of that eagle? Yeah. That one. That means he’s a god now. The guy’s a GOD. Just like his father. So his brother must be a heck of a guy, too. So let’s not storm his palace and assassinate him anytime soon, m’kay? Let’s go watch people get killed in the Colosseum instead.
Today, the arch appears remarkably well preserved. I hate to burst your bubble, but most of it is a 19th century reconstruction. Only the sculptural reliefs are the originals. As you can see from this image, during the Middle Ages, the arch had been incorporated into fortification walls, so it hadn’t looked like it does now for quite some time.
It is hard to find someone who is familiar with the history of this arch who doesn’t have strong feelings about it. It is, understandably, polarizing. Most people can agree that this monument was intended to be, and, indeed, is, a significant part of history, and that it has influenced architecture around the world. Some see it as a symbol of the triumph of Ancient Rome, and others see it as a symbol of the Jewish Diaspora and centuries of subjugation. It has been called everything from notorious to legendary to infamous to perverse. It has inspired euphoria and despair.
But when the State of Israel was born in 1948, the whole Jewish community of Rome ran up to the arch to pass through it, in the opposite direction that all former Roman generals did, feeling their own sense of triumph. And indeed, the menorah depicted on the arch is also used as the emblem of the State of Israel.
I was also pleased to discover that on Israel’s 10th anniversary, they created a commemorative gold coin that has Judaea Capta on one side, and Israel Liberata on the other. It seems only fitting.
You can still sometimes see Jews in celebration at the arch to this day. I found this video, and it’s rather heartwarming.
Today, tour guides gather their groups beneath the Arch of Titus as individual tourists who have not done their homework trudge past, thinking that it’s just another monument along their path as they seek out something they feel is more noteworthy. They know not what they overlook. The weight of this arch includes more than just its concrete and marble.
Incidentally, please do not take this post as my wholesale support of the State of Israel. I think they, too, have done some despicable things in their brief history. I understand how extreme and continual trauma and PTSD can instill a thirst for revenge and cruelty in equal measure, but I believe it is much better to not become the same as your tormenters. And while I don’t tar every Israeli with the same brush, I’ve got to say that I don’t feel that the high road is being taken as much as it needs to be, and it’s heartbreaking to witness. Feel free to disagree. I’m not going to get into a centuries-old debate here. I wish life were as simple as it was in the old Hollywood Westerns, where you could always tell who the bad guys were because they wore the black hats. This situation is definitely not made in Hollywood.
So, what became of Domitian, the last of the Flavian Dynasty? Well, he did manage to hang in there a lot longer than his older brother, so that’s something, anyway. He ruled from September 81AD to September 96AD.
But the mistake he made, the one that is making it so difficult for historians to determine just how despicable he might have been, was pitting himself against the Senate. He despised them. He stripped them of power and disparaged them every chance he got. He executed them and he curtailed all freedom of speech. He had very thin skin, and punished anyone who spoke ill of him to the point where everyone in the senate was afraid. It created an atmosphere of paranoia and distrust. (Sound familiar?)
Domitian’s end was rather predictable by Ancient Roman standards. He was finally assassinated. The fact that it took 15 years for it to happen is what amazes me, and is yet another thing that makes me wonder if maybe he wasn’t quite as bad as he has been portrayed.
To add to the confusion is the reaction after he was killed. Naturally, the Senate was thrilled. They immediately declared Nerva to be emperor. He was old, childless, and not someone particularly familiar to the people, so a rather odd choice, but he was ready to go, as if forewarned.
The Senate also officially passed damnatio memoriae on Domitian, which means damnation of memory. They did everything they could to expunge Domitian from all records. They melted down the coins that bore his name. Any busts or sculptures had their heads recarved to resemble someone else. His name was hacked out of any plaques or panels of dedication. Arches dedicated to him were torn down. His name was erased from all public records. But again, the Senate’s orders were only partially followed in Rome, and completely ignored in the outer provinces of the empire.
And while the people appear to have been indifferent to his assassination, the army was extremely upset. (He did pay them well.) There was a lot of rioting on his behalf, and they called, unsuccessfully, for his deification. Their cries for the assassins to be brought to justice were so loud and so sustained that poor Nerva really didn’t stand a chance when he refused to offer them up. He was taken hostage, forced to give up the assassins, and had to adopt the man that would be the next emperor, Trajan, in order to continue to rule. His was a stressful and short reign. He had a stroke two months later and died. He was 67 years old.
The Flavian Dynasty: the gift that keeps on giving.
Never fear, Dear Reader. I haven’t forgotten that I promised to tell you how Vespasian’s success is impacting us to this very day. Let me count the ways. One of the most benign, and indeed, pleasant impacts is that, by having started the Flavian dynasty, the Colosseum was erected, and while that was more pleasant for the spectators at the time than it was for the participants, currently it’s wonderful for the millions of people who experience Rome and Italy in general, as a result of being drawn there by it. By extension, their tourist dollars make up a huge portion of the Roman and Italian economy. And who among us hasn’t spent a few hours of our lives watching at least one gladiator movie? If only those were his only legacies.
Unfortunately, it could easily be argued that Vespasian’s “success”, and the birth of his son Titus, and his “success”, in the Jewish-Roman War, is one of the lynchpins that has allowed the unrest in the Middle East to keep on rolling along. And that unrest has resulted in hate crimes, death, and terrorism coming from every direction, including the completely unprovoked terrorism initiated by our ugly orange-tinted despot at the moment. All this unrest has resulted in disease, famine, poverty, political instability, and the displacement of millions of people.
All because one man, born 2,017 years ago, refused to give up on himself. Yes, of course, there have been many other threads that have contributed to the complex tapestry that has woven its way into our present day, but none of us appear to be ready, willing, or able to change this ancient pattern, and it does not serve us well. It never has.
So yeah, thanks a lot, Vespasian. And the horse you rode in on.
Sources. Tons and tons of sources:
Rome Celebrates the Vanquishing of the Jews, 71 AD
Colosseum: Rome’s Great Flavian Amphitheatre
Coliseum, Roman Forum &Titus Arch
THE COLOSSEUM EXPLAINED – Page 1
Titus and Domitian: Brotherhood on Rome’s Imperial Stage
Tisha B’Av: The Arch of Titus – an alternative view
Titus’s Arch, A Jewish Perspective
The Arch of Titus: Rome’s Most Controversial Monument of Conquest
The Arch of Titus: Last surviving evidence of an ancient religious mystery
Judeans: Reliefs on the Arch for Titus depicting temple treasures and defeat (late first century CE)
The Arch of Titus in Rome: Iconography and Ideology
History of Erasing Unpopular Leaders: Damnatio Memoriae
Wikipedia—Julio-Claudian Dynasty
Wikipedia—First Jewish-Roman War
Wikipedia—Year of the Four Emperors
Wikipedia—Social Class in Ancient Rome
Wikipedia—Judaea Capta Coinage
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