From Jaffa to Oslo: The Odyssey of a Tombstone
The key figure in this unusual tale is Platon von Ustinov, a Russian nobleman and German citizen who lived in Jaffa from 1878 to 1913. Ustinov was a colorful character a missionary, businessman, and avid collector of Middle Eastern antiquities.
Sometime during his stay, Ustinov likely acquired the ancient tombstone from the grounds of the old Russian Orthodox monastery, which stood atop the ancient Jewish cemetery of Jaffa, dating back to Roman and Byzantine times. When World War I erupted, he returned to Russia and sold his archaeological collection to the University of Oslo.
According to research by Dr. Il Davidson, the stone in Jerusalem is just a replica. The original rediscovered in recent years is housed in Oslo, virtually unknown to the Jewish world.
Who Was Yudan bar Tarfon?
The inscription identifies the deceased as Yudan (a variant of Yehuda), the son of Rabbi Tarfon. At first glance, scholars assumed this was the son of the famous Tannaic sage Rabbi Tarfon, a prominent figure in the Mishnah from the Roman era.
However, deeper linguistic and archaeological analysis suggested otherwise.
The style of the inscription, as dated by archaeologist Dr. Omri Abadi, matches funerary customs from the 4th or 5th century CE—several centuries after Rabbi Tarfon's time. Additionally, the phrasing and script fit better with the Byzantine period.
So who was this Yudan?
A careful examination of ancient Talmudic manuscripts revealed a lesser-known sage by the name Yudan bar Tarfon, who appears in two versions of the same Talmudic passage. His name is rare, and combined with the rarity of the name "Tarfon"—which likely stems from a Greek origin researchers concluded that this tombstone could very well belong to this obscure but authentic historical figure.
This theory was first proposed a century ago by Professor Samuel Klein and has since gained renewed scholarly support.
A Lost Heritage?
Today, many visitors to Jerusalem’s Augusta Victoria complex still see the cast replica of the tombstone and assume it marks the grave of a revered sage. In truth, the original lies silently in Oslo unvisited, largely forgotten.
It's hard to imagine the University of Oslo’s museum becoming a pilgrimage site for Jews seeking to honor an ancient rabbi. And yet, in an age increasingly aware of cultural restitution and historical memory, perhaps this modest slab of stone—inscribed in a forgotten dialect, telling of a forgotten life—still has a story to tell.
