The Ancient Near East in the 12th-10th Centuries BCE: Culture and History

The Ancient Near East in the 12th–10th Centuries BCE Culture and History Proceedings of the International Conference hel...

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The Ancient Near East in the 12th–10th Centuries BCE Culture and History Proceedings of the International Conference held at the University of Haifa, 2–5 May, 2010

Edited by Gershon Galil, Ayelet Gilboa, Aren M. Maeir, and Dan’el Kahn

Alter Orient und Altes Testament Veröffentlichungen zur Kultur und Geschichte des Alten Orients und des Alten Testaments

Band 392

Herausgeber Manfried Dietrich • Oswald Loretz • Hans Neumann

Lektor Kai A. Metzler

Beratergremium Rainer Albertz • Joachim Bretschneider Stefan Maul • Udo Rüterswörden • Walther Sallaberger Gebhard Selz • Michael P. Streck • Wolfgang Zwickel

2012 Ugarit-Verlag Münster

The Ancient Near East in the 12th–10th Centuries BCE Culture and History Proceedings of the International Conference held at the University of Haifa, 2–5 May, 2010

Edited by Gershon Galil, Ayelet Gilboa, Aren M. Maeir, and Dan’el Kahn

2012 Ugarit-Verlag Münster

The Ancient Near East in the 12th–10th Centuries BCE: Culture and History. Proceedings of the International Conference held at the University of Haifa, 2–5 May, 2010 Edited by Gershon Galil, Ayelet Gilboa, Aren M. Maeir, and Dan’el Kahn Alter Orient und Altes Testament, Band 392

© 2012 Ugarit-Verlag, Münster www.ugarit-verlag.de Alle Rechte vorbehalten All rights preserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photo-copying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher. Herstellung: Hubert & Co, Göttingen Printed in Germany ISBN 978-3-86835-066-1

Printed on acid-free paper

CONTENTS Preface ....................................................................................................................... ix Abbreviations ............................................................................................................ xi Reinhard Achenbach Divine Warfare and Yhwh’s Wars: Religious Ideologies of War in the Ancient Near East and in the Old Testament ................................................... 1 Michal Artzy Continuation and Change in the 13th–10th Centuries BCE Eastern Mediterranean: Bronze-Working Koiné? .......................................................................................... 27 Michael Avioz The Davidic Covenant in 2 Samuel 7: Conditional or Unconditional? .................... 43 Yigal Bloch Assyro-Babylonian Conflicts in the Reign of Aššsur-rēša-iši I: The Contribution of Administrative Documents to History-Writing ....................... 53 Walter Dietrich David and the Philistines: Literature and History .................................................... 79 Frederick Mario Fales “Ḫanigalbat” in the Early Neo-Assyrian Royal Inscriptions: A Retrospective View ............................................................................................... 99 Avraham Faust Between Israel and Philistia: Ethnic Negotiations in the South During the Iron Age I ............................................................................................. 121 Gershon Galil Solomon’s Temple: Fiction or Reality? .................................................................. 137 Yosef Garfinkel, Saar Ganor and Michael G. Hasel The Iron Age City of Khirbet Qeiyafa after four Seasons of Excavations....……..149 Moshe Garsiel Ideological Discordance between the Prophets Nathan and Samuel as reflecting the Divergence between the Book of Samuel’s Authors .................... 175

vi

CONTENTS

Moti Haiman Geopolitical Aspects of the Negev Desert in the 11th–10th Centuries BCE ........................................................................................................ 199 Larry G. Herr Jordan in the Iron I and IIA Periods ....................................................................... 207 Richard S. Hess The Distinctive Value of Human Life in Israel’s Earliest Legal Traditions ........... 221 Victor Avigdor Hurowitz Yhwh’s Exalted House Revisited: New Comparative Light on the Biblical Image of Solomon’s Temple ..................................................................... 229 Sandra Jacobs ‫“ נפש תחת נפש‬A Life for A Life” and napšāte umalla ............................................. 241 Danʼel Kahn A Geo-Political and Historical Perspective of Merneptah’s Policy in Canaan ....... 255 Aaron Koller The Kos in the Levant: Thoughts on its Distribution, Function, and Spread from the Late Bronze to the Iron Age II ................................................................. 269 André Lemaire West Semitic Epigraphy and the History of the Levant during the 12th–10th Centuries BCE ......................................................................................... 291 Yigal Levin Ideology and Reality in the Book of Judges ........................................................... 309 Mario Liverani Melid in the Early and Middle Iron Age: Archaeology and History ...................... 327 Aren M. Maeir Insights on the Philistine Culture and Related Issues: An Overview of 15 Years of Work at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath ............................................................... 345 Alan Millard Scripts and their uses in the 12th–10th Centuries BCE ............................................ 405 John P. Nielsen Nebuchadnezzar I’s Eastern Front .......................................................................... 413 Troy Leiland Sagrillo Šîšaq’s Army: 2 Chronicles 12:2–3 from an Egyptological Perspective ................ 425 Itamar Singer The Philistines in the North and the Kingdom of Taita .......................................... 451

CONTENTS

vii

Ephraim Stern Archaeological Remains of the Northern Sea Peoples along the Sharon and Carmel Coasts and the Akko and Jezreel Valleys .................................................. 473 Christoffer Theis and Peter van der Veen Some “Provenanced” Egyptian Inscriptions from Jerusalem: A Preliminary Study of Old and New Evidence ............................................................................ 509 Koert van Bekkum Coexistence as Guilt: Iron I Memories in Judges 1 ................................................ 525 Assaf Yasur-Landau Chariots, Spears and Wagons: Anatolian and Aegean Elements in the Medinet Habu Land Battle Relief ........................................................................... 549 Ran Zadok The Aramean Infiltration and Diffusion in the Upper Jazira, 1150–930 BCE........ 569 Wolfgang Zwickel Cult in the Iron Age I–IIA in the Land of Israel ..................................................... 581 Wolfgang Zwickel The Change from Egyptian to Philistine Hegemony in South-Western Palestine during the Time of Ramesses III or IV ................................................... 595 Index of Authors .................................................................................................... 603 Index of Sources .......................................................................................................... Index of Subjects ..........................................................................................................

PREFACE The history of the ancient Near East in the 12th–10th centuries BCE is still an unsolved riddle. At times the veil is lifted and tiny components of this elaborate puzzle glow in a new light. But many questions are as yet unanswered, and most details are still vague. Nevertheless, the broad outlines of this age are fairly well agreed by most scholars: the three superpowers Egypt, Hatti and Assyria gradually lost their hold and their influence in the area: first the Hittites, just after 1200 BCE, and a few dozens of years later, Egypt and Assyria. Historians generally concur that after the reign of Tukulti-Ninurta I (1243–1208 BCE), Assyria plunged into a prolonged decline, gradually losing its western territories to the Aramaean invaders. This process is clearly demonstrated by the ‘Chronicle of Tiglath-pileser Iʼ and by the ‘Broken Obeliskʼ (see Zadokʼs and Falesʼs articles). The rare complete silence of the Assyrian annals between 1055 and 934 BCE is the best indication that the Assyrians, under immense pressure from the Aramaeans, retreated to their homeland and fought a protracted and bitter war of survival. Concurrently, there are good indications that the Egyptians forfeited their influence in Canaan (the Wenamun report; see Kahnʼs and Sternʼs articles). Most Canaanite city states gradually disappeared, and by the end of the 10th century BCE only few survived as independent city states, mainly on the Phoenician coast. The ‘newcomersʼ (the Aramaeans, the Sea Peoples, the Israelites and the Transjordanian peoples) became the masters of the land from the Sinai Peninsula to the sources of the Tigris, and from the Amuq Plain to Assyria. The studies presented in this book touch on diverse aspects of human activities (political, social, economic, and cultural), and refer to different parts of the ancient Near East: from Melid and Hanigalbat in the north to Egypt and Kush in the south and from Assyria and Babylonia in the East to the Kingdom of Taita and (southern) Philistia in the west. They do though center mainly on the Bible and the history of ancient Israel and its western and eastern neighbors, as compared with other ancient Near Eastern cultures. The papers present an extensive vista of views—from biblical and archaeological perspectives and indeed most of them were written from an interdisciplinary standpoint. The Syro-Mesopotamian and Anatolian spheres are the subjects of papers by Liverani (on Melid), Fales (on Ḫanigalbat), Zadok (on the Aramean diffusion into the Upper Jazira), Bloch (on the Assyrian-Babylonians conflicts during the reign of Aššur-rēša-iši I), and Nielsen (on Nebuchadnezzar Iʼs wars to the east). Outlooks on Egypt and her imperial holdings are presented by Theis and van der Veen (New Kingdom epigraphic finds in the Jerusalem area), Kahn (on the 19th and 20th Dynasties in Canaan), Zwickel (second paper on Egyptians and Philistines) and Sagrillo (Šîšaqʼs army). The history of ancient Israel and its eastern neighbors is the focus of several papers. Galil and Hurowitz deal with various aspects of the Solomonic Temple. Haiman studied the phenomenon of the ‘Negev Fortressesʼ; and Jordan in Iron Age I and IIA is discussed by Herr. The papers by Dietrich, Garsiel, Avioz, Levine and

x

PREFACE

van Bekkum analyze the composition, ideology and historicity of the books of Judges and Samuel, inter alia in light of historical/archaeological testimony. Garfinkel, Ganor and Hasel summarize the excavation results of Kh. Qeiyafa, and Zwickel (first paper) offers a synthesis of early Israelite cult. The ‘Sea Peoplesʼ phenomenon is the topics of several papers. Various aspects of the Philistines are discussed by Dietrich (literary evidence for relations with David), Faust (identity vs. the Israelites), Maeir (excavations at Philistine Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath), Yasur-Landau (iconographic aspects of Philistines at Medinet Habu), and the second paper by Zwickel (Philistines vs. Egyptians). Old and new evidence on this issue in the Syro-Cilician sphere is the topic of Singerʼs paper, and Stern discusses ‘Sea Peoplesʼ other than the Philistines in Canaan/Israel. Artzyʼs paper rather emphasizes elements of continuity over the Bronze/Iron Age transition both in Canaan/Israel and in Cyprus. Several ideological and legal aspects of biblical vis-à-vis ancient Near Eastern texts are the focus of papers by Achenbach (holy wars), Hess (value of human life), Koller (the term kos), and Jacobs (“a life for a life”). Scripts and literacy in this time span are overviewed by Lemaire (the west Semitic sphere) and Millard. We wish to express our deep thanks to all the scholars who have contributed to this volume, most of whom participated in the conference held at the University of Haifa. Others who were unable to attend that meeting—Reinhard Achenbach, Mario Fales, Richard Hess, Mario Liverani, John Nielsen, Itamar Singer, Christoffer Theis, Koert van Bekkum and Peter van der Veen—kindly accepted our invitation to publish their important studies in this volume. We also thank Dr. Kai A. Metzler for his editorial comments. Dr. Ruth Fidler and Mr. Murray Rosovsky improved the English style; Ms. Galit Rozov and Ms. Maya Mokady took care of the indices.

Gershon Galil, Ayelet Gilboa, Aren Maeir, and Dan’el Kahn

ABBREVIATIONS GENERAL ABBREVIATIONS A B ca. cf. col(s). ch(s). DeZ Dtr DN ENA et al. etc. esp. EV ff. Fig(s). FS G ibid. idem K km l(l). LXX m MA MLC N.B. n(n). no(s). obv. op. cit. OT P par PN p(p). pl(s). r.

siglum of texts in the Aššur collection of the Istanbul Arkeoloji Müzerleri siglum of objects in the Beirut Museum circa compare column(s) chapter(s) siglum of texts in the National Museum of Deir ez-Zor Deuteronomistic editor(s) divine name early Neo-Assyrian et alia = and others and so on; and the rest especially English Versions following Figure(s) Festschrift Greek (versions) ibidem = in the same place the same siglum of texts in the collection of the British Museum kilometer line(s) Septuagint meter Middle Assyrian siglum of a tablet collection in the Yale Babylonian collection nota bene = note well note(s) number(s) obverse opere citātō = in the work cited Old Testament Priestly Document parallel personal name page(s) plate(s) reverse

xii

ABBREVIATIONS

Sam. v(v) VAT

Samaritan Targum verse(s) siglum of texts in the Vorderasiatisches Museum, Berlin

ABBREVIATIONS OF BIBLICAL BOOKS Gen Ex Lev Num Deut Josh Judg 1–2 Sam 1–2 Kgs Isa Jer Ezek

Hos Joel Amos Obad Jona Mic Nah Hab Zeph Hag Zech Mal

Ps (pl.: Pss) Prov Job Ruth Cant Eccl; Qoh Lam Estr Dan Ezra Neh 1–2 Chron

ABBREVIATIONS OF DEAD SEA SCROLLS CD 1QM

Cairo (Geniza text of) Damascus (Document) Milḥāmâ (War Scroll)

PERIODICALS, REFERENCE WORKS, AND SERIES AA AAA ÄAT AB ABD ADAJ ADD ADPV AfK AfO AJA AKL Ä&L ALASPM AnBib ANES ANET AnOr

American Antiquity University of Liverpool Annals of Archaeology and Anthropology Ägypten und Altes Testament Anchor Bible D. N. Freedman (ed.), Anchor Bible Dictionary, I–VI (New York, 1992) Annual of the Department of Antiquities of Jordan C. H. W. Johns, Assyrian Deeds and Documents, Cambridge, I (1898), II–III (1901), IV (1923) Abhandlungen des Deutschen Palästinavereins Archiv für Keilschriftforschung Archiv für Orientforschung American Journal of Archaeology Assyrian King List Ägypten und Levante Abhandlungen zur Literatur Alt-Syrien-Palästinas und Mesopotamiens Analecta Biblica Ancient Near Eastern Studies J. B. Pritchard (ed.), Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament (Princeton, 19693) Analecta Orientalia

ABBREVIATIONS

AnSt AO AOAT AoF AOTC ARA ARAB ARI ARM ArOr ASAE ASOR ASV AThANT AUSS AWE BA BAe BAH BAL BaM BAR BAR BASOR BATSH 4 BATSH 9 BBRS BBSt. BdÉ BES BEATAJ BET BEThL BHS BI BICANE BIFAO BiOr BIS BJS BKAT BLS BN

xiii

Anatolian Studies Aula Orientalis Alter Orient und Altes Testament Altorientalische Forschungen Apollos Old Testament Commentary Annual Review of Anthropology D. D. Luckenbill, Ancient Records of Assyria and Babylonia, I–II (Chicago, 1926–1927) A. K. Grayson, Assyrian Royal Inscription, I–II (Wiesbaden, 1972–1976) Archives royale de mari Archiv Orientální Annales du Service des antiquités de l’Egypte The American Schools of Oriental Research American Standard Version Abhandlungen zur Theologie des Alten und Neuen Testaments Andrews University Seminary Studies Ancient West and East Biblical Archaeologist Bibliotheca Aegyptiaca Bibliothèque Archéologie et Historique R. Borger, Babylonisch-assyrische Lesestücke (AnOr 54; Rome, 19792) Baghdader Mitteilungen British Archaeological Reports Biblical Archaeology Review Bulletin of the American School of Oriental Research E. C. Cancik-Kirschbaum, Die mittelassyrischen Briefe aus Tall Šēḫ Ḥamad (Berlin, 1996) W. Röllig, Land- und Viehwirtschaft am unteren Ḫābūr in mittelassyrischer Zeit (Wiesbaden, 2008) Bulletin for Biblical Research Supplement L. W. King, Babylonian Boundary Stones (London, 1912) Bibliothèque d’étude, Institut français d’archéologie orientale Bulletin of the Egyptological Seminar Beiträge der Erforschung des Alten Testaments und des antiken Judentums Beiträge zur evangelischen Theologie Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium Biblica Hebraica Stuttgartensia Biblical Interpretation Bronze to Iron Age Chronology of the Ancient Near East Bulletin de l’institut française d’Arcéologie orientale, Cairo Bibliotheca Orientalis Biblical Interpretation Series Brown Judaic Studies Biblischer Kommentar. Altes Testament Bible and Literature Series Biblische Notizen

xiv

BSA BSFE BT BWANT BZ BZAW CA CAD CAH CBQ CCCM CdE CDOG CHANE CHLI CM CMAO CNWS CRAI CRIPEL CTN EA

EHS EI EME ERA FAT FRLANT GM GTA HALOT HAT HSAO HSS HThK AT HTR HUCA IAA ICC

ABBREVIATIONS

Bulletin de la Societé Anthroplogique Bulletin de la Societé Française d’Égyptologie Babylonian Talmud Beiträge zur Wissenschaft vom Alten und Neuen Testament Biblische Zeitschrift Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamenliche Wissenschaft Current Anthropology The Assyrian Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of University of Chicago Cambridge Ancient History Catholic Biblical Quarterly Corpus Christianorum Continuatio Medievails Chronique d’Égypte Colloquium der Deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft Culture and History of the Ancient Near East J. D. Hawkins, Corpus of Hieroglyphic Luwian Inscriptions (Berlin, 2010) Cuneiform Monographs Contributi e materiali di archeologia orientale Centrum voor Niet-Westerse Studies Comptes rendus de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres Cahiers de recherches de l’Institut de papyrologie et Égyptologie de Lille Cuneiform Texts from Nimrud J. A. Knudtzon, Die El-Amarna-Tafeln. Anmerkungen und Register bearb. von O. Weber und E. Ebeling (Aalen, 1964); EA 359–379: A. F. Rainey, El Amarna Tablets 359–379 (Kevelaer, 1970) Europäische Hochschulschriften Eretz Israel Études et Mémoires d’Égyptologie Egyptian Research Account Forschungen zum Alten Testament Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testament Göttinger Miszellen Göttinger theologische Arbeiten L. Koehler and W. Baumgartner, The Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament, I–V (Tran. by M. E. J. Richardson; Leiden, 1994–2000) Handbuch zum Aten Testament Heidelberger Studien zum Alten Orient Harvard Semitic Studies Herders Theologischer Kommentar zum Alten Testament Harvard Theological Review Hebrew Union College Annual Israel Antiquities Authorities International Critical Commentary

ABBREVIATIONS

ICAANE IEJ IFAO IOS JAA JAC JACF JAEI JANES JAOS JAR JARCE JAS JBL JBS JCS JEA JEN JEOL JESHO JHS JLR JMA JNES JNSL JSB JSOT JSOTS JSS JSSEA KAI KAR KBo KJV KRI KS KTU LÄ LAAA

International Congress on the Archaeology of the Ancient Near East Israel Exploration Journal Institut Français d'Archéologie Orientale Israel Oriental Studies Journal of Anthropological Archaeology Journal of Ancient Civilizations Journal of the Ancient Chronology Forum Journal of Ancient Egyptian Interconnections Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society of Columbia University Journal of the American Oriental Society Journal of Archaeological Research Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt Journal of Archaeological Science Journal of Biblical Literature Jerusalem Biblical Studies Journal of Cuneiform Studies Journal of Egyptian Archaeology Joint Expedition (with the Iraq Museum) at Nuzi, 1927–1934 Jaarbericht van het Vooraziatisch-Egyptisch Genootschap “Ex Oriente Lux” Journal of Economic and Social History of the Orient Journal of Hebrew Scriptures Journal of Law and Religion Journal of Mediterranean Archaeology Journal of Near Eastern Studies Journal of Northwest Semitic Languages The Jewish Study Bible Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Journal of Semitic Studies Journal of the Society for the Study of Egyptian Antiquities H. Donner and W. Röllig, Kanaanäische und aramäische Inschriften, I–III (Wiesbaden, 19713) E. Ebeling, Keilschrifttexte aus Assur religiösen Inhalts (Ausgrabungen der Deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft in Assur; Leipzig, 1919) Keilschrifttexte aus Boghazgöi King James Version K. A. Kitchen, Ramesside Inscriptions: Historical and Biographical, I–VIII (Oxford, 1969–1990) A. Alt, Kleine Schriften zur Geschichte des Volkes Israel, I–III (München, 1953-1959) M. Dietrich, O. Loretz and J. Sanmartín, The Cuneiform Alphabetic Texts from Ugarit, Ras Ibn Hani and Other Places (ALASP 8; Münster, 19952) Lexikon der Ägyptologie Liverpool Annals of Archaeology and Anthropology

xv

xvi

LdÄ LH LHB/OTS MAL MARV MÄS MDAIK MDOG MEEF MIFAO MMJ MPP NABU NBL NEA NEAEHL NEASB NIBC NICOT NIV NJPS NTT OAC OAS OBO OBOSA OECT OIP OJA OLA OLP OTL PÄ PEF PEQ PIHANS PJ PNA QD RB RBL RdE

ABBREVIATIONS

Lexikon der Ägyptologie Laws of Hammurabi Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies Middle Assyrian Law Mittelassyrische Rechtsurkunden und Verwaltungstexte Münchner ägyptologische Studien Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Cairo Mitteilungen der deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft Memoir of the Egypt Exploration Fund Mémoires publiés par les membres de l’Institut français d’archéologie orientale du Caire Metropolitan Museum Journal Madaba Plains Project Nouvelles Assyriologiques Brèves et Utilitaires M. Görg and B. Lang (eds.), Neues Biblelexikon, I–III (Zürich, 1995–1998) Near Eastern Archaeology E. Stern (ed.), The New Encyclopedia of Archaeological Excavations in the Holy Land, I–V (Jerusalem – New York, 1993–2008) Near East Archaeological Society Bulletin New International Biblical Commentary New International Commentary on the Old Testament New International Version New Jewish Publication Society Translation of the Bible Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift Orientis Antiqui Collectio Oslo Archaeological Series Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis. Series Archaeologica Oxford Editions of Cuneiform Texts Oriental Institute Publications Oxford Journal of Archaeology Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta Orientalia Lovaniensia Periodica Old Testament Library Probleme der Ägyptologie Palestine Exploration Fund Annual Palestine Exploration Quarterly Uitgaven van het Nederlands Historisch-Archaeologisch Instituut te Istanbul. Publications de l’Institut historiquearchéologique néerlandais de Stamboul Palästina-Jahrbuch The Prosopography of the Neo-Assyrian Empire, I–III/1 (Helsinki, 1998–2002) Quaestiones disputatae Revue biblique Review of Biblical Literature Revue d’Égyptologie

ABBREVIATIONS

RIMA 1 RIMA 2 RIMA 3 RIMB 2 RINAP 4

RGG RGTC RHA RlA RS RSF RSOu RSV SAA SAAB SAAS SAGA SAK SBL SBAB SBS SCCNH SCIEM SEL SGKAO SHAJ SHCANE SJOT SM SMEA SSEA SSN SUGIA SWBAS TA TAP TAVO TB TB TCS

xvii

A. K. Grayson, Assyrian Rulers of the Third and Second Millennia BC (To 1114 BC), (Toronto, 1987) A. K. Grayson, Assyrian Rulers of the Early First Millennium BC, I (1114–859 BC), (Toronto, 1991) A. K. Grayson, Assyrian Rulers of the Early First Millennium BC, II (858–745 BC), (Toronto, 1996) G. Frame, Rulers of Babylonia from the Second Dynasty of Isin to the End of Assyrian Domination (1157–612 BC), (Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia, Babylonian Periods 2; Toronto, 1995) E. Leichty, The Royal Inscriptions of Esarhaddon, King of Assyria (680–669 BC); with a contribution by G. Frame and the editorial assistance of J. Novotny, M. T. Rutz, and A. E. Barron (Winona Lake, IN 2011) Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart Répertoire Géographique des Textes Cunéiformes Revue hittite et asianique Reallexikon der Assyriologie field numbers of tablets excavated at Ras Shamra Rivista di Studi Fenici Ras Shamra – Ougarit Revised Standard Version State Archives of Assyria State Archives of Assyria Bulletin State Archives of Assyria Studies Studien zur Archäologie und Geschichte Altägyptens Studien zur Altägyptischen Kultur Society of Biblical Literature Stuttgarter Biblische Aufsatzbände Stuttgarter Bibelstudien Studies on the Civilization and Culture of Nuzi and the Hurrians Synchronization of Civilizations in the Eastern Mediterranean in the 2nd Millennium BC Studi Epigrafici e Linguistici Schriften zur Geschichte und Kultur des Alten Orients Studies in the History and Archaeology of Jordan Studies in the History and Culture of the Ancient Near East Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament Scripta Mediterranea Studi Micenei ed Egeo-Anatolici Society for the Study of Egyptian Antiquities Studia Semitica Neerlandica Sprache und Geschichte in Afrika Social World of Biblical Antiquity Series Tel Aviv Ta‘yinat Archaeological Project Tübinger Atlas des Vorderen Orients (University of Tübingen) Tyndale Bulletin Theologische Bücherei Texts from Cuneiform Sources

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TDOT ThPr ThWAT TSSI UF UMM Urk. UTB VAS VT WAS WMANT WSS WUB WVDOG YES ZA ZAR ZAW ZBKAT ZDPV

ABBREVIATIONS

G. J. Botterweck and H. Ringgren (eds.), Theological Dictionary of the old Testament (Grarnd Rapids, 1974–2006) Theologia Practica G. J. Botterweck and H. Ringgren (eds.), Theologisches Wörterbuch zum Alten Testament, I–X (Stuttgart – Berlin – Köln, 1973–2001) J. C. L. Gibson, Textbook of Syrian Semitic Inscriptions, I–III (Oxford, 1971–1982) Ugarit Forschungen University Museum Monograph Urkunden des ägyptischen Altertums Uni-Taschenbücher Vorderasiatische Schriftdenkmäler Vetus Testamentum Wiener Alttestamentliche Studien Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament N. Avigad and B. Sass, Corpus of West Semitic Stamp Seals (Jerusalem, 1997) Welt und Umwelt der Bibel Wissenschaftliche Veröffentlichungen der Deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft Yale Egyptological Studies Zeitschrift für Assyriology und Vorderasiatische Archäologie Zeitschrift für Altorientalische und Biblische Rechtsgeschichte Zeitschrift für die alttestamenliche Wissenschaft Zürcher Bibelkommentar zum Alten Testment Zeitschrift des deutschen Palästina-Vereins

DIVINE WARFARE AND YHWH’S WARS RELIGIOUS IDEOLOGIES OF WAR IN THE ANCIENT NEAR EAST AND IN THE OLD TESTAMENT

REINHARD ACHENBACH University of Münster .‫שׁמוֹ‬ ְ ‫ י ְהוָה‬,‫י ְהוָה אִישׁ ִמ ְל ָח ָמה‬ (Ex 15:3)

I. Divine Warfare The term ‘holy’ is not used as an epithet characterizing war in the Old Testament or in Ancient Near Eastern texts dated to the 1st millennium BCE.1 Nevertheless, people in antiquity were convinced that wars were initiated and waged by the gods and that the people and their leaders were merely executing the divine will by taking up arms.2 Old Egyptians believed the king to be a manifestation of divine power, endowed upon him by Amun, the Sun-God, to destroy the enemies of the land and to restore ‘maat’, the world order.3 In Mesopotamian tradition the king was considered 1

The expression ‘holy war’ was first applied to the description of divine wars in Ancient Israel by the orientalist F. Schwally, in his book: Semitische Kriegsaltertümer: Der heilige Krieg im alten Israel (Leipzig, 1901). G. von Rad argued that in contrast to the ‘profane’ interests of war the Israelites had a special religious ritual in waging ‘amphictyonic wars’ which should be termed ‘holy war’ (Der Heilige Krieg im alten Israel [first published in 1951; English version: Holy War in Ancient Israel, Translated and edited by M. J. Dawn; Grand Rapids, 1991]). This theory was rejected by M. Weippert who showed that all motifs in the biblical texts dealing with records or rituals of war had parallels in Ancient Near Eastern texts (“‘Heiliger Krieg’ in Israel und Assyrien”, ZAW 84 [1972], pp. 460–493). For further information on the term and its applications see C. Colpe, Der “Heilige Krieg”: Benennung und Wirklichkeit, Begründung und Widerstreit (Bodenheim, 1994); M. Weippert, J. van Ess and H-R. Reuter, “Heilige Krieg”, RGG, III (Tübingen, 20004), cols. 1562–1565; R. Schmitt, Der “Heilige Krieg” im Pentateuch und im deuteronomistischen Geschichtswerk. Studien zur Forschungs-, Rezeptions- und Religions-geschichte von Krieg und Bann im Alten Testament (AOAT 381; Münster, 2011). For texts combining the root qdš with mlḥmh see ‘YHWH, the Divine Warrior’, below. 2 For earlier discussions of these issues see P. D. Miller, The Divine Warrior in Early Israel (Camebridge, MA 1973); T. W. Mann, Divine Presence and Guidance in Israelite Traditions: The Typology of Exaltation (Baltimore – London, 1977); S-M. Kang, Divine War in the Old Testament and in the Ancient Near East (BZAW 177; Berlin – New York, 1989); A. van der Lingen, Les guerres de Yahvé: L’implication de YHWH dans les guerres d’Israël selon les livres historiques de l’Ancien Testament (Paris, 1990); K. A. Raaflaub (ed.), War and Peace in the Ancient World (Oxford, 2007). 3 T. Von der Way, Göttergericht und “Heiliger” Krieg im Alten Ägypten: Die Inschriften des Merenptah zum Libyerkrieg des Jahres 5’ (SAGA 4; Heidelberg, 1992), pp. 43–45 (Qadesh-

2

R. ACHENBACH

to be a divine instrument employed to establish law and justice. In the royal inscriptions of Assyria the king is described as a tool of the gods in warfare, and in public announcements the acts of war were interpreted as enforcing their will.4 The gods were in fact seen as directing military operations,5 so, divination was an integral part of waging war. Without divine reassurance it was impossible to convince the combatants to risk their lives in battle. The oracles were needed to endorse the legitimacy of the military actions and the commanders alike. Despite all social and cultural differences distinguishing the peoples of the Ancient Near East, analogies and common basic structures can be observed in this context in all nations of antiquity. Even though warfare and its associated ideology underwent historical change, especially due to the transition from tribal societies to kingdoms or as a result of the changing national religious ideologies of the great Ancient Near Eastern empires,6 their religious principles remained unaltered. However, despite kings’ urge for territorial expansion, among their peoples the desire for peace remained constant, as attested in their myths and prayers. Often this Poem, §§ 129–131): “He (= the Sun-God, Amun) called me (= Ramesses II), and it was as if (he spoke to me) from face to face: ‘Go ahead! I am with you! I am your father, my hand is with you ... With everything I did I was successful, I was like Month: I shot (the arrows) with my right hand and I captured the booty with my left. At that time I was like Seth in their (= the Hittites) eyes!” (KRI, II, 44–46). J. Assmann, Herrschaft und Heil: Politische Theologie in Altägypten, Israel und Europa (München – Wien, 2000), pp. 96–97; A. J. Spalinger, War in Ancient Egypt: The New Kingdom, Ancient World at War (Malden, MA – Oxford – Victoria, 2005), pp. 75–77; Schmitt, op. cit. (note 1), pp. 47–49. 4 B. Oded (War, Peace and Empire: Justifications for War in Assyrian Royal Inscriptions [Wiesbaden, 1992], pp. 178–180) lists a series of religious reasons for warfare that appear to legitimize the king’s deeds: the campaigns were divine wars, waged in the name of one or more gods, they were fought against evildoers who had offended against the law, and were conducted to protect the people against their enemies. The war was declared an act of protecting vassals and allies and of defense against aggressors and usurpers or rebels, who had offended against the loyalty oaths. The initiators of rebellion were punished, vengeance was exacted, and law and justice according to the Assyrian measures were restored. Religious insignia were present at the battlefield and the booty was partly presented to the temples. The kings, in fulfillment of the divine destinies, exercised absolute sway over the state, not their officials. Cf. also Schmitt, op. cit. (note 1), pp. 46–47. 5 The hymn of Ashurbanipal to Ištar of Nineveh (K 1290 = OECT 6 11, r. 4–6) says: (4) ul [ina da-na]-ni-ia ul ina da-na-ni GIŠ.BAN-ia (5) ina e-m[uq x x x x ù] da-na-ni d U.DAR.MEŠ-ia (6) KUR.MEŠ la ma-[g]i-ri-ia ú-šak-ni-šá ana ni-ir daš-šur = Not [with] my [own strength], not with the strength of my bow, but with the power [... and] strength of my goddesses, I made the lands disobedient to me submit to the yoke of Aššur (A. Livingstone, Court Poetry and Literary Miscellanea [SAA III; Helsinki, 1989], p. 12). 6 For an overview of these changes see Kang, op. cit. (note 2), pp. 11–113. For the 3rd–2nd millennia BCE, see W. J. Hamblin, Warfare in the Ancient Near East to 1600 B.C.: Holy Warriors at the Dawn of History (London – New York, 2006). For the development in Egypt, see note 3 above, and also S. Curto, “Krieg”, LdÄ, III (Wiesbaden, 1980), pp. 765– 786; for Mesopotamia see H. Klengel, “Krieg, Kriegsgefangene”, RlA, VI, pp. 241–246; for Assyria see W. Mayer, Politik und Kriegskunst der Assyrer (ALASPM 9; Münster, 1995); for Israel see A. Ruffing, “Krieg”, NBL, II, pp. 554–555; W. Schottroff and S. Beyerle, “Kriegsgefangene”, NBL, II, pp. 555–556; for Asia Minor see P. H. J. Houwink ten Cate, “The History of Warfare according to Hittite Sources: The Annals of Hattusilis 1/2”, Anatolica 10 (1983), pp. 91–109; 11 (1984), pp. 47–83. A new collection of special studies is offered now by J. Vidal (Studies on War in the Ancient Near East: Collected Essays on Military History [AOAT 372; Münster, 2010]).

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desire could be met only if order and welfare could be guaranteed by the gods and the kings, who were expected to keep the hostile and chaotic forces at bay and prevent them from threatening the peaceful world order.7 To sustain ‘maat’ the Pharaoh had to destroy his enemies. To restore justice and peace, the kings were expected to put evildoers to death. Extermination of the foe as a royal act is often depicted in Egyptian, West-Semitic and Mesopotamian iconography as documenting the king’s power to uphold ‘shalôm’.8 The notion of intimidation or even destruction of the enemy bears the positive connotation that security and justice could thereby be preserved and guaranteed. The exertion of royal power is interpreted in the framework of a mythical cosmology: it protects humankind against the chaotic and destructive forces of man and nature.9 Divination through legitimizing oracles assured the leaders that the gods themselves acted to seize and destroy the enemy.10 Thus the diviners influenced the escalation and de-escalation of war. They depict the principal deities of their nation as the decisive power, often supported by other deities from the pantheon, be they Amun for Egypt, Aššur for Assyria, Marduk for Babylonia, Ahura-Mazda for Persia; or Chemosh for Moab, Ba‘al Shamem for the Arameans or Zeus Olympios for the Greeks.11 In addition, the myths about a god’s suffering, dying and overcoming death carry the hope for stability in the constantly recurring cycles of life and fertility, thus stabilizing the religiously perceived world order.12 7 Cf. S. Maul, “Der assyrische König – Hüter der Weltordnung”, in J. Assmann, B. Janowski and M. Welker (eds.), Gerechtigkeit. Richten und Retten in der abendländischen Tradition und ihren altorientalischen Ursprüngen (München, 1998), pp. 65–77; E. Otto, Krieg und Frieden in der Hebräischen Bibel und im Alten Orient. Aspekte für eine Friedensordnung in der Moderne (Theologie und Frieden 18; Stuttgart – Berlin – Köln, 1999), pp. 13–75. 8 O. Keel, “Die Welt der altorientalischen Bildsymbolik und das Alte Testament am Beispiel der Psalmen”, (Neukirchen-Vluyn – Köln – Zürich – Einsiedeln, 19772), pp. 270–286, presents a series of well-known examples of that motif. For an introduction to the Israelite concept of ‘shalôm’ cf. H. H. SCHMID, šālôm ‘Frieden’ im Alten Orient und im Alten Testament (SBS 51; Stuttgart, 1971); R. Albertz, “Schalom und Versöhnung― Alttestamentliche Kriegs- und Friedenstraditionen”, ThPr 18 (1983), pp. 16–29; F. J. Stendebach, “šālôm”, ThWAT, VIII, pp. 11–46. 9 Epic or hymnic references to wars are often connected to motifs from ancient myths telling how God vanquished the chaotic forces; cf. W. H. Schmidt, Königtum Gottes in Ugarit und Israel. Zur Herkunft der Königsprädikation Jahwes (BZAW 80; Berlin, 1966); M. K. Wakeman, God’s Battle with the Monster. A Study in Biblical Imagery (Leiden, 1973); J. Day, God’s Conflict with the Dragon and the Sea: Echoes of a Canaanite Myth in the Old Testament (Cambridge – London – New York, 1985). 10 B. Pongratz-Leisten, Herrschaftswissen in Mesopotamien. Formen der Kommunikation zwischen Gott und König im 2. und 1. Jahrtausend v. Chr. (SAAS 10; Helsinki, 1999). 11 The language of the royal inscriptions and annals and their metaphors can be compared to the language of the Hebrew Bible; it is replete with elements of violence and brutality. When these mythical elements were integrated into the description of YHWH as the only God, motifs and epithets of diverse origin were all applied to the one deity. Some scholars have therefore argued that monotheistic religion has a special tendency to be violent. But these scholars have overlooked the opposite aspect: the dynamics of peaceful and healing potentials are also transferred to the description of one God. For a discussion on this issue cf. J. Assmann, “Monotheismus und die Sprache der Gewalt”, in P. Walter (ed.), Das Gewaltpotential des Monotheismus und der dreieine Gott (QD 216; Freiburg, 2005), pp. 18–38; E. Zenger, “Der Mosaische Monotheismus im Spannungsfeld von Gewalttätigkeit und Gewaltverzicht. Eine Replik auf Jan Assmann”, in Walter, ibid., pp. 39–73. 12 Otto, op. cit. (note 7), pp. 13–28, describes how the myths of Ugarit treat the dynamics of

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In the past, the war-ideology of the Hebrew Bible has been seen to join in the paradigms of ancient oriental concepts. This study focuses only on the significance of the biblical tradition on the wars of Ancient Israel in the Ancient Near Eastern context. The legends and reports about wars in the books Genesis – 2 Kings and Chronicles relate to the pre-state and state period (ca. 1200–597 BCE).13 However, the accounts of wars in the epoch of the kingdoms of Israel and Judah (1 Kgs 12 – 2 Kgs 25) contain merely fragments of the historical tradition. The material about the early period of Israel in Genesis – Judges acquired its literary shape partly during the late-7th century BCE, but mostly through the editorial activities of scribes in exilic and post-exilic times. The last historical report on a Judean war in 2 Kgs refers to the battle of King Josiah, when he failed to defeat Necho II of Egypt at Megiddo (609 BCE; cf. 2 Kgs 23:29). The account of the interregnum of the Egyptians who installed Jehoiakim and the collapse of Judah under the last kings during the Neo-Babylonian period (cf. 2 Kgs 24–25) is dominated by the impression that the initiative for war came from the Egyptians and the Babylonians. A futile last uprising against the Babylonian governor (cf. 2 Kgs 25:25 ff.) is described as disastrous. The next military aggression emanating from Israel was the Maccabean revolt of 166 BCE, more than 400 years later. During this long interval the Jewish people initiated no military activity against any other people or empire.14 Most great accounts about the wars of YHWH led by Abraham, Moses, Joshua and the Judges are legendary, and for the most part the literature is influenced by the language of the Deuteronomistic and Priestly schools, reaffirming the religious convictions of the Second Temple community, who had lost their political sovereignty.

II. Neo-Assyrian Annals and Biblical Historiography on Wars The pre-exilic literary reports on the era of the two kingdoms are contained in the Deuteronomistic account in 1 Samuel – 2 Kings. From the second half of the 8th century BCE until the time of Josiah (639–609 BCE) Assyrian governance and domination influenced directly or indirectly the formation of Israelite scribal culture.15 We may therefore compare the ideology of war in Israel and Judah, as pre-

violence and who they try to resolve it. For the correlation between the myths and the ideal concept of kingship cf. K-P. Adam, Der königliche Held. Die Entsprechung von kämpfendem Gott und kämpfendem König in Psalm 18 (WMANT 91; Neukirchen-Vluyn, 2001), pp. 16– 25. 13 For a critical evaluation of the historical impact of biblical historiography cf. L. L. Grabbe, Ancient Israel: What Do We Know and How do We Know It? (London – New York, 2007), pp. 65–226. 14 However, Jews served in the Persian army, as demonstrated at Elephantine. All theories about war and peace of the Persian period in the prophetic texts deal indirectly with the problem of divine providence concealed behind the clash of Persian and other cultures and the full restoration of Israel in the future. The development of eschatological and apocalyptic concepts of war can be observed in Hellenistic times and during the Maccabean period, as in the book of Daniel, the book of Jubilees and the Enochic literature, in CD and 1QM, from the time of the Jewish War (66–70 CE) and the revolts in 115–117 and 135 CE; cf. J. Maier, Krieg und Frieden sowie das Verhältnis zum Staat in der Literatur des frühen Judentums (Beiträge zur Friedensethik 9; Barsbüttel, 1990). 15 For a historical description of the interrelation between Israel and Assyrian history and culture cf. G. Galil, Israel and Assyria (Haifa – Tel Aviv, 2001; Hebrew).

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sented in the Bible, with contemporary Assyrian texts. However, the material of the Hebrew Bible and the Assyrian annals and inscriptions fundamentally differ, since the Deuteronomistic account includes a critical evaluation of the achievements of the kings; most kings, it argues, “did evil in the sight of the Lord” (1 Kgs 11:6; 14:22; 15:26,34; 16:19 to 2 Kgs 24:9,19). By contrast, the legendary narratives about Joshua’s conquest of Canaan are positive in their evaluation (Josh 10:40): “So Joshua smote all the country...he left none remaining, but utterly destroyed all that breathed, as the Lord, God of Israel, commanded”, and Josh 11:23: “So Joshua conquered the whole land, according to all that the Lord said unto Moses”.16 Hence, most parallels between the Assyrian inscriptions, proclaiming the great acts of the gods and their kings, and the Bible can be found in the conquest narratives of the latter. Younger17—following preliminary works of Liverani18 and Fales19—designed a typology of elements in Assyrian annalistic texts. He traces a series of recurring syntagms in Assyrian conquest accounts, regarding the spatiotemporal coordinates of the events, the disorder created by the kings’ activity, the description of the divine aid, the troop movements, the enemy’s flight and the pursuit, and finally the engagement and its results, the enemy’s submission and the war’s aftermath, the victory celebration and other royal activities.20 Next he compares these texts with the account of the conquest of Canaan in Josh 9–12, and concludes that the latter text “is structured on a transmission code similar to that of other ancient Near Eastern royal inscriptions”.21 1. Esarhaddon’s Prism A from Nineveh and the Hebrew Bible Several similarities in motif and concept concerning the royal ideologies of war can also be shown between the historical biblical and Assyrian annalistic texts. This is evinced in almost every comparison of these materials. As an example we have chosen Esarhaddon’s Prism A from Nineveh.22 The text tells how the Assyrian king 16

The translation of the Biblical texts in this essay mostly follows the suggestion of JSB or NIV, except for special Hebrew idiomatic formulations, where it is necessary to keep closer to the original meaning. For the root ḥrm the translation “ban”, “to ban” is preferred; for the reasons see below. 17 K. L. Younger, Ancient Conquest Accounts: A Study in Ancient Near Eastern and Biblical History Writing (JSOTS 98; Sheffield, 1990). 18 M. Liverani, “The Ideology of the Assyrian Empire”, in M. T. LARSEN (ed.), Power and Propaganda: A Symposium on Ancient Empires (Kopenhagen, 1979), pp. 329–359. 19 F. M. Fales, “The Enemy in Assyrian Royal Inscriptions: ‘The Moral Judgement’”, in H-J. Nissen and J. Renger (eds.), Mesopotamien und seine Nachbarn, II (Berlin, 1982), pp. 425– 435; idem (ed.), Assyrian Royal Inscriptions: New Horizons in Literary, Ideological and Historical Analysis (OAC 17; Rome, 1981). 20 Younger, op. cit. (note 17), pp. 72–124. The analysis is based on the older editions of the annals, which are now available in RIMA 2 and RIMA 3. It refers to the annals of Tiglath Pileser I (RIMA 2, pp. 5–84); Ashur-Dan II (RIMA 2, pp. 131–135); Ashurnasirpal II (RIMA 2, pp. 189–264); Shalmaneser III (RIMA 3, pp. 5–184); Sennacherib (BAL, II, pp. 64–88), Sargon’s letter to God (text according to W. Mayer, “Sargons Feldzug gegen Urartu – 714 v. Chr. Text und Übersetzung”, MDOG 115 [1983], pp. 65–132) and others. 21 Younger, op. cit. (note 17), p. 237. 22 The text was first edited by R. C. Thompson (The Prisms of Esarhaddon and Ashurbanipal found at Nineveh, 1927–1928 [London, 1931]). In 1956 R. Borger published his edition and translation (Die Inschriften Esarhaddons [Graz, 1956], pp. 36–37, 39–64); and in 1985

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was appointed by his father as his successor, contrary to the will of his elder brothers, but with the help of the gods, and especially with the support of Ištar (A).23 Esarhaddon (680–669 BCE) defeats adversaries in a battle,24 and the Assyrian people acknowledge his leadership and reward him by “kissing his feet” (i 81): “ú-naáš-ši-qu GÌR.II-ia” (B).25 At the beginning, the text explains that when Esarhaddon was led to the successor’s house to perform the rituals of enthronement, the elder brothers conspired against the younger one (C): “Persecution (and) jealousy fell over my brothers and they forsook (the will) of the gods. They trusted in their arrogant deeds, and they were plotting evil. They started evil rumors, calumnies, (and) slander about me against the will of the gods, and they were constantly telling insincere lies, hostile things, behind my back” (i 23–27). Esarhaddon finds shelter under the protection of Aššur and Marduk (i 32–40), which means that the priests of the important sanctuaries probably granted asylum and help to the king. The inscription continues to blame the brothers for blasphemy and rebellion; the discord among themselves attests to their evilness and their solidarity goes awry (D): “Afterwards, my brothers went out of their minds and did everything that is displeasing to the gods and mankind, and they plotted evil, girt (their) weapons, and in Nineveh, without the gods, they butted each other like kids for (the right to) exercise kinship” (i 41–44). The brothers sparked the anger of the gods (E): “The gods Aššur, Sîn, Šamaš, Bēl, Nabû, Ištar of Nineveh, (and) Ištar of Arbela saw the deeds of the usurpers which had been done wrongly against the will of the gods and they did not support them. They changed their strength to weakness and forced them to bow down to me” (i 45–49). The inscription states that the people of Assyria, bound by oath and covenant to be loyal to Esarhaddon’s royalty, did not come to support the rebellious brothers (F): “The people of Assyria, who swore by oil and water to the treaty, an oath bound by the great gods, to protect my (right to exercise) kingship, did not come to their aid” (i 50–52). In a ritual lament, before the great gods, the king calls for the support of the gods and shows his determination to persecute the rebels (G). By tearing his robe he expresses his despair and affirms his decision to pursue the evildoers (H): “I, Esarhaddon, who with the help of the great gods, his lords, does not turn back in the heat of battle, quickly heard of their evil deeds. I said ‘Woe!’ and rent my princely garment. I cried out in mourning, I raged like a lion, and my mood became furious. In order to exercise kingship (over) the house of my father I beat my hands together. I prayed to the gods Aššur, Sîn, Šamaš, Bēl, Nabû, and Ištar of Nineveh, (and) Ištar of Arbela” (i 53–60). The gods grant positive oracles (I): “… and they accepted my word(s). With their firm ‘yes’ they were sending me reliable omen(s), (saying): ‘Go! Do not hold back! We will go and kill your enemies’” (i 60–62). Borger’s translation was published in O. Kaiser (ed.), Texte aus der Umwelt des Alten Testaments, I (Gütersloh, 1985), pp. 393–397. In this article, the text is translated according to E. Leichty’s new edition (RINAP 4, no. 1). 23 The upper case letters (A, B, C etc.) and the texts in bold print mark certain features in the Assyrian account and their corresponding parallels in the Hebrew Bible (see below A’, B’, C’ etc.). 24 RINAP 4, pp. 11–14. 25 Ibid., p. 14. For a parallel to this rite in Israel compare Ps 2:11b, 12a*.

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Without any further preparation the king departs immediately, trusting in the power of the gods and in their support (J): “I did not hesitate one day (or) two days. I did not wait for my army. I did not look for my rear guard. I did not check the assignment of horses harnessed to the yoke nor that of my battle equipment. I did not stock up travel provisions for my campaign. I was not afraid of the snow (and) cold of Šebāṭu (XI), the severest cold season. Like a flying eagle I spread my wings to drive back my enemies. With difficulty and haste, I followed the road to Nineveh” (i 63–69). He meets the superior strength of the enemies and experiences the strength of the gods in the battle (K): “… before my (arrival) in the territory of the land of Hanigalbat all their crack troops blocked my advance; they were sharpening their weapons. Fear of the great gods, my lords, overwhelmed them, (and when) they saw my mighty battle array, they became like crazed women. The goddess Ištar, the lady of war and battle, who loves my priestly duties, stood at my side, broke their bows, (and) she split open their tight battle ranks. In their assembly, they said thus: ‘This is our King!’ Through her sublime command they began coming over to my side (and) marching behind me. They were gamboling like lambs (and) begging my sovereignty. The people of Assyria, who had sworn by the treaty, an oath bound by the great gods, concerning me, came before me and kissed my feet. Moreover, those rebels, the ones engaged in revolt and rebellion, when they heard of the advance of my campaign, they deserted the army they relied on and fled to an unknown land” (i 70–84). With the intervention and support of the gods, Esarhaddon conquers the capital of Nineveh and is again reassured by good omens (L): “…by the command of the gods Sîn (and) Šamaš, the divine lord(s) of the embankment, I made all of my troops hop over the wide Tigris River as if it were a small canal. In Addaru (XII), a favorable month, on the eighth day, the eššēšu-festival of the god Nabû, I joyfully entered Nineveh, my capital city, and I sat happily on the throne of my father. The southwind, the breeze of the god Ea, the wind whose blowing is favorable for exercising kingship, blew upon me. Favorable signs came in a good time to me in heaven and on earth. They (the gods) continually and regularly encouraged me with oracles through ecstatics, the message(s) of the gods and goddess(es)” (i 85–ii 7). The punishment of the rebels underlines the legitimacy of Esarhaddon’s claim to the throne (M):“I sought out every one of the guilty soldiers, who wrongly incited my brothers to exercise kingship over Assyria, and imposed a grievous punishment on them: I exterminated their offspring” (ii 8–11). Esarhaddon now presents himself as the chosen king to the people of Assyria (N): “I am Esarhaddon, king of the world, king of Assyria, valiant warrior, foremost of all rulers, son of Sennacherib, king of the world (and) king of Assyria, descendant of Sargon (II), king of the world, king of Assyria, creation of the god Aššur (and) the goddess Mullissu, beloved of the gods Sîn and Šamaš, chosen by the gods Nabû (and) Marduk, favorite of the goddess Ištar—the queen—desired by the great gods, capable, able, intelligent, learned, the one whom the great gods raised to be king in order to restore the great gods and to complete the shrines of all the cult centers of the great gods” (ii 12–20). The text then reports the consequences of Eshahaddon’s accession to power. He receives the acclamation from the people, and then punishes his rivals’ and executes the leaders of the riots. As proof of his legitimacy he destroys all enemies and their allies (O): “(As for) Abdi-milkūti, king of Sidon, (who) did not fear my lordship

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(and) did not listen to the words of my lips, who trusted in the rolling sea and threw off the yoke of the god Aššur – I leveled Sidon, his stronghold, which is situated in the midst of the sea, like a flood, tore out its wall(s) and its dwelling(s), and threw (them) into the sea; and I (even) made the site where it stood disappear” (ii 65–70). The escape of the enemies is thwarted by divine intervention (P), their leaders are executed to give a deterrent example (Q).26 Thereafter a sizeable booty is brought in (R): “Abdi-milkūti, its king, in the face of my weapons, fled into the midst of the sea. By command of Aššur, my lord, I caught him like a fish from the midst of the sea and cut off his head. I carried off his wife, his sons, his daughters, his palace retainers, gold, silver, goods, property, precious stone, garments with trimming and linen(s), elephant hide(s), ivory, ebony, boxwood, everything of value from his palace in huge quantities, (and) took away his far-flung people who were beyond counting, oxen, sheep and goats, and donkeys in huge numbers to Assyria” (ii 71–80). In passing on the Jerusalemite epic to the post-exilic generations, the Deuteronomists––still under the influence of the Neo-Assyrian period––produced narratives on YHWH’s wars in the early ages and in the Davidic time which draw heavily on a very idealistic picture of Israel’s God-fearing saviors. The account of Solomon’s accession to the throne27 emphasizes the legitimacy of the succession. Adonijah, Solomon’s elder brother, points out that “…the kingdom is turned about, and it became my brother’s: for it was his from the Lord” (1 Kgs 2:15; cf. 1 Chr 28:5), so Solomon was supported by God = (A’)! Thus in the Davidic line every renewal of the Davidic covenant and appointment of a new sovereign depends on a divine choice (1 Kgs 8:16; 11:34). If the succession did not follow the principle of primogeniture, conflicts between the party of the king’s firstborn son and the preferred successor may have ensued in many cases. Thus, after the appointment of Solomon, Benaja, Zadoq and Nathan enforce the proclamation of their favorite and the acclamation from the people (1 Kgs 1:39–40; 1 Chr 29:23–24) = (B’). The rebellion of Solomon's elder brother, Adonijah—supported by the leaders of the army, the priesthood and the people, is presented as an act against God’s will and against David’s legitimate successor of (1 Kgs 1:5,9,41)28 = (C’). Adonijah tries to summon all Solomon’s brothers (1 Kgs 1:19), but when they hear that he has been anointed and has assumed power from his father David, the solidarity of the rebels is distorted (1 Kgs 1:49) = (D’). In stating that Adonijah did not invite the prophet Nathan to join in his plans the story judges his behavior as contrary to God’s will. This, in combination with King David’s oath, prepares the ground for God’s anger at Adonijah, leading justly to his death (1 Kgs 2:13–46) and thus consolidating Solomon’s kingship. In combination with David’s oath it is obvious that Adonijah has caused God’s anger, and therefore asylum at the holy altar cannot be granted to him (1 Kgs 1:50) = (E’). The people no longer support Adonijah’s party (1 Kgs 1:49) = (F’). In a vow before God the king promises to bring an 26 Enacting violence against the enemy is a constituent part of the ritualistic ideology of warfare; cf. Z. Bahrani, Rituals of War: The Body and Violence in Mesopotamia (New York, 2008). 27 For a close literary-critical analysis of the complex texts concerning David’s succession in 2 Sam 6 – 1 Kgs 2 cf. T. A. Rudnig, Davids Thron: Redaktionskritische Studien zur Geschichte von der Thronnachfolge Davids (BZAW 358; Berlin – New York, 2006). 28 Blasphemy and rejection of the divine elected leaders were taboo in Israel, cf. Ex 22:27: “Thou shalt not revile gods, nor curse the ruler of thy people”.

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end to the activities of the hateful brother (1 Kgs 2:23–24) = (G’). In the prism the royal decision is expressed by the ritual act of rending the robe, which affirms the ultimate judgment and initiates the act of prosecution (Prism A I,56, cf. 1 Kgs 21:27; 2 Kgs 5:7; 6:30; 19:1; 22:11,19) = (H’), until finally the rebels are punished (1 Kgs 2:13–25,26–46), and the legitimacy of the King is thereby proven, 1 Kgs 2:46: Thus the kingdom was secured in Solomon’s hand. Later his authority is confirmed by divine oracles (1 Kgs 3:11–14; 9:3–9) = (I’). In the so-called Davidic Psalms, scribes collected several laments that take up the issue of the king’s rebellious adversaries. Laments served in the sacral realm of kingship as ritual texts, and served for the reaffirmation of the kingship (cf. Ps 3:1; 7:1; 18:1). One of them was even integrated into the founding legend of the Davidic dynasty in 2 Sam 22 ‫ ׀׀‬Ps 18. In his prayer the king asks God to hear his lament and to give an answer, and God lets the king hear his voice “thundered from heaven” (2 Sam 22:14) = (G’, I’). In the psalm the king expresses trust in God’s power (2 Sam 22:30) = (J’), facing the superiority of the enemies he experiences the strength of YHWH = (K’), and with the support of God he overcomes all obstacles and conquers the cities of his foe (2 Sam 22:33,38–43) = (L’): “With You I can run through a troop, and by my God I can leap over a wall! It is God who girded me with might, who made my way perfect! I pursued my enemies and overtook them, I did not turn back till I destroyed them. I struck them down, and they could rise no more; they lay fallen at my feet. You have girded me with strength for battle, brought my adversaries low before me, made my enemies turn tail before me, I wiped out my foes. They cried out, but there was none to deliver, cried to YHWH, but he did not answer them. I ground them fine as windswept dust, I trod them flat as dirt of the streets” (2 Sam 22:30–43). As proof of his legitimacy Solomon punishes or kills his enemies Adonijah (1 Kgs 2:23–24), Joab, the general (1 Kgs 2:28–35), and Shimei, the Benjaminite, a former enemy of David (1 Kgs 2:36–45) = (M’, O’). In 1 Kgs 8:54–61 Solomon presents himself to the people as the chosen king and founder of the Temple and grants a royal blessing = (N’). Other features comparable to the account of the Prism can be found in the narrative of David’s victory over the Amaleqites (1 Sam 30). The story’s exposition relates the people's and the king's deep concern after a brutal attack against Ziklag by the Amaleqites, who burned the city down and kidnapped all women and children. David is empowered by God through an encouraging oracle (1 Sam 30:6b,7–8) = (I’). Trusting the oracle, he departs immediately and without any hesitation about his troops, with no consideration of their number and strength (1 Sam 30:9–10) (J’). He then must face the superiority of the opposite forces and, strengthened by God, defeats them (vv. 16–17) (K’). This is a prominent feature, which may be found in many other stories of the Hebrew Bible, mainly in the books of Joshua and Judges; Josh 11:4 is an example: “And they went out, they and all their hosts with them, much people, even as the sand that is upon the sea-shore in multitude, with horses and chariots very many”. War-narratives mention divine intervention for Israel (L’) mostly in the legendary material about the pre-state period, cf. Josh 11:6–9: “And YHWH said to Joshua, Be not afraid because of them; for tomorrow at this time will I deliver them up all slain before Israel: thou shalt hock their horses, and burn their chariots with fire. So Joshua came, and all the people of war with him, against them by the waters of Merom suddenly, and fell upon them. And YHWH delivered them into the hand of Israel, and they smote them, and chased them unto great Sidon, and

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unto Misrephoth-maim, and unto the valley of Mizpeh eastward; and they smote them, until they left them none remaining. And Joshua did unto them as YHWH bade him: he hocked their horses, and burnt their chariots with fire”. Josh 10:10–11 recounts the thwarting of the enemies’ escape by divine intervention—their attempts to escape are in vain (P’): “And the Lord discomfited them before Israel, and slew them with a great slaughter at Gibeon, and chased them along the way that goeth up to Beth-horon, and smote them to Azekah, and unto Makkedah. And it came to pass, as they fled from before Israel, and were in the going down to Beth-horon, that the Lord cast down great stones from heaven upon them unto Azekah, and they died” (Josh 10:10–11). Josh 10:24–27 describes the execution of the kings as a deterrent example (Q’):“And it came to pass, when they brought out those kings unto Joshua, that Joshua called for all the men of Israel, and said unto the captains of the men of war which went with him, Come near, put your feet upon the necks of these kings. And they came near, and put their feet upon the necks of them. And Joshua said unto them, Fear not, nor be dismayed; be strong and of good courage: for thus shall the Lord do to all your enemies against whom ye fight. And afterward Joshua smote them, and slew them, and hanged them on five trees: and they were hanging upon the trees until the evening. And it came to pass at the time of the going down of the sun, that Joshua commanded, and they took them down off the trees, and cast them into the cave wherein they had hid, and laid great stones in the cave’s mouth, which remain until this very day” (Josh 10:24–27). Booty (R’), of course, is also mentioned in the Israelite war stories, cf. 1 Sam 30:18–25, or in Josh 11:14: “And all the spoil of these cities, and the cattle, the children of Israel took for a prey unto themselves”. But when in post-exilic priestly literature legendary war-descriptions were developed and the tradition was increasingly augmented with sacral elements,29 a distinction was made between booty that the Israelites could keep and the parts that had to be devoted to the sanctuary as terūmāh (Num 31:31–54). 2. Ninurta-kudurrī-uṣur’s Annals and Related Motifs in the Hebrew Bible In a second mid-8th-century BCE text, Ninurta-kudurrī-uṣur, “governor of the land of Sūḫi and the land of Mari”, reports a military campaign that he conducted.30 In his diction and metaphors he adopts the language of the ruling class, introducing himself as a man of royal blood and chosen by the Gods (A): “I, Ninurta-kudurrīuṣur, governor of the land of Sūḫi and the land of Mari, son of Šamaš-rēša-uṣur, DITTO, son of Iqīša-Marduk, DITTO, descendant of Adad-nādin-zēri, DITTO, the one of everlasting seed of Tunamissah, son of Hammu-rapi, king of Babylon: the chosen, upon whom Šamaš and Marduk, Adad and Apla-Adad joyfully (and) radiantly glanced with their powerful shining faces; to whom they gave complete power 29

Schmitt, op. cit. (note 1), pp. 51–170, describes in detail the addition of sacral elements in the war descriptions as a process of ‘sacralization’ in the Deuteronomistic, Priestly and Postpriestly (chronistic) tradition. 30 A. Cavigneaux and B. K. Ismail, “Die Statthalter von Suḫu und Mari im 8. Jh. v. Chr. ”, BaM 21 (1990), pp. 321–456, no. 2, tablets 35–38; translation by K. L. Younger, Jr., in W. W. Hallo (ed.), The Context of Scripture. Monumental Inscriptions from the Biblical World, II (Leiden – Boston – Köln, 2000), pp. 279–283; a completed version is given by K. Hecker, in B. Janowski and G. Wilhelm (eds.), Texte aus der Umwelt des Alten Testaments, Neue Folge, II (Gütersloh, 2005), pp. 84–88.

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and kingship over the land of Sūḫu…” (I.1–7). The enemies’ invasion is described, with emphasis on their evil intentions and insidiousness as well as their tremendous military power (B): “Barely three months had passed in the initial year of my governorship, when I sat on the throne of my father, when 2000 men of the Hatallu tribe—from the Sarugu (clan) to the Luhū’āju (clan)—with their archers and their military commanders gathered together; and they imparted a command to each other. Šama’-gamni, the herald of the Sarugu, who is thoroughly confused by falsehood, was their chieftain. They came up for a raid against the land of Laqê. And while in the steppe they thought to themselves, thus: the governor of Sūḫu is hostile to us. How will we go past to make a raid on the land of Laqê? ...They trusted in their strength and they advanced against the land of Laqê. They seized 100 villages of the land of Laqê; they plundered booty without number; and they turned the land of Laqê into ruin mounds” (I.7–30). The governor then receives an oracle (C) and thereupon he rises against the enemy with a mighty military force (D), defeats and destroys them (E). His attack is compared with a flood, an frequent image for Assyrian armed forces (F): “But I, Nin[urta-kudurrī-uṣur, governor of the land of Sūhi] and Mari, the chosen, upon whom Šamaš and Marduk, Adad and Apla-Adad and Ištar ... have called, and gave a position above all kings and gover[nors], I asked the great Lord Apla-[Adad], my Lord. I went to war with 105 chariots, 220 horsemen and 3000 soldiers—but the whole land of Sūhi had not gathered (to support me)—I went against them, up to the steppe. One day I sat (waiting) beside the well of Ṣummū’a, when 2000 archers arrived at the well of Makiri. I attacked them and killed 1716 men of them. I brought upon them an inundation” (I.29–35; II.1). The following report about the persecution and destruction of the fleeing troops underlines the finality of the victory (G). The description of the fierce cruelty of the Assyrian blood-shedding serves in the annals to underline the greatness and excellence of the military achievements: “Like locusts the arrows whizzed over my camp. (But) no one in my camp fell dead! Although they wounded 38 soldiers in my camp, not one among them fell dead in the steppe. I fell upon them (the Aramaeans) like a blazing fire, and I put to the sword 1,616 of their troops. Furthermore, I removed the hands and lower lips of 80 of their troops; and I let them go free to (spread the news of my) glory. From the well of Makiri (and) the well of Gallabu and up to the well Suribu, at (these) three wells, I decisively defeated them. I annihilated them. I scattered their substantial auxiliary troops; and I broke up their troop contingents. I captured those who attempted to escape. I caused their blood to flow like waters of a river. The road with their corpses was visible to the eagles and vultures. I filled the mountains and wadis with their skulls like mountain stones. Birds made nests in their skulls like mountain stones. 304 of their troops had quickly fled before me. (Since) my horses and my troops had become thirsty for water due to the fighting, I did not pursue them. 40 of (these) troops perished due to thirst for water. 254 of their troops got away. I killed 1,846 of their troops. This is a single defeat that Ninurta-kudurrī-uṣur, governor of the land of Sūḫi and the land of Mari, inflicted upon the Hatallu (tribesmen)” (II.17–21). Next is a description of the exemplary punishment of the enemies’ leader (H) and the display of the dead body, an act testifying that the defeat is complete and acknowledgment of the new authority is inevitable: “Šama’gamni, the herald of the Sarugu (clan), their leader, the dishonest servant whom the land of Sūḫu, the land of Assyria and my fathers rejected, I captured him. When I killed him, my heart calmed

12

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down. Having stripped off his skin like the skin of a sheep, I set (it) in front of the gate of Âl-gabbāri-bāni. I inflicted such a defeat as none of <my ancestors> had ever inflicted” (II. 21–25). Victory is explained not as a result of the power of the military leader, but as a result of the strength of the god, who leads the armed forces (I): “Not by my own strength I vanquished them, but by the strength of the great Gods Šamaš and Marduk, Adad and Apla-Adad, my Lords, I fought this battle… It was the work of the God Apla-Adad, my Lord. [Apla-Adad lo]ves me and he put this accomplishment into my hands!” (II.45–46, 50). The tablet recording the governor’s victory can be likened––from many perspectives––to the biblical narratives, especially in Joshua and Judges, but also in accounts of the early monarchy in Israel, where David’s rise to power is described. Several legends are told, to provide evidence of the divine election of David by YHWH, e.g. the story of David’s clandestine election and anointment by Samuel (1 Sam 16:1–13; A’). Against this background, the function of all the reports on David’s military achievements is to demonstrate the legitimacy of his appointment. One of them tells of the campaign against the Philistines in 1 Sam 23. First the enemies' invasion is described (B’): “Then they told David, saying, Behold, the Philistines fight against Keilah, and they rob the threshing-floors” (1 Sam 23:1). David consults God and receives an oracle (C’): “Therefore David inquired of the Lord, saying, Shall I go and smite these Philistines? And the Lord said unto David, Go, and smite the Philistines, and save Keilah. And David’s men said unto him, Behold, we are afraid here in Judah: how much more then if we come to Keilah against the armies of the Philistines? Then David inquired of the Lord yet again. And the Lord answered him, and said, Arise, go down to Keilah; for I will deliver the Philistines into thine hand” (1 Sam 23:2–4). Without hesitation David obeys the oracle, rises against the enemy (D’), defeats and routs them (E’): “So David and his men went to Keilah and fought with the Philistines; and brought away their cattle, and smote them with a great slaughter. So David saved the inhabitants of Keilah” (1 Sam 23:5). As in the annals quoted above (II.1: “I brought upon them an inundation!”), in other Assyrian sources the flood motif is encountered frequently. It is not applied for the actions of the Israelites, so there is no parallel for F’. The persecution and destruction of the fleeing troops (G’) is a constant element of the genre and appears in several other Old Testament narratives (cf. Gen 14:10–11; Jud 7:22–24; 8:12, 21, 24–25; 1 Sam 30:17–31). The motif of the cruelty of the blood-shedding (see above, II 17–21: “I caused their blood to flow like waters of a river. The road with their corpses was visible to the eagles and vultures!”) finds an echo in Ps 79, when Israel describes the destruction of Jerusalem by the Neo-Babylonians (Ps 79:2–3): “The dead bodies of thy servants have they given to be meat unto the fowl of heaven, ... Their blood have they shed like water round about Jerusalem”.31 31 This motif can be followed up until the description of the conquest of Jerusalem by William of Tyre, cf. Willemi Tyrensis Archiepiscopi Chronicon, VIII,20 (ed. by R. B. C. HUYGENS, CCCM 38; Turnholt, 1986): “Horror erat denique caesorum intueri multitudinem, et humanorum artuum passim fragmenta conspicere, et effusi sanguinis aspergine cunctam redundare superficiem. Nec solum defunctorum corpora membris potioribus lacera et abscisis mutilata capitibus, intuentibus erat angustia; verum et ipsos victores a planta pedis usque ad verticem cruore madentes periculosum erat conspicere, et horrorem quemdam inferebant occurentibus”.

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The motif of the exemplary punishment of the leaders and the display of the dead bodies (H’) is missing in 1 Sam 23, but it is known in Israel as well, as attested in Josh 10:23–27.32 In the narrative cycle on the conflict between David and Saul, significantly, Saul is rejected by YHWH and the Philistines skewered and exposed his dead body on the wall of Bet-Shean (1 Sam 31:8–13). In a fashion quite similar to the account of Ninurta-kudurrī-uṣur, David’s military success is attributed to God (I’). This motif is expressed in the oracle of legitimization on the occasion of David’s eventual accession to the throne. The text functions as a ‘charter’ for the Davidic dynasty, cf. 2 Sam 7:8–11: “Now therefore so shalt thou say unto my servant David, Thus says the Lord of hosts, I took thee from the sheepcote, from following the sheep, to be ruler over my people, over Israel. And I was with thee whithersoever thou wentest, and have cut off all thine enemies out of thy sight, and have made thee a great name, like unto the name of the greatest men that are in the earth. Moreover I will appoint a place for my people Israel, and will plant them, that they may dwell in a place of their own, and move no more. Neither shall the children of wickedness afflict them any more, as beforetime. And as since the time that I commanded judges to be over my people Israel, and have caused thee to rest from all thine enemies”.

III. YHWH, the Divine Warrior The accounts of the kingdoms of Israel and Judah33 after the division of the DavidicSolomonic kingdom in 1 Kgs 12 – 2 Kgs 25 are terse in their war reports, dealing instead with the kings’ failures and often referring to their unsettled relation with YHWH. As usual, annals were written ad maiorem regum gloriam, i.e. in favor of the ruling kings, but in the rewritten form of the annals in the Deuteronomistic history the opposite is stressed: the kings usually did not act according to “what was right in the eyes of the Lord”. Therefore we find several reports of military failure and fraternal strife between Judah and Israel. Only the era of YHWH’s faithful servants— Moses, Joshua, certain judges and David (Ex 1 – 2 Sam 7)—has positive war reports, cf. 2 Sam 8:14b: “And the Lord gave victory to David wherever he went”. The first crisis can be gathered from the report on David’s affair with Bathsheba (1 Sam 11–12), followed by stories of the disastrous conflicts between his sons. The account of David’s succession focuses on Amnon’s sin (2 Sam 13), Absalom’s revolt (2 Sam 14–19), Sheba’s rebellion (2 Sam 20) and the death of Saul’s sons (2 Sam 21). After that, only short summaries of David’s successes can be found. In the note on the warfare with the Philistines (2 Sam 21:15–22) God’s name is not even mentioned! The chapter on David’s warriors provides only some minor indications on divine action (2 Sam 23:10b,12b,16b,17), without even mentioning the name of YHWH! After the narrative on Solomon’s accession to the throne (1 Kgs 1–2), where we find the traditional elements of legitimizing the king along with delegitimizating his adversaries, the depiction of Solomon’s peaceful regime (1 Kgs 3–10) ends with the 32

For further parallels on Josh 10:16–27, cf. Younger, op. cit. (note 17), pp. 220–225. Several contributions on war in Jewish tradition are given in L. Schiffman and J. B. Wolowelsky (eds.), War and Peace in the Jewish Tradition (New York, 2007); F. R. Ames and B. E. Kelle (eds.), Writing and Reading War: Rhetoric, Gender, and Ethics in Biblical and Modern Contexts (Atlanta, GA 2008). 33

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critical description of his marriages to non-Israelite wives, in line with his apostasy (1 Kgs 11:1–8). An oracle then announces that the kingdom will be torn away from the Davidic king (1 Kgs 11:9–13). The secession of the northern kingdom from Judah culminates in the foundation of a separate royal sanctuary in Bethel, the “sin of Jeroboam” (1 Kgs 12:28), and leads to the Israel’s calamity in consequence of YHWH’s divine wrath (2 Kgs 17). In the few descriptions of warfare between 1 Kgs 11 and 2 Kgs 25, the kings of Israel are usually described as unsuccessful. 1 Kgs 20 records that Ahab could only defeat the Aramaean king Ben-Hadad because the latter had committed an act of blasphemy against YHWH (1 Kgs 20:28); but due to his disobedience Ahab also falls under the divine verdict (1 Kgs 20:42). All subsequent wars prove disastrous for Ahab (1 Kgs 22) and his successors (2 Kgs 1; 3; 6–7; 10; 12 ff.), until the Northern Kingdom falls under Assyrian yoke (2 Kgs 17). But the same is true for the Judean wars; their kings fail as well, until Jerusalem is captured and destroyed by the Babylonians (2 Kgs 25). Here too, glorious war descriptions are also missing. None of the campaigns mentioned leads to a permanent consolidation of the Davidic kingdom. Instead they convey stagnation, as in cases of fratricidal wars with Israel (1 Kgs 15:16–22; 2 Kgs 14:8–14), or they end in erosion and recession until the final downfall under the Babylonians (cf. 1 Kgs 11:14–25; 14:25–28; 2 Kgs 8:20–22,28–29; 12:18–19; 18:13–19:37; 23:29; 24:1–16; 25:1–21). Even the stories about YHWH’s successful wars at the time of the Judges (Jud 4– 12) are now framed by a critical evaluation of Israel’s history: “And the children of Israel did evil in the sight of the Lord, and served Baalim; and they forsook the Lord, God of their fathers, which brought them out of the land of Egypt, and followed other gods, of the gods of the peoples that were round about them, and bowed themselves unto them: and provoked the Lord to anger. And the anger of the Lord was hot against Israel, and he delivered them into the hands of spoilers that spoiled them, and he sold them into the hands of their enemies round about, so that they could not any longer stand before their enemies” (Jud 2:11–14). In texts where elements of the pre-exilic ideology of war still are recognizable YHWH appears as ‘teacher of war technique’ (cf. Ps 18:35; par 2 Sam 22:35): “He trained my hands for battle, so that my arms can bend a bow of bonze!” YHWH is the God who guides the king and fights for him. For this reason military leaders and soldiers have to observe special rites before a battle, so that they can stand as an army for the Holy One; cf. Josh 3:5, when Joshua demands: “Sanctify yourselves (‫)הִתְ קַדָּ שׁוּ‬: for tomorrow the Lord will do wonders among you.”34 In order to declare a war, divination was needed and the prophets’ role was to deliver suitable oracles. Mic 3:5 hints indirectly at that rule: the prophet criticizes prophets who provide oracles depending on those who feed them: “Thus said the Lord concerning the prophets that make my people err, that bite with their teeth, and cry Peace; and he that putteth not into their mouths, they even prepare war against him ( ‫ְוקִדְּ שׁוּ ָעלָיו‬ ‫”) ִמ ְל ָחמָה‬. On the other hand, Israel’s disastrous defeat by the Assyrians is interpreted—in continuation of Isaianic prophecy, cf. Isa 9:7–10:4—as divine punishment of Israel 34

In this context the use of derivations of the root qdš originates in the war records. The people must be ‘sanctified’ to separate them from the unholy, who will be destroyed or even devoted to be banned, cf. qdš pi‘el, Josh 7:13; king and people have to ‘sanctify’ themselves, i.e., consecrate themselves by fasting and other rituals of self-denial and purify themselves to survive the battle, qdš hitpa’el Josh 3:5; 7:13. Cf. also qdš + milḥāmāh, Jer 6:4.

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and Judah. The Assyrians appear not as a people led by its national god Aššur but as a tool of YHWH’s judgment. In a later edition of Isaiah, dating to the Neo-Babylonian period, the scribes see the Assyrians as being punished by YHWH for their hubris, for the many deportations of foreign peoples, and for the genocide they have committed (Isa 10:5–16). The fall of the capital Nineveh through the Medes and the Babylonians in 612 BCE is reflected in the book of Nahum. The tradition is introduced by a hymnic passage of a psalm that praises YHWH as an avenging God, who takes vengeance on his enemies. YHWH has become a universal warrior who governs the battles of all empires in the world. In an oracle of Jeremiah, the Babylonians are summoned by a heavenly command to “consecrate” the battle against Zion (Jer 6:4: ‫)קַדְּ שׁוּ ָעלֶי ָה ִמ ְל ָחמָה‬, that is, to purify themselves before they fulfill God’s will in punishing Israel! In Jer 51:28 the concept is extended to the pagan peoples who joined in the Babylonian war against Jerusalem: ‫“––קַדְּ שׁוּ ָעלֶי ָה גוֹי ִם‬Prepare against her the nations with the kings of Medes, the captains thereof, and all the rulers thereof, and all the land of his dominion”. At the end of the Neo-Babylonian period Israel perceives the rise of the Persian King Cyrus and the fall of Babylon (539 BCE) as an act of YHWH himself, who has adopted the Achaemenid king as his powerful tool (Isa 44:24–45:8). In keeping with the monotheistic turn in the 6th century BCE, we find in the anti-Babylonian prophecies of Isa 13 the vision of YHWH as a universal God of war: “I have commanded my sanctified ones (‫) ְמקֻדָּ שָׁי‬, I have also called my mighty ones for mine anger, even them that rejoice in my highness. The noise of a multitude in the mountains, like as of a great people; a tumultuous noise of the kingdoms of nations gathered together: the Lord of hosts mustereth the host of the battle. They come from a far country, from the end of heaven, even the Lord, and the weapons of his indignation, to destroy the whole land” (Isa 13:3–5). Thus the experience of the Babylonian Exile and the nascent Achaemenid Empire transformed the idea of YHWH acting through the wars of the kings of Israel and Judah to that of YHWH shaping history by steering the peoples of the world. During the later Second Temple period this concept underwent further interpretation and rewriting, until it was augmented by eschatological visions of a universal ‘day of wrath’ (cf. Isa 13:9–16). YHWH is described as a God who executes justice among the nations in great wars, in order to redeem Israel (cf. Isa 24–27; Ezek 36–39).35 In Joel 4:9–10, the traditional rites of purification prior to war are reversed: “Proclaim ye this among the Gentiles; Prepare war (‫)קַדְּ שׁוּ ִמ ְל ָחמָה‬, wake up the mighty men, let all the men of war draw near; let them come up: Beat your ploughshares into swords, and your pruning-hooks into spears: let the weak say, I am strong”. The usual rites to prepare the people for a battle will now be conducted to get ready for an international act of intentional self-disarmament and civilization! Significantly, this is the first and only place in the Hebrew Bible where the verb ‫קדש‬ and the noun ‫ ִמ ְל ָחמָה‬are immediately linked together. When the new Zürich translation of the Bible translates “Erklärt den Krieg für heilig!”,36 the estimative interpretation of the pi‘el imperative of ‫ קדש‬is that when the epithet ‘holiness’ is applied to the phenomenon of a battle, it means the end of all warfare! 35

In the final redactions of the prophetic scrolls in the 4th–3rd centuries BCE the oracles concerning the nations are grouped in special collections within the prophetic books: Isa 13– 23 (24–27); Jer 46–51; Ez 25–32,35,38–39. 36 Zürcher Bibel (Zürich, 2007).

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R. ACHENBACH

IV. YHWH the Conqueror and the Ban (‫)חרם‬ The ban-ritual is well documented in non-Israelite and Israelite contexts. The basic idea was to put booty under taboo and to reserve it for the deity, the king or the leading officers of the empire. A. Malamat has shown that such a practice (akk: asakkum) already existed in the kingdom of Mari during the 18th century BCE.37 The most prominent evidence of the performance of the ban ritual in the West Semitic sphere is the Moabite Mesha Stela, dating to the 9th century BCE38. The arguments of the inscription are similar to those in other royal monumental inscriptions: Mesha has devoted a sanctuary to the national God, Kemosh: “I built this high-place for Kemosh in the kirhu as a sign of salvation (‫)במ]ת י[שע‬, because he saved me from all the kings, and because he let me be victorious over all my adversaries” (ll. 3–4). Omride rule over Moabite territories is interpreted as punishment by Kemosh: “Omri, king of Israel, oppressed Moab for many days, because Kemosh was angry with his land. Omri’s son replaced him and he also declared: ‘I will oppress Moab’. In my days he said so. (But) I have confronted him and his family, and Israel was destructed forever” (ll. 5–7). Mesha says that he owes the re-conquest of his country to Kemosh. After taking the city of Ataroth he reports on the capture of Nebo: “And Kemosh said to me: ‘Go, seize Nebo and fight Israel’! I proceeded by night and fought with it from the crack of dawn until high noon. I captured it and I killed all of them ([‫)ואהרג כל]ם‬: 7000 men and boys, women and girls, and unmarried women, because I had dedicated it in a ban ritual to Ashtar Kemosh (‫)כי לעשתר כמש החרמתה‬. I took out from there the vessels of YHWH, and I dragged them before Kemosh (‫( ”)ואסחב הם לפני כמש‬ll. 14– 18). The most successful war of YHWH is described in the book of Joshua. In an introductory oracle (Josh 1:2–9) Joshua, as successor of Moses, is commissioned by God to conquer the land promised to the ancestors of Israel. Under the guidance of God and his servant Joshua the Israelites cross the Jordan, conquer the land and take the major cities (Josh 2–12). The territory is divided among the tribes (Josh 13–19), special towns are devoted to serve as places of asylum and for the Levites (Josh 20– 21) and thus the conquest of the land is completed (Josh 11:23; 14:15; 21:41–43). In accordance with the law given to Moses, the ban has to be implemented regarding all the peoples of the land (Deut 7:1–2),39 because it is devoted to Israel alone as the 37

A. Malamat, Mari and the Bible (Leiden, 1998), pp. 168–172. For the text see S. Aḥituv, Echoes from the Past: Hebrew and Cognate Inscriptions from the Biblical Period (Jerusalem, 2008), pp. 389–418, with earlier literature. 39 The direct translation of the verb and the formula in Deut 7:2b (‫ ) ַהח ֲֵרם תַּ ח ֲִרים א ֹתָ ם‬is rendered circumspectly in English translations—KJV: “thou shalt smite them, and utterly destroy them”; JSB: “you must doom them to destruction”; ESV Bible: “you must devote them to complete destruction”; NIV 2010: “you must destroy them totally”. The German translations try to keep the devotional aspects (Zürcher and Einheitsübersetzung: “du sollst sie der Vernichtung weihen)”, the traditional exclusivist interpretation is given in the revised translation of Luther (1984) and the Elberfelder translation: “du sollst den Bann an ihnen vollstrecken”; a translation that combines both aspects in German would be “du sollst sie dem Banne weihen”. Because of the uniqueness of the concept an unidiomatic translation is preferred in this article: “you shall devote them to the ban”. For a close literary analysis of Deut 7 cf. R. Achenbach, Israel zwischen Verheißung und Gebot. Literarkritische Untersuchungen zu Deuteronomium 5–11 (EHS XXIII/422; Frankfurt – Bern, 1991), pp. 38

DIVINE WARFARE AND YHWH’S WARS

17

only ‘holy people’ on earth, who is consecrated to YHWH (Deut 7:6). This commandment is restricted to the towns of the original inhabitants of the land (Deut 20:15–16). We may suppose that the spoils were under the ban too, and all valuables had to be devoted to the deity and the sanctuary. A person who misappropriated them fell victim to the ban himself, because contamination through the banned objects could threaten the existence of the entire holy nation (Jos 6:18–19; 7:12,24). The description of the ban in Josh 10:28–43 and 11:12–20 follows the Deuteronomistic phraseology. The theory was not part of the original Deuteronomic law from the pre-exilic time of Josiah, but is embedded in the secondary historical framing of the law (cf. also Deut 2:34–35; 3:6–7; 3:28).40 At the end of the Babylonian Exile, this new literary version of the conquest story was produced,41 stressing the agreement between the original divine law of Moses and the legitimacy of the appropriation of the land by the Israelites. At that time the resettlement of the former Israelite territory had to be justified. Given the prospect of the exiles to return to their original homeland under Cyrus and Darius, Israel needed a reformulation of the conquest narrative(s), which formed the basis for their claim to settlement rights in the provinces of Samaria and Yehud. The Deuteronomistic shape of the story now found in the Book of Joshua was most probably geared to this purpose. The historical fiction was helpful, because it made clear the claims of the returning Jews, but on the other hand it left room for more pragmatic regulations in reality. The idea was not to extend the ban on contemporary foreign peoples in the area during the post-exilic period. As to the historicity of the conquest narrative in Josh 3–12, one has to conclude that nothing of the kind ever really happened. The accounts of Josh 9 and Judg 1 preserve a reminiscence of the fact that at

212–306 (for the concept of ‫ חרם‬see pp. 238–249). For the term cf. W. Dietrich, “Bann/Banngut”, WiBiLex: Das wissenschaftliche Bibellexikon im Internet (Stuttgart, 2007). The Deuteronomic list of the seven original peoples in the land from Deut 7:1 is taken up (in parts) in Deuteronomistic texts (Deut 20:17; Josh 3:10; 5:1; 9:1; 11:3; 12:8; Judg 3:5; 1 Kgs 9:20), in the combined narratives of the Hexateuch (Gen 13:7; 34:30; Ex 3:8,17; 13:5; 23:23, 28; 33:2; 34,11; Num 13:29; Josh 24:1) and in later texts (Judg 1:4–5; Ezr 9:1; Neh 9:8; 1 Chr 1:13–16; 2 Chr 8:7). Gen 10:15–18 and Gen 15:19–21 offer expanded versions with reference to certain genealogical reconstructions. 40 The ban is further mentioned in Deut 7:26; Josh 2:10; 6:17–18,21; 7:1,11–13,15; 8:26; 10:1,28,35,37,39–40; 11:12,20–21; 19:38; 22:20; Judg 1:17; 21:11; 1 Sam 15:3,8–9,15,18, 20–21; 1 Chron 2:7; for other passages see below. 41 The preexilic-shape of the conquest story in Joshua is under dispute among scholars. R. G. Kratz, Die Komposition der erzählenden Bücher des Alten Testaments. Grundwissen der Bibelkritik (UTB 2157; Göttingen, 2000), pp. 193–219, finds elements of an older Joshua legend in Josh 2:1–7,15–16,22–23; 3:1,14a,16; 4:19b; 6:1–3a*,5,12a,14a*,20b; 8:1–2a,10a, 11a,14,19; 12:1a,9–24. T. Römer, The So-Called Deuteronomistic History: A Sociological, Historical and Literary Introduction (London – New York, 2005), pp. 81–90, finds a conquest account from Josiah’s time in Josh 5–12, which shows influences of Assyrian accounts with “three different types of conquest accounts: one in which the city, its inhabitants and possessions are annihilated (Josh 6*); one in which the city is destroyed but some booty is seized (Josh 8*); and a third type in which the people choose to surrender and become vassals” (p. 89). The ideal of the first story, for Römer, is similar to that of the Mesha Stele (see below) and can be compared to the Deuteronomistic ideal. But it is evident for Kratz, as well as for Römer and others, that the consequent appliance of the ban is a motif that comes from Deuteronomistic literature. Whereas Römer assumes a Deuteronomistic layer from Josianic times, Kratz traces the Deuteronomistic influence in the exilic period.

18

R. ACHENBACH

least some parts of the land had never been conquered successfully. In the older literary layers of the book of Joshua we find no evidence whatsoever that the ban was applied as a consistent method for religiously motivated extermination of foreign peoples. Historically, it was verifiably never performed by Israel.42 In the context of the original Deuteronomic law, the scribes developed a legal perspective on war, and an impulse for a further development of an international law of war. They formulated a martial law to which Israel was bound by divine commandment with respect to the other nations. In a set of rules this law made it compulsory to offer peace before engaging in acts of war against a fortified city (cf. Deut 20:10–14). The law prohibited the destruction of plantations surrounding a city during siege, in order to protect the civilians from deprivation (Deut 20:19–20). Humanitarian rules were formulated with respect to the protection of female captives (Deut 21:10–14). The scribes set limits on the duties that could be required of young men when they were mustered (Deut 20:5–9). They also added rules of hygiene for the military camp (Deut 23:10–15). When these Deuteronomic regulations became part of a Deuteronomistic conquest account, a distinction was introduced between the historically singular conquest war and other wars in Israel’s history: the ban ritual―in accord with Deuteronomistic teaching―was explicitly limited to the period of the conquest only! Yet, in fact, it remained purely theoretical.43 Its purpose was to express the claim that Israel’s right to live in the region rested on a divine everlasting law. According to the Deuterono42 W. F. Albright’s model of a unified conquest was rejected as early as the 1970’s; the models of Alt, Noth, Mendenhall and Gottwald―of a ‘peaceful infiltration’ or an ‘internal revolt’―cannot longer be discussed as equal alternatives. For an overview of recent discussions of this subject cf. Grabbe, op. cit. (note 13), pp. 100–104. For the historical background of the settlement from an archaeological point of view cf. N. Na’aman, “The ‘Conquest of Canaan’ in the Book of Joshua and in History”, in I. Finkelstein and N. Na’aman (eds.), From Nomadism to Monarchy: Archaeological and Historical Aspects of Early Israel (Jerusalem, 1994), pp. 218–281; for an introduction to the scholarly discussion regarding the settlement period cf. I. Finkelstein, The Archaeology of the Israelite Settlement (Jerusalem, 1988); idem, “The Rise of Early Israel: Archaeology and Long-Term History”, in S. Aḥituv and E. D. Oren (eds.), The Origin of Early Israel – Current Debate: Biblical, Historical and Archaeological Perspectives (Beer-Sheva 12; Beersheba, 1998), pp. 7–39; idem, The Bible Unearthed: Archaeology’s New vision of Ancient Israel and the Origin of its Sacred Texts (New York, 2001); and W. Dever, “Israelite Origins and the ‘Nomadic Ideal’: Can Archaeology Separate Fact from Fiction?”, in S. Gitin, A. Mazar and E. Stern (eds.), Mediterranean Peoples in Transition: Thirteenth to Early Tenth Centuries BCE in Honor of Professor Trude Dothan (Jerusalem, 1998), pp. 220–237; idem, Who Were the Early Israelites and Where Did They Come From? (Grand Rapids, 2003). 43 Weippert (op. cit. [note 1], p. 486) already pointed out that a reliable picture of the original application of the ban ritual in Israel cannot be given, because all texts that scholars refer to belong to the Deuteronomic or Deuteronomistic literature. For further treatment of the issue cf. C. H. W. Brekelmans, De Ḥerem in het Oude Testament, (Theology dissertation; Nijmegen, 1959); F. Crüsemann, “Gewaltimagination als Teil der Ursprungsgeschichte. Banngebot und Rechtsordnung im Deuteronomium”, in F. Schweitzer (ed.), Religion, Politik und Gewalt (Gütersloh, 2006), pp. 343–360; W. Dietrich, Die dunklen Seiten Gottes, Bd. 1: Willkür und Gewalt (Neukirchen-Vluyn, 2002), pp. 195–201; N. Lohfink, “‫”חרם‬, ThWAT, III (Stuttgart, 1982), pp. 192–213; idem, “Die Schichten des Pentateuch und der Krieg”, in idem (ed.), Gewalt und Gewaltlosigkeit im Alten Testament (QD 96; Freiburg – Basel – Wien, 1983), pp. 51–110; C. Schäfer-Lichtenberger, “Bedeutung und Funktion von Herem in biblisch-hebräischen Texten”, BZ 38 (1994), pp. 270–275.

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19

mistic paradigm, the only case in which the ban could be applied was apostasy by an Israelite township: Deut 13:13–19. This text depends on the older, Deuteronomic basic layer in Dtn 13:2–10*, which contained sanctions against all rebels who tried to persuade the people to follow other gods, and transfers this idea into the ideal sphere of Deuteronomistic thought and historiography; it is not older than the Deuteronomistic frame of Deuteronomy 5 and was not written before Neo-Babylonian times.44 The apostasy case however is hypothetical, because no city that completely abandoned the Yahwistic religion ever existed in reality. But within the Deuteronomistic ideology the concept was theoretically radicalized with regard to a ‘historical’ case. According to the pre-Deuteronomistic tradition regarding the implementation of a ban ritual, the deed was associated with a special vow, as demonstrated by the etiological legend on Hormah: Num 21:1–3. Under the influence of the Deuteronomistic doctrine this tradition was radicalized in 1 Sam 15.45 Amalek had attacked the peaceful crowd of the Israelites on their way through the desert (Ex 17:8–14). This attack offended fundamental laws, because the people in the desert were under divine protection, as demonstrated in the warfare at Refidim (Ex 17:15). Therefore there were no limitations on the persecution of the offenders (Deut 25:17–19). When Saul refuses to obey the commandment to enforce the verdict, which imposes the full sanctions on the evildoers, and does not enforce the complete ban (1 Sam 15:3,9–10), he loses his legitimacy as a king of Israel (1 Sam 15:28–29). The latter story too must be considered legendary. Ultimately, however, the Deuteronomists were aware that the ban was never wholly implemented. This is demonstrated by the clause added to the account of Solomon’s reign on the governmental measures in 1 Kgs 9:20–21: “And all the people that were left of the Amorites, Hittites, Perizzites, Hivites and Jebusites, which were not of the children of Israel, Their children that were left after them in the land, whom the children of Israel also were not able utterly to destroy, upon those did Solomon levy a tribute of bondservice, unto this day”. After the establishment of Yahwistic monotheism in Israel in the post-exilic times, ‫ חרם‬was mentioned as a punishment for blasphemy (2 Kgs 20:22–24,28,42) and idolatry (Ex 22:19). Punishment was proclaimed irreversible, and not sub-stitutable by any measures of reimbursement (Lev 27:29). According to Isa 43:27–28 the First Temple was destroyed because of the long history of offenses committed by Israel’s religious leaders: “Thy first father hath sinned (‫ )אָבִיָך ה ִָראשׁוֹן ָחטָא‬and thy teachers have transgressed against me (‫)וּ ְמלִיצֶיָך ָפּשְׁעוּ בִי‬. Therefore I profaned the princes of the sanctuary46 (‫ שׂ ֵָרי ק ֹדֶשׁ‬,‫) ַו ֲא ַחלֵּל‬, and have given Jacob to the curse ( ‫ְואֶתְּ נָה‬ ‫) ַלח ֵֶרם יַעֲק ֹב‬, and Israel to reproaches”. 44

E. OTTO, Das Deuteronomium. Politische Theologie und Rechtsreform in Juda und Assyrien (BZAW 284; Berlin – New York, 1999), pp. 45–50, pointed out that the case discussed in Deut 13:16 is not simply that of a rebellious city, as referred to in the Sefire Inscription III:12–13 (KAI II, 269); cf. C. Koch, Vertrag, Treueid und Bund. Studien zur Rezeption des altorientalischen Vertragsrechts im Deuteronomium und zur Ausbildung der Bundestheologie im Alten Testament (BZAW 383; Berlin – New York, 2008), pp. 164–165, who maintains that the language of the text is close to Deuteronomistic parts in Josh 6:17–26; 7:1,26; 8:2,28. Cf. J. Pakkala, Intolerant Monolatry in the Deuteronomistic History (Göttingen, 1999), pp. 30–31. 45 F. Stolz, Das erste und zweite Buch Samuel (ZBKAT 9; Zürich, 1981), pp. 100–105. 46 For the term cf. also 1 Chr 24:5 in reference to the leading priests in the Jerusalem temple.

20

R. ACHENBACH

Here the ban is understood as Israel’s punishment in the Babylonian Exile. The elected people of Israel themselves (Isa 44:1!) had to suffer the ban, in losing the Temple, the land, and the integrity of their communion with God.47 The text refers to a conviction that can also be found in other passages referring to the exilic period. According to the oracle in Jer 25:8–11, YHWH enforced the ban on Judah through Nebuchadnezzar: “Therefore thus says YHWH of hosts: Because you have not obeyed my words, behold, I will send for all the tribes of the north, declares YHWH, and for Nebuchadnezzar the king of Babylon, my servant, and I will bring them against this land and its inhabitants [...],48 and I will devote them to ban, and make them a horror, a hissing, and an everlasting desolation!” The cruelty that the Assyrians inflicted on the peoples of the Ancient Near East was extraordinary. This might be the reason why in 2 Kgs 19:11 the extermination of entire societies was understood as a comprehensive execution of the ban ritual. The narrator has Sennacherib’s messenger say to king Hezekiah (2 Kgs 19:10–11): “Thus shall ye speak to Hezekiah king of Judah, saying, Let not thy God in whom thou trust deceive thee, saying, Jerusalem shall not be delivered into the hand of the king of Assyria. Behold, thou hast heard what the kings of Assyria have done to all the lands, by destroying them utterly: and shalt thou be delivered? ( ‫שׁ ַמעְתָּ אֵת‬ ָ ‫ִהנֵּה אַתָּ ה‬ ‫”) ֲאשֶׁר עָשׂוּ ַמ ְלכֵי אַשּׁוּר ְלכָל ָהא ֲָרצוֹת ְל ַהח ֲִרימָם‬. Here the execution of the ban ritual against conquered countries is described as a basic characteristic of Assyrian policy, and this accusation is repeated in the parallels Isa 37:11 and 2 Chr 32:14! In the context of the book of Isaiah the Assyrians’ hubris, alongside their implementation of the ban, is criticized as an inhuman transgression of human rights (cf. also Isa 10:7). Likewise, an oracle in Jer 50:21–28 demands the destruction of Babylon and the enforcement of the ban (‫ )חרם‬in retaliation for the destruction of the Temple of Jerusalem. It remains, however, restricted to certain regions: “Therefore, thus says the Lord of hosts, the God of Israel: Behold, I will punish the king of Babylon and his land, as I have punished the king of Assyria. ... In those days, and in that time, saith the Lord, the iniquity of Israel shall be sought for, and there shall be none; and the sins of Judah, and they shall not be found: for I will pardon them whom I reserve. Go up against the land of Merathaim, even against it, and against the inhabitants of Pekod: waste and utterly destroy after them (‫)חֲר ֹב ְו ַהח ֲֵרם אַח ֲֵריהֶם‬, saith the Lord, and do according to all that I have commanded thee” (Jer 50:18,20–21). In Jer 51, the ban is seen as part of the punishment of retaliation enacted against Babylonia—not, however, against civilians, only the Babylonian army: “Thus saith the Lord: Behold, I will raise up against Babylon and against them that dwell in the midst of them that rise up against me, a destroying wind; And I will send unto Babylon fanners, that shall fan her, and shall empty her land: for in the day of trouble they shall be against her round about. Against him that bendeth let the archer bend his bow, and against him that lifteth himself up in his brigandine: and spare ye not her young men; destroy ye utterly all her host (‫( ”!) ַהח ֲִרימוּ כָּל ְצ ָבאָהּ‬Jer 51:1–3). In 2 Chr 20:23 the implementation of the ban by Ammonites and Moabites is 47

The text envisages the death of the first generation, but the punishment does not refer to the generation addressed by the prophetic message. The term not longer carries the sense of complete extermination: cf. U. Berges, Jesaja 40–48 (HThK AT; Freiburg – Basel – Wien, 2008), p. 315. 48 LXX adds “and against all these surrounding nations”.

DIVINE WARFARE AND YHWH’S WARS

21

heavily criticized; and in Daniel 11:44 the application of the ban against masses of people (‫ )וּ ְל ַהח ֲִרים ַרבִּים‬appears as the culmination of a series of accusations for his inhuman aggression, that will be punished by God immediately.49 For the Deuteronomists, in reworking the conquest account the notion of a comprehensive application of the ban over the entire Promised Land still mirrored the ideology of the Assyrian empire, namely a land was given to a people by its god. But when this concept was combined with the Deuteronomic law of wars, a line was drawn between this concept and reality. Overall implementation of the ban ritual against entire populations in international warfare was prohibited.

V. The Deuteronomistic Ban Theory and the Priestly Redactions of the Pentateuch The priestly scribes of the Second Temple period created the composition of the Hexateuch by combining pre-Deuteronomistic and Priestly accounts on the Fathers and the Exodus with the Deuteronomistic law and the conquest narrative. Not the older narratives nor the Covenant Code nor the Priestly Code mentioned the ban.50 Even when these texts were combined in a composition extending from Genesis to Joshua, the commandment in Deut 7:2 was not transferred to the texts of the socalled Tetrateuch. However, there are significant parallels to Deut 7:1–5 in the narrative of the renewal of the covenant at Mount Sinai (Ex 34), and in a secondary later attachment to the Covenant Code (Ex 20:22 – 23:19) in Ex 23:20–33 (see the synoptic comparison, below). The complex history of these compositions cannot be analyzed or discussed in detail here. The Deuteronomistic commandment in Deut 7:1–2a is substantiated in Deut 7:6 (see the synoptic comparison, below). Deut 7:2b contradicts the commandment, because the case of making covenants with the foreign peoples is inconceivable if the main commandment is obeyed. When Deuteronomy and Joshua were integrated into a Hexateuch composition, the story of the revelation of the Covenant Code and the breaking and renewal of the Covenant at Mount Sinai was added to it. The commandments of the New Covenant in Ex 34:11–1651 take up the Deuteronomistic introduction of the ban commandment from Deut 7:1, but do not mention the ban. Instead they explain what this commandment should mean for the generation of the New Covenant, namely to avoid Covenants with other peoples in the Land and to destroy foreign cult objects in the territory where Israelites are going to settle (Ex 34:11–14). The reason—according to Josh 9—is that no rights of foreigners to settle in the Promised Land should be acknowledged, and that the validity or authority of foreign religions is unacceptable for Israelites. After the book of Joshua was integrated into a scroll with Genesis to Deuteronomy*, namely, into the Hexateuch, its original Deuteronomistic ending was repeated at the beginning of the new scroll of 49

For the historical background to the various texts cf. P. D. Stern, The Biblical Ḥerem: A Window on Israel’s Religious Experience (BJS 211; Atlanta, GA 1991); C. L. Crouch, War and Ethics in the Ancient Near East: Military Violence in Light of Cosmology and History (BZAW 40; Berlin – New York, 2009), pp. 181–184. 50 The etiological narrative in Num 21:1–3 may be an exception, but here the ban is just a single measure because of a special vow, not a method to devote the whole land to YHWH and his people. 51 The Deuteronomistic author who quoted the basic account from Ex 34 in Deut 10:1–5,10– 11* did not yet know or refer to this additional text!

22

R. ACHENBACH

Judges (compare Judg 2:6–9//Josh 24:28–31).52 According to the New Covenant text, in Ex 34 it is YHWH alone, who wages the war of the conquest, and Israel is only the beneficiary of his powerful acts; one could even say ‘Israel is demilitarized’. The Sinaitic New Covenant stresses the intrinsic meaning of the commandment with respect to the Moabitic New Covenant of Deuteronomy, and thereby offers a new hermeneutical key for understanding the Deuteronomistic tradition. Presumably this is why Deut 7:2b and 5 were inserted. To further motivate the Mosaic speech in Deuteronomy the composition of the Hexateuchal account points to the episode reported in Num 25:1–5, when Israelites were enticed to break the covenant by Moabite women, who invited them to join in sacrifices and worship of the foreign god Baal-Peor.53 After the punishment the covenant must be renewed with the generation who entered the Promised Land beyond the Jordan, and this provides the literary and theological context for the combination of the Tetrateuch with Deuteronomy (except Joshua). A further interpretation of the prohibition of making covenants with the foreign people in the land is introduced, namely against mixed marriages. This theme is introduced in Ex 34:15–16 and Deut 7:3–4*. The secondary (post-Deuteronomistic and post-Hexateuchal) introduction to the book of Judges (1:1–2:5) lists several reasons why the land had not been conquered totally, and a secondary expansion of the Covenant Code in the epilogue: Ex 23:21–24,31b–33 (small script) corresponds to that view. The legends about the messenger leading Israel into the Promised Land originate in a tradition written by scribes with unclear intentions. They prepare the disputes about mixed marriages in Yehud and Samariah which culminate at the time of Ezra. The interpretation of the ban theory at that time focuses on preserving Israelite identity by strict avoidance of any exogamic intermarriage. Deut 7:1–5 1 When YHWH your God

Ex 34:11–16 11 Observe what I am com-

brings you to the land that you are about to enter and possess, and He dislodges many nations before you the Hittites, and the Girgashites, and the Amorites, and the Canaanites, and the Perizzites, and the Hivites, and the Jebusites, seven nations much larger than you; 2 and YHWH your God delivers them to you and you defeat them, you shall devote them to the ban (‫)החרם תחרים אתם‬: you shall not make a covenant with them and you

manding you today: I am indeed driving out from before you the Amorites, and the Canaanites, and the Hittites, [Sam.: + and the Girgasites] and the Perizzites, and the Hivites, and the Jebusites.

52

Ex 23:23–24,31b–33 23 When my messenger goes before you and brings you to the Amorites, and the Hittites, and the Perizzites, and the Canaanites, and the Hivites, and the Jebusites, I will annihilate them.

12 Be vigilant, lest you

The note about Joseph’s burial was also added: cf. Josh 24:32/Gen 50:25–26. The note about the death of Eleazar (Josh 24:33) was added by even later priestly scribes. 53 This motif is associated with Beth-Peor, the last station of Israel mentioned by the Deuteronomists: Deut 3:29.

DIVINE WARFARE AND YHWH’S WARS

23

Deut 7:1–5

Ex 34:11–16

Ex 23:23–24,31b–33

shall not have mercy upon them! 3 You shall not intermarry with them: you shall not give your daughter to their sons or take their daughters for your sons, 4 for they will turn your children away from me to worship other gods, and YHWH’s anger will blaze forth against you and he will promptly wipe you out.

make a covenant with those dwelling in the land in which you are entering, lest it become a snare in your midst. 13 For their altars you will tear down, and their pillars you will smash, and his Asherah you will cut down. 14 For you shall not worship another god, because YHWH, whose name is Jealous, is a jealous God! 15 lest you make a covenant with those dwelling in the land. And they will prostitute themselves after their gods and they will sacrifice to their gods. And one will call to you, and you will eat from his sacrifice.

24 You shall not bow down to their gods, and you shall not serve them, and you shall not do as they do, for you will tear them down and you will thoroughly shatter their pillars.

5 Instead, this is what you shall do to them: you shall tear down their altars, smash their pillars, cut down their sacred posts, and consign their images to the fire. 6 For you are a holy people, consecrated to YHWH your God: of all the peoples on earth YHWH your God chose you to be his treasured people.

16 And you will take from his daughters for your sons, and his daughters will prostitute themselves after their gods, and they will cause your sons to prostitute themselves after their gods.

31b I will give into your hand all the inhabitants of the land, and you will drive them out from before you. 32 You shall not make a covenant with them or with their gods. 33 And they must not dwell in the land, lest they cause you to sin against me, for you will serve their gods and it will be to you a snare.

In the following period, when texts from the Priestly tradition were added successively to the Pentateuch, the accounts about divine war were spiritualized and idealized. The original so-called Priestly Code (P) did not contain a report on the conquest.54 The Priestly world view holds that creation underlies a universal divine Covenant of peace (Gen 9), and Israel’s inheriting the land rests only on the promise to Abraham (Gen 17). The Priestly layer in the narrative in Ex 14 about Israel’s crossing the Sea of Reeds55 mainly stresses that the event was a divine miracle to furnish evidence of YHWH’s glory (kbd) and power (Ex 14:17–18). The later Priestly account of the military camp of Israel in Num 1–4 is more concerned to 54

N. Lohfink, “Die Priesterschrift und die Geschichte”, in W. Zimmerli (ed.), Congress Volume Göttingen 1977 (VTS 29; Leiden, 1978), pp. 189–225, still defended this theory, but it was finally confuted by V. Fritz, Das Buch Josua (HAT I/7: Tübingen, 1994). 55 Ex 14:1,2aba, 3–4, 8a, 10abb, 15–16, 17aba, 18a, 21aa,b, 22, 23aa, 26, 27aa, 28a, 29 (cf. J. C. Gertz, Tradition und Redaktion in der Exerzählung. Untersuchungen zur Endredaktion des Pentateuch [FRLANT 186; Göttingen, 2000], pp. 195–206). J-L. Ska, “La sortie d’Égypte (Ex 7–14) dans le récit sacerdotal (Pg) et la tradition prophétique”, Biblica 60 (1979), pp. 191–215; and N. Lohfink, (“Die Schichten des Pentateuch und der Krieg”, in idem, Studien zum Pentateuch [SBAB 4; Stuttgart, 1988], pp. 255–315, esp. 280), argued that the priestly account diverged from the paradigm of war narratives when describing God’s judgment on Pharaoh and the Egyptians.

24

R. ACHENBACH

explain the possible order of tents around a sanctuary to ensure purity and the observance of ritual law among a huge mass of people in the religious congregation than to describe warfare according to sacral regulations. The concept of ‫ חרם‬is associated with the regulation of priestly privileges, when God says to Aaron, Num 18:14: ‫“ – כָּל ח ֵֶרם ְבּיִשׂ ְָראֵל לְָך י ִ ְהי ֶה‬Everything that is devoted to the ban in Israel shall be yours!” (see also Ezek 44:29). Everything that was devoted and consecrated to the Holy One was excluded from profane, non-priestly usage, such as a field consecrated to YHWH (cf. Lev 27:21) or any other thing (Lev 27:28)! The description in Num 31 is an example of Priestly scribal erudition, which discusses problems of a ‘sacral warfare’ in accordance with the distinct kinds of war given in Deut 20, 21 and 13 and with the demands of sacral purity and expiation in narrative form. The text is therefore often considered an early Midrash. Everything is kept under the surveillance of Moses and of the High Priest Eleazar (vv. 12,13,21, 25,31). The idealistic priestly concept takes the war account as a starting point to discuss questions of sacral purity, especially the problem of getting into touch with corpses.56 The case of warfare is not a historical problem of the religious nation of Jews in Yehud who were under the surveillance of the priestly hierarchy. Here merely the ritual and religious implications of the war tradition for the holy nation are discussed. This is the reason, why the book of Joshua was reworked by priestly scribes in the late Persian period.57 From the priestly-scribal erudition, the sacral concept of ‫ חרם‬in the context of the sanctuary also found its way into prophetic texts which were re-edited in the late Second Temple period. The assault against Zion and the sanctuary provokes the judgment of the Holy God. YHWH threatens to enforce the ban on all armies of the nations who offended against the Holy (Isa 34:2): “34:2 YHWH is angry with all nations, his wrath is on all their armies: he will devote them to ban, he will give them to slaughter (‫”) ֶהח ֱִרימָם נְתָ נָם ַל ָטּבַח‬.58 According to the visionary text in Mic 4:13 the people of Zion will participate in the judgment against the nations, and thus God causes them to “devote the ill-gotten gains to YHWH” (‫―) ְו ַהח ֲַרמְתִּ י לַיהוָה ִבּ ְצעָם‬before all nations assemble on Mount Zion to receive the Torah and the exiles are gathered to return to Jerusalem (Mic 4:1–5, 6–8). The conquest of Jerusalem is commemorated in certain psalms from the exilic period. Ps 79:1–3 interprets the bloodshed caused by the heathen peoples as defilement, and demands punishment of the wicked nations (Ps 79:6–12).59 But from late 56

Schmitt, op. cit. (note 1), pp. 150–157, describes the text as an example of “priestlyhierarchic conceptualizing of war” and of the “sacralizing of war-traditions”. 57 Josh 4:12–13,15–17,19; 5:10–12; 9:15b,18–21,27; 14:1–5; 17:2–6*; 18:1; 19:51; 20:1–9; 21:1–42; 22:7–34, cf. R. Achenbach, “Der Pentateuch, seine Theokratischen Bearbeitungen und Josua – 2 Könige”, in K. Schmid and T. C. Römer (eds.), Les dernières rédactions du Pentateuque, de l’Hexateuque et de l’Ennéateuque (BEThL 203; Leuven, 2007), pp. 225– 253; R. Albertz, “Die kanonische Anpassung des Josuabuches: eine Neubewertung seiner sogenannten ‘priesterschriftlichen Texte’”, in Schmid and Römer, ibid., pp. 199–216; Schmitt, op. cit. (note 1), pp. 157–158. 58 In this context the Edomites are highlighted (cf. Isa 34:5). 59 For an interpretation of the text cf. M. Emmendörfer, Der ferne Gott. Eine Untersuchung der alttestamentlichen Volksklagelieder vor dem Hintergrund der mesopotamischen Literatur (FAT 21; Tübingen, 1998), pp. 147–162; F-L Hossfeld and E. Zenger, Psalmen 51–100

DIVINE WARFARE AND YHWH’S WARS

25

prophetic texts another view enters the biblical tradition, namely the hope for their conversion to YHWH and the pacification of the world at the end of days. Thus Zec 14:9–11 outlines the vision of a time of salvation in which no ban will threaten Jerusalem any longer: “And YHWH shall be king over all the earth! In that day there shall be one YHWH and his name shall be one! And they shall dwell therein (Jerusalem) and never again shall there be a ban (decreed) (‫ ) ְוח ֵֶרם ֹלא י ִ ְהי ֶה עוֹד‬and Jerusalem shall dwell secure!” When the uniqueness and unity of YHWH as the basis of all commandments of the Torah, according to Deut 6:4, is universally acknowledged, the menace of another destruction of Jerusalem will vanish. Until that time the danger of any defilement of the Holy puts the city under a permanent threat. The ending of the book of Malachi contains a final admonition: YHWH’s not coming again, and punishing the land again by devoting it to another destruction (Mal 3:24: ‫ָאָרץ‬ ֶ ‫פֶּן אָבוֹא ְו ִהכֵּיתִ י אֶת ה‬ ‫)ח ֵֶרם‬, is conditional on the reconciliation between the generation of the ‘fathers’ and of the ‘sons’ and their mutual decision to follow the Torah of Moses. Thus the sacral term ‫ חרם‬is the last word of the prophetic canon—an admonition directed against Israel! The Old Testament’s late texts attest to a theoretical sacralization of the concept of YHWH’s wars. It was developed under the influence of politically marginalized priestly scribes in the province of Yehud. In the new account of Judah’s history the Chronicler focuses on the history of the Temple and the role of the monarchy for the Israelite religion. The king is installed in the temple (1 Chron 17:14), Solomon is chosen as the son of YHWH to sit on the throne of the kingdom of YHWH over Israel (1 Chron 28:5: ‫שׁבֶת עַל‬ ֶ ‫ַויּ ִ ְבחַר ִבּשְֹׁלמ ֹה ְבנִי ָל‬ ‫ !) ִכּסֵּא ַמלְכוּת י ְהוָה עַל יִשׂ ְָראֵל‬In light of this idealized account, which derives from Ptolemaic times, God is described as the only sovereign: He lets the king rest from his enemies, grants him victory in war and prosperity, accedes to the construction of the Temple, and so on. G. von Rad provided a classic description of the Chronicler’s depiction of wars:60 “In the account of the war of Jehoshaphat against the peoples of the east (2 Chron 20:1–30), the old elements return again virtually in paradigmatic completeness, but in what spiritual sublimation! Martin Noth has suggested plausibly as the historical nucleus of the account an attack of a band of Nabateans in the pastoral area of the Judean villages south of Bethlehem;61 out of this event the narrator constructs a threat in which the very existence of nonexistence of the state of Judah was at stake. However, the king does not take arms, but in a service of fasting calls on Yahweh’s help through an appeal to the salvation history (vv. 4–13). An inspired Levite commands the Judeans not to fear; the battle is not theirs, but Yahweh’s (vv. 14–17). Before the battle the king gives a war sermon in which he admonishes the army to have faith (v. 20). Then the singers in their holy vestments are ranked in front of the battle array of the armed soldiers. As they have just begun with their song of praise, something ‘lying in wait’, thus some kind of supernatural powers, fall upon the enemy, who kill themselves reciprocally in the panic which ensues, so that the Judeans do not need to wield a sword.62 There is nothing reported of a Ḥerem; instead of this there is an additional thanksgiving celebration held at the (HThK; Freiburg – Basel – Wien, 2000), pp. 443–451. 60 von Rad, op. cit. (note 1), pp. 129–130. 61 M. Noth, “Eine palästinische Lokalüberlieferung in 2. Chr 20”, ZDPV 67 (1944–1945), p. 46 ff. 62 To this intervention of heavenly powers compare 2 Chron 14:12.

26

R. ACHENBACH

location of the victory”. In Jewish thinking during the Ptolemaic reign, the promotion of international peace initiatives comes to the fore. The Jews had not been active in warfare since the time of Josiah, and thus a vision arose that according to their Torah a state of peace for the nations could be developed (cf. Isa 2:2–4; 51:4–5; Mic 4:1–5; Ps 46:6– 9).63 These visions originated in a community that perceived itself as the ‘holy remnant’ of God’s chosen people. The military success of the Maccabees promoted a measure of de-sacralization. It was also evident that in the course of a war Sabbath observance and other laws of purity might be suspended to some degree. By contrast, the Qumran community’s attempt strictly to adjust all behavior in wartime to the conditions of sacral traditions led to their ruin. Joining eschatological fantasies and devotion to the fundamental ideas of a divine war caused the collapse of the last Jewish revolts against the Romans.64

63

Otto, op. cit. (note 7), pp. 150 wrote about Isa 2:2–4: “Der Gedanke der Einrichtung einer internationalen Schiedsgerichtsbarkeit, die von den Völkern allein aufgrund der Überzeugungskraft der Idee freiwillig akzeptiert werde, ermöglicht es nun tatsächlich, Konflikterfahrungen in der Völkerwelt mit der Pazifizierung der internationalen Politik zu vermitteln. Damit können nun über Ps 46 hinaus auch die Völker selbst zu Subjekten des Demilitarisierungsprozesses werden. Ist es in Ps 46 Gott, der die Waffen vernichtet, angesichts dessen den Völkern nur die Einsicht in die Wirkungslosigkeit ihres kriegerischen Tuns bleiben soll, sind in Jes 2, 4b die Völker selbst Subjekte des Geschehens, die auf militärische Gewaltanwendung verzichten, das Kriegshandwerk nicht mehr erlernen und die Waffen für die friedliche Nutzung in der Landwirtschaft umrüsten”. Cf also A. Kunz, Ablehnung des Krieges. Untersuchungen zu Sacharja 9 und 10 (HBS 17; Freiburg, 1998). 64 For the scholarly discussion on the final revolt, that of Bar Kokhba, cf. B. Isaac, “The Revolt of Bar Kokhba. Ideology and Modern Scholarship”, in A. Oppenheimer (ed.), Between Rome and Babylon (Texts and Studies in Ancient Judaism 108; Tübingen, 2005), pp. 197– 224. For a Christian adaptation of Old Testament ideas concerning war during the Crusades and later cf. Schmitt, op. cit. (note 1), pp. 171–208.

CONTINUATION AND CHANGE IN THE 13th–10th CENTURIES BCE EASTERN MEDITERRANEAN BRONZE-WORKING KOINÉ?

MICHAL ARTZY University of Haifa

I. Introduction In this study, it is proposed that metalwork and alongside it other material goods of the 13th–11th centuries BCE, which are often lumped together, can be divided into two chronological stages. The earlier stage consists of the late-14th and mainly the 13th centuries BCE (Late Bronze Age [LB] IIB), and of a transitional period, which we name LB III—from the last quarter of the 13th to the early-12th century BCE. The second stage is associated with the late Iron Age IB, the second part of the 11th and the early 10th centuries BCE (the Megiddo VIA horizon). In 2006, I published a book that dealt with a metal hoard originating in an illicit excavation in the modern village of Jatt in Israel.1 The Jatt metal hoard contained vessels that are comparable to ones originating in the excavations at Tel Nami, which are clearly dated to the 13th and early-12th centuries BCE. However, among the metal vessels in the Jatt assemblage there were also several which could not be dated to this period, but were most likely later, dating to the late-11th–early-10th centuries BCE. The ceramics associated with the hoard also date to the latter period. Elsewhere, the earlier stage is exemplified by metal finds from Ras Shamra-Ugarit and Tel Nami, both of which were destroyed in the first quarter of the 12th century BCE, and at the site of Galinoporni/Kaleburnu in the Karpas peninsula in Cyprus,2 where an impressive hoard of metals was found accidentally in a pithos. Metal objects associated with the later stage are, for instance, those from Stratum VIA at Megiddo and from Cypriot sites such as Salamis, Kourion-Kaloriziki and Palaepaphos-Skales. It is proposed that there is continuity in metalwork along the northern Canaanite (eventually Phoenician) coast from the 13th to the 11th century BCE, but that it is also accompanied by change, as could be expected. Most of the finds discussed and compared here originate from the Jatt hoard, from Megiddo, the ‘Persian Tombs’ at ‘Akko, from Tel Nami, Ras Shamra-Ugarit, Galinoporni/Kaleburnu, and from the Cape Gelidonya shipwreck.

1

M. Artzy, The Jatt Metal Hoard in Northern Canaanite/Phoenician and Cypriote Context (Cuadernos de Arquelogia Mediterranea Laboratorio de Arquelogia de la Universidad Pompeu Fabra de Bracelona; Barcelona, 2006). 2 M. Bartelheim, B. Kizilduman, U. Müller, E. Pernicka and H. Tekel, “The Late Bronze Age Hoard of Kaleburnu/Galinoporni on Cyprus”, Památky Archeologické 99 (2008), pp. 161–188.

28

M. ARTZY

The Tel Jatt assemblage, the point of my departure and the focus of this paper, is a hoard consisting mainly of bronze objects, which first surfaced in the early 1990’s. As mentioned, it originated in an illicit excavation at this site, which is buried under the modern village of Jatt (Fig. 1). Jatt is situated between the Sharon Plain in the west and the Samaria Hills on the east, 10 km east of the Mediterranean coast and 120m above sea level. The distinctive Middle Bronze Age rampart that shaped the hill on which part of the modern village is situated is clearly visible from almost all sides of the site. Jatt was favorably situated: close to arable land and with a view extending over the Mediterranean coast, the Carmel Ridge and the Samaria Hills, and on a major route from the seaboard to Transjordan. The proximity to Megiddo enhanced the site’s significance.

Fig. 1: Map of main sites mentioned in the text (prepared by S. Zagorski)

BRONZE-WORKING KOINÉ?

29

Fig. 2: Ceramics from the Jatt hoard (drawing by R. Stidsing)

Tel Jatt was originally identified by A. Alt as Ginti-kirmi of the Amarna letters (EA 264–266).3 This identification has recently been re-established by Goren, Finkelstein and Na’aman following a historical, archaeological and petrographic study of the tablets sent to el-Amarna from this ancient site.4 In recent years, numerous salvage excavations have taken place at this ‘living site,’ revealing material dating from the Early Bronze Age to the medieval period.5 When the metal hoard was first investigated, its date was unclear, since, as mentioned similar objects found both in the Levant and in Cyprus were dated by archaeologists as early as the 13th and as late as the early 10th centuries BCE.6 In this study we present evidence for the dating of the Jatt hoard, and define differences and similarities between it and finds from other sites. This serves as a basis for discussing some technological and other changes between the two periods defined above, namely LB IIB–LB III (Late Cypriote [LC] IIC–early LC IIIA in Cyprus) and late Iron Age IB (Cypro-Geometric [CG] I in Cyprus). The ceramics found alongside the metal objects (Fig. 2) show clear marks of having been deposited alongside them. As mentioned, they aided in dating the Jatt hoard to the 3

A. Alt, “Das Institut im Jahre 1924”, Palästinajahrbuch 21 (1925), p. 48. Y. Goren, I. Finkelstein, and N. Na’aman, Inscribed in Clay – Provenance Study of the Amarna Tablets and other Ancient Near Eastern Texts (Tel Aviv, 2004), pp. 256–258. 5 Y. Porat, E. Yannai, and A. Kasher, “Archaological Remains at Jatt”, ‘Atiqot 37 (1999), pp. 1–78 (Hebrew); E. Yannai, “An Iron Age Burial Cave (No. 6) at Et-Taiyiba”, ‘Atiqot 43 (2002), pp. 27*–56* (Hebrew); idem, “Late Bronze Age Pottery from Tombs 12 and 13 at Tell Jatt, Sharon Plain”, ‘Atiqot 49 (2005), pp. 13*–30* (Hebrew); idem., “A Late Bronze Age Tomb at Jatt”, ‘Atiqot 39 (2000), pp. 49–82. 6 E. D. Oren, The Northern Cemetery of Beth Shan (Leiden, 1973); O. Negbi, “The Continuity of the Canaanite Bronzework of the Late Bronze Age into the Early Iron Age”, TA 1 (1974), pp. 159–174; L. Gershuny, Bronze Vessels from Israel and Jordan: Prähistorische Bronzefunde (München, 1985). 4

30

M. ARTZY

later stage since they are datable to the late Iron Age IB, comparable to Megiddo Stratum VIA. Among the pottery is a decorated flask, similar to one found at Tell Qasile X,7 and a pinched lamp, a Sharon Plain regional type8 found for instance at Tel Zeror.9 Among the bronze objects with comparanda in 11th–10th centuries BCE contexts at other sites is, for example, an axe10 which compares well with a specimen from a Phoenician grave at Achziv dated to the 11th century BCE,11 a slightly later axe of iron, also from Achziv,12 an axe from Megiddo VIA13 and with yet another one from Tell Qasile X.14 In this paper I chose to present two classes of metal objects―offering stands of different types and juglets―which are present in the Jatt hoard and are comparable to objects of both chronological stages in the Levant and in Cyprus, as defined above. They serve to demonstrate the continuity and change between the two stages/periods. The choice of the incense burners was dictated by the fact that in the earlier stage, Rod Offering Stands were found at Ras Shamra-Ugarit and at Tel Nami, both destroyed in the first quarter of the 12th century BCE. At Tel Nami segments of bronze scrap from at least one Rod Offering Tripod, ready for recycling, were found.15 The Rod Offering Tripods were thus produced and recycled during LC IIC at the latest. Other contexts which produced such finds cannot be dated later than the end of the 13th century BCE, such as the ‘Persian Garden’ tombs16 and the Cape Gelidonya shipwreck.17 On the other hand, similar objects were found in the Jatt hoard, an assemblage of the later period, namely the 11th and early 10th centuries BCE. The juglets were chosen because they exemplify an interesting technological change between the two stages.

II. Offering Stands There are three different types of bronze offering stands in the Jatt hoard: (1) Rod Offering Stands. (2) Tubular Offering Stands. (3) Rod Offering Tripods. All three types appear already in 13th century BCE contexts.

7

A. Mazar, Excavations at Tell Qasile, The Philistine Sanctuary: Various Finds, the Pottery, Conclusions, Appendixes (Jerusalem, 1985), fig. 37. 8 E. Yannai, “A Group of Early Iron Age Lamps from the Northern Sharon Valley”, TA 22 (1995), pp. 278–281. 9 K. Ohata, Tel Zeror, II (Tokyo, 1967), pl. X: 9 and 10; M. Kochavi, “The Excavations at Tel Zeror”, Qadmoniyot 1 (1968), pp. 128–130 (Hebrew). 10 Artzy, op. cit. (note 1), fig. 2.9. 11 M. Prausnitz, “Achzib”, IEJ 10 (1960), pp. 260–261. 12 E. Mazar, The Phoenician Family Tomb N. 1 at the Northern Cemetery of Achziv (10th–6th Centuries BCE), (Cuadernos de Arquelogia Mediterranea Laboratorio de Arquelogia de la Universidad Pompeu Fabra de Bracelona; Barcelona, 2004), fig. 7. 13 T. Harrison, Megiddo 3 (Chicago, 2004). 14 Mazar, op. cit. (note 7). 15 M. Artzy, “Incense, Camels and Collared Rim Jars: Desert Trade Routes and Maritime Outlets in the Second Millennium”, OJA 13 (1994), fig. 5. 16 S. Ben-Arieh and G. Edelstein, “Tombs Near the Persian Garden”, ‘Atiqot 12 (1977), pp. 1– 27. 17 G. F. Bass, Cape Gelidonya: A Bronze Age Shipwreck (Philadeplhia, 1967).

BRONZE-WORKING KOINÉ?

31

1. Rod Offering Stands are often referred to as incense burners (Fig. 3). In the Levant they are the most numerous among the three types. On the other hand, very few were found in Cyprus. There are three stands of this type and a bowl pierced by three holes from graves at Tel Nami (Fig. 3:a, b, c);18 one from Ugarit (Fig. 3:e);19 and one from Tomb 911AI at Megiddo.20 Two marvelous specimens were found recently at Galinoporni/Kaleburnu in Cyprus (Fig. 3:d, f). 21 In addition, fragments of such stands were found at the ‘Persian Gardens’ graves at Akko22 and one in the Cape Gelidonya shipwreck.23

Fig. 3: LB IIB Rod Offering Stands from the Levant (a–c, e) and Cyprus (d, f) (drawings by R. Stidsing and U. Müller) 18

Artzy, op. cit. (note 15). C. F. A. Schaeffer, Enkomi-Alasia (Paris, 1952), p. 65, fig. 18. 20 P. L. O. Guy and R. M. Engberg, Megiddo Tombs (Chicago, 1938), p. 189, fig. 186:4, pl. 119I; H. W. Catling, Cypriot Bronzework in the Mycenaean World (Oxford, 1964), p. 212. 21 M. Bartelheim, B. Kizilduman, U. Müller, E. Pernicka and H. Tekel, “The Late Bronze Age Hoard of Kaleburnu/Galiporni on Cyprus”, Památky Archeologické 99 (2008), pp. 161–188. 22 Ben Arieh and Edelstein, op. cit. (note 16), p. 36. 23 Bass, op. cit. (note 17), p. 108. 19

32

M. ARTZY

Examples of these Rod Offering Stands in the Levant are also known from the later stage, the 11th and early-10th centuries BCE. Two examples belong to the Jatt hoard (Fig. 4:a, b), and two were found at Megiddo (Fig. 4:d, e). Of the latter one was found in Schumacher’s trench,24 and a bowl with three holes, which was part of an offering stand, was found in Locus 1739 of Stratum VIA in the Chicago excavations.25 A single stand was found at Beth She’an, in Locus 1731,26 which completes the finds from the mainland dated to the late 11th/ early 10th centuries BCE known to date. In Cyprus only one stand that may be attributed to this period was found. It originates in a robbed grave at Kouklia (Fig. 4:c).27

Fig. 4: Late Iron IB Rod Offering Stands from the Levant (a, b, d, e) and Cyprus (c) (drawings of a and b by R. Stidsing; c, d, e from Catling, op. cit. [note 20], Pl. 37:a, b, d, e) 24

Catling, op. cit. (note 20), pp. 212–213. Harrison, op. cit. (note 11), pl. 32:6. 26 F. W. James, The Iron Age at Beth Shan (Philadelphia, 1966). fig. 102:1. 27 Catling, op. cit. (note 20), p. 212. 25

BRONZE-WORKING KOINÉ?

33

2. Tubular Offering Stands. Other than the Jatt example (Fig. 5:a), there are only a few examples, both in Cyprus and the Levant. One specimen belongs to the Galinoporni/Kaleburnu hoard (Fig. 5:b),28 and a large fragment was uncovered at the ‘Persian Garden’ graves at Akko.29

Fig. 5: Tubular offering stands from the Levant and Cyprus (drawings by R. Stidsing and U. Müller)

28 29

Bartelheim, op. cit. (note 21). Ben Arieh and Edelstein, op. cit. (note 16), p. 36.

34

M. ARTZY

3. Rod Offering Tripods were found mainly in Cyprus, where there are numerous examples,30 in a variety of sizes and shapes. Recognizable remains of one were found in the sanctuary area at Tel Nami,31 ready for re-cycling. Bronze Rod Offering Tripods in Cyprus have been dated to LC IIC, which Papasavvas has argued represents the peak of a long-term development in metal production in Cyprus (to which he also attributed the Ingot God and the Horned God figurines from Enkomi).32 However, he has also highlighted the chronological problems associated with metal objects, such as the fact that they are found in ‘hoards’ the dates of which provide only termini ante quem―there may have been a lengthy interval between the production of the artifacts and the deposition of the hoards. The dating of ceramics between the end of the 13th century and the early-12th century is often problematic as well.33 I feel, however, that Papasavvas’ argument―that the stands ceased to be produced in Cyprus after the mid-12th century―is questionable, since 11th-century finds have now surfaced in Cyprus, especially in the southwest, as demonstrated at Palaepaphos-Skales.34

Fig. 6: a. Rod Tripod found in the Jatt hoard; b. String attaching bowl to body (drawing by R. Stidsing); c. Radiography of string

30

Catling, op. cit. (note 20). M. Artzy, “Cult and Recycling of Metal at the End of the Bronze Age”, in P. Åström and D. Sürenhagen (eds.), Periplus, Festchrift für Hans-Günter Buchholz (Jonsered, 2000), p. 27. 32 G. Papasavvas, “Cypriot Casting Technology I: The Stands” (Report of the Department of Antiquities of Cyprus, 2003), p. 23. 33 Idem, ibid., p. 24. 34 V. Karageorghis, Palaepaphos-Skales (Konstanz, 1983), Pl. LXXXIX:31. 31

BRONZE-WORKING KOINÉ?

35

One Rod Offering Tripod was found in the Jatt hoard (Fig. 6). By its dimensions it belongs to Catling’s small-sized tripods category and by its shape to his group AII.35 It is similar in size and shape to a Rod Tripod excavated in Tomb 39 in the necropolis of Kaloriziki and dated to CG IA.36 The two tripods differ, however, in the protomes, which appear on the Jatt specimen but not on the vessel from Kaloriziki. Protomes appear on another Kaloriziki tripod, from Tomb 40, a tripod that also belongs to Catling’s group AII.37 However, the Kaloriziki protomes appear at mid-leg while at Jatt they appear at the top of the legs, just below the ring. The tripod from Kaloriziki Tomb 40 was dated alternatively to the early CyproGeometric period (CG IA),38 or slightly eralier, to LC IIIB.39 Buitron-Oliver 40 discussed Tombs 39 and 40 and their dating. She points to the fact that Tomb 40 contains a homogenous group of Proto-White Painted Ware, as well as an imported Phoenician lenticular flask, and that finds from the robbed Tomb 39 also include Proto-White Painted Ware ceramics. These ceramics date the graves to the transition between LC IIIB and CG I. Tripods were probably intended to serve as bases/supports for open forms, such as bowls, lavers with sunken bases or―in the case of the large stands―large kraters. The Jatt tripod was found with a bowl firmly attached to its ring by metal strings (Fig. 6: a–c), most likely of bronze, and it looks as if it was overhauled for a second lifespan as an incense stand, similar to the Rod Offering Stands discussed above. Because of this alteration, an earlier date of production could be suggested. However, as discussed above, similar objects occur in 11th-century BCE contexts in Cyprus. Differences between the bronze assemblages of the Levant and Cyprus, both in the late-13th–early-12th stage and during the 11th–10th centuries BCE could well be attributed to the fact that they belong to different cultural milieus. The differences are accentuated in the Iron Age assemblages of the later stage. This is true, for example, for the incense stands. While in Cyprus the majority are of the Rod Offering Tripod type, in the Levant a noticeably larger number are Rod Offering Stands. In addition, in the Levant, ceramic copies were produced as less expensive substitutes for the metal ones, as noted at the Tell Abu Hawam anchorage.41 An example was also found on the Elissa shipwreck, dating to Iron Age II.42 In Cyprus, on the other hand, were the usual practice involved Rod Offering Tripods, clay examples of this type abound. Such ceramic examples (Fig. 7), dated to LC IIIB and CG I (namely the

35

Catling, op. cit. (note 20) pp. 193–195, Pl. 29: a. J. L. Benson, The Necropolis of Kaloriziki (Goteborg, 1973), p. 49. 37 Catling, op cit. (note 20), p. 194, Pl. 28: c, d, e. 38 Catling, ibid. p.195. 39 Benson, op. cit. (note 36), p. 50. 40 D. Buitron-Oliver, “Kourion from the 11th to the 8th Century B.C. ” in M. Iacovou and D. Michaelides (eds.), Cyprus, The Histroricity of the Geometric Horizon (Nicosia, 1999), pp. 70–73. 41 N. Yoselevich, The Utilization of Chalices as Incense Burners on Boats and in Coastal Sites (MA thesis; University of Haifa, 2005). 42 R. D. Ballard, L. E. Stager, D. Master, D. Yoerger, D. Mindell, L. L. Whitcomb, H. Singh, and D. Piechota, “Iron Age Shipwrecks in Deep Water off Ashkelon, Israel”, AJA 106 (2002), p. 159, fig. 9/2. 36

36

M. ARTZY

11th and early-10th centuries BCE), were found in Proto-White Painted and White Painted styles in burial contexts at Palaepaphos-Skales.43

III. The Production of Juglets A noticeable technological change between the two stages defined here occurs in the production of bronze juglets. In addition, there is also a quantitative difference. In the early stage juglets are rare, both in Cyprus and in the Levant. In the second stage their numbers augment, especially in the Levant44 (both in Cis- and Trans-Jordan, such as, for instance, at Tell es-Sa‘idiyeh45).

Fig. 7: CG I ceramic ‘Rod Tripods’ and a metal Rod Tripod from Palaepaphos-Skales (from Karageorghis, op. cit. [note 34]: a. Fig. CXXX:57A; b. Fig. LX:78; c. Fig. CXXX:57B; d. Fig. LX:73; e. Fig. LXXX:11).

43

Karageorghis op. cit. (note 34), e.g., Pl. XXXVI. Gershuny, op. cit. (note 6). 45 J. D. M. Green, Ritual and Social Structure in the Late Bronze and Early Iron Age Southern Levant: The Cemetery at Tell es-Sa‘idiyeh, Jordan (PhD dissertation, University College London, 2006). 44

BRONZE-WORKING KOINÉ?

37

A bronze juglet from Tel Nami, dating to the 13th century BCE, is a case to consider (Fig. 8a). In the X-Ray photograph of the juglet (Fig. 8:b) one can clearly see the nits that were placed into the juglet in order to produce it by the lost wax technique. In comparison, the (later) juglets from Jatt were produced in a completely different method, for which nits were no longer needed (Fig. 9).

Fig. 8: Bronze juglet from Tel Nami and X-Ray showing nits (photograph: D. Evan and M. Artzy)

There are 13 juglets in the hoard, of which 12 show a very similar manner of production (Fig. 10; the remaining one is badly corroded).46 I assume that if, in spite of the absence of nits, the lost wax process was still being used, the thick rims of these juglets could have been used to let gases out during production, as could the high shoulders. This could be where the mold used to be and the investments were held for the pouring of the bronze and the positioning of the runners. Yet another possibility is that the molds for the production of the juglets were placed upside down and the metal poured through the base of the mold, using vents in the mold mass. This suggestion may find support in that a piece of metal was added to the inner side of 46

Artzy, op. cit. (note 1), pp. 31–35.

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the base of one of the juglets.47 A comparison of juglets from Megiddo, Beth She’an and Tell es-Sa‘idiyeh in Gershuny’s study,48 all belonging to the later stage, indicates that they were produced in a similar manner to those found at Jatt.

Fig. 9: X-Ray image of juglet from the Jatt hoard

47

G. Zioni, B. Breitman, Y. Hershko, H. Feldman and M. Artzy, “Radiography”, in Artzy, op. cit. (note 1), pp. 122–123. 48 Gershuny, op. cit. (note 6), pls. 12:128–129; 13:130–132.

BRONZE-WORKING KOINÉ?

Fig. 10: Juglets from the Jatt hoard (photograph: R. Stidsing)

39

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M. ARTZY

As mentioned, the restricted number of juglets in the earlier stage (13th and the very early 12th centuries), is marked not only in the Levant, but in Cyprus as well. The question why there is such a noticeable increase in the number of juglets in the later stage, namely the late-11th century and the first part of the 10th century BCE, could be answered in a variety of ways. One, of course, is that bronze objects of the earlier stage were recycled and thus very few juglets survived. Yet, the same could be true for the later stage as well. Another reason to be considered is a change in technology, which allowed for simpler and quicker production. Yet another possibility we entertain is a larger supply of copper in the later stage. Some of the Jatt and Tel Nami bronze vessels were subjected to Lead Isotope Analysis.49 Most, and possibly all those from Tel Nami, dating to the earlier stage, contained Cypriot copper (Stos-Gale personal communication), while those from Jatt showed a completely different composition. The copper of the Jatt vessels analyzed originates in the Timna–Feinan vain, most likely in Feinan in Jordan.50 The Feinan district in Jordan was a major center of copper production at least since the Early Bronze Age and it continued to be utilized intermittently. It represents the continuation of the same copper vain as that of Timna in the Aravah.51 A. Knauf has suggested that when the Cypriot copper supply broke down towards the end of the 2nd millennium BCE, the Palestinian copper market turned to the ore deposits in Wadi Aravah.52 Indeed, in the past, other scholars too have noted the existence of copper production in that region.53 Excavations at Khirbat en-Nahas in modern Jordan have revealed an early Iron Age copper production center, dated to ca. 1200–1000 BCE (radiocarbon dates ca. the mid-13th century and the 12th–11th centuries BCE have been published.) A stratum representing a major industrial phase at the site, which is dated from the mid-11th to the 10th century BCE, has been noted as well.54 Evidently then, in the later part of the 2nd millennium BCE, Cyprus was not the only copper producer; the trade network diverged. This does not mean that Cyprus ceased to produce or distribute its own copper during this period. Its location, maritime tradition and proximity to commercial centers assured that it remained a preeminent producer of copper in the eastern Mediterranean.

49 Z. A. Gale, “Provenance of Metals from Tel Jatt Based on Their Lead Isotope Analysis”, in Artzy, op. cit. (note 1), pp. 115–120. 50 Ibid., p. 117–119. 51 T. E. Levy, R. B. Adams, M. Najjar, A. Hauptmann, J. D. Anderson, B. Brandl, M. A. Robinson and T. Higham, “Reassessing the Chronology of Biblical Edom: New Excavations and 14C Dates from Khirbat en-Nahas (Jordan)”, Antiquity 78 (2004), pp. 865–876. 52 E. A. Knauf and C. J. Lenzen, “Edomite Copper Industry”, in A. Hadidi (ed.), Studies in the History and Archaeology of Jordan, III (Amman, 1987), pp. 83–88. 53 V. Fritz, “Copper Mining and Smelting in the Area of Feinan at the End of the Iron Age I”, in E. D. Oren and S. Ahituv (eds.), Aharon Kempinski Memorial Volume (Beer Sheva, 2002), pp. 93–102; A. Hauptmann and G. Weisgerber, “Periods of Ore Exploitation and Metal Production in the Area of Feinan, Wadi ‘Arabah, Jordan”, in A. Hadidi (ed.) Studies in the History and Archaeology of Jordan, IV (Amman, 1992), pp. 61–66. 54 Levy et al., op. cit. (note 51).

BRONZE-WORKING KOINÉ?

41

IV. Discussion Two chronological stages in metalwork in the Levant and in Cyprus can be defined. The ‘early stage’ comprises mainly the 13th and early 12th centuries BCE, namely the Late Bronze Age IIB and III, or LC IIC and LC IIIa in Cyprus. The ‘later stage’ comprises the 2nd part of the 11th and early 10th centuries BCE, namely late Iron Age IB or the early Cypro-Geometric period in Cyprus. These two stages demonstrate continuity in the shape of metal objects, such as cultic ones, of which the Rod Offering Tripods and the Rod Offering Stands are examples. During the early stage, a koiné of metal industry existed in Cyprus and along the Levantine coast. Still, some degree of regional and cultural differences in the appearance and production of metal artifacts can be discerned. This koiné seemed not to have been active in the last part of the 12th and the early 11th centuries BCE. It re-emerged in our ‘later’ stage, but with some changes. The cultic objects continued to be produced, again with some differences between the products of Cypriot and Levantine smiths. At least in one region, namely the Levant, a new technology of juglet production was introduced, which rendered the use of nits obsolete. Whether such a change occurred in Cyprus as well cannot be determined based on currently-available data. The koiné was doubtless a result of the closely entwined trade/distribution networks of the era. The northern Levant, the ‘Akko Plain and the Carmel coasts (the Phoenician coast) show few, if any destructions attributable to the ‘Sea Peoples’ (at Sidon, Tyre, ‘Akko and Dor, among other sites). The Phoenician cities, such as Sidon and Tyre, who competed among themselves and against other competitors, searched for new sources and markets for metal. They benefited from the fall of mercantile Ugarit (whoever caused that destruction). One scenario could have been that while Tyre, for instance, utilized the Cypriot copper trade network, Sidon sought the network associated with Feinan copper. In the 11th century BCE the changes in the geopolitical situation in the eastern Mediterranean affected alliances and trade networks and patterns. In the second stage as defined here the metal koiné, though still existing, is less pronounced. The bronze objects found in southwestern Cyprus on the one hand and, for example, at Jatt on the other, while being similar, clearly diverge. They attest to the continuation of the bronze working industries of the northern coastal sites on the mainland and in Cyprus, but with regional variations.

THE DAVIDIC COVENANT IN 2 SAMUEL 7 CONDITIONAL OR UNCONDITIONAL?

MICHAEL AVIOZ Bar–Ilan University

Forty years ago, M. Weinfeld1 wrote a paper in which he concluded that there are two types of covenants in the Hebrew Bible: The Promissory type (a covenant of grant) and the Obligatory type. According to him, Nathan’s Oracles in 2 Sam 7 belongs to the Promissory type, since it is unconditional. Only after the exile, did the Deuteronomist “put the promise of David under condition”.2 In this paper I will contest Weinfeld’s thesis and try to show that Nathan’s Oracle should be classified as a conditional covenant. The author of Samuel wanted to underscore the divine steadfast love enveloping God’s promise to David and his offspring, and thus he downplayed the conditionality of the covenant.

I. Viewing 2 Samuel 7 as a Covenant The narrative in 2 Sam 7:1–17 has two main parts: vv. 1–7 deal with David’s initiative to build a house for God, while vv. 8–16 move on to a discussion of the second theme in 2 Sam 7, namely: the promise of eternal kingship to David and his descendants. Vv. 8–11a review the circumstances surrounding David’s accession to the throne, while vv. 11b–16 deal with the divine promise to David to enjoy everlasting rule. The questions that are raised in this context are: How might the nature of the divine promise to David be defined? Are we dealing with a legal text describing a covenant between God and David or is it merely a prophecy? If this text should be regarded as a covenant, then what is its nature? Is it conditional or unconditional? Many scholars believe that vv. 8–16 are constructed according to the form of covenants in the Bible and the ancient Near East. Although the word ‘covenant’ (‫)ברית‬ does not appear overtly in 2 Sam 7, there are allusions to it in passages that have links to 2 Sam 7,3 indicating that 2 Sam 7 also contains a depiction of a covenant. 1

M. Weinfeld, “The Covenant of Grant in the Old Testament and in the Ancient Near East”, JAOS 90 (1970), pp. 184–203. 2 Weinfeld, ibid, p. 195. 3 2 Sam 23:5; Jer 33:21; Ps 89:4,29,35–38; Ps 132:11–12; 2 Chr 13:5; 21:7. The absence of the word ‫ ברית‬from 2 Sam 7 has led McKenzie to regard this chapter as ‘promise’. See S. L. McKenzie, “The Typology of the Davidic Covenant”, in J. A. Dearman and M. P. Graham (eds.), The Land that I Will Show You Essays on the History and Archaeology of the Ancient Near East in Honour of J. Maxwell Miller (Sheffield, 2001), pp. 152–178. Gakuru labels 2 Sam 7 as ‘oracle of salvation’. See G. Gakuru, An Inner–Biblical Exegetical Study of the Da-

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Similarly, 1 Sam 10:17–27 depicts the covenant at Mitzpah without mentioning the word ‫ברית‬.4 Furthermore, terms from the covenant terminology appear in both God’s promise to David and David’s thanksgiving prayer: ‫“( ועתה‬and now”; vv. 8,25,28,29)5; ‫עבד‬ (“servant”, vv. 8,25,28,29);6 ‫“( דבר‬word” or “speak”; 19,21,25,28–29);7 ‫“ חסד‬steadfast love”; v. 15);8 ‫“( טובה‬good thing”; v. 28)9; and the root ‫( קום‬vv. 12,25). According to Weinfeld and others, the covenant between God and David is not an obligatory covenant, whose fulfillment is contingent upon particular conduct of the vassal, but a covenant of grant, wherein the obligation falls solely on the sovereign and which is intended to protect the rights of the vassal. M. Tsevat goes so far as to say that 2 Sam 7 is “a blank check of unlimited validity”.10 In light of Assyrian treaties from the 7th century BCE and additional documents, these scholars sketched the typological model of the covenant of grant in the ancient Near East, and endeavored to find its echoes in the description of the covenant between God and David. Many scholars accepted Weinfeld’s view and it is reiterated in the majority of recent commentaries on the book of Samuel as well as in various studies on the covenants of the Bible.11 However, there are a several problems with Weinfeld’s method, which finds parallels between the ancient Near Eastern covenant of grant and David’s covenant. What Weinfeld considers unique to covenants of grant, can be found in other types vidic Covenant and the Dynastic Oracle (Lewiston, 2000), pp. 67–70. 4 See Z. Ben-Barak, “The Mizpah Covenant (I Sam 10:25) – The Source of the Israelite Monarchic Covenant”, ZAW 91 (1979), pp. 30–43. 5 For an additional list of examples and discussion, see P. Kalluveettil, Declaration and Covenant: A Comprehensive Review of Covenant Formulae from the Old Testament and the Ancient Near East (Rome, 1982), p. 181. This fact may enable us to reject the claim that the absence of the word ‫ ברית‬2 Sam 7, denotes that the promissory covenant is the innovation of the Psalmist. See G. N. Knoppers, “David’s Relation to Moses: The Contexts, content and Condition of the Davidic Promises”, in J. Day (ed.), King and Messiah in Israel and the Ancient Near East (Sheffield, 1998), p. 115, n. 72. 6 The adjective ‘servant of God’ appears also in connection with Abraham (Gen 26:24) and with Moses (Num 12:7 and others). McCarter also admits that the portrayal of the God–king relationship as a master–slave relationship is pervasive throughout the ancient Near East texts. See P. K. McCarter, II Samuel (AB; New York, 1984), p. 197. Murray holds that the label “servant” comes to clarify the nature of the power relationship between God and David and to diminish David’s status. See D. F. Murray, Divine Prerogative and Royal Pretension: Pragmatics, Poetics and Polemics in a Narrative Sequence about David (2 Samuel 5.I7–7.29), (Sheffield, 1998), p. 168. However, in 2 Sam 6:22, David himself admits his willingness to humiliate himself in order to rejoice in the happiness of a commandment. Cf. R. P. Gordon, I & II Samuel: A Commentary (Grand Rapids, 1986), p. 237. 7 See T. Ishida, The Royal Dynasties in Ancient Israel: A Study on the Formation and Development of Royal–Dynastic Ideology (Berlin, 1977), pp. 109–110; M. Weinfeld, “Berith, ‫”ברית‬, TDOT, II, pp. 253–279; Kalluveettil, op. cit. (note 5), pp. 32–34. 8 5 See Weinfeld, “Berith”, pp. 258–259; K. D. Sakenfeld, The Meaning of Hesed in the Hebrew Bible: A New Inquiry (Missoula, 1978). 9 On ‫ טוב‬+ ‫ דבר‬see Weinfeld, ibid., pp. 259, 271–272; Kalluveettil, op. cit. (note 5), pp. 42–47. 10 M. Tsevat, “Studies in the Book of Samuel. III: The Steadfast House: What was David Promised in II Sam. 7:11b–16”, HUCA 34 (1963), p. 73. 11 See the literature cited in G. N. Knoppers, “Ancient Near Eastern Royal Grants and the Davidic Covenant: A Parallel?”, JAOS 116 (1996), pp. 670–697.

THE DAVIDIC COVENANT

45

of covenants and the parallels between covenants of grant and 2 Sam 7 are questionable: (1) The ancient Near Eastern texts that Weinfeld uses deal with land grants, while 2 Sam 7 discusses the promise of a dynastic kingship. This distinction removes any connection of these texts to the account in 2 Sam 7. Thus, the following components are not found: border delineation (kudduru), witness convocation and reference to the curse imposed on covenant violators.12 Therefore, it is necessary to distinguish between a promise of eternal property ownership (lands) and one of an eternal dynastic kingdom. M. Haran added that the terms grant and covenant are not of the same register and do not interact.13 (2) Knoppers was skeptical of Weinfeld’s conclusions that the ancient Near Eastern covenants of grant were presented as unconditional. Through a further renewed consideration of both the texts mentioned by Weinfeld and additional texts, Knoppers concludes that vassal kings pledged their implicit allegiance to the sovereign who threatened to revoke the covenant. Šuppiluluma I, the Hittite king (1355–1330 BCE) so declares in the account of his covenant with his vassal ruler Huqqana: “If, however, you do anything evil, then I the Sun will also do evil to you and I the Sun will be freed from the divine oath”.14 Adoption terminology and father/son imagery are found in vassal treaties as well. 15 (3) It should also be noted that Weinfeld referred to verses outside of the book of Samuel (Kings, Psalms, and Chronicles) so that the covenant’s description in 2 Sam 7 would resemble the covenant of grant model. Thus, for example, Weinfeld had to use 1 Kgs 3 in order to prove that David was given his covenant because of his religious conduct, even though this explanation is not explicit in the book of Samuel. This view is methodologically problematic, for every one of the occurrences has a different orientation. It is worth noting how Weinfeld handled the text of Ps 132 in this regard. This psalm mentions a clear conditioning of the Davidic covenant in verse 12: “If your sons keep my covenant and my decrees that I shall teach them, their sons also, for evermore, shall sit on your throne”. Let us see how Weinfeld explains the con-ditionality in this psalm: “In regard to the Davidic covenant, it should be admitted that the conception of conditionality is implied in Ps. CXXXII (v. 12) which seems to be an ancient Psalm. It is indeed possible that alongside the conception of unconditional promise of the dynasty there was also in existence the concept of a conditional promise”.16

12

Knoppers, ibid. M. Haran, “The Berit ‘Covenant’: Its Nature and Ceremonial Background”, in M. Cogan, B. L. Eichler, and J. H. Tigay (eds.), Tehillah le–Moshe: Biblical and Judaic. Studies in Honor of Moshe Greenberg (Winona Lake, 1997), p. 207. 14 Knoppers, op. cit. (note 11), pp. 677–678, 682–683. Adoption terminology is used often in the Hebrew Bible where the relationship between God and Israel is metaphorically compared to the relationship of husband and wife/father and son. See G. P. Hugenberger, Marriage as a Covenant. A Study of Biblical Law and Ethics Governing Marriage Developed from the Perspective of Malachi (Leiden, 1994). 15 Knoppers, op. cit. (note 11), p. 694. See also P. J. Calderone, Dynastic Oracle and Suzerainty Treaty (Manila, 1966), p. 55. 16 Weinfeld, op. cit. (note 1), p. 196. Emphasis added. 13

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Weinfeld dated this psalm to the 10th century BCE. Now if this is true, we have here an ancient text that regards the Davidic covenant as conditional.17 Why then should we wait till the Babylonian exile to read of the conditionality of the Davidic covenant? An even more sophisticated explanation was suggested by F. Cross18: he argues that there were two transformations of the Davidic covenant from conditional (Ps 132) through unconditional (2 Sam 7; Ps 89) to conditional (1 Kgs 2:4). And that is a very sophisticated picture indeed. (4) The Abrahamic and Davidic covenants are not essentially different from the Sinaitic covenant. As preparation for the covenant between Abraham and God, Abram is commanded to leave his home and country (Gen 12:1–2). In Gen 17:1–2 it is written that the covenant’s formation depends upon Abraham’s fulfillment of the circumcision commandment. In Gen 22:16–17 it states: “because you have done this… I will indeed bless you”. These verses demonstrate the ineluctability of obedience and faith in God for the implementation of God’s covenant with Abraham. I therefore accept M. Haran’s claim that the covenant with Abraham, Phinehas “are founded on a mutual relationship, and a mutual commitment is implied in them, as in any suzerainty treaty”.19 (5) The theory that the promise to David was unconditional is also debatable. As noted by J. Levenson: “this terminology is regrettable, since it can encourage the notion that the covenant with David is without stipulations, a covenant of grace rather than of law. In fact, however, the Davidid is still obligated and hence subject to punishment”.20 The fact that David’s promise was “everlasting” does not make the covenant unconditional. Consequently, Weinfeld’s examination reflects an internal tension.21 On the one hand, he claims that the covenant of grant (unconditional) and obligatory grant (conditional) are structurally similar: historical introduction, conditions, witnesses, curses and blessings. On the other hand, he argues that the conditional covenant (= obligatory covenant) is a subsequent development of the unconditional grant (= covenant of grant).

17

For dating Psalm 132 to the Davidic era, see C. L. Seow, Myth, Drama, and the Politics of David’s Dance (Atlanta, 1989), p. 149, n. 21. 18 F. M. Cross, Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic (Cambridge, MA 1973), p. 236. McKenzie (op. cit. [note 3], p. 171) also tries to find a way to explain the existence of condition in Psalm 132: “The idea in v. 12 that David’s descendants must keep Yahweh’s covenant and laws (‫ …)עדות‬fits with Deuteronomistic ideology…there is only one covenant—the one on Horeb—and obedience to the law delivered to Moses on that occasion is essential”. In the next page, he goes further as to suggest the in Ps 132 the Davidic promise is unilateral. 19 Haran, op. cit. (note 13), p. 208. 20 J. D. Levenson, “Who Inserted the Book of the Torah?”, HTR 68 (1975), p. 225. 21 The difficulty in distinguishing between the two types of covenants is evident from the way in which Weinfeld (op. cit. [note 1]) dealt with the text describing Ulmi-Tešup and Hattušili’s covenant. On p. 189 of his article, he calls it a “treaty” (obligatory covenant), and yet, in the same page, in note 38, he says it is possible to read the text as a covenant of grant, to which he follows with an opinion that deems the text “something between a covenant of grant and an obligatory grant”. See J. Kim, Psalm 89: Its Biblical–Theological Contribution to the Presence of Law within the Unconditional Covenant (PhD dissertation; Ann Arbor, 1989), pp. 346–347.

THE DAVIDIC COVENANT

47

II. Redefining the Nature of the Dynastic Promise Thus far, we have seen the difficulties of classifying the dynastic promise as a covenant of grant. Therefore, one must reason that the appearance of legal terms in 2 Sam 7 fits the typology of vassal treaties.22 Consequently, we can conclude and say that the prophecy imparted to David in vv. 8–16 includes a number of the typological characteristics of vassal treaties, and they can be found in Hittite texts as early as the 15th and up to the 13th centuries BCE.23 There are only two elements of the typical model of these covenants in the prophecy to David in 2 Sam 7: the historical preamble and the stipulations (in an implied form). Vv. 8–9 describe the stage preceding David’s selection as king, as well as the historical preamble to the covenant making, as was customary in ancient Near Eastern covenants.24 The purpose of the introduction is to illustrate the favorable attitude towards David’s kingship for having succeeded in realizing the shepherd–king ideal, and thus meriting the covenant of kingship. God describes the time prior to David: the period of wandering in the desert, the period of judges, and David’s era. In this fashion, an intentional disregard of the era of Saul is achieved.25 Although Saul had been a ‫נגיד‬, the text ignores this fact in order to make David’s era the turning point in the national history, thus making David the first king. Saul’s era is regarded negatively as the period in which God’s steadfast love towards the king was removed and whereupon the people of Israel did not enjoy it.26 In the verse “when he commits iniquity, I will chasten him” (2 Sam 7:14) it is possible to find an additional reminiscence of the vassal treaties: the covenant stipula22 See R. de Vaux, The Bible and the Ancient Near East (trans. by D. McHugh; New York, 1971), pp. 152–166; E. Kutsch, Verheissung und Gesetz. Untersuchungen zum sogennanten "Bund" im Alten Testament (Berlin, 1973), pp. 28–39; Kalluveettil, op. cit. (note 5), pp. 30– 32; Kim, ibid, pp. 351–372. Mettinger notes that even if the royal covenants of grant provided interesting comparative material, it cannot be inferred that they constituted the model for the Davidic promise in 2 Sam 7. See T. N. D. Mettinger, King and Messiah: The Civil and Sacral Legitimation of the Israelite Kings (Lund, 1976), p. 284. According to Tadmor, there are no descriptions of covenants made between gods and dynasties in the ancient Near East. See H. Tadmor, “Covenants and Vassal’s Oaths in the Ancient Near East: An Historian’s Approach”, Shnaton 5–6 (1982), pp. 149–173 (Hebrew). Cf. Calderone, op. cit. (note 15), pp. 39–40; Gakuru (op. cit. [note 5], pp. 56–71 believes that the genre of 2 Sam 7 is not that of a covenant, but rather an oracle of salvation. Accordingly, he essentially follows Malamat’s view, which attempted to find parallels between 2 Sam 7 and the prophecy given to Zimrilim, king of Mari. See A. Malamat, “A Mari Prophecy and Nathan’s Dynastic Oracle”, in J. A. Emerton (ed.), Prophecy: Festschrift G. Fohrer (Berlin, 1980), pp. 68–82. Murray, op. cit. (note 6), pp. 274–276 also rejects the determination of 2 Sam 7 as a covenant. 23 For an English translation of the Hittite treaties, see COS 2, pp. 93–106; A. Altman, The Historical Prologue of the Hittite Vassal Treaties: An Inquiry into the Concepts of Hittite Interstate Law (Ramat Gan, 2004). 24 See Calderone, op. cit. (note 15), pp. 43–44 and additional literature in M. Eilat, Samuel and the Foundation of Kingship in Ancient Israel (Jerusalem, 1998), pp. 110–111, notes 58– 59 (Hebrew). Weinfeld does not include this element in the Davidic covenant, ostensibly because he was interested in showing that the Davidic covenant was not a conditional covenant. 25 S. Abramsky, The Beginning of the Israelite Monarchy and its Impact upon Leadership in Israel (Jerusalem, 1977), p. 161 (Hebrew). 26 The verb ‫ סור‬which recurs three times in our chapter, hints to 1 Sam. 16.14 as well: “the Spirit of the Lord departed from Saul”. Compare also 1 Sam 13:7–14; 18:12; 28:15,16.

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tion. In my opinion, this conditionality reflects both a short and long–term vision. In the short–term run, the worthiness of every king from David’s house will be evaluated during his reign. If he and his generations are found deserving, then his kingship would continue and would be secured. If not, he and the nation would be punished.27 On the contrary, in the long–term, God and David’s covenant assuring the dynasty’s continuity would be preserved forever. It is difficult to believe that the promise to David effectively assured the unconditional immutability of his house regardless of the individual behavior of kings from David’s line. This type of promise encourages passivity from the kings, as they are likely to rely on the existence of the covenant in any event, and not to make an effort to preserve it. The absence of demands on David and his offspring in 2 Sam 7 is not an automatic indication that David and his sons were exempt from consummate loyalty to God. David and his sons are a part of the Israelite nation, and there is no hint in 2 Sam 7 to the idea of granting privileges to them.28 The only differences between the book of Samuel and other books that deal with this promise are in the emphasis. There are verses that stress the aspect of the vassal (David) while others stress the aspect of the sovereign (God). The emphasis placed by the author of the book of Kings on the issue of stipulations does not imply that the Davidic promise in 2 Sam 7 was unconditional.29 Presumably, the author of Kings attempted to achieve one of his objectives in writing his book (to explain the exile and the destruction of the temple) and by doing so he underscores the conditionality more than the author of the book of Samuel.30 The author of Samuel, inversely, wanted to underscore the divine steadfast love enveloping God’s promise to David and his offspring, and so he downplayed the condition.31 27

Cf. D. G. Firth, 1 and 2 Samuel (AOTC; Nottingham and Downers Grove, 2009), p. 382. See Calderone, op. cit. (note 15), pp. 60–61. On the shared obligations of the nation and king, see H. Frankfort, Kingship and the Gods: A Study of Ancient Near Eastern Religion as the Integration of Society and Nature (Chicago, 1948), pp. 339–342; Knoppers, op. cit. (note 5), p. 93, n. 10. Knoppers points out that the best similarities to the dynastic promise come, in fact, from the treaties that include stipulation. Cf. G. E. Mendenhall and G. A. Herion, “Covenant”, ABD, I, pp. 1179–1202. They, however, explained the hinted conditionality in this verse as a later addition! For consideration of the expression “when he commits iniquity” as implication of the conditionality, see also L. M. Eslinger, House of God or House of David: The Rhetoric of 2 Samuel 7 (Sheffield, 1994), pp. 58–59; Knoppers, op. cit. (note 5), p. 99. Schniedewind admits that “Second Samuel 7:14b-15a may be a source for conditionalizing”. See W. M. Schniedewind, Society and the Promise to David: The Reception History of 2 Samuel 7:1–17 (New York, 1999), p. 109 (cf. also p. 162). 29 I cannot accept Van Seters’ claim that “David himself is never directly exhorted to obedience because Dtr regarded him as always having kept the law of God”. See J. van Seters, In Search of History: Historiography in the Ancient World and the Origins of Biblical History (New Haven, 1983), p. 307. In most cases of Biblical narrative, the evaluation of Biblical characters is not made explicitly. See I. Provan, V. P. Long, and T. Longman III, Biblical History of Israel (Louisville, 2003), p. 91. Cf. M. Sternberg, The Poetics of Biblical Narrative: Ideological Literature and the Drama of Reading (Bloomington, 1985), pp. 103, 122. 30 See similarly Kim, op. cit. (note 21), p. 350. 31 Cf. Eslinger, op. cit. (note 28), p. 7; J. R. Linville, “Rethinking the ‘Exilic’ Book of Kings”, JSOT 75 (1997), p. 37; J. Krašoveç, Reword, Punishment, and Forgiveness: The Thinking and Beliefs of Ancient Israel in the Light of Greek and Modern Views (Leiden, 1999), pp. 303– 28

THE DAVIDIC COVENANT

49

In my opinion, 2 Sam 7 cannot be read as isolated from its context – the book of Samuel. Reading the Saul narratives leads to the conclusion that the author regarded every royal covenant as conditional. Kings in Israel were not regarded as different in their obligations that other people in Israel. Saul’s rule could have been forever, according to 1 Sam 13:13, had he followed the prophets’ command.32 1 Sam 10–15 stress the king’s obligation to follow the prophet’s words if he wishes to continue ruling. In 1 Sam 12, the people were warned by Samuel that if the king did not fulfill the demands of the Torah, they would be obliterated. David himself was also involved with a threefold covenant in 2 Sam 5 in which three participants are mentioned: The King, God and Israel. Making the covenant in the Hebron Sanctuary ‫ לפני יהוה‬means that it was not a secular event but a religious one that involved the king’s oaths that he will be devoted to God.33 A threefold covenant is depicted also in 2 Kgs 11, where Joash, king of Judah is enthroned over Judah under the direction of Jehoiada, the priest.34 One should also be aware to the fact the in the Book of Samuel we have also other texts alluding to 2 Sam 7, dated as stemming from the 10th century BCE. I have in my mind 2 Sam 23:1–7. The expression ‫ ברית עולם‬has led some scholars to conclude that the covenant between David and God in 2 Sam 23 is unconditional, as in 2 Sam 7 and in Ps 89. However, it seems that the expression ‫ ברית עולם‬does not necessarily indicate an unconditional covenant. The Sinai covenant which was also made ‫ עד עולם‬is also conditional (Compare Isa 24:5: “for they have transgressed the laws, violated the statutes, broken the everlasting covenant”).35 Similarly, the word ‫( ערוכה‬well–organized in and properly explained) in v. 5 supports the assumption that the covenant between God and David is conditional. The word ‫ עולם‬should be put in a legal context, as is the meaning of the root ‫ ערך‬in Ps 50:21; Job 13:18; 23:4. The root ‫ שמר‬is widely used in connections with covenants, and it coveys keeping the covenant and fulfilling it. In this verse, David expresses confidence that God will fulfill His covenant with him, because he, David, is a “righteous ruler”.36 The absence of the “if” clause is by no means a proof of 2 Sam 7 being unconditional. When reading the Abraham narratives one may come to the same conclusion: since in Gen 15 there is no “if”, we must conclude that it was unconditional. However, when reading this story against the background of all the Abraham cycle, this conclusion seems unacceptable, since this covenant is made with him based on what he has done before and on condition that his obedience will continue.37 The main 309. 32 See M. Avioz, “Could Saul Rule Forever? A New Look at 1 Samuel 13:13–14”, in E. Ben Zvi (ed.), Perspectives in Hebrew Scriptures II: Comprising the Contents of Journal of Hebrew Scriptures, V (Piscataway, 2007), pp. 311–316. 33 See J. T. Willis, “David and Zion in the Theology of the Deuteronomistic History: Theological Ideas in 2 Samuel 5–7”, in B. F. Batto and K. L. Roberts (eds.), David and Zion: Biblical Studies in Honor of J. J. M. Roberts (Winona Lake, 2004), pp. 127–128. 34 P. Dutcher-Walls, Narrative Art, Political Rhetoric: The Case of Athaliah and Joash (Sheffield, 1996), p. 123. 35 For a discussion of the term ‫ עד עולם‬see my book Nathan’s Oracle (2 Samuel 7) and Its Interpreters (Bern, 2005). See also McKenzie, op. cit. (note 3), pp. 176–177. 36 For the date of David’s last words see the discussion in Avioz, ibid., pp. 62–67. 37 R. F. Youngblood, “The Abrahamic Covenant: Conditional or Unconditional?”, in M. Inch and R. F. Youngblood (eds.), The Living and Active Word of God: Studies in Honor of Samuel

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stories in which this covenant is tested are Gen 17 and Gen 22. This covenant is described in Lev 26 as conditional as well, and I agree with Milgrom38 that this text is not of a late post–exilic date. Furthermore, a notion may be present when the specific term for that notion is not itself present. We may give here two examples. (1) The word ‫“ נס‬miracle”, appears only once in the Hebrew Bible (Num 26:10). However, there are many miracle stories in the Hebrew Bible. The way in which one discerns them is not according to the occurrence of this particular word but according to a set of criteria that helps readers to discern the miracle narratives.39 (2) The same may be true as to the word ‫—ברית‬covenant. In 2 Sam 7 this word does not appear. However, many scholars regard this narrative as containing a covenant between God and David due to the allusions made to it by other sources. Again, the word itself is not necessary if there are other indications that the concept exists. It is my opinion that Nathan’s oracle should be dated to the 10th century BCE.40 The covenant between God and David contains elements of vassal treaties known to us from Hittite texts from the 13th century BCE.41 In addition, the description of a king who desires to build a house for his god is well attested in hymns and royal building inscriptions from the early beginnings of civilization. I would like to conclude with a quote from Davies’s monograph on treaties: “The Davidic covenant similarly has an inbuilt expectation of obedience”.42 Or in D. McCarthy’s words: This is not yet the expressly conditional form with spelled–out obligations of the treaty covenant, but there is more than the mere juxtaposition of religion and compact in the person of the king with which we began. The two elements are intertwined so that one practically is the other: David is the lord's chosen, holy, but his performance must match his status, protecting and observing the ‘law’, the ideals the hymns proclaim and the All Holy sanctions.43 Though the biblical authors are presumably aware of ancient Near Eastern covenants and treaties, this does not lead necessarily to the conclusion that they followed their pattern wholeheartedly. In the biblical record there is no distinction between conditional and unconditional covenants: all covenants are conditional either beJ. Schultz (Winona Lake, 1983), pp. 31–46. The covenant with Noah is also bilateral and conditional. See S. D. Mason, “Another Flood? Genesis 9 and Isaiah’s Broken Eternal Covenant”, JSOT 32 (2007), pp. 177–198. 38 J. Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27 (AB; New York, 2001), p. 2340. 39 See the thorough discussion of Y. Zakovitch, “Miracle (Old Testament)”, ABD, IV, pp. 845–856. 40 For dating the whole book of Samuel to the tenth century BCE see I. W. Provan, V. P. Long and T. Longman III, A Biblical History of Israel (Louisville, 2003), p. 59. 41 The Hittite analogies were overlooked by Sergi as well, who finds in 2 Sam 7 three different literary stages, and holds that “The Deuteronomistic redaction of Nathan’s oracle should be dated to the late 7th century”. See O. Sergi, “The Composition of Nathan’s Oracle to David (2 Samuel 7:1–17) as a Reflection of Royal Judahite Ideology”, JBL 129 (2010), p. 279. In fact, there are many points of contact between the Book of Samuel and Hittite literature. See, for example, D. T. Tsumura, The First Book of Samuel, (NICOT; Grand Rapids, 2007), passim. 42 J. A. Davies, A Royal Priesthood: Literary and Intertextual Perspectives on an Image of Israel in Exodus 19.6 (London, 2004). 43 D. J. McCarthy, Institution and Narrative: Collected Essays (Rome, 1985), p. 86.

THE DAVIDIC COVENANT

51

tween God and an individual or between God and a nation. There are minor differences of emphasis between the various texts, but they all stem from the same point of departure. Even if the texts in the Pentateuch were all written in the second Temple period, as some scholars would conclude, it still does not affect the interpretation of them as reflecting a conditional concept of the covenant.

III. Summary Nathan’s oracle in 2 Sam 7 is not fundamentally different from other Biblical covenants: it is a conditional covenant, even though the word ‘if’ is absent from it. There might be different reasons for this particular formulation, but this does not affect the classification of 2 Sam 7 as a covenant between God and David, in which the king is expected to observe all the commandments as a condition for everlasting rule for his dynasty.

ASSYRO-BABYLONIAN CONFLICTS IN THE REIGN OF AŠŠUR-RĒŠA-IŠI I THE CONTRIBUTION OF ADMINISTRATIVE DOCUMENTS TO HISTORY-WRITING

YIGAL BLOCH The Hebrew University of Jerusalem

I. Foreword1 Modern scholars attempting to reconstruct the history of ancient civilizations rely generally on literary sources, which present a chronologically ordered narrative of events pertaining to the field of their study. Indeed, those are literary sources that provide the basic outline of historical events. However, administrative sources—that is, documents recording routine collection and re-distribution of goods by the state —can complement the historical reconstruction, providing independent evidence of some events or indicating their historical context (including a more precise dating than could be achieved based on literary sources alone).2 1

The author is grateful to Prof. Gershon Galil for his invaluable help in the preparation of the article. 2 For a discussion of different genres of written sources and their contribution to the study of the history of ancient Mesopotamia, see M. Van De Mieroop, Cuneiform Texts and the Writing of History (London – New York, 2004), pp. 13–38. It should be noted that Van De Mieroop distinguishes between historiographic texts—i.e., those which appear to have been composed with the main intent of conveying a certain version of past events involving some political powers as protagonists—and other kinds of literary and scholarly texts, although he admits that “the distinction between historiographic texts and literature is far from clear-cut” (ibid., p. 27). For the purposes of the present study, we classify as literary all those Mesopotamian texts, whose content indicates that they were written for needs other than those of everyday economic, administrative or juridical activity. The latter fact implies that the authors of those texts could allow themselves much more license in making the recorded events fit the ideological agenda of their own or of the powers for which they were working, compared to the authors of the texts which had to serve as references for real-time economic or administrative activity. Of course, the greater possibility of biased recording in literary texts does not imply that no such sources can bear reliable testimony to the events recorded in them. Each source and each historical episode must be analyzed on their own merit, and if a coherent historical picture emerges from the content of literary sources supplemented by the evidence of administrative or economic documents, there is every reason to treat the relevant literary sources as basically reliable witnesses to the historical episode(s) under consideration. For a discussion of methodological problems involved in historical reconstruction based on literary sources see, e.g., W. W. Hallo, “The Limits of Skepticism”, JAOS 110 (1990), pp. 188–199; G. Beckman, “The Limits of Credulity”, JAOS 125 (2005), pp. 343–352.

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The goal of the present study is to explore the contribution of administrative documents to understanding the temporal framework and the historical context of the military conflicts between the two major Mesopotamian powers, Assyria and Babylonia, which took place in the late-12th century BCE, during the reign of the Assyrian king Aššur-rēša-iši I. However, before we begin our enquiry, a more general survey of the chronology of the relevant period in the history of Mesopotamia is necessary. It is commonly recognized that the Assyrian King List (AKL) provides the framework for reconstructing the chronology of Mesopotamia during the entire 2nd millennium BCE.3 This situation is due to the fact that the AKL presents an almost complete sequence of kings, with the lengths of their reigns specified, from the foundation of the Assyrian monarchy ca. 2000 BCE down to the 8th century BCE, at which point the absolute dates of the reigns of Assyrian kings can be calculated precisely (based on the known lists of Assyrian yearly eponyms covering the period 910–649 BCE and on the solar eclipse recorded for the month Simānu of the eponym year of Bur-Saggilê, which is conclusively identified with the eclipse that took place on the Julian date of June 15, 763 BCE).4 Yet, in the extant manuscripts of the AKL, the figures for the lengths of the reigns of some kings are lost due to gaps in the text, and for some other kings, different manuscripts preserve contradictory data.5 The gaps, which are not covered by any extant manuscript, pertain to the reigns of kings belonging to the 15th century BCE and earlier, and thus are irrelevant for our present study. As for the duration of the reigns of the kings belonging to the 13th–12th centuries BCE, for which mutually contradictory data are preserved in the extant manuscripts of the AKL, the present author has argued, in a recent study, that for each of those reigns, one of the attested figures can be adopted with certainty, or at least with a high degree of probability.6 The same study has also demonstrated that if the calendar practiced in Assyria in the 13th–12th centuries BCE, before the adoption of the Babylonian calendar during the reign of Tiglath-pileser I,7 was purely lunar (rather than luni-solar), then the period from the year, when the war between the Assyrian king Tukultī-Ninurta I and the Kassite Babylonian king Kaštiliaš IV ended with the capture of the latter by the former, to the antepenultimate regnal year of Tiglath-pileser I must have lasted 147 solar (Julian) years.8 The reign of Tiglath-pileser I forms a convenient reference 3

L. Sassmannshausen, “Babylonian Chronology in the 2nd Half of the 2nd Millennium B. C.”, in H. Hunger and R. Pruzsinszky (eds.), Mesopotamian Dark Age Revisited: Proceedings of an International Conference of SCIEM (Vienna 8th–9th November 2002), (Vienna, 2004), p. 66. 4 A. R. Millard, The Eponyms of the Assyrian Empire, 910–612 B.C. (SAAS 2; Helsinki, 1994), p. 2; I. Finkel and J. Reade, “Assyrian Eponyms, 873–649 BC.”, Orientalia 67 (1998), p. 251; H. Hunger, “Zur Datierung der neuassyrischen Eponhymenliste”, AoF 35 (2008), pp. 323–325. 5 For the text of the AKL, with parallel arrangement of entries from the extant manuscripts, see A. K. Grayson, “Königlisten und Chroniken. B. Akkadisch”, RlA 6 (1980–1983), pp. 101– 115. 6 Y. Bloch, “Solving the Problems of the Assyrian King List: Toward a Precise Reconstruction of the Middle Assyrian Chronology”, JAC 25 (2010), pp. 21–87. 7 For the adoption of the Babylonian calendar in Assyria in the reign of Tiglath-pileser I, see M. E. Cohen, The Cultic Calendars of the Ancient Near East (Bethesda, MD 1993), pp. 300– 301. 8 On the assumption that the capture of Kaštiliaš IV by Tukultī-Ninurta I took place in the 18th

ASSYRO-BABYLONIAN CONFLICTS

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point for chronological purposes, because the adoption of the Babylonian calendar during his reign and the absence of substantial gaps in the AKL for the period from Tiglath-pileser I down to the 8th century BCE makes it possible to date his reign in absolute terms, with near certainty, to 1114–1076 BCE.9 Another recent study by the present author has argued that the calendar practiced in Assyria in the 13th–12th centuries BCE was indeed purely lunar, with each year consisting of twelve lunar months (each of which lasted ca. 29.53 days on the average); the mean duration of the calendar year amounted thus to ca. 29.53 x 12 = ca. 354.36 days.10 This conclusion, together with the definite solution of the contradictions between the different manuscripts of the AKL for the reigns of the Assyrian kings of the 13th–12th centuries BCE, has enabled the present author to reconstruct a precise chronology of Assyria in the relevant period. The chrono-logical reconstruction proposed by the present author indicates, among other things, that the 18 regnal years of Aššur-rēša-iši I, recorded in the AKL, lasted from April 8, 1131 BCE, to September 24, 1114 BCE,11 and that the 18th regnal year of Tukultī-Ninurta I, when Kaštiliaš IV was captured, lasted from February 16, 1224 BCE, to February 5, 1223 BCE (Julian dates).12 As noted above, the conclusion that the Assyrian calendar in the 13th–12th centuries BCE was purely lunar entails that the period from the capture of Kaštiliaš IV to the antepenultimate regnal year of Tiglath-pileser I (inclusive) lasted 147 solar years. The antepenultimate regnal year of Tiglath-pileser I is the latest possible year, during which Marduk-šāpik-zēri, the seventh king of the Second Dynasty of Isin— the dynasty that ruled Babylonia after the demise of the Kassite dynasty—may have ascended the Babylonian throne, judging by an Assyrian chronicle fragment that narrates events of the reign of Tiglath-pileser I.13 Moreover, as one can observe from the Babylonian King Lists A and C, which are the main sources for reconstructing the chronology of Babylonia during the last two centuries of the Kassite dynasty and

regnal year of the latter, as argued by Y. Bloch, “The Order of the Eponyms in the Reign of Tukultī-Ninurta I”, Orientalia 79 (2010), pp. 9–25. 9 The absolute regnal dates of any king mentioned in the present study cover the period from the beginning of his first official regnal year to the beginning of his last official regnal year, unless specified otherwise. 10 Y. Bloch, “Middle Assyrian Lunar Calendar and Chronology”, in W. Horowitz, J. Steele and J. Ben-Dov (eds.), Calendars and Years, III (forthcoming). 11 Since in Mesopotamia, the first regnal year of a king was officially counted starting from the first New Year’s Day after his enthronement, Aššur-rēša-iši I must have ascended the throne shortly before April 8, 1131 BCE, and must have died before September 25, 1114 BCE, at which date the first regnal year of his successor, Tiglath-Pileser I, began. The period from the death of Aššur-rēša-iši I to September 25, 1114 BCE would be recognized as the accession year of Tiglath-pileser I (for the attestations of the term šurrû šarrūti/šurrât šarrūti “accession year” in the inscriptions of the Assyrian kings of the 13th–11th centuries BCE, see H. Tadmor, “The Campaigns of Sargon II of Assur: A Chronological-Historical Study”, JCS 12 [1958], pp. 27–28). 12 Bloch, op. cit. (note 10), table 4. 13 J.-J. Glassner, Mesopotamian Chronicles (Atlanta, 2004), no. 15. For the interpretation of this chronicle fragment as indicating that the enthronement of Marduk-šāpik-zēri took place not later than in the antepenultimate regnal year of Tiglath-pileser I, see Bloch, op. cit. (note 6), p. 74, n. 48.

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the first century of the Second Dynasty of Isin, respectively,14 the reigns of the Babylonian kings from Ellil-nādin-šumi (the vassal king installed by the Assyrians after the capture of Kaštiliaš IV) to Marduk-nādin-ahhē (the father and the predecessor of Marduk-šāpik-zēri on the throne) add up to 147 years exactly.15 The last result indicates that Marduk-nādin-ahhē must have died, and Mardukšāpik-zēri ascended the Babylonian throne, precisely in the antepenultimate regnal year of Tiglath-pileser I—i.e., in the 37th regnal year of the latter, out of the total 39 years of reign recorded for him in the AKL. Since the reign of Tiglath-pileser I is to be dated, in absolute terms, to 1114–1076 BCE, and since by the end of his reign Assyria had, in all likelihood, already used the luni-solar Babylonian calendar with the year beginning in spring (in the month Nisannu),16 the death of Marduk-nādinahhē and the accession of Marduk-šāpik-zēri must have taken place within the year that lasted from the spring of 1078 to the spring of 1077 BCE. Based on this conclusion, and on the data of the Babylonian King Lists A and C, one is now able to calculate the precise dates of the reigns of the Babylonian kings from the 13th to the early-11th centuries BCE. Since our present discussion deals only with the period spanning the late-12th century BCE, we will limit our reconstruction of the Babylonian chronology to the early kings of the Second Dynasty of Isin (from the dynasty’s founder, Marduk-kabit-ahhēšu, to Marduk-nādin-ahhē, whose death in 1078/7 BCE forms one of the anchor points of the Babylonian chronology of the 13th–11th centuries BCE). The absolute regnal dates of these kings, calculated based on the durations of their reigns specified in the Babylonian King List C, are presented in the following table: Marduk-kabit-ahhēšu Itti-Marduk-balāṭu Ninurta-nādin-šumi Nebuchadnezzar I Ellil-nādin-apli Marduk-nādin-ahhē

1153–1136 BCE17 1135–1128 BCE 1127–1122 BCE 1121–1100 BCE 1099–1096 BCE 1095–1078 BCE

Table 1: The absolute regnal dates of the Babylonian kings in the late-12th – early-11th centuries BCE

These dates, together with the regnal dates of Aššur-rēša-iši I (1131–1115 BCE) and Tiglath-pileser I (1114–1076 BCE), mentioned above, will form the basic chronological framework of the present study.

14

For the text of the Babylonian King Lists A and C, see Grayson, op. cit. (note 5), pp. 90– 97. 15 For the detailed calculation, see Bloch, op. cit. (note 6), pp. 74–78. 16 See above, note 7. 17 The regnal years of Marduk-kabit-ahhēšu, the founder of the 2nd Dynasty of Isin, are specified starting with the probable date of his enthronement in the city of Isin in southern Babylonia. His enthronement in Babylon would have taken place one year later, with the demise of Ellil-nādin-ahi, the last king of the Kassite dynasty—see Bloch, op. cit. (note 6), pp. 76–77.

ASSYRO-BABYLONIAN CONFLICTS

57

II. Assyro-Babylonian Wars in the Reign of Aššur-rēša-iši I: Literary Sources The known sources bearing directly on the relations between Assyria and Babylonia in the reign of Aššur-rēša-iši I are two chronicles, which speak of military conflicts between the two kingdoms.18 The more clear of the two, in historical terms, is a passage from the so-called Synchronistic History—a composition describing the history of Assyro-Babylonian relations, for the period spanning the 15th–8th centuries BCE, from a decidedly pro-Assyrian viewpoint: 1")

[. . .]-ti-iš ṭu-ub-ta su-[lum-ma-a ga-am-ra it-ti a-ha-meš iš-ku-nu] 2")┌manu-ma┐ a-na KUR-šú GUR ar-ki-šu mdMU[ATI-ku-dúr-PAP] 3") ni-pí-še-šu iš-šá-a a-na Za-an-qi bir-ti ša KUR[Aš-šur] 4") a-na ka-šá-di il-li-ka mAš-šurSAG-i-ši MAN KURAš-šur 5") GIŠGIGIR.MEŠ-šu id-ka-a a-na UGU-šú a-na ala-ki 6") mdMUATI-ku-dúr-PAP áš-šu ni-pí-še la-a pu-a-gi-šú ina IZI iš-ru-up 7") is-hur-ma a-na KUR-šu i-tur 8") mdMUATI-ku-dúr-PAP-ma GIŠGIGIR. <MEŠ> ù zu-ki a-na I-di bir-ti 9") ša KURAš-šur a-na ka-šá-di il-li-ka mAš-šurSAG-i-ši 10") GIŠGIGIR.MEŠ zu-ki a-na né-ra-ru-te iš-pu-ur 11") it-ti-šú i-duk a-bi-ik-tú-šu iš-kun ÉRIN.HI.MEŠ-šú i-duk 12") uš-ma-an-šú e-bu-uk 40 GIŠ GIGIR.MEŠ-šú hal-lu-up-tum ú-te-ru-ni 13") mKARAŠ-tu a-lik pa-an ÉRIN.HI-šú iṣ-ba-tu-ni [. . . They concluded] a mutual agreement [and a total peace]. Everyone returned to his country. Later Ne[buchadnezzar (I)] brought up his siege machines and marched on Zanqi, a fortress [of Assyria], in order to take it. King Aššur-rēša-iši of Assyria mobilized his chariots to march on him. Nebuchadnezzar burned (his own) siege machines in order to avoid their capture, retreated, and went back to his country. Nebuchadnezzar marched on Īdu, a fortress of Assyria, with his chariots and infantry in order to take it. Aššur-rēšaiši sent chariots and infantry to the rescue, engaged battle, inflicted him a total defeat, massacred his soldiers, (and) carried away the camp and forty of 18

The genre of chronicles in Mesopotamian recording of history is defined in the following way by J-J. Glassner, in a recent edition of texts belonging to this genre: “Three basic traits characterize chronicles. (1) They were written in prose, in the third person. . . (2) Priority was given to time. The essential thing was to note the date of every event selected. . . (3) Brevity was the norm. Restricting themselves to the events they summarized, and running the risk of appearing brief to the point of atomization, chronicles were a kind of handbook that reduced history to a series of facts” (Glassner, op. cit. [note 13], p. 38). The applicability of this definition as the criterion for the selection of the texts included in Glassner’s edition may be questionable (see J. A. Brinkman, “Glassner’s Mesopotamian Chronicles”, JAOS 115 [1995], pp. 667–668; this is a review of the original French edition of Glassner’s book published in 1993). However, Glassner’s definition does fit the texts that will be classified as chronicles in the present study (although one should note that some of those texts do not point out the precise dates of the events they record, specifying instead the temporal framework of the events in vaguer terms); and in any event, the literary nature of those texts—their raison d’être as records intended for acquainting the reader with some aspects of being that stretch beyond the immediate necessities of everyday life and management of property—is not in doubt.

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his chariots with (their) equipment. His general, Karaštu (?), was taken prisoner.19 The sequence of the events narrated here is easily comprehensible: the kings of Assyria and Babylonia concluded a mutual agreement sometime before or during the reign of Nebuchadnezzar I, then Nebuchadnezzar I violated the agreement by attacking Assyrian fortresses but suffered a defeat at the hands of the Assyrian army under the command of Aššur-rēša-iši I. The fortresses Zanqu/Zaqqu and Īdu20 can now be securely located to the east of the Tigris, in the vicinity of the Lower Zāb.21 While general skepticism toward the glorification of the military victories of the Assyrian kings in the Syncrhonistic History is advisable, there seems to be no specific evidence that would undermine the historical reliability of this account. The other source speaking of hostilities between Assyria and Babylonia in the reign of Aššur-rēša-iši I is a Middle Assyrian chronicle fragment, VAT 10281. If the obverse and the reverse of the text were correctly identified by Ernst Weidner in the original publication of this text,22 the passage of relevance for our present discussion —indeed, the only passage of the text, for which a relatively continuous reading can be offered—appears in the final, fourth column of the text (the leftmost column of the reverse): 5)

[. . .] ┌i┐-duk 6) [x x (x)] ┌x x┐ [h]u-ri-ib-te 7) ┌i┐-d[uk] ┌i┐-na MU-ma ši-ati Aš-šur-SAG-i-ši MAN KUR[Aš-šur] 9) hu-ra-su.MEŠ GIŠGIGIR.MEŠ-šu 10) ┌ ┐ il -q[é-ma a-n]a URULÍM.DINGIR 11) il-li-ka m[dNIN.UR]TA-SUMMU.MEŠ 12) MAN KURKar-du-ni-[ia]-áš 13) a-l[ak mAš-šur-S]AG-i-┌ši MAN┐ K UR [ Aš-šur] 14) iš-me-ma É[RIN].MEŠ-šu 15) e-mu-qe-šu ù [x x x x (x)] 16)┌ x x┐ KURKar-du-ni-[ia-áš] 17) in-na-bi-du ┌x┐ [x x (x)] ┌ ┐8) m

19

Glassner, op. cit. (note 13), no. 10, ii 1"–13" (manuscript A). The transliteration and the translation given here follow those of Glassner, except that we understand the partly preserved signs ┌ma-nu-ma┐ at the beginning of l. 2" (see the hand-copy of the text in CT XXXIV 39) as the pronoun mannumma “each, everyone” (following CAD M/1, p. 218b, s. v. mannu, 3). 20 Zanqi and Īdi, in the genitive, in the text of the Synchronistic History. 21 J. Llop and A. George, “Die babylonisch-assyrische Beziehungen und die innere Lage Assyriens in der Zeit der Auseinandersetzung zwischen Ninurta-Tukulti-Aššur und MutakkilNusku nach neuen keilschriftlichen Quellen”, AfO 48–49 (2001–2002), pp. 12–13, accepted the identification of Īdu with modern Hīt on the Middle Euphrates, and argued that Zanqu/Zaqqu is to be located in the same region. Consequently, Llop and George (ibid., p. 13, n. 76) rejected the identification of the fortress of Zaqqu with URUZa-a-qu in an Assyrian document from the 8th century BCE (L. Kataja and R. Whiting, Grants, Decrees and Gifts of the Neo-Assyrian Period [SAA 12; Helsinki, 1995], no. 72, rev. 8), because the latter town must have been located in the vicinity of Arbail (modern Arbil), to the northeast of Aššur. However, recent epigraphic discoveries at the site of Satu Qala, on the northern bank of the Lower Zāb, ca. 40km to the southeast of Arbil, have demonstrated that this site is to be identified with the provincial center Īdu mentioned in Assyrian sources of the 12th century BCE (W. van Soldt, “The Location of Idu”, NABU 2008/55, pp. 72–74). This makes the identification of the fortress of Zaqqu/Zanqu with URUZa-a-qu, and its location somewhere between Arbil and the Lower Zāb, very likely. 22 E. Weidner, “Ein neuer assyrisch-babylonischer Synchronismus”, AfO 4 (1927), pp. 213– 217.

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[. . .] he killed. [. . . in (?) the d]esert he ki[lled]. In that year, Aššur-rēša-iši (I), king of [Assyria], his soldiers (and) his chariots too[k and t]o Arbail he marched. [Ninu]rta-nādin-šumi, king of Karduniaš, heard of the appro[ach of Aššur-r]ēša-iši (I), king of [Assyria]. His t[roop]s, his forces and [. . .] Karduni[aš] they fled [. . .] 23 Here, the antagonist of Aššur-rēša-iši I is Ninurta-nādin-šumi, the father of Nebuchadnezzar I and his predecessor on the Babylonian throne.24 The fragmentary state of the tablet does not allow full reconstruction of the text, but even in most of those instances where the preserved signs and the context do not dictate a fairly certain restoration of the gaps in the text, reasonable conjectures can be made concerning the original content of those gaps. Thus, the overall genre of the text (a chronicle recording royal deeds) and the use of the form idûk “he killed” in l. 5 make it very likely that the two partly preserved signs at the beginning of l. 7 are also to be read as ┌i┐-d[uk].25 With this reading in mind, the restoration of the last word in l. 6 as [h]uribte “desert, uninhabited place” (in the genitive, Assyrian form) is most probable.26 In l. 15, the sign Ù stands most likely for the conjunction u “and”,27 which means that what followed this sign was probably another designation for Ninurtanādin-šumi’s army or part thereof (continuing the collocation that began with um[mān]ātešu emūqēšu “his t[roop]s, his forces” in ll. 14–15).28 At the beginning of l. 16, traces of two signs are visible in Weidner’s hand-copy before the designation for Babylonia (KURKarduni[aš]),29 and restoration ┌a-na┐ “to” appears most likely, 23

Glassner, op. cit. (note 13), no. 15, iv? 5–17. Transliteration follows Glassner, but is corrected according to the hand-copy of Weidner, op. cit. (note 22), p. 215. Translation follows A. K. Grayson, Assyrian and Babylonian Chronicles (TCS 5; Locust Valley, NY 1975), p. 188. Grayson’s translation is superior to that of Glassner in reflecting the syntax of the Akkadian text (see below, note 30). 24 The last element of Babylonian king’s name appears in the text in plural: m[dNIN.UR]TASUM-MU.MEŠ, which would be rendered literally as [Ninu]rta-nādin-šumāti. However, the use of the determinative of plurality (MEŠ) at the end of the name is probably a scribal error (Grayson, op. cit. [note 23], p. 188). 25 Indeed, this reading is specified in all the previous editions of the text: Weidner, op. cit., (note 22), p. 214; Grayson, op. cit. (note 23), p. 188; Glassner, op. cit. (note 13), p. 188. 26 This restoration was originally proposed by R. Borger, Einleitung in die Assyrische Königsinschriften, I: Das zweite Jahrtausend v. Chr. (Handbuch der Orientalistik I/V, 1/1; Leiden, 1961), p. 106. Perusal of K. Hecker, Rückläufiges Wörterbuch des Akkadischen (Wiesbaden, 1990), p. 281, indicates that [h]uribte is almost the only reading that can fit the context of the chronicle fragment VAT 10281. The only possible alternative is [n]ērebte “mountain pass” (for this meaning see AHw, p. 780a, s. v. nērebtu(m), 3; CAD N/2, pp. 174b– 175a, s. v. nērebtu, b). However, the traces of the sign preceding RI/RE on the hand-copy of the tablet published by Weidner, op. cit. (note 22), p. 215, fit the sign HU but appear not to fit the sign NE. 27 Uses of the sign Ù other than for the conjunction “and” are rare (see W. F. von Soden and W. Röllig, Das Akkadische Syllabar3 [AnOr 42; Rome, 1976], no. 264). 28 As Weidner’s hand-copy makes clear, the damaged final part of l. 15 after ù cannot have contained more than four or five signs. Weidner’s hand-copy indicates traces of some three signs at the end of the line, but collation of the tablet by Grayson, op. cit. (note 23), p. 188, indicates that no traces are any longer visible at this point. 29 Weidner, op. cit. (note 22), p. 215.

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which would yield: um[mān]ātešu emūqēšu u [. . .] ┌ana┐ KURKarduni[aš] innabidū, “His t[roop]s, his forces and [. . .] fled ┌to┐ Babylonia”, in ll. 14–17. 30 However, the content of the chronicle fragment raises several questions. All references to huribtu “desert” as a specific region in Assyrian sources locate this region in the steppe/semi-desert areas of Upper Mesopotamia, to the west of the Tigris, or in the vicinity of the Middle Euphrates.31 It is unlikely that this term would be applied to the rain-fed plain between the Upper and the Lower Zāb, on which the city of Arbail (modern Arbil) is located. Thus, whatever the Assyrian king did in the desert,32 his march on Arbail with his army cannot have been part of the same activity. What motivated that march? Moreover, what did the march of Aššur-rēša-iši I on Arbail have to do with Ninurta-nādin-šumi, whose kingdom’s territory lay far to the south of that city? And if our understanding of ll. 14–17 of the passage cited above is correct—i.e., if the Babylonian army fled back to the home country with the advance of Aššur-rēša-iši I on Arbail—where was it stationed before that episode, and how did it get there? The city of Arbail appears to have belonged to Assyria at least from the 14th century BCE. The battles between Ellil-nērārī king of Assyria (1322–1313 BCE)33 and Kurigalzu II king of Babylonia took place at the site of Sugagu on the Tigris, a day’s journey (ca. 25km) south of Aššur,34 and in the province of Kilizi, which was located to the northeast of Aššur, between the lower courses of the Upper and the Lower Zāb.35 Both these locations are well to the southwest of Arbail. During the one-year-long reign of Mutakkil-Nusku, the father of Aššur-rēša-iši I (1132/1 BCE), the town of Sišil, located probably south of the Lower Zāb, served as the residence of Mutakkil-Nusku’s brother, Ninurta-tukulti-Aššur, whom Mutakkil-Nusku had deposed from the Assyrian throne and who relied, to some extent, on Babylonian

30

Given the syntax of the sentence and the size of the gaps at the end of l. 15 and the beginning of l. 16, it is unlikely that these gaps had originally contained any verbal form in addition to the elements, whose original presence in the gaps is proposed here. Thus, the translation of the relevant lines by Glassner: “He [. . .] his [troops]. His forces and [. . .] Karduniaš [. . .] fled [. . .]” (Glassner, op. cit. [note 13], p. 189), cannot be sustained. 31 See CAD H, p. 251a–b, s. v. huribtu, a; add to this the mention of huribtu “desert” in Upper Mesopotamia (in the general region between the Khabur triangle and the Euphrates) in a Middle Assyrian letter from Tell Šēḫ Ḥamad/Dūr-Katlimmu (BATSH 4, no. 13, l. 21). 32 It is likely that the verbal form idûk in ll. 5, 7 had Aššur-rēša-iši I as its subject, since the whole chronicle VAT 10281 narrates the deeds of this king (who is also explicitly mentioned in col. i of the text, l. 9'). Perhaps the activity of the Assyrian king in the desert involved hunting wild animals—cf. the mention of the same activity in a royal inscription of TukultīNinurta II (890–884 BCE), cited in CAD H, p. 251a, s. v. huribtu, a. 33 Following the chronology of H. Gasche et al., Dating the Fall of Babylon: A Reappraisal of Second-Millennium Chronology (A Joint Ghent – Chicago – Harvard Project), (Ghent – Chicago, 1998), p. 63, raised by a year for the period preceding the reign of Aššur-rēša-iši I— see Bloch, op. cit. (note 10), note to table 4. 34 According to the Synchronistic History—see Glassner, op. cit. (note 13), no. 10, i 18'-23' (manuscript A). For the location of Sugagu, see Kh. Nashef, Répertoire Géographique des Textes Cunéiformes, V: Die Orts- und Gewässernamen der mittelbabylonischen und mittelassyrischen Zeit (TAVO Beiheft B 7, 5; Wiesbaden, 1982), p. 235. 35 According to a Middle Assyrian chronicle fragment—see Glassner, op. cit. (note 13), no. 11. For the location of Kilizi, see K. Radner, “Provinz. C. Assyrien”, RlA 11/1–2 (2006), pp. 44, 46–47.

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support.36 Sišil was probably adjacent to the boundary between Babylonia and Assyria, but this boundary still must have passed dozens of kilometers south of Arbail.37 Hence, it is difficult to assume that in the reign of Aššur-rēša-iši I, the city of Arbail lay in a zone of Babylonian hegemony. A direct attack on Arbail in an outright Babylonian invasion of Assyria would be also unlikely, since the capital city of Aššur, located ca. 100km southwest of Arbail, would be a much easier target for such an invasion. Thus, the most reasonable interpretation of the march of Aššur-rēša-iši I on Arbail, recorded in the chronicle fragment VAT 10281, is that this march was occasioned by a rebellion, which broke out in the city and was supported, to some extent, by a Babylonian army. In fact, while there is no source that speaks explicitly of a rebellion in Arbail in the reign of Aššur-rēša-iši I, several administrative documents from his reign offer indirect evidence suggestive of such a rebellion. It is to these documents that we will turn now.

III. A Revolt in Arbail in the Reign of Aššur-rēša-iši I? The Evidence of Administrative Documents 1. The Eponym Year of Berê and the Subsequent Years As is well known, Assyrian documents are dated by eponyms (līmu)—officials of the kingdom, each of whom gave his name to a specific year. Sometimes, the yearly eponym was not designated in proper time, and a year was recorded after the name of the eponym of the preceding year, “the eponymy after PN” (līmu ša urki PN, līmu arkat PN). Moreover, occasionally, a sequence of several eponym-less years would occur. This happened when the eponyms for several successive years could not be designated in due time, probably because of political disturbances affecting the Assyrian royal court or the city of Aššur.38 One of the eponyms, after whom a sequence of eponym-less years is attested, is Berê. There are known records for “the eponymy after Berê” (līmu ša urki Berê) and “the second eponymy after Berê” (līmu šanû ša urki Berê). Helmut Freydank dated the eponym Berê to the reign of Aššur-rēša-iši I.39 A more precise dating can be determined now. The first step in this direction is the document VAT 19930 (MARV VI 85),40 which records deliveries of agricultural produce that was probably due for the regular of36 For a discussion of the situation in Assyria during the reign of Mutakkil-Nusku, based on the so-called Mutakkil-Nusku Letter—a literary text rather than a genuine diplomatic letter of a Babylonian king to his Assyrian counterpart—see Llop and George, op. cit. (note 21), pp. 1–23. For an analysis of the chronological framework of the reigns of Ninurta-tukulti-Aššur and Mutakkil-Nusku, see Bloch, op. cit. (note 6), pp. 55–64. 37 For the location of Sišil, see Llop and George, op. cit. (note 21), pp. 16–17. 38 H. Freydank, Beiträge zur mittelassyrischen Chronologie und Geschichte (SGKAO 21; Berlin, 1991), pp. 101–102. 39 Ibid., pp. 126–127. 40 Documents published in the Mittelassyrische Rechtsurkunden und Verwaltungstexte (MARV) series will be cited, on their first mention, by their registry number in Vorderasiatisches Museum zu Berlin and by their publication number in the MARV series. Subsequently, they will be cited by their publication number only. The document published by Helmut Freydank as MARV VI 85 was later re-published by him, in the same form, as MARV VII 98.

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ferings (ginā’ū) in the temple of the god Aššur in the city of Aššur.41 The first lines of the document read as follows: 1)

[. . .] ┌x x ú ša┐ KUR ┌Ki┐-li-ze 2) [ša pi-i ṭup-pe] ṣa-bi-it-te ša mIBILA-ia [. . . x+]23 ANŠE ┌še-um┐.MEŠ LAL-ú 4) [. . .] ┌x┐ ša pi-i ṭup-pe ṣa-bi-it-te 5) [ša? mAš]-šur-šal-lim-┌šu┐-nu EN pa-he-te 3)

[. . .] of the province of Kilizu [in accordance with] an officially binding [document] of Aplīya. [. . . x+]23 homers ([x+] ca. 2,300 liters)42 of barley missing [. . .] in accordance with an officially binding document43 [of (?)] Aššur-šallimšunu, the provincial governor. (MARV VI 85, 1–5) The continuation of the document is heavily damaged, but from what is preserved it is clear that the deliveries were made over the course of several years, or covered debts incurred in those years. The specific years mentioned are the eponym year of Berê (┌ša li┐-me mBe-re-┌e┐, l. 24') and the eponym year of Ninurta-nādinapli (ša li-me mdMAŠ-[SUM-I]BILA, l. 25'). In the following lines, at least three eponym years are mentioned, but the collocation li-me m[. . .] (ll. 33"–35") is always broken right after the personal name determinative, so that it is impossible to know what those eponym years were.44 In any event, from ll. 24'–25' of the document it appears that the eponym year of Berê preceded that of Ninurta-nādin-apli. The eponym year of Ninurta-nādin-apli, in turn, can be dated based on the document VAT 20264 (MARV VIII 50). This document (obv. 5-7), also much damaged, records the delivery of 5)

[. . .] gi-┌na-ú┐ [pa?]-an-ú-┌tu? ┐ 6) [. . .] iš-tu ┌li-me mdMAŠ-SUM┐-IBILA [. . . a-d]i ┌li┐-me mIš-tu-Aš-š[ur]-a-┌šam-šu┐ [. . .] the [pr]evious (?) regular offerings [. . .] from the eponym year of Ninurta-nādin-apli [. . . t]o the eponym year of Ištu-Aššur-ašāmšu. 7)

41

For the duty incumbent on each Assyrian province to supply agricultural produce for the regular offerings in the temple of Aššur, see H. Freydank, “Mittelassyrische Opferlisten aus Assur”, in H. Waetzoldt and H. Hauptmann (eds.), Assyrien im Wandel der Zeiten: XXXIXe Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Heidelberg 6. –10. Juli 1992 (HSAO 6; Heidelberg: 1997), pp. 47–52; idem., “Anmerkungen zu mittelassyrischen Texten, 5”, AoF 33 (2006), pp. 218–221. 42 The Middle Assyrian measure of homer (emāru) consisted of ten measures of seah (sūtu), and the measure of seah consisted of ten measures of qû. The measure of qû is approximately equal to 1 liter (although it may have consisted of only ca. 0.84 liters). See F. A. M. Wiggermann, “Agriculture in the Northern Balikh Valley: The Case of Middle Assyrian Tell Sabi Abyad”, in R. M. Jas (ed.), Rainfall and Agriculture in Northern Mesopotamia (MOS Studies 3): Proceedings of the Third MOS Symposium, Leiden 1999 (Publications del’Institut historique-archéologique néerlandais de Stamboul 88; Leiden, 2000), p. 186. 43 For the understanding of the collocation ṭuppu ṣabittu (in the nominative) as “officially binding document”, see J. N. Postgate, “Middle Assyrian Tablets: the Instruments of Bureaucracy”, AoF 13 (1986), pp. 18–23. 44 MARV VI 85, 27', records the name Aššur-aha-iddina ([. . .m]┌d┐Aš-šur-ŠEŠ-SUM-na). Yet, although this name appears in proximity to the eponym names in ll. 24'–25', the signs fol┌ ┐ lowing this name should probably be read as m[ah-r]u- ni , “(that which) w[as rec]eived” (in the subjunctive). Consequently, Aššur-aha-iddina may have been not an eponym but an official who received the delivered produce.

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The eponym year of Ištu-Aššur-ašāmšu has been dated by Freydank, based on another Middle Assyrian administrative document, VAT 21002 (MARV VII 42), immediately after the eponym year of Tiglath-pileser I.45 Since in the Middle Assyrian period, Assyrian kings normally carried out the office of the eponym in their first full regnal year,46 the eponym year of Ištu-Aššur-ašāmšu is probably to be equated with the second regnal year of Tiglath-pileser I (1113/2 BCE), and the eponym year of Ninurta-nādin-apli is to be placed shortly before the first regnal year of Tiglathpileser I. The eponym year of Berê, as noted above, is to be placed before the eponym year of Ninurta-nādin-apli, based on the document MARV VI 85. Moreover, as argued in a recent study by the present author, the document VAT 15581 and its fragmentarily preserved envelope (both published as MARV VI 86) indicate that the eponym year of Šamaš-apla-ēriš son of Aššur-šēzibanni—the year dating the transaction recorded in the document—had probably immediately preceded the eponym year of Tiglath-pileser I. That is, the eponym year of Šamaš-aplaēriš is to be equated with the year of the death of Aššur-rēša-iši I and the accession year of Tiglath-pileser I (1115/4 BCE).47 Hence, the eponym year of Šamaš-aplaēriš is to be placed between the eponym years of Berê and Tiglath-pileser I. The document MARV VI 86 will be discussed in detail in the next section of the present study. Meanwhile, it should be mentioned that the transaction recorded in this document is a delivery of barley for the regular offerings, which was due from the province of Arbail for the eponym year of Aššur-šallimšunu. Thus, the eponym year of Aššur-šallimšunu must have preceded the eponym year of Šamaš-apla-ēriš, in which the transaction took place. This sequence of eponyms, in itself, does not imply anything specific about the relative order of the eponym years of Berê and Aššur-šallimšunu; however, we will argue in the next section of the present article that the former eponym year had probably preceded the latter. In the light of the above, it might appear that the eponym year of Berê was separated from the eponym year of Tiglath-pileser I (which was also his first regnal year) by at least five years: “the eponymy after Berê”, “the second eponymy after Berê”, and the eponym years of Ninurta-nādin-apli, Aššur-šallimšunu and Šamaš-apla-ēriš. However, the problems impeding the orderly nomination of yearly eponyms after the eponym year of Berê could have been solved relatively early in the year of “the second eponymy after Berê”, and thus a new eponym could be nominated for the remaining part of that year. Of the eponym years surveyed thus far, there are only two candidates for identification with the later part of “the second eponymy after Berê”: the eponym years of Ninurta-nādin-apli and Aššur-šallimšunu. While for the eponym year of Ninurta-nādin-apli such possibility is ruled out by the evidence of known date formulae of Assyrian documents,48 for the eponym year of Aššur-šal45

H. Freydank, MARV VII (WVDOG 111; Saarbrücken, 2006), p. 10. Tadmor, op. cit. (note 11), p. 28, n. 53; I. Finkel and J. Reade, “Lots of Eponyms”, Iraq 57 (1995), p. 167. 47 Bloch, op. cit. (note 10), section V (and see below, n. 62) 48 The latest known date from “the second eponymy after Berê” is some day (number damaged) in the month Kuzallu, the fifth month of the Middle Assyrian calendar year; this date is recorded in the document VAT 20000 (MARV VII 91) from Aššur (see Freydank, op. cit. [note 38], p. 127). On the other hand, the earliest known date for the eponym year of Ninurtanādin-apli, in the document VAT 20187 (MARV IX 65), is to be read [IT]U! ┌qar-ra-tu┐ UD.12.K[ÁM] ┌li┐-mu mMAŠ-SUM-IBI[LA], “the month Qarrātu, day 12, the eponym year 46

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limšunu such possibility exists.49 If “the second eponymy after Berê” and the eponym year of Aššur-šallimšunu were different years, the eponym year of Berê would have preceded the first regnal year of Tiglath-pileser I by at least six years; if those were different designations for one and the same year, the minimal temporal distance between the eponym year of Berê and the first regnal year of Tiglath-pileser I would be reduced to five years only.50 In any event, the eponym year of Berê cannot be dated later than 1119/8 BCE. On the other hand, the eponym year of Berê is known to belong to the period when the Assyrian official Ezbu-lēšir served as the administrator of the regular offerings (rab ginā’ē) in the temple of Aššur; Ezbu-lēšir occupied the office of rab ginā’ē until shortly after the eponym year of Ninurta-aha-iddina (which was ca. the 17th regnal year of Tiglath-pileser I).51 Also, it appears that the “officially binding [document] of Aplīya” mentioned in MARV VI 85, 2–3, was issued by Aplīya in his capacity as the chief administrator (AGRIG GAL/mašennu rabi’u) of the royal palace in the city of Aššur.52 Aplīya is known to have occupied the office of mašennu rabi’u at least until about the 22nd regnal year of Tiglath-pileser I (i.e., at least until the eponym year of Taklāk-ana-Aššur).53 The offices of the administrator of the regular offerings and the chief administrator of the royal palace were some of the highest positions in the administrative hierarchy of the Middle Assyrian kingdom, and it stands to reason that Ezbu-lēšir and Aplīya rose to these high offices at a relatively advanced age. Consequently, it is not likely that Ezbu-lēšir and Aplīya survived long enough to occupy their respective offices for more than about three decades. Based on this, it is reasonable to assume that the eponym year of Berê, belonging to the period when Ezbu-lēšir was the adof Ninurta-nādin-apli” (rev. ll. 6'–7'); Qarrātu was the second month of the Middle Assyrian calendar year. The year, which was known by its second month as the eponym year of Ninurta-nādin-apli, could not have been recorded in its fifth month as “the second eponymy after Berê.” 49 The earliest known date for the eponym year of Aššur-šallimšunu appears in the document VAT 13083 (MARV IX 81) from Aššur as day 18 of the month Bēlat-ekalli, the seventh month of the Middle Assyrian calendar year (see Freydank, op. cit. [note 38], pp. 122–123). It is possible that the year recorded in its fifth month as “the second eponymy after Berê” (see the preceding note) was known two months later as the eponym year of Aššur-šallimšunu, if the eponym had been nominated meanwhile. 50 This possibility amounts to elimination of the eponym year of Aššur-šallimšunu from the count of years that must be placed between the eponym years of Berê and Tiglath-pileser I. Thus, although we will argue in the next section of the present article that the eponym year of Aššur-šallimšunu had probably postdated the eponym year of Berê, this argument is not in fact crucial for pointing out the temporal limits, within which the eponym year of Berê must be placed. 51 For the list of the eponyms dating the period of the activity of Ezbu-lēšir as the administrator of the regular offerings in the temple of Aššur, see Freydank, op.cit. (note 38), pp. 79–80; for the dating of the eponym year of Ninurta-aha-iddina see ibid., p. 85. The demise of Ezbulēšir shortly after the eponym year of Ninurta-aha-iddina is evidenced by the document VAT 20036 (MARV VIII 59)—see H. Freydank, MARV VIII (WVDOG 119; Wiesbaden, 2007), p. 10. 52 For mašennu as the preferable reading—as opposed to the more common abarakku—of the logogram AGRIG [IGIxDUB] in Middle Assyrian documents, see S. Jakob, Mittelassyrische Verwaltung und Sozialstruktur: Untersuchungen (CM 29; Leiden–Boston, 2003), p. 94, n. 180. 53 Freydank, op. cit. (note 38), pp. 86, 88–89.

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ministrator of the regular offerings and Aplīya was the chief administrator of the royal palace, is not to be dated earlier than ca. ten years prior to the first regnal year of Tiglath-pileser I (1114/3 BCE). The criteria outlined above indicate that the eponym year of Berê is to be dated to the period from ca. 1124/3 to 1119/8 BCE. This period includes the second half of the reign of the Babylonian king Ninurta-nādin-šumi, who ruled, according to the chronological scheme outlined at the beginning of the present study, in 1127–1122 BCE. Thus, chronological criteria allow the dating of the events, described in the chronicle fragment VAT 10281 and involving Ninurta-nādin-šumi, to the eponym year of Berê or one of the two eponym-less years that followed it. Moreover, it appears that despite the problems, which impeded the orderly nomination of yearly eponyms following the eponym year of Berê, the communications of the capital city of Aššur with Assyrian provinces were not severed. Evidence for this comes from the administrative document VAT 20219 (MARV VIII 78), which reads as follows: 1)

1 3-BÁN LÀL.MEŠ! 2) 9 ANŠE ŠE.GIŠ.Ì.MEŠ.<> 3) 4 ANŠE 5-BÁN a-za-am-ru 4) gi-na-ú ša URU┌Ša-di-ka┐-[ni] 5) ┌ša┐ [l]i-┌me┐ m Be-re-e 6) [. . .] ┌x (x) ┐ 7) ┌x┐ [. . . li-me] 8) šá ┌EGIR┐ mBe-r[e]-┌e┐ 9) i+na ┌ ŠU┐ mdSa-am-nu-ha-[S]AG 10) DUMU dXXX-MU-SI.SÁ 11) ┌ša┐ URUŠa-dika-┌ni┐ 12) mEz-bu-SI.SÁ 13) GAL gi-na-e 14) ma-h[i]-ir 15) ITU al-la-na-tu UD.24.KÁM 16) l[i]-m[u š]á ┌EGIR┐ mBe-re-e 9 seahs (ca. 90 liters) of fruit syrup,54 9 homers (ca. 900 liters) of sesame, 4 homers 5 seahs (ca. 450 liters) of fruit—the regular offerings of the city Šadika[nni] for the [ep]onym year of Berê [. . . the eponymy] after Berê. From the hand of Samnuha-ašarēd son of Sîn-šumu-lēšir, of the city Šadikanni, Ezbu-lēšir, the administrator of regular offerings, has received (them). Month Allānātu, day 24, the ep[on]ym[y af]ter Berê. The city Šadikanni is identified with Tell ‛Ajāja, on the Middle Ḫābūr,55 and the document MARV VIII 78 indicates that in the year of “the eponymy after Berê” communications between Aššur and Šadikanni were carried out in an orderly way, which enabled the delivery of produce from Šadikanni for the regular offerings in the temple of Aššur. Thus, the disturbances that prevented the orderly nomination of eponyms for the year when MARV VIII 78 was written, and for the following year (“the second eponymy after Berê”) seem to have affected not the city of Aššur itself but some other part of Assyria. If the orderly nomination of eponyms was hindered by the king’s absence from the city of Aššur—e.g., due to the necessity to quench a 54

For the translation of Akkadian dišpu, rendered by the logogram LÀL, as “fruit syrup” rather than “honey”, see H. Freydank, “‘Honig’-Lieferungen für den Gott Aššur”, AoF 34 (2007), p. 70, n. 1, and the earlier literature cited there. 55 Nashef, op. cit. (note 34), pp. 241–242. The divine element Samnuha in the theophoric personal name Samnuha-ašarēd, attested in MARV VIII 78, re-surfaces in the name of Samnuha-šār-ilāni, the ruler of Šadikanni in the early 9th century BCE (see H. Kühne, “The Assyrians on the Middle Euphrates and the Ḫābūr”, in M. Liverani [ed.], Neo-Assyrian Geography [Rome, 1995], p. 76).

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revolt in Arbail—the situation reflected in MARV VIII 78 becomes fully comprehensible. 2. The Document MARV VI 86 and the Extraordinary Situation in the Province of Arbail The administrative documents discussed above indicate that some factors prevented the orderly nomination of the Assyrian yearly eponyms for two years following the eponym year of Berê, that if those factors were occasioned by political disturbances in the Assyrian kingdom (as seems likely), the said disturbances must have affected not the city of Aššur but some other part of the kingdom, and that chronological considerations demand the placement of the eponym year of Berê within the period 1124–1119 BCE, which partly corresponds to the second half of the reign of the Babylonian king Ninurta-nādin-šumi, 1127–1122 BCE. One may add that a liver omen text dated to the eponym year of Berê (KAR 152) mentions him as the provincial governor of Arbail,56 but we have still encountered no evidence of extraordinary political or military events in the province of Arbail in the eponym year of Berê or in subsequent years. Such evidence is provided by the document MARV VI 86 and its inscribed envelope, which have been already mentioned above. This document reads: 1)

2 ME 95 ANŠE 3-BÁN še-um.MEŠ 2) i+na GIŠ5-BÁN-ú-te 3) ┌gi-na-ú┐ ša LÍM.DINGIR 4) ša li-me mAš-šur-šal-lim-šu-nu 5) 1 ME 70 ANŠE 1 1-BÁN 6) ┌i┐+na GIŠ5-BÁN-te-ma 7) mu-ṭa-ú ša ŠÀ ṭup-pe-šu-nu 8) ṣa-bi-it-te 9) PAP 4 ME 1 šu-ši 6 ┌ANŠE┐ še-um.MEŠ 10) ┌gi-na┐-ú ša URU┌ LÍM.DINGIR┐ 11) ┌pa-he-te9┐-šu ù LAL-[ú]-┌šu┐-nu 12) ┌i+na ITU┐kuzal-le ┌ITU┐AB [U]D. ┌2┐5.KÁM 13) li-me mdUTU-┌IBILA-KAM┐ 14) ┌i┐+na ŠU Aš-┌šur┐-PAP ┌EN┐ pa-h[e-te] 15) [ša] a-ah Í[DH]ur-ri m┌d┐[MA]Š!-muGAL 16) ┌EN┐ pa-he-te ša ┌KURHab┐-ri-ú-ri 17) ù mHa-du-ú DUB.SAR 18) qepu ša ┌URULÍM┐.DINGIR 19) [. . . mEz-bu]-SI.SÁ 20) [. . . g]i-na-e 21) [. . . NÍG.Š]ID [x (x)] URU

295 homers 3 seahs (ca. 29,530 liters) of barley, by the five-seah measure, (are) the regular offerings of the city of Arbail for the eponym-year of Aššuršallimšunu. 170 homers 7 seahs (ca. 17,070 liters), also by the five-seah measure, (are) missing, according to the content of their officially binding tablet. Total: 466 homers (ca. 46,600 liters) of barley, (the quota of) the regular offerings of the city of Arbail (and) its province, including their miss[ing] (produce). In the month Kuzallu (which is) the month Kinūnu (Ṭebētu), [d]ay 25, the eponym year of Šamaš-apla-ēriš. Under the responsibility57 of Aššur-nāṣir, the governor of the prov[ince of] the bank of the Hurri river, [Ninu]rta-murabbi,58 the provincial governor of Habriuri, and Hadû the 56 [. . . l]i-mu mBe-re-e šá-kín KUR! URULÍM.DINGIR, “The eponym year of Berê, the provincial governor of Arbail” (KAR 152, rev. 36; see C. Saporetti, Gli eponimi medio-assiri [Bibliotheca Mesopotamica 10; Malibu, 1979], p. 153). 57 The collocation ina qāt (ŠU) PN (lit., “in the hand of PN”), attested here, appears to bear the same meaning as the collocation ša qāt PN (lit., “of the hand of PN”), which indicates that the person mentioned was in administrative charge of the matter or the commodity involved (see Postgate, op. cit. [note 43], p. 27). 58 The reading of the scribe’s name is problematic, because the two signs after the personal

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scribe—the commissioners of the city of Arbail. [. . . Ezbu]-lēšir [... re]gular offerings [. . . acco]unt [. . .] The text on the envelope of MARV VI 86 (only partly preserved), reads: 1')

[iš?-tu? ŠU?] ┌mHa-du┐-ú LÚ[DUB.S]AR [x x (x)] ┌x┐ [. . .] x LÍM.DINGIR mEz-bu-SI.SÁ ┌GAL gi-na-e┐ ┌x┐ i[m?-hur?. . .] 3') 1 ME 51 ANŠE še-┌um┐.MEŠ i+na GIŠ5-BÁN-┌te┐ 4') [i-n]a UGU mAš-šurPAP mdMAŠ-mu-GAL ù mHa-d[u]-ú 5') [E]N.MEŠ qe-pa-a-te ša URU LÍM.DINGIR ir-ti-ah 6') i+na ITUku-zal-le ITUAB UD.25.KÁM 7') li-me md UTU-IBILA-KAM DUMU dAš-šur-KAR-ni 8') NÍG.ŠI[D.MEŠ]-šu-nu iṣṣa-ab-tu 9') [NA4KIŠIB mdMAŠ-m]u?-GAL 10') [. . .] ┌x┐ ša 1 ME ┌51 ANŠE┐ [. . .] 2') ┌ ┐URU

[From the hand of (?)] Hadû, [the scr]ibe [. . . of] the city of Arbail, Ezbulēšir, the administrator of the regular offerings [. . .] has re[ceived (?). . .] 151 homers (ca. 15,100 liters) of barley, by the five-seah measure, remain to be owed by Aššur-nāṣir, Ninurta-murabbi and Hadû, the commissioners of the city of Arbail.59 In the month Kuzallu (which is) the month Kinūnu (Ṭebētu), day 25, the eponym year of Šamaš-apla-ēriš son of Aššuršēzibanni, their accounts have been settled.60 [Seal of Ninurta-m]urabbi (?) [. . .] of 151 homers [. . .] Both the document and the envelope record transactions that involved supply of barley for the regular offerings in the temple of Aššur from the province of Arbail; the document states that the barley in question was due from the province of Arbail for the eponym year of Aššur-šallimšunu. The transactions took place on day 25 of the Assyrian month Kuzallu, parallel to the Babylonian month Kinūnu/Ṭebētu,61 of the eponym year of Šamaš-apla-ēriš son of Aššur-šēzibanni (the patronymic of the name determinative at the end of l. 15 are damaged. We reconstruct the name as [Ninu]rtamurabbi because this name appears clearly in the envelope of MARV VI 86 (l. 4'), along with the other protagonists of the document: Aššur-nāṣir and Hadû. Consequently, we understand the horizontal wedge appearing right after the personal name determinative in l. 15 of the document as the beginning of the divine name determinative d(DINGIR), and the vertical wedge with traces of another wedge crossing it (possibly a slightly displaced horizontal wedge), after the damaged part on the surface of the tablet, as the concluding part of the sign MAŠ, a logogram for the divine name Ninurta. This is contrary to the reading specified by H. Freydank, MARV VI (WVDOG 109; Saarbrücken, 2005), p. 15: m┌Aš-šur┐-mu-GAL. 59 The collocation ina muhhi (UGU) PN indicates that a liability is incurred on a person (or a group of persons); in our case, the liability stems not from a private transaction concluded by the persons involved but from their administrative duties (cf. J. N. Postgate, “System and Style in Three Near Eastern Bureaucracies”, in S. Voutsaki and J. Killen [eds.], Economy and Politics in Mycenaean Palace States: Proceedings of a Conference Held on 1–3 July 1999 in the Faculty of Classics, Cambridge [Cambridge, 2001], pp. 191–193). 60 For the collocation nikkassē ṣabātu, “to settle accounts” (which appears here with the verb in the N-stem), see Postgate, op. cit. (note 43), pp. 34–35. 61 For the changing correspondences between the Assyrian and the Babylonian months in the period ca. 1120–1090 BCE, see Freydank, op. cit. (note 38), pp. 82–86; Bloch, op. cit. (note 10), section III.

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eponym is spelled out only in the envelope text). After the transaction recorded in the envelope text, the amount of barley still due from the province of Arbail for the regular offerings was smaller than the amount of barley still due from that province after the transaction recorded in the document (151 homers and 170.7 homers, respectively). Therefore, it appears that in the transaction recorded in the envelope, the scribe Hadû handed over to Ezbu-lēšir an additional amount of barley or some other commodity in lieu thereof (ll. 1'–2'), as result of which the debt of the province of Arbail was reduced. Further delivery of barley from the province of Arbail, which reduced the debt to 127 homers, appears to have been made by Aššur-nāṣir, the colleague of Hadû, in the eponym year of Tiglathpileser I, insofar as one can judge from another associated envelope fragment, VAT 15581a (also published under MARV VI 86; the seal impression on that envelope fragment is recorded as NA4KIŠIB mAš-šur-PAP!, “seal of Aššur-nāṣir,” in VAT 15581a, l. 2').62 What is most surprising about the document MARV VI 86 is that two of the three officials, responsible for the delivery of barley for the regular offerings from the province of Arbail, were governors of other provinces: Aššur-nāṣir, the governor of the province of the bank of the Hurri river and Ninurta-murabbi, the governor of the province of Habriuri. These officials, together with Hadû the scribe, are called in the document “commissioners of the city of Arbail.”63 In addition, the total amount of barley incumbent on the province of Arbail for the eponym year of Aššur-šallimšunu, 466 homers (according to the document MARV VI 86, 9-11), is exceedingly high. Other documents from the 12th century BCE, recording yearly deliveries of barley from the province of Arbail for the regular offerings in the temple of Aššur (along with similar deliveries from other provinces of the Middle Assyrian kingdom), invariably specify smaller amounts, ranging from ca. 211 to ca. 296 homers.64 62

This suggests that the eponym year of Šamaš-apla-ēriš preceded that of Tiglath-pileser I. The same correspondences between the Assyrian and the Babylonian months in the eponym years of Šamaš-apla-ēriš, Tiglath-pileser I and Ištu-Aššur-ašāmšu suggest that these were three successive years (Bloch, op. cit. [note 10], section V). 63 For the functions of qēpu, a functionary commissioned by the king or a high official on a certain task and responsible directly to the person who commissioned him, see Jakob, op. cit. (note 52), pp. 269–286. The plural form qēpū, appearing in MARV VI 86, 18, instead of the more common plural form qēpūtu, is attested elsewhere in a Middle Assyrian administrative document from Tell Šēḫ Ḥamad (BATSH 9, no. 87, l. 18). For the designation “com-missioner(s) of TN” (where TN is a toponym), cf. the mention of qēpu [ša] Kat[muhhi] in the document BM 122635+ from Nineveh (Jakob, op. cit. [note 52], pp. 268, 270, n. 63). In the envelope text MARV VI 86, 5', the same officials responsible for the province of Arbail are called bēlū qēpāte ša URUArbail, “the office-holders of the city of Arbail” (for qīptu, qēptu “office, position” see CAD Q, pp. 260b–261a, s. v. qīptu, 2). 64 The attested yearly deliveries of barley from Arbail are: 230.7 homers in VAT 18066 (MARV II 21), l. 2 (from the eponym year of Pa’uzu, to be dated probably to the first half of the 12th century BCE—see Freydank, op. cit. [note 41], pp. 218–221); 261.2 homers in VAT 15491 (MARV V 1), ll. 3–4 (from the eponym year of Sa[ggi’u]?); 295.9 homers in VAT 15492 (MARV V 2), ll. 3–4 (from another eponym year of Saggi’u, which appears to have been different from the eponym year dating MARV V 1—see Bloch, op. cit. [note 6], p. 37); 211.6? homers in VAT 19198 (MARV V 14), l. 3 (from the eponym year of Aššur-iddin); 295.9 homers in VAT 15487 (MARV V 67), ll. 3–4 (from the eponym year of Liptānu); 235 homers in VAT 19206 (MARV IX 12), l. 3 (from the eponym year of Salmānu-zēra-iqīša). All these documents are tables listing the contributions of agricultural produce: barley, fruit

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These data suggest that some political disturbances had occurred in the province of Arbail, as result of which the regular administration of the province by the local provincial governor was discontinued and the responsibility for the province was placed upon several officials appointed ad hoc as royal commissioners, some of whom functioned as the governors of neighboring provinces.65 Also, the amount of barley to be delivered by the province of Arbail yearly for the regular offerings in the temple of Aššur in the capital city of Aššur was significantly increased—probably as a fine imposed on the province in the wake of the disturbances that had affected it. As mentioned above, the eponym year of Aššur-šallimšunu, for which the province of Arbail had to deliver to the temple of Aššur 466 homers of barley, must have shortly preceded the first regnal year of Tiglath-pileser I. The same is true of the eponym year of Berê, who is attested as the provincial governor of Arbail and after whose eponym year Assyria appears to have experienced some political disorder, which however did not lead to severance of the communications between the capital city of Aššur and the western areas of the Assyrian kingdom. These considerations, taken together with the evidence of the chronicle fragment VAT 10281, suggest the following historical development: (1) In the very year when Berê, the Assyrian governor of the province of Arbail, carried out the office of the yearly eponym, he revolted against the king Aššur-rēša-iši I. In this revolt, he appears to have been supported by the Babylonian king Ninurta-nādin-šumi, who probably moved his army to the vicinity of Arbail (a move that would make little sense strategically, if an outright invasion of Assyria by the Babylonians were involved); (2) Aššur-rēša-iši I, who had been previously active somewhere in the western part of the Middle Assyrian kingdom (huribte “desert”, according to VAT syrup, sesame and fruit, for the regular offerings in the temple of Aššur by different provinces of the Middle Assyrian kingdom (for a discussion of this kind of documents, see the studies mentioned above, n. 41). In other documents of the same kind, the records for the deliveries from the province of Arbail are either not preserved or damaged to such an extent that it cannot be figured out, what quantity of barley they included: VAT 19938, 19921 (MARV VI 1, 82), VAT 19973, 20996 (MARV VII 6, 27), VAT 15483 (MARV VIII 24), VAT 19205, 19201, 19199, 19200 (MARV IX 1, 2, 6. 9). In two other documents: VAT 19208 (MARV V 4), l. 2, and VAT 15469 (MARV IX 80), l. 2, the rubric for the contribution of barley by the province of Arbail is left blank; however, MARV V 4 records not the whole yearly contributions of the provinces, but only the quantities of supplies that were missing (gi-na-e LAL.MEŠ, l. 28) at the point when the document was drawn up (see Freydank, op. cit. [note 41], p. 48, n. 22). 65 The province of Habriuri was located in the Herīr plain to the northeast of Arbil (Radner, op. cit. [note 35], p. 51). “The province of the bank of the Hurri river” is mentioned, beside MARV VI 86, only in two Middle Assyrian documents: VAT 20953 (MARV VI 54) and VAT 20306 (MARV VI 78), dated to the eponym years of Ina-ilīya-allak and Bēlu-libūr, respectively. Both these eponym years belong to the reign of Tiglath-pileser I and to the period when Ezbu-lēšir carried out the office of the administrator of the regular offerings in the temple of Aššur—i.e., to the first two decades of the reign of Tiglath-pileser I (see above, n. 51). Remarkably, in MARV VI 54 and 78, the province of the bank of the Hurri river is mentioned beside the province of Habriuri (see Freydank, MARV VI, p. 13). It is tempting to suggest that the province of the bank of the Hurri river was created during the rebellion of Arbail, out of some territories that had earlier belonged to the province of Arbail (and perhaps did not take part in the revolt). The precise location of the Hurri river is unclear.

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10281, iv? 6), marched with his troops to the vicinity of Arbail, which caused the retreat of the Babylonian army. Nevertheless, the fighting against the rebel provincial governor and his supporters continued for two years more, during which the orderly nomination of the yearly eponyms in Assyria was discontinued (probably due to the absence of the king from the capital city of Aššur); (3) After the rebellion was suppressed, the office of the provincial governor of Arbail was abolished for some time, and the administration of the province was entrusted to three officials: Aššur-nāṣir, Ninurta-murabbi and Hadû, the first two of whom were governors of neighboring provinces. In addition, the province of Arbail was punished by having its yearly quota of supplies for the regular offerings in the temple of Aššur significantly increased, as illustrated by the quota of 466 homers of barley imposed on the province of Arbail for the eponym year of Aššur-šallimšunu. While this scenario cannot be proven directly, it appears to accord best with all the available evidence pertaining to the last decade of the reign of Aššur-rēša-iši I, of which the evidence of administrative documents forms an important part. Of course, our scenario demands the eponym year of Aššur-šallimšunu to be dated a few years later than the eponym year of Berê, but this dating is not contradicted by any surviving documentary evidence.

IV. Ninurta-nādin-šumi’s Retreat to Babylonia and the Subsequent Development of Assyro-Babylonian Relations The historical scenario outlined above still leaves one question unanswered: if Berê, the Assyrian governor of Arbail, was assisted in his revolt against Aššur-rēša-iši I by the Babylonian king Ninurta-nādin-šumi, why did the latter’s army retreat at the mere approach of the Assyrian king’s troops? To be sure, the presentation of the events in this way in the chronicle VAT 10281 may reflect nothing more than Assyrian royal propaganda, and it should be noted that this chronicle appears not to have mentioned at all the rebellion of Arbail, which, according to our proposal, was the immediate cause of Aššur-rēša-iši I’s march on that city (probably because the mention of such a revolt would cast doubt on the image of the steadfastness of the Assyrian monarchy). Yet, it is indeed likely that Ninurta-nādin-šumi retreated to Babylonia without engaging in a significant fighting against the troops of Aššurrēša-iši I, and it is possible that this very disappearance of the Babylonian support at a crucial moment sealed the fate of the rebellion of Arbail. Analysis of this episode requires us to turn again to literary sources—more specifically, to the so-called Babylonian Chronicle 25. This chronicle, preserved in a single copy from the Neo-Babylonian period and narrating events that took place in Babylonia in the 13th–11th centuries BCE, was published by C. B. F. Walker in 1982, and has been re-published more recently, in transliteration and translation, by J.-J. Glassner.66 The following passage of Chronicle 25 is relevant for the question of Ninurta-nādin-šumi’s Assyrian campaign:

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C. B. F. Walker, “Babylonian Chronicle 25: a Chronicle of the Kassite and Isin II Dynasties”, in G. van Driel et al. (eds.), Zikir šumim: Assyriological Studies Presented to F. R. Kraus on the Occasion of His Seventieth Birthday (Leiden, 1982), pp. 398–417; Glassner, op. cit. (note 13), no. 46.

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19)

[. . .] ┌x┐ ŠEŠ/ÙRI ana Bal-tilKI ana KUR-di GIN-ik 20) [. . . ]NÀ.NÌ.DU.ÙRI u LÚDÙ.ME ib-bal-ki-tu-u-šú-ma 21) [. . . ana K]UR-šú u U[RU-šú i]-tur ina GI[ŠTUKUL GA]Z.ME-šú md

[. . .]-ahi/uṣur, marched to Baltil (Aššur) to conquer (it). [. . .] Nebuchadnezzar (I) and the nobles rebelled against him. [. . . re]turned [to] his [la]nd and [his] c[ity]. They [kill]ed him with the s[word].67 The citation given above does not offer any specific restoration for the broken parts of lines 19–21 of the chronicle, except those instances where such restorations are fairly obvious: the personal name and the divine element determinatives before the theophoric royal name [md]Nabû-kudurrī-uṣur (Nebuchadnezzar I), spelled logographically as [md]NÀ.NÌ.DU.ÙRI in l. 20, and the clauses [ana mā]tišu u ā[lišu i]tūr, “[he re]turned [to] his [la]nd and [his] c[ity]”, and ina GIŠ[kakki idū]kūšu, “they [kill]ed him with the s[word]”, in l. 21 (where parts of the logograms specifying most key words are preserved, thus enabling a relatively secure restoration of the whole clauses). The context of the passage indicates that the beginning parts of lines 19 and 21 contained the name of the Babylonian king, who undertook a campaign against Assyria, then was forced to abandon it in order to cope with a rebellion that broke out back at home, but ultimately failed and was killed by the rebels. The crucial question is what king was mentioned in the original text of the chronicle. Line 20 contained the name of the leader of the rebellion: it could have been someone with a family relation to Nebuchadnezzar I (in which case the broken beginning part of l. 20 must have contained the name of the rebel who seized the throne), or Nebuchadnezzar I himself (in which case the beginning part of l. 20 would have contained some other text). Walker, in his original publication of Chronicle 25, offered several possible sets of restorations for the beginnings of ll. 19–21. Of those, he finally adopted the restoration [mdEllil-nādin-apli mār mdNabû-kudur]rī-uṣur in the beginning of l. 19, [mdMarduk-nādin-ahhē ahi md]Nabû-kudurrī-uṣur in the beginning of l. 20, and [mdEllilnādin-apli ana mā]tišu in the beginning of l. 21.68 The same restorations were adopted by Glassner.69 However, these restorations are problematic. First, there is no evidence of a military campaign against Assyria by Ellil-nādin-apli, the son and immediate successor of Nebuchadnezzar I (however, it must be admitted that almost no sources documenting the reign of Ellil-nādin-apli are known,70 so the possibility that some of his activities—even major activities—would go unnoticed by present-day scholars, except for Walker’s proposed restoration of Chronicle 25, should come as no sur67

Glassner, op.cit. (note 13), no. 46, 19–21. Our citation of the text omits the restorations offered by Glassner for the broken text in the beginning parts of the lines. Glassner’s restorations follow the final conclusions of Walker in his original publication of the chronicle (Walker, op. cit. [note 66], pp. 400–401, 410–412); however, in the following discussion we will suggest a different set of restorations for the broken beginning parts of the lines. Our translation of the preserved parts of the text follows Walker, op. cit. (note 66), p. 402. 68 Walker, op. cit. (note 66), pp. 411–412. 69 See above, note 67. 70 J. A. Brinkman, A Political History of Post-Kassite Babylonia, 1158–722 B.C. (AnOr 43; Rome, 1968), pp. 116–118.

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prise). Second, at least the first three lines of the following section of Chronicle 25 (ll. 22–24) narrate a rebellion, by which Marduk-nādin-ahhē rose to kingship, and this rebellion could only have been directed against Marduk-nādin-ahhē’s predecessor on the Babylonian throne, Ellil-nādin-apli.71 If the restoration finally adopted by Walker for ll. 19–21 of Chronicle 25 were adopted, it would turn out that the chronicle speaks of one and the same event—the revolt of Marduk-nādin-ahhē—in two consequent sections of the text, in virtually the same terms.72 Such possibility seems unlikely from the literary point of view.73 Third, the Assyrian king Tiglath-pileser I is known to have waged war against the king Marduk-nādin-ahhē of Babylonia in the eponym years of Aššur-šuma-ēriš and 71 22)

[mdEN.LÍL-na-din-A mdAMAR.UTU-n]a-din-ŠEŠ.MEŠ [u LÚDÙ.ME HI].GAR.ME-ma [. . .] ┌…┐ [. . .] i-tur 24) [. . .-m]a ŠI.[ŠI-šú im-ha-aṣ], “[Ellil-nādin-apli—Marduk-nā]dinahhē [and the nobles re]belled and [. . .] he returned [. . . a]nd [he] de[feated him]” (Glassner, op.cit. [note 13], no. 46, 19–21). Glassner’s reading of these lines is, once again, based on a restoration proposed by Walker, op. cit. (note 66), pp. 401, 412–413; but in this case, Walker’s restoration is compelling. The English translation of the lines quoted above follows Walker (ibid., p. 402); Walker’s translation reflects the syntax of the Akkadian text better than Glassner’s. 72 Strangely, Walker considered it a merit of his preferred restoration of lines 19–21 that this restoration “appears closely to parallel the account of the beginning of the reign of Marduknadin-ahhe in the next section (lines 22ff.)” (Walker, op. cit. [note 66], p. 412). But why would the author of a Babylonian chronicle, belonging to a genre of texts for which condensed formulation is the norm (see above, n. 18), waste words and tablet space in order to narrate twice one and the same event? The mention of Marduk-nādin-ahhē’s revolt in ll. 22– 24 is not likely even to function as a retrospective note, because no other event has been described after the mention of the same revolt in ll. 19–21. 73 Similar considerations affect also the interpretation of ll. 8–10 of Crhonicle 25: 8) [. . .] a-aum-ma DUMU la mam-ma-na-ma šá šum-šú la za-kar 9) [. . . mdIŠKUR.MU.ÙR]I ina bu-usrat ú-bar-ma GISSU DINGIR da-ru-ú UGU-šú GAR-ma 10) [. . . KUR i]-bel-ma ina GIŠ GU.ZA LUGAL-ú-ti-šu i-ku-un, “[. . .] some [. . .] the son of a nobody, whose name is not mentioned, [. . . Adad-šuma-uṣu]r raised a revolt by means of the good news and eternal divine protection was extended over him and [. . .] he became ruler [of the land] and established himself on his royal throne” (Glassner, op. cit. [note 13], no. 46, 8–10; English translation follows that of Walker, op. cit. [note 66], p. 401, which fits better the Akkadian text in the light of the historical circumstances reflected therein). “The son of a nobody” mentioned in l. 8 was probably a local ruler of Babylonia installed by the Assyrian king—cf. Sh. Yamada, “Tukulti-Ninurta I’s Rule over Babylonia and Its Aftermath: A Historical Reconstruction”, Orient (Tokyo) 28 (2003), pp. 158–159 (however, Yamada’s chronological reconstruction must be corrected to some extent—see Bloch, op. cit. [note 6], pp. 72-73, n. 45). The revolt instigated by Adad-šuma-uṣur (Walker, op. cit. [note 66], p. 408) would be a revolt by the inhabitants of the city of Babylon against Assyrian domination, and this revolt would have lead to Adad-šuma-uṣur’s subsequent enthronement in Babylon, which must be referred to in l. 10 of Chronicle 25. Yet, Adad-šuma-uṣur appears to have ruled over southern Babylonia, claiming for himself a royal status, for more than two decades before this revolt, since about the 27th regnal year of Tukultī-Ninurta I (see Yamada, ibid., pp. 164–168; Bloch, op. cit. [note 6], p. 76, n. 53). According to Chronicle 25 itself (ll. 2–4), Adad-šuma-uṣur fought against the Assyrian king Ellil-kudurrī-uṣur before he took over Babylon. In the view of the reference to Babylon at the end of l. 7 of Chronicle 25 (Walker, op. cit. [note 66], pp. 400, 406–407; Yamada, ibid., p. 157), the revolt spoken of in l. 9 of the chronicle appears to have been a revolt in Babylon against the Assyrian rule, and not a retrospective reference to Adad-šumauṣur’s original revolt against Tukultī-Ninurta I, which was based in southern Babylonia. 23)

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Ninu’āyu, which are to be placed, on calendrical considerations, around his 20th and 21st regnal years—i.e., around 1095/4 and 1094/3 BCE.74 The chronology of the Babylonian kings in the late-12th – early-11th centuries BCE, reconstructed at the beginning of the present article, indicates that 1095/4 BCE was precisely the first regnal year of Marduk-nādin-ahhē. Thus, it appears that the Assyro-Babylonian war in the reign of Tiglath-pileser I broke out immediately with Marduk-nādin-ahhē’s rise to the throne. Significantly, the eponym years of Aššur-šuma-ēriš and Ninu’āyu saw Assyrian attacks against Babylonian territories, which culminated in the capture of Babylon, together with other major cities in the northern part of Babylonia.75 If those attacks were preceded by a Babylonian invasion of Assyria, the said invasion would have necessarily taken place earlier. If Marduk-nādin-ahhē seized the throne in a rebellion against Ellil-nādin-apli, which brought to the cessation of Ellil-nādin-apli’s attack 74

The main Assyrian sources for the war against Marduk-nādin-ahhē are a royal inscription of Tiglath-pileser I (RIMA 2, A.0.87.4, 37–51) and a record in the Synchronistic History for his reign (Glassner, op. cit. [note 13], no. 10, ii 14"–24" [manuscript A]). These sources offer essentially the same information; however, the eponym years, in which Tiglath-pileser I’s battles against the Babylonian army took place, are mentioned only in the inscription RIMA 2, A.0.87.4 (ll. 49–51). Another source, shedding light on the historical context of Tiglathpileser I’s war against Babylonia, is the Assyrian administrative document A.1123, kept in the Arkeoloji Müzerleri in Istanbul and published in transliteration and translation by V. Donbaz, “Assur Collections Housed in İstanbul: General Outlines”, in S. Alp and A. Süel (eds.), Acts of the IIIrd International Congress of Hittitology, Çorum, September 16–22, 1996 (Ankara, 1998), p. 183, n. 15. This document, dated to day 20 of the month Ša-kēnāte (the ninth month) of the eponym year of Aššur-šuma-ēriš, speaks of clothes issued for two sons of the king of Assyria “who were killed in a great revolt/attack of Babylonia (and) are given to burial” (ša ina ti-bi-te GAL-e ša KURKar-du-nu-ia-áš di-ku-ni a-na qa-ba-re ta-ad-nu; A.1123, 6–11). The implications of the document A.1123 for understanding the historical context of Tiglathpileser I’s war against Babylonia have been recently explored by J. Llop, “Die persönlichen Gründe Tiglat-pilesers I., Babylonien anzugreifen”, Orientalia 72 (2003), pp. 204–210. However, while Llop accepted the identification of the eponym years of Aššur-šuma-ēriš and Ninu’āyu with the 20th and the 21st regnal years of Tiglath-pileser I (based on the arguments offered by Freydank, op. cit. [note 38], pp. 85–86), he strangely dated those two years to ca. 1097–1096 BCE, even though all current studies, including Llop’s immediate source for chronological matters—J. A. Brinkman, “Appendix: Mesopotamian Chronology of the Historical Period”, in A. L. Oppenheim, Ancient Mesopotamia: Portrait of a Dead Civilization (Chicago, 19772), p. 345 (cf. Llop, ibid., p. 204, n. 2)—specify the regnal dates of Tiglathpileser I as 1114–1076 BCE, from which follows necessarily that his 20th regnal year is to be dated to 1095/4 BCE. Llop’s study is also important in drawing renewed attention to sources, which speak of Marduk-nādin-ahhē’s successful invasion of Assyria: a land-grant (kudurru) inscription dated by the tenth regnal year of Marduk-nādin-ahhē himself, and a much later inscription of Sennacherib, composed after 689 BCE (Llop, ibid., pp. 206–208; these sources were already surveyed by Brinkman, op. cit. [note 70], pp. 124–126). 75 RIMA 2, A.0.87.4, 37–51; Glassner, op. cit. (note 13), no. 10, ii 14"–24" (manuscript A). Given that Tiglath-pileser I invaded Babylonian territories in the very beginning of the reign of Marduk-nādin-ahhē, the latter’s successful inroads into Assyria (see the preceding note) must have taken place later. Thus, the war between Tiglath-pileser I and Marduk-nādin-ahhē must have begun with military gains for the former, but appears to have ended in a victory of the latter (contra Brinkman, op.cit. [note 70], pp. 125–126, who dated Marduk-nādin-ahhē’s invasion of Assyria before Tiglath-pileser I’s attacks on Babylonia).

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against Assyria, there would be little reason for Tiglath-pileser I to invade Babylonian territories immediately with the enthronement of Marduk-nādin-ahhē. Rather, the similarity of political interests of Tiglath-pileser I and Marduk-nādin-ahhē— their common opposition to Ellil-nādin-apli—would have suggested some kind of co-operation between the two rulers. Another possible set of restorations for the beginning parts of ll. 19-21 of Chronicle 25, pointed out by Walker, is: [. . . mdNabû-kudur]rī-uṣur for the beginning of l. 19, [mdEllil-nādin-apli mār md]Nabû-kudurrī-uṣur for the beginning of l. 20, and [mdNabû-kudurrī-uṣur ana mā]tišu for the beginning of l. 21.76 This set of restorations, which makes Nebuchadnezzar I the king who invaded Assyria and his son Ellil-nādin-apli the leader of the Babylonian revolt, was ultimately rejected by Walker, mainly because “the reign of Nebuchadnezzar I seems to have been of such importance that one can hardly imagine the chronicler dismissing it in three lines which only refer to a campaign against Assyria and his death at the hands of a rebellious son, or that such an event would not already have been found recorded elsewhere.”77 In contradistinction to Ellil-nādin-apli, the events of the reign of Nebuchadnezzar I are attested well enough in a good number of historical sources to render the absence of evidence for his attack against Assyria late in his reign (as different from the attacks narrated in the Synchronistic History, which took place in the reign of Aššur-rēša-iši I, and hence in the early part of the reign of Nebuchadnezzar I) a relatively compelling argument to the effect that such an attack did not take place.78 Moreover, one must observe that after Nebuchadnezzar I had attacked Assyrian fortresses in the early part of his reign, he seems to have established peaceful relations with Assyria, and according to the Assyrian administrative document A.1471, he went so far as to make a personal visit to the city of Aššur.79 It is even possible 76

Walker, op. cit. (note 66), p. 411. Idem, ibid., pp. 411–412. In addition, Walker mentioned that with the set of restorations specified, “the restoration of the beginning of line 19 would remain problematic” (ibid., p. 411). However, Walker himself suggested the possible restoration [ana tar-ṣi mdTukul-tiapil-é-šár-ra], “[at the time of Tiglath-pileser (I)]”, for the case that Nebuchadnezzar I be identified as the king who invaded Assyria (ibid.; a more proper restoration would be ana tarṣi mGIŠTUKUL-ti-A-É.ŠÁR.RA). While it is true that, as noted by Walker, the damaged space at the beginning of l. 20 of Chronicle 25 is not sufficient to add to the above restoration the identification of Tiglath-pileser I as [MAN KURAš-šur], “[king of the land of Assyria]”, the author of the chronicle could have considered Tiglath-pileser I a personality known enough to render his identification by a royal title unnecessary. 78 For surveys of the known sources bearing on the events of the reign of Nebuchadnezzar I, see Brinkman, op. cit. (note 70), pp. 104–116; J. J. M. Roberts, “Nebuchadnezzar I’s Elamite Crisis in Theological Perspective”, in idem., The Bible and the Ancient Near East: Collected Essays (Winona Lake, In. 2002), pp. 83–92. 79 The document A.1471, kept in the Arkeoloji Müzerleri in Istanbul, records delivery of leather to certain individuals; in ll. 7–9, the temporal context of the delivery is recorded as ina u4-mi mdAG-ku-dur-PAP MAN KURKar-du-ni-áš il-li-ka-ni, “on the day when Nebuchadnezzar (I), the king of Babylonia, arrived” (Donbaz, op. cit. [note 74], p. 183). While the eponym dating the document has not been preserved, since Nebuchadnezzar I came to power only seven years before the death of Aššur-rēša-iši I—the first regnal year of Nebuchadnezzar I dates to 1121 BCE, as pointed out at the beginning of the present study—it is more reasonable to assume that his war against Aššur-rēša-iši I preceded his peaceful visit to Assyria (which probably took place already in the reign of Tiglath-pileser I), rather than the other way 77

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that a daughter of Tiglath-pileser I was given in marriage to Nebuchadnezzar I (although the document mentioning an Assyrian princess residing in Babylonia, A.335, cannot be conclusively dated to the reign of Tiglath-pileser I, because the eponym name in the text is broken).80 While all of the above does not deny the possibility that at the very end of his reign Nebuchadnezzar I encountered what seemed to him an attractive opportunity to attack the neighboring northern power—and what would in fact spell for him a fatal disaster—such possibility is difficult to accept, given the absence of any supportive evidence and the existence of evidence for a preceding rapprochement between Babylonia and Assyria in the reign of Nebuchadnezzar I. This leaves us with the final possible set of restorations for lines 19–21 of Chronicle 25, proposed by Walker: [mdNinurta-nādin-šumi mār . . .]-uṣur/ahi for the beginning of l. 19, [. . . md]Nabû-kudurrī-uṣur for the beginning of l. 20, and [mdNinurtanādin-šumi ana mā]tišu for the beginning of l. 21.81 Walker accompanied this possible set of restorations with the following comment: “In this case Nebuchadnezzar I leads the rebellion against his father, Ninurta-nadin-shumi, line 19 may have included the otherwise unknown name of Ninurta-nadin-shumi’s father, . . .-uṣur, and line 20 perhaps began with an account of some military reversal in Assyria.”82 Further, Walker mentioned the Middle Assyrian chronicle fragment VAT 10281, which speaks of the retreat of Ninurta-nādin-šumi’s army before the approaching troops of Aššur-rēša-iši I, and noted that the preceding inroad of Ninurta-nādin-šumi into Assyria “could conceivably be equated with the campaign against Ashur mentioned in the present chronicle.”83 In fact, Ninurta-nādin-šumi is the only one of the possible candidates for having their names restored at the beginning of lines 19 and 21 of Chronicle 25, for whom a military campaign against Assyria is attested in another source with a possibility that it took place at the end of his reign. This fact, and the considerations mentioned above that militate against the other possible sets of restorations proposed by Walker, make the restoration of the name of Ninurta-nādin-šumi in the beginning of lines 19 and 21 of Chronicle 25 most likely. The whole text of these lines may then be read as follows: [mdNIN.URTA-SUM-MU DUMU . . .] ┌x┐ ŠEŠ/ÙRI ana Bal-tilKI ana KUR-di GIN-ik 20) [. . . md]NÀ.NÌ.DU.ÙRI u LÚDÙ.ME ib-bal-ki-tu-u-šú-ma 21) md [ NIN.URTA-SUM-MU ana K]UR-šú u U[RU-šú i]-tur ina GI[ŠTUKUL GA]Z.ME-šú 19)

[Ninurta-nādin-šumi, son of . . .]-ahi/uṣur, marched to Baltil (Aššur) to conquer (it). [. . .]Nebuchadnezzar (I) and the nobles rebelled against him. [Ninurta-nādin-šumi re]turned [to] his [la]nd and [his] c[ity]. They [kill]ed him around (and see below, note 87). 80 See Donbaz, op. cit. (note 74), p. 183 and n. 16, who nevertheless suggests that a daughter of Tiglath-pileser I was involved. 81 Walker, op. cit. (note 66), p. 410. 82 Ibid. It should be noted that the first complete sign preserved after the break in l. 19 can be read as either ŠEŠ, a logogram for the noun ahu “brother”, or ÙRI, a logogram for the verb naṣāru “to guard, protect.” In any event, it is not known what family relationship (if any) existed between Ninurta-nādin-šumi and his predecessor on the throne, Itti-Marduk-balāṭu (Brinkman, op. cit. [note 70], p. 98). 83 Walker, op.cit. (note 66), p. 411.

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with the s[word]. With the above restoration in mind, we can reconstruct the following sequence of events pertaining to the relations between Assyria and Babylonia in the last quarter of the 12th century BCE (this sequence of events would be partly parallel to the historical developments in Assyria reconstructed at the end of the preceding section of the present study): (1) Ninurta-nādin-šumi, the king of Babylonia, marched with his army to Assyria, probably in order to support the rebellion of Berê, the provincial governor of Arbail, against Aššur-rēša-iši I, in the eponym year of Berê. The author of the Babylonian Chronicle 25, who probably lived long after the events,84 appears to have been unfamiliar with the precise circumstances of Ninurta-nādinšumi’s move, and therefore presented it as an outright campaign of conquest directed against the city of Aššur;85 (2) While Ninurta-nādin-šumi’s army was stationed in the vicinity of Arbail, two kinds of news reached the Babylonian king: first, that Aššur-rēša-iši I was marching on Arbail with his troops, and second, that his own son, Nebuchadnezzar I, raised a revolt back in Babylonia and seized the throne;86 (3) Ninurta-nādin-šumi retreated with his army to Babylonia, to fight the rebels (and the author of the Assyrian chronicle fragment VAT 10281 recorded his retreat in a “politically correct” fashion—as resulting from Ninurta-nādin-šumi’s fear of the approaching Assyrian troops). However, this move of Ninurta-nādinšumi turned out unsuccessful, and he was finally killed by the rebels headed by Nebuchadnezzar I; (4) After he had seized the throne, Nebuchadnezzar I would have likely found it expedient to consolidate his grip on Babylonia before he could adopt an aggressive foreign policy. It was probably in these circumstances that he reached a peace agreement with Aššur-rēša-iši I, as mentioned in the Synchronistic History;87 (5) When Nebuchadnezzar I felt that his power was sufficiently secure, and 84

The last king mentioned in Chronicle 25 is Adad-apla-iddina, who reigned in the mid-11th century BCE (Glassner, op. cit. [note 13], no. 46, 29–34, and see Walker, op. cit. [note 66], pp. 414–415). The only known copy of Chronicle 25 dates from the Neo-Babylonian period, i.e., from the 8th century BCE or later (Walker, op. cit., pp. 398, 400). The chronicle must have been composed sometime between these dates. 85 For Bal-til as a designation for the city of Aššur, see Brinkman, op. cit. [note 70], p. 168, n. 1031, and the earlier studies cited there). However, if the city of Aššur were the immediate target of Ninurta-nādin-šumi’s invasion, Aššur-rēša-iši I would move his army to the vicinity of Aššur rather than to Arbail, as mentioned in the Middle Assyrian chronicle fragment VAT 10281. 86 However, some caution in classifying Nebuchadnezzar I as a son of Ninurta-nādin-šumi is necessary, since sources specifying the familial relation between these two kings stem only from the 6th century BCE, from the reign of Nabonidus (Brinkman, op. cit. [note 70], p. 124, n. 566). 87 ṭu-ub-ta su-[lum-ma-a ga-am-ra it-ti a-ha-meš iš-ku-nu], “[They concluded] a mutual agreement [and a total peace]” (Glassner, op. cit. [note 13], no. 10, ii 1" [manuscript A]). Although a large part of the line is damaged, the text can be restored based on parallels attested elsewhere in the literary genre of Mesopotamian chronicles (see CAD Ṭ, p. 116a, s. v. ṭūbtu A). It is theoretically possible that the visit of Nebuchadnezzar I to the city of Aššur, mentioned in the document A.1471 (see above, n. 79), took place within the framework of this initial peace agreement between Nebuchadnezzar I and Aššur-rēša-iši I; however, such possibility is unlikely. Personal meetings between kings of competing superpowers must have been a rarity in the Ancient Near East (cf. S. Jakob, “Pharaoh and His Brothers”, British Museum Studies in Ancient Egypt and Sudan 6 [2006], p. 15 [available online:

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that a new attack against Assyria would not make him share the fate of his father, he made his own attempt to invade the Assyrian territory. By this time, however, Aššur-rēša-iši I would most likely have put down the rebellion of Arbail, and he was now able to inflict decisive defeats on the Babylonian invaders. According to the Synchronistic History, the army of Nebuchadnezzar I did not penetrate beyond Zanqu and Īdu, two fortresses that lay considerably to the south of Arbail, and even against these fortresses his attacks ended in failure;88 (6) Having been defeated by Aššur-rēša-iši I, Nebuchadnezzar I was forced to return to the policy of seeking peace with Assyria. A new peace agreement was probably reached, and this time the peace would hold long enough to enable Nebuchadnezzar I to visit Assyria, but that most likely happened already in the reign of Aššur-rēša-iši I’s son, Tiglath-pileser I.89 It would be reasonable to assume that peace with Assyria was one of the factors that enabled Nebuchadnezzar I to carry out his famous military campaign against Elam, which resulted in the return of the cultic statue of Marduk, plundered by the Elamites at the end of the Kassite dynasty.90 Our reconstruction entails that the Assyrian eponym year of Berê coincided, at least partly, with the last regnal year of Ninurta-nādin-šumi (1122/1 BCE). Hence, it is most reasonable to identify the eponym year of Berê with the tenth regnal year of Aššur-rēša-iši I, which lasted from December 31, 1123 BCE, to December 20, 1122 BCE.91 This identification is not contradicted by any known evidence. http://www.thebritishmuseum.ac.uk/bmsaes/issue6/jakob.html], who goes so far as to deny that such meetings did ever take place)—unless, of course, a meeting of this kind was forced on one side by the other, as in the case of Kaštiliaš IV, who was taken captive by TukultīNinurta I and brought along by the latter on his visit to the western part of his kingdom (see Cancik-Kirschbaum, op. cit. [note 31], pp. 41, 147–153). Arrangement of a voluntary meeting, even when a peace treaty between two kings was in force, would probably demand protracted diplomatic preparations, as one can learn from the famous example of the meeting between Ramesses II and Hattušili III, which was certainly planned and discussed in diplomatic correspondence, but perhaps never materialized (see T. Bryce, The Kingdom of the Hittites [Oxford 1998], pp. 313–314). While the document A.1471 is most reasonably interpreted as indicating that a visit of Nebuchadnezzar I to the Assyrian court did take place, the seven years that elapsed between the enthronement of Nebuchadnezzar I (1122/1 BCE) and the death of Aššur-rēša-iši I (1115/4 BCE) would hardly be sufficient for the two kings to reach such a level of co-operation, which would allow a visit of Nebuchadnezzar I to Assyria, and then to have their relations deteriorate to the point of Babylonian invasions into Assyrian territory. The peace agreement with Aššur-rēša-iši I, reached by Nebuchadnezzar I at the beginning of his reign, was probably concluded by means of regular diplomatic missions, carried out by royal messengers (see Jakob, ibid., p. 16; op. cit. [note 52], pp. 288–301), and Nebuchadnezzar I would have few inhibitions to violate it at the first suitable opportunity. 88 See section II of the present article. 89 See above, notes 79 and 87. 90 For the sources pertaining to Nebuchadnezzar I’s campaign against Elam, see the studies mentioned above, note 78. 91 See Bloch, op. cit. (note 10), table 4. An alternative possibility—to identify the eponym year of Berê with the eleventh regnal year of Aššur-rēša-iši I, which lasted from December 21, 1122 BCE, to December 9, 1121 BCE—is less likely, because it would leave only 2–4 months between the beginning of the eponym year of Berê and the month Nisannu of the first regnal year of Nebuchadnezzar I (1121/0 BCE). It is difficult to assume that Ninurta-nādinšumi’s march to Assyria, Nebuchadnezzar I’s revolt back in Babylonia, Ninurta-nādin-šumi’s return to Babylonia and his final defeat at the hands of the rebels would all take place within

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The peaceful relations with Assyria, established by Nebuchadnezzar I after the failure of his attacks on Zanqu and Īdu, appear to have persisted during the reign of his son and successor, Ellil-nādin-apli. Those relations must have come to an end with the revolt that placed a brother of Nebuchadnezzar I, Marduk-nādin-ahhē, on the Babylonian throne. The seizure of power by Marduk-nādin-ahhē lead to a war between Assyria and Babylonia, in which the Babylonian king had initially suffered serious defeats, but appears to have finally emerged victorious.92 The setback suffered by Assyria late in the reign of Tiglath-pileser I and in the reign of his son, Aššur-bēl-kala (1073–1056 BCE),93 may well have been a result of this Babylonian victory.

V. Conclusion In this study, we have proposed a reconstruction of the historical context, in which the military conflicts between Assyria and Babylonia during the reign of Aššur-rēšaiši I took place. Our reconstruction suggests that those conflicts were part of complicated political developments in both Assyria and Babylonia. This reconstruction is based to a large degree on literary sources of historical content: a Middle Assyrian chronicle fragment mentioning an invasion of Assyria by Ninurta-nādin-šumi, the Synchronistic History and Chronicle 25. However, crucial elements of our reconstruction could not have been established without the aid of Assyrian administrative documents. Thus, the issue of Assyro-Babylonian conflicts in the reign of Aššurrēša-iši I serves a good example of the importance of administrative documents for historical study.

these 2–4 months. 92 See above, notes 71 and 75. 93 For this Assyrian setback, see H. Tadmor, “The Decline of Empires in Western Asia ca. 1200 BCE”, in F. M. Cross (ed.), Symposia Celebrating the Seventy-Fifth Anniversary of the Founding of the American Schools of Oriental Research (1900–1975), (Cambridge, MA 1979), pp. 12–13.

DAVID AND THE PHILISTINES LITERATURE AND HISTORY

WALTER DIETRICH University of Bern In Biblical exegesis, one can distinguish between two methodologies of reading the text: synchronic and diachronic. The former addresses the literary or canonical setting of texts, the literary tools used to present certain themes or stories, and the literary artistry in forming the biblical text. The latter concentrates on the place of a text or of a text layer within the history of biblical literature and on its historical and ideological proximity to the issues it presents. In my examination of the relationship between David and the Philistines I use both these perspectives to analyze relevant texts in the books of Samuel, finally proposing a historical evaluation.1

I. Literary analysis The expressions ‫פלשׁתים‬/‫ פלשׁתי‬could be considered a leading motif in the narrative of David in the books of Samuel. It can be found in 1 Sam 16 – 2 Sam 24 no less than 157 times. Of those, 33 are expressed in singular, of which 32 concern Goliath.2 The 124 occurrences in plural become more frequent in the narratives of David’s rise (1 Sam 18 – 2 Sam 8) and in the so-called annex/appendix to the books of Samuel (2 Sam 20–24). In the so-called Succession History (2 Sam 9–20; 1 Kgs 1–2) there are only few ‫פלשׁתים‬/‫ פלשׁתי‬in evidence.3 1

Information on the subject of ‘David and the Philistines’ is found only in the Bible, hence our focus on the Bible, particularly on the books of Samuel. The relevant information in Chronicles shows dependence on the books of Samuel (In the Chronicler’s narrative about David [1 Chron 11–29] the incidence of the word ‫ פלשׁתים‬is relatively low: 1 Chron 11:13,14, 15,18; 12:20; 14:8,9,10,13,15,16; 12:19; 18:1,11; 20:4,5). Secondary, or rather tertiary are two other texts from late antiquity, which celebrate David as conqueror over the Philistines or, more precisely, over Goliath: a passage in the ‘Praise of the fathers’ by Jesus Sirach (Sir 46:4–8), and the last passage of Psalm 151, an addition to the Psalter in the Septuagint (Ps 151:6–7). The Greek text of the two verses reads as follows: εξηλθον εις συναντησιν τω αλλοφυλω και επικατηρασατο με εν τοις ειδωλοις αυτου εγω δε σπασαμενος την παρ' αυτου μαχαιραν απεκεφαλισα αυτον και ηρα ονειδος εξ υιων ισραηλ (“I went outside to the meeting with the Philistine and he cursed me by his idols; but I pulled out the sword on his side, beheaded him and took away the disgrace from the sons of Israel”). In the Hebrew version of Ps 151 found in Qumran, only vv. 1–5 (concerning David’s youth and anointing) survived intact, whereas vv. 6–7 are fragmentary. 2 The exception is 2 Sam 21:17. 3 2 Sam 19:10 and notably 2 Sam 15:18–22; 18:2, where a troop of 600 men from the Philistine town of Gath is mentioned. Gath—the hometown of Goliath, cf. 1 Sam 17:4; 2 Sam 21:19—is encountered repeatedly in the so-called History of David’s Rise (1 Sam 21:11,13;

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The term “Philistine” appears in the stories about David mostly within certain semantic fields. The most important of these is the military one (with verbs such as ‘to troop up’, ‘to gather’, ‘to march-out’, ‘to battle’, ‘to defeat’, ‘to take flight’, etc.). Thereby the Philistines figure foremost as foes, as opponents in war. The impression of the (military) danger they pose is intensified by reference to their foreign ethnicity and religion; the adjective ‫ערל‬, ‘uncircumcised’ and the noun ‫ ערלה‬are repeatedly linked to the noun ‫פלשׁתים‬/‫פלשׁתי‬4 clearly alienating the Philistines from the covenant between Yhwh and Israel, which is sealed through circumcision.5 With regard to David’s relationship with the Philistines, a remarkable fluctuation between conflict and cooperation can be noticed: Conflict: In the beginning of his career, David appears as a staunch enemy of the Philistines. After beating the spearhead Goliath (1 Sam 17), he repeatedly marches out against them on Saul’s orders (1 Sam 18:17–30; 19:8). An attempt to flee to Philistia from Saul’s persecution fails, because hate and fear of David are too widespread there (1 Sam 21:11–16). Consequently, he seeks to establish himself in the village of Keilah, which he had saved from the Philistine grasp. But again he has to withdraw, threatened by Saul’s plan to capture him there (1 Sam 23:1–13). Cooperation: During the time of persecution by Saul, it is the Philistines who practically save David’s life (1 Sam 23:27, 28; 24:2) finally granting him a hideout for a considerable length of time and even making him governor of Ziklag (1 Sam 27). As their vassal, he prepares to march on their side into the crucial battle against Saul, ultimately stopped by the Philistine commanders (1 Sam 29). Conflict: David laments the Philistine victory on the mountains of Gilboa as a personal and political catastrophe (2 Sam 1:19–27). As king of Judah and Israel he revokes the subjection to the Philistines. When he approaches Ish-bosheth’s Israel, his merits in the battle against the Philistines are cited (2 Sam 3:14,18).6 After David settles in Jerusalem, the Philistines initiate two combats, both of which they lose (2 Sam 5:17–25). With the Lord giving David “rest from all his enemies around him” (2 Sam 7:1), the Philistines take the first place in the list of his defeated enemies (2 Sam 8:1, cf. 8:12). Cooperation: According to the biblical account, David’s attention to the Philistines diminished in his further reign. Only in the highly menacing crisis of the uprising of Absalom they seem an important factor. At that time, only his professional troops actually stood by David. Among them was the elite unit of the ‫כרתי ופלתי‬, the “Cherethites and Pelethites” (2 Sam 15:18). It is possible that the second term refers to the Philistines,7 but it is not certain.8 Not in doubt, on the other 27:2,3,4,11; 2 Sam 1:20; 4:3) and in the so-called History of the Ark (1 Sam 5:8; 6:17; 2 Sam 6:10,11). 4 1 Sam 17:26, 36; 18:25, 27; 31:4; 2 Sam 1:20; 3:14. 5 Cf. Gen 17:9–14. 6 Here belongs also David’s earlier diplomatic hint to the inhabitants of Jabesh-Gilead (2 Sam 2:4–7) who excelled themselves in salvaging Saul’s honour, abused by the Philistines (1 Sam 31:11–13). 7 In this case, ‫ פלתי‬would be an abrasion of ‫ פלשׁתי‬in favour of the assonance with ‫ ;כרתי‬and ‫ כרתי‬is mostly understood as ‘Cretans’, well-matched with the undeniable origin of the Philistines from the Aegean region. 8 J. Van Seters (The Biblical Saga of King David [Winona Lake, IN 2009], pp. 106–107) connects the two terms with Greek mercenaries: the ‘Peltastes’—light-armed Hellenistic

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hand, is the origin of a 600-men troop under the charge of a certain Ittai from the Philistine city Gath (2 Sam 15:18–22). This support is important enough to David to entrust Ittai with the command of his troops, next to Joab and Abishai, two proven Judean commanders (2 Sam 18:2). Conflict: In the so-called annex to the books of Samuel there are two series of anecdotes, which tell of many victorious fights with the Philistines. Most of these feature David’s warriors as acting subjects (2 Sam 21:16–21; 23:9–12), but obviously he himself acts as the leader in the combats (21:15, 22; 23:13–17). Here he appears again, as in the beginning, as a notable foe of the Philistines. This fluctuation between conflict and cooperation reflects a dilemma, in which the authors of the books of Samuel found themselves. On the one hand, the Philistines were Israel’s most dangerous enemy during the foundation of the state; indeed, the first king of Israel, with three of his sons (and presumably also a large number of warriors), died in a combat against them. On the other hand, it was well known that David maintained close relations with that very enemy. Thus, the conclusion, that he could have been responsible together with the Philistines for the downfall of the first Israelite royal dynasty, naturally suggests itself.9 The authors of the books of Samuel met this suspicion with great caution. One of their strategies is to present the early and the late David as a radical enemy of the Philistines, while interpreting the cooperative phases in between as caused by pure hardship: in one case, Saul’s grim hostility, in another Absalom’s dangerous uprising. This implies that David basically was an enemy of the Philistines, but was sometimes forced into an alliance with them. Admittedly, this solution creates a new problem: If David had always been such an avowed enemy of the Philistines, how could they make him a vassal and even a governor of a city? One endeavour to tackle this problem can be found in the little scene in 1 Sam 21:11–16. David’s first attempt to put himself under Philistine protection fails here, precisely because the Philistines know him as a foe, even quoting the popular song “Saul has killed thousands, and David his tens thousands”. Being presented as such a major adversary of the Philistines—ten times more dangerous than Saul—puts David at this moment in grave danger that he can just barely dodge. Some chapters later, David’s second attempt to escape to the Philistine city Gath is also carefully manoeuvred by the narrators. Against their habit, they provide a glimpse into the inner life of a character: “David said in his heart: I shall now perish one day by the hand of Saul: there is nothing better for me than to escape to the land of the Philistines; then Saul will despair of seeking me any longer within the borders soldiers—and ‘Cretan archers’, both of them known from Hellenistic sources and therefore in Van Seters’ eyes completely anachronistic in texts of the 10th century BCE. For a critique of his radical late dating of the Samuel traditions see my 2010 review in RBL: http://www.bookreviews.org/BookDetail.asp?TitleId=7252. Cf. the rejection of analogous statements of the so-called Copenhagen School by L. E. Stager, “Biblical Philistines: A Hellenistic Literary Creation?”, in A. M. Maeir and P. de Miroschedji (eds.), “I Will Speak the Riddles of Ancient Times.” Festschrift Amihai Mazar, I (Winona Lake, IN 2006), pp. 375– 384. 9 This suspicion is explicitly raised—admittedly without mention of the Philistines— in the biblical account itself: Shim‘i, a Saulide, confronts David at his moment of greatest peril saying that: “the blood of the house of Saul” is now avenged on him (2 Sam 16:8).

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of Israel, and I shall escape out of his hand” (1 Sam 27:1).10 During his last encounter with Saul, David reveals to him the significance of his forced flight to Philistia: “they have driven me out today from my share in the heritage of Yhwh saying: ‘Go serve other gods’” (1 Sam 26:19). The forced displacement signifies for David the loss not only of his own homeland, but also of the land of God.11 This time, David is welcomed in Gath without any trouble (1 Sam 27:2–3)—but why?12 Do the narrators reckon that in the meantime his shattered relationship with Saul has become known there too? Or do the 600 men he brings with him this time13 make an impression on Achish, king of Gath? Either way, David becomes his vassal and the governor of the city of Ziklag. Henceforth, in this role he plays cat and mouse with his feudal lord. This starts with the fact, that he does not undertake raids to the east, into the region of Judah, as he leads Achish to believe, but towards the south, in the direction of the Negev (1 Sam 27:8–12)—apparently not to have a fall out with the Judeans (and Israelites).14 There is a dramatic increase in tension before the decisive battle against Saul. The reader is taken aback when he hears, how Achish reminds his vassal of his military duties regarding the upcoming battle (1 Sam 28:1). David’s reaction is very diplomatic: “You shall know what your servant can do” (28:2). Does Achish really know? The reader knows that he actually does not.15 And David does not say this time, what he has in mind to ‘do’.When he and his men are mustered with the Philistine troops, the old mistrust reawakens and again, the song about the ten thousands he has slain is quoted (1 Sam 29:1–5). Achish has to send the suspicious combatant home. And again David’s reaction is of remarkable ambiguity: He would really have liked to march into the battle, to “fight against the enemies of my lord, the king” (1 Sam 29:8). Of course, Achish thinks 10

D. Jobling (“David and the Philistines. With Methodological Reflections”, in W. Dietrich [ed.], David und Saul im Widerstreit – Diachronie und Synchronie im Wettstreit. Beiträge zur Auslegung des ersten Samuelbuches [OBO 206, Fribourg – Göttingen, 2004], pp. 74–85, esp. 83) understands the literary character of David as an aberration from the promise given to him by several speakers in the commission of God (see 1 Sam 23:17; 25:30; 24:20). According to Jobling this is a “subterranean presence ... of an antimonarchical current” inherent in the Deuteronomistic History. This may be so when viewing the biblical account from a Deuteronomistic perspective, but this particular report is pre-Deuteronomistic, see chapter II of the present article. 11 Behind it is the archaic, distinctly pre-monotheistic perception whereupon a god is only responsible for a certain territory and its population. Cf. on this W. Dietrich, Theopolitik. Studien zur Theologie und Ethik des Alten Testaments (Neukirchen-Vluyn, 2003), pp. 43–57 (“Grenzen göttlicher Macht nach dem Alten Testament”). 12 On this problem see J. Klein, “Davids Flucht zu den Philistern (1 Sam. XXI 11ff; XXVII– XXIX)”, VT 55 (2005), pp. 176–184. 13 1 Sam 21:11–16 relates that David undertook the first attempt of crossing over to the Philistines as a single fugitive; only in 22:1–2 is it being discussed that he gathered a troop (at first of 400 men). 14 Hither belongs also the account in 1 Sam 30:26–31, according to which David distributed plunder from a successful Amalekite campaign. 15 R. Polzin (Samuel and the Deuteronomist. A Literary Study of the Deuteronomic History, Part 2, 1 Samuel [Bloomington, IN 1989], p. 217) speaks with respect to the deceived Achish “of David’s growing duplicity”, which gives the impression that the “story of David’s rise to power is contrived as much against him as for him”. P. D. Miscall on the other hand thinks that the deception of Achish is an expression of David’s fear of him (1 Samuel. A Literary Reading [Bloomington, IN 1986], p. 166).

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that he himself is David’s “lord, the king”, but David (and the reader) could just as well be thinking of Saul.16 Had David been allowed to move north with the Philistines, he would have fought with Israel against them! Unfortunately they suspected as much and prevented it.17 Subsequently the narrator stress that David was as far away as possible from the battlefield. From the place of gathering near Aphek18 he moves southwards, while the Philistines go northeast. When he reaches Ziklag (after a three day’s march) and discovers that the place has been raided and plundered, he moves even further south, deep into the Negev, to retrieve the booty from the brigands, a mission successfully accomplished (1 Sam 30). On the third day after his return, a man appears in Ziklag and brings him the news of the death of Saul and Jonathan, along with the corresponding evidence (2 Sam 1:1–10). It must have taken this messenger about three days from Gilboa to Ziklag, thus the battle must have taken place in the far north, while David was in the deepest south.

II. Historical-Critical Examination As many biblical texts, the books of Samuel should be seen as literature brought forth by tradition, not authors. This means that they are not the product of one author, like a historical novel, but grew over several stages of tradition. My present assessment is that there are three main stages or strands, which may be described as follows, from the later to the earlier:19 (1) During the 6th and 5th centuries BCE the Deuteronomistic redaction enriched the books of Samuel with some substantial texts20 and, by doing so, made them part of the great historiography that extended from the settlement to the exile (Deut – 2 Kgs); (2) In the late-8th century or early-7th century BCE a ‘Court History of the Early Monarchy’ was formed. It depicted the story from Samuel to Solomon thus comprising large parts of the present text corpus 1 Sam 1 – 1 Kgs 2 or 12 (less the Dtr texts and the annex 2 Sam 21–24); (3) The author of the ‘Court History’ incorporated older sources of different kinds and sizes, which each had its own history of tradition. Only a few of these sources could go back to the 10th century, and if they did, they would have been changed in the period that followed and when incorporated into the ‘Court History’. The texts about ‘David and the Philistines’ will now be assigned to these three narrative strands.

16 In distinction from this, P. D. Miscall (ibid., p. 175) maintains: “we will not finally know whether David would or would not desert the Philistines and fight with Saul and Israel. Is David servant to Achish or Saul, to both, to neither?” In my opinion, the narrator leads the reader to see David as a true but hindered supporter of Israel. 17 Jobling (op. cit. [note 10], p. 82) rejects this reading with the argument that, if David had, together with Israel, defeated the Philistines, this “would presumably have left Saul and Jonathan alive. Where could the story go then?” This question however is not of the sort of queries biblical authors are posing. To them, God would have found a way to solve this problem—had there not been the mistrust of the Philistines. 18 This Aphek should be looked for in the coastal plain, cf. 1 Sam 4:1. 19 Cf. W. Dietrich, Samuel, I (BKAT VIII; Neukirchen-Vluyn, 2011), pp. 38*–58*. 20 Especially 1 Sam 8; 12; 15; 2 Sam 7, are to be mentioned here.

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1. The Deuteronomistic History The Deuteronomists obviously did not show further interest in the subject of the Philistines. The reason may be that with the Babylonian conquest of the Levant, the Philistine cities had disappeared from the political arena as independent entities. So the exilic and postexilic redactors handed down the pertinent material they found in the story of David, without discernibly adding accents of their own. However, this overall picture changes when the annex 2 Sam 21–24 is assumed to have been installed by this redaction (and not subsequently).21 The many anecdotes about battles against the Philistines in these chapters can be seen as a corrective to the abandonment of the subject matter in the later stories about David. In the annex the relations between David and the Philistines come again to the foreground, giving the impression that they ended in sharp confrontation. 2. The Court History By contrast, in the Court History of the Early Monarchy David’s relations with the Philistines gain great relevance. This comes as no surprise, since in this oeuvre ‘Saul versus David’, ‘the Saulides versus the Davidides’ and ‘Israel versus Judah’ are central themes that invite comparison between the sides regarding how they dealt with the Philistines. Saul emerges as a constant enemy of the Philistines throughout his career, David—only temporarily. Saul failed in the struggle, David did not. In my opinion, this constellation suggested to the author of the Court History a transparent parallel to his own time. To realize this, one has to think of the Assyrians instead of the Philistines. In 720 BCE Samaria was conquered by the Assyrians.22 In this, Judah played a doubtful role from the perspective of the Israelites.23 A few years earlier, Judah became an Assyrian vassal, but unlike its northern neighbour continued to exist as such. Fugitives from the north poured into Judah, which thus became the trustee of both the Judean and the Israelite heritage.24 It seems that the Court History deals with these problems of the present by reflecting them into the time of the early monarchy. The position of the author is a Judean one, but he shows a great degree of openness towards the concerns of the Israelites. The whole story of Samuel and Saul (1 Sam 1–3; 7–14) takes place in the north. Saul’s struggle for the preservation of his power, the increasing deformation of his personality and the disastrous battle against the Philistines are described with much empathy. However the reader is given to understand that the north did not 21 Thus T. Veijola, Die Ewige Dynastie. David und die Entstehung seiner Dynastie nach der deuteronomistischen Darstellung (Helsinki, 1975), pp. 124–126, who saw here DtrN at work – the last out of three formative deuteronomistic redactions. 22 For the last years of the Kingdom of Israel and the fall of Samaria see G. Galil, The Chronology of the Kings of Israel and Judah (Leiden – New York – Köln, 1996), pp. 83–97, with earlier literature. 23 In the so-called Syro-Ephraimite War (ca. 734 BCE), Judah had called the Assyrians for help against the allied Israelites and Arameans (cf. 2 Kgs 16:5–9). As the consequence, Israel was reduced to a remnant state (2 Kgs 15:29); and at the last desperate battle of remnant Israel against the Assyrians, Judah apparently played the part of passive bystander (cf. 2 Kgs 17:4– 6). 24 A specific Israelite heritage is to be discerned in the traditions about Jacob, Moses-Exodus, the settlement (a kernel of Josh 1–10), the Judges, the prophet Hosea and more. Besides this, the idea of a 12-tribe-Israel was always vivid in biblical thinking, cf. for instance Gen 29–30; Josh 13–19; 1 Chron 1–10.

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have a real chance under the reign of the Saulides. Its future lay in David’s hands, who managed to withstand the Philistines deviously and powerfully. The hidden sense of this message would presumably have its appeal in the late-8th century or early-7th century BCE. The author of the Court History deals with the subject matter of the Philistines in the books of Samuel mainly in two turning points: the beginning of David’s ascent and the end of Saul’s life. In the former he makes it plain that David (later the vassal of the Philistines) initially was a fierce enemy of the Philistines, in the latter he emphasizes that David (although a vassal of the Philistines) had nothing to do with Israel’s disaster. We start with the latter. As we noted, David comments twice on how and why he had to flee to the Philistines and how difficult this was for him: once in a speech to Saul, the other time to himself (1 Sam 26:19–20; 27:1). It is a fundamental insight of the research in redaction criticism that in narrating older traditions the editors or composers would insert their own thoughts and interpretations into direct speeches of the characters.25 Here it is the author of the Court History, who tries to put the inconvenient fact that for some time David was a vassal of the Philistines in a David-friendly perspective. 1 Sam 29 consists almost entirely of direct speeches: the Philistines discuss whether they should trust David (1 Sam 29:3–5); and Achish explains to David the necessity of his return (1 Sam 29:6–10). Only in the narrative frame are there some short reports: the Philistine troops gather in Aphek, the Israelite troops at the fountain of Jezreel (29:1); the Philistines make a parade (29:2a), in which David and his men also take part (29:2b); finally, David heads for Ziklag (29:11a), the Philistines towards Jezreel (29:11b). If the reports about David (29:2b, 11a), as well as the long speeches (29:3–10) are left out, there remains only a brief account of the concentration and the advance of the Philistine troops (29:1, 2a, 11b). This, indeed, is probably what the author of the Court History found in his sources; everything else he added himself in order to keep David out of the battle at Gilboa. In all likelihood, this author is also responsible for the subtle geographic scheme, by which David is kept as far away as possible from the defeat of Saul and Israel. Thereby he arranged the (older) material so that reports from the north alternate regularly and continuously with those from the south, intensifying the impression of a great spatial distance: North: The Philistines march against Israel (1 Sam *29). South: David returns to Ziklag, pursues the Amalekites in the Negev and distributes the prey to villages in Judah (1 Sam 30). North: The Israelites are defeated by the Philistines; Saul and his sons are killed, their corpses desecrated, but finally buried (1 Sam 31). South: David hears of the disaster and laments bitterly (2 Sam 1).26

25

As regards the speeches of David (and Saul’s) in 1 Sam 24 and 26 I have demonstrated this in an extensive analysis: W. Dietrich, “Die zweifache Verschonung Sauls durch David (I Sam 24 und I Sam 26). Zur ‚diachronen Synchronisierung’ zweier Erzählungen”, in W. Dietrich (ed.), David und Saul im Widerstreit – Diachronie und Synchronie im Wettstreit. Beiträge zur Auslegung des ersten Samuelbuchs (OBO 206; Fribourg – Göttingen, 2004), pp. 232–253. 26 To dissociate David from Saul’s death not only geographically but also mentally, this la-

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The message to the readership is crystal clear: Although David was in the service of the Philistines at that time, he had nothing to do with Israel’s defeat and Saul’s death. The same careful attention apparent in his construction of the passages about David as a vassal of the Philistines, the author of the Court History devoted also to the young David as an enemy of the Philistines. This is most evident in 1 Sam 18. Saul, as we learn, offered David marriage with his elder daughter Merab and in return asked David to be valiant (‫ )בן חיל‬and fight the “battles of Yhwh” (‫ ;מלחמות יהוה‬1 Sam 18:17a).27 Such a deal between a soldier king and a competent warrior is quite plausible. It is not stated against whom David should fight; according to the list in 1 Sam 14:47–48 it could be any of the neighbours: Moabites, Ammonites, Edomites, Arameans, Philistines, or Amalekites. But in 18:17b a closer definition of the enemy is given: “For Saul said [to himself]: Not my hand shall be against him, but the hand of the Philistines”. This monologue is easily recognizable as the contribution of the Court Historian, turning a fair deal into an underhanded move: the marriage offer now looks as a mere ruse to send David to his doom. Only a few verses earlier, it can be seen how mistrust of David awakens in Saul. When the women sang the song that honoured David more than him (1 Sam 18:7), Saul became furious and “said [to himself]: ‘They have ascribed to David tens of thousands, and to me they have ascribed thousands; what more can he have but the kingdom?’ So Saul eyed David from that day on” (1 Sam 18:8–9). This is another monologue verbalized by the Court Historian. Nothing became of the marriage with Merab; it seems that Saul preferred another son-in-law (1 Sam 18:19).28 But when his younger daughter Michal fell in love with David (18:20), his deadly thoughts immediately resurged: “Saul said [to himself]: ‘Let me give her to him that she may be a snare for him and that the hand of the Philistines may be against him’” (18:21). Without this monologue revealing Saul’s hidden motive the offer of marriage could be understood once more as a fair deal: David has no property (18:23), but he is a brave soldier; hence the idea of one hundred foreskins of Philistines as bride price for the king’s daughter (18:25a);29 but as soon as Saul make this condition (18:25a), one is reminded of his motivation: “Now Saul planned to make David fall by the hand of the Philistines” (18:25b). As is well ment (2 Sam 1:17–27) is quoted from a separate book. Moreover, the Amalekite messenger who claims to have given the mortal blow to Saul must die (2 Sam 1:13–16). 27 I. Willi-Plein (“Michal und die Anfänge des Königtums in Israel”, in I. Willi-Plein, Sprache als Schlüssel. Gesammelte Aufsätze zum Alten Testament [Neukirchen-Vluyn, 2002], pp. 79–96, esp. 84–85) describes the relationship to David envisioned by Saul as “Dienstehe”, meaning a vassal marriage granted by the patron to a subordinate subject to tie him to himself, and not a regular marriage negotiated between two principally equal families. In such marriages the spouse as well as the common offspring would belong to the father’s i.e. the patron’s household. 28 S. Bar-Efrat (Das Erste Buch Samuel. Ein narratologisch-philologischer Kommentar [BWANT 176; Stuttgart, 2007], p. 258) maintains that David, by his seemingly modest queries in 1 Sam 18:18, rejected the offer of the king. 29 One is reminded of Jacob having to earn Rachel (and also Lea) with hard labour (Gen 29:15–28). Jacob works as a shepherd, David as a soldier; otherwise the cases are analogous. That both fathers-in-law expect to benefit from the effort of the sons-in-law is only natural. But that one of them harbours such deadly designs is condemnable. According to I. WilliPlein (op. cit. [note 27]) Saul once more envisioned a “Dienstehe”, but David (mis-)understood this as the offer of a regular marriage, interpreting the 200 foreskins as a bride price.

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known, this plot did not work: David provided Saul with two hundred instead of one hundred foreskins30 and became Saul’s son-in-law (18:27). This seemingly conciliatory ending is followed by another glimpse into Saul’s mood: having realized that Yhwh was with David, Saul began to fear David and “became David’s enemy from that time forward” (18:28–29). These statements stem from the Court Historian, as does the final comment that David won many battles against the Philistines (18:30). If one leaves out the additions by the Court Historian, the passage 1 Sam 18:17–30 yields a double tradition about David’s marriage into the house of Saul: an unsuccessful attempt (Merab) and a successful one (Michal). Of this tradition—presumably available as a source text—the Historian created a story full of conflict between Saul and David, making Saul’s daughters the baits and the Philistines the weapon, with which Saul intended to bring David down.31 What is imputed to Saul here might have been imputed to David (and later, with the fall of the northern kingdom, to his successors): collaboration with Israel’s enemy to bring about Israel’s downfall. Keen to protect David (and Judah) from such suspicions the Court Historian returned the blame to Saul (a thinly veiled hint also to the later northern kingdom). Also linked to the Merab-Michal-Story is the famous story of David’s victory over ‘the Philistine’ Goliath (1 Sam 17). Here we find a motif that calls for a continuation: David, gotten unto the battlefield, hears that king Saul had set his daughter as one of the prizes for the killer of Goliath (17:25). Thus, the Merab-Michal-Story (in 18:17–27) would match the end of the Goliath-Story (in 1 Sam 18:1–5). But between them the Historian incorporated a sequence of scenes, which turn the agreement between the king and his bravest warrior into a very tense relationship. First, the women’s song (18:6b–7) rouses Saul’s mistrust (18:8–9), which in its turn gives rises to Saul’s first attempt to kill the lyre-playing David (18:10–11). When this fails, David is removed, but the result is that he achieves military success and gains support from God and the people (18:12–16). It seems that, apart from the women’s song perhaps, this whole passage comes from the hand of the Court Historian. 3. Prior Sources Some stories on the topic of ‘David and the Philistines’ had their origins in individual traditions. Comments on these follow the canonical order. 1 Sam 17–18: As pointed out above, the Goliath narrative is related to the MerabMichal-story. Possibly, it came into being as a gigantic preface to the older tradition of David’s marriage into the house of Saul. The Marriage tradition aroused curiosity: How could David become Saul’s son-in-law? The Goliath story had the answer: because of his fairly tale victory over “the Philistine”, as a prize for which the king had proclaimed marriage with his own daughter. The Goliath-material went through a long history of tradition itself: in the beginning was the victory of a certain Elhanan from Bethlehem over “Goliath, the Gittite, the shaft of whose spear was like a weaver’s beam” (2 Sam 21:19). Then there was a probably especially huge and fabled “sword of Goliath” (1 Sam 21:9; 22:10). The killing of Goliath was later 30

Circumcision of the male foreskin was customary in all Semitic tribes and peoples, i.e. in Israel and all neighbouring countries save for the Philistines who emigrated from the Aegean. 31 This constellation is not unlike David’s disposal of the inconvenient Uriah through the Ammonites in 2 Sam 11.

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attributed to David: initially in the role of a young slingshot soldier, who with a masterly shot, brought about a glamorous victory over the Philistines; later in the role of a shepherd boy, who just happened to be on the battlefield and killed off the gigantic spearhead of the Philistines with a herdsman’s slingshot and the warrior’s own sword.32 In this form, the story was linked to the one about Merab and Michal and incorporated into the Court History. 1 Sam 23: The story about ‘David in Keilah’ falls into two parts: one recounts David’s effort to protect this place in the Shephela33 against Philistine attacks (23:1–5), the other tells about his departure from Keilah threatened by Saul’s approach (23:6– 13). While the second half may be credited to the Court Historian, the first seems adopted from an earlier source.34 According to this short story, David once heard that Keilah was besieged by marauding Philistines; encouraged by two favourable oracles35, he advanced, defeated the Philistines, and took their cattle (23:1–5). In fact this appears like a gang war: one gang at a raid is surprised by the counter-raid of another gang. In the second half, the Court Historian steps in. He introduces the priest Abiathar (23:6), known from his previous narration (1 Sam 22:20–23). Then he brings Saul into focus—significantly with a monologue in which Saul responds to the message about David’s presence in Keilah (not described as a continuous presence in the earlier source!) “Saul said [to himself]: ‘God has given him into my hand; for he has shut himself in by entering a town that has gates and bars’” (21:7).36 Saul mobilizes a big army, and David obtains again two oracles—this time through Abiathar and by use of the ephod he holds in trust.37 The tone of David’s questions this time is not that of factual issues but rather of an emotional prayer. First, he wants to know whether Saul was planning to come to Keilah, then he asks whether the inhabitants of Keilah would hand him, David, over to Saul. When both answers are affirmative, David withdraws from the city and Saul abandons the undertaking. Once more, the lessons from this doubled narrative are plain: David can handle the Philistines, but not Saul. Also: Saul fights David instead of fighting the Philistines.

32 According to my analysis (“Die Erzählungen von David und Goliat in I Sam 17”, ZAW 108 [1996], pp. 172–191), the verses 1 Sam 17:1–9, 48b, 50, 51b–53 belong to one story, whereas all the remaining text—except later additions, particularly within 17:34–47—belongs to another story. 33 Keilah is mostly identified as today`s Khirbet Qīla in the Wādi es-Sūr, approximately 12 km northwest of Hebron. According to Josh 15:44 the place belonged to Judah, but apparently this was not the case during the period in question. 34 T. Veijola (David. Gesammelte Studien zu den Davidüberlieferungen des Alten Testaments [Helsinki – Göttingen, 1990], pp. 5–42) separates the parts 1bβ, 2bβ and 5b declaring them as Deuteronomistic. This seems possible, but not necessary. 35 The style gives the impression of a so-called alternative oracle, which would answer a presented question with yes or no. The technical devices would be two differently marked objects (pieces of wood, stones) one of which would jump first out of a receptacle which the priest shakes. The best known oracle of this kind was ‘Urim and Tummim’. The other possibility is the so-called selective oracle which was used when a range of solutions were possible. Cf. about this Dietrich (op. cit. [note 19]), pp. 463–465. 36 The military motif of the enemy self-enclosed in a fortified city is encountered again in 2 Sam 17:13—likewise a text by the Court Historian (cf. also 2 Sam 20:6, 14–15). 37 This cult object appears repeatedly in the books of Samuel, lastly at David’s dance in front of the ark (2 Sam 6:14).

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1 Sam 27: David enters the service of Achish from Gath with his 600-men-troop, gets Ziklag as a fief, and stays in Philistia for one year and four months. This rather dry account in the verses 2, 3a, 6, 7 may be old; the later, David-friendly tradition would never have implicated its hero in such escapades. It honours the Court Historian that he did not suppress this splinter of tradition, although this certainly is not to say that he introduced this information without further ado. Indeed, he made a threefold endeavour at defusing it. First he paved the way to the Achish story by placing well before it the episode of 1 Sam 21:11–16 about a first and failed attempt to cross over to Gath,38 thus making it plain that David’s move to Gath was quite difficult and risky. Further, he interposed the remark, that David was not persecuted by Saul in Ziklag (27:4),39 which proved the accuracy of David’s thoughts, articulated by this author in 1 Sam 27:1. Finally, he provided evidence that David did not do anything against Judah (and Israel), although he made his Philistine overlord believe the contrary (27:8–12).40 1 Sam 29: As already indicated, only slender basic stock of material can be isolated in this chapter, in the verses 1, 2a and 11b. Forming the opening to the account of the battle of 1 Sam 31 these verses give no consideration to David or to his whereabouts. 2 Sam 1: The addressees to the lament in 2 Sam 1:19–27 are metaphorically forbidden to spread the news about the catastrophe on Gilboa in Gath and Ashkelon so as not to bring joy to the “daughters of the Philistines” (1:20). The author— with high probability David himself—puts himself on the side of the defeated Israelites and against the Philistines. Whoever inserted the lament here—this could well be the Court Historian—graciously informed us of his source: “the (song-) book of the upright”.41 2 Sam 5: The two episodes about battles against the Philistines in 2 Sam 5:17–21 and 5:22–25 strongly echo those about David’s victory over the Philistines near Keilah (1 Sam 23:1–5, see above). This time, the Philistines advance into the plain of Rephaim (ca. 5-7km southwest of Jerusalem). Again, David obtains oracles before the battle, which announce to him his victory and once even give him tactical instructions. It is quite possible that these three stories originated in the same source. 38 Ideologically, this narration is so clearly in line with the Court History that one could hardly assume an older core within it. Moreover, it consists mostly of direct speech, like 1 Sam 29, and within it—again as in 1 Sam 29:5—the women’s song from 1 Sam 18:7 is quoted. This reveals a narrative horizon far beyond the single text. The motif of the faked insanity, used to rescue oneself in crisis, is known also in classical-antiquity (e.g. Odysseus, cf. D. L. Christensen, “Achish”, ABD, I, pp. 55–56). 39 From the Court Historian originates also the mention of the two wives whom David brought along (27:3b)—a redactional allusion to 1 Sam 25:39–43. The direct speech from David to Achish in 27:5 anticipates only what is reported as a fact in 27:6; with this, David’s entrustment with the kingship at Ziklag becomes the very idea of David. 40 From a moral point of view one will find it questionable that David uses for this purpose the means of genocide. 41 2 Sam 1:18. This collection of songs is also mentioned in Josh 10:13 and 1 Kgs 8:13 (LXX, 3 Kgs 8:53, which reads “the book of song”).

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Now, attention is due to the doubled reference to the Philistines in 2 Sam 5:17a: “When the Philistines heard that David had been anointed king over Israel, all the Philistines went up in search of David”. The beginning of the older narration could have been: “And the Philistines went in search of David; but David heard about it and went down to the stronghold (‫( ”)מצודה‬i.e. 5:17aβb). This begs the question, to which stronghold could David have come “down” from Jerusalem? In 2 Sam 5:7, 9a ‫ מצודה‬is mentioned in connection with Zion and the city of David, but this was the highest point in the city (at that time). However, the traditions about David repeatedly refer to another ‫מצודה‬: According to 1 Sam 22:1–5 it lay close to Adullam (barely 30km southwest from Jerusalem, and close to Keilah!); according to 1 Sam 24:23 David returned there from En-Gedi. But probably the most significant evidence is found in the annex to the books of Samuel, in 2 Sam 23:13–14. The presence of Philistines in the plain of Rephaim and in Bethlehem is counterbalanced here by the presence of David and his men in the cave of Adullam (cf. 1 Sam 22:1!) and on the ‫מצודה‬, respectively. This topography is the same as in 2 Sam 5:17–25, as well as in 1 Sam 23:1–5.42 The narration in 1 Sam 23, and probably also in 2 Sam 23 (see below), deals with a phase in which David was still the leader of a militia and not a king. Thus, 2 Sam 5:17–25 was inserted incorrectly in its present position.43 These accounts about victorious battles with the Philistines belong to an earlier phase in David’s life. It was the Court Historian who dated them to the time after the establishment of the double monarchy by inserting the little opening clause “When the Philistines heard that David had been anointed king over Israel”, probably to show that David cut off his connections with the Philistines at that time. 2 Sam 15: According to 2 Sam 15:18b–22, 600 soldiers from Gath under the lead of a certain Ittai helped quell Absalom’s rebellion. The passage begins and ends with concise narrative accounts (15:18b, 22b), which could be from the earlier source.44 The intervening dialogue between David and Ittai has to be in its core from the same source, since it is the first out of three conversations David holds with important supporters at his departure from Jerusalem thus laying the foundation to his later success.45 In our case, the verses 15:19*, 21–22a are essential: David’s request that 42

Keilah is situated barely 3km south of Adullam! P. K. McCarter (II Samuel [New York, 1984], pp. 157–158) reaches a similar result, and his arguments are striking: The Philistines are said to have been “in search of David” (‫בקשׁ‬, 5:17) which would be odd if he stayed in his new capital Jerusalem; they “spread out” their troops (5:18, 22), not a usual expression for beginning a siege; the “stronghold” cannot be Mount Zion, “because in the Bible one always goes up, never down, to the eminence of Zion”. Less convincing is McCarter’s idea that 5:17–25 originally was placed “between the report of David’s accession to the northern throne in 5:1–3 and the description of the capture of Jerusalem in 5:6–10”. It is argued above that the text tells about an earlier period of David’s life. 44 The basis of 2 Sam 15–19 constitutes quite an old narration of Absalom’s turmoil, cf. W. Dietrich, “Die Fünfte Kolonne Davids beim Abschalom-Aufstand”, in W. Dietrich (ed.), Seitenblicke. Literarische und historische Studien zu Nebenfiguren im zweiten Samuelbuch (OBO 249; Fribourg – Göttingen, 2011), pp. 91–120. 45 Apart from the commander of the troops, Ittai, they are the priest Zadok (2 Sam 15:24–29) and the advisor Hushai (2 Sam 15:32–37). The Court Historian did not model these paragraphs from scratch, although he may have touched them up in places. The situation is different with the encounters with the Saulide Meribaal (with his trustee Ziba) and Shim‘i ben Gera in 2 Sam 16:1–13. These passages the Historian modelled largely himself (possibly availing himself of another source). Cf. Veijola, op. cit. (note 34), pp. 58–83; F. Langlamet, “David et 43

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Ittai should turn back and Ittai’s noble answer that he wanted to be wherever David was, for life or for death, as well as David’s positive reaction to this. With the addition of 15:19bβ–20, the Court Historian changes the impression considerably, suggesting that Ittai was exiled from Gath, thus excluding the possibility that the king of Gath could have sent ancillary troops to support David against Absalom. According to the present wording, David’s request that Ittai turn back appears twice: “Go back, and stay (‫ )שׁוב ושׁב‬with the king [Absalom]” (15:19bα), and: “Go back, and take (‫ )שׁוב והשׁב‬your kinsfolk with you” (15:20b). The intervening words may have been inserted by the Court Historian: David declares Ittai to be an exiled man who just arrived “yesterday”, and should therefore not go “today” with one who knows not where his way may lead him; he should turn back and Yhwh be merciful with him.46 This speech fits very well with the intentions of the Court Historian: If Ittai happens to be in Jerusalem involuntarily and temporarily, then neither has the ruler of Gath sent him to help the hard-pressed David, nor is he together with his troops an integral part of David’s army. David himself appears a pious and modest man, entrusting himself and also the Philistine to Yhwh’s care.47 This is a demonstration of the Court Historian’s way with unpleasant issues received from the older sources; he secures them against any interpretation that is adverse to David. 2 Sam 21 and 23: The passages 2 Sam 21:15–21 and 23:9–17 put together several anecdotes about fights of some of David’s men with Philistine warriors which probably come from a more extensive collection of stories about wars and battles.48 Some details sound legendary, others seem historically plausible. Naturally, in the early days of David, there were frequent skirmishes between David’s warriors and those of the Philistines in the borderland between the Philistine coastal plain and the Judean hill country.49 The setting depicted has armed gangs roam a relatively la maison de Saül. Les épisodes ‘benjaminites’ des II Sam., IX; XVI, 1–14; XIX, 17-31; I Rois II, 36–46”, RB 86 (1979), pp. 194–213, 385–436, 481–513; RB 87 (1980), pp. 161–210; RB 88 (1981), pp. 321–333. 46 LXX provides here a fuller text than MT, which requires as Hebrew Vorlage: ‫יעש יהוה עמך‬ ‫חסד ואמת‬. The reduction in MT to ‫ עמך חסד ואמת‬may have been accidental (Homoioteleuton) or deliberate (how could David be speaking to a Philistine like that?). This is against E. Kellenberger (häsäd wä’ämät als Ausdruck einer Glaubenserfahrung [AThANT 69; Zürich, 1982], p. 123), who adopts the shorter version in MT and interprets it as “Go with God”. 47 Kellenberger (ibid., pp. 124–125) interprets the picture of David in the present text very beautifully. He is even able to show a chiastic structure in the present wording of David’s speech to Ittai (similarly C. Conroy, Absalom Absalom! Narrative and Language in 2 Sam 1320 [AnBib 81; Roma, 1981], p. 144; J. P. Fokkelman, Narrative Art and Poetry in the Books of Samuel: vol. I, King David [Assen, 1981], pp. 180–182). If accurate, this interpretation goes to show the skills of the Court Historian. 48 Possibly the short accounts of the Philistine battles in 1 Sam 23:1–5 and 2 Sam 5:17–23 belong here too, as well as some formally related anecdotes in 2 Sam 8 about battles with other neighbours. One could well imagine such a scroll (or a little collection) in the archive of the Jerusalem palace. 49 Therefore David has to go “down” to these battles from the Judean mountains (2 Sam 21:15). The places Gath (21:20, at that time the most important Philistine city), Adullam (23:13, in the Shephelah) and Bethlehem (23:14, in the Judean hill country) are mentioned. Lachajah (23:11) and Gob (i.e. Nob: 21:16, 18, 19, in 1 Chron 20:4–8 Gezer; cf. A. S. Ehr-

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sparsely populated area, subsisting on the land50 and trying to steal or obtain zones of influence from their adversaries. In this state of rivalry the Philistines appear as the more aggressive and usually more successful party that can only be resisted with extreme boldness and bravery.

III. Historical Evaluation When attempting to draw a historical outline of David’s relationship with the Philistines, we have to rely on information from older single traditions and to examine what the Court Historian made of them. 1. David as a Bandit Chief In 1 Sam 16–18 we have some stories which reflect the rise of David within the immediate environment of King Saul as a warrior against the Philistines. According to the biblical account, David began his career in Saul’s service as a lyrist and an armour-bearer (1 Sam 16:14–23), then as a troop leader (1 Sam 18). This is not implausible, since according to another account, whose credibility we have no reason to doubt (1 Sam 14:52), the first king of Israel gathered strong, brave men to form a (small) standing army. Its primary task was the defence against the attempts of the Philistines to expand further into the hill country; Saul had considerable success, but still was defeated in the end by this overpowering enemy. If David was part of this army, he inevitably had to deal with the Philistines. That he had overpowered the giant Goliath is but a legend; his actual conqueror according to 2 Sam 21:19 was Elhanan from Bethlehem. But there is still the tradition of the two hundred Philistine foreskins for which he apparently expected to marry Saul’s daughter Michal. Of course he did not necessarily have to gain these trophies single handed; if anything true is contained in the story, then under Saul David was already some kind of leader of mercenaries, probably the most capable; he would hardly have become the king’s son-in-law otherwise. The textual traces leading back to Saul’s surroundings are both vague and scattered. Even so, there are many striking records about encounters with Philistines from the period that David spent as a bandit in the area of Judah. Generally, the portrait of David as an up-and-coming military and political leader gains sharper contours. The gathering of men, mainly of his own kinship, who were “in distress […] in debt [or] discontented” (1 Sam 22:1–2), the accumulation of this irregular troop to 400—with baggage train 600—men (1 Sam 23:13; 25:13; 27:2; 30:10), the maintenance of this small—but for the circumstances at the time and in this place quite considerable—private army by the population through more or less voluntarily given fees (1 Sam 25) or through martial forays (1 Sam 23:1–5; 27:8–9; 30:1–20)—all seem plausible and gain further historical trustworthiness by comparison with the activities of the so-called “Hapiru”. Some centuries earlier, the correspondence of Amarna by Canaanite city kings described the “Hapiru” as brave soldiers for hire, or as dangerous bandits. (The fact that Philistine warriors refer to their Israelite adversaries as “Hebrews” in 1 Sam 14, suggests some historical relationlich, “Gob”, ABD, II, p. 1041) can hardly be located. 50 The story of David and Nabal in 1 Sam 25 is most revealing in this regard, but also the accounts about Philistine posts and marauding troops in 1 Sam 13:3, 17–18; 14:1; 17:1; 23:27; 2 Sam 5:18, 22; 23:13.

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ship.) That the bandit chief, David, would sooner or later have conflicts with roaming troops and battle groups of the Philistines (or they with him) was only to be expected. The Keilah-episode in 1 Sam 23:1–5, just as the fights in 2 Sam 5:17–21 and 2 Sam 23:8–17, all lead to the same area: the borderland between the Philistinecontrolled coastal plain and the hill country in which David had installed himself. Less certain is, whether David was also involved in conflicts with Saul back then. It is not impossible that Israelite troops would have marched into the politically unstable south of Palestine so as not to surrender the land to Philistine roaming troops or to gangs like David’s (or the Amalekites!)51. Some particular traditions show Saul at En-Gedi (west of the Dead Sea) or in the “desert of Maon” (southwest of Hebron52) when he closes in on David (1 Sam 23:24–26; 24:2), but is then distracted by invading Philistines (1 Sam 23:27). This last piece of information catches our attention. Could it be that the habitual rivalry between David and the Philistines gave way to cooperation when they had to fight against Saul? Bandit chiefs typically with little regard for political or moral maxims, just do what seems beneficial at any given time. When conditions in the barren and embattled south became uncomfortable for David—the Philistines were too strong perhaps, Saul as well became too dangerous—he left for the west. Apparently, the Philistines offered good terms, and at the same time hoped to incorporate the vagabonding troop into their political and economic system. This arrangement benefited both parties: instead of two enemies they had only one, against whom they could unite forces. Thus the bandit chief, David, became a leader of soldiers for hire in the service of the Philistines. 2. David as a Vassal of the Philistines That David found his overlord in the ruler of Gath, of all people, is a historically remarkable and trustworthy account. Gath was prosperous; it was in fact the biggest and the leading city in Philistia—up to the end of the 9th century BCE, at which time it was levelled by Hazael, king of Aram Damascus,53 never to regain great importance, with Ekron becoming the Philistine metropolis.54 If—and this appears rather improbable—David’s crossing-over to the Philistines were later fiction, then one would hardly have chosen Gath, of all places, as his destination. The narrations call Achish the “king” of Gath55. Achish shares his name with one 51

1 Sam 15 could contain a (small) historical core, cf. W. Dietrich, David, Saul und die Propheten (BWANT 122; Stuttgart, 19922), pp. 10–12; A. Giercke-Ungermann, Die Niederlage im Sieg. Eine synchrone und diachrone Untersuchung der Erzählung von 1 Sam 15 (EThSt 97; Würzburg, 2010), pp. 258–261. 1 Sam 30 relates that David also had to face up to these predatory nomads. 52 The town of Maon, who gave the name to this area as well as Ziph, mentioned in the same breath (1 Sam 23:19, 24; 26:1) lay at the western edge of the Judean desert (cf. Tell Ma’in, map ref. 162.090) and in Josh 15:55 both are counted among the cities of the Judean hill country. 53 Cf. 2 Kgs 12:18. For the archaeological evidence see A. M. Maeir and C. S. Ehrlich, “Excavating Philistine Gath. Have we Found Goliath’s Hometown?”, BAR 27/6 (2001), pp. 22–31; and Maeir’s article in this volume. 54 Cf. T. Dothan, “Tel Miqne (Ekron)”, NEAEHL, III (Jerusalem, 1993), pp. 1051–1059. 55 The name is not semitic; for its possible connection to the Greek name Aγχίοσής attested in

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of his successors according to 1 Kgs 2:39, as well as with a 7th century BCE king of Ekron.56 This, however, is of little import: Such name repetitions are not uncommon with kings (or popes). It is interesting also, that only in narratives around the 10th century and only with regard to Gath is it said that the Philistines had a king.57 Normally in texts about this early period the leaders of the Philistine cities bear the title *seren (1 Sam 5:8, 11; 6:4,12,16,18; 29:2,6,7).58 In later times, namely in the textual witnesses of the 8th–6th centuries BCE, the four Philistine cities (without Gath!) always appear separately and have ‘kings’ as their individual rulers. The location of Ziklag, the village which according to 1 Sam 27 David recieved from ‘king’ Achish as a fief, remains unverified down to the present day; but the context points to the southeast of Philistia.59 Apparently it served as an outpost and border station meant to protect the heartland against invasions from the Negev and at the same time to expand its own sphere of influence. As the king of the city, David practically stayed the bandit chief he was—except that now he could operate from a secure base having no longer to deal with the Philistines as an enemy. He did not have to steal provisions for his troops from the Philistines, but could provide it with their consent—allegedly not in his Judean homeland, but further south (1 Sam 27:8–9). The detailed report about a conflict with the nomadic Amalekites in 1 Sam 30: 1–25 could well be historically accurate, in its core.60 David’s distribution of the spoils to Judean villages is reported (1 Sam 30:26–31), by which David sought to win them over for his own purposes.61 Homeric epic (Ilias 2:819), cf. D. L. Christensen, “Achish”, ABD, I, pp. 55–56. 56 On an inscription that was found in 1996 in Tell Miqne/Ekron as well as in Assyrian documents the name of Ikausu is verified, cf. I. Finkelstein and N. A. Silberman, David und Salomo. Archäologen entschlüsseln einen Mythus (München, 2006), p. 169. However, the assumption of these two authors that Achish of Gath in 1 Sam is in reality the 7th century BCE Achish of Ekron is rather hasty. For a detailed critique of the ‘deconstructionist trend’ advocated by Finkelstein see S. M. Ortiz, “Rewriting Philistine History. Recent Trends in Philistine Archaeology and Biblical Studies”, in R. S. Hess, G. A. Klingbeil and P. J. Ray (eds.), Critical Issues in Early Israelite History (Winona Lake, IN 2008), pp. 191–204. 57 This point is stressed by I. Shai, “The Political Organization of the Philistines”, in A. M. Maeir and P. de Miroschedji (eds.), “I Will Speak the Riddles of Ancient Times.” Festschrift Amihai Mazar, I (Winona Lake, IN 2006), pp. 347–359, esp. 349–350. Shai sums up the textual and archaeological evidence for the 10th–9th centuries BCE as follows: “even if the Philistines were not united under a single monarchy, cooperation among the five Philistine cities was the norm, and their external relations were conducted collectively” (p. 351). 58 For the etymology of this term see Dietrich, (op. cit. [note 19], pp. 277–278). A broader view of the phenomenon is offered by V. Wagner, “Die srnjm der Philister und die Ältesten Israels”, ZAR 14 (2008), pp. 408–433. 59 V. Fritz, “Where is David's Ziklag?”, BAR 19 (1993), pp. 58–61, esp. 76, wanted to identify it with the layer V of Tell es-Seba. Beersheba is described in the stories about Isaac (Gen 21:22–34; 26:23–33) as Philistine, later it became a Judean town, cf. Josh 15:28; 19:2 and the formula “from Dan to Beersheba” (Judg 20:1; 1 Sam 3:20; 2 Sam 17:11; 24:2; 1 Kgs 5:5) which describes the extension of Israel and Judah as a whole. 60 The following texts deal with conflicts between Israel and this tribe of nomads: Ex 17:8– 16; Num 14:39–45; Judg 6:3,33; 7,12; 1 Sam 15; 30. The assumption of H. A. Tanner (Amalek, der Feind Israels und der Feind Jahwes. Eine Studie zu den Amalektexten im Alten Testament [Zürich, 2005]) that all these texts belong to a later, Dtr layer is probably not accurate. 61 According to Finkelstein and Silberman (op. cit. [note 56]), this list of places is replete with anachronisms in view of which it is attributed to the time of Josiah. But what is the import of

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At greater conflicts, David was bound to join his overlord in the army. With good reason, the biblical tradition assumes that he was also mobilized for the decisive encounter with Saul’s Israel. Certainly, the Court Historian made explicit that he was absolved. If this ideologically motivated tinge is ignored, it remains possible, in some ways even probable, that David and his men were part of the battle at Gilboa—on the Philistine side. To be sure, this is a possibility rather than a fact sustained by positive evidence. It also has to remain open, to what extent the Philistines, and especially the king of Gath, were informed about David’s switch-over from Ziklag to Hebron and his proclamation there to be king of Judah (cf. 2 Sam 2:1–4a), or if they were even involved in these processes. From a vassal king of a city David became the ruler of a rather considerable territory.62 The Philistines could have been quite in agreement with that. At least nominally, David was still their vassal: apparently, he did not give up his dominion over Ziklag, for it says explicitly that the city has belonged to the Judean kings “to this day” (1 Sam 27:6).63 Thus the Philistines could see the strengthening of David as a counterbalance to their strongest adversary, hoping to use it as an effective spearhead against Israel. As a matter of fact, David’s troops can be seen involved in skirmishes with Israelite troops (2 Sam 2:8–32) soon afterwards. Of note, the battles are located near Gibeon (2 Sam 2:12–17), not in the middle or even in the south of Judah, but on or beyond its northern border. This can very well be understood as an attempt to destabilize the Saulide rule, a move that would have certainly met with Philistine approval. 3. David as King of Judah and Israel According to the biblical account, David radically changed his attitude towards the Philistines after Saul’s death or, at the latest, after his own accession to the throne in Israel. As noted, in his lament on Saul and Jonathan, he already distances himself distinctly from the victorious Philistines (2 Sam 1:20). Abner, the Israelite (and Saulide!) commander-in-chief, having submitted to David, advocates for him with his compatriots, citing Yhwh’s promise: “Through the hand of my servant David I will save64 my people Israel from the hand of the Philistines” (2 Sam 3:18)65. As Bethel, Aroer and Ramat-Negev being “zur Zeit Josias besonders bekannt” (especially well known in the time of Josiah)? It seems to weigh more that Jattir was not “even inhabited before the 7th century”; but this would require the—sometimes supposed, but hardly proved— identification with Chirbet ‘Attir (not: ’Attir!; cf. J. L. Peterson, “Jattir”, ABD, III, pp. 649– 650). A. A. Fischer (“Beutezug und Segensgabe. Zur Redaktionsgeschichte der Liste in I Sam 30, 26–31”, VT 53 [2003], pp. 48–64) also doubts the historical reliability of the mentioned place list. 62 It seems we are looking here at the founding of ‘Judah’ as a political entity, with David forming a unity out of the different settling tribes (namely Kalibbites, Kenites and Jerachmeelites, cf. 1 Sam 25:3; 27:10). 63 The time of the Court Historian must be meant, namely the late-8th century possibly early7th century BCE. 64 Textus emendatus, see BHS. 65 Admittedly, nothing was said before of such a divine promise concerning David. It was rather Saul who was the subject of such promise (1 Sam 9:16a)—with a phrase formulated by the Court Historian (cf. Dietrich, op. cit. [see note 19], pp. 402–405). The relation between the two writings is not one of dissent, rather of a subtle interaction: The promise in 1 Sam

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soon as David becomes king over Israel, the Philistines react with repeated attacks against his new residence Jerusalem, but they are defeated (2 Sam 5:17–25). Finally the Philistines head the list of David’s wars and victories: “David attacked the Philistines and subdued them; and David took the metheg-ammah out of the hand of the Philistines” (2 Sam 8:1).66 This picture of animosity between King David and the Philistines is due to the Court Historian who arranged his sources and commented on them accordingly. The negative statement about the Philistines in 2 Sam 1:20 is on one hand traceable to the genre (honouring the dead requires blaming those responsible for the killing); on the other hand it is politically motivated (David restages himself as a defender of Israel). Abner’s words in 2 Sam 3:18 originate from the Court Historian himself. It is that same historian who installed probably historically inaccurately both battle accounts in 2 Sam 5:17–25 in their current place. The note on the Philistines in 2 Sam 8:1 is at once very general and very mysterious;67 above all, it lacks any genuine chronological data68 so that the implied animosities with the Philistines (like those in 2 Sam 5:17–25) could have happened much earlier. The older sources bring to mind a scenario different from the one that the Bible (namely, the Court Historian) draws of the relationship between David and the Philistines: the Philistines content to see the rule over Judah and Israel in the hands of an ally (or still a vassal?), abandon their military activities in the hill country. David, on his part, makes no attempt to expand his rule into the coastal plain. Altogether, a picture of a peaceful coexistence emerges, in which at least economically, possibly also politically and militarily, the littoral states hold the upper hand. If David conducted himself in a defensive way towards the west, he followed an aggressive strategy towards the east as specified by the detailed accounts about military conflicts with the people east of the Jordan.69 The Philistines would be 9:16a was accomplished (1 Sam 13–14), but only partially; with Saul’s defeat on Gilboa it became obsolete, so that it could be given from the Saulide Abner to David in 2 Sam 3:18. The final phrase “...and from the hand of all of his enemies” serves as a revision of Saul’s lifetime and the preparation for 2 Sam 8. 66 The meaning of the expression is not conclusively clarified. ‫ מתג‬is a ‘bridle’, the piece of metal which lies in a horse’s mouth, used to lead it. ‫ אמה‬could be ‘ell’ or ‘channel’ (HALOT, s.v.). Thus one may translate quite helplessly ‘big bridle’ or the like, taking it as a metaphor for the foreign domination that David shook off. Alternatively, ‫ מתג‬stands for an unknown object very important to the Philistines, or for the city of Gath, following the Chronicler (1 Chron 18:1) who obviously read ‫ מתג‬as ‫“( מגת‬from Gath”), thus the phrase may refer to “Gath and its affiliated cities”. Another option accepts “Gath”, but takes also ‫ אמה‬as a place name: “from Gath to Amma”. Very attractive is the proposal of B. Halpern (David’s Secret Demons. Messiah, Murderer, Traitor, King [Grand Rapids, MI – Cambridge, 2001], pp. 320–321) that meteg is “a corruption of the term ptg-, which appears as a name or title of the goddess of Ekron in an inscription of the early 7th century”, so that ‫*פתג‬/‫“ מתג‬may well be the icon” (or one of several icons), which David captured from the Philistines according to 2 Sam 5:21. 67 How much more vivid and detailed are the short accounts that follow in 2 Sam 8 and even more so the account of the war with the Ammonites 2 Sam 10:1–19; 12:26–31. 68 The preliminary sentence “And it happened after this” assigns, strictly speaking, every following report of victory to the time past 2 Sam 5–7. 69 Cf. 2 Sam 8:2–14; 11:1; 12:26–31. Compared with these, the account of the Ammonite and Aramean war in 2 Sam 10 is a younger literary component and should be evaluated with care. Still there is some exaggeration also in the claim of 2 Sam 8:6 that Aram-Damascus was permanently conquered.

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satisfied with the forces of the United Monarchy bound in the east, since in these circumstances these forces would not turn west. Moreover, the second most important trade route next to the Via Maris, the so-called King’s Highway from the Gulf of Aqaba to Damascus, could also be controlled in this way, as of course also the east-west-routes from the coastal cities to Arabia. The presence of Philistines, especially Gathites, in and around Jerusalem is a strong hint to the relationships between David and the Philistines being marked by cooperation rather than by confrontation. According to an unpretentious and therefore unsuspicious note in the narration about the transfer of the ark to Jerusalem, this holy device was given for three months to a Gathite named Obed-Edom for safekeeping following an unpleasant incident, whereupon he experienced Yhwh’s blessing (2 Sam 6:10–12). Even more significant is the already discussed account of the 600 Gathites under Ittai’s charge, who supported David in his battle against Absalom (2 Sam 15:18–22). If Ittai was not expatriated from Gath, as the present text has it, but rather was sent to support David, the resulting picture would be more round shaped: Absalom’s rebellion supported mainly by (northern-)Israel,70 gets the Philistines worried about a foul reprise from a possibly victorious Absalom. He could follow in Saul’s footsteps, reinforced even by Judah. Thereby, an almost eerie analogy suggests itself: In the past, David (perhaps) helped the Philistines to crush Saul; now they (most likely) helped David to crush Absalom. It is no easy task to correlate this supposed relationship between King David and the Philistines with the recent archaeological discoveries at Khirbet Qeiyafa, situated 12km east of Gath/Tell eṣ-Ṣafi in the valley of Elah, on the border between the hill country and the coastal plain. The location is encircled by a wall of 700m in length, and has been populated mainly in two periods: in the Hellenistic era and in the Iron Age IIA. This early occupation lasted only a few years; thereafter the site was destroyed. The excavator, Y. Garfinkel,71 interprets the Iron Age remains as a ‘city’— possibly the term ‘military outpost’ would be more suitable—founded by the kingdom of Judah, practically by King David. Radiocarbon measurements72 and the pottery analysis73 make the assumed foundation time in the early-10th century fairly certain. It remains less clear whether Khirbet Qeiyafa was actually a Judean site or a Philistine one. The faunal assemblage74 as well as a newly unearthed sanctuary with ingredients of an uniconic cult75 point to the first possibility.76 These arguments 70

So A. Alt, “Die Staatenbildung der Israeliten in Palästina”, in A. Alt, Kleine Schriften zur Geschichte des Volkes Israel, II (München, 19643), pp. 57–58. H. Bardtke in contrast reckons with a strong participation of Judah in the rebellion (“Erwägungen zur Rolle Judas im Aufstand Absaloms”, in H. Gese and H. P. Rüger (eds.), Wort und Geschichte. Festschrift Karl Elliger [AOAT 18; Münster, 1973], pp. 1–8). F. Crüsemann postulates a cooperation between the Israelite and the Judean militia (Der Widerstand gegen das Königtum. Die antiköniglichen Texte des Alten Testaments und der Kampf um den frühen israelitischen Staat [WMANT 49; Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1978], pp. 96–98). 71 Y. Garfinkel and S. Ganor, Khirbet Qeiyafa. Vol. I, Excavation Report 2007–2008 (Jerusalem, 2009). 72 The calibration shows a time span between 1050 and 975 BCE. 73 Cf. the solid presentation in Garfinkel and Ganor, op. cit. (note 71), pp. 119–149. 74 Garfinkel and Ganor, ibid., p. 205: “The Iron Age assemblage for the site is dominated by cattle and sheep/goat bones”; p. 204: “No pig bones were found in the Iron Age stratum”. 75 So Garfinkel in a lecture held in Bern in September 2010.

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would be strengthened by G. Galil’s reading of the famous Qeiyafa ostracon, if it is correct.77 On the other hand, the fact that fine pieces of typically Philistine pottery were found in buildings from the Iron Age IIA78 speaks for the second possibility.79 But supposing it was David who erected Khirbet Qeiyafa as a border post against Philistia, and it was the Philistines who destroyed this post:80 how does this fit into our picture of David’s rather close connections with the Philistines after his coronation in Jerusalem? In my opinion, such a relationship would not necessarily exclude attempts by one side to mark its sovereignty, nor would it counter possible attacks from the other side to remove such markers of sovereignty.81 The destruction of Khirbet Qeiyafa by the Philistines may have been a strong warning to David not to overburden the mutual relationship and not to disclaim the hierarchy between the king of Gath and the king of Jerusalem. The above drawn picture of ‘David and the Philistines’,82 differs significantly from the one drawn in the Bible (that is mostly by the Court Historian). David’s power, at any rate his power over the Philistines, appears diminished, but not at all minimized. For David (and later Solomon) would still be the ruler of a Dual-Monarchy which albeit not from “the river [Euphrates] to83 the land of the Philistines, even to the border of Egypt” (1 Kgs 5:1), stretches from “Dan to Beersheba” (2 Sam 24:15; 1 Kgs 5:5).

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See also Garfinkel’s article in this volume. See G. Galil, “The Hebrew Inscription from Khirbet Qeiyafa/Neta‘im: Script, Language, Literature and History”, UF 41 (2009) [2010], pp. 193–242. Different analyses of the inscription are to be found in Garfinkel and Ganor, op. cit. (note 71), pp. 243–270. Galil’s reading is now accepted by other scholars including B. Becking and P. Sanders (“De inscriptie uit Khirbet Qeiyafa: Een vroege vorm van sociaal besef in oud Israel?”, NTT 64 [2010], pp. 238– 252), R. Achenbach (“The Protection of Personae miserae in Ancient Israelite Law and Wisdom and in the Ostracon from Khirbet Qeiyafa”, Semitica [forthcoming]), and more. 78 According to the excavators (see Garfinkel and Ganor, op. cit. [note 71], pp. 151–158) they represent the missing link between the ‘Philistine Bichrome’ pottery of the late 11th century and the ‘Late Philistine Decorated Ware’ of the 9th and 8th centuries BCE. 79 As J. Uziel states, pottery “is probably the most distinctive feature of the assemblage” (“The Development Process of Philistine Material Culture: Assimilation, Acculturation and Everything in between”, Levant 39 [2007], p. 168). 80 As suggested by Galil, op. cit. (note 77). 81 The coastal cities had a strong interest in controlling the economy and the markets in their hilly hinterland. A. Shalit (“Settlement Patterns of Philistine City-States”, in A. Fantalkin and A. Yasur-Landau [eds.], Bene Israel. Studies in the Archaeology of Israel and the Levant during the Bronze and Iron Ages, Festschrift Israel Finkelstein [Leiden, 2008], pp. 135–164) demonstrates convincingly the lack of a greater number of rural settlements in the immediate environment of the Philistine cities over the centuries, which made the inhabitants dependent on other sources of supply for their food. 82 It is in some findings similar to that of the popular article of H.-M. Niemann, “David gegen Goliath. Waren Philister und Israeliten Erzfeinde?”, WUB 49 (2008), pp. 34–39. 83 Textus emendatus, see BHS. 77

“ḪANIGALBAT” IN EARLY NEO-ASSYRIAN ROYAL INSCRIPTIONS A RETROSPECTIVE VIEW

FREDERICK MARIO FALES University of Udine

I. Introduction Going back nowadays to the entry Ḫanigalbat, which was written for the Reallexikon der Assyriologie by Egbert von Weiher in 19721 may cause at first a certain disconcertment. This is due to the fact that—at a remove of some four decades—not only an abundance of new textual and archaeological data concerning this politically crucial area in Northern Mesopotamia has been published, but especially that such data have given rise to scenarios of ever-growing coherence regarding the overall historical picture of the Late Mittanian and Middle Assyrian periods. In practice, the information on Ḫanigalbat given in von Weiher’s article reads at present—despite its author’s proved competence—as a largely unconnected accumulation of materials;2 whereas, through the years, such materials—together with many newer additions—have come to ‘resound’ with multiple inner contextual links, or along a variety of analytical perspectives, which by now represent by and large common knowledge to all concerned. This said, specific notice may still be taken of the initial sentence in the Reallexikon article: “Ḫ.(anigalbat) ist die Bezeichnung eines Gebietes in Ober-mesopotamien, dessen Grenzen sich in seiner wechselvollen Geschichte mehrfach stark veränderten”.3 This geographical definition may act as starting point for the present study, in which the location of toponyms and geographical sectors which constituted “Ḫanigalbat” during the early Neo-Assyrian (ENA) period will be critically reexamined, and thereupon pitted ‘retrospectively’ against what is at present known from Middle Assyrian (MA) sources—both of official and of administrative nature—concerning this territorial entity, first attested in historical records as offshoot or heir to the vaster geographical and political complex of Mittani. In particular, the—per se quite basic and limited—task of ascertaining which areas were still attributed to “Ḫanigalbat” many centuries after its first military and political incorporation into Assyria, will be utilized to look back at the institutional implications of the much-discussed title šar Ḫanigalbat in the sources from the 1 E. Von Weiher, “Ḫanigalbat”, RlA V, pp. 105a–107b. N.B. The inverted commas in the title of the present article relate to a suggestion for the reading of the toponym discussed in §§ V– VI, but the traditional reading is retained in §§ I–IV, for the sake of clarity. 2 Some updated information on Ḫanigalbat within the same RlA was already supplied in G. Wilhelm, “Mittan(n)i, Mitanni, Maitani. A. Historisch”, RlA VIII, pp. 289a–b, 295b. 3 Von Weiher, op. cit. (note 1), p. 105a.

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western part of the MA reign: thus possibly making the quest not entirely fruitless.4 A word on method: it may be preliminarily recalled that in his 1987 synthesis on Assyria and Ḫanigalbat, A. Harrak wrote away mentions of this area in ENA official sources as merely ‘fossilized’, i.e. as part of a general self-ennobling tendency to adopt Middle Assyrian nomenclature by later rulers.5 However, this position appears generally untenable, in view of the vast amount of work which has been performed on the historical geography of the Assyrian empire in the last two decades—with a growing tendency to consider itineraries and other geographical notations given in the Assyrian royal inscriptions as representing by and large non-topical items, and thus as constituting “a source of primary (and perhaps unequalled) importance for the reconstruction of NA geography”.6 In particular, the numerous historical-topographical investigations (by K. Kessler, K. Nashef, M. Liverani, K. Radner, and others) which are nowadays available regarding the northernmost, or piedmont, area of Northern Mesopotamia have provided the basic reference frame ‘on the map’ for the ENA data dealt with here. On the other hand, I very recently had the opportunity to evaluate in extenso the ever-growing body of texts and interpretations on the western ‘half’ of the MA reign,7 and thus I have drawn some notes and bibliographical material therefrom.8

II. Sources of the 12th and 11th Centuries BCE The official Assyrian sources on Ḫanigalbat to be dated during the period of political and social crisis which began at the very end of the 13th century BCE and lasted for some 300 years—overlapping by and large with the archaeological transition from the Late Bronze Age II to Iron Age I—are very limited in number. Starting from the 12th and 11th centuries BCE, only one mention of Ḫanigalbat marks the inscriptions of Tiglath-pileser I (1115–1077 BCE): In the course of that campaign I marched to the rebellious and insubmissive city Milidia of the land Ḫanigalbat. Frightened by my strong belligerent attack they submitted to me and I had mercy on 4

A comparative socio-economic approach to the 2nd and 1st millennium sources on Ḫanigalbat was attempted early on by Gaál, but with non-conclusive results, see E. Gaál, “The Economic Role of Ḫanigalbat at the Beginning of the Neo-Assyrian Expansion”, in H.-J. Nissen and J. Renger (eds.), Mesopotamien und seine Nachbarn, I (Berlin, 1978), pp. 349–354. 5 A. Harrak, Assyria and Ḫanigalbat (Hildesheim, 1987), p. 277, with reference to A. K. Grayson (“Assyria: Ashur-dan II to Ashur-Nirari V [934–745 B.C.]”, in The Cambridge Ancient History, III/1 [Cambridge, 19822], p. 280) who deals with a slightly later period: “The adoption of Middle Assyrian nomenclature is indicative of a feeling that they [= the 10th–8th centuries BCE monarchs] were re-creating an old empire that was still rightfully theirs. Successful conquerors of the period boasted of regaining territory which some enemy had seized in the interval between the middle and new empires”. 6 M. Liverani, Studies on the Annals of Ashurnasirpal II. 2. Topographical Analysis (Roma, 1992), p. 11. 7 F. M. Fales, “Transition: the Assyrians at the Euphrates between the 13th and the 12th Centuries BC”, in K. Strobel (ed.), Empires after the Empire: Anatolia, Syria and Assyria after Suppiluliuma II (ca. 1200–800/700 B.C.), (Firenze, 2012), pp. 9–59. 8 I am grateful to Prof. Simonetta Ponchia, Prof. Gershon Galil, Ms. Roswitha del Fabbro, and Ms. Anne-Renée Castex for bibliographical aid in the preparation of this article.

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them. I did not storm that city (but) I took hostages. I imposed upon them as uninterrupted annual tribute one homer of lead ore.9 Beginning with A. Goetze in 1928, this geographical notation has been considered to represent a scribal error for ‘Hatti’ in view of the associated city name, with its political connections and geographical location in the 1st millennium BCE.10 However, as forcefully argued by S. Heinhold-Krahmer11—on the basis of the Hittite letter KBo 18.24—it is possible that Shalmaneser I (1274–1244 BCE), albeit not mentioning the area in his annals, could have campaigned victoriously deep into northern Hurrian territory and specifically at Malitiya on the west bank of the Euphrates. In any case, even accepting this reconstruction, it may be noted that there is no specific and apparent ‘chain of tradition’ linking Malatya to Ḫanigalbat. Proceeding in time, only a single mention of Ḫanigalbat occurs again in the ‘Broken Obelisk’ attributed to Aššur-bēl-kala (1073–1056 BCE). The relevant passage may be foremost given following the version of A. K. Grayson: In that year, in the month Ab, on campaign against the Aramaeans, he fought (with them) at the cities (under the rule) of Līšur- ṣala-Aššur (ina URU.┌MEŠ┐-ni šá 1Li-šur-ṣa-la-dA-šur), which are in the district (pa-ha-at) of the city Šinamu. In that year, in the same month, he uprooted (the inhabitants of) the city Šû[...]ru (URU.Šu-ú-[x]-ra) of the land Hanigalbat. He conquered the city Ḫulzu, which is within Mount Kašiyāri, and the city Erešu, which the people of the land Ḫabḫu held. He brought out 3,000 captives.12 In point of fact, however, this version proves to require some radical corrections— especially as regards the initial clause. A new reading applied to the first toponym was recently brought forth; and in its turn, an emendation concerning the full place name may be proposed. As for the new reading, K. Radner has pointed out that the hitherto accepted URU.┌MEŠ┐-ni should be read URU.┌du!┐-ni, on the basis of specific collation.13 Thus, we should not be dealing with the mention of an (improbable) plurality of townships, but rather with that of a single dunnu, i.e. a “fortified agricultural production centre”.14 Now, this typical form of landed holding of the MA period—which seems to have originated from the earlier structure of the dimtu, lit. ‘tower’, well-attested e.g. in the 9

RIMA 2, 22 : A.0.87.1, v 33–41. Cf. RIMA 2, 22 apparatus, for literature supporting this notion. On Melid, or Malatya, modern Arslantepe, in the period under discussion see Liverani’s article in this volume. For the identification of MA Malitiya as later Malatya, cf. J. D. Hawkins, “Melid (Malatya, Arslan-Tepe). A. Historisch”, in RlA VIII, pp. 35–41. 11 S. Heinhold-Krahmer, “Zu Salmanassars. I. Eroberungen im Hurritergebiet”, AfO 35 (1988), pp. 79–104. The maiden name of this Austrian Hittitologist is at times misspelled as “Kramer” in quotes of her work; but a check on the Internet suffices to set things straight. 12 RIMA 2, 102: A.0.89.7, iii 13–17. 13 K. Radner, Das mittelassyrische Tontafelarchiv von Giricano/Dunnu-ša-Uzibi (Turnhout, 2004), p. 91; collation by Cornelia Wunsch. 14 Definition by F. A. M. Wiggermann, “Agriculture in the Northern Balikh Valley: The Case of Middle Assyrian Tell Sabi Abyad”, in R. M. Jas (ed.), Rainfall and Agriculture in Northern Mesopotamia (Leiden, 2000), pp. 172–174. Cf. provisionally K. Nashef, Die Orts- und Gewässernamen der mittelbabylonischen und mittelassyrischen Zeit (Répertoire Géographique des textes Cunéiformes, 5; Wiesbaden, 1982), pp. 83–87, for a list of MA dunnus. 10

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Nuzi texts15—was usually named after its founder (who could correspond to the owner or be his forebear or kin), and was granted by the Crown as an autonomous farming estate in its well-defined boundaries and rights. The MA dunnu controlled vast tracts of farmland all around a fortified ‘industrial’ area; it was not open to secondary subdivisions or privatization (i.e., all the personnel was of dependent status vis-à-vis the owner), and—in the main—belonged to a single individual, at times even of high rank, residing elsewhere and specifically in a city (provincial capital or other).16 At this time, the best-known of such MA dunnus from the archaeological point of view is that of Tell Ṣabi Abyaḍ—a site whose ancient name is unknown, and whose written records are still largely unpublished17—which was owned by Ili-ipadda, sukkallu rabi’u, ‘Grand Vizier’, and thus virtual viceroy of the western ‘half’ of māt Aššur (cf § V, below). However, we are now also apprised of the day-to-day socioeconomic activities in such establishments through the smaller-range case (and the fully published archive of the Dunnu-ša-Uzibi / Giricano.18 Finally, field investigations of regional scope have shown that a number of sites variously characterized by fortifications of sorts dotted with regularity the countryside of the western ‘half’ of the MA reign.19 We may at this point tackle the above-mentioned emendation, which regards the name of the titulary of our dunnu, hitherto understood by all interpreters as Līšurṣala-Aššur20. Given that mLi-šur-ṣa-la-dA-šur, with a reading which goes back to L. W. King’s edition of almost a century ago, makes little sense from the onomastic point of view—to the extent that in alternative the reading Līšur-zitti(ḪA.LA)-Aššur was suggested21—two scribal mistakes in recopying this name may be surmised; by

15 Cf. C. Zaccagnini, The Rural Landscape of the Land of Arraphe (Rome, 1979), pp. 47–53; R. Koliński, Mesopotamian dimātu of the Second Millennium BC (Oxford, 2001). 16 Wiggermann, op. cit. (note 14), pp. 172–174; Radner, op. cit. (note 13), p. 70. 17 For the archaeological finds from MA Tell Ṣabi Abyaḍ, cf. P. M. M. G. Akkermans, “The Fortress of Ili-pada – Middle Assyrian Architecture at Tell Ṣabi Abyaḍ, Syria”, in P. Butterlin, M. Lebeau, J.-Y. Monchambert, J. Montero Fenollós and B. Muller (eds.), Les espaces syro-mésopotamiens – Dimensions de l’expérience humaine au Proche-Orient ancien (Turnhout, 2006), pp. 201–211. A part of the written evidence is disclosed in Wiggermann, op. cit. (note 14), and in an appendix to K. Duistermaat, The Pots and Potters of Assyria (Turnhout, 2008). I had the great privilege of being shown a vast number of these well-written tablets on site, soon after they had been discovered in 1997. 18 Radner, op. cit. (note 13), which commendably includes general and detailed archaeological sections, by A. Schachner and M. Roaf 19 Cf. E. C. Cancik-Kirschbaum, Die mittelassyrischen Briefe aus Tall Šēḥ Ḫamad (Berlin, 1996), p. 99, who recalls that in the Balīḫ area, apart from Tell Ṣabi Abyaḍ, sites such as Tell Ğidle, Tell Saḫlān and Tell Hammām et-Turkman prove to have been all fortified during the MA period. 20 Cf. e.g. K. Kessler, Untersuchungen zur historischen Topographie Nordmesopotamiens (Wiesbaden, 1980), pp. 61, 84; K. Radner, “How to Reach the Upper Tigris: the Route through the Ṭūr ‘Abdīn”, SAAB 15 (2006), p. 285. 21 Cf. RIMA 2, 102, apparatus. The reading of the middle signs as ḪA.LA = zittu, made by interpreters prior to King’s AKA, was also endorsed as a possibility by R. Borger (Einleitung in die assyrischen Königsinschriften, erster Teil: Das zweite Jahrtausend v. Chr., [Leiden, 1961], p. 140), obviously for the sake of the meaning of the name.

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emending such mistakes, we may attain the reading mLi-bur!-za-nin!-dA-šur.22 Now, this relatively rare name (“May the provider of the god Assur be happy!”) just happens to be the same as that of a well-known Middle Assyrian līmu, professionally identified as “eunuch of the king”,23 whose year of eponymy has been dated to the first half of the reign of Tukulti-Ninurta I (1243–1208 BCE).24 Similarly to Iliipadda, then it appears that Libūr-zānin-Aššur had his own dunnu by royal endowment in the rural areas of westernmost Assyria. This endowment seems to be indirectly confirmed by a passage in a fragmentary MA list of personnel with Hurrian onomastics from Kār-Tukulti-Ninurta, MARV II 6, rev. 82’–87’:25 Šubrians […] / from the foot of Mount Kašiyāri [who hav]e / been uproot[ed], to Libūr-zānin-Aššur / […] Tukulti-Ninurta, the king / [… who] Libūr-zānin-Aššur received / [and for the city Kar-]TukultiNinurta uprooted. Despite the difficulties of this broken passage, it should indicate that Libūr-zāninAššur was engaged with the forced transfer to Kār-Tukulti-Ninurta of a relatively vast group of Hurrian stock (some 200 families) originally living in the piedmont of the hilly/mountainous range known in Assyrian and Hittite sources as KURK/Gašiyāri / Kašiyēri, and to be identified with the present-day Ṭūr ‘Abdīn on the TurkishSyrian border, on which more will be said below (§ IV).26 The attached list of personnel shows that these family groups of “Šubrians” had been moved with all their belongings for the purpose of building the walls of the new city planned by the king (the heads of the families are significantly described as itinnū ‘builders’).27 Thus the possibility that this powerful MA official was responsible, like Ili-ipadda, for the administration of the wider area centered on a dunnu in his own name seems confirmed. Going back to the ‘Broken Obelisk’, it is therein stated that the military encounter of Aššur-bēl-kala with the Arameans took place at Dunnu-ša-Libur-zānin-Aššur, “which is in the district (pa-ḫa-at) of the city Šinamu”—thus providing the name of the urban center to which the high-ranking owner of the fortified farmstead of two centuries had been attached. Šinamu and its environs constituted one of the many 22 See the previous footnote. The earlier reading with ḪA.LA = zittu is interesting, since the ‘extra’ wedge which distinguishes ḪA from ZA could represent a pallid trace of (or the “footprint” of a scribal misunderstanding for) the initial element of the following NIN. As for the other emendation, since BUR is identical to ŠUR except for the number of initial horizontals (3 vs. 1), a scribal mistake in copying from a previous source may be even more easily posited. 23 C. Saporetti, Onomastica medio-assira, I (Roma, 1970), p. 301; cf. also H. Freydank, “Zur Lage der deportierten Hurriter in Assyrien”, AoF 7 (1980), p. 90, note 8; S. Jakob, Mittelassyrische Verwaltung und Sozialstruktur: Untersuchungen (Leiden, 2003), p. 83, note 5; W. Röllig, “Eponymen in den mittelassyrischen Dokumenten aus Tall Šēḥ Ḫamad / DūrKatlimmu”, ZA 94 (2004), p. 51 and passim. 24 Cf. H. Freydank, Beiträge zur mittelassyrischen Chronologie und Geschichte (Berlin, 1991), pp. 42, 53, 148: notice that the writing of this līmu’s name is invariably the same as the one suggested for emendation above. 25 Text given by Freydank, op. cit. (note 23), p. 90; cf. Harrak, op. cit. (note 5), pp. 224–225. 26 On the identification of the Ṭūr ‘Abdīn with ancient KURK/Gašiyāri / Kašiyēri, a toponym of possibly Hurrian origin, cf. recently Radner, op. cit. (note 20), pp. 283–286. 27 Freydank, op. cit. (note 23).

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‘districts’ (pāḫutu) into which the administration of the MA reign was subdivided, with a ‘district governor’ (bēl pāḫete) at the head of each.28 Now, whether or not (and to whatever extent), the ālu of Šinamu was still an ‘operational’ Assyrian site in the troubled 11th century BCE, it is a fact that scribal memory still managed to identify it as a former district capital, so as to mark it out from the topographical point of view as the general area of the Aššur-bēl-kala’s battleground with his tribalist enemies. Where was Šinamu? The long and complex analysis on this toponym effected by K. Kessler29 indicates that this town or city—which was to be dubbed Sinabu from the 9th century onwards30—lay in the Upper Tigris valley, and in fact in a prominent position on the righr bank of the river, possibly corresponding to modern Pornak Tepe. On the basis of the 2nd millennium sources—from the Mari period to the MA one—Šinamu is frequently associated with Tušḫu, which corresponds to NA Tušḫan, and is to be presumably identified with the site of Ziyaret Tepe,31 at present under investigations,32 on the same riverbank some 30km eastward (cf. Fig. 1). It may be noted that Šinamu was not specifically said by Aššur-bēl-kala to be located in Ḫanigalbat proper, and also that in the sole ‘local’ archive of the MA period which mentions Šinamu and Tušḫu jointly—that of Dunnu-ša-Uzibi / Giricano on the left bank, slightly to the NE of Pornak—the place name Ḫanigalbat is conspicuously absent.33 28

The settlements or nodes within each of these ‘districts’ or enclaves were dubbed according to their size and/or their more or less fortified nature, as ālu, ‘city’, birtu, ‘fort’, and dunnu, ‘(fortified) farmstead’. Šinamu is attested e.g. in the MA administrative text KAV 119 as the location of public works effected by civilian officials and military officers together with their troops, and demonstrates the extent of the Assyrian state's outreach westwards already in the time of Shalmaneser I (cf. Jakob, op.cit. [note 23], p. 9, note 67). 29 Kessler, op. cit. (note 20), pp. 79–84. 30 Cf. Liverani, op. cit. (note 6), p. 36, note 121, with previous literature. 31 Kessler, op. cit. (note 20), pp. 116–119; Liverani op. cit. (note 6), pp. 38–39; and more recently B. Parker, The Mechanics of Empire: the Northern Frontier of Assyria as a Case Study in Imperial Dynamics (Helsinki, 2001), pp. 188–203; K. Radner, “Provinz. C. Assyrien”, RlA XI, p. 53. The precise state of things is recapped by J. J. Szuchman (Prelude to Empire: Middle Assyrian Ḫanigalbat and the Rise of the Aramaeans [PhD dissertation, UCLA, 2007], p. 50): “Kessler’s ... original claim that Ziyaret Tepe was ancient Tušhan has been convincingly reiterated in recent years, although definitive textual proof of that attribution is still lacking” (= http://szuchman.bol.ucla.edu/ Prelude%20To%20Empire.pdf; © J. J. Szuchman). 32 Cf. T. Matney et al. (“Excavations at Ziyaret Tepe, Diyarbakir Province, Turkey, 2009– 2010 Seasons”, Anatolica 37 [2011], pp. 67–114) for the most recent archaeological results at the time of this writing. A consistent group of NA tablets from the last decade of the 7th century BCE found at Ziyaret Tepe in 2002–2003 were published by S. Parpola (“Cuneiform Texts From Ziyaret Tepe [Tušhan], 2002–2003”, SAAB 16 [2007], pp. 1–100), whereas a further tablet with an inventory of women, quite surely of earlier date, retrieved in 2009, will be published by J. McGinnis. Particularly striking is the fact that the onomastic affiliation of the majority of these feminine names remains unknown—i.e. neither Hurrian, nor IndoIranian (and specifically Old Iranian and Luwian), nor Elamite, nor Semitic provide a sufficient number of clear and unequivocal etymologies: cf. at present McGinnis in Matney et al., ibid., pp. 73–74 (photo of tablet: p. 105, fig. 7). 33 The two toponyms are mentioned together in text Giricano, no. 10 (Radner, op. cit. [note 13], pp. 90–91).

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Now for the following toponym in the text, URUŠu-ú-[x]-ra, which is—instead— unequivocally said by Aššur-bēl-kala to be part of Ḫanigalbat; here, despite the gap noted in Grayson’s edition, no sign should be actually missing, on the basis of the parallel with the Š/Sūra of the later annals of Aššurnaṣirpal II.34 The toponym Š/Sūra finds it earliest mention in the annals of Adad-nirari I (1307–1275 BCE);35 the MA ruler relates how, after the death of Šattuara, “king of the land Ḫanigalbat”, his son Wasašatta rebelled against Assyria with the aid of the Hittites; thus the army of māt Aššur was unleashed against him: I captured by conquest the city Taidu, his great royal city, the cities Amasaku, Kahat, Šuru, Nabula, Hurra, Šuduhu, and Waššukanu. I took and brought to my city, Assur, the possessions of those cities, the accumulated (wealth) of his (=Wasašatta’s) fathers, (and) the treasure of his palace.36 The complexity of the geographical indications in this well-known passage— especially regarding the location of Ta’idu—will not be taken up again here; it may suffice to recall Kessler’s conclusion, reached on the basis of known correspondences and suggested identifications, that “die Aufzählung der Städte folgt in ihrer Reihenfolge... keinem geographischen Prinzip”.37 As for Šuru/a, moreover, a variety of similar place-names may be summoned in the written record of the 2nd millennium—whether or not they should be connected to the Aramaic word šūr, “wall; fortress”.38 Kessler’s suggestion, based on Byzantine sources, to identify the ancient place name in this and the ENA passages with modern Savur (Syriac Ṣaur) in the northern sector of the Ṭūr ‘Abdīn range, has found general consensus.39 This identification would thus provide the Aššur-bēl-kala itinerary with an inner geographical logic, pointing to the later king’s entrance into the Ṭūr ‘Abdīn through a route from the north, i.e. from the Upper Tigris valley.40 Within the Kašiyāri range itself, as Aššurbēl-kala maintains, also lay the city of Ḫulzu, whose location is unknown, and the city of Eriša, which should correspond to the Irsia mentioned in Aššurnaṣirpal’s annals, possibly to be located to the NE of Savur.41 Certainly Irsia was quite close to Sūru, as these later annals specify:

34

RIMA 2, 209: A.0.101.1, II, 93; 259: A.0.101, 19, 57; cf. Liverani op. cit. (note 6), p. 59. Kessler, op. cit. (note 20), pp. 57–66; Nashef, op. cit. (note 14), p. 254; Radner, op. cit. (note 20), p. 292. 36 RIMA 1, 136, A.0.76.3, ll. 26–34. 37 Kessler, op. cit. (note 20), p. 61. 38 Idem, ibid., p. 59; and cf. p. 58, note 238 for the possible problems connected to the correspondence of the sibilants between North-West Semitic and the cuneiform rendering, in case of an etymology as ‘fortress’. 39 The identification goes back to Maximilian Streck (1898), as noted by Liverani, op. cit. (note 6), pp. 35–36; cf. most recently Radner, op. cit. (note 20), p. 292. 40 Kessler, op. cit. (note 20), pp. 61–62. 41 Liverani, op. cit. (note 6), p. 59, s.vv. Irsia and Sura. The city of Irsia is said to be a possession of the people of Ḫabḫu; for the multi-faceted implications of this toponym, cf. recently A. Fuchs, “Māt Ḫabḫi”, in J. Marzahn and H. Neumann (eds.), Assyriologica et Semitica: Festschrift für Joachim Oelsner (Münster, 2000), pp. 73–94. 35

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I burnt lrsia. I received tribute from the city Sūru, oxen, sheep, wine, (and) bronze casseroles, in the city Irsia. Moving on from Irsia I pitched camp (and) spent the night within Mount Kašiyāri. I conquered the city Madaranzu (and) two cities in its environs. I massacred them, carried off prisoners from them, (and) burnt the cities. For six days within Mount Kašiyāri, a mighty mountain (and) rugged terrain which was unsuitable for chariotry (and) troops, I cut through the mountain with iron axes (and) smashed (a way) with copper picks. (Thus) was I able to move forward the chariotry and troops. In the cities which were in the region of my road in Mount Kašiyāri. I received oxen, sheep, wine, bronze casserole(s), (and) bronze armor.42

III. Sources of the 10th–9th Centuries BCE We may now move to the main set of ENA sources regarding the area known as Ḫanigalbat, which derive from the annals of Adad-nirari II (911–891 BCE). In a number of contiguous passages from a tablet from Assur bearing the longest version of the king’s annals, a series of campaigns explicitly aimed at the conquest of Ḫanigalbat is described. The first is the following: In the eponymy of Dūr-māti-Aššur I marched to the extensive land Ḫanigalbat. Nūr-Adad, the Temanite, mustered his troops (and) we drew up in battle formation at the city Pauza at the foot of Mount Kašiyāri (šá GÌR KUR.Kaš-ia-ri). We fought with one another; I brought about his defeat from the city Pauza to the city Naṣipinu (and) destroyed his numerous chariots.43 As may already be seen from this first campaign of Adad-nirari II against Ḫanigalbat, to be dated to 901 BCE,44 and as will be confirmed by the remaining ones, the area was at that time occupied by the Temanites (KUR.Te-man-a-a), a population group of gentilic origin and self-reference—of West Semitic stock on the basis of their personal names45—albeit endowed with war-chariots, cities, and wellsown fields. J. J. Szuchman envisages a process of fixation to the land and a shift to agriculture as having occurred here: “by becoming sedentary farmers, Aramaeans were able to move in and fill the power vacuum in Ḫanigalbat that followed the demise of the Hittite kingdom and the decline of the Middle Assyrian kingdom”.46 This granted, it may be however noted that a consistent military capacity and mobility seems to have been fully retained by the Temanites, if one may judge by the fact that they were able to offer pitched battle against the incoming Assyrian army—no small feat in itself, and not one that other Aramaean groups will be able to 42

RIMA 2, 209, A.O. 101.1, ii 93–97. RIMA 2, 149, A.0.99.2, 39–41 44 PNA 1/II, p. 392a. 45 Cf. E. Lipiński, The Aramaeans: Their Ancient History, Culture, Religion (Leuven – Paris – Sterling, 2000), pp. 109–110, for a derivation of the ethnonym Temanayyu from tym, tymn, “south”, “southern”, thus implying “a distinction between the clans settled south of the Ṭūr ‘Abdīn and another group, called ‘northern’”. 46 Szuchman, op. cit. (note 31), p. 34. 43

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replicate so frequently. This first encounter with the Temanites occurred at Pauza/u, which is as yet unidentified, but was already attested in Aššur-bēl-kala’s ‘Broken Obelisk’ as a seat of the Aramaeans similarly located “at the foot of Mt. Kašiyāri” (šá GÌR KUR.Kaš6ia-ri).47 However, as K. Radner has recently noted, the connection in Adad-nirari’s passage with Naṣipinu (also known as Naṣibīna, modern Nusaybin)48 “suggests a location [of Pauza] in the plain just south of the Ṭūr ‘Abdīn”.49 Naṣibīna— specifically considered to be part of, or very close to, “the land Ḫanigalbat”—also appears in the account of the following year, together with two further toponyms (Iaridu, Saraku) of unknown location: In the eponymy of Ilu-e<mū>qāya50 I marched a second time to the land Ḫanigalbat. I fought with him at Naṣipānu. I dyed the countryside red with the blood of his warriors. I entered the city Iaridu. I reaped the harvest of his land. I regarded the city Saraku as mine (and) heaped up the barley and straw therein.51 The third campaign against Ḫanigalbat (899 BCE) brought the king to attack the city of Ḫuzirīna: In the eponymy of Ninuayya I marched a third time to the land Ḫanigalbat. I captured the city Ḫuzirīna. I completely surrounded the wall. The (people of) the cities at the foot of Mount Kašiyāri, which Mamli the Temannu had captured, submitted to me. I regarded his palaces as mine. At that time I received a large female monkey (and) a small female monkey, a shipment from the land of Bīt-Adini which lies on the bank of the Euphrates.52 The mention of Ḫuzirīna here has caused a certain debate. According to some authors, the city mentioned in this passage should not correspond to the relatively well-known urban site on the river Balīḫ (modern Sultantepe),53 but to a more

47

RIMA 2, 102: A.0.89.7, III, 8–9. As well as the contiguity of Pauzu in the earlier text with the city of Nabula, nowadays to be identified with Girnavaz / Ger Nawwās, just north of Nusaybin: cf. Radner, op. cit. (note 20), pp. 299–300, with previous lit. This place-name also occurs as Nablu in a MA letter from Dūr-Katlimmu (Cancik-Kirschbaum, op. cit. [note 19], no. 7:7', and p. 126). 49 Radner, op. cit. (note 20), p. 285. 50 Cf. PNA, p. 527b, contra A. R. Millard, The Eponyms of the Assyrian Empire 910–612 B.C. (Helsinki, 1994), pp. 23, 95; the integration was already suggested in Kessler, op. cit. (note 20), p. 215. 51 RIMA 2, 149, A.0.99.2, 42–44. 52 RIMA 2, 149, A.0.99.2, 43–48. 53 The site on the Balīḫ is well known from the NA period, but it is interesting to note that it also appears in connection with the neighboring city of Harrān in one of the MA letters from Dūr-Katlimmu (Cancik-Kirschbaum, op. cit. [note 19], no. 6:19), and in an administrative text from the same site (DeZ 3281: cf. W. Röllig, “Aspects of the Historical Geography of Northeastern Syria from Middle Assyrian to Neo-Assyrian Times”, in S. Parpola and R. Whiting [eds.], Assyria 1995 [Helsinki, 1997], pp. 283–285), both times with a spelling Ḫuzirānu which recalls the variant Naṣipānu for Naṣibīna seen above. 48

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easterly homonym.54 The fact that a number of “cities at the foot of Mount Kašiyāri” submitted to Adad-nirari would of course confirm that the campaign took place in the same general area as the previous passages; and it may be also recalled that in the later annals of Tukulti-Ninurta II (890–884 BCE), only one day’s march would seem to separate Naṣibīna from Ḫuzirīna within a generically northbound stretch of this king’s campaign.55 However, some basic doubts remain on the issue, especially in connection with the mention of Bīt-Adini, an Aramaic state in the westernmost part of the Jezirah—and thus more than 200km away from the Kašiyāri range.56 I thus venture to suggest that a misplacement of the constituent parts or clauses of this episode, due to incorrect recopying on the part of the ancient scribes, might be involved here. Let us try rearranging the passage along the following sequence :“I marched a third time to the land Ḫanigalbat” → “The (people of) the cities at the foot of Mount Kašiyāri... submitted to me” → “I captured the city Ḫuzirīna” → “I received... a shipment from the land of Bīt-Adini”. With this light shuffling of the clauses, we would in point of fact obtain the coherent account of a campaign which started out against “Ḫanigalbat”, and specifically touched the southern Kašiyāri range, but thereupon continued along the E-W road which was to be further, and frequently, trodden by Assurnaṣirpal II,57 and finally reached the Balīḫ at Ḫuzirīna/ Sultantepe—an area and a city which quite surely had nothing to do with Ḫanigalbat itself, but were fully adjacent to Bīt-Adini. The fourth campaign of Adad-nirari against Ḫanigalbat (898 BCE) was centered on the city Gidara, “which the Aramaeans call Raqammatu”. In the eponymy of Likberu I marched a fourth time to the land Ḫanigalbat. At that time Muquru, the Temannu, broke the oath of the great gods and belligerently sought against me war and battle. Trusting in his fortified city, his strong bow, his extensive troops, and the Aramaeans, he rebelled against me. I mustered my chariotry (and) troops (and) marched to the city Gidara, which the Aramaeans call Raqammatu (and) which the Aramaeans had taken away by force after 54 Cf. Radner (op. cit. [note 20], p. 286, note 29) who suggests that modern Tell ‘Amuda might have been implied here. However, in her refutation of the alternative hypothesis, she erroneously identifies the better-known Ḫuzirina with Tell Billa—which actually lies a mere 25km NE of Mosul in present-day Iraq and corresponds to Assyrian Šibaniba! See also the map in Parpola, op. cit. (note 32), reproduced as Fig. 1, below, where an easterly ‘Ḫuzirina’ is hypothetically placed to the SW of the Kašiyāri on the Naṣibīna – Guzana road. 55 RIMA 2, 177: A.0.100.5, 118–119. 56 Thus e.g., Lipiński, op. cit. (note 45), pp. 112–114 who—while not ruling fully out that an eastern Ḫuzirina could have existed—points out the fact that the gift of “two apes” received by the king from the circum-Euphratic region of Bit-Adini should rather indicate a western location such as Sultantepe. For the later conflict between Bit-Adini and Assyria, cf. most recently F. M. Fales, “Die Ausbreitung Assyriens gegen Westen und seine fortschreitende Verwurzelung: der Fall der nordwestlichen Jezira”, in J. Renger (ed.), Assur – Gott, Stadt und Land (CDOG 5; Wiesbaden, 2011), pp. 211–237. 57 This was the “ancient piedmont route”, such as it was first defined and examined in a seminal historical-geographical essay by the American scholar Ellen Churchill Semple (E. C. Semple, “The Ancient Piedmont Route of Northern Mesopotamia”, Geographical Review 8 [1919], pp. 153–179), i.e. the route “connecting Assyria and Carchemish… corresponding to the present Syro-Turkish border” (Liverani, op. cit. [note 6], p. 103).

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the time of Tiglathpileser, son of Aššur-rēša-iši, king of Assyria, a prince who preceded me. ...That fellow (=Muquru) together with his brothers I fastened in bronze clasps (and) brought (them) to my city Aššur. (Thus) have I constantly established the victory and strength of Aššur, my lord, over the land Ḫanigalbat.58 An identification of Gidara has been long suggested—albeit with no supporting evidence—with modern Bughedra, thus possibly deriving from *Abu Gidara, which lies almost half-way between Nusaybin to the SE and Mardin to the NW.59 Were it so, the general location of the Temanites on the southern flank of the Ṭūr ‘Abdīn would be once again confirmed. The historical note on the fact that Gidara—with its alternative name Raqammatu60—had been fully Assyrian until the time of Tiglathpileser I is worth dwelling upon, as a first ideological cue to the overall aims of Adad-nirari’s thrusts vis-à-vis Ḫanigalbat—that of reclaiming territory which had formed part of māt Aššur in MA times. This “grand strategy” will be most forcefully continued under Assurnaṣirpal II for the entire area up to the bank of the Euphrates,61 and even under Shalmaneser III for the areas on the riverbank itself.62 This fourth campaign did not represent the actual end of Adad-nirari’s conquest of Ḫanigalbat, since at least two further expeditions in the land (5th and 6th) were carried out in 897 and 896 BCE—the former aimed at the pure and simple gathering of tribute, the latter held in order to quell a revolt by Nur-Adad in Naṣibīna, which ended in a dire siege of the city, the takeover of a heavy enemy booty and the removal of the rebel chief to Assyria. However, no further topographical indications are associated with Ḫanigalbat for these campaigns; and subsequently, other conquests (in Kumme) are given in the customary chronological order, for 895 and 894 BCE. After this, we find a summarizing passage—as the possible product of a scribal interpolation—which seems to recap somewhat haphazardly data from previous episodes (5th and 4th campaigns), thus meaning to mark Adad-nirari’s “final word” on “the extensive land” Ḫanigalbat, “above and below”, before the opening of

58

RIMA 2, 150, A.0.99.2, 49–53, 59–60. See Lipiński, op. cit. (note 45), p. 114. For the “German military map of the World War”, to which reference is made by Lipiński, see the reproduction in Radner, op. cit. (note 20), p. 279, where “Bughedra” is (sufficiently) visible in the bottom right-hand corner. However, it may be noticed that if—as maintained by Lipiński himself in a footnote (ibid.)—Gidara should be related to West Semitic gdr, ‘wall’, ‘enclosure’, the suggested toponym formation *Abu Gidara does not seem today convincing. 60 On Raqammatu, named in a list of rebellious cities after Urakka (near Naṣibīna) and before Ḫuzirina (=Sultantepe) during the late years of Shalmaneser III (in the annals of Šamšī-Adad V: RIMA 3, 183: A.0.103, 47–48) and confirmed as provincial capital by an eponym list for for 773 BCE, see J. N. Postgate, “Assyria: The Home Provinces”, in M. Liverani (ed.), NeoAssyrian Geography (Rome, 1995), pp. 1–17 (= idem, The Land of Assur and The Yoke of Assur: Studies on Assyria 1971–2005 [Oxford, 2005], pp. 243–260); Radner, op. cit. (note 31), pp. 50, 52, who places it on the Upper Ḫābūr and even slightly westward. 61 Cf. Liverani, op. cit. (note 6), p. 103 ff. 62 See the famous passage regarding this king’s re-conquest of “the city (Ana)-Aššur-utēraṣbat, which the people of the land Hatti call Pitru (and) which is on the River Sagura [by the opposite bank] of the Euphrates, and the city Mutkīnu, which is on this bank of the Euphrates, which Tiglath-pileser (I), my ancestor, a prince who preceded me, had established”, RIMA 3, 19: A.0.102.2, ll. 35–37. 59

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the well-known section concerning the king’s victorious march down the Ḫābūr:63 In the month Sivan, in this same eponymy (= Šamaš-abū’a, 894 BCE) I marched for a fifth time to the land Ḫanigalbat. I received the tribute of the land Ḫanigalbat above and below. (Thus) I became lord of the extensive land Ḫanigalbat to its entire extent (and) brought (it) into the boundaries of my land.64 The survey of ENA sources regarding Ḫanigalbat may end with the single mention that the area obtains under Assurnaṣirpal II. In the course of his second campaign, the king relates that At that time I received tribute from Ahi-ramu, a man of Bīt-Iaḫiri, the (A)zallean, (from) a man of Bīt-Baḫiāni, the Hittite (KUR.Ḫat-ta-a-a), and (from) the kings of the land Ḫanigalbat—silver, gold, tin, bronze casseroles, oxen, sheep, (and) horses.65 The overall vagueness of this summarizing statement is relatively clear proof that “Ḫanigalbat” had by that time lost its previous cogency as a territorial designation, and was on the way of being applied to a macro-region, possibly with reference to a particular linguistic-cultural (presumably Hurrian) identity. As seen in the passage on Irsia quoted above (§ II, end), as well as in others from the annals of Assurnaṣirpal, the Kašiyāri range is not specifically associated with Ḫanigalbat by this king as it was for his predecessor.

IV. ENA Ḫanigalbat and the Ṭūr ‘Abdīn In sum, the official sources seen above—and especially the passages from the annals of Adad-nirari II—indicate that in the ENA period the area called “Ḫanigalbat” coincided by and large with the Kašiyāri/Kašiyēri range of uplands, which—as already noted above—may be identified with the present-day Ṭūr ‘Abdīn. This is a mountainous plateau of limestone in present-day SE Turkey delimited by the Upper Tigris river valley (up to its confluence with the Batman Su) to the north, bordering on its steeper southern and western flanks the flat plain of NE Syria and thus also within sight, as a landmark, from the Syrian-Iraqi border located due East on the Tigris (the so-called ‘duck’s bill’). The Ṭūr ‘Abdīn spans some 150km (N–S) x 200km (E–W), with a median altitude of 900–1400m above sea level, but lacks marked heights and has the appearance of a series of undulating ridges deeply cut by broad and fertile wadis, home to villages and tribal groups alike. The area is provided with sufficient seasonal rainfall (200–350mm) for cereal crops and horticulture (and specifically viticulture). It should have presented in antiquity a substantial wooded coverage (oak forests still survive in the south), which is nowadays 63 The characteristics of this passage have been recently analyzed by S. Ponchia, “Mountain Routes in Assyrian Royal Inscriptions”, KASKAL 1 (2004), pp. 260–261, who suggested (p. 261, n. 77) the “insertion of a summarizing sentence” here against the more facile solution of a scribal error (“fifth time” in lieu of “seventh time”). 64 RIMA 2, 153, A.0.99.2, 98–100. 65 RIMA 2, 203, A.0. 101.1, ii 22; cf. also ibid., 244, A.0.101.17, ll. 71–76. The interpretation of the passage follows Liverani, op. cit. (note 6), p. 44.

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much depleted.66 To be sure, the ENA texts present no full, or ‘one-to-one’, correspondence between the topographical-administrative term ‘Ḫanigalbat’ and the physical-geographical reality of the Kašiyāri: purely and simply, the cities associated with this territory prove to have been uniformly located in the piedmont of the mountainous plateau, or (less frequently) within its inner niches. In this light, the comprehensive expression “Ḫanigalbat, above, and below” (ēliš u šapliš) provided by Adad-nirari II would seem to fit a definition of an area as formed both by valley or piedmont sectors as well as by upper reaches, such as is the case of the Ṭūr ‘Abdīn plateau. The statement by Assurnaṣirpal II in the passage quoted in § II, above—“For six days within Mount Kašiyāri, a mighty mountain (and) rugged terrain which was unsuitable for chariotry (and) troops, I cut through the mountain with iron axes (and) smashed (a way) with copper picks”—is absolutely unique, insofar as the previous kings had stressed the hardships of the military encounters with the occupants,67 but never the obstacles of the terrain—thus making us suspect a gross exaggeration or a misplaced geographical reference here.68 From a strategic point of view, the ENA kings would seem to have aimed at the subjugation of Aramaean population groups occupying the Kašiyāri range—groups which in earlier times were presumably mobile formations with a precise tribal structure, but later were settled in the area within a number of fortified strongholds—to the aim of reopening the N–S route between the Tigris river valley and the plains to the south of the range itself, and possibly other itineraries as well (e.g. on the gently sloping southeast flank). Certainly, Naṣibīna—reachable from the central sector of the plateau along the narrow valley of the Jaghjagh river—appears to have acted as a main southern focus in the military crossing of the Ṭūr ‘Abdīn, since the main E–W route across the northern Jezirah passed through the city. To conclude: it is clear that the “Ḫanigalbat” of the ENA period, which more or less coincided with the Ṭūr ‘Abdin, represented but a last remnant of the territory similarly dubbed in earlier centuries, which—as we can make out from the 13th century annals of Adad-nirari I and Shalmaneser I and other contemporaneous sources—should have comprised the Upper Tigris area, the Ṭūr ‘Abdin itself, the Ḫābūr triangle, and the remaining northwestern strip leading to the Balīḫ, if not actually to the Euphrates: but this is not the point of the present study. The point is that, despite the passage of some 200 to 400 years since the land of Ḫanigalbat had 66 Cf. M. Streck [and C. E. Bosworth], “Ṭūr ‘Abdīn”, in P. J. Bearman et al. (eds.), The Encyclopaedia of Islam, New Edition. Volume X (T–U), (Leiden 2000), pp. 665–667, and Radner, op. cit. (note 20), pp. 274–283, with figs. 1–5, for the basic geographical information in this paragraph. 67 The description of the siege of Naṣibīna in Adad-nirari’s 6th campaign against Ḫanigalbat is a rare jewel in the otherwise laconic official accounts by Assyrian kings on the mechanics of warfare: “He (Nūr-Adad) had dug a moat, which had not previously existed, in bedrock all around it (the city). He had made (it) nine cubits wide and had dug it down to water-level. The wall was next to the moat. I encircled his moat with my warriors like a flame (and) they (the enemy) screamed like children about it. [I laid] traps as strong as the destructive deluge for him [and] deprived him of grain” (RIMA 2, 151: A.0.99.2, 65–68). 68 Or, alternatively, a takeover from previous kings: cf. e.g. Tiglath-pileser I, who had stated: “With the support of the god Aššur, my lord, I put my chariotry and army in readiness (and), not waiting for my rear guard, I traversed the rough terrain of Mount Kašiyāri” (RIMA 2, 14: A.0.87.1, 70–73).

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played—as final heir to the power of Mittani—a fully autonomous political role on the scene of Ancient Near Eastern power struggles, the memory of this territorial entity had not died out in the ENA period. Its location (or at least a minimal and essential core thereof) had not yet become a hazy traditional reference, such as by and large was the case with Ḫatti,69 and its military conquest—certainly crucial from a strategic point of view to guarantee security along the piedmont route from the Assyrian heartland towards the Balīḫ—could have also entailed ideological undertones of rightful re-appropriation, if we are to judge by Adad-nirari II’s summarizing clauses. Now, in an attempt to understand why a particular relevance was still attached to this territory in ENA times, I believe it may be useful to refer back in the briefest of terms to what is known about the institutional title of šar (māt) Ḫanigalbat during the central and final phases of the Middle Assyrian period —also in the light of most recent hypotheses on the original meaning and geographical range of “Ḫanigalbat” itself.

V. A Retrospective Look: the šar (māt)ḪaniGALbat In the course of the 13th century BCE, Assyria gained full control of the region west of the Assyrian homeland (especially in the Upper Tigris, the Upper and Lower Ḫābūr, and the Balīḫ river valleys), and thereupon superimposed its own administrative structure on the land already known as Ḫanigalbat under the last Hurrian rulers. This structure, which was first reconstructed by Machinist and Postgate on the basis of texts from a series of provincial sites and from Assur, may be at present pieced together in greater detail through the letters from Tall Šēḫ Ḥamad (ancient DūrKatlimmu),70 in conjunction with data proceeding from other archives. These archives comprise the letters and administrative texts from Tell Ḫuwēra – Ḫarbe in the steppe between the Ḫābūr and the Balīḫ, dated to the mid-13th century BCE,71 the few MA tablets from Tell Fakhariyah on the Upper Ḫābūr, published in 1958;72 the tablets from Tell Ṣabi Abyaḍ on the Balīḫ from the late-13th to the late-12th centuries BCE;73 and the texts from Tell Ṭaban – Ṭâbetu on the Lower Ḫābūr, both of official and of administrative nature, from the 13th to the 11th centuries BCE.74 Probably even earlier, but most clearly during the reign of Tukulti-Ninurta I (1244–1208 BCE), a “Grand Vizier” (sukkallu rabi’u), sometimes also dubbed šar (māt) Ḫanigalbat, would seem to have been empowered over the Jezirah from the the Lower Ḫābūr to the Balīḫ (and perhaps in some phases up to the Euphrates riverbank). The individuals who occupied the post of sukkallu rabi’u were all part of 69

Except for Carchemish, cf. Liverani, op. cit. (note 6), p. 73. P. Machinist, “Provincial Governance in Middle Assyria and Some New Texts from Yale”, Assur 3/2 (1982), pp. 1–37; J. N. Postgate, review of Nashef, op. cit. (note 14), AfO 35 (1982), pp. 95–101 (= idem, op. cit. [note 60], pp. 123–130); Cancik-Kirschbaum, op. cit. (note 19). 71 Cf. most recently and in full S. Jakob, Die mittelassyrischen Texte aus Tell Chuēra in Nordost-Syrien (Wiesbaden, 2009). 72 H. G. Güterbock, “The Cuneiform Tablets”, in C. McEwan et al. (eds.), Soundings at Tell Fakhariyah (Chicago, 1958), pp. 80–90. 73 Wiggermann, op. cit. (note 14); Duistermaat, op. cit. (note 17). 74 S. M. Maul, Die Inschriften von Tall Ṭaban (Grabungskampagnen 1997–1999). Die Könige von Ṭabetu und das Land Māri in mittelassyrischer Zeit (Tokyo, 2005). 70

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a single family, connected to the ruling dynasty of Assur, viz. the descendants of Ibašši-ili (son of Adad-nirari I and brother of Shalmaneser I), who succeeded one another from father to son. From Qibi-Aššur to Aššur-iddin to Šulmanu-mušabši and to Ili-ipadda, we are allowed to trace the general outline of the careers in this family for almost 75 years between the mid-13th century and the first quarter of the 12th century BCE, i.e. all through the reign of Tukulti-Ninurta I down to that of that of the latter’s second successor Aššur-nirari III (1203–1198 BCE).75 Eru-apla-iddina, a “cousin” to this branch as descendant of a brother of Aššur-iddin, also became sukkallu rabi’u at the time of the ascent to the throne of Ninurta-apil-ekur, the son of Ili-ipadda (1192–1180 BCE). The sukkallu rabi’u’s headquarters could well have been in the main at the royal court, but at times he, and at least his direct subordinate the sukkallu, was based at Dūr-Katlimmu on the Lower Ḫābūr, where minor officials named qēpus acted as administrative links with Assur (at a remove of some 230km/10 days’ march). It is generally accepted that the political status of the sukkallu rabi’u in the western region was that of a viceroy of sorts—also due to his family ties with the Crown— since he substituted the king by overseeing rural areas and their output, supervising workers, supplying the Assyrian capital with tax-revenues, acting as legal authority, hosting officials during their travels, and even took on specific policing and military duties. The “Grand Vizier”’s jurisdiction and authority stretched over a number of “districts”, and thus over the bēl pāḫete or “district governors”, such as have been already encountered above, together with the subordinates of the latter. This threetiered administrative layout (Grand Vizier – district governors – minor officials) ensured the continuous agricultural output of the various enclaves of western Assyria for the benefit of the locals themselves and for the discharge of fiscal, cultic, and honorary obligations toward the royal capital or the figure of the Assyrian king. The overall fluidity of this structure in times of peace seems to have guaranteed a certain economic prosperity to this western sector of the Middle Assyrian kingdom, as reflected in the textual record.76 Let us now tackle specifically the title šar (māt) Ḫanigalbat, which—as said—we find occasionally associated with that of sukkallu rabi’u.77 The title presents the curious feature of not being attested in any MA administrative text—it is given for only two of the “Grand Viziers” through direct/indirect references in the stelae from Assur.78 Moreover, it may be noted that, as said, not all the “Grand Viziers” were also dubbed šar (māt) Ḫanigalbat, even in the same line of descent or in the 75

Cf. Cancik-Kirschbaum, op. cit. (note 19), p. 22; Jakob, op. cit. (note 23), pp. 55–64. Wiggermann, op. cit. (note 14), passim; W. Röllig, Land- und Viehwirtschaft am unteren Ḫābūr in mittelassyrischen Zeit (Wiesbaden, 2008); F. M. Fales, “Production and Consumption at Dūr-Katlimmu: A Survey of the Evidence”, in H. Kühne (ed.), Dūr-Katlimmu 2008 and Beyond (=Studia Chaburensia 1; Wiesbaden, 2010), pp. 67–86. 77 It may be recalled that the first interpretation of the two contiguous titles as coordinated (i.e. “Grand Vizier and šar (māt) Ḫanigalbat”) goes back to Borger, op. cit. (note 21), pp. 21, 99, on both logical/historical and grammatical grounds against previous attempts (esp. E. F. Weidner, “Assyrien und Ḫanigalbat”, Ugaritica 6 (1969), pp. 526–531) to read the first as subordinated to the second (i.e. “Grand Vizier of the šar (māt) Ḫanigalbat”). 78 W. Andrae, Die Stelenreihen in Assur (Leipzig, 1913), nn. 63, 129; cf. also E. C. CancikKirschbaum, “Nebenlinien des assyrischen Königshauses in der 2. Hälfte des 2. Jts. v. Chr.”, AoF 26 (1999), p. 219. 76

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neighboring one—i.e. Aššur-iddin and Šulmanu-mušabši were, to our present knowledge, mere sukkallu rabi’us,79 while the “cousin” Eru-apla-iddina bore a further title with territorial attachment, but it was that of šakin māt Ḫalaḫḫi. This slightly random attestation of the title šar (māt) Ḫanigalbat thus opens up at least two main historical problems. The first of such problems is whether we should consider that the western “half” of the MA reign—say, from the Ḫābūr basin westwards—corresponded outright and officially to a geographical entity called “Ḫanigalbat”, and was therefore possibly endowed with a certain degree of organizational and decisional autonomy, or not. To be sure, a certain dearth of mentions of Ḫanigalbat may be noticed in the MA administrative and epistolary record.80 However, account may be taken e.g. of the following double notation which occurs—somewhat at random—in a vast administrative list of foodstuffs for courtiers, workmen, and animals engaged in the building activities at Kar-Tukulti-Ninurta: 3 homers, 2 seahs, 8 qa by the seah of the hiburnu-building to feed a team of wagon-horses of the herds staying (here), so as to constantly send messages regarding the King (=Tukulti-Ninurta I) by express courier to Ḫanigalbat.81 On the days, in which the King went on campaign against the land of Ḫanigalbat.82 In the light of these and a few other attestations, Ḫanigalbat proves to have been a geographical “label” indicating a relatively far-off area in regard to the central seats of Assyrian power—Assur and Kar-Tukulti-Ninurta—which corresponded to the westernmost region of the reign: but more on this point shall be said below. For the moment, it may suffice to note that, in the wake of the 1996 publication of the lettercorpus from Dūr-Katlimmu and of the other archives quoted above, a number of scholars have become explicitly committed to the scenario of an outright split of Assyrian political authority between “the Homeland” and “the West”. Thus, e.g., F. Wiggermann states that in the time of Tukulti-Ninurta I “the empire is divided into two parts, the east with Aššur as its capital, and the west, Ḫanigalbat, where a branch of the royal family rules as ‘grand vizier’ (sukallu rabû) and ‘king of Ḫanigalbat’”.83 Geographically, according to Wiggermann, “Ḫanigalbat comprises at least the Balikh Valley and its northern extension, the land Ḫarran, where perhaps its capital was located. In the west it borders on the Hittite Empire beyond the Euphrates, in the east it includes Ḫarbu (Tell Chuēra), and possibly the whole of the 79

Jakob, op. cit. (note 23), p. 59, note 21 tends to consider that also Aššur-iddin must have been a šar (māt) Ḫanigalbat, albeit “eine Unsicherheit ...besteht darin, daß kein Stele von ihm bekannt ist”. 80 E.g., despite the great geographical breadth and the remarkable historical relevance of the data offered by the letters from Dūr-Katlimmu, it is to be noted that only one (and not particularly significant) mention of Ḫanigalbat is therein attested (Cancik-Kirschbaum, op. cit. [note 19], no. 8: 1''). See however below, and footnote 96, for the toponym “Ḫanu”. 81 MARV II 17: 97–99. 82 MARV II 17: 110–111. For the first passage see also Jakob, op cit. (note 23), p. 355; for the second, Harrak, op. cit. (note 5), p. 221; Cancik-Kirschbaum, op. cit. (note 19), p. 28. 83 Wiggermann, op. cit. (note 14), p. 171.

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Ḫabur region with Dūr-katlimmu (Tell Šēḫ Ḥamad) as its centre”.84 Other specialists, while more or less in agreement with this broad geographical framework, believe instead that some form of functional coordination cum hierarchical subordination connected the sukkallu rabi’u to the Assyrian ruler. Thus, e.g., E. Cancik-Kirschbaum maintains that “der Großwesir war ein enger Vertrauter des Königs und dürfte einigen Einfluß auf die Entscheidungen des Herrschers gehabt haben”,85 whereas an even more “tight-knit” model (similar to that of the Hittite vice-regency at Karkemiš from the time of Piyaššili/Šarri-Kušuḫ onwards vis-à-vis Ḫattuša, as reflected in the Emar texts and elsewhere) has been suggested by others.86 In practice, these views point to a single Assyrian state structure with no inner “fault lines”, whether institutional or territorial, between Assur and the West, such as would seem moreover confirmed by the geographical “range” of the MA ginā’ū offerings lists from the Assyrian capital city87—and tend implicitly to relegate the title of šar (māt) Ḫanigalbat to a secondary sphere of political relevance. The second problem to be faced is, in point of fact, that of the actual institutional significance and ‘weight’ of the title of šar (māt) Ḫanigalbat, on which a number of quite different opinions have been brought forth. According to P. Machinist, focus should be cast on the sukkallu rabi’u, “perhaps the highest Assyrian officer after the king”, who carried the title of šar (māt) Ḫanigalbat “as supervisor of Ḫanigalbat”, with “at least one intent... to preserve for the area a vassal-like status in order to counter the strong nativist sentiment within it”. In sum, according to Machinist, “this post of ‘king’ must have been created after—and as a deliberate variation on—the unsuccessful attempt by Adad-nirari I to govern Hanigalbat through a native vassal king”.88 In a totally different vein, instead, M. C. Astour suggested that, although the title of šar (māt) Ḫanigalbat was not devoid of administrative and military prerogatives, its institution might have been justified by reasons “of a religious order”, i.e. the appeasement—through care and feeding—of the gods of the former Mittanian land.89 More recently, B. Faist has suggested that the title of šar (māt) Ḫani84

Idem, ibid. Cancik-Kirschbaum, op. cit. (note 19), p. 29. 86 E.g. S. Dalley, “Shamshi-ilu, Language and Power in the Western Assyrian Empire”, in G. Bunnens (ed.), Essays on Syria in the Iron Age (Louvain, 2000), p. 83, and C. Mora, “Entre Anatolie et Syrie, entre Âge du Bronze et Âge du Fer, entre paix et guerre: l’histoire inachevée de Karkemiš et les données d'Emar”, in L. d’Alfonso, Y. Cohen and D. Sürenhagen (eds.), The City of Emar among the Late Bronze Age Empires: History, Environment, and Society (Münster, 2008), pp. 84–85 87 Cf. most recently D. F. Rosa, “Middle Assyrian ginā’ū Offerings Lists: Geographical Implications”, in M. G. Biga and M. Liverani (eds.), Ana turri gimilli: studi dedicati al Padre Werner R. Mayer, S.J. da amici e allievi (Roma, 2010), pp. 327–342, on this issue, with interestingly positive—as well as negative—results. 88 Machinist, op. cit. (note 70), p. 16. The summary of this position by Szuchman, op. cit. (note 31), p. 16 (“Machinist ... suggests that the title šar Ḫanigalbat may have intentionally implied the vassal-like status of the conquered territory in order to appease the local populations”) is somewhat misleading vis-à-vis the original formulation—in fact, it almost runs counter to it. 89 M. C. Astour, “Who was the King of the Hurrian Troops at the Siege of Emar?”, in M. W. Chavalas (ed.), Emar: the History, Religion, and Culture of a Syrian Town in the Late Bronze Age (Bethesda, 1996), p. 30. Astour recalls here the Athenian basileus and the Roman Republican rex sacrorum as two survivals of former royal titles to denote functions connected with temples, festivals, and other sacral duties. 85

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galbat could have been taken up explicitly in view of the precarious state of Assyrian control of the former lands of Ḫanigalbat during Shalmaneser’s reign, i.e. as an element of “ideological warfare”—obviously vis-à-vis Hittite royalty and the residual Hurrian polities to the north-east.90 Last but not least, a fully modified perspective on both the named problems—the location of Ḫanigalbat and the political implications of the sukkallu rabi’u’s ‘second’ title—may ensue from the very recent suggestion by a young Portuguese scholar, M. Valerio, concerning the reading and interpretation of the toponym “Ḫanigalbat” itself.91 Valerio advocates a return to a reading of the GAL in KUR. Ḫa-ni-GAL-bat as rab, thus yielding KUR.Ḫa-ni-rab-bat, in agreement with the views espoused by the earliest interpreters of cuneiform texts, from Rawlinson to Winckler.92 In his view, KUR.Ḫa-ni-rab-bat should be viewed linguistically as a West Semitic (and specifically Amorite) authoethnonym of the Ḫanean peoples, possibly from the OB period onward: it meant “Greater Ḫanu”, thus marking an opposition with the “land of Ḫana” on the Middle Euphrates around the confluence with the Ḫābūr, and it came to represent the Semitic counterpart to the Hurrian toponym Maitani/Mittani.93 Valerio’s conclusive suggestion is that KUR.Ḫa-ni-rabbat should be equated with the KUR.Ḫa-nu AN.TA (lit., “Upper Ḫanu”) attested in an administrative text from Dūr-Katlimmu beside a number of northwestern locations.94 Now, as had been already noticed by W. Röllig,95 the land of Ḫanu appears twice in the Dūr-katlimmu correspondence. In one letter, the toponym is mentioned as located between the city of Niḫriya and the “bank of the Ḫābūr”,96 whereas a further letter speaks—in a somewhat fragmentary context—of hostile (or perhaps rebellious) troops menacing the “strongholds in the land of Ḫarrān and in the Kašiyāri mountains”, and then relates that (the same?) hostile troops “which plundered in front of the (main) city of the land Ḫanu” then went on to plunder “the riverbank” (presumably once more that of the Ḫābūr).97 From these attestations, the impression to be gained, according to Röllig, is that of “a location of this Ḫana-land in 90

B. Faist, “Review of C. Mora and M. Giorgieri, Le lettere tra i re ittiti e i re assiri ritrovate a Hattusa, Padova, 2004”, Orientalia 77 (2008), pp. 421–422. 91 M. Valerio, “Hani-Rabbat as the Semitic name of Mitanni”, Вопросы яэыкового родства / Journal of Language Relationship 6 (2011), pp. 173–183. 92 The “catch” here—which caused the earlier hypothesis to disappear from the literature—is well known: alongside the many writings Ḫa-ni-GAL-bat throughout different periods and archives (i.e. with a sign with the phonetic values gal/kál/qal/rab), the variant Ḫa-ni-GAL9bat appears in two Amarna letters, in two Hittite texts, and in a few Nuzi tablets, with values which would tend to exclude an equation with *Hani-Rabbat. Valerio tackles this possible objection by noting that such spellings occur all within Peripheral Akkadian, where scribal misspellings are by no means rare in general, and that they represent even there rare instances vis-à-vis the regular forms (ibid., p. 178). 93 Ibid., pp. 175, 178–180. Valerio’s translation actually reads “Great Ḫani/a”, but I believe that a comparative connotation is called for. 94 Röllig, op. cit. (note 53), p. 283. 95 Ibid., p. 289. 96 Cancik-Kirschbaum, op. cit. (note 19), pp. 106–108, no. 3: 10–16: “A (force of) 1500 enemies is gathered in the Ḫasumu mountains. Where they will attack, I know not: If they will attack over Niḫriya, or in the land of Ḫanu, or on the bank of the Ḫābūr, I know not”. 97 Ibid., pp. 123–125, no. 7: 8''–10'', 17''–20''.

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northwestern Syria, maybe at the feet of the Kašiyāri or the Hasume mountains”.98 But, going back to Valerio’s linguistically-oriented suggestion with these data in mind, one thing seems fairly clear. Whatever may be the future of this young scholar’s thesis in the eyes of peer critique—specifically regarding the numerous implications for the study of the history of NW Mesopotamia during the 2nd millennium BCE to which it gives rise—its general impact for our present argument may be summed up in a series of interesting new prospects for interpretation. The first prospect is that of viewing Ḫanigalbat/Ḫani-Rabbat in the age of TukultiNinurta I as a place name which was endowed with more resonance and concreteness than was hitherto apparent. If the three ‘labels’ (māt) Ḫani-Rabbat, (māt) Ḫanu AN.TA, and (māt) Ḫanu tout court were to be understood as reciprocal variants in their general territorial reference (i..e, so to speak, “on the map”), we would gain a more detailed scenario for some of the military deeds of the Assyrian king99 and for the security preoccupations of his men based at Dūr-Katlimmu: the mountainous areas which bordered to the north, more or less without interruption, the piedmont route linking the Assyrian homeland to the Balīḫ. Conversely, it would become less obvious to identify the entire vast complex of steppeland and highlands forming the “West” of the MA reign with the label Ḫanigalbat/Ḫani-Rabbat, as has been hitherto done by most specialists––albeit still not totally impossible. The second prospect descends from the previous one, and regards the title of šar (māt) Ḫanigalbat/Ḫani-Rabbat. Agreeing with some authors, this title could have carried with it military and administrative prerogatives—but the latter should have represented institutional additions to the title of sukkallu rabi’u, rather than mere reduplications thereof. Specifically, the “ruler of Ḫani-Rabbat” could have been entrusted with the control and the defense of the northwestern piedmont zones: he could have the task of a ‘military prefect’ in these difficult, geographically marginal, but strategically important lands.100

98

Röllig, op. cit. (note 53), pp. 289–290. It may be recalled that Tukulti-Ninurta I relates in his official texts of having conducted an expedition centered on the Kašiyāri region: “All the land of the Šubaru, the entirety of Mount Kašiyāri as far as the land Alzu, which previously, during the reign of Shalmaneser (I), king of the universe, my father, had rebelled and withheld tribute, had united itself under one command. I prayed to the god Aššur and the great gods, my lords, (and) marched up to Mount Kašiyāri. (As) with a bridle I controlled the land of the Šubaru, the land Alzu, and their allied kings” (RIMA 1, p. 236, A.0.78.1, iii 30–42). 100 In this light, the title šarru applied to Ḫanigalbat/Ḫani-Rabbat, far from being a purely residual denomination of ideological worth as hitherto believed, might be viewed as tied to the special needs of the named area, such as to require an “extraordinary” administration. To be sure, the MA reign proves to have been marked by further cases of territorial/political “discontinuity”, represented by at least two other inner “kingdoms”—that of Tell Ṭaban—Ṭâbetu, mentioned above, and the newly discovered one of Tell Satu Qala – Idu on the Lower Zab (cf. provisionally W. Van Soldt, “The Location of Idu”, NABU [2008/3], pp. 73–74, no. 55). In this connection, a doubt “ob auch die Bezeichnung ‘König von Ḫanigalbat’, die mehrere assyrische Großwesire führten, mit einem eigenen Herrschaftsbereich und einer ‘Hauptstadt’ gebunden war” had already been brought forth by E. C. Cancik-Kirschbaum, “Addenda und Corrigenda zu BATSH 4”, NABU [1996/3], p. 68, no. 75. 99

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VI. Conclusions This brings us to the third prospect: the links between the MA and the official ENA written evidence on Ḫanigalbat/Ḫani-Rabbat. It is generally agreed that after the reign of Tukulti-Ninurta I, Assyria plunged into a long recession, gradually losing the western territories to Aramaean invaders. This process is clearly visible in the ‘Broken Obelisk’ of Aššur-bēl-kala, where the king’s proud accounts of repeated victories against tribalist groups show an overall geographical patterning which points, instead, to tactics of difficult position-holding and to a movement of retreat eastwards on the part of the Assyrian forces.101 Now, as seen above (§§ II, III), both here and in the annals of Adad-nirari I, written more than 150 years later, at the very beginning of the ‘re-conquest’ phase of Assyrian history, the territory named Ḫanigalbat/Ḫani-Rabbat may be by and large identified with the Kašiyāri range—the present-day Ṭūr ‘Abdīn. In a retrospective view at the textual evidence of the MA period, this identification would seem to indicate that (a) the Kašiyāri area was, if not the very heart, at least a major landmark of the sector called Ḫanigalbat/Ḫani-Rabbat in the texts from the reign of Tukulti-Ninurta I; (b) that all through the centuries of political and social crisis of Assyria, the Kašiyāri represented a strategically difficult location, as a place of refuge for armed bands hostile to the Assyrian state (first of Hurrian, and later of Aramaean stock); and that (c) the military subjugation of the Kašiyāri was a major necessity for the renewed ‘takeoff’ of Assyrian power in the ENA period, insofar as “it lay athwart the major east-west and north-south trade routes to which Assyria needed access”.102

101

See Zadok’s article in this volume. I quote here the definition of one of the main elements of importance of ‘Ḫanigalbat’ in Assyrian eyes by Machinist, op. cit. (note 70), p. 16, note 31. 102

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Fig. 1: The Upper Tigris valley and the Ṭūr ‘Abdīn (ancient Kašiyāri/Kašiyeri) range with the possible localization of ancient toponyms in the area (from Parpola, op. cit. [note 32], map 4)

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BETWEEN ISRAEL AND PHILISTIA ETHNIC NEGOTIATIONS IN THE SOUTH DURING IRON AGE I

AVRAHAM FAUST Bar-Ilan University The Iron Age I was a formative period, which shaped the political landscape of the region for more than half a millennium, and left an impact which influences our world even today. This is the period in which the Canaanites were weakened and the Israelites and Philistines came to the fore. In the present article I wish to discuss the changing ethnic relations in southern part of the country (Fig. 1) after Egyptian hegemony waned (i.e., during the second half of the 12th and the 11th centuries BCE).

Fig. 1: Map showing the main sites discussed in the text

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I. Background 1. Ethnicity in Archaeology Identifying ethnic groups in the archaeological record has long been an important theme of archaeological research, but it is clear today that such identifications are notoriously difficult.1 In the past, scholars tended to equate archaeological cultures with ethnic groups, or peoples, and this is epitomized in the following oft-quoted paragraph by Childe: “We find certain types of remains—pots, implements, ornaments, burial rites and house forms—constantly recurring together. Such a complex of associated traits we shall term ‘cultural group’ or just a ‘culture’. We assume that such a complex is the material expression of what today would be called a ‘people’”.2 Various advances in archaeology, however, changed the approach to the study of ethnicity. The development of the New/Processual Archaeology and its critique of the culture history school, along with the new paradigm’s search for ‘laws of human behavior’, relegated the study of ‘unique’ phenomena like ethnic or tribal identity to the fringes of archaeological inquiry.3 It is further likely that the disinterest in the study of ethnicity also resulted from the horrifying outcomes of the racial archaeology so prevalent in Europe until the Second World War.4 At the same time as the New Archaeology was emerging, changes in the perception of ethnicity were taking place in the anthropological literature. Following the work of Barth,5 it became apparent that ethnic groups are not “culture-bearing units”,6 i.e., groups sharing core values that find representation in cultural forms.7 Barth defines ethnic groups as, in essence, a form of social organization; its critical criterion is an ability to be identified and distinguished among others, or in his words, allowing “self-ascription and ascription by others”.8 Ethnic identity is not determined by biological or genetic factors but is subject to perception and is adaptable. Clearly, ethnicity is too complex to be merely identified with a material or an archaeological culture; it is fluid, it is only one of several attributes of an individual’s complete identity, and it is subjective.9 This has led some scholars to question * The analysis of the material from Tel ‘Eton and Southern Trough Valley within the larger settlement context is supported by a research grant from the Israel Science Foundation (grant no. 884/08). 1 C. Renfrew, The Roots of Ethnicity, Archaeology, Genetics and the Origins of Europe, (Rome, 1993), p. 20; see also S. Jones, The Archaeology of Ethnicity: Constructing Identities in the Past and Present (London, 1997); G. Emberling, “Ethnicity in Complex Societies, Archaeological Perspectives”, JAR 5 (1997), pp. 295–344; A. Faust, Israel’s Ethno-genesis: Settlement, Interaction, Expansion and Resistance (London, 2006). 2 G. V. Childe, The Danube in Prehistory (Oxford, 1929), pp. v–vi. 3 E.g., Jones, op. cit. (note 1); B. Trigger, A History of Archaeological Thought (Cambridge, 20062). 4 J. M. Hall, Ethnic Identity in Greek Antiquity (Cambridge, 1997), pp. 1–2. 5 F. Barth, Ethnic Groups and Boundaries (Boston, 1969), pp. 9–38. 6 Idem, ibid., pp. 10–13. 7 Idem, ibid., pp. 10–11. 8 Idem, ibid., pp. 11, 13. 9 E.g., J. S. Shennan, “Introduction: Archaeological Approaches to Cultural Identity”, in J. S. Shennan (ed.), Archaeological Approaches to Cultural Identity (London, 1989), pp. 1–32;

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the ability of archaeologists to identify ethnic groups in the material record of extinct societies.10 Yet in most cases, clear relationships between material culture and ethnicity can be identified, however complicated they may be.11 It is accepted today that groups define themselves in relation to, and in contrast with, other groups.12 The ethnic boundaries of a group are not defined by the sum of cultural traits but by the idiosyncratic use of specific material and behavioral symbols as compared with other groups.13 As a consequence, emphasis shifted from the shared elements or characteristics of a group to the features that distinguish it from others. It is the contact between groups that is seen as essential for the formation of the self-identity of a group, which is thus clearly manifested in its material culture. Ethnic identity can be identified in certain artifacts that came to carry a symbolic meaning,14 or by identifying ‘ethnically specific behavior’, or more accurately, the material correlates of such behavior.15 2. Historical Background Before addressing some Iron Age I material traits, a few words on the settlement in the south in this era are in order.

J. S. Shennan, “Some Current Issues in the Archaeological Identification of Past Peoples”, Archaeologia Polona 29 (1991), pp. 29–37; Emberling, op. cit. (note 1); E. M. Schortman, P. A. Urban, and M. Ausec, “Politics with Style: Identity Formation in Prehispanic Southern Mesoamerica”, American Anthropologist 103 (2001), pp. 312–330; Jones, op. cit. (note 1); Faust, op. cit. (note 1). 10 Z. Herzog, “Phoenician Occupation at Tel Michal: the Problem of Identifying Ethnic-National Groups from Archaeological Assemblages”, Michmanim 11 (1997), pp. 31–44 (Hebrew). 11 R. H. McGuire, “The Study of Ethnicity in Historical Archaeology”, JAA 1 (1982), pp. 159–178; K. Kamp and N. Yoffee, “Ethnicity in Western Asia during the Early Second Millennium B.C.: Archaeological Assemblages and Ethnoarchaeological Perspectives”, BASOR 237 (1980), pp. 85–104; Emberling, op. cit. (note 1); Faust, op. cit. (note 1) and others; see also M. C. Howard, Contemporary Cultural Anthropology (New York, 1996), pp. 239–240. 12 Barth, op. cit. (note 5); see also R. Cohen, “Ethnicity: Problem and Focus in Anthropology”, ARA 7 (1978), p. 389; A. P. Cohen, The Symbolic Construction of Community (Chichester – London, 1985), p. 558. 13 McGuire, op. cit. (note 11), p. 160; see also Kamp and Yoffe, op. cit. (note 11), p. 96; Emberling, op. cit. (note 1), p. 299; Barth, op. cit. (note 5), pp. 14–15; Hall, op. cit. (note 4), p. 135 14 McGuire, op. cit. (note 11), p. 163; I. Hodder, Reading the Past (Cambridge, 1991), p. 3. 15 McGuire, op. cit. (note 11), p. 163; Faust, op. cit. (note 1); cf., J. Deetz, In Small Things Forgotten, An Archaeology of Early American Life (New York, 1996), pp. 187–211. We should also note that boundary maintenance varies greatly in time and space. An object symbolizing ethnicity of a certain group in one context might be of less importance in another contemporaneous one, and something of importance at one time may become unimportant later, see I. Hodder, Symbols in Action, Ethnoarchaeological Studies of Material Culture (Cambridge, 1982). Some boundaries might, therefore, be represented with sharp falloffs in distribution patterns of certain traits, while others may be more blurred, see W. R. De Boer, “Interaction, Imitation, and Communication as Expressed in Style: the Ucayali Experience”, in M. W. Conkey and C. A. Hastorf (eds.), The Uses of Style in Archaeology (Cambridge, 1990), p. 102. Moreover, in some cases, differences can exist between different areas of interaction of the same groups, Hodder, ibid., pp. 27–31.

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As far as the highlands are concerned, following a settlement nadir in the Late Bronze Age, the Judean highlands experienced a relative surge in settlement during the Iron I. Although not as dense as in Samaria, many settlements were established in the region, from the late 13th century, and onwards.16 In the coastal plain, this is the period of the Philistine settlement.17 Politically, the Philistines were the dominant and complex group, especially in the south, during the Iron I.18 They occupied large cities and exhibit a high level of urbanism, social complexity and socioeconomic hierarchy.19 While their initial phase of settlement was limited to a small part of the southern coastal plain, it appears that after some time they began to expand to the east and north.20 Although settling in large cities, the number of small settlement in the southern coastal plain of Philistia shrunk significantly, and one can speak about the abandonment of the countryside,21 leading scholars to suggest that the Philistines enacted a policy of forced urbanization, and concentrated the local population in central urban settlements.22 As far as the buffer area of the Shephelah is concerned, the area was almost devoid of settlements, and the few settlements that existed were mainly located in its eastern part, in the trough valley.23 16 A. Ofer, The Highlands of Judah during the Biblical Period (Ph.D. dissertation; Tel-Aviv University, 1993; Hebrew); A. Ofer, “The Judean Hills in the Biblical Period”, Qadmoniot 31/115 (1998), pp. 40–52 (Hebrew); I. Finkelstein, The Archaeology of the Period of Settlement and Judges (Jerusalem, 1988), pp. 47–53. 17 T. Dothan, The Philistines and Their Material Culture (New Haven, 1982); L. E. Stager, “The Impact of the Sea Peoples in Canaan (1185–1050 BCE)”, in T. E. Levy (ed.), The Archaeology of Society in the Holy Land (London, 1995), pp. 332–348. 18 E.g. C., Hauer, “From Alt to Anthropology: The Rise of the Israelite Monarchy”, JSOT 36 (1986), p. 9; I. Finkelstein, “The Philistine Countryside”, IEJ 46 (1996), p. 236; L. E. Stager, “Forging an Identity: the Emergence of Ancient Israel”, in M. D. Coogan (ed.), The Oxford History of the Biblical World (New York, 1998), p. 168; I. Singer, “Egyptians, Canaanites, and Philistines in the Period of the Emergence of Israel”, in I. Finkelstein and N. Na’aman (eds.), From Nomadism to Monarchy (Jerusalem, 1994), p. 299. 19 E.g., S. Bunimovitz, “Problems in the ‘Ethnic’ Identification of the Philistine Material Culture”, TA 17 (1990), pp. 210–222; L. E. Stager, “The Impact of the Sea Peoples in Canaan (1185–1050 BCE)”, in Levy, op. cit. (note 17), pp. 332–348; Stager, op. cit. (note 18), pp. 166–168; Singer; op. cit. (note 18), p. 299. 20 E.g., I. Finkelstein, “The Emergence of the Monarchy in Israel: The Environmental and Socio-Economic Aspects”, JSOT 44 (1989), pp. 43–74; Singer; op. cit. (note 18); Stager, op. cit. (note 18), pp. 153–154. 21 Cf. I. Finkelstein, “The Date of the Settlement of the Philistines in Canaan”, TA 23 (1995), pp. 170–184; I. Finkelstein, “The Philistine Settlements: When, Where and How Many?”, in E. D. Oren (ed.), The Sea People and Their World: A Reassessment (Philadelphia, 2000), pp. 159–180; see also A. Shavit, “Settlement Patterns of Philistine City-States”, in A. Fantalkin and A. Yasur-Landau (eds.), Bene Israel: Studies in the Archaeology of Israel and the Levant during the Bronze and Iron Ages in Honour of Israel Finkelstein (Leiden, 2008), pp. 135– 164, 266–278. 22 S. Bunimovitz, “Sea Peoples in Cyprus and Israel: A Comparative Study of Immigration Process”, in S. Gitin, A. Mazar, and E. Stern (eds.), Mediterranean Peoples in Transition: Thirteenth to Early Tenth Centuries B.C.E. (Jerusalem, 1998), pp. 103–113. 23 Y. Dagan, The Settlement in the Judean Shephelah in the Second and First Millennium B.C.: A Test-Case of Settlement Processes in a Geographic Region (Ph.D. dissertation; Tel Aviv University, 2000), fig. 16 (Hebrew); see also A. Faust and H. Katz, “Philistines, Israelites and Canaanites in the Southern Trough Valley during the Iron Age I”, forthcoming.

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3. Ethnic Traits in the Iron Age I A few traits or types of behaviors appear to be ethnically sensitive, at least in some contexts, during this formative era.24 3.1 Philistine Pottery. A long time ago, in the spirit of the notorious pots equal people equation of the culture history school, it had been assumed that the presence of Philistine pottery indicates the presence of Philistines.25 This simplistic equation fell into disfavor on both theoretical and empirical grounds. Theoretically, it is clear that there are many elements that influence the way the archaeological record is created, and which items are used where, when and why, and the adoption or avoidance of some artifacts might result from its cost, its place of production, the occupation of the owner, the ecology of the region, and many others factors.26 Since ethnicity is only one factor in a very complex web of choices that influence the distribution and use of material items, equating pottery with people is very risky, and cannot be attempted before other factors are studied and being accounted for. Only a comprehensive study of the society (or societies) involved, allows us to reach conclusions regarding the ethnic identity of the population (or some of it), which is perhaps the most difficult to identify. Empirically, scholars noted that Philistine pottery is found in many instances in faraway places, e.g., in the northern valleys,27 and it is difficult to simply label the strata in which those vessels were found as ‘Philistines’.28 Clearly, Philistine pottery could arrive at sites through trade and exchange, and it is impossible to attribute its presence only to the arrival of Philistines. Despite the above cautionary notes, however, it became quite clear that the Philistine pottery was not distributed randomly across the landscape, with its percentage gradually decreasing with distance from its production centers. While there is no doubt that its center is in the Philistine heartland of the southern coastal plain, Philistine bichrome pottery is found in the faraway northern valleys,29 but is absent from 24

For extensive discussion, see Faust, op. cit. (note 1; much of the following section is based on insights from this work); Faust and Katz, op. cit. (note 23); Faust and Lev-Tov, “The Constitution of Philistine Identity: Ethnic Dynamics in 12th-10th Centuries Philistia”, OJA 30 (2011), pp. 13–31. 25 E.g., A. Raban, “The Philistines in the Western Jezreel Valley”, BASOR 284 (1991), pp. 17–27. 26 McGuire, op. cit. (note 11), p. 164; see also Kamp and Yoffe, op. cit. (note 11), p. 97; G. London, “A Comparison of Two Contemporaneous Lifestyles of the Late Second Millennium B.C.”, BASOR 273 (1989), pp. 37–55; M. Skjeggestand, “Ethnic Groups in Early Iron Age Palestine, Some Remarks on the Use of the Term ‘Israelite’ in Recent Literature”, SJOT 6 (1992), pp. 179–180; C. E. Orser and B. M. Fagan, Historical Archaeology (New York, 1995), pp. 215–216; Emberling, op. cit. (note 1), pp. 305–306, 310–311; see also I. Finkelstein, “Ethnicity and the Origin of the Iron I Settlers in the Highlands of Canaan: Can the Real Israel Stand Up?”, BA 59/4 (1996), p. 204. 27 E.g., Dothan, op. cit. (note 17); Raban, op. cit. (note 25); A. Mazar, “Megiddo in the Thirteenth–Eleventh Centuries BCE: A Review of Some Recent Studies”, in E. Oren and S. Ahituv (eds.), Aharon Kempinski Memorial Volume, Studies in Archaeology and Related Disciplines (Beer Sheva XV; Beer Sheva, 2002), pp. 264–282; Faust, op. cit. (note 1), pp. 207– 209. 28 See now also A. Gilboa, “Stratum VI at Megiddo and the ‘Northern Sea People Phenomenon’”, EI 29 (2009), pp. 82–91 (Hebrew). 29 Dothan, op. cit. (note 17); Raban, op. cit. (note 25); Mazar, op. cit. (note 27).

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the relatively close Hebron hill country30 and even parts of the coastal plain.31 While its percentage in the northern valleys is indeed very small, and seems to represent a reasonable fall-off with the distance from its place of manufacture, its almost total absence in the highlands cannot be explained along similar lines (see more below). Clearly, Philistine pottery was seen as meaningful in ethnic communication and boundary maintenance during the Iron I, and was consequently avoided by some people, e.g., in the highlands, while at the same time it was used by people, even non-Philistines, who did not find its usage problematic.32 3.2 Collared Rim Jars. Just like the Philistine pottery, collared rim jars were identified in the past with a group—the Israelites,33 but this equation also came into disfavor.34 In addition to the theoretical reasons mentioned briefly above many scholars pointed out that collared rim jars were found in non-Israelite sites, e.g., in the northern valleys and Transjordan.35 While not the place for an intensive discussion, it must be stressed that many of the sites that were mentioned in this context in Transjordan were actually Israelite,36 hence reducing the number of the ‘exceptions’.37 The cultural significance of collared rim jars is most clearly visible in Philistia, where such jars are practically absent,38 hence showing that its distribution 30

Faust, op. cit. (note 1), pp. 209–211, and references. A. Gilboa, A. Cohen-Weinberg and Y. Goren, “Philistine Bichrome Pottery: The View from the Northern Canaanite Coast”, in A. M. Maeir and P. de Miroschedji (eds.), “I Will Speak the Riddles of Ancient Times”: Archaeological and Historical Studies in Honor of Amihai Mazar on the Occasion of His Sixtieth Birthday (Winona Lake, IN 2006), pp. 303– 334. 32 E.g., S. Bunimovitz and A. Faust, “Chronological Separation, Geographical Segregation or Ethnic Demarcation? Ethnography and the Iron Age Low Chronology”, BASOR 322 (2001), pp. 1–10, and see more below. 33 W. F. Albright, “Further Light on the History of Israel from Lachish and Megiddo”, BASOR 68 (1937), pp. 22–26; Y. Aharoni, “New Aspects of Israelite Occupation in the North”, in J. Sanders (ed.), Near Eastern Archaeology in the Twentieth Century: Essays in Honor of Nelson Glueck (Garden City, NY 1970), pp. 254–267; see also D. L. Esse, “The Collared Store Jar: Scholarly Ideology and Ceramic Typology”, SJOT 2 (1991), pp. 99–116; D. L. Esse, “The Collared Pithos at Megiddo: Ceramic Distribution and Ethnicity”, JNES 51 (1992), pp. 81–103. 34 E.g., London, op. cit. (note 26); M. M. Ibrahim, “The Collared-Rim Jar of the Early Iron Age”, in R. Moorey and P. Parr (eds.), Archaeology in the Levant: Essays for Kathleen Kenyon (Warminster, 1978), pp. 116–126; I. Finkelstein, op. cit. (note 26), p. 204; see also Esse, op. cit. (note 33), pp. 103–104. 35 E.g., Esse, op. cit. (note 33), p. 93; see also T. Harrison, Megiddo 3: Final Report on the Stratum VI Excavations (Chicago, 2004), pp. 31–32; Ibrahim, op. cit. (note 34). 36 C. C. Ji, “The Iron I in Central and Northern Transjordan: An Interim Summary of Archaeological Data”, PEQ 127 (1995), pp. 122–140; L. G. Herr, “The Settlement and Fortification of Tell al-‘Umayri in Jordan during the LB/Iron I Transition”, in L. E. Stager, J. A. Greene and M. D. Coogan (eds.), The Archaeology of Jordan and Beyond, Essays in Honor of James A. Sauer (Winona Lake, IN 2000), pp. 167–179; L. G. Herr, and D. R. Clark, “Excavating the Tribe of Reuben: A Four-Room House Provides a Clue to Where the Oldest Israelite Tribe Settled”, BAR 27/2, (2001), pp. 36–47, 64–66; R. W. Younker, “Review of Archaeological Research in Ammon, in B. Macdonald and R.W. Younker (eds.), Ancient Ammon (Leiden, 1999), p. 16. 37 See extensive discussion in Faust, op. cit. (note 1), pp. 221–226. 38 Esse, op.cit, (note 33), p. 107; Faust, op. cit. (note 1), pp. 195–196. 31

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is non-random. The above presents us with an interesting phenomenon, in which, collared rim jars are found in the north, but not in Philistia. The combined pattern of the distribution of collared rim jars and Philistine pottery is even more revealing—both are found together in the faraway northern valleys, e.g., at Megiddo, but none is crossing the Shephelah/trough valley borderline. 3.3 The Ceramic Assemblage. As noted by many, one of the main characteristics of the highlands’ material culture is the limited and poor ceramic assemblage.39 At Giloh, for example, storage vessels and cooking pots account for some 80% of the assemblage,40 and various scholars have noted the cultural and even ethnic significance of this for the study of Iron Age I societies in the region.41 3.4 Pork Consumption. Ever since the early studies of Hesse42 it is well known that Philistines consumed large amounts of pork, while the Israelites did not. This cannot be attributed to ecology of course, as in other periods the highland population consumed pork,43 while the population in the coastal plain sometimes consumed much smaller quantities of pigs.44 Although not only Israelites avoided pork it is clear that Israelites did not consume this type of meat, and whenever pigs are significant part of the faunal assemblage one may deduce that the site was not Israelite. Notably, the significance of pork is accepted even by skeptical scholars, and Finkelstein, for example, notes that “…pig taboos, are emerging as the main, if not only avenue that can shed light on ethnic boundaries in the Iron I. Specifically, this may be the most valuable tool for the study of ethnicity of a given, single Iron I site”.45 Interestingly, while the Israelites of the highlands avoided pork, the Philistines even enlarged its percentage in their diet during the Iron Age I (see below). It is quite clear, in this light, that despite the possible reservations, pork consumption was ethnically sensitive during the Iron Age I.

39

E.g., Finkelstein, op. cit. (note 16); S. Bunimovitz and A. Yasur-Landau, “Philistine and Israelite Pottery: A Comparative Approach to the Question of Pots and People”, TA 23 (1996), pp. 88–101; W. G. Dever, Who Were the Israelites and Where Did They Come From? (Grand Rapids, 2003); Faust, op. cit. (note 1); see already W. F. Albright, “The Kyle Memorial Excavations at Bethel”, BASOR 56 (1934), p. 12. 40 A. Mazar, “Giloh: An Early Israelite Settlement Site Near Jerusalem”, IEJ 31, (1981), p. 31. 41 E.g., W. F. Albright, The Archaeology of Palestine (Harmondsworth, 1961), p. 119; Bunimovitz and Yasur Landau, op. cit. (note 39), p. 96; Faust, op. cit. (note 1), pp. 66–69, and references. 42 B. Hesse, “Animal Use at Tel Miqne-Ekron in the Bronze Age and Iron Age”, BASOR 264 (1986), pp. 17–28; B. Hesse, “Pig Lovers and Pig Haters: Patterns of Palestinian Pork Production”, Journal of Ethnobiology 10 (1990), pp. 195–225. 43 E.g. L. K. Horwitz, “Diachronic Changes in Rural Husbandry Practices in Bronze Age Settlements from the Refaim Valley, Israel”, PEQ 121 (1989), p. 46. 44 E.g. S. Hellwing and N. Feig, “Animal Bones”, in Z. Herzog, G. Rapp and O. Negbi (eds.), Excavations at Tel Michal, Israel (Tel Aviv, 1989), p. 246. 45 Finkelstein, op. cit. (note 26), p. 206.

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II. Philistines and Israelites46 When the settlement process in the highlands started, the population there—the Israelites—defined itself against the Egypto-Canaanite system. I do not wish here to refer to this early phase, but rather to the ethnic negotiations which took place after the arrival of the Philistines, from the time the new inhabitants of the coast met the highland settlers. Since groups define themselves in relations to other groups, and often utilize material items to transmit messages of difference, it is not surprising that the interaction between the dominant Philistines and the highland settlers left behind clear archaeological footprints. Indeed, the influence of the Philistines on the development and formation of Israelite ethnic identity has often been written about. The most notable example of this influence is the Israelites’ avoidance of pork (above). Many scholars believe that the mere fact that the Philistines consumed pork as a dietary staple led the Israelite population to avoid consuming this type of meat, as part of their selfdefinition vis-à-vis the Philistines.47 It is most likely, of course, that the same population did not consume large quantities of this meat even earlier, and that perhaps there was even a taboo on its consumption—a taboo that was prevalent among many societies in the ancient Near East.48 However, the Israelites’ interaction with the Philistines—their archenemies who consumed this meat as a regular practice— made this avoidance important. Philistine influence on Israelite identity seems to have had additional forms, e.g., the latter’s tradition of not decorating pottery and the avoidance of imported pottery.49 In fact, both might have partially resulted from the avoidance of the Philistine decorated pottery of the Iron I (above). The significance of circumcision also seems to have resulted from the Israelites’ interaction with the un-circumcised Philistines.50 1. Israelite Influence on the Philistines A topic that received much less attention, if any at all, is the influence of the Israelites on the Philistines’ self-definition. By this I am not referring to the acculturation the Philistines went through during the Iron Age II,51 rather we refer mainly to the impact the interaction with the Israelites had on the Philistines’ ethnic self-definition during the Iron I.52

46 Regarding the Israelites, see extended discussion in Faust op. cit. (note 1); Regarding the Philistines, see also Faust and Lev-Tov, op. cit. (note 24). The following section is based to a large extent on these works. 47 E.g. Stager, op. cit. (note 19), p. 344; Faust op. cit. (note1), pp. 35–40 and additional discussion. 48 B. Hesse and P. Wapnish, “Can Pig Remains be Used for Ethnic Diagnosis in the Ancient Near East?”, in N. A. Silberman and D. Small (eds.), The Archaeology of Israel: Constructing the Past, Interpreting the Present (JSOTS 237; Sheffield, 1997), pp. 238–270. 49 Faust, op. cit. (note 1), and references. 50 Faust, op. cit. (note 1), pp. 85–91, and references. 51 E.g. B. J. Stone, “The Philistine and Acculturation: Culture Change and Ethnic Continuity in the Iron Age”, BASOR 298 (1995), pp. 7–32. 52 The following is a summary of some of the main points of Faust and Lev-Tov, op. cit. (note 24).

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2. Pork Consumption and Philistine Identity It appears that when we attempt to decipher the material aspect of Philistine identity, food habits are the most obvious and sensitive index. It is clear from archaeozoological studies that the Philistines were regular consumers of pork during the Iron Age I. Interestingly an examination of the animal bones unearthed at Ekron clearly shows that pigs appear quite suddenly in Stratum VII, dated to the early Iron Age I. The percentage of pork in this stratum was about 14%, and it roses to 17% in Stratum VI, and to 26% in Stratum V—the last Iron Age I stratum.53 Notably, not only does the increase cease with the transition to the Iron Age II, but during this time there is even a drastic decrease in the importance of pigs in the Philistine diet—a drop to some 7% in Stratum IV at Ekron, and even less later.54 It is quite clear that the Philistines consumed significant quantities of pork starting from the first phase of their settlement. This can clearly be seen in the finds at Ekron VII, as well as at Ashkelon and at other sites.55 The Philistines, who migrated from the Aegean world, brought this habit with them,56 even if it did not originally serve as an ethnic marker.57 But why did the Philistines increase their pork consumption over time during the two centuries of the Iron Age I? None of the other groups that inhabited the greater expanse of the entire Near East at the time consumed such large quantities of pork. If cultural influences from another group were the deciding factor in this dietary shift, then we should see a decrease in the significance of pork in the Philistine diet after their settlement, and not an increase. Ethnic self-identity, however, is a very complex process, and interaction between different groups does not necessarily lead to similarities in their material culture, or at least not in all material traits. Interaction may lead to similarities in many traits, but not in those traits that a group uses for demarcating itself in relation to the other.58 It seems that pork avoidance was a key trait for demarcating identity for the Israelites, and they defined themselves as not eating pork in order to differentiate themselves from the Philistines. We argue, however, that the Philistines, too, did not consume pork only as what one might call a ‘passive’ habit—brought with them from the Aegean world. Even if this was the case during the first phase of their settlement in Canaan, they subsequently used this habit actively in their ethnic negotiations with their neighbors. As the interaction between Philistines and Israelites intensified—reaching a peak toward the end of the Iron Age I—each became the ultimate ‘other’ for the rival group, the different, the stranger, and the enemy. Each group chose elements from its own culture—elements that were the diametric oppo53

J. Lev-Tov, “The Faunal Remains: Animal Economy in the Iron Age I”, in M. W. Meehl, T. Dothan and S. Gitin (eds), Tel Miqne-Ekron Excavations 1995–1996: Field INE East Slope – Iron Age I (Early Philistine Period), (Jerusalem, 2006), p. 211. 54 J. Lev-Tov, “Zooarchaeology and Relations of Power during the Neo-Assyrian Empire: An Example from Tel Miqne-Ekron”, unpublished paper presented at the ASOR Annual Meeting (Boston, November 17–19, 1999). 55 Faust and Lev-Tov, op. cit. (note 24), and references. 56 Stager, op. cit. (note 19), p. 344. 57 Lev-Tov, op. cit. (note 53) p. 212; Faust and Lev-Tov, op. cit. (note 24). 58 McGuire, op. cit. (note 11); Hodder, op. cit. (note 15); Faust op. cit. (note 1), pp. 13–19, and references.

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site of those of the other group—and used them to mark and symbolize the differences between the groups. The Philistine habit of consuming pork and the simultaneous near absence of this meat from the Israelite diet, even if it was simply a result of regional food habits that initially had nothing to do with ethnicity, made pork an ideal component in this process of ethnic negotiation and boundary creation. As the interaction between the groups intensified, they needed to stress and demarcate the differences between them, and as the process of boundary maintenance intensified, each group stressed the habits that were different from those of the other group. 3. Philistine Pottery But are faunal remains the only means by which we can analyze the process the Philistine society went through? A closer examination of the archaeological record shows that other ethnically sensitive elements in the Philistine material culture went through similar processes during the Iron Age I. We have already seen that Philistine pottery was ethnically sensitive, and was used in the process of self-definition and strategy of boundary maintenance.59 This can also be seen in the absence of Philistine monochrome pottery not only in Lachish,60 but also in Tel Batash,61 Tel Beth-Shemesh62 and Gezer,63 as well as by the almost total avoidance of the bichrome pottery in the highlands,64 and by its rarity in one area at Tell Qasile (area A)65 and its abundance in another one (area C).66 We can understand the pottery’s ethnical significance also by examining its percentage within Philistia. We will begin the discussion with the detailed in-formation published from areas H and K at Ashdod. Ben-Shlomo67 recently pub-lished a quantitative analysis of the rims unearthed in the various levels of these areas. In Stratum XIII, which he dated to the early-12th century, some 73% of the vessels were in Canaanite tradition, and only 24% were of Philistine style—monochrome 59

E.g., Bunimovitz and Faust, op. cit. (note 32); Faust and Lev-Tov, op. cit. (note 24); Faust, op. cit. (note 1), and many references. 60 E.g., D. Ussishkin, “Levels VII and VI at Tel Lachish and the End of the Late Bronze Age in Canaan”, in J. N. Tubb (ed.), Palestine in the Bronze and Iron Ages: Papers in Honour of Olga Tufnell (London, 1985), pp. 213–228; D. Ussishkin, “Lachish”, ABD, IV, pp. 118–119; Finkelstein, op. cit. (note 21); but see Bunimovitz and Faust, op. cit. (note 32). 61 A. Mazar, “Jerusalem and its Vicinity in Iron Age I”, in Finkelstein and Na’aman (eds.), op. cit. (note 18), pp. 70–91. 62 Idem, ibid.; S. Bunimovitz and Z. Lederman, “A Border Case: Beth-Shemesh and Rise of Ancient Israel”, in L. L. Grabbe (ed.), Israel in Transition: From the Late Bronze II to the Iron Age IIa (c. 1250-850 B.C.E.), (New York, 2008), p. 24. 63 W. G. Dever, “Archaeology, Ideology, and the Quest for an ‘Ancient’, or ‘Biblical’ Israel”, NEA 61/1 (1998), pp. 49–47; N. Na’aman, “The Contribution of the Trojan Grey Ware from Lachish and Tel Miqne-Ekron to the Chronology of the Philistine Monochrome Pottery”, BASOR 317 (2000), pp. 2–3. 64 Faust, op. cit. (note 1), pp. 205–213, and references. 65 B. Maisler (Mazar), “The Excavations at Tell Qasile: Preliminary Report”, IEJ 1 (1950– 1951), pp. 61–76. 66 A. Mazar, Excavations at Tell Qasille, Part One, The Philistine Sanctuary: Architecture and Cult Objects (Qedem 12; Jerusalem, 1980); A. Mazar, Excavations at Tell Qasile, Part Two, The Philistine Sanctuary, Various Finds, The Pottery, Conclusions, Appendixes (Qedem 20; Jerusalem, 1985). 67 D. Ben-Shlomo, “Material Culture”, in M. Dothan and D. Ben-Shlomo (eds.), Ashdod VI: The Excavations at Areas H and K (1968–1969), (Jerusalem, 2005), pp. 63–246.

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and bichrome alike.68 In Stratum XII, which is dated to the 12th century BCE, 52% of the pottery was in the local tradition, while 47% percent was Philistine.69 In Stratum XI, dated to the 11th century BCE, the percentage of local pottery in the assemblage decreased to 41%, while Philistine pottery increased significantly, reaching 58%.70 Philistine pottery disappeared almost completely in Stratum X, dated to the 10th century BCE.71 This picture seems to be supported by the available evidence from Ekron, which although only partial, presents a similar pattern,72 and at Ashkelon (the data is not published yet, but D. Master kindly informed me that the percentage of Philistine pottery in Ashkelon also increases during the Iron Age I, until disappearing in the beginning of the Iron Age II). While it is important to await the publication of more data, it seems that we can already discuss the general patterns which seem quite clear. Similar to the evidence regarding the percentage of pork in Philistia, decorated Philistine pottery became more significant as the Iron Age I progressed, reaching a peak at the final stage of this era, before practically disappearing in the beginning of the Iron Age II. Indeed, various lines of evidence indicate that the Philistines gradually saw the Israelites, or what became Israel at this time, as their main ‘other’. As the interaction between those groups intensified, and the struggle between them deepened, both groups raised the boundaries between them, and the cultural traits which had previously distinguished them became more pronounced.73 In sum, the complex relations between Israelites and Philistines are exemplified in Fig. 2.74 We can identify a high level of boundary maintenance between themselves, and more open relations with other groups; some playing with the Israelite and Philistine symbols for their own benefit. This is best exemplified, on the local scale, in Megiddo Stratum VI and perhaps also at Tell Qasile Stratum X.75

68

Ben-Shlomo, op. cit. (note 66), pp. 70, 78. Idem, ibid., p. 120. 70 Idem, ibid., pp. 132, 161. 71 Idem, ibid., p. 185. 72 T. Dothan, S. Gitin, and A. Zuckerman, “The Pottery: Canaanite and Philistine Traditions and Cypriote and Aegean Imports”, in M. W. Meehl, T. Dothan and S. Gitin (eds), Tel MiqneEkron Excavations 1995-1996: Field INE East Slope – Iron Age I (Early Philistine Period), (Jerusalem, 2006), pp. 92–93. 73 Faust, op. cit. (note 1); Faust and Lev-Tov, op. cit. (note 24). 74 See extensive discussion in Faust, op. cit. (note 1). 75 Unless some of the settlers in those sites were Israelites of course. See Faust, op. cit. (note 1), pp. 213–218. 69

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Fig. 2: Ethnic interaction in the Land of Israel during Iron Age I

III. The Canaanites It is clear, however, that ethnic negotiations did not involve only Israelites and Philistines, but also Canaanites. We know that Canaanite population continued to exist in the Land of Israel in the Iron Age, and it probably even prospered in the northern valleys.76 But what about the southern part of the country?77 76 E.g., A. Mazar, “The Iron Age I”, in A. Ben-Tor (ed.), The Archaeology of Israel (New Haven, 1992), pp. 296–297; see also I. Finkelstein, “New Canaan”, EI 27 (2003), pp. 189–

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We have seen above that while the population of the coastal plain concentrated in large settlements, and the number of settlements in the highlands grew dramatically in the Iron Age I, the Shephelah was practically devoid of settlement at the time. The few settlements that existed were concentrated in the trough valley. It appears that the reason behind this settlement emptiness is the above mentioned Philistine policy of urban imposition or forced urbanization, but why were the few settlements —Tell Beit Mirsim, Tel ‘Eton, Tel Yarmuth and Tell Beth-Shemesh—concentrated in the trough valley of the eastern Shephelah? Who were the settlers? Were the settlements Philistines strongholds, erected to keep the hostile highland population in checks?78 Or were they part of the highland settlement system?79 It seems that it is worth examining the ‘ethnically sensitive’ items found in those sites. As far as Philistine pottery is concerned, it is striking that such pottery is found in practically all of the sites in the trough valley i.e., Tell Beit Mirsim,80 Tel ‘Eton,81 and also at Tel Yarmuth82 and Tel Beth-Shemesh farther north.83 As far as collared rim jars are concerned, it is therefore striking to note that hardly any collared rim jars were found in Beth-Shemesh.84 At Tell Beit Mirsim only one such jar was reported85 making it an extremely rare find, and practically non-existent for statistical purposes. Although only a limited Iron Age I assemblage was unearthed so far at Tel ‘Eton, collared rim jars are absent so far from the local repertoire.86 As far as the entire ceramic assemblage is concerned, it is quite clear that the assemblage in the discussed sites in the trough valley is very different from that of the highlands87 and shows close affinities to the Late Bronze Age traditions,88 as well as to contemporaneous sites in the coastal plain, like Tell Qasile.89 195 (Hebrew); A. Bentor, “Old Canaan: New Israel”, EI 27 (2003), p. 52 (Hebrew). 77 For a more detailed discussion of the Canaanites in the south (in the Iron I), see Faust and Katz, op. cit. (note 23; the following section is to a large extent based on this article). 78 Cf., W. F. Albright, The Excavation of Tell Beit Mirsim, III: The Iron Age (AASOR, 21–22; New Haven, 1943), p. 36, regarding phase B2 at Tell Beit Mirsim. 79 Cf., Albright, op. cit. (note 78), p. 36; regarding phase B3 at Tell Beit Mirsim. 80 W. F. Albright, The Excavations of Tell Beit Mirsim I: The Pottery of the First Three Campaigns (AASOR 12; New Haven, 1931), pp. 61–64; Albright, op. cit. (note 39), pp. 1, 4, 9– 10, 25, 36; R. Greenberg, “New Light on the Early Iron Age at Tell Beit Mirsim”, BASOR 265 (1987), p. 76. 81 E.g., A. Faust, “Tel ‘Eton 2006–2007 (Notes and News)”, IEJ 59 (2009), p. 118; G. Edelstein and S. Aurant, “The ‘Philistine’ Tomb at Tell ‘Eitun”, Atiqot 21 (1992), pp. 23–41. 82 P. De Miroschedji, “Yarmuth: The dawn of city States in Southern Canaan”, NEA 62 (1999), p. 17; see also Dagan, op. cit. (note 23), p. 180. 83 Bunimovitz and Lederman, op. cit. (note 62), p. 24; S. Bunimovitz, and Z. Ledermn, “The Archaeology of Border Communities: Renewed Excavations at Tel Beth-Shemesh (Part I, The Iron Age)”, NEA 72 (2009), p. 123. 84 Bunimovitz and Lederman, op. cit. (note 83), p. 123. 85 Greenberg, op. cit. (note 80), pp. 64, 71. 86 One example of a collared rim jar was unearthed in the late-11th century or early-10th century level, but none were found yet in the main 12th–11th centuries occupation, see Faust and Katz, op. cit. (note 23), forthcoming. 87 E.g., Greenberg, op. cit. (note 80), p. 76; Bunimovitz and Lederman, op. cit. (note 83), p. 123. 88 E.g., at Lachish. 89 Greenberg, op. cit. (note 80), p. 76; De Miroschedji, op. cit. (note 82), p. 17; Bunimovitz

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As far as pork consumption is concerned, it is striking that no pig bones were found in the only trough valley site whose faunal assemblage was thoroughly analyzed, i.e., Tel Beth-Shemesh, where a large assemblage of more than 13,000 Iron Age I bones was examined and it contained practically no pig bones.90 Although the Iron Age I bone assemblage at Tel ‘Eton is limited,91 the pattern is similar. Pigs constitute 0% in the second half of the 12th century and most of the 11th century assemblage.92 1. The Identity of the Settlers in the Trough Valley While each of the above traits seems quite straightforward, presumably hinting at the cultural identity of the inhabitants of the trough valley sites, the complete picture seems confusing. As far as pottery is concerned, the pattern is more similar to Philistia, or if to be more precise, it is completely different from that of the highlands. This is indicated not only by the presence of Philistine bichrome pottery and the almost complete absence of collared rim jars, but also by the overall appearance of the assemblages at these sites. This was noted by Greenberg93 regarding Tell Beir Mirsim, and by Bunimovitz and Lederman94 regarding Tel Beth-Shemesh. At Tel ‘Eton, too, the overall assemblage seems Canaanite, and does not resemble the poor repertoire of the highlands As far as food habits (the avoidance of pork) were concerned, however, the local population completely marked itself as different from that of Philistia, and was very similar to that of the highlands. One should remember, however, that low percentage of pig consumption is also typical of many Canaanite sites of the Late Bronze Age,95 although it was not always as low as in Iron I Israelite sites. So who were the settlers of the trough valley: Israelites, as the avoidance of pork suggests96 or Philistines, as is perhaps hinted by the pottery?97 It seems to us that the apparently contradicting picture is exactly what the local inhabitants wanted to convey. The population of the trough valley wanted to show that they were neither.

and Lederman, ibid., p. 123. 90 Bunimovitz and Lederman, ibid., p. 123. 91 Only some 521 bones were examined, of which 327 were identified, all from one square, dated to the period from the late-13th century – mid/late-11th century. 92 This refers to 141 bones, out of which 82 were identified. Note that pigs constitute about 1.6% of the 13th century – first half of the 12th century (i.e., the very end of the Late Bronze Age and the Late Bronze Age – Iron Age I transition) assemblage, i.e., 4 out of 245 identified bones (based on a report by R. Bouchnic). 93 Greenberg, op. cit. (note 80), p. 76. 94 Bunimovitz and Lederman, op. cit. (note 83), p. 123. 95 E.g., Lev-Tov, op. cit. (note 35), p. 212, see also p. 210, chart 6.1; P. Croft, “Archaeozoological Studies”, in D. Ussishkin (ed.), The Renewed Archaeological Excavations at Lachish (1973–1994), (Tel Aviv, 2004), p. 2259, table 33.3; M. A. Zeder, “Pigs and the Emergence of Complexity in the Ancient Near East”, in S. M. Nelson (ed.), Ancestors for the Pigs: Pigs in Prehistory (Philadelphia, 1998), p. 12, table 2; Hesse op. cit. (note 42), p. 215–216, table 3. 96 See also Bunimovitz and Lederman, op. cit. (note 62); idem, op. cit. (note 83). 97 Cf., Albright, op. cit. (note 78), p. 36; see also Mazar, op. cit. (note 76), pp. 273, 286; Finkelstein, op. cit. (note 16), pp. 54–55.

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The population that settled in the trough valley sites was Canaanite, descendent of the population of the Shephelah during the Late Bronze Age. Some of them perhaps lived in the very same sites before they were destroyed during the end of the Late Bronze Age or the beginning of the Iron I, while others perhaps migrated from nearby sites when they were destroyed and abandoned, like Lachish. As Greenberg98 suggested, regarding Tell Beit Mirsim, there was ‘continued Canaanite presence’ there. Identity, however, is not simply ‘inherited’. It is fluid and in an endless process of negotiation and renegotiation. As time progressed, the way the Canaanite population defined itself changed, just like the groups in relation to whom it defined itself changed. The ‘others’, in relation to whom those settlers in the eastern Shephelah defined themselves, were different from those their forefathers interacted with. The Iron Age I settlers in the trough valley negotiated their identity with both the newcomers to the coastal plain (i.e., the Philistines) and the settlers in the highlands (i.e., the Israelites). The local population attempted to use the new material symbols that dominated the non-verbal symbolic language of the Iron Age I, in order to show its uniqueness and difference from both groups. Most of the local pottery was of the traditional Canaanite style of course, but Philistine pottery was not avoided, unlike the situation in the highland sites. Moreover, collared rim jars were avoided, just like in Philistia. Pottery, therefore, while not identical to that of Philistia, was used to show that the population was different from that of the nearby highlands. Pork, on the other hand, was avoided. This trait, which drew on earlier, Late Bronze Age habits of con-suming small amount of pork, was similar to that of the Israelites, and was a response to the Philistines habit of consuming large amounts of pork. Thus, the material symbols which seems to confuse modern scholars who try to label the settlers as either Israelites or Philistines, were probably very clear to the population at the time—the inhabitants of the trough valley sites were neither. The region was another enclave in which Canaanite culture survived during the Iron Age I, similar to the situation in the northern valleys. IV. Summary In summary, the above survey showed how the Iron I population in the south ‘played’ with material traits in their ethnic negotiations and boundary maintenance. The Israelites interacted with the dominant Philistines, and defined themselves in contrast to them. The Philistines, too, viewed the Israelites as their ‘other’, and prior to their rapid acculturation in the Iron II, continuously raised the boundaries between the Israelites and themselves. Finally, in-between those two large and dominant groups, the Canaanites found refuge in the fertile trough valley, and maintained a distinct identity, until assimilating into the Israelites in the Iron Age II.

98

Greenberg, op. cit. (note 80), p. 76.

SOLOMON’S TEMPLE FICTION OR REALITY?

GERSHON GALIL University of Haifa

I The text in 1 Kgs 5:15–9:9 (EV: 5:1–9:9) has been discussed extensively in scholarly literature. Diverse synchronic and diachronic aspects of this most complicated literary unit have been pointed out, but no consensus has been reached on its dating and historical reliability.1 Three main solutions have been offered by scholars: (a) 1 T. A. Busink, Der Tempel von Jerusalem 1: Der Tempel Solomons (Leiden, 1970); K. Rupprecht, “Nachrichten von Erweiterung und Renovierung des Tempels in Könige 6”, ZDPV 88 (1972), pp. 38–52; idem, Der Tempel von Jerusalem: Gründung Solomons oder jebusitisches Erbe? (Berlin – New York, 1977); B. O. Long, I Kings with an Introduction to Historical Literature (Grand Rapids, 1984), pp. 78–111; S. J. DeVries, 1 Kings (WBC; Waco, 1985), pp. 85–128; E. Würthwein, Das Erste Buch der Könige, Kapitel 1–16 (Göttingen, 19852); R. D. Nelson, First and Second Kings (Interpretation; Atlanta, 1987), pp. 43–62; K. I. Parker, “Repetition and Structuring Device in Kings 1–11”, JSOT 40 (1988), pp. 39–48; M. Brettler, “The Structure of 1 Kings 1–11”, JSOT 49 (1991), pp. 87–97; A. Frisch, “Structure and its Significance: The Narrative of Solomon’s Reign (1 Kings 1–12:24)”, JSOT 51 (1991), pp. 3–14; S. N. Kramer, “Solomon and Šulgi: A Comparative Portrait”, in M. Cogan and I. Eph‘al (eds.), Ah Assyria… Studies in Assyrian History and Ancient Near Eastern Historiography presented to Hayim Tadmor (Jerusalem, 1991), pp. 189–195; V. Hurowitz, I Have Built You an Exalted House: Temple Building in the Bible in Light of Mesopotamian and Northwest Semitic Writing (Sheffield, 1992); E. M. Bloch-Smith, “‘Who is the King of Glory?’ Solomon’s Temple and Its Symbolism”, in M. D. Coogan et al. (eds.), Scripture and Other Artifacts: Essays on the Bible and Archaeology in Honor of Philip J. King (Louisville, 1994), pp. 18–31; R. Tomes, “‘Our Holy and Beautiful House’: When and Why Was 1 Kings 6–8 Written?”, JSOT 70 (1996), pp. 33–50; L. K. Handy (ed.), The Age of Solomon: Scholarship at the Turn of the Millennium (Leiden, 1997); G. N. Knoppers, “The Vanishing Solomon: The Disappearance of the United Monarchy from Recent Histories of Ancient Israel”, JBL 116 (1997), pp. 19–44; J. van Seters, “Solomon’s Temple: Fact and Ideology in Biblical and Near Eastern Historiography”, CBQ 59 (1997), pp. 45–57; S. Wälchli, Der Weise König Salomo: Eine Studien zu der Ehzählungen von der Weisheit Salomos in ihrem alttestamentlichen und altorientalistichen Kontext (Stuttgart, 1999); W. Brueggemann, 1 and 2 Kings (Macon, 2000), pp. 83–123; E. M. Bloch-Smith, “Solomon’s Temple: The Politics of Ritual space”, in B. M. Gittlen (ed.), Sacred Time, Sacred space: Archaeology and the Religion of Israel (Winona Lake, 2002), pp. 83–94; C. M. McCormick, Palace and Temple: A Study of Architectural and Verbal Icons (Berlin, 2002); V. Fritz, 1 and 2 Kings: A Continental Commentary (Minneapolis, 2003), pp. 66–105; K. A. Kitchen, On the Reliability

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the text was composed in the second half of Solomon’s reign, and reflects the reality of this period; a few glosses were inserted during the pre-exilic period, and it was enlarged and augmented by Deuteronomistic editors;2 (b) it was composed at the time of one of the kings of the house of David (in the 8th century before Ahaz,3 or in the reign of Josiah4 or Zedekiah5), and is influenced by the Assyrian inscriptions;6 (c) it was composed in the Persian period.7 In the first part of this paper the process of the formation of this text will be reexamined, and in the second part two questions will be discussed: Did any Ancient Near Eastern king ever compose, by means of his scribe, a building inscription or a building story in honor of another king? And what are the characteristics of the references to building projects of earlier rulers in royal inscriptions? Scholars pointed out that the process of formulating the text in 1 Kgs 5:15–9:9 was long drawn out, and should be divided into three main stages: (a) a pre-Deuteronomistic text; (b) Deuteronomistic editions; (c) post-Deuteronomistic additions. The pre-Deuteronomistic elements will be discussed first. Most scriptures included in 1 Kgs 5:15–9:9, are devoid of any Deuteronomistic or priestly clichés or ideas, and were probably composed in the pre-exilic period.8 These scriptures comprise part of of the Old Testament (Grand Rapids, 2003), pp. 122–131, 530–533; A. V. Hurowitz, “YHWH’s exalted House: Aspects of the Design and Symbolism of Solomon’s Temple”, in J. Day (ed.), Temple and Worship in Biblical Israel (London, 2005), pp. 63–110; M. Liverani, Israel’s History and the History of Israel (London, 2005); E. A. Seibert, Subversive Scribes and the Solomonic Narrative: A Rereading of I Kings 1–11 (New York, 2006); M. S. Smith, “In Solomon’s Temple (1 Kings 6–7): Between Text and Archaeology”, in S. Gitin et al. (eds.), Confronting the Past: Archaeological and Historical Essays on Ancient Israel in Honor of William G. Dever (Winona Lake, 2006), pp. 275–282; W. Dietrich, The Early Monarchy in Israel: The Tenth Century B.C.E. (Atlanta, 2007), pp. 94–98, 203–208, 256– 258, 296–298; J. Kamlah, “Der Salomonische Tempel: Paradigma der Verknüpfung von biblischer Exegese und Archäologie für eine Rekonstruktion der Religionsgeschichte Israels”, Verkündigung und Forschung 53 (2008), pp. 40–50; A. E. Gardner, “The Narratives of Solomon’s Reign in the Light of the Historiography of other Ancient Civilizations”, Australian Biblical Review 56 (2008), pp. 1–18; E. Lipiński, “Hiram of Tyre and Solomon”, in A. Lemaire and B. Halpern (eds.), The Books of Kings: Sources, Composition, Historiography and Reception (Leiden – Boston, 2010), pp. 251–272; and see also V. A. Hurowitz’s article in this volume. 2 J. Gray, I and II Kings: A Commentary (OTL; Philadelphia, 1970), pp. 157–158; D. J. Wiseman, 1 and 2 Kings: An Introduction and Commentary (Leicester, 1993), p. 42; C. Meyers, “Kinship and Kingship: The Early Monarchy”, in M. D. Coogan (ed.), The Oxford History of the Biblical World (New York – Oxford, 1998), pp. 230–231; M. Mulder, 1 Kings, Vol. 1: 1 Kings 3–11 (Leuven, 1998), p. 228; M. A. Sweeney, I and II Kings: A Commentary (OTL; Louisville – London, 2007), p. 32. See also E. A. Knauf, “Jerusalem in the Late Bronze and Early Iron Ages: A Proposal”, TA 27 (2000), pp. 75–90; W. G. Dever, What Did the Biblical Writers Know and When Did the Know It? What Archaeology Can Tell Us about the Reality of Ancient Israel? (Grand Rapids, 2001), pp. 6, 34, 75 and more. 3 Smith, op. cit. (note 1), p. 279; M. Cogan, I Kings (AB; Garden City, 2000), p. 273. 4 Wälchli, op. cit. (note 1); T. C. Römer, The So-called Deuteronomistic History (London, 2005), pp. 99–102, with additional bibliography. 5 Tomes, op. cit. (note 1). 6 Hurowitz, op. cit. (note 1), 1992, pp. 313–316. 7 See above, note 1, the studies by van Seters, McCormick and Liverani. 8 See Gray, op. cit. (note 3), p. 158; Tomes, op. cit. (note 1), p. 35; Cogan, op. cit. (note 4), p.

SOLOMON’S TEMPLE: FICTION OR REALITY?

139

the “Book of the Acts of Solomon”, and later were incorporated by Dtr in his description of the reign of Solomon. The original pre-Deutronomistic text includes the following passages: (a) preparation for the building (5:20*9−32);10 (b) the building of the Temple (6:1*,2−10,15−8*);11 (c) the building of the Palace-complex (7:1−12); (d) furnishings of the Temple (7:13−51); (e) dedication of the Temple (8:1*−3,5*−6,10−13,62−64). The text in 1 Kgs 8:1−13 was composed by several authors, in different periods, as indicated by the linguistic clichés and ideological ideas presented in this passage (see appendix A). This text took shape over a long period, and may be divided into three main stages: (a) original text; (b) Deuteronomistic edition; (c) priestly edition. A gloss was added to the text in the pre-exilic period, after completion of the first stage and before composition of the second stage (vv. 7−8, see discussion below.) The original text includes the following scriptures: .‫[ אָז י ְַקהֵ ל ְשׁ מֹ ה אֶ ת זִ ְקנֵי י ְִשׂ ָראֵ ל לְ הַ עֲ לוֹת אֶ ת אֲ רוֹן בְּ ִרית יְהוָ ה מֵ ִעיר ָדּוִ ד‬1] ‫[ וַ ָיּבֹאוּ כֹּל זִ ְקנֵי‬3] .‫[ וַ יּ ִָקּהֲ לוּ אֶ ל הַ מֶּ ֶל ְשׁ מֹ ה כָּל ִאישׁ י ְִשׂ ָראֵ ל בְּ י ֶַרח הָ אֵ ָתנִ ים‬2] ‫[ וְ הַ מֶּ ֶל ְשׁ מֹ ה וְ כָל י ְִשׂ ָראֵ ל ִאתּ ֹו לִ פְ נֵי‬5] .‫י ְִשׂ ָראֵ ל וַ יּ ְִשׂאוּ הַ כֹּהֲ נִ ים אֶ ת הָ אָרוֹן‬ ‫[ וַ יָּבִ אוּ הַ כֹּהֲ נִ ים אֶ ת‬6] .‫הָ אָרוֹן ְמזַבְּ ִחים צֹאן וּבָ ָקר אֲ ֶשׁר א יִסָּ פְ רוּ וְ א יִמָּ נוּ מֵ רֹב‬ ‫[ אָז‬12] .‫אֲ רוֹן בְּ ִרית יְהוָ ה אֶ ל ְמקוֹמ ֹו אֶ ל ְדּבִ יר הַ בַּ יִת אֶ ל ַתּחַ ת כַּנְ פֵ י הַ כְּ רוּבִ ים‬ ‫יתי‬ ִ ִ‫[ בָּ נֹ ה בָ נ‬13] .‫ אָמַ ר לִ ְשׁכֹּן בָּ עֲ ָרפֶ ל‬/ [‫ יְהוָ ה ] ֶשׁמֶ שׁ הֵ כִ ין בַּ ָשּׁמַ יִם‬:‫אָמַ ר ְשׁ מֹ ה‬ 12 [.‫ ]הֲ א ִהיא כְ תוּבָ ה עַ ל סֵ פֶ ר הַ יּ ָָשׁר‬.‫ מָ כוֹן לְ ִשׁבְ ְתּ ע ֹול ִָמים‬/ ‫בֵּ ית זְ בֻל ָל‬ Dtr added v. 9 and the last three words in the second verse: “which is the seventh month”; the latest stratum, the priestly one, is attested mainly in vv. 1−5,10−11, especially by typical priestly clichés.13 These are the main scriptures added by the priestly editor to this text (for a full list of the priestly additions see appendix A): ‫אשׁי הַ מַּ טּוֹת נְ ִשׂיאֵ י הָ אָבוֹת לִ בְ נֵי י ְִשׂ ָראֵ ל אֶ ל הַ מֶּ ֶל ְשׁ מֹ ה‬ ֵ ‫ אֶ ת כָּל ָר‬... [1] ‫[ וַ יַּעֲ לוּ אֶ ת אֲ רוֹן יְהוָ ה וְ אֶ ת אֹ הֶ ל מוֹעֵ ד וְ אֶ ת כָּל כְּ לֵי הַ קֹּדֶ שׁ אֲ ֶשׁר‬4] ... ‫ְרוּשׁ ִ ָלם‬ ָ ‫י‬ ‫[ וַ י ְִהי בְּ צֵ את הַ כֹּהֲ נִ ים ִמן הַ קֹּדֶ שׁ וְ הֶ עָ נָן‬10] ‫אֹתם הַ כֹּהֲ נִ ים וְ הַ לְ וִ יִּם‬ ָ ‫בָּ אֹהֶ ל וַ יַּעֲ לוּ‬

250. 9 “‫ ”ועתה‬in v. 20 should be excluded. 10 For this passage see Hurowitz, op. cit. (note 1), 1992, pp. 171–204, with additional bibliography; and cf. C. T. Begg, “Solomon’s Preparations for Building the Temple according to Josephus”, Rivista Biblica 55 (2007), pp. 25–40. 11 The chronological note in 1 Kgs 6:1 was composed by Dtr; so were the phrases “which is the second month” in the same verse, “which is the eighth month” (6:38), and “which is the seventh month” (8:2). This note at the beginning of chapter 6 defines the chronological framework of the Deuteronomistic History, dividing the History of Israel from the Exodus to the destruction of the temple into two main periods of 480 and 400 years. See G. Galil, “The Chronological Framework of the Deuteronomistic History”, Biblica 85 (2004), pp. 413−421; idem, “Dates and Calendar in Kings”, in Lemaire and Halpern (eds.), op. cit. (note 1), pp. 427−444. 12 For the textual problems see BH; Gray, op. cit. (note 3), pp. 195−197. For a different opinion see Hurowitz, op. cit. (note 1), 1992, p. 107. 13 See J. A. Montgomery and H. S. Gehman, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Book of Kings (ICC; Edinburgh, 1951), pp. 185−189; Gray, op. cit. (note 3), pp. 191−195; Long, op. cit. (note 1), pp. 96−99; Tomes, op. cit. (note 1), p. 34.

140

G. GALIL

‫[ וְ א יָכְ לוּ הַ כֹּהֲ נִ ים לַעֲ מֹ ד לְ ָשׁ ֵרת ִמפְּ נֵי הֶ עָ נָן כִּ י מָ לֵא‬11] .‫מָ לֵא אֶ ת בֵּ ית יְהוָ ה‬ .‫כְ בוֹד יְהוָ ה אֶ ת בֵּ ית יְהוָ ה‬ The original text points out the important role of King Solomon in the building of the Temple and the palace complex, as is the case in the Ancient Near Eastern texts. On the other hand, the priests are mentioned only briefly, and in relation only to the ark—in contrast to the reports on repair of damage and wear to the Temple undertaken by King Joash and King Josiah (2 Kgs 12:7−17; 23:9−13), which highlight the central role of the priests. So it is reasonable to assume that the original text was composed by royal scribes and not by priests. Moreover, King Solomon is mentioned in the original text 35 times: ten times by the words “Solomon, the king” (or “to Solomon, the king”); twenty times by his personal name, and five additional times by his title “the king”, a grand total of 35 times. This also indicates that the text was composed by royal scribes. The building projects of King Solomon in Jerusalem are presented in the “Book of the Acts of Solomon” (namely in the original text) in a chiastic order as follows (see appendix B). The description opens with the preparations for the building (1.1) and concludes with the dedication of the Temple (1.5); the second hemistich (1.2) relates the building of the Temple; and the fourth hemistich (1.4) the furnishings of the Temple. At the center of this chiastic structure (1.3) the royal scribe presents the building of the palace complex. Dtr maintains the chiastic order of the original text and constructs the new material, which he adds to this text in a similar chiastic pattern (see appendix B). He opens his composition with a divine promise (5:15−19 = 2.1), and closes it with the Lord’s answer to Solomon (9:1−9 = 2.11). Most of his additions are attested in chapter 8, vv. 14−61 in three passages, which open with Solomon’s blessing (8:14−21 = 2.7), continue with Solomon’s prayer (8:22−53 = 2.8), and end with Solomon’s blessing again (8:54−61 = 2.9). So the description of the dedication of the Temple was enlarged and augmented in the Deuteronomistic edition by creating a chiastic structure of five hemistiches, which opens with the ark (2.6) and closes with the sacrifices (2.10); in between, Dtr locates Solomon’s blessings and prayer. ‘The Deuteronomistic composition’14 was written, in my opinion, in the mid-6th century BCE in Babylonia by a single author who wished to elevate the exiles’ spirit and to assure them that the day of mercy and consolation would come, and the Lord would restore them to the good land, if they would return to the Lord with all their soul and with all their heart. The composition opens with the book of Deuteronomy, which shows the path and centers on the prophet Moses and the Desert generation; the books from Joshua to Kings describe the vicissitudes of the very complicated relations between the Lord and the people of Israel, from the conquest of the land to its loss and destruction; then the book of Jeremiah focuses on the history of the generation that witnesses the collapse and the destruction, and on its great prophet Jeremiah, highlighting the positive message of the entire composition, one of hope and consolation, presenting the ties between the God and Israel as eternal, based on the uniqueness of Israel and on God’s everlasting love for his chosen people: ‫וְ אַהֲ בַ ת ע ֹולָם אֲ הַ בְ ִתּי‬.15 14 15

I prefer this term to the usual one ‘The Deuteronomistic History’. Jeremiah 31:2. For my previous discussions on ‘The Deuteronomistic Composition’ see

SOLOMON’S TEMPLE: FICTION OR REALITY?

141

The post-Deuteronomistic scriptures are restricted to a small portion of the text and attested mainly in 6:11−14; 8:1−13, and in the geographical definition in 8:65:16 ‫ ִמלְּ בוֹא חֲ מָ ת עַ ד נַחַ ל ִמ ְצ ַריִם‬. In sum, the supposition that the text in 1 Kgs 5:15–9:9 was composed in the Persian period and reflects the reality of this period is unreasonable and untenable for two main reasons: (a) the original description of the building of Solomon’s Temple is devoid of any Deuteronomistic or priestly clichés, nor is any linguistic or ideological evidence present for dating this original text to the exilic or Persian period; (b) a comparison of Solomon’s Temple with other temples in the Ancient Near East indicates similarities between Solomon’s Temple and other temples built in the second and in the early-1st millennia BCE (10th–8th centuries).17 Who composed the original text incorporated in 1 Kgs 5:15–9:9 by Dtr, and when was it composed? Was it at the time of Solomon or during the reign of one of the other kings of the House of David? A few scholars, including V. Hurowitz, have pointed out the similarities between the Assyrian building stories and inscriptions and the text in 1 Kgs 5:15–9:9. This suggestion is only partly valid, and cannot indicate the date of this biblical text; Hurowitz did not offer a clear answer to this question.18 In fact, these similarities are evident mainly in the Deuteronomistic edition of this text: the pre-Deuteronomistic text contains no divine order, nor any prayers or blessings. Moreover, these similarities characterize not only Neo-Assyrian inscriptions but also Old and Middle Assyrian texts. A direct influence of these on Dtr is unreasonable. It is possible that Dtr was influenced by Deuteronomy (=D), which probably was influenced by NeoAssyrian texts. In my opinion the pre-Deuteronomistic text was composed in the reign of Solomon, since no king in the Ancient Near East composed (by means of his scribes) a building inscription or a building story in honor of one of his predecessors —there is no such thing. Even more impossible is it to envisage a situation where a king will build a temple or a palace and assert in his inscriptions that it was built by one of his predecessors. Hence the notion that Hezekiah or Josiah built the Temple and stated that it was the work of Solomon is nonsense. The suggestion that the G. Galil, “The Message of the Book of Kings in Relation to the Deuteronomy and Jeremiah”, Bibliotheca Sacra 158 (2001), pp. 406−414; idem, op. cit. (note 11), 2004, pp. 413−421; idem, op. cit. (note 11), 2010, pp. 427–444; idem, “Polemics and Propaganda in the Deuteronomistic Composition”, in G. B. Lanfranchi et al. (eds.), FS Frederick Mario Fales, forthcoming. 16 These scriptures have clear parallels in the priestly literature, e.g., Ex 25:8; 29:45; Lev 18:4; 26:3, 11−12, Num 34:8 and more. 17 See C. J. Davey, “Temples of the Levant and the Buildings of Solomon”, TynBul 31 (1980), pp. 107−146; V. Fritz, “Temple Architecture: What can Archaeology Tell us about Solomon’s Temple”, BAR 13 (1987), pp. 38−49; Z. Herzog, “The Temple of Solomon: Reconstruction of its plan and its Archaeological Parallels”, in S. Ahituv and A. Mazar (eds.), The History of Jerusalem: The Biblical Period (Jerusalem, 2000), pp. 155−174 (Hebrew); Kitchen, op. cit. (note 1), pp. 122−131, 530−533, with earlier literature; A. Mazar, “The Spade and the Text: The Interaction between Archaeology and Israelite History Relating to the Tenth−Ninth Centuries BCE”, in H. G. M. Williamson (ed.), Understanding the History of Ancient Israel (Oxford, 2007), pp. 145−147, 149−150, 154; and see also V. A. Hurowitz’s article in this volume. 18 Hurowitz, op. cit. (note 1), 1992, pp. 319−321.

142

G. GALIL

original text incorporated in 1 Kgs 5:15–9:9 was composed in the reign of Josiah is even more problematic, since Josiah is presented in 2 Kgs 23 by the author of “the Book of the Chronicles of the Kings of Judah”—a book composed, in my opinion, by the scribes of Josiah — as the antithesis of the evil king Solomon, and as the king who destroyed Solomon’s cultic places (2 Kgs 23:13): ‫ימין לְ הַ ר הַ מַּ ְשׁ ִחית אֲ ֶשׁר בָּ נָה ְשׁ מֹ ה‬ ִ ‫ְרוּשׁ ִ ַלם אֲ ֶשׁר ִמ‬ ָ ‫פְּ נֵי י‬-‫וְ אֶ ת הַ בָּ מוֹת אֲ ֶשׁר עַ ל‬ ‫מֶ ֶל י ְִשׂ ָראֵ ל לְ עַ ְשׁתּ ֶֹרת ִשׁקֻּ ץ ִצידֹנִ ים וְ לִ כְ מוֹשׁ ִשׁקֻּ ץ מוֹאָב וּלְ ִמלְ כֹּם תּוֹעֲ בַ ת‬ ‫עַ מּוֹן ִטמֵּ א הַ מֶּ ֶל‬-‫בְּ נֵי‬ Is it reasonable that Josiah’s scribes would glorify the evil king, Solomon, whose cultic places were destroyed by the just king, Josiah?

II Hundreds of building inscriptions and building stories are attested in Ancient Near Eastern literature. At times, more than 400 copies of one single inscription have been unearthed.19 These texts contain only very brief references to building activities of previous kings. The real aim is to point out the achievement of the king whose scribes composed these texts—in contrast to his predecessors. The king fulfills the obligation to name those predecessors, in the hope that future kings will recall his name. Reports on reconstructions of temples and references to building activities of previous kings may be classified into a number of patterns. The most frequent one states that the previous temple had fallen to ruin so the king was obliged to destroy and rebuild it. The oldest Assyrian inscription in this pattern was written in the days of Šamši-Adad I (1813−1781 BCE). This text appears on stone tablets in nine exemplars, most of which found in the Aššur temple in the city of Aššur.20 The building description (ll. 18−58) opens with the following sentence: “The temple of the god Enlil which Erišum (I), son of Ilu-šumma, had built had become dilapidated and I abandon it” (ll. 18−23). This opening section of six lines is followed by a detailed report of 24 lines describing the building of the temple by Šamši-Adad I (ll. 24−48), and a concluding passage of ten lines referring to the temple’s name (ll. 49−58). The verb which defines the dilapidation is anāḫu A, and the meaning of this verb (which applies to people as well as buildings) is to become tired, exhausted, weakened; to fall into disrepair; and more. Sometimes this verb appears in the pair il-lik e-na-ah (cf. also the term anḫūtu = dilapidation disrepair, and more).21 In many other building inscriptions and stories additional motifs appear, including the wise king and desertion. The latter theme presents the poor situation of the previous temple, noting that it was abandoned and fell into ruin over a long time (ume ruquti); nobody else thought about repairing it until the time of the king, whose scribes composed the inscription. The ume ruquti motif appears as early as the inscriptions of Šamši-Adad I, for example, the report on the rebuilding of the shrine Emenue in the Emašmaš, Ištar’s temple complex in Nineveh. This text was

19

RIMA 2, A.0.101, pp. 268−276. RIMA 1, A.O.39.1, ll. 18−58, pp. 47−51. 21 CAD, A/2, pp. 101−105, 120−121. 20

SOLOMON’S TEMPLE: FICTION OR REALITY?

143

inscribed on stone cylinders, and 19 fragments of it were found at Nineveh.22 In ll. 14−25 this temple is defined as follows: “The temple which none of the kings who preceded me had rebuilt—from the fall of Akkad until my sovereignty, until the capture of Nurrugu, seven generations have passed…” This scribal tradition continued during the Middle Assyrian period, and is reflected in the inscriptions of Adad-nārārī I, Shalmaneser I and Tukultī-Ninurta I. Below I quote just one example, a paragraph from an inscription of Tukultī-Ninurta I unearthed in the temple of Ištar in Aššur, and inscribed on various materials, including a stone block as well as gold, silver and lead tablets:23 At that time the temple of the Assyrian Ištar, my mistress, which Ilu-šumma, my forefather, vice-regent of Aššur, a king who preceded me, had previously built—720 years had passed (and) that temple became dilapidated and old.24 This scribal tradition revives at the end of the 12th century − early-11th century BCE, in the inscriptions of Tiglath-pileser I (1114−1076 BCE):25 At that time the temple of the gods of Anu and Adad, the great gods, which Šamši-Adad (III), vice-regent of Aššur, son of Išme-Dagan (II), vice-regent of Aššur, had previously built, (after) 641 years had passed it had become dilapidated and Aššur-dān (I), king of Assyria, son of Ninurta-apil-Ekur, king of Assyria, tore down this temple but did not rebuild it (ip-pu-ul ul epuš) and for 60 years its foundation had not been relaid (ul i-na-du-ú).26 At the end of the 10th century BCE, after an interval of about 150 years, this scribal tradition awakens yet again, in the inscriptions of Adad-nārārī II (911−891 BCE)27; and from the 9th century it continues until the demise of Assyria in the 7th century BCE. The wise king theme is apparent, for example, in Ashurnasirpal II’s building inscriptions: At that time the temple of the goddess Ištar of Nineveh, my mistress, in the grounds of Emašmaš — the old temple which Šamši-Adad, king of Assyria, a prince who preceded me, had built — this temple had become dilapidated and fallen into ruin (e-na-aḫ-ma la-be-ru-ta il-li-ik). With the wisdom of the god Nudimmud, the great lord, with the wide understanding which the god Ea had granted to me …

22

RIMA I, A.O.39.2, ll. 7−25, pp. 51−54. RIMA 1, A.O.78.11, pp. 253−256 24 Ibid., ll. 15−32, p. 254. 25 RIMA 2, A.O.87.1, pp. 7−31. 26 Ibid., col. vii, ll. 60−70, p. 28. 27 RIMA 2, A.0.99.2, ll. 128−133, pp. 154−155. 23

144

G. GALIL

I delineated its area, dug out its foundation pit, rebuilt it from top to bottom, and completed (it).28 At that time the temple of the goddess Ištar, mistress of the divine Kidmuru, which had previously existed (but already) in the time of my fathers had crumbled and turned into ruin hills: (at that time), with the skill which the god Ea, king of apsû (who) grants counsel (and) understanding, gave to me, … I rebuilt for her this temple of the divine Kidmuru.29 The wise king theme is also apparent in Sargon II’s report on the building of the temples and the palaces of his new capital city Dūr-Šarrukīn, and in Sennacherib’s description of the “palace without a rival”: …whose site none among the 350 ancient princes who lived before me, who exercised dominion over Assyria and ruled the subjects of Enlil, had thought of (lit., remembered), nor knew they how to make it habitable, whose canal none thought to dig, (but I), in my allembracing wisdom, which at the bidding of the god Ea, king of apsû, was made rich in understanding and filled with craftiness, and by the fertile planning of my brain…30 …the kings who went before, my fathers …not one among them had turned his thoughts (lit. ear) nor brought his mind to widen the city’s area, to build a wall… nor to the palace therein… nor had he given his energy nor his heart’s thoughts; but I, Sennacherib… gave my thoughts and brought my mind to accomplish this work according to the command of the gods.31 All these scriptures were aimed to highlight the superiority of the king whose scribes composed these texts over his predecessors. Esarhaddon’s report on his reconstruction of the Aššur temple in the city of Aššur is one of the most important and detailed building inscriptions in Ancient Near Eastern literature. I quote a few lines from the historical introduction to this inscription:32 The old temple of the god Aššur, which Ušpia, vice-regent of Aššur, my forefather had built — this temple had become dilapidated. It was reconstructed by Erišum, son of Ilu-šumma, vice-regent of Aššur, my forefather. After 126 years it had fallen into ruin, again (il-lik-ma i-tur e-na-aḫ-ma). It was rebuilt by Šamši-Adad (I) son of Ilu-kaukabi, viceregent of Aššur. After 434 years it was burned by fire. It was rebuilt 28

RIMA 2, A.0.101.40: 30b−37, p. 309; cf. ARAB, I, p. 192, § 528. RIMA 2, A.0.101.38: 19−26, pp. 304−305. cf. ARAB, I, p. 192, § 528. 30 ARAB, II, p. 63, § 119; cf. A. Fuchs, Die Inschriften Sargons II. aus Khorsabad (Göttingen, 1994), pp. 38−39, 293. 31 D. D. Luckenbill, The Annals of Sennacherib (Chicago, 1924), pp. 103−104. 32 R. Borger, Die Inschriften Asarhaddons, Könige von Assyrien (Graz, 1956), p. 3, ll. 16−39. 29

SOLOMON’S TEMPLE: FICTION OR REALITY?

145

by Shalmaneser (I), son of Adad-nārārī (I), vice-regent of Aššur. After 580 years… (that temple) become dilapidated and old (še-bu-ta la-bi-ru-ta il-li-ku-ma). Next comes a detailed report of the reconstruction of the temple by Esarhaddon, with the following sections: (a) preparations for building (divine sanction, recruitment of workers, and destruction of the old temple); (b) a description of the construction work; (c) dedication of the temple. The activities of Esarhaddon are told in great detail and at length, while the acts of his predecessors are presented laconically. Other inscriptions state that a previous monarch had begun reconstructing the temple but did not finish the job (la igmuru). For example, Assurbanipal reports that “The work on Esagila which my father had not completed, I finished”;33 and Nabopolassar, king of Babylon (626−605 BCE) states that “At that time I built the temple of Ninurta in Babylon, a house which one of my predecessors began to built, but had not completed (la igmuru)”.34 Other Neo-Babylonian inscriptions focus on the fact that previous monarchs did not reconstruct temples according to the original plans, and that is why these temples collapsed. For example, Nabonidus (556−539 BCE) criticizes his predecessors (including Nebuchadnezzar II) for building the temples of Šamaš in Larsa and Sipar not according to the original plans, maintaining that the original plan was revealed only to his eyes.35 In many Ancient Near Eastern building inscriptions and stories the scribe writes that the reconstructed temple was built on precisely the spot where the previous temple stood, and that it was forbidden to change the location since it had originally been determined by the god. Moreover, there is evidence of terrible catastrophes that occurred in consequence of building the temple on a different site, even close to the original. For example, Nabonidus accused an earlier king of not finding the foundations of the temple of Šamaš in Sipar, but insisted on continuing the reconstruction; this caused this temple to collapse before its time (ina la idannišu).36 Esarhaddon highlights the fact that he had not changed the location of the temple of god Aššur in the city of Aššur during its reconstruction: “That temple—the place of its site I did not change”.37 In view of this, Liverani’s claim that the Temple was built by Solomon but in the city of David, and later moved to the Temple Mount, is impossible.38 33

Luckenbill, op. cit. (note 31), p. 370, § 954. S. Langdon, Die Neubabylonischen Königsinschriften (Leipzig, 1912), pp. 68−69 (Nabopolassar, no. 4, ll. 22−24). 35 Langdon, ibid., pp. 234−237, 254−255 (Nabonid, no. 3, col. I, ll. 31−53; no. 6, col. I, ll. 16−22). For a detailed study of Nabonidus’ building inscriptions see H. –P. Schaudig, Die Inschriften Nabonids von Babylon und Kyros’ des Grossen samt den in ihrem Umfeld entstandenen Tendenzschriften. Textausgabe und Grammatik (AOAT 256; Münster, 2001), pp. 61−65; and cf. R. Da Riva, The Neo-Babylonian Royal Inscription: An Introduction (Münster, 2008), p. 113. 36 See Langdon, ibid., pp. 254−255, 262−263 (Nabonid, no. 6, col. I, ll. 16−31, no. 7, col. I, l. 28). 37 Luckenbill, op. cit. (note 31), p. 271, § 702. 38 Liverani, op. cit. (note 1), pp. 99−100. 34

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G. GALIL

In sum, the original text incorporated by Dtr in 1 Kgs 5:15–9:9 was composed in the second half of Solomon’s reign and reflects the circumstances of this period. A few glosses were added to this text in the pre-exilic period, and it was enlarged and augmented by Dtr in the mid-6th century BCE. In the Persian period, a few priestly elements were added to the text. The architectural plan of the temple is very close to the plan of temples in Syria in the early-1st millennium BCE. The similarities between 1 Kgs 5:15–9:9 and Neo-Assyrian and Neo-Babylonian building inscriptions and stories may indicate that the genre of the text in the book of Kings is ‘a building story’. But the similarities are only partial, and may not be used as an argument for dating this biblical text. By contrast, only the Deuteronomistic edition of the text is very close to the Neo-Assyrian pattern, and there is no evidence that the pre-Deuteronomistic version of the text included similar elements which were switched by Dtr, as suggested by Hurowitz.39 It is reasonable to suggest that the Temple was built in the days of Solomon, and the building story was composed by Solomon’s scribes: no king in the Ancient Near East caused his scribes to compose a building story or inscription in honor of another king. Nothing of the sort ever occurred, and it is even less possible that a king would build a temple or a palace and say that it was the work of one of his predecessors.

39

Hurowitz, op. cit. (note 1), 1992, pp. 313−316.

‫?‪SOLOMON’S TEMPLE: FICTION OR REALITY‬‬

‫‪147‬‬

‫‪Appendix A‬‬ ‫‪THE FORMATION OF 1 KINGS 8:1–13‬‬

‫]‪ [1‬אָז י ְַקהֵ ל ְשׁ מֹה אֶ ת זִ ְקנֵי יִ ְשׂ ָראֵ ל‬

‫ְרוּשׁ ִ ָלם‬ ‫אשׁי הַ מַּ טּוֹת נְ ִשׂיאֵ י הָ אָב ֹות לִ בְ נֵי י ְִשׂ ָראֵ ל אֶ ל הַ מֶּ ֶל ְשׁ מֹ ה י ָ‬ ‫]‪ [RP‬אֶ ת כָּל ָר ֵ‬

‫לְ הַ עֲלוֹת אֶ ת אֲ רוֹן בְּ ִרית יְ הוָה מֵ ִעיר ָדּוִ ד‪.‬‬ ‫]‪ִ [RP‬היא צִ יּוֹן‪.‬‬

‫]‪ [2‬וַיִּ ָקּהֲ לוּ אֶ ל הַ מֶּ ֶל ְשׁ מֹה כָּ ל ִאישׁ יִ ְשׂ ָראֵ ל בְּ י ֶַרח הָ אֵ תָ נִ ים‬ ‫]‪ [RP‬בֶּ חָ ג‬

‫]‪ [DTR‬הוּא הַ חֹדֶ שׁ הַ ְשּׁבִ יעִ י‪.‬‬

‫]‪ [3‬וַיָּ בֹאוּ כֹּל זִ ְקנֵי יִ ְשׂ ָראֵ ל וַיִּ ְשׂאוּ הַ כֹּהֲ נִ ים אֶ ת הָ אָרוֹן‪.‬‬ ‫]‪ [RP] [4‬וַ יַּעֲ לוּ אֶ ת אֲ רוֹן יְהוָ ה וְ אֶ ת אֹהֶ ל מוֹעֵ ד וְ אֶ ת כָּל כְּ לֵי הַ קֹּדֶ שׁ אֲ ֶשׁר בָּ אֹהֶ ל וַ יַּעֲ לוּ א ָֹתם‬ ‫הַ כֹּהֲ נִ ים וְ הַ לְ וִ יִּם‪.‬‬ ‫שׂ ָראֵ ל ]‪ [RP‬הַ נּוֹעָ ִדים עָ לָיו‬ ‫]‪ [5‬וְ הַ מֶּ ֶל ְשׁ מֹה וְ כָ ל ]‪ [RP‬עֲ דַ ת יִ ְ‬

‫ִאתּוֹ לִ ְפנֵי הָ אָרוֹן ְמזַבְּ ִחים צֹאן וּבָ ָקר אֲ ֶשׁר א יִ ָסּ ְפרוּ וְ א יִ מָּ נוּ מֵ רֹב‪.‬‬ ‫]‪ [6‬וַיָּ בִ אוּ הַ כֹּהֲ נִ ים אֶ ת אֲ רוֹן בְּ ִרית יְ הוָה אֶ ל ְמקוֹמוֹ אֶ ל ְדּבִ יר הַ בַּ יִ ת‬ ‫]‪ [RP‬אֶ ל קֹדֶ שׁ הַ קֳּ דָ ִשׁים אֶ ל ַתּחַ ת כַּ נְ פֵ י הַ כְּ רוּבִ ים‪.‬‬ ‫]‪ [Gloss] [7‬כִּ י הַ כְּ רוּבִ ים פּ ְֹר ִשׂים כְּ נָפַ יִם אֶ ל ְמקוֹם הָ אָרוֹן ַו ָיּסֹכּוּ הַ כְּ רֻ בִ ים עַ ל הָ אָרוֹן וְ עַ ל בַּ דָּ יו ִמלְ מָ עְ לָה‬ ‫אשׁי הַ בַּ ִדּים ִמן הַ קֹּדֶ שׁ עַ ל פְּ נֵי הַ ְדּבִ יר וְ א י ֵָראוּ הַ חוּצָ ה ַויִּהְ יוּ ָשׁם עַ ד הַ יּוֹם הַ זֶּה‬ ‫]‪ַ [8‬ויַּאֲ ִרכוּ הַ בַּ ִדּים ַויּ ֵָראוּ ָר ֵ‬ ‫]‪ [DTR] [9‬אֵ ין בָּ אָרוֹן ַרק ְשׁנֵי לֻחוֹת הָ אֲ בָ נִים אֲ ֶשׁר ִהנִּחַ ָשׁם מ ֶֹשׁה בְּ ח ֵֹרב אֲ ֶשׁר כָּ ַרת יְהוָה עִ ם בְּ נֵי‬ ‫י ְִשׂ ָראֵ ל בְּ צֵ אתָ ם מֵ אֶ ֶרץ ִמ ְצ ָריִם‪.‬‬

‫]‪ [RP] [10‬וַ י ְִהי בְּ צֵ את הַ כֹּהֲ נִ ים ִמן הַ קֹּדֶ שׁ וְ הֶ עָ נָן מָ לֵא אֶ ת בֵּ ית יְהוָ ה‪ [11] .‬וְ א יָכְ לוּ הַ כֹּהֲ נִ ים לַעֲ מֹ ד‬ ‫לְ ָשׁ ֵרת ִמפְּ נֵי הֶ עָ נָן כִּ י מָ לֵא כְ בוֹד יְהוָ ה אֶ ת בֵּ ית יְהוָ ה‪.‬‬

‫]‪ [12‬אָז אָמַ ר ְשׁ מֹה‪:‬‬ ‫‪ /‬אָמַ ר לִ ְשׁכֹּן בָּ ע ֲָרפֶ ל‪.‬‬ ‫יְ הוָה ] ֶשׁמֶ שׁ הֵ כִ ין בַּ ָשּׁמַ יִ ם[‬ ‫‪ /‬מָ כוֹן לְ ִשׁבְ ְתּ עוֹל ִָמים‪.‬‬ ‫יתי בֵּ ית זְ בֻל ָל‬ ‫]‪ [13‬בָּ נֹה בָ נִ ִ‬ ‫]הֲ א ִהיא כְ תוּבָ ה עַ ל ֵספֶ ר הַ יָּ ָשׁר‪[.‬‬

148

G. GALIL

Appendix B LITERARY STRUCTURE OF THE DESCRIPTION OF THE BUILDING OF SOLOMON’S TEMPLE (1 KINGS 5:15–9:9)

THE BOOK OF THE ACTS OF SOLOMON

THE DEUTERONOMISTIC COMPOSITION 2.1 The Divine Promise (5:15−19)

1.1 Preparations for Building (5:20*−32)

2.2 Preparations for Building (5:20*−32)

1.2 Building the Temple (6:1*,2−10,15−38*)

2.3 Building the Temple (6:1−10,15−38)

1.3 Building the Palace-complex (7:1−12)

2.4 Building the Palace-complex (7:1−12)

1.4 Furnishings of the Temple (7:13−51)

2.5 Furnishings of the Temple (7:13−51)

1.5 Dedication of the Temple (8:1−6, 12−13,62−64)

2.6 Dedication of the Temple: a. Ark (7:13−51) 2.7 Solomon’s blessing (a: 8:14−21) 2.8 Solomon’s prayer (8:22−53) 2.9 Solomon’s blessing (b: 8:54−61) 2.10 Dedication of the Temple:

-

b. Sacrifices (7:62−66)

2.11 The Lord's answer to Solomon (9:1−9)

THE IRON AGE CITY OF KHIRBET QEIYAFA AFTER FOUR SEASONS OF EXCAVATIONS

YOSEF GARFINKEL

SAAR GANOR

MICHAEL G. HASEL

The Hebrew University of Jerusalem

Israel Antiquities Authority

Southern Adventist University

I. Introduction The development and populating of cities is a fascinating and multifaceted subject. Recent studies focusing on urban development worldwide particularly in Israel devote attention to pre-planning, building technologies, social organization, division of labor, gender, public versus private enterprise, ideologies, and cosmological ideas.1

* The Khirbet Qeiyafa Archaeological Project is directed by Yosef Garfinkel and Saar Ganor on behalf of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Michael G. Hasel is associate director, with Southern Adventist University as a senior partner. Other participating institutions include Oakland University and Virginia Commonwealth University and volunteers from 25 countries. Sponsors are the Institute of Archaeology, Hebrew University; Institute of Archaeology, Southern Adventist University; National Geographic Society; Foundation Stone; J. B. Silver; Burton and Dorothy Keppler Endowment; ASI International, Donn and Esther Latour, and Doug and Christy Zinke. The radiometric calibration curve was made by Katharin Streit. English editing and formatting was done by Justo Morales, Joy Payne, and Star Stevens. 1 V. G. Childe, “The Urban Revolution”, Town Planning Review 21 (1950), pp. 3–17; P. Lampl, Cities and Planning in the Ancient Near East (New York, 1968); P. Ucko, G. Dimbleby and R. Tringham (eds.), Man, Settlement and Urbanism (London, 1970); D. Clark, Urban Geography (London, 1982); D. Ley, A Social Geography of the City (New York, 1983); L. Manzanilla, Emergence and Change in Early Urban Societies (New York, 1997); M. L. Smith (ed.), The Social Construction of Ancient Cities (Washington, 2003); G. L. Cowgill, “Origins and Development of Urbanism: Archaeological Perspectives”, Annual Review of Anthropology 33 (2004), pp. 525–542; N. Yoffee, Myths of the Archaic State: Evolution of the Earliest Cities, States, and Civilizations (Cambridge, 2005); idem, “Making Ancient Cities Plausible”, Reviews in Anthropology 38 (2009), pp. 264–289; S. Glenn (ed.), Urbanism in the Preindustrial World: Cross-Cultural Approaches (Tuscaloosa, 2006); G. Storey, Urbanism in the Preindustrial World: Cross-Cultural Approaches (Tuscaloosa, 2006); J. Marcus and J. Sabloff (eds.), The Ancient City: New Perspectives on Ancient Urbanism (Santa Fe, 2008); V. Fritz, The City in Ancient Israel (Sheffield, 1995); Z. Herzog, Archaeology of the City: Urban Planning in Ancient Israel and Its Social Implications (Tel Aviv, 1997); A. Faust, “Doorway Orientation, Settlement Planning and Cosmology in Ancient Israel during Iron Age II”, OJA 20 (2001), pp. 129–155; idem, “Accessibility, Defense, and Town Planning in Iron Age Israel”, Tel Aviv 29 (2002), pp. 297–317; idem, Israelite Society in the Period of

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The wealth of information gathered on these topics makes the excavation of ancient cities one of the most popular archaeological activities in the Near East. Most of the long-term field projects tend to concentrate on tell sites where multiple cities are superimposed one on top of the other. In these cases it is difficult to obtain a large horizontal exposure, limiting the excavator’s ability to understand how the city was (1) planned or spontaneously developed, (2) physically constructed, and (3) socially organized. Urban planning receives considerable attention as evidenced by the large number of studies on ancient Israel relating to this topic.2 Based on careful analysis, Y. Shiloh found evidence of urban planning at four Iron Age cities: Tell Beit Shemesh, Tell en-Nasbeh, Tell Beit Mirsim, and Beersheba.3 The social organization of cities, on the other hand, has received less attention,4 and the question of how a city was actually built is often ignored due to limited data. Thanks to the excavations at Khirbet Qeiyafa, it is now possible to study all three aspects. It is our goal to continue to gather relevant information on each of these aspects in the coming seasons. This paper will present the data available so far, followed by a discussion of what remains to be found and analyzed. As stated above, one of the main problems when studying the organization of ancient cities is the lack of a large horizontal exposure. Most of the archaeological activity in the Near East concentrates on large tell sites where Bronze and Iron Age cities were built. In a typical Near Eastern tell, 10 to 20 superimposed cities can be found. In order to uncover the lower (earlier) layers, one must dig through the upper (later) layers. The final result, after years of work, is the relatively small horizontal exposure of these cities. Thus, in most cases, it is not always possible to understand how these ancient cities were organized and what kind of urban pre-planning was involved. The need for a large horizontal exposure of sites in order to understand social organization has been discussed in numerous cases, but very few projects have adopted this approach.

II. Methodology There are a number of methodological factors that guide our work at Khirbet Qeiyafa: 1. Choosing the Site Khirbet Qeiyafa is a relatively small site (2.3 hectares) with a short-lived occupation (two main periods), thin accumulation (2m maximum), and a rich Iron Age layer. the Monarchy (Jerusalem, 2005, Hebrew); C. H. J. De Geus, Towns in Ancient Israel and in the Southern Levant (Leuven, 2003). 2 Y. Aharoni, “The Israelite City”, in Y. Aharoni (ed.), Beer-Sheba, I (Tel Aviv, 1973), pp. 13–18; Y. Shiloh, “Elements in the Development of Town Planning in the Israelite City”, IEJ 28 (1978), pp. 36–51; T. L. McClellan, “Town Planning at Tell en-Nasbeh”, ZDPV 100 (1984), pp. 53–69; A. Kempinski, “Dan and Kabri–A note on the Planning of Two Cities”, EI 23 (1992), pp. 76–81 (Hebrew); R. Amiran and R. Goethert, “The Quarry”, in R. Amiran and O. Ilan (eds.), Early Arad, II (Jerusalem, 1996), pp. 26–27; Herzog, op. cit. (note 1). 3 Shiloh, ibid. 4 L. Singer-Avitz, “Household Activities at Beersheba”, EI 26 (1996), pp. 166–174 (Hebrew); A. Faust, “Socioeconomic Stratification in an Israelite City: Hazor VI as a Test Case”, Levant 31 (1999), pp. 179–190.

THE IRON AGE CITY OF KHIRBET QEIYAFA

151

Only a short time is needed to uncover a meaningful sample of the Iron Age city. 2. Size of Horizontal Exposure Our aim is to uncover 25–30% of the site, which will produce a meaningful sample of the city wall, gates, dwellings, and public buildings. 3. Sampling Strategy Various parts of the site will be excavated, each including a number of dwellings. 4. Timeframe for Field Project The field project is limited in time, with eight to ten excavation seasons planned altogether. 5. Excavation Strategy Complete architectural units are excavated. In each square (5x5 meters) there is an archaeologist with 3–4 volunteers. This high ratio of staff to volunteers ensures careful excavation and documentation. All collapsed sediments above floors are sifted in a 2mm mesh. This catches a large number of small finds such as seals, scarabs, beads, bone artifacts, and small metal objects. Micro-fauna bones (2–3mm) are collected by wet sifting in a 1mm mesh. 6. Documentation The careful documentation of the stratigraphic relationship of walls, usage of raw materials, and stone size is instructive in the study of the city’s building process. Photographs are constantly taken as well as aerial photos at the end of each season. 7. Analysis of Finds The artifacts are classified both by typology and quantity. Petrographic analysis is conducted on the pottery assemblage, and the stone utensils are analyzed by geological examination. 8. Household Archaeology Quantitative and spatial analyses are carried out for each building in order to better understand how the structure was organized and what function it served. All finds will be examined: stone and pottery vessels, as well as metal objects. Our analysis also includes zoological samples (e.g., animal bones). 9. Spatial Analysis In order to discover the social structure of the community that inhabited the site, the various households are compared. Unless the community is egalitarian, it is possible to identify three social classes: poor, middle class, and wealthy. The existence of a few long-distance imported items, like basalt and Cypriot vessels, would indicate such economic distinctions. Plotting these differences on a map will show if there were different neighborhoods in the city. 10. Publication In the interest of avoiding a long delay in excavation reports, we are publishing a

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Y. GARFINKEL, S. GANOR AND M. G. HASEL

final report every two to three seasons.5 A report for the 2009–2010 is now in preparation.

III. The Archaeology of Large Horizontal Exposure In order to understand how a city was planned, constructed, and socially organized, there is a need for a large horizontal exposure, an idea prized by many.6 However, it is rare to find long-term projects conducting a large horizontal excavation of one layer. The history of this method of excavation in Israel can be divided into three phases: Phase 1 (1920’s–1930’s): In the early days of research, large areas of cities were exposed, such as the upper strata at Megiddo or Beth Shean. The results of these early excavations were quite chaotic, as in many cases components of various periods were combined into one layer. Ironically, the excavators of this generation did not show much interest in city planning or how the city was constructed. Phase 2 (1960’s–1970’s): The large scale excavations of Early Bronze Arad and Iron Age Beersheba exposed urban planning.7 The analysis of the finds in their domestic context allowed for the study of household and social organization in Beersheba and Arad.8 Phase 3 (late 2000’s): Since 2007, Khirbet Qeiyafa is the only site in Israel whose main research target is to obtain a plan of an Iron Age city.9 After four seasons, c. 10% of the site has been excavated. We are planning four more excavation seasons in order to expose 25–30% of the site. Khirbet Qeiyafa is an ideal site for large horizontal exposure: (1) It is a khirbeh, a ruined place in Arabic, with many walls and features exposed on the site’s surface. The entire city wall and two gates were visible before excavations; (2) It is relatively small—2.3 hectares. Most sites are much bigger: Megiddo, 6 hectares; Gezer, 10 hectares; Tell es-Safi, 30 hectares; Hazor, 80 hectares. The small size of Khirbet Qeiyafa makes it possible to excavate 25–30% of the city in just eight excavation seasons; (3) The archaeological sediment is rather shallow, not more than 2 meters at its deepest. In each excavated area, only two building phases have been found; (4) The Iron Age city was abandoned suddenly (earthquake or destruction?), as indicated by hundreds of pottery vessels and dozens of bronze and iron objects found on 5

For 2007–2008 see Y. Garfinkel and S. Ganor, Khirbet Qeiyafa Vol. 1. Excavation Report 2007–2008 (Jerusalem, 2009). 6 Herzog, op. cit. (note 1), pp.12–16; P. Barker, Techniques of Archaeological Excavations (London, 1993), pp. 79–88; S. Bunimovitz, “Cultural Interpretation and the Bible: Biblical Archaeology in the Postmodern Era”, Cathedra 100 (2001), p. 31 (Hebrew); Faust (2005), op. cit. (note 1), p. 302. 7 R. Amiran and O. Ilan, “The Urban Character and Town Planning of the EBII City: Features and Concepts”, Early Arad, II (Jerusalem, 1996), pp. 140–147; Aharoni, op.cit. (note 2); Shiloh, op. cit (note 2). 8 Singer-Avitz, op.cit. (note 4); O. Ilan, “Household Archaeology at Arad and Ai in the Early Bronze Age II”, in S. R. Wolff (ed.), Studies in the Archaeology of Israel and Neighboring Lands in Memory of Douglas L. Esse (Chicago, 2001), pp. 317–354. 9 Y.Garfinkel, and S. Ganor, “Khirbet Qeiyafa 2007 and 2008 (Notes and News)”, IEJ 58 (2008), pp. 243–248; Garfinkel and Ganor, op. cit. (note 5); Y. Garfinkel, S. Ganor, M. Hasel and G. Stiebel, “Khirbet Qeiyafa 2009 (Notes and News)”, IEJ 59 (2009), pp. 214–220.

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the floors. These rich assemblages uncovered in each building give us a detailed look at the social composition of the city. In the first decades of archaeological investigation it was common to conduct large horizontal exposures. However, the poor stratigraphic and recording methods confused the data mixing structures from various periods into one city. In more recent excavations, only small portions of sites have been excavated, again resulting in a lack of evidence for city planning. It is clear that if one wishes to understand urban planning, there is a need for a new methodology. This should involve the exploration of relatively small sites, which were occupied for a short period of time and not disturbed by later human activities. Khirbet Qeiyafa is a site which meets these qualifications: it is rather small, the main occupation is a one-phase Iron Age city which was built on bedrock, and it was later reoccupied only by a short-lived Hellenistic layer. In addition, the Iron Age city came to its end suddenly, leaving hundreds of pottery vessels, stone utensils, and metal artifacts on the floors of the houses.

Fig. 1: Map of the southern Levant and the location of Khirbet Qeiyafa

IV. The Case Study of Khirbet Qeiyafa Khirbet Qeiyafa is located in central Israel, ca. 20miles southwest of Jerusalem (Israel map grid 14603–12267), on the summit of a hill that borders the Elah Valley on the north (Fig. 1). Even prior to excavation, visitors to Khirbet Qeiyafa could see a massive city wall, 2–3m in height, encompassing the summit of the hill. The city wall demarcates an area of 2.3 hectares, and its total length is 700m (Figs. 2–3). Due to the local topography, only the external face of the wall is exposed, and the inner part is buried under archaeological remains. The base of the city wall is composed of cyclopean stones, weighing 4–8 tons, while its upper part is built with medium-sized stones. At the summit of the hill, one finds massive remains of a rectangular building (37x45m). Elsewhere on the site, one finds stone walls of various sizes, rock-cut installations, caves, and heaps of stones. Despite this intensive human activity, a

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large part in the center of the site is exposed bedrock without any archaeological sediment. In addition to the fortified area on top of the hill, the slopes of Khirbet Qeiyafa are rich with ancient human activity. The most prominent of these is a shallow wall that encircles a large area. Various building activities, as well as isolated installations, are scattered in the area.

Fig. 2: A vertical aerial photograph of Khirbet Qeiyafa at the end of the 2007 season, before large scale excavations

The history of research of Khirbet Qeiyafa starts as early as the middle of the 19th century. The site was first mentioned by V. Guerin, a French traveler to the holy land,10 and later by the British survey of Western Palestine.11 In this early stage of research, no attempts were made to date the various remains. During most of the 20th century the site was neglected, and it is not referred to in the works of the leading scholars in the field of biblical historical geography, such as W. F. Albright, B. Mazar, Y. Aharoni, or Z. Kallai. In the 1980s, an extensive archaeological survey conducted in the region gives the first detailed description of the site,12 and so does another survey conducted in the early 2000s.13 These surveys indicate that pottery from various periods had been collected from the site’s surface (Early Bronze, Middle Bronze, Iron Age, Hellenistic, Roman, and Byzantine). The site aroused interest 10

V. Guerin, Description géographique, historique et archéologique de la Palestine (Paris, 1868), pp. 331–332. 11 C. R. Conder and H. H. Kitchener, The Survey of Western Palestine, III (London, 1883), p. 118. 12 Y. Dagan, “Bet Shemesh and Nes Harim Maps, Survey”, Excavations and Surveys in Israel 13 (1993), pp. 94–95. 13 Z. Greenhut, L. Strul, L. Bardah and D. Weiss, Jerusalem District Master Plan 30/1, Archaeological Appendix (Jerusalem, 2001), pp. 115–117 (Hebrew).

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in 2005 when S. Ganor noted impressive Iron Age structures under later remains. In the years 2007–2010, four seasons of excavations took place at the site on behalf of the Institute of Archaeology at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. A number of preliminary reports were published by the expedition,14 as well as a final excavation report for the first two seasons.15 We suggested identifying Khirbet Qeiyafa with the biblical city of Sha‘arayim, based on the location, chronology, and the Hebrew meaning of the name Sha‘arayim—two gates.16

Fig. 3: An aerial photo of Khirbet Qeiyafa at the end of the 2010 excavation season

14 Garfinkel and Ganor, (2008), op. cit. (note 9); Garfinkel, et al., op. cit. (note 9); Y. Garfinkel, G. Ganor and M. Hasel, “The Contribution of Khirbet Qeiyafa to our Under-standing of the Iron Age Period”, Strata: Bulletin of the Anglo-Israel Archaeological Society 28 (2010), pp. 39–54. 15 Garfinkel and Ganor, op. cit. (note 9). 16 Idem, “Khirbet Qeiyafa: Sha’arayim”, JHS 8, Article 22. For other proposals see D. L. Adams “Between Socho and Azekah: The Role of the Elah Valley in Biblical History and the Identification of Khirbet Qeiyafa”, in Garfinkel and Ganor, op. cit. (note 5), pp. 47–66; and see also note 20, below.

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Stratum

Period

Type of occupation

I

Ottoman

Farm

II

a. Early Islamic b. Byzantine c. Late Roman d. Early Roman e. Late Hellenistic (Hasmonean)

III

Late Persian-Early Hellenistic th

Agricultural terraces

Fortress

IV

Early Iron Age IIA (early 10 century BCE)

Fortified city

V

Middle Bronze II

Small village?

VI

Late Chalcolithic

Small village?

Table 1: The settlement history of Khirbet Qeiyafa at the end of the 2010 excavation season

Table 1 presents the basic periods uncovered at the site, as was verified by the end of the 2010 excavation season. Evidence for human activities from various periods was noticed: Ottoman, Early Islamic, Byzantine, Late Roman, Early Roman, Late Hellenistic (Hasmonean), Late Persian-Early Hellenistic, Iron Age IIA, Middle Bronze Age II, and Late Chalcolithic. This long list of periods is somewhat misleading, as one gets the impression that Khirbet Qeiyafa was intensively occupied over millennia. However, large parts in the center of the site are exposed bedrock, and in most of the excavation areas, a thin layer of Late Persian-Early Hellenistic debris covers a massive Iron Age IIA layer sitting on bedrock. Thus, Khirbet Qeiyafa is mainly a one-period Iron Age IIA site (Fig. 4). Radiometric dating fixes the city’s Iron Age occupation to the second half of the eleventh and the beginning of the 10th century BCE (see next section). After ca. 600 years, the site was occupied again in the late Persian-early Hellenistic period, ca. 350–270 BCE. The dating of this later phase is secured by coins, local pottery, imported Attic pottery, and metal objects.17 As mentioned above, the Iron Age city in Khirbet Qeiyafa is clearly a Judean city, based on the following considerations:18 (1) The kind of city planning is typical to Judah and was not found in any Canaanite, Philistine site, or in the northern kingdom of Israel; (2) No pig bones were found, which are known in the nearby Philistine cities of Gath and Eqron;19 (3) In almost every house a pottery baking tray was found. These are very rare in Philistine sites; (4) The Khirbet Qeiyafa ostracon is

17

Y. Farhi, “The Coins”, in Garfinkel and Ganor, op. cit. (note 5), pp. 231–241; D. Sandhaus, “Late Persian–Early Hellenistic Pottery”, in Garfinkel and Ganor, ibid., pp. 209–225; R. Nenner-Soriano, “Metal Artifacts”, in Garfinkel and Ganor, ibid, pp. 227–230. 18 Garfinkel and Ganor (2009), op. cit. (note 9), p. 14. 19 R. Kehati, “The Faunal Assemblage”, in Garfinkel and Ganor, op. cit. (note 5), pp. 201– 208.

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written in a Semitic language (Hebrew?)20 while an inscription uncovered at Tell esSafi/Gath bears Indo-European names;21 (5) A new feature uncovered during the 2010 excavation season is a sanctuary. Currently we are preparing this unique building and its cultic paraphernalia for publication. No human or animal figures were found. This is in direct contrast to Philistine temples and cultic paraphernalia,22 or the Canaanite cult as was known in the region during the Late Bronze period.23

Fig. 4: Map of the Iron Age city as known by the end of the 2010 excavation season

20

H. Misgav, Y. Garfinkel and S. Ganor, “The Ostracon”, in Garfinkel and Ganor, ibid., pp. 243–257; G. Galil, “The Hebrew Inscription from Khirbet Qeiyafa/Neta‘im: Script, Language, Literature and History”, UF 41 2009 (2010), pp. 193–242, with additional literature. 21 A. M. Maeir, S. J. Wimmer, A. Zukerman and A. Demsky, “Late Iron Age I/Early Iron Age II Old Canaanite Inscription from Tell es-Safi/Gath, Israel: Palaeography, Dating, and Historical-Cultural Significance”, BASOR 351 (2008), pp. 39–71. 22 A. Mazar, Excavations at Tell Qasile. Vol. 1. The Philistine Sanctuary: Architecture and Cult Objects (Qedem 12: Jerusalem, 1980); D. Ben-Shlomo, Philistine Iconography: A Wealth of Style and Symbolism (OBO 241; Fribourg, 2010). 23 O. Tufnell, C. H. Inge and L. Harding, Lachish II: The Fosse Temple (London, 1940).

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V. The Relative and Absolute Date of Khirbet Qeiyafa Our main research interest is Layer IV, which represents an Iron Age city that was built on bedrock, existed for a relatively short period of time, and was suddenly destroyed. No superimposed floors, walls, or installations were found, which clearly indicates a rather short existence for this layer. So far six radiometric samples have been sent for analysis at Oxford University (Figs. 5–6). All samples were olive pits, ideal for dating because of their short lifespan. The results are presented in Table 2. When the six samples are put together, the calibrated average is 1021–975 BCE (59.2% probability) or 1050–971 BC (78.1% probability). Sample No. Qeiyafa 1b Qeiyafa 9 Qeiyafa 5 Qeiyafa 6 Qeiyafa 10 Qeiyafa 7

Locus B214 B383 B284 B232 B383 B277

Material Olive pit Olive pit Olive pit Olive pit Olive pit Olive pit

Lab No. OxA-19589 OxA-22044 OxA-19425 OxA-19426 OxA-22045 OxA-19588

Date 2883+29 2858+33 2851+31 2837+29 2830+30 2799+31

Δ13C -22.23 -22.55 -20.64 -21.99 -22.59 -19.55

Table 2: Radiometric datings from the Iron Age IIA city of Khirbet Qeiyafa

Fig. 5: Distribution of the six radiometric dates from the Iron Age IIA city

Two recently published articles suggested that Khirbet Qeiyafa belongs in the very late Iron Age I period.24 Both articles would lead one to conclude that the Iron Age I should end at the third quarter of the 10th century BCE. Singer-Avitz writes:

24

L. Singer-Avitz, “The Relative Chronology of Khirbet Qeiyafa”, TA 37 (2010), pp. 79–83; I. Finkelstein and E. Piasetzky, “Khirbet Qeiyafa: Absolute Chronology”, TA 37 (2010), pp. 84–88.

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Considerable continuity in pottery types makes it difficult to distinguish between the late Iron Age I and the early Iron Age IIA assemblages. Indeed, as is clear from Kang and Garfinkel’s comparisons, most vessels of the Khirbet Qeiyafa assemblage are known in both ceramic phases. Dating such an assemblage can therefore be done only according to forms that appeared exclusively in one of these ceramic phases (emphasis original).25

Fig. 6: Combined distribution of the six Iron Age II radiocarbon dates

However, in three of her points, (1) the irregular hand burnish on red slip; (2) the deep, large, carinated kraters with an everted rim; and (3) the elongated storage jar with a rounded shoulder and a small flat base, Singer-Avitz fails to follow her own criteria.26 Finkelstein and Piasetzky accept the radiometric datings of Khirbet Qeiyafa but do not average them. They argue for a long settlement sequence at the site, a lifespan of around 135 years from 1050–915 BCE. It is clear that their interpretation is not derived from the archaeological data, which indicate a very short occupation, but is intended to support their low chronology paradigm. In any case, it is not clear what Finkelstein and Piasetzky would like to achieve with their new interpretation. The main debate regarding the ‘low chronology’ focuses on when the transition to urbanism and state formation took place in Judah and Israel. Had Khirbet Qeiyafa not been destroyed, it would have been a city in the 9th and 8th centuries BCE as well. The end of Khirbet Qeiyafa has no bearing on the date of its construction toward the end of the 11th century BCE or early 10th century BCE.

25

Singer-Avitz, ibid., p. 79. Y. Garfinkel and H. G. Kang, “The Relative and Absolute Chronology of Khirbet Qeiyafa: Very Late Iron Age I or Very Early Iron Age IIA?”, IEJ (in press).

26

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VI. The Urban Character of Khirbet Qeiyafa By the end of the 2010 excavation season five areas had been examined (Areas AE), and more than 10% of the Iron Age city had been uncovered (Table 3). The expedition excavated 100 meters of the city wall, two gates, a pillar building (small stable?), and 12 houses (Figs. 7–9). The urban planning of the site includes the casemate city wall and a belt of houses abutting the casemates and incorporating them as part of the construction. This is a typical feature of city planning in Judean cities of the 9th and 8th centuries BCE, and is also known at the cities of Beersheba, Tell Beit Mirsim, Tell en-Nasbeh, and Tell Beit-Shemesh.27 Excavation area A B C D E Total:

Expousure in m2 125 750 1000 500 50 ca. 2,425

Length of city wall -30 70 15 10 ca. 125

Number of casemates -4 11 2 2 19

Number of gates -1 1 --2

Number of buildings 1 3 9 1 2 16

Table 3: Khirbet Qeiyafa excavation progress after four seasons, by excavation areas. Partly excavated architectural units are also counted

Fig. 7: An aerial photo of Areas B and D at the end of the 2010 excavation season

27

Shiloh, op. cit. (note 2); Herzog, op. cit. (note 1).

THE IRON AGE CITY OF KHIRBET QEIYAFA

Fig. 8: An aerial photo of Area C at the end of the 2010 excavation season

Fig. 9: An aerial photo of Area E at the end of the 2010 excavation season

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Various aspects of the Iron Age city have been discussed in the literature: urban planning, economic and administrative function, social organization, and theology.28 A large number of components are associated with the physical character of a city: city wall, gates, gate piazza, public buildings, cultic activities, water supply, drainage of rain-water and sewage, dwellings, animal husbandry, and cemeteries. There are eight aspects relating to urban planning which were recognized at Khirbet Qeiyafa. Some of them are better known while others should be further investigated in coming seasons.

Fig. 10: The casemate city wall of Khirbet Qeiyafa in Area C

1. City Wall At Khirbet Qeiyafa the entire circumference of the city wall is known: 700m (Figs. 4, 10). This is a casemate wall, 4m wide. The outer wall was built with megalithic stones, weighing 4–8 tons. The inner walls, as well as the walls dividing the casemates, were built with large stones, weighing 100–200kg. The length of the case28

K. M. Kenyon, Royal Cities of the Old Testament (London, 1971); F. S. Frick, “The City in Ancient Israel”, (SBL dissertation, 36; Missoula, 1977); Shiloh, op. cit. (note 2); McClellan, op. cit. (note 2); Fritz, op. cit. (note 1); Herzog, op. cit. (note 1); Faust, op. cit. (note 1, 2005).

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mates is approximately 7m; thus, about 100 casemates were built around the city. In one case, in the fifth building east of the southern gate, instead of a regular casemate a larger and more massive structure was found. In this exact location, a natural pass leading from the Elah Valley to the site is best viewed. We believe this structure served as a watchtower, which was built on a strategic location.

Fig. 11: The western gate of Khirbet Qeiyafa (Area B) and the abutting casemate city wall. Note that the casemate openings are always located away from the gate

2. Gates Two gates were located and excavated: one on the west, in Area B; and the other on the south, in Area C (Figs. 11–13). The two gates are identical in plan and size. They are typical four-chamber gates with three massive piers on each side. The original threshold was still preserved in the western gate: a 3m long monolith, weighing ca. 8 tons. It was carved with a step to stop the gate doors on the exact opening line. In

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each gate a drainage canal for rain water or sewage was found at the left side when entering the city.

Fig. 12: The megalithic threshold in entrance of the gate of Area B (looking west)

Fig. 13: The southern gate of Khirbet Qeiyafa (Area C) and the abutting casemate city wall. Note that the casemate openings are always located away from the gate

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3. The Gate Piazza Near each gate there was an open area inside the city that functioned as a gate piazza. In the western gate, it is located south of the gate and extends along the length of four casemates. Only the fifth casemate is associated with a building. The size of the piazza here is nearly 30m. In the southern gate, an open area is found west of the gate. Its size is not yet clear, as it has been only partially excavated. However, at the edge of the area, there are a few megalithic stones, which are usually part of the city wall. This might be an indication that a large public building, associated with the gate and the gate piazza, stood here. The gate area was the major component of a biblical city. As the access way, everybody had to pass through the city gate. Thus, from a geographical point of view, it was the most crowded part of the city. Indeed, the word ‘gate’ appeared over 100 times in the Hebrew Bible. From these rich references, it is clear that the city gate has been associated with a variety of activities: defensive (inspecting the people entering the city), economic (market), religious (standing stones, high places, temples, prophetic messages), juristic (place of judging), and as a place for social gatherings. All these activities could not be carried out in the narrow gate itself and were probably organized in the gate piazza.

Fig. 14: Pillar Building in Area C

4. Public Buildings In 2007 we uncovered a small part of a massive building with thick walls, nearly three times wider than the private buildings. Taking into consideration its strategic location and massive walls, it could have served as the residence of the city commander or another public function. Another public building was found in Area C as part of the fifth building east of the gate. Here a square structure was found with

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three pillars and a basin, apparently a small stable (Fig. 14). This building resembles the typical architecture of public buildings in the Iron Age period.29 This pillared building was not built adjacent to a regular city wall casemate but abuts the larger and more massive watchtower, located over the natural pass leading from the Elah Valley to the site.

Fig. 15: Dwellings abutting the city wall in Area C

5. Dwellings Adjacent to the city wall, simple dwellings were constructed, each building using one casemate as the back room of the building (Fig. 15). Each building is about 7x7–10m in size, so their overall area is between 50m2 and 70m2. The buildings are usually divided into three or four rooms. As there are two gates and two gate piazzas, about 90 dwellings were built in the city. In each excavated building rich assemblages of complete pottery vessels, stone utensils from various raw materials (limestone, basalt, flint, beach-rock), and metal tools (iron and bronze) were found on the floors. It is clear that the city came to its end in a sudden event. Comparatively, in the Hellenistic settlement, which was peacefully abandoned, the floors were left rather empty. 6. Drainage of Rainwater and Sewage Already in the 2008 and 2009 seasons, we have recognized a drainage system in each of the city gates. A big surprise of the 2010 season was the discovery of four

29 A. Kochavi, “The Eleventh Century BC Tripartite Pillar Building at Tel Hadar”, in S. Gitin, A. Mazar and E. Stern (eds.), Mediterranean Peoples in Transition: Thirteenth to Early Tenth Centuries BC (Jerusalem, 1998), pp. 468–478.

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drains located in private houses (Fig. 16). We hope to finish excavating these drains in the 2011 season to discover exactly how they were used.

Fig. 16: A drainage in a private dwelling in Area C

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7. Cultic Activities In 2010 we uncovered a small sanctuary in the seventh building east of the southern gate (Fig. 17). The finds include a bench, standing stones, a basalt altar, a basin, a libation vessel, a seal, and an Egyptian scarab. No human or animal effigies were found, in direct contrast to Philistine and Canaanaite cultic places, which are characterized by rich cultic paraphernalia that include human and animal bones. This is the earliest sanctuary ever found in Judah and raises questions about the origin of the biblical ban on graven images. It is possible that in the gate piazza of Area D, another cultic building is located. In the last days of the 2010 season, the northern end of a new building was uncovered. It contained a bench, an architectural element not found in any of the 12 dwellings uncovered at the site except in the cultic building in Area C.

Fig. 17: The small sanctuary in Area C

8. Water Supply So far, no special evidence for this activity has been found. It is possible that the only water source was the Elah River, a few hundred meters south of the site in the Elah Valley. Walking back and forth uphill from the city to the valley probably required 30–40 minutes to bring water.

VII. Urban Planning and the Construction of the City The planning of Khirbet Qeiyafa includes a casemate city wall and a belt of houses abutting the casemates, incorporating them as part of the construction. This is a typical feature of urban planning in Judean cities of the 9th and 8th centuries BCE, and is known in the cities of Beersheba, Tell Beit Mirsim, Tell en-Nasbeh, and Tel

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Beit-Shemesh.30 Khirbet Qeiyafa is the earliest known example of this city plan, an indication that this pattern had already been developed in the early Iron Age IIA period. The level of planning also indicates an advanced level of social organization. A high level of standardization of the city plan in a number of sites is an argument for a central authority that planned and controlled the construction of these cities— i.e. a kingdom. The question of how a city was actually constructed is usually ignored, because the data is often limited. In this section we argue that in the case of Khirbet Qeiyafa, it is possible to study how the city was physically constructed: the stages of work, the sources of raw materials, and the division of labor. Analysis of these aspects is still preliminary, so the points raised here should be understood as a working hypothesis rather than a final conclusion. It seems that the city was built in seven stages, some of them contemporaneous with each other. We would like to test this hypothesis by adding or removing stages, according to new field observations, especially collected for this hypothesis. 1. Preparing the Area for Construction Construction began by removing sediments and exposing bedrock in a 20m beltway around the site. Later, the city wall and a row of houses were constructed along this strip. 2. Supply of Building Materials The outer city wall was constructed of very large stones, sometimes 2–3m long and 4–8 tons in weight. Where did these large stones come from? The simplest answer is that they were quarried from inside the city and slid down the slope, just a few meters in each case. Thus, there was not one central quarry, but many ad hoc locations.31 Shiloh and Horowitz32 found that the quarries in the Hill Country were located at nari outcroppings on the mounds themselves or on their slopes. The natural bedrock of Khirbet Qeiyafa is indeed nari, and one quarry has already been found in Area B, within the city (Fig. 18). Here there is a concentration of large stones (1– 1.5m long) cut from all four sides but not yet removed. 3. Creating a Fortified Enclosure In what order were the different parts of the fortification and houses built? We suggest four stages, based on the order in which walls are abutting each other. The city gates were built first, starting with the elongated walls, and then the gate piers. In one case, on the western side of the southern gate, the front pier was constructed first. The outer casemate wall abuts the gates, so it was built after the gates. It seems that it was probably built as a free-standing wall, encircling the area of the planned city. It was probably built quickly, creating a fortified stronghold.

30

Shiloh, op. cit. (note 2); Herzog, op. cit. (note 1). On quarries see, for example C. Nylander, “A Note on the Stonecutting and Masonry of Tel Arad”, IEJ 17 (1967), pp. 56–59; Y. Shiloh and A. Horowitz, “Ashlar Quarries of the Iron Age in the Hill Country of Israel”, BASOR 217 (1975), pp. 37–48; Y. Shiloh, The ProtoAeolic Capital and Israelite Ashlar Masonry (Jerusalem, 1979), p. 60; Amiran and Goethert, op. cit. (note 2); R. Klemm, Stones and Quarries in Ancient Egypt (London, 2008). 32 Shiloh and Horowitz, ibid. 31

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Fig. 18: A possible quarry of megalithic stones uncovered in Area B near the western gate

4. Completing the Fortification System The inner walls of the casemates, the walls parallel to the outer city wall, and the walls dividing the casemates from each other were built abutting the gates and the outer city wall, so they too were built after them. While megaliths were used for the outer wall, smaller stones were used for the inner casemates. Based on the analysis of casemate openings, it seems that there were four main units working simultaneously on the construction of the site. Two working units started from each gate, one to the left and one to the right. From the gate in Area B, one working unit built the inner casemate toward the north and another toward the south. From the gate in Area C, one working unit built the inner casemate toward the west and another toward the east. The openings of the casemates in all four cases are in the corners farthest from the gate (see attached map below). These working units must have met somewhere along the city wall, raising a very interesting question: how were the casemate openings organized at the two meeting points? We would like to locate and excavate at least one of these meeting points. The test pit in Area E, opened on the east side of the site, indicates that up to this point, the construction was done by a group starting from the gate in Area C. The location of the meeting point can tell us if the working units were equal in working capacity or not. If the meeting point is exactly between the two gates, both working units worked at the same speed. In the Iron Age period, we read of two such working units tunneling toward each other in the Silwan Tunnel inscription. 5. Public and Administrative Buildings These structures are the least known, but there is some evidence for such buildings. In Area C a square building with pillars and a basin was found. This structure re-

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sembles the typical architecture of public buildings in the Iron Age period.33 In Area A the corner of a massive building was excavated, three times as thick as the common dwellings. 6. Dwellings A peripheral belt of dwellings was built adjacent to and abutting the casemate city wall. Each building incorporates a casemate as its back room. Thus, household units could be constructed only after the city wall was completed. The walls of these buildings were constructed from small stones not larger than 50cm. 7. Building the Inner City The central part of Khirbet Qeiyafa exposed bedrock. In this respect the site differs from Tell Beit Shemesh, Tell en-Nasbeh, Tell Beit Mirsim, and Beersheba, whose center indicates dense building activities. Khirbet Qeiyafa is also different from these sites by having only one Iron Age phase. Can it be suggested that Khirbet Qeiyafa was destroyed and frozen in an early phase of its existence, thus the center was never completed?34

Fig. 19: Megalithic stones in the outer side of the city wall

It seems that in the construction of the city three different levels of working skills were involved (see below). This can be deduced from the size of the stones and their location in the different architectural units. These differences may indicate division of labor, and perhaps gender as well. 1. Megalithic Stones These are very large stones, about 2–3m in length and 4–8 tons in weight (Figs. 12, 19). The quarrying, transportation, and final placement of these huge stones required 33

Kochavi, op. cit. (note 30) But see an opposite scenario proposed for Tell Beth Mirsim, Herzog, op.cit. (note 1), p. 244.

34

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sophisticated technology and professional masons. These stones are found only in the gates and the outer wall of the city fortification. Professional stone masonry was developed in the later part of the Iron Age with elaborate ashlar masonry, masons’ marks, and well-carved capitals.35 The large stone operation, as found at Khirbet Qeiyafa, can be the background for these later developments. 2. Large stones These are large stones, about 0.5–1m in length and a few hundred kilograms in weight (Fig. 20). The quarrying, transportation, and final placement of these stones required a few strong people but could have been done without sophisticated knowledge. These stones were used for the construction of the inner casemate wall.

Fig. 20: Large stones in the inner side of the city wall

35

Shiloh, op. cit. (note 31); I. Sharon, “Phoenician and Greek Ashlar Construction Techniques at Tel Dor, Israel”, BASOR 267 (1987), pp. 21–42.

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3. Medium and Small Stones These stones are less than 0.5m in length, and their weight is usually 20–30kg (Fig. 21). They can be collected and moved by the average person, including women and older children. These stones were used for the construction of the dwellings abutting the city wall. This may indicate that the buildings were built by individual families and were not part of the public, centrally organized construction of the city.

Fig. 21: Medium and small stones in the walls of the dwelling units

It is possible to suggest that professional workers were part of the central authority and that they were responsible for the construction of the outer city wall. Ordinary male adults, ad hoc forced labor, built the inner casemate city wall. Unlike the public operations, the belt of dwellings could have been built by the private families who later lived in the city. While the men were busy with the construction of the fortifications, the women and children could collect medium and small stones for building the private houses. A detailed classification of these stones, taking into account their size, weight, and shape, compared with their location and use, will enable a better understanding of labor division during the construction of the city.

VIII. Discussion The site of Khirbet Qeiyafa presents a unique opportunity to study various aspects of an Iron Age city, which cannot be easily investigated in large, multilayered tell sites. Indeed, after only four seasons of excavations, Khirbet Qeiyafa has already contributed tremendously to questions relating to urban planning and to how the city was constructed. The best way to appreciate the development presented in the planned city of Khirbet Qeiyafa is by contrasting it to the earlier Iron Age IB sites uncovered in the

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region, the hill country, and the Beersheba valley. This earlier type of site was analyzed by Herzog, who described these settlements as an “enclosed settlement form of village which is characterized by the construction of dwellings encircling a central open area. This layout affords the settlement protection even without a freestanding system of fortifications. The center of the settlement served as a yard in which the herds were penned at night”.36 These sites do not exhibit public or communal building activities. Khirbet Qeiyafa, in contrast, was built in an organized, planned manner, with three levels of construction skill. The quarry, transportation, and placing of megalithic stones up to 8 tons in weight, clearly indicate engineering skill on a level never observed before in the Iron Age I. If we are considering the city of Khirbet Qeiyafa in the larger social network, whether it is part of a system of competing city-states, like the Late Bronze Canaanite centers, or part of a territorial state, like the kingdoms of Judah or Israel, it is clear that Khirbet Qeiyafa fits the latter category better. The city’s physical components are well organized, in a distinct spatial pattern. Indeed, cities can be built and extended over time without pre-planning, but pre-planning indicates a higher level of social organization. If the same urban planning appeared in the same period over a larger territory, then this standardization can be taken into account as an indication for top-down planning by a central authority—i.e., a state. Indeed, the city plan of Khirbet Qeiyafa was used again in at least four additional cities: Tell Beit Shemesh, Tell en-Nasbeh, Tell Beit Mirsim, and Beersheba. This specific urban planning is typical to Judah and was not found in any Canaanite or Philistine site, or in the northern kingdom of Israel. The new data from the Iron Age IIA city of Khirbet Qeiyafa clearly indicate that the process of state formation and urbanization started in the biblical kingdom of Judah as early as the late 11th century BCE.

36

Herzog, op. cit. (note 1), p. 211.

IDEOLOGICAL DISCORDANCE BETWEEN THE PROPHETS NATHAN AND SAMUEL AS REFLECTING THE DIVERGENCE BETWEEN THE BOOK OF SAMUEL’S AUTHORS MOSHE GARSIEL Bar-Ilan University The first section of the book of Samuel deals briefly with the last two judges, Eli and Samuel, and the transition from a tribal society to the institution of a centralized monarchy in Israel. The book then proceeds to a detailed description of the first two kings, Saul and David. Within this framework, two influential spiritual leaders become prominent. The first is Samuel, who was raised as a priest at the shrine in Shiloh and who later served as a judge in Ramah and as a prophet who anointed the first two kings. The other is Nathan, who served as King David’s prophet in Jerusalem. The Bible does not tell of any meeting between the Prophets Samuel and Nathan nor is there even a reference made by either one of them to the other; yet the Book of Samuel posits them in a subtle way as having diametrically opposed ideological and theological viewpoints. Nathan seems to be David’s close prophet and adviser who promised in the name of God an everlasting dynasty for David’s house. True, he rebuked David harshly in the Bathsheba affair and prophesized severe punishment to David’s house, yet he did not abolish God’s previous promise of an eternal duration for the Davidic house nor did he remove David from his throne. Samuel, in contrast, is depicted as a bitter opponent of the monarchy in general, and three times did he rebuke Saul, telling him that he will be replaced because of his sins. What can one make of this kind of polarization between two prophets, God’s representatives, who conveyed such different stands toward the issue of monarchy and monarchs’ behavior? In this article,1 I intend to explore the socio-theological difference of opinion between these two central prophets, and how this subtle divergence reflects theological and political disagreement toward the monarchy between the two main authors of the book of Samuel. The first of these authors, in my view, was active in the early years of King Solomon and wrote a book on David the man and king and how Sol1

This Article was prepared in the 2010 summer, when my wife, Dr. Bathsheba Garsiel, and I were staying as visiting scholars at Dartmouth College, NH, USA. I would like to convey my deep gratitude to the Department of the Asian and Middle Eastern Studies for their generous hospitality and to the librarians of the Baker-Berry Library for the comprehensive services granted to us.

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omon succeeded him; the second author, who wrote in Solomon’s latter years, took the first author’s material, deleted the story of David’s old age and Solomon’s accession, while adding a significant amount of new material from the pre-Davidic period and some from David’s lifetime, and edited the whole book. In the latter’s project, the significance of the earlier version was rather changed. This new project has survived and is rather close (but not completely identical) to what is known today as the “Book of Samuel”. In the present article, I substantiate my earlier article in which I suggested that most of the book of Samuel was written in two stages in the time of King Solomon (10th century BCE). In the course of time, however, this two stage project suffered mistakes and duplications due to both copyists’ errors and some Deuteronomistic editing. This comprehensive view comes as a rejoinder to a group of scholars who maintain that the Book of Samuel was written centuries later, according to various opinions. 2 Accordingly, this article is divided into four parts. The first contains a short discussion as to why it is necessary to regard most of the Book of Samuel as a creation of the 10th century BCE. The second part concentrates on Nathan the prophet and his activities that played a dominant role in the earlier version written by the first author and deals with David’s story and history with its high point being the promise of eternal dynasty to the house of David with an emphasis on God’s providence that dominates the historical events of that period. The third part deals with Samuel the prophet who expresses an oppositional stand on the kingship, which the second author expanded to opposition of any kind to any dynastic idea of leadership in general. The book’s first sections (on Eli, Samuel and part of Saul) as well as most of the last one (the book’s epilogue) were added by the second author who incorporated them into the earlier version of the former author who wrote the story of David’s story and the history of his kingdom. The fourth part of this article contains a summary of all of the four stages in the development of the Book of Samuel.

I. Stages and Dates in the Composition of the Book of Samuel The issues regarding the Book of Samuel’s development and reliability were dealt with in both earlier exegesis and modern scholarship. 1 Chron 29:29–30 informs its readers that David’s earlier and latter histories were recorded in three separate writings of the prophets: Samuel, Nathan and Gad. In the Babylonian Talmud (Baba Bathra 14:2), the Sages regard the Book of Samuel itself as being composed by the above mentioned prophets, one after another. Following Chronicles, Abarbanel maintains that the three earlier sources were written by the above mentioned prophets, but were later edited by the Prophet Jeremiah or by another later prophet. Abarbanel refers to the recurrence of the formula “till this day” in the Book of Samuel, which points to the involvement of a later editor. With comments such as this, Abarbanel anticipated modern scholarship, in which there is a wide range of theories concerning the book’s date of composition and development.3 We will briefly mention here just a few of them. Kaufman (and some 2

See M. Garsiel, “The Book of Samuel: Its Composition, Structure and Significance as a Historiographical Source”, JHS 10 (2010), article 5 (electronic version). 3 For Abarbanel’s view on this subject, see M. Garsiel, The First Book of Samuel: A Literary

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followers) maintains that the book of Samuel, in a form that is similar to the current Masoretic text, was composed as early as David’s last years.4 Wellhausen’s followers regard the book’s sources and its Deuteronomistic edition as being as late as several hundred years after David. Others claim that the book was compiled from earlier collections that contained legends, heroes’ sagas and fragments and lists from ancient archives. The Scandinavian School tends to see the whole OT as originating from a development of orally transmitted traditions that were written down only in Second Temple times. And in the last two decades, a group of archaeologists and historians has raised doubts about the reliability of the United Kingdom and its capital in Jerusalem. They maintain that the book of Samuel was formed hundreds of years later, ranging from the 7th century BCE to the 2nd century BCE (according to various views). However, a close study of the Book of Samuel (its contents, form and style) does not support any view that major parts of the book were composed later than the 10th century BCE. The few glosses which contain the formula “till this day” or the like5 attest to late stages of slight editorial activities. But this editing did not interfere with the book’s main contents and messages, as shown by my earlier study.6 It will suffice here to summarize just a few arguments that support dating the two main compositional stages of the Book of Samuel to the 10th century BCE or, to be more precise, to King Solomon’s days. (1) Nathan’s oracle (2 Sam 7) delivers several promises, three of which are significant to our discussion: the people of Israel were granted a solid settlement in the land without any harassment by enemies as had been in the past (v. 10); David and his dynasty are granted an everlasting kingdom (vv. 11–13); David’s future son is promised to be the builder of a house for the name of God (v. 13). I shall discuss this oracle below. Here I would like only to emphasize that there is no clue in this oracle or in other parts of the book to the fact that God’s promises are to be breached and the House of David and the people of Israel are to suffer traumatic events such as the schism, Shishak’s or Hazael’s invasions, Sennacherib’s campaign, the conquest of the Northern Kingdom, the exile of its population, the destruction of Jerusalem and its temple and the exile of its inhabitants, and more. It is untenable that any late author or editor would let the book boast such significant promises in the name of the Lord that are going to be violated time after time during the ensuing centuries.7 Furthermore, neither the oracle nor the book gives any clue to the tension between Jerusalem’s temple and its counterparts. This fact indicates that the book was written earlier than Jeroboam’s activity to establish alternate shrines in the Northern Kingdom which would compete with the Jerusalemite one. (2) There is another central oracle in which the Prophet Samuel denounces the ‘manner of the king’ (1 Sam 8), which I would like to discuss below. At this stage, I Study of Comparative Structures, Analogies and Parallels (Ramat-Gan, 1985), pp. 11–13; J. C. Geoghegan, The Time, Place and Purpose of the Deuteronomistic History: The Evidence of “Until This Day” (Brown Judaic Studies 347; Providence, Rhode Island 2006), pp. 15–18. 4 See Y. Kaufmann, From the Kiln of the Bible’s Creation (Tel-Aviv, 1966; Hebrew), pp. 176–179. 5 See especially Geoghegan, op. cit. (note 3), passim. 6 See Garsiel, op. cit. (note 2), passim. 7 See also B. Uffenheimer, Early Prophecy in Israel (Jerusalem, 1999), pp. 285–293, esp. 289.

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would like only to point out that, in his speech, Samuel presents a very naive picture of a kingdom in which the people function as husbandries and shepherds. Had the speech been composed in the 7th century BCE or even later, as suggested by the socalled ‘revisionist’ scholars and others, it should have presented an image of a later and more developed kingdom, with its building projects, urban society and corrupt monarchical establishment, as is widely done by the later prophets. This point to an inevitable conclusion that Samuel depicts an image of earlier kingdoms, as can be seen from comparative studies between Samuel’s speech and the 14th century BCE archives of Alalakh, El-Amarna and Ugarit.8 (3) Many war stories in the Book of Samuel contain descriptions of terrain and strategic field deployment of forces, which support the assumption that they were taken from ancient archives or reliable traditions. Had they been written several hundred years after the events, when the areas were under foreign occupation with limited access to remote places, one should expect texts with limited knowledge of the battlefield, and not ones written by an author who is in full command of information about various areas on both banks of the Jordan.9 (4) More than any other biblical book, the Book of Samuel mentions the Philistine city of Gath and the settlements in the Negeb in the times of Samuel, Saul and David. But according to archaeological evidence, Gath suffered destruction by Hazael’s invasion at the end of the 9th century BCE, and never regained its earlier position; the Negeb settlements were destroyed even earlier in Shishak’s invasion a couple of decades before the end of the 10th century BCE, and the area remained mostly desolate afterwards. It makes no sense that a very late author was so aware of these flourishing areas of the remote past. By the same token, the lack of metallic weapons and tools in the description of Saul’s early era (1 Sam 13:19–22) proves that the book’s author commands early knowledge of the period which was forgotten in the passage of time. (5) The authors of the Book of Samuel do not refer to the main kingdoms that were active in the region from the 9th century BCE onwards. Egypt is mentioned just a few times only in the context of the slavery of Israel and the exodus, never as an empire operating at the time. Assyria and Babylon are not mentioned at all and, needless to say, neither are the rulers or nations of Persia, Greece and Rome. The Book of Samuel tells only about the nations that were active in the author’s time: Canaanites, Philistines, Moabites, Edomites, Arameans, etc. (6) The Book of Samuel does not employ late languages. One does not find usages of Aramaic that in later times became international and significantly influenced the Hebrew literature of Second Temple times. The same is true about the Hellenistic and Roman languages. In contrast, one may find parallels to the Ugaritic texts, 8

See I. Mendelsohn, “Samuel’s Denunciation of Kingship in Light of Akkadian Documents from Ugarit”, BASOR 143 (1956), pp. 17–22; Z. Ben-Barak, The Manner of the King and the Manner of the Kingdom: Basic Factors in the Establishment of the Israelite Monarchy in the Light of Canaanite Kingship (Unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1972; Hebrew), passim; A. F. Rainey, in L. R. Fisher (ed.), Ras Shamra Parallels: The Texts from Ugarit and the Hebrew Bible, II (AO 50; Rome, 1975), pp. 93–101. 9 On the links between the Book of Samuel and Trans-Jordan, cf. J. M. Hutton, The Transjordanian Palimpsest: The Overwritten Texts of Personal Exile and Transformation in the Deuteronomistic History (BZAW 396; Berlin – New York, 2009), passim. We differ in our conclusions.

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which should point us in the direction of an earlier period for the creation of the book, when the Israelites were in cultural contact with the Canaanites.10 (7) The Book of Samuel did undergo some slight Deuteronomistic editing which was limited to adapting the contents to a chronological framework and to adding relevance remarks (like “till this day”); it did not encounter heavy influence that changed the book’s contents and messages.11 Beyond this slight editing, the book still remains very different in its literary structure and ideological conception from Deuteronomy and the other books of the Early Prophets. For instance, one cannot find in the book a comprehensive campaign against idolatry, nor a claim for cult centralization—topics that stand in the center of the Books of Deuteronomy, Joshua and Kings. These literary facts and others prove that the Book of Samuel did not undergo significant Deuteronomistic editing.12

II. Nathan as a Moralist Figure in the Early Book on David As we said before, the early book on David and his kingdom was composed a few years after King Solomon established his kingship. Our position differs from the main stream of modern scholarship, in which the material concerning David was divided into at least four successive story cycles:13 the first is the story of David’s rise in importance;14 the second is the later part of the history of the Ark of the Covenant and its arrival in Jerusalem;15 the third is the throne succession narrative16 or the court history of David17 or a collection of stories dealing with sin and punishment;18 and the fourth is a collection of pieces of various genres included in the ‘appendix’ (or the ‘epilogue’) at the end of the book (2 Sam 21–24).19 As opposed to these analyses, I maintain that the whole story of David, from his boyhood to his last days, including Solomon’s throne succession (1 Kgs 1–2) and possibly even the latter’s kingship establishment (1 Kgs 3), was formed from the be10

Cf. S. Rummel, Ras Shamra Parallels (AO 51; Rome, 1981), pp. 295–321. Pace Geoghegan, op. cit. (note 3), passim, who tends to over-evaluate the significance of the remarks of “till this day”. 12 See also Y. Kaufmann, The History of the Israelite Religion: From the Beginning to the End of the Second Temple’s Period, II (Jerusalem – Tel-Aviv, 1960; Hebrew), pp. 208–211; 368–373; Uffenheimer, op. cit. (note 7), pp. 285–301. 13 Cf. A. Weiser, Introduction to the Old Testament (London, 1961), pp. 162–166. 14 Cf. R. L. Ward, The Story of David’s Rise: A Tradition-Historical Study of I Samuel xvi 14 – II Samuel v (Ph.D. dissertation; Vanderbilt University, 1967), passim. For a survey and discussion, cf. J. R. Short, The Surprising Election and Confirmation of King David (Harvard Theological Studies 63; Cambridge, MA 2010), pp. 13–128. 15 Cf. A. F. Campbell, The Ark Narrative, 4–6, 2 Sam 6: A Form-Critical and TraditioHistorical Study (Cambridge, MA 1975), passim. 16 Cf. L. Rost, The Succession to the Throne of David (Translated from German by D. Gunn; Sheffield, 1982 [1926]), passim. 17 Cf. J. W. Flanagan, “Court History or Succession Document: A Study of 2 Samuel 9–20 and 1 Kings 1–2”, JBL 91 (1972), pp. 172–181. 18 Cf. G. Keys, The Wages of Sin: A Reappraisal of the Succession Narrative (JSOTS 221; Sheffield, 1996), pp. 123–216. 19 For a survey and discussion, cf. H. H. Klement, II Samuel 21–24: Context, Structure and Meaning in the Samuel Conclusion (Frankfurt am Main, 2000), passim. 11

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ginning to the end as a unified creation based on various written and/or oral sources. This earlier book was created by the first author. Many literary links combine the stories of David’s rise with the stories of his kingship which, in turn, have many literary links with the stories of David’s latter days and Solomon’s accession to the throne. Many of the same main figures appear in the various parts of these sections. There is a distinct continuation of the story’s circles between the various parts and there are many analogies and subtle comparisons connecting the different sections of this narrative. All these literary facts support the suggestion that we are dealing here with a unified, ancient creation and not with various, separate collections.20 However, the so-called ‘appendix’ in 1 Sam 21–24 breaks the story’s sequence and does not totally fit its historiographical character. Hence, I assume that a major part of the appendix was indeed added in the second stage of the book’s composition by the second author to whom I attribute also the addition of the stories on Eli and his sons, Samuel and his sons and Saul and his sons, as we shall explain below. There is also a possibility that the earlier, independent psalms of Hannah (1 Sam 2) and David (2 Sam 22; 23:1–6) were added much later in an editorial stage.21 At first glance, the major part of this earlier book deals with David’s story and history which several scholars regard as a political propaganda for David and Solomon. But a literary analysis discloses that the earlier author’s main intention is not just recounting history per se or having political agenda; he is, rather, interested in the theological and moral aspects of the account. This author concentrates mainly on God’s subtle providence as evidenced in these particular chapters of history, where every person is either rewarded or punished in accordance with his deeds, as demonstrated in the stories of David, Bathsheba, Solomon, Amnon, Tamar, Absalom, Joab, Shimei, Barzillai’s sons, etc. Nathan the Prophet serves as the prominent figure, representing God’s active providence; he is the one who carries out God’s mission promising David an eternal dynasty as a reward for his past leadership and exploits. He chastises David for his sins in the Bathsheba affair, yet he was very active and effective in supporting Solomon to serve as David’s regent in his old age. We shall now take a close look at Nathan’s activity as it is initially reflected in the earliest book that deals with David’s story and the history of his kingdom. 1. The Significance of Nathan’s Oracle Nathan’s oracle and David’s thanksgiving prayer (2 Sam 7) are interwoven in the biblical text not according to their chronological place, but—as other sections in the Book of Samuel—with an eye toward theological and ideological considerations.22 According to the exposition (v. 1), the oracle took place when (a) “the king was settled in his house”; and (b) “the Lord had granted him safety from all the enemies around him.” Some scholars maintain that these are Deuteronomistic additions.23 20 Cf. Rost, op. cit. (note 16), passim; M. Garsiel, The Kingdom of David: Studies in History and Inquiries in Historiography (Tel-Aviv, 1975), pp. 179–198 (Hebrew). 21 See Weiser, op. cit. (note 13), pp. 162–166. For the so called ‘appendix’ or ‘epilogue’ as a partial product of the latter author, see below, and see my elaborate article “David's Elite Warriors and their Exploits in the Books of Samuel and Chronicles” JHS 11 (2011), article 5 (electronic version). 22 See Garsiel, op. cit. (note 20), pp. 87–92. 23 Cf, e.g., R. A. Carlson, David, the Chosen King: A Traditio-Historical Approach to the Second Book of Samuel (Stockholm, 1964), pp. 100–101, 108.

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But it is more plausible to regard them as a well attested ANE idea that after overcoming his enemies, the king is obliged to build a temple to his deity.24 In any event, the two chronological indicators above seem somewhat contradictory. David completes his palace as a part of refurbishing Jerusalem and turning it into his capital. From the window of that house, Michal sees David denigrating himself before the Ark of the Covenant, and to this palace David returns and has a bitter argument with Michal (2 Sam 6:16–23). Hence, David built and occupied his palace rather early in his kingship, while the attempt to overcome his enemies continued throughout most of his reign. Furthermore, God subsequently promises, “I will give you safety from all your enemies” (7:11), which indicates that David is still facing military threats from his enemies.25 Hence, one may suggest that this second time indicator (safety from enemies) refers to the time after the final subjugation of Philistia (8:1).26 It seems to me more plausible, however, that this indicator refers to a later time when there was a hiatus in David’s wars after he had defeated several Aramean kings who had offered to assist the Ammonites. This war neutralized the Aramean kings, some of whom changed their orientation and declared loyalty to David (10:15–19). Only a year afterwards, David renews his military activity and sends out his troops to reinvade the Ammonites’ land and capital27 during which time David’s adulterous act with Bathsheba takes place (ch. 11). This adulterous sin, in my view, occurs about a year after Nathan’s Oracle was delivered to David. His final war against Hadadezer occur a couple of years afterwards, which enables David to set up his mini-empire.28 The period between David’s initial victories over the Arameans but before his final victories over the Ammonites and later over Hadadezer seems to me to fit the above time indicator that David is ‘safe from enemies’ after his great military achievements. God promises him, however, even greater military successes in the future. The completion of David’s palace, bringing the Ark of the Covenant and his wish to build a house for God were intended to substantiate Jerusalem as David’s capital and to grant the city a unique, holy status as God’s residence.29 It is reasonable to 24

See V. Hurowitz, I Have Built You an Exalted House: Temple Building in Light of Mesopotamian and North-west Semitic Writing (JSOTS 115; Sheffield, 1992), pp. 171–223; G.N. Knoppers, “David’s Relation to Moses: The Contexts, Content and Condition of the Davidic Promises”, in J. Day (ed.), King and Messiah in Israel and the Ancient Near East: Proceeding of the Oxford Old Testament Seminar (JSOTS 270; Sheffield, 1998), p. 96; J. Van Seters, The Biblical Saga of King David (Winona Lake, IN 2009), p. 257. 25 See P.K. McCarter, II Samuel: A New Translation with Introduction, Notes and Commentary (AB; Garden City, NY 1984), p. 191. 26 Cf. S. Bar-Efrat, II Samuel: Introduction and Commentary (Mikra leYisrael; Tel Aviv – Jerusalem, 1996; Hebrew). 27 For a comprehensive survey on David’s wars and their chronological order, see Garsiel, op. cit. (note 20), pp. 63–92; idem, The Rise of the Monarchy in Israel: Studies in the Book of Samuel, III (Raanana, 20082), pp. 169–193 (Hebrew). 28 See K. A. Kitchen, On the Reliability of the Old Testament (Grand Rapids, MI – Cambridge, UK 2003), pp. 81–158. 29 See F. M. Cross, Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic: Essays in the History of the Religion of Israel (Cambridge, MA 1973), pp. 230–232; B. Mazar, Biblical Israel: State and People (Jerusalem, 1992), pp. 88–99.

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assume that these events take place relatively early in David’s kingship. However, the second time indicator of David’s offer to build God’s house (according to the two suggestions above) refers to later stages in David’s kingship. It seems to me that the early author of the history of David deliberately introduced the episode of the Nathan Oracle in an earlier stage in David’s kingship, even before the final wars against the Philistines and prior to the wars against the Ammonites and Arameans (chs. 8 and 10). The author moved up both Nathan’s oracle and almost all of David’s wars before the story of David’s sin against Bathsheba and Uriah. These non-chronological changes in the literary order were intentional so as to cause no damage to the idea of God’s providence and His system of justice; it is unimaginable that a king who sins in three severe transgressions that are included in the Ten Commandments would then enjoy the fulfillment of Nathan’s oracle and subdue all his surrounding enemies. Despite the diversions in the chronological order, the earlier author takes pains to attach literary links between Nathan’s oracle and the preceding episodes recounted in chs. 5–6. In these episodes, the earlier author describes how David builds Jerusalem as his capital and his palace. He introduces a list of his sons that were born in Jerusalem, among whom we find Solomon, who was born much later (5:9–17). The author now turns to earlier battles that took place in the Rephaim valley, and the Philistines were driven out of the central mountains, which enables David both to reinforce his troops (6:1), and also to bring the Ark of the Covenant to its tent in Jerusalem (6:2–17). Subsequent to that latter event is the David-Michal encounter, at the end of which David reminds her that he is the one who God has preferred over Saul and his whole house (vv. 20–24). The narrator concludes the episode with a remark that Michal remained childless till her death (v. 23). In this whole episode, the reader can observe the multi-layered meaning in the key word ‘house’ (bayit), which can mean both palace and even temple, but carries the connotations of ‘family’ and ‘dynasty’ as well. With his associative technique, the author links the various episodes that are included in chs. 5, 6, and 7, even though they sometimes differ in their chronological order. Many commentators have previously noted the multi-meaning of the word ‘house’ (bayit) that occurs fifteen times in Nathan’s oracle and David’s prayer (ch. 7).30 The literary unit opens with David’s remark that he is sitting in a cedar house, while the Ark of the Lord abides in a tent. This implicit remark is initially answered with Nathan’s positive and general response that David can continue to do whatever he has in mind, for the Lord is with him. But in the same night this positive remark is reversed; Nathan is sent to deliver what seems to be at first sight a rejection in principle: God has no need to dwell in a house and this issue was never raised earlier at the time of the Exodus and the Judges. However, God makes a kind of counter proposal by promising David an eternal ‘house’ in a sense of dynastic kingship. At this point in the text comes the surprise: while beforehand God expresses a refusal for a house to dwell in, now, in the subsequent text, He declares that David’s future son will build a house for God’s name. Several scholars overemphasize this contradiction. The point is that in a literary reading, one should expect the rhetorical device

30 See especially R. Polzin, David and the Deuteronomist: A Literary Study of the Deuteronomic History, Part Three, 2 Samuel (Bloomington, 1993), pp. 54–87.

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of a surprise change.31 In truth, God has had no need for a house to dwell in. In the near future, however, He would welcome a house in His name to be built by David’s future son. This surprise change in God’s approach to the building of His house rhetorically intensifies the mutual connection between God’s house, David’s ‘house’ (dynasty) and the people of Israel in their promised land. Indeed, several times, both literary units mention the people of Israel, which emphasizes the fact that the Israelite nation is a vital component in the partnership between God and the House of David. Furthermore, six times the eternal nature of the promise to David’s house is emphasized by repeating the word “forever” (vv. 13, 16, 25, 29). Once, this word is expanded to include the whole nation of Israel that is going to be established as God’s nation forever (v. 24). This seven time repetition of the word “forever” strengthens God’s promise of eternity to the house of David and to the nation of Israel.32 Once, this word refers to the name of God who rules over Israel and the house of David (v. 26). In its various contexts, the word “forever” creates a triple treaty between God, David and Israel that will survive forever. It is no wonder that this word concludes David’s prayer. A close reading of both the oracle and the prayer brings into relief three divine and eternal promises: to the house of David a kingdom forever; to his future son the task of building God’s temple; and to the people of Israel to be settled by God in their land without being harassed by hostile people as had happened in the past. Indeed, most scholars and commentators regard 2 Sam 7 as a divine, unconditional and irrevocable promise or treaty of grant that establishes an eternal kingship to the house of David. If the king sins, however, God will chastise him like a father does to his son. But God’s grace will never be removed from him, as it previously had been removed from King Saul (vv. 14–16).33 However, a minority of scholars has expressed a totally different view. They have tried to regard God’s promise to the house of David as a conditional promise or treaty with some limitations that could be breached in certain circumstances. In short, they view the existence of the treaty for the house of David as depending on 31

Cf. Y. Amit, “On Conclusions, Particularly Inappropriate Ones”, in S. Vargon, Y. Kaduri, R. Kasher and A Frish (eds.), Studies in Bible And Exegesis, IX, Presented to Moshe Garsiel (Ramat-Gan, 2009; Hebrew), pp. 45–59. In my opinion, surprised changes might appear in Biblical texts everywhere, not necessarily in conclusions. 32 See Cross, op. cit. (note 29), p. 247; McCarter, op. cit. (note 25), p. 206. 33 For the reading of the majority group, see, e.g., M. H. Segal, The Books of Samuel: Edited and Interpreted with a Detailed Introduction (Jerusalem, 1964; Hebrew), pp. 276–284; Kaufmann, op. cit. (note 12), pp. 169–170; M. Weinfeld, “Berith ‫”ברית‬, in G. J. Botterweck and H. Ringgren (eds.), Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament, II (Grand Rapids, MI 1977), pp. 253–279; J. D. Levenson, Sinai and Zion: an Entry into the Jewish Bible, (Minneapolis, 1985), pp. 97–101; Uffenheimer, op. cit. (note 7), 289; McCarter, op. cit. (note 25), pp. 206–210; R. P. Gordon, I & II Samuel: A Commentary (Grand Rapids, MI 1986), pp. 239–240; H. M. I. Gevaryahu, “The Promise of Eternal Kingdom for David”, Beit Mikra 37 (1991), pp. 1–23 (Hebrew); S. Japhet, I and II Chronicles: A Commentary (OTL; Louisville, 1993), pp. 333–334; D. Jobling, 1 Samuel (Berit Olam; Collegeville, MI 1998), pp. 78–79, 84–85; B. C. Birch, The First and Second Books of Samuel: Introduction, Commentary, and Reflections (NIB 2; Nashville, 1998), pp. 1257–1259; W. M. Schneidewind, Society and the Promise to David: The Reception History of 2 Samuel 7.1–17 (Oxford, 1999), p. 39.

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the behavior of the beneficiaries.34 Most of the arguments of this group are based on other biblical texts dealing with other treaties (and interpreting them as conditional treaties) or on comparisons that were made with treaties found in the ANE. The assumption that God’s treaty must follow other models of treaties or promises in the Bible or in other ANE documents is wrong in its premise. These scholars tend to ignore the prevailing biblical view that the Almighty Creator is not limited to making any everlasting or unconditional treaty or promise either to David’s house or to any other individual or to mankind in general. Furthermore, from a methodological point of view, Nathan’s oracle and David’s prayer as they appear in the Book of Samuel should be studied separately and their literary analysis should override any outside evidence drawn from any other biblical texts dealing with Nathan’s oracle, since that outside evidence might be a rather late inter-biblical interpretation or inter-textual reaction to the earlier promises to David and his dynasty as written in the Book of Samuel. In other words, late biblical texts might adjust the ancient oracle and change its features and meaning in accordance with later reality, when historical events proved that God’s promises had not materialized over the passage of time. In modern scholarship, there are four different approaches regarding the issue when Nathan’s oracle took its final form as it appears in 2 Sam 7. The first group of scholars maintains that it is an ancient tradition from the time of David or Solomon.35 The second sees in it a Deuteronomistic vision that was shaped or even created at the end of the 7th century BCE, inspiring King Josiah in his aspirations to annex the devastated kingdom of Israel with his kingdom of Judah and renew the ancient united kingdom of David. This background, according to this second view, stimulated the creation of Nathan’s oracle that granted David an everlasting dynasty.36 The third group regards the vision as a Deuteronomistic creation from the 34

Cf. M. Tsevat, The Meaning of the Book of Job and Other Biblical Studies: Essays on the Literature and Religion of the Hebrew Bible (New York, 1980), pp. 101–117; L. Eslinger, House of God or House of David: The Rhetoric of 2 Samuel 7 (JSOTS 164; Sheffield, 1994), pp. 46–96; G. N. Knoppers, “Ancient Near Eastern Royal Grants and the Davidic Covenant: A Parallel?”, JAOS 116 (1996), pp. 670–697; idem, “David’s Relation to Moses: The Contexts, Content and Condition of the Davidic Promises”, in J. Day (ed.), King and Messiah in Israel and the Ancient Near East: Proceeding of the Oxford Old Testament Seminar (JSOTS 270; Sheffield, 1998), pp. 91–118; M. Avioz, Nathan’s Oracle (2 Samuel 7) and Its Interpreters (Bern, 2005), pp. 25–32, 64–68; idem, “Reflections of Nathan’s Oracle (2 Samuel 7) in the Book of Samuel”, in Vargon, Kaduri, Kasher and Frish, op. cit. (note 31), pp. 161–166; and see now his article in this volume. 35 Kaufmann, op. cit. (note 12), pp. 169–170, 369; M. Noth, The Laws in the Pentateuch and Other Studies (Translated from German, Edinburgh – London, 1966), p. 259; S. Abramsky, The Kingdom of Saul and the Kingdom of David: The Rise of the Monarchy in Israel and its Influence on Future Generations (Jerusalem, 1977), pp. 148–152 (Hebrew); S. Herrmann, “The Royal Novella in Egypt and Israel: A Contribution to the History of Genere in the Historical Books of the Old Testament”, in G. N. Knoppers and J. G. McConville (eds.), Reconsidering Israel and Judah: Recent Studies on the Deuteronomistic History (SBTS 8; Winona Lake, IN 2000; translated from the German version of 1986), pp. 493–515; Uffenheimer, op. cit. (note 7), pp. 285–301; Schneidewind, op. cit. (note 33), pp. 29–30. 36 See, e.g. S. L. McKenzie, King David: A Biography (Oxford, 2000), p. 149; idem, “The Typology of the Davidic Covenant”, in J. A. Dearman and M. P. Graham (eds.), The Land that I Will Show You: Essays on the History and Archaeology of the Ancient Near East in

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time of Zerubbabel the president who was also one of David’s descendants. The creation of the oracle was meant to stimulate aspirations to renew the Kingdom of David.37 The fourth approach is to see Nathan’s oracle as a multi-layered creation that was developed gradually by different writers and editors in different periods.38 In my opinion, it is clearly evident that Nathan’s oracle in 2 Samuel 7 was composed very early, when the Israelites were still impressed with David’s extraordinary victories over his neighboring kingdoms. His military achievements brought about confidence in the king and inspired public trust in the monarchy at large. The later periods that were suggested by some scholars as the time of the oracle’s creation, such as Josiah’s kingship or the period of Zerubbabel’s leadership, when there were no exceptional Israelite military victories, do not fit the exposition description (v. 1) or the promise within the oracle about more important and impressive victories in the future (vv. 9–11). In my view, it is more plausible to suppose that initially Nathan’s oracle was borrowed from an ancient archive or a collection of oral traditions, then adapted and imbedded in the early book on David’s personal history that was composed by one of Nathan’s disciples several years after David’s death and Solomon’s succession. This oracle was well-preserved in the second stage of the book’s development, which is very close to what is known today as the Book of Samuel. This second stage of the book was discreetly composed by an author who integrated the first book with other material and reshaped this new and enlarged book in the last years of King Solomon. However, it is noteworthy that within a few years after the creation of the book’s second version, Nathan’s overly optimistic promises started to deteriorate and the kingdom soon began to suffer blow after blow. Nathan’s promises did not pass the test of history as was evidenced in the split of the United Kingdom and the loss of most of its territory and population to Jeroboam’s kingship. This was followed by both kingdoms suffering military defeats which culminated in the destruction of Samaria and exile of its citizens and eventually the destruction of Jerusalem and the exiles of its citizens. The Davidic dynasty never regained its previous position even during the short episode of the Davidic descendant, Zerubbabel, the president. During this long period and especially after the catastrophic events, biblical writers, poets and prophets were miserably grappling with the incongruity between Nathan’s eternal and unconditional promises and the disappointing historical reality, and they developed deep inter-textual dialogues with the ancient, overly optimistic oracle.39 Honour of J. M. Miller (JSOTS 343; Sheffield, 2001), pp. 152–178. 37 See, e.g., R. F. Person, The Deuteronomic School: History, Social Setting, and Literature (SBL 2; Atlanta, 2002), pp. 110–111; T. C. Römer, The So-Called Deuteronomistic History: A Sociological, Historical and Literary Introduction (New York, 2007), pp. 146–148. 38 Cf., e.g., Rost, op. cit. (note 16), pp. 41–56; Cross, op. cit. (note 29), pp. 219–273; O. Sergi, “The Composition of Nathan’s Oracle to David (2 Samuel 7:1–17) as a Reflection of Royal Judahite Ideology”, JBL 129 (2010), pp. 261–279. 39 For discussions on this issue and more literature, cf. Weinfeld, op. cit. (note 33), passim; Abramsky, op. cit. (note 35), pp. 190–199; Schneidewind, op. cit. (note 33), passim; R. D. Nelson, “Davidic Covenant”, in K. D. Sakenfeld et al (eds.), The New Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible, II (NIBC; Nashville, 2007), p. 41; N. Lohfink, “Which Oracle Granted Perdurability to the Davidides?: A Textual Problem in 2 Kings 8:19 and the Function of the Dynastic Oracles in the Deuteronomistic Historical Work”, in G. N. Knoppers and J. G.

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As previously stated, Nathan’s earlier oracle was written from an author’s standpoint that regards David and his dynasty as being at a high point of relations between God and the king, as demonstrated by the metaphor of relations between father and son. Since the oracle constitutes a central pillar in the Book of Samuel’s construction, I assume that it reflects the earlier author’s very positive views of David’s achieve-ments and of his mentor Nathan the prophet as the herald of the divine and eternal promises. But a question that begs to be asked is: Does the second author—the one who is credited with the later and enlarged version of the book— share such enthusiasm with David’s kingship and with Nathan’s promises? In the third part of this article, we will claim that despite the fact that the second author left the original oracle entirely, or almost entirely, unchanged, he made subtle and discreet efforts in his enlarged book to alter and reduce his predecessor’s enthusiastic approach toward the kingdom of David and the system of monarchy at large, expressing his bitter criticism against the dynastic principle of a leader automatically delivering the torch to his own son(s). 2. The David-Bathsheba-Uriah Story and Nathan’s Rebuke The great enthusiasm of the earlier author for David’s various achievements comes to its end in the story of David, Bathsheba and Uriah, in which David commits three transgressions that are forbidden in the Ten Commandments. David tried time and again to cover up his sin, but failed and he resorted to drastic measures in order to bring about Uriah’s death on the battlefield and to marry his wife (2 Sam 11). Elsewhere, I have analyzed this story in detail with its consequences from historical and literary points of view.40 However, all of David’s efforts to cover up his sins were to no avail as God observed that it was “wrong in His eyes” (2 Sam 11:27—following the Hebrew text). In his capacity as David’s advising prophet, Nathan was sent to his king to chastise him and announce the verdict. Nathan starts his rebuke with a subtle staged case.41 The author employs an ironic devise: since David used a cover-up tactic in bringing Uriah to Jerusalem as a pretense for needing information about the war, while in reality he wanted him to go home and sleep with his wife in order to get himself and Bathsheba off the hook, so does Nathan use such a tactic as a kind of ‘measure for measure’ device by luring David to issue a verdict that would backfire on him. The staged case involves a rich man who has been blessed with a large amount of livestock and a poor man who has only one little ewe lamb that grew with him and his sons: she ate from his bread, drank from his glass, slept in his bosom, and was regarded like his daughter. When a visitor came to see the rich man, the latter had pity on his own livestock, so instead took and slaughtered the poor man’s ewe lamb McConville (eds.), Reconsidering Israel and Judah: Recent Studies on the Deuteronomistic History (Winona Lake, IN 2000), pp. 421–443; K. M. Heim, “The (God-)Forsaken King of Psalm 89: A Historical and Intertextual Enquiry”, in J. Day (ed.), King and Messiah in Israel and the Ancient Near East: Proceeding of the Oxford Old Testament Seminar (JSOTS 270; Sheffield, 1998), pp. 296–322; Avioz, op. cit. (note 34, 2005), passim. 40 See M. Garsiel, “The Story of David and Bathsheba: A Different Approach”, CBQ 55 (1993), pp. 244–262; idem, op. cit. (note 27), IV, pp. 9–123. 41 While many scholars and commentators use the term parable, I prefer to see Nathan’s opening as a litigation case presented to the king in his capacity as a chief of justice (cf. 2 Sam 14:1–21; 15:1–5; 1 Kgs 3:15–28).

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and offered its meat to his visitor. In his anger, David declares that the rich man deserves a death sentence and should return four-fold restitution to the poor man. In the Septuagint, the restitution is enlarged to sevenfold. Scholars and commentators rightly identify David as the rich man and Uriah as the poor man. If so, it is plausible that the little ewe lamb that used to sleep in the poor man’s bosom should be none other than Bathsheba. Indeed, in a subtle way of punning on her name, the author refers to her by telling us that the ewe lamb was to the poor man like a daughter, which refers to the first name component of Bathsheba, while the second component of her name is referred in the seven-fold restitution according to the G version.42 The above indications, as well as others in the story of David and Bathsheba, imply that the author sees in Bathsheba a faithful wife to her late husband Uriah, and regards her as the victim of David’s illegitimate lust. I have elaborated elsewhere on Bathsheba’s part in this episode, regarding her as a rape victim.43 This evaluation better explains Nathan’s sympathetic attitude toward Bathsheba and toward her second joint son with David, Solomon (Jedidiah), which will be discussed below. At this stage of Nathan’s rebuke, the prophet discloses the analogy between the king and the rich man by revealing to his king: “You are the man!” (12:7). Nathan then announces David’s punishments, the most hurtful of which is: “Therefore the sword shall never depart from your house” (v. 10). The punishments that David is going to face have been determined according to the ‘measure for measure’ principle.44 David, who ordered that Uriah would be killed by an Ammonite ‘sword’, would be punished by the ‘sword’ not departing from his house ‘forever’. Indeed, in the earlier version of the story of David, we are told that his elder sons, Amnon, Absalom and Adonijah, were violently killed. Yet one may recognize the tension between Nathan’s earlier oracle in which he promised David a steady ‘house forever’ (7:16) and his current rebuke that the sword will not depart from his ‘house forever’. Nathan provides a farfetched answer: David’s dynasty would survive. But his ‘house’ would be under a constant danger of the sword, namely, some of his sons are to be killed. Indeed, the first child who was born out of David’s adulterous act died. But the second one (Solomon), who was conceived after his parents’ marriage, became God’s beloved and Nathan was sent to call him Jedidiah (12:24–25). With this surprising, short episode, the earlier author closes for a while the Bathsheba story. This beautiful woman who experienced traumatic events (rape, extra-marital pregnancy, death of her first husband, speedily arranged marriage to King David, death of her first child) is now compensated by the birth of her second child who grows up to become God’s beloved. What is also important is that Nathan becomes Bathsheba’s

42

See M. Garsiel, Biblical Names: A Literary Study of Midrashic Derivations and Puns (Ramat-Gan, 1991), pp. 129–130. 43 See Garsiel, op. cit. (note 40), pp. 253–256; idem, op. cit. (note 27), IV, pp. 112–115. For different approaches, cf. R. G. Bowman, The Crises of King David (Th. dissertation; Union Theological Seminary; Richmond, VA 1981), pp. 101–103; E. M. Good, Irony in the Old Testament (Philadelphia, 1965), pp. 35–38; J. G. Baldwin, 1 and 2 Samuel: An Introduction and Commentary (Leicester, UK 1988), p. 244. 44 See Garsiel, op. cit. (note 27), IV, pp. 62–88.

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and Solomon’s patron, and sides with them in their campaign to anoint Solomon as David’s successor, as will be discussed next. 3. Nathan’s Activity to Bring about Solomon’s Succession The third time that Nathan’s involvement becomes significant is in David’s old age, when Adonijah and Solomon compete on the question of who is to succeed King David. The whole episode was initially part of the earlier book that contained David’s story and history, though it was later omitted in the larger edition of the second stage in the development of the so-called ‘Book of Samuel’. It was, however, redeemed much later by the author of the Book of Kings who set it as an opening to his book.45 These opening chapters describe the bitter struggle between Adonijah and Solomon that I analyzed in earlier research.46 Nathan the prophet whole-heartedly sided with Bathsheba and her son Solomon. He actually seems to be the major force in prodding Bathsheba to go to the king and report on the unilateral actions taken by Adonijah and his supporters. He also joins the meeting with Bathsheba and David to convince the king to counteract Adonijah’s activity and declare Solomon as his successor. King Solomon later on reciprocates by appointing the prophet’s two sons to high positions in his administration. It is clear that the ‘implied author’ justifies Solomon’s succession and employs subtle rhetoric and literary devices to convince the readers that David indeed swore privately to Bathsheba that her son (Solomon) would be his successor as compensation for the great agony that he had caused her. This oath is reflected in the second component of Bath-sheba’s name that includes verb and noun of the root šb‘ (to swear, an oath).47 But the narrator does not seem to support Solomon explicitly and, needless to say, he does not provide any political propaganda in support of Solomon, as suggested by some scholars.48 The earlier author who wrote David’s story and history did not operate as a court-paid writer whose aim was to glorify the ruling king. As will be seen below, the point of departure that dominates his whole story is not primarily political or historical. It is, rather, a prophetic and moralistic outlook on history. In addition, his main theme is how the Lord supervises the course of David’s life and fate as well as that of the people around him. This prophetic view concentrates on the God’s providence and His strict principles of reward and punishment according to the peoples’ deeds. That is why the author subtly points out that poetic justice is done when Bathsheba’s son becomes David’s successor. The king, moreover, (with significant help from Nathan and Bathsheba) partially corrects his past wrongdoings.

45

My views on the authorship and text history of the first chapters of 1 Kgs are kind of a compromise between the rivals, Rost and Kaufmann, on these matters. Cf. Rost, op. cit. (note 16), passim; Kaufmann, op. cit. (note 4), pp. 169–184. 46 See Garsiel, op. cit. (note 20), pp. 154–202; idem, op. cit. (note 3), IV, pp. 211–286. 47 For other devices used by the ‘implied author’ to substantiate Bathsheba’s and Solomon’s position, see Garsiel, op. cit. (note 20), pp. 154–202, esp. 193–196; idem, “Puns upon Names as a Literary Device in 1 Kings 1–2”, Biblica 72 (1991), 379–386; idem, op. cit. (note 27), IV, pp. 262–269; A. Frisch, The Narrative of Solomon’s Reign in the Book of Kings (Unpublished dissertation; Bar-Ilan University; Ramat-Gan, 1986), pp. 128–189 (Hebrew). 48 See, e.g., Weiser, op. cit. (note 13), p. 166.

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4. The First Author’s Identity and his Ideological Views Who is, then, the earlier author who wrote about David, beginning with his appearance in Saul’s court, continuing with the description of his kingdom and concluding with Solomon’s succession to the throne and the early years of his reign? In what period did he complete his book? In my opinion, this earlier book was written a few years after Solomon’s succession and after he had consolidated his reign and started to build his Jerusalemite temple. I assume that the book’s author came from the circle of Nathan’s followers or disciples. This view is somewhat close, yet differs, from the conclusion in 1Chron 29:29–30 that Nathan was one of three prophets who wrote ancient books describing the beginning and end of King David’s history. This ancient book was written from a theological point of view and in accordance with the biblical reward and punishment principle, which is why the main figures in this source are rewarded or punished according to their actions: David founded his kingdom and enjoyed victories as long as he “executed true justice among all his people” (2 Sam 8:15), but once he committed transgressions against Bathsheba and Uriah, he suffered crises—familial and national. This principle is demonstrated also in the cases of Joab son of Zruiah, Amnon, Absalom, Shimei and Adonijah, all of whom were punished for their actions, while Barzillai’s sons were rewarded due to their father’s loyalty to David. The earlier author gives prominence to Nathan’s role in the stories of his oracle, the Bathsheba affair, Nathan’s status as a mentor of Solomon and his involvement in Solomon’s succession. The fact that Nathan’s position was strengthened in King Solomon’s court enabled his favorite follower, the first author, to get access to royal archives. This also facilitated that author’s way in getting eye-witness testimonies of high-ranking individuals who took part in military or national events. The author laid down, on the one hand, the historical substructure of the period, but he did not, on the other hand, hesitate to criticize King David for his severe transgression. His concentration on theological aspects creates the superstructure of his work. Thus, the author takes a prominent position in a long chain of prophets and scribes who were morally courageous enough to criticize kings, ministers and military commanders. It is noteworthy that the early author is also very critical of Joab and Abishai, sons of Zeruiah; he delays in depicting how they carried out assassinations and omits or reduces their military achievements.

III. The Second Stage of the Book’s Development After a couple of decades of Solomon’s kingship, resentment against the king began to grow due to his enormous building activity of royal projects in Jerusalem and in other main fortified cities, his hedonistic way of life, his harem, his accumulated richness and, in particular, his brutality in enslaving his own people. One of the main strongholds of such opposition was evidently at Shiloh. The prophet Ahijah of Shiloh is mentioned as the man who, still during Solomon’s kingship, encouraged Jeroboam to raise the banner of revolt against King Solomon’s and later on against his successor (1 Kgs 11:26–43).49 It is reasonable to assume that there were many individuals and groups who were hurt by King Solomon’s tyranny, and who sought 49 Cf. A. Frisch, “Jerusalem and its Parallels: Five Cities Paired with Jerusalem in the Bible”, Abr-Nahraim 32 (1994), pp. 83–86.

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various outlets for their despair and resistance. One of these individuals was, most likely, the second author of the Book of Samuel. 1. The Second Author of the Book of Samuel and his Contribution At this time of despair and suppressed resistance, probably in the middle of the last decade of Solomon’s kingship, a very gifted person, who came out of the circles of scribes and sages that flourished at this time, took his predecessor’s book on David’s life story and, in the safety of his own home, skillfully changed it, mainly by adding or omitting large sections. Firstly, he omitted the section on David’s old age and Solomon’s succession to the throne, including the elaboration on Nathan’s role and its rationale, as well as Solomon’s greatest wisdom and its application in the trial of the two harlots—all of which was later retrieved and incorporated in the first three chapters of 1 Kings. Secondly, he added a considerable amount of material dealing with Eli and his sons, Samuel and his parents and sons and a section on Saul’s anointment and early years of his kingship. It seems to me that he also carefully edited some sections that had dealt with Saul’s and David’s relationships. He probably adopted, however, the earlier book’s history of David (excluding his old age) almost as he received it. He also added parts of the so-called ‘appendix’ (or ‘epilogue’). These considerable changes have provided the book a new literary shape and a new significant message. This second author created a comparative structure that set up a broad analogy between the last two judges (Eli and Samuel) and the first two kings (Saul and David)—and the outcome is surprising because there is a common denominator between the four leaders. All of them faltered in having disappointing sons who demonstrated that they were unworthy to rule over Israel. Eli suffered from his sinning sons and his family was ousted from the leading priesthood. Samuel erroneously trusted his corrupted sons, appointing them as judges, and paid dearly when the people of Israel and the leading elders demanded a king to rule them. King Saul himself stumbled time and again and fell with his three sons in the battle against the Philistines. Ironically, his feeble son, Ish-Bosheth, succeeded him, but failed in ruling over Israel, and eventually was assassinated. Even David, who was promised by Nathan an everlasting dynastic kingship, did not know how to deal with his two older and corrupted sons, Amnon and Absalom, both of whom were violently killed. Indeed, the Book of Samuel mentions very briefly that another son, Solomon, received a new name (Jedidiah) that demonstrated that he was God’s beloved. But the story does not elaborate on Solomon and he is no longer mentioned in this book, which leads the reader to wonder what would come of Nathan’s pronouncement about the everlasting dynasty of King David. The Book of Samuel ends without any answer. The second author omitted the stories about Solomon’s succession, leaving the reader in the dark about the future of the Davidic line. With these additions and omissions, the second author created a well established analogy that demonstrates that all alternative types of leadership are corrupt and doomed to failure. Instead of human and, especially, dynastic kingship of flesh and blood, this author preferred a utopian vision of the Kingdom of God that rules His people via chosen ones who are selected carefully by the Almighty God. Such a choice is temporary, since the chosen rulers are not supposed to pass their position on to their sons. The dynastic principal of ruling, according to the second author, is not the solution for stability and effectiveness of leadership; it is, rather, part of the

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problem. This second author took upon himself a great risk in writing his book in King Solomon’s lifetime. He, no doubt, took precautionary measures. Firstly, he wrote his book in a subtle manner, in which his critical views on the principles of monarchy and dynasty were not explicitly and clearly put forward. Secondly, he even copied Nathan’s oracle as it was in the earlier edition of the first writer which promised David an eternal dynasty. Thirdly, he did not mention Solomon in his edition except the short notice that he was God’s beloved and, therefore, had been given the name Jedidiah. This was also copied from the first edition to show that he was not opposing the current king. Fourthly, the second author did not just rely on the above mentioned measures; he probably wrote only a very few copies of his manuscript and safe-guarded them in the hands of close relatives or trusted friends. Only after Solomon’s death and the ensuing confusion that was caused by the split of the United Kingdom, was the time ripe to make a few more copies of the later and enlarged edition. This second edition, however, gained public acceptance very gradually. During this transitional period, I assume that both editions, the earlier and the later, were copied and studied concurrently by the elite of scribes and scholars, and were passed down in written form as well as orally from one generation to another. Only in the 7th century BCE, the later version became dominant and the earlier one gradually was pushed aside and eventually disappeared, presumably around the middle of the 4th century BCE. Despite the fact that the second writer integrated the earlier version of his predecessor into his own work, his additions, omissions and editing of the whole changed the meaning and the message of the earlier book rather significantly. As opposed to the previous writer, who cherished the figure of Nathan the royal prophet and dwelled on Nathan’s involvement in Solomon’s succession and how that prophet took part in Solomon’s anointment, the second writer elevated the figure of Samuel the priest, judge and prophet, who anointed both Saul and David. He omitted, however, the story told by his predecessor about Solomon’s accession and Nathan’s part in it. (However, in the Babylonian exile, another and even later biblical author would revive these omitted stories and would use them as the opening section in his Book of Kings.) In contrast to Nathan’s views and actions in favor of a future Davidic line, the second author set up Samuel as the great opponent of monarchial dynasty as such. With his addition of new material in the first section of his new and enlarged book, the second author of the ‘Book of Samuel’ demonstrates his criticism of any kind of permanent leadership (priesthood, judgeship or monarchy).50 This section includes even a critical note against Samuel himself who erred in his appointment of his two sons as judges of Israel, which was regarded as an attempt to establish a form of dynasty (1 Sam 8:1–5).51 In any event, Samuel the prophet delivered two central speeches in which he denounced the whole initiative of establishing a kingdom in Israel, both of which will be discussed below.

50

Compare the following insightful literary analysis: J. S. Ackerman, “Who Can Stand Before YHWH, This Holy God? A Reading of 1 Samuel 1–15”, Prooftexts 11 (1991), pp. 1–24. 51 See Gordon, op. cit. (note 33), p. 109.

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2. Samuel’s Public Speeches on Kingship and Leadership Samuel’s first speech expressing his views about the establishment of a monarchy in Israel was carried out in the wake of the expedition of elders who requested a king to rule them (1 Sam 8). The elders were both polite and tactful. Being elders themselves, they felt at liberty to mention that Samuel became older. Unlike the text’s narrator, they only very vaguely alluded to Samuel’s sons’ inappropriate behavior, without the insulting specifics (compare v. 5 with v. 3). They also softened the blow to Samuel by avoiding any mention of his failure to handle the deterioration of national security (cf. 9:16) demonstrated by the existence of a Philistine governor close to the homes of Saul and Samuel (cf. 10:5). In order to reduce the blow to Samuel even further, they suggested that he be the one who would choose the king and anoint him. But despite their efforts to be considerate, the narrator points out that the elders’ request was regarded as something negative in Samuel’s view. God’s being unhappy as well inasmuch as the request was analogous to a certain kind of idolatry. Nevertheless, He ordered Samuel to obey their request, but to warn the people about the ‘manner of the king’ (vv. 7–8). Samuel’s warning speech is, perhaps, the highlight of the later and enlarged version of what we may now call ‘the Book of Samuel’. Samuel’s speech deserves the importance and significance as that of Nathan’s oracle. The former, however, undermines the latter. While Nathan grants David a dynastic kingship forever, Samuel opposes the very notion of human kingship in Israel. Samuel’s speech is well organized and rich with rhetorical and literary devices.52 In this speech, he ignores any positive aspects of monarchy, such as a charismatic king who could lead the army to battle. To be sure, Samuel mentions once the word ‘war’, but it is used in his speech in a negative way; when he describes the recruitment of the Israelite sons, he includes the king’s mission “to create his [the king’s] war weapons and chariots” (v. 12). Samuel inserted it, however, in a way that he does not give the king any credit for taking part in a defensive war. He speaks only of the preparations for the king’s war, as if it is the king’s private war, but not a national war. Samuel does not give the king any credit for building cities or settlements for the benefit of his citizens, nor does he depict the king as an initiator of defensive projects such as fortifications or water supply systems for times of war. By the same token, Samuel omits royal involvement in the development of roads and their maintenance, which is vital for the economy and the unification of the people. Similarly, he omits the king’s function as a chief justice who is responsible for the national court system. Ironically, Samuel subtly refers to this function when he describes how the angry people would come crying to the king for all the above mentioned in-justices. But all this to no avail; the king’s response is not even mentioned, as if his apathetic nature is already well-known (v. 18). In contrast to the wide range of omissions of all the positive royal functions, Samuel emphasizes all of the king’s ‘takings’. The king is described as a ‘taker’ of everything that is cherished by the people: their sons, daughters, fields, vineyards, olive groves, etc. Most of the speech is devoted to the king’s takings for his own purposes and sometimes even for the benefit of his slaves and eunuchs. Four times the verb ‘to take’ is used, thus serving as a key guide-word. I have elsewhere discussed in

52

See elaborated discussion in Garsiel, op. cit. (note 27), pp. 193–218.

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depth the literary structure, rhetoric and the literary devices of this speech,53 and I have here briefly demonstrated only a small part of it. As opposed to the general consensus among commentators and scholars to interpret the dispute over the establishment of kingship in Israel as presenting a clearly anti-monarchial stand, a few scholars have tried to produce arguments to the contrary. They claim that one should not rely only on the views expressed by the story’s characters; it is more important to consider the ‘voice of the narrator’. The latter—in this group’s view—points in a positive way toward the establishment of the monarchy, since it is a necessity due to the severe deterioration in national security.54 Two scholars in this group55 seem to evaluate the narrator as ‘reliable’.56 However, the distinction between the plot’s characters and the ‘narrator’s voice’ is inappropriate, inasmuch as all the characters’ words, deeds, experiences, thoughts, reflections, etc, are transmitted in writing to the readers via the ‘voice of the narrator’.57 It is better to use here the virtual term of the ‘implied author’58 which serves as a fictive literary authority that is responsible for all the intentions, hidden as well as overt, of any literary creation.59 Indeed, the narrator clearly exposes the reader to the opposing view, as well, that supports the request of the elders and the people to establish a monarchy in Israel. But a thorough analysis of all the meanings and intentions that are integrated in the wider text brings me to oppose the reading of the minority group of scholars. It seems to me that the ‘implied author’ opposes the monarchy throughout the second version of the Book of Samuel. This opposition to the monarchy remains entirely clear even in the text today. Some scholars go even further in claiming that the book opposes any flesh-and-blood permanent establishment of any kind.60 The anti-monarchial view of the ‘implied author’ in the story cycle included in chs. 1–15 is rather clear.61 In this cycle, Samuel is depicted as a great spiritual leader who achieved a significantly long duration of military success for Israel (ch. 7). Yet the narrator describes the failures of both last judges in passing on their leadership to their sons. The analogy between these two judges construed by the ‘implied author’ indicates that the dynastic principal is tantamount to failure. I have mentioned above that the rest of the Book of Samuel continues to expose such failure also in the 53

See M. Garsiel, “Samuel’s Speech about the Manner of the King”, Hagut Ba-Mikra, V (Tel- Aviv, 1988), pp. 112–136 (Hebrew); idem, op. cit. (note 27), I, pp. 189–218. 54 See L. M. Eslinger, Kingship of God in Crisis: A Close Reading of 1 Samuel 1–12 (BLS 10; Decatur, GA 1985), pp. 256–262; D. G. Firth, 1 and 2 Samuel (AOT 8; Nottingham, UK – Downers Grove, IL 2009), pp. 111–112. Cf. also R. Polzin, Samuel and the Deuteronomist: A Literay Study of the Deuteronomic History, Part Two, I Samuel (Bloomington – Indianapolis, 1989), pp. 81–88. 55 Eslinger, ibid.; Firth, ibid. 56 Cf. W. C. Booth, The Rhetoric of Fiction (Chicago, 1961), pp. 211–215. 57 Cf. M. Garsiel, “Revealing and Concealing as a Narrative Strategy in Solomon’s Judgment (1 Kings 3:16–28)”, CBQ 64 (2002), pp. 229–234. 58 As indeed it has been defined by Polzin, op. cit. (note 54), p. 82. 59 See Booth, op. cit. (note 56), pp. 71–76. 60 See the well established reading of Ackerman, op. cit. (note 50). 61 See A. D. Ritterspach, The Samuel Traditions: An Analysis of the Anti-Monarchical Source in I Samuel 1–15 (Th. dissertation, Graduate Theological Union and the San Francisco Theological Seminary; Ann Arbor, MI 1968), passim.

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stories of the first two kings. The current Book of Samuel presents four leaders, all of whom fail to deal with their sons and, consequently, the dynastic principle seems to be doomed to failure. When we return to the dispute over monarchy (1 Sam 8) between Samuel and the elders and people of Israel, one cannot miss the implied author’s indisputable position against monarchy as such. To be sure, the narrator presents the elders’ request for a monarch, but he allocated to them only a little space in the text—just a verse (v. 5), and to the people’s response to Samuel just a verse and a half (vv. 19–20). Whereas to the bitter anti-monarchial description of ‘the manner of the king’, the author allocated eight verses (11–18). In the background, behind the narrator who renders objectively, so to speak, both sides’ positions, stands the implied author who is also responsible for the allocation of space to each side and who designed Samuel’s speech in an effective and rhetorical way. Later on in the text, when Samuel was forced to yield to the people’s demand, he delivered another speech on the ‘Law of Kingship’, the details of which we know nothing about (10:25). All we are left with is the impression of Samuel’s long speech denouncing ‘the manner of the king’ and the bitter consequences for the population. Furthermore, the reasons for the rejection of the monarchy are expressed by both God and Samuel; God even made an analogy between monarchy and idolatry (8:8). In this text, the status of the Lord and Samuel is very much extolled, much above that of the people and their elders. There is no escaping of the conclusion that the implied author, who, so to speak, represents the creator of the book at issue, deliberately and bitterly, opposes the monarchy as well as the dynastic principle. Even in his public farewell speech in the presence of King Saul, Samuel again denounced the people’s request for a king (ch. 12). In his introduction, he reminded the audience that he had gone along with their demand, and had set up a king over the people (v. 1), while in reality, one may note, he was prodded to do so by the people and the Lord (8:7,9,22). Samuel compared his own leadership and the king’s by employing similar wording (which is more discernable in the Hebrew text): “Henceforth, the king is walking before you [NJPS: be your leader]… As for me, I have been walking before you [NJPS: have been your leader] from my youth to this day” (12:2). Samuel contrasted the two different leaders. He stresses that in his own leadership as judge he did not take anything from anyone. This fact is substantiated by the guide-word of ‘to take’ that is repeated in the passage four times (vv. 3–4). The reader is encouraged to recall Samuel’s earlier speech about ‘the manner of the king’ that depicts the king as a ‘taker’, also using four times the same root. The contrast becomes clear: while Samuel the judge did not take anything from his people, the king will take everything that is dear to them. While Samuel used to walk a long way to his people to judge them (7:16–17), in the new regime, the people will be the ones who will have to go distances, crying to the king for justice, but to no avail (8:18). In his farewell speech, Samuel praised the leaders and judges of the past, describing their achievements in delivering the people of Israel from their foes. He persisted in denouncing the people’s demand for a king and he accompanied his chastising by threatening a severe, summer thunder storm, which forced the people to admit their mistaken request to have a king (12:12–19). Both speeches in chs. 8 and 12 posit Samuel as a strong, oppositional figure to the establishment of kingship in Israel, even though he was the one who unwillingly obeyed the Lord and anointed

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the first two kings. Indeed, two stories in the larger version of what we call ‘the Book of Samuel’ demonstrate the realization of Samuel’s warnings and forced him to reprimand the king: the king neglected to obey the Lord’s instructions that were delivered by the prophet. It happened twice: in the battle of Michmas (chs. 13–14) and in the war against the Amalekites (ch. 15). His severe chastisement of the king culminated at the eve of Saul’s last war against the Philistines when the king, in a pathetic move, went to consult a ghost-wife at a Canaanite city of En-dor in order meet there with the deceased Samuel (ch. 28). Both Samuel’s frequent chastising of King Saul as well as his public speeches strengthen the second author’s anti-monarchical position by allocating to Samuel’s dramatic activity against the monarchy much more space than was allocated to Nathan by the first author who wrote the earlier version of the book. The author of the composite Book of Samuel deliberately sets up Samuel the prophet to represent the anti-monarchial and anti-dynastic stand in order to contradict and overshadow the different approach of Nathan the prophet on these issues. There is no doubt in my mind that the later and larger edition of the Book of Samuel that was composed by the second author and was enriched by adding the sections on Eli, Samuel, and even parts of Saul’s kingship, was meant to evoke a hostile response by the reader to both the monarchy and the dynastic principle. The general picture that one gets from reading the enlarged version is that power (that is, monarchy) corrupts even its two best of candidates that were chosen by the Lord and anointed by His prophet Samuel. 3. The Significance of Additional Parts in the Appendix In my judgment, the later author should also be attributed with parts of the so-called ‘appendix’ that concludes the book in its last four chapters. The later author opens the appendix with the story of the severe famine and how the Gibeonites impaled seven of Saul’s descendants (2 Sam 21:1–13). This portion demonstrates how King David succumbed to the Gibeonites’ demand for revenge and surrendered to them Saul’s family members for a brutal execution. The author subtly criticizes David by contrasting his act with the distinguished devotion of the bereaved mother, Rizpah daughter of Aiah, who remained in the field during the entire wheat harvest near the bodies of her impaled sons as well as the other bodies of Saul’s family in order to prevent wild animals and birds from approaching the bodies. By adding this story to the book, the later author, in a subtle way, expressed his disapproval of how David had taken advantage of the situation to get rid of his potential rivals from Saul’s family. This portion might even be interpreted as the second author’s rejoinder to his predecessor. While the earlier one in the first version of David’s history took pains to emphasize David’s generosity towards Saul (1 Sam chs. 24 and 26), Jonathan, and Mephibosheth, the later author, in contrast, subtly blames David for surrendering seven members of Saul’s family into the hands of the avenging Gibeonites. In telling that David later buried the remains of Saul, Jonathan and other family members from the last execution, the second author leaves the reader with an uncomfortable feeling: Was David indeed so magnanimous to Saul’s family? Or, ironically, was he kind only to the deceased by bringing them to the family burial place? The different views of the two authors are well seen in this issue.

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The next portion contains four short episodes depicting how four Philistine giants were smitten by David and his heroes (2 Sam 21:15–22). The first describes how David got tired in the middle of a battle and was almost killed by a well-equipped Philistine giant. At the last moment, Abishai son of Zeruiah interfered and killed the Philistine. The episode concludes with the vow taken by David’s men: “It was then that David’s men declared to him an oath, ‘You shall not go with us into battle anymore, lest you extinguish the lamp of Israel’” (vv. 15–17). Two points here are noteworthy: (a) The author who inserted this episode put in a story that does not fit the general attitude of the earlier author who repeatedly denounced the two brothers, Joab and Abishai sons of Zeruiah, while in the episode just described, Abishai excelled in demonstrating his skills, loyalty and courage by killing the Philistine giant and saving his king’s life. It is, therefore, reasonable to relate this episode, as well, to the later author of the Book of Samuel, who, unlike his predecessor, tends to demonstrate the glory and heroic exploits of the two brothers. (b) The vow taken by David’s men that their king should no longer go out with his army to fight undermines the main argument for the people’s request for a king who would go out before his troops and lead them in their wars (1 Sam 8:20; cf. also 2 Sam 5:2). Indeed, Saul and his sons fell in the battlefield, and the People of Israel, as a result, once again became subjugated to the Philistines. This fact minimizes the validity of the king’s image as a military leader who serves as commander-in-chief in the actual wars, which necessitates the establishment of a monarchy in Israel. This episode better fits the second author’s anti-monarchial views. Later in this appendix, we read about King David’s unit of heroes, about its commanders and their courageous exploits. To this is attached a list of the private members of this unit (2 Sam 23:8–39). The first part contains an episode recounting Abishai’s exploit: how he served as the commander of a small volunteer unit that broke through the Philistine deployment and drew water for King David from the cistern of Bethlehem. Subsequently, we are told that Abishai smote three hundred foes (vv. 13–19).62 This literary section also mentions Joab, indicating that he was the elite unit’s chief commander. Again, it is noteworthy that there is a great change in the appendix from the main book in the treatment of the two brothers’ military achievements. The second author’s approach is more favorable to the brothers than is his predecessor’s. Another story of the appendix recounts how David was urged to undertake a comprehensive census of all of Israel and how it resulted in a terrible plague (ch. 24). In this story, once again, Joab is shown in a favorable light, as he tried to convince his king to cancel the census. Joab’s efforts, however, were to no avail since the king adamantly insisted on having his census orders carried out (vv. 2–4). These stories depicting King David as making mistakes (the impaling of Saul’s family and the ill-fated census) together with the stories showing Abishai and Joab in a positive light stand in clear contrast to the attitude of the first author who wrote 62

For more details on Abishai’s status and his spying reconnaissance mission, see M. Garsiel, “The Water Retrieval Mission of David’s Three Warrior’s and its Relationship to the Battle of the Valley of Refaim”, in M. Heltzer and M. Malul (eds.), Teshurot LaAvishur: Studies in the Bible and the Ancient Near East, in Hebrew and Semitic Languages—A Festschrift Presented to Prof. Yitshaq Avishur on the Occasion of his 65th Birthday (Tel-Aviv-Jaffa, 2004), pp. 51– 62.

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the first version of David’s history denouncing time and again the two brothers, Joab and Abishai. This is of no surprise, since the earlier author came out of the circle of Nathan the Prophet and describes Nathan favorably in his support of Solomon, while denouncing Joab for his support of the rival Adonijah. The first author maintains his anti-Joab and anti-Abishai position in his book on David, whereas the second author, who opposes King Solomon’s harsh reign, grants the controversial brothers their glory in David’s service. Furthermore, in a later editorial stage in the book’s development, two psalms were added to the appendix (2 Sam chs. 22 and 23:1–7), the first of which extols the king for his triumph on his neighboring kingdoms. In my opinion, this psalm was designed to mitigate the impression of the earlier section that recounts the mortal danger that David was exposed to in his combat with the Philistine giant which so worried David’s troops. The other psalm (23:1–7) subsequently describes David’s war. But the text seems to be fragmentary and corrupt. In any event, this psalm mentions the everlasting treaty of David’s house (v. 5). Another psalm, attributed to Hannah, wishes that God “give power to His king and triumph to His anointed one” (1 Sam 2: 10). It is clear that the three psalms create a ring structure (inclusio) in the book by praising the king both in the beginning and the end of Samuel. It seems to me that these psalms, although ancient, were added to the book in a pro-monarchial editorial stage, probably as part of the Deuteronomistic editorial efforts, in the time of King Josiah.63 So these three stages of the book’s composition demonstrate an inter-textual dialectic debate between authors and editors who disagreed on the pros and cons of the monarchy in Israel.

IV. A summary of the Book’s Four Stage Development In light of the above analyses,64 one may conclude that the Book of Samuel was composed and edited in four stages, the first two of which were the main stages in which the book was created, developed and significantly changed. The later two stages were the transmission and editing processes that had much less of an influence on the book’s meaning and message. Let us summarize our suggestion of the four stages. In the first stage, a book about David was written, which described his life story beginning with his meteoric rise in King Saul’s court, continuing with his own kingdom and concluding with his old age and Solomon’s accession. This early book emphasized God’s providence and the principle of retribution. In this source, the prominent figures are rewarded or punished according to their deeds: David pays dearly for his illicit relations with Bathsheba, and Amnon, Absalom, Joab and Shimei lose their lives for their crimes. The source gives prominence to Nathan the Prophet, who promised David an eternal, dynastic kingship, but later chastised him for his adultery and murder in the Bathsheba transgression. However, later on, Nathan became an advisor to Bathsheba and Solomon, regarding them as victims of the king’s lust, and eventually his maneuvers brought Solomon to be David’s successor. In fact, the young king justified his accession by demonstrating his extraordinary judicial wisdom (1 Kgs 3). It seems to me that the author of this earlier story was 63 64

Cf. Weiser, op. cit. (note 13), p. 170. See also Garsiel, op. cit. (note 2); idem, op. cit. (note 21).

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one of Nathan’s disciples, which granted him easy access to archives and reliable testimonies of elderly eye-witnesses when he wrote his book in the early years of Solomon’s kingship. The second stage of the book’s composition occurred about three decades subsequently, in Solomon’s final years, when the bitter resentment against the king intensified due to his enormous building projects, his hedonistic lifestyle and the compulsory work he imposed on his population. Many people felt betrayed by the monarchy that had been adopted by their forefathers about three generations earlier. It seems likely that the second author came from the circle of sages and scribes who were very active in Solomon's time. This second author reshaped and enlarged the earlier version of his predecessor, by adding the stories of Eli, Samuel and some of Saul. In his additional material, the author created analogies and comparative structures which endowed his version a subtle anti-monarchial stand.65 This later author also added most of the ‘appendix’ units, which restore Joab and Abishai, describing both as heroes, even though Joab was a bitter rival to Nathan and Solomon. For the same reason, this author omits the stories about David’s last years and Solomon’s succession, in which Nathan the prophet had played a major role. The author prefers the rule of God over the kingdom of flesh and blood. In so doing, he actually opposes any dynastic and permanent leadership. In his anti-monarchial bias, Samuel the prophet was set up in the later version in subtle opposition to Nathan the prophet due to the latter’s pro-monarchial activity. The author probably was very cautious with his controversial book and produced only a few copies that he hid among entrusted friends or family members. The third stage: Over many years, both versions, the earlier and the later, existed simultaneously. They were passed down in two ways. In the first, scribes made a few more copies for small, literate groups. In the second stage, scribes who owned copies read it to the public or imparted it orally. In this stage, several errors entered the text and some stories were duplicated. The fourth stage: The author of the Book of Kings found the accounts of David’s old age in the earlier version of Samuel and he preserved them by utilizing the salvaged material as an opening for his book. The later version of the Book of Samuel was taken by the Deuteronomistic editors to serve as a transitional period between the periods of the Judges and the Monarchy. The earlier version was gradually neglected by those editors and disappeared. The Deuteronomistic editors inserted only minor changes in the Book of Samuel, often trying to make the narrative relevant, as demonstrated by the remark: “…that is how Ziklag came to belong to the kings of Judah, as is still the case” (1 Sam 27:7). Hence, the Book of Samuel still contains ancient and important historical material. However, the scholar should always keep in mind that the main purpose of this book (in both its earlier and final versions) is a theological and moral teaching aimed to demonstrate God’s providence and how He guides His people by means of various types of flesh-and-blood leaders who, from time to time, both succeeded as well as failed in carrying out their missions. These complex, inter-disciplinary characteristics demand from the biblical scholar that this book as well as other books of the Bible be explored in a thorough inter-disciplinary research.

65

See Garsiel, op. cit. (note 3), passim; idem, op. cit. (note 21).

GEOPOLITICAL ASPECTS OF THE NEGEV DESERT IN THE 11th–10th CENTURIES BCE MOTI HAIMAN Israel Antiquities Authority and Bar-Ilan University

The Negev desert in southern Israel is an arid desert where the natural conditions do not allow for subsistence; it includes very few natural water sources; the average annual rainfall is 100mm, considerably below 200mm annual rainfall, which is the minimum for grain growth; and there is limited agricultural land, mainly along wadi beds. Despite these conditions, 60 fortresses and hundreds of settlements of the Iron Age IIA are known todate in the Negev Highlands. They have a limited distribution, only ca. 2,0002km, comparing to ca. 30,0002–40,0002km of the Early Bronze Age II and IV settlements in this region.1 Most studies of this settlement related to its chronological and historical aspects, as well as to the nature and function of the fortresses—its dominant characteristic,2 while the environmental aspect has not received sufficient attention. Therefore, this article addresses aspects of the relationship of this Iron Age II settlement with its desert environment, such as water, agricultural potential, and more.3

1

Most Iron Age II sites were initially recorded in the framework of the Negev Emergency Survey conducted between 1979 and 1990 on behalf of the Israel Department of Antiquities. For the survey’s results, and bibliography see M. Haiman, “Preliminary Report of the Western Negev Highlands Emergency Survey”, IEJ 39 (1989), pp. 174–191. 2 N. Glueck, Rivers in the Desert (London, 1959); Y. Aharoni, “Iron Age Fortresses in the Negev”, IEJ 17 (1967), pp. 1–17; I. Finkelstein, “The Iron Age ‘Fortresses’ of the Negev Highlands: Sedentarization of the Nomads”, TA 11 (1984), pp. 189–209; Z. Meshel, “The ‘Aharoni Fortress’ Near Quseima and the ‘Israelite Fortresses’ in the Negev”, BASOR 294 (1994), pp. 39–67; R. Cohen and R. Cohen-Amin, Ancient Settlement of the Negev Highlands, II (IAA Reports, 20: Jerusalem, 2004), pp. 9–158. 3 The interpretation presented herein is based mainly on data presented in my two articles on environmental aspects of the Iron Age II in the Negev: M. Haiman, “Pastoralism and Agriculture in the Negev in the Iron Age II”, in B. Saidel and E. van der Steen (eds.), On the Fringe of Society: Archaeological and Ethnoarchaeological Perspectives on Pastoral and Agricultural Societies (BAR International Series 1657; Oxford, 2007), pp. 57–61; idem, “Water Sources and the Iron Age II Settlement Pattern in the Negev Desert”, in C. Ohlig, Y. Peleg and T. Tsuk (eds.), Cura Aquarum in Israel (Proceedings of the 11th International Conference on the History of Water Management and Hydraulic Engineering in the Mediterranean Region; Siegburg, 2002), pp. 23–31.

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Fig. 1. Map of the Iron Age IIA settlement in the Negev Highlands, selected fortresses: 1. Ḥorvat Raḥba; 2. Ḥorvat Refed; 3. Meṣad Ḥatira; 4. Atar Haro‘ah; 5. Meṣudat Naḥal Boqer; 6. Ḥorvat Mesora; 7. Meṣudat Ketef Shivta; 8. Meṣudat Har Raviv; 9. Meṣad Be’erotayim; 10. Meṣudat Qṣeima; 11. Ḥorvat Ḥaluqim; 12. Meṣudat Har ‘Arqov; 13. Meṣad Naḥal Ṣena; 14. Meṣudat Mishor Haruḥot; 15. Meṣudat Har Ḥemet; 16. Meṣad Naḥal Loṣ; 17. Meṣudat Borot Loṣ; 18. Meṣad Har Gizron; 19. Meṣudat Naḥal Ela; 20. Meṣudat Naḥal ‘Aqrab; 21. Meṣudat Sheluhaṭ Kadesh Barne‘a; 22. Meṣudat ‘Ein Qadis; 23. Meṣudat ‘Ein el-Qudeirat

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I. Water Supply The natural water sources in the area, such as ‘Ein el-Qudeirat and ‘Ein Qadis form a ring of sort around the Negev Highlands. The Iron Age IIA sites ignore the location of most of these natural water sources, and their builders rather preferred a limited area in the heart of the Negev Highlands, up to 15km from a natural water source. Thus they totally depended on cisterns (see Fig. 1). In the Early Bronze Age II and IV, for example, permanent settlements were situated next to water sources while temporary settlements were located at various distances from them. About 200 cisterns could be associated with the Iron Age IIA sites. These theoretically could have supplied the needs of the population. However, half of them are open cisterns, which cannot hold water for more than a few months annually. The distribution of the open cisterns shows a direct correlation between the number of cisterns per site and the distance of the site from a natural water source. In the area of Sede Boqer, about 8km away from a natural water source, there are seven structures per cistern (about 75cu/m per structure). The amount considerably exceeds the annual consumption of a family and its animals (about 20cu/m). At Ramat Matred, located 10km away from a natural water source, there were four structures per cistern, and in Mishor Haruḥot, up to 15km from a natural water source, three open cisterns per structure were found. Theoretically then, the open cisterns alone could have supplied enough drinking water for the entire population; however, the actual situation, as mentioned, was different. The reason is that in the Negev Highlands the rainfall regime is unstable, with frequent droughts (every other year or every third year). This situation, coupled with the phenomenon of localized rainfall, and the considerable differences in the amount of annual rainfall from one year to the next, means that the cisterns were not filled, or not filled to full capacity every year. In addition, in open cisterns, the rapid evaporation rate would cause the water table in the open cisterns to drop about 2.5m annually, in average. Thus, the open cisterns would probably not hold water beyond the beginning of summer. This is critical in areas that only have open cisterns, such as, for example the Mishor haruḥot area. Regarding the closed (roofed) rock-cut cisterns, these could have retained water the whole year-round. However, they are mostly associated with the fortresses, and it is unclear whether the inhabitants of the dwellings had access to them. The question of water supply for this entire settlement system, especially for the dwellings, thus remains an open question.4

II. Architectural Aspects A partial solution to the question of water supply can be found in the nature of the sites. Out of 1,200 structures found in the 300 sites, only 20% were of the type known in the north, built of large stones, up to 1m long, with columns and 1–4 elongated rooms of the kind that characterized four-room houses, which are always 4

See A. Negev, “Water in the Desert and the Nature of the Iron Age Fortresses in the Negev Uplands”, Cathedra 11 (1979), pp. 29–37 (Hebrew). For additional data see Haiman, ibid.

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found near cisterns. These settlements indeed can be considered permanent, and may reflect an actual population size of about 250 families (based on the assumption that each structure was inhabited by one family). A total of 80% of the structures were simple poorly-built circles, and mostly without connection to a cistern. These can be considered seasonal. Thus, most of the Negev Highlands sites were temporary sites reflecting no more than seasonal activity of farming and herding of the permanent settlers. The association between the permanent and temporary sites is based on the similarity between them in all aspects of material culture. In addition, there is a gradual change in the size of the sites as well as in the construction quality of the structures, as one moves south. The change is a function of the increasing distance from the margins of the sedentary land, and is not affected at all by the natural water sources. The largest settlements in the area, such as Atar Haro‘ah and Ḥurvat Ḥalukim5 are located in the northern distribution area, 8km away from a natural water source, while settlements found next to ‘Ein el-Qudeirat and ‘Ein Qadis are mainly seasonal and much smaller.6

III. Animal Husbandry About 400 animal pens found in the Negev Highland sites demonstrate that the inhabitants were intensively engaged in sheep and goat husbandry. The floor area of the pens is estimated in 45,000m2, which could accommodate ca. 22,000 animals. Assuming that many of the pens reflect seasonal herding by inhabitants of the permanent settlements, the number of the animals is probably a third of this figure, about 7,000, or about 20–30 animals per family. This is close to the size of the average herd of present-day Bedouin families in the southern Negev and the Sinai.7 I will return to this issue after presenting the aspect of agriculture.

IV. Agriculture Considerable evidence of agricultural activity was found at the Negev Highland sites: an abundance of sickle blades, silos and threshing floors8. This raises the question of the availability of agricultural land, since the only arable plots in the region are the wadi beds. Although terraced wadis have been dated to this period,9 this 5

Cohen and Amin-Cohen, op. cit. (note 2), pp. 34–48, 41–45. M. Haiman, “Archaeological Survey of the Kadesh Barnea Vicinity”, in R. Cohen and H. Bernick-Greenberg, Excavations at Kadesh Barnea, Part 1 (IAA Reports 34/1; Jerusalem, 2007), pp. 309–319. 7 I. Baily, “The Bedouins in Sinai”, in E. Zohar (ed.), The Desert, Past-Present-Future (TelAviv, 1977), pp. 240–247 (Hebrew); A. Abu-Rabia, The Negev Bedouin Livestock Rearing (Oxford, 1992), pp. 25–41. 8 For the abundance of finds concerning agricultural activity as recorded in surveys and excavations see Haiman, op. cit. (note 3), pp. 59–60; Cohen and Amin-Cohen, op. cit. (note 2), pp. 151–153. This phenomenon was totally ignored by R. Shahack-Gross and I. Finkelstein, “Subsistence Practices in an arid environment: a Geoarchaeological Investigation in an Iron Age site, The Negev Highlands, Israel”, JAS 35 (2008), pp. 965–982. 9 J. H. Bruins, Desert Environment and Agriculture in the Central Negev and Kadesh Barnea during Historical Periods (Nijkerk, 1985); idem, “Radiocarbon Dating the ‘Wilderness of 6

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dating cannot be substantiated. In addition, the surveys demonstrate that many Iron Age sites were not located near terraced wadis. But in any case, it seems that the problem of sustaining agriculture did not stem from the extent of land available for cultivation, but rather in growing grains in a desert environment, with an average of 80mm annual rainfall. This means that in years of drought, staples, such as grains, must have been brought from the north. Taking all the above into consideration it is clear that in the Negev Highlands sites subsistence based on local resources alone was very limited. Even seasonal activities like herding and agriculture, which one would expect to have been conducted over a much more extensive area in order to increase the exploitation of the limited resources, do not exceed the immediate area of the fortresses. The proximity to the fortresses was preferred over a better exploitation of the natural resources. When other attributes of this settlement are considered, such as the limited geographical distribution in the Negev Highlands, and its short duration (mostly only Iron Age IIA), it is clear that other considerations, not connected with the exploitation of the environment for subsistence, caused this population to migrate into the desert.10

V. Origins and Chronology The settlement type of the Negev Highlands, comprising a fortress, dwelling structures and installations, emerged in the sedentary land to the north at the end of the 11th century BCE. Cases in which such settlements were built over sites from an earlier stage of the Iron Age are for example Tel Masos I, Giloh, ‘Izbet S art ah, Kh. Talil and more.11 The distribution areas were inter-city and frontier areas and they continued to exist until the end of the Iron Age.12 On the basis of the similarity between the settlement Zin’”, Radiocarbon 49 (2007), pp. 481–497. 10 For the nature of the population, see Cohen and Cohen-Amin, op. cit. (note 2), pp. 157– 158, and cf. Shahack-Gross and Finkelstein, op. cit. (note 8), pp. 979–982. 11 V. Fritz and A. Kempinski, Ergebnisse der Ausgrabungen Hirbet ‘El-Msas (Tel Masos) 1972–1975 (Wiesbaden, 1983); A. Mazar, “Jerusalem and its Vicinity in the Iron I”, in I. Finkelstein and N. Na’aman (eds.), From Nomadism to Monarchy (Jerusalem, 1986), pp. 70– 91; for the analysis of the above mentioned sites see M. Haiman, “The 10th Century B.C. Settlement in the Negev Highlands and Iron Age Rural Palestine”, in A. Maeir, S. Dar and Z. Safrai (eds.), The Rural Landscape of Ancient Israel (BAR International Series 1121; Oxford, 2003), pp. 71–90. 12 F. M. Cross and J. T. Milik, “Exploration in the Judaean Buqe‘ah”, BASOR 142 (1956), pp. 5-17; P. Bar-Adon, “The Judaean Desert and Plain of Jericho”, in M. Kochavi (ed.), Judaea, Samaria and the Golan, Archaeological Survey, 1967–1968 (Archaeological Survey of Israel; Jerusalem, 1972), pp. 92–149; L. E. Stager, “Farming in the Judaean Desert during the Iron Age”, BASOR 221 (1976), pp 145–158; Y. Beit-Arieh, “Horvat Uzza — A Border Fortress in the Eastern Negev”, Qadmoniot 73–74 (1986), pp. 31–40 (Hebrew); A. Mazar, “Iron Age Fortresses in the Judaean Hills”, PEQ 114 (1982), pp. 90–103; A. Biran and R. Cohen, “Aro‘er in the Negev”, EI 15 (1981), pp. 250–273 (Hebrew with English summary); A. Faust, “The Rural Community in Ancient Israel During Iron Age II”, BASOR 317 (2000), pp. 17–39; I. Maitlis, Agricultural Settlement in the Vicinity of Jerusalem (M.A. thesis, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1989; Hebrew).

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in the Negev and that in the north, it is suggested that the Negev settlements exemplify an expansion from the north (though the Negebite pottery in the Negev sites— ca. 30% of the pottery assemblage on average—is a local phenomenon). As clearly shown by several studies, the pottery in the Negev sites under discussion clearly dates to Iron IIA,13 namely the 10th century BCE according to the traditional ‘high’ chronology. Ceramic indications for this date are, for example, the total absence of late Philistine pottery on the one hand and the occurrence of ‘Black Juglets’ and ‘Cypro-Phoenician’ pottery (Cypriot Black-on-Red) on the other. All these sites seem to have been of short duration. It seems that the new body of 14C determinations from the Negev sites, mainly serve to increase the existing disagreement regarding the absolute chronology of these sites, since they range from the 11th to the 9th centuries BCE (all relate to sites with the same pottery assemblage).14 Disagreement also exists regarding the dating of the so called ‘Midianite’ (Quraya) pottery unearthed at the Tell el-Qudeirat fortress. Traditionally, this pottery was dated to the 13th–12th centuries BCE, based on the excavations at Timna. However, based on the occurrence of this ware in the Kadesh Barne‘a fortress in Iron IIA contexts (Stratum 4), it has been suggested that, following the ‘high’ Iron Age chronology it continued to exist till the 10th century BCE.15 The ceramic finds at the Negev Highlands sites and Shishak’s list, which men-tions 70 sites in the Negev,16 define a chronological framework for the Negev settlement, from the end of the 11th century BCE to 925 BCE. It seems that even the dating fluctuation suggested by the 14C determinations gradually converge to the same period.17 In a recently published article, the authors presented a series of 14C 13 Z. Meshel, The Negev in the Time of the Judaean Kings (Unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, Tel Aviv University, 1974; Hebrew); Cohen-Anim in Cohen and Cohen-Amin, op. cit. (note 2), pp. 121–141; A. Gilboa, A. J. T. Jull, I. Sharon and E. Boaretto, “Notes on 14C Dates from Tell el-Qudeirat (Kadesh Barnea)”, TA 36 (2009), pp. 82–94. An earlier relative date for the Kadesh Barne‘a fortress (Stratum 4 there) was suggested by L. Singer-Avitz, “The Earliest Settlement at Kadesh Barnea”, TA 35 (2008), pp. 73–81; I. Finkelstein, “Kadesh Barnea: A Reevaluation of Its Archaeology and History”, TA 37 (2010), pp. 111–125. These, however, do not stand close scrutiny. 14 E. Boaretto, I. Finkelstein and R. Shahack-Gross, “Radiocarbon Results from the Iron IIA Site of Atar Haroa in the Negev Highlands and Their Archaeological and Historical Implications”, Radiocarbon 52 (2010), pp. 1–12; H. J. Bruins and J. van der Plicht, “Desert Settlement through the Iron Age: Radiocarbon Dates from Sinai and the Negev Highlands”, in T. E. Levy and T. Higham (eds.), The Bibleand Radiocarbon Dating: Archaeology, Text and Science (London, 2005), pp. 349–366. For ‘high’ dates from Kadesh Barnea, Stratum 4, see Gilboa, Jull, Sharon and Boaretto, ibid. 15 B. Rothenberg, The Egyptian Mining Temple at Timna (London, 1988), pp. 92–99; idem, personal communication; Cohen-Amin in Cohen and Cohen-Amin, op. cit. (note 2), p 141: Cohen and Bernick-Greenberg, op. cit. (note 6); Gilboa, Jull, Sharon and Boaretto, op. cit. (note 13). Earlier dates are suggested by Singer-Avitz, op. cit. (note 13), pp. 73–81; Finkelstein, op. cit. (note 13), pp. 111–125. 16 B. Mazar, The Early Biblical Period: Historical Studies (Jerusalem, 1986), pp. 139–150; S. Aḥituv, Canaanite Toponyms in Ancient Egyptian Documents (Jerusalem – Leiden, 1984). 17 H. J. Bruins, and J. van der Plicht, “Desert Settlement through the Iron Age: Radiocarbon Dates from Sinai and the Negev Highlands”, in T. E. Levy and T. Higham (eds.), The Bible and Radiocarbon Dating: Archaeology, Text and Science (London, 2005), pp. 349–366; Gilboa, Jull, Sharon and Boaretto, op. cit. (note 13), pp. 82–94.

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datings from the Atar Haro‘ah site, ranging from the end of the 11th century BCE to the 9th Century BCE.18

VI. Conclusions As demonstrated above, the locations of the Negev Highlands sites are not compatible with those of natural water sources, the main environmental factor in the desert. Studies of contemporary Bedouin economy in these harsh regions show that they do indeed engage in the traditional occupations of pastoralism and agriculture. These, however, are of secondary importance only. The main source of subsistence derives from the connection with permanent settlers the Bedouin also prefer the proximity to permanent settlements over proximity to water sources. Moving back to the Iron Age, the abundant evidence of pastoralism and agriculture in the Negev sites does not necessarily mean that they subsisted on those traditional economies. Preferring proximity to fortresses over vital environmental conditions leads to an explanation based on specific geopolitical conditions. Examination of emergent settlements in the desert in other periods demonstrates that desert sites were always part of a larger system, the principal location of which was in one of the sedentary regions bordering on the desert; they did not exist on their own. This is the case, for example, regarding the Early Bronze Age IV settlements, or the Nabatean ones. The origin of all these settlements is easily recognizable by their material culture. The Iron Age IIA settlement in the Negev desert is totally different from that attested for most of the 2nd millennium BCE (see Fig. 2). The latter reflects the order and activities dictated by the interests of the Egyptian Empire: including mines, and administrative and other centers along the coastal road, probably existing up to about the mid-12th century BCE.19 In my view, the renewal of the settlement in the Negev reflects the changes in the geopolitical conditions around the desert. It reflects the needs of the United Monarchy of Israel in the 10th century BCE, in response to potential and actual threats along its southern border by Egypt and Edom. A system of fortified frontier settlements in the Negev Highlands could have served as a barrier between Egypt and Edom, in order to prevent the establishment of a joint front in the south.20 These geopolitical conditions, necessitating an Israelite presence in the Negev Highlands, prevailed for 50 years, from ca. 975 to 925 BCE. Thus, this ‘impossible’ settlement in the Negev was a provisional one, dictated by political rather than environmental considerations, and could only have existed as long as the specific geopolitical circumstances prevailed. When conditions changed following Shishak’s campaign, the settlements were abandoned and the settlement moved northeastward to the Be’er Sheva valley. 18

Boaretto, Finkeltsein and Shahack-Gross, op. cit. (note 14). On the Egyptian presence in Sinai and the Negev during these periods see B. Rothenberg, Sinai (Brene, 1979), pp. 137–180; E. Oren, “Land Bridge between Asia and Africa”, in Rothenberg, op. cit. (note 15), pp. 181–200. 20 For a similar idea see A. Faust, “The Negev ‘Fortresses’ in Context: Reexamining the ‘Fortresses’ Phenomenon in Light of General Settlement Processes of the 11th–10th Centuries BCE”, JAOS 126 (2006), pp. 135–160. 19

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This may explain the construction of Be’er Sheva, Stratum V and the fortress of ‘Arad. The Kingdom of Judah reclaimed the fortress of Tell el-Qudeirat between the 8th and the 6th centuries BCE,21 but without settlements connecting it to the sedentary lands. In that stage of the late Iron Age the entire desert became a theatre of fortresses only, reflecting a balance between the countries around the Negev desert, until the next disturbance in the early 6th century BCE.

Fig. 2: Map of the Sinai and Negev Deserts. The stars represent Egyptian fortresses and other positions in the 13th–11th centuries BCE. The circle marks the boundaries of the 10th century BCE settlement in the Negev Highlands.

21

Cohen and Bernick-Greenberg, op. cit. (note 6), pp. 13–17.

JORDAN IN THE IRON I AND IIA PERIODS LARRY G. HERR Canadian University College

I. Introduction The Iron I to IIA periods have been, until recently, something of a dark age. Early surveys often assumed settlement patterns and ceramic development should be like those west of the Jordan River and misdated some types of pottery to this period in order to fill out the period as they assumed it should be. Unfortunately, this has happened in some localities even as late as the early 1990s. Thus, Iron I readings among the results of archaeological surveys, such as those of Glueck, should always be treated with utmost care, if at all.1 There have also been very few substantial excavations at sites that contain Iron I levels. Further, when excavated sites have produced Iron I discoveries, they are often exposed in small areas in which coherent archaeological interpretations cannot be supported, such as Sahab.2 Or, even more problematic, the Iron I levels have been largely destroyed by later constructions, such as Hisban.3 We may divide the Iron I sites in Jordan into two principal groups: those in the Jordan Valley and those in the highlands. The sites in the Jordan Valley seem to reflect a more prosperous lifestyle and contain a material culture that is oriented more toward the west than sites on the plateau. However, like the Valley sites, prominent LB sites on the plateau more-or-less continued to exist into the Iron I period, although with significant changes in finds usually connected with social and economic systems. Recent research has tended to emphasize the ‘tribal’ nature of settlement and sedentarization in the highlands, while more established urban connections seem to have existed for the Valley sites. At the risk of appearing simplistic, clustered settlement patterns in the highlands may reflect tribal groups or confederacies as they began the settlement process at different paces in different areas, but these groups were never static and interacted with each other in fluid ways.4 As is well known, Egyptian sources for the Late Bronze Age and early Iron Age mention a people group called Shasu, apparently nomads from a region that included southern Jordan. The only other textual sources relevant to this period are later re1

P. Bienkowski and R. Adams, “The Beginning of the Iron Age in Edom: A Reply to Finkelstein”, Levant 24 (1992), pp. 149–172. 2 M. M. Ibrahim, “Siegel und Siegelbrücke aus Sahab”, ZDPV 99 (1983), pp. 43–53. 3 P. J. Ray, Hesban 6: Tell Hesban and Vicinity in the Iron Age (Berrien Springs, MI 2001). 4 Ø. S. LaBianca and R. W. Younker, “The Kingdoms of Ammon, Moab and Edom: The Archaeology of Society in Late Bronze/Iron Age Transjordan (ca. 1400–500 BCE)”, in T. E. Levy (ed.), The Archaeology of Society in the Holy Land (London, 1995), pp. 399–415.

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ports and/or remembrances in biblical sources. These include stories of the origins of the Aramaeans, Ammonites, Moabites, Edomites, and ancient Israelites. Among them are the defeat of Sihon the King of Heshbon (Num 21), the victory over King Og in a battle that mentions his astounding iron bed (Deut 3:1–11), a series of wars between Israel and the Transjordanian people-groups over control of the territories east of the Jordan River (e.g. the Jephthah story in Judges 11), and even battles that occurred to the west (e.g. the stories of Ehud against the Moabites in Judg 3 and Gideon against the Midianites in Judg 6–8). Of course, the stories of King David’s consolidation of power over Transjordan and his battle with Rabbat Ammon are well known from the Book of Samuel. All these sources certainly reflect interactions among the various people groups as they sorted out who they were and how they could best support themselves in a dynamic region. The settlement process in the highlands was not constant. Regions with high agricultural potential were generally settled first. Thus, northern areas (north of the Wadi az-Zarqa) continued from LB settlements; the central areas (from the Wadi azZarqa to the Wadi al-Mujib) also continued from LB settlements or founded new ones near the beginning of the period; the south-central areas (between the Wadi alMujib and the Wadi al-Hasa) were first settled seriously during the 11th to 10th centuries BCE, the Iron I/Iron IIA transition; and the southern areas (south of the Hasa) do not seem to have been settled clearly until the Iron IIB period. Routledge has produced an important list of features describing the Iron I period as a contrast to previous periods.5 I summarize them (in part) here: (1) the collapse of pan-Mediterranean trade systems; (2) disappearance of palaces and temples with a more egalitarian demography; (3) disappearance of Egyptian hegemony; (4) collapse of the Hittite Empire; (5) the proliferation of pillared houses and the rise of the domestic nature of settlements; (6) increase of sites in the highlands; (7) episodic occupational patterns (short-term occupation with disruptions). Much progress has occurred recently on the pottery of Jordan during the Iron I period, allowing us to re-date older excavated materials. Unfortunately, this has resulted in a net loss of sites rather than gain, because early surveys and small excavations tended to suggest pottery was Iron I when it really was Iron II (below). No attempt has been made here to isolate all survey sites which have produced Iron I pottery. Indeed, we must reduce significantly the number of Iron I sites many surveys have purported to identify. Even those that I retain in my lists contain probable questionable entries. I have tried to follow the new spelling conventions for Jordanian sites (but without diacriticals) from the Royal Geographic Society which have been adopted by the Department of Antiquities, but in cases where no example occurs, the old spelling is retained; I have also used popular classical site names, such as Pella. Question marks following a site name suggest that I am uncertain about the inclusion of that site. Because Tall al-‘Umayri has produced such important finds from the Iron I period and it is the site I know best, I have used it heavily in the following discussion. For the locations of the sites mentioned below, see the maps on the inside covers of The New Encyclopedia of Archaeological Excavations in the Holy Land.

5

B. Routledge, Moab in the Iron Age: Hegemony, Polity, Archaeology (Philadelphia, 2004), chapter 5.

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II. The Late Bronze Age/Iron I Transition This sub-period is necessary in any discussion of the Iron I period in the Jordanian highlands, because many sites seem to contain a ceramic horizon which contains forms with strong LB tendencies, but also forms that reflect the very beginning stages of the Iron I assemblage. Moreover, this assemblage is associated with settlements of a completely different nature than what went before during the LBA. Unfortunately, not all the sites discussed below have been extensively excavated or clearly published. Others have finds limited to tombs. Several sites on the northern and central parts of the plateau seem to have continued from the Late Bronze Age (Abila?, Amman, the Baq‘ah Valley, Umm adDananir, Fukhar, Irbid, Jarash, Safut?, Sahab [if the tomb reflects a contemporary settlement], and ‘Umayri.6 One new site near Zarqa, Kh. Russayfa (excavated by R. Ghrayib), contains collared pithoi exactly like those at ‘Umayri, the type site for this period. I saw two pithoi on display at the Department of Antiquities office in Zarqa (thanks to Jihad Haroun, then the district inspector). At first glimpse, the continuity of many of the sites with the Late Bronze Age suggests a peaceful transition, at least in the north and central plateau. A similar picture obtains for the Jordan Valley at Pella and Sa‘idiya, as well (Dayr ‘Alla seems to have been uninhabited at this point). However, at ‘Umayri, for instance, there was a complete change in town plan (below) from public structures in the LBA to private houses in this transitional period. Many of the finds on the plateau come from tombs (Amman, Sahab, the Baq‘a Valley, Sahem, and Madaba); fragmentary architectural remains are reported for Abila?, Hisban, Irbid, and Jarash; isolated and/or secondary pottery finds seem to come from ‘Ara‘ir, Dananir?, Rujum al-Hinu?, Safut?, Jalul, and Jawa south. The finds at Hisban include a long trench cut into bedrock, possibly a deep, narrow moat at the edge of the hilltop.7 Preliminary reports from Irbid indicate a very thick destruction level (up to four meters thick) which covered the city wall, a tower, and a two-storied public building that contained cultic vessels.8 The excavators of Lahun suggest the site was founded during the Transitional period,9 but very little pottery has been published so far.10 The pottery published by Swinnen could date anytime in the Iron I period, but the bi-conical jug illustrated in the paper by Homès-Fredericq is very similar to one found at ‘Umayri.11 Excava6

For a bibliography of these listed sites see the lists in L. G. Herr and M. Najjar, “The Iron Age”, in B. MacDonald, R. Adams, and P. Bienkowski (eds.), The Archaeology of Jordan (Sheffield, 2001), pp. 323–345. 7 Ray, op. cit. (note 3). 8 C. J. Lenzen, “Tell Irbid and Its Context: A Problem in Archaeological Interpretation”, BN 42 (1988), pp. 27–35. 9 D. Homès-Fredericq, Lehun et la voie royale (Brussels, 1997). 10 A few have been published in I. M. Swinnen, “The Iron Age I Settlement and Its Residential Houses at al-Lahun in Moab, Jordan”, BASOR 354 (2009), pp. 29–53; and D. Homès-Fredericq, “The Iron Age II Fortress of al-Lahun (Moab)”, in P. Bienkowski (ed.), Studies on Iron Age Moab and Neighbouring Areas in Honour of Michèle Daviau (Leuven, 2009), p. 173. 11 D. R. Clark, “Field B: The Western Defense System”, in L. G. Herr et al. (eds), Madaba Plains Project 2: The 1987 Season at Tell el-‘Umeiri and Vicinity and Subsequent Studies

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tions have discovered an extensive town and have exposed a casemate wall and four-room houses which are sometimes pillared.12 But possibly over 50 houses existed at the shallow site where the tops of walls are visible on the surface. The best preserved remains so far come from ‘Umayri.13 The defensive system (Fig. 1) included a dry moat cut out of the original ridge upon which the site was founded (Fig. 1:14); a retaining wall (Fig. 1:12) supporting a massive rampart which repaired a crack in bedrock probably caused by an earthquake (Fig. 1:9); and a defensive perimeter wall surrounding the site at the top of the rampart (Fig. 1:8), which has been traced for approximately 70m. The perimeter wall curves into the city (Fig. 2) and then continues to the south.

Fig. 1: A sketch of the section through the Middle Bronze Age and Transitional LB/Iron I fortification system at Tall al-‘Umayri

Inside the perimeter wall were the remains of three houses (Fig. 2). Building B, the northernmost house, was preserved over two meters high in places by a massive brick destruction layer which fell from the upper story of the building. It was a pillared four-room house with post bases separating the long rooms. The broad room, which used the perimeter wall as its back wall, contained around 80 collared pithoi literally crammed into every available space on the surface of the room and also filling the collapsed debris from the upper story (Figs. 3–5). Another building to the south contained five or six more collared pithoi in the broad room (Building A). In a paved area in front of the back room was a standing stone with a single-stone votive (Berrien Springs, MI 1991), pp. 64; idem, “Field B: The Western Defense System”, in G. Herr, et al. (eds), Madaba Plains Project 4: The 1992 Season at Tall al-‘Umayri and Vicinity and Subsequent Studies (Berrien Springs, MI 2000), p. 82. 12 Homès-Fredericq, op. cit. (note 9); Swinnen, op. cit. (note 10). 13 L. G. Herr and D. R. Clark, “Madaba Plains Project: Excavations at Tall al-‘Umayri, 2004”, ADAJ 49 (2005), pp. 245–260.

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altar or table in front, but in the nearby courtyard were domestic remains, suggesting a house with a small shrine. Another house was just beginning to appear to the south of Building A during the 2008 season, but reports from the 2010 season suggest that two small houses filled the space between Building A and the east-west portion of the perimeter wall.14

Fig. 2: The perimeter wall and adjacent houses from the Transitional LB/Iron I period at Tall al-‘Umayri. The drawing reflects the remains up to the 2006 season

The best parallels to the pottery and objects from these structures are found mostly in the highland regions north of Jerusalem and range from pottery to potters’ marks to seals. Especially striking are the seals and potters’ marks from Mount Ebal15 and a late 13th century collared pithos from Beth Shean16 that is almost an exact copy of the majority of our vessels.17 The limited assemblage of the finds suggests a simple 14

http://www.mppumayri.org/weekly-reports.htm?y =2010&w=5. A. Zertal, “An Early Iron Age Cultic Site on Mount Ebal: Excavation Seasons 1982–1987”, TA 13–14 (1987), pp. 105–165. 16 N. Panitz-Cohen, “The Local Canaanite Pottery”, in N. Panitz-Cohen and A. Mazar (eds), Excavations at Tel Beth-Shean, 1989–1996, Volume III: The 13th–11th Century BCE Strata in Areas N and S (Jerusalem, 2009), p. 297. 17 Compare some of our published examples in D. Clark, “Field B: The Western Defense System”, in L. G. Herr et al. (eds), Madaba Plains Project 5: The 1994 Season at Tall al‘Umayri and Subsequent Studies (Berrien Springs, MI 2002), pp. 78–91; many more will be forthcoming in MPP 6, the 1996 and 1998 seasons. 15

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economic system, possibly brought about by tribal groups beginning a lengthy sedentarization process in the highland areas of Jordan. Although the site was also occupied earlier near the end of the Late Bronze Age, the material culture of this settlement (Stratum 12) was nothing like that of the LB level (Stratum 14), which included a large public building, either a palace or a temple.18 A major catalyst of this initial settlement, and perhaps its destruction, may have been frictions arising from the north-south trade routes.

Fig. 3: Tall al-‘Umayri: Bottoms of collared pithoi in the surface of the broad room of the four-room house

In the Jordan Valley, the most important site is Pella, but the published remains are incomplete.19 The large and rich cemetery at Sa‘idiya with LB IIB and Iron I pottery and other objects suggests a significant town or city there.20 Indeed, recent excavations have uncovered tantalizing hints of its existence, but the exposure is small. The Jordan Valley sites generally produced finds of a more varied and luxurious repertoire than the plateau sites. No certain discoveries from this period have been found south of the Wadi Mujib in excavations or surveys. Early published reports of surveys may have attributed a few sites to the Transitional period, but almost all the sherds involved can be shown to derive from later periods, such as late Iron I or even Iron II. 18

L. G. Herr and D. R. Clark, “From the Stone Age to the Middle Ages in Jordan: Digging up Tall al-‘Umayri”, NEA 72 (2009), pp. 68–97. 19 S. J. Bourke, “Pre-Classical Pella in Jordan: A Conspectus of Ten Years’ Work”, PEQ 129 (1997), pp. 94–115. 20 J. N. Tubb et al., “Interim Report on the Eighth (1995) Season of Excavations at Tell esSa‘idiyeh”, PEQ 128 (1996), pp. 16–40.

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Fig. 4: Painting of the four-room house at Tall al-‘Umayri.

Fig. 5: Reconstruction of pithoi from the broad room of the four-room house at Tall al-‘Umayri in the lab at Walla Walla University (Photo by Robert Bates)

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III. Iron I (12th-11th Centuries) There are no clear settlements in Jordan that seem to go smoothly from the Transitional period to the main part of Iron I, the late-12th to 11th centuries BCE. Several sites saw new settlements: Abu al-Kharaz, Dayr ‘Alla, Mazar?, and Nimrin in the Jordan Valley; and ‘Amman, Balu‘, Dhiban, Hajjar, ‘Iraq al-‘Amir?, Mudayna ‘Ulya, Mudayna Mu‘arraja, Mu‘mmariyya, Rujm al-Malfuf south, Sahab, and ‘Umayri on the plateau, and possibly Nahas in the Arabah. This suggests there was dynamic sedentary activity after a disruption. Some sites in both areas were settled only after a destruction level: Pella VII and ‘Umayri 11 are the clearest examples. But most sites have not produced clearly published results for us to be sure if such a relationship extended to other sites. Indeed, many sites have produced only pottery in secondary deposits (and then often not very much): ‘Amman, Balu‘, Dhiban, probably ‘Iraq al-‘Amir, Jarash, and Rujm al-Malfuf south; others have produced only fragmentary remains: Abila?, ‘Ara‘ir, Hajjar, Hisban, Mazar?, Nimrin, Pella VII, Safut?, and Nahas?. So far, Madaba was limited to a burial, though recent reports suggest remains have been excavated on the tell.21 Other sites were excavated when Iron Age I pottery in Jordan was not known very well and I question their attribution when the pottery is not published: ‘Ara‘ir, Rujm al-Malfuf south, and Safut. This period includes several sub-phases of activity which overlap throughout the period. Not all the sites were contemporary and some sites probably had more than one phase of occupation, such as Lahun22 and ‘Umayri.23 This ‘episodic’ settlement pattern, typical of frontier regions, cannot yet be sorted clearly into a sequential order. On the northern plateau, Fukhar seems to continue, reusing the LB palace,24 while Abila may have extended into this time period, as well.25 The Philistine sherd found at Fukhar is still the only one so far discovered on the plateau. Phase 1 at Irbid, which lasted into Iron IIB, included a rebuilt city wall and domestic buildings associated with an industrial installation, that the excavators suggest was for wine.26 In central areas of the plateau the large amounts of pottery from all sub-periods of Iron I suggest that Hisban continued from the Transitional period into the middle of the Iron I period and down into Iron IIA, although the pottery comes only from a secondary fill in the large trench.27 A massive destruction at ‘Umayri separates the Transitional period (Stratum 12) from this one (Stratum 11). A storeroom was built on top of the bricky destruction of Stratum 12.28 Then at least 18 collared pithoi were embedded in the fallen bricks (Fig. 6 shows an example of one of these vessels). In the southern part of the site, an open-air sanctuary was constructed and 21

D. Foran, personal communication. Homès-Fredericq, op. cit. (note 9). 23 Herr and Clark, op. cit. (note 17). 24 J. Strange, “Tall al-Fukhar 1990–91: A Preliminary Report”, SHAJ 6 (1997), pp. 399–406. 25 W. H. Mare, “The Abila Excavation: The Seventh Campaign at Abila of the Decapolis”, NEASB 37 (1992), pp. 10–18. 26 Lenzen, op. cit. (note 8). 27 Ray, op. cit. (note 3). 28 Herr and Clark, op. cit. (note 17). 22

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paved with cobbles and plaster.29 It lasted until the late Iron II period. On one of the lowest floors was a model shrine (Fig. 7). In the southern areas of the site in at least three separate fields, several walls were constructed of very large stones (some are over two meters long). The lowest earth layers sealing against them date to this period.

Fig. 6: Rims of two Iron I pithoi from Tall al-‘Umayri; the top one comes from the broad room of House B of Stratum 12; the bottom example comes from a storeroom above the Stratum 12 destruction and belongs to Stratum 11—it is typologically later than the form from Stratum 12

29

Idem, ibid.

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Fig. 7: The reconstructed model shrine found in an open sanctuary at Tall al-‘Umayri

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The Iron I pottery from Sahab was virtually identical to that from ‘Umayri at this time.30 Of special interest are the seal impressions on the rims of many of the Sahab collared pithoi.31 This is a feature not apparent at other sites in Jordan, but one of our typically late Iron I pithoi was stamped with a seal. None of the house plans at Sahab were complete, but enough was uncovered to characterize the rooms as rectangular and mostly paved with flagstones. Other central plateau sites were probably new. That is, although they may have had an occasional earlier tomb, the pottery published from the site lacks Transitional forms but matches the later assemblages: Madaba has begun to produce Iron I pottery and fragmentary walls.32 Amman (incoherent walls) and Safut (also without published pottery) may have also been new. Certainly, new sites were constructed at Hajjar (a farm or tower, but no published pottery), ‘Iraq al-‘Amir town (fills and a possible fortification wall), and Rujum al-Malfuf south (the pottery is unpublished). A few potsherds from the period have been published from Dhiban.33 The unnamed site near Khirbat as-Suq is atop the forested hills on the western fringes of the town almost immediately beneath high-tension wires. It is about 1–2km south of Yaduda and was discovered by the Madaba Plains Project survey team (not yet published). Toward the end of this period settlements were appearing in the Kerak region at two very similar sites, Mudayna-‘Ulya and Mudayna-Mu‘arraja.34 Because the ruins are prominently visible on the surface, it is easy to describe the house plans, city walls, towers, town gates, dry moats severing the sites from neighbouring hills, and the roadways approaching the sites. Four-room houses are visible and are sometimes preserved as high as the lintels spanning the doors.35 In some cases large slabs of stone are still visible spanning the rooms of the houses with a corbelling technique. Possibly as many as 35 houses existed at Mu‘arraja. The pottery from the excavations at both sites seems to date to the late-11th century, perhaps going into the 10th century, as well. Similar pottery has been published from Balu‘.36 A nicely preserved citadel has recently been excavated at Mu‘mmiyya.37 Because these excavated sites tend to be limited to the edges of the plateau, overlooking the Wadi Mujib, one should probably expect a few other sites to turn up in more central areas, probably well hidden beneath later remains. No Iron I settlements have been excavated on the plateau south of the Wadi alHasa. Various surveys claim to have discovered pottery at several sites. Some of the published ‘Iron I’ pottery assemblages from surveys prior to the 1990s, however, seem to contain mostly Iron II forms. One suggested Iron I site was actually exca30

Personal observation of the pottery in the Sahab storeroom thanks to M. Ibrahim. M. M. Ibrahim, “Siegel und Siegelbrücke aus Sahab”, ZDPV 99 (1983), pp. 43–53. 32 D. Foran, personal communication. 33 F. V. Winnett and W. L Reed, Excavations at Dibon (Dhiban) in Moab (Annual of the American Schools of Oriental Research 36–37; New Haven, CT 1964). 34 B. Routledge, “Seeing through Walls: Interpreting Iron Age I Architecture at Khirbat alMudayna al-‘Aliya”, BASOR 319 (2000), pp. 37–70; E. Olávarri, “Sondeo Arqueologico in Khirbet Medeineh junto a Smakieh (Jordania)”, ADAJ 22 (1978), pp. 136–149. 35 Routledge, op, cit. (note 5). 36 U. Worschech and F. Ninow, “Preliminary Report on the Third Campaign at the Ancient Site of el-Balu‘ in 1991”, ADAJ 38 (1994), pp. 195–203. 37 F. Ninow, “The 2005 Soundings at Khirbat al-Mu‘mmariyya in the Greater Wadi al-Mujib Area”, ADAJ 50 (2006), pp. 147–156. 31

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vated to test the survey results, but the team discovered only Iron II remains.38 All this suggests that there was only an extremely sparse settled population. The Jordan Valley site of Pella continued from the earlier period, but the wall fragments are not as yet easily interpreted. Remains at Sa‘idiya may lead to an entrance to the stepped structure, excavated by Pritchard, which descended to the water source at the foot of the site.39 A large residency or administrative complex, possibly with Egyptian connections, was also found there. Three major sites began or were resettled at this time: Abu al-Kharaz, Dayr ‘Alla, and Mazar. There may have been a citadel at Abu al-Kharaz, but the initial report has not been pursued in later seasons of excavation.40 At Dayr ‘Alla Phases A to G or H all belong to the Iron I period.41 The first four phases (A-D) include a large bronze-smith’s workshop, including huge ovens, on top of the LB sanctuary.42 These first four phases probably date to the 12th century. Nearby deposits of clay were used for molds and the metal was fired in a large oven. Some of the painted pottery has been connected with Philistine ware. The excavators suggest Phase C ended in an earthquake. Phases EG/H were characterized by a much denser settlement, but with walls often only one brick wide and founded on a layer of reeds. Phase H produced a major building of uncertain use. At Mazar, on the lower mound, toward the end of the period, an open court sanctuary was constructed with three rooms at the end of a large courtyard. The pottery (much of which was found together outside the door to one of the rooms) dates to the end of Iron I and the beginning of Iron II. A few wall fragments and potsherds appeared at Nimrin.43 In the Jordan Valley, the orientation of the material culture still seems to be more toward the west than the sites on the plateau. At the copper production site of Khirbat an-Nahas in the Wadi Fidan off the Wadi ‘Arabah, excavators claim to have found Iron I remains they date to the 12th to 11th centuries.44 But so far, publications have discussed few architectural remains and 14C dates, primarily for the Iron Age IIA. Moreover, the dating for the Iron I phase of activity at the site is ambiguous. The finds from this pre-fortress phase seem to reflect temporary occupation, perhaps during seasonal mining and smelting operations. But without published pottery we cannot relate the 14C dates to the finds.

IV. Iron IIA The Iron IIA period is presently very difficult to document in Jordan. Specifically, the 10th century assemblage of pottery is not easy to isolate, making many of the attributions uncertain. Some could be placed slightly earlier in Iron I. Roughly half 38

Bienkowski and Adams, op. cit. (note 1). J. B. Pritchard, The Cemetery at Tell es-Sa‘idiyeh, Jordan (Philadelphia, 1980). 40 P. M. Fischer, “Tell Abu al-Kharaz: The Swedish Jordan Expedition 1992: Third Season Preliminary Excavation Report”, ADAJ 38 (1994), pp. 127–145. 41 H. J. Franken and J. Kalsbeek, Excavations at Tell Deir ‘Alla (Leiden, 1969). 42 E. van der Steen, “Tell Deir ‘Alla: The Newcomers of the Early Iron Age”, in M. L. Steiner and E. van der Steen (eds.), Sacred and Sweet: Studies on the Material Culture of Deir ‘Alla and Abu Sarbut (Ancient Near Eastern Supplement Series 24; Leuven, 2008), pp. 69–92. 43 J. W. Flanagan et al “Tell Nimrin Preliminary Report on the 1993 Season”, ADAJ 38 (1994), pp. 205–244. 44 N. G. Smith and T. E. Levy, “The Iron Age Pottery from Khirbat en-Nahas, Jordan: A Preliminary Study”, BASOR 352 (2008), pp. 41–91. 39

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of the material attributed to this period comes from tombs, many of which contain mixed ceramic assemblages. Because of these uncertainties and the lack of any significant large excavations, we cannot make generalizations regarding settlement patterns or zones of material culture. In spite of this dearth of materials, it is possible that, already by this time we can suggest incipient national groups that controlled parts of the plateau. The mud brick ‘fortress’ at Rumayth VIII contained finds largely of a domestic nature. The outer wall of an apparent casemate construction was only 1.25–1.5m thick. It may have been simply a small walled settlement, primarily domestic in nature. A small recessed gate pierced the north wall. Sauer confirms that some of the unpublished pottery was red-slipped and burnished.45 Another possible fortress was discovered at Fadayn, but the results are very sketchy. Irbid, Tomb C contained earlier pottery, but some seems to date to this period. The excavations at Tell Irbid have apparently produced a continuous settlement from Iron I to Iron IIB, but it is as yet incompletely published. Another tomb was found at Mafraq that has parallels to the 10th century ceramic corpus at Hazor.46 A preliminary report of a small sounding at Tell Husn near Irbid tentatively suggests an early Iron II casemate all possibly destroyed slightly later;47 some of the pottery seems to belong to this phase.48 In the central highlands there is a tomb at Sahab, re-used from the LB/Iron I Transitional period. The pottery at Hisban has considerable amounts that can be attributed to Iron IIA (Herr forthcoming), but it is all from secondary deposits. Sauer49 and Ray50 suggest that the large reservoir likely dates to this time, based on two body sherds found behind the ashlar stones lining the east face of the reservoir. Tombs at Madaba and Nebo seem to belong to this period and imply settlements at those sites. We hope the new excavations at Dhiban, directed by Routledge and Porter, will discover Iron IIA remains, but that is by no means clear as yet. There needs to be much more work done on the early Iron II period in the Jordanian highlands. Most of the sites in the southern plateau in the Karak region, discussed above, were abandoned at the beginning or middle of this period, including Balu‘, Mudayna ‘Ulya, and Mudayna Mu‘arraja. Some of the pottery seems to date to the 10th century. We are still not convinced that there was sedentary occupation in the plateau region south of Wadi al-Hasa. Some have argued for it51 partially by misunder-stand-

45 J. A. Sauer, “Transjordan in the Bronze and Iron Ages: A Critique of Glueck’s Synthesis”, BASOR 263 (1986), pp. 1–26. 46 Idem, ibid., p. 14. 47 A. Leonard, “The Jarash-Tell el-Husn Highway Survey”, ADAJ 31 (1987), p. 369. 48 Idem, ibid., figs 16:g and 18: a, c, m. 49 J. A. Sauer, “The Pottery at Hesban and Its Relationships to the History of Jordan: An Interim Hesban Pottery Report, 1993”, in D. Merling and L. T. Geraty (eds.), Hesban after 25 Years (Berrien Springs, MI 1994), pp. 241–242. 50 Ray, op. cit. (note 3). 51 Sauer, op. cit. (note 44); I. Finkelstein, “Edom in the Iron I”, Levant 24 (1992), pp. 159– 160; but compare P. Bienkowski, “The Beginning of the Iron Age in Edom: A Reply to Finkelstein”, Levant 24 (1992), pp. 167–170; and L. G. Herr, “The History of the Collared

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ing the ceramics of Transjordan (Finkelstein) and by the simple assumption that there must be something there.52 So far, there is no clear published evidence that would alter the views of Bienkowski53 and others that no Iron Age settlements have been excavated in the region dating before the 8th century. However, the recent excavations at Kh. Nahas in the Araba by Levy, Najjar, and Adams have produced numerous 14C dates for the 10th century. One of the graves excavated in the large cemetery around the site produced a single 14C date to this period. However, none of the excavated areas produced pottery typical of the Iron IIA period. The present interpretation is that, if the 14C dates are not incorrect, the pottery forms of the region may have had a very long lifespan, lasting from the 10th century to the 8th century BCE.

V. Conclusions We may tentatively suggest the following: (1) The Transitional period seems to be well witnessed in the northern and central plateau. Based on the LB features in the ceramic assemblages, it would appear to date from the late-13th century to the early 12th century BCE; (2) There are not a significant number of sites from the Transitional period in the Jordan Valley where the orientation of the material culture was toward the valley culture of the west, not toward the eastern highlands; (3) There are no Transitional period sites south of the Mujib; (4) The major part of the Iron I period (from the 12th century to the end of the 11th century and maybe slightly into the 10th century) has no clear sub-divisions. Instead, settlements seem to have witnessed individual episodic occupation throughout that time period. Some sites show signs of durative settlement, while others were occupied for only short periods of time; (5) The Iron I sites in the highlands of Jordan do not reflect the small unfortified villages of the western highlands, but were often fortified and many were large enough to be called ‘towns’. A possible exception is the area north of the Zarqa River; (6) The Karak region began to be settled only toward the end of Iron I; (7) The number of sites in the Jordan Valley grew in number during this period, but the orientation of the material culture still seems to be toward the valley culture of the west. Two things need to happen before our knowledge of the Iron I to Iron IIA in Jordan can grow: (1) More excavations at sites with relevant levels are needed. Oneperiod sites are fine, but multi-period ones will provide better insights into transitional periods; (2) The sites that have been excavated need to be fully published.

Pithos at Tell el-‘Umeiri, Jordan”, in S. R. Wolff (ed.) Studies in the Archaeology of Israel and Neighboring Lands in Memory of Douglas L. Esse (Chicago, 2001), pp. 237–250. 52 J. A. Sauer, personal communication. 53 Bienkowski, op. cit. (note 50).

THE DISTINCTIVE VALUE OF HUMAN LIFE IN ISRAEL’S EARLIEST LEGAL TRADITIONS RICHARD S. HESS Denver Seminary The purpose of this presentation is to examine the origins of the value of human life as expressed in Israel’s legal and ethical traditions. In doing so I show that these texts represent a distinctive contribution to society and that they contrast with the contemporary ancient Near Eastern legal texts. They permeate the narrative, prophetic, and most of all the legal literature of the Bible to such an extent that they should not be seen only as the product of later redactors, but rather as reflecting a witness to earliest Israel’s distinctive self-understanding. We will consider the legal collections where the values of societies exhibit themselves most clearly. Specifically, laws relating to slavery and to homicide reveal the fundamental value of human life.

I. The Human Person and Laws Regarding Slavery The source for law in the Ancient Near East may include, among others, some practice texts and other materials. However, the major collections of law come from the period between the 21st century BCE and the 11th century BCE. They include the following according to their common names: Ur-Nammu, Lipit-Ishtar, Eshnunna, Hammurabi, Middle Assyrian, and Hittite laws.1 Of these, the best preserved and most frequently copied in antiquity was the law collection of Hammurabi.2 However, there is little evidence that it was ever used in judicial courts or wherever legal decisions were made.3 Instead, its purpose appears to have been a means of portray1

For a summary and translation of each of these legal collections, as well as the practice texts and the later “Neo-Babylonian laws” that emulated Hammurabi’s laws, see M. T. Roth, Law Collections from Mesopotamia and Asia Minor (Atlanta, 1995). Roth dates Ur-Nammu ca. 2100 BCE, Lipit-Ishtar ca. 1930 BCE, Eshnunna ca. 1770 BCE, Hammurabi ca. 1750 BCE, Middle Assyrian ca. 1076 BCE, and the Hittite law collections that began as early as ca. 1650 BCE. For a fine bibliographic review of the relevant publications and their relation to the Hebrew Bible, see K. L. Sparks, Ancient Texts for the Study of the Bible: A Guide to the Background Literature (Peabody, 2005), pp. 417−434. 2 A useful text, translation, and commentary on Hammurabi’s laws can be found, in addition to the source in the previous footnote, in the classic edition of G. R. Driver and J. C. Miles, The Babylonian Laws: Edited with English Translation and Commentary, I−II (Oxford, 1952−1955); and in the more recent study of M. E. J. Richardson, Hammurabi’s Laws: Text, Translation and Glossary (Sheffield, 2000). 3 B. Landsberger, “Die Babylonischen Termini für Gesetz und Recht”, in J. Friedrich, J. G.

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ing Hammurabi as just and fair.4 This would serve standard propagandistic ideas of persuading the Babylonians that they lived in a land of fairness and equity. Therefore, they might be less inclined to revolt and to try to overthrow the king. It is difficult to know if the other Mesopotamian legal collections served this purpose. Many are broken and only partially preserved. The multiple copies of the Hittite laws give evidence of changing the amount of fines and the severity of the punish-ment over time.5 In general the judgments became less onerous and easier to bear. This would seem to suggest less of an idealistic or propagandistic purpose and more of a realistic use of the laws in society. The fact that the Hittite laws also omit any single designation of a king or other authority as their author supports this realistic interpretation. The biblical legal collections are found in the first books of the Bible, in Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy. The adjustments that appear between law collections, in which the penalty in an earlier law may be reduced in a similar law that appears in a later collection, resemble the Hittite legal tradition and suggest a more realistic usage of these laws. The designation of Moses as the author is certainly designed to provide the laws with a human authority figure. However, the narrative does not suggest that Moses himself gained any power or prestige by promulgating the laws. To the contrary, these law collections of the Bible, whatever the precise time of their original authorship, appear firmly grounded in Israelite society for both religious and civil purposes. When we consider the slave laws, however, we find that they play a prominent role in the biblical laws of what many regard as the earliest collection of civil laws, the Book of the Covenant as found in Ex 20:22−23:33.6 Following some introducLautner and J. Miles (eds.), Symbolae ad iura orientes antiqui pertinentes Paulo Koschaker dedicatae (Leiden, 1939), pp. 219−234. 4 J. J. Finkelstein, “Ammisaduqa’s Edict and the Babylonian ‘Law Codes’”, JCS 15 (1961), pp. 91−104; idem, “A Late Old Babylonian Copy of the Laws of Hammurapi”, JCS 21 (1967), pp. 31−48; idem, “Some Recent Studies in Cuneiform Law”, JAOS 90 (1970), pp. 243−256; F. R. Kraus, Königliche Verfügungen in altbabylonischen Zeit (Leiden, 1984), pp. 114−120. For an emphasis on the origin of the laws in scribal backgrounds derived ultimately from court decisions, see e.g., H. Petschow, “Zur Systematik und Gesetzestechnik im Codex Hammurapi”, ZA 57 (1965), pp. 146−172; R. Westbrook, “Biblical and Cuneiform Law Codes”, RB 92 (1985), pp. 247−264; E. Otto, “Aspects of Legal Reforms and Reformulations in Ancient Cuneiform and Israelite Law”, in B. M. Levinson (ed.), Theory and Method in Biblical Cuneiform Law: Revision, Interpolation and Development (Sheffield, 1991), pp. 160−198. 5 The most important edition and study is H. A. Hoffner, Jr., The Laws of the Hittites: A Critical Edition (Leiden, 1997). Hoffner (ibid., pp. 5−11) address the changes between the earlier and later editions of the laws. See also a review of Hoffner’s book by R. S. Hess in JBL 118 (1999), pp. 171−172, and now a full translation with a commentary by I. Singer, The Hittites and their Civilization (Jerusalem, 2009), pp. 128−166 (Hebrew). 6 The early date of this work was established by S. M. Paul, Studies in the Book of the Covenant in the Light of Cuneiform and Biblical Law (Leiden, 1970). A 5th century BCE (or later) dating was argued by J. Van Seters, A Law Book for the Diaspora: Revision in the Study of the Covenant Code (Oxford, 2003). See the specific responses of B. M. Levinson, “Is the Covenant Code an Exilic Composition? A Response to John Van Seters”, in J. Day (ed.), In Search of Pre-Exilic Israel: Proceedings of the Oxford Old Testament Seminar (London, 2004), pp. 272−325. The pre-exilic origins of specific laws in Deuteronomy (especially as found in the Middle Assyrian Laws) and a dependency of Deuteronomy on the Book of the Covenant are further cogently argued by D. P. Wright, “The Laws of Hammurabi and the

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tory laws of a religious nature (for example, don’t make images for worship but build a simple altar for sacrifices), Ex 21:1−11 introduces the civil laws with laws concerning male and female Hebrew slaves. The impression of these and other laws is that Hebrew slavery was envisioned in the legal tradition as debt servitude.7 That is to say, Hebrew slaves sold themselves into an indentured servitude where their masters owned their work. They worked for their masters for a certain period of time, not to exceed seven years, and then they could go free. This type of slavery was surrounded with specific restrictions regarding what the master could and could not do. This biblical text provides for the rights of these slaves and guarantees that they do have a freedom to look forward to at the end of their service. It is not necessary to go into the details of the rights and privileges of Israelite slaves. It is enough to note that there is no comparative legislation anywhere else in the known legal collections of the ancient world.8 There are certainly laws concerning fines to be paid for injuring or otherwise harming someone else’s slave. This, however, has the appearance of the slave as a piece of property rather than as a person. Some of the biblical laws on the rights of slaves are unprecedented in human legal history. While they do not explicitly bring an end to slavery, it may be argued they set the Israelites and all who follow them on a course to full freedom in a way that no other ancient law collections do. Not only do these laws reflect a unique focus on rights for a class of people who are largely ignored elsewhere; their position in this early legal collection must be noted. The Book of the Covenant resembles other law collections in both the ancient Near East and the Bible. The legal collections tend to put their most prominent concerns first and then proceed to move to laws of lesser value. I will argue this further below. Here it is enough to note that the position of the slave laws as first in the civil law demonstrates the highest priority that is given to these. Why is that? Its first position serves to emphasize the value placed upon the most vulnerable and the weakest in the society. This is the reason for the emphasis of laws on the foreigner, on the orphan, and on the widow. These were the weakest members of society with few or no supporters and defenders. The law served to defend them. This concern may be stated in a general way in other ancient Near Eastern law collections. Only in the biblical traditions are there numerous and detailed laws defending these, the weakest in society. The same is true of the slaves, who in other legal traditions often had no rights and no one to whom to appeal. Perhaps this slave law forms part of the introduction to the Covenant Code. Ex 20:22−26 legislates the religion of Israel and the focus on God in the religious area in which Israel was most likely to go astray, the worship of other gods.9 The following text, Ex 21:1−11 then focuses on the area in which Israel was most likely to go astray in terms of relating to other human beings.10 That was the purpose of the slave law. Thus these laws set the tone of the civil legislation. It is one in which the weakCovenant Code: A Response to Bruce Wells”, Maarav 13 (2006), pp. 211−260. This sequence is generally accepted. See, e.g., K. van der Toorn, Scribal Culture and the Making of the Hebrew Bible (Cambridge, MA 2007), pp. 121, 225; T. Römer, The So-Called Deuteronomistic History: A Sociological, Historical and Literary Introduction (London, 2007), p. 59. 7 R. Westbrook, Studies in Biblical and Cuneiform Law (Paris, 1988), pp. 90−92. 8 Contra Westbrook, ibid, p. 90. See Paul, op. cit. (note 6), p. 69. 9 Cf. H. J. Boecker, Recht und Gesetz im Alten Testament und im Alten Orient (NeukirchenVluyn, 1976), p. 129. 10 This view can already be found in the writings of the Medieval Jewish scholar, Ibn Ezra.

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est are given a special place and are defended by the law. Thus the slave laws in the biblical tradition differ from the other legal collections in the ancient Near East, as well as the legal traditions of Greece and Rome. They stress the rights of the slave and the priority of these rights. No human could ever have this transcendent aspect of his or her nature removed from them. No person could ever be treated as property and nothing more. This intrinsic value in all of humanity is recognized in a special manner in the biblical legal traditions; and more than anywhere else in the laws guaranteeing protection to those weakest and most vulnerable, and thereby ameliorating the evil of slavery.

II. The Human Person and Laws Regarding Homicide Every society that preserves a comprehensive written record of laws includes civil legislation that prohibits the act of murder. Without such a law, one could envision the order of the people breaking apart and descending into chaos. No state would last for any length of time if it did not prohibit the killing of its own members. The exceptions to this include those areas where the society deems it necessary to take the life of a criminal for a crime that is considered of sufficient evil to warrant this punishment. A second exception has to do with war and its prosecution, where the taking of human life is considered justifiable in a context that requires it for the safety and security of the citizens of the country being defended. There is, of course, much disagreement about the details of these exceptions.11 This was also the case in the ancient Near East. The Middle Assyrian Laws, for example, provided terrible punishments of mutilation and at times death for a greater variety of crimes than the other law collections, for example the Hittite laws.12 The laws of the Hittites are of special interest, as of all the cultures neighboring ancient Israel who produced legal collections the Hittites had many aspects of their own values and ways of life similar to Israel.13 There are about thirteen laws from the Hittite collection that require the death penalty.14 Of these, law 170 applies a death sentence to a slave for a crime of cursing someone else (while killing a snake). For this same crime, a citizen need pay only a fine. Laws 121 and 166 define a death penalty for theft or swindling. However, the later set of laws reduces this to a fine. Laws 187−191, 195, and 199 envision various forms of bestiality and incest for which the king has the option of invoking the death penalty. Adultery also brings about the death penalty (law 197). Homicide, however, is not decided by capital punishment among the Hittites. The first seven laws of the Hittite code describe various forms of murder. In every case compensation is provided, whether in the form of slaves or of material goods.15 The compensation where the victim is a slave is half that of a free Hittite citizen. The 11 See, for example, the military and pacifist debate as recently discussed in R. S. Hess and E. A. Martens (eds.), War in the Bible and Terrorism in the Twenty-First Century (Winona Lake, IN 2008). 12 Sparks, op. cit. (note 1), p. 424, describes the harsh treatment of women in the Middle Assyrian laws. 13 R. S. Hess, “A Reassessment of the Priestly Cultic and Legal Texts”, JLR 17 (2002), p. 376. 14 For a translation and analysis of these laws, see Hoffner, op. cit. (note 5), pp. 110−111, 114−116, 133, 136−138, 148−151, 153−157, 203−204, 215, 217−220, 224−227 (laws 121, 126, 166, 170, 173, 187−191, 195, 197, 199). 15 Hoffner, ibid., pp. 165−166.

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importance of these observations lies in their background for comparing and contrasting with the biblical laws. Among the other ancient Near Eastern legal collections, only the Ur-Nammu laws begin with a prohibition for homicide and the command to kill the one who commits this offense. However, the prologue to these laws contains record of other legal acts such as the standardization of weights and measures, and details of what those amounts were. The Lipit-Ishtar laws are broken at the beginning. However, the first laws deal with the price of renting oxen and the inheritance rights of daughters. The Eshnunna laws begin with fixing the prices for various commodities. Hammurabi’s laws begin with matters of false testimony and temple and palace theft. The Middle Assryian laws begin with theft from a temple and with blasphemy, both cases where the perpetrator is a woman.16 When we turn to the laws of ancient Israel, we find a different emphasis on laws of homicide. We have already seen how the only social law given to Noah in the flood story of Gen 6−9 is the ban on murder (Gen 9:6). The first biblical collection of laws in the Bible is the Ten Commandments. Whether these are actually the first laws or a later development is not our concern. Rather, the dominance of these laws and their influence on the history of Western civilization cannot be doubted. From the appearance of the entire collection of ten commandments twice in the Bible (Ex 20 and Deut 5), something not found with any other set of laws of this length, to the great controversies and disputes in America over the past decade regarding the presence of these laws in public buildings and courts, the Ten Commandments have had a profound impact on Western culture and its understanding of the value of the human person.17 Although there is some disagreement about the precise numbering of the Ten Commandments, there is general consent that the first half of the laws contains principles related to the proper worship of Israel’s God. The second half of the legal collection considers the civil laws. This asks the question: How does one relate to society? Some would identify the command to honor one’s parents as the first of the civil laws. However, this law is more concerned with the religious legislation. The word for ‘honor’ (Hebrew ‫ )כָּבוֹד‬is often used of the worship of God. For this and other reasons, the parents stand in the place of God and the proper honoring of one’s parents is to continue to observe their faith.18 The civil law actually begins with the command not to kill. This prohibition forms two words in the Hebrew ‫תִרצָח‬ ְ ‫ֹלא‬. The same is true for the next two commands: Don’t commit adultery and Don’t steal. The following command, Don’t bear false witness, is structured in a similar manner. These commands are intentionally short and comprehensive. They are short so that they can easily be remembered by everyone. They are comprehensive as a summary of the civil law and the basic values of Israelite society.19 Of these commands, the first one is the prohibition of murder. As 16

Roth, op. cit. (note 1), pp. 15−17, 26, 59, 81−82, 155−157. See a few of the recent cases summarized in D. H. Aaron, Etched in Stone: The Emergence of the Decalogue (New York, 2006), pp. ix−xi. The bibliography of additional studies on this is overwhelming. See P. D. Miller, The Ten Commandments (Louisville, 2009). 18 W. H. Schmidt, “Überlieferungsgeschichtliche Erwägungen zur Komposition des Dekalogs”, in Congress Volume, Uppsala 1971 (Leiden, 1972), p. 219. Schmidt attributes this view to the 16th century Reformer Martin Luther. 19 S. A. Kaufman, “The Second Table of the Decalogue and Implicit Categories of Ancient Near Eastern Law”, in J. H. Marks and R. M. Good (eds.), Love and Death in the Ancient Near East: Essays in Honor of Marvin H. Pope (Guilford, 1987), pp. 111−116. 17

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with the slave laws the position of this command is not accidental. It is first because it occupies the most important place in this summary of social law. The value of the human person receives affirmation in this prohibition against murder as the highest value in the structure of the society. It is important to understand that this legal text does not prohibit war. As noted above for the ancient Near East, it is also true of the Bible that this distinction is preserved. For this reason the larger body of laws in Deuteronomy distinguishes laws regarding homicide (Deut 19) from those concerned with warfare (Deut 20), and positions the two side by side. The laws regarding homicide make distinctions between unintentional killing and premeditated murder. Towns of refuge protect the unintentional killer from the vendetta of the dead person’s family. This provision is also unique in Israelite law. Only here were such towns designated so that the unintentional killer could remain within the society of Israel and of his people, but at the same time find protection against the anger of the dead person’s family. Other cultures recognized cases such as this. However, they provided for it by decreeing exile for the unfortunate killer. This meant that the person could escape the vendetta but they also needed to leave their homeland and resettle in a foreign country.20 This text of Deut 19:11−13 is very clear regarding premeditated murder: If someone hates his neighbor and sets an ambush for him so that he rises up against him and strikes him down with the result that he dies – if he then runs to one of these towns of refuge – then his local elders will send for him. They will take him from this place of refuge and give him over to the blood avenger so that he may kill him. Don’t pity him. Remove the guilt of innocent blood from Israel so that it may go well with you. The law in the Ten Commandments and its expanded version here in Deut 19 confirm that there is no respect of persons when it comes to the value of human life. Premeditated murder sets in place a judgment of death for the murderer for which there is no escape in this life. Nor is it the case that only in the Ten Commandments does the prohibition against murder have the first position. The two other major collections of civil law in the Bible also position this law at the beginning of their laws regarding society. This is true of the Book of the Covenant, a collection of laws we have already looked at in regard to the slave laws. We suggested that these laws in Ex 20:22−23:33 began with an introductory section that considered “love for God” in the area Israel was most likely to go astray (worship of other gods) and “love for one’s neighbor” in the area that Israel was most likely to go astray (treatment of slaves). The very first law that follows this introductory section deals with murder (Ex 21:12−15): Whoever hits someone so that he dies, shall be put to death. But if someone did not plan this, and God allowed it to happen, then I will provide a place for him to flee. If, however, someone plots against his neighbor, planning to kill him intentionally, then you shall take him from the altar to kill him. Whoever strikes his father or mother so that they die, shall be put to death. 20

P. Barmash, Homicide in the Biblical World (Cambridge, 2005); idem, “Reflections on the Law of Homicide in the Ancient World”, Maarav 13 (2006), pp. 145−174; R. Westbrook and B. Wells, Everyday Law in Biblical Israel: An Introduction (Louisville, 2009), pp. 74−78.

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This picture resembles the one in Deuteronomy where a distinction is made between premeditated murder and death that comes about accidentally. Indeed, other distinctions arise later. Note the position of this law at the beginning of the civil laws in the Book of the Covenant. As with the Ten Commandments, the punishment for murder takes first priority after laws about the worship of God and the introductory slave laws. Some scholars in biblical and ancient Near Eastern law have argued that the structure of the Book of the Covenant intentionally follows that of the laws of Hammurabi. There is much evidence for this.21 However, this does not mean a wholesale borrowing of the value system reflected in Old Babylonian law. As we have seen, the social laws of Hammurabi do not begin with a focus on homicide or on some related value that would emphasize the value of each and every human life. Instead, they begin with a call for honesty in terms of testimony and with laws against temple and palace theft. Such laws may maintain the social order and prevent widespread misuse of the courts. However, they also betray an interest in the maintenance of the social order as it is. Such status quo concerns favor the wealthy and powerful and do not provide for the poor and vulnerable. The second great collection of civil legislation in the Bible appears in the book of Deuteronomy. We have already examined some of the laws regarding homicide in chapter 19. In fact, the detailed laws of Deuteronomy begin in chapter 12 and continue through chapter 26. The structure of these laws resembles that of the Ten Commandments in terms of the topics covered and their order.22 In fact, chapter 19 and the laws on homicide correspond to the prohibition against murder and appear first in the laws governing the whole of society. Thus in the Ten Commandments, in the Book of the Covenant, and in the laws of Deuteronomy the order remains the same. The laws against murder top the list for social order. They emphasize that the value of human life takes priority over everything else in the affairs of the state. Because these laws do not prescribe one treatment for the life of a slave and another for that of a freed person, they suggest the equality of all human life in Israel’s values.23 Because these laws provide the foundation of the legal traditions of Western civilization, they also demonstrate the common inheritance of the value of all human life that has been a source time and again for the development of legal values and philosophy in Europe and America.

III. Epilogue The distinctive value of the human has been described in two contexts: laws of slavery and laws regarding homicide. This results in both the fundamental equality of all people and in the unique worth of each person above anything material. This much has been evident in the first five books of the Bible: Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, 21 D. P. Wright, “The Laws of Hammurabi as a Source for the Covenant Collection (Exodus 20:23−23:19)”, Maarav 10 (2003), pp. 11−87; idem, Inventing God’s Law: How the Covenant Code of the Bible Used and Revised the Laws of Hammurabi (Oxford, 2009). This view was criticized by B. Wells, “The Covenant Code and Near Eastern Legal Traditions: A Response to David P. Wright”, Maarav 13 (2006), pp. 85−118. See the response of Wright, op. cit. (note 6), pp. 211−260. 22 S. A. Kaufman, “The Structure of the Deuteronomic Law”, Maarav 1 (1979), pp. 105−158. 23 For an analysis of the entire book of Deuteronomy as providing a vision of equality as unique in the ancient world, see J. A. Berman, Created Equal: How the Bible Broke with Ancient Political Thought (New York − Oxford, 2008).

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Numbers and Deuteronomy. It has also been identified in the poetry of the Bible. In addition, it occurs in the Former Prophets. One example of this is found in the book of Joshua at the famous story of Jericho (Josh 6). The text describes the collapse of the wall of Jericho and the victory over its inhabitants (verses 20−25). However, interwoven in this passage of military victory is the salvation of the prostitute Rahab and her family. In the original Hebrew text, the number of words given to the battle of Jericho (102 words) is about as many as the number given to the rescue of Rahab and her family from the battle (86 words).24 In the Latter Prophets these values also occur. The beginning of the book of Amos (chapters 1 and 2) surveys the nations surrounding Israel and indicts them for practices of excessive cruelty in terms of warfare, revenge, and the treatment of prisoners of war. The prophet then turns to Israel itself and does the same thing to his own people. Thus Amos criticizes all peoples for not respecting the fundamental human rights of their neighbors, even when they are at war. This distinctive value to human persons and their basic equality, found in the earliest traditions of Israel’s texts, formed the basis for the history of law and human rights in the Western world. Even though it was subject to many distortions and outright denials by various leaders and philosophers in its history, the West has again and again returned to these unique human values to define rights and freedoms.

24

R. S. Hess, Joshua: An Introduction and Commentary (Tyndale Old Testament Commentaries 6; Downers Grove, 1996), p. 147.

YHWH’S EXALTED HOUSE REVISITED NEW COMPARATIVE LIGHT ON THE BIBLICAL IMAGE OF SOLOMON’S TEMPLE

VICTOR AVIGDOR HUROWITZ Ben-Gurion University of the Negev, Beer-Sheva The religious institution most prominent in the Hebrew Bible is undoubtedly the Temple in Jerusalem said to have been built by Solomon, King of Judah and Israel. This temple is elaborately described in the Book of Kings and again, with some variations in the Book of Chronicles. It is probably the model for the Tabernacle whose construction is described in even greater detail in Exodus and the temple of the future described in the vision concluding the Book of Ezekiel. No remains of Solomon’s temple are known, so in order to flesh out details and help visualize the building scholars have long sought parallels in both modern archaeological discoveries and in ancient texts. These parallels pertain both to the Temple in its totality and to individual features of its design, decoration and furnishings.1 In this article I will revisit one of the old comparisons and add to it several newly revealed temples, three uncovered in recent excavations and one described in a literary work.

I For decades the only serious contender for a Solomon’s Temple look-alike was the 8th century BCE temple discovered in 1936 by archaeologists from the University of Chicago at Tell Ta‘yinat2 (perhaps ancient Kinalua, royal city of the Kingdom of Unqi, in the Land of Palasatin)3 in Turkey’s Amuq Valley. Like Solomon’s Temple, 1

See inter alia V. A. Hurowitz, “YHWH’s Exalted House—Aspects of the Design and Symbolism of Solomon’s Temple”, in J. Day (ed.), Temple and Worship in Biblical Israel (Edinburgh, 2005), pp. 63–110; idem, “Tenth Century BCE to 586 BCE: The House of the Lord (Beyt YHHW)”, in O. Grabar and B. Z. Kedar (eds.), Where Heaven and Earth Meet: Jerusalem’s Sacred Esplanade, (Jerusalem – Austin, 2009), pp. 14–35. 2 R. C. Haines, Excavations in the Plane of Antioch II, The Structural Remains of the Later Phases, Chatal Hüyük, Tell Al-Judaidah and Tell Ta‘yinat, Oriental Institute Publications 125 (Chicago, 1971), pp. 53–55, pls. 80–82, 103. For the comparison with Solomon’s Temple see G. E. Wright, “Solomon’s Temple Resurrected”, BA 4 (1941), pp. 17–31. 3 J. D. Hawkins, “Cilicia, The Amuq, and Aleppo: New Light in a Dark Age”, NEA 72 (2009), pp. 164–173; and see also I. Singer’s article in this volume.

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this temple too is a ‘long room’ building, i.e. one whose long axis runs from the entrance to the back. Before the entrance several steps ascend to a portico in which stood two pillars. The main building consists of two rooms, one behind the other on the long axis of the building, separated by a wall, with floors on the same plane and no steps or ramp between them. The outer entrance was surrounded by interlocking, stepped frames. Archaeologists have pointed to Bronze Age temples at Hazor, Emar, Tell Munbaqa, Ebla, etc., which seem to resemble the plan of Solomon’s Temple, a plan they call “the Symmetric Syrian Temple Type”.4 Nonetheless, even if there is a broad category with many examples, the Tell Ta‘yinat temple remained the closest in details of structure to Solomon’s Temple, as deduced from the scripture.

II More recently, an impressive temple was discovered at ‘Ain Dara situated on the Aprin River in Syria near the border with Turkey; and a full report appeared in 1990 published by ‘A. Abū ‘Assaf.5 This temple, which stood during the first quarter of the 1st millennium BCE, possibly even constructed in the 11th century BCE, aroused great excitement among biblical scholars and archaeologists; and similarities to Solomon’s Temple were discussed by J. Monson6, L. Stager7 and others, even acclaiming it as “the most important and closest parallel to the Temple of Solomon”. Of the features of this temple noticed so far, the most piquant one is quite unique and relates to the divine presence in the temple. Three thresholds of the temple bear gigantic, unshod footprints, each one about a meter long, raising the specter of a gargantuan god standing at the entrance, striding in to take his place in the innermost room. The left and right prints are about 10m apart, so ‘Big-Foot’ stood some 20m tall. The prints reminded Stager of Ezek 43:7 describing God’s Kābôd (radiant Glory) entering the future temple which is “the place of my throne and the place of the soles of my feet”. Standing on the threshold also recalls Ezek 9 and 10 where God’s Kābôd stands on the Temple threshold before leaving it. Before the temple, steps ascend to an entrance way flanked by two columns. The building is a long room structure with three internal spaces. The first is a broad room like the ’ûlām (portico) of Solomon’s Temple. From there one ascends to a much larger space divided into two. The anteroom parallels Solomon’s hêkāl. Further inside, an area raised half a meter parallels the Debîr or Holy of Holies. No wall separates the hêkāl and Debîr, but there may have been a wooden divider. A ramp on the left ascends from the anteroom to the back room. Around the building on both sides and in the back is a corridor added in the last stage of the building’s existence, which 4

A. Mazar, “Temples of the Middle and Late Bronze Ages and the Iron Age”, in A. Kempinski and R. Reich (eds.), The Architecture of Ancient Israel: From the Prehistoric to the Persian Periods (Jerusalem, 1992), pp. 161–187. 5 ‘A. Abū-‘Assaf, Der Tempel von ‘Ain Dārā (Mainz am Rhein, 1990). 6 J. Monson, “The New ‘Ain Dara Temple: Closest Solomonic Parallel”, BAR 26/3 (2000), pp. 20–35, 67; ibid, “The ‘Ain Dara Temple and the Jerusalem Temple”, in G. Beckman and T. J. Lewis (eds.), Text, Artifact, and Image: Revealing Ancient Israelite Religion (Providence, Rhode Island 2006), pp. 273–299. 7 L. Stager, “Jerusalem and the Garden of Eden”, EI 26 (1999), pp. 183*–194*; idem, “Jerusalem as Eden”, BAR 26/3 (2000), pp. 36–47.

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has been compared to the yāṣîa‘ (1 Kgs 6:10; usually translated “side chamber”) surrounding Solomon’s Temple. This corridor may have had one or two upper stories. Lining the corridor are pilasters which Monson (mistakenly in my opinion) compared with the migrā‘ôt (1 Kgs 6:6; usually understood as “recesses”) in Solomon’s Temple. In the court at ‘Ain Dara was a large stone basin like the brazen Yām (lit. Sea) of Solomon’s Temple. The corridor’s measurements equaled those of the yāṣîa‘ in Solomon’s Temple, and it could be entered by openings on either side of the building. According to Monson, Solomon’s Temple was closer in length to that of the ‘Ain-Dara temple than it was to the temple at Tell Ta‘yinat. He also thinks that the pillars before both temples were support pillars and not free standing and decorative. The walls of both temples were molded with artistic motifs including cherubs. Monson also compared some elaborately decorated, false apertures with the enigmatic ḥāllônēy šeqūpîm ’aṭūmim (lit. “framed/linteled?, sealed windows”, “framed, latticed windows”, “windows recessed and latticed”, etc.) of Solomon’s Temple (1 Kgs 6:4). In all, Monson lists 66 features in Solomon’s Temple, of which 35 had parallels in ‘Ain Dara. Many of the similarities are unquestionable, yet I have reservations about several of Monson’s supposed parallels, only a few of which can be presented here. In my opinion, the temples’ dimensions do not indicate similarity. The ‘Ain Dara temple may be closer in length to Solomon’s Temple than is the Tell Ta‘yinat temple, but the opposite is true regarding the widths. More importantly, however, Solomon’s Temple and the Tell Ta‘yinat temple are rectangular while the ‘Ain Dara temple is nearly square. In fact when comparing buildings, overall form and relative proportions should prevail over absolute measurements of select parts; the proof being that the Temples of Solomon, Ezekiel and the Tabernacle differ from each other in absolute measurements but maintain the same relative proportions. Similarly, Monson holds that Solomon’s Temple had no real wall between the hêkāl and Debîr which were divided only by a thin wooden partition; and such a feature he reconstructs at ‘Ain Dara on the basis of holes in the floor—supposedly for poles supporting the partition. However, one can demonstrate that there was an internal wall in Solomon’s Temple, in which case Solomon’s Temple again resembles Tell-Ta‘yinat more than it resembles ‘Ain Dara.8 As noted already, the main room at ‘Ain Dara divides into two spaces paralleling Solomon’s hêkāl and Debîr. But the floors are on different planes creating before the Debîr a low façade 58 cm. high. Here again Tell Ta‘yinat is closer in design to Jerusalem, for in both temples the floors of the hêkāl and Debîr are on the same level. Furthermore, in Solomon’s Temple and at Tell Ta‘yinat doors separated the hêkāl and Debîr, while at ‘Ain Dara there were none. Even if we are to accept the contention that Solomon's Temple was split level, the floor of the debîr being higher than that of the hêkāl, the ‘Ain Dara temple has no staircase leading up to it, the reliefs in the middle of the low wall at the base of the debîr preclude a centrally located staircase, and if there is a ramp it is to the left. As for the yāṣîa‘ and ṣelā‘ôt these features in Solomon’s Temple were probably wooden fixtures enveloping the building and not a stone structure consisting of a series of rooms and chambers. As for the still enigmatic migrā‘ôt, they were stepped 8

I have discussed this matter in detail in the articles mentioned above, in note 1.

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recesses in the outer wall which supported the board-like yeṣî‘îm, and are in no way similar to the columns or pilasters standing along the corridors at ‘Ain Dara. The migrā‘ôt were an architectural element, while the pilasters at ‘Ain-Dara were decorative and would be called in Biblical Hebrew ’êlîm. Monson compares the sederôt mentioned in 1 Kgs 6:9 with the side chambers, but they are in fact long beams making up the roof (sippûn). Monson’s interpretation of ḥāllônēy šeqūpîm ’aṭūmim as false windows is intriguing but in need of further clarification. This term, which can be translated literally as “framed and sealed windows”, suits the false windows at ‘Ain Dara (and Aleppo; see below) which are false apertures framed on three sides with a ribbon like motif and backed with something of a lattice appearance. However, Monson doesn’t relate to where these features were situated and seems not to be fully aware of the true import of this parallel. We note first that the enigmatic term appears in 1 Kgs 6:4 immediately following the description of the ’ûlām in v. 3. The terms ḥallônôt aṭummîm / ḥallônîm’aṭūmôt, which are certainly related, appear in Ezek 40:16 and 41:16,26 in some extremely difficult to understand verses, but in association with the ’ûlām. It just so happens that the false windows at ‘Ain Dara are located on either side of the broad-room portico which corresponds to the Solomonic ’ûlām. This identical location strengthens the likelihood that they are indeed the same feature. However, we should not consider these features in either temple to be windows in the true sense of the word, i.e. apertures to permit ventilation and light. Although window shaped they serve a purely decorative purpose and are not found where windows would be placed. In fact, in the temples of ‘Ain Dara and Aleppo (see below) they run at floor level, hardly a location for windows, sealed or otherwise. Moreover, they are part of the stone structure in both temples and as we read in 1 Kgs 6:18 the hêkāl was completely paneled over with cedar from within and “no stone was seen" so if they were present in the hêkāl they would have been invisible and useless aesthetically. In the Aleppo temple (see below) they are situated differently, running around the entire main cella. They are about a meter high and are interspersed with bull-men in a supporting stance of identical height. So it seems that these are prominent but purely decorative features. There is no denying certain striking similarities between the ‘Ain Dara temple and Solomon’s Temple; but it seems to me that architecturally the Tell Ta‘yinat temple remains the closest parallel; and this holds even if we accept some of Monson’s suggestions including some similarity between the corridor and the yāṣîa‘ and ṣelā‘ôt. In summary, as far as their ground plan is concerned, all three temples are clearly in the same architectural tradition, but Solomon’s Temple is all in all closer in design to the Tell Ta‘yinat temple than it is to the ‘Ain Dara temple. One would be amiss to confine the comparison between the temples to matters of layout, relative proportions and certain architectural characteristics; and a word is in order about the meaning or ideology expressed by the buildings as can be discerned by examination of their physical features. As for the ‘Ain Dara Temple, which I call the ‘Big-Foot Temple’ because of the giant footprints leading from the entrance into the inner sanctum, not only are its proportions less similar to those of the Jerusalem Temple than the proportions of Tell Ta‘yinat, but the iconography of the reliefs decorating the walls reveals that the religious conception of the ‘Ain Dara Temple was fundamentally different than that of Solomon’s Temple. The Solomonic Temple, as I

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have pointed out in various places and as will be seen below, symbolized a divine residence situated within a garden. In contrast, the ‘Ain Dara Temple incorporated elements of a mobile divine throne or chariot. This is indicated by the reliefs along the low wall at the base of the inner shrine which show a bull man, a lion man, an eagle man, and a human.9 These figures, which support the floor of the inner room with their upwards extended arms are in fact the same creatures, ḥayyôt who make up YHWH’s Chariot and bear His throne described in the first chapter of the Book of Ezekiel.10 This shows that the ‘Ain Dara Temple is to be considered a temple in flight or an airport for a mobile deity rather than a sedentary structure. In other words, not only is ‘Ain Dara less similar architecturally to Solomon’s temple than the Tell Ta‘yinat structure, but conceptually too they differ widely.

III Before going on to another temple in the Tell Ta‘yinat, ‘Ain Dara and Jerusalem tradition I turn to a different type of temple excavated from 1996 and onwards in Aleppo by K. Kohlmeyer.11 This temple was dedicated to the storm god known variously as Addu (Akkadian), Hadda, Teshub (Hittite) or Tarhunta/Tarhunza (Luwian). No cult statue of the god was discovered in the temple12, but the resident deity is mentioned in a building inscription dating to the 11th century BCE (see below) and represented by a two meter high relief in the Late Bronze Age temple identified by an epigraph in Hieroglyphic Luwian as “the Storm God of Halpa/Aleppo”. This temple is a multi-period edifice built originally in the mid-3rd millennium BCE and 9

Cf. M. Weippert, “ Berggötter, Löwen-, Stier- und Vogelmenschen: Rekonstruktion des Sockels GI aus dem Tempel von ‘Ain Dārā”, in C. G. den Hertog, U. Hübner and S. Münger (eds.), Saxa Loquentur: Studien zur Archäologie Palästinas/Israels. Festschrift für Volkmar Fritz zum 65. Geburtstag (AOAT 302; Münster, 2003), pp. 227–256. 10 To be precise according to Ezek 1:10 each of the four ḥayyôt in YHWH’s “chariot” had four faces―a man, a lion, a bull and an eagle/vulture. The ‘Ain Dara reliefs contain all the individual anthropomorphic and zoological components. The reliefs and YHWH’s “chariot” contain the same species―man, eagle, bull, and lion. Ezekiel’s ḥayyôt have a human body, as do three of the creatures at ‘Ain Dara. Only the bull-man retains a bovine body. However, Ezekiel’s ḥayyôt have calf hooves, so even if all four ḥayyôt have human bodies, they are all part bull. Ezekiel’s ḥayyôt have four wings each, resembling the eagle-faced figure at ‘Ain Dara with four wings, two at his hips and two on its legs. Admittedly, YHWH’s chariot is not fully identical with the ‘Ain Dara reliefs, and especially in its quadrilateral symmetry. Ezekiel combines all four faces on single creatures. It seems as if Ezekiel blended the anatomical components of the figures appearing at ‘Ain Dara into a single ḥayyāh which he replicated four times and arranged in a square. Quadrupling may have been influenced by the image of Marduk whom Enūma eliš says had four eyes and four ears. 11 K. Kohlmeyer, Der Tempel des Wettergottes von Aleppo (Münster, 2000); ibid, “The Temple of the Storm God in Aleppo during the Late Bronze and Early Iron Ages”, NEA 72 (2009), pp. 190–202. 12 The large relief of the deity should not be considered the cult statue of the temple which would have been a free standing, three-dimensional icon. The statue itself was undoubtedly plundered or otherwise lost at some time or other. The relief is only a two dimensional depiction of the deity embodied in the lost statue. It is no more the cult statue than the relief of the king standing next to it is the real king.

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V. A. HUROWITZ

abandoned after 900 BCE, being renovated from time to time and thereby changing periodically in layout and meaning. The temple of the Middle Bronze Age (late-3rd millennium – mid-2nd millennium BCE) was almost square in shape with an entrance chamber to the south with an adjacent staircase, a broad room cella to the north and a deep cult niche in the northern wall. In the middle of the 2nd millennium BCE the temple was renovated and basalt orthostats were installed to replace previous limestone ones. After a fire in the Late Bronze Age the temple was reconstructed, and in the process the old niche to the north was walled over, the cella narrowed and a bent-axis layout introduced in which the cult image would not be opposite the entrance but to the side (perhaps indicated by the large relief of the deity in ‘smiting’ stance decorating the eastern wall). This temple has orthostats decorated with so-called ‘false windows’ and between them bull-men standing on their hind feet and reaching upward as if supporting something. The numerous ‘false windows’, a feature also found at ‘Ain Dara were—as pointed out above—equated by Monson with the enigmatic ḥāllônēy šeqūpîm ’aṭūmim mentioned in the description of Solomon’s Temple (1 Kgs 6:4). The inner entrance is protected by a fish-man (apkallu, of Mesopotamian origin), a sphinx and a lion (in Hittite style). The temple was again destroyed by fire at the beginning of the Iron Age. Its reconstruction is signaled by a twelve-line building inscription dating to the 11th century BCE. The inscription appears alongside an image of the king, and tells first (ll. 1–3) that the writer of the inscription and renovator of the temple, the King Taita, the Hero, The King of [the land] Palasatini, honored the image of the Halabean Storm God. This is followed by a brief cultic ‘tariff’ prescribing what each visitor to the temple should sacrifice there (ll. 3–12). A king should sacrifice an ox and a sheep. The king’s son, a country lord, and a lord of a river land should sacrifice a sheep, and an inferior person will offer bread and libation. This gradation is somewhat reminiscent of the laws of the burnt offering ‘ōlāh) in Lev 1–2 which call in the same order for offerings of cattle (Lev 1:3–9); sheep (1:10-13); fowl (1:14–176); and vegetable (2:1–14). We also compare the prescriptions for the purification offering (ḥaṭṭ’āt) according to which the anointed priest offers a cattle (4:3–12); the community brings a cattle (4:13–21); a prince offers a male goat (4:22–26); and a commoner brings a she-goat (4:26). In both cults, the prescribed offerings are graduated according to the social standing of the person bringing them, the higher the rank of the person, the more precious should his sacrifice be. At this restoration the original straight-axis is restored and the sculptures are also replaced. In the last renovation of the late 10th century BCE the direct- axis orientation of the temple was emphasized and a line of reliefs showing the Storm God and his entourage were placed opposite the entrance. A variety of artisans working simultaneously provided new orthostats, and although traditional Anatolian and Hittite styles are still evident, especially in the representation of the major gods, they are supplemented by figures of Syro-Mesopotamian origins. The bas-reliefs in Neo-Hittite style depict all sorts of divine figures bearing weapons and symbols; and mythological creatures including composite monsters with winged lion torsos and human or serpentine heads, and biped anthropomorphic figures with bird heads. There are also bull-men with upraised arms, but in contrast to the bull-men of the previous stage

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235

whose hands reached higher than their horns in a ‘supporting’ stance, these new bull-men’s hands are only at ear level, depicting more a gesture of adoration (Kohlmeyer calls it apotropaic). All these figures make up the entourage of the Storm God himself who is depicted shouldering a club and mounting a two wheeled chariot pulled by a bull. These reliefs, which with their multitudinous monsters and armed gods probably depict some mythological combat (or victory) scene, must be studied as a group and in their entirety―with the aim of determining the nature of the complete array and not the individual characters. Be this as it may, these figures contrast sharply with the much simpler decorations of Solomon’s temple which consist of cherubs, palm trees and gourds, and probably represent a divine garden (see below).

IV The pride of place to the Tell Ta‘yinat temple as most similar to Solomon’s Temple stood until 2008. In 2004 the TAP of the University of Toronto, led by T. P. Harrison, returned to the site of the Chicago excavations. In the 2008 season, in the course of excavations in what they call the ‘Sacred Precinct’, they uncovered, around the corner of the main building, aligned at approximately a 90 degree angle to the temple discovered by the University of Chicago, another, well preserved temple nearly identical to the first. This temple was in use until the late-8th or early-7th century BCE, but its beginnings are of uncertain date. The temple has been discussed by Harrison in the December 2009 issue of NEA,13 and in the 2009 seasonal excavation report available on the TAP website.14 Were this new temple the only discovery, this would be enough! But our comparison with Solomon’s Temple would have been unaffected apart from the fact that the new temple is oriented on a North–South axis rather than an East–West one. However, in this same temple other items were found which change the situation. The northern room, that is, the inner sanctuary which would correspond to the Holy of Holies or debîr in the Jerusalem Temple, was described as follows in the report: A second set of piers separated the central room from a small back room, the inner sanctuary, or ‘holy of holies’, of the temple. This northern-most room contained an elevated, rectangular platform, or podium, that filled almost the entire room, and clearly represented a renovation to the original design and intended function of the room. The surface of the podium (Harrison/TAP09—6) was paved with clay tiles, and accessed by steps in its two southern corners. The room had also been burned in the intense fire, and contained a wealth of cultic paraphernalia found strewn across the podium and around its base, including gold, bronze and iron implements, libation vessels and ornately decorated ritual objects (fig. 10). The surface debris also con13

T. P. Harrison, “Neo-Hittites in the ‘Land of Palistin’: Renewed Investigations at Tell Ta‘yinat on the Plain of Antioch”, NEA 72 (2009), pp. 174–189. 14 http://www.utoronto.ca/tap/reports/2009Report_en.pdf

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V. A. HUROWITZ

tained a cache of cuneiform tablets, written in Late Assyrian script, and very probably part of a Neo-Assyrian provincial archive or library (figs. 11–13). More recently, in early 2010, it has been revealed that among these tablets is a broken but complete copy of one of Esarhaddon’s Vassal Treaties. As is well known, the Neo-Assyrian adê or loyalty oaths, otherwise called Vassal Treaties, provide the closest parallels known to the Book of Deuteronomy and in particular to the curses found in Deut 28–29. The new copy of the treaty has yet to be deciphered and published and it will be interesting to see how it compares with other copies of the treaty known from the Mesopotamian heartland. However, for our purposes here, the discovery of a vassal treaty in the inner cella of a temple identical in architecture to Solomon’s Temple is the closest parallel imaginable to placing the Tablets of the Covenant in the Temple as we find 1 Kgs 8:3–9 (NJPS): When all the elders of Israel had come, the priests lifted the Ark…The priests brought the Ark of the Lord’s Covenant to its place underneath the wings of the cherubim, in the Shrine of the House, in the Holy of Holies…There was nothing inside the Ark but the two tablets of stone which Moses placed there at Horeb, when the Lord made [a covenant] with the Israelites after their departure from the land of Egypt. We can also compare P’s reference to placing of the ‘ēdût in the Tabernacle (Ex 40:20–21): He took the Pact (‘ēdût) and placed it in the ark; he fixed the poles to the ark, placed the cover on top of the ark, and brought the ark inside the Tabernacle. Then he put up the curtain for screening, and screened off the Ark of the Past – just as the Lord had commanded Moses. There is textual evidence that the Hittite treaties were deposited before the gods of the nations party to the agreements.15 The new finds are a living example to this custom in practice at a later period. The precise nature of the room where the treaty was found has yet to be fully determined, for—as Harrison stated—the form of the room was altered and its use may have changed. But the wealth of cultic objects it contained indicates that despite renovations it may have continued to serve as the central cella of the newly- discovered temple. It remains to be seen what were the other tablets housed in this room (they seem to be lexical lists). Was it a provincial archive, the library of a school operating in the temple, or was it the resident deity’s personal library? And even as we wait we should bear in mind that according to Deut 31:26 a newly written ‘Book of the Law’ was deposited alongside the ‘Ark of the Covenant of the Lord’, so the fact that in the new Tell Ta‘yinat temple the Vassal Treaty was not the only written document preserved in the inner sanctum does not diminish the force of the parallel. 15

So the treaty between Hattusili III of Hatti and Ulmi-Teshup of Tarhauntassa was deposited in the presence of the Sun-goddess of Arinna, and the treaty between Tudhaliya IV of Hatti and Kurunta of Tarhuntassa was copied seven times and each copy was placed in the presence of a different deity. See G. Beckman, Hittite Diplomatic Texts (Atlanta, 1996), pp. 105, 117.

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237

As for the similarities with Solomon’s Temple, the presence of similar treaties in the inner cella of both temples shows that both temples were more than just places of divine residence and cult, but had roles in regulating the obligations of the people who ran the temple toward their ultimate sovereigns.

V I conclude with a new literary parallel to a prominent feature of Solomon’s Temple. The Jerusalem Temple in a sense replicates the Garden of Eden. The Garden of Eden was God’s private pleasure garden, tended by newly-created Man, where God could walk, enjoying the afternoon breeze (Gen 2:15). The Temple building proper stands in the middle of a court paved with stone. In front of the building, to the right and left of the entrance, stand enormous bronze implements filled with water. Left of the entrance as one faces the building is a huge basin, or Sea (Yām). This Sea rests on twelve bronze cattle, four facing each cardinal direction. Alongside with them are ten immense wheeled stands (mekônôt) made of bronze. Each stand is decorated with lions, cattle, and cherubs, and atop each one rests a bronze basin (kiyyôr). According to a note in 2 Chron 4:6, the Sea served for priestly ablutions, while the smaller basins held water for washing the flesh and entrails of the sacrificial animals. But apart from the practical cultic function of these vessels, their number, size, and decoration indicate that they had a symbolic role. Some scholars have suggested that they symbolized God’s war with primeval sea monsters around the time of creation.16 They would then be trophies from this battle, and one can compare, for example, the Sumerian deity Ninurta’s vanquished enemies displayed in the temple at Nippur according the text ‘Ninurta’s Return to Nippur’.17 There are also several references to a Tâmtu in various temples.18 These Tâmtu vessels symbolize Tiamat, and their physical nature is unclear, but they may actually be water basins symbolizing the primeval sea defeated by Marduk. Even if correct19, this explanation does not exhaust the symbolism. In fact, the key to unlocking the symbolic meaning of the bronze water vessels is provided by Ezekiel’s concluding vision in which he tours and describes the Temple of the future. This Temple contains no such vessels. Instead, at the place where the bronze Sea stood in Solomon’s Temple, Ezekiel sees welling up from under the Temple threshold a steady stream flowing out and down, eastward into a sea in the ‘Arabah ―that is the Dead Sea (Ezek 47:2–12). Only this Sea, after receiving the waters of the stream flowing from the Temple, is no longer dead, for this stream is a source of life for animals and plants grazing and growing on its banks, and the stream ‘heals’ the 16

E. Bloch-Smith, “Solomon’s Temple: The Politics of Ritual Space”, in B. M. Gittlin (ed.), Sacred Time, Sacred Place: Archaeology and the Religion of Israel (Winona Lake, 2002), pp. 83–94. 17 J. S. Cooper, The Return of Ninurta to Nippur (Rome, 1978); http://etcsl.orinst.ox.ac.uk/ cgi-bin/etcsl.cgi?text=t.1.6.1#. 18 CAD, T, p. 157 b, s.v. tâmtu 4b; A. R. George, Babylonian Topographical Texts (Leuven, 1992), p. 268. 19 Support for this militaristic interpretation might be adduced from the Aleppo temple discussed above which was decorated with a (possible) scene of a divine victory parade or of the gods going out to war.

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V. A. HUROWITZ

Salt/Dead Sea itself into which it flows. This river of the future, also described by Joel (4:18), reminds one of the river flowing from the Garden of Eden where it watered the Garden and then branched into four streams (Gen 2:10–14). As mentioned, the Garden of Eden was God’s private pleasure garden, tended by newly created Man, where God could walk, enjoying the afternoon breeze (Gen 3:5). If so, the river flowing from Ezekiel’s temple and the bronze water implements in Solomon’s Temple symbolized the river flowing forth from the Garden of Eden. Other ancient near eastern temples and palaces had streams or water vessels of various sorts. An inscription of the Assyrian King Ilushuma (early-2nd millennium BCE) relates that from the Ishtar temple in the city of Assur, situated on Mt. Ebih, two streams flowed forth to different gates, just as we find in Deutero-Zechariah (Zech 14:8); and Assyrian kings Ashurnasirpal II and Sennacherib dug canals alongside the palaces in their newly-built capital cities, Kalhu and Nineveh. The water implements of the Jerusalem Temple thus mark it as the natural habitat and residence of the Divine King. Another important line of meaning is suggested by Ugaritic mythology. El’s abode was located at “the underground wellspring of the rivers, amidst the course of the two seas”. Solomon’s waterworks consisting of a Sea and two rows of water wagons are comparable, in which case the Temple resembles the abode of the Canaanite deity El, and suits the well known El–YHWH syncretism. Finally, a large water basin found at Assur was decorated with figures of primordial sages, deities holding jugs from which flow streams of water.20 The primordial sages mark the basin as belonging to Ea, the Mesopotamian god of wisdom and crafts who is identified eventually with Canaanite El. To all these largely familiar parallels we can now add a fascinating new description of a temple with water in it, possibly at a source or juncture of two rivers. The parallel comes from the ‘Song of Bazi’, a hitherto unknown literary work from the Schøyen Collection published a short time ago by Andrew George21. Nothing is known of the provenance of the tablet, but the main character, the god Bazi was a legendary ruler of Mari and is also known from the Emar version of ‘The Ballad of Ancient Heroes’, placing our text in the western periphery of Mesopotamia. Other western elements of this myth are the mountains Šaršar and Bašār which are otherwise known as mountains of the Amorites, and the god Enki/Ea who is associated with Syria. In the myth, Bazi asks his father Enki: “Father, where shall I set up my cult-center? ... The cult centers are occupied and taken, where reside the Anunnaki, the great gods”. This appeal to Enki is somewhat reminiscent of Anat’s and Athirat’s appeal to El in the Ugaritic Baal epic asking that Baal may build himself a palace. This connection is especially poignant considering that El has been associated with Ea. Enki answers “I hereby give you the mountain Šaššār and Bašār. Someone whom you love, only he knew, at Šaššār a cult-dais rose forth for ”. Bazi finds the place and: 20

Cf. W. Zwickel, Der salomonische Temple (Mainz am Rhein, 1999), taf. 12a. These sages were in the form of fish-men. Such a figure, but without the jug and holding, instead, a pine cone and bucket for purification was found at the entrance to the Late Bronze stage of the Aleppo temple. 21 A. R. George, Babylonian Literary Texts in the Schøyen Collection, (Cornell University Studies in Assyriology and Sumerology 10; Bethesda, 2009), pp. 1–15, pls. I–IV.

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239

He kept circling the mountain as (if around) queens (thieves?), he viewed the city, the parts that were not fallow. The city itself, it was not too distant for him, he smote the mountain, opened wide the terrain. A house was created, waters flowed forth, in the midst of its waters was created the house. The bricks were lapis lazuli, the door leaves golden, the thresholds were of gold, pythons were the door poles. Its cone (?) was…, copper its twin panels, a dead god was retaining the bolt, the door keepers were death. In the midst of his house waters were crossing, half were life, half were death (ina qereb bītīšu ibbalkatū mû, mišlum balāṭu mišlum mūtum). The house was full of joy, the sun was in the cella, Šakkan in the house. This wonderful temple seems to have self erected, reminding us of Baal’s palace in the Ugaritic myth which rose from a fire that burned seven days as well as Rabbinic legends about the Tabernacle that erected itself and the autogenesis of the Golden Calf. Most relevant for the point at hand, there seem to be two streams meeting in this temple, one of water of life, one water of death. George has already pointed out the similarity between this image and the four rivers of Eden in Genesis. Jeffrey Tigay has suggested (personal communication) that the ‘water of life’ of this text might be compared with the vivifying river flowing from Ezekiel’s temple of the future as described in Ezek 47:9. The double stream resembles that mentioned by Joel as well as Zechariah, and is ipso facto a mythological precedent or prototype for the two lines of mekônôt in the Temple courtyard. In summary, as stated at the outset, nothing that may have remained of Solomon’s Temple is known to us. This absence of evidence could be construed as evidence that there was no such temple. Be this as it may, the comparative material adduced here, added to similar parallels discussed in other places, demonstrates that whoever authored the account of Solomon’s Temple was well aware of the traditions of temple architecture, design, decoration and ideology prevalent in the environs of the Land of Israel during the Iron Age.

‫“ נפש תחת נפש‬A LIFE FOR A LIFE” AND NAPŠĀTE UMALLA SANDRA JACOBS University of Manchester

I. Introduction In this paper, I propose that the legal formulation ‫נפש תחת נפש‬, “a life for a life”,1 in Ex 21:23, reflects the context and application of the Middle Assyrian provision: kīmū ša libbiša napšāte umalla, “for the fruit of her womb he pays a life”.2 As such, the Covenant Code expression is indicative of live, human substitution and is entirely distinct from the requirement of capital punishment in biblical law, if not also from vicarious punishment, prescribed in Hammurabi’s Codex for the fatal injury of a pregnant woman (LH 210). Moreover, this principle is no metaphorical abstraction, devoid of concrete or practical relevance, au contraire this oft-presumed assertion.3 This is irrespective of whether the provisions in the Covenant Code had statutory force: a question that remains beyond the scope of this present discussion.4 The Middle Assyrian laws, preserved on the fourteen tablets excavated by the German Oriental Society at Assur in 1903, are not a formal code of law, but more like a restatement or recompilation of older materials.5 Scholars agree that the existing copies of these laws from the 11th century BCE were based on 14th century originals. Fragments of the laws from Tablet A have been recovered also in Nineveh * I wish to thank A. Curtis, H. Hirschberger, B. Jackson, F. van Koppen and S. Tzoref for their insights and advice in researching this paper. The research undertaken for this paper took place during the second year of my doctoral studies, at the University of Manchester, where I examined The Body as Object: Physical Disfigurment in Biblical Law. 1 English translations of the Hebrew Bible are from the JPS Hebrew-English Tanakh: The Traditional Hebrew Text and the New JPS Translation – Second Edition (Philadelphia, 1999) unless otherwise stated. 2 As specified in MAL A50, col. vii, ll. 68–69 and 72–73, and separately as napšāte umalla in MAL A50, col. vii, ll. 81 and A52; col. vii, l. 91, where the transliteration of signs and translation of the laws is provided by G. R. Driver and J. C. Miles, The Assyrian Laws (Oxford, 1935). 3 “Le terme napšate est certainment, en l’espèce, un plurale tantum désignant abstraitment la «vie» et non les ‘être vivants’ au sens concret. Il faut alors admettre, avec la majorité des commentateurs, que la phrase exprime d’une manière métaphorique l’obligation de ‘remplacer la valeur d’une vie’”, in S. Lafont, Femmes, Droit et Justice dans l'Antiquité orientale (Fribourg – Göttingen, 1999), p. 380. 4 See further M. Malul, The Comparative Method in Ancient Near Eastern and Biblical Legal Studies (Kevelaer – Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1990), pp. 102–111. 5 S. Lafont, “Mesopotamia: Middle Assyrian Period”, in R. Westbrook (ed.), A History of Ancient Near Eastern Law (Leiden, 2003), pp. 521–522, 526–533.

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S. JACOBS

and published by N. Postgate.6 In terms of the availability of Middle Assyrian law to the early biblical authors, it is not unreasonable to suggest that some of these provisions, or motifs from them, were preserved in Neo-Assyrian legal tradition and that, like the treaty conventions available to the Deuteronomic scribes, were known in 8th to 7th centuries BCE Israel and Judah.7 There is no suggestion that Judean or Israelite scholars had access to this collection, in the same way that Covenant Code scribes seem to have had access to Hammurabi’s laws.8

II. The Significance of the Covenant Code Formulation The formulation ‫“ נפש תחת נפש‬a life for a life” in Ex 21:23 appears in the context of a broader treatment of personal injuries, where it constituted a potentially self-executing principle,9 as the text of Ex 21:22 here indicates: When men fight and one of them pushes a pregnant woman and a miscarriage results but no (other) damage ensues, the one responsible he shall be fined, according as the woman’s husband may exact from him, the payment to be based on reckoning.

‫וכי ינצו אנשים‬ ‫ונגפו אשה הרה‬ ‫ויצאו ילדיה‬ ‫ולא יהיה אסון‬ ‫ענש יענש‬ ‫כאשר ישית עליו בעל האשה‬ ‫ונתן בפללים‬

In this NJPS translation of Ex 21:22, the word ‘other’ is placed within brackets, since it is not present in the Hebrew. Thus in the case of an accidental miscarriage the penalty is financial, but is also subject to negotiation or arbitration, as the phrase ‫“ ונתן בפללים‬the payment to be based on reckoning”,10 clarifies. It also makes reasonable sense to accept the interpretation of the Mekhilta,11 on this verse, which 6

J. N. Postgate, “Assyrian Texts and Fragments”, Iraq 35 (1973), pp. 19–21. For a recent discussion of the rhetoric in Deut and its relationship to the language of ancient Near Eastern treaties, see C. Koch, Vertrag, Treueid und Bund: Studien zur Rezeption des altorientalischen Vertragrechts im Deuteronomium und zur Ausbildung der Bundestheologie im Alten Testament (Berlin, 2008). Furthermore, my interpretation does not presume that the compilation or redaction of Deuteronomy took place in the Neo-Assyrian, rather than the Neo-Babylonian period. 8 Nor will the question of whether the biblical scribes had an actual copy of the laws in front of them, or simply knowledge of its content and format, be addressed. W. Horowitz has kindly informed me (in a personal communication, November 2010) that the fragment of Hammurabi’s law, recently found at Hazor, will be published in IEJ. This was discovered recently during the Selz Foundation Hazor Excavations in Memory of Yigael Yadin, under the direction of A. Ben-Tor and S. Zuckerman of the Hebrew University Institute of Archaeology. 9 As suggested in B. S. Jackson, Wisdom Laws: A Study of the Mishpatim of Ex 12:1–22:16 (Oxford, 2006), pp. 71–73. 10 Since ‫ ונתן בפללים‬is considered to be a later insertion in text critical scholarship. 11 The Mekhilta refers to the collection of Halakhic Midrashim, which provides practical rulings on the laws sequenced in Ex, redacted during the Tanaitic period. The edition cited here is compiled by the school of Rabbi Ishmael, rather that of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, with the English translation from J. Z. Lauterbach, Mekilta de-Rabbi Ishmael, III (Philadelphia, 1935). 7

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243

concludes: “When the biblical text states ‘no damage ensues’, it means to the woman; ‘the one responsible shall be fined’ is for (the loss of) the child”.12 Accordingly the loss of the life of the unborn child incurs payment of a negotiable fine to woman’s husband, where no mention of any non-fatal injuries to the fetus is explicit. This is distinct from the terms specified for the injury to the mother, whose fatal injury qualifies for a “life for life” penalty, as indicated in Ex 21:23, as follows: but if (other) damage ensues, the penalty shall be life for life

‫ואם יהיה אסון‬ ‫ונתתה נפש תחת נפש‬

However, in the event that the woman incurs a non-fatal injury, the use of ‫ונתתה‬ “the penalty is” (literally, “and you shall give”) is implied from this verse in Ex 21:23, so that equivalent retaliation as specified by the subsequent “eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot” formulation, is applicable in Ex 21:24: eye for eye, tooth for tooth hand for hand, foot for foot

‫עין תחת עין שן תחת שן‬ ‫יד תחת יד רגל תחת רגל‬

This contrasts with the relevant provisions in Hammurabi’s laws, where non-fatal injury of the pregnant wife is not addressed but only the loss of her life or that of the life of her child.13 In all cases monetary compensation is provided on a reducing scale, subject to the status of the injured woman, and limited only to cases where the assailant himself is an awīlu—one who may reasonably be assumed to have the funds available to pay for his crime. The exception being the use of vicarious punishment in LH 210: šumma sinništum šî imtūt mārassu idukku, “if that woman should die, they shall kill his daughter”. This prescription occurs in the following sequence of laws, where the more prevalent form of compensation is financial. LH 209

If an awīlu strikes a woman of the awīlu-class and thereby causes her to miscarry her fetus, he shall weigh and deliver 10 shekels of silver for her fetus.

LH 210

If that woman should die, they shall kill his daughter.

LH 211

If he should cause a woman of the commoner class to miscarry her fetus,14 he shall weigh and deliver 5 shekels of silver.

LH 212

If that woman should die, he shall weigh and deliver 30 shekels of silver.

LH 213

If he strikes an awīlu’s slave woman and thereby causes her to miscarry her fetus, he shall weigh and deliver 2 shekels of silver.

12

‫ לא יהיה אסון באשה ענוש יענש בוולדת‬:‫ ת"ל‬Lauterbach, op. cit. (note 8), p. 65. As translated by M. T. Roth, Law Collections from Mesopotamia and Asia Minor (Atlanta, 1997). 14 Where mārat muškēnum is translated as “a woman of the commoner class”, by Roth, ibid., p. 122. 13

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S. JACOBS

LH 214

If that slave woman should die, he shall weigh and deliver 2 shekels of silver. 15

Here, for Hammurabi the issue at stake was not the degree or nature of the injuries sustained but rather the calculation of appropriate compensation that is rightfully due to the victim’s owner for loss of his wife or unborn child. As such, vicarious capital punishment (for the accidental killing of a woman in the awīlu-class) is prescribed only when her assailant was of the same status.16 The purpose of these laws was not to protect a married woman from violent attack or compensate her for her injuries, but rather to pay the going market rate to the property-owning male, for his chattal loss.17 Aside of this requirement for vicarious punishment, these Babylonian values also reflects the underlying logic in the Covenant Code, where also the higher valuation of the life of a woman was based directly upon her child-bearing potential, as a non-enslaved pregnant woman, or ‫אשה הרה‬. This is clarified by C. Houtman, who explains that the principle of retaliation is determined by the balance of status between the offending and injured individuals, as follows: For retaliation it is not the life, the eye etc. of the offender that is demanded, but the life, etc. of his wife. The same idealism that governs 21:26,27—mis-treatment of a slave, male or female, is the cause for giving them their freedom—also governs 21:23–25: extreme caution is required where it concerns the life and corporal well-being of the wife of a fellow countryman. One who violates that rule is going to feel the consequences in the loss or maiming of his own wife. So the equilibrium between the parties is restored. The regulation is especially in the nature of a preventative (cf. Deut 19:20), addressing the attack on a man’s most precious possession, the woman, the one who could give him offspring.18 This is not to presume that Ex 21:23–25 required vicarious punishment of the assailant’s wife, but simply that the equivalence in the socio-economic infrastructure dictated that only one wife’s life (or limb) was legitimate restitution for loss of, or injury to, another man’s wife’s life (or identical limb) and that the talionic principle qualified not only the extent of the physical injury, but also restricted its application to only the assailant’s wife. This is entirely different to the prevalent assumption that the talionic formulation indicated that physical mutilation of the assailant, corresponding to the injury incurred by his victim, was specified.19 That the context of 15

Roth, ibid., pp. 122–123. Punishment for an assailant from a lower status group, i.e. a muškēnu “commoner” or a slave, who had killed a woman, in these circumstances, is not specified. 17 This is identical to the rationale provided for the fatal injury of the Israelite slave in Ex 21:20–21: “When a man strikes his slave, male or female, with a rod, and he dies there and then, he must be avenged. But if he survives a day or two, he is not to be avenged: ‫כי כספו הוא‬ since he is the other’s property”. 18 C. Houtman, Exodus: Volume III: Historical Commentary on the Old Testament (Leuven, 2000), p. 166. His interpretation is predicated on the economic reality that the pregnant woman victim in Ex 21:22–24 would command the additional value of her anticipated child. 19 As characterized in the Deuteronomic revision of the formulation presented in Deut 19:21, where ‫ נפש בנפש‬indicated the death penalty as punishment for a witness who falsely accused 16

‫“ נפש תחת נפש‬A LIFE FOR A LIFE”

245

live, personal substitution was not explicit in the subsequent revision of the talionic formulation in Lev 24:17–21 and Deut 19:21 does not detract from this objective.20 As such, how is this underlying principle of human substitution evident in the broader context of biblical tradition? Firstly, there is of course the cognate use of ‫נפש‬ (from the Akkadian, napištu as a ‘living being’, ‘self ’, or ‘the essence of life’),21 which at the head of the talionic formula ‫“ נפש תחת נפש‬a life for a life” was undeniably prominent.22 Furthermore, its relationship to the Middle Assyrian bēl napšāte, or ‘avenger of a life’, if not also the bēl dāmē,23 corresponds closely (but not identically) also to the role of the ‫‘ גואל הדם‬the blood redeemer’ in biblical law. Secondly, in the appearance of the preposition ‫ תחת‬meaning ‘in place of’, or ‘because of’, where its function in conveying substitution as a form of compensation and is an essential characteristic of its usage. Thus D. Daube explains that the principle of ‫נפש‬ ‫“ תחת נפש‬a life for a life” originated in the context of homicide, where the killer had to replace his victim’s life with another: The first member of the formula of retaliation is “life for life”. We know of ancient Oriental laws according to which all that a man who had killed another man had to do was supply the latter’s family with one or more persons. Under this system, in the case of homicide, one life was simply replaced by another. If there was a similar stage in Hebrew law, and if the clause “a life for a life” came into existence from that era, the wording would be easily intelligible.24

another of a capital offence: a consequence particularly exemplified in the Book of Susannah. 20 Where its use in Lev 24:18 prescribes financial compensation, qualified by use of the imperfect ‫“ ישלמנה‬he will pay”: ‫“ ומכה נפש בהמה ישלמנה נפש תחת נפש‬One who kills a beast shall make restitution, life for life”. Here even though monetary compensation is explicit, it would not obviously preclude the killer from providing a live animal to compensate the owner of the dead beast. 21 See “napšātu(m)” in J. Black, A. George and N. Postgate, A Concise Dictionary of Akkadian: 2nd Correct Printing (Wiesbaden, 2000) p. 23. In MAL B2, Driver and Miles (op. cit. [note 2], pp. 426–427) render bēl napšāte as “representative of the life”, whereas Roth (op. cit. [note 14], p. 176), prefers “next-of-kin”. H. Seebass likewise concludes: “A bēl napišātūm is therefore a person responsible for someone’s life (e.g. granting it) or (Middle Assyrian) having the right to avenge a homicide”, in H. Seebas, “‫ נפש‬nepeš”, in Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament, IX (Grand Rapids, MI 1984–1986), p. 500. See also H. Tawil, An Akkadian Lexical Companion for Biblical Hebrew: Etymological-Semantic and Idiomatic Equivalents with Supplement on Biblical Aramaic (New Jersey, 2009), pp. 244–246, where his discussion of ‫ מאס נפש‬meaning “to forfeit one’s life” and the Akkadian napišta mêšu is equally informative. 22 ‫ נפש תחת נפש‬in Ex 21:23, Lev 24:18 and ‫ נפש בנפש‬in Deut 19:21. 23 A. Mishaly, “The Bēl Dāmē’s Role in the Neo-Assyrian Legal Process”, ZAR 6 (2000), pp. 34–54. 24 D. Daube, “Lex Talionis” in Biblical Law and Literature: The Collected Works of David Daube (California, 2003), p. 204. This is clear not only in the legal, but also in the political sphere, as this provision from the Treaty with Kaniš from Kültepe, indicates: “If the blood of a citizen of Assur is shed in your city or your land (and) a loss will occur, you shall pay a fixed amount for the blood-money to us and we will kill him (i.e. the murderer). You shall not give another person instead of the murderer to us”. Treaty with Kaniš, ll. 39–45, from C. Günbatti, “Two Treaty Texts Found at Kültepe”, in J. G. Derckson (ed.), Assyria and Be-

246

S. JACOBS

It is also clear that this principle of live, human substitution was understood even by the Priestly, Deuteronomic and prophetic scribes, as the examples listed on the following page indicate. This is evident, even though the use of the preposition ‫תחת‬ (taḥat) did not represent live, human substitution in every single biblical case but only in a significant majority, as 2 Sam 19:1 indicates, where David cries: ‫בני‬ ‫“ אבשלום מי יתן מותי תחתיך‬My son Absalom if only I had died instead of you”.25 THE USE OF ‫( תחת‬taḥat) AS INDICATIVE OF PERSONAL SUBSTITUTION:

Gen 4:25 “another offspring in place of Abel”

‫זרע אחר תחת הבל‬ 26

Gen 36:33 “(he) succeeded him as king”

‫וימלך תחתיו יובב בן זרח‬

Ex 21:23 “the penalty shall be life for life” Lev 16:32 “to serve as Priest in place of his father”

‫ונתתה נפש תחת נפש‬ 27

‫ימלא את ידו לכהן תחת אביו‬

Num 8:18 “the Levites instead of every first born”

‫הלוים תחת כל בכור‬

Num 32:14 “(sinful men) have replaced your fathers”

‫קמתם תחת אבתיכם‬ 28

Deut 2:12 “and settling in their place” Josh 2:14 “our persons are pledged to for yours, even to death!” Josh 5:7 “but he raised their sons in his stead”

‫וישבו תחתם‬

‫נפשנו תחתיכם למות‬ ‫ואת בניהם הקים תחתם‬ ‫נפשך תחת נפשו‬

1 Kgs 20:39 “your life for his”

29

‫ואתן אדם תחתך‬

Isa 43:4c “I give men in exchange for you” Isa 43:4d “and peoples in your stead”

30

‫ולאומים תחת נפשך‬

yond: Studies Presented to Mogens Trolle Larsen (Leiden, 2004), pp. 252–253. 25 Also in Gen 22:13: ‫“ ויעלהו לעלה תחת בנו‬a burnt offering in place of his son”, where the dead animal replaces Isaac on the altar. Ambiguity is occasionally also evident, as in 2 Kgs 10:24, where ‫“ נפשו תחת נפשו‬he shall forfeit his life”, occurs. Here Joash states: “Whoever permits the escape of a single one of the men I commit to your charge, shall forfeit life for life”, where it is not immediately apparent if the negligent soldier was to be imprisoned, or killed. 26 In Gen 36:33 “Jobab, son of Zerah from Bozrah, succeeded him as king”, where ‫וימלך תחתיו‬ recurs in 36:34, 35, 36, 37, 38 and 39. As Solomon’s declaration in 1 Kgs 8:20 ‫ואקום תחת אבי‬ “I have succeeded my father David” and equally that of Rehoboam in 1 Kgs 11:43 and of Jeroboam in 1 Kgs 14:20, Ps 45:17: “your sons shall succeed your ancestors” and Isa 37:37: ‫ וימלך אסרחדון תחתיו‬where Esarhaddon succeeded Sennacherib. 27 Compare also 1 Kgs 2:35: “In his place the king appointed Benaiah, son of Jehoiada over the army, and in place of Abiathar, the king appointed the priest, Zadok”. 28 Where ‫ וישבו תחתם‬similarly recurs in Deut 2:21, 22 and 23. 29 Where ‫ אדם‬in the singular (as indicative of humanity) is translated by the NJPS as the plural ‘men’ in Isa 43:4c. 30 This is echoed by the parallelism in the previous verse (Isa 43:3 c–d): I give Egypt as ransom for you ‫נתתי כפרך מצרים‬ Ethiopia and Saba in exchange for you ‫כוש וסבא תחתיך‬

‫“ נפש תחת נפש‬A LIFE FOR A LIFE”

Job 6:14 “if you were in my place” Esth 2:17 “and made her queen instead of Vashti”

247

‫לו יש נפשכם תחת נפשי‬ ‫וימליכה תחת ושתי‬

III. The Near Eastern Legal Context of Personal Substitution These examples support B. Jackson’s view, that the expression ‫“ נפש תחת נפש‬a life for a life” in Ex 21:23 indicates that “the sanction provided in the apodosis is not death, but rather substitution of persons—quite literally ‘a soul for a soul’ (but a live soul, not a dead one)”.31 Jackson suggests that this principle of personal substitution is further supported by ancient Near Eastern parallels, “particularly MAL A50, which uses an almost identical expression napšate (cf. nefesh) umalla”,32 as was first suggested by Driver and Miles,33 in their discussion of MAL A50 (vii, ll. 63–71): If a man has struck a married woman and caused her to lose the fruit of her womb, the wife of the man who caused the (other) married woman to lose the fruit of her womb shall be treated as he has treated her. For the fruit of her womb he pays (on the principle of) a life (for a life), but if that woman dies, the man shall be put to death for the fruit of her womb.34 As in the Covenant Code, the separation of injuries to the victim and her unborn child is evident, but more to the point: the talionic principle here indicates that the attacker’s wife is to receive a corresponding assault, as Houtman had previously argued was the case with reference to the requirement for retaliation in Ex 21:22–25: aššata ša a’īle ša aššat a’īle ša libbiša ušaṣliūni ki ša eppušūšini eppušūši “The wife of the man who caused the (other) married woman to lose the fruit of her womb shall be treated as he has he treated her”.35 As R. Yaron points out: “The desire for exactness in retribution is here carried to its crowning absurdity”.36 In addition, for the loss of the life of the unborn child, a separate penalty is then specified: kīmā ša libbiša napšāte umalla “he pays on the principle of a life”.37 Although M. Roth translates kīmā ša libbiša napšāte umalla as “he shall make full 31

Jackson, op. cit. (note 9), p. 211. Idem, ibid., p. 211. 33 Driver and Miles, op. cit. (note 2), pp. 112–114. See also R. Haase’s classification of this law, as an example of “Gleiches mit Gleichem”, in R. Hasse, “Talion und spiegelnde Strafe in den keilschriftlichen Rechtscorpora”, ZAR 3 (1995), pp. 195, 198. 34 Driver and Miles, op. cit. (note 2), pp. 418–419. Although the Assyrian text uses active forms of each verb, so (for example) in MAL A50, line 71: LÚ i-du-uk-ku, transcribed as a’īle iddukū literally means “that man they will kill”, the passive form (“the man shall be put to death”) is better suited to English. 35 MAL A50 (vii, ll. 65–67), Driver and Miles, op. cit. (note 2), pp. 418–419. 36 R. Yaron, “The Middle Assyrian Laws and the Bible”, Biblica 51 (1980), p. 555. The obvious practical difficulties in implementing this prescription are discussed further in G. Cardascia, Les lois assyriennes (Paris, 1969), p. 241. F. van Koppen (in personal correspondence) suggests that this could alternatively imply some form of public dishonour, if not physical abuse. 37 MAL A50 (vii, l. 68), Driver and Miles, op. cit. (note 2), pp. 418–419. 32

248

S. JACOBS

payment of a life for her fetus”,38 there is no reason to assume that the penalty is primarily monetary, as is demonstrated by its use specifying capital punishment, in the event that the mother was killed: u šumma sinniltu šīt mītat napšāte umalla “but if that woman dies, the man shall be put to death, he pays (on the principle of) a life (for a life)”.39 Here the assailant pays for his victim’s death with his own life,40 where there is no suggestion of any financial payment whatsoever. As Driver and Miles confirm: “It will at once have been noticed that, in all cases where the clause napšāte umalla occurs, the punishment is a form of talion. In—51, on the contrary, where it does not occur the penalty is mere monetary compensation in which talion does not enter”.41 In this context, H. Seebas clarifies this use of the Assyrian expression as follows: Interesting on account of the legal notions embodied are the texts dealing with the principle of ‘a life for a life’, e.g., ‘If they do not discover the one who murdered him, they will deliver 3 persons as a fine (umallu ‘make full’); in the case of an unborn child: ‘He gives restitution as for a person (napšāte umalla); a pretrial settlement: ‘Do not go to court against me. I will replace your slave with a person (napšāti ša qallika ūšallamka).42 That this Assyrian law also required equivalent restitution by means of human substitution, was actualized in a significant number of cases. This is not to assume that this penalty could not be commuted to a monetary fine, but only that the law intended personal, human substitution in the first instance, where the expression napšāte umalla occurred. The formulation of this legal principle and its particular meaning is apparent, even if subsequent negotiations ensued to compensate the injured woman’s husband financially for his loss. This clarified, an additional differentiation in the Assyrian penalty next appears in relation the loss of the unborn child: and one which is specifically dependant on its gender: In a case where the pregnant wife survived,43 the law then states: “Or if that woman’s husband has no son (and) his wife has been struck and has cast the fruit of her womb [for the fruit] of her womb the striker shall be put to death”.44 However, “if the fruit of her womb was a girl he nonetheless pays (on the principle of) a life 38 Roth, op. cit. (note 13), p. 173. This is not to say that restitution for such injuries was never commuted to a financial penalty. Rather that the formal requirement was, in the first instance, for a personal substitute, but that monetary compensation would also have been negotiable, as shall shortly be explained. 39 MAL A50 (vii, ll. 70–71), Driver and Miles, op. cit. (note 2), pp. 418–419. 40 Unlike the Babylonian tradition in LH 210, where the assailant’s wife was intended to be killed vicariously. 41 Driver and Miles, op. cit. (note 2), p. 114, where MAL A51 states: “If a man has struck a married woman, who does not rear her children and has caused her to cast the fruit of her womb this punishment (shall be inflicted) he shall pay 2 talents of lead”, in Driver and Miles, op. cit. (note 2), p. 421. 42 Seebass, op. cit. (note 21), p. 501. 43 And where her assailant thus did already not incur capital punishment for his assault. 44 ša libbiša māḫiṣāna idduku in MAL A50, ll. 74–70, Driver and Miles op. cit. (note 2), pp. 418–419, where Roth, op. cit. (note 13), p. 174 provides: “they shall kill her assailant for her foetus”.

‫“ נפש תחת נפש‬A LIFE FOR A LIFE”

249

(for a life).45 This differential presumably reflects the assumption that the loss of a son and heir was of greater financial value and social prestige in Assyrian culture. What is particularly notable is that according to this interpretation of Ex 21:22–25, capital punishment for the assailant was never required, even if both the woman and her child had been fatally injured in the Covenant Code. In the worst case scenario, the attacker would have to pay money (or its equivalent in grain or cattle) for the loss of life of the child and replace the life of the wife with a substitute.46 In the event that he did not have either a daughter or even slave to substitute, he may then have provided financial compensation as an alternative form of restitution.47 If such substitutions were relevant to the conception of talion in the Covenant Code, in what other circumstances were they known elsewhere? A comparison with the personal tidennūtu contracts from Nuzi suggests a different context in which the full contractual payment was equated with the substitution of a living child, or other legal dependant.48 In the tidennūtu contracts, two contracting parties exchange property, usually moveables such as metals, grain, domestic animals or cloth, for a child or slave. Once the debtor returns the borrowed goods, he reclaims his pledged person.49 Here the contract operated as an ‘antichretic pledge transaction’,50 where the individual pledged represented the capital borrowed, whilst their labour functioned as interest on the loan. In this context B. Eichler explains that the loss or flight of the contracted person was always considered a permanent absence: If correctly restored, text 16 stipulates that, upon the death of the person, (a son), Party D is to provide Party C with another son.51 According to this contract then, Party C will accept monetary compensation for the temporary absence of the person,52 but in the event of permanent absence, he demands to be furnished with another.53 More relevant to this discussion is the legal expression used to describe how exactly one son could be “furnished with another”, where Eicher clarifies: “in case 45

šumma ša libbiša ṣuḫartu napšāte umalla, in MAL A50, ll. 80–81, Driver and Miles, op. cit. (note 2), pp. 418–419. 46 It cannot be claimed that monetary compensation was intended for the loss of life of the mother, in the first instance, because financial penalties are expressed otherwise in Covenant Code. For example, ‫“ שלם ישלם‬he shall surely pay” occurs in Ex 21:22, ‫“ שנים ישלם‬he shall pay double” in Ex 21:23, ‫“ ישלם לבעליו‬he shall make restitution to its owner” in Ex 22:10 and ‫“ כסף ישקל‬he must weigh out silver” in Ex 22:16. 47 As inferred by the use of ‫“ ונתן בפללים‬the payment to be based on reckoning” in Ex 21:22. 48 B. L. Eichler, Indenture at Nuzi: The Personal Tidennūtu Contract and Its Mesopotamian Analogues (New Haven – London, 1987). See also F. van Koppen “The Geography of the Slave Trade and Northern Mesopotamia in the Late Old Babylonian Period”, in H. Hungar and R. Pruzsinszky (eds.), The Mesopotamian Dark Age Revisited: Proceedings of An International Conference of SCIEM 2000 – Held in Vienna 8th–9th November 2002 (Wien, 2004), pp. 9–33. 49 Eichler, op. cit. (note 48), p. 12. 50 Idem, ibid., p. 105. 51 “If Ar-tidi dies, then [he shall take] another son of Ḫalu-[šenni]”, JEN 3, 293, ll. 13–15 in Eichler, ibid., p. 116. 52 “If he [Ar-tidi] departs from the work of Teḫib-tilla for a single day, [he shall pay] one mina of copper per day”, JEN 3, 293, ll. 11–12, in Eichler, ibid., p. 116. 53 Eichler, ibid., p. 26.

250

S. JACOBS

of the flight or disappearance of the person, Party D must make full payment (umalla)”.54 This relationship between the antichretic pledge and the self-enslavement of the Israelite has been assessed also by E. Speiser in relation to Middle Babylonian tradition from Nuzi,55 where the parallels are clearly more pertinent to the situation in Lev 25:35–54, which prescribe conditions for selling and redeeming an Israelite. The conditions in Hammurabi’s laws (LH 229–231) equally inform the substitution of slaves, particularly LH 231: LH 229

If a builder constructs a house for a man but does not make his work sound,56 and the house that he constructs collapses and causes the death of the householder, that builder shall be killed.

LH 230

If it should cause the death of the son of the householder,57 they shall kill a son of that builder.

LH 231

If it should cause the death of a slave of the householder,58 he shall give to the householder a slave of comparable value for the slave”.59

As was the case in LH 210, here too LH 229 and 230 specify vicarious punishment,60 but where the singular resonance of wardam kīma wardim “a slave of comparable value for the slave”, with ‫“ נפש תחת נפש‬a life for a life” is immediately apparent.61 Furthermore, the provision “he shall give to the house-holder” (ana bēl bītim inaddin) indicates that the verb inaddin, from nadanu(m) “to give” is the etymological equivalent of ‫ נתן‬in Ex 21:23,62 where “the penalty shall be life for life” (i.e. ‫ ונתתה נפש תחת נפש‬was witnessed. Likewise, this principle of personal 54

Eichler, ibid., p. 26. E. A. Speiser, “Lev and the Critics”, in M. Haran (ed.), ‫( ספר היובל ליחזקאל קויפמן‬Jerusalem, 1960), pp. 29–45, esp. 36–41. 56 Where the “man”, or client is an awīlum. 57 Where “he son of the householder” is the mār bēl bītim. 58 Where “a slave of the householder” is a warad bēl bītim. 59 šumma warad bēl bītim uštamī wardam kīma wardim ana bēl bītim inaddin. “If it should cause the death of a slave of the householder, a slave of comparable value for the slave”, in Roth, op. cit. (note 13), pp. 125. 60 I am reluctant to include MAL A55 as an example of vicarious talion, although this is suggested by R, Yaron, op. cit. (note 36), p. 555. Here, in the specification of punishment for a rapist, MAL A55, col. viii, ll. 23–29 states: “the father of the virgin shall take the wife of the ravisher of the virgin (and) give her to be dishonoured; he shall not give her (back) to her husband (but) shall take her. The father shall give his daughter who has been ravished as a spouse to her ravisher”, in Driver and Miles, op. cit. (note 2), p. 423. The Middle Assyrian provision continues to explain that in event that the assailant (or “ravisher”) has no wife, he was required to pay the virgin’s father one third in silver of the price of a virgin and then had to marry her, (subject to the further discretion of the girl’s father, who could still “give his daughter to whom he pleases”). 61 This is explicit also in LH 219: (LH 218): If a physician performs major surgery with a bronze lancet upon an awīlu and thus causes the awīlu’s death, or opens the awīlu’s temple with a bronze lancet and thus blinds the awīlu’s eye, they shall cut off his hand; (LH 219): If a physician performs major surgery with a bronze lancet upon a slave of a commoner and thus causes the slave’s death, he shall replace the slave with a slave of comparable value. 62 See Tawil, op. cit. (note 21), pp. 252–253. 55

‫“ נפש תחת נפש‬A LIFE FOR A LIFE”

251

substitution is explicit also in the code of Lipit-Ishtar, where no knowledge of this collection (or any other Sumerian compilation) was known by, or available to, the biblical scribes: LI 12

If a man’s female slave or male slave flees within the city and it is confirmed that the slave dwelt in a man’s house for one month, he (who harboured the slave) shall give slave for slave.

LI 13

If he has no slave, he shall weigh and deliver 15 shekels of silver.63

This ‘slave for slave’ substitution principle bears further witness in Neo-Assyrian case law, where a verdict recorded confirms that “Šulmu-na’id will give a slave girl for a slave girl”,64 and is reiterated: “[he will] give slave-girl for a slave girl”.65 Thus the talionic principle of live, human substitution was evident in a practical, documented case during the Neo-Assyrian period, when at least the Deuteronomic (if not the Covenant Code) scribes were certainly known to have been active. Such substitutions were fully understood also in the patriarchal narratives, where “the talion principle is presupposed in certain narratives and that it is encoded as a strategy in the sequence of actions and thereby lends significance to the plot”.66 Further corroboration that the principle pre-supposes also live, human substitution is presented clearly also in the patriarchal narratives. The process is particularly “encoded” in the context of the pledge, and in the related conditions of surety, evident in the account of Joseph’s meeting with his brothers in Gen 42:19–20: If you are honest men, let one of your brothers be held in your place of detention, while the rest of you go and take home rations for your starving households; but you must bring me your youngest brother, that your words may be verified and that you may not die. The brother’s response and its relationship to the talionic formulation is obvious: “Alas, we are being punished on account of our brother, ‫( נפש בהתחננו‬literally ‘his soul instead of us’) because we looked on at his anguish, yet paid no heed as he pleaded with us. That is why this distress has come upon us”.67 Likewise, on their return to Canaan, Judah persuades his father to allow Benjamin to accompany them back to Egypt, saying:

63

Roth, op. cit. (note 13), pp. 29. GÉME ina ku-um GÉME Šul-mu-I ta-dan, in K345 (ADD 166), ll. 7–8, published by R. Jas, Neo-Assyrian Judicial Proceedures (Helsinki, 1996), p. 15. 65 i-din GÉME ina ku-um GÉME, in K345 (ADD 166) ll. 11–12, published by Jas, ibid, p. 16. 66 As P. Nel suggests in relation to the accounts of Judah and Tamar in Gen 38, Ruth and Deut 25:5–6 and in the Samson narratives from Judges 13–16, in P. J. Nel, “The Talion Principle in Old Testament Narratives”, JNSL 20 (1994), pp. 21–29. Likewise B. Jackson explains: “If we ask, then, why Abraham was tested, the answer would appear to reside in the talionic principle, found elsewhere in the patriarchal narratives (Jacob, the deceiver, deceived): here: Abraham, the tester of God (Gen 15) is in turn tested by God”, in B. S. Jackson, Studies in The Semiotics of Biblical Law (Sheffield, 2000), p. 241. 67 Gen 42:21–22, where Reuben’s subsequent response is equally telling: “Did I not tell you, ‘Do no wrong to the boy’? But you paid no heed. Now comes the reckoning for his blood”. 64

252

S. JACOBS

Send the boy in my care, and let us be on our way, that we may live and not die—you and we and our children. I myself will be surety for him;68 you may hold me responsible:69 if I do not bring him back to you and set him before you, I shall stand guilty before you forever”.70 This evokes particularly also to the context depicted in the tidennūtu contracts from Nuzi. Moreover, Judah’s subsequent offer—to be held captive in place of Benjamin—supports this conception of the ‫“ נפש תחת נפש‬a life for a life” principle, as indicative of a live, personal substitution: Now your servant has pledged himself for the boy to my father, saying, ‘If I do not bring him back to you, I shall stand guilty before my father forever. Therefore, please let your servant remain as a slave to my lord, instead of the boy,71 and let the boy go back with his brothers. For how can I go back to my father unless the boy is with me’?72 The exception that would prove this rule is Reuben’s earlier offer to his father Jacob concerning the proposed absence of Benjamin: “You may kill my two sons if I do not bring him back to you”,73 which is explicit as vicarious killing, rather than living substitution, where R. Yaron observes: “A strange proposal indeed, inviting Jacob, or at least empowering him, to exact vengeance on his own grand-sons; one need not be surprised that it was rejected. Yet, the very bizarreness of the suggestion lends credibility to the assumption that the legal background against which it was formulated was a concrete one”.74

68

‫“ אנכי אערבנו‬I myself will be surety for him” where Ephraim Speiser explains that the technical sense of the verb ‘rb, particularly common in Akkadian legal usage; cf. the cognate noun ‘ērābon, ‘pledge’ in xxxviii:18”, in E. A. Speiser, The Anchor Bible: Gen: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (New York, 1964), pp. 327–328. N. Sarna adds that “the Hebrew stem ‘-r-v is most frequently used in reference to acceptance of legal responsibility for a debt contracted by another. The guarantor may undertake to insure that the borrower will not disappear, or he undertakes to repay the loan, should the borrower default”. This meaning is apparent also in Prov 6:1, Job 18:3 and Neh 5:3. See N. M. Sarna, ‫בראשית‬ Genesis: The Traditional Hebrew Text with the New JPS Translation and Commentary (Philadelphia, 1989), p. 298. 69 Sarna further clarifies that ‫מידי תבקשנו‬, where “le-vakkesh mi-yad means to hold responsible, to require an accounting for and is particularly used with respect to bloodshed”, as occurs in Gen 31:39; 1 Sam 20:6; 2 Sam 4:11; Ez 3:18, 20 and 33:8. Sarna, op. cit. (note 53), p. 298. 70 Gen 43:8–9. 71 Specifically: ‫“ תחת הנער עבד לאדני‬as a slave to my Lord, instead of the boy”, where the preposition ‫( תחת‬taḥat) from the talionic formulation is explicit. 72 Gen 44:32–34b. Here the commentators are unanimous: “the one who had become responsible for the sale of Joseph into slavery (37:26 ff) now unwittingly offers to become the slave of his own victim”, Sarna, op. cit. (note 53), p. 307, see also pp. 33–44. Cf. also C. M. Carmichael, “Biblical Laws of Talion”, Hebrew Annual Review 9 (1985), p. 118. 73 Gen 42:37: ‫את שני בני תמית אם לא אביאנו אליך‬ 74 R. Yaron, “Biblical Law: Prolegomena”, in B. S. Jackson (ed.), Jewish Law Annual: Supplement Two: Jewish Law in Legal History and the Modern World (Leiden, 1980), p. 35, where likewise, Rashi (recalling the view of R. Yehuda haNasi in ‫ בראשית רבה‬Gen Rabbah 85a) comments that naturally Jacob did not accept Reuven’s offer, but responded: ‫בכור שוטה‬

‫“ נפש תחת נפש‬A LIFE FOR A LIFE”

253

IV. Conclusion In light of this discussion, I suggest that ‫“ נפש תחת נפש‬life for a life” in the Covenant Code conveyed, firstly, that human substitution was indicated and secondly, that the replacement was intended alive, rather than being vicariously killed.75 Furthermore, that this principle is recognized throughout the biblical and prophetic corpus, where it is characterized by the use of the preposition ‫( תחת‬taḥat) and is highlighted additionally in the patriarchal narratives.76 That this application is not relevant to the revision of the talionic formulation in Priestly or Deuteronomic law does not negate its usage in the context of the Covenant Code. It is paralleled by the use of napšāte umalla in MAL A50 and A52, in Babylonian law, where wardam kīma wardim “a slave of comparable value for the slave”, is specified in LH 219 and LH 231 and in Neo-Assyrian case law and is additionally known from context of the tiddenūtu contracts from Nuzi. Given that the principle of personal substitution is distinct from the award of financial penalties in this corpus, it is therefore inappropriate to retroject the subsequent rabbinic ruling (restricting the principle to monetary compensation) onto the context of this principle in the Covenant Code.77 Not least importantly, this evaluation provides a concrete basis for understanding of the principle of talion,78 where ‫“ נפש תחת נפש‬a life for a life” in Ex 21:23, indicating live, human substitution, was clearly no metaphorical abstraction, devoid all practical function and legal significance. This interpretation is also relevant to D. Wright’s recent assertion that: “the Covenant Code drew primarily and directly upon the Laws of Hammurabi for its entire composition”,79 since ‫“ נפש תחת נפש‬a life for a life” in Ex 21:23 bears the unmistakable impression of Middle Assyrian law, in its particular relationship to the provision napšāte umalla: an impression confirmed in the broader context of biblical traditions, where examples of live, personal substitution, flagged by the preposition ‫( תחת‬taḥat), abound.

‫ וכי בניו הם ולא בני‬,‫ הוא אומר להמית בניו‬:‫“ הוא זה‬This firstborn son is a fool: He offers to kill his sons, (but) are they (only) his sons and not mine (also)? ”. 75 As was observed in LH 210, LH 230 and Gen 42:37. 76 E.g. Gen 42:19–20 and 43:8–9. 77 Nor is the discussion in BT Bava Qama 83b–84a relevant: “What then would be the case if a blind man put out the eye of another man, or where a cripple cut the hand of another, or where a lame person broke the leg of another” because this understanding of talion is based more obviously upon the Deuteronomic usage, where the assailant himself incurred corporal punishment, and not on the principle of live, human substitution, where the assailant replaced the fatal loss of the wife with another life. 78 As explained by Driver and Miles, op. cit. (note 2), pp. 112–114, Daube, op.cit. (note 24), pp. 203–240; Houtman, op. cit. (note 18), pp. 166–168, and Jackson, op. cit. (note 9), p. 211. 79 D. P. Wright, Inventing God’s Law: How the Covenant Code of the Bible Used and Revised the Laws of Hammurabi (Oxford, 2009), p. 346.

A GEO-POLITICAL AND HISTORICAL PERSPECTIVE OF MERNEPTAH’S POLICY IN CANAAN DAN’EL KAHN University of Haifa ‘Israel’ is mentioned in the Merneptah Stela, dated to his 5th regnal year— 1209/8 BCE in an extra-biblical source for the first time.1 Dozens of articles were written in order to explain the meaning of the name Israel,2 identify the origin and nature of ‘Israel’,3 locate this entity,4 and evaluate the veracity of the described events.5 Scholars based their research on grammatical6 and orthographical,7 structural,8 phonological, literary, lexicographical9 and art-historical arguments,10 in order 1

See, however, the suggestion by M. Görg, “Israel in Hieroglyphen”, BN 106 (2001), pp. 24– 27. Cf. A. Lemaire, “Asriel, šr’l, Israel et l’origine de la confederation israelite”, VT 23 (1973), pp. 239–243. 2 H. Goedicke, “A Comment on the Name Israel”, in S. Schoske (ed.), Akten des 4. Internationalen Ägyptologen-Kongresses München 1985, Studien zur altägyptischen Kultur Beihefte 4 (Hamburg, 1991), pp. 273–278; O. Margalith, “On the Origin and Antiquity of the Name ‘Israel’”, ZAW 102 (1990), pp. 225–237; M. G. Hasel, “Merneptah’s Reference to Israel: Critical Issues for the Origin of Israel”, in R. H. Hess, G. A. Klingbeil and P. J. Ray Jr. (eds.), Critical Issues in Early Israelite History (Winona Lake, IN 2008), pp. 48–49. 3 M. G. Hasel, “Israel in the Merneptah Stele”, BASOR 296 (1994), pp. 45–61; idem, ibid., pp. 53–54; A. F. Rainey, “Israel in Merneptah’s Inscription and Reliefs”, IEJ 51 (2001), pp. 57–68. 4 A. Nibbi, “Some Unanswered Questions on Canaan and Egypt and the So-Called Israel Stela”, BN 73 (1994), pp. 74–89; Hasel, op. cit. (note 2), pp. 50–53. 5 I. Sameh, The Reign of Merneptah (Ph.D. dissertation, New York University, New York, 2002), pp. 306–316. 6 H. Goedicke, “Remarks on the ‘Israel-Stela’”, Wiener Zeitschrift für die Kunde des Morgenlandes 94 (2004), pp. 53–72. 7 K. A. Kitchen, “The Physical Text of Merneptah’s Victory Hymn (The ‘Israel Stela’)”, JSSEA 24 (1994), pp. 71–76. 8 G. W. Ahlströhm and D. Edelman, “Merneptah’s Israel”, JNES 44 (1985), pp. 59–61; J. K. Hoffmeier, Israel in Egypt: The Evidence for the Authenticity of the Exodus Tradition (New York – Oxford, 1996), pp. 27–31; M. G. Hasel, “The Structure of the Final Hymnic-Poetic Unit on the Merenptah Stela”, ZAW 116 (2004), pp. 75–81. 9 M. G. Hasel, “Merneptah’s Inscriptions and Reliefs and the Origins of Israel”, in B. A. Nakhai (ed.), The Near East in the Southwest: Essays in Honor of William G. Dever (Boston, 2003), pp. 19–27. 10 Yurco collated a series of reliefs on the western face of the enclosure wall of the cour de la cachette at the Temple of Karnak. He arrived at two conclusions: (1) these reliefs do not belong to Ramesses II as previously thought by most scholars (except for Kitchen, Yurco and Murnane, who collated the reliefs and came to the same conclusions independently); (2) there

256

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to connect or disconnect this entity from the later entity known as ‘the peoples of Israel’, which is mentioned in the Bible. My purpose in dealing with the Merneptah stela and his campaign against Canaan and ‘Israel’ is based on its broader international geopolitical context. By this, I mean the relations of Egypt with the Levant, Libya and Kush from the end of Ramesses II’s reign, when Egypt was at the peak of its empire, till the early years of Ramesses III, some three decades later. I will base my analysis on Royal and Private Inscriptions, Temple reliefs, scarabs, and other archaeological finds.

I. Historical Background When Ramesses II ascended the throne in 1279 BCE, hostile relations existed between Egypt and Hatti for about 50 years.11 The famous battle of Qadesh between Egypt and Hatti was in Ramesses II’s 5th year, in which both parties claimed victory. is a correlation between the Canaanite toponyms on the Merneptah Stela and the scenes depicted on the Karnak wall. He claimed that the ‘Israel’ in the Merneptah Stela corresponds to the ruined scene which depicted Canaanite charioteers defeated by Pharaoh, and thus the reliefs shed more light on the identity and origins of Biblical ‘Israel’. See F. J. Yurco, “3200Year-Old Picture of Israelites Found in Egypt”, BAR 16/5 (1990), pp. 20–38; idem, “Merenptah’s Canaanite Campaign and Israel’s Origins”, in E. S. Frerichs and L. H. Lesko (eds.), Exodus—The Egyptian Evidence: Papers Presented at a Conference Held at Brown University in 1992 (Winona Lake, IN 1997), pp. 27–55; idem, “Merenptah’s Canaanite Campaign”, JARCE 23 (1986), pp. 189–215; A. F. Rainey, “Can You Name the Panel with the Israelites? Rainey’s Challenge”, BAR 17/6 (1991), pp. 54–61, 91–92. Redford does not accept that the reliefs belonged to Merneptah, but insists that they belong to Ramesses II. See D. B. Redford, “The Ashkelon Relief at Karnak and the Israel Stela”, IEJ 36 (1986), pp. 188–200; idem, “Egypt and Western Asia in the Late New Kingdom: An Overview”, in E. D. Oren (ed.), The Sea Peoples and Their World: A Reassessment (Philadelphia, 2000), pp. 1–20. However, Brand collated the wall again and clearly proves (with high resolution pictures) that the reliefs belong to the reign of Merneptah contra Redford’s opinion. He does not deal with the issue of the identification of ‘Israel’ in these reliefs. See P. J. Brand, “Usurped Cartouches of Merenptah at Karnak and Luxor”, in P. Brand and L. Cooper (eds.), Causing His Name to Live: Studies in Egyptian Epigraphy and History in Memory of William J. Murnane (Leiden, 2009), pp. 29–48; idem. “The Date of the War Scenes on the South Wall of the Great Hypostyle Hall and the West Wall of the Cour de la Cachette at Karnak and the History of the Late Nineteenth Dynasty”, in M. Collier and S. Snape (eds.), Ramesside Studies in Honour of K. A. Kitchen (Bolton, 2011), pp. 51–84. As for the identity of ‘Israel’ and its origins, Rainey agrees with Yurco that the reliefs should be assigned to Merneptah, but claims that ‘Israel’ should be identified with the Shasu Beduin which were brought as captives at the end of the sequence of the reliefs. See A. F. Rainey, “Israel in Merneptah’s Inscription and Reliefs”, IEJ 51 (2001), pp. 68–75; see also Ch. Uehlinger, “Neither Eyewitness, Nor Windows to the Past, but Valuable Testimony in its Own Right: Remarks on Iconography, Source Criticism and Ancient Data-Processing”, in H. G. M. Williamson, Understanding the History of Ancient Israel (Oxford, 2007), pp. 193–201. Uehlinger has since changed his mind and in a lecture held at the Tel Aviv University in 2009, he claimed that the Israelites of the Merneptah stela should be identified as Canaanites and not as Shasu Beduin. These arguments will be dealt in length in a forthcoming paper by Uehlinger (personal communication). See also Hasel, op. cit. (note 9), pp. 27–32. 11 W. J. Murnane, The Road to Kadesh: A Historical Interpretation of the Battle Reliefs of King Seti I at Karnak (Chicago, 19902); A. J. Spalinger, “Egyptian-Hittite Relations at the Close of the Amarna Period and Some Notes on Hittite Military Strategy in North Syria”, Bulletin of the Egyptological Seminar 1 (1979), pp. 55–89.

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It seems that the Hittites routed the Egyptians all the way to the district of Upe12 (Damascus and Kamid el-Loz in the Beq‘a Valley),13 but did not occupy the area.14 In Ramesses II’s 21st regnal year the ‘silver tablet’ peace treaty between the two kingdoms was signed.15 Two diplomatic marriages between Ramesses II and daughters of the Hittite king followed.16 Peaceful relations remained during the entire reign of Ramesses II. The border between the two empires was south of Qadesh on the Orontes (Qidshu/Kinza). A stela, dating to the 56th regnal year of Ramesses II, was recently discovered at Kiswe, 25km south of Damascus. It is the most northern dated evidence after the battle of Qadesh in a chain of Egyptian stelae along the route to Damascus, which proves that the district of Upe remained in Egyptian hands.17 In the West, the earliest known Libyan pressure on the New kingdom border of Egypt is dated to the reign of Akhenaten,18 continuing in the reign of Seti I.19 Ramesses II repulsed Libyan tribes and built a chain of Egyptian fortresses, which stretched about 300km to the West of Alexandria, and so prevented Libyan infiltration.20 To the south of Egypt, Ramesses II conducted extensive temple building work in Nubia, mostly in Wawat, but also in the religious center of Gebel Barkal at Napata, 12

The Hittites claim to have controlled Upe for some time after the battle of Qadesh. See E. Edel, “KBo I 15+19, ein Brief Ramses’ II. Mit einer Schilderung der Qadešschlacht”, ZA 15 (1950), p. 212. However, by Ramesses’ eighth regnal year, northern Canaan came again under Egyptian sovereignty. See: C. R. Higginbotham, Egyptianization and Elite Emulation in Ramesside Palestine: Governance and Accommodation on the Imperial Periphery (Leiden, 2000), pp. 29, 31. 13 It seems that Kamid el-Loz (ancient Kumidi) was the administrative center of Upe. See E. F. Morris, The Architecture of Imperialism: Military Bases and the Evolution of Foreign Policy in Egypt’s New Kingdom (Leiden, 2005), pp. 392–393. 14 In the Hittite-Egyptian correspondence leading to the royal marriage in Ramesses 34th Regnal year, Upe was in Egyptian control and administered by a governor (šākin māti) named Šuta. See E. Edel, “Weitere Briefe aus der Heiratskorrespondenz Ramses’ II: KUB III 37 + KBo I 17 und KUB 57”, in G. Ebeling (ed.) Geschichte und Altes Testament (Tübingen, 1953), pp. 50, 55–61. 15 E. Edel, Der Vertrag zwischen Ramses II. Von Ägypten und Ḫattušili III. von Ḫatti (Berlin, 1997). 16 K. A. Kitchen, Ramesside Inscriptions: Translated and Annotated Translations II: Setnakht, Ramesses III and Contemporaries (Oxford, 1996), pp. 96–112. 17 J. Yoyotte, “La stele de Ramsès II à Keswé et sa signification historique”, BSFE 144 (1999), pp. 44–58; K. A. Kitchen, “Notes on a Stela of Ramesses II from near Damascus”, GM 173 (1999), pp. 133–137; S. J. Wimmer, “Von Nubien bis Syrien: zu ramessidischen Stele von Tell eš Šihâb”, in F. Adrom, K. Schlüter and A. Schlüter (eds.), Altägyptische Weltsichten: Akten des Symposiums zur historischen Topographie und Toponymie Altägyptens vom 12.–14. Mai in München (Wiesbaden, 2008), pp. 190–196. 18 R. B. Parkinson and L. Schofield, “Of Helmets and Heretics: A Possible Egyptian Representation of Mycenaean Warriors on Papyrus from El-Amarna”, The Annual of the British School at Athens 89 (2004), pp. 157–170. 19 S. C. Heinz, Die Feldzugsdarstellungen des Neuen Reiches: Eine Bildanalyse (Wien, 2001), pp. 248–250; KRI I, 20:15–22. 20 L. Habachi, “The Military Posts of Ramesses II on the Coastal Road and the Western Part of the Delta”, BIFAO 80 (1980), pp. 13–29; Morris, op. cit. (note 13), pp. 635–645; S. Snape, “The Emergence of Libya on the Horizon of Egypt”, in D. O’Connor and S. Quirke (eds.), Mysterious Lands (London, 2003), pp. 93–106.

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in the vicinity of the fourth cataract.21 While securing his southern frontier,22 he fought against the Kingdom of Irem,23 the southernmost area which Egyptian Pharaohs like Thutmose I and III had ever reached. Ramesses II left inscriptions at Abu Hamed, between the fourth and the 5th cataracts.24 After reigning for 67 years, the territory of Egypt comprised in the north the district of Upe in the Lebanon Beq‘a, in the south till Abu Hamed and 300km in the west of the Delta towards Libya. In the peak of Egypt’s power the empire passed to Ramesses II’s heir—Merneptah.

II. The Reign of Merneptah Merneptah ascended the throne of Egypt in 1213 BCE and reigned about 10 years.25 Only a handful of monuments can illuminate the international political situation during his reign. Egyptian artifacts in the Levant include a probable heirloom from Temple 650 at Eqron, dating to the 7th century. It is an elephant tusk with a relief of an Egyptian princess/goddess with a cartouche of Merneptah on its back.26 In the famous papyrus Anastasi III (a student’s practice exercise), the titles of an Egyptian commander appear. He is described as the “king’s messenger to the [rulers] of the lands of Kharu from Tjaru up to Upe”.27 In another exercise in this papyrus, copied from an operations-log of the border’s fortress commander, communications were passed by the king’s messengers to Ba‘altarmagu, ruler of Tyre,28 while the city of Pa-aram,29 conventionally identified with Damascus is also mentioned. The Phoeni21

T. Kendall, “Talatat Architecture at Jebel Barkal: Report of the NCAM Mission 2008– 2009”, Sudan and Nubia 13 (2009), pp. 2–16; I. Hein, Die Ramessidische Bautätigkeit in Nubien (Wiesbaden, 1991), pp. 66, 89, 96. According the spelling of the name of the king, it seems that the building was enlarged before his 21st regnal year. See the change of names in his regnal year 21. P. J. Brand, “Ideology and Politics of the Early Ramesside Kings (13th Century BC): A Historical Approach”, in W. Bisang, T. Bierschenk, D. Kreikenbom and U. Verhoeven (eds.), Prozesse des Wandels in historischen Spannungsfeldern Nordostafrikas/ Westasiens: Akten zum 2. Symposium des SFB 295, Mainz, 15.10.-17.10.2001 (Würzburg, 2005), p. 31. 22 K. A. Kitchen, “Historical Observations on Ramesside Nubia”, Ägypten und Kush (Berlin, 1977), pp. 220–221. 23 For the location of Irem, See D. O’Connor, “The Location of Irem”, JEA 73 (1987), pp. 99– 136, esp. 130–131; K. A. Kitchen, “Further Thoughts on Punt and its Neighbours”, in A. Leahy and J. Tait (eds.), Studies on Ancient Egypt in Honour of H. S. Smith (London, 1999), p. 177. 24 See V. Davies, “Kurgus, 2000: The Egyptian Inscriptions”, Sudan and Nubia 5 (2001), pp. 46–56. 25 K. Kitchen, On the Reliability of the Old Testament (Grand Rapids, 2003), pp. 159, 235, 539, n. 1. 26 S. Gitin, “Philistia in Transition. The Tenth Century BCE and Beyond”, In S. Gitin, A. Mazar and E. Stern (eds.) Mediterranean Peoples in Transition: Thirteenth to Early Tenth Centuries BCE (Jerusalem, 1988), p. 174. 27 A. H. Gardiner, Late-Egyptian Miscellanies (Bruxelles, 1937), p. 21, ll. 1.9–1.10; Higginbotham (op. cit. [note 12], p. 48) suggested identifying Upe with Jaffa in Southern Canaan and not with the northern district of Upe, which included Damascus and the Beq‘a Valley, with Kamid el-Loz as its district’s capital. 28 A. H. Gardiner, Late-Egyptian Miscellanies (Bruxelles, 1937), p. 31, recto 3, 6. The district of Upe included Damascus and the Beq‘a Valley, with Kamid el-Loz as its district’s capital. 29 E. Lipiński, The Aramaeans: Their Ancient History, Culture, Religion (Leuven, 2000), p. 32, but cf. p. 33.

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cian city-states, like Tyre, were under Egyptian control until the days of Merneptah. These relations may have continued after Merneptah’s 5th regnal year. These were not necessarily vassal relationships, but could have been based on a mutual interest between independent states. Egypt and Hatti remained in peaceful relations.30 Hatti’s vassal, Ugarit, also conducted intensive relations with Egypt. In Ugarit, a sword, bearing the name of Merneptah was found and is usually interpreted as a royal gift.31 From Ugaritic diplomatic letters, it is clear that early in Merneptah’s reign, Ugarit was under Hittite control, but it flirted with the idea of switching over to the Egyptian side.32 From several sources it seems that the 5th regnal year of Merneptah was a turning point in the overall ideal situation that had been inherited from Ramesses II. A massive rebellion occurred right across the border of Egypt. In Canaan the cities of Ashqelon, Gezer, Yenoam (and possibly many other cities in their vicinity) and the population named ‘Israel’ rebelled, and needed to be pacified. Why did Canaan suddenly rebel after more than half a century of peace? According to Kitchen,33 the death of a monarch was always viewed by the more adventurous or oppressed vassals as a time to test the mettle of the new, untried ruler, with hope of throwing off his yoke. Kitchen suggests that this is what happened after Merneptah’s accession. However, Libya, Nubia and Canaan34 waited for five years until they rebelled. Singer suggested that the pacification of these entities was a further planned step in Egyptian expansion and its establishment in the northern Levant. Turning the via maris into the main road from Gaza to Aphek was necessary to secure international routes in Canaan. Singer claimed that further annexations to the centrally governed territories was needed after the relative stagnation in Egyptian foreign policy in the last decades of Ramesses II’s rule.35 The “wells of Merneptah which are in the mountains” (nA Tsw.t), are mentioned in Papyrus Anastasi III. These wells are identified by many as Mei Naphtoah, Liftah in the mountains west of Jerusalem.36 Accordingly, Merneptah was also interested in penetrating into the central hill country, in order to attack Israel. However, Vassiliev has recently shown that the ‘Wells of Merneptah’ mentioned in Papyrus Anastasi III should not be identified with Liftah in the mountains west of Jerusalem, but with the dunes of Sinai.37 Thus, 30

@Ati Htp.w. See KRI IV, p. 1:3. C. F.-A. Schaeffer, “Une épée de bronze d’Ugarit (Ras Shamra) portant le cartouche de Mineptah”, RdE 11 (1957), pp. 139–143. 32 S. Lackenbacher, “Une correspondence entre l’administration du Pharaon Merneptah et le roi d’Ougarit”, in M. Yon, M. Sznycer and P. Bordreuil (eds.), Le pays d’Ougarit autour de 1200 av. J.-C.: histoire et archéologie. Actes du colloque international Paris, 28 juin–1er juillet 1993 (Paris, 1995), pp. 77–83; I. Singer, “A Political History of Ugarit”, in W. G. E. Watson and N. Wyatt (eds.), Handbook of Ugaritic Studies (Leiden, 1999), pp. 708, 712; Morris, op. cit. (note 13), p. 376, n. 129. 33 K. A. Kitchen, “The Victories of Merenptah, and the Nature of their Record”, JSOT 28 (2004), pp. 265–266; idem, op. cit. (note 25), p. 228. 34 Contra Kitchen, op. cit. (note 25), p. 228. It is possible that the return from the Canaanite campaign in year 5 before the Libyan war is hinted in the Great Karnak Inscription of Merneptah. See C. Manassa, The Great Karnak Inscriptions of Merneptah: Grand Strategy in the 13th Century BC (New Haven, 2003), pp. 21–22, n. 11. 35 I. Singer, “Merneptah’s Campaign to Canaan and the Egyptian Occupation of the Southern Coastal Plain of Palestine in the Ramesside Period”, BASOR 269 (1988), pp. 1–10. 36 G. Rendsburg, “Merneptah in Canaan”, JSSEA 11 (1981), pp. 171–172. 37 A.Vassiliev, “The Localization of the Shasu-land of Ramses II’s Rhetorical Texts”, Current 31

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no policy of Egyptian penetration into the Jerusalem or the Samaria hills can be detected in the days of Merneptah.38 Furthermore, communication and control over Canaan in its entirety up to Upe in the north existed for centuries. From the 18th Dynasty onwards Ashqelon, Gezer39 and Yenoam were subjugated. Merneptah had perfect communications with Tyre as well in his third regnal year,40 with only control in a few central key points such as Gaza, Jaffa (?),41 Megiddo, Beth-Shean and Kamid el-Loz.42 The ethnicon ‘Israel’ in the Merneptah stela was equated by scholars with the Biblical Israel, who tried to prove the veracity of the Exodus and conquest narratives. It thus attracted much attention and debate among them, treating ‘Israel’ as the major foe of Merneptah and the focus of events.43 It should be remembered that the ‘Israel Stela’ primarily records the victory over the Libyans; and that only the last lines are concerned with Canaan, and that there are four entities mentioned, so that ‘Israel’ comes last. The list of entities in Canaan is geographical in order from south to north. Scholars locate the Ethnicon ‘Israel’ in the south or in the center of Canaan,44 namely, in the central hills of Judah or Ephraim, but based on the order of the toponyms, it is preferable to locate ‘Israel’ to the north of, (and probably in close proximity to) Yenoam,45 be it in Upper Galilee or in Transjordan. Merneptah’s campaign came in response to a rebellion in Canaan, encompassing the major city-states on the highway starting almost on Egypt’s border and reaching the northern territories of Egyptian control. Kitchen postulated that the Egyptian campaign came as a response to the inability of the city states to pay their taxes in grain, because they may have been stolen by marauding bands of Israelites coming down the mountains.46 However, this scenario is based on two assumptions: (1) that Research in Egyptology 7 (2007), pp. 162–168. 38 On the various interpretations of Egyptian artifacts from Jerusalem, some possibly dated to the 19th Dynasty, See G. Barkay, “A Late Bronze Age Egyptian Temple in Jerusalem?”, IEJ 46 (1996), p. 23–43; K. A. Kitchen, “Jerusalem in Ancient Egyptian Documents”, in Z. Kafafi and R. Schick (eds.), Jerusalem Before Islam (Oxford, 2007), pp. 32–34; and S. J. Wimmer, “(No) More Egyptian Temples in Canaan and Sinai”, in I. Shirun-Grumach (ed.), Jerusalem Studies in Egyptology (Wiesbaden, 1998), pp. 90–94, 110–111. 39 On the sundial from Gezer with the cartouche of Merneptah see E. J. Piltcher, “Portable Sundial from Gezer”, Palestine Exploration Fund Quarterly Statement 55 (1923), pp. 85–89. 40 A. H. Gardiner, Late-Egyptian Miscellanies (Bruxelles, 1937), p. 31, Vs 6,1–6,3. 41 A. Burke and K. V. Lords “Egyptians in Jaffa: A Portrait of Egyptian Presence in Jaffa during the Late Bronze Age”, NEA 73.1 (2010), pp. 2–30. 42 N. Na’aman, “Biryawaza of Damascus and the Date of the Kāmid el-Lōz ‘Apiru Letters”, UF 20 (1988), p. 184. 43 Cf. Yurco, op. cit. (note 10), p. 30. 44 See S. Frolov, “Merneptah’s Israel and the Horite Genealogy in Gen 36: 20–30”, AO 13 (1995), pp. 203–209. See also Kitchen, op. cit. (note 25), p. 229. 45 Yenoam was located by various scholars at Tell en-Na‘ameh in the Huleh Valley, Tell enNa‘am in the Jabneel Valley, Tell el-‘Abeidiyeh in the Jordan Valley and Tell esh-Shihab in the southern Bashan. See N. Na’aman, “Yeno‘am”, TA 4 (1977), pp. 168–177; A. F. Rainey, “Whence Came the Israelites and Their Language?”, IEJ 57 (2007), p. 56. Cf. G. Galil, “Ashtaroth in the Amarna Period”, in S. Isre’el, I. Singer and R. Zadok (eds.), Past Links: Studies in the Languages and Cultures of the Ancient Near East (IOS 18; Winona Lake, IN 1998), p. 378. 46 Kitchen, op. cit. (note 25), pp. 228–229.

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Egypt would devastate a town as punishment after its harvest was stolen by unruly elements which Egypt was expected to control;47 (2) that ‘Israel’, mentioned in the Merneptah Stela, was marauding the southern Shephelah. Both assumptions contradict the evidence. Merneptah quelled the rebellion up to the vicinity of Yenoam in Northern Canaan. There is no information if the areas up to the border of the Egyptian Empire in the Lebanese Beq‘a Valley up to the province of Upe, which was under Egyptian control in the days of Ramesses II,48 were re-subjugated or gained their independence. It is possible that Egypt’s border shifted some 100km southward.49 In any case, it is clear that rebellion of those city states mentioned above, which were loyal to Egypt for many decades, was far more serious during Merneptah’s reign than the rebellion which happened after the disastrous defeat of Ramesses II at Qadesh.50 On the western frontier the chain of fortresses which Ramesses II built in order to protect the western entrances to Egypt (up to Zawiyet Umm el Rakham, 300km to the west of Alexandria) was abandoned, and Libyan squatters were found on top of the ruins of the fortresses.51 Several Libyan tribes, reinforced by Sea Peoples elements, invaded Egypt in Merneptah’s 5th regnal year and endangered Heliopolis and other cities within the heartland of Egypt close to the Nile.52 The reason of invasion specified in Merneptah’s texts was that “they came to fill their bellies, and to seek the necessities for their mouths”.53 They were roaming the fertile parts of Egypt for many months, during the harvest months when the Nile was almost at its lowest, 54 terrorizing the inhabitants and seeking food. After a month of Egyptian preparation for war, a battle ensued between the Egyptians and the Libyans, who were finally repelled on III Shemu 3, i.e. 19 April 1208 BCE.55 47 Cf. the numerous complaints of Rib-Haddu of Byblos in the Amarna letters about attacks by ‘Apiru and rebelling hupšu peoples on his lands. No hint of fear can be found in the letters that an Egyptian Campaign will be conducted against him because he couldn’t pay his regular taxes. On the contrary, he continuously asked for help. See: A. Altman, “The Revolutions in Byblos and Amurru during the Amarna Period and their Social Background”, in Bar-Ilan Studies in History 1 (1978), pp. 3–24. 48 Upe fell into Hittite hands for a short while after the defeat of Ramesses II at Qadesh. See E. Edel, “KBo I 15+19, ein Brief Ramses’ II. Mit einer Schilderung der Qadešschlacht”, ZA 15 (1950), p. 212. It seems that Egypt regained control over northern Canaan during the Ramesses II’s campaign in his eighth regnal year. See Higginbotham, op. cit. (note 12), pp. 29, 31. 49 See also P. M. Bikai, “The Phoenicians”, in W. Ward and M. S. Joukowsky (eds.), The Crisis Years: The 12th Century B.C. From Beyond the Danube to the Tigris (Dubuque, 1992), p. 137. 50 Morris, op. cit. (note 13), p. 37. 51 F. Simpson, “Evidence for Late Bronze Age Libyan culture at the New Kingdom Egyptian fortress of Zawiyet Umm el-Rakham”, Current Research in Egyptology 1 (2000), pp. 98, 100. 52 Merneptah ascended the throne in the first or second month of inundation. See E. Hornung, R. Krauss and D. A. Warburton, Ancient Egyptian Chronology (Leiden, 2006), p. 212 . 53 KRI IV, 4, 10, 14/15, 11; See K. A. Kitchen, “The Arrival of the Libyans in Late New Kingdom Egypt”, in A. Leahy (ed.), Libya and Egypt c. 1300–750 BC (London, 1990), p. 20; Morris, op. cit. (note 13), p. 616. 54 E, Strouhal, Life of the Ancient Egyptians (Liverpool, 1992), p. 101. 55 For the date, see J. von Beckerath, Chronologie des Pharaonischen Ägypten (Mainz am Rhein, 1997), p. 197.

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But according to Papyrus Harris I, the Libyans remained in Egyptian territory for a long period, and the Egyptians withdrew from these areas. These events preceded the inner conflicts of the later part of the 19th dynasty and seem to have started in Merneptah’s reign.56 Turning our attention to the south, in Merneptah’s 5th year the Nubians in Wawat (Lower Nubia) rebelled.57 The rebellion did not occur many hundreds of miles south of Egypt, in or near the kingdom of Irem, the southernmost area where the Egyptians fought in Africa several decades earlier, but in the backyard of Egypt, between the first and the second cataracts. The newly built temples by Egyptian kings in Lower Nubia, (esp. Ramesses II)58 as well as the immense Second Cataract fortresses with their granaries59 were probably targeted. The rebellion was quelled as is stated in several inscriptions from Nubia,60 by Messui, ‘King’s son of Kush’ and viceroy in the days of Merneptah,61 who may possibly be identified with the later King Amenmesse.62 The Nubian rebellion in Wawat was linked in the texts by date with the much more dangerous action, initiated by Merery, Egypt’s Libyan foe. Information about the rebellion reached the Egyptians while they were engaged with the Libyans, and scholars postulate that the rebellion may have been jointly planned and coordinated between the Libyans and Nubians,63 although no such claim is stated in the text, as may have been the case in the days of Kamose from the 17th Dynasty, where a joint conspiracy is clearly mentioned. The rebellion was brutally put down by the Viceroy, Messui, and the rebel leaders were burnt to death. Even after quelling the rebellions, it seems that Egypt’s grip on Nubia loosened. The most southern evidence of Merneptah’s presence in Kush is from the administrative center at Amarah (south of the Dal Cataract) just after the quelling of the Nubian rebellion. The former Egyptian southern border lay some 500km to the south. Based on texts from several sources, as well as on climatological information, it seems that the whole Ancient Near East, including Hatti,64 Mesopotamia,65 Ugarit,66 56

P. Grandet, Le Papyrus Harris I (BM 9999), I (Cairo, 1994), p. 335; idem, ibid., II, pp. 215–218. 57 Kitchen, op. cit. (note 22), pp. 220–221. 58 Hein, op. cit. (note 21), pp. 88–96; L. Török, Between Two Worlds: The Frontier Region between Ancient Nubia and Egypt 3700 BC–500 AD (Leiden, 2009), p. 194. 59 C. Vogel, Ägyptische Festungen und Garnisonen bis zum Ende des Mittleren Reiches (Hildesheim, 2004), pp. 132–138. 60 See the inscriptions from Amada, Wadi es-Sebua, Aksha, Amarah West and Kurkur Oasis. Sameh, op. cit. (note 5), p. 329; J. C. Darnell, “A Stela of Seti I from the Region of Kurkur Oasis”, in Collier and Snape (eds.), op. cit. (note 10), pp. 127–144. 61 K. A. Kitchen, “The Arrival of the Libyans in Late New Kingdom Egypt”, in A. Leahy (ed.), Libya and Egypt c. 1300–750 BC (London, 1990), pp. 19–20; C. Manassa, The Great Karnak Inscriptions of Merneptah: Grand Strategy in the 13th Century BC (New Haven, 2003), pp. 21–22. 62 Contra Török, op. cit. (note 58), p. 194. 63 Kitchen, op. cit. (note 22), pp. 221–224; Manassa, op. cit. (note 61), pp. 96–100. 64 W. Wainwright, “Meneptah’s Aid to the Hittites”, JEA 46 (1960), pp. 24–28; H. Klengel, “Hungerjahre in Hatti”, AoF 1 (1974), pp. 165–174. 65 J. Neumann and S. Parpola, “Climatic Change and the Eleventh-Tenth Century Eclipse of Assyria and Babylonia”, JNES 46 (1987), pp. 161–182. 66 Singer, op. cit. (note 32), p. 712.

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Libya,67 and possibly even Egypt and Nubia, suffered from severe drought.68 While, at times, Egypt was able to relief the hunger of Hatti and Ugarit, distant allies, it seems that it had trouble coping with its neighbors’ shortages and distress. Merneptah was forced to retreat on all fronts hundreds of km, and defend his core kingdom.

III. The End of the 19th Dynasty In the following paragraphs, I will survey the information which can shed light on the international events in the Levant, Libya and Kush in geographical order during the brief reigns of Seti II (1202–1196 BCE), Amenmesse, Siptah and Tauseret, which lasted no more than 20 years. The years following Merneptah’s reign were years of weakness and rapid changes of reign. Seti II, the rightful heir of Merneptah, fought against Amenmesse, a usurper on the kingship for four years.69 Lack of finds in the Levant from Amenmesse’s reign70 in the Levant may point to his control only over southern Egypt and Nubia.71 On the other hand, Seti II’s artifacts are found at Serabit el-Khadim and Timna, Deir el-Balah,72 Tell beit Mirsim73 and possibly Khirbet el-Mashash (Tell Masos),74 Kharubit on the ways of Horus in Sinai,75 and Tell el-Farah (South).76 In Ostracon Michaelides 85,77 a scribal exercise from Seti 67

See note 53, above. K. W. Butzer, “Long-Term Nile Flood Variation and Political Discontinuities in Pharaonic Egypt”, in J. D. Clarck and S. A. Brandt (eds.), From Hunters to Farmers: The Causes and Consequences of Food Production in Africa (Berkeley, 1984), pp. 107–108. 69 For the dates and length of their reigns, See Hornung, Krauss and Warburton, op. cit. (note 52), pp. 212–213. For the identification of Messui, Viceroy of Kush, with King Amenmesse, See R. Krauss, “Untersuchungen zu König Amenmesse (1. Teil)”, SAK 4 (1976), pp. 161– 199; idem, “Untersuchungen zu König Amenmesse (2. Teil)”, SAK 5 (1977), pp. 131–174; idem, “Zur historischen Einordnung Amenmesses und zur Chronologie der 19./20. Dynastie”, GM 45 (1981), pp. 27–33; idem, “Untersuchungen zu König Amenmesse: Nachträge”, SAK 24 (1997), pp. 161–184; A. Dodoson, “Messuy, Amada, and Amenmesse”, JARCE 34 (1997), pp. 41–48; F. J. Yurco, “Was Amenmesse the Viceroy of Kush, Messuwy?”, JARCE 34 (1997), pp. 49–56; A. Dodson, “The Decorative Phases of the Tomb of Sethos II and their Historical Implications”, JEA 85 (1999), pp. 131–142. 70 R. Giveon, “Amenmesse in Canaan?”, GM 83 (1984), pp. 27–29. 71 A. Dodson, “King Amenmesse at Riqqa”, GM 117/118 (1990), pp. 153–155; K. A. Kitchen, “Amenmesses in Northern Egypt”, GM 99 (1987), pp. 23–25. 72 J. Weinstein, “The Egyptian Empire in Palestine. A Reassessment”, BASOR 241 (1981), p. 22. 73 B. Brandl, “The Tell Masos Scarab: A Suggestion for a New Method for the Interpretation of Royal Scarabs”, in S. Israelit-Groll (ed.), Egyptological Studies (Jerusalem, 1982), pp. 382–383, pl. 4, scarab no. 23 74 G. Mumford, “Egypt’s New Kingdom Levantine Empire and Serabit El-Khadim, Including a Newly Attested Votive Offering of Horemheb”, JSSEA 33 (2006), p. 184, n. 97; Brandl, ibid., pp. 383–386, pl. 4, scarab no. 24. Brandl ascribes this scarab to Ramesses X. However, comparing scarab 23 with 24, the only difference is in the sign behind the smiting Pharaoh. In scarab 23 it is clearly the wsr sign, while it may cautiously suggested that in Brandl’s drawing of scarab 24, the man with raised arms behind the Pharaoh, might be a damaged wsr sign, and thus this scarab could also be assigned to Sethos II. 75 O. Goldwasser, “An Egyptian Store-Jar from Haruvit”, Qadmoniot 13 (1980), p. 34 (Hebrew). 76 B. Porter and R. L. B. Moss, Topographical Bibliography of Ancient Egyptian Hieroglyphic 68

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II’s reign, the military scribe opens with a greeting to the local commander that “all the areas in the land of Kharu are all well”. The letter continues with the mention of the feast of the goddess Anat from Gaza. It seems that the fortress is situated in southern Canaan. Nothing else is known about Seti II’s control over northern parts of the Levant, even though finds of his descendants further north hint that he did not lose much ground there. Siptah, the young and physically disabled pharaoh, who suffered from polio, followed Seti II on the throne and ruled Egypt for 6 years.78 The reign, de facto, was in the hands of Tauseret, the queen-mother and the all powerful chancellor Bay, who probably was of Asiatic descent.79 Bay fell from the king’s grace and was finally executed in Siptah’s 6th regnal year.80 In a text from Buhen (Nubia) mentioning the fan bearer on the right of the king and royal messenger to Kush and Kharu, it can be deduced that contact with Kharu (Canaan) was maintained.81 In Ugarit, beyond the borders of Egyptian control, a cuneiform letter was found which was sent by Bay, the chief commander of Egypt, to Ammurapi, the last king of Ugarit. Unfortunately, only the opening lines survived. It is clear, however, that there were good relations between the two kingdoms until Ugarit’s last days. If the sender of the letter should be identified as Bay, the chancellor of Egypt, an assumption which is in no means certain,82 due to the different titles of the two mentioned persons, these relations should be dated to the reign of Siptah at the latest. In Canaan, Siptah’s name is found on scarabs from Beth Shemesh83 and Gezer. An ex-situ scarab, which was purchased in Jerusalem, bears Siptah’s or Setnakht’s cartouche. Siptah’s name may also appear on a votive from Timna.84After Siptah’s untimely death, Tauseret, his mother, ascended the throne and reigned for two years at the most. In Papyrus Harris I, the years preceding the advent of the 20th dynasty were described as empty years in which Irsu, a man of the land Kharru (Canaan) (Iri-sw wa #Arw) administered the land.85 This highly ranked administrator is Texts, Reliefs and Paintings, VII (Oxford, 19622), p. 370. 77 H. Goedicke and E. Wente, Ostraka Michaelides (Wiesbaden, 1962), pl. 93; Morris, op. cit. (note 13), pp. 489–492. 78 V. G. Callender, “Queen Tauseret and the End of Dynasty 19”, SAK 32 (2004), p. 87. 79 A. Dodson, “Fade to Gray: The Chancellor Bay, Éminence Grise of the Late Nineteenth Dynasty”, in Collier and Snape (eds.), op. cit. (note 10), pp. 145–158, contra T. Schneider, “Siptah und Beja: Neubeurteilung einer historischen Konstellation”, ZÄS 130 (2003), pp. 134–146. 80 P. Grandet, “L’exécution du chancelier Bay. O. IFAO 1864”, BIFAO 100 (2000), pp. 339– 345. 81 See KRI IV, p. 348, 13 ; Singer, op.cit. (note 35), p. 7, n. 14. 82 Singer, op. cit. (note 32), pp. 713–715. The discrepancy between the titles of Bay in the Egyptian records and the titles of the sender of the letter does not enable to decide whether the letter was sent before or after his elevation his high position in the government. It is not even clear if the letter was sent by the Chancelor Bay. It may be that the sender was PiAy, the fan bearer on the right of the King, and troop commander, and commander of the archers in the reign of Siptah (KRI IV, p. 366). Cf. K. A. Kitchen, “Review of Drews 1993”, JSS 40 (1995), pp. 86–87. This would pull out the carpet from under the alleged ‘anchor date’ for the destruction of Ugarit. 83 N. Lalkin, Tel Aviv University (personal communication). 84 Mumford, op. cit. (note 74), p. 184, n. 98. 85 P. Grandet, Le Grand Papyrus Harris I, II (Caire, 1994), pp. 219– 227.

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equated with Bay by many researchers. The friendly relations between Egypt and the Levant continued during the reign of Tauseret as well. Several votive objects from Timna,86 and from the Temple of Hathor at Serabit el-Khadim bear her name.87 Furthermore, a scarab bearing her name was found at Acco, and ritual vases were found at Deir ‘Alla, in Transjordan,88 and recently in Sidon.89 These artifacts were found in local ritual contexts and not in Egyptian contexts, and thus, they are not indicative of Egyptian hegemony in Phoenicia or Transjordan. They may have been part of Egyptian gifts to the local rulers and gods to strengthen their political ties.90 The reigns of Amenmesse, Seti II, Siptah, and Queen Tauseret are evidently devoid of Egyptian military activity in the Levant, while there is increasing internal strife in Egypt, followed by erosion and decline of its might in the Levant.91 There is no information about Siptah’s, nor of Tauseret’s endeavors on the Libyan front. Allegedly, the Libyans were defeated in the days of Merneptah, and were defeated again in the days of Ramesses III. However, Libyan infiltrations endangered Egypt continuously. According to Papyrus Harris I § 76, the Libu and Meshwesh tribes terrorized the country for many years before the reign of Ramesses III,92 who had to fortify the Nile Valley against the marauders, as did Merneptah before him.93 Egyptian descriptions of their defeats or loss of territory are not expected to be found in the texts, but can be explained by the decrease in artifacts. A scarab bearing the name of Seti II was found in a tomb cave (154) at Sanam, in the vicinity of the 4th cataract.94 However, even though the tomb is a cave tomb in Egyptianized style, it is impossible to claim Egyptian hegemony in this area based on the presence of one scarab. Except for this scarab, no inscription from the reign of Seti II is found south of Buhen, at the second Cataract. There are no Egyptian 86

B. Rothenberg, Timna: Valley of the Biblical Copper Mines (London, 1972), pp. 163, 166. W. M. F. Petrie, Researches in Sinai (London, 1906), figs. 146 [13], 148 [14], 149 [8, 9, 15–17] and 151 [3]. 88 J. Yoyotte, “Un souvenir du ‘pharaon’ Taousert en Jordanie”, VT 12 (1962), pp. 464–469; Singer, op. cit. (note 35), p. 4. Singer suggests that the Egyptians aimed to control the Highway in Trans-Jordan because of security in the central section of the international highway running along the Sharon Plain. 89 M. Marée, “A Jar from Sidon with the Name of Pharaoh-Queen Tawosret”, Archaeology and History in the Lebanon 24 (2006), pp. 121–128. 90 Jewels made by Levantine artisans during the reign of Seti II and Queen Tauseret and found at Bubastis, See Callender, op. cit. (note 78), p. 99; Weinstein, op. cit. (note 72), p. 22; Singer, op. cit. (note 35), p. 4. 91 Mumford, op. cit. (note 74), p. 169. However, Mumford also understands these facts as reflecting both initial peace and strength. 92 Grandet, op. cit. (note 85), I, p. 337; II, pp. 245–251; C. Vandersleyen, “Les guerres de Mérenptah et de Ramsès III contre les peuples de l’ouest, et leurs rapports avec le Delta”, in C. J. Eyre (ed.), Proceedings of the Seventh International Congress of Egyptologists, Cambridge, 3–9 September 1995 (Leuven, 1998), pp. 1197–1203. 93 K. Jansen-Winkeln, “Ägyptische Geschichte im Zeitalter der Wanderungen von Seevölker und Libyern”, in E. A. Braun-Holzinger and H. Matthäus (eds.), Die nahöstlischen Kulturen und Griechenland an der Wend vom 2. zum 1. Jahrtausend v. Chr.: Kontinuiät und Wandel von Strukturen und Mechanismen kultureller Interaktion (Möhnesee, 2002), pp. 132–133, 135. 94 F. L. Griffith, “Oxford Excavations in Nubia. XVIII–XXV, The Cemetery of Sanam”, LAAA 10 (1923), p. 83. 87

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finds of Seti II from Douki Gel, Sudan (Ancient Pnubs), the capital of Kush, but it seems that Egypt did control the area (see below). The southernmost evidence of Amenmesse’s rule in Nubia comes from Amara.95 There is, at present, no evidence from Pnubs, although Amenmesse probably controlled the area. In Buhen, a graffito from Siptah’s third regnal year mentions the scribe of the king’s treasury, Piay (PyiAy), who is sent to receive the taxes of Kush (bAkw &A n KS).96 This information may be corroborated by the find of a cartouche of King (Ax-[n]-Ra [stp-n-Imn]) to be identified with Siptah, at the site of Douki Gel, Kerma.97 It seems that the Egyptian zone of control remained stable as well during these turbulent times. No Egyptian building activity or artifacts dating to Amenmesse, Siptah or Tauseret were found further south.

IV. The 20th Dynasty In the Levant a new era commenced with the ascent of Setnakht, founder of the 20th Dynasty, to the throne. The stela of Setnakht from Elephantine adds to our knowledge of Egypt’s political reality during the transfer between dynasties 19 and 20.98 The resistance to his kingship was quelled only in his second regnal year. From the stela it is not clear who his opponents were. It is not clear if Tauseret, the last ruler of 19th dynasty was Setnakht’s opponent or if the text refers to her followers after her demise. Papyrus Harris I states that Egypt was in chaos, and that the years preceding Setnakht’s rule were “empty years” without central government. Egypt was controlled by local rulers.99 In the Setnakht Stela the king is described as protector of Egypt’s borders, who expelled the Asiatic transgressors who came to the aid of his opponents. Setnakht did not satisfy himself with expelling the Asiatics, but renewed Egyptian activity in Asia. A stela from Serabit el-Khadim is dated to his third regnal year.100 In Canaan a scarab of Setnakht was found at Tell Zeror in the 95

Hein, op. cit. (note 21), pp. 55, 99–100, 143. KRI IV, 368: 7. See also graffiti of Hori, Viceroy of Nubia (KRI IV, 364:14). 97 C. Bonnet, D. Valbelle and M. S. El-Din M. Ahmed, “Les sanctuaries de Kerma du nouvel empire à l’époque Méroïtique”, Comptes Rendus de l’Académie des Inscriptions and BellesLettres, Juillet-Octobre 2000/3, p. 114; Hein, op. cit. (note 21), pp. 101–102. 98 D. Bidoli, “Stele des König Setnacht”, MDAIK 28 (1972), pp. 193–200; R. Drenkhahn, Die Elephantine-Stele des Sethnakht und ihr historischer Hintergrund (Wiesbaden, 1980); A. Spalinger, “Review of Drenkhahn R. Die Elephantine-Stele des Sethnakht und ihr historicher Hintergrung, Wiesbaden (1980)”, BiOr 39 (1982), pp. 271–287; H. Altenmüller, “Tausret und Sethnacht”, JEA 68 (1982), pp. 107–115; W. J. Murnane, “Review of D. R. Die ElephantineStele des Sethnakht und ihr historischer Hintergrund (Wiesbaden, 1980)”, CdE 58 (1983), pp. 133–135; Kitchen, KRI V, pp. 671–672; F. Junge, “Elephantine/11: Funde und Bauteile; 1.–7. Kampagne, 1969–1976”, Elephantine Grabung des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts Kairo in Zusammenarbeit mit dem Schweizerischen Institut für ägyptische Bauforschung und Altertumskunde Kairo 11 (Mainz am Rhein, 1987), pp. 55–58; A. J. Peden Egyptian Historical Inscriptions of the Twentieth Dynasty (Jonsered, 1994), pp. 1–5; H. Goedicke, “Comments on the Sethnakhte Stela”, MDAIK 52 (1996), pp. 157–175; S. J. Seidlmayer, “Epigraphische Bemerkungen zur Stele des Sethnachte aus Elephantine”, in H. Guksch and D. Polz (eds.), Stationen Beiträge zur Kulturgeschichte Ägyptens, Rainer Stadelmann gewidmet (Mainz am Rhein, 1998), pp. 363–386. 99 Cf. The Setnakht Stela. Murnane (1983) 134; J. F. Quack, “Ein Altägyptische Sprachtabu”, Lingua Aegyptia 3 (1993), p. 72; Seidlmayer, ibid., p. 378. 100 J. von Beckerath, “Zur Regierung Sethnachtes”, in U. Luft (ed.), The Intellectual Heritage 96

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vicinity of Hadera in a tomb of the Roman period.101 Based on these finds, it is impossible to assess the degree of control exerted over Canaan. The political situation remained the same on the Nubian and Libyan fronts until the reign of Setnakht, in whose reign a monument of the Viceroy of Kush was erected at Amarah, near the third cataract.102

V. Ramesses III According to texts and reliefs103 of Ramesses III (ca. 1187–1157 BCE), he defeated the armies of Irem,104 the African Kingdom which lay south of the 5th cataract. After several decades, the Egyptian hegemony over Upper Nubia was re-established. On the western front as well, Ramesses III successfully halted at least two Libyan attempts to invade Egypt in years 5 and 11, and installed a new subordinate chief in Libya as can be learned from the royal texts and reliefs at Medinet Habu.105 On the north-eastern front, Ramesses III strengthened the grip over southern Canaan as can be learned from the abundance of hieratic administrative documents dated to his reign.106 Egyptian activity probably also took place in Northern Canaan, in the city of Egypt. Studies presented to László Kákosy by Friends and Colleagues on the Occasion of his 60th Birthday (Budapest, 1992), pp. 665–666. 101 B. Brandl, “Scarabs and plaques bearing royal names of the early 20th Egyptian Dynasty excavated in Canaan – from Sethnakht to Ramesses IV”, in M. Bietak and E. Czerny (eds.), Scarabs of the Second Millennium BC from Egypt, Nubia, Crete and the Levant: Chronological and historical implications. Papers of a symposium, Vienna, 10th–13th of January 2002 (Contributions to the Chronology of the Eastern Mediterranean 8; Wien, 2004), pp. 57– 58. 102 Hein, op. cit. (note 21), pp. 103–106, 178. 103 Heinz, op. cit. (note 19), pp. 298–299. 104 Kitchen, op. cit. (note 22), pp. 224–225; O’Connor, op. cit. (note 23), pp. 132–133. See also: K. Zibelius-Chen, “Das nachkoloniale Nubien: Politische Fragen der Entstehung des kuschitischen Reiches”, in R. Gundlach, M. Kropp and A. Leibundgut (eds.), Der Sudan in Vergangenheit und Gegenwart (Sudan Past and Present), (Frankfurt am Main, 1996), p. 199. 105 For a translation, see Peden, op. cit. (note 99), pp. 13–17; 44–49; K. A. Kitchen, Ramesside Inscriptions: Translated and Annotated Translations V: Setnakht, Ramesses III and Contemporaries (Oxford, 2008), pp. 10–24, 40–55. 106 For finds of Ramesses III from Timna, Nahal Rodid, Lachish, Beth Shemesh, Ashqelon, Ashdod, Gezer, Tell Ahwat, Megido, Beth Shean, See Brandl, op. cit. (note 101), pp. 58–59; idem, “Nine Scarabs, a Scaraboid, a Cylinder Seal and a Bifacial Plaque from Tell Ahwat”, in A. Zertal (ed.), El-Ahwat, A Fortified Site of The Early Iron Age Near Nahal ‘Iron, Israel Excavations 1993–2000 (Leiden, 2010), pp. 195–198; R. Giveon, “An Inscription of Ramesses III from Lachish”, TA 10 (1983), pp. 176–177; R. Giveon, D. Sweeney and N. Lalkin, “A Cartouche of Ramesses III from Lachish”, In D. Ussishkin (ed.), The Renewed Excavations at Lachish—1973–1994 (Tel Aviv, 2004), pp. 1626–1628; Mumford, op. cit. (note 74), p. 186; Singer, op. cit. (note 35), pp. 4–6; Weinstein, op. cit. (note 72), pp. 19–20; ibid., “The Collapse of the Egyptian Empire in the Southern Levant”, in W. A. Ward and M. S. Joukowsky (eds.), The Crisis Years: The 12th Century B.C.: From Beyond the Danube to the Tigris (Dubuque, 1992), pp. 142–147. An ostracon with a Hieratic text dated to year 4 of an unnamed king from Lachish was dated by Redford to the reign of Merneptah. See D. B. Redford, “Egypt and Asia in the New Kingdom”, JSSEA 10 (1979), p. 67. Goldwasser dated it to the reign of Ramesses III. See O. Goldwasser, “The Lachish Hieratic Bowl Once Again”, TA 9 (1982), pp. 137–138. A bowl from Tell Shariah, dated to year 22 of an unnamed king may belong to the reign of Ramesses III. O. Goldwasser, “Hieratic Inscriptions from Tel Sera’ in

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states of Phoenicia, Byblos, where a statue of the king was erected,107 Amurru, and (former) Hittite territory as is stated in his royal inscriptions, reliefs and topographical lists.108 The Egyptian Empire was restored to its borders in the days of Ramesses II, the Great.

VI. Summary It seems that in the days of Merneptah, especially around his 5th regnal year, Egypt had to respond to rebellions of its subjugated vassals, which took place at almost the same time on its three fronts. While, Egypt succeeded in crushing the rebellions, the territorial loss was immense, and Egypt retreated hundreds of km on all fronts to defendable borders. These borders seem to have remained stable during the entire period of weakness at the end of the 19th dynasty, and even though Egypt experienced civil strife, anarchy, struggle between rival royal factions and a coup d’etat leading to the rise a new dynasty—the political borders did not shrink any further. With the rise of Setnakht, founder of the 20th dynasty, to Kingship, it is possible to detect a change in Egypt’s fortune, which reached its maximum extent in the days of Ramesses III—equal to the glorious days of only Thutmosis III. However, this was the swan song of the Egyptian Empire. During the days of Ramesses III, the Sea Peoples invaded Canaan and the Libyans penetrated Egypt and threatened its citizens, settled in it and finally took control of the whole country.

Southern Canaan”, TA 11 (1984), pp. 77–93. For a recently found scarab of Ramesses III at Ashqelon together with monochrome ware, See L. E. Stager, J. D. Schloen and D. M. Master (eds.), Ashkelon 1: Introduction and Overview (1985–2006), (Winona Lake, IN 2008), pp. 258, 260. Papyrus Harris mentions the temple of Amun in Pa-Canaan (Gaza?) and taxes from nine additional cities in Kharu. See C. Uehlinger, “Der Amun-Tempel Ramses’ III in pAKnan, seine südpalästinischen Tempelgüter und der Übergang von der Ägypter zur Philisterherrschaft: ein Hinweis auf einige wenig beachtete Skarabäen”, ZDPV 104 (1988), p. 6; but cf. M. G. Hasel, “Pa-Canaan in the Egyptian New Kingdom: Canaan or Gaza?”, JAEI 1 (2009), pp. 10–11. 107 Morris, op. cit. (note 13), p. 707. 108 D. Kahn, “Who is Meddling in Egypt’s Affairs? The Identity of the Asiatics in the Elephantine Stela of Setnakht and the Historicity of the Medinet Habu Asiatic War Reliefs”, JAEI (2010), pp. 14–23; idem, “The Campaign of Ramesses III Against Philistia”, JAEI 3–4 (2011), pp. 1–11.

THE KOS IN THE LEVANT THOUGHTS ON ITS DISTRIBUTION, FUNCTION, AND SPREAD FROM THE LATE BRONZE TO THE IRON AGE II

AARON KOLLER Yeshiva University

I. Introduction: The Study of Drinking Vessels Assemblages of drinking vessels have been fruitfully studied as indicators of cultural contacts, population migrations, and cultural shifts. A. Sherratt utilized ceramic evidence, in part, to trace “the introduction of alcohol to prehistoric Europe”;1 B. Anđelković relied on distinctively Egyptian vessels (such as lotus-shaped bowls) and other kitchen utensils as evidence for Egyptian people in Canaan in the late 4th millennium;2 S. Bunimovitz and R. Greenberg have described Intermediate Bronze Age shifts in this technology as indicative of social changes,3 and G. Philip and D. Baird have made overtures in this direction regarding Early Bronze Age pottery.4 * It was a great pleasure to be able to present a draft of this paper at the conference in Haifa organized by G. Galil; Prof. Galil’s hospitality and support at the conference and since then, have been very helpful in this work. In Haifa, I benefited greatly from conversations with a number of people at the conference, and from comments on the paper; in particular, B. Halpern, J. Sasson, A. Lemaire, T. Sagrillo, D. Kahn, Y. Avrahami and A. Yasur-Landau provided references, insights, and criticisms. Later, A. Yasur-Landau graciously read and commented on a draft of the paper, and Y. Alexandre responded to my thoughts on the Kefar Veradim bowl. No doubt each of these scholars would still be able to improve on this paper, and I hope that each does. 1 A. Sherratt, “Cups that Cheered: The Introduction of Alcohol to Prehistoric Europe”, in W. Waldren and R. Kennard (eds.), Bell Beakers of the Western Mediterranean: The Oxford International Conference 1986 (BAR International Series 331; Oxford, 1987), pp. 81–106, reprinted with corrections in A. Sherratt, Economy and Society in Prehistoric Europe (Edinburgh, 1997), pp. 376–402. 2 B. Anđelković, The Relations Between Early Bronze Age I Canaanites and Upper Egyptians (Centre for Archaeological Research 14; Belgrade, 1995), esp. p. 71, but passim, relied on distinctively Egyptian vessels (such as lotus-shaped bowls) and other kitchen utensils as evidence for Egyptian people in Canaan in the late-4th millennium; see also idem, “The Early Bronze Age at Tell Abu al-Kharaz, Jordan Valley: A Study of Pottery Typology and Provenance, Radiocarbon Dates, and the Synchronization of Palestine and Egypt in Dynasties 0-2”, in G. Philip and D. Baird (eds.), Ceramics and Changes in the Early Bronze Age of the Southern Levant (Levantine Archaeology 2; Sheffield, 2000), pp. 201–232. 3 S. Bunimovitz and R. Greenberg, “Revealed in Their Cups: Syrian Drinking Customs in Intermediate Bronze Age Canaan”, BASOR 334 (2004), pp. 19–31. 4 G. Philip and D. Baird, “Early Bronze Age Ceramics in the Southern Levant: An Over-

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Data for similar studies is available from around the Ancient Near East, and these vessels await their analyses.5 The goals of this paper are threefold. First, it aims to establish that in the Late Bronze and Iron I periods, there was a distinctive metal kos, used especially in feasting, and that this metal kos and the feasting which accompanied its use was most associated with the Canaanites and then with the Phoenicians. Second, the paper discusses the purpose of feasts in the ancient Levant, and the purpose of depictions of feasts; it is argued, following many earlier scholars from various disciplines, that feasts served to consolidate and display power, and that depictions of feasts memorialized these displays. Third, attention is turned to the spread of the kos and its associated banqueting practices in the Iron II period and beyond. The adoption of these practices eastward in Mesopotamia and Iran, and westward in Greece has long been noted. I will review the evidence regarding Israel, which suggests that a peculiar ideology existed there, and attempt to explain that reality.

II. The kos: A Canaanite-Phoenician Metal Drinking Bowl6 There are two points regarding the kos in the Iron Age which are to be defended here. The first is that this type of vessel is most associated with the Canaanites, and then with the Phoenicians; the second is that the best examples of the kos—meaning the most prototypical ones—were made of metal. The evidence for the Phoenician affiliation of the kos comes from finds of the artifacts themselves. Indeed, we are fortunate that the practice of at least some people was to label their drinking bowls with the word ks, followed by their name. Whereas the labelers were presumably interested in demonstrating and being able to prove ownership, for modern researchers this is useful for identifying the referents of common nouns. 1. Canaanite and Phoenician Bowls The ks in use in Late Bronze Age feasts already, as can be seen in numerous Ugaritic passages. For example, the Ba‛lu epic (KTU 1.3 I:8–17) reads, yatinu kāsa bâdi-hu/karpana-ma bi-kil’atê yadê-hu “[Il] put a cup in his hand/a goblet in both his hands”.7 The artistic representations of banquets and archaeological finds of view”, in Philip and Baird, op. cit. (note 2), p. 21. 5 Within the Levant, a pottery drinking bowl from the Early Bronze Age (3000–2700 BCE) was found at Ai. For drinking vessels from Ebla, see S. Mazzoni, “Drinking Vessels in Syria: Ebla and the Early Bronze Age”, in L. Milano (ed.), Drinking in Ancient Societies: History and Culture of Drinks in the Ancient Near East (History of the Ancient Near East/Studies VI; Padova, 1994), pp. 245–276, esp. 266–270 for illustrations. 6 The semantics of kos will not be discussed in detail. I did discuss them in “Lexicography of Biblical Realia: Methodological Considerations and the Example of ‫”כוס‬, at the 15th World Congress of Jewish Studies in Jerusalem (August, 2009); for now it will suffice to say that through the Iron Age II kos refer to a drinking bowl in Phoenician, Hebrew, and Aramaic. 7 Transcription and translation from M. S. Smith and W. T. Pitard, The Ugaritic Baal Cycle: Volume 2. Introduction with Text, Translation and Commentary of KTU 1.3–1.4 (VTS 114; Leiden, 2009), pp. 95–96. U. Zevulun and I. Ziffer, “A Human Face from Tel Haror and the Beginning of Canaanite Head-Shaped Cups”, in S. Bickel, S. Schroer, R. Schurte and C. Uehlinger (eds.), Bilder als Quellen = Images as Sources: Studies on Ancient Near Eastern

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drinking bowls themselves confirm that these were at home in the 2nd millennium Canaanite realm. “The ideology of Canaanite aristocrats drinking from a bowl is well represented in the archaeological record, which yielded dozens of bronze bowls in elite tombs in the Levant as well as in Cyprus”, writes Yasur-Landau.8 Especially noteworthy are the drinking bowls made of precious metals. A small gold bowl was found at Ugarit; it measures 17cm in diameter, which fits comfortably in the palm of one’s hand and matches the drinking bowls seen in the hands of banqueters in the ivory plaques from Megiddo and Tell el-Far‘ah South.9 This could well be an exemplar of the type of ‘gold cup’ (kāsu ḫurāṣu = ks mn ḫrṣ) mentioned as tribute sent by Niqmaddu to Šuppiluliuma and others. The Ugaritic probably means that the drinking bowl was made of a mina of gold.10 Earlier, a Mari text describes Mukannišum, director of the workshops, setting the table for a feast with gold and silver cups.11 Note also 1 Kgs 10:21, where it is said, ‫שׁקֵה ַה ֶמּלְֶך‬ ְ ‫וְכ ֹל ְכּלֵי ַמ‬ ‫“ שְֹׁלמ ֹה זָהָב‬all the drinking vessels of King Solomon were gold”, and that gold drinking bowls were found in the royal Tombs II and III at 8th century Nimrud.12 (It is Artefacts and the Bible Inspired by the Work of Othmar Keel (OBO; Fribourg – Göttingen, 2007), p. 39, n. 50, argued based on this line that a kāsu was held in one hand, while a karpanu was held in two, which seems plausible but not provable. 8 A. Yasur-Landau, “Old Wine in New Vessels: Intercultural Contact, Innovation and Aegean, Canaanite and Philistine Foodways”, TA 32 (2005), pp. 168–191 (quotation from p. 174). The finds are catalogued in L. Gershuny, Bronze Vessels from Israel and Jordan (printed together with P. Yule, Harappazeitliche Metallgefässe in Pakistan und Nord-westindien), (Prähistorische Bronzefunde, Abteilung II, Vol. VI–VII; München, 1985). 9 M. Feldman, Diplomacy by Design: Luxury Arts and an “International Style” in the Ancient Near East, 1400-1200 BCE (Chicago, 2006), pp. 123–124, with fig. 35 and plate 7. 10 The Akkadian is from RS 17.227:22; the Ugaritic is from KTU 3.1:20. G. N. Knoppers, “Treaty, Tribute List, or Diplomatic Letter: KTU 3.1 Reexamined”, BASOR 289 (1993), p. 87, interprets the Ugaritic phrase to be elliptical for ks h[rs], mn h[rs] “a gold drinking bowl, a gold mina”. But as late as Achaemenid times, the weight of vessels made of precious was apparently of paramount significance in the value of the vessels themselves; see M. Vickers, “Golden Greece: Relative Values, Minae, and Temple Inventories”, AJA 94 (1990), pp. 613– 624, and D. W. J. Gill, “Appendix: A One-Mina Phiale from Kozani”, AJA 94 (1990), pp. 624–625. The Akkadian is a list of tribute demanded by Šuppililiuma from Niqmaddu II of Ugarit; the Ugaritic is a cover letter sent by Niqmaddu to Šuppiluliuma, detailing the tribute provided. See Z. Cochavi-Rainey, Royal Gifts in the Late Bronze Age, Fourteenth to Thirteenth Centuries B.C.E.: Selected Texts Recording Gifts to Royal Personages (Beer-Sheva XIII; Beer Sheva, 1999), pp. 184–185. As Knoppers has pointed out, the logogram GAL in the Akkadian text consistently corresponds to Ugaritic ks. This does not necessarily mean that the logogram GAL stands for Akkadian kāsu (as opposed to rabû), but Knoppers argues that this is in fact the case, relying on “a correspondence between GAL and kāsu at El-Amarna, Qatnu, and elsewhere (CAD 8 254–256)”. For cups/bowls sent as tribute and gifts, see the sources in Cochavi-Rainey, ibid., p. 179 (KTU 4.265, mšq mlkt mitm tṯm kbd ksp ksp ṯmnym ḫrṣ “queen’s bowl, 260 heavy silver shekels of silver, 80 of gold”). 11 The text is ARM 13:22, discussed recently by A. Yasur-Landau, “Hard to Handle: Aspects of Organization in Aegean and Near Eastern Feasts”, in L. A. Hitchcock, R. Laffineur, and J. Crowley (eds.), Dais: The Aegean Feast (Aegaeum 29; Liège – Auston, 2008), p. 354. 12 For beautiful color photographs of the bowls, see J. and D. Oates, Nimrud: An Assyrian Imperial City Revealed (London, 2001), pl. 7b and 8b, and the discussion on pp. 81–88. For earlier notices, see K. Nashef, “Archaeology in Iraq”, AJA 94 (1990), pp. 280–282 (a bowl is visible on the back of the table in the photograph on p. 281); see also A. Harrak, “The Royal

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worth emphasizing that these gold drinking bowls were buried together with the queens Yaba/Banitu and Atalia, whose names reveal them to be West Semites.13) Apparently royal drinking bowls were regularly gold; certainly the drinking bowls held by Ashurbanipal and his queen in their famous banquet scene would have been made of nothing less.14 A small number of vessels have been found which have been labeled by their owners for identification purposes. A bronze bowl was found in Tekke, Crete in the 1970s, bearing the label ...‫כס שמע בן ל‬.15 Apparently slightly earlier is a bowl from Cyprus, labeled ‫ ;כץ אכי בן יפתחד‬Puech argued that ‫ כץ‬is a phonetic biform of ‫כס‬.16 A fuller survey of these and related artifacts can be found in the contribution of A. Lemaire to this volume, but their dates are discussed below, in the Appendix. Since the Iron Age Phoenicians are the Canaanites—as is emphasized by the contribution of E. Stern to this volume—it is not surprising to find the continuation of LB Canaanite culture in Iron Age Phoenician culture. 2. The Bowl from Kefar Veradim In the Levant itself, a beautiful fluted bronze bowl from Kefar Veradim was found in a grave in the 1990s and published by Y. Alexandre. Around the center is an inscription, ks psḥ bn šm‘, and this has provided evidence that the drinking bowl was called a ‫ כס‬in the Iron Age.17 The social location of this bowl and its date are disTombs of Nimrud and Their Jewellery”, Bulletin of the Canadian Society for Mesopotamian Studies 20 (1990), pp. 5–13, esp. 11–13, with a small illustration, and D. Stronach, “The Imagery of the Wine Bowl: Wine in Assyria in the Early First Millennium B.C.”, in P. E. McGovern, S. J. Fleming, and S. H. Katz (eds.), The Origins and Ancient History of Wine (Food and nutrition in history and anthropology 11; Amsterdam, 1996), pp. 187–188, and p. 195, n. 24 for the reference to Solomon. 13 More specifically, according to Dalley, they can be identified as Judeans; cf. S. Dalley, “Recent Evidence from Assyrian Sources for Judaean History from Uzziah to Manasseh”, JSOT 28 (2004), pp. 394–397; idem, Esther’s Revenge at Susa: From Sennacherib to Ahasuerus (Oxford, 2008), pp. 16–17. 14 Following Stronach, op. cit. (note 12), p. 195, n. 24, against the implication of R. W. Hamilton, “A Silver Bowl in the Ashmolean Museum”, Iraq 28 (1966), p. 4. For an inscribed bronze Neo-Assyrian drinking bowl (which reads EN-URU ša URUZarātu), see K. Radner, “Eine Bronzeschale mit neuassyrischer Inschrift”, SAAB 13 (1999–2000), pp. 17–23, with discussion of the bowl’s social function. Further comments on the find spots of bronze NeoAssyrian bowls, and discussion in particular of the question of the role of gender in this issue, can be found in S. Mazzoni, “Having and Showing: Women’s Possessions in the Afterlife in Iron Age Syria and Mesopotamia”, in D. Lyons and R. Westbrook (eds.), Women and Property in Ancient Mediterranean and Near Eastern Societies (Cambridge, MA 2005), pp. 1–12 (available at www.chs.harvard.edu/wa/pageR?tn=ArticleWrapper& bdc=12&mn=1219, accessed January 20, 2011). 15 See M. Sznycer, “L’Inscription phénicienne de Tekke, près de Cnossus”, Kadmos 18 (1979), pp. 89–93; for detailed comments and proposed readings of the patronym, see F. M. Cross, “Newly Found Inscriptions in Old Canaanite and Early Phoenician Scripts”, BASOR 238 (1980), pp. 15–17, and É. Puech, “Présence Phénicienne dans le iles à la fin de IIe Millénaire: à propos de deux coupes inscrites”, RB 90 (1983), pp. 374–393. 16 Puech, ibid., pp. 365–374. 17 Y. Alexandre, “A Canaanite Early Phoenician Inscribed Bronze Bowl in an Iron Age IIA-B Burial Cave at Kefar Veradim, Northern Israel”, Maarav 13 (2006), pp. 7–41; originally: idem, “A Fluted Bronze Bowl with a Canaanite – Early Phoenician Inscription from Kefer

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cussed at length in the Appendix below. One further comment should be made at this point: the practice of labeling drinking bowls with the owners’ names is distinctive and slightly curious. The reason for this Levantine practice may simply have been that since drinking was often done at communal feasts, it would have been useful to have a readily identifiable cup to bring along, especially if one plans to be inebriated when leaving later that evening. Beside the Phoenician realm, where the bowls labeled in this manner have already been discussed, it is worth mentioning that some 8th century Greek drinking bowls are also labeled with their owners’ names.18 A skyphos from Rhodes proclaims, “I am the cup of Korakos”, and an unassuming cup found at Pithecusae reads, remarkably: “I am the cup of Nestor, good to drink from. Whoever drinks from this, he will struck at once with desire for beautiful-crowned Aphrodite”.19 Despite the fact that many of the Greek drinking practices were imported from the Levant, and specifically from the Phoenicians,20 the similarities between the practices of labeling the drinking bowls are more apparent than real. The Phoenician bowls are simply labeled, without any verbal clauses, whereas the Greek bowls ‘speak’ in the first person, proclaiming their identity for all to hear.21 Indeed, there are a number of inscribed silver and gold bowls from 2nd millennium Anatolia, and C. Watkins has drawn a direct line from these bowls to early Greek poetry for other reasons, so the Greek practice apparently has nothing to do with Levantine practices.22

Veradim”, in Z. Gal (ed.), Eretz Zafon: Studies in Galilean Archaeology (Jerusalem, 2002), pp. 65–74. For comments on the history of the fluted drinking bowl, with extensive references, see idem, ibid., 2006, pp. 34–41. 18 For the suggestion to look at the Greek examples, and ‘Nestor’s cup’ in particular, I am indebted to B. Halpern, who raised this connection at the Haifa conference. 19 The fullest recent discussion of this inscription, with copious bibliography and insightful analysis, is C. A. Faraone, “Taking the ‘Nestor’s Cup Inscription’ Seriously: Erotic Magic and Conditional Curses in the Earliest Inscribed Hexameters”, Classical Antiquity 15 (1996), pp. 77–112. For both Greek inscriptions mentioned above, see R. Bellamy, “Bellerophon’s Tablet”, The Classical Journal 84 (1989), pp. 289–307, esp. 296, and for the standard collection, see L. H. Jeffery, The Local Scripts of Archaic Greece: A Study of the Origin of the Greek Alphabet and its Development from the Eighth to the Fifth Century B.C. (revised edition with a supplement by A. W. Johnston; Oxford, 1990), pp. 359 and 239, respectively. A photograph of the cup, with a transcription of the inscription and discussion, is available in A. M. Snodgrass, The Dark Age of Greece: An Archaeological Survey of the Eleventh to the Eighth Centuries BC (New York, 20002), pp. 351–352. 20 The east-to-west influence in banqueting practices can be readily seen in the corpus collected by J.-M. Dentzer, Le motif du banquet couché dans le Proche-Orient et le monde grec du VIIe au IVe siècle avant J.-C. (Rome, 1982). 21 This point is made by S. L. Sanders, The Invention of Hebrew (Urbana – Chicago, 2009), pp. 134–135, and was emphasized to me by A. Yasur-Landau, as well. 22 C. Watkins, “The Golden Bowl: Thoughts on the New Sappho and its Asianic Background”, Classical Antiquity 26 (2007), pp. 305–325, with reference to the original publications. I am indebted to A. Yasur-Landau for drawing my attention to Watkins’ article.

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III. The kos as Typically Metal As discussed above, the Phoenicians, as well as other residents of the Iron Age Near East, used drinking bowls made of precious metals (gold, silver and bronze) in their feasting. Two pieces of evidence, one philological and the other archaeological, show that indeed these metal kosot were looked upon as culturally significant objects. The philological evidence comes from the Late Egyptian borrowing of the word kos to refer to metal drinking bowls; the archaeological evidence comes from clay skeuomorphic bowls modeled on metal prototypes. 1. Late Egyptian Evidence for the Semantics of kos The philological evidence for the significance of the metal kos comes from Egypt. Older Egyptian drinking practices typically differed from Levantine practices, in that Egyptians had long utilized goblets for drinking.23 In the New Kingdom, however, Levantine drinking practices were borrowed into Egypt, and the word ‫כוס‬, written kuti,24 was borrowed as well;25 it appears in numerous late Egyptian price lists and other mundane documents.26 These types of mundane documents are, of 23 For a typological and historical discussion of the lotus-shaped chalice which originated in the Eighteenth Dynasty, see G. A. D. Tait, “The Egyptian Relief Chalice”, JEA 49 (1963), pp. 93–139. The biblical word ‫( גביע‬which appears in the story of Joseph in Egypt) has long been taken to refer to a goblet or chalice, which differ greatly from drinking bowls (‫)כוסות‬, and has been claimed as an Egyptian loanword by some scholars; cf. L. Köhler, “Hebräische Etymologien”, JBL 59 (1940), p. 36. This proposal has apparently been ignored by later scholars (e.g., T. O. Lambdin, “Egyptian Loan Words in the Old Testament”, JAOS 73 [1953], pp. 145–155; Y. Muchiki, Egyptian Names and Loanwords in North-West Semitic [SBL Dissertation Series 173; Atlanta, 1999]), but it still exists in HALOT, and see Y. Avishur, “‘‫”על ’כוס‬, 8–9. For cogent criticism of Köhler’s suggestion, see C. Cohen, Biblical Hapax Legomena in the Light of Akkadian and Ugaritic (SBL Dissertation Series 37; Missoula, 1978), pp. 86–87, n. 205. 24 Regarding the transcription of the vowel, note that the Egyptian Pyramid texts have now provided evidence for at least the beginnings of the ‘Canaanite shift’ in the 3rd millennium BCE; cf. R. C. Steiner, “ ‫ סקירה ראשונה של תולדות העברית באלף‬:‫כנענית בכתבי הפירמידות‬-‫לחשים בקדם‬ ‫”השלישי לפסה"נ‬, Lešonénu 70 (2008), pp. 23–24, and idem, Early Northwest Semitic Serpent Spells in the Pyramid Texts (HSS 61; Winona Lake, IN 2011), pp. 46, 49–50, with n. 136. Even if in the 3rd millennium the shift was still conditioned by phonological context and not yet widespread, the Late Bronze evidence from Late Egyptian transcriptions is consistent and unambiguous; see the summary of evidence in J. E. Hoch, Semitic Words in Egyptian Texts of the New Kingdom and Third Intermediate Period (Princeton, 1994), pp. 338–339. For ‫ ס‬as an affricate, see, e.g., Hoch, ibid., pp. 407–408, and R. Woodhouse, “The Biblical Shibboleth Story in the Light of Late Egyptian Perceptions of Semitic Sibilants: Reconciling Divergent Views”, JAOS 123 (2003), p. 273. 25 For the Semitic word in Egyptian, see W. A. Ward, “Comparative Studies in Egyptian and Ugaritic”, JNES 20 (1961), pp. 39–40 and Hoch, op. cit. (note 24), pp. 338–339, with earlier literature. Interestingly, the Semitic word was borrowed (earlier and from East Semitic) into Sumerian, as well, as GU-ZI/KU-ZI; cf. P. V. Mankowski, Akkadian Loanwords in Biblical Hebrew (HSS 47; Winona Lake, IN 2000), pp. 62–63. 26 Ward claims that this lexeme survived into Coptic as kaji “pitcher, basket”, but Hoch writes that this is unfounded, and the semantics do not support the equation. See Ward, ibid. (note 25), pp. 39–40, and Hoch, op. cit. (note 24), p. 339, n. 101. When thinking of the kos in Ramesside Egypt, one thinks also of the repeated mention of kos Par‘oh in the speech of the

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course, the ones always missing in our studies of ancient Israelite life. On the basis of these texts, Janssen has concluded that “so far as we can see, kṯ always indicates a bronze vessel.”27 On this basis we can not conclude that the Canaanite ‫ כוס‬was always made of metal. We can, however, reasonably assume that when the Egyptians borrowed the word along with the object, they were borrowing the most representative form of the object, and, therefore, that the most representative vessels called ‫כוס‬ were the metal ones. 2. The Skeuomorphic Bowl from Tell eṣ-Ṣafi The archaeological evidence comes from Tell eṣ-Ṣafi, from which came recently a ceramic bowl modeled after the metal ones. It is described by A. Maeir and I. Shai as “a round, shallow bowl…which is 125mm in diameter and 35mm high”. Maeir and Shai argue that this shows Phoenician influence, with which I would certainly agree.28 More importantly for our purposes, they argue that “the shape of the fluted bowls…is dictated according the fact that it was first made in metal. Although ceramic versions of this form are known in various periods, they can clearly be defined as copies of metal proto-types”. This accords well with the evidence already seen, that prototypical drinking bowls were metal.

IV. The Use of the kos: Commensal Banqueting The diffusion of a style, or of an artifact, is itself a worthy subject of inquiry. In our case, as laid out in the introduction to this paper, it may be explored whether the use of the flat, metal, distinctively-Phoenician kos may be correlated with the spread of particular feasting practices. To investigate this, we will turn now briefly to the use of these metal drinking bowls. 1. Banqueting Practices That the shallow drinking bowl was particularly culturally significant in the Levant in the LB-Iron ages is clear from the fact that they are consistently depicted in banquet scenes from the region,29 where their presence is a tradition dating from the early second millennium.30 Such scenes are clearly depicted on ivories from Megiddo and Tell el-Far‘ah South, and a similar scene can be found on a pyxis found at Nimrud31 and on the sarcophagus of Aḥirom.32 R. Muyldermans noted that “the ‘chief butler’ in Genesis 40. 27 J. J. Janssen, Commodity Prices from the Ramesside Period: An Economic Study of the Village of Necropolis Workmen at Thebes (Leiden, 1975), p. 408. 28 A. M. Maeir and I. Shai, “An Iron Age IIA Phoenician-style (?) Fluted bowl from Tell eṣṢafi/Gath: A ceramic imitation of a metal prototype”, Glasnik Srpskog arheološkog društva 23 (2007), pp. 219–226. 29 For a survey of Levantine banquet scenes with an exploration of what the scene means in its various contexts, see I. Ziffer, “From Acemhöyük to Megiddo: The Banquet Scene in the Art of the Levant in the Second Millennium BCE”, TA 32 (2005), pp. 133–167. 30 Yasur-Landau, op. cit. (note 8), pp. 172–174, and idem, op. cit. (note 11), pp. 356–357, following the data collected by P. Beck, “Stone Ritual Artifacts and Statues from Area A and H at Hazor”, in A. Ben-Tor (ed.), Hazor III-IV, Text: An Account of the Third and Fourth Seasons of Excavations (Jerusalem, 1989), pp. 322–327. 31 R. Muyldermans, “Two Banquet Scenes in the Levant: A Comparison between the Ahiram

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relation between the two scenes [the Megiddo ivory and the sarcophagus] is one of subject matter, not of style”,33 apparently due to the impact of Egyptian culture in an area such as Tell el-Far‛ah and the lack of such impact at inland sites such as Megiddo. For our purposes, the fact that the content of the depictions remains constant through these very different styles enhances the value of the depictions. Although superficially similar ‘banquet motifs’ are depicted in art from as early as Ebla and Early Dynastic Mesopotamia, it has been shown that the motif changed in details and in significance from area to area and era to era.34 Writing about the Ah irom sarcophagus, Haran wrote that in depictions of kings, the upheld cup was “the ceremonial object par excellence”.35 Although some have suggested that the significance of the cup derived from its contents (supposedly some type of life-giving potion),36 in light of the consistency of the depiction and the mundane contexts in which it also appears, the drinking bowl itself has been identified by Yasur-Landau and others as a fundamental component in the Canaanite feasting routine.37 The bowls referred to above from Ugarit and Nimrud illustrate the practice. Sarcophagus from Byblos and a North Syrian Pyxis found at Nimrud”, in L. de Meyer and E. Haerinck (eds.), Archaeologia Iranica et Orientalis: Miscellanea in Honorem Louis Vanden Berghe (Gent, 1989), pp. 393–407. 32 The sarcophagus is now conventionally dated to ca. 1000 BCE, on the basis of paleography, historical linguistics, and art historical considerations. See E. M. Cook, “On the Linguistic Dating of the Phoenician Aḥiram Inscription”, JNES 53 (1994), pp. 33–36; E. Porada, “Notes on the Sarcophagus of Aḥiram”, JANES 5 (1973), pp. 355–372; and especially G. E. Markoe, “The Emergence of Phoenician Art”, BASOR 279 (1990), esp. pp. 19–23. Sass has challenged this position, claiming that art historically the sarcophagus is better dated to the 9th century, and that the paleographical evidence (whose validity he disputes) unduly influenced the judgment of art historians such as Porada (cf. B. Sass, The Alphabet at the Turn of the Millennium: The West Semitic Alphabet ca. 1150–850 B.C.E., The Antiquity of the Arabian, Greek and Phrygian Alphabets [Tel Aviv Occasional Publications 4; Tel Aviv, 2005], pp. 75– 82). Rollston disputes this only on the grounds that other art historians disagree (“The Dating of the Early Royal Byblian Phoenician Inscriptions”, Maarav 15 [2008], pp. 91–93). See also S. Mazzoni, “Syria and the Periodization of the Iron Age: A Cross-Cultural Perspective”, in G. Bunnens (ed.), Essays on Syria in the Iron Age (Ancient Near Eastern Studies Supplement 7; Louvain, 2000), pp. 40–41, for a contextualization of the sarcophagus in the cultural world of the 10th century BCE. 33 Muyldermans, op. cit. (note 31), p. 398. 34 For Ebla see P. Matthiae, “Masterpieces of Early and Old Syrian Art: Discoveries of the 1988 Ebla Excavations in Historical Perspective”, Proceedings of the British Academy 75 (1989), pp. 51–54; F. Pinnock, “Considerations on the «Banquet Theme» in the Figurative Art of Mesopotamia and Syria”, in Milano, op. cit. (note 5), p. 23 and Plate VIb. For LB Hazor see Beck, op. cit. (note 30), pp. 322–327. Although the Hazor example is LB Canaan, it is difficult to align it with the Megiddo ivory et al., since it depicts a king, alone, holding a cup. 35 M. Haran, “The Bas Reliefs on the Sarcophagus of Aḥiram King of Byblos in the Light of Archaeological Literary Parallels from the Ancient Near East”, IEJ 8 (1958), pp. 21–22. 36 D. Collon, The Seal Impressions from Tell Atchana/Alalakh (AOAT 27; Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1975), pp. 187–188, cited by Beck, op. cit. (note 30), p. 327. 37 Yasur-Landau, op. cit. (note 8). Yasur-Landau proposed that “The different languages of gesture [in the Canaanite and Aegean worlds], each with its rich symbolic vocabulary, may have functioned as a cultural barrier to the widespread innovative use of kylikes by Canaanite aristocracy” (p. 174).

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A survey of the evidence for feasting in the ancient Levant has been rendered superfluous by recent studies. Wide-ranging overviews have been published by I. Ziffer and F. Pinnock (notes 29 and 34, respectively), a thorough discussion of the Mari evidence was published by J. Sasson, and an analysis of the evidence from Amarna was written by L. Green.38 The Levantine material, along with much else from the Near East, is now covered by the thorough two-part study of J. Wright.39 Wright surveys theories within the anthropological literature of the purpose of feasting, and catalogs the examples of feasting in biblical texts (see also below) and Ancient Near Eastern art, emphasizing the role of feasting (and its depiction) as a way of symbolizing and memorializing military victories. Archaeologically speaking, the traces of feasting may be detectable. K. McGeough argues that the “Bâtiment au vase de pierre” is a likely setting for marziḫū, based on the many large kraters there, which indicate much wine consumption.40 We may also expect to find many bowls in, for example, the ‘Ceremonial District’ of LB Hazor, where S. Zuckerman saw evidence in the ceramic assemblage (as well as in other archaeological data) for feasts.41 And yet after reviewing the ceramics in detail, she points out a surprising “scarcity [of] serving vessels for liquids, such as jugs, juglets, cups and goblets”.42 The drinking bowls dug up in graves may serve as an explanation: perhaps to feasts participants would bring their own drinking vessels. The ones discovered, it will be recalled, are labeled with the owners’ names, making it likely that they were used in public settings rather than (or in addition to) the private home; and they would have been brought home afterwards to await the next feast. In the long run, they were probably either reused for their metal, or, as in the cases with which we began, passed down to the next generation until they were buried as grave goods. 2. Purpose of Feasts At this point it is worth dwelling on the nature and purpose of these feasts in an effort to return to the question of ethnicity. Whatever their alleged purpose (and 38

J. M. Sasson, “The King’s Table: Food and Fealty in Old Babylonian Mari”, in C. Grottanelli and L. Milano (eds.), Food and Identity in the Ancient World (History of the Ancient Near East, Studies IX; Padova, 2004), pp. 179–215; L. Green, “Some Thoughts on Ritual Banquets at the Court of Akhenaten and in the Ancient Near East”, in G. N. Knoppers and A. Hirsch (eds.), Egypt, Israel, and the Ancient Mediterranean World: Studies in Honor of Donald B. Redford (Probleme der Ägyptologie 20; Leiden, 2004), pp. 203–222. See also the valuable essays collected in T. L. Bray (ed.), The Archaeology and Politics of Food and Feasting in Early States and Empires (New York, 2003), and in Hitchcock, Laffineur and Crowley, op. cit. (note 11). 39 J. L. Wright, “Commensal Politics in Ancient Western Asia: The Background to Nehemiah’s Feasting (Part I)”, ZAW 122 (2010), pp. 212–233, and idem, “Commensal Politics in Ancient Western Asia: The Background to Nehemiah’s Feasting (continued, Part II)”, ZAW 122 (2010), pp. 333–352. 40 K. McGeough, “Locating the marziḫu archaeologically”, UF 35 (2004), pp. 407–420. 41 S. Zuckerman, “‘Slaying Oxen and Killing Sheep, Eating Flesh and Drinking Wine…’: Feasting in Late Bronze Age Hazor”, PEQ 139 (2007), p. 197. 42 Zuckerman, ibid., p. 197. I am indebted to S. Zuckerman for emails in January of 2010 which clarified the details of her argument on this point. The vessel illustrated in fig. 6.5 on p. 198 may yet, it would seem, be a drinking vessel, but clearly this would not substantially affect the point being made.

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perhaps one does not need a good reason to have a feast), the feasts we know of in the Ancient Near East were sponsored primarily by the king, and the ability to host the ritual banquet marked him as the central power broker.43 Cross-cultural parallels for this are readily available, and have been collected by anthropologists. In many cultures, it is the chief or the king who both demonstrates and consolidates his power by organizing and hosting a drinking party.44 This is what the Levantine kings are doing as well. What is interesting about the politics of feasting is that feasts are, at first glance, methods of redistribution of wealth. Despite this, hosting a feast is a way of emphasizing disparities in wealth and social standing. This is a point worth emphasizing: events which appear to obliterate social and economic divides by having everyone feast together actually do precisely the opposite. For the host, a feast is an opportunity to bolster his own social standing over and above that of his guests. Hosting a feast requires significant expenditures of resources, but pays the host back handsomely in social capital. Anthropologists M. Dietler and B. Hayden note that “even in societies with a strong egalitarian ethos, feasts serve to define and inculcate social categories”.45 Or, as Dietler writes elsewhere, “In societies with an egalitarian political ethos, the selfinterested manipulative nature of the process [of feasting] may be concealed or euphemized by the fact that it is carried out through the socially valued and integrated institution of generous hospitality, and it may be even be perceived by the participants as a leveling device. However, this apparent leveling is, in a sense, merely the conversion of economic capital into symbolic capital”.46 To make the most of this symbolic capital, some of the Iron Age Levantine kings go further by memorializing their displays of power in art. 3. Purpose of Art about Feasts: The Kuttamuwa Stele The discovery of the stele of Kuttamuwa in Zincirli in 2009 has showed that it was 43 See the anthropologically informed discussion of texts and artifacts in J. Lev-Tov and K. McGeough, “Examining Feasting in Late Bronze Age Syro-Palestine through Ancient Texts and Bones”, in K. C. Twiss (ed.), The Archaeology of Food and Identity (Center for Archaeological Investigations Occasional Paper 34; Carbondale, pp. 85–111. 44 See the case studies, for example, in J. Jennings, K. L. Antrobus, S. J. Atencio, E. Glavich, R. Johnson, G. Loffler, and C. Luu, “‘Drinking Beer in a Blissful Mood’: Alcohol Production, Operational Chains, and Feasting in the Ancient World”, CA 46 (2005), pp. 275–289, and the comments there on pp. 289–304; see also M. Dietler, “Theorizing the Feast: Rituals of Consumption, Commensal Politics, and Power in African Contexts”, in M. Dietler and B. Hayden (eds.), Feasts: Archaeological and Ethnographic Perspectives on Food, Politics, and Power (Smithsonian Series in Archaeological Inquiry; Washington – London, 2001), p. 91, with references, and most of the essays in that volume, including D. Schmandt-Besserat, “Feasting in the Ancient Near East”, pp. 391–403, which deals with third-millennium Sumer. The Nimrud wine lists provide a variation on this theme: the king allocates wine rations to everyone in his ‘household’, from queens to shepherd boys. Cf. J. V. Kinnier-Wilson, The Nimrud Wine Lists: A Study of Men and Administration at the Assyrian Capital in the Eighth Century B.C. (CTN I; London, 1972). 45 M. Dietler and B. Hayden, “Digesting the Feast—Good to Eat, Good to Drink, Good to Think: An Introduction”, in Dietler and Hayden (eds.), ibid., pp. 1–20. 46 M. Dietler, “Theorizing the Feast: Rituals of Consumption, Commensal Politics, and Power in African Contexts”, in Dietler and Hayden, ibid., pp. 65–114.

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not only kings who memorialized their power in this way. The picture on the monument depicts a meal, at which Kuttamuwa himself is shown dining. Although the accompanying inscription prescribes offerings of food post-mortem, it is not this meal that is being depicted in the art. The foods, for example, do not match: rather than the thigh of a ram prescribed for the offerings, he is shown eating duck and bread. I would suggest that rather than depicting how he wants to be in his afterlife, Kuttamuwa’s picture is embedded within the social and political relations experienced during life. Although he chose to identify himself as ‫כתמו עבד פנמו‬ “Kuttamuwa, servant of [King] Panamuwa”, there is nothing in the picture which indicates that he is anything other than independent and self-sufficient, and indeed I will argue that the feasting scene is meant to convey precisely his self-sufficiency. Indeed, it may be significant that Kuttamuwa, unlike kings in their self-representations, is alone. Some scholars have argued that when a banquet appears on a mortuary monument, its significance is altogether different. Thus, for example, F. Pinnock argued that in the early-1st millennium there were two streams of tradition in the Syrian milieu: one depicted banquets in order to glorify the host, and the other was a funerary; the latter is exemplified by Aḥirom’s sarcophagus.47 In his very useful book on the SyroHethitische Grabdenkmal, D. Bonatz argued that the memorials belonging to the cult of the dead individual, primarily depicted banqueting scenes, and functioned as landmarks between the realms of the living and the dead.48 On his reading, the living and the dead were separated only by space, not by something more fundamental, and these stelae marked the locations where the two areas met. Thus the meal depicted on such stelae represented the ritual actions to be undertaken on behalf of the deceased later on. This approach seems problematic, however, in that it involves severing the depiction of the banquet on such stelae from the many other banquet images we have from the Ancient Near East, the Aḥirom sarcophagus being just one well-known example among dozens. More productive and, one hopes, more accurate, is the view that the banqueting scenes in mortuary contexts are to be seen in the context of the long tradition of banqueting scenes in Ancient Near Eastern art, from the 3rd millennium on down. Indeed, the doyen of studies of banqueting scenes, J.-M. Dentzer, denied that there was a specifically funerary theme in the art of the banquets.49 Returning to Kuttamuwa’s stele, E. Struble and V. R. Herrmann do point out that some of the objects in the scenes depicted on Syro-Hittite mortuary stelae “may have been intended to communicate the elite status of occupation of those depicted”.50 They point to writing implements, balances, mirrors, horses, falcons, and other objects. I would contend that the banquet scene is to be seen in the same light. It is not to depict what is supposed to happen or expected to happen after death, but how Kuttamuwa wants others to picture him as he was when still alive. The cup fulfills this role on its own: Struble and Herrmann highlight the fact that “the cup’s 47

Pinnock, op. cit. (note 34), esp. pp. 23–24. D. Bonatz, Das syro-hethitische Grabdenkmal: Untersuchungen zur Entstehung einer neuen Bildgattung in der Eisenzeit im nordsyrisch-südostanatolischen Raum (Mainz, 2000). 49 Dentzer, op. cit. (note 20), p. 23. 50 E. Struble and V. R. Herrmann, “An Eternal Feast at Sam’al: The New Iron Age Mortuary Stele from Zincirli in Context”, BASOR 356 (2009), p. 41. 48

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detail and assumed precious material (bronze, silver, or gold) indicate high status”.51 Kuttamuwa, of course, is shown dining alone, and so his display does not show him supporting others. But it does show him self-sufficient and engaging in feasting, the practice of the elite. In sum, Kuttamuwa can be seen in his stele to be proclaiming his status as a member of the Samālian elites.52

V. The Spread Out of Phoenicia: Mesopotamia, Iran, Greece, and Israel Feasting was attested in Mesopotamia from at least the 3rd millennium.53 However, there is a lacuna in the representation of such feasting in the monumental art from the 2nd millennium until the Neo-Assyrian period, when it reappears.54 The most famous drinking such scene is Ashurbanipal’s feast under the grapevine from Nineveh; he and (apparently) his queen Liballi-šarrat both lift drinking bowls to their lips, and the grapevines55 under which they recline suggest strongly that the drink is wine.56 This relief differs from earlier Assyrian ones in important respects: previous depictions had shown the king sharing his drinking party with men, accompanied by dancing and music, whereas Ashurbanipal relaxes quietly in a tranquil setting with only his queen for company (and a decapitated head of an enemy); in earlier Mesopotamian depictions of banquets the participants are inevitably sitting straight up, 51

Struble and Herrmann, ibid., p. 31; see also p. 23 regarding the drinking bowl. In a paper presented at a conference in Oxford University on the topic of Dining and Death in September 2010, E. Struble presented a paper entitled: “Ritual Engraved: Rethinking the Meanings of Syro-Hittite Mortuary Feasts”, in which she urged, according to the abstract, that we “consider these representations as both instructions for ritual events and as clusters of signs meant to render the deceased present” (The abstract of this paper is also available online at http://www.arch.ox.ac.uk/files/conferences/dining/abstracts/STRUBLE_abstract.pdf). My reading of the purpose of the depictions is different, but since Struble has studied these representations in great detail, more than a drop of tentativeness should now be seen in my assertions. I am thankful to E. Struble for a conversation about the Kuttamuwa stele at the ASOR conference in November, 2010, and for referring me to her Oxford conference paper. 53 See again the references above in note 34. 54 For a silver bowl from Nimrud, along with discussion of the use of drinking bowls in Assyrian banquets, see Hamilton, op. cit. (note 14), pp. 1–17. Aššur-naṣir-apli can be seen drinking from a bowl in a reliefs from the throne room in the North West Palace at Nimrud (BM 118928 and 124564); see R. D. Barnett and W. Forman, Assyrian Palace Reliefs and their Influence on the Scultures of Babylonia and Persia (London, 1962), pls. 28–29. For the drinking bowl on archaic Mesopotamian seals, see M. P. Baudot, “Iconographic Study of the Vessels on Archaic Near Eastern Seals”, OLP 10 (1979), p. 31; for a brief survey of Mesopotamian banquet scenes from the 3rd millennium until Achaemenid times, see D. Collon, “Banquets in the Art of the Ancient Near East”, in R. Gyselen (ed.), Banquets d’Orient (Res Orientales IV; Bures-sur-Yvette, 1992), pp. 23–30; for an interpretive essay, see Pinnock, op. cit. (note 34), pp. 15–26. 55 P. Albenda, “Grapevines in Ashurbanipal’s Garden”, BASOR 215 (1974), pp. 5–17. 56 The same technique is used on a 9th century BCE glazed tile from Nimrud, where the standing king is under bunches of grapes (Stronach, op. cit. [note 12], p. 178, fig. 12.2b [for a reproduction of the tile] and p. 193, note 7 [for the observation about the grape vines above]). For Ashurbanipal’s reclining on the left, see P. Mazzarello and M. Harari, “Left to Digest”, Nature 448 (2007), p. 753. 52

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whereas here the king is reclining.57 To account for these differences, an Elamite connection has been invoked,58 but more likely is Levantine influence, as suggested by Barnett.59 This seems more plausible in light of the other Levantine influences in the relief.60 In later times, the practice spread farther east, as well: J.-M. Dentzer traced the influence of Levantine practices on the feasting evident in ancient Iran.61 The Kefar Veradim bowl has added powerful evidence to the hypothesis that 9th century Assyrian bowls are inspired by Levantine prototypes.62 In the Achaemenid empire, “Bowls with an offset, everted rim…[are] the most common vessel shape depicted in the Persepolitan reliefs”.63 Dentzer also painstakingly showed that Levantine banqueting practices spread west, to Greece, as has already been mentioned. Levantine bronze bowls are found in Greece, including one in a sealed tomb at Keraleikos whose pottery allows a firm 9th century date.64 In the Iliad, a beautifully-wrought silver bowl fabricated by Phoenician craftsmen and imported to Greece is described.65 In fact, Dentzer was 57

See Pinnock, op. cit. (note 34), p. 17. See J. Álvarez-Mon, “Ashurbanipal’s Feast: The View from Elam”, Iranica Antiqua 44 (2009), pp. 147 and 131–180, passim; an Elamite connection in the relief (beyond just the severed head of Te’umman and the Elamite bow on the table) has also recently been discussed by Dalley, op. cit. (note 13, 2008), pp. 51–52. 59 Cf. R. D. Barnett “Assurbanipal’s Feast”, EI 18 (1985), pp. 1*–6*, even if the claims of a ‫ מרזח‬are overstated; see also M. Tryfonidou, “The Origins of Feasting in the Eastern Mediterranean Basin of the 8th Century BC”, Polish Journal of Biblical Research 7 (2008), pp. 34– 35. 60 See the discussion by Ziffer, op. cit. (note 29), p. 159. For Barnett’s specific argument that the banquet depicted is the West Semitic ritual ‫ מרזח‬there is not much evidence, but it cannot be ruled out. 61 J.-M. Dentzer, “L’Iconographie Iranienne du Souverain Couché et le Motif du Banquet”, Annales archéologique arabes syrienne 21 (1971), pp. 39–50 with Plates V-VIII. Later, representations (Parthian) from the region, depicting people reclining and holding a drinking cup in his left hand, are widespread, attested in Palmyra, Edessa, Dura Europos, and Hatra, as well as on the island of Kharga in the Persian Gulf: cf. E. Haerinck, “Quelques monuments funéraires de l’île de Kharg dans le Golfe Persique”, Iranica Antiqua 11 (1975), pp. 134–167 (with a drawing of the tomb from Kharg on p. 146). 62 Before its discovery, a thorough study by Howes Smith argued that the drinking bowls of Mesopotamia and Iran (and other areas) showed signs of influence from the Levant only beginning in the eighth century, although influence from other western areas long antedates that. Cf. P. H. G. Howes Smith, “A Study of 9th–7th Century Metal Bowls from Western Asia”, Iranica Antiqua 21 (1986), pp. 1–88, and pls. I–IV. 63 A. Zournatzi, “Inscribed Silver Vessels of the Odryssian Kings: Gifts, Tribute, and the Diffusion of the Forms of ‘Achaemenid’ Metalware in Thrace”, AJA 104 (2000), pp. 685– 686. 64 I. J. Winter, “North Syria as a Bronzeworking Centre in the Early First Millennium B.C.: Luxury Commodities at Home and Abroad”, in J. E. Curtis (ed.), Bronze-Working Centres of Western Asia c. 1000–539 B.C. (London, 1988), pp. 196–197, reprinted in I. J. Winter, On Art in the Ancient Near East, Volume 1: Of the First Millennium B.C.E. (CHANE 34; Leiden, 2010), pp. 345–346. 65 See the discussion of I. J. Winter, “Homer’s Phoenicians: History, Ethnography, or Literary Trope? [A Perspective on Early Orientalism]”, in J. B. Carter and S. P. Morris (eds.), The Ages of Homer: A Tribute to Emily Townsend Vermeule (Austin, 1995), pp. 247–248, re58

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able to show that this was not a single incident of influence, but a repeated pattern, in which changes in the Ancient Near Eastern practices would have a ripple effect in Greece, as well.66 Despite all this, no examples of kosot have been found at Israelite sites. One could think of a number of mundane explanations. The metal bowls could have been reused in various ways, for example. It is noteworthy that the kosot we have from the Phoenician world are from graves, and Israelites seem to have not buried their dead with such grave goods, so this may provide a simple explanation. Regarding the Iron I period, another possibility suggests itself in light of what was said above about the purpose of feasts. Following others, A. Faust has argued well that Israelite society especially in Iron I was marked by an archaeologically evident ethos of egalitarianism.67 Of course, it should be added that, as N. P. Lemche emphasized, the issue is not actual egalitarianism, but an egalitarian ideology.68 Might it be that feasts, designed to demonstrate and consolidate the power of the hosts, were rejected in Israelite society because of the people’s desire to avoid class distinctions—or at least to avoid displays of class distinctions?69 Again, to be clear, this is suggested primarily for Iron I alone. By the late-11th century, feasting may be archaeologically detectable at Shiloh, and is certainly in evidence in the texts about Saul and his court. In fact, N. Macdonald has argued that feasting practices contributed to (or were utilized in) the rise of the monarchy in late-11th/early-10th century Israel.70 We have already mentioned the claim of the book of Kings that Solomon’s drinking bowls were gold, which also seems to presuppose regular public drinking events. When we look to the remainder of the Iron Age, however, after the time of Solomon, the situation seems to shift again. It certainly should not be suggested that Israelites did not engage in feasts. What can be suggested is that certain Israelite ideologies were opposed to this practice.71 Even in the 8th century, we find a prophetic denouncement of banquets such as that in Amos 6:4–7:

printed in Winter, ibid., 2010, pp. 597–599, and see the insightful contextualization provided by Mazzoni, op. cit. (note 32), pp. 46–47. 66 Dentzer, op. cit. (note 20). 67 See A. Faust, Israel’s Ethnogenesis: Settlement, Interaction, Expansion and Resistance (Approaches to Anthropological Archaeology; London, 2007), pp. 93–107. 68 N. P. Lemche, Early Israel: Early Israel: Anthropological and Historical Studies on the Israelite Society Before the Monarchy (VTS 37; Leiden, 1985), p. 223. See also Faust, ibid., pp. 97 and 101. 69 It should be added that the probably simple burials of Iron I Israel may themselves be attributable to the egalitarian ethos of the society; so A. Faust, “Mortuary Practices, Society, and Ideology: The Lack of Highlands Iron Age I Burials in Context”, IEJ 54 (2004), pp. 174– 190; Faust, op. cit. (note 67), p. 93. 70 N. MacDonald, Not Bread Alone: The Uses of Food in the Old Testament (Oxford, 2008), pp. 134–165, with plentiful references to the biblical texts. 71 A bowl from the ninth or eighth centuries was found at Tel Dan, but inscribed ‫ לטב]ח[יא‬in Aramaic, and attributed to the excavators to an Aramean stratum at the site: cf. N. Avigad, “An Inscribed Bowl from Dan”, PEQ 100 (1968), pp. 42–44.

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Those who recline on beds of ivory, who are sprawled on their couches, eating stall-fattened lambs from the flock and on calves from the stalls. Those who sing accompanied by the lyre, thinking themselves musicians like David. Those who drink from wine bowls, anoint themselves with choicest of oils—and do not concern themselves with the ruin of Joseph! Therefore they will now be exiled at the head of the exiles, and the banquet (‫)מרזח‬72 of the sprawled will cease. This type of critical speech by Amos shows two things simultaneously. On the one hand, it shows what we would expect: Israelites were participating in what sound very much like typical feasting rituals.73 On the other hand, this may provide another perspective on why Amos denounced the feasting: the ritual it emphasized class differences not only because the rich were enjoying luxurious foods and drinks without regard for the poor, but also because bolstering social distinctions was precisely the point of the feasts. To Amos’ egalitarian sensibilities, this practice was thoroughly offensive. As J. L. McLaughlin puts it “he does not just oppose their luxuryious lifestyle, but that lifestyle at the expense of, and with indifference to, the poor”.74 Amos is not opposed to wealth; he is opposed to unevenly distributed wealth, and he is vehemently opposed to displays of unevenly distributed wealth. There is one other locus of feasting in ancient Israel which is worth reflecting on. As early as the narrative in Ex 24:9–11, we read that Moses and the elders enjoy a feast in the presence of God, with God as host: Then Moses and Aaron, Nadab and Abihu, and seventy elders of Israel ascended, and they saw the God of Israel, and beneath his feet was something that looked like a brick of sapphire, pure as the very sky. Yet He did not raise His hand against the leaders of Israel: they 72

For a survey of the uses of this term in Northwest Semitic, where it is widely attested, see J. L. McLaughlin, The Marzēah in the Prophetic Literature: References and Allusions in Light of the Extra-Biblical Evidence (VTS 86; Leiden, 2001); on our passage in Amos, see pp. 80– 108. For a well-documented archaeological commentary on this paragraph, see P. J. King, Amos, Hosea, Micah: An Archaeological Commentary (Philadelphia, 1988), pp. 137–161. 73 See the good discussion of this text by J. S. Greer, “A Marzeaḥ and a Mizraq: A Prophet’s Mêlée with Religious Diversity in Amos 6:4-7”, JSOT 32 (2007), pp. 243–262; idem, “An Israelite Mizrāq at Tel Dan?”, BASOR 358 (2010), pp. 27–45. I fully agree that the ‫ מזרק‬to which Amos refers is of the same type as the ‫ כוסות‬we have been discussing. I am less sure than Greer that the terminology is not merely rhetorical, however. In other words, his argument assumes that the participants in the ‫ מרזח‬would also have readily referred to their drinking vessels as ‫ ;מזרקים‬I think it is possible that the word was chosen by Amos specifically for its cultic associations, whereas they may have objected that they were not using ‫מזרקים‬, but ‫כוסות‬. Despite this minor point of disagreement, Greer and I agree on what the ‫ מזרק‬looked like and its etymology. Contrast, for example, O. Borowski, “The biblical ‫מזרק‬: What is it?”, in B. E. Kelle and M. B. Moore (eds.), Israel’s Prophets and Israel’s Past: Essays on the Relationship of Prophetic Texts and Israelite History in Honor of John H. Hayes (Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament studies 446; New York, 2006), pp. 152–157; I. Ziffer, “‫ מיטת המשתה—מיטת הכס באמנות המזרח הקדום‬:‘‫”’השוכבים על מיטות שן וסרוחים על ערשתם‬, in J. Schwartz, Z. Amar and I. Ziffer (eds.), ‫ ספר אריה קינדלר‬:‫( ירושלים וארץ ישראל‬Ramat Gan – Tel Aviv, 2000), pp. 11–12. 74 McLaughlin, op. cit. (note 72), p. 107.

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beheld God, and they ate and drank. God thus demonstrates his power and influence, and like all power brokers, shares His material goods in order to ensure loyalty to Him and increase His influence. A reflex of this may even be found in Solomon’s Temple. In the description of the temple in 1 Kgs 7:23–26, we read about the ‘sea’: ‫ ַהיּ ָם מוּצָק‬-‫ ַויַּעַשׂ אֶת‬. One of the morphological details provided is that ‫שׁן‬ ָ ‫כּוֹס פּ ֶַרח שׁוֹ‬-‫שׂפַת‬ ְ ‫שׂפָתוֹ ְכּ ַמ ֲעשֵׂה‬ ְ “its lip was like the workmanship of the lip of a lily-flower-kos.” The purpose of this vessel has long been a mystery. Although Chronicles (2 Chron 4:6) says it was for priestly immersions, modern scholars tend to reject this, on the grounds of impracticality. Instead, “most scholars…rightly believe there is a symbolic meaning underlying the bronze basin…”75 What is the symbolism? One popular opinion has it that it refers to the mythological theme of God’s victory over the Sea.76 This is rejected by M. Cogan, however,77 and V. Hurowitz concluded that “the function of the Sea is not entirely clear”.78 Might it be possible to suggest that the comparison to a kos is not accidental or tangential to the vessel’s purpose? The shape of the yam below the circular rim (i.e., hemisphere,79 cylinder,80 cone,81 etc.) is debated, but Y. Avishur has recently claimed that “it is possible to establish with precision that the bronze yam was made in the form of a lily-pattern bowl, in that the lip was jagged like the ends of lily leaves, like the bowl from Kefar Veradim”.82 Despite the overstated confidence, this is a possibility worth entertaining. Perhaps a drinking bowl was erected in the Temple courtyard to make the claim that God is the ultimate banqueting host. It should be observed that besides kings, we have numerous depictions of gods sitting and holding drinking bowls; these have 75

M. J. Mulder, 1 Kings 1-11 (Historical Commentary on the Old Testament; Leuven, 1998), pp. 329–330. Mulder continues: “we are of the opinion that the bronze basin was primarily, if not exclusively, intended for symbolic purposes, and, like the pillars Jachin and Boaz, stood and functioned in the pre-Solomonic El-temple at Jerusalem”. For detailed philological commentary on 7:23–26, see pp. 322–330. 76 See the contribution of V. A. Hurowitz to this volume, as well as E. M. Bloch-Smith, “‘Who is the king of glory?’ Solomon’s Temple and its symbolism”, in M. D. Coogan, J. C. Exum and L. E. Stager (eds.), Scripture and Other Artifacts: Essays on the Bible and Archaeology in Honor of Philip J. King (Louisville, KY 1994), pp. 20–21, 27. S. I. Kang, “The ‘Molten Sea’, or is it?”, Biblica 89 (2008), pp. 101–103, arguing that the name of the vessel should be translated “the Sea is restrained” (< ‫)צו"ק‬. 77 M. Cogan, 1 Kings (AB 10; New York, 2001), pp. 271–272, argues “that ‘the Sea’ had “cosmic significance’ in Israelite thought, as is so often put forward, is nowhere stated”, and that “comparison with Akk apsû, “deep water, sea”, used very rarely and late as ‘water basin’…, seems forced”. 78 V. A. Hurowitz, “YHWH’s exalted house: Aspects of the design and symbolism of Solomon’s Temple”, in J. Day (ed.), Temple and Worship in Biblical Israel (Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies 422; London, 2005), p. 79. 79 R. B. Y. Scott, “The Hebrew Cubit”, JBL 77 (1958), pp. 205–214. 80 M. A. Powell, “Weights and Measures”, ABD IV, pp. 897–908. 81 For cogent discussion, see J. Byl, “On the Capacity of Solomon’s Molten Sea”, VT 48 (1998), pp. 309–314. 82 Y. Avishur, “ ‫ ’קבעת‘ ועל ’גביע‘ ו’גבעול‘ לאור ממצאים ארכאולוגיים וטקסטים אפיגרפיים‬,‘‫על ’כוס‬ ‫”בלשונות השמיות‬, in D. Sivan, D. Talshir and C. Cohen (eds.), ‫ מחקרי לשון מוגשים‬:ַ‫ָצ ְפנַת ַפּ ְענֵח‬ ‫( לאלישע קימרון במלאת לו שישים וחמש שנה‬Beer Sheva, 2009), pp. 3–4.

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been collected recently by Carstens, who argued that the meaning of holding a cup is that in effect “the god is divine”, which she says is a non-tautological.83 Many examples of gods raising cups or being presented with cups are known from Ugarit, and there are examples from elsewhere, as well.84 If the temple was fundamentally the house of God,85 and He had a table and a menorah, he will of course be lifting a drinking bowl to his lips. But since the God of the Israelite Temple is not depicted, the kos has to wait for him. The enormous kos, so large it can be called a ‘sea’, stands there as if to say, God is the ultimate host, and thus the ultimate broker of power.

APPENDIX On the Kefar Veradim Bowl and the Phoenician Inscribed Bowls The bronze bowl from Kefar Veradim was mentioned above. There are two fundamental questions surrounding this bowl which are unresolved: the ethnic identity of the occupants of Kefar Veradim who used it, and its date. Despite Alexandre’s thorough discussion, the ethnic—or, perhaps better, cultural—affili-ation of the site is not as clear as one would like. It is not even clear in what language the bowl is inscribed. 1. The Ethnicity of the Site The ceramic assemblage of the site is distinctly mixed, as Alexandre notes. Most of the pottery fits squarely within the Israelite repertoire. Two prominent examples are the ‘thick ware Samaria bowl’, which “may be considered an integral part of the northern Israelite repertoire of the period”,86 and cylindrical dipper juglets, which “are characteristic of Iron IIA–B northern Israelite sites”.87 The presence of Blackon-Red juglets gives pause, however, and it is apparently on this basis that she concludes that the site was Phoenician: “On the basis of the pottery assemblage this burial cave should be understood as a reflection of Phoenician settlement in the Upper Galilee hills, at least as far inland as Kefar Veradim”.88 In concluding, Alexandre writes that “the tomb belonged to a noble family of Canaanite-Phoenician 83

P. Carstens, “Why Does the God have a Cup in His Hand?”, SJOT 12 (1998), pp. 214–232. She further argues that Aḥirom holds a cup on his sarcophagus because he has been deified. 84 For what seems to be a god holding a drinking bowl (sitting at a table), see J.-C. Courtois, “La Maison de Prêtre aux Modèles de Poumon et de Foies d’Ugarit”, Ugaritica VI (1969), p. 111 and discussion on p. 112; another representation on a stela, see N. Wyatt, “The Stela of the Seated God from Ugarit”, UF 15 (1983), pp. 271–277, esp. 275. For discussion of the motif, see D. P. Wright, Ritual in Narrative: The Dynamics of Feasting, Mourning, and Realiation Rites in the Ugaritic Tale of Aqhat (Winona Lake, IN 2001), pp. 70–72. There is a Syrian goddess holding a footed cup in D. Collon, Seal Impressions from Tell Atchana/ Alalakh (AOAT 27; Kevelaer, 1975), pl. 15:84. 85 For the ideology of what the Temple was, see, e.g., B. D. Sommer, The Bodies of God and the World of Ancient Israel (Cambridge, 2009), pp. 90–101. 86 Alexandre, op. cit. (note 17), pp. 11, 16. 87 Idem, ibid., p. 18. 88 Idem, ibid., pp. 20, 24.

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origin”. Of course, it is possible to question the presumed connection between Black-onRed pottery and Phoenicians. Although this style of pottery originated through a symbiosis of Phoenician and Cypriot styles, it has been found in sites such as Beth Shan, Hazor, Jericho, Jerusalem, Megiddo, Lachish, Samaria, Rehov, and Beth Lehem!89 On the other hand, Faust pointed out that it did not penetrate the Israelite central highland culture, and that “hardly any [Black-on-Red] pottery was found in the highlands”.90 According to Faust, this was likely a conscious rejection of elite foreign style by the Israelites of the highlands. If Kefar Veradim is an Israelite site, these are different types of Israelites: far from rejecting foreign culture, the residents seem to have embraced it, as seen in the pottery and perhaps in the kos. From a different perspective, one could argue that if a pots-to-people argument is to be made at all, it seems methodologically sounder to assume that the ethnic identity of the site is better reflected in the mundane objects than in the luxury goods. Luxury goods are emulated often, and in a site such as Kefar Veradim, close to the frontier between Phoenicia and Israel, the presence of Phoenician-style luxury items in unsurprising on any account. Since the obvious Phoenician influence is restricted to certain types of distinctive pottery, in particular Cypriot Black-on-Red juglets, whereas the mundane pottery is Israelite, it seems plausible to take this as an Israelite site whose occupants emulated the high culture of the neighboring Phoenicians in certain ways. To counter this claim and bolster the Phoenician association, Alexandre further pointed out that the assemblage from Kefar Veradim contains also Blackon-Red kraters, which, she writes, “are very special and do not seem to have been traded”.91 2. The Orthography of the Inscription The orthography of the brief inscription—in particular, of the word ‫—כ ֹס‬is suggestive of a Phoenician affiliation, though it can be no more that. The waw in Hebrew ‫ כוס‬is non-etymological: the Arabic cognate is ‫( كأس‬ka’s), leading Fox to suggest either an etymological *ka’s which developed as Akkadian kāsum, Hebrew kôs, and Aramaic kās, or an etymological *kās with the Arabic hamza being the result of a hypercorrection.92 Of course, Hebrew developed the practice of indicating /ō/ with waw even in cases where the /ō/ originated in the Canaanite shift or through other means.93 Although J. Blau concludes that this practice arose “by the time the orthography of the Pentateuch was fixed”,94 it is not surprising that the word ‫ כּ ֹס‬itself 89 For details of the finds with bibliography for each, see N. Schreiber, The Cypro-Phoenician Pottery of the Iron Age (CHANE 13; Leiden, 2003), pp. 315–326; for more on the pottery’s origins and distributions, see Schreiber’s book passim; see also F. de Crée, “The Black-onRed or Cypro-Phoenician Ware”, in E. Lipiński (ed.), Phoenicia and the Bible (Studia Phoenicia 11; OLA 44; Leuven, 1991), pp. 95–102. 90 Faust, op. cit. (note 67), p. 54, n. 10. 91 This is from an email in February of 2011; my thanks to Y. Alexandre for her assistance. 92 J. Fox, Semitic Noun Patterns (HSS 59; Winona Lake, IN 2003), p. 75, with n. 20. 93 The process involved a few stages: first the dipthong /aw/ was monophthongized to /ō/, and the <w> preserved, and then this was generalized, so that <w> could be used to mark any /ō/, even those which developed from /ā/ due to the Canaanite shift, as in the word kōs < *kās. 94 J. Blau, “The Monophthongization of Diphthongs as Reflected in the use of Vowel Letters

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is attested sporadically spelled defectively in the Bible (e.g., 2 Sam 12:3). Phoenician, on the other hand, utilized a defective orthography throughout its history.95 Therefore it can be said that whereas a spelling ‫ כוס‬would have demonstrated an affiliation with Hebrew, rather than Phoenician, orthography, the defective spelling ‫ כס‬can do no more than suggest a Phoenician identity. 3. The Script of the Inscription Regarding the bowl itself, Alexandre labeled it a “Canaanite-Early Phoenician inscribed bronze bowl”. Identifying the cultural affiliations of this artifact is not simplistic, of course. The script is unfortunately not as helpful as we might have hoped. Despite arguments by Sass and Rollston to lower the date of the script, J. Naveh, as quoted by Alexandre, seems correct: “the evolution of the individual letters points to a date in the first half of the 11th century BCE, the inscription reflecting the latest phase of the Proto-Canaanite script”.96 P. K. McCarter, too, dated the script to the 11th century BCE, and concluded that the bowl must be an heirloom.97 Not all epigraphers have been convinced by this date, however. As part of his large-scale effort to down-date the inscriptions conventionally dated to the 12th through the 8th centuries, B. Sass has argued that the Veradim bowl is from the 9th century. The archaic features in the bowl, and most particularly the dotted ‘ayin, are analyzed by Sass as artificially archaizing.98 Sass’ methodical study has much to commend it in general with regard to drawing attention to the unimaginative dating of scripts based on too-rigid typologies. According to conventional typologies, the dotted ‘ayin, preserving the ‘pupil’ of the original pictographic ‘eye’, is said to be limited to the 2nd millennium BCE, and obsolete by the 10th century.99 We have, however, the empirical evidence of the Tell in the Pentateuch”, in Z. Zevit, S. Gitin and M. Sokoloff (eds.), Solving Riddles and Untying Knots: Biblical, Epigraphic, and Semitic Studies in Honor of Jonas C. Greenfield (Winona Lake, IN 1995), pp. 7–11. 95 For some discussion, see F. I. Andersen, “Orthography in Ancient Hebrew Inscriptions”, ANES 36 (1999), pp. 5–35, esp. 8–9. 96 The same conclusion was reached by P. K. McCarter in R. E. Tappy, P. K. McCarter, M. J. Lundberg and B. Zuckerman, “An Abcedary of the Mid-Tenth Century from the Judaean Shephelah”, BASOR 344 (2006), pp. 26–30. C. A. Rollston, “The Phoenician Script of the Tel Zayit Abcedary and Putative Evidence for Israelite Literacy”, in R. E. Tappy and P. K. McCarter (eds.), Literate Culture and Tenth-Century Canaan: The Tel Zayit Abecedary in Context, Winona Lake, IN 2008), pp. 61–96, who works squarely within a ‘conventional’ paleographic context and for the most part denies that archaizing was a prevalent phenomenon, still dates the Veradim bowl (along with the Tekke bowl) a century later than Cross did, to the 10th century. His argumentation is unconvincing, since he never deals with Cross’ strongest argument for an older date, the perfectly clear dotted ‘ayin in the Veradim bowl. Rollston waves away the apparent dotted ‘ayin in the Tekke bowl on the grounds that the bowl is not well preserved in that spot—against the views of Cross, op. cit. (note 15), pp. 15– 18, and J. Naveh, “Semitic Epigraphy and the Antiquity of the Greek Alphabet”, Kadmos 30 (1991), p. 144. But the ‘ayin on the Veradim bowl is well preserved and easily read, and provides support for Cross’ reading of the dotted ‘ayin on the Tekke bowl, as well. 97 See Tappy, McCarter, Lundberg, and Zuckerman, ibid., p. 30, n. 50. 98 Sass, op. cit. (note 32), pp. 43–45. 99 F. M. Cross has made this claim often. See, for example, Cross, “The Oldest Phoenician Inscription from Sardinia: The Fragmentary Stele from Nora”, in D. M. Golomb (ed.),

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Fakhariya inscription to show that dotted ‘ayins were possible as late as the 9th century, either as archaizing forms or archaic forms preserved in some scripts; less famously but equally significantly, the 8th century Melqart stele has what appears to be such a form,100 and the archaic form of Greek omicron also preserves the dot.101 It no longer seems justifiable to presume that a dotted ‘ayin, such as that in the Kefar Veradim bowl, suggests an 11th century date.102 On the other hand, this only allows for a later date for the inscription, and the tendency to date everything as late as possible is a fallacy. It should be emphasized that the bowl could be as early as the 11th century. The archaeological context is later, as noted, but such a beautifully-worked bronze bowl would seem to be an excellent candidate for being an heirloom piece, and the assemblage would seem to provide no more than a terminus ante quem for the bowl.103 In fact, others have argued for a century-long discrepancy between the date of the Cretan bronze bowl of Shema‘ and its deposition in a tomb, as well. The ‘heirloom argument’ was critical to Cross’ dating of the Tekke bowl to the 11th century, since, as he well knew, the tomb in which it was found was dated archaeologically to the late-10th century.104 Similar positions have been held by subsequent researchers regarding the Tekke bowl, as well.105 According to this line of reasoning, the Kefar Veradim bowl, too, could be an 11th century vessel preserved for a century as an heirloom, and then deposited in a 10th century tomb. To this point it has been seen that the bowl may be as early as the 11th, in which case it was kept as an heirloom and buried a century later, or contemporary with the “Working with No Data”: Semitic and Egyptian Studies Presented to Thomas O. Lambdin (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 1987), pp. 69–70 (“The latter form [= the simple circle with no dot] prevailed and is used exclusively from ca. 1000 B.C.”). G. Athas, The Tel Dan Inscription: A Reappraisal and a New Interpretation (JSOTS 360; Copenhagen International Seminar 12; Sheffield, 2003), pp. 123–125, also concludes that “by the 10th century BCE, the pictographic [= i.e., dotted] ayin had virtually disappeared”. 100 See W. T. Pitard, “The Identity of the Bir-Hadad of the Melqart Stela”, BASOR 272 (1988), pp. 3–21. On p. 5, the dot in the ‘ayin is clear in the photograph, and although Pitard comments, “I could not determine whether it was an intentional part of the letter or a fortuitous, natural pockmark”, there seems to be no reason other than the old script series to doubt that it is part of the letter. 101 This is noted in this regard by E. Lipiński, Studies in Aramaic Inscriptions and Onomastics, Volume II (OLA 57; Leuven, 1994), pp. 26–28. 102 A dotted ‘ayin is now also attested in the Qeiyafa inscription, which is dated to the early10th century BCE, see G. Galil, “The Hebrew Inscription from Khirbet Qeiyafa/Neta‘im: Script, Language, Literature and History”, UF 41 2009 (2010), pp. 193–242, with additional literature. 103 Alexandre rejects the ‘heirloom’ interpretation (on p. 31) only on the grounds that “given the fact that the 11th century BCE date is equivocal”. 104 Cross, op. cit. (note 15), p. 18, n. 19. 105 The bibliography on the Tekke bowl is surprisingly large, due to its potential significance for the date of the transmission of the alphabet to Crete and farther west. For discussions of the possible chronological gap between the (epigraphically-derived) date of the bowl and the (archaeologically-derived) context, see O. Negbi, “Early Phoenician Presence in the Mediterranean Islands: A Reappraisal”, AJA 96 (1992), pp. 608–609, and especially G. L. Hoffman, Imports and Immigrants: Near Eastern contacts with Iron Age Crete (Ann Arbor, 1997), pp. 120–123.

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tomb in which it was found, namely, the 10th century. It should be added that according to Finkelstein’s lower dating of all the Iron I and II Levantine pottery, the date could be even later, from the 9th century.106 The argumentation to this point has ignored the bowl itself. Close parallels to the fluted style of the bronze bowl are available, and they are all from the 9th century. They are also all from Assyria. As discussed above, it is likely that the drinking bowls in 9th century Neo-Assyrian contexts are influenced by Levantine styles and practices. Still, Sass argues that there is no reason to posit that the bowl is more than a full century earlier than its parallels. Alexandre had pointed out that until the discovery of the Kefar Veradim bowl, there had been no examples of such bowls in the 11th–10th centuries; Sass argues that this simply confirms his view that the bowl is not that early.107 Indeed, Sass’ argument is compelling because the alternative requires multiple unmotivated presumptions in order to work. Most relevant to our discussion are that the Kefar Veradim bowl must be more than a century older than its closest counterpart, and that both bronze bowls with similar labels (from Kefar Veradim and Tekke) must have been heirlooms, buried more than a century later than their manufacture and inscription. But simpler is to assume that the bowls are just a bit older than the tombs in which they were found, which allows the Kefar Veradim bowl to be aligned chronologically with the other bronze fluted bowls.108 Sass claims that the bowl should be dated to the 9th century. Sass relies on Finkelstein’s low chronology, but in this case even those (such as myself) who are unconvinced and prefer a higher chronological scheme, may date the Veradim bowl to the 9th century. To return to the issue of ethnicity, it is worth mentioning that in the 10th century BCE, the lines between the Hebrew and Phoenician scripts, if such distinct scripts existed then, were not clear-cut. Evidence from the Tel Zayit abcedary suggested to McCarter that indeed there was a distinctive Hebrew (‘South Canaanite’) script in the 10th century BCE.109 This was contested by Rollston, who concluded that “the evidence suggests that during the 10th century the ancient Israelites continued to use the prestige Phoenician script”.110 If the bowl is 10th century, or even if it is 9th cen106

Indeed, Sass relies on Finkelstein’s chronology in his work, and so the different dates he provides for the texts discussed are lower than the conventional dates for two different reasons: his own paleographic down-dating of many of the texts, coupled with Finkelstein’s down-dating of all the pottery assemblages. This makes the task of bringing Sass’ work into dialog with previous scholarship more challenging. 107 Alexandre, op. cit. (note 17), pp. 36–37; Maeir and Shai, op. cit. (note 28), p. 223; Sass, op. cit. (note 32), p. 38. 108 See especially Sass, op. cit. (note 32), pp. 70–71. 109 Tappy, McCarter, Lundberg and Zuckerman, op. cit. (note 96), pp. 25–41. 110 Rollston, op. cit. (note 96), p. 89. Rollston’s position actually makes little sense as presented: if there was no contemporary Hebrew script distinct from the Phoenician script, there could not have been any particular prestige associated with the Phoenician script, of course. For surveys of the remarkably limited corpus of 10th century inscriptions, see A. Mazar, “Three 10th–9th Century BCE Inscriptions from Tel Rehov”, in C. G. den Hertog, U. Hübner and S. Münger (eds.), Saxa loquentur: Studien zur Archäologie Palästinas/Israels: Festschrift für Volkmar Fritz zum 65. Geburtstag (AOAT 302; Münster, 2003), pp. 171–184, and Tappy, McCarter, Lundberg and Zuckerman, op. cit. (note 96), p. 28.

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tury, it embodies—in its very presence, in the social practices it represents, and in the script it bears—the blurry lines separating ‘Phoenician’ from ‘Israelite’ cultures in the Galilee.

WEST SEMITIC EPIGRAPHY AND THE HISTORY OF THE LEVANT DURING THE 12th–10th CENTURIES BCE ANDRÉ LEMAIRE EPHE, Paris The destruction of the city of Ugarit around 1185 BCE1 resulted in the disappearance of cuneiform alphabetic writing attested by about 2000 tablets.2 From then on, alphabetic writing is only attested as the linear alphabetic writing very sporadically used in the Levant during the Late Bronze Age. This linear alphabetic writing had a large diffusion not only in the Levant but also in Anatolia and around the Mediterranean Sea from the second half of the 9th century, around 800 BCE.3 Here we shall try to understand what happened to West Semitic epigraphy between these two dates, more precisely during the 12th–10th centuries BCE, and how this phenomenon is connected to the history of the Levant during this period. Since one of the great problems of West Semitic epigraphy during these three centuries is the issue of dating and classification, we will discuss first the main problems of the contemporary inscriptions coming from Byblos, Phoenicia, Philistia /Judaean Shephelah, and central Cisjordan. In the second part of this article we will refer briefly to some indirect light shed by a few Phoenician, Aramaic and Moabite inscriptions dated to the 9th century BCE.

I. West Semitic Inscriptions Dated to the 12th–10th Centuries BCE This period is sometimes considered a dark age in the history of the Levant, and especially in the history of West Semitic inscriptions. Therefore, it is all the more important to understand exactly the state of the documentation in the various countries and cultures of the Levant. 1. Byblos The study of 12th–10th centuries BCE Phoenician inscriptions must start with an evaluation of the important contemporary inscriptions from Byblos. The first Byblos alphabetic inscription was bought in 1881 by M. Meuricoffre, a Neapolitan collector, and the second by J. Löytved, the Danish consul in Beirut, around 1900. These 1

J. Freu, “La fin d’Ugarit et l’Empire hittite. Données nouvelles et chronologie”, Semitica 48 (1998), pp. 17–39; idem, Histoire politique du royaume d’Ugarit (Kubaba, Série Antiquité 11; Paris, 2006), pp. 217, 255. 2 P. Bordreuil and D. Pardee, Manuel d’ougaritique, I (Paris, 2004), p. 20. 3 A. Lemaire, “The Spread of Alphabetic Scripts (c. 1700–500 BCE)”, Diogenes 55/218 (2008), pp. 51–53.

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‘non-provenanced’ ancient epigraphs were followed by finds from the excavations

by P. Montet (1920–1924) and M. Dunand (1925–1959). Hence, we have now five monumental royal inscriptions from the 10th century4 (Aḥirom,5 Yeḥimilk,6 Abibaal, Elibaal, Shipitbaal), and a dozen of small inscriptions on stone (Aḥirom graffito,7 tablet,8 weight?9), bronze (‘spatula’10) and clay (cones,11 potsherds),12 even without eventually counting non-provenanced inscribed arrowheads. Even though most of these early inscriptions were found during the official excavations directed by M. Dunand, these excavations were not conducted according to modern methods and their stratigraphy and dating has been subject to debate. Recently, B. Sass has proposed lowering their dates to the 9th or beginning of the 8th century BCE.13 This late

4

Cf. H. Donner and W. Röllig, Kanaanäische und aramäische Inschriften, I–III (Wiesbaden, 1966–19692), nos. 1, 4–7; J. C. L. Gibson, Textbook of Syrian Semitic Inscriptions: III. Phoenician Inscriptions (Oxford, 1982), nos. 4, 6–9. 5 See lately M. J. Lundberg, “Editor’s Notes: The Ahiram Inscription”, Maarav 11 (2004), pp. 81–93 ; R. G. Lehmann, Dynastensarkophage mit szenischen Reliefs aus Byblos und Zypern : Teil 1.2 : Die Inschrift(en) des Ahirom-Sarkophags und die Schachtinschrift des graves V im Jbeil (Byblos), (Mainz, 2005); idem, “Calligraphy and Craftmanship in the Aḫīrōm Inscription: Considerations on Skilled Flat Writing in Early First Millennium Byblos”, Maarav 15 (2008), pp. 119–164. 6 See A. Schade, “The Syntax and Literary Structure of the Phoenician Inscription of Yeḥimilk”, Maarav 13 (2006), pp. 119–122. 7 KAI, no. 2; TSSI, III, no. 5; Lehmann, op. cit., (note 5), pp. 39–54. 8 M. Dunand, Fouilles de Byblos I. 1926–1932 (Paris, 1939), pp. 95–96, no. 1452 (pl. XXXIV). This inscription is probably a writing exercise of a list of personal names: see A. Lemaire, Les écoles et la formation de la Bible dans l’ancien Israël (OBO 39; Fribourg – Göttingen, 1981), pp. 11, 88, note 21. 9 H. Sader, “An Inscribed Weight from Byblos”, in A. Spano Giammellaro (ed.), Atti del V Congresso internazionale di Studi Fenici e Punici, Marsala-Palermo, 2–8 octobre 2000, I (Palermo, 2005), pp. 47–51 ; M. G. Amadasi Guzzo, “Une inscription archaïque de Byblos”, in F. Aspesi et al. (eds.), Il moi cuore è a Oriente LBY BMZRḤ. Studi di linguistica storica, filologia e cultura ebraica dedicati a Maria Luisa Mayer Modena (Quaderni di Acme 101; Milano, 2008), pp. 15–23. 10 KAI no. 3; TSSI III, pp. 9–11: no. 1; P. K. McCarter and R. B. Coote, “The Spatula Inscription from Byblos”, BASOR 212 (1973), pp. 16–22; R. Byrne, “The Refuge of Scribalism in Iron I Palestine”, BASOR 345 (2007), pp. 1–31, esp. 20. 11 M. Dunand, Fouilles de Byblos II, 1933–1938, 1. Texte (Paris, 1954), pp. 104: no. 7765 (pl. CXLIV = Beirut Museum: B1473), 280: no. 9400 (fig. 308), 369: 10470, p. 369: no. 10478 (fig. 404), pp. 466–467: no. 11671 (pl. CXLIV), p. 468: no. 11687 (pl. CXLIV = Beirut Museum: B1462); F. M. Cross and P. K. McCarter, “Two Archaic Inscriptions on Clay Objects from Byblus”, RSF 1 (1973), pp. 3–8; J. Teixidor, “An Archaic Inscription from Byblos”, BASOR 225 (1977), pp. 70–71; TSSI III, p. 12. 12 Dunand, op. cit. (note 8), p. 95, no. 1450 (perhaps to be read: Z P‘L [x], “This made [N…]”, pp. 186–187: no. 2927 (to be read as LMNŠ[Y?]); idem, Fouilles de Byblos II, pp. 197: no. 9608 (pl. CXLIV), 368: no. 10469 (pl. CXLIV). The inscription no. 3317 (Fouilles de Byblos I, p. 226 and fig. XXXIV) could be interpreted as an early Phoenician inscription: [‘?]KBR is a well known Phoenician name, instead of ŠBR proposed by Dunand. However this interpretation is uncertain. 13 B. Sass, The Alphabet at the Turn of the Millennium. The West Semitic Alphabet ca. 1150– 850 BCE. The Antiquity of the Arabian, Greek and Phrygian Alphabets (Tel-Aviv, 2005), pp. 48–49, 73.

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dating has rightly been rejected by M. Heltzer14 and C. Rollston15 from the angle of palaeographical analysis. Taking into account the text of the inscriptions as well as a diplomatic custom attested in a Ugaritic tablet, I have shown that the Abibaal and Elibaal inscriptions are concurrent with Pharaohs Sheshonq I and Osorkon I. More precisely, they date from the beginning of their reigns (ca. 945 and 924 BCE).16 The inscriptions on these two statues of the Pharaohs therefore constitute a firm point in the dating of the Byblos inscriptions to the 10th century BCE, in agreement with Egyptian chronology. Furthermore these statues and inscriptions reveal the importance of the political and cultural influence of Egypt on the Levant during this century.17 From this firm point of reference for the dates of Kings Abibaal and Elibaal, it is possible to propose approximate relative palaeographical dating for the other royal inscriptions. Thus: Aḥirom ca. 1000 BCE Ittobaal ca. 990/980 Yeḥimilk ca. 970/960 Abibaal ca. 945 Elibaal ca. 924 Shipitbaal ca. 90018 To this list of Byblian kings during the 10th century BCE, one may add two other possible kings mentioned in inscriptions probably dating to the 11th century. (1) Two arrowheads probably dating to the 11th century bear a proto-Phoenician inscription: ḤṢ ZKRB‘L MLK ’MR, “Dart of Zakarba‘al, king of Amurru”.19 Now, as I have shown elsewhere20, the city of Byblos was probably part of the land of Amurru and the story of Wenamon indicates that there was a king of Byblos called “Zakarba‘al” in the early-11th century BCE.21 More specifically, according to M. Lichtheim, “The papyrus was written at the end of the 20th Dynasty, that is to say, directly after the events which the report relates. Whether or not the report reflects an actual mission, it depicts a true historical situation and a precise moment. It is the third decade of

14

M. Heltzer, “Review of B. Sass, The Alphabet at the Turn of the Millennium, 2005”, UF 36 (2004) [2005], pp. 711–716. 15 Ch. A. Rollston, “The Dating of the Early Royal Byblian Phoenician Inscriptions: A Response to Benjamin Sass”, Maarav 15 (2008), pp. 57–93. 16 A. Lemaire, “La datation des rois de Byblos Abibaal et Élibaal et les relations entre l’Égypte et le Levant au Xe siècle av. notre ère”, CRAI 2006 [2009], pp. 1697–1716. 17 Idem, ibid., pp. 1712–1715. 18 Cf. KAI II, p. 9; TSSI III, pp. 12–24. 19 The first one was published by J. Starcky, “La flèche de Zakarba‘al, roi d’Amurru”, in J. Starcky and F. Hours (eds.), Archéologie au Levant. Recueil Roger Saidah (Lyon – Paris, 1982), pp. 179–186; cf. also R. Deutsch and M. Heltzer, West Semitic Epigraphic News of the 1st Millennium BCE (Tel Aviv, 1999), p. 14, no. XII, with bibliography. The second one was published by R. Deutsch and M. Heltzer, Forty New Ancient West Semitic Inscriptions (Tel Aviv-Jaffa, 1994), p. 12, no. 1. 20 A. Lemaire, “Joas de Samarie, Barhadad de Damas, Zakkur de Hamat: La Syrie-Palestine vers 800 av. J.-C.”, EI 24 (1993), pp. 148*–157*, esp. 151* and 156*. 21 Cf. A. Egberts, “The Chronology of the Report of Wenamun”, JEA 77 (1991), pp. 57–67.

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the reign of Ramesses XI (1090–1080 BCE)”.22 It is therefore very possible that the two inscribed arrowheads mentioned above belonged to Zakarba‘al, king of Byblos (early-11th century BCE); (2) The stone inscription published lately by H. Sader was already interpreted by her as “a kind of acknowledgement or recognition of the rule and power of a certain Ozibaal, possibly a yet unknown royal figure of Byblos of the 11th–10th centuries BC”.23 After the slight reading correction proposed by M. G. Amadasi-Guzzo, and as I shall show elsewhere in detail,24 it is possible to improve the reading and interpretation of this inscription: YD ‘ZB‘L TṢMTN BR’Š ’BW, “May the hand of ‘Oziba‘al destroy his enemies at the head!”. It is also possible to compare it with the name of ‘ZB‘L, “‘Oziba‘al,” on two arrowheads dating to, approximately, the middle of the 11th century BCE.25 Following P. Bordreuil, “on peut se demander si les activités du ‘zb‘l l’assimilaient à un chef de bande, à un roi, ou bien s’il a exercé successivement ces deux rôles comme le fera David, fils d’Isaïe [sic] quelques décennies plus tard”.26 In other words, ‘Oziba‘al attested on three small inscriptions from the 11th century BCE was certainly a man of importance in Byblos and could well have been a king toward the middle or in the second half of the 11th century. Therefore, proto-Phoenician inscriptions could provide us with the names of two Kings of Byblos in the 11th century BCE: Zakarba‘al and ‘Oziba‘al. However, this possible interpretation should still be considered as a working hypothesis, especially in the case of ‘Oziba‘al. Thus, West Semitic epigraphy of the 11th–10th centuries BCE informs us of at least 22

M. Lichtheim, “The Report of Wenamun (1.41)”, in W.W. Hallo (ed.), The Context of Scripture I. Canonical Compositions from the Biblical World (Leiden, 2003), pp. 89–93, esp. 89. On literary aspects of the text, see J. Baines, “On Wenamun as a Literary Text”, in J. Assmann and E. Blumenthal (eds.), Literatur und Politik im pharaonischen und ptolemäischen Ägypten (IFAO Bibliothèque d’étude 127; Cairo, 1999), pp. 209–233; B. Sass, “Wenamun and his Levant – 1075 B.C. or 925 B.C.”, Ägypten und Levante 12 (2002), pp. 247–255; B. U. Schipper, Die Erzählung des Wenamun. Ein Literaturwerk im Spannungsfeld von Politik, Geschichte und Religion (OBO 209; Fribourg – Göttingen, 2005). 23 Sader, op. cit. (note 9), p. 51. 24 See A. Lemaire, “‘Ozibaal de Byblos ? (XIe s. av. n. è.)”, forthcoming. 25 For the first one, see P. Bordreuil, “Épigraphes phéniciennes sur bronze, sur pierre et sur céramique”, in J. Starcky and F. Hours (eds.), Archéologie au Levant. Recueil à la mémoire de Roger Saidah (Lyon – Paris, 1982), pp. 187–192; R. Deutsch and M. Heltzer, West Semitic Epigraphic News of the 1st Millennium BCE (Tel Aviv, 1999), p. 15, no. XIII. The reading of the second one (F. Sternberg, Antike Münzen. Griechischen – Römer – Byzantiner. Phönizische Kleinkunst – Objekte mit antiken Inschriften. Geschnittene Steine und Schmuck der Antike … Auktion XXIV, 19–20 November 1990 [Zürich], no. 421, p. 69 and pl. XXV) is more difficult: P. Bordreuil (“Flèches phéniciennes inscrites 1981–1991 I”, RB 99 [1992], pp. 205– 213, esp. 206) and F. M. Cross (“An Inscribed Arrowhead of the Eleventh Century BCE in the Bible Lands Museum in Jerusalem”, EI 25 (1992), pp. 21*–26*, esp. 24*–26*; idem, “Newly Discovered Inscribed Arrowheads of the 11th Century B.C.E.”, in A. Biran and J. Aviram (eds.), Biblical Archaeology Today 1990. Proceedings of the Second International Congress on Biblical Archaeology Jerusalem, June–July 1990 (Jerusalem, 1993), pp. 533– 542, esp. 542) propose two different readings that have been sometimes interpreted as two different arrowheads. Actually, the reading of the recto is probably the one proposed by P. Bordreuil while the reading of the verso is the one proposed by F. M. Cross so that this arrowhead should read: ḤṢ PQḤY / ’Š ‘ZB‘L, “Dart of Peqaḥy / man of ‘Oziba‘al”. 26 Bordreuil, ibid., p. 190.

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six, and possibly eight Kings, of the small Phoenician kingdom of Byblos. The scribal tradition of Byblos is not only verified by monumental royal inscriptions,27 in the context of royal propaganda, but also by other, smaller inscriptions, connected with daily life, especially indications of ownership on cones, potsherds and probably arrowheads.28 2. Other Areas of Phoenicia and Northern Israel In other parts of Phoenicia, contemporary inscriptions are very rare, probably because the other Phoenician cities were not so well preserved and the corresponding levels not excavated on a similar scale. Disregarding some sixty inscribed arrowheads, we seem to know only three other 12th–10th centuries BCE proto-Phoenician inscriptions: (1) A fragmentary inscription on a jar from the excavations of Sarepta29 exhibits a painted inscription perhaps reading [D’ḤK/Y]30. Its dating is very approximate: probably the 12th century BCE, but the 11th–10th centuries BCE are also feasible; (2) As proposed by H. Sader, the earliest non-provenanced funerary stele coming, very probably, from the cemetery of Tyre al-Bass, might date palaeographically from the second half of the 10th century BCE. It reads LŠM‘;31 (3) However the clearest exemplar is the inscription on a bronze bowl found in a tomb in Kefar Veradim, Northern Israel, and published by Y. Alexandre.32 It reads KS.PSḤ.BN 27 One should perhaps also mention here another fragmentary inscription published by P. Bordreuil, “Une inscription phénicienne champlevée des environs de Byblos”, Semitica 27 (1977), pp. 23–27. However this non-provenanced inscription is problematic. While all the other Byblian contemporary inscriptions are incised, this one is in relief and its palaeography is not consistent: the alep and dalet seems archaic and similar to the Aḥirom inscription (around 1000) but the lamed, pe and taw look late, similar to the Kilamuwa inscription (second half of the 9th century). Furthermore there is clearly confusion between gimel and pe in the second line. Therefore, after Rollston (op. cit. [note 15], p. 69, note 46) but with specific arguments, I think it preferable not to use such a problematic inscription. 28 No. 2927, 7765, 9608, 10469(?), 11671(?), 11687 and perhaps 3317. One could also propose to connect to this tradition a 9th century BCE inscription on jar (A 382/1: Y. Yadin et al., Hazor II [Jerusalem, 1960], pp. 72–73: no. 3 and pl. CLXIX–CLXX) found in Hazor (B. Delavault and A. Lemaire, “Les inscriptions phéniciennes de Palestine”, RSF 7 [1979], pp. 1– 39, esp. 7–8: no. 10). Another fragmentary Hazor inscription, with two incised letters GḤ[?], could be as early as ca. 1000 BCE (Y. Yadin et al., Hazor III–IV. Plates [Jerusalem, 1961], pl. CCCLVIII, 3; Delavault and Lemaire, ibid., p. 11, no. 16; J. Naveh, “The Epigraphic Finds from Areas A and B”, in A. Ben-Tor (ed.), Hazor III–IV. Text [Jerusalem, 1989], pp. 346– 347, esp. 347, no. 4), this is however still uncertain because we have only two letters. 29 J. Teixidor, “Selected Inscriptions”, in J. B. Pritchard (ed.), Sarepta. A Preliminary Report on the Iron Age (Philadelphia, 1975), pp. 97–104, esp. 101 and fig. 55, 1. 30 See also F. M. Cross, “Early Alphabetic Scripts”, in idem (ed.), Symposia Celebrating the Seventy-Fifth Anniversary of the Founding of the American Schools of Oriental Research (1900–1975), (Cambridge, MA 1979), pp. 97–111, esp. 97–98 (“not far from 1200 BCE”); E. Puech, “Origine de l’alphabet. Documents en alphabet linéaire et cunéiforme du IIe millénaire”, RB 93 (1986), pp. 161–213, esp. 172: “ca 1200”; J. B. Pritchard, Sarepta IV. The Objects from Area II, X (Beirut, 1988), p. 12: no. 8. 31 H. Sader, Iron Age Funerary Stelae from the Lebanon (Cuadernos de arqueologia mediterranea, 11; Barcelona, 2005), pp. 42–43, stele 16. 32 Y. Alexandre, “The Iron Age Assemblage from Cave 3 at Kefar Veradim”, in Z. Gal (ed.), Eretz Zafon. Studies in Galilean Archaeology (Haifa, 2002), pp. 52*–63*; idem, “A Fluted Bronze Bowl with a Canaanite-Early Phoenician Inscription from Kefar Veradim”, in Gal,

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ŠM‘, “Cup of Pasiaḥ son of Shama‘”, and dates “to the 10th century BCE on the basis of clear archaeological context”33 although a date around 1000 BCE for this bronze bowl, that could be an heirloom,34 should not be totally excluded. The inscription on another bronze bowl found in Tekke, near Cnossos, in Crete, presents a similar formula (KS ŠM‘.BN L’MN, “cup of Shama‘ son of Liamon”)35 and a similar problem of dating: probably 10th century BCE but without excluding of a date around 1000 BCE.36 Further westward, there is the problem of the dating of a Nora fragment (CIS I, no. 145). F. M. Cross37 and J. Naveh38 proposed dating it to the first half of the 11th century BCE, while E. Puech39 suggested the end of the 10th century BCE. Actually one can be more cautious and date it to about the same time as the Nora stele, namely probably in the 9th century BCE,40 or around 800 BCE.41 ibid., pp. 64*–74*; Sass, op. cit. (note 13), pp. 36–39; Y. Alexandre, “A Canaanite Early Phoenician Bronze Bowl in an Iron Age IIA-B Burial Cave at Kefar Veradim, Northern Israel”, Maarav 13 (2006), pp. 7–41. 33 Alexandre, ibid., 2006, p. 31. 34 See Rollston, op. cit. (note 15), pp. 84–86. Byrne (op. cit. [note 10], p. 21) prefers a “10th to early-9th century date”. 35 M. Sznycer (“L’inscription phénicienne de Tekke, près de Knossos”, Kadmos 18 [1979], p. 92, note 1) mentions another Phoenician inscription on bowl with a similar formula, apparently to be read KS ’B’BŠ (cf. Sotheby Sale Catalogue April 21, 1975 [London], p. 62: no. 244). It was dated: “ca. 9th century BCE” but, from the shape of the letters (maybe except for the second alep with the vertical stroke cutting the angle, which fits better the 9th century BCE), it could be within the 10th century or around 900 BCE. 36 H. W. Catling, “The Knossos Area, 1974–76”, The Journal of Hellenic Studies 97 (1977) (= Archaeological Reports for 1976–77, 23, 1977, pp. 3–23; Sznycer, ibid., pp. 89–93; F. M. Cross, Leaves from an Epigrapher’s Notebook (HSS 51; Winona Lake, 2003), pp. 213–230, esp. 227–230 (“end of the 11th century”); E. Lipiński, “Notes d’épigraphie phénicienne et punique”, OLP 14 (1983), pp. 129–165, esp. 129–133: “environs de 1000 av. n. è.” (p. 132); E. Puech, “Présence phénicienne dans les îles à la fin du IIe millénaire”, RB 90 (1983), pp. 365–395, esp. 394: “Troisième quart du XIe s”; idem, op. cit. (note 30), pp. 161–213, esp. 168–169; A. Lemaire, “Divinités égyptiennes dans l’onomastique phénicienne”, in C. Bonnet et al. (eds.), Religio Phoenicia (Studia Phoenicia IV/Collection d’études classiques 1; Namur, 1986), pp. 87–98, esp. 90–91. 37 F. M. Cross, “Leaves from an Epigraphist’s Notebook”, CBQ 36 (1974), pp. 486–494, esp. 490–493; idem, op. cit. (note 36), pp. 336–337; idem, “Phoenicians in the West: The Early Epigraphic Evidence”, in M. S. Balmuth (ed.), Studies in Sardinian Archaeology II (Ann Arbor, 1986), pp. 116–130 (= idem, op. cit. [note 36], pp. 254–259, esp. 256–257); idem, “The Oldest Phoenician Inscription from Sardinia: The Fragmentary Stele from Nora”, in D. M. Golomb (ed.), Working With No Data: Semitic and Egyptian Studies Presented to Thomas O. Lambdin (Winona Lake, 1987), pp. 65–74, esp. 64–71 (= idem, op. cit. [note 36], pp. 260– 264). 38 J. Naveh, Early History of the Alphabet. An Introduction to West Semitic Epigraphy and Palaeography (Leiden – Jerusalem, 1982), pp. 40–41. 39 Puech, op. cit. (note 30), p. 167. 40 B. Mazar, The Early Period. Historical Studies (Jerusalem, 1986), p. 78. 41 See already B. Sass, “The Revadim Seal and its Archaic Phoenician Inscription”, Anatolian Studies 33 (1983), pp. 169–175, esp. 172, note 13. M. G. Amadasi Guzzo, Scritture alfabetiche (Roma, 1987), p. 47 proposes “prima metà dell’VIII sec. A. C.”; G. Garbini, Introduzione all’epigrafia semitica (Brescia, 2006), p. 90: “fine VIII sec. a. C.” (probably too late).

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3. Philistia and the Judaean Shephelah The existence of a specific West Semitic scribal tradition in Philistia appeared only about 25 years ago in West Semitic epigraphy research42. Of course, this scribal tradition developed from the Canaanite tradition and during the 12th–10th centuries BCE. It is practically impossible to distinguish this script from the proto-Phoenician or proto-Hebrew Script. However it is necessary to take into account this political and cultural specificity. Actually, the Canaanite scribal tradition in the early-12th century BCE is probably well attested by an inscription from Lachish Stratum VI since the last excavations under the direction of D. Ussishkin have clearly shown that this level was destroyed after the beginning of Ramesses III’s reign (ca. 1182 BCE) and probably during or after Ramesses IV’s reign, that is to say in the second half of the 12th century BCE, possibly as late as ca. 1130 BCE.43 In this context, one may probably ascribe to the early-12th century BCE44 an inscribed potsherd found in Lachish, Stratum VI with two lines to be probably read: (1) [?]’L’B (2) [?] BN.WHBṢYB [?] “(1) [?] Ilib (2) [?] son of Wahabzib [?]”.45 Another very fragmentary inscription from Lachish, only known from a drawing, was published by D. Diringer with a date “in the 11th century” and a possible reading [L‘WT]. It comes from the casemate fill of Palace A.46 However, the identification of the three first letters is so uncertain that without a very good picture, at least, it is difficult to give an opinion about this incomplete potsherd. This is made all the more difficult due to the fact that 11th century BCE occupation does not seem to be attested at the site. As proposed by F. M. Cross47 and J. Naveh,48 one could probably also ascribe to 42

See mainly J. Naveh, “Writings and Scripts in Seventh-Century B.C.E. Philistia: The New Evidence from Tell Jemmeh”, IEJ 35 (1985), pp. 8–21; G. Garbini, “Philistine Seals”, in L.T. Geraty and L. Herr (eds.), The Archaeology of Jordan and Other Studies Presented to S. Horn (Berrien Springs, MI 1986), pp. 443–448; A. Lemaire, “Phénicien et Philistien: paléographie et dialectologie”, in M. E. Aubet and M. Barthélemy (eds.), Actas del IV congreso internacional de estudios fenicios y punicos, I (Cadiz, 2000), pp. 243–249. 43 D. Ussishkin, “Chapter 3: A Synopsis of the stratigraphical, chronological and historical issues”, in D. Ussishkin (ed.), The Renewed Archaeological Excavations at Lachish (1973– 1994) I (Tel Aviv, 2004), pp. 50–119, esp. 70, 72 44 See already B. Sass, “The Genesis of the Alphabet and Its Development in the Second Millennium B.C. Twenty Years Later”, De Kêmi à Birît Nâri 2 (2004/5), pp. 147–166, esp. 153. Byrne, op. cit. (note 10), p. 18, proposes “late 13th century” but without arguing this date. 45 A. Lemaire, “An Alphabetic Canaanite Inscription”, in Ussishkin (ed.), op. cit. (note 43), III, pp. 1597–1600 (with bibliography). 46 D. Diringer, “Chapter 8. Inscriptions”, in O. Tufnell (ed.), Lachish IV. The Bronze Age (London, 1958), pp. 127–133, esp. 131, no. 7 and pl. 44:7, with the legend: “Lachish Sherd No. 7: Characters written in black ink with a brush (or a stick?); 12th–11th century. Field No. 6773”. 47 F. M. Cross, “The Origin and Early Evolution of the Alphabet”, EI 8 (1967), pp. 8*–24*, esp. 17*–18* (= idem, op. cit. [note 36], pp. 324–325). 48 Naveh, op. cit. (note 38), pp. 35–36; cf. also E. Puech, “Quelques remarques sur l’alphabet au deuxième millénaire”, in Atti del I Congresso Internazionale di Studi Fenicio e Punici, Roma, 5–10 Novembre 1979, II (Rome, 1983), pp. 563–581, esp. 568–569.

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the 12th century BCE49 an ostracon inscribed with ink found at Beth-Shemesh during the excavations directed by E. Grant in 193050 and apparently containing a list of names. It was said to be found in the Late Bronze Age level.51 However a date in the 11th century BCE cannot be excluded.52 The dating of the Qubur el-Walayda inscribed potsherd is more difficult to specify since the site, some 10km southeast of Gaza, was apparently occupied at the very end of Late Bronze II or at the beginning of Iron I.53 It was dated by F. M. Cross “ca. 1200 BCE”54 but this palaeographical dating is very approximate and it could probably be more correctly, dated to about 1100 BCE, connecting it with the Philistian culture.55 Actually it was found in a pit with Philistine pottery within the Area B expanded in Iron Age I.56 Not very far from Qubur el-Walayda, a potsherd with an inscription of five letters was found in 1999 among debris fallen in a trench, during the renewed excavations of Tell el-Far‘ah (South), about 22km south of Gaza. It probably reads: L’DNN, “(Belonging) to our lord”.57 Preliminary presentation had indicated a date in the end Iron I or early Iron II but the alep and the nun with long tails do not fit this dating and this inscription appears to be later than 900 BCE.58 The ostracon from ‘Izbet Ṣarṭah59 was found in a pit apparently connected with Stratum II, which according to Finkelstein60 was apparently destroyed towards the 49

Cf. also Byrne, op. cit. (note 10), p. 18. A date in the 13th century, as proposed by Puech, op. cit. (note 30), pp. 175–177, seems too high. 50 E. Grant, “Découverte épigraphique à Beth-Šemeš”, RB 39 (1930), pp. 401–402; idem, Ain Shems Excavations (Palestine) 1928–1929–1930–1931, I (Haverford, 1931), pl. X; E. Grant and G. E. Wright, Ain Shems Excavations (Palestine), V (Haverford, 1939), pp. 15, 46–47. 51 Grant and Wright, ibid., p. 46. 52 W. F. Albright, The Proto-Sinaitic Inscriptions and Their Decipherment (HTS 22; London, 1966), p. 11: “12th–11th centuries”; Mazar, op. cit. (note 40), p. 70, note 15. 53 R. Cohen, “Qubur el-Walaida”, IEJ 28 (1978), pp. 194–195. For the new excavations, see G. Lehmann et al., “Ausgrabungen in Qubûr el-Walêyide, Israel, 2007–2008”, ZDPV 125 (2008), pp. 1–28. 54 F. M. Cross, “Newly Found Inscriptions in Old Canaanite and Early Phoenician Scripts”, BASOR 238 (1980), pp. 1–4 (= idem, op. cit. [note 36], p. 215); G. Garbini, “Nuovi documenti epigrafici dalla Palestina, I. Ostracon protocananaico da Qubur el-Walaydah”, Henoch 5 (1983), p. 397; Naveh, op. cit. (note 38), p. 36 ; Puech, op. cit. (note 30), p. 174; Byrne, op. cit. (note 10), p. 18. 55 Lemaire, op. cit. (note 42), p. 247. 56 Cf. Area B: Cohen, op. cit. (note 53), pp. 194–195; I. Singer, “Egyptians, Canaanites, and Philistines in the Period of the Emergence of Israel”, in I. Finkelstein and N. Na’aman (eds.), From Nomadism to Monarchy. Archaeological and Historical Aspects of Early Israel (Jerusalem – Washington, 1994), pp. 282–338, esp. 335. 57 G. Lehmann and T. J. Schneider, “Tell el-Farah (South) 1999 Ostracon”, UF 31 (1999), pp. 251–254; E. A. Knauf and H. M. Niemann, “Zum Ostrakon 1027 vom Tell Fara Süd (Tell el Fāri‘/Tel Šaruḥen)”, UF 31 (1999), pp. 247–250 ; G. Lehmann and T. J. Schneider, “A New Ostracon from Tell el-Far‘ah (South)”, NEA 63 (2000), p. 113. 58 See already Knauf and Niemann, ibid., pp. 247–250. 59 M. Kochavi, “An Ostracon of the Period of the Judges from ‘Izbet Sartah”, TA 4 (1977), pp. 1–13; A. Demsky, “A Proto-Canaanite Abecedary Dating From the Period of the Judges and its Implications for the History of the Alphabet”, TA 4 (1977), pp. 14–27. 60 I. Finkelstein, ‘Izbet Ṣarṭah, an Early Iron Age Site near Rosh Ha‘ayin Israel (BAR International Series 299; Oxford, 1986), pp. 20, 201; S. Aḥituv, Echoes from the Past. He-

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end of the 11th century BCE. It is clearly a writing exercise with an abecedary in line 5 and a date in the 11th century BCE seems reasonable.61 However it is difficult to be precise as the culture of this apprentice is unclear, especially since the first four lines are still undeciphered.62 Moreover, ‘Izbet Ṣarṭah is close to the border between Aphek, probably connected with Philistian culture at this time, and the central hill area, probably connected with the Israelite culture. My proposition, to understand it as the exercise of an Israelite, who had some relation to the Philistine culture of Apheq, only 3km far away,63 is an educated guess. We may have a similar problem of a border site with the Khirbet Qeiyafa ostracon, which I shall not discuss here since it will be the subject of another communication.64 Similarly, the problem of a border site may be also manifested in the case of the well known Gezer tablet, which is so often presented as an early Hebrew inscription,65 though we do not have any parallel in ancient Hebrew for a dual marked by a final waw and the inscription, furthermore does not present any palaeographical character of ancient Hebrew. If it dates to the early 10th century, it is probably connected with the Philistian/Canaanite66 city burnt by Pharaoh at the beginning of Solomon’s reign (1 Kgs 9:16). In this case, it may be considered as a proto-Philistian inscription.67 However if it dates to the middle or late-10th century68 it is probabrew and Cognate Inscriptions from the Biblical Period (Jerusalem, 2008), p. 249. See already Kochavi, ibid., p. 4: “on a stratigraphical basis an 11th century date is not precluded”. 61 See L. J. Mykytiuk, “Is Hophni in the ‘Izbet Ṣarṭah Ostracon?”, AUSS 36 (1998), pp. 69– 80, esp. 72, note 72: “more likely from the late-11th to early-10th centuries BCE”. For a 12th century dating, see J. Naveh, “Some Considerations on the Ostracon from ‘Izbet Ṣarṭah”, IEJ 28 (1978), pp. 31–35, esp. 35; F. M. Cross, BASOR 238 (1980), p. 12 (= idem, op. cit. [note 36], p. 225); Naveh, op. cit. (note 38), p. 37; Puech, op. cit. (note 48), pp. 563–567; idem, op. cit. (note 30), pp. 170–172; Byrne, op. cit. (note 10), p. 18. 62 See Mykytiuk, idem, pp. 69–80. 63 A. Lemaire, “Abécédaires et exercices d’écolier en épigraphie nord-ouest sémitique”, Journal Asiatique 266 (1978), pp. 221–236, esp. 222–225; idem, Les écoles et la formation de la Bible dans l’ancien Israël (OBO 39; Fribourg – Göttingen, 1981), p. 10; idem, op. cit. (note 42), p. 347. 64 Two inscribed seals might be mentioned but not included here. The seal L’B’ from Revadim near Tell Miqneh/Ekron has been dated to the 12th century by F. M. Cross (“An Archaic Seal from the Valley of Ayalon”, BASOR 168 [1962], pp. 12–18 (= idem, op. cit. [note 36], pp. 299–302); see also Albright, op. cit. (note 52), p. 11, no. 11; Mazar, op. cit. (note 40), p. 70; Byrne, op. cit. [note 10], p. 18) but from the second half of the 9th century by B. Sass (see also WSS, no. 1067) or from the 10th century by Puech (op. cit. [note 30], p. 168). Actually the comparison with the Ekron inscriptions makes it possible to keep the date of 8th–7th centuries proposed by the editio princeps (R. Giveon, “Two New Hebrew Seals and their Iconographic Background”, PEQ 93 [1961], pp. 38–42, esp. 39; idem, The Impact of Egypt on Canaan [OBO 20; Fribourg, 1978], pp. 110–112. The second one was published by R. Deutsch and M. Heltzer (Forty New Ancient West Semitic Inscriptions [Tel Aviv-Jaffa, 1994], pp. 55–56, no. 24: ṢB’/‘ZR) and dated “by the 10th, not later, than the beginning of the 11th century BCE”. Actually this Philistine seal can also be dated in the 8th–7th centuries BCE (see Lemaire, op. cit. [note 42], p. 246). 65 See, for instance, J. Renz, Die althebräischen Inschriften I. Text und Kommentar (Handbuch der althebräischen Epigraphik I,1; Darmstadt, 1995), pp. 30–37. 66 See Singer, op. cit. (note 56), pp. 307–209. 67 Lemaire, op. cit. (note 42), p. 247; see also lately B. Becking, “David between Ideology and Evidence”, in B. Becking and L. L. Grabbe (eds.), History of Israel between Evidence and

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bly connected with Solomon’s rebuilding of the city (1 Kgs 9:15) and should be considered as proto-Hebrew. Leaving aside here the very fragmentary and probably earlier inscription of Tell Nagila,69 we still have to mention two inscriptions discovered in 2005 at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi and Tell Zayit. The first one was incised on a potsherd: M?’(T?)LWT.WLT[?] and dated by the archaeological context and the potsherd itself to Late Iron I/Iron Age IIA, that is to say 1050–900.70 One may provisionally note that the spiral L seems typical of the South Canaanite/Philistian writing tradition and that the shape of the letters (except the initial M???) fits better the late-11th or early-10th century BCE than a later date. The inscription from Tell Zayit is incised on a limestone boulder and contains an abecedary.71 The editio princeps dated it to the mid-10th century BCE.72 This dating however has been already disputed: Rollston considers “the Tell Zayit Abecedary to be written in a good Phoenician script of the late-10th or very early-9th century BCE”73 while I. Finkelstein, B. Sass and L. Singer-Avitz date it to the late-9th century BCE.74 Such a writing exercise is difficult to date. Still the length of the vertical strokes,75 especially for he, mem, nun and resh, does not seem to fit a 10th century BCE dating and is probably better suited to the 9th century BCE. Furthermore, as already proposed by B. Sass, the site of Tell Zayit is only about 8–9km south-west of Tell eṣ-Ṣafi / Gath and was probably connected with the Philistine city Gath in Iron IIA. The excavations of Beth-Shemesh, directed by S. Bunimovitz and Z. Lederman, have brought to light a fragmentary double-sided game board inscribed ḤNN,

Ideology (OTS 59; Leiden, 2011), pp. 1–30, esp. 20. 68 See, for instance, Renz, op. cit. (note 65), p. 31; Aḥituv, op. cit. (note 60), p. 252. 69 J. Leibovitch, “Le tesson de Tell Nagila”, Le Muséon 78 (1965), pp. 229–230; F. M. Cross, “An Old Canaanite Inscription Recently Found at Lachish”, TA 11 (1984), pp. 71–76, esp. 74; Puech, op. cit. (note 30), p. 184. 70 A. M. Maeir, S. J. Wimmer, A. Zukerman and A. Demsky, “A Late Iron Age I / Early Iron Age IIA Old Canaanite Inscription from Tell es-Ṣâfî/Gath, Israel: Palaeography, Dating, and Historical-Cultural Significance”, BASOR 351 (2008), pp. 1–31. See also F. M. Cross and L. E. Stager, “Excursus: The Tell Deir ‘Alla and Tell es-Safi ‘Philistine’ Inscriptions”, IEJ 56 (2006), pp. 151–152. 71 R. E. Tappy, P. K. McCarter, M. J. Lundberg and B. Zuckerman, “An Abecedary of the Mid-Tenth Century B.C.E. from the Judean Shephelah”, BASOR 344 (2006), pp. 5–46; R. E. Tappy and P. K. McCarter (eds.), Literate Culture and Tenth–Century Canaan: The Tel Zayit Abecedary in Context (Winona Lake, 2008); M. Richelle, “Review of R. E. Tappy and P. K. McCarter, Literate Culture and Tenth-Century Canaan: The Tel Zayit Abecedary in Context (Winona Lake, 2008)”, RB 117 (2010), pp. 126–131. 72 See also Aḥituv, op. cit. (note 60), p. 17. 73 Ch. A. Rollston, “The Phoenician Script of the Tel Zayit Abecedary and Putative Evidence for Israelite Literacy”, in Tappy and McCarter, op. cit. (note 71), pp. 61–96, esp. 89. 74 I. Finkelstein, B. Sass and L. Singer-Avitz, “Writing in Iron IIA Philistia in the Light of the Tēl Zayit/Zētā Abecedary”, ZDPV 124 (2008), pp. 1–14. 75 This length of the vertical strokes appears also on another fragmentary abecedary, unfortunately unprovenanced. See A. Lemaire, “Fragment d’un alphabet ouest-sémitique du VIIIe siècle av. J.-C.”, Semitica 28 (1978), pp. 7–10, for which a date in early 8th century is a minimum since it could also be 9th century.

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“Ḥanan,” alongside one edge, in a level probably dating to Iron IIA.76 Palaeographically, this inscription probably dates in the second half of the 10th or very beginning of the 9th century BCE. By this time, Beth-Shemesh was probably part of the kingdom of Israel (cf. 1 Kgs 4:19) and might have been connected with Beth-Hanan appearing in the toponym “Elon Beth-Hanan” close to Beth-Shemesh in 1 Kgs 4:19. However this remains conjecture like its eventual connection with the patronym ḤNN, “Ḥanan,” appearing on the rim of a vessel from Tel Batash/Timnah, 8km northwest of Beth-Shemesh. That proto-Philistian or proto-Judaean inscription can also be dated approximately around 900 BCE.77 These latter two inscriptions come from sites on the border between Philistia (Ekron) and Judah (Jerusalem) and, according to their probable dating after the middle of the 10th century; at least the first one can be considered as proto-Judean rather than Philistian. Whatever the case, these few Canaanite, proto-Philistian and proto-Judean inscriptions clearly show that there is no reason to think that the inhabitants of Philistia learned their script “from their neighbours in Judah” as proposed by J. Naveh.78 Actually, the use of alphabetic script in this part of the country seems to have been a continuous tradition at least from the Late Bronze Age till Iron Age II.79 4. Central Cisjordan/Early Judah/Israel The mountains of Judah seem to have produced only a small inscription from the 12th–10th centuries BCE80: an incised inscription of four letters indicating an owner (LŠDḤ) on a potsherd from a tomb northeast of Manaḥat, 4km southwest of Jerusalem. It can be dated only be very approximately: the 11th century or around 1000 BCE.81 76 S. Bunimovitz and Z. Lederman, “Six Seasons of Excavations at Tel Beth-Shemesh – A Border Town of Judah”, Qadmoniot 30 (1997), pp. 22–37, esp. 29–30 (Hebrew); idem, “BethShemesh: Cultural Conflict on Judah’s Frontier”, BAR 23/1 (1997), pp. 42–49, 75–77, esp. 48, 75–76. 77 Cf. G. L. Kelm and A. Mazar, “Tel Batash (Timna) Excavations: Third Preliminary Report (1984–1989)”, in Preliminary Reports of ASOR-Sponsored Excavations, 1982–1989 (BASOR Supplement 27; Baltimore, 1991), pp. 47–67, esp. 55–56, fig. 12; Renz, op. cit. (note 65), p. 30; G. L. Kelm and A. Mazar, Timnah: A Biblical City in the Sorek Valley (Winona Lake, 1995), p. 111. 78 J. Naveh, “Writing and Scripts in Seventh-Century B.C.E. Philistia: The New Evidence from Tel Jemmeh”, IEJ 35 (1985), pp. 8–21, esp. 20. 79 Actually alphabetic script seems already to be sporadically attested in this part of the country in Middle Bronze Age: cf. A. Lemaire, “Les ‘Hyksos’ et les débuts de l’écriture alphabétique au Proche-Orient”, in R. Viers (ed.), Des signes pictographiques à l’alphabet (Paris – Nice, 2000), pp. 103–133, esp. 112–114. 80 Y. Aharoni (Arad Inscriptions [Jérusalem, 1981], pp. 9, 98–100, 183–184) proposed to connect several inscriptions (nos. 76–79) to stratum XI with a date in the 10th century BCE, and no. 81 to stratum XII (12th–11th century). However the few signs/letters of nos. 78–79 and 81 are not very clear and apparently difficult to date so early while for nos. 76–77 a date in the 9th century is likely (cf. Renz, op. cit. [note 65], pp. 44–45; A. Lemaire, “West Semitic Inscriptions and Ninth-Century BCE Ancient Israel”, in H.G.M. Williamson (ed.), Understanding the History of Ancient Israel (Proceedings of the British Academy 143; Oxford, 2007), pp. 14–15. 81 L. E. Stager, “An Inscribed Potsherd from the Eleventh Century”, BASOR 194 (1969), pp.

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Three short inscriptions of three letters (ḤMŠ) from Es-Semu‘/Eshtemo‘a, 15km south of Hebron, are very difficult to date. A date in the 9th–8th centuries has been proposed,82 but the shape of the letters could perhaps also fit the 10th century BCE.83 The excavations of Khirbet Raddana an Iron I village near el-Bireh–Ramallah, about 15km north of Jerusalem, have unearthed a fragmentary inscribed jar handle to be read vertically ’ḤL/P/R[?], probably a personal name.84 The archaeological context85 and the shape of the letters, suggest only a very approximate date for this short inscription, probably 12th century BCE,86 but without totally excluding the 11th century BCE. Further north, the Manasseh Survey of A. Zertal collected an Iron Age I inscribed, incised potsherd87 at Khirbet Tannin about 7km south-west of Jenin (1822.2023). The incomplete inscription should probably be read as N?MŠ,88 and dated very approximately to the 12th–11th centuries BCE. Around Beth-Shean, three short incised inscriptions should be probably dated to the 12th–10th centuries BCE: (1) The salvage excavations of Tel ‘Amal / Nir David, about 5km west of Beth-Shean,89 have brought to light a complete jar inscribed LNMŠ90 dating archaeologically (Stratum III) and palaeographically toward the end of the 10th century BCE; (2) The reading of an inscription incised on a potsherd found at Tell eṣ-Ṣarem (ancient Rehov), about 5km south of Beth-Shean, is still enigmatic because the inscription is too fragmentary.91 However the shape of the 45–52; J. Landgraf, “The Manaḥat Inscription”, Levant 3 (1971), pp. 92–95; Cross, op. cit. (note 30), pp. 97–123, esp. 103 (= idem, op. cit. [note 36], pp. 336–337: “mid-11th century BCE”); Puech, op. cit. (note 30), p. 167: “fin du XIe s.”; Byrne, op. cit. (note 10), p. 345: “11th century ”. 82 Cf. Cf. Z. Yeivin, “Es-Samo‘a (As-Samu‘)”, IEJ 21 (1971), pp. 174–175; Renz, op. cit. (note 65), pp. 65–66 ; Sass, op. cit. (note 13), p. 87; Lemaire, op. cit. (note 80), p. 280. 83 Cf. R. Hestrin, Inscriptions Reveal (Jerusalem, 1973), no. 101: “early(?) Israelite period. 84 F. M. Cross and D. N. Freedman, “An Inscribed Jar Handle from Raddana”, BASOR 201 (1971), pp. 19–22; Y. Aharoni, “Khirbet Raddana an its Inscription”, IEJ 21 (1971), pp. 130– 135. 85 J. A. Callaway and R. E. Cooley, “A Salvage Excavation at Raddana, in Bireh”, BASOR 201 (1971), pp. 9–19. 86 Cross, op. cit. (note 30), pp. 95–96 (= idem, op. cit. [note 36], pp. 330–331). There is apparently no reason to date it into the 14th century (Y. Aharoni, “Khirbet Raddana and its Inscription”, IEJ 21 [1971], pp. 130-135, esp. 135) or 13th century (Puech, op. cit. [note 30], p. 174; Byrne, op. cit. [note 10], p. 18). 87 Another very fragmentary inscribed potsherd found at Sheikh Shible, to the north of Dothan is difficult to date. We have first proposed a very approximate date in the 8th–7th centuries BCE (A. Lemaire, “Notes d’épigraphie nord-ouest sémitique. 4. Tessons inscrits du territoire de Manassé”, Semitica 32 [1982], pp. 15–17, esp. 16–17; A. Zertal, The Manasseh Hill Country Survey. Volume I. The Shechem Syncline, [CHANE 21.1, Leiden, 2004], pp. 85–87: no. 1) but the shape of the only complete letter, alep, could be earlier, possibly around 900 BCE? 88 A. Lemaire, “Notes d’épigraphie nord-ouest sémitique. 7. Tesson inscrit de Khirbet Tannin”, Semitica 35 (1985), pp. 13–15; Zertal, ibid., pp. 174–176, no. 59. 89 S. Levy and G. Edelstein, “Cinq saisons de fouilles à Tel ‘Amal (Nir David)”, RB 79 (1972), pp. 325–367, esp. 336. 90 A. Lemaire, “À propos d’une inscription de Tel ‘Amal”, RB 80 (1973), p. 559; Renz, op. cit. (note 65), pp. 29–30. 91 R. B. Kallner, “Two Inscribed Sherd”, Qedem 2 (1945), pp. 11–14; E. L. Sukenik, “Note on

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letters, especially the ‘ayin with a dot, could indicate a 12th–11th centuries BCE date;92 (3) Among the three incised inscriptions on jars found at Tel Rehov by the excavations directed by A. Mazar, two are probably from the 9th century BCE (Stratum IV)93 but inscription no. 1 is dated to the 10th century BCE (Stratum VI). It was “incised after firing on the body of a storage jar”. This incomplete graffito is difficult to read. A. Mazar proposed the reading LNḤ[M?] or LNB[’],94 but as seen by P. K. McCarter, F. M. Cross and S. Aḥituv, the third letter is more probably a mem95 and the trace of the fourth letter could well be that of a shin, so that this inscription is to be read as LNMŠ like the Tel ‘Amal inscription (supra). Actually both inscriptions could be contemporary and indicate the same person about the middle or the second half of the 10th century BCE. The personal name NMŠ probably also appears in Tel Rehov, inscription 396 as well as perhaps in the inscription from Khirbet Tannin (supra). In the shape Nimšî, it was the name of the grandfather of Jehu (2 Kgs 9:2,14; cf. 1 Kgs 19:16; 2 Kgs 9:20; 1 Chron 22:7) king of Israel (841–814 BCE)97 and it is also attested on Samaria ostracon, no. 56. It was apparently popular enough in central Israel in the 11th–8th centuries BCE. The identification of NMŠ, attested in the inscriptions from Tel ‘Amal and Tel Rehov, with the grandfather of Jehu, is conjectural at best though not impossible. Thus, the attestation of the use of the northwest Semitic script by Judeans or Israelites in the 12th–10th centuries BCE is sporadic but clear enough to indicate that they did not ignore writing, which they used, at the very least, to mark ownership. Nevertheless, in the present state of documentation and with the important exception of Byblos, 12th–10th centuries BCE inscriptions do not help much to understand the contemporary history of the Levant since their date and classification is often uncertain. Paradoxically this history may receive more indirect clarification from 9th and possibly 8th century BCE inscriptions.

II. West Semitic Inscriptions Dated to the 9th–8th Centuries BCE and the History of the 10th Century BCE At least four West Semitic inscriptions dated to the 9th–8th centuries BCE may throw some light on the history of the 10th century BCE. Three inscriptions were written in the second half of the 9th century, and the fourth in the first half of the 8th century BCE. the Sherd From tell eṣ-Ṣarem”, Kedem 2 (1945), p. 15. 92 Cross, op. cit. (note 47), pp. 8*–24*, esp. 10* (= idem, op. cit. [note 36], pp. 317–329, esp. 319 “probably from the early-12th century BCE”); B. Mazar, The Early Biblical Period. Historical Studies (Jerusalem, 1986), p. 70: “11th century BCE”. No reason is apparently given for the early dating of Puech in the 14th century BCE (op. cit. [note 30], p. 184). 93 A. Mazar, “Three 10th–9th Century B.C.E. Inscriptions from Tēl Reḥōv”, in C. G. den Hertog et al. (eds.), Saxa loquentur: Studien zur Archäologie Palästinas/Israel. Festschrift für Volkmar Fritz (AOAT 302; Münster, 2003), pp. 171–184; Lemaire, op. cit. (note 80), pp. 279–303, esp. 280–281. 94 Mazar, ibid., pp. 173–174 95 Idem, ibid., p. 173, note 4. 96 Idem, ibid., pp. 179–181; Lemaire, op. cit. (note 80), p. 281. 97 G. Galil, The Chronology of the Kings of Israel and Judah (Leiden – New York – Köln 1996), pp. 45–49, 147.

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1. The Tell Fakhariyeh bilingual inscription was correctly dated by the editio princeps of Ali Abou-Assaf, Pierre Bordreuil and Alan R. Millard to the second half of the 9th century BCE. For historical reasons, they proposed a date ca. 850–825 BCE.98 Actually, also for historical reasons, it might be even a few years younger, before 808 BCE. The paleography of the Aramaic inscriptions, however, does not seem to fit this date since it is very different from that of the more or less contemporary Hazael Aramaic inscriptions. As emphasized by J. Naveh99 and F. M. Cross, most of the letters would better fit an 11th century BCE inscription, more precisely from “the end of the 11th century BCE” without excluding “the beginning of the 10th century BCE”.100 To solve this apparent contradiction J. Naveh and F. M. Cross mentioned the possibility of archaizing, or even copying an earlier inscription. The suggestion of archaizing was accepted again recently by B. Sass101 and C. Rollston.102 Another, probably better solution was proposed by S. A. Kaufman: that of a local West Semitic script, more precisely that of a regional peripheral script vis-à-vis Phoenicia.103 It seems to me that this is, at least, part of the truth. However, the differences between this regional peripheral script104 and the mainstream Aramaic are so pronounced that one should think not only of a peripheral script but of a script that was used in isolation, jointly with another official script, the cuneiform script. Historically, this probably means that the springs of the Habur were still under a strong Assyrian influence during the 10th and the first half of the 9th century BCE.105

98 A. Abou-Assaf, P. Bordreuil and A. R. Millard, La statue de Tell Fekheryeh et son inscription bilingue assyro-araméenne (Études Assyriologiques; Paris, 1982), p. 112. 99 J. Naveh, “Proto-Canaanite, Archaic Greek, and the Script of the Aramaic Text on the Tell Fakharyah Statue”, in P. D. Miller et al. (eds.), Ancient Israelite Religion: Essays in Honor of Frank Moore Cross (Philadelphia, 1987), pp. 101–113. 100 F. M. Cross, “Paleography and the Date of the Tell Fakhariyeh inscription”, in Z. Zevit et al. (eds.), Solving Riddles and Untying Knots: Biblical, Epigraphic, and Semitic Studies in Honor of Jonas C. Greenfield (Winona Lake, 1995), pp. 393–410, esp. 408–409 (= idem, op. cit. [note 36], pp. 393–409). 101 Sass, op. cit. (note 13), pp. 40–43. 102 Rollston, op. cit. (note 15), pp. 90–91. 103 S. A. Kaufman, “Reflections on the Assyrian-Aramaic Bilingual from Tell Fakhariyeh”, Maarav 3 (1982), pp. 137–175, esp. 142–145. 104 It was essentially conservative with a few special developments for instance in waw and ṣade. This regional peripheral Aramaic script is also found on an inscription from Tell Halaf/ Guzana previously considered 10th century BCE but probably rather 9th century. See J. Friedrich et al., Die Inschriften vom Tell Halaf (AfO Beihefte 6; Berlin, 1940), pp. 69–70; G. Dankwarth and Ch. Müller, “Zum altaramäischen ‘Altar’-Inschrift vom Tell Halaf”, AfO 35 (1988), pp. 73–78; E. Lipiński, Studies in Aramaic Inscriptions and Onomastics, II (OLA 57; Leuven, 1994), pp. 15–18 ; F. M. Cross, “Palaeography and the Date of the Tell Faḫariyeh Bilingual Inscription”, in Zevit et al., op. cit. (note 100), pp. 396–398 (= idem, op. cit. [note 36], pp. 53–55); W. Röllig, “Aramäer und Assyrer: Die Schriftzeugnisse bis zum Ende des Assyrerreiches”, in G. Bunnens (ed.), Essays on Syria in the Iron Age (Ancient Near Eastern Studies Supplement 7; Louvain, 2000), pp. 177–186, esp. 180–182. This regional writing could also appear on a lion bowl: see A. Lemaire, “An Early Aramaic and Proto-Arabic Inscription on a Lion Bowl”, EI (30), forthcoming. 105 See already from the linguistic point of view Kaufman, op. cit. (note 103), pp. 154–155.

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Actually this seems clear from a campaign of Adad-nirari II in 894 BCE.106 2. The Tel Dan inscription107 was probably engraved “in the second part of Hazael’s reign”.108 Now it is generally agreed that the phrase BYT DWD in line 9’ designates the Judean kingdom of Jerusalem as founded by David,109 which fits very well the Biblical historiographic tradition even though it does not give any detail nor any date. 3. The Mesha stela dates in the second half of the 9th century BCE. It probably also mentions BT DWD (at the end of line 31) in parallel to Israel in the preceding lines.110 This means that the city of Horonen/Horonaim and part of the southeastern coast of the Dead Sea belonged to the kingdom of Judah. The Judean occupation of Horonen and of the Ghor could go back to David’s time (cf. 2 Sam 8:2) and explain the choice of the Edom road during the Israelite-Judean campaign against Moab after the death of Aḥab (2 Kgs 3:5–21), unless it was a consequence of this 9th century campaign and that the story of 2 Kgs 3:5–21 was silent about this point. Thus the interpretation that Horonen and the Ghor were part of the Kingdom of David is likely but not certain. More to the North, according to the Mesha stela, line 10, the land of Aṭaroth was inhabited by “the man” of Gad “from of old (M‘LM)”. This last phrase means that it was at least anterior to Omri’s reign (mentioned lines 4–5) and probably refers back at least to the 10th century BCE. Although this tribe of Gad is not explicitly declared Israelite in the stele, it would make sense to see here an allusion to the control of this part of the country by the Unified Monarchy of Jerusalem according to the tradition of the census of 2 Sam 24:5 as far as Aroer on the Arnon (see also the Septuagint text of the 12th Solomonic province in 1 Kgs 4:19). In this context, the systematic destruction of Neboh and of her Yahwist sanctuary by Mesha (lines 4–18) could be an indication that this town was also Israelite “from of old”, going back to the period 106 ARI, II, pp. 90–91, § 433; RIMA 2, p. 153: Text A.O. 99.2, lines 100–104; P. E. Dion, Les Araméens à l’âge du Fer: histoire politique et structures sociales (Études bibliques NS 34; Paris, 1997), pp. 39–41; E. Lipiński, The Aramaeans. Their Ancient History, Culture and Religion (OLA 100; Leuven, 2000), pp. 128–133. 107 A. Biran and J. Naveh, “An Aramaic Stele Fragment from Tel Dan”, IEJ 43 (1993), pp. 81–88; idem, “The Tel Dan Inscription: A New Fragment”, IEJ 45 (1995), pp. 1–8; G. Galil, “A Re-arrangement of the Fragments of the Tel Dan Inscription and the Relations between Israel and Aram”, PEQ, 133 (2001), pp. 16–21; H. Hagelia, The Tel Dan Inscription. A Critical Investigation of Recent Research on Its Palaeography and Philology (Studia Semitica Upsaliensia 22; Uppsala, 2006); idem, The Tel dan Debate: The Tel Dan Inscriptions in Recent Research (Sheffield, 2009). See also E. Vismara, “Implicazioni storiche dell’iscrizione di Tel Dan”, in C. Rosenzweig et al. (eds.), Florilegio filologico linguistico. Haninura de Bon Siman a Maria Luisa Mayer Modena (Milano, 2008), pp. 193–206. 108 See, for instance, A. Lemaire, “The Tel Dan Stela as a Piece of Royal Historiography”, JSOT 81 (1998), pp. 3–14, esp. 11; idem, op. cit. (note 80), pp. 280–303, esp. 293–296. 109 See for instance G. A. Rendsburg, “On the Writing bytdwd in the Aramaic Inscription from Tel Dan”, IEJ 45 (1995), pp. 22–25; Hagelia, ibid., 2009, pp. 44–72. 110 A. Lemaire, “La dynastie davidique (byt dwd) dans deux inscriptions ouest-sémitiques du IXe s. av. J.C.”, SEL 11 (1994), pp. 17–19; idem, “Bêt-Dawid in the Mesha Stele?”, BAR 20/3 (1994), pp. 30–37. For a response to the doubts about this reading, see idem, op. cit. (note 80), pp. 288–289.

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of the United Monarchy. This interpretation is not certain but it makes perfect sense.111 4. The plaster inscription from Tell Deir ‘Alla is well dated by archaeological context112 and palaeography to the first half of the 8th century BCE, possibly not far from 800,113 probably at a time when Northern Transjordan was part of the kingdom of Damascus.114 It clearly presents literary texts probably copied from a manuscript with the same scribal tradition of presentation and even with rubrics. We may have evidence for the approximate date of the copy (or of the copy of a copy…) of a literary text, but when was the original written? Apparently we have no historical allusion within the text itself but there is the issue of its language. After some discussion, most of the commentators agree now that it is Aramaic, but archaic or very archaic Aramaic.115 This clearly is not the Aramaic of the first half of the 8th century BCE but rather of the 9th or 10th centuries BCE,116 either contemporary to king Hazael or even to Hadad, the founder of the kingdom of Damascus and probably 111

For more details see A. Lemaire, “La stèle de Mésha et l’histoire de l’ancien Israël”, in D. Garrone and F. Israel (eds.) Storia e tradizioni di Israele. Scritti in onore di J. Alberto Soggin (Brescia, 1991), pp. 143–169, esp. 163–165. 112 Cf. M. M. Ibrahim and G. van der Kooij, “The Archaeology of Deir ‘Alla Phase IX”, in J. Hoftijzer and G. van der Kooij (eds.), The Balaam Text from Deir ‘Alla Re-evaluated. Proceedings of the International Symposoium held at Leiden 21–24 August 1989 (Leiden, 1991), pp. 16–29, esp. 27–28. 113 See lately E. Blum, “Die Kombination I der Wandinschrift vom Tell Deir Alla”, in I. Kottsieper et al. (eds.), Berührungspunkte. Studien zur Sozial- und Religionsgeschichte Israels und seiner Umwelt. Festschrift für Rainer Albertz (AOAT 350; Münster, 2008), pp. 573–601; idem, “‘Verstehst du dich nicht auf die Schreibkunst… ?’ Ein weisheitlicher Dialog über Vergänglicher und Versantwortung: Kombination II der Wandinschrift vom Tell Deir ‘Alla”, in M. Bauks et al. (eds.), Was ist der Mensch dass du seiner gedenkst ? (Psalm 8,5). Aspekte einer theologischen Anthropologie. Festschrift für Bernd Janowski (NeukirchenVluyn, 2008), pp. 33–53; idem, “Israels Prophetie im altorientalischen Kontext”, in I. Cornelius and L. Jonker (eds.), “From Ebla to Stellenbosch”: Syro-Palestinian Religions and the Hebrew Bible (ADPV 37; Wiesbaden, 2008), pp. 81–115. 114 This part of northern Transjordan was apparently conquered by Hazael during Jehu’s reign (2 Kings 10:32–33; see A. Lemaire, “Hazaël de Damas, roi d’Aram”, in D. Charpin and F. Joannès [eds.], Marchands, diplomates et empereurs. Études sur la civilisation mésopotamienne offertes à Paul Garelli [Paris, 1991], pp. 91–108, esp. 101–102) and only re-conquered by Jeroboam II during the last years of his reign (A. Lemaire, “Essai d’interprétation historique d’une nouvelle inscription monumentale moabite”, CRAI [2005], pp. 95–108, esp. 107; idem, “Une guerre ‘pour rien’ (Amos 6,13),’ in M. Augustin and H. M. Niemann (eds.), Thinking Towards New Horizons. Collected Communications to the XIXth Congress of the International Organization for the Study of the Old Testament, Ljubljana 2007 (Beiträge zur Erforschung des Alten Testaments und des Antiken Judentums 55; Frankfurt, 2008), pp. 97– 102. 115 Cf. D. Pardee, “The Linguistic Classification of the Deir ‘Alla Text written on Plaster”, in J. Hoftijzer and G. van der Kooij (eds.), The Balaam Text from Deir ‘Alla Re-evaluated (1991), pp. 100–105, esp. 105; M. Weippert, “The Balaam Text from Deir ‘Allā and the Study of the Old Testament”, in Hoftijzer and van der Kooij, ibid., pp. 151–184, esp. 163. 116 Cf. A. Lemaire, “Les Inscriptions de Deir ‘Alla et la littérature araméenne antique”, CRAI 1985, pp. 270–285, esp. 283; idem, “Les inscriptions sur plâtre de Deir ‘Alla et leur signification historique et culturelle”, in Hoftijzer and van der Kooij, ibid., pp. 33–57, esp. 48–50.

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contemporaneous to king Solomon.117 Since we have no other Aramaic inscriptions from the kingdom of Damascus dating to the 10th century BCE, it is impossible to be more precise and, so far, we can only suggest the 10th century as a possibility.118 In sum, we may agree with M. Weippert, that claiming “that there were no ‘real’ literary activity in Palestine prior to the middle of the 8th Century BCE is a hypothesis that has been definitively called in question by the plaster texts from Deir ‘Alla although the Mesha inscription could already have taught us a similar lesson.”119 Moreover, West Semitic epigraphy dated to the 9th and early-8th centuries BCE may indirectly illuminate the history of the 10th century BCE Levant and so should not be neglected.

117

Cf. A. Lemaire, “Les premiers rois araméens dans la tradition biblique”, in P. M. M. Daviau et al. (eds.), The World of the Aramaeans I. Biblical Studies in Honour of Paul-Eugène Dion (JSOTS 324; Sheffield, 2001), pp. 113–143, esp. 129–134. 118 E. Puech (“Bala‘am and Deir ‘Alla”, in G. H. van Kooten and J. van Ruiten [eds.], The Prestige of the Pagan Prophet Balaam in Judaism, Early Christianity and Islam [Leiden, 2008], pp. 25–47, esp. 44) proposes to date the composition “certainly in the second millennium”, but it is difficult to be so sure. 119 Weippert, op. cit. (note 115), p. 177.

IDEOLOGY AND REALITY IN THE BOOK OF JUDGES YIGAL LEVIN Bar-Ilan University

I. Introduction Within the Deuteronomistic History, the book of Judges serves to bridge the gap between the conquest of the Land of Canaan under Joshua and the establishment of the Israelite monarchy under Samuel, Saul and David. The link to Joshua is clear from the start, with the book beginning as it does with the death of the leader (twice) and repeating and expanding on the conquest lacunae as listed in Joshua. The connection between the very last story in the book (that of ‘the concubine at Gibeah’), with its Ephraim-Benjamin theme and its culmination at Shiloh, and the stories of Samuel and Saul, is likewise obvious. As such, the book of Judges is a vital link within the Deuteronomistic History, and there can be no doubt that in its present form, it shows intense Deuteronomistic editing and exhibits many of the features that are typical of the Deuteronomistic corpus.1 However, the book of Judges is also a distinct literary work in its own right, with many distinctive characteristics which set it apart from the rest of the Deuteronomistic corpus.2 It has its own ‘prologue’ (1:1–3:6, often subdivided into two or three sections),3 its own ‘epilogue’ (chapters 17–21, often subdivided into two sections), and a ‘main body’, with its own uniqueness and its own internal structure and logic. 1

The purpose of this paper is neither to defend nor to debunk the ‘classic’ Nothian paradigm of a unified Deuteronomistic History or to argue for or against the position of Judges within that history. For such discussions, see any modern commentary on Judges, as well as G. Andersson, The Book and its Narratives: A Critical Examination of Some Synchronic Studies of the Book of Judges (Örebro, 2001), pp. 21–27 ; R. D. Miller II, “Deuteronomistic Theology in the Book of Judges?”, Old Testament Essays 15 (2002), pp. 411–416; K. Spronk, “From Joshua to Samuel: Some Remarks on the Origin of the Book of Judges”, in J. van Ruiten and J. C. de Vos (eds.), The Land of Israel in Bible, History and Theology (VTS 124; Leiden – Boston, 2009), pp. 137–149. 2 Recently, Y. Amit has argued that the book of Judges actually exhibits rather few Deuteronomistic features, and should be seen as a late-8th century BCE critique on the northern kingdom, which was incorporated into the Deuteronomistic History because it “resonates in some ways with the needs of the great Deuteronomistic composition.” See Y. Amit, “The Book of Judges – Dating and Meaning”, in G. Galil, M. Geller and A. Millard (eds.), Homeland and Exile: Biblical and Ancient Near Eastern Studies in Honour of Bustenay Oded (VTS 130; Leiden, 2009), pp. 297–322 and references there. 3 For a detailed analysis of what she calls “the exposition” see Y. Amit, The Book of Judges: The Art of Editing (Leiden, 1999), pp. 120–160.

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The three sections are intimately interconnected in many ways, with the ‘prologue’ setting the stage both historically and ideologically for the ‘main body’, and the ‘epilogue’ serving as a culmination of many of the themes that run through the entire book. There can be no doubt that the book of Judges, in all its parts, is one of the bestwritten books in the Bible. Its use of such literary devices such as imagery, wordplay, numerical codes and others, both in order to create a story that magnetizes the reader and in order to best express the messages that the authors wished to convey, is unsurpassed. But there is still a huge difference between the two ‘compositional layers’ of the book. While the editorial layer is largely artificial, arranged in such a way as to convey a multiplicity of theological and ideological ideas, and as such is obviously integral to the Deuteronomistic redaction and its ideology, most of the individual stories exhibit no such ideology; on the contrary, the geographical and social reality that they reflect seems to be that of the early Iron Age. This paper will focus on the relationship between these two ‘layers’ in the book: the individual stories, on one hand, and the Deuteronomistic composition and redaction on the other. We will begin ‘at the top’, with the Deuteronomistic editing and its purposes, and ‘dig down’ into the lower layer of the book—the individual stories that make up the main body of the book.4 Due to space limitations, our treatment of the various issues that arise will necessarily be brief, but we hope that it will suffice to clarify the major issues at hand.

II. The Editorial Framework of the Book of Judges As mentioned above, the book of Judges is composed of three main parts: the ‘prologue’ (1:1–3:6), the ‘epilogue’ (chapters 17–21) and the ‘main body’. The ‘prologue’ lays out the background, chronologically (after the death of Joshua—mentioned twice), politically (lack of central leadership, with preference for Judah), geographically (the areas that Judah conquers and those that the remaining tribes do not, as well as the abbreviated version of ‘the remaining land’ in 3:3)5 and religiously (the people’s disloyalty to God). This sets the stage for the events of the ‘main body’—the stories of the judges themselves. The following fourteen chapters focus on the stories of 12 ‘judges’ or leaders who arose ‘to rescue Israel from their enemies’ after the people had sinned, had been punished and repented.6 As set forth in the ‘prologue’ and often repeated in the main body, this repentance lasted only as long as each judge continued to lead. After the judge’s death, the people sinned once again, and the cycle began anew. The ‘main body’ of the book presents us with 14 ‘central characters’. One, Abimelech, is actually a ‘villain’ rather than a ‘hero’, and Barak, despite his commanding an army of 10,000 men, is overshadowed by Deborah and is never said to 4

For a quite different treatment of the relationship between the editorial framework and the individual stories, seen through the lens of Bahktin literary method, see S. Gillmayr-Bucher, “Framework and Discourse in the Book of Judges”, JBL 128 (2009), pp. 687–702. 5 For the relationship between the ‘full’ version of ‘the land that remains’ in Josh 13:1–5 and the abbreviated version in Judg 3:3 see Y. Levin, “Numbers 34:2–12, The Boundaries of the Land of Canaan and the Empire of Necho”, JANES 30 (2006), p. 56, esp. n. 3. 6 We agree with the assessment of Amit, op. cit. (note 3), pp. 63–69, that ‘judge’ (‫ )שׁ ֹפט‬in this context is a general term for ‘leader’ and not a specific institution.

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have led or ‘judged’ the people independently. Neither is there any notice of his death, in contrast to most of the judges. The remaining twelve ‘judges’ are commonly divided into two groups of six: ‘major judges’ about whom the book supplies us with actual narratives, albeit of varying lengths, and ‘minor judges’ about whom we have very little information, conveyed in one, two or three verses for each.7 The first group includes Othniel (3:7–11),8 Ehud (3:12–30), Deborah (and Barak 4–5), Gideon (6–8), Jephthah (11:1–12:7) and Samson (13–16). The second group includes Shamgar (3:31), Tola (10:1–2), Jair (10:3–5), Ibzan (12:8–10), Elon (12:11–12) and Abdon (12:13–15). Each one of the judges is said to have operated within specific geographical and chronological confines; most are identified by tribe or region, and many are introduced with reference to the death of their ‘predecessor’. And while most of the accounts do share a common structure (the people sin, God punishes through an enemy, the people repent, God raises a savior who defeats the enemy and leads the people until his death), there are also significant differences between the individual stories, even to the extent of some of them falling under different literary genres. And as we shall see, the different judges also represent different topoi of leadership and conduct. Despite this variety of genre, theme, length, place and time, it is quite clear that the book of Judges is in no way a haphazard collection of stories. The writers/ redactors, in arranging the stories as they did, did so with the intention of conveying a specific range of themes, messages and ideas. 1. Lack of Unified Leadership This, of course, is a theme that is central to the entire book, beginning with the very first verse: “After the death of Joshua, the Israelites inquired of the Lord, ‘Who shall go up first for us against the Canaanites, to fight against them?’” God’s answer is not the name of a leader, but that of a tribe—Judah.9 Caleb and his ‘younger brother’ Othniel (1:12–13) are the leaders of the tribe, not of the nation. Throughout the rest of chapter 1, each individual tribe operates on its own. Chapter 2 emphasizes that the people began to sin only after the death of Joshua and of his generation, when there was no leadership. In the ‘epilogue’, the necessity of leadership is expressed repeatedly by the phrase “And in those days there was no king in Israel, each man did what was right in his own eyes” (17:6 and 21:25—the very last verse in the book; in 18:1; 19:1 a shorter pattern is used: “And in those days there was no king in Israel”). To the Deuteronomistic editors, it is the lack of national leadership that is the source of all evil, and the only possible solution is the establishment of a monarchy. 7

In the past it was often assumed that the differences between the ‘major’ and ‘minor’ judges reflected differences in the actual historical roles or functions of the two groups. For a survey and a critique of this position see E. T. Mullen, Jr., “The ‘Minor Judges’: Some Literary and Historical Considerations”, CBQ 44 (1982), pp. 185–201. 8 Though we agree with Amit, op. cit. (note 3), pp. 160–166, that the story of Othniel serves as a transition and connection between the ‘prologue’ and the ‘main body’ of the book. 9 For which see M. Weinfeld, “Judges 1.1–2.5: The Conquest Under the Leadership of the House of Judah”, in A. G. Auld (ed.), Understanding Poets and Prophets: Essays in Honour of George Wishart Anderson (SJOTS 152; Sheffield, 1993), pp. 388–400. For a critique of the assumption that the redaction of Judges exhibits pro-Judah tendencies see G. T. K. Wong, “Is There a Direct Pro-Judah Polemic in Judges?”, SJOT 19 (2005), pp. 84–110.

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2. Unity of the Nation of ‘Israel’ The individual stories of the judges are mostly local episodes, usually confined to the territory of a tribe or a group of tribes and their neighbors. This notwithstanding, the editorial framework insists on converting these local stories into parts of a national Israelite epic. This is achieved mostly by emphasizing that it was ‘Israel’ that sinned, ‘Israel’ that was punished, ‘Israel’ that was oppressed, ‘Israel’ that repented, ‘Israel’ that was saved and ‘Israel’ that was then ruled by the judge in question. Thus, for example, in the story of Ehud, a ‘Moabite’ chieftain takes over just a single “city of the palms” (presumably Jericho), until he in turn is assassinated by a hero from the neighboring tribe of Benjamin. In the chase that ensues, some Ephraimites come to lend their Benjaminite neighbors a hand, and the Moabites are chased back over the river. This, in every respect, is a local story about local tribes and a local hero. However within the Deuteronomistic redaction of the book of Judges, Eglon is ‘King of Moab’, his invasion is a punishment for ‘Israel’s’ sins, and ‘Israel’, as a nation, served “Eglon, king of Moab” for eighteen years. After the Moabites’ defeat, ‘Moab’ was conquered by “Israel, and the land was quiet for eighty years”—an originally local episode is converted into a long-term conflict between two neighboring nations. Similar techniques are used in the editorial framework of most of the individual stories in Judges. 3. Unity of Leadership Similarly, since each of the judges leads ‘Israel’ as a nation, the editorial framework does not allow any two judges to lead concurrently. In most cases, the narrative specifically notes that each judge ‘judged Israel’ until his death and then the time stretch during which Israel sinned and was oppressed before God ‘raised’ the next savior-judge. An exception of sorts to this rule is Deborah and Barak, but as previously mentioned, the editors did not seem to have considered Barak to have been an ‘independent’ judge in his own right, but rather a ‘helper’ to Deborah. The picture is that at least during those periods in which there was an active judge, Israel did have a unified leadership. The problem, then, was the lack of continuity—after the death of each judge, the people reverted to their leaderless and thus sinful state. 4. Diversity of Leadership Types While on one hand, the editors of Judges emphasize that each individual ‘judge’ ruled the entire nation of ‘Israel’, on the other hand, they present us with several different types of leadership; in fact, almost no two judges are alike. Othniel was a member of the ‘founding generation’, the younger brother of Caleb (3:9), and in fact had played a role in the conquest under Joshua (Josh 15:17). Ehud is presented as a prime example of ‘ad-hoc charismatic leadership’: he saw the need to act, seized the opportunity, and then, in the wake of his initial success, gathered a following and led them to victory. Shamgar seems to have been a loner, although we really have no information about him at all, other than the comment about his striking six hundred Philistines with an oxgoad. The source of Deborah’s authority seems to have been cultic or oracular; not only is she identified as a prophetess, she is also the only one ‘judge’ who is specifically said to have ‘judged’ even before the incident recounted in the book. And while no background information is given for Barak, the very fact that Deborah summoned him and commanded him to gather ten thousand men would indicate that he was a professional military commander. The setting assumed for Gideon is more rustic: he is a farmer from a small village

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in the hills of Manasseh, another ‘charismatic leader’. After his great victory he is acclaimed by ‘the nation’ and offered the crown of kingship, which he theoretically declines, but his son Abimelech seems to have been brought up in a royal palace. His mother is from the main (Canaanite) city of Shechem, he has seventy ‘brothers’ (even if the number is typological, it indicates that his father had more than one wife), he assumes kingship after his father’s death, and even his name, which in itself is not uncommon in the Bible and in inscriptions from the region, seems to carry a specific message.10 We know next to nothing about Tola, except the comment about his dwelling and burial in Shamir in Mount Ephraim, far from Issachar’s tribal territory in the eastern Jezreel Valley, as depicted in Josh 19:17–23 (about which see below). Jair the Gileadite seems to have been a wealthy land-owner. Jephthah was an outcast, the son of a prostitute who was expelled from his father’s house by his half-brothers, became the leader of a band of outlaws, and was called back when his estranged family found themselves in need of a seasoned military leader.11 Ibzan’s claim to fame seems to have been his many children—thirty sons and thirty daughters, all successfully married off, perhaps, like Jair, an indication of his wealth. Next comes Elon the Zebulunite, about whom we know nothing at all, except that his home was at “Aijalon in the land of Zebulun”, an otherwise unknown town whose consonantal spelling just happens to be identical to that of the name of the judge himself. Last of the ‘minor judges’ is Abdon, another figure whose only claim to fame is his multiple progeny. And finally there is Samson, the rouge Nazirite superman and womanizer. 5. Diversity of Tribal Affiliation The number of judges, twelve, does not seem to be coincidental. While not every single one of the twelve tribes of Israel is represented and not every judge represents a different tribe, all groups of tribes are represented. Othniel, of course, is from Judah. Ehud is from Benjamin, a fact that the narrator makes use of in his references to Ehud as “a left-handed man” from the tribe of the Son-of-the-Right (which is the literal meaning of ‘Benjamin’). Deborah was from Mount Ephraim, and her protégé Barak from Naphtali. Gideon was from the hills of Manasseh. Tola, while living in Mount Ephraim, is called a “man of Issachar”. Jair and Jephthah were both from Gilead, often considered a part of Manasseh, but here, like in the Song of Deborah, it is seemingly considered a separate unit and perhaps represents all of Israelite Transjordan. Ibzan’s hometown of Bethlehem is often assumed to have been the Galilean town of that name, in the territory of Zebulun (Josh 19:15). Elon is also a Zebulunite. Abdon is from “Pirathon in the land of Ephraim, in the hill-country of the Amalekites”, and Samson is from “the camp of Dan” in the northern Shephelah. The only judge about whom we have no geographical information is Shamgar. Some scholars see his name “son of Anat” as a reference to his place of origin, either the town of Beth-Anath in Naphtali (Josh 19:38) or the city of Anathoth in Benjamin (Josh 21:13,18). Others consider it to be the personal name of his father or his

10 For which see K. M. Heffelfinger, “‘My Father is King’: Chiefly Politics and the Rise and Fall of Abimelech”, JSOT 33 (2009), pp. 277–292. 11 For the comparison of Jephthah with the ‘apiru bands known from the Amarna letters and from other Late Bronze Age sources, see B. R. Doak, “‘Some Worthless and Reckless Fellows’: Landlessness and Parasocial Leadership in Judges”, JHS 11 (2011), article 2.

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mother.12 Altogether, the tribes of Judah, Benjamin, Ephraim, Naphtali, Manasseh, Issachar, Zebulun and Dan are represented, eight of the twelve. If we take Gilead to represent the entire Transjordanian trio, we have ten, missing only Simeon and Asher.13 6. The Geographical Order of the Judges Not only are almost all the tribes represented, but at least the ‘major’ judges are arranged in a specific south–to–north order, beginning with Judah (Othniel), then Benjamin (Ehud), Ephraim (Deborah), Manasseh (Gideon), Gilead (Jephthah) and finally Dan (Samson).14 Zebulun’s (Ibzan and Elon) placement between Gilead and Dan also ‘fits’ the expected order.15 This is the same order as that in which these tribes are enumerated in Judges 1, except that there Manasseh and then Ephraim are listed as sub-groups of ‘Joseph’. That list also includes Asher and Naphtali, of whom the former is missing here and the latter is represented by Barak, which explains its placement together with Ephraim’s Deborah. This south–to–north order, of course, is not coincidental. In Judges 1 it reflects a transition from the successful conquests by Judah to the lack of conquest by the others, which is seen as the main cause of the sinfulness which is the theme of the rest of the book. In the ‘main body’ this theme is traced from Othniel, the last of the generation of the conquest, all the way to the Danites’ idolatrous altar at Laish/Dan, which stood there ‘until the day of the exile of the land’, and ‘all the days in which the house of God was in Shiloh’ (18:30–31).16 7. Increasing Imperfection of the Judges As the book progresses from one judge to the next, and based on those judges about whom we have enough information, the reader discovers that each judge is less an ideal leader than his predecessor. Othniel, of course, is flawless. He is a member of the founding generation, he is a perfect warrior and leader, he defeats all his enemies and he is unquestioningly loyal to Yahweh. Ehud would seem to be just as perfect, except for a small detour to some ‘idols’ (‫פסילים‬, 3:19), which within the Deuteronomistic strata has a negative connotation. Deborah is also near-perfect, except that she is not actually the person who saves Israel, while her sidekick Barak is incapable of going to war without being accompanied by a woman! Gideon, while seemingly a loyal Yahwist and a fearless warrior, actually doubts God and needs a series of ‘signs’ to bolster his confidence. And as we noted above, his rejection of kingship is more show than reality, leading to the tragic Abimelech incident. From 12

See P. C. Craigie, “A Reconsideration of Shamgar ben Anath (Judg 3:31 and 5:6)”, JBL 91 (1972), pp. 239–240. 13 For more on this see J. G. Williams, “The Structure of Judges 2.6–16.31”, JSOT 49 (1991), pp. 77–85. 14 Although the Samson story takes place in the Judean Shephelah, along the Philistine frontier, it is directly followed by the Danite migration northward and their conquest of Laish. 15 The attempt made by R. D. Nelson, “Ideology, Geography, and the List of Minor Judges”, JSOT 31 (2007), pp. 347–364, esp. 358–361, to pinpoint the locations of the minor judges, seems forced and unconvincing. 16 It connects the reader with two major junctions in the future (Deuteronomistic) history of Israel. In the wider context of the Deuteronomistic History, the incomplete conquest of the north and the non-annihilation of its Canaanite inhabitants is the main reason for the greater apostasy of the northern tribes and their kingdom’s earlier and more complete exile.

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there on, things only get worse. Jephthah’s first flaw is his pedigree, but his main problem is of course the foolish vow that he took, leading perhaps to the sacrifice of his own daughter.17 And worst of all is Samson, who is the antithesis of everything that one would expect of an Israelite leader: a nazirite who eats honey from an impure carcass and kills with the jawbone of an ass, an Israelite who cohabits with heathen women, a loner at a time when leadership is needed. By the end of this story, the reader will certainly have understood that the regime of the judges is just not good enough.18 8. Ever-increasing Unity Another theme than runs through the book of Judges is that of ever-expanding cooperation between the tribes. Judges 1 basically assumes that after the death of Joshua, every tribe took responsibility for its own destiny, and while Judah did go with “his brother Simeon” to conquer Zephath (1:17), this is the exception to the rule. Indeed, Othniel, the first of the ‘major judges’ in the ‘main body’ of the book, defeats his enemy single-handedly (3:10). However in the next episode, Ehud of Benjamin (after assassinating Eglon all on his own) musters the Israelites of Mount Ephraim to help him chase the Moabites back across the river. Deborah of Ephraim summons Barak of Naphtali; men of Naphtali and of Zebulun are mentioned in 4:6, 10, and the poem in chapter 5 lists five tribes that came to join the fight. Gideon was joined by men from Manasseh, Asher, Zebulun and Naphtali (6:35). And finally, in the very last story in the book, “all Israel… as one man, from Dan to Beersheba and the land of Gilead” gathered “before the Lord at Mizpah”. This unity, however, was of eleven tribes only, as this grand alliance was formed against the twelfth tribe. 9. Increased Internecine Struggle The final theme than runs through the entire book of Judges is that of ever-increasing struggle between the tribes.19 Deborah cursed those tribes that did not join the war against Sisera. Gideon fought the Ephraimites and the Transjordanians. His son Abimelech was at the center of a civil war within the tribe of Manasseh. Jephthah and his Gileadites killed 42,000 Ephraimites. Samson had his rivals from Judah and finally, in the very last episode of the book, eleven of the tribes, which the text continuously refers to as ‘all Israel’, banded together to fight the twelfth, almost wiping out the tribe of Benjamin. To summarize, it seems quite clear that the editors of the book of Judges took a selection of mostly local stories, re-shaped them and fit them into an editorial framework with a ‘prologue’ and an ‘epilogue’, which were also created largely from pre-existing materials, in order to convey a series of messages: The lack of unified leadership and of orderly succession and the failure of the individual tribes to complete the conquest of the land are the root causes of the evil that befell the people; they came under the influence of their idolatrous neighbors and did not have 17

For a reader-response view of this episode see P. J. Milne, “Son of a Prostitute and Daughter of a Warrior: What do You Think the Story in Judges 11 Means”, Lectio Difficilior 2 (2009) http://www.lectio.unibe.ch/09_2/milne_son_of_a_prostitute.html. 18 For a slightly different expression of this theme see Amit, op. cit. (note 3), pp. 59–62. 19 G. Oeste, “Butchered Brothers and Betrayed Families: Degenerating Kinship Structures in the Book of Judges”, JSOT 35 (2011), pp. 295–316, has recently examined this breakdown of society in terms of kinship structure.

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leaders to keep them out of trouble. The book then continues to show how the lack of leadership and unity only worsened with time, and found its expression in constant internecine fighting, culminating in all-out civil war.20 The conclusion that the reader is led to is that this leadership crisis must be resolved. However, the people were not altogether without leadership. The ‘main body’ of the book surveys the career of twelve or thirteen ‘judges’, each of whom ‘judged’ the nation in turn. Moreover, the individual stories explicitly introduce a wide range of leadership styles: cultic, charismatic, military, economic, heroic and more. Each of these ‘judges’ was successful in his day; but the lack of cohesiveness and continuity invariably led again to chaos. As if to say: the people were allowed to experiment with different forms of leadership, but all failed in the long run. The only remaining alternative is monarchy.21 We also noted, that nearly all of the twelve tribes are represented, with roughly one judge from each tribe, beginning with the totally faithful and successful Othniel of Judah and ending with the rouge Samson from the tribe of Dan with its apostate altar. The message here is that each tribe in turn had had its chance at leading the nation, and all but Judah had ultimately failed. In the end, the only way to end the leadership crisis, stop the apostasy and terminate the internecine bloodshed is to appoint a king, a permanent and proper leader from the tribe of Judah. And unlike Abimelech son of Gideon, this king must be a true Israelite, divinely appointed and anointed. The denouement of the final story at Shiloh signifies to the reader that this is where the next stage in Israel’s history will begin.

III. The Reality behind the Individual Stories The artificial and schematic nature of the editorial framework of the book of Judges is readily understood and its connection to the rest of the Deuteronomistic corpus seems clear. More controversial, however, are the historical background and literary sources for the individual stories that make up the different parts of the book. Much has been written on this and we need not repeat all of the arguments in this short paper. In the end, all the arguments are based on conjecture: the book itself does not list its sources and no actual documents of a historiographical nature from Iron Age Israel have so far been discovered. Furthermore, not a single character and not a single episode recounted in the book of Judges is attested in any way in any extrabiblical text, nor do we have specific archaeological evidence of any one of the escapades of the judges. Nor should we really expect to: while the discovery of Gideon’s sword or Sisera’s chariot would certainly be an exciting event, biblical scholars and archaeologists have long ago realized that the likelihood of finding such an object and of being able to prove its authenticity are practically nil.22 So the 20

This regardless of the claim made by A. Shapira, “Civil War in the Bible – An Unsolved Problem”, in Y. Levin and A. Shapira (eds.), War and Peace in Jewish Tradition: From the Biblical World to the Present (London, in print), that the tribes’ attack on Benjamin should be seen as a punitive reaction to the Benjaminites’ rape and murder of the concubine at Gibeah, and should thus not be considered a ‘civil war’. 21 Cf. M. Z. Brettler, The Book of Judges (London – New York, 2002), p. 116. 22 As well stated by J. R. Chadwick, “Discovering Hebron: The City of the Patriarchs Slowly Yields its Secrets”, BAR 31/5 (2005), pp. 32–33: “…it is not the purpose of Biblical archaeology to prove the Bible. Rather, Biblical archaeology is the intersection of scientific archaeological research and the historical study of the Biblical texts. Its goal is to help illuminate and

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question is not and cannot be one of whether this or that particular episode is ‘historical’—did Samson ‘really’ eat honey from the carcass of a lion?—but rather that of the geographic, social and demographic reality that underlies the stories in Judges and whether that reality can be shown to reflect any particular period in the history of Iron Age Israel. In theory, once that reality is ascertained, it should be possible to establish the approximate date of origin of the tales of the judges. This, of course, is a gross over-simplification of the issues involved. Early Iron Age ‘Israel’ was a complex society made up of various sub-groups, not all of which are represented in the biblical account. The biblical account itself, even the ‘early’ individual stories, is hardly uniform in genre, style and specific purposes, and is probably based on a variety of sources. We have absolutely no means by which to trace the date and authorship of the individual tales, nor the processes by which they developed or the form in which they were known to the various redactors of what became the book of Judges. These redactors obviously did more than ‘copy and paste’—each in turn ‘retouching’ the stories to make them fit their own literary style and ideological agenda, the final one being that of the Deuteronomists. Given all these variables and uncertainties, it is not surprising that many recent studies on Judges have basically given up any attempt to use the book as a source for the study of the history of early Israel. However, we have found that all the above notwithstanding, there are several features that can be discerned within the individual parts of Judges, especially in the ‘main body’ of the book, that do seem to represent various aspects of life in the early Iron Age. These features can then be compared to our other sources of knowledge about the period, especially to the available archaeological record. 1. The Settlement Areas of Israelite and Non-Israelite Populations Unlike at least one facet of the book of Joshua, which assumes that most of the land of Canaan had been conquered by Israel (cf. Josh 11:16–20, even after the remaining land and the conquest lacunae are taken into account), the underlying reality reflected in Judges is that most Israelites lived in the highlands, while the coastal regions and the valleys were occupied by Canaanites/Amorites, Philistines and others.23 The best examples of this in Judges are the stories of Othniel, of Ehud, of Deborah/Barak and of Gideon. In all these cases, hill-dwelling Israelites struggled against their valley-dwelling enemies. The Negeb, the Shephelah and Transjordan are frontier zones, in which the Israelites and their neighbors lived side-by-side, sometimes in peace, more often than not in conflict. Thus the Negeb-dwelling Kenites joined the children of Judah in conquering Arad (1:16), Samson constantly interacted with non-Israelites in the Shephelah,24 and Jephthah’s unheeded advice to the Transjordanians was ‘live and let live’ (11:24). This, of course, matches well the distribution of the Iron Age I hill-country ‘settlements’ that have long been identiillustrate the physical background and the material culture of the Bible… With a few notable exceptions, we usually cannot prove that individual Biblical persons did or did not exist or that individual events described in the Bible did or did not happen.” 23 Cf. Judg 1:19: “The Lord was with Judah, and he took possession of the hill country, but could not drive out the inhabitants of the plain, because they had chariots of iron”. This reality is also reflected in the words attributed to the Arameans in 1 Kgs 20:28: “The Lord is a god of the hills, not a god of the valleys”. 24 See S. Weitzman, “The Samson Story as Border Fiction”, BI 10 (2002), pp. 158–174.

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fied as ‘Israelite’ or ‘proto-Israelite’; typically small sites with well-known architectural, ceramic and faunal characteristics.25 And while it is impossible to prove the specific self-identification of the settlers in any particular region,26 it is clear from later developments that it was the population of these settlements that became the nucleus of the Iron Age II Kingdoms of Israel and Judah. An interesting situation may be seen in the Judean Shephelah. Geographically, this is a transitional zone between the Judean Hills and the Philistine coast. Within the biblical narrative, this is the frontier between the Israelites of the upper Shephelah and the Philistines living in the lower Shephelah and the coastal region. From an archaeological point of view, the southern Shephelah (the Lachish area) was practically empty of settlements in the Iron I period,27 with the major city of Lachish being abandoned,28 while the northern part of the region was settled fairly intensively. The western part of the northern Shephelah was dominated by the Philistine cities of Gath and Ekron. The Aijalon valley was controlled by Canaanite Gezer,29 and the major settlement of the northeastern Shephelah was Beth-Shemesh.30 While the material culture of the Philistine and Canaanite cities is easily identified, the situation at Beth-Shemesh is more complex, reflecting a mostly ‘Canaanite’ tradition, no Philistine influence at all despite the proximity to Ekron, and with practically no pig-bones, which is a particularly ‘hill country’ feature. The excavators explain this as a form of cultural resistance to Philistine domination.31 Timnah (Tel Batash), 25 Including, but not limited to, ‘four-roomed’ pillared dwellings, ‘collared-rim’ storage jars and the telling lack of pig-bones. For the archaeology of such settlements see: I. Finkelstein, The Archaeology of the Israelite Settlement (Jerusalem, 1988), pp. 237–291; A. Mazar, op. cit. (note 25), pp. 335–348; A. Faust, Israel’s Ethnogenesis: Settlement, Interaction, Expansion and Resistance (London, 2006), pp. 35–48; for the geographical extent of the phenomenon see Finkelstein, ibid., pp. 324–335, esp. the maps on pp. 325, 329, and Faust, ibid., pp. 191–226. 26 For attempts at defining the ethnicity of early Israel see, among many others, D. Edelman, “Ethnicity and Early Israel”, in M. G. Brett (ed.), Ethnicity and the Bible (Leiden, 1996), pp. 25–55; E. Bloch-Smith, “Israelite Ethnicity in Iron I: Archaeology Preserves What is Remembered and What is Forgotten in Israel’s History”, JBL 122 (2003), pp. 401–425; M. G. Brett, “Israel’s Indigenous Origins: Cultural Hybridity and the Formation of Israelite Identity”, BI 11 (2003), pp. 400–412; R. D. Miller II, “Identifying Earliest Israel”, BASOR 333 (2004), pp. 55–68. 27 See Y. Dagan, “Results of the Survey: Settlement Patterns in the Lachish Region”, in D. Ussishkin (ed.), The Renewed Archaeological Excavations at Lachish (1973–1994), V (Tel Aviv, 2004), pp. 2672–2690, esp. 2680. 28 Canaanite Lachish was destroyed in the mid-12th century and the earliest Iron Age settlement, presumably as part of the kingdom of Judah, occurred only in Iron IIB. The city was totally abandoned throughout Iron I and Iron IIA. See D. Ussishkin, “A Synopsis of the Stratigraphical, Chronological and Historical Issues”, in D. Ussishkin (ed.), The Renewed Archaeological Excavations at Lachish (1973–1994) vol. I (Tel Aviv, 2004), pp. 50–119, esp. 69–78. 29 W. G. Dever, Gezer – A Crossroad in Ancient Israel (Tel Aviv, 1998), pp. 137–155 (Hebrew). 30 A. Mazar, “The Northern Shephelah in the Iron Age: Some Issues in Biblical History and Archaeology”, in M. D. Coogan, J. C. Exum and L. E. Stager (eds.), Scripture and Other Artifacts: Essays on the Bible and Archaeology in Honor of Philip J. King (Louisville, 1994), pp. 247–267. 31 S. Bunimovitz and Z. Lederman, “Renewed Excavations at Tel Beth-Shemesh, Part 1: The Iron Age”, NEA 72 (2009), pp. 115–125.

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situated about halfway between Beth-Shemesh and Ekron, is described by its excavator as a ‘daughter’ settlement of Philistine Ekron.32 This situation echoes the description in the biblical narrative. None of the towns of the southern or central Shephelah, such as Lachish, Mareshah or Azekah, are mentioned in Judges. The Philistine cities are. So is Gezer, as a Canaanite city specifically not conquered by the sons of Ephraim (1:29). The tribe of Dan, on the other hand, is pictured as dwelling in “the camp of Dan” (‫דן‬-‫מחנה‬, understood by some translations as a proper place-name, by others as a descriptive), “between Zorah and Eshtaol” (13:25).33 This, of course, is the romping ground of the young Samson, a Danite from Zorah. In chapters 14–15, Samson marries a Philistine woman from Timnah, constantly going ‘down’ and ‘up’ the Sorek stream from Israelite territory to Philistine land. In the following episodes, Samson reaches Ashkelon and Gaza, having at least two more affairs with local women. On the ‘upper’ extent of his wanderings he reaches into the hills of Judah, as far as Hebron,34 and finally he is brought to rest “between Zorah and Eshtaol” (16:31).35 A similar situation exists along the interface between the Jezreel, Harod and BethShean valleys and the surrounding hill-country. Judg 1:27 lists Beth-Shean, Taanach, Dor, Ibleam and Megiddo, as well as their ‘daughters’ (outlying villages) as Canaanite. From an archaeological point of view, while the precise details of the Late Bronze/Iron Age transition differ from site to site, all five cities continue to exhibit ‘Canaanite’ material culture through Iron I.36 The rest of the valley area, as well as the basalt plateaus of the eastern lower Galilee, were almost empty of permanent settlement. On the other hand, the hills of the central lower Galilee, the Nazareth-Zippori region, experienced a wave of small settlements during the Iron Age I, similar to those of the central hill country, albeit with certain differences in material culture.37 This matches the situation depicted in several passages in Judges. Judg 4, 32 Mazar, op. cit. (note 30), p. 251. See also G. E. Kelm, “Timnah – A City of Conflict within the Traditional Buffer Zone of the Shephelah”, Bulletin of the Anglo-Israel Archaeological Society 4 (1985), pp. 54–61. 33 The ‫דן‬-‫ מחנה‬mentioned in 18:12 seems to be a different place, in the vicinity of KiriathJearim. 34 Iron I Hebron/Jebel er-Rumeide exhibits typical ‘Israelite’ material culture. See Chadwick, op. cit. (note 22), pp. 24–33, 70–71. 35 It should be noted that neither Beth-Shemesh, the major site situated right below Zorah and whose name is so similar to Samson’s, nor Gath and Ekron, the two large Philistine cities closest to Zorah, are mentioned in the Samson narrative. This is presumably by design, but we cannot as of yet offer a good explanation. 36 See I. Finkelstein, “The Stratigraphy and Chronology of Megiddo and Beth-Shan in the 12th –11th Centuries BCE”, TA 23 (1996), pp. 170–184; idem, “Notes on the Stratigraphy and Chronology of Iron Age Taanach”, TA 25 (1998), pp. 208–218; E. A. Knauf, “Low and Lower? New Data on Early Iron Age Chronology from Beth Shean, Tel Rehov and Dor”, BN 112 (2002), pp. 21–27; A. Gilboa, “Sea Peoples and Phoenicians along the Southern Phoenician Coast – A Reconciliation: An Interpretation of Sikila (SKL) Material Culture”, BASOR 337 (2005), pp. 47–78; A. Gilboa and I. Sharon, “Between the Carmel and the Sea: Tel Dor’s Iron Age Reconsidered”, NEA 71 (2008), pp. 146–170; A. Mazar, “Tel BethShean: History and Archaeology”, in R. G. Kratz and H. Spieckermann (eds.), One God – One Cult – One Nation; Archaeological and Biblical Perspectives (Berlin, 2010), pp. 239– 271, esp. 259–262. Also see K. Van Bekkum’s contribution to the present volume. 37 See Z. Gal, “The Settlement of Issachar: Some New Observations”, TA 9 (1982), pp. 79– 86; idem, “The Period of the Israelite Settlement in the Lower Galilee and the Jezreel Valley”,

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for example, tells of a struggle between Sisera, a Canaanite military commander living in ‘Harosheth-hagoiim’,38 and the Israelites of the tribes of Naphtali and Zebulun, both in the hills of Galilee, led by the prophetess Deborah from Mount Ephraim. The ‘neutral’ Heber the Kenite, whose wife Jael killed Sisera, was a tentdwelling nomad sojourning in the valley.39 Similarly in Judg 6, it is the tent-dwelling, camel-riding Midianites, Amalekites and ‘sons of Kedem’, all tribes usually associated with the southern deserts, that fill the valleys “as thick as locusts”, pushing the Israelites into “the mountains, caves and strongholds”. The Israelite savior is Gideon son of Joash of the Abiezer clan, from the village of Ophrah in the hills of Manasseh.40 He mustered, other than his own clansmen, the men of “Asher, Zebulun and Naphtali” (6:35). Once again, it is the hill-dwelling Israelites against the hostile inhabitants of the valleys. In both these stories, the absence of the tribe of Issachar is conspicuous. Both battles described take place within what Josh 19:17–23 portrays as the territory of the tribe of Issachar. In the past, scholars such as A. Alt and N. Gottwald suggested that the tribe of Issachar was originally comprised of Canaanite serfs or day-laborers (as might be inferred from the name ‫שכר‬-‫)]א[יש‬, and as such would not have joined an ‘Israelite’ coalition.41 However the survey of the area undertaken by Z. Gal has shown that it was almost empty of settlements during Iron Age I, showing that the tribe of Issachar was simply not there at the time.42 As we should recall, the one judge who was from the tribe of Issachar, Tola son of Puah, was said to have lived, died and been buried at “Shamir in Mount Ephraim” (10:1–2). We take this as indi-

Maarav 7 (1991), pp. 101–115; idem, Lower Galilee during the Iron Age (Winona Lake, 1992); Y. Levin, “When did the Galilee become Israelite?”, Shnaton – Annual of Biblical and Ancient Near Eastern Studies 17 (2007), pp. 113–132 (Hebrew with English abstract). For an example of such a site see J.P. Dessel, C. L. Meyers and E. M. Meyers, “Tel ‘En Zippori, 2000”, IEJ 51 (2001), pp. 99–105. 38 The identification of which is far from settled. See A. F. Rainey, “The Military Camp Ground at Taanach by the Waters of Megiddo”, EI 15 (1981), pp. 61*–66* (English Section); idem, “Toponymic Problems: ‘Harosheth-hagoiim’”, TA 10 (1983), pp. 46–48; as well as the controversial view of A. Zertal, “Philistine Kin found in Early Israel”, BAR 23/3 (2002), pp. 18–31, 60–61. 39 This despite the unique interpretation offered by B. Margalit, “Observations on the JaelSisera Story (Judges 4–5)”, in D. P. Wright, D. N. Freedman and A. Hurvitz (eds.), Pomegranates and Golden Bells; Studies in Biblical, Jewish, and Near Eastern Ritual, Law and Literature in Honor of Jacob Milgrom (Winona Lake, IN 1995), pp. 629–641, that Heber was a sort of mercenary in the service of Jabin of Hazor. 40 And not within the Jezreel Valley, as assumed in the past, or, as suggested by NiesiołowskiSpanò, south of Jerusalem. See N. Na’aman, “Pirathon and Ophrah”, BN 50 (1989), pp. 11– 16; H. Donner, “Ophra in Manasse: der Heimatort des Richters Gideon und des Königs Abimelech”, in E. Blum (ed.), Die Hebräische Bibel und ihre zweifache Nachgeschichte; Festschrift für Rolf Rendtorff (Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1990), pp. 193–206; E. A. Knauf, “Eglon and Ophrah: Two Toponymic Notes on the Book of Judges”, Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 51 (1991), pp. 25–44; Ł. Niesiołowski-Spanò, “Where Should One Look for Gideon’s Ophra?”, Biblica 86 (2005), pp. 478–493; all of which seem to have been unaware of the solution proposed by H. Eshel, “The Possible Location of Ophra, Town of Gideon”, Cathedra 22 (1982), pp. 3–8 (Hebrew). 41 N. K. Gottwald, The Tribes of Yahweh: A Sociology of the Religion of Liberated Israel, 1250–1050 BCE (Maryknoll, 1979), p. 216; G. A. Herion, “Issachar”, ABD, 3, p. 577. 42 Gal, op. cit. (note 37, 1982), pp. 79–86.

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cating that at least some of the clans of Issachar actually lived in the Ephraim hillcountry during Iron I, which would explain their absence from the valleys in the stories of Deborah and Gideon.43 And then there is Dan. The Danites’ ‘original’ inheritance was in the northern Shephelah, in the Sorek and Aijalon valleys (Josh 19:48). However, because “their inheritance went out from them”, they conquered the city of Leshem, settled it and named it Dan after their progenitor. According to Judg 1:34–35, it was the Amorites who pressed Dan into the hills, keeping Mount Heres, Aijalon and Shaalabim for themselves. And indeed, the Samson stories of chapters 13–16 take place further to the south, in the vicinity of Zorah and Eshtaol. Then in chapter 18 we are told that the city was called Laish, that it was a peaceful and pleasant place, that it was somehow associated with the ‘Sidonians’ and that the Danites indeed conquered it, killed its inhabitants and settled it, calling it Dan and erecting a cultic structure of some sort. There is no doubt as to the identification of Dan at Tell el-Qadi, now called Tel Dan. According to its longtime excavator, A. Biran, the last ‘Canaanite’ Late Bronze Age stratum was destroyed by fire, to be followed by a sparse settlement of seminomads, which gradually expanded, exhibiting ‘Israelite’ material culture. The identification of central hill country style ‘collared rim’ jars, found nowhere else north of the Jezreel Valley, seems to match the biblical tradition on the site being settled by ‘southerners’. Biran, however, was the first to admit that the archaeological picture was not a simple one, and that the situation was far more complex then that described in the Bible.44 2. Clan-based Societies Within the ‘main body’ of Judges, Israelite society is pictured as fragmented, without any central leadership and with only rudimentary regional leadership. Gideon, for example, is first an Abiezrite, only then a Manassite (6:11—in verse 15 Abiezer is described as “the weakest clan in Manasseh”). When Gideon prepared for battle against the Midianites, he first mustered his clan Abiezer, and only then did he send “messengers throughout all Manasseh, and they too were called out to follow him. He also sent messengers to Asher, Zebulun, and Naphtali, and they went up to meet them” (6:35). The same is true in the story of Jephthah, in which ‘Gilead’ is first and foremost a family or clan, and only then a region. The tribal name Manasseh is only mentioned secondarily in 11:29, when Jephthah “passed through Gilead and Manasseh”.45 Finally in the Samson narrative, Samson’s father is introduced as being ‫ממשפחת הדני‬, “from the family/clan of the Danites” (13:2), and the area in which he lived is described as ‫דן‬-‫מחנה‬, “the encampment of Dan”. In all of these narratives, the protagonists are described as being first and foremost members of ‘families’ or ‘clans’ (Hebrew ‫)משפחה‬. In many cases, the characters further refer to their ‘fathers’ 43

For more on the relationship between the name of the Judge and the tribal genealogy and a reconstruction of the tribe’s history, see Levin, “When did the Galilee become Israelite?”, pp. 125–128. 44 A. Biran, Dan – 25 Years of Excavations at Tel Dan (Tel-Aviv, 1992), pp. 115–134. More recently, Biran’s interpretation of the finds has come under attack as being too simplistic. See E. Arie, “Reconsidering the Iron Age II Strata at Tel Dan: Archaeological and Historical Implications”, TA 35 (2008), pp. 6–64. 45 The same is true in the story of Jair the Giladite in 10:3–5.

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house’ (‫)בית אב‬, the smaller patriarchal family unit.46 We should note that this ‘tribe-clan-fathers house’ structure appears often in the Bible, and seems to reflect the basic structure of Israelite society throughout the Iron Age and perhaps even later.47 It is reflected, among other things, by the way in which the Bible uses lineage as a means of introducing an important character.48 A prime example of the way in which this social structure is used can be seen in Josh 7:17–18, in which Joshua’s search for the transgressor is conducted first by tribe, then by clan and finally by house. From the many Iron Age I period hill-country sites that have been excavated and/or surveyed over the years, the following picture emerges: the sites are typically small, with the few houses often arranged in clusters, often protected by either a stone ‘fence’ or by the houses themselves being built in a rough circle. Such small hamlets or ‘clusters’ would have been home to such a ‫בית אב‬, while a group of such villages would have been inhabited by a ‘clan’ or ‫משפחה‬.49 In theory at least, a regional group of such clans is what makes up a ‘tribe’, although a comprehensive discussion of Israelite ‘tribalism’ is beyond the scope of this paper. In any case, the social structure of the Israelite clans as pictured in the Judges narratives seems to match the archaeological evidence of Iron Age I period hill-country villages. 3. Non-hierarchal Society The society pictured in the ‘main body’ of Judges, after setting aside the editorial framework, seems to lack any wide-ranging political organization. While the tribes of Israel certainly show a basic affinity to each other, they seem to have no overall structure of leadership.50 Other than in the editorial comments about the various 46

See, for example, 6:15,27; 9:1,5,18; 11:2,7; 14:15,19. For the bet ab, its structure and function see R. de Vaux, Ancient Israel: Its Life and Institutions (trans. from the French by J. McHugh; London, 19652), p. 20; L. E. Stager, “The Archaeology of the Family in Ancient Israel”, BASOR 260 (1985), pp. 1–35; H. Reviv, Society in the Kingdoms of Israel and Judah (Jerusalem, 1993), p. 47 (Hebrew); S. Bendor, The Social Structure of Ancient Israel – The Institution of the Family (Beit ’Ab) From the Settlement to the End of the Monarchy (Jerusalem, 1996), pp. 98–107; J. Blenkinsopp, “The Family in First Temple Israel”, in L. G. Perude et al. (eds.), Families in Ancient Israel (Louisville, 1997), pp. 49–57; A. Faust, “The Rural Community in Ancient Israel During Iron Age II”, BASOR 317 (2000), pp. 29–32. 47 For which see Bendor, ibid.; R. B. Coote, “Tribalism: Social Organization in the Biblical Israels”, in P. F. Esler (ed.), Ancient Israel: The Old Testament in its Social Context (Minneapolis, 2006), pp. 35–49. 48 See Y. Levin, “Understanding Biblical Genealogies”, Currents in Research: Biblical Studies 9 (2001), pp.11–46. 49 In addition to the literature cited above, see also Finkelstein, The Archaeology of the Israelite Settlement, pp. 237–291; Mazar, op. cit. (note 25), pp. 335–348; A. Faust, “The Israelite Village: Cultural Conservatism and Technological Innovation”, TA 32 (2005), pp. 204–219. 50 One possible exception is the Song of Deborah in chapter 5, which seems to presuppose a ten-tribe ‘nation’ or ‘federation’ upon which Deborah felt that she could call in time of war. However, while in the past the Song was usually assumed to be a very old, in fact an early Iron Age composition, in recent years this consensus has been challenged, with many scholars now seeing the Song as a late addition to the narrative of Judges. See, for example, E. A. Knauf, “Deborah’s Language: Judges ch. 5 in its Hebrew and Semitic Context”, in B. Burtea, J. Tropper and H. Younansardaroud (eds.), Studia Semitica et Semitohamitica; Festschrift für Rainer Voigt (Münster, 2005), pp. 167–182; G. T. K. Wong, “Song of Deborah as Polemic”, Biblica 88 (2007), pp. 1–22; R. de Hoop, “Judges 5 Reconsidered: Which Tribes? What

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heroes ‘judging Israel’, we do not hear of anything that could constitute a ‘national’ leadership, no ‘council of elders’, no high priesthood,51 certainly no king. Palaces, temples and kings are seen as foreign to Israel—the palace of Eglon of Moab, the Canaanite temples of Shechem, the temple of the Philistine Dagon and so on. In fact, as mentioned above, even references to the tribes themselves often seem to be out of place, with the individual character’s real self-identification being with his ‘clan’ or ‫משפחה‬. This, too, seems to reflect the reality of the Iron Age I period hill-country. While the size of the many ‘settlement sites’ varies, few are large enough to have been considered ‘regional capitals’, not to mention a national center. We know of no temples, palaces or any other monumental structures within these settlements.52 Very few Iron Age I tombs, which would have been used by a social or economic ‘elite’ had there been one, have been found in the hill-country. No caches of especially ornate pottery, jewelry or other indications of personal wealth have been found. All of this can be taken as a clear sign of what Faust calls an ‘egalitarian ethos’,53 which well matches the way in which Israelite society is described in Judges. The only hill-country ‘city’ that is described in Judges as having such structures as temples and palaces is Shechem, in the Abimelech story in chapter 9. And indeed, the only site within the hill-country at which such a temple has been found that can be dated to the Iron I period is that of Shechem/Tell Balatah, in which, according to Stager’s reinterpretation of G. E. Wright’s excavation results, the Middle Bronze Age II temple remained standing until the 11th century BCE.54 4. Cult The book of Judges very clearly assumes that all Israelites basically recognized Yahweh as their national deity, and were bound by covenant to worship Him alone. Indeed, this is a basic tenet of biblical theology in general and of the Deuteronomistic corpus in particular. As stated above, one of the main themes of the editorial framework of Judges is Israel’s repeated disloyalty to that covenant, their punishment, repentance and salvation. However, within the specific stories, we find very little of this conflict. Yahweh is the Israelites’ God, and we do not find any stories of them worshiping other gods. The closest we have is the story of Gideon/Jerubaal breaking down an altar of Baal in his hometown of Ophrah (6:25–32). And though V. Endris’ has read the entire Gideon-Abimelech story as one of conflict between Yahweh and Baal55 the MidianLand? Whose Song?, in J. van Ruiten and J. C. de Vos (eds.), The Land of Israel in Bible, History, and Theology: Studies in Honour of Ed Noort (Leiden, 2009), pp. 151–166. 51 The exception is chapter 20, which we consider to be part of the editorial ‘epilogue’. 52 The Iron Age I storage structures uncovered in Area C at Shiloh attest to the economic and perhaps cultic centrality of the site, but they can hardly be considered “monumental architecture” or constitute proof of a central administration for the entire hill country. See I. Finkelstein, Shiloh – The Archaeology of a Biblical Site (Tel Aviv, 1993), pp. 384–388. 53 Faust, op. cit. (note 25), pp. 93–107. 54 L. E. Stager, “The Fortress-Temple at Shechem and the ‘House of El, Lord of the Covenant’”, in P. H. Williams, Jr. and T. Hiebert (eds.), Realia Dei; Essays in Archaeology and Biblical Interpretation in Honor of Edward F. Campbell, Jr. at His Retirement (Atlanta, 1999), pp. 228–249. 55 V. Endris, “Yahweh versus Baal: A Narrative-Critical Reading of the Gideon/Abimelech Narrative”, JSOT 33 (2008), pp. 173–195.

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ites are not said to be Baal-worshippers and Gideon’s ephod is not said to have been a vessel of Baal-worship. Verses 33–35 of chapter 8, which relates Israel’s apostasy after the death of Gideon, should be seen as an editorial comment, rather than an integral part of the narrative. And even within chapter 9, nowhere is Abimelech accused of idolatry—not even by his half-brother Jotham. In other words, what was a major issue for the Deuteronomistic editors, was not a problem at all for the original narrators of the stories themselves. What references we do have to cultic practices in the stories of the judges, seem to point to a village-based, non-centralized form of worship: various types of altars built by individuals (such as Manoah in chapter 13) or by clans (such as the Abiezrites in chapter 6), at what seem to be open-air sites. This is even true in the ‘epilogue’, in which both Micah and the Danites build their own cultic sites—once again not viewed favorably by the editors, but still nowhere identified as ‘idolatrous’. The archaeological evidence of cultic activity in the Iron Age I hill-country indeed points to just such a decentralized, open-air, form of worship. Best-known, of course, are the two ‘standing-stones’ at Hazor, the ‘bull-site‘ in the Ephraim hills and the ‘altar’ on Mount Ebal in Manasseh.56 The non-Israelites, on the other hand, are pictured as worshipping in ‘temples’, be it the various structures at Shechem in chapter 9 or the temple of Dagon at Gaza at the end of chapter 16. Archaeologically speaking, other than the above-mentioned temple at Shechem, we also know of the three strata of Philistine temples at Tell Qasile, structures of cultic nature at Tel Miqne/Ekron and at Ashdod, and a recentlydiscovered Iron I cultic structure at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath as well.57 Mazar has also dated the ‘Double Temple’ at Beth-Shean to the ‘Canaanite’ stratum of the Iron Age I.58 5. Onomastics In a quantitative analysis of the personal names in Judges, R. S. Hess has shown that of the 41 names that appear primarily in Judges,59 six (Shamgar, Sisera, Purah, Zamunna, Sheshai and Talmai) seem to be non-Semitic and an additional eight (Ibzan, Adoni-bezek, Gideon, Zebah, Lappidoth, Achsah, Othniel, Tola) are Semitic but are unattested in the wider Western Semitic onomastic corpus. Four (Ehud, Gaal, 56 For a short summary see Mazar, op. cit. (note 25), pp. 348–352. For a more recent interpretation see D. Ben-Ami, “Early Iron Age Cult Places: New Evidence from Tel Hazor”, TA 33 (2006), pp. 121–133. 57 For the Tell Qasile temples see Mazar, op. cit. (note 25), pp. 319–323. For the cult structures at Ekron and Ashdod see T. Dothan, “The Aegean and the Orient: Cultic Interactions”, in W. G. Dever and S. Gitin (eds.), Symbiosis, Symbolism, and the Power of the Past: Canaan, Ancient Israel, and Their Neighbors from the Late Bronze Age through Roman Palaestina (Winona Lake, IN 2003), pp. 189–213. For the structure at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi /Gath see A. M. Maeir, “Chapter 1: The Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath Archaeological Project 1996–2010: Introduction, Overview and Synopsis of Results”, in A. M. Maeir (ed.), Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath I: Report on the 1996–2005 Seasons (ÄAT 69; Wiesbaden, in press), pp. 1–88; see also his article in this volume. 58 Mazar, op. cit. (note 36), pp. 260–261. 59 Disregarding names such as Aaron, Abiezer, Balak, Joshua, Moses, Gilead, Sihon, Phineas and a few others, to which I would also add Caleb—all of which ‘belong’ to a different book and are mentioned in Judges secondarily; and disregarding Cushan-rishathaim which seems to be artificial.

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Eglon and Oreb) are known from first-millennium sources, either within the Bible or from inscriptions. The remaining 26 names are all known—either as they appear in Judges or with slight variations—in 2nd millennium sources, although some are attested in the first millennium as well.60 Hess also counts six theophoric names, of which four (Jonathan, Joash, Jotham and Micah) are Yahwistic, one (Othniel) including the general West-Semitic name/title El, and only one that could be considered ‘Canaanite’ (Jerub-Baal).61 While Hess admits that the sample is not large and many of the names are problematic, this analysis seems to show that the onomastica of Judges is more ‘at home’ in Iron Age I than later, and, to the extent that it can be considered representative, does indeed indicate Yahwistic priority in name-giving. 6. Literary Style and Linguistic Analysis Dating biblical texts by their language is a tricky business. This results from the near-total lack of extra-biblical comparanda, and from the assumption that the biblical texts as we know them underwent a long process of redaction, which most probably included at least some stylistic editing as well. This renders anything more specific than a general distinction between ‘early’, ‘classical’ or ‘standard’ (preexilic) and ‘late’ (post-exilic) biblical Hebrew very difficult to sustain—and even that distinction is not universally accepted.62 However, in a series of studies on the literary style of various narrative blocks within what the ‘Deuteronomistic History’, F. Polak has shown that it is possible to distinguish between the narrative style of what he considers to be formal, chronistic writing (such as is used in much of Kings), and that of what he considers to be narrative writing, based on the style of oral transmission, such as parts of the patriarchal narratives in Genesis, some of the ‘savior’ narratives in Judges, and the stories about Samuel, Saul and David in the book of Samuel.63 Even more recently he has emphasized that these narratives make very few references to the act of writing, perhaps 60

Hess includes biblical occurrences as being ‘1st millennium’, which is of course correct. R. S. Hess, “Israelite Identity and Personal Names from the Book of Judges”, Hebrew Studies 44 (2003), pp. 25–39. For a more anthropological but specifically less historical view of the onomastica of Judges, see S. Scham, “The Days of the Judges: When Men and Women Were Animals and Trees Were Kings”, JSOT 97 (2002), pp. 37–64. 62 For one such inconclusive study specific to Judges see Y. T. Radday, “The Book of Judges Examined by Statistical Linguistics”, Biblica 58 (1977), pp. 469–499. For other such attempts, and objections raised in recent years see A. Hurvitz, “Can Biblical Texts be Dated Linguistically? Chronological Perspectives in the Historical study of Biblical Hebrew”, in A. Lemaire and M. Sæbø (eds.), Congress Volume – Oslo 1998 (VTS 80; Leiden, 2000), pp. 143–160; idem, “Continuity and Change in Biblical Hebrew: The Linguistic History of a Formulaic Idiom from the Realm of the Royal Court”, in S. E. Fassberg and A. Hurvitz (eds.), Biblical Hebrew in Its Northwest Semitic Setting; Typological and Historical Perspectives (Jerusalem – Winona Lake, 2006), pp. 127–133; P. R. Davies, “Biblical Hebrew and the History of Ancient Judah: Typology, Chronology and Common Sense”, in I. Young (ed.), Biblical Hebrew; Studies in Chronology and Typology (London, 2003), pp. 150–163; R. Rezetko, “Dating Biblical Hebrew: Evidence from Samuel-Kings and Chronicles”, in Young (ed.), ibid., pp. 215–250; F. H. Polak, “Sociolinguistics: A Key to the Typology and the Social Background of Biblical Hebrew”, Hebrew Studies 47 (2006), pp. 115–162. 63 F. H. Polak, “The Oral and the Written: Syntax, Stylistics and the Development of Biblical Prose Narrative”, JANES 26 (1998), pp. 59–105; idem, “The Style of the Dialogue in Biblical Prose Narrative”, JANES 28 (2001), pp. 53–95. 61

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reflecting a recollection of a reality in which writing itself was relatively uncommon.64 In other words, despite the paucity of evidence, it is possible to say that the episodes in the ‘main body’ of Judges at least seem to reflect the style that one would expect in a non-urban society such as that of Iron Age I Israel, albeit allowing for a certain amount of ‘style-editing’ on their way from oral tradition to their present written form.

IV. Conclusions In this paper, we have attempted to uncover both the ideology that underlies the editorial framework of the book of Judges and the reality that is reflected in its individual stories. We have seen that the editorial framework, which we have characterized as ‘Deuteronomistic’, is primarily concerned with the covenant between Israel and Yahweh, and with Israel’s disloyalty to that covenant. Yahweh had fulfilled his part by giving the land to Israel, but Israel did not fulfill theirs when they neglected to complete the conquest. As a result, the remaining Canaanites led Israel into apostasy, to which Yahweh reacted as is written in the covenant. In order to maintain this theme, the editors of Judges had to make two basic assumptions: that there actually was such a nation as ‘Israel’, that twelve-tribe confederation that Yahweh had brought out of Egypt and to whom He had given the land, and that that ‘Israel’ had some sort of leadership that could lead them to either loyalty or apostasy. And so the editorial framework of Judges carefully constructs both a nation and a picture of leadership, both of which fail the ultimate test of keeping the covenant, leading the reader to the conclusion that only a monarchy, established upon the principles of the covenant, can ultimately lead Israel to a secure future under that covenant. As such, the picture drawn by the editorial framework is largely artificial. On the other hand, underneath that editorial framework lie the individual stories, of course not in their original narrative form, but adapted to the written medium. Nevertheless, the style and form of those stories seem not to be far removed from those orally-transmitted original stories. This is also true of the reality that can be gleaned from those stories: settlement patterns, demographics, onomastics, urbanization (or rather the lack of it), leadership, society and cult all seem to match the reality of Iron Age I. This, in turn, has repercussions that go beyond the study of the book of Judges. If all of the above is correct, it allows us to peek once again at the editorial process of the Deuteronomistic History. It show a process of transmission, at first oral and then in writing, of traditions and narratives from the early Iron Age. It also shows us how far the later editors of those books were willing to take those narratives and fit them into a style and content that they felt would best serve the messages that they, the editors, wished to convey. All of this should be taken into account in the future study of biblical historiography.

64

Idem, “Socio-Linguistic Aspects of Biblical Hebrew”, in Z. Tashir (ed.), The Literature of the Hebrew Bible: Introductions and Studies, I (Jerusalem, 2011), pp. 105–128, esp. 117 (Hebrew).

MELID IN THE EARLY AND MIDDLE IRON AGE ARCHAEOLOGY AND HISTORY

MARIO LIVERANI Università di Roma “La Sapienza”

I. Introduction

The excavations at Arslantepe, ancient Melid (near modern Malatya) were originally stimulated by the Neo-Hittite sculptures visible on the ground or kept in the village,1 and were consequently focussed on the Neo-Hittite levels. This holds true not only for the excavations by L. Delaporte in 1930–19382 and by C. Schaeffer in 1949– 1951,3 but also for the Italian excavations, started in 1960,4 which devoted an important effort in clarifying these ‘late’ levels, which had been left in a precarious state of understanding after the extensive excavations of Delaporte and the huge trenches of Schaeffer. The campaigns 1963–1968 (including the excavation of a Hittite imperial city gate) were published by the late P. E. Pecorella in a preliminary monograph.5 After 1968, however, the Italian mission had to concentrate its efforts on the early periods, because of the primary task of excavating the spectacular public buildings of the Late Chalcolithic and Late Uruk periods, and the complete sequence of the Early Bronze Age.6 Activity on the late levels, especially important on the northern part of the mound, was therefore suspended.

1

See G. Bell photos in www.gerty.ncl.ac.uk. L. Delaporte, Malatya I. La porte des lions (Paris, 1940); idem, “La troisième campagne de fouilles à Malatya”, RHA 5 (1939), pp. 43–56. 3 C. Schaeffer, “Fouilles à Enkomi et à Arslan-Tépé”, CRAI, 1948, pp. 341–345; 1951, pp. 325–326; E. Weidner, “[Ausgrabungen in] Arslan Tepe”, AfO 16 (1952–1953), pp. 151–152. 4 S. Puglisi and P. Meriggi, Malatya I. Rapporto preliminare delle campagne 1961 e 1962 (Roma, 1964). 5 P. E. Pecorella, Malatya III. Rapporto preliminare delle campagne 1963–1968. Il livello eteo imperiale e quelli neoetei (Roma, 1975). 6 M. Frangipane and A. Palmieri, “Perspectives of Protourbanization in Eastern Anatolia: Arslantepe (Malatya). An Interim Report on 1975–1983 Campaigns”, Origini 12 (1983), pp. 285–668; M. Frangipane (ed.), Arslantepe (Milano, 2004); idem (ed.), Arslantepe Cretulae. An Early Centralised Administrative System Before Writing (Roma, 2007). 2

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Fig. 1: The pillared hall of Neo-Hittite Melid, general view from east

After 40 years of intermission, the excavation of the northern area has been resumed in 2008,7 with the double intent of clarifying the stratigraphy and topography of the area (centred on the famous ‘Lions Gate’, now kept in the Ankara Museum of the Anatolian Civilization) during the middle Iron Age period, and of excavating the previous levels (early Iron Age), in order to get a continuous sequence from the level of the Hittite Imperial Gate to that of the Lions Gate. The 2008 campaign was concentrated on the first task, and was rewarded by the discovery of an important pillared hall (see Fig. 1) underneath an Assyrian building excavated by Delaporte with two pavings of river pebbles providing for the first time a date for the Lions Gate based on the pottery inventory rather than on the style of the sculptured reliefs.8 The 2009 campaign started the excavation under the pillared hall, discovering that the monumental complex of the 9th–8th centuries BCE had been preceded by a couple of centuries of abandonment, with squatters living on the ruins of a big city wall (M159) burnt and partly collapsed around the middle of the 11th century BCE. 7

I am grateful to M. Frangipane, director of the Arslantepe excavation, for entrusting me with the Neo-Hittite area; to F. Manuelli, L. Barbato and others who worked there during the 2008–2010 campaigns; to C. Alvaro and G. De Persiis for the topographical work. 8 Pottery analysis by F. Manuelli, “Foreign Influences and Local Tradition in the Iron Age Pottery Production from Arslantepe”, Mesopotamia 45 (2010), pp. 71–84; idem, “Pottery as an Indicator of Interregional Changing Relations in the Upper Euphrates Valley”, in Proceedings of the 2010 Koç University Conference: Across the Border, forthcoming. See M. Liverani, “Il salone a pilastri della Melid neo-hittita”, Scienze dell’Antichità 15 (2010), pp. 649–675. For references to the previous dating of the Lions Gate see idem, “The Pillared Hall of Neo-Hittite Melid: A New Link in the Development of an Architectural Type”, in C. Lippolis and S. de Martino (eds.), Studi in onore di A. Invernizzi, Firenze 2011, pp. 91–112.

MELID IN THE EARLY AND MIDDLE IRON AGE

Table 1: The Arslantepe (northern area) sequence, after the 2010 campaign

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During the 2010 campaign we reached firstly the level of the burnt city wall M159 on whose inner floor (A1278) two sculptured slabs were found, quite similar in style and iconography to previously known slabs probably coming from the Schaeffer Gate;9 and then the level of a ‘Green Building’ (A1279) whose eastern half had been cut away by Schaeffer’s big trench and partly excavated by Pecorella10 —a level subsequent to the collapse of the Imperial Gate, and preceding the burnt city wall. A preliminary report of the 2008 campaign has already appeared,11 and the major problems of the sequence (early Iron crisis, discontinuity in the political order, etc.) have been treated on the occasion of the 2010 Istanbul conference (Koç University) devoted to the Late Bronze – early Iron transition.12 The information will not be repeated here, but a short summary of the sequence, in tabular form is provided for the sake of an immediate visualization of the chronology (see Table 1).

II. The Sequence The main results of the 2008–2010 excavation (with caution due to the fact that the dig is still going on) can be selected and commented as follows: 1. The destruction of the ‘Imperial Gate’ (by a huge fire), assumed to have happened shortly after 1200 BCE,13 and resulting in a layer of burnt collapsed mudbricks, was followed by the building of a new city wall, whose poor remains are visible immediately above the ruins of the Imperial Gate and immediately under the foundation of M159. This level continues inside the citadel, with the ‘Green Building’ A1279 (an important, probably public building, see Fig. 2). For the moment being, pending the results of the radio-carbon dates and the study of the pottery, we can only suggest that the ‘Green Level’ started immediately after the collapse of the Imperial Gate, and was rather short-living, ending in an event of abandonment (with no fire nor collapse). Our dates, 1180–1100 BCE, are clearly only a guess. 2. A new city wall was built (M159), and its gate was adorned with sculptured slabs (some of them later to be re-used in the Lions Gate). We have evidence for two sub-phases: firstly the city wall was built, later the city gate was added, slightly inside the M159 wall, on a new wall (A1278 M1) which was perhaps still in course of being completed (and the sculptured slabs installed) when it was destroyed by a huge fire (Fig. 3). Information from an archaeo-magnetic analysis of the burnt bricks

9

One of our slabs, with a winged genius, is identical to two slabs in the Ankara Museum and one in the Malatya Museum. The slabs will be published by F. Manuelli. 10 See Pecorella, op. cit. (note 5), pls. XLIV-XLV (photos) and fig. G (plan) and I (section). 11 Liverani, op. cit. (note 8). 12 M. Liverani, “Neo-Hittite Melid: Continuity or Discontinuity?”, in Proceedings of the 2010 Koç University Conference: Across the Border, forthcoming; Manuelli, op. cit. (note 8); idem, “Malatya-Melid between the Late Bronze and the Iron Age: Preliminary Observations on the Pottery Assemblages”, in K. Strobel (ed.), Empires after the Empire (Klagenfurt conference), forthcoming. 13 Pecorella, op. cit. (note 5), passim, does not advance any precise date for the end of the Hittite Imperial period at Arslantepe (“level I”); see now F. Manuelli, “Some Remarks on the Late Bronze Pottery Assemblages from Arslantepe”, in Proceedings of the 6th ICAANE, III (Wiesbaden, 2010), pp. 399–409.

MELID IN THE EARLY AND MIDDLE IRON AGE

Fig. 2: The North-West corner of the ‘green building’ A1279, view from south; on the left the city wall M159

Fig. 3: The city wall M159 and its stone foundation, above the Imperial Gate (on the right)

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suggest a date for the destruction around the 1050 BCE;14 while previous radiocarbon dates of burnt wood samples from a destruction layer above the Imperial Gate are clearly too low, but their precise stratigraphic context is lost, and they could in case be connected with this second fire event rather than the first one.15 3. For a substantial period (150 to 200 years) the city wall and city gate were not rebuilt, and the entire area (i.e. the top and the inner and outer slopes of the ruin of M159) remained devoid of buildings, just occupied by squatters’ installations such as pits,16 post-holes, fire-places, shelters (small alignments of bricks), marking an obvious interruption in the use of the citadel as a protected ‘palatine’ area (see Figs. 4–5). 4. The new occupation of the area started around 900 BCE (or slightly later), with a structure oriented north-south (A1210+). But after a while a new (shorter) squatters period intervened. 5. The major complex, including the Lions Gate and the first paving of our pillared hall (A1168)17 was built around 825 BCE; its second paving (A1142)18 was built around 750 BCE (see Figs. 6–7). Such chronological estimates are based on the pottery included in the fill in between the two pavings of the hall.19 6. A1142 was destroyed by Sargon II ca. 710 BCE. The subsequent Assyrian building (A1139+, see Fig. 8), excavated by Delaporte some 80 years ago, and left unpublished (due to his tragic death in a Nazi concentration camp), cannot be dated now on new information, but just on the chronological pattern established by Delaporte himself.20

14

After the present paper had been completed, we received information from P. Ertepinar, METU Ankara, that the paleo-magnetic date for the destruction of M159 is to be lowered to 970 BCE; in this case our ‘Post-Imperial Period’ should be extended, and our ‘Squatters Period’ reduced accordingly. But for the moment, pending our 14C dates of the entire sequence, we keep the chronology as outlined here. 15 Two burnt wood samples assumed to belong to this phase were dated to 885±70 and 845±60 BCE uncalibrated by M. Alessio and F. Bella, “University of Rome Carbon-14 Dates, IV”, Radiocarbon 8 (1966), pp. 401–406 (quoted by J. D. Hawkins, “Kuzi-Tešub and the ‘Great Kings’ of Karkamiš”, AnSt 38 [1988], p. 103, n. 20, and by Pecorella, op. cit. [note 5], p. 10), corresponding to calibrated dates (1σ) 1113–910 and 1013–847, with a middle date ca. 960 BCE. 16 In addition to normal pits, we a have huge pits (ca. 4 or even 5m in diameter, and as deep as 2m), some of them already met by Pecorella and considered silos from Level II, i.e. postAssyrian (Pecorella, op. cit., [note 5], p. 14 and pl. xlvi), but since they are clearly covered by structures of the 9th–8th centuries, their belonging to our ‘squatters phase’ is certain. 17 A1168: see the preliminary report in Liverani, op. cit. (note 8), pp. 661–665; for additional remarks see idem, “From Melid through Bastam to Megiddo. Stables and Horses in Iron Age II”, in Festschrift F. M. Fales, forthcoming. 18 A1142: see the preliminary report by Liverani op. cit. (note 8, 2010), pp. 657–660; for additional remarks see idem, op. cit. (note 8, FS Invernizzi). 19 Manuelli, op. cit. (note 8). 20 A1139: see Liverani, op. cit. (note 8: 2010), pp. 650–654; see also Delaporte, op. cit. (note 2, 1940), pl. I (plan); idem, op. cit. (note 2, 1939), pl. 8–9 (stratigraphy, drawn from the walls of a décauville trench).

MELID IN THE EARLY AND MIDDLE IRON AGE

Fig. 4: Large plastered pits from Level 8a

Fig. 5: Fireplace and bin in the squatters’ installation of Level 8a

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Fig. 6: Plan of the 8th century BCE pillared hall A1142

MELID IN THE EARLY AND MIDDLE IRON AGE

Fig. 7: The 9th century BCE columned hall A1168, view from south-west (the pillars of A1142 still in place)

Fig. 8: The Neo-Assyrian building A1139+, view from south

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This is, in a simplified form, the present state of knowledge. Everybody can immediately realize how our sequence is relevant to the problems of the present conference: time and modalities of the transition from Late Bronze to early Iron Ages, nature of the early Iron Age settlement, rise of the middle Iron Age settlement and polity, etc. I would especially anticipate two points: (a) the history of Melid, commonly assumed to be characterized by strong continuity, appears marked by important events of discontinuity; (b) the major crisis was not the immediate effect of the collapse of the Hittite empire (early-12th century BCE), but was delayed of some 150 years (mid-11th century BCE). Our present knowledge is expected to be confirmed or adjusted, and certainly refined, by the ongoing fieldwork, by the study of the pottery remains, and by radiocarbon dates. But for the moment being, also a tentative connection of the stratigraphic sequence with the historical information can be of some interest.21 Such a correlation of texts and archaeology is the specific subject of the present paper.

III. The Destruction of the Imperial Gate and City Wall After a century (ca. 1500–1400 BCE) of loose Hittite presence during the Middle Hittite period, best illustrated by the so-called Mita text22 in which the elders of Maldiya, together with those of Ishuwa, Pakhkhuwa and Sukhme, swear an oath of loyalty, Melid became part of the Hittite kingdom (ca. 1400–1200 BCE), as a strategic fortified centre on the Euphrates frontier, facing the area of the Ishuwa and Alshe polities (with Khayasha in a more northerly location).23 The building of a city wall and city gate (our ‘Imperial Gate’) and the use of pottery of a ‘peripheral Hittite’ horizon is the archaeological mark of this period.24 The end is marked by an event of destruction important enough (as already said) to leave a deep layer of burnt debris, and to require not just a repair of the old wall, but the building of a new wall and a new gate (at a higher elevation and inner location). Such an event, roughly correlated as it is to the end of the Hittite empire, could be the effect of an outer intervention. A possible candidate is the migration of the Mushki people, assumed to be the vanguard of the Phrygian incomers. In recent historiography, both

21

Standard historical information about Melid can be found in J. D. Hawkins, “Melid. A. Historisch”, in RlA 8, pp. 35–41; idem, “Hittites and Assyrians at Melid (Malatya)”, in XXXIV. International Assyriology Congress, Istanbul (Ankara, 1998), pp. 63–77; idem, Corpus of Hieroglyphic Luwian Inscriptions, I/1 (Berlin – New York, 2000), pp. 282–288; see also A. Archi, “Malitiya–Meliddu: Arslantepe nelle fonti scritte”, in M. Frangipane (ed.), Arslantepe (Milano, 2004), pp. 173–174 and M. Liverani, “Gli Ittiti sulle rive dell’Eufrate”, in Frangipane (ed.), ibid., pp. 161–165. 22 On the Pakhkhuwa text see O. R. Gurney, Mitta of Paḫḫuwa, AAA 28 (1968), pp. 32–47; H. A. Hoffner, “A Join to the Hittite Mita Text”, JCS 28 (1976), pp. 60–62; on date and historical context see P. H. J. Houwink ten Cate, The Records of the Early Hittite Empire (Leiden – Istanbul, 1970), pp. 61–68; see also G. Torri, “Militärische Feldzüge nach Ostanatolien in der mittelhethitischen Zeit”, AoF 32 (2005), pp. 386–400. 23 For a general location of these lands see M. Forlanini, Atlante storico del Vicino Oriente antico, 4.3: Anatolia: l’impero hittita (Roma, 1986), pls. XIX–XX. 24 Manuelli, op. cit. (notes 8 and 12).

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the identification of the Mushki with the Phrygians, and also their responsibility in the collapse of the Hittite empire, have been put in doubt.25 It is relevant, however, to remind that Tiglath-pileser I, in celebrating his victory over an important Mushki contingent (20,000 people), relates that they had previously occupied for 50 years the lands of Alzi and Purulumzi, before moving southwards to Katmukhu and threatening Assyria itself26. Now, in terms of chronology, the Katmukhu fight of Tiglath-pileser against the Mushki is dated to the first year of the Assyrian king, i.e. to 1114 BCE, so that the Mushki had occupied Alzi and Purulumzi around 1170/1165 BCE (obviously ‘50 years’ is a round figure). Such a date fits conveniently with the traditional reconstruction of a Mushki (Phrygian) invasion, in the direction from west to east, culminating in the destruction of the Hittite capital city around 1180 BCE, and reaching its easternmost extent (on the Upper Euphrates basin) some 10/15 years later. In terms of topography, while the location of Purulumzi remains unknown, Alzi (the Alshe of the Hittite texts) is certainly located in the Elaziğ area,27 and an invading force coming from central Anatolia and arriving at Alzi could quite well have passed through Melid. A connection of the Mushki arrival at Alzi and the destruction of the Melid ‘Imperial Gate’ and city wall is admittedly hypothetical; but for sure this arrival had been the major disruptive event in the Upper Euphrates area in the second quarter of the 12th century BCE.

IV. The ‘Green Building’, the New City Wall and the Early Kings of Melid The city wall was built anew, most probably twice, and during one century (mid-12th to mid-11th centuries BCE in our tentative chronology) also some important buildings like our ‘Green Building’ A1279 were founded inside the citadel. Melid remained an important, fortified city and kingdom, with a lower town extending up to a distance of some 200m (or more) outside the citadel.28 No longer part of the Hittite empire, which had already disappeared, Melid kept a special relation with Carchemish, since its first kings were descendants of Kuzi-Teshub, the king of Carchemish in the first half of the 12th century.29 It seems that the kings of Carchemish, who already during the 13th century played the role of viceroys for the entire Syrian extent of the empire, when the central government collapsed were able to extend 25

Recent studies include V. Sevin, “The Early Iron Age in the Elaziğ Region and the Problem of the Mushkians”, AnSt 41 (1991), pp. 87–97; A.-M. Wittke, Mušker und Phryger. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte Anatoliens vom 12. bis zum 7. Jh. V. Chr. (TAVO Beihefte, B 99; Wiesbaden, 2004); G. Fieder, “Les Phrygiens en Tyanide et le problème des Muskis”, Res Antiquae 2 (2005), pp. 389–398. 26 RIMA 2, p. 14 (i 62–88); more briefly on pp. 33 (18–20), 42 (18–19), 53 (21–23). 27 For a general location see S. Parpola and M. Porter (eds.), The Helsinki Atlas of the Near East in the Neo-Assyrian Period (Helsinki, 2001), map 3 (Enzi/Alzi). 28 As ascertained by the Kiel University team hosted in 2010 by the Arslantepe mission; the existence of a lower town was previously unknown. 29 Hawkins, op. cit. (note 15); idem, “The End of the Bronze Age in Anatolia: New Light from Recent Discoveries”, in A. Çilinigiroğlu and D. H. French (eds.), Anatolian Iron Ages 3 (Ankara, 1994), pp. 91–94; idem, “Anatolia: The End of the Hittite Empire and After”, in E. A. Braun-Holzinger and H. Matthäus (eds.), Die nahöstlichen Kulturen und Griechenland an der Wende vom 2. zum 1. Jahrtausend v. Chr. (Möhnesee, 2002), pp. 144–151.

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their control all over the Upper Euphrates valley, at least for a while. Note that the 12th century kings of Melid, the grand-sons of Kuzi-Teshub, i.e. Runtiya and Arnuwanti, are attested in inscriptions found not on the Arslantepe mound but on steles erected around the Tohma Su basin and on its upper course (at Gürün, Kötükale, Ispekçür, Darende),30 as if the control of the north-western border of the kingdom had a special meaning and importance to those kings. Be it as it may, Melid was a fortified city and a kingdom when Tiglath-pileser I went there (during his fourth campaign, towards 1100 BCE, and again a second time later on), and received the tribute of Allumara.31 The Assyrian king defines Melid as “rebellious and insubmissive”, and admits not to have stormed the city—a possible hint at its effective defensive wall. As to Allumara, his name does not fit with any of the royal names attested in the local inscriptions, and an identification would remain totally hypothetical. His kingdom being labelled as ša KUR Ha-at-te GAL-te “of (= belonging to) the Great Hatti” (“Khanigalbat” in the Annals is commonly considered a scribal mistake) is a possible (or even evident?) hint at its relationship to the ‘Great Kingdom’of Carchemish. It is important to note that the same date ca. 1180–1070 for the life of our ‘postImperial’ wall(s) and gate(s) corresponds to the date of the Early Iron wall and city gate of Tille.32 The difference is that in Arslantepe this phase was preceded by an important imperial Hittite presence during the 14th and 13th centuries, while at Tille it seems to follow a period devoid of occupation. But the coeval construction and destruction of the walls in both sites can suggest that we are dealing with an arrangement not of local extent but common to the entire Upper Euphrates valley.33 Of course if the Carchemish hegemony reached Melid, it should have reached also Tille (which is located in between); and such a hegemony could have been effective in reorganizing the entire area after the collapse of the empire.

V. The Destruction of M159 The city wall M159, which was firmly standing around 1110 (on the occasion of Tiglath-pileser’s visit), was destroyed some decades later by a huge fire. Looking for a possible ‘signature’ of the event, we could consider a passage in the Annals of Ashur-bel-kala relating extensive destructions in the highland area of Urartu and adjacent regions.34 Among the many toponyms mentioned, a special attention (on 30

Hawkins, op. cit. (note 21, 2000), pp. 295–305. RIMA 2, pp. 22–23 (Annals, V 33–41); 43 (31–33). 32 G. D. Summers, “1988 Tille Höyük kazısı”, in 11. Kazı Sonuçları Toplantısı (1989), (Ankara, 1990), pp. 305–316; idem, Tille Höyük 4. The Late Bronze Age and the Iron Age Transition (Ankara, 1993), pp. 9–10, 13–15, 30–37, 55–56, 179; idem, “Some Implications of Revised Dates for the Late Bronze and Early Iron Ages at Tille Höyük”, in Proceedings of the 2010 Koç University Conference Across the Border, forthcoming 33 The comparison Melid/Tille has been already suggested at the Koç Conference, see Liverani, op. cit. (note 12). 34 RIMA 2, p. 97. Note that RIMA 2 edits the various fragments separately, while E. Weidner, “Die Annalen des Königs Aššurbêlkala von Assyrien”, AfO 6 (1930–1931), pp. 75–94 tried to reconstruct a unique sequence. The connection of the Melid passage with the narrative of the Urartu campaign of the accession year is accepted also by Grayson himself in ARI II, §§ 216– 220. 31

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the way back) is devoted (line 12’) to KUR mi-il-d[i-x], which can be easily integrated as -d[i-a]. Previous translators35 of the passage have never suggested an identification with Melid (nor with any other known site), but such an identification appears to be more than a simple possibility36. The event is dated to the first year of the Assyrian king, i.e. 1073–1072 BCE, a date which fits quite well with the approximate date of the destruction of M159 according to the archaeo-magnetic date from the burnt wall already mentioned.

VI. The Squatters Period During a couple of centuries, ca. 1070–850 BCE, corresponding to our ‘squatters’ occupation’ on the Arslantepe mound, Melid is never mentioned in the Assyrian or Urartian sources, nor is there any positive reason to date any of the local inscriptions in that period—unless for the sake of filling the gap in between the Kuzi-Teshup descendants and the later kings of Melid. The period is one of general crisis all over the area, including Assyria itself, but the silence of the sources can be related not only to the weakness of Assyria, but to the local conditions as well. Melid features again in the Assyrian sources as KUR ma-li-da-a-a in the “banquet stele” of Ashurnasirpal II, in the list of envoys of foreign polities present at the opening of the new palace at Kalkhu.37 The polities are both kingdoms and chiefdoms, and are listed in a clock-wise order along the outer periphery of Assyria, from the Middle Euphrates (Sukhu, Khindanu), to North Syria (Patinu, Khatti [i.e. Carchemish], Tyre, Sidon), to the Upper Euphrates (Gurgum, Melid), to Azerbaijan (Khubusku, Gilzanu) and Iraqi Kurdistan (Kumme and Musasir). The text (and the event it celebrates) is rather late in the reign of Ashurnasirpal (later than the entire set of campaigns narrated in the Annals), and can be assigned to the years 865/860 BCE. Melid features again also under Shalmaneser III. The Assyrian king mentions the city three times. In his 6th campaign (852) he just received tribute from afar, sent (among other kings) by “Lalla the Melidian” (lal-li urume-li-da-a-a).38 In his 15th campaign (843) he reached the Euphrates on the left bank, in front of Melid, received again tribute from the same king, and had his rock stele erected on the spot.39 By the way, the rock stele has not been found and could have been obliterated by the stele engraved on the same spot by Sarduri one century later40—a kind of usurpation with an obvious political meaning. Finally, in his 23rd campaign (835) Shalmaneser

35

Weidner, ibid, pp. 84–85, with n. 57; ARAB I, § 133; ARI II, § 217; RIMA 2, p. 97. It is true that most of the campaign takes place in a more easterly area, but the way back could have followed the Upper Euphrates valley. 37 RIMA 2, p. 293 (143–147). 38 RIMA 3, p. 23 (83). 39 RIMA 3, p. 39 (54–57). 40 See n. 49 below. To tell the truth, the Sarduri stele is not so deeply cut into the rock wall to make it reasonable to assume a previous engraving eventually deepened, see photo in M. Salvini, Corpus dei testi urartei. I: Le iscrizioni su pietra e roccia, i testi, III (Roma, 2008), p. 267; but the Shalmaneser stele could have occupied a smaller area. Now the site is covered by the Karakaya Dam Lake. 36

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crossed the Euphrates and conquered one of the fortresses of Lalla41. This last campaign is also recorded in the Eponym List (a-na kurme-li-di)42. The period ca. 860–835 BCE corresponds (in our stratigraphic sequence) to the first attempt to revive a monumental arrangement of the Melid citadel, with the ‘orthogonal building’ A1210+. But the period could not have been particularly prosperous nor peaceful, due to the instability (and destructions) brought about by Shalmaneser III activities against Urartu and the surrounding countries. The following decades (ca. 830–800 BCE), in between the last mention by Shalmaneser and the first mention by Menua (see below), are devoid of external mentions and could correspond to our ‘later squatters occupation’.

VII. The First (Columned) Hall A1168 The period during which the columned hall A1168 was in use in the Melid citadel, has been dated ca. 825–750 BCE, on ceramic grounds.43 The hall had an utilitarian look and function (as a guard-post, admitting soldiers, horses, and visitors), adjacent to and connected with the newly built Lions Gate.44 This period is exactly coincident with the Urartian pressure against, and consequent hegemony over Melid (and the entire Neo-Hittite area), while Assyria was partly blocked by her ‘feudal’ period. Assyrian kings and turtānus did carry out several campaigns, both in Syria and in Mannea, but never in the Upper Euphrates area.45 The Urartian pressure started with Menua (ca. 810–780 BCE), who received the tribute of Melid (URU mì-li-ti5-i-a).46 Argishti I (ca. 780–756 BCE) on one occasion defeated Khilaruata, who is known to have been a king of Melid;47 on anther occasion he went through the territory of Melid (URU mì-li-ti5-a), mentioning a Tuate who from the context appears to have been a king of Melid, he too.48 The area of Melid (i.e. the lands west of the Euphrates, from an Urartian perspective) is called Khatti, and the Murat Su valley around Elaziğ is called Ṣupa, deportees from both lands being taken to the new capital city of Erbuni.49 But the apex of the Urartian 41

RIMA 3, p. 67 (107–109); partly broken on p. 79 (181’–183’). A. Millard, The Eponyms of the Assyrian Empire (SAAS 2; Helsinki, 1994), p. 29 (eponym Shep-sharri). 43 See Manuelli, op. cit. (notes 8 and 12). 44 See Liverani, op. cit. (note 17); on stables and horses see J. S. Holladay, “The Stables of Ancient Israel”, in L. T. Geraty and L. G. Herr (eds.), The Archaeology of Jordan and Other Studies Presented to S. H. Horn (Berrien Springs, MI 1986), pp. 103–165; and now the extensive discussion in I. Finkelstein, D. Ussishkin and B. Halpern (eds.), Megiddo, IV. The 1988–2002 Seasons (Tel Aviv, 2006), pp. 630–687. 45 For a fast look on the campaigns in the period of 827–744 BCE, see Millard, op. cit. (note 41), pp. 57–59. Shamshi-ilu’s campaigns “against Urartu” in the years 781–776 BCE were carried out from the east (Mannea) not from the west (Upper Euphrates), see M. Liverani, “Shamshi-ilu, Ruler of Hatti and Guti, and the Sefire and Bukan Steles”, in D. Bredi, L. Capezzone, W. Dahmash and L. Rostagno (eds.), Scritti in Onore di B. Scarcia Amoretti (Roma, 2008), pp. 751–762. 46 Salvini, op. cit. (note 39), pp. 192–193 (7–16). 47 Idem, ibid., pp. 335–336 (II 5–6). 48 Idem, ibid., pp. 335–336 (II 11–17). 49 Idem, ibid., pp. 327–328 (V 21–22) and 335–336 (II 36–37). 42

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presence at Melid occurs under Sarduri II (ca. 756–730 BCE) who celebrates – with most detail in his rock stele above the left bank of the Euphrates just in front of Melid50—his victory over Khilaruata and the conquest of a score of fortresses in the territory of Melid.

VIII. The Second (Pillared) Hall A1142 The political relations changed as a consequence of the Kishtan battle (743 BCE), won by Tiglath-pileser III over Sarduri II and his Neo-Hittite and North Syrian allies, including Sulumal of Melid51. As a consequence of the battle, the defeated kings were submitted to tribute52. The subsequent period of Assyrian overlordship in the area, 743–712 BCE, corresponds quite well with the period when the pillared hall A1142 was in use. Differently from A1168 (of practical use), the function of the new hall was clearly ceremonial, a possible hint at some kind of restriction that the vassalage to Assyria brought about in the political/military activities of Melid. Although we do not have ceramic evidence for the date of the destruction of A1142 (its paving having been totally cleaned in order to be used as a flat surface sustaining the Assyrian building), it seems obvious to attribute this event to the intervention of Sargon II and his destruction of Melid. The exact date of the destruction requires, however, some comments. The conquest of Melid was the issue of the rebellion of king Tarkhunazi, who had replaced pro-Assyrian Gunzinanu, to join Mita of Mushki. The Annals date the conquest and destruction in the 10th year, i.e. in 712 BCE.53 Comparison with other inscriptions and with the Eponym List, suggest however that the city was conquered and entrusted to Muttallu of Kummukh in the 11th year, i.e. in 711 BCE:54 probably the Annals record the entire affair under the year when the rebellion had started. Moreover, it is not clear whether the city was badly destroyed (“I smashed it like a pot”)55 or was spared since the people surrendered and opened the doors to the Assyrians. On the one hand, the Annals clearly refer the surrender of Til-Garimmu, and the text continues relating the fate of Tarkhunazi.56 On the other hand, the fragment of the so-called ‘711 Annals’ relates the surrender of Melid, whose assignment to Muttallu follows.57 In any case, two years later, i.e. in 709 BCE, Muttallu rebelled in his turn against Assyria, and a second intervention by Sargon took place (13th year), ending in the transformation of Kummukh (including Melid) into an Assyrian province,

50

Idem, ibid., pp. 431–432 (1–31); cf. also pp. 415–416 (V 13–30). H. Tadmor, The Inscriptions of Tiglath-pileser III King of Assyria (Jerusalem, 1994), pp. 166–169: 45–50 (Summary 7), and 100–101: 21’–37’ (Stele I B). 52 Idem, ibid., pp. 68–69: 12 and 89: 5 (Annals, fragments 13* and 27), also pp. 170–171: r. 8’ (Summary 7) and 108–109: 9 (Stele III A). 53 A. Fuchs, Die Inschriften Sargons II. aus Khorsabad (Göttingen, 1993), pp. 125–127, 326 (Annals 204–210); see also 216–217 (Prunk. 78–79), and 347. 54 Fuchs, ibid., pp. 127 and 324 (Annals 211); for his comments see idem, “Über den Wert von Befestigungsanlagen”, ZA 98 (2008), pp. 73–74. 55 Idem, ibid., pp. 126 (Annals 209) and 216 (Prunk. 80): kar-pa-niš ah-pi. 56 Idem, ibid., pp. 127 and 324 (Annals 210–213). 57 A. Fuchs, Die Annalen des Jahres 711 v.Chr. (SAAS 8; Helsinki, 1998), pp. 48, 76 (fragment VII.e:5–6); for his comments see idem, op. cit. (note 54, 2008), p. 74. 51

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entrusted to the “turtānu of the left (i.e. north)”.58 It seems reasonable to assume that Melid suffered only limited damages in the siege of 711, while its destruction “like a smashed pot” happened after its second rebellion and final insertion in the provincial system, i.e. in 709 BCE—with the Annals deciding to concentrate the complex sequence in a single event.59

IX. The Assyrian Building A1139+ The building A1139+, built above the ruins of the pillared hall, is most probably an Assyrian building, and its plan reminds in fact those of the Assyrian periphery60— although the ceramic evidence is lost, the building having been dug by Delaporte 70 years ago. The building is too small to be called a ‘palace’, but may have been part of a larger terraced building rising from the elevation of the pillared hall to a higher elevation towards the central part of the mound, and sustained by a mud-brick platform (M156). Note that, while the pillared hall A1142 had been badly destroyed, the city gate (the ‘Lions Gate’) seems to have survived during the Assyrian period, and also A1139+ is based on a re-use of the same terrace wall (running south-north) built two centuries earlier in order to delimit the pillared hall towards the paved plaza inside the city gate. The Assyrian presence did not last long, it was probably brought to an end around 680 BCE, since Esarhaddon tried to re-conquer it in 675 BCE, but his siege (Mugallu being king of Melid) did not succeed.61 His failed attempt is shortly recorded in the Babylonian and in the Esarhaddon Chronicles,62 while it is completely ignored in the king’s celebrative inscriptions. Nevertheless the city, now oriented in political terms towards west (Tabal/Cappadocia63 and Mushki/Phrygia), underwent all the same a deep crisis and was destroyed and/or abandoned forever in the mid-7th century.64

58

Fuchs, op. cit. (note 53), pp. 177–179, 337–338 (Annals: 398–411). On the ‘turtānu of the left’ see R. Mattila, The King’s Magnates (SAAS 11; Helsinki, 2000), pp. 111, 115, 122. 59 Also the synthetic statements in the texts Fuchs, op. cit. (1993), pp. 76 and 308 (XIV: 9) and pp. 261 and 359 (S4: 24) are highly telescoped, linking the abduction of Gunzinanu to the final reduction to province. 60 See F. Manuelli, “Assyria and the Provinces. Survival of Local Features and Imposition of New Patterns in the Peripheral Regions of the Empire”, Mesopotamia 44 (2009), pp. 113–127 for an updated basic reference. 61 Lastly Hawkins, op. cit. (Corpus), p. 285; Fuchs, op. cit. (2008), p. 75. 62 A. K. Grayson, Assyrian and Babylonian Chronicles (TCS 5; Locust Valley, NY 1975), pp. 83: iv 10 and 126: 15, referring to Esarhaddon’s 6th year. 63 See most recently S. C. Melville, “Kings of Tabal: Politics, Competition, and Conflict in a Contested Periphery”, in S. Richardson (ed.), Rebellions and Peripheries in the Cuneiform World (New Haven, 2010), pp. 87–109. 64 See Hawkins, op. cit. (Corpus), p. 286 for the last mentions of Mugallu in Assyrian sources, ending in 651 BCE. After a long intermission, Melid was built again by the Romans, ca. 70 AD, but on a new site (present Eski Malatya). On the poor village on the top of the Arslantepe mound in Roman times see E. Equini Schneider, Malatya – II. Il livello romanobizantino (Roma, 1970).

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X. Conclusions and Prospect The correspondence of the excavation results with the known historical sources about Melid in the period in between the end of the Late Bronze and the Middle Iron Age appears to be quite consistent. A good deal of caution is necessary, however. In general terms, the specific attribution of a destruction event in the archaeological sequence of a site, to a historical event mentioned in a text (or a set of texts) is always hypothetical – unless a precise ‘proof’ is available. As for Melid, moreover, the excavation is still in progress, so that additional caution is advisable. For the moment being, the results of the comparison between textual and archaeological data are encouraging enough. Quite often, the scholars’ attention tends to focus of textual ‘signatures’ of destruction events; but also the absence of textual mentions of Melid in the phases of squatters, alternating with its mention in the phases of monumental architecture, is especially indicative and much more solid. As for the topic of the present conference,65 the main results of the recent excavation at Arslantepe can be summarized in two points. The first point is the delay in the collapse of the state structures. After the end of the Hittite empire, and the connected troubles (be they of migratory or warlike nature, or else), the local polities and towns in the south-eastern part of the empire could resist for a period that we estimate as lasting one century (ca. 1180–1070 BCE).66 They had to reorganize their inner and external political relations, now in the form of autonomous kingdoms, and their dependence from Carchemish instead of Khattusha. But they were able to endure after the end of their reference empire. I am using the plural “local polities and towns” hinting first of all to the cases of Tille (mentioned above) and of Tell Bazi67, which appear to be quite similar to that of Melid; but hinting also —in a wider perspective—to the contemporary (and quite major!) case of the reign of “Taite the Philistine” in the area stretching from the Tell Taynat and ‘Ain Dara, through Aleppo, down to the area of Hama.68 65 On the Late Bronze to Iron Age transition see the recent discussion by F. Venturi, La Siria nell’età delle trasformazioni (XIII-X sec. a.C.), (Bologna, 2007). 66 This refers to inland polities, while the early-12th century destructions were a decisive factor for the collapse on the coast; see e.g. T. L. McClellan, “12th Century B.C. Syria”, in W.W. Ward and M. S. Joukowsky (eds.), The Crisis Years: The 12th Century B.C. (Dubuque, 1992), pp. 164–173. McClellan’s position (and others in the same volume) should be partly modified if the present suggestions are accepted. 67 See recently A. Otto, Alltag und Gesellschaft zur Spätbronzezeit: eine Fallstudie aus Tall Bazi (Subartu 19; Turnhout, 2006), pp. 18–21; on chronology) see also Venturi, op. cit., (note 65), pp. 35–36, 417–426. 68 J. D. Hawkins, “Cilicia, the Amuq, and Aleppo: New Light in a Dark Age”, NEA 72 (2009), pp. 164–173; T. P. Harrison, “Neo-Hittites in the ‘Land of Palistin’”, NEA 72 (2009), pp. 174–189; idem, “Lifting the Veil on a ‘Dark Age’: Ta‘yinat and the North Orontes Valley during the Early Iron Age”, in J. D. Schloen (ed.), Exploring the Longue Durée. Essays in Honor of L. E. Stager (Winona Lake, IN 2009), pp. 171–184. Besides the Aleppo citadel sculptured reliefs, also the ‘Ain Dara ones belong to this phase and probably to the same political unit, on their date see K. Kohlmeyer, “Zur Datierung der Skulpturen von ‘Ain Dārā”, in D. Bonatz, R. M. Czichon and F. J. Kreppner (eds.), Fundstellen. Gesammelte Schriften zur Archäologie und Geschichte Altvorderasien ad honorem Hartmut Kühne (Wiesbaden, 2008), pp. 119–130; S. Mazzoni, “L’arte siro-ittita nel suo contesto archeologico”, CMAO 7 (1997), pp. 295–296.

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The real collapse of the Levant, and of Upper Mesopotamia as well (including the Upper Euphrates valley), will take place in the mid-11th century. The causal connection of this crisis with the spread of the Aramaean tribes is at first sight evident,69 yet it remains ambiguous: the crisis could have made the spread possible, or vice-versa, or a combination of both. Specific local events (like the suggested destruction of Melid by Ashur-bel-kala) could not have had so prolonged effects, were they not inserted into a major and widespread crisis. And here is the second point. The squatters phase characterizing Melid in the early Iron Age, from ca. 1070 to ca. 900 BCE, is a novelty if compared to the traditional reconstruction of the local history in terms of continuity. But it is not at all an anomalous case, when considered in the wider frame of the Levant: the early Iron Age is a period of crisis, especially for the public structures of the state and the city (the ‘Palace sector’), a period of devolution, of low-level leadership, a period of reconversion to village communities70 or to pastoral groups—the Melid squatters being the extreme form of a more general trend. It will be only with the 10th century BCE that a new cycle of urbanism and state formation (middle Iron Age) will take place.71 And this new cycle will assume at Melid the form of new fortifications (wall and gate) and important public buildings on the citadel mound, now again the seat of a royal dynasty.

69

See the presentation by H. Sader, The 12th Century N.C. in Syria; The Problem of the Rise of the Aramaeans, in Ward and Joukowsky (eds.), op. cit., (note 66), pp. 157–163. The pressure of the Aramaeans east of the Euphrates, already relevant under Tiglath-pileser I (around 1100–1080 BCE) had an apex under Ashur-bel-kala around 1060 BCE (cf. the impressive picture in his “broken Obelisk”, RIMA 2, pp. 101–103). On the possible climatic factor see lastly W. Kirleis and M. Herles, “Climatic Change as a Reason for AssyroAramaean Conflicts? Pollen Evidence for Drought at the End of the 2nd Millennium BC”, SAAB 16 (2007), pp. 7–37. 70 See most recently L. L. Grabbe (ed.), Israel in Transition: From Late Bronze II to Iron IIa (c. 1250–850 B.C.E.). Volume 1: The Archaeology (JSOTS 491; New York – London 2008), esp. the chapters by E. A. Knauf, (“From Archaeology to History, Bronze and Iron Ages, with Special Regard to the Year 1200 B.C.E., and the Tenth Century”, pp. 72–85), A. Mazar (“From 1200 to 850 B.C.E.: Remarks on Some Selected Archaeological Issues”, pp. 86–120), and B. A. Nakhai (“Contextualizing Village Life in the Iron Age I”, pp. 121–137). 71 See the summaries by L. G. Herr, “The Iron Age II Period: Emerging Nations”, BA 60 (1997), pp. 114–183 and by A. H. Joffe, “The Rise of Secondary States in the Iron Age Levant”, JESHO 45 (2002), pp. 425–467, who mostly referred to the southern Levant, but in general is valid for the wider area.

INSIGHTS ON THE PHILISTINE CULTURE AND RELATED ISSUES AN OVERVIEW OF 15 YEARS OF WORK AT TELL EṢ-ṢAFI/GATH

AREN M. MAEIR Bar-Ilan University

I. Introduction The Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath archaeological project, which I have the honor and pleasure to direct, is celebrating this year (2011) its 15th season in the field.1 While over this decade and a half the project has produced many publications,2 in the context of this current volume, which deals with various facets of the Late Bronze / Iron Age transition in the eastern Mediterranean, I thought that it would be appropriate to summarize the results from the excavations at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath that relate to the Philistines and the various stages of their culture. Indeed this site is one of the main sites currently being excavated that relates to the Philistine culture, and also highlights general aspects of the Late Bronze and Iron Age transitions. In addition, as the first volume of the project’s excavation reports is currently in press,3 this is an opportunity to present to the scholarly public that will not necessarily have access to this report, a précis of the main issues relating to the Philistines and their culture that have been uncovered during our still ongoing work.

1

The Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath archaeological project (www.dig-gath.org) is directed by the author, and is conducted under the auspices of the Institute of Archaeology at Bar-Ilan University. I would like to thank the team (staff, students and volunteers) of the project, over the last decade and a half, for the hard work and good humor that they have invested in the project. The project has been funded through various sources, including Bar-Ilan University, the Israel Science Foundation, the German-Israel Foundation for Science and Research, the National Geographic Society, Mr. Lloyd Cotsen and Mr. Samuel Turner. 2 For recent overviews with earlier bibliography, see, e.g., A. M. Maeir, “Zafit, Tel”, NEAEHL, 5, pp. 2079–2081; idem, “Philistia and the Judean Shephelah after Hazael: The Power Play between the Philistines, Judeans and Assyrians in the 8th Century BCE in Light of the Excavations at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath”, in A. Berlejung (ed.), Disaster and Relief Management in Ancient Israel, Egypt and the Ancient Near East (Tübingen, in press). 3 A. M. Maeir, Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath I: Report on the 1996–2005 Seasons (ÄAT 69; Wiesbaden, in press).

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Fig. 1: Map of Israel with location of Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath and other major sites

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In the following pages, I will briefly describe and discuss the remains of Tell eṣṢafi/Gath that date from the very end of the Late Bronze Age until the end of the Iron Age. Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath, which is located in central Israel on the border between the Southern Coastal Plain (Philistia) and the Judean Foothills (Shephelah), is a large multi-period tell, with remains dating from the late Prehistoric period until the Modern period (Fig. 1). The site is identified as Canaanite/Philistine Gath.4 The excavations of the current project have been conducted in various parts of the tell and its immediate surroundings (see Fig. 2). In the description below, I will discuss finds from the relevant periods as found in the respective excavation areas (see Table 1 for the general stratigraphy of the site).

Fig. 2: Map of Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath with location of excavation areas (north at top)

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A. Rainey, “The Identification of Philistine Gath—a Problem in Source Analysis for Historical Geography”, EI 12 (1975), pp. 63*–76*; W. M. Schniedewind, “The Geopolitical History of Philistine Gath”, BASOR 309 (1998), pp. 69–77.

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Table 1: General Stratigraphy of the Excavations at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath

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Fig. 3: View of restorable Late Bronze Age pottery on the floor of a room in the apparent destruction level of the final stage of the Late Bronze Age at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath

II. The End of the Late Bronze Age Although extensive evidence of the end of the LB has yet to be excavated on Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath, the finds from Area E, on the eastern side of the upper tell (Fig. 2), seem to indicate that parts of the site was violently destroyed at the end of this period. Relatively well-preserved assemblages of restorable pottery were found on the surfaces of an LB building (Fig. 3). Although it is not possible to decisively explain the cause of this apparent destruction, a highly likely possibility is to associate this with the arrival of the Sea Peoples/Philistines in the very beginning of the Iron Age. If so, this destruction can be compared to the destruction (even if partial) in the LB levels at Tel Miqne/Ekron and at Tel Ashdod, which preceded the first Philistine settlement of these sites.5 While it has been claimed that there is no clear evidence 5

For Tel Miqne, see, e.g. T. Dothan, “Initial Philistine Settlement: From Migration to Coexistence”, in S. Gitin, A. Mazar and E. Stern (eds.), Mediterranean Peoples in Transition: Thirteenth to Early Tenth Centuries BCE (Jerusalem, 1998), pp. 150–151. The possible continuity of the Canaanite settlement at Tel Miqne/Ekron, Field I, as A. Killebrew has argued (“Ceramic Typology and Technology of Late Bronze II and Iron I Assemblages from Tel Miqne-Ekron: The Transition from Canaanite to Philistine Culture”, in S. Gitin, A. Mazar and E. Stern [eds.] Mediterranean Peoples in Transition: Thirteenth to Early Tenth Centuries BCE [Jerusalem, 1998], pp. 381–382; also quoted by, e.g., A. Yasur-Landau, The Philistines and Aegean Migration at the End of the Late Bronze Age [Cambridge, 2010], p. 223), would at most indicate a small scale continuity at the site—after the overall major destruction which is extensively seen. For Ashdod, see M. Dothan and Y. Porath, Ashdod V: Excavation of Area G. The Fourth-Sixth Seasons of Excavations, 1968–1970 (‘Atiqot 23; Jerusalem, 1993), pp.

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for a wave of destructions prior to the early Philistine settlements,6 the evidence from Ashdod, Tel Miqne/Ekron and Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath seems to indicate that there was at least some measure of destruction at these sites during the transition. Even if there is no evidence of destruction at Ashkelon prior to the earliest Philistine levels,7 it would appear that some of the Canaanite LB sites in Philistia were destroyed (at least partially) in the transition between the LB and the Iron Age, and the cause of these destructions is very likely the Philistines―even if this is not to be seen as a uniform conquest of Philistia. Thus, while I would not adhere to a “D-Day like event”,8 I believe that one cannot see the process of the arrival of the Sea Peoples as a peaceful event in which foreign groups slowly arrived and were amicably accepted by the local Canaanites. Rather, this most probably was a complex process – including both violent interactions and peaceful integration. I would suspect that a likely scenario would be that the non-local leaders of the migrating Sea Peoples deposed the local Canaanite elites—while in most cases retaining connections and integrating with other elements of the original Canaanite population.9 This then would explain the evidence of partial destructions such as at Ekron and Ashdod (and at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath), and the fact that the Philistine cities retained their original Canaanite names.10 Based on their research at Dor, Gilboa and Sharon have argued that there is no evidence for the arrival of a distinct, foreign Sea Peoples entity at Dor (the SKL) during the Late Bronze/Iron Age transition, or that a Late Bronze Age Canaanite city was destroyed by foreigners.11 Instead, they believe that the Late Bronze Age Canaanite culture at Dor continued to exist during the Iron Age I, but at the same time there being an influx of Cypriote and Syrian elements. Building on this, and

11–12; M. Dothan and D. Ben-Shlomo, Ashdod VI: The Excavations of Areas H and K (1968–1969), (IAA Reports 24; Jerusalem, 2005), pp. 2–3. 6 D. Ben-Shlomo, Philistine Iconography: A Wealth of Style and Symbolism (OBO 241; Fribourg, 2010), p. 184; idem, “Early Iron Age Domestic Material Culture in Philistia and an Eastern Mediterranean Koiné”, in A. Yasur-Landau, J. R. Ebeling and L. B. Mazow (eds.), Household Archaeology in Ancient Israel and Beyond (CHANE 50; Leiden, 2011), pp. 202– 203; Yasur-Landau, op. cit. (note 5), pp. 220–227. 7 L. Stager, D. Schloen, D. Master, M. Press, and A. Aja, “Part Four: Stratigraphic Overview”, in L. Stager, J. Schloen and D. Master (eds.), Ashkelon I: Introduction and Overview (1985–2006), (Winona Lake, IN 2008), pp. 20–21. It should be noted that the assumption that there was no destruction of the LB city at Ashkelon, but rather abandonment prior to the earliest Philistine occupation, is based on the excavations in a relatively small portion of this site. The earliest Philistine levels have only been exposed in Grids 38 and 50, two excavation areas in a very large site. While one cannot deny that there may have been abandonment, the possibility that additional excavations, in other parts of this very large site may uncover a different picture cannot be denied. 8 E.g., L. E. Stager, “The Impact of the Sea Peoples in Canaan (1185–1050 BCE)”, in T. E. Levy (ed.), The Archaeology of Society in the Holy Land (London, 1995), pp. 332–348; T. J. Barako, “The Philistine Settlement as Mercantile Phenomenon?”, AJA 104 (2000), pp. 513– 530. 9 Similar to what Yasur-Landau envisions (op. cit. [note 5], pp. 330–333). 10 I. Shai, “Understanding Philistine Migration: City Names and Their Implications”, BASOR 354 (2009), pp. 12–27. 11 E.g. A. Gilboa and I. Sharon, “Between the Carmel and the Sea: Tel Dor’s Iron Age Reconsidered”, NEA 71/3 (2008), pp. 146–170.

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perhaps on earlier somewhat similar suggestions,12 they have recently suggested a somewhat ‘deconstructive’ view of the entire ‘Sea Peoples’ phenomenon, suggesting that in some cases new populations did arrive and became culturally dominant (as in Philistia), but in other regions (such as the Sharon and Phoenicia) the local elements, while influenced by incoming foreign elements, continued the earlier cultural modes and traditions. Instead, they prefer to see this as a gradual, multicausal set of events, with strong continuity of local cultural groups, who are influenced by foreign aspects, whether arriving through migration, or through ongoing trade. While clearly they have a point regarding the LB/Iron I Age transition at Dor (and most probably in other parts of Phoenicia as well), where there is little if any evidence of a drastic change at the end of the LB13—and I accept their view that the ‘Sea Peoples’ was a multi-faceted process, with different modes and mechanisms in different regions of the Levant—I believe that the evidence for substantial influences of foreign cultural groups, both in Philistia and in the Northern Levant (including attestation to a group with a name quite similar to the Philistines [P/Walistin]),14 indicate that the intrusive aspects of the Sea Peoples phenomenon should be considered a dominant par of this general process. While it is important to differentiate between different parts of this overall process, the intrusiveness, even at Dor should be stressed, even if different processes then occurred.

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E.g. S. Sherratt, “‘Sea Peoples’ and the Economic Structure of the Late Second Millennium in the Eastern Mediterranean”, in S. Gitin, A. Mazar and E. Stern (eds.), Mediterranean Peoples in Transition: Thirteenth to Early Tenth Centuries BCE (Jerusalem, 1998), pp. 292–313. While Gilboa has severely criticized Sherratt’s thesis (A. Gilboa, “Sea Peoples and Phoenicians along the Southern Phoenician Coast – A Reconciliation: An Interpretation of Sikila (SKL) Material Culture”, BASOR 337 (2005), pp. 47–78), the continued dominance of the Canaanite/Phoenician culture in comparison to that of foreign influences does indicate some similarity between Sherratt’s and Gilboa’s understandings. 13 Contra, e.g., E. Stern, “The Settlement of the Sea Peoples in Northern Israel”, in E. Oren (ed.), The Sea Peoples and Their World: A Reassessment (University Monograph 108, University Symposium Series 11; Philadelphia, 2000), pp. 197–212; idem, “The Sea Peoples Cult in Philistia and Northern Israel”, in A. M. Maeir and P. de Miroschedji (eds.), “I Will Speak the Riddles of Ancient Times”: Archaeological and Historical Studies in Honor of Amihai Mazar on the Occasion of His Sixtieth Birthday, (Winona Lake, IN 2006), pp. 385–398. 14 See, e.g., B. Janeway, “The Nature and Extent of Aegean Contact at Tell Ta’yinat and Vicinity in the Early Iron Age: Evidence of the Sea Peoples?”, Scripta Mediterranea 27–28 (2006–2007), pp. 123–146; T. B. Harrison, “Lifting the Veil on a “Dark Age”: Ta’yinat and the North Orontes Valley during the Early Iron Age”, in J. D. Schloen (ed.), Exploring the Longue Durée: Essays in Honor of Lawrence E. Stager (Winona Lake, IN 2009), pp. 127– 136; idem, “Neo-Hittites in the “Land of Palistin”: Renewed Investigations at Tell Ta’yinat on the Plain of Antioch”, NEA 72/4 (2009), pp. 174–189; “The Late Bronze/Early Iron Age Transition in the North Orontes Valley”, in F. Venturi (ed.), Societies in Transition: Evolutionary Processes in the Northern Levant Between the Late Bronze Age II and Early Iron Age. Papers Presented on the Occasion of the XX Anniversary of the New Excavation in Tell Afis. Bologna, 15th November 2007 (Studi e Testi Orientali, collana archeologica 2; Bologna, 2010), pp. 83–102.

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III. Iron Age I The fascinating topic of the appearance of the Philistines in Philistia in the early Iron Age has been an ongoing focus for many decades. Important insights regarding this phenomenon have been provided by the excavation results at Ashdod,15 Ashkelon16 and Tel Miqne/Ekron.17 The excavations at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath have now begun to provide important data on this topic. This includes a selection of early Iron Age “Philistine 1” (=Myc. IIIC:1b) pottery, dated to the earliest stage of the Philistine culture (Fig. 4), clearly attesting to the earliest stages of the Philistine culture at the site.

Fig. 4: Selected early Iron Age ‘Philistine 1’ (Myc IIIC) pottery from Area A

15

Dothan and Ben-Shlomo, op. cit. (note 5). L. Stager, J. Schloen and D. Master (eds.), Ashkelon I: Introduction and Overview (1985– 2006), (Winona Lake, IN 2008). 17 E.g., T. Dothan and A. Zukerman, “A Preliminary Study of the Mycenaean IIIC:1 Pottery Assemblages from Tel Miqne-Ekron and Ashdod”, BASOR 333 (2004), pp. 1–54; M. Meehl, T. Dothan and S. Gitin, Tel Miqne-Ekron Excavations 1995–1996: Field INE East Slope, Iron Age I (Early Philistine Period), (Tel Miqne-Ekron Final Field Report Series 8; Jerusalem, 2006). 16

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Fig. 5: Fragment of an early Iron Age ‘Philistine 1’ (Myc IIIC) deep bowl from Area F

In addition to this, in the most recent seasons of excavations, clear stratigraphic evidence of this earliest phase has been discovered. This is seen both in Area A, on the eastern side of the tell, but more importantly, since 2008, domestic levels dating to the earliest Iron Age, with a selection of ‘Philistine 1’ pottery, have been uncovered in Area F, on the northwestern side of the upper tell (Fig. 5). These finds clearly demonstrate that not only was Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath settled by the Philistines at this stage, but that it was a large site, most likely of urban nature. Interestingly, this confirms the observations regarding the extent of the site as indicated by the survey results.18 Interestingly,19 the early Iron Age is the only period in which both Gath and Ekron, two neighboring sites, are both large, while in most other periods, one of these two sites is larger—at the expense of the other. Later stages of the Iron Age I as well are represented by the finds at the site. From the survey and from residual finds in later Iron Age I levels, it is clear that all the stages of the Iron Age I Philistine culture are represented at the site, including, in addition to the ‘Philistine 1’ stage, the Philistine 2 (=Bichrome, mid Iron Age I) and Philistine 3 (= late Iron Age I) stages. Evidence of the Philistine 2 stage was revealed in several locations. In Area E, this included a few garbage pits and some domestic contexts. In Area A, evidence of the Philistine 2 stage includes domestic levels and a pit with several vessels and 18

J. Uziel and A. M. Maeir, “Scratching the Surface at Gath: Implications of the Tell eṣṢafi/Gath Surface Survey”, Tel Aviv 32 (2005), pp. 50–75; idem, “The Location, Size and Periods Settlement at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath: The Surface Survey Results”, in Maeir, op. cit. (note 3); A. M. Maeir and J. Uziel, “A Tale of Two Tells: A Comparative Perspective on Tel Miqne-Ekron and Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath in Light of Recent Archaeological Research”, in S. Crawford, A. Ben-Tor, J. Dessel, W. Dever, A. Mazar and J. Aviram (eds.), 'Up to the Gates of Ekron”: Essays on the Archaeology and History of the Eastern Mediterranean in Honor of Seymour Gitin (Jerusalem, 2007), pp. 29–42. 19 As noted in Maeir and Uziel, ibid., 2005.

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other finds, which appears to have been a foundation deposit below a Stratum A6 (early Iron Age I) wall. In Area F (near the summit of the site), domestic levels with Philistine 2 pottery were found just above the earliest Iron Age phases. And finally, in Area P, to the west of Area A, portions of a well-built structure, perhaps a public building, were partially uncovered, with Philistine 2 pottery forms. This building has several rooms, including one with a large deposit of phytoliths, perhaps indicating that it served as a storage room for agricultural produce. As noted in Zukerman’s discussion of the early Iron Age pottery,20 an interesting aspect of the Philistine 2 (Bichrome) pottery is that its decorative syntax differs from that of the Philistine 2 pottery found at other sites (e.g., Ashkelon, Ashdod and Ekron). This indicates that distinct pottery production traditions developed in the various Philistine sites. Future studies may fine-tune the differences between the potteries produced at these sites and shed additional light on various related issues.21 In previous research on the appearance of Philistine pottery at various sites, much attention has been paid to the relative quantities the decorated Philistine wares in relation to the non-decorated ‘local’ wares. In fact, this has even been seen as a criterion for ‘how Philistine’ an early Iron Age site is.22 This said, several points should be stressed. To start with, in all the early Iron Age levels at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath, large quantities of decorated Philistine pottery (of the Philistine 1–3 stages) are found. Concurrently, many other types, which are not necessarily decorated, can be recognized as being typical of Iron Age I Philistine sites. These, despite being highly indicative of the Philistine culture, are not as conspicuous as the decorated types. In addition, there are many types which appear both in Philistine sites and non-Philistine Iron Age I sites. Thus, I suspect that attempts to define the cultural affiliation of a site (whether Philistine or not) on the basis of the relative appearance of Philistine decorated pottery is both overly simplistic, and in fact, may be stressing only a very limited component (and not necessarily the most important one) of the cultural matrix which enables the definition of the Philistine culture. The late Iron Age I is likewise well-represented at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath, both in the surveys and in the excavations. Extensive evidence of this stage has been found in Area A (Stratum A5). It comprises mainly domestic remains, among which we can note several interesting features. Quite a few of the round, pebble hearths, typical of many Philistine sites were uncovered; in some cases built repeatedly, one on top of the other, in domestic courtyards that were used over a long period of time.23 In fact, it appears that this type of cooking/heating installation continues to be used at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath into Iron Age IIA (see below), indicating that this feature, appearing at the Philistine sites with their arrival in the early Iron Age, is one of the cultural attributes of the Philistines that continue a long time after their initial arrival. Therefore, one can hardly argue that the unique, foreign traits/markers of the Philistine 20

A. Zukerman, “Iron Age I and Early Iron Age IIA Pottery. In Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath I: Report on the 1996–2005 Seasons”, in Maeir, op. cit. (note 3). 21 See, e.g., D. Ben-Shlomo Decorated Philistine Pottery: An Archaeological and Archaeometric Study (BAR International Series 1541; Oxford, 2006); A. Yasur-Landau, “In Search for the Origin of the Philistine Bird Motif”, EI 29 (2009), pp. 231–241. 22 E.g., most recently, A. Faust and J. Lev-Tov, “The Constitution of Philistine Identity: Ethnic Dynamics in Twelfth to Tenth Century Philistia”, OJA 30 (2011), pp. 21–23. 23 See A. M. Maeir and L. Hitchcock, “Absence Makes the Hearth Grow Fonder: Searching for the Origins of the Philistine Hearth”, EI 30 (2011), pp. 46*–64*.

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culture disappear after the end of the Iron Age I/early Iron Age IIA.24 Rather, some of these traits, seemingly of special importance in the continued self-definition of the Philistines, continued to be used well into the Iron Age IIA and IIB (on this issue, see as well below).

Fig. 6: View of late Iron Age I Hydraulic Plaster floor in Area A, Stratum A4

A partially preserved plaster floor from this period deserves special mention.25 This floor, possibly part of an installation, which in fact is comprised of two distinct levels of plastering (Fig. 6), was closely analyzed and it turned out the plaster on the floor is a unique hydraulic plaster (that is a plaster that can harden in contact with water). This type of plaster has previously not been reported from the Levant prior to the Roman Period. Interestingly, similar plasters are known from the Late Helladic Aegean, perhaps indicating that this is yet another technology that was brought to Philistia with the arrival of the Philistines, along with other aspects of the Late Helladic material culture (such as pottery, architecture, cult, etc.).

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As Faust and Lev-Tov, have recently claimed (op. cit. [note 22]). For an in-depth discussion, see L. Regev, A. Zukerman, L. Hitchcock, A. M. Maeir, S. Weiner and E. Boaretto, “Iron Age Hydraulic Plaster from Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath, Israel”, JAS 37/12 (2010), pp. 3000–3009.

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Fig. 7: Line drawing of late Iron Age I lion-shaped “head cup” from Area A, Stratum A4

An additional find of interest is the base of a lion-shaped head cup (a so-called rhyton), which was found in secondary/tertiary use among the sherds in the accumulation on a late Iron Age I domestic floor. This vessel type (Fig. 7), discussed by me in the past,26 is quite common in Philistine contexts. Although this type does have Levantine antecedents in the Late Bronze Age, its common appearance at numerous Philistine (and other Sea Peoples) sites, as well as the appearance of such head cups in Late Helladic Aegean contexts, seem to indicate that it played an important symbolic role in the early Iron Age Philistine culture. It should be noted that in recent years, several additional fragments of other head cups have been recovered at the site. Also dating to the late Iron Age I are several finds relating to Philistine burial practices. Although modern archaeological research of the Philistine culture commenced more than a century ago,27 there is very little archaeological evidence regarding tombs of the Philistines. Thus, while four of the five major Philistine cities (Ashdod, Ashkelon, Ekron and Gath) have been excavated, very few tombs have been reported from these sites. In fact, save for a few Iron Age I baby burials which have not been fully published,28 and a mass burial grave from late Iron Age II

26

A. M. Maeir, “A Philistine ‘Head Cup’ (Rhyton) from Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath”, in Maeir and Miroschedji (eds.), op. cit. (note 13), pp. 335–345. 27 For a survey of the history of research on the Philistines, see, e.g., T. Dothan, The Philistines and Their Material Culture (Jerusalem, 1982); idem and and M. Dothan, People of the Sea: The Search for the Philistines (New York, 1992). 28 Stager et al., op. cit. (note 16), p. 266, fig. 15:35.

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Ashdod about which there is very little information,29 none of these major Philistine sites have, as of now, produced significant data relating to Philistine mortuary customs. To this one may add that although there are a few Iron Age tombs that have been reported from other sites in Philistia, or in its periphery, and which contain elements typical of the Philistine material culture, the ethnic identity of the population buried in these tombs is far from certain. Thus, the ethnicity of the individuals buried in the Iron Age cemetery at Azor excavated by M. Dothan and originally identified as Philistine, has recently been questioned by Ben-Shlomo.30 Likewise, the cultural affiliation of a group of Iron Age tombs from Tel ‘Eton in the Judean Foothills, which contained a large collection of Philistine-oriented finds,31 but are located in a region often assumed to be under Judahite culture influence, is far from clear. Tombs from other sites, and various types of burial customs (such as the ‘anthropoid’ coffins and the appearance of cremation burials at this time), which in the past were associated with the Philistine culture,32 are in fact even more difficult to attribute to the Philistines. A similar gap in our knowledge exists regarding the bio-archaeology of the Philistines. While there is some information available for skeletal aspects of the Canaanites, Israelites and Phoenicians,33 very little can be said about the Philistines. In addition to the fact that (as mentioned above) so few tombs that can be attributed to the Philistines have been excavated in Iron Age Philistia, even those that have been recovered provided very little information on skeletal remains. For example, at Azor (and see above regarding the question of the ethnic identity of this population), the report on the skeletal remains is very partial. In five of these tombs, primary adult burials that were found were examined and described by Ferembach as being of fragmentary nature.34 Moreover, Ferembach stressed the tentative nature of her findings in view of the small size of the samples then available for analysis.35 At Ashdod, mass graves, apparently of city occupants killed during the Assyrian conquest of the site in 712 BCE, were reported, but the physical anthropological report on these finds is hardly sufficient.36 Likewise, the recent brief report on some mea-

29 N. Haas, “Anthropological Observations on the Skeletal Remains Found in Area D (1962– 1963)”, in M. Dothan, Ashdod II–III: The Second and Third Seasons of Excavations, 1963, 1965, Soundings in 1967 (‘Atiqot IX–X; Jerusalem, 1971). 30 See D. Ben-Shlomo, “The Cemetery of Azor and Early Iron Age Burial Practices”, Levant 40 (2008), pp. 29–54; but see now a slightly different interpretation in A. Buchennino and E. Yannai, “Iron Age I Tombs in the Azor Cemetery”, ‘Atiqot 63, pp. 18*–40*, 241–242 (Hebrew with English Summary). 31 G. Edelstein, D. Ussishkin, T. Dothan and V. Tzaferis, “The Necropolis of Tell ‘Aitun”, Qadmoniot 15 (1971), pp. 86–90 (Hebrew); G. Edelstein and S. Aurant, “The ‘Philistine’ Tomb at Tell ‘Eitun”, ‘Atiqot 21 (1992), pp. 23–41; G. Edelstein and N. Schreiber, “Two Decorated Iron Age Bronze Belts from Tell ‘Eitun”, ‘Atiqot 39 (2000), pp. 113–119. 32 E.g. T. Dothan, op. cit. (note 27), pp. 252–279. 33 E.g. P. Smith, “People of the Holy Land from Prehistory to the Recent Past”, in T. E. Levy (ed.), The Archaeology of Society on the Holy Land (London, 1995), pp. 58–74. 34 D. Ferembach, “Les restes humains des tombes Philistines du cimetière d’Azor”, Bulletin Societe Anthroplogique 2 (1961), pp. 79–81. 35 Idem, ibid. 36 M. Dothan, Ashdod II–III: The Second and Third Seasons of Excavations, 1963, 1965, Soundings in 1967 (‘Atiqot IX–X; Jerusalem, 1971), pp. 92–94; Hass, op. cit. (note 29).

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ger skeletal remains in an Iron Age IIA intra-mural burial at Ashdod, hardly contributes any additional data.37 The report on the skeletal remains from above mentioned tombs from Tel ‘Eton (whose cultural affiliation is not clear, see above) is also incomplete, with only a short report on the poorly preserved skeletal remains from one of the excavated tombs.38 More recently, a number of isolated interments have been found intramurally at a few Philistine sites. This includes the burial from Ashdod noted above, several asof-yet not fully published infant burials from Ashkelon,39 Ekron,40 and a late Iron Age woman found in the 604 BCE Babylonian destruction level at Ashkelon.41 Similarly to Ashkelon and Ekron (above), at least two infant jar burials were found in the late Iron Age I levels at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath. These burials, of apparent very young infants,42 were found under the floors in domestic contexts. The appearance of this type of burial in early Iron Age Philistine sites does not seem to be connected in any way to the non-Levantine components of early Philistine culture, since infant jar burials are a burial method unknown in the Aegean during the Late Helladic III and the early Iron Age. In contrast, while not overly popular in the Levant during most of the Late Bronze Age, towards the end of this period, and during the beginning of the Iron Age, infant jar burials are known in various parts of the Levant, both intramural and in cemeteries.43 Thus, the appearance of this tomb type towards the end of the Late Bronze Age is most probably due to societal developments at this time, aspects which affected both the populations outside, as well as those within Philistia. Presently, however, the mechanisms underlying the appearance of this burial type in the late LB/early Iron Age are at unknown.44

37

E. Dueitch, “Human Skeletal Remains (Burial 5338)”, in M. Dothan and D. Ben-Shlomo, Ashdod VI: The Excavations of Areas H and K (1968–1969), (IAA Reports 24; Jerusalem, 2005), pp. 43–44; for the stratigraphic report, see Dothan and Ben-Shlomo, op. cit. (note 5), p. 42. 38 B. Arensburg and A. Belfer-Cohen, “Human Remains from Tomb C1 at Tell ‘Eitun”, ‘Atiqot 21 (1992), pp. 45–48. 39 Stager et al., op. cit. (note 16), p. 266, fig. 15:35. 40 S. Gitin, personal communication. 41 P. Smith, “Human Remains from the Babylonian Destruction of 604 B.C.”, in L. Stager, J. Schloen and D. Master (eds.), Ashkelon I: Introduction and Overview (1985–2006), (Harvard Semitic Museum Publications, Final Reports of the Leon Levy Expedition to Ashkelon; Winona Lake, IN 2008), pp. 533–535. 42 M. Faerman, personal communication. 43 Ben-Shlomo, op. cit. (note 30), pp. 48. 44 I would tend to believe that this should be connected with socio-economic changes that occurred during this period, just as it has been suggested that the appearance of infant jar burials in the Neolithic of Anatolia (I. Hodder, Theory and Practice in Archaeology [Material Cultures; London, 1992], pp. 246–250) and the Middle Bronze Age in Canaan (A. M. Maeir, “Baby Burials in Jars: Evidence of the Urban Revival in the Middle Bronze Age”, paper presented at the Annual Meeting of the Middle Bronze Age Study Group, Beersheba, April, 2006).

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Fig. 8: Plan and section of cave tomb in Area T

An additional mortuary find is a recently excavated late Iron Age I burial cave. This cave, one of several in a dry river bed (wadi) to the south of Areas A and E (termed Area T; see Figs. 2, 8), was excavated in the 2006 season, but unfortunately had previously been robbed. Nevertheless, some important information could be gleaned from the remaining finds. The skeletal remains, which save for a very small sample were not articulated, indicate that over 70 individuals were interred in this tomb. While the potsherds found in the tomb represent a wide range of periods, the overall majority, and all the complete or restorable vessels date to the late Iron Age I (Fig. 9). Likewise, a very nice selection of metal objects, glyptics and beads were found in the tomb. As of now, an analysis of the skeletal remains45 indicates: (1) A rather full representation of the entire age spectrum―from infants to adults and (2) A very poor health profile, including evidence of poor nutrition and various diseases. This said, the poor state of preservation of this burial did not allow us to learn much about Philistine mortuary customs at the time. Nevertheless, the very fact that a Philistine burial cave was discovered (which may be one of many in this area near the tell), the first reported at any of the major Philistine sites, may perhaps be indicative of future finds relating to this topic, which hopefully will be excavated in future seasons.46 45

M. Faerman, E. Boaretto, J. Uziel, A. M. Maeir and P. Smith, “‘…In Their Lives, and in Their Death…’”: A Preliminary Study of an Iron Age Burial Cave at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi, Israel”, ZDPV 127 (2011), pp. 29–48. 46 Additional and expanded studies of the finds from the cave will appear in further publications. This will include a discussion of all the small finds (such as the glyptics and amulets [by S. Wimmer and M. Görg] and metal objects [typological analysis by D. Cassuto;

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Fig. 9: Selected late Iron Age I pottery from the cave tomb in Area T

Excursus: The Relationship between Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath and Khirbet Qeiyafa The recent excavations at the site of Kh. Qeiyafa have revealed evidence of a wellplanned fortified site, dating to the late-11th and/or early-10th centuries BCE.47 Due to the fact that Kh. Qeiyafa and Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath are located close to one another, and in light of the large volume of research generated by the Kh. Qeiyafa finds dating to the late Iron I/early Iron IIA, I would like to digress here a little and discuss some issues relating to this site and its finds, and its relationship to Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath Kh. Qeiyafa is an exceptional site. The clear evidence of fortifications (including a well-planned casemate wall, and two typical Iron Age four-chambered gates),48

metallurgical analyses by A. Behar and N. Yahalom-Mack]), and insights on the cave population’s health and diet based on isotopic analyses (see now Y. Sapir, Isotopic and Chemical Research on Bio-archaeological Finds from Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath [Unpublished M.A. thesis; Bar-Ilan University, Ramat-Gan, 2011]). 47 E.g. Y. Garfinkel and S. Ganor, “Chapter 1: Khirbet Qeiyafa in Context”, in Y. Garfinkel and S. Ganor, Khirbet Qeiyafa Vol. 1: Excavation Report 2007–2008 (Jerusalem, 2009), pp. 3–18; Y. Garfinkel, S. Ganor and M. Hasel, “The Contribution of Khirbet Qeiyafa to Our Understanding of the Iron Age Period”, Strata: Bulletin of the Anglo-Israel Archaeological Society 28 (2010), pp. 39–54. 48 While some scholars (e.g., N. Na’aman, “Shaaraim – the Gateway to the Kingdom of Judah”, JHS 8 [2008]; Y. Dagan, “Khirbet Qeiyafa in the Judean Shephelah: Some Considerations”, TA 36 [2009], pp. 68–81) have doubted Garfinkel and Ganor’s claims that there is a

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epigraphic finds (possibly the earliest Hebrew inscription)49 and cultic finds, are in themselves quite unique. If one adds to this the short-lived nature of the main architectural features and their dating (late-11th/early-10th centuries BCE), the cultural affiliation as suggested by the excavators (Judahite), and their assertion that the site can be associated with the incipient Kingdom of Judah (in the time of David), both the finds, and their interpretation by the excavators are truly extraordinary. Needless to say, the excavators’ claims have not been accepted by all. Dagan, who conducted surveys in this region, has questioned the very dating of the remains at the site.50 Dagan’s views, however, are simply unacceptable, since telltale remains that are picked up in a survey, even if of various periods, cannot override the results of extensive excavations. Thus, even if Dagan found sherds from many periods at the site, the excavations have clearly and definitively shown that the primary architectural features at the site date to a relatively short time frame.51 Singer-Avitz,52 Finkelstein and Piasetzky53 have challenged the dating proposed by Garfinkel and Ganor. While the latter would date the site to ca. 1025–975 BCE, and see it as representing an early Iron Age IIA pottery horizon, Singer-Avitz claims that the pottery is more likely to be late Iron Age I,54 while Finkelstein and Piasetzky contend that the radiocarbon dates published so far from the excavation do not allow for such a close dating and that currently the site can be date anywhere between ca. 1050 BCE and 915 BCE—similarly, in their opinion, to the dating of various late Iron Age I sites in the Levant.55 While clearly these alternative dates (relative and absolute) are of importance, they do not affect the crucial points, i.e. the existence of a fortified site, of a relatively short duration, with a non-Philistine/coastal cultural affiliation. Quite clearly, the founding and construction of this site should be related to a polity that existed to the east of Philistia. Whether this is a polity that derives from the Central Hills (the early Israelite kingdom) or, alternatively an as-yet-unidentified polity that existed in the Judean Shephelah at the time, is presently unclear. Personally, I prefer in this case an ‘Occam’s Razor’ approach—and opt for the first possibility.56 Na’aman has questioned the cultural affiliation of the site and rather than accepting it as Israelite, he sees it as Philistine, in fact—as a satellite site of the Philistine

second gate, both from visits to the site and from the publications, I see no reason to question the existence of this gate. 49 H. Misgav, Y. Garfinkel and S. Ganor, “14: The Ostracon”, in Y. Garfinkel and S. Ganor Khirbet Qeiyafa Vol. 1: Excavation Report 2007–2008 (Jerusalem, 2009), pp. 243–257; and see now G. Galil, “The Hebrew Inscription from Khirbet Qeiyafa/Nata’im: Script, Language, Literature and History”, UF 41 (2009), pp. 193–242, for a complete reading. 50 Dagan, op. cit. (note 48); idem, The Ramat Bet Shemesh Regional Project: The Gazetteer. Israel Antiquities Authority Reports (Jerusalem, 2010), pp. 279–283. 51 On this, see as well Y. Garfinkel and S. Ganor, “Khirbet Qeiyafa in Survey and in Excavations: A Response to Y. Dagan”, TA 37 (2010), pp. 67–78. 52 L. Singer-Avitz, “The Relative Chronology of Khirbet Qeiyafa”, TA 37 (2010), pp. 79–83. 53 I. Finkelstein and E. Piasetzky, “Khirbet Qeiyafa: Absolute Chronology”, TA 37 (2010), pp. 84–88. 54 Singer-Avitz, op. cit. (note 52). 55 Finkelstein and Piasetzky, op. cit. (note 53). 56 While I do believe that the affiliation between Kh. Qeiyafa and the incipient Israelite polity is highly likely, I hardly concur with the excavators’ claims that this site serves as definitive proof of the historicity of a maximalist view of the Davidic kingdom.

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kingdom of Gath.57 This, though, can hardly be accepted. The stark differences between the pottery from Kh. Qeiyafa and that of both late Iron Age I and early Iron Age IIA Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath (published and unpublished)58 can hardly justify a claim that these two sites are closely affiliated. Initial evidence of the palaeodiet,59 as well as other aspects only strengthens this claim. If at all, the rather strong similarity of the pottery to the partially published late Iron Age I/early Iron Age IIA pottery from Jerusalem, strengthens a claims for an inland affiliation of this site. Despite the clear differences between the finds at Kh. Qeiyafa and Tell eṣṢafi/Gath, it would be rash to claim that one can define a clear border between these two sites, with Kh. Qeiyafa representing the westernmost position of an inland polity and culture. Dagan recently published a late Iron Age I/early Iron Age IIA tomb that was discovered ca. 4km to the northeast of Kh. Qeiyafa, further within the hilly region of the eastern ‘High Shephelah’.60 The tomb appears to have quite a few ‘Philistine’ type vessels, and its pottery is in fact quite similar to that found at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath, and seems to be somewhat different from the assemblage at Kh. Qeiyafa. This being the case, it would appear that the users of the tomb were more affiliated with the Philistine culture, and perhaps with the Philistine polity of Gath to the west, than the occupants of Kh. Qeiyafa—despite the fact that the tomb is located further inland. This can perhaps be seen as indicating that the cultural borders in this region were quite fluid—and perhaps one should not think of distinct cultural and/or political boundaries during this period between the coastal plain/Philistia and the inland (Judahite/Israelite) regions. This latter suggestion should not come as a surprise, both in light of what is known of the shifting character of border zones between cultural units.61

IV. Iron Age IIA Since the beginning of the present excavation project, many of what might be defined as the most important and groundbreaking finds date to the Iron Age IIA. As will be detailed below, this includes the very impressive remains of the city during this period, the well-preserved destruction level seen in various parts of the site— and the apparent siege system surrounding the site (which I associate with the siege and conquest by Hazael of Aram Damascus), and other finds as well. In particular, 57

Naaman, op. cit. (note 48). I would like to thank Y. Garfinkel and H. Kang for enabling me to see some of the unpublished pottery from Kh. Qeiyafa and for discussing these finds with me. 59 R. Kehati, “Chapter 11: The Faunal Assemblage”, in Y. Garfinkel and S. Ganor, Khirbet Qeiyafa Vol. 1. Excavation Report 2007–2008 (Jerusalem, 2009), pp. 201–208. 60 Dagan, op. cit. (note 50), pp. 195–201. 61 An excellent example of this is the Samson cycle (Judg 13–16). Even if one dates this and other biblical narratives describing the relationship between the Philistines and the Israelites/Judahites to later phases of the Iron Age, or even to the Persian and Hellenistic periods, these texts nevertheless depict a border existence, in which cultural and other influences moved rather freely in both directions. From a textual point of view, see, e.g., S. Weitzman, “The Samson Story as Border Fiction”, BI 10 (2002), pp. 158–174; for the bi-directional flow of cultural influences, as seen archaeologically, see D. Ben-Shlomo, I. Shai, A. Zukerman and A. M. Maeir, “Cooking Identities: Aegean-Style and Philistine Cooking Jugs and Cultural Interaction in the Southern Levant during the Iron Age”, AJA 112 (2008), pp. 225–246. 58

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due to the fact that the archaeology of Iron Age Philistia during this time frame (the 10th–9th centuries BCE) was quite poorly known prior to the Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath excavations, the finds from this time frame are of an importance that goes far beyond simply understanding the cultural history of this site. The surface survey of the site indicated that during the Iron Age IIA Tell eṣṢafi/Gath was quite impressive in size. The dispersal of finds dating to Iron Age IIA indicates that the site apparently reached its largest extent in its entire settlement history, encompassing perhaps as much as 40–50 hectares, making it one of the largest sites in the Iron Age Southern Levant).62 The intensity of Iron IIA finds, as well as the fact that these finds were discovered not only on the upper tell itself but in surrounding parts of the site as well is a strong argument in favor of this interpretation. In fact, it was suggested that in addition to an intense occupation on the upper tell, clear evidence of the existence of a substantial lower city in the area to the north of the upper tell (up to the Elah Valley river bed) could be discerned. The proposed size of the city during the Iron Age IIA, as based on our understanding of the survey results, was questioned by several scholars. Dagan,63 Shavit64 and Ussishkin65 believed that the site was much smaller at the time (ca. 16–20 hectares at most) and suggested the Iron Age IIA finds picked up in the area surrounding the upper tell were washed there by erosion. This issue was settled by the excavations in Area D, in the lower city to the north of upper tell (Figs. 2, 10). Excavations there have clearly shown that an extensive settlement of the Iron IIA existed in this part of the site, and the ‘lower city’ was discerned so far in over 350m2 of excavations, in which well-preserved Iron Age IIA remains were found, with at least two phases. In addition, architectural remains observable on the surface indicate the existence of additional structures for scores of meters both to the west and east of Area D, as well as an apparent fortification line on the slope between Area D and the Elah Valley river bed.66 To these architectural indications one can add that the finds that M. Dayan illicitly collected at the site (dating to the Iron Age IIA), were for the most part obtained from the region of the lower city. All the above clearly shows that there was an extensive lower city during the Iron Age IIA, and that our assessments on the large size of the city at this time were completely justified. 62

Uziel and Maeir, op. cit. (note 18); Note for example that in M. Broshi and I. Finkelstein’s discussion of the population and major cities of Iron Age Philistia (“The Population of Palestine in Iron Age II”, BASOR 287 [1992], p. 53), Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath is not mentioned, with Ashdod being noted as the largest site in Iron Age Philistia (40 hectares). 63 Personal communication; see Y. Dagan, “Survey in the Region of Tel Zafit”, Hadashot Archeologiot 114 (2002), pp. 102–103. 64 A. Shavit, Settlement Patterns in Israel’s Southern Coastal Plain During the Iron Age II (Unpublished Ph. D. dissertation, Tel Aviv University, Tel Aviv, 2003, Hebrew with English summary), p. 181; idem, “Settlement Patterns of Philistine City-States”, in A. Fantalkin and A. Yasur-Landau (eds.), Bene Yisrael: Studies in the Archaeology of Israel and the Levant during the Bronze and Iron Ages in Honour of Israel Finkelstein (CHANE 31; Leiden, 2008), pp. 142–143, notes 10–11. 65 D. Ussishkin, “On the So-Called Aramaean ‘Siege Trench’ in Tell eṣ-Ṣafi, Ancient Gath”, IEJ 59 (2009), pp. 140–142. 66 These architectural remains seen on surface are not related to the modern Palestinian village, since in the surface photographs from the 1920’s, as well as aerial photographs from 1945, there is no evidence of buildings in this part of the site.

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Fig. 10: Aerial photograph, looking west, of area D in the lower city to the north of the upper tell. 1: Excavation area with Iron Age IIA architecture near surface; 2: One of M. Dayan’s illicit excavation pits; 3: Possible course of city wall of lower city just above the bank of the river bed of the Elah River; 4: The Elah Valley river bed

Although the major remains dating to the Iron Age IIA date to the latter part of this period, I will first discuss the remains from the earlier stages of the period. Remains dating to the early stages of the Iron Age IIA were observed in Area A, below the extensively excavated and well-preserved destruction level of Stratum A3, which dates to the 2nd half of the 9th century BCE. In addition, in selected parts of Area A, late Iron Age I levels were reached at certain points; and the Iron Age IIA finds above these late Iron I levels and below St. A3 were related to the early Iron Age IIA. As noted in the discussion of the stratigraphy of Area A,67 the stratigraphy of the early Iron IIA and late Iron I in Area A is not consistent throughout the entire area and local phasing in the pre-St. A3 levels can be discerned. In addition, it is not always easy to define the exact differentiation between late Iron I and early Iron IIA finds, particularly in the pottery. Nevertheless, in several locations in Area A, a clear pre-St. A3 level with typical early Iron IIA finds could be distinguished (including pottery typologically different, and later, than the late Iron I pottery assemblage).68 Several important features relating to this stage can be noted. To start with, the pottery assemblage displays features typical of this period, such as the widespread appearance of hand-burnished surface decoration, and the virtual, if gradual, disappearance of the Iron I Philistine decorated pottery.

67 A. Zukerman and A. M. Maeir, “The Stratigraphy and Architecture of Area A (Strata A5A1)”, in Maeir, op. cit. (note 3). 68 See Zukerman, op. cit. (note 20).

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Fig. 11: An early Iron Age IIA round pebbled hearth in Area A, Stratum A4

Several domestic contexts dating to the early Iron IIA were excavated, in which various architectural features, such as courtyards, hearths, pits, and other installations were revealed. As mentioned above, there is ample evidence in the Iron IIA levels of the continued use of the round pebble hearths of various types (Fig. 11), now seen as typical of the early Philistine culture,69 indicating a Philistine cultural marker that continues to appear at least into the early Iron Age IIA.70 In recent seasons, the early Iron IIA levels also produced cult-related finds. On the eastern side of Area A, below a cultic corner which was part of the St. A3 destruction level (see below), remains of an early Iron Age IIA building, which apparently served as a temple were revealed. It comprised of a rectangular structure, and two well-made round stone pillar-bases (Figs. 12–13)―quite reminiscent of the plan of the Philistine temple at Tell Qasile, Stratum X.71 Although the finds from this 69

E.g., Maeir and Hitchcock, op. cit. (note 23); S. Gur-Arieh, A. M. Maeir and R. ShahackGross, “Soot Patterns on Cooking Vessels: A Short Note”, in V. Karageorghis (ed.), On Cooking Pots, Drinking Cups, Loom Weights and Ethnicity in Bronze Age Cyprus and Neigbouring Regions. An International Archaeological Symposium Held in Nicosia, November 6th–7th 2010 (Nicosia, 2011), pp. 349–355. 70 An as-yet-unpublished 14C date of ca. 1000 BCE for one of the Iron IIA hearths was determined by E. Boaretto. I wish to thank E. Boaretto for this preliminary information. Further details and the possible implications of this dating (and additional ones from other similar contexts) regarding to absolute dating of the late Iron I and early Iron IIA will be discussed in further publications. 71 E.g. A. Mazar, Excavations at Tell Qasile. Part I. The Philistine Sanctuary: Architecture and Cult Objects (Qedem 12; Jerusalem, 1980), pp. 34–36.

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structure were not well-preserved (perhaps due to the fact that it was not violently destroyed, but rather the next level was built directly on top of it), various cult related finds (such as fragments of cult stands and possible favissa pits) were discovered in association with this structure. The location of a Stratum A3 cultic corner immediately above it might reflect a continuing tradition regarding the location of the cultic focus.

Fig. 12: View of the early Iron Age IIA temple in Area A, Stratum A4. Note two stone pillar bases in the center of the structure. 1: Stratum A4-A5 Temple with two pillar bases; 2: Location of metallurgical activities; 3: Stratum A3 cult corner

Fig. 13: Suggested schematic reconstruction of the plan of the early Iron Age IIA temple in Area A, Stratum A4

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In the 2010 season an interesting additional feature was discovered in the immediate vicinity of the temple. Just to the north of the northern wall of the temple remains of a small area in which evidence of bronze and iron metallurgical production activities were conducted was found.72 These remains are of interest for several reasons: (1) The fact that this metal production context was found in the immediate vicinity of the temple might indicate some connection between the two—if the spatial proximity between the two activities is not accidental, this association might indicate that the metallurgical activity was connected with cult, a connection which is well-attested in the ancient Near East;73 (2) Up until now, evidence of metallurgy in late Iron I and/or early Iron IIA Philistia has not been reported and thisfind provides the first actual physical evidence on the character of Philistine metallurgy during the Iron Age. This is of significance inter alia regarding the oft-noted biblical association of metallurgy with the early Philistines, and the possible implication of the biblical text (I Sam 13:19–22) of a supposed ‘Philistine monopoly’ on metal production;74 While one cannot speak of a Philistine monopoly on metal production in the late Iron I and early Iron IIA (the available evidence from the ancient Levant does not support this supposition), this newly discovered metal production facility has the potential to shed important light on the technological traditions and influences between Philistia and neighboring regions and cultures during this time frame; (3) The discovery of a bronze and iron production center in the early Iron IIA Levant is quite rare and is important for the study of the metal technology during this period. Recently, Fantalkin and Finkelstein suggested that during the Iron Age IIA, Philistine Gath was a major player in the trade of copper between Faynan in southern Jordan and the Mediterranean coast, and in fact that this may have been one of the primary reasons for Gath’s dominance during this period;75 If so, this metal production area might be of further significance. This suggestion though should be qualified since: (a) There is very little evidence of metal objects in the region between Faynan and Gath during this period to support the supposed trade patterns between these two regions; (b) The dating of the Faynan copper activities is disputed;76 (c) The current evidence from Gath does not indicate any other connection with Faynan at this time; (d) As Herzog and Singer-Avitz have pointed out, there is no evidence of intensive trade and related activities in contemporaneous sites along the southern Coastal Plain, which would be assumed if in fact copper was traded

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A. Eliyahu-Behar, N. Yahalom-Mack, S. Shilstein, A. Zukeman, C. Shafer-Elliott, A. M. Maeir, A. M. Boaretto, I. Finkelstein and S. Weiner, “Iron and Bronze Production in Iron Age IIA Philistia: New Evidence from Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath, Israel”, JAS 39 (2012), pp. 255–267. 73 E.g. N. Amzallag, “Yahweh, the Canaanite God of Metallurgy?”, JSOT 33 (2008), pp. 387– 404. 74 E.g., P.M. McNutt, The Forging of Israel: Iron Technology, Symbolism, and Tradition in Ancient Society (JSOTS 108; Sheffield, 1990), pp. 151–158. 75 A. Fantalkin and I. Finkelstein, “The Sheshonq I Campaign and the 8th Century BCE Earthquake: More on the Archaeology and History of the South in the Iron I-IIA”, TA 32 (2006), pp. 18–42. 76 E.g., T. E. Levy, M. Najjar and T. Higham, “Ancient Texts and Archaeology Revisited – Radiocarbon and Biblical Dating in the Southern Levant”, Antiquity 84 (2010), pp. 834–847; contra I. Finkelstein and E. Piasetzky, “Radiocarbon and the History of Copper Production at Khirbet en-Nahas”, TA 35 (2008), pp. 82–95.

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between Faynan and Gath and from there onwards towards the coast (and beyond).77 Thus, presently it is difficult to connect between this metal production locale and a possible role of Gath in the metal trade of this period. In any case, this find sheds interesting light on the technologies used in early Iron IIA Philistia. .

Fig. 14: The late Iron Age I/early Iron Age IIA archaic alphabetic inscription from Area A, Stratum A4

Two additional finds dating to the early Iron IIA merit special mention. The first is an inscribed sherd with an archaic alphabetic script which was found in the stratified fill deposits on courtyard floor L82119 in St. A4. This inscription, which has been described in detail in a separate study,78 was incised on a fragment of a redslipped and hand-burnished bowl, typical of the early Iron Age IIA (Fig. 14). Following a close study of the inscription, the following reading and interpretation was suggested. We believe that the inscription, inscribed in an archaic alphabetic script is to be read “alwt|wlt[…]”. This is interpreted as two non-Semitic, Indo-European names, with parallels from various Bronze and Iron Age Indo-European languages (such as Mycenaean Greek, Iron Age Luwian, etc.). This inscription is of importance for various reasons: (1) It is the earliest decipherable Philistine text known to date;79 (2) This is the earliest clear evidence of the beginning of the use of the alphabetic script by the Philistines, who seem, with their arrival in Canaan, to have originally used Aegean style scripts;80 (3) The two Indo-European names appearing 77

Z. Herzog and L. Singer-Avitz, “Iron Age IIA Occupational Phases in the Coastal Plain of Israel”, in I. Finkelstein and N. Na’aman (eds.), The Fire Signals of Lachish: Studies in the Archaeology and History of Israel in the Late Bronze Age, Iron Age and Persian Period in Honor of David Ussishkin (Winona Lake, IN 2011), p. 172. 78 A. M. Maeir, S. J. Wimmer, A. Zukerman and A. Demsky, “A Late Iron Age I/early Iron Age IIA Old Canaanite Inscription from Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath, Israel: Palaeography, Dating, and Historical-Cultural Significance”, BASOR 351 (2008), pp. 39–71. 79 That is from a site which is clearly Philistine. The alphabetic text from Qubur el-Walayda (F. M. Cross, “Newly Found Inscriptions in Old Canaanite and Early Phoenician Scripts”, BASOR 238 [1980], pp. 1–4) may date to the LB and at that stage the site was not Philistine. 80 E.g., F. M. Cross and L. E. Stager, “Cypro-Minoan Inscriptions Found in Ashkelon”, IEJ 56 (2006), pp. 129–159; I. Singer, “Chapter 9: A Fragmentary Tablet Bearing an Un-

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in the inscription serve as additional evidence for a Indo-European linguistic background of the Philistines’ original language(s).81 While numerous hints to this background have been suggested in the past, whether based on biblical texts 82 or on later Iron Age inscriptions,83 this inscription provides the earliest clear evidence to this background. In addition, the use of two names which are roughly from the same class of names as the name Goliath (and its suggested Indo-European etymologies)84 indicates that such names were still in use in the Iron Age IIA, as hinted to by the biblical text. (4) The clear dating of this archaic alphabetic text, both the well-dated medium on which it was inscribed (a sherd clearly dating to the Iron Age IIA) and the clear archaeological context, is proof that the archaic style of the alphabetic script was in use later than often suggested.85 Even if at some sites typologicallymore-advanced versions of the alphabetic text already appeared at more or less the same time,86 earlier types of scripts continued to be used simultaneously.

known Script”, in Y. Gadot and E. Yadin, Aphek-Antipatris II: The Remains on the Acropolis. The Moshe Kochavi and Pirhiya Beck Excavations (Emery and Claire Yass Publications in Archaeology, Monograph Series 27; Tel Aviv, 2009), pp. 472–488. 81 It should be added that if in fact the Philistines utilized Cypro-Minoan (or something similar) as a writing system in the early stages of their culture—as apparent if Cross and Stager’s (op. cit. [note 81]) interpretation is correct—one should take into account that this might indicate that non-Indo-European languages were also being used by the Philistines at this stage, since the Cypro-Minoan script may have been used for the writing of more than one language, including non-Indo-European ones (see, e.g., J. C. Billigmeier, “Toward a Decipherment of Cypro-Minoan”, AJA 80 [1976], pp. 295–300; T. G. Palaima, “Cypro-Minoan Scripts: Problems of Historical Context”, in Y. Duhoux, T. G. Palaima and J. Bennet [eds.] Problems in Decipherment [Bibliothèque des Cahiers de l’Institut de Linguistique de Louvain 49; Louvain, 1988], pp. 121–187; E. Bennett, “Aegean Scripts”, in P. Daniels and W. Bright [eds.] The World’s Writing Systems [Oxford, 1996], pp. 125–133). I would like to thank L. Hitchcock for discussing this issue with me. 82 E.g., E. Sapir, “Hebrew ‘argaz, a Philistine Word”, JAOS 56 (1936), pp. 272–281; “Hebrew ‘Helmet’, a Loanword, and Its Bearing on Indo-European Phonology”, JAOS 57 (1937), pp. 73–77; C. Rabin, “Hittite Words in the Bible”, Orientalia 32 (1963), pp. 113–139; idem, “Words in Biblical Hebrew from Indo-Aryan Languages of the Near East, in Hebrew”, in S. Abramski, Y. Aharoni, H. Gvaryahu and B. Luria (eds.), Shmuel Yeivin Volume: Studies in the Bible, Archaeology, Language and History of Israel (Jerusalem, 1970), pp. 462–497; J. F. Brug, A Literary and Archaeological Study of the Philistines (BAR International Series 265; Oxford, 1985), pp. 193–196; I. Singer, “Semitic Dagon and Indo-European *Dheghom: Related Words?”, in Y. Arbeitman (ed.), The Asia Minor Connexion: Studies on the Pre-Greek Languages in Memory of Charles Carter (Orbis/Supplementa: Monographs Published by the International Center of General Dialectology [Louvain] 13; Leuven, 2000), pp. 221–232. 83 E.g., S. Gitin, T. Dothan and J. Naveh, “A Royal Dedicatory Inscription from Ekron”, IEJ 47 (1997), pp. 1–16; A. Demsky, “The Name of the Goddess of Ekron—a New Reading”, JANES 25 (1997), pp. 1–5; C. Schäfer-Lichtenberger, “PTGJH—Göttin und Herrin von Ekron”, BN 91 (1998), pp. 64–76; idem, “The Goddess of Ekron and the Religious-Cultural Background of the Philistines”, IEJ 50 (2000), pp. 82–91; but see S. R. Berlant, “The Mysterious Ekron Goddess Revisited”, JANES 31 (2008), pp. 15–21. 84 See Maeir et al. op. cit. (note 79). 85 E.g. Cross, op. cit. (note 80). 86 E.g., R. Tappy, P. McCarter Jr., M. Lundberg and B. Zuckerman, “An Abecedary of the Mid-Tenth Century B.C.E. from the Judaean Shephelah”, BASOR 344 (2006), pp. 5–46; Misgav, Garfinkel and Ganor, op. cit. (note 49).

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An important point to stress is that in the next stage at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath, in the late Iron IIA Stratum A3 (2nd half of the 9th century BCE), a limited group of alphabetic texts indicate that the archaic alphabet was not used any more, and a more formalized, Phoenician style alphabet has come into use. This is seen in three brief incised inscriptions from Stratum A3, two on storage jars (one reading r/‘p’ and one reading l’b) and a pithos handle with an aleph on it. This is most likely indicative of the closer involvement between Philistine Gath and the Phoenicians in the later stages of the Iron IIA (see below).

Fig. 15: Fragment of late Submycenaean / early Protogeometric imported Greek sherd from Area A, Stratum A4

A second find of note is an imported Greek sherd of late Sub-Mycenaean/early Proto-Geometric date (Fig. 15). This sherd, found in L53023 in Area A, in a context either of the very late Iron I or early Iron IIA, is a fragment of a wavy line bowl of Argive origin.87 Several points about this find are noteworthy. To start with, it is apparently the earliest Iron Age imported Greek sherd reported so far from the Levant. In addition, as opposed to most of the later Iron Age IIA-IIB Greek pottery from the Levant, which originates from Euboea, this sherd was produced in the Argolid (a pattern more common in the Late Bronze Age). All told, this sherd is most probably evidence of the very beginning of trade between Iron Age Greece and the Levant during the Iron Age II, most probably through Phoenician middlemen (for additional aspects relating to trade during the Iron IIA, see below). As noted above, perhaps the most impressive finds discovered in the current excavation project date to the latter part of the Iron Age IIA, including a well preserved destruction level, unearthed in several of the excavations areas on the site, and a siege system which is dated to this period as well. Starting in the first excavation season in Area A, evidence of a rich and wellpreserved destruction level was discovered. In subsequent seasons, as the excava87

This object was thoroughly discussed in A. M. Maeir, A. Fantalkin and A. Zukerman, “The Earliest Greek Import to the Iron Age Levant: New Evidence from Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath, Israel”, AWE 8 (2009), pp. 57–80; see as well D. Ben-Shlomo, A. M. Maeir and J. Mommsen, “Neutron Activation and Petrographic Analysis of Selected Late Bronze and Iron Age Pottery from Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath, Israel”, JAS 35 (2008), pp. 963–964.

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tions in Area A were expanded, this level, which was defined as Stratum A3, was extensively uncovered. A similar picture emerged in other excavation areas on the tell—extensive remains in Area D, in the lower city; in Area F, near the summit of the tell, and to a limited extent in Area E, just to the east of Area A. The finds from all these excavation areas provide a relatively coherent and consistent picture for the city of Gath during the late Iron Age IIA. Wherever excavated, evidence of a rich and well-developed culture was seen, which reached a rather sudden end in a site-wide destruction. This destruction, which we associate with the conquest of Gath by Hazael of Aram Damascus (2 Kgs 12:18) is dated to ca. 830– 820 BCE, was evidenced in collapsed, burnt and abandoned buildings throughout the site. Due to the extraordinary amount of finds discovered in these buildings (particularly in Areas A, D and F; Figs. 16–17), all quite similar, it is clear that this destruction was the result of a single momentous event, and not a series of unrelated events (but see below on the actual process of this destruction). As noted above, the size of Gath during the Iron Age IIA was ca. 45–50 hectares—making it one of the largest sites in the Iron Age Southern Levant. We assume that the town was fortified at this time—both because of its size and prominent role during this period, but also because otherwise there would be have been no need for a prolonged siege by Hazael (see below). However, fortifications belonging to this town have not yet been excavated. Nevertheless, several hints regarding the existence of these fortifications do exist. On the one hand, Bliss and Macalister reported an extensive city wall surrounding most of the upper tell,88 parts of which were excavated by them,89 and sections of which can still be seen today. While the dating of this fortification is not clear from their reports, this wall may date to the Iron Age IIA. On the southern side of the summit, sections of this wall, on which a thick layer of burnt bricks is situated, can be seen. The type of bricks and their burnt state are quite similar to brick structures from the late 9th century BCE destruction level throughout the site. In addition, just to the north of Area D, one can observe on the surface, a ca. 50m section of a three–four m thick wall, running along the slope above the Elah Valley river-bed. Although not yet excavated, this wall may very well be the fortification of the lower city. Just to the west of Area F, on the slope, a relatively long section of the wall noted by Bliss and Macalister is visible.90 While this has not yet been excavated by us, its proximity to the excavation area will hopefully enable us to excavate a section of it in the near future. Interestingly, no evidence of a wall dating to the late 9th century BCE was seen in Area A, nor in Area E. The wall marked by Bliss and Macalister runs on the terrace above and to the west of Area A, and consequently we expected that to the east of Area A, possibly on the terrace between Areas A and E, an additional fortification wall would be found. This, however, did not turn out to be the case, and neither was there any evidence of such a wall on the slopes surrounding Areas A and E to the north, east and south. Thus, most likely, this part of the site was not fortified.

88 F. Bliss and S. Macalister, Excavations in Palestine during the Years 1989–1900 (London, 1902), pp. 30–31. 89 R. Avissar and A. M. Maeir, “A Reanalysis of Bliss and Macalister’s Excavations at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath in 1899”, in Maeir, op. cit. (note 3). 90 Bliss and Macalister, op. cit. (note 88), pp. 30–31.

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Fig. 16: Assemblage of late Iron Age IIA pottery from the 9th century BCE destruction level in Area A

Fig. 17: In situ group of late Iron Age IIA pottery vessels from the 9th century BCE destruction level in Area D (lower city)

It would seem then that large portions of both the upper and lower cities were fortified at the time. Hopefully, in future seasons, portions of these fortifications will be excavated. By and large, the structures excavated so far from this destruction level appear to be domestic.91 As of yet, no clear evidence of the elite zones in the city have been excavated—perhaps largely due to the fact that the very summit of the tell is currently unavailable for excavations. While at present it is difficult to define with 91

See Zukerman and Maeir, op. cit. (note 68).

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certainty the architectural types of these domestic structures (due to the fact that only a few of these structures were excavated in their entirety), several points can be noted. Firstly, it is clear that these structures are not of the ‘four room house’ type— so typical of Israelite/Judahite sites, and in fact existing in the late-8th century BCE Judahite levels at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath (see below). Some similarity does exist between the plans of Building 23033 from Area A (see Fig. 18) and the ‘Linear House’ type defined by Aja at Ashkelon,92 which he has shown to have originated in the Aegean Late Bronze Age, reflecting foreign, non-Levantine architectural influences on the Philistine culture.

Fig. 18: Schematic plan of Stratum A3 (late Iron Age IIA). Note Building 23033 in the center of Area A

Several other features of these largely domestic structures can be noted. To start with, evidence of various types of household activities was uncovered. This included a variety of household production activities, such as grinding, oil production, weaving93 and more. Interestingly, no extensive evidence of cooking has been observed, nor various types of ovens, nor for that matter, a significant number of cooking pots of the typical Iron Age types. This latter point does not mean that cooking was not carried out in these houses; rather, the cooking jug was a pre-dominant cooking vessel at this time.94 A bone tool production location was discovered in this destruction level in Area F. The finds from this location, which apparently was meant to produce bone points or arrows, enabled us to reconstruct the entire chaîne opératoire of this production process, which, although supposedly a rather mundane and common technology, has previously rarely been reported at other sites in the Near East.95 92 A. J. Aja, Philistine Domestic Architecture in the Iron Age I (Unpublished Ph. D. dissertation, Harvard University; Cambridge, MA 2009). 93 D. Cassuto, “Chapter 19: The Weaving Implements”, in Maeir, op. cit. (note 3). 94 As noted in Ben-Shlomo et al., op. cit. (note 62). 95 See L. K. Horwitz, J. E. Lev-Tov, J. R. Chadwick, S. J. Wimmer and A. M. Maeir, “Working Bones: A Unique Iron Age IIA Bone Workshop from Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath”, NEA 66 (2006), pp. 169–173; A. M. Maeir, H. Greenfield, J. E. Lev-Tov and L.K. Horwitz, “Macro- and Microscopic Aspects of Bone Tool Manufacture and Technology in the Levantine Iron Age: A 9th Century BCE Workshop from Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath, Israel”, in S. A. Rosen and V. Roux

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Evidence of olive oil production during the Iron Age IIA was found in Area A in the form of an olive press (L12032). The shape of this olive press is interesting when seen in the context of the development of olive production technology during the Iron Age. R. Beeri has recently drawn attention to a distinct type of round, built olive presses, dating from the late LB until the early Iron Age IIA.96 At least one olive press of this type was discovered in our excavations in Area A, in the late Iron I levels (L73049). At Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath, this technology is replaced in the later phase of the Iron Age IIA with a slightly different olive press, comprising a large monolithic stone basin (L32037), which apparently was used with a weighted beam.97 Evidence of a similar stone basin was noticed on the surface of the tell in the lower city (ca. 100m to the east of Area D), and it is highly likely that it dates to the same phase. This method of olive pressing is similar, but yet different from the method that becomes prevalent in the 8th–6th centuries BCE in this region, attested, for example at Tel Miqne/Ekron, Tel Batash, and at other sites.98 It would seem that the monolithic-basin presses form a link between the earlier type press defined by Beeri99 and the later one common in the latter parts of the Iron Age. In several of the structures uncovered in Stratum A3, evidence of cultic praxis was uncovered. Although currently there is no clear-cut evidence for the existence of formal cultic structures in Stratum A3, the repeated discovery of various cultoriented objects, such as decorated chalices, phallic-shaped situlae (Fig. 19, and see more below), and other objects, seems to indicate that these cultic objects were places in ‘cultic corners’ within domestic contexts. This may be seen as a manifestation of household cult, well documented in the ancient Near East,100 and specifically seen in other Philistine contexts.101 In addition, as noted for example at Tel (eds.), Techniques and People: Anthropological Perspectives on Technology in the Archaeology of the Proto-Historic and Early Historic Periods in the Southern Levant (Memoires et travaux du Centre de recherche français de Jérusalem: Archéologie et Sciences de l’Antiquité et du Moyen-Âge 9; Paris, 2009), pp. 41–68. 96 R. Beeri, “Round Oil Presses of the 13th–10th Centuries BCE in Palestine and Their Implications: Chronology, Function and Geographical Distribution”, PEQ 140 (2008), pp. 155–158. 97 For a discussion see Zukerman and Maeir, op. cit. (note 68). 98 E.g., D. Eitam, “Olive Presses of the Israelite Period”, TA 6 (1979), pp. 146–155; “The Olive Oil Industry at Tel Miqne-Ekron during the Late Iron Age”, in D. Eitam and M. Heltzer (eds.), Olive Oil in Antiquity: Israel and Neighboring Countries from the Neolithic to the Early Arab Period (History of the Ancient Near East Studies, VII; Padova, 1996), pp. 167– 198. 99 Beeri, op. cit. (note 96). 100 E.g., K. van der Toorn, Family Religion in Babylonia, Syria and Israel: Continuity and Change in the Forms of Religious Life, Studies in the History and Culture of the Ancient Near East 7 (Leiden, 1996); P. M. M. Daviau, “Family Religion: Evidence for the Paraphernalia of the Domestic Cult”, in P. M. M. Daviau, J. W. Wevers and M. Weigl (eds.), The World of the Aramaeans: Biblical Studies in Honour of Paul-Eugène Dion, II (JSOTS 325; Sheffield, 2001), pp. 199–229; J. Bodel and S. M. Olyan, Household and Family Religion in Antiquity. The Ancient World: Comparative Histories (Oxford, 2008). 101 E.g., S. Gitin, “Israelite and Philistine Cult and the Archaeological Record in Iron Age II: The “Smoking Gun” Phenomenon”, in W. Dever, S. Gitin (eds.), Symbiosis, Symbolism, and the Power of the Past: Canaan, Ancient Israel, and Their Neighbors from the Late Bronze Age through Roman Palaestina, Proceedings of the Centennial Symposium W.F. Albright Institute of Archaeological Research and American Schools of Oriental Research, May 29– 31, 2000 (Winona Lake, IN 2003), pp. 279–295; “The Late Iron Age II Incense Altars from

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Miqne/Ekron, cultic corners are at times related to production contexts,102 often in domestic settings.103 Due to the prevalence of production activities in the Stratum A3 structures, this cultic activity might be related to such activities as well. Two additional cult-related aspects should be mentioned. As mentioned,104 several examples of a unique type of phallic-shaped ceramic situlae were found in Stratum A3. I have suggested that these vessels are related to the cult of the Philistine goddess, perhaps in fact relating to the biblical ophalim, mentioned in the context of the ‘Ark Narrative’ in I Sam 5–6.105

Fig. 19: Two ceramic phallic-shaped vessels (situlae) from Area A, Stratum A3 (late Iron Age IIA)

Ashkelon”, in J. D. Schloen (ed.), Exploring the Longue Durée: Essays in Honor of Lawrence E. Stager (Winona Lake, IN 2009), pp. 127–136; R. Schmitt, “Ashdod and the Material Remains of Domestic Cults in the Philistine Coastal Plain”, in J. Bodel and S. M. Olyan (eds.), Household and Family Religion in Antiquity (Oxford, 2008), pp. 159–170; Ben-Shlomo op. cit. (note 6) , pp. 183–186. 102 E.g. S. Gitin, “Seventh Century B.C.E. Cultic Elements at Ekron”, in Biblical Archaeology Today, 1990: Proceedings of the Second International Congress on Biblical Archaeology, Jerusalem, June–July 1990 (Jerusalem, 1993), pp. 248–258. 103 Note that Ben-Shlomo (op. cit. [note 6], p. 183) has suggested that the cultic paraphernalia of the Philistine domestic cult retain more of the non-local facets of the Philistines in comparison to what is found in actual temples, where a stronger Levantine/Canaanite influence is seen. He suggested that perhaps this may be related to an attempt to retain “homeland practices in their private domain, yet conform more to the host culture in the public domain.” For a comparison between Aegean and Levantine cultic corners, see now L. Hitchcock, “Cult Corners in the Aegean and the Levant”, in A. Yasur-Landau, J. R. Ebeling and L. B. Mazow (eds.), Household Archaeology in Ancient Israel and Beyond (CHANE 50; Leiden, 2011), pp. 321–346. 104 And see A. M. Maeir, “A New Interpretation of the Term ‘Opalim (‫ )עפלים‬in Light of Recent Archaeological Finds from Philistia”, JSOT 32 (2007), pp. 23–40. 105 Idem, ibid.

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Fig. 20: Assemblage of cultic vessels from the cult corner (L101116), Stratum A3 (late-Iron Age IIA)

The following cult-related aspect in Stratum A3 is also worthy of note. Room 62023 is part of a structure (101116), in which there was an area with multiple plastered niches, and a plastered stepped platform. Just in front of this platform, a rectangular flattened flint stone was uncovered, on which lay a collection of cultic objects, including an ring-shaped kernos, a pomegranate-shaped vessel, several painted ceramic situlae, two miniature ceramic figurines of a sitting deity,106 a painted platter, a base of a chalice, and several fragments of zoomorphic figurines (Fig. 20). Interestingly, some of these vessels had small perforations or protrusions with perforations, as if to enable attaching them to a hanging apparatus―and in fact, a fragment of a bronze hook was found with these items.107 We believe that these 106

One of which was described in A. M. Maeir, “A Seated Figurine from Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath: A Philistine Image of El?” in C. Cohen, V. Hurowitz, A. Hurvitz, Y. Muffs, B. Schwartz and J. Tigay (eds.), Birkat Shalom: Studies in the Bible, Ancient Near Eastern Literature, and Postbiblical Judaism Presented to Shalom M. Paul on the Occasion of His Seventieth Birthday (Winona Lake, IN 2008), pp. 627–635. 107 T. Dothan and D. Ben-Shlomo, “Ceramic Pomegranates and Their Relationship to Iron Age Cult”, in S. Crawford, A. Ben-Tor, J. Dessel, W. Dever, A. Mazar and J. Aviram (eds.),“Up to the Gates of Ekron”: Essays on the Archaeology and History of the Eastern Mediterranean in Honor of Seymour Gitin (Jerusalem, 2007), pp. 10–11; see as well BenShlomo op. cit. [note 6], pp. 156–157. Ben-Shlomo notes the existence of pomegranate shaped vessels of cultic association that were suspended through perforated protrusions. They believe that these vessels were in fact part of larger objects and did not function as containers or libations vessels. Due to the fact that in the Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath group such ‘hanging apparatus’ (holes for attaching the vessels to other objects) were found on various types of vessels

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were cultic objects that were used in this corner, some of which may have been used in the form of cultic mobile/candelabra of sorts. Interestingly, as noted above, immediately below this cultic corner, the Stratum A4 cultic structure was discovered. This, and the large concentration of cult objects, may indicate that as opposed to the smaller cultic corners of Stratum A3, L62023 might have been more than just a domestic cultic corner, possibly part of a more formalized cultic structure. The pottery assemblage (and other finds) from the 9th century BCE destruction level provides an important glance at the socio-economic setting of the site during this period, as well as issues relating to trade, technology and more. As discussed by I. Shai and myself,108 there is evidence of an advanced pottery production tradition at the site, with a wide range of pottery types (vis-à-vis function, decoration, influences, etc.). From a regional point of view, it is clear that the cultural affinity of this assemblage is with other sites in the coastal plain (Philistia), even if some similarities with more inland sites can be observed. The pottery assemblage exhibits a certain continuity, both in shapes and decorations, from the Iron Age I Philistine ceramic culture, but on the other hand there are many new forms and decorations that become more and more common in the Iron IIA and even during Iron IIB. Nevertheless, many of the characteristics typical of the Iron Age IIB pottery, such as wheel burnishing, are completely absent from this assemblage. Thus, a relative chronological placement between the late-Iron I/early-Iron Age IIA on the one hand, and the Iron Age IIA on the other, seems quite logical. This would place this assemblage somewhere in the 2nd half of the 9th/early-8th centuries BCE—based on the comparison to other assemblages (such as Lachish, Levels V–IV; Kuntillet ‘Ajrud; and more). On the basis of the 14C dates (see below) available from Stratum A3, as well as the historical argumentation for assigning the Stratum A3 destruction to Hazael (see below), a date ca. 830–820 BCE for the end of this stratum is most likely. Thus, the Stratum A3 pottery assemblage is a prime example of a late Iron Age IIA context,109 providing a relatively robust dating for this cultural stage in southern Israel. Since this late Iron Age IIA assemblage from Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath dates (a pomegranate-shaped vessel, several situlae, and a flat platter) it is rather difficult to accept that they were all attached to another object. Rather, it is more likely that they hung from a larger construction, which perhaps was suspended from the ceiling of this structure. 108 I. Shai and A. M. Maeir, “The Iron Age IIA Pottery Assemblage from Stratum A3”, in Maeir, op. cit. (note 3). 109 As defined, e.g., by Z. Herzog and L. Singer-Avitz, “Redefining the Centre: The Emergence of State in Judah”, TA 31 (2004), pp. 209–244; idem, “Sub-Dividing the Iron Age IIA in Northern Israel: A Suggested Solution to the Chronological Debate”, TA 33 (2006), pp. 163–195; idem, op. cit. (note 78). While I do not agree with Herzog and Singer-Avitz’s suggestion that the foundational core of the Judahite state is to be located in the Shephelah and the Beer Sheva valley, I fully concur with their division of the Iron Age IIA into two phases (early and late) and their suggestion that this period lasted for at least 150 years. See as well D. Ben-Shlomo, I. Shai and A. M. Maeir, “Late Philistine Decorated Ware (“Ashdod Ware”): Typology, Chronology and Production Centers”, BASOR 335 (2004), pp. 28–30; I. Shai, D. Ben-Shlomo and A. M. Maeir, “The Philistine Material Culture in Process: The Late Philistine Decorated Ware (‘Ashdod Ware’) as a Case Study of Cultural Transformation”, in H. Kuehne, R. Czichon and F. Kreppner (eds.), The Proceedings of the 4th International Congress of the Archaeology of the Ancient Near, 29 March – 3 April 2004, Freie Universität Berlin, Volume II. East Social and Cultural Transformation: The Archaeology of Transitional Periods and Dark Ages. Excavation Reports (Wiesbaden, 2008), pp. 236–236; Shai and Maeir, op. cit. (note 108).

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to several decades before the end of the 9th century BCE, in order to allow for a long enough time-span for the development of both the Iron Age IIA early and late ceramic assemblages, it may be suggested that the Iron Age IIA most probably commenced no later than the mid-10th century BCE, and possibly earlier. This dating that is supported by 14C dates from the earlier Iron Age IIA level at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath (see below). While it would be premature to state that the end of the Iron Age IIA dates to ca. 830–820 BCE—the dating of the Stratum A3 destruction (for a discussion of the date of this destruction, see below), it could not have ended much later. Thus, suggestions to end this period ca. 800 BCE110 would seem to be more likely than arguments to end it ca. 760 BCE (with the ‘Amos earthquake’).111 The latter date is about 60–70 years later than the destruction of Gath whose pottery assemblage is already ‘late Iron Age IIA’. In the same vein, suggestions to date the Stratum A3 assemblage to within the 8th century BCE, just prior to the Lachish III horizon,112 cannot be accepted―in light of the combination of the pottery parallels, radiometric dating, and the historical understanding of Hazael’s campaign (see below). Thus, contrary to Singer-Avitz,113 I believe that the Stratum A3 assemblage can be seen as typical of the material culture of the 9th century BCE in the southern Land of Israel (the late Iron Age IIA).114 Several non-local types of pottery in the Stratum A3 assemblage are noteworthy. On the one hand, several vessels of Phoenician/Cypriote origin (of the Black-on-Red group) are present, indicating the slowly expanding connections between Philistia and the Phoenicians, and with the outside world in general, during the Iron Age IIA.115 At the same time, evidence of connections with the inland regions are seen as well, for example by the ‘pre-lmlk’ jars found in the destruction level, which have been shown to originate in the Shephelah, and have a clearly Judahite orientation.116 These imported vessels, as well as locally-produced vessels showing foreign influences,117 fit in well with other indications of an increased interaction between Philis110

E.g., S. Bunimovitz and Z. Lederman, “Close Yet Apart: Diverse Cultural Dynamics at Iron Age Beth-Shemesh and Lachish”, in I. Finkelstein and N. Na’aman (eds.), The Fire Signals of Lachish: Studies in the Archaeology and History of Israel in the Late Bronze Age, Iron Age and Persian Period in Honor of David Ussishkin (Winona Lake, IN 2011), p. 45. 111 E.g., Herzog and Singer-Avitz, op. cit. (note 109), pp. 229–231. 112 E.g., L. Singer-Avitz, “Arad: Iron Age Pottery Assemblages”, TA 29 (2002), p. 163; E. Lipińksi, The Skirts of Canaan in the Iron Age: Historical and Topographical Researches (OLA; Leuven, 2006), p. 51. 113 Singer-Avitz, ibid., p. 163. 114 Likewise, I believe that the comparison between the Stratum A3 assemblage and that of Kuntillet ‘Ajrud can be accepted and that both contexts date to the second half of the 9th century BCE, or (for Kuntillet ‘Ajrud) the very early-8th century BCE at the latest. There is no reason to push the latter deeper into the 8th century, as suggested by Singer-Avitz (“The Date of Kuntillet ‘Ajrud”, TA 33/2 [2006], pp. 196–228; idem, “The Date of Kuntillet ‘Ajrud: A Rejoinder”, TA 36 [2009], pp. 110–119). See, e.g., L. Freud, “The Date of Kuntillet ‘Ajrud: A Reply to Lily Singer-Avitz”, TA 35 (2008), pp. 169–174. 115 This is discussed above in relationship to the imported early Greek sherd (also Maeir, Fantalkin and Zukerman, op. cit. [note 88]). 116 I. Shai and A. M. Maeir, “The Pre-LMLK Jars: A New Class of Iron Age IIA Storage Jars”, TA 30 (2003), pp. 108–123; idem, op. cit. (note 108). 117 E.g., Ben-Shlomo, Shai and Maeir op. cit. (note 109); A. M. Maeir and I. Shai, “Iron Age IIA Chalices from Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath”, in E. Czerny, I. Hein, H. Hunger, D. Melman and A. Schwab (eds.) Timelines. Studies in Honour of Manfred Bietak, II (OLA 149; Leuven, 2005),

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tia and the outside world as the Iron Age IIA develops. As noted above, this is also attested by the transition from archaic alphabetic writing in the early Iron Age IIA, to formalized Phoenician script in the late Iron Age IIA at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath. Interestingly, the evidence of contact with Egypt during the Iron Age IIA is less conclusive. To date, we have not found any Egyptian (or for that matter, Egyptianizing) pottery in the late Iron I and early Iron IIA levels, in contrast to the mounting evidence of significant trade in Egyptian pottery (and other items) during the late Iron I and Iron IIA,118 particularly at sites along the northern coast (but in northern Philistia [Tell Qasile, Stratum X] as well). Most recently, impressive quantities of Egyptian pottery have been reported from Tel Dor from this time frame.119 On the other hand, the late Iron I/Iron IIA contexts at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath did produce Egyptian-influenced glyptics and amulets. Egyptian-style faience amulets were discovered in the late Iron Age I tomb in Area T (see above), as well as in an Iron Age IIA context in Area A (in the 2010 season). An as-yet-unpublished bulla with the impression of a post-Ramesside seal was found in an early Iron Age IIA context in Area A. Glyptics with Egyptian influences were also found in Stratum A3.120 In addition, preliminary analysis of the faunal remains from the Iron I levels indicate a (currently limited) presence of Nile Perch—perhaps indicating another aspect of contact with Egypt at the time.121 It would appear then that contact (both trade and other types of interaction) between Gath and Egypt during the late Iron I and Iron IIA was rather limited, but nevertheless existent. This is a pattern which seems to be quite different from that of other parts of the Southern Levant (and particularly the Phoenician coast), indicating, as seen with other aspects, that there were clear regional differences in the cultural processes and mechanisms along the Levantine littoral during the early Iron Age. The expanding connections between Gath and other regions in the Levant during the Iron Age IIA should be seen in the context of the large size, and, undoubtedly, the important regional role of Gath during this period. I believe that Gath should be seen as the predominant polity in Philistia during Iron Age IIA, as well as vis-à-vis other polities in adjacent regions. As to the Philistine cities, it is quite clear that both Ashkelon and Ekron where small and relatively unimportant during the Iron Age IIA. Ashdod seems to have been a major entity during this period, while little is known about Gaza. It can be surmised that perhaps, just as Ashkelon and Ekron were the dominant urban entities in Philistia towards the end of the Iron Age—one a

pp. 357–366; “An Iron Age IIA Phoenician-Style (?) Fluted Ceramic Bowl from Tell eṣ-Ṣafi /Gath: A Ceramic Imitation of a Metal Prototype”, Journal of the Serbian Archaeological Society 23 (2007), pp. 219–226. For provenience studies, see Ben-Shlomo, Maeir and Mommsen, op. cit. (note 88); D. Ben Shlomo, “Archaeometric Analysis of Pottery”, in Maeir, op. cit. (note 3). 118 See S. Ben-Dor Evian, Inter-Relations between Egypt and Israel: Egyptian Pottery at Sites of the Iron Age I-IIB (Unpublished M.A. Thesis; Tel Aviv, 2008; Hebrew with English Abstract); idem, “Egypt and the Levant in the Iron Age I–IIA: The Ceramic Evidence”, TA 38 (2011), pp. 94–119. 119 E.g. Gilboa and Sharon, op. cit. (note 11), p. 156. 120 S. Münger and O. Keel, “Stamp-Seal Amulets”, in Maeir, op. cit. (note 3). 121 See, e.g., W. van Neer, O. Lernau, R. Friedman, G. Mumford, J. Poblome and M. Waelkens, “Fish Remains from Archaeological Sites as Indicators of Former Trade Connections in the Eastern Mediterranean”, Paléorient 30 (2004), pp. 101–147.

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coastal city and the other inland—perhaps, during the Iron Age IIA, a similar structure can be seen with Ashdod and Gath playing these roles. As to the relationship between Gath and political entities outside Philistia during the Iron Age, I believe that a central role of Gath in this regard can be advocated. The evidence of diverse foreign trade and influences at Gath during this period are telling. In addition, as pointed out in the past,122 I believe that the large size of Gath during the Iron Age IIA should also be seen in the context of the rise of the Judahite state during this period. The very fact that a large polity existed in eastern Philistia might very well be as a counterpart to an emerging polity in Judah. The recent finds at Kh. Qeiyafa (above) may very well strengthen this assumption. Finally, the very fact that Hazael of Aram focused so much effort on the siege, conquest and destruction of Gath in the late-9th century BCE (see below), can only be the result of the city’s important role at this time (and the lack of other important sites in the region).123 In fact, following the destruction of Gath by Hazael, there is a significant shift in the geopolitical matrix in the southern Levant in general, and in Philistia in particular.124 As noted in the past,125 one of the major contributions of the Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath excavations to the study of the Philistine culture is the evidence regarding the ‘middle stage’ of the Philistine culture. Previous research, dictated by excavation results at other Philistine sites, had focused primarily on the earlier (12th–11th centuries BCE) and later (8th–7th centuries BCE) stages of the Philistine culture, and relatively little was known about the middle phases of this culture (10th–9th centuries BCE). In particular, this hampered studies of the development of the Philistine culture throughout the Iron Age and its underlying processes. An example of this is Stone’s study of the development of the Philistine culture, where the ‘snapshots’ of the Philistine culture that he uses to define the cultural changes throughout the Iron Age are solely from the beginning and later stages of this period.126 The discovery of a well-preserved, robust and full spectrum assemblage dating to the Iron Age IIA at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath, and a close study of various facets of the finds, provide an excellent opportunity to expand our knowledge on the development of the Philistine culture—filling in the gap for the middle of this sequence. Earlier studies on the development of the Philistine culture127 offered a rather simplistic division into a few main stages; (1) Arrival of Philistines with a predominantly foreign culture during the 12th century BCE; (2) Heavy local Levantine influ122

A. M. Maeir, “The Historical Background and Dating of Amos VI 2: An Archaeological Perspective from Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath”, VT 54 (2004), pp. 319–334. 123 See Herzog and Singer-Avitz, op. cit. (note 78). 124 See below, as well as Fantalkin and Finkelstein, op. cit. (note 76); Bunimovitz and Lederman, op. cit. (note 110), pp. 42–43; Maeir, op. cit. (note 3). 125 E.g. A. M. Maeir, “The Philistine Culture in Transformation: A Current Perspective Based on the Results of the First Seasons of Excavations at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi /Gath” in A. M. Maeir and E. Baruch (eds.), Settlement, Civilization and Culture: Proceedings of the Conference in Memory of David Alon (Ramat-Gan, 2001), pp. 111–129 (Hebrew). 126 B. J. Stone, “The Philistines and Acculturation: Culture Change and Ethnic Continuity in the Iron Age”, BASOR 298 (1995), pp. 7–32. 127 E.g., T. Dothan, op. cit. (note 27); G. Mendenhall, “Cultural History and the Philistine Problem”, in L. T. Geraty and L. G. Herr (eds.), The Archaeology of Jordan and Other Studies: Presented to Siegfried H. Horn (Andrews University, 1986), pp. 525–546; S. Bunimovitz, “Problems in the ‘Ethnic’ Identification of the Philistine Culture”, TA 17 (1990), pp. 210–222.

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ence on the Philistine culture during the 12th and 11th centuries BCE; (3) Slow but definite disappearance (assimilation) of the Philistine culture during the 10th through 8th centuries BCE; (4) The Philistine culture becoming just another local facet of the Levantine culture during the 8th–7th centuries BCE, finally disappearing after the Babylonian conquest of the late-6th century and the deportation of the Philistines to Mesopotamia. This view began to change in the early 1990’s, as the excavations of sites such as Tel Miqne/Ekron and Ashkelon started to provide more data on the Philistine culture. An important development was the study by B. J. Stone, who argued that as opposed to previous assumptions that the Philistine culture slowly assimilated (and disappeared) during the Iron Age, a gradual process of change—which he believed could be defined as ‘acculturation’ could be seen—and that a clear continuity of the Philistine cultural entity throughout the Iron Age can be observed.128 Soon after the beginning of the excavations at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath and the discovery of its impressive Iron Age IIA remains, I began to argue for a slightly different understanding. From a close analysis of a various classes of finds from the Iron Age IIA levels, it became apparent that while many of the original non-local cultural components of the Philistine early Iron Age culture are indeed missing in the Iron Age IIA, there is a wide set of non-local attributes during Iron Age IIA which do indicate clear continuity with the earlier non-local cultural orientation of the Philistines. This was seen in a variety of Iron IIA material classes, as follows. (1) Continuity in the appearance of early Philistine decorative motifs on pottery;129 (2) Continuation in the use of the ‘notched scapulae’—a distinctly non-local aspect of the early Philistine culture;130 (3) Continuity in the use of the Aegean-style cooking jugs;131 (4) Continuity in the non-Levantine dietary preferences;132 (5) Continuity in the appearance of Aegean-oriented cultic manifestations;133 (6) Use of non-Semitic, Indo-European names by the Philistines in the Iron Age IIA;134 (7) Continuation in 128

Stone, op. cit. (note 126). E.g. on the decorated chalices, see Maeir and Shai, op. cit. (note 117). 130 See A. Zukerman, L. K. Horwitz, J. E. Lev-Tov and A. M. Maeir, “A Bone of Contention? Iron Age IIA Notched Scapulae from Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath, Israel”, BASOR 347 (2007), pp. 57– 81. 131 Ben-Shlomo et al., op. cit. (note 62). 132 The continued use of Lathyrus sativus (grass pea) in 7th century BCE Ashkelon may be an additional indication of the continuation of Aegean dietary patterns in late Iron Age Philistia. See Stager et al., op. cit. (note 7), p. 311, fig. 15.89; M. E. Kislev and Y. Mahler-Slasky, “Lathyrus Consumption in Late Bronze and Iron Age Sites in Israel: An Aegean Affinity”, JAS 37 (2010), pp. 247–285. 133 Maeir, op. cit. (note 104). The recently-discovered Iron Age IIA (10th–9th centuries BCE) cultic favissa at Yavneh, further strengthens this notion of continuity. While many of the objects from this extremely rich cultic assemblage show local Levantine facets, clear indications of strong non-local, mainly Aegean influences are seen in this assemblage. See I. Ziffer and R. Kletter, In the Field of the Philistines: Cult Furnishings from the Favissa of a Yavneh Temple (Tel Aviv, 2006); R. Kletter and I. Ziffer, “Incense-Burning Rituals: From Philistine Fire Pans at Yavneh to the Improper Fire of Korah”, IEJ 60 (2010), pp. 166–187; R. Kletter, I. Ziffer and W. Zwickel, “Cult Stands of the Philistines: A Genizah from Yavneh”, NEA 66 (2006), pp. 146–159; idem, Yavneh I: The Excavation of the ‘Temple Hill’ Repository Pit and the Cult Stands (OBO Series Archaeologica 30; Fribourg, 2010); see also Ben-Shlomo, op. cit. (note 6), pp. 66–70. 134 Maeir et al., op. cit. (note 79). It should be stressed that the appearance and use of non129

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the use of the pebble hearth into the Iron Age IIA;135 (8) Possible continuation in the use of a non-Levantine house form in the late Iron Age IIA—as seen in the possible ‘Linear House’ in Stratum A3 (see above). These and other aspects clearly indicate that while certain non-local cultural markers that were part of the Philistine habitus during the early Iron Age disappeared by the Iron Age IIA (such as most of the Aegean-influenced pottery forms; Aegeanstyle loom-weights),136 several of these non-local cultural traits (mostly Aegeanoriented [both mainland and Minoan], but Cypriote, Anatolian, and others as well) did continue. Thus, it would appear that the cultural transformation of the Philistines cannot be defined as a process in which by the beginning of the Iron Age IIA most of the foreign attributes of the Philistines had been forgotten. Rather, the Philistines chose to accept and integrate certain facets of the neighboring Levantine cultures, while at the same time retaining and sustaining various cultural markers of their own. These markers, most likely of high symbolic value for their ethnic and cultural definition, particularly versus neighboring cultural/ethnic groups, continue to play a role long after the Iron Age I. While some of these facets continue even towards the end of the Iron Age (such as Aegean names, certain aspects of dietary preferences, etc.), other eventually fade out. Nevertheless, until the very end of the Iron Age, the Philistine cultural/ethnic identity is retained, enabling an explicit differentiation between the Philistines and other cultural/ethnic groups in the Iron Age Levant. The definition of this process is not easy. While it is clear that defining this process as assimilation is out of the question, I believe that “acculturation”137 is too simplistic. Thus, I suggested a few years ago to see this as a process of “creolization”138—a term employed mainly for socio-linguistic process,139 but which in the Semitic, Indo-European names in Philistia in the Iron Age IIA emphasizes facets of linguistic continuity between the Iron Age I and II (similar to continuity seen in other classes of evidence as well). This seriously undermines assumptions that the use of Greek-related names by the Philistines in the later Iron Age (such as Achish/Ikausu and/or Goliath), should be seen primarily as a reflection of a late Iron Age Greek presence and/or influence on the Philistines (e.g., J. Naveh, “Achish-Ikausu in the Light of the Ekron Dedication”, BASOR 310 [1998], pp. 35–38; idem, “Marginalia on the Inscriptions from Dan and Ekron”, EI 26 [1999], pp. 119–122 [Hebrew with English summary]; I. Finkelstein, “The Philistines in the Bible: A Late-Monarchic Perspective”, JSOT 27 [2002], pp. 131–167; C. Edenburg, “Notes on the Origin of the Biblical Tradition Regarding Achish King of Gath”, VT 61 [2001], pp. 34–38)— and not as reflecting a continuity of their non-Semitic linguistic traditions from the early Iron Age. 135 E.g., Maeir and Hitchcock, op. cit. (note 23). 136 It should be noted that although the Aegean-style loom weights (‘spools’) in most cases seem to disappear after the Iron Age I, they do occasionally appear in later contexts. Three examples were found in unclear contexts at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath, and one of them may date to the Iron Age IIA (Cassuto, op. cit. [note 94]); Stager et al., op. cit. [note 16], p. 272) report that these loom weights continue to appear at Ashkelon until the early 10th century BCE (throughout Phase 17 in Grid 38). Several such loomweights were also found at the 8th century BCE site of Kfar Menahem, just 2km to the west of Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath (Ben-Shlomo, op. cit. [note 21], p. 105, fig. 2.11; for this site in general, see A. Dagan, The Kfar Menachem Site (Unpublished M.A. thesis, Ramat-Gan, 2008; Hebrew with English abstract). 137 As Stone suggested (op. cit. [note 126]). 138 E.g., A. M. Maeir, “The Transformation of the Philistine Culture: A Socio-Linguistic Perspective on Societal Change”, a paper presented at the Annual Meeting of the ASOR, San Antonio, Texas, November 2004; Ben-Shlomo, Shai and Maeir, op. cit. (note 109), p. 20; Shai, Ben-Shlomo and Maeir, op. cit. (note 109); see as well A. Killebrew, Biblical Peoples

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last few decades has been used in the context of the archaeology of cultural interactions, mostly, but not only, in colonial contexts.140 While employing a socio-linguistic concept to understand a wide cultural change does have its disadvantages, the multifaceted, gradual processes that are evidenced in the interaction between languages can provide a rich and stimulating backdrop, and some very interesting parallels, for the changes that are seen in the Philistine culture. More recently, it has suggested that the processes relating to the end of the Bronze Age in the eastern Mediterranean can be defined as a process of hybridization,141 I believe that this perspective has much in common with a creolization perspective. L. A. Hitchcock has recently offered a much more sophisticated understanding of the process of the change of Philistine culture, suggesting seeing it as a process of ‘transculturalism’.142 As she very cogently argues, while the creolization and hybridity models do attempt to understand the ‘negotiations’ between two cultural entities, there are several drawbacks to these perspectives. On the one hand, creolization for the most part implies a relationship between asymmetrical entities (dominant as opposed to less dominant), and almost always deals with two interacting languages. On the other hand, while some aspects of the Philistine culture do exhibit hybrid facets (such as a Philistine bowl with an Aegean shape but a Canaanite decorative motif) others (such as Cypriote notched scapulae) do not. Thus, Hitchcock argues and Ethnicity: An Archaeological Study of Egyptians, Canaanites, Philistines, and Early Israel 1300–1100 BCE (Atlanta, 2005), p. 201; Ben-Shlomo, op. cit. (note 21), p. 90; idem, op. cit. (note 6), p. 176. It should be noted that I believe Mendenhall (op. cit. [note 127]) was the first to refer to the process of creolization in the context of the LB/Iron Age transition, but in a different utilization of this understanding in relation to the Philistines. 139 E.g., S. Thomason and T. Kaufman, Language Contact, Creolization, and Genetic Linguistics (Berkeley, 1988); P. Bakker, “Rapid Language Change: Creolization, Intertwining, Convergence”, in C. Renfrew, A. McMahon and L. Trask (eds.), Time Depth in Historical Linguistics, II (Papers in the Prehistory of Languages; Oxford, 2000), pp. 585–620; G. Sankoff, “Linguistic Outcomes of Language Contact”, in J. Chambers, P. Trudgill and N. Schilling-Estes (eds.) The Handbook of Language Variation and Change (Blackwell Handbooks in Linguistics; Malden, 2002), pp. 638–668; S. Mufwene, “Creoles and Pidgins”, in C. Llamas, L. Mullany and P. Stockwell (eds.), The Routledge Companion to Sociolinguistics (London, 2007), pp. 175–184. 140 E.g., J. Cusick, “Historiography of Acculturation: An Evaluation of Concepts and Their Application in Archaeology”, in J. Cusick (ed.), Studies in Culture Contact: Interaction, Culture Change, and Archaeology (Carbondale, 1998), pp. 126–145; R. Blench and M. Spriggs, Archaeology and Language IV: Language Change and Cultural Transformation (One World Archaeology, 35; London, 1999); R. Michael, Creolization (Journal of the Society for Historical Archaeology, 34; Tucson, 2000); J. Webster, “Creolizing the Roman Provinces”, AJA 105 (2001), pp. 209–225. 141 E.g., I. Voskos and A.B. Knapp, “Cyprus at the End of the Late Bronze Age: Crisis and Colonization or Continuity and Hybridization?”, AJA 112 (2008), pp. 659–684; A. B. Knapp, “Migration, Hybridization and Collapse: Bronze Age Cyprus and the Eastern Mediterranean”, Scienze dell’Antichità – Storia Archeologia Antropologia 15 (2009), pp. 219–239; for the use of this perspective in other archaeological contexts, see, e.g., P. Graves-Brown, S. Jones and C. Gamble, Cultural Identity and Archaeology: The Construction of European Communities (Theoretical Archaeology Group; London, 1995); J. Thomas, Time, Culture and Identity: An Interpretive Archaeology (London, 1998); J. Vives-Fernándiz, “Negotiating Colonial Encounters: Hybrid Practices and Consumption in Eastern Iberia”, JMA 21 (2008), pp. 241–272. 142 L. A. Hitchcock, “‘Transculturalism’ as a Model for Examining Migration to Cyprus and Philistia at the End of the Bronze Age”, AWE 10 (2011), pp. 267–280.

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that neither term is adequate for understanding the process of change in the Philistine culture. Instead, Hitchcock suggests that a ‘transcultural’, multivocal perspective is more fecund for understanding the cultural trajectory of the Philistines. This is particularly so since there are a wide range of cultural influences evident in the Philistine culture—deriving not only from mainland Greece, Crete, western Anatolia, and Cyprus, but from Canaan and Egypt as well. Examining further this approach may provide many interesting perspectives on the Philistine culture.143 Uziel,144 and more recently Faust and Lev-Tov145 have argued that following an intense period of cultural transformation during the Iron Age I and in the early Iron Age IIA, in the later Iron Age II there was little change in the Philistine culture, and if at all, changes in the Iron Age II are to be seen as a standard process of cultural change. While a more detailed discussion of these views will be presented elsewhere, several points should be noted here. To begin with, both studies, and in particular the latter, seem to relate to the Philistines as a relatively uniform cultural/ethnic entity. This is difficult to accept in light of recent research, which indicates that the Philistines were of mixed and varied origins, including various nonlocal and local Levantine entities and influences. In addition, in light of the extensive evidence of non local Phlistine cultural markers which continue into the late Iron Age IIA (see above), including some aspects which appear to continue until very late in the Iron Age, I find it hard to assume that these changes occurred only in the early stages of the Iron Age. Rather, it would appear that while during the Iron Age I there was a period of intense cultural change and interaction between the largely foreign newcomers to Philistia and neighboring cultures, the bi-directional influences continued throughout the Iron Age.146 Although, as the Iron Age devel143

Perhaps M. Dietler’s (“Consumption, Agency, and Cultural Entanglement: Theoretical Implications of a Mediterranean Colonial Encounter”, in J. Cusick [ed.], Studies in Culture Contact: Interaction, Culture Change, and Archaeology [Carbondale, 1998], pp. 288–315) and C. Gosden’s (Archaeology and Colonialism: Cultural Contact from 5000 BC to the Present. Topics in Contemporary Archaeology [Cambridge, 2004]) ‘entanglement’ perspectives, although used by them in colonial cultural contexts, may be useful in relation-ship to ‘interculturalism’. 144 J. Uziel, “The Development Process of Philistine Material Culture: Assimilation, Acculturation and Everything in Between”, Levant 39 (2007), pp. 165–173. 145 Faust and Lev-Tov, op. cit. (note 22). 146 It is important to stress that while most research has focused in the past on how the Philistine culture was influenced by other cultures, in fact, there is compelling evidence for the impact that the Philistine culture had on other Iron Age Levantine cultures. As we have recently argued (Ben-Shlomo et al., op. cit. [note 62]) this can be seen in the appearance of cooking jugs in the Iron Age pottery repertoire in the Levant, but similar influences have been noted in the past, for example regarding cult (e.g., L. A. Hitchcock, “Levantine Horned Altars: An Aegean Perspective on the Transformation of Socio-Religious Reproduction”, in D. Gunn, P. McNutt (eds.), ‘Imagining’ Biblical Worlds: Studies in Spatial, Social and Historical Constructs in Honor of James W. Flanagan [JSOTS 359; Sheffield, 2002], pp. 233–249), and language (e.g., Sapir, op. cit. [note 83]; Rabin, op cit. [note 83]; A. Lemaire, “Phénicien et Philistien: Paléographie et Dialectologie”, in A. Aubet and M. Barthélemy (eds.), Actas del IV Congreso Internacional de Estudios Fenicios y Punicos, Cadiz 2-6.10.1995 (Cadiz, 2000), pp. 243–249. Needless to say, if one accepts that Philistine ‘pressure’ had a strong influence on the very formation of the early Israelite kingship (e.g., A. Faust, “From Hamlets to Monarchy: A View from the Countryside on the Formation of the Israelite Monarchy”, Cathedra 94 [1999], pp. 7–32 [Hebrew with English abstract]; idem, “Abandonment, Urbanization, Resettlement and the Formation of the Israelite State”, NEA 66 [2003], pp. 147–161; but see,

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oped the Philistine culture became more and more similar to other Levantine cultures, it nevertheless retained a unique set of markers, many of them of non-local origin—which enabled the Philistines to retain its unique definition and differentiation from other Levantine cultural entities. The Aramean Siege System at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath: Evidence and Interpretations. D. Ussishkin questioned our interpretation of the trench found in the vicinity of Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath.147 Since this issue has been discussed quite extensively in the past148 and will be published in further detail in the future, I will not describe this feature in detail. Rather, following a very brief description of its main aspects, I will list several points that demonstrate that Ussishkin’s conclusions are not supported by the available evidence, and do not withstand close scrutiny. The siege system which surrounds the site is particularly noticeable as a trench and berm on the eastern, southern and western sides (see Fig. 2).149 In addition, at least two, and perhaps three, towers that are associated with the trench and berm have been noted, as well as hints regarding the possible existence of other features (such as camps) in other nearby locations. The trench itself was hewn into bedrock to a depth of ca. 5m (see Fig. 21), and the materials from the trench were consistently piled up on the side away from the city, forming a berm/embankment. All of these elements formed a siege system, similar in concept to a Roman circumvalatio, constructed to enclose the besieged city, preventing the defenders from escaping or from receiving supplies, as well as making it difficult for them to attack the besieging forces (see suggested reconstruction in Fig. 22). Based on the clear-cut dating of various features related to the system (including associated occupation levels, pottery in fills and the refilling of the trench after it went out of use), the system can be dated to the late Iron Age IIA. We have suggested to e.g., I. Finkelstein, “[De]Formation of the Israelite State: A Rejoinder on Methodology”, NEA 68 [2005], pp. 202–208, for a different view on this), an additional, and salient Philistine influence can be seen on the neighboring Levantine cultures. 147 Ussishkin, op. cit. (note 66). Lipiński, (op. cit. [note 112], p. 51) also questioned the identification of this trench as a siege moat, instead apparently preferring to see it as a defensive moat of the mid/late-8th century BCE. This suggestion cannot be accepted, both in view of the dating of this feature, and its topographic situation in relationship to the site, which does allow it to be interpreted as a defensive feature. For further discussion of this point, see, e.g., A. M. Maeir and S. Gur-Arieh, “Comparative aspects of the Aramean Siege System at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath”, in Finkelstein and Na’aman (eds.), op. cit. (note 110), pp. 233–234. 148 E.g., O. Ackermann, A. M. Maeir and H. J. Bruins, “Unique Human-Made Catenary Changes and Their Effect on Soil and Vegetation in the Semi-Arid Mediterranean Zone: A Case Study on Sarcopterium Spinosum Distribution near Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath, Israel”, Catena 57 (2004), pp. 309–330; O. Ackermann, A. M. Maeir, H. J. Bruins and H. Zhevelev, “Landscape Archaeology in a Dry-Stream Valley Near Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath (Israel): Agricultural Terraces and the Origin of Fill Deposits”, Environmental Archaeology 10/2 (2005), pp. 199–215; S. Gur-Arieh, Siege Systems in the Ancient Near East: A Case Study from Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath (Unpublished M.A. thesis; Bar-Ilan University, Ramat-Gan, 2008). 149 As described below, on the northern side, the siege system continued, utilizing the natural trench-like depression of the riverbed. The connection with the riverbed was demonstrated through the use of Ground Penetrating Radar (J. Pincus, “Imaging the Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath Siege Trench with Ground Penetrating Radar [GPR]: A Case Study in Archaeogeophysics”, in O. Ackermann, A. Faust and A. M. Maeir [eds.], Archaeology and Environment: Conference Proceedings [Ramat-Gan, 2005], pp. 7–15; Hebrew).

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associate it with the mid/late-9th century BCE site-wide destruction, and with the siege and conquest, and subsequent destruction of Philistine Gath by Hazael of Aram (mentioned in 2 Kgs 12:18).150

Fig. 21: View of the excavated portion of siege trench in Area C6. Note the bedrock on both sides of the trench and its backfill as seen in the section

150

Maeir, op. cit. (note 122).

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A possible allusion to a similar siege by Bir-Hadad, Hazael’s son, in the Aramaic Zakkur inscription from northern Syria,151 strengthens this interpretation. Following its brief usage, the siege system was abandoned, and there is clear geomorphological evidence of a process of refilling as the result of erosion, already in the Iron Age IIB was seen.152 The discovery of this trench at Gath is unique, since ancient siege systems are hardly known, and this is the earliest one ever identified, and at an archaeological site at that (earlier sieges are mentioned in ancient Near Eastern texts). This outstanding feature was the precursor to the wide-scale destruction of Philistine Gath, which as mentioned above, had substantial geo-political ramifications in the Land of Israel.

Fig. 22: Artist’s reconstruction of the Aramaean siege system surrounding Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath looking west, overlooking the tower in Area C6, with the fortified city of Gath in the background. Note the tower, earthwork berm, and trench

151

A. M. Maeir, “Hazael, Birhadad, and the Hrṣ”, in J. D. Schloen (ed.), Exploring the Longue Durée: Essays in Honor of Lawrence E. Stager (Winona Lake, 2009), pp. 273–277; and see below. 152 O. Ackermann, H. J. Bruins and A. M. Maeir, “A Unique Human-Made Trench at Tell eṣṢafi/Gath, Israel: Anthropogenic Impact and Landscape Response”, Geoarchaeology 20 (2005), pp. 303–328.

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Following this brief summary of the relevant data, I should like to address Ussishkin’s reasoning:153 (1) Contrary to his claims,154 and as mentioned above, our work at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath has proven without a doubt that the site was ca. 400–500 dunams (40–50 hectares) in size during the Iron Age II. This is not only based on the surface survey, but is now strongly supported by the results of the excavations in the lower city (Area D), where extensive remains of the late-9th century BCE destruction has been found, indicating the extent of the lower city as suggested by the survey results (see above); (2) Ussishkin did not understand the significance of the Ground Penetrating Radar investigations that were conducted on portions of the trench.155 They demonstrated that the trench continues into the Elah valley, beyond the sections that are seen on the hills surrounding the site, indicating that in fact the trench did connect to the Elah Valley riverbed on the northern side of the tell, and originally fully surround the site (by utilizing the natural topography of the river bed, which was probably augmented by additional constructions); 156 (3) Ussishkin believes that our comparison of the trench with the ḥrṣ mentioned in the Zakur inscription cannot be accepted.157 Instead, he concurs with Eph’al’s interpretation of the ḥrṣ as a tunnel (albeit without explaining the reasoning for this preference).158 This—despite the fact that it has been demonstrated that there is absolutely no linguistic basis for understanding ḥrṣ as a tunnel; it can only be understood as a trench/channel;159 (4) Ussishkin questions our suggested dating, character, contents, and process of formation of the fill in the trench.160 All these, however are based on detailed archaeological, geomorphological and geological studies, and Ussishkin’s alternative suggestion, that the trench is a natural feature, is not corroborated beyond statements that the trench “appears to the naked eye to be natural”;161 (5) Ussishkin claims that the ‘berm’ (the pile of earth and stones that were extracted from the trench) is not visible along the entire trench.162 He is mistaken regarding this point as well, and the picture that he published to demonstrate this point, was simply misunderstood by him; in fact, the berm can be seen along the entire length of the trench, always on the far side from the tell. Apparently, Ussishkin was unaware of the at times telltale evidence of the berm, just as this major feature (and other parts of the siege system) had been missed in earlier surveys;163 (6) All this also led to question the suggested relationship of the berm and our proposal that it served as part of the siege system;164 (7) In addition, he questions whether there had been a wall on the top of the term. Although there is a wall marked in the schematic section that we have published on several occasions, this is only a tentative suggestion. On the other hand, the discovery and excavation of two towers that are related to the 153

Ussishkin, op. cit. (note 66). Ussishkin, ibid., pp. 140–142. 155 Idem, ibid., p. 143. 156 See Pincus, op. cit. (note 149), a publication which was missed by Ussishkin. 157 Ussishkin, op. cit. (note 66), p. 150. 158 I. Eph’al, The City Besieged: Siege and Its Manifestations in the Ancient Near East (CHANE 36; Leiden, 2008). 159 Maeir, op. cit. (note 151). 160 Ussishkin, op. cit. (note 66), pp. 144–145. 161 Idem, ibid., p. 144. 162 Idem, ibid., pp. 145–146, fig. 8. 163 Such as by Dagan, op. cit. (note 64) and Shavit, op. cit. (note 65). 164 Ussishkin, op. cit. (note 66), p. 145. 154

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berm and trench (see one of these towers in Fig. 23), in our opinion clearly demonstrates the military function of these features; (8) Ussishkin interprets the layers that were discerned in the berm as simply “typical surface debris”.165 The close archaeological, geoarchaeological, micromorpho-logical, and other studies that were conducted on these strata in the berm indicate otherwise, and one cannot simply dismiss them offhand without an adequate alternative explanation; (9) Ussishkin also wonders where all the stone quarried from the trench disappeared?166 Once again, unfortunately, this question stems from a lack of close familiarity with the finds in the environs of the tell. Not only are there extensive remains of quarrying chips in the berm,167 in many areas surrounding the tell there is extensive evidence of large quarried blocks of stone, most likely related to the excavation of the trench; (10) Contrary to what Ussishkin states, the trench was not excavated by the current project at only one location.168 While a rather extensive excavation was conducted in Area C6, full sections of the trench were dug with mechanical equipment at several other locations, and additional portions were partially excavated. In all these locations, the picture that emerged regarding the shape of the trench and the history of its refilling (first refilling in Iron Age II, the second, following a long hiatus, apparently due to climatic conditions, in the Byzantine period) appears to be consistent. Due to the clear, explicit and undeniable evidence for the date of the laying of the berm (Iron Age IIA) and the gradual refilling of the trench by erosion (the lower half during the Iron Age IIA, see above), there is only a very brief period of time (the late Iron Age IIA) to which this feature can be attributed; (11) Ussishkin lists various historical references to siege trenches in antiquity, but has missed several important examples.169 A siege trench is mentioned in the Mari texts, and in addition, Josephus informs us that siege trenches were used in several sieges in the time of the Maccabees (2nd–1st centuries BCE).170 While Ussishkin does mention the Egyptian siege trench at Megiddo excavated by Thutmosis III, he prefers an outdated translation of the relevant term (as a girdle wall), as opposed to the now largely accepted interpretation as a trench.171 Thus, the argument that siege trenches do not appear before the Roman period is simply wrong; (12) Finally, his suggestion that it perhaps is a natural feature,172 runs contrary to the opinions of all the earth scientists that have seen this feature over the last 15 years or so. Unless he can provide a valid explanation as to how this can be understood as a natural feature, such a statement can be disregarded. All told, these and other points render Ussishkin’s critique invalid.173 165

Idem, ibid., p. 147. Idem, ibid., pp. 147–148. 167 In contrast to what he states, see idem, ibid., p. 148. 168 Idem, ibid., p. 145. 169 Idem, ibid., pp. 149, 153. 170 As elaborated in Maeir and Gur-Arieh, op. cit. (note 148). 171 Ussishkin, op. cit. (note 66), pp. 149–150. To this one might also add the evidence of some methods of circumvallation, including various constructions, as part of the siege tactics employed by the Hittites in the Late Bronze Age (though it is not clear that this included trenches). See P. Houwink ten Cate, “The History of Warfare According to the Hittite Sources: The Annals of Hatusilis I (Part II)”, Anatolica 11 (1984), pp. 91–109. 172 Ussishkin, op. cit. (note 66), p. 154. 173 Unfortunately, Ussishkin’s claims are already being quoted in other studies. Thus, J. Radine (The Book of Amos in Emergent Judah (Forschungen zum Alten Testament 2, Reihe 45; 166

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Fig. 23: Plan of the tower adjacent to the siege trench in Area C2, southwest of the tell

The date of Hazael’s campaign to Philistia has been discussed for decades, because neither the biblical narratives, nor any extra-biblical texts provide a clear date for this event. In the biblical text it is placed within the narrative of the reign of King Jehoash, but without reference to a specific year (Table 2). Most scholars have placed it in the last two decades of the 9th century BCE, based on the assumption that the placement in the biblical story indicates that it was relatively late, but not at the end of Jehoash’s reign (ca. 820–810 BCE).174 More recently, Rainey has argued that it should be placed in the very beginning of the 8th century—ca. 797 BCE, since in his view, it must have been immediately before Adad-Nirari III’s campaign to Damascus in 796 BCE.175

Tübingen, 2010), pp. 58–59) uses Ussishkin’s claim that the trench is a natural feature in his attempt to claim that the reference in Amos 6:2 to the destruction of Calneh, Hamat the Great, and Gath of the Philistines does not refer to destructions wrought by Hazael, but rather by the Assyrians in the late-8th century BCE. 174 E.g., B. Mazar, “Gath and Gittaim”, IEJ 4 (1954), p. 230; C. Ehrlich, The Philistines in Transition: A History from Ca. 1000–730 B.C.E. (SHCANE 10; Leiden, 1996), pp. 72–74; G. Galil, The Chronology of the Kings of Israel and Judah (SHCANE 9; Leiden, 1996), p. 49; E. Lipiński, The Aramaeans: Their Ancient History, Culture, Religion (OLA; Leuven, 2000), p. 387. 175 A. F. Rainey and R. Notley, The Sacred Bridge: Carta’s Atlas of the Biblical World (Jerusalem, 2006), pp. 214–215.

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Table 2: Comparative stratigraphic table of the Hazael campaign and other major events in the 9th century BCE southern Levant

I believe that both these suggestions place this event too late, and that this can be demonstrated from two perspectives—absolute archaeological dating and historical logic. To begin with, the radiocarbon dates from the Stratum A3 destruction level appear to provide an absolute dating in the 3rd quarter of the 9th century BCE (ca. 850–830 BCE).176 Regarding historical logic, based on what we know of Hazael’s reign,177 I see no reason why one should place this campaign at a later stage of his reign. There is clear evidence of several campaigns of Hazael to northern Israel/Transjordan from earlier stages of his reign, and it is highly likely that the campaign to Philistia occurred then as well. It has been argued that the placement of the description of the 176

I. Sharon, A. Gilboa, A. Jull and E. Boaretto, “Report on the First Stage of the Iron Age Dating Project in Israel: Supporting a Low Chronology”, Radiocarbon 49 (2007), p. 44, table 8. 177 E.g., A. Lemaire, “Hazaël, de Damas, Roi d’Aram”, in Marchands, Diplomates et Empereurs, Etudes sur la civilisation mésopotamienne offertes à P. Garelli (Paris, 1991), pp. 91–108; P. E. Dion, Les Araméens à l’âge du Fer: histoire politique et structures sociales (Études Bibliques, Nouvelle série 34; Paris 1997), pp. 200–203; Lipiński, op cit. (note 174), pp. 376–390; S. Hafthorsson, A Passing Power: An Examination of the Sources for the History of Aram-Damascus in the Second Half of the Ninth Century B.C. (Coniectanea Biblica, Old Testament Series 54; Stockholm, 2006).

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campaign within the biblical narrative, and in particular, the use of the term ‫אז‬ (“then”) in the beginning of 2 Kgs 12:18, implies that Hazael’s campaign occurred after the refurbishment of the temple by Jehoash, and thus, relatively late is his reign.178 This though, is not necessarily so. There is no reason to assume that the sketchy description of the events relating to Jehoash’s reign is laid out in chronological order.179 In fact, this placement might have been dictated by editorial considerations—tying the campaign, and the subsequent loss of the temple treasures to Hazael, to his murder. Thus, the campaign could have occurred in the earlier part of Jehoash’s reign. It seems that following Shalmaneser III’s campaigns to Damascus in 841 and 838–837, Hazael was free of direct Assyrian menace, since, as noted in the past, after these campaigns the Assyrians did not operate in southern Syria until the 796 BCE campaign of Adad-Nirari III;180 During this time, Hazael expanded his influence over many parts of the Southern Levant. The murder of Athaliah, queen of Judah, in 835 BCE,181 and the enthronement of the boy king Jehoash, would have been a perfect time for an Aramaean campaign to Philistia and towards Judah—with the Assyrians out of the picture and apparent dynastic instability in Judah.182 This campaign then would have been conducted at more or less the same time as the accepted dates for Hazael’s campaigns against the northern kingdom of Israel and Transjordan.183

178

E.g., Mazar, op. cit. (note 174), p. 230; Ehrlich, op. cit. (note 174), pp. 72–74; Galil, op. cit. (note 174), p. 49; Lipiński, op. cit. (note 174), p. 387. 179 See already M. Cogan and H. Tadmor, II Kings: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB; Garden City, 1988), p. 141, note 4. 180 E.g., Lipiński, op. cit. (note 174), pp. 385, 391; Rainey and Notley, op. cit. (note 175), pp. 209–210, 215. 181 E.g., E. Thiele, The Mysterious Numbers of the Hebrew Kings: A Reconstruction of the Chronology of the Kingdoms of Israel and Judah (Chicago, 1951), p. 67; Galil, op cit. (note 174), p. 71; but see J. H. Hayes and P. K. Hooker, A New Chronology for the Kings of Israel and Judah and Its Implications for Biblical History and Literature (Atlanta, 1988), p. 45, who date this to 832 BCE. 182 The volatile and unstable nature of the early part of the reign of Jehoash, king of Judah, cannot be underestimated. He was crowned at the tender age of 7 years, and until he matured, the kingdom was ruled by senior court officials. Likewise, one cannot but wonder whether the entire biblical narrative of Athaliah’s murder and disposal, and of the miraculous hiding and retrieval of Jehoash (the only surviving son of the Ahaziah), might in fact be a smokescreen meant to conceal the fact that this young king was actually not a son of the king, but rather the son of one of court officials. Thus, perhaps, the Davidic line ended with Ahaziah! To the best of my knowledge, this rather startling possibility has been glossed over in discussions of this series of events, save for M. Liverani (“L’histoire de Joas”, VT 24 [1974], pp. 452–453, mentioned as well in G. W. Ahlström, The History of Ancient Palestine from the Palaeolithic Period to Alexander’s Conquest [Minneapolis, 1993], p. 600, note 1). 183 E.g. Rainey and Notley, op. cit. (note 175), p. 214. The possibility should be noted that the siege of Gath may have been mentioned in the unfortunately incomplete lower line of the Tel Dan inscription. If in fact one dates this inscription to ca. 830 BCE (e.g., N. Na’aman, “Three Notes on the Aramaic Inscription from Tel Dan”, IEJ 50 [2000], p. 100), or to the latter part of Hazael’s reign (e.g., A. Biran and J. Naveh, “The Tel Dan Inscription: A New Fragment”, IEJ 45 [1995], p. 18), or even to around 800 BCE (e.g., G. Athas, The Tel Dan Inscription: A Reappraisal and New Interpretation [JSOTS 360; Sheffield, 2003], p. 136), and relate it, following the most accepted option, to the reign of Hazael, could the incomplete “[…I laid] siege upon…” (...‫ואשם[ מצר על‬...]) in line 13 of the inscription (e.g., Biran and Naveh, ibid.,

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Thus, I believe that a viable historical scenario placing this campaign after 835/832 BCE, dovetails well with the radiocarbon dating.

V. Iron Age IIB–IIC As mentioned above, extensive evidence of the destruction of Gath in the mid/late9th century BCE was found in various parts of the site. In some areas (such as Area D in the lower city), there is no evidence of resettlement in the later Iron Age (and it can be assumed that the lower city was not occupied after the Hazael destruction). On the other hand, in Area A (on the eastern side of the site) and in Area F (on the upper part of the tell, just to the northwest of the summit), there is clear evidence for post-9th century BCE phases of the Iron Age. Based on the finds from these two areas, the following settlement history can be reconstructed. While originally it has been assumed that the destruction wrought by Hazael caused a total destruction of the entire city and that all the houses collapsed during this event (completely burying all remains), recent excavation of the sediments immediately above this destruction appear to indicate that a more complicated process occurred. While some structures did in fact completely collapse, others were left (at least partially) standing, in both Areas A and F (Strata A3 and F9) In addition, geomorphological analysis of sediments immediately above the destruction level seem to indicate the presence of wind-blown sediments―indicating that prior to reuse of these areas, they were left abandoned and windblown sediments accumulated on surfaces. Also, analysis of some of the human skeletal remains found in the destruction indicate that they had been left exposed for a long enough time for the soft tissue to decompose, leaving the bones exposed to the elements for a long time. In fact, it appears that almost complete skeletons were left unburied after this event, perhaps indicating that no one returned to bury the dead.184 Following this period of abandonment, evidence of another major event can be detected, but this time, of apparent geogenic, and not anthropogenic origin. In Area F, immediately on top of the aforementioned abandonment level (which was on top of the 9th century BCE destruction level) evidence of a ca. 20m long brick wall that had collapsed uniformly towards the north was uncovered (Fig. 24). We believe that this wall collapsed as a result of an earthquake—a suggestion which is supported by several lines of evidence. To begin with, the very fact that the wall collapsed homogeneously to one direction, indicates a homogeneous and high energy force. If this collapse would have been caused by a fire, or by a manmade toppling, no such regularity would have been caused. In addition, it appears that prior to the collapse of wall, the entire brick superstructure shifted about 1m to the north of the wall’s stone foundation. Finally, the manner in which the bricks collapsed, in a wavy, haphazard manner, seems to reflect collapse patterns seen in walls destroyed by earthquakes— in which two waves of energy are evident—the first horizontal which knocks walls

pp. 12–13) refer to Hazael’s truly monumental siege, and subsequent conquest of Philistine Gath? This tantalizing suggestion should be considered. 184 In-depth studies of the processes related to this destruction, including aspects of architectural collapse, the varying evidence of destruction-related conflagrations, and the skeletal decomposition and diagenesis, are currently being conducted by, inter alia, S. Weiner, E. Boaretto and M. Faerman, in collaboration with the author.

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off their foundations, and the second ‘undulating’, which caused the stones of the wall (or this case, the bricks) to collapse in a wavy manner.185

Fig. 24: View of the collapsed brick wall in Area F, apparent evidence of the mid-8th cent. BCE earthquake

This collapse can be closely dated. On the one hand, it is above the 9th century BCE destruction and the subsequent abandonment level, while on the other, it is situated directly under two late-8th century BCE Judahite levels (see below). Thus it can be dated, quite securely, to somewhere between the early-8th to the third quarter of the 8th century BCE. This being the case, one cannot escape the possible connection to the well-known seismic event dated to ca. 762 BCE, the so-called ‘Uzziah Earthquake’. This event, explicitly mentioned in e.g., Amos 1:1 and Zech 14:5, and perhaps in other biblical passages, has been extensively discussed in the literature.186 While some scholars have identified clear archaeological evidence of this event,187

185

The physical evidence of this collapse was first noticed by J. Chadwick (Brigham Young University), Field Supervisor of Area F. This collapse, and possibly related ones in other parts of the excavation, are being studied in collaboration with A. Agnon (Hebrew University), O. Rabinovitch (Technion) and A. Shiran (independent scholar), and a detailed study will hopefully be published in the future. 186 E.g., J. Milgrom, “Did Isaiah Prophesy during the Reign of Uzziah”, VT 14 (1964), pp. 164–182; D. Freedman and A. Welch, “Amos’s Earthquake and Israelite Prophecy”, in M. D. Coogan, J. C. Exum and L. E. Stager (eds.), Scripture and Other Artifacts: Essays on the Bible and Archaeology in Honor of Philip J. King (Louisville, 1994), pp. 188–198. 187 E.g., Y. Bentor, “Geological Events in the Bible”, Terra Nova 1 (1989), pp. 326–338; W. G. Dever, “A Case-Study in Biblical Archaeology: The Earthquake of Ca. 760 BCE”, EI 23 (1992), pp. 27*–35*; S. A. Austin, G. Franz, E. Wand and G. Frost, “Amos’s Earthquake: An Extraordinary Middle East Seismic Event of 750 B.C.”, International Geology Review 12 (2000), pp. 657–671; D. Ussishkin, “Chapter 3. A Synopsis of the Stratigraphical, Chrono-

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others have questioned both the archaeological evidence, its correlation with the mention of an earthquake in the biblical text, and that this represented an event of major consequence.188 For example, Fantalkin and Finkelstein believe that no conclusive evidence of this earthquake has been demonstrated in southern, Judahite sites, and thus question whether the earthquake can be seen as being of historical/cultural significance for the southern kingdom.189 However, the evidence at Gath appears to indicate that this earthquake was of major consequence in the southern parts of the Land of Israel as well, and might have had quite catastrophic effects as described, inter alia, in Amos 1:1 and Zech 14:5.190

Fig. 25: Plan of the two late-8th century BCE Judahite strata (F8-7) in Area F logical and Historical Issues”, in D. Ussishkin The Renewed Archaeological Excava-tions at Lachish (1973-1994), I (Tel Aviv, 2004), p. 83. 188 E.g., N. Ambraseys, “Historical Earthquakes in Jerusalem - A Methodological Discussion”, Journal of Seismology 9 (2005), pp. 329–340. 189 Fantalkin and Finkelstein, op. cit. (note 76), p. 22; see as well Bunimovitz and Lederman, op. cit. (note 110), pp. 43–45. 190 One might suggest that the destruction of the walls of Gath, accredited to Uzziah, King of Judah by 2 Chron 26:6, if it has any historical basis (but see, e.g., N. Na’aman, “In Search of Reality behind the Account of the Philistine Assault on Ahaz in the Book of Chronicles”, Transeuphratene 26 [2003], p. 62, who doubts this), might be a etiological understanding of the vague memory, at the time of the composition of Chronicles, of the collapsed state of the walls of Gath during Uzziah’s reign, but explaining it through anthropogenic (Uzziah), and not geogenic (earthquake) causes.

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Postdating this apparent earthquake there are distinct archaeological levels, dating to the late-8th century BCE. In Area A this is termed Stratum A2. In this level, a structure with a plan quite similar to the so-called ‘four-room’ houses, so typical of Iron Age Judah, was discovered,191 containing typically Judahite (non-coastal) finds. In addition, in Area F, immediately above the remains of the collapsed wall which we relate to the mid-8th century BCE earthquake, two late-8th century BCE levels (Strata F7 and F8, both ending in destruction; Fig. 25), both with typical Judahite material culture (once again, including both architecture and pottery) were revealed. Based on the finds from these levels, which are quite similar to the finds from Stratum A2 in Area A, as well as to those from late-8th century BCE Judahite Lachish, Stratum III (and conversely, somewhat different from late-8th century sites in Philistia such as Ashdod), it appears that during the 8th century BCE, the cultural affinity of Gath, and most probably, her political affiliation as well, was transformed―from a coastal/Philistine affiliated city to one were an ‘eastern’ focus can be seen. This seemingly indicates that the site might have been culturally and politically controlled by the late-8th century BCE Judahite kingdom.192 Additional Judahite finds from this period have been found at the site (including lmlk stamped handles), both in Bliss and Macalister’s excavations and in M. Israel’s surveys on the site,193 and more recently, in the surface survey of the site conducted by the current project (for 191 R. Avissar and A. M. Maeir, “The Iron Age IIB Pottery: A Preliminary Study”, in Maeir, op. cit. (note 3). I am aware that the very existence of a ‘four room’-like house is not in itself a reason to identify a material assemblage as being Judahite (e.g. H. Nur ed-Din, “The FourRoom House: A Re-Examination”, Contibuti e Materiali de Archeologia Orientale 9 [2003], pp. 503–516; A. Mazar, “The Iron Age Dwellings at Tell Qasile”, in J. D. Schloen [ed.], Exploring the Longue Durée: Essays in Honor of Lawrence E. Stager [Winona Lake, IN 2009], pp. 319–336; but see, e.g., S. Bunimovitz and A. Faust , “Building Identity: The FourRoom House and the Israelite Mind”, in W. G. Dever and S. Gitin (eds.), Symbiosis, Symbolism, and the Power of the Past: Canaan, Ancient Israel, and Their Neighbors from the Late Bronze Age through Roman Palaestina. Proceedings of the Centennial Symposium W. F. Albright Institute of Archaeological Research and American Schools of Oriental Research, May 29–31, 2000 [Winona Lake, IN 2003], pp. 411–423, who stress the unique Israelite/Judahite ideological background of this house type). Rather, the overall assemblage of finds from this level, including architecture, pottery, inscriptions and figurines, clearly indicates the Judahite orientation of this level. 192 J. R. Chadwick, and A. M. Maeir, “How Households Can Illuminate the Historical Record: The Judahite Houses at Gath of the Philistines (A Case Study in Household Archaeology at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath, Israel)”, in B. Parker and C. Foster (eds.) Household Archaeology: New Perspectives from the Near East and Beyond (Winona Lake, IN, in press). 193 For a summary of the lmlk stamped handles found prior to the current excavations at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath, see A. G. Vaughn, Theology, History, and Archaeology in the Chronicler’s Account of Hezekiah (Archaeology and Biblical Studies, 4; Atlanta, 1999), p. 192. In addition to these handles, two types of the typical Iron Age IIB Judahite ‘private seal’ impressions on jar handles (two examples of each type, reading lbn’y yhwkl and lṣpn ’bm‘ṣ) have been found on the site. See Vaughn, ibid., pp. 200, 211; three of these private seal impressions were previously published—Bliss and Macalister, op. cit. (note 89), pp. 119–121, pl. 56:27; M. Israel, “A Hebrew Impression on a Jar Handle from Kfar Menachem”, in Y. Rot (ed.), Metmol Ve-Hayom: Prakim be-Yediat Ha-Aretz (Merhavia, 1958), pp. 64–66. It should be noted that in light of a recent reappraisal (A. M. Maeir, “Fragments of Stone Reliefs from Bliss and Macalister’s Excavations at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath”, EI 28 [2009], pp. 270–276, 291* [Hebrew with English abstract]) of several incised stone objects which were found in Bliss and Macalister’s excavations, (op. cit. [note 89], p 41), it is clear that these objects are not fragments of

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a lmlk handle recently discovered on surface near Area F, see Fig. 26).194 It should be noted that above the 8th century BCE levels in the various parts of the tell, as well as in the surface survey, very little evidence of 7th century BCE occupation was found.195

an Assyrian relief, as posited in the past (e.g. Y. Aharoni, The Land of the Bible: A Historical Geography [trans. by A. F. Rainey, Philadelphia, 19792], p. 385, note 154), and if at all, most probably reflect an Aramean influence. 194 E.g. Uziel and Maeir, op. cit. (note 18), pp. 62–63. 195 Recently, R. Deutsch, has published two unprovenanced bullae (from the Kaufman collection) which should be mentioned in this context. The first, reading lmlk gt (=of the king of Gath; R. Deutsch, Biblical Period Epigraphy. The Joseph Chaim Kaufman Collection: Seals, Bullae, Handles. Second Volume [Tel Aviv, 2011], pp. 81–82, fig. 516) seems to refer to a king of Gath, using a formula similar to that on the lmlk handles. Could it refer to a king of Gath during Iron IIB? Or might it be a unique example of the same administrative framework as the Judahite lmlk jars (as it uses the same formula)? I would suggest caution regarding these possibilities for several reasons: (1) Being an unprovenanced find, and although R. Deutsch (Biblical Period Hebrew Bullae. The Josef Chaim Kaufman Collection [Tel Aviv, 2003], pp. 11–12) has presented compelling arguments for the authenticity of the bullae from the Kaufman collection, one cannot help being somewhat suspicious of this unparalleled find. Even the experienced eyes of experts such as Deutsch may be fooled by a talented forger; (2) Even if one accepts that this object is authentic, there is no reason to assume that it must have originated from Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath, as there are several other sites named Gath in the Land of Israel (see, e.g., Aharoni, op. cit. [note 193], p. 434); (3) The iconography of the bulla (including a stylized depiction of a griffon) and the paleography of the letters would seem to indicate either a late-8th century or early-7th century BCE date. During the late-8th century BCE, as discussed above, Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath was under direct control of the Judahite kingdom; likewise, there is little, if any evidence of substantial activities at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath during the 7th century BCE (see below), and unless this bulla represents a new type of Judahite administrative document (but see below), one can hardly assume that there was an unknown king at Gath during this period (who is not mentioned in the Assyrian texts as well); (4) One might argue that this bulla does come from Tell eṣ-Ṣafi /Gath and represents a Judahite-related administrative practice, similar to the lmlk sealing system, and thus should be connected to the Judahite presence in late-8th century BCE Gath. This, however, would be hard to accept, since it would then be the sole example of this type from Iron Age Judah, after over 150 years of extensive excavations. While newly defined classes of Iron Age Judahite administrative sealing practices have been noted in recent years (e.g., G. Barkay, “The Prancing Horse’ – an Official Seal Impression from Judah of the 8th Century B.C.E.”, TA 19 [1992], pp. 124–129; A. M. Maeir, “‘And Brought in the Offerings and the Tithes and the Dedicated Things Faithfully’ [II Chron 31:12]: On the Meaning and Function of the Late Iron Age Judahite ‘Incised Handle Cooking Pot’”, JAOS 130 [2010], pp. 43–62; I. Shai, D. Ben-Shlomo and A. M. Maeir, “Late Iron Age Judean Cooking Pots with Impressed Handles: A New Class of Stamped Impressions from the Kingdom of Judah”, in A. M. Maeir, J. Magness and L. H. Schiffman [eds.] ‘Go Out and Study the Land’ (Judges 18:2): Archaeological, Historical and Textual Studies in Honor of Hanan Eshel (Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism; Leiden, in press), examples of these classes were reported over the years, prior to their definition as a specific class. In addition, Deutsch (ibid., pp. 188–189, fig. 661) also reports another bulla mentioning l‘zr bn gty (=belonging to ‘Azar, son of Gitti), which might refer to a person of Gittite origin (=coming from Gath). While this is a possibility, the caution should be exercised in this case as well. I would like to thank R. Deutsch for informing me about these bullae and for sending me the relevant publications.

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Fig. 26: Photograph of 8th century BCE Judahite LMLK HBRN jar handle discovered on the surface of the tell, to the northwest of Area F

The post-Hazael sequence at the site can be summarized as follows: (1) After the destruction of Gath by Hazael, the site was left abandoned for a certain period of time, during which some of the walls of the buildings were still standing; (2) In the mid-8th century BCE, these remaining walls collapsed due to the earthquake; (3) Towards the end of the 8th century BCE, most likely in the beginning of the final quarter of that century, Gath was occupied by the Judahite kingdom and this occupation level was destroyed; (4) Another Judahite-oriented level dating to the late-8th century BCE has been observed on the site, which was destroyed as well. The most likely background for the change in the cultural affiliation seen in these two late-8th century BCE levels is most probably the expansion of Judahite influence, presence, and political control into the western Shephelah and eastern Philistia towards the end of the 8th century BCE. The biblical, Assyrian and archaeological evidence for the westward expansion of the Kingdom of Judah during the reign of Hezekiah is well known.196 Most scholars have assumed that this westward expansion should be seen as being directly related to Hezekiah’s revolt against Assyria after the death of Sargon II in 705 BCE.197 This though can be questioned. The westward expansion of Hezekiah’s kingdom,198 alongside con-current political, religious and administrative developments, may actually have occurred prior to the revolt against Assyria. Hezekiah may have already been slowly expanding his influence 196

E.g., Rainey and Notley, op. cit. (note 175), p. 239. E.g., Aharoni, op. cit. (note 193), pp. 387-88; N. Na’aman, “Sennacherib’s Campaign to Judah and the Date of the LMLK Stamps”, VT 29 (1979), pp. 61–86; Cogan and Tadmor, op. cit. (note 179), pp. 221–222. 198 E.g., Vaughn, op. cit. (note 193); I. Finkelstein and N. A. Silberman, “Temple and Dynasty: Hezekiah, the Remaking of Judah and the Rise of the Pan-Israelite Ideology”, JSOT 30 (2006), pp. 259–285; Maeir, op. cit. (note 195). 197

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and kingdom before 705 BCE, and the revolt, following Sargon II’s death, was only a continuation of his expansionary vision (to be tied, inter alia, to the cultic reform that was commenced before the rebellion as well).199 During the 712/711 BCE200 campaign of Sargon II of Assyria to Ashdod, a site called gimtu, usually identified as Gath, was captured. While many have suggested that the fact that Gath was captured during the campaign against Ashdod indicates that Gath was under Philistine control, the Judahite, non-Philistine material culture contradicts this. Perhaps the site was captured due to its proximity to Philistia. As already noted in the past,201 a possible alternative to this explanation might exist. In 2 Chron 28:18 there is a report of a Philistine attack on the western border of Judah, as far east as Socho, during the reign of the Judahite king Ahaz (ca. 735– 715 BCE). If there is any historical basis for this report,202 then perhaps Gath had already come under Judahite control during Ahaz’s reign, and was wrested from Judah towards the end of his reign. Thus, Sargon’s 712/711 BCE attack on Ashdod and Gath most probably was an operation against the Philistine city of Ashdod and the Judahite town of Gath. The latter had just recently been taken from Judah by Yamani, the king of Ashdod.203 Needless to say, this scenario is somewhat problematic, since the 2 Chronicles source may very well be much later; and there is no other clear evidence that the Judahite expansion to the western edges of the Shephelah, including Gath, occurred prior to the reign of Hezekiah. The destruction of the second, later level can also be related to an Assyrian military campaign. In the so-called ‘Letter to God’, a text often attributed to Sennacherib,204 there is a description of an Assyrian attack on a city, whose name is unfortu199

I concur with the views that identify a historical reality behind the cultic reforms in Hezekiah’s reign—even if they are not to be seen as originating from purely cultic reasons, but rather tied to the general reforms and expansion of the royal Judahite kingship during his reign. For a brief discussion of this point and relevant references, see Maeir op. cit. (note 195), pp. 50–52. 200 For recent summaries and discussions of this campaign, see, e.g., K. Younger Jr., “Recent Study on Sargon II, King of Assyria: Implications for Biblical Study”, in M. Chavalas and K. Younger, Jr. (eds.) Mesopotamia and the Bible. Comparative Explorations (Grand Rapids, 2002), pp. 313–318; M. Cogan, The Raging Torrent: Historical Inscriptions from Assyria and Babylonia Relating to Ancient Israel (Jerusalem, 2008), pp. 103–105. Although this campaign is usually dated to 712 BCE, A. Fuchs (Die Annalen des Jahres 711 v. Chr. nach Prismenfragmenten aus Ninive und Assur [SAAS 8; Helsinki, 1998], pp. 85–88) argues for a 711 BCE date. 201 Chadwick and Maeir, op. cit. (note 192). 202 But see Na’aman, op. cit. (note 190), who argues that this reports lacks historical credibility. 203 See, e.g., Younger, op. cit. (note 200), p. 315. 204 E.g., N. Na’aman, “Sennacherib’s ‘Letter to God’ on His Campaign to Judah”, BASOR 214 (1974), pp. 25–39; E. Frahm, Einleitung in die Sanherib-Inschriften (AfO, Beiheft 26; Vienna, 1997), p. 230; Younger, op. cit. (note 200), pp. 316–318; A. Zukerman and I. Shai, “‘The Royal City of the Philistines’ in the ‘Azekah Inscription’ and the History of Gath in the Eighth Century BCE”, UF 38 (2006), pp. 729–816. Note though that other scholars attribute the ‘Letter to God’ to Sargon II, e.g., H. Tadmor, “The Campaigns of Sargon II of Assur: A Chronological-Historical Study”, JCS 12 (1958), pp. 80–85; G. Galil, “Judah and Assyria in the Sargonid Period”, Zion 57 (1992), pp. 111–133 (Hebrew); idem, “A New Look at the ‘Azekah Inscription’”, RB 102 (1995), pp. 321–329; Cogan and Tadmor, op. cit. [note 197], pp. 107–109.

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nately unclear, near the Judahite fortress of Azekah. According to the letter, this city was under Philistine control, but had been taken over by the Judahite king Hezekiah (ca. 715–687 BCE), an event which probably took place after the death of Sargon II in 715 BCE. The relative geographical position of the city suggests that it is very likely to have been Gath. The city was noted as being situated on a high mountain, and seems to have been in some direct proximity to Azekah—both fitting Tell eṣṢafi/Gath perfectly.205 While some have preferred to identify this city as Ekron,206 this is difficult to accept. In the late-8th century BCE Tel Miqne/Ekron was only ca. 4 hectares large, and it is situated on a very low lying hill,207 hardly fitting the description in the text.208 Since, as noted above, the ‘Letter to God’ can be probably ascribed to Sennacherib to whom, the capture of this unnamed city, most likely Gath, almost certainly occurred during Sennacherib’s 701 BCE campaign against Judah, in the fourteenth year of Hezekiah’s reign (2 Kgs 18:13), described, inter alia, in the Assyrian sources,209 as well as the biblical narratives (2 Chron 32:1; Isa 36:1).210 In this campaign, Sennacherib attacked and destroyed many Judahite cities in the Shephelah, and it can be assumed that Judahite Gath was one of them.211 205 See as well, e.g., Na’aman, op. cit. (note 204); Rainey and Notley, op. cit. (note 175). Zukerman and Shai (op. cit. [note 204], pp. 753–754) have suggested that the mention of the filling in of a trench in the ‘Letter to God’ can perhaps be associated with the siege trench at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath. While, as noted in the text, I fully agree with the identification of this city with Gath, I don’t agree with the connection with the trench. From what can be seen from the analysis of geomorphological processes seen in the trench refill (at least in Area C6 where this has been analyzed), the trench was refilled in a long and drawn out natural process (evidenced by the fill levels in which a ‘fining up’ process was seen, evidence of natural erosive processes that caused the initial re-filling of the trench, and not in a sudden anthropogenic event such as described in the ‘Letter of God’. Thus, I would suggest, that if in fact, Sennacherib did fill in a trench in his siege of the city, it was a defensive feature relating to the site, and not the by then long out or use siege trench surrounding the site. To this one can add, that from a tactical point of view, it is hard to imagine the need for such a refilling, since once out of use, the siege trench, which is located far from the city walls, would not have been an obstacle that would be hard to cross (and even if so, the defenders would not be able to prevent this due to its distance from the city walls). 206 E.g., S. Mittman, “Hiskia und die Philister”, JNSL 16 (1990), pp. 25–39; Galil, op. cit. (note 204); N. Na’aman, “Ekron under the Assyrian and Egyptian Empires”, BASOR 332 (2003), pp. 81–91. Note that Cogan (op. cit. [note 200], p. 109) believes that neither Ekron nor Gath fit the description, but this is simply not the case. As noted above, Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath fits the description very well. 207 S. Gitin, “Philistia in Transition: The Tenth Century and Beyond”, in S. Gitin, A. Mazar and E. Stern (eds.), Mediterranean Peoples in Transition: Thirteenth to Early Tenth Centuries BCE (Jerusalem, 1998), p. 167. Even if one accepts Na’aman’s arguments (op. cit. [note 206]) that Ekron was already of importance in the time of Sargon II (and I see no reason why not to accept this), the description of the city does not befit Tel Miqne-Ekron. 208 As noted by Younger, op. cit. (note 200), pp. 317–318, note 91; Lipiński, op. cit. (note 174), p. 81. 209 E.g. Cogan, op. cit. (note 200), pp. 111–127. 210 See, e.g., F. J. Gonçalves, L’éxpédition de Sennácherib en Palestine dans la littérature hebraïque ancienne (Paris, 1986); Cogan and Tadmor, op. cit. (note 179), pp. 223–245; W. R. Gallagher, Sennacherib’s Campaign to Judah; New Studies (SHCANE 18; Leiden, 1999). 211 On the extent and effects of the Sennacherib campaign on the kingdom of Judah, see now A. Faust, “Settlement and Demography in Seventh-Century Judah and the Extent and Intensity of Sennarcherib’s Campaign”, PEQ 140 (2008), pp. 168–194, and E. Bloch-Smith, “As-

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Thus, two distinct destruction events of a Judahite-controlled city fit in very well with two historically attested Assyrian campaigns: the first by Sargon II in 712/711 BCE and the second by Sennacherib in 701 BCE.212 With the demise of Philistine Gath after the campaign of Hazael, which brought about the destruction of the largest city in Philistia (and most probably, the dominant polity at that time as well,213 the path was opened for the rise of other Philistine cities.214 As already noted in the past,215 there is a distinct relationship between the sizes of Gath and Ekron throughout the Bronze and Iron Ages (see Fig. 27). During the Iron Age IIB, in the 8th century BCE, this marked is exemplified as follows. While Gath shrinks after Hazael’s attack, Ekron begins the process of becoming a large and central city, well-documented in the late-8th and early-7th centuries BCE.216 This process of expansion at Ekron would only have been accelerated after the two destructions of Gath by the Assyrians in the late-8th century BCE—which ensured, de facto, that Ekron was left without a nearby urban competitor.217 Likewise, it can be assumed that if Gath was under the control of Philistine Ashdod during Sargon II’s 712/711 BCE campaign (see above), this was only possible with her demise in the 9th century BCE. Similarly, it is most likely that the rise of 7th century BCE Ashkelon was enabled by the downfall of Ashdod (whether immediately after the 8th century,218 or only gradually during the 7th century BCE).219 Thus, to a large extent, the fall of Gath and later of Ashdod—an inland/coastal pair, enabled the shifting of power in Philistia to another such pair—Ekron and Ashkelon.

syrians Abet Israelite Cultic Reforms: Sennacherib and the Centralization of the Israelite Cult”, in J. D. Schloen (ed.) Exploring the Longue Durée: Essays in Honor of Lawrence E. Stager (Winona Lake, IN 2009), pp. 35–44, who argue that the destruction wrought by this campaign was less severe than previously assumed, and was primarily limited to the regions west of Jerusalem, and most of all to the Shephelah. 212 See as well Rainey who believes that Gath was captured and destroyed on both occasions (Rainey and Notley, op. cit. [note 175], pp. 235, 242). Recently, Zukerman and Shai (op. cit. [note 204]) have argued that the gimtu mentioned in Sargon II’s campaign is not to be identified as Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath, but rather at the site of Gittaim, most probably located at Tel Hamid near modern day Ramleh. They suggest that Gath (Tell eṣ-Ṣafi) is mentioned and destroyed only by Sennacherib (in the ‘Letter to God’). However, when their study was written, only one late-8th century BCE level was identified at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath (in Area A). Now that two distinct levels can be identified, both gimtu of Sargon II and the unnamed city in the ‘Letter to God’, attributed to Sennacherib, can be related to Gath. 213 See, e.g., Maeir, op. cit. (note 122); Fantalkin and Finkelstein, op. cit. (note 76). 214 And see now Bunimovitz and Lederman op. cit. (note 110), pp. 42–43 who suggest that Lachish, Level IV was established immediately after the destruction of Gath by Hazael. 215 Maeir and Uziel, op. cit. (note 18), table 3. 216 E.g. Gitin, op. cit. (note 207). On the reasons underlying this, see as well I. Finkelstein and L. Singer-Avitz, “Ashdod Revisited”, TA 28 (2001), p. 253; Na’aman, op. cit. (note 203). 217 See as well S. Gitin, “Philistines in the Book of Kings”, in A. Lemaire and B. Halpern (eds.), The Book of Kings: Sources, Composition, Historiography and Reception (VTS 129; Leiden, 2010), p. 334. 218 Finkelstein and Singer-Avitz, op. cit. (note 216). 219 D. Ben-Shlomo, “The Iron Age Sequence of Tel Ashdod: A Rejoinder to ‘Ashdod Revisited’ by I. Finkelstein and L. Singer-Avitz”, TA 30 (2003), pp. 83–107.

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Fig. 27: Graph comparing the sizes of Gath and Ekron during the Bronze and Iron Ages

The Judahite expansion into the western Shephelah and eastern Philistia, apparently substantially happening only during the reign of Hezekiah, may very well have been the result of a political vacuum in this region after the fall of Gath.220 The Judahite control, however, was short-lived, and as a consequence of Sennacherib’s campaign, these regions were wrested from the Kingdom of Judah and granted to the Philistine cities.221 The clear cut evidence for Judahite control at Gath in the late-8th century BCE222 may be relevant as well for the dating of the so-called ‘Rehoboam’s list of fortified cities’ (2 Chron 11:5–12). Over the years, many dates have been suggested for this list, ranging from the time of Rehoboam,223 Hezekiah,224 Josiah225 and most recently, the Hasmonean period.226 220

See as well Fantalkin and Finkelstein, op. cit. (note 76), p. 31. E.g. Cogan, op. cit. (note 200), p. 121. 222 While in the past some have doubted that 8th century BCE Gath was under Judahite control (e.g., R. Kletter, “Pots and Polities: Material Remains of Late Iron Age Judah in Relation to Its Political Borders”, BASOR 314 [1999], fig. 4), this was argued prior to the excavations of the relevant data from Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath. Thus, I. Finkelstein’s statement (“Rehoboam’s Fortified Cities [II Chron 11, 5–12]: A Hasmonean Reality?”, ZAW 123 [2011], p. 95) that the Judahite character of the late-8th at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath is debated, comparing the non-Judahite affiliation espoused by Kletter, as opposed to a Judahite orientation argued by Zukerman and Shai (op. cit. [note 204], pp. 739–740), cannot be sustained; the current evidence of two destruction levels of the Judahite-oriented strata at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath is clear cut, not to mention as well that this Judahite control of the site was not short-lived, solely related to the Judahite preparations for the Sennacherib campaign (Finkelstein, ibid., p. 95), but it may have lasted a decade or more. 223 E.g., G. Beyer, “Das festungs-system Rehabeams”, ZDPV 54 (1931), pp. 113–134; P. Welten, Die Königs-stempel: Ein beitrag zur militärpolitk Judas unter Hiskia und Josia (Abhandlungen des Deutschen Palästina vereins 1; Wisebaden, 1969), , pp. 167–171; Z. Kallai, 221

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In some of the discussions on the dating of this list, the inclusion of Gath has been debated (including a possible correction to “Moresheth Gath”).227 It was argued that it is illogical that Gath should be included in the list, since it was not thought to be a Judahite site; and it was supposedly too far to the west in comparison to other sites in the list.228 In light of the Judahite character of the finds from late-8th century BCE Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath—and the fact that it appears to have been under Judahite control for a decade or so during this period, a strong argument can be made that Gath could have been one of the sites in this list—if it dates to the reign of Hezekiah. Clearly, though, this would be only one factor in the general argumentation for the date of this list. It should be reiterated that Hezekiah’s reign is the only period of the various periods suggested for the dating of this list (see above) at which Gath is either Judahite and/or occupied by Judah.229 I would thus suggest that yet again an Occam’s razor solution should be preferred— which accepts the original reading of Gath in the list, not requiring a correction to Moresheth Gath—or moving Gath to another site. Thus, the finds at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath may serve as clinching evidence for the long-argued dating of the Rehoboam list.230 It seems that following the conquest of Gath by Hazael, the polity which had controlled this region for so long, the kingdom of Gath was never fully replaced and the region changed hands in the late-8th and 7th centuries BCE. It was the intervention of the Assyrians that re-divided these contested lands between the neighboring polities.231 While the site of Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath was resettled in later periods, it never recovered its pivotal role as a major polity on the border between the Judean Sheph-

“The Kingdom of Rehoboam”, EI 10 (1971), pp. 245–254; Aharoni, op. cit. (note 193), pp. 330–333; M. J. Miller, “Rehoboam’s Cities of Defence and the Levitical City List”, in L. G. Perdue, L. E. Toombs and G. L. Johnson (eds.) Archaeology and Biblical Interpretation: Essays in Memory of D. Glenn Rose (Atlanta, 1987), pp. 273–286; T. R. Hobbs, “The “Fortresses of Rehoboam”: Another Look”, in L. M. Hopfe (ed.), Uncovering Ancient Stones: Essays in Memory of H. Neil Richardson (Winona Lake, IN 1994), pp. 41–64; Rainey and Notley, op. cit. (note 175), pp. 169–170. 224 N. Na’aman, “Hezekiah’s Fortified Cities and the LMLK Stamps”, BASOR 261 (1986), pp. 5–21; Zukerman and Shai, op. cit. (note 204). 225 E. Junge, Der Wiederaufbau des Heerwesens des Reiches Judah unter Josia (BWANT 75; Stuttgart, 1937); A. Alt, Kleine Schriften zur Geschichte des Volkes Israel, II (Munich, 1953), pp. 306–315; V. Fritz, “The ‘List of Rehobaom’s Fortresses’ in 2 Chr. 11:5–12: A Document from the Time of Josiah”, EI 15 (1981), pp. 46*–53*. 226 Finkelstein, op. cit. (note 222). S. Hermann (“The So-Called ‘Fortress System of Rehoboam’, 2 Chron 11:5–12: Theoretical Considerations”, EI 20 [1989], pp. 72*–78*) suggested that the list does not reflect any historical reality. 227 E.g., Aharoni, op. cit. (note 193), p. 380, note 28: Rainey and Notley, op. cit. (note 175), p. 170; Finkelstein, op. cit. (note 222). 228 See, e.g., Kallai, op. cit. (note 223), pp. 82–83; Finkelstein, op. cit. (note 222), pp. 94–95. 229 In the late-10th century BCE (the time of Rehoboam) Gath is Philistine; in the time of Josiah (late-7th century BCE) there is little evidence of any, let along Judahite activity on the site; and there are very few finds dating to the Hasmonean period on the site. 230 This point was already noted by Zukerman and Shai, op. cit. (note 204), pp. 739–740; with the current evidence for two distinct late-8th century BCE Judahite levels at Gath, this argument is substantially strengthened. 231 On this point, see D. Master, “From the Buqê’ah to Ashkelon”, in J. D. Schloen (ed.), Exploring the Longue Durée: Essays in Honor of Lawrence E. Stager (Winona Lake, IN 2009), p. 313.

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elah and the southern Coastal Plain. And in fact, to date, save for a very small quantity of 7th century BCE pottery picked up in our survey (including two Rosette jar handles),232 there is no substantial evidence of activities on the site in the Iron Age IIC―in any of the excavated areas.233

VI. Summary As can be seen from the summary of the results of 15 years of continuous research at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath, many new insights on the Philistines, their culture and its development have emerged. While in some cases we have provided answers to old questions, and in some cases even changed previously-held convictions, in other cases, there is still much to do and many issues remain unresolved. We hoped that our continuing work at the site in the coming years will continue to provide both new, unexpected and exciting finds, and at the same time help us develop a more robust and well-based understanding of the fascinating culture of the Philistines.

232

See Uziel and Maeir, op. cit. (note 18), pp. 62–65, fig. 6:7–8. The two Rosette handles cannot be considered sufficient evidence of any substantial settlement in this period, nor for the site being part of the Judahite kingdom in the late Iron Age as suggested by some scholars (see, e.g., E. Stern, Archaeology of the Land of the Bible, Vol. II: The Assyrian, Babylonian, and Persian Periods [732–332 B.C.E.], [The Anchor Bible Reference Library; New York, 2001], p. 178; cf. I. Koch, and O. Lipschits, “The Final Days of the Kingdom of Judah in Light of the Rosette-Stamped Jar Handles”, Cathedra 137 [2010], p. 13 [Hebrew]). 233

SCRIPTS AND THEIR USES IN THE 12th–10th CENTURIES BCE ALAN MILLARD The University of Liverpool A book was published in 2008 entitled The Disappearance of Writing Systems: Perspectives on Literacy and Communication.1 The essays cover a wide range of scripts and include, as might be expected, accounts of the decline and end of Babylonian cuneiform and of Egyptian hieroglyphs. Although they occurred long after the period of this conference’s concern, the reasons for the decline of Egyptian writing and the disappearance of both Babylonian and alphabetic cuneiform from the Levant in the 12th century BCE certainly deserved discussion in that book. In this region the writing systems of two major powers whose cultures had widespread influence were, in effect, displaced, cuneiform only returning with Assyrian imperial domination, with Egyptian appearing only sporadically, as a foreign script, while other, local, systems vanished (Ugaritic cuneiform, Byblian pseudo-hieroglyphic, Deir ‘Alla script). The circumstances in the Levant in the 12th century BCE deserve consideration, so far as available evidence allows. Egypt held some control in Canaan until the middle of the century; pharaohs of the 18th and 19th Dynasties campaigned through the Levant, trying to impose their power there, leaving monuments to record their visits.2 There are monuments of Seti I and Ramesses II and inscriptions on objects containing the names of Ramesside pharaohs of the late 19th and 20th Dynasties: Merneptah, Seti II, Tewosret, Ramesses III, Ramesses VI and Ramesses IX.3 There are also a few potsherds from the south of the country bearing administrative notes from the reign of Ramesses III and undated fragments.4 Should we suppose clerks in Egyp1

J. Baines, J. Bennet and S. Houston (eds.), The Disappearance of Writing Systems: Perspectives on Literacy and Communication (London, 2008). 2 See A. Millard, “Ramesses Was Here…And Others, Too!”, in M. Collier and S. Snape (eds.), Ramesside Studies in Honour of K. A. Kitchen (Bolton, 2010), pp. 305–312. Note that S. J. Wimmer has informed me the stele mentioned there as from Al-Shajarah (note 5) does not exist. 3 See Merneptah sundial; Gezer, KRI IV 7; Seti II jar fragments; Tell el-Fara South, KRI IV 242.10; Tewosret faience vessel; Tell Deir ‘Alla, KRI IV 351.5; Ramesses III vase; Megiddo KRI V.257.79A, pen-case and plaques, Megiddo KRI V.255–56.77; door plate, Lachish KRI VII.251A; ostracon yr 10+ (below 20), Lachish KRI VII.251B; ostracon yr 22, Tell eshShari‘a KRI VII.252A and fragments do. 252b–h; Ramesses VI statue-base, Megiddo KRI VI.278.1; Ramesses IX inlay, Megiddo KRI VI.449.1. 4 S. J. Wimmer, “A New Hieratic Ostracon from Ashkelon”, TA 35 (2008), pp. 64–72, esp. 69–71: “Hieratic Inscriptions from Canaan: An Update”.

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tian service in Canaan wrote nothing but monuments and notes on potsherds? On a rigorous review encompassing existing examples alone, we might reach that conclusion. Yet that would surely be wrong! Five hundred years earlier, in the Middle Bronze Age, letters were passing from Egypt to Canaan and back, as the Story of Sinuhe and the recently published fragments from the Tomb of Khnumhotep relate.5 Had that practice ceased in the Late Bronze Age once Canaan fell under Egypt’s rule? There can be no doubt scribes were writing on papyrus and perhaps other perishable materials for the Egyptian officials in Ramesside Canaan. Papyrus Anastasi III records despatches sent from Kharu in Merneptah’s reign and Papyrus Harris I (ix.1) mentions a temple of Amun in Djahi.6 Those scribes were as active as their colleagues were in Egypt, where such documents do not survive in the sites of the major towns on the Nile. Whether those scribes in Canaan were Egyptians or educated Canaanites is not clear. Egyptians in the garrison at Deir el-Balah could have tombstones engraved with their names in hieroglyphs.7 It may be significant that locally produced objects bear signs which are not true Egyptian; they are meaningless, like the hieroglyphs on Phoenician ivories of the 9th and 8th centuries BCE.8 In other words, local craftsmen mimicked aspects of the ruling culture without attempting to copy them intelligently.9 There may have been local rulers who wrote to their suzerain in Egyptian, but only the records of some who used Babylonian to communicate with the Pharaoh survive; no archive of papyrus documents has been found at El-Amarna. The situation with Babylonian cuneiform was quite different. Babylonian rule had never reached the Levant in the 3rd and 2nd millennia BCE, the Bronze Ages; when Babylonian kings made occasional campaigns to the Mediterranean coast, they were no more than raids. Yet Babylonian writing had already taken root at Ebla by about 2,300 BCE and was current throughout the region until the end of the Late Bronze Age. Trade, diplomacy and cultural influence were driving forces, we may assume, coupled with the greater flexibility of the cuneiform script for recording a variety of languages, notably Hurrian. In the Late Bronze Age, local princes corresponded with each other and their overlords in Babylonian language and script and had legal and administrative documents recorded with it. The cylinder seals of two kings of Sidon illustrate the supremacy of cuneiform, mixed with the artistry of Egypt; their

5

J. P. Allen, “The Historical Inscription of Khnumhotep at Dahshur: Preliminary Report”, BASOR 352 (2008), pp. 29–39, see esp. 35, 36 for a letter sent by king of Byblos to pharaoh. Note also that rulers of Byblos had memorials composed in Egyptian, see K. A. Kitchen, “An Unusual Egyptian Text from Byblos”, Bulletin du Musée de Beyrouth 20 (1967), pp. 149– 153. 6 J. A. Wilson, ANET, pp. 258b–259a, 260; P. Grandet, Le Papyrus Harris I (BM9999), I–III (Bibliothèque d'Étude CIX.1–3; Cairo, 1994–1999), p. 260. 7 T. Ornan, A Man and His Land. Highlights from the Moshe Dayan Collection (Jerusalem, 1986), pp. 124–125. 8 K. A. Kitchen, “Egyptianizing Features in the Nimrud Ivories”, in G. Herrmann (ed.), Ivories from SW 37 Fort Shalmaneser (Ivories from Nimrud [1949–1963], IV. 1; London, 1986), pp. 37–42; and idem, “The hieroglyphs”, in G. Herrmann, S. Laidlaw and H. Coffey (eds.), Ivories from the North–West Palace (1845–1992), (Ivories from Nimrud VI; London, 2009), pp. 161–162. 9 See the signs painted on a terra-cotta coffin from Lachish, O. Tufnell, Lachish 4, The Bronze Age (London, 1958), pp. 131–132, reproduced in NEAEHL, p. 903.

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names are engraved in cuneiform, their figures in Egyptian style.10 Yet Babylonian, which had no imperial sponsor, also disappeared from the Levant in the 12th century BCE. The reason, presumably, was the interruption of trade routes and the collapse of local governments and their administrative traditions, to be replaced by different styles of rule. At the same time as Babylonian writing on clay disappeared from the Levant, so, too, did the cuneiform alphabets. The evidence from Ugarit indicates that scribes there had adopted the longer cuneiform alphabet in the 13th century BCE, if they did not invent it, and wrote with it almost every kind of text they might have written in Babylonian.11 Tell Sukas, a few miles to the south, is the only other site that has yielded a tablet in the longer cuneiform alphabet, but seven sites, including Ugarit, have produced examples of the shorter cuneiform alphabets and Beth Shemesh yielded the oddly formed tablet (perhaps axe-shaped) with signs in the order later known from Old South Arabian inscriptions, which is joined by an example from Ugarit. The cuneiform alphabets, one might have thought, could survive more easily than Babylonian cuneiform, created as they obviously were for writing West and possibly South Semitic languages, imitating the Canaanite Linear Alphabet, but they did not. (It is worth noting that the Hieroglyphic Hittite script endured through the upheavals of the 12th –10th centuries BCE in places where descendants of the Hittite emperors clung to power and continued to write the Luwian language, recording their genealogies. Clear examples come from Carchemish in the family of Astuwatamanzas and from Malatya, dated to the 11th–10th centuries BCE.12) By the end of the 12th century, therefore, anyone writing in Canaan would have written with the alphabet. Only in a cosmopolitan centre like Byblos might a scribe still write in Egyptian. The Report of Wenamun tells of letters from Egypt, records from previous reigns, and the stele of king Zakkur-ba’al which a future visitor from Egypt might read which we may assume was written in Egyptian rather than Canaanite, for Wen-Amun said to the king: “And if it comes to pass that in another day an envoy comes from the land of Egypt who knows writing and he reads out your name on the stela…” (2. 59).13 The earliest texts in the Linear Alphabet, texts being sequences of related sentences, are those from Byblos dated to the 10th and early-9th centuries BCE (The later dates B. Sass has proposed do not convince me.14 My main objection is that I 10

The seals of Addumu and his son Anniwi: A. de Ridder, Collection de Clercq, Catalogue VII.2, Les bjoux et les pierres gravées (Paris, 1911), nos. 386, bis, ter, reproduced in E. Gubel, (ed.), Les Phéniciens et le monde méditerranéen (Brussels, 1986), p. 218. 11 S. Sanders, “What was the Alphabet for? The Rise of Written Vernaculars and the Making of Israelite National literature”, Maarav 11 (2004), pp. 25–56; A. Millard, “Alphabetic Writing, Cuneiform and Linear Reconsidered”, Maarav 14 (2007), pp. 83–93; D. Pardee, “The Ugaritic Alphabetic Cuneiform Writing System in the Context of Other Alphabetic Systems”, in C. L. Miller (ed.), Studies in Semitic and Afroasiatic Linguistics Presented to Gene B. Gragg (Studies in Ancient Oriental Civlization 60; Chicago, 2007), pp. 181–189, esp. 186– 187. 12 J. D. Hawkins, Corpus of Luwian Hieroglyphic Inscriptions (Berlin, 2000), pp. 83–87, Karkemish A 14a, 14b, 10th century Astuwatamanzas, cf. pp. 91–93, A ib Suhis II, also ca. 10th century; pp. 314–315, Malatya V. 15, 11th–10th centuries. 13 M. Lichtheim, “The Report of Wen-Amun”, in W. W. Hallo and K. L. Younger (eds.), The Context of Scripture, 1 (Leiden, 1997), pp. 89–93, esp. 92. 14 B. Sass, The Alphabet at the Turn of the Millennium (Tel Aviv Occasional Publications 4;

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cannot envisage kings of Byblos dedicating statues of dead pharaohs to their goddess.15) In the 9th century there follow them well-known inscriptions in Aramaic, Ammonite, Moabite and Hebrew, with many more in the next centuries. It is the absence of such texts from the previous centuries that deserves attention. Particularly noteworthy is the absence of local royal inscriptions from any Late Bronze Age site in Canaan and from the Early Iron Age. Observing the identity between the shape of the Mesha Stele and Assyrian stelae of Ashurnasirpal II, Shalmaneser III and their successors, with curved top and heavy raised margins, N. Na’aman has suggested that the Moabite craftsman copied the Assyrian design.16 Shalmaneser’s forces reached the Damascus area and he may have had stelae erected there, as he may have done at the Dog River, which Mesha or his envoys might have seen— although there is no record of contact between Moab and Assyria at that moment. Even if the form of the Mesha Stele was borrowed from the Assyrian, it does not require the text it bears to be an imitation of an Assyrian royal inscription. Were there really no texts in West Semitic before the 10th century and very few until the Assyrians arrived in the Levant? As we observed with regard to the Late Bronze Age situation, on a rigorous review of existing examples alone we might reach that conclusion, especially if we follow the assertion of S. Sanders that “we can never safely assume the existence of a genre or use for writing without concrete evidence”.17 (Although the same author allows the evidence of “narrative techniques of the monumental inscriptions” to suggest: “a world of more extended texts” in the 8th century BCE.18) The alphabetic inscriptions recovered so far from the 12th–10th centuries BCE are restricted to scratches and scribbles, marks of ownership or dedication on pots, names hammered on to bronze arrowheads, abecedaries, an ostracon of uncertain content and a list of farming tasks. (A. Lemaire lists them in his paper in this volume.) There is not a trace of anything considerably longer, of connected sentences, of royal inscriptions leading to the deduction, nothing more extensive was written. That is a deduction which may be questioned. Did the people who wrote those brief notices write anything else? Could they never set down more than a name or a few words? The analogy made previously with the discoveries of alphabetic cuneiform inscriptions at Ugarit bears repeating. If all the clay tablets had been destroyed in the sack of the city, the surviving specimens of the cuneiform alphabet would be similar to the inscriptions of the Late Bronze Age–Iron I Period in the Canaanite Linear Alphabet, although the work of more sophisticated scribes.19 Again, if only the texts in the shorter cuneiform alphabets were available, would anyone have envisaged the range of the texts Ugarit has yielded? Other instances could be adduced. What would be known of ancient EgypTel Aviv, 2005). 15 See now A. Lemaire, “La Datation des Rois de Byblos Abibaal et Elibaal et les Relations entre l’Egypte et le Levant au Xe siècle av. notre ère”, Académie des Inscriptions et Belles Lettres, Comptes rendus (2006 [2009]), pp. 1699–1716; and C. A. Rollston, “The Dating of the Early Royal Byblian Phoenician Inscriptions: A Response to Benjamin Sass”, Maarav 15 (2008) pp. 57–93. 16 N. Na’aman, “Three Notes on the Aramaic Inscription from Tel Dan”, IEJ 50 (2000), pp. 92–104, reprinted in N. Na’aman, Ancient Israel’s History and Historiography. The First Temple Period, Collected Essays, III (Winona Lake, IN 2006), pp. 173–186. 17 S. Sanders, The Invention of Hebrew (Urbana, 2009), p. 105. 18 Idem, ibid., p. 129. 19 See Millard, op. cit. (note 11).

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tian literature if papyri had not been dehydrated in deserted sites away from the Nile? Further, there are multitudes of Old South Arabian inscriptions on stone and metal, yet only in recent decades have documents—letters, accounts, legal deeds, school exercises—come to light, incised on the ribs of date palms between the 8th century BCE and the 4th century AD. Without the papyri and the wooden sticks, we could conclude scribes in Egypt and Southern Arabia wrote only monumental compositions, dedications, epitaphs and ownership notices! How wrong we would be! It would be equally wrong to deny the possibility that scribes were writing on perishable materials in Canaan during the 12th–10th centuries BCE. Looking at the inscriptions from those centuries, the variety in forms of letters, their stance and the direction of writing is obvious. Clearly there was no widespread convention in those matters until, at the end of the period, the Byblian monuments, display a higher degree of regularity. It should be remembered that those are all royal inscriptions produced in the same place and so likely to be the work of the most expert scribes and engravers. The more casual writing on pots, before or after firing, and other objects, may be the products of humbler clerks.20 The variety in letterforms and the distribution of the extant examples weigh against the concept of a single scribal centre. Although there are so few pieces, they are spread over the whole country through the three centuries, indicating knowledge of writing was not limited to a single place at any one time and that it was a tradition continuing from the Late Bronze Age. These factors, together with the political situation in the 12th–11th centuries BCE, militate against the argument that writing will only be practiced where there is a central authority, since history attests no central authority in Canaan during the Late Bronze Age and the Early Iron Age until the kingdom of David. Where the alphabet was used, it was used locally and so there would be variations from the parent. Yet they are never great enough to render the writing unrecognizable to a reader from another of the alphabet-using communities. It may be doubted, too, that writing was confined to the patronage of an élite class. If writing is present, can its use be so restricted? Could only the ‘élite’ afford to pay a scribe to write a name or a dedication on a pot? R. Byrne, who takes this view, does not adequately define ‘élite’. Would they include, for example, a family like Elkanah, Peninah and Hannah who could present gifts of a bullock, flour and wine for the shrine at Shiloh (1 Sam. 1:24)? If the élite formed, as he claimed, a “restricted clientele to which scribes needed to appear relevant”,21 we may ask what other texts did their scribes write? The absence of letters in the early alphabet, like those found in alphabetic cuneiform at Ugarit, may be due to accidents of discovery and survival, or to the fragmented political situation which limited long distance correspondence, but would not prevent the exchange of local messages. Byrne even 20

For the two inscribed pot handles(?) from Byblos, see F. M. Cross and P. K. McCarter, “Two Archaic Inscriptions on Clay Objects from Byblos”, Revista di Studi Fenici 1 (1973), pp. 3–8.; cf. F. M. Cross, “Early Alphabetic Scripts”, in F. M. Cross (ed.) Symposia Celebrating the Seventy-Fifth Anniversary of the Founding of the American Schools of Oriental Research (1900–1975): Archaeology and Early Israelite History (Cambridge, MA 1979), pp. 95–125, reprinted in F. M. Cross, Leaves from an Epigrapher’s Notebook. Collected Papers in Hebrew and West Semitic Palaeography and Epigraphy (Harvard Semitic Studies 51; Winona Lake, IN 2003), pp. 330–343, esp. 336; J. Teixidor, “An Archaic Inscription from Byblos”, BASOR 225 (1977), pp. 70–71. 21 R. Byrne, “The Refuge of Scribalism in Iron I Palestine”, BASOR 345 (2007), pp. 1–31, esp. 22.

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sees how rare scribes were in the naming of a single scribe in each of the two lists of David’s entourage, Seraiah and Sheva: “David retains a scribe when scribes are curiosities”,22 failing to observe that a single scribe, Shebna, is named among Hezekiah’s officials who faced the Assyrian generals (2 Kgs 18:18), in a period when scribes are universally admitted to have been more numerous and active. (Jonathan, an uncle of David is named as a scribe in 1 Chron 27:32, a piece of information which has the appearance of veracity and does not appear to serve any particular purpose.) Here the metal arrowheads inscribed with personal names in alphabetic script are instructive. All except the one from Ruweiseh lack true archaeological provenances; whether they were found in tombs or shrines is irrelevant.23 Taking a bronze arrowhead and engraving letters along the spine cannot have been easy. In some cases, such as the el-Khadr arrowheads, the implement appears to have been a small flat chisel, like a screwdriver, in others a point, once, at least, analysis reveals, a steel point.24 Both the implements and the instability of the arrows may have contributed to the anomalous forms and positions of some letters, so single variations may have little significance. From the range of shapes of the arrows and of the letters, it appears unlikely all were made and engraved in one workshop close together in time and carried to other places. Also hard to conceive would be a king or commander who required an aide to learn only the signs needed for incising his master’s name on arrowheads, never to write more. Again, the existence of these objects points to a wider use of writing, they are a clear indication of writing applied to a special purpose in societies where its more extensive functions were understood and where there were people who could read it. Arrowheads with cuneiform inscriptions naming Babylonian kings and officials, which have been sold on the antiquities market as coming from Luristan, were made in the 11th–10th centuries BCE, so they offer a curious contemporary parallel to those with early alphabetic inscriptions. The Babylonian arrows, with other inscribed weapons, were apparently taken by hill tribes as loot from towns in the plains of Babylonia and come from an era which has yielded few cuneiform texts. Those texts that survive are almost entirely royal inscriptions; the number of cuneiform tablets bearing legal documents or administrative records is very small indeed. When discussing the Babylonian arrows in 1989, B. Sass counted fifteen examples with the name of Simbar-Shipak (1025–1008 BCE), two for his successor Ninurtakudurri-usur I (987–985 BCE), four for Mar-biti-apla-usur (984–979 BCE) and four for Nabu-mukin-apli (978–943 BCE). He concluded: “If these finds may be considered representative...of the three long-lived kings of this period, Simbar-Shipak (18 years), Eulmash-shakin-shumi (17 years) and Nabu-mukin-apli (36 years), the arrowheads of the second are the most numerous, while from the long reign of the third only four examples are known. Their small number probably reflects a decline in the custom of inscribing arrowheads, and the arrowheads presumably date from 22

Idem, ibid., p. 23. E. Puech, “Les pointes de flèches inscrites de la fin du IIe millénaire en Phénicie et Canaan”, in, Actas del IV Congreso Internacional de estudios Fenicios y Púnicos (Cadiz, 2000), pp. 251–269. 24 P. K. McCarter, “Two Bronze Arrowheads with Archaic Alphabetic Inscriptions”, EI 26 (1999), pp. 123*–128*, esp. 125* and note 10. 23

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the beginning of Nabu-mukin-apli’s long rule”.25 Further discoveries have augmented the figures, giving a different result (see table below).26 By 1994 the count for Simbar-Shipak was 14 or 17 arrowheads, for Mar-biti-aplausur it had risen to seven and for Nabu-mukin-apli to eight, possibly twelve, overturning Sass’s proposal that there was a decline in their production under Nabuukin-apli.27 These figures remind us that conclusions drawn from existing evidence should always be couched in terms that allow for future discoveries, whether in Babylonia or in Canaan; to preclude such a possibility is to impose an artificial restriction on the way the evidence is interpreted. Number of Arrows Owner’s Name and Date Simbar-Shipak (1025–1008) Kashshu-nadin-akhkhe (1007–1005) Eulmash-shakin-shumi (1004–988) Ninurta-kudurri-usur (987–985) Priest of Babylon Governor Mar-biti-apla-usur (984–979) Nabu-mukin-apli (978–943) Son of Nabu-mukin-apli? Official of Nabu-mukin-apli?

B. Sass

RIMB 2

15 1 17 2 1 1 4 4 3 1

14 or 17 1 17 2 1 1 7 8 or 12 3 1

Byblos is best known for inscriptions in the early Phoenician alphabet; its twentytwo letters suit the Phoenician language better than any other. That alphabet already existed before the 12th century BCE and presumably arose in Phoenicia. The fact that it is best attested at Byblos may be an accident; it could have been current simultaneously in other Phoenician centers, so allowing for local variations, as the later Phoenician alphabets show.28 Therefore, when an inscription is discovered, the Byblos inscriptions deserve to be used for comparison, but they should not necessarily become the paradigm. Furthermore, the fact that they were engraved on hard surfaces may mean they do not reflect precisely the current hands of scribes using cursive script with ink on papyrus or leather. Finally the recent discoveries of the Khirbet Qeiyafa ostracon and the Tel Zayit graffito deserve comment, for both contribute to this discussion by showing people writing and reading, perhaps the reader being a different person from the writer, about 1000 BCE and about 900 BCE (I follow the archaeological date given by Garfinkel and Ganor for the Qeiyafa ostracon,29 although the script could be older.) 25 B. Sass, “Inscribed Babylonian Arrowheads of the turn of the Second Millennium and Their Phoenician Counterparts”, UF 21(1989), pp. 349–356, esp. 353. 26 This table is based on G. Frame, Rulers of Babylonia from the Second Dynasty of Isin to the End of Assyrian Domination (1157–612 BC), (Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia, Babylonian Periods 2; Toronto, 1995), abbreviated as RIMB 2. The dates given follow Frame. 27 The uncertainty arises because some arrows may have been counted twice. 28 J. B. Peckham, The Development of the Late Phoenician Scripts (Cambridge, MA 1968). 29 Y. Garfinkel and S. Ganor, Khirbet Qeiyafa Vol. 1: Excavation Report 2007–2008 (Jerusalem, 2009).

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Whether the Qeiyafa ostracon was written where it was found or brought from another place is uncertain. The erratic hand may indicate an inexperienced writer and however one reads the letters, the ostracon cannot be considered a high standard product! Is this the work of a na’ar, not yet graduated as a professional scribe, one like Gideon’s informant writing (wayyiktob) the names of the seventy-seven leaders at Sukkoth (Judg 8:14)?30 Perhaps in the same category should be reckoned the alphabet scratched on a boulder found built into a wall at Tel Zayit. The labour involved in making the incisions was not small, suggesting that its writing was not the product of an idle moment. The physical remains from the 12th–10th centuries BCE in the Levant present writing at a low level, no more than the occasional, until the Byblian monuments and thus they might justify the minimal view of the use of writing. Even so, each specimen implies that someone had learnt the alphabet, so would have had a teacher, and both teacher and pupil would have believed they gained some advantage from that knowledge. The existing samples of their work do not indicate they wrote simply as a pastime, like the Safaitic herdsmen of the Arabian steppe.31 Recently the case has been made for learning to use the alphabet demanding several months of study. That assertion is based on observations made in the highly literate society of modern Israel.32 In non-literate societies an alphabetic or similar script can be learnt and put to use very rapidly by children.33 When the circumstantial evidence is assessed and the force of analogies is added, then that minimal view can be challenged. It becomes plausible to assume writing was used more widely across the land, for accounts, letters, legal deeds and even, I would maintain, for narrative and poetic compositions, written on perishable surfaces.34 Such would have been the activities of the sopher mahir and the sopher yadi‘a of the Egyptian Satirical Letter.35 Arguments offered in earlier studies are repeated here, but in the light of a advancing knowledge they now appear stronger and more convincing!

30

For varying interpretations of the ostracon, published since this paper was read, see G. Galil, “The Hebrew Inscription from Khirbet Qeiyafa/Neta’im: Script, Language, Literature and History”, UF 41 (2009) [2010], pp. 193–242; E. Puech, “L’ostracon de Khirbet Qeyafa et les débuts de la royauté en Israël”, RB 117 (2010), pp. 162–184; B. Becking and P. Sanders, “De inscriptie uit Khirbet Qeiyafa: Een vroege vorm van sociaal besef in oud Israel?”, NTT 64 (2010), pp. 238–252; A. Millard, “The Ostracon from the Days of David found at Khirbet Qeiyafa”, TB 62 (2011), pp. 1–13; C. Rollston, “The Khirbet Qeiyafa Ostracon: Methodological Musings and Caveats”, TA 38 (2011), pp. 67–82. 31 M. C. A. Macdonald, “Literacy in an Oral Environment”, in P. Bienkowski, C. B. Mee and E. A. Slater (eds.) Writing and Ancient Near Eastern Society, Papers in Honour of Alan R. Millard (London, 2005), pp. 49–118. 32 C. A. Rollston, “Scribal Education in Ancient Israel: The Old Hebrew Epigraphic Evidence”, BASOR 344 (2006), pp. 47–74, esp. 48–49. 33 Macdonald, op. cit. (note 31). 34 A. Millard, “Books in the Late Bronze Age in the Levant”, in S. Izre’el, I. Singer and R. Zadok (eds.), Past Links. Studies in the Languages and Cultures of Studies in the Languages and Cultures of Ancient Near East. Essays in Honour of Anson Rainey (IOS 18; Winona Lake, IN 1998), pp. 171–181. 35 J. A. Wilson in ANET, pp. 475–479; J. P. Allen, “The Craft of the Scribe”, in W. W. Hallo and K. L. Younger (eds.), Context of Scripture 3, Archival Documents (Leiden, 2002), pp. 9– 14.

NEBUCHADNEZZAR I’S EASTERN FRONT JOHN P. NIELSEN Loyola University of New Orleans “When those states which have been acquired are accustomed to live at liberty under their own laws, there are three ways of holding them. The first is to despoil them; the second is to go live there in person; the third is to allow them to live under their own laws, taking tribute of them, and creating within the country a government composed of a few who will keep it friendly to you”. Machiavelli, The Prince

I. Introduction After the collapse of the Kassite Dynasty in the mid-12th century BCE, Babylonia was often plagued by instability precipitated by foreign invasions and the infiltrations of non-urban tribal groups that remained present in parts of the country. These circumstances were only exacerbated by periods of famine and economic decline. During the centuries that followed, attempts to establish significant political centralization at Babylon were often ineffective and at times royal power was nearly nonexistent. In spite of this general trend, a few successful monarchs were able to impose a degree of stability within the country, but these kings were the exception and any gains that were made were often short lived. Their successors were often unable to consolidate their predecessors’ achievements and throughout the period there was limited dynastic continuity.1 Certainly in the 12th–10th centuries BCE no Babylonian ruler was able to come forth and claim the mantle of a Sargon of Akkad or Hammurabi by reestablishing Babylonia as an imperial power that extended its reach beyond southern Mesopotamia. While Babylonia was a weakened and decentralized state with retracted borders from the 12th century BCE on, it did not undergo a complete collapse. By the last quarter of the 7th century BCE, Babylon was able to participate in the events that led * I wish to thank Gershon Galil for kindly extending to me the invitation to submit this paper for inclusion in this volume even though I was unable to attend the conference in Haifa. I also would like to thank Katherine Fidler, my colleague in Loyola’s history department, for our many conversations about empire and indirect rule and her suggestions for readings covering theoretical treatments of the subject. 1 The most complete treatment of this period of Babylonian history remains J. A. Brinkman’s A Political History of Post-Kassite Babylonia, 1158–722 B. C. (AnOr 43; Rome, 1968). With the exception of the archive discovered at Nippur in 1973 and published by S. Cole as The Early Neo-Babylonian Governor’s Archive from Nippur (OIP 114; Chicago, 1996), the lack of significant new material from this period makes it unlikely that this work will be superseded any time soon.

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to the fall of the Neo-Assyrian Empire and position itself as the capital of a new empire that controlled much of the territory previously held by the Assyrians. Such a rise to power would not have been possible if Babylon had not retained a reasonable degree of importance as a center in international networks and if monarchs, both in Babylonia and beyond its borders, had not continued to recognize the ideological significance of the city.2 Therefore, there should be some benefit both from considering both how Babylonian kings in the post-Kassite period exercised power and influence through surviving networks and why they were often unable to establish effectively centralized rule at Babylon and extend Babylonian power beyond the southern Mesopotamian plain. These are, admittedly, broad and ambitious questions that cannot be answered within the confines of a single article, but the example of Nebuchadnezzar I, one of the more successful post-Kassite kings, and his efforts to re-impose Babylonian control on his eastern front over the province of Namar and the Kassite tribe of Bīt-Habban in the Zagros Mountains can highlight the potential directions such a study should take. Aiding this discussion will be the better-documented and ultimately successful example of the Neo-Assyrian Empire, which, in its infancy, confronted a Near East that posed many of the same challenges to expansion that Nebuchadnezzar I faced two centuries earlier. Neo-Assyrian growth combined conquest with consolidation. Utilizing that example can provide a template for understanding the strategies that Nebuchadnezzar I employed when pursuing those twin objectives. Specific evidence from Neo-Assyrian campaigns in the Zagros against Namar and Bīt-Habban can also facilitate an assessment of the difficulties with which Nebuchadnezzar had to contend as well as the long-term success of his efforts. This discussion will be further aided by drawing upon the ample theoretical literature devoted to the topic of empire and the strategies stronger states have employed to exert influence or control over weaker or less organized societies.

II. The Example of the Neo-Assyrian Empire Ultimately it was the reemergence of Babylonia’s northern neighbor, Assyria, late in the 10th century BCE that began to reverse the trend toward decentralization that characterized conditions throughout the Near East after the Late Bronze Age. Assyria’s rise has understandably garnered much attention from Assyriologists since the earliest days of the field due in large part to the Assyrian annals and royal inscriptions that describe, often in lurid detail, the military campaigns that fueled the empire’s growth. The impetus for expansion was a desire to control networks of trade and access to resources, but it found expression in royal inscriptions as a desire to recapture and expand the borders of the “Land of Aššur”, territory that had been held during Assyria’s earlier phase of expansion in the Late Bronze Age from 1400– 1200 BCE.3 The Assyrian military machine was instrumental in extending Assyria’s borders, but these gains could not have been maintained had the Assyrians not been 2

Note the continued use of the grandiose title šar kiššati, “king of the world”, by many postKassite kings (Brinkman, ibid., passim). 3 J. N. Postgate, “Royal Ideology and State Administration in Sumer and Akkad”, in J. Sasson (ed.), Civilizations of the Ancient Near East, I (New York, 1995), pp. 409–410 and S. W. Holloway, Aššur is King! Aššur is King! Religion in the Exercise of Power in the Neo-Assyrian Empire (CHANE 10; Leiden, 2002), pp. 65–68.

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able to establish provincial administration in conquered territories that imposed an effective system of taxation and tribute extraction. Assyria’s transformation into a territorial empire in which conquered regions became annexed into Assyria was a complex process. A key distinction in imperial organization was between provinces which were part of Assyria proper and ruled by an appointed governor and client kingdoms on the periphery where local dynasties continued to rule as tributaries to the Assyrian emperor. This distinction between the direct rule over incorporated imperial territories controlled through formal administration and the indirect rule over an imperial periphery through subjugated or co-opted local elites is important to a working definition of empire in the Ancient Near East and for historical and sociological understandings of empire in general.4 Both M. Liverani and J. N. Postgate addressed this distinction as it applies to Assyrian expansion in the first millennium. Liverani proposed that the growth of the Neo-Assyrian Empire in the Middle Euphrates and Habur Basin—the territory of the Middle Assyrian Empire—should be conceptualized not as an oil-stain expanding outwards on the map, but as a set of discrete nodes of Assyrian influence in a network centered on the city of Aššur. Successive campaigns in the region, the manipulation of local dynasties, and the appointment of governors thickened these networks until the Middle Euphrates and the Habur Basin could be annexed as Assyrian provinces.5 Postgate rejected Liverani’s concept of a thickening network as it applies to the reassertion of Assyrian control in the Middle Euphrates and Habur Basin, arguing that there was a re-imposition of provincial structures that allowed for direct rule in the region after re-conquest, but agreed that it is applicable to the expansion of Assyrian power beyond the Euphrates in territories that had not been previously held by the Assyrians; many of these peripheral territories were added to existing provinces or annexed as new provinces.6

III. The Eastward Expansion of Nebuchadnezzar I While the Neo-Assyrian Empire eventually came to dominate Babylonia, first through military interventions intended to stabilize the country but eventually through direct rule,7 Assyria’s emergence does not explain the Babylonian inability to reestablish an imperial presence in Mesopotamia. In the 12th–10th centuries BCE there were periods when the Babylonian king was actually in the ascendancy over his Assyrian counterpart,8 and from an ideological standpoint he could lay claim to 4

The question of whether or not only the formal annexation of territory constitutes empire as a conceptual category remains present in historical and sociological debates (M. W. Doyle, Empires [Ithaca, 1986], pp. 32–34). 5 M. Liverani, “The Growth of the Assyrian Empire in the Habur / Middle Euphrates Area: A New Paradigm”, SAAB 2 (1988), pp. 81–98. 6 J. N. Postgate, “The Land of Assur and the Yoke of Assur”, World Archaeology 23 (1992), pp. 247–263. 7 Postgate (ibid., pp. 262–263) notes the difficulty the Assyrians had when attempting to incorporate kingdoms such as Egypt and Babylonia that had imperial pasts comparable to Assyria’s. 8 Both Ninurta-nādin-šumi and Nebuchadnezzar I were able to conduct military campaigns into Assyrian territory during their reigns (Brinkman, op. cit. [note 1], pp. 99–100, 110–111); Marduk-nādin-ahhē removed cult statues from the Assyrian city of Ekallāṭe and could claim in a kudurru inscription (BBSt 8) from his 10th year a victory over Assyria (Brinkman, ibid.,

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an imperial legacy in which Assyria had once been a Babylonian vassal.9 The ideology of empire, which emphasizes the vertical rule of a higher authority over horizontal connections within a nation, can perpetuate an empire regardless of its territorial scale.10 Babylon had been at the center of networks that facilitated both political control and trade. As with Assyria, vestiges of these networks seem to have survived even when Babylonian power was at low ebb. The reign of Nebuchadnezzar I (1121–1100 BCE) marked the first revival of Babylonian fortunes after the fall of the Kassite dynasty.11 His 22 year reign followed that of his father, Ninurta-nādin-šumi (1127–1122 BCE),12 and he was succeeded on the throne by his son, Enlil-nādin-apli (1099–1096 BCE), and then his brother, Marduk-nādin-ahhē (1095–1078 BCE), and nephew, Marduk-šāpik-zēri (1077–1065 BCE).13 The territorial challenges that confronted Nebuchadnezzar I at the outset of his reign stemmed from events that had accompanied the Kassite Dynasty’s decline in the preceding century. Babylonia’s position vis-à-vis its northern and eastern neighbors had become more tenuous in 1224 BCE when Tukulti-Ninurta I (1241– 1206 BCE) had defeated the Kassite king, Kaštiliašu IV (1231–1224 BCE) and administered Babylonia through a series of vassal kings.14 At that time the Elamite king Kidin-Hutran, possibly the third king of that name, began to intervene, deposing two of Tukulti-Ninurta’s vassals while conducting devastating campaigns within Babylonia.15 Merodach-baladan I (1170–1158 BCE) and the two kings who pp. 124–130); Šamši-Adad IV (1053–1050 BCE) removed his nephew from the Assyrian throne in 1053 BCE after returning from exile in Babylonia (Brinkman, ibid., pp. 143–144); Nabû-šuma-ukīn I was able to reverse Babylonian setbacks in the last years of the 10th century and bring Babylonia on par with Assyria, ushering in an 80-year era of mostly positive relations between the two kingdoms (Brinkman, ibid., pp. 180–182); and Marduk-zākir-šumi intervened on behalf of Šamši-Adad V in 827 BCE, after revolts broke out in the last years of Shalmaneser III’s reign, imposing upon the new king in the process a treaty that subordinated Assyria to Babylonia (Brinkman, ibid., pp. 204–205). 9 Burna-Buriaš II made this claim when protesting Pharaoh’s acceptance of Assyrian envoys in EA 9:31–35. 10 This statement is inspired by F. Cooper’s discussion of the durability of imperial systems in Colonialism in Question: Theory, Knowledge, History (Berkeley, 2005), pp. 153–203. 11 All dates and reign lengths follow those set forth by Y. Bloch in “Solving the Problems of the Assyrian King List: Toward a Precise Reconstruction of the Middle Assyrian Chronology”, JAC 25 (2010), pp. 21–87; “Middle Assyrian Lunar Calendar and Chronology,” in W. Horowitz, J. Steele and Y. Ben-Dov (eds.), Calendar and Years, III, forthcoming; and “Assyro-Babylonian Conflicts in the Reign of Aššur-rēša-iši I: The Contribution of Administrative Documents to History-Writing”, in this volume. I wish to thank Y. Bloch for giving me advanced copies of all three articles. 12 It should be noted that nowhere in the scant inscriptional evidence surviving from his reign does Nebuchadnezzar I make the claim that Ninurta-nādin-šumi was his father. This tradition only appears in sources from the 6th century BCE during the reign of Nabonidus (Brinkman, op. cit. [note 1], p. 124, note 566). Y. Bloch’s proposal in this volume that Nebuchadnezzar I usurped Ninurta-nādin-šumi’s throne raises the possibility that Nebuchadnezzar was not the son of his predecessor and that this was a tradition that developed later. 13 For Marduk-šāpik-zēri’s identity as Marduk-nādin-ahhē’s nephew see J.-J. Glassner, Mesopotamian Chronicles (Atlanta, 2004), no. 46. 14 Dates follow Y. Bloch, “The Order of the Eponyms in the Reign of Tukulti-Ninurta I”, Orientalia 79 (2010), pp. 9–25, 31; idem, op. cit. (note 11). 15 E. Carter and M. W. Stolper, Elam: Surveys of Political History and Archaeology (Berkeley, 1984), p. 39; D. T. Potts, The Archaeology of Elam: Formation and Transformation of an

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succeeded him reestablished the independence of the Kassite dynasty, but only temporarily. The raid of Aššur-dan I (1178–1134 BCE) along the Tigris between the Lower Zab and Adhaim rivers inaugurated a second series of Assyrian and Elamite campaigns in Babylonia that eventually led to the removal of Enlil-nādin-ahi (1156– 1154 BCE), the last king of the Kassite Dynasty, by the Elamite king KudurNahhunte.16 For a quarter of a century, the first two kings of the Second Dynasty of Isin found themselves in a comparatively weak position and probably did not administer the historically Babylonian provinces to the north and east of the kingdom. It was on these fronts that the Kassite rulers of Babylonia had suffered their major reverses and Šilhak-Inšušinak I’s campaigns in Assyrian and Babylonian territory are a clear indication of the threat the Elamites continued to pose during the early years of the dynasty.17 The power base of the dynasty’s founder, Marduk-kābit-ahhēšu (1153– 1136 BCE), was undoubtedly located south of territories ravaged by the Elamite invasions, but he was soon enthroned at Babylon and probably had consolidated his control of northern Bablyonia by the end of his reign.18 A royal inscription and administrative documents from his son’s reign indicate control of Babylon and Borsippa, but not further north.19 The Babylonian attempts to reassert control of territories to the north of Babylon along the Tigris occurred under Ninurta-nādinšumi who conducted campaigns against Assyria, but it was not until Nebu-chadnezzar took the throne that a Babylonian king took steps to confront Elam. Two inscriptions—one on a kudurru (BBSt 6) and the other on a stone tablet (BBSt 28)—from Nebuchadnezzar I’s own reign provide information about his Elamite campaigns. From the standpoint of elucidating military strategy, the more descriptive account is found on BBSt 6, commonly referred to as “The Šitti-Marduk Kudurru”. The literary prologue on the Šitti-Marduk Kudurru explains how Nebuchadnezzar launched a campaign from the city of Der and defeated the Elamite king in a decisive engagement on the Ulāia River. Šitti-Marduk, the Kassite chief of BītKarziabku, played a pivotal role in this encounter and his heroism gained him the king’s ear. His petition to Nebuchadnezzar I resulted in the freeing of the towns in Bīt-Karziabku’s territory from the jurisdiction of the province of Namar governed by the Kassite tribe of Bīt-Habban. The text of BBSt 6 states that a royal inquiry established that Bīt-Karziabku was only receiving rights and freedoms that it had enjoyed in the past and that its subordination to Namar and Bīt-Habban had no historical precedence. How the members of Bīt-Habban, Namar’s governing clan, felt about Nebuchadnezzar’s decision is not mentioned in the text, but Nebuchadnezzar and Šitti-Marduk must have anticipated that they would not be pleased with it; the curse formulas in the text include imprecations against officials from Namar and members from the tribe of Bīt-Habban who might violate Bīt-Karziabku’s autonAncient Iranian State (Cambridge, 1999), pp. 230–231. 16 Brinkman, op. cit. (note 1), pp. 88–89. 17 Carter and Stolper, op. cit. (note 15), p. 40; Potts, op. cit. (note 15), pp. 240–247. 18 Brinkman, op. cit. (note 1), p. 93. Y. Bloch argues that Marduk-kābit-ahhēšu was on the Babylonian throne shortly after the Elamites had deposed Enlil-nādin-ahi (op. cit. [note 11, 2010], p. 77 and note 54). 19 Itti-Marduk-balāṭu used the title “Viceroy of Babylon” in VAS 1 112:7 = RIMB 2 B.2.2.1. The five economic tablets dating from his reign published by F. M. Th. Böhl (“Fünf Urkunden aus der Zeit des Königs Itti-Marduk-balâṭu”, AfK 2 [1924–1925], pp. 49–64) include mentions of Borsippa and a locale near Babylon (Brinkman, op. cit. [note 1], p. 97).

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omy.20 The evocative description of the decisive battle against Elam in the prologue of BBSt 6 points to Šitti-Marduk’s heroism as the reason that Nebuchadnezzar granted autonomous status to Bīt-Karziabku and extended special exemptions to its villages. The text fails to elaborate on what the king had to gain by making royal concessions to Bīt-Karziabku and alienating the provincial leadership in Namar. Significantly, Nebuchadnezzar’s titulary in the kudurru may shed some light on the king’s motives. To launch his march from Der, Nebuchadnezzar must have first marched his forces along the Diyala from the Tigris,21 but this was not the first time he had led an army along this route. An absence of dated material prevents us from establishing the sequences of Nebuchadnezzar’s military campaigns with certainty, but it stands to reason that the invasion of Elam could only have been achieved after other strategic objectives had first been met. Like his father before him, Nebuchadnezzar had conducted campaigns against the Assyrians that extended into the Lower Zab.22 The purpose of these operations, which occurred in the first half of his reign,23 may have been to stabilize the border sufficiently north of the Diyala’s confluence with the Tigris to permit Babylonian campaigns up the Diyala without fear of exposure to Assyrian attacks. The Diyala was a gateway into the Zagros Mountains from the southern Mesopotamian plains and the route’s strategic value—holding it would limit Elamite access to Babylonia—was matched by its economic importance as a trade route.24 Under the Kassite Dynasty, the region had been under Babylonian rule, but here too Nebuchadnezzar I appears to have employed military force. Among the titles and epithets attached to Nebuchadnezzar in the prologue of the Šitti-Marduk Kudurru are two that allude to earlier campaigns against the Lullubû

20

BBSt 6: ii 26–60. The Diyala route was not the only road to Der from Babylon, but there are two reasons to think that Nebuchadnezzar chose this one: an army on the march would need the regular water source provided by the river, and the route would have allowed Nebuchadnezzar to link up with Šitti-Marduk early in the campaign. 22 Aššur-reša-iši I was compelled to march to Arbail to meet a campaign led by Ninurta-nādinšumi that had penetrated into Assyrian territory (A. K. Grayson, Assyrian and Babylonian Chronicles [Locust Valley, NJ 1975], p. 188, iv 7–17; Glassner, op. cit. [note 13], no. 15: iv 5–17) and later engaged in a series of border skirmishes with Nebuchadnezzar I (Grayson, ibid., pp. 163–164, ii 2’–13’; Glassner, ibid., no. 10: ii 1”–13”). Although both Babylonian campaigns ended in an Assyrian victory, it is important to recognize that it was the Babylonians in both instances who were invading Assyrian territory. Inscriptions found by residents of Satu Qala located on the Lower Zab and examined by W. van Soldt demonstrate that the mound on which the village is built was the site of Īdu in antiquity (W. van Soldt, NABU 2008/55). In light of the fact that Ninurta-nādin-šumi had reached Arbail, Īdu’s location roughly 40km southeast of Arbail raises the possibility that Babylonian encroachments on Assyrian territory under Ninurta-nādin-šumi and Nebuchadnezzar I originated in Babylonian held territory to the southeast of Assyria in the Zagros and was not a northward push up the Tigris. 23 Ašur-reša-iši I’s reign (1131–1115 BCE) coincided with the entirety of Ninurta-nādinšumi’s reign as well as the first seven years that Nebuchadnezzar I held the throne. 24 The route, which would become known as the Great Khorasan Road, linked the Mesopotamian plain with the Iranian plateau and was a conduit for the flow of goods from central Asia even in prehistory (Y. Majidzadeh, “Lapis Lazuli and the Great Khorasan Road”, Paléorient 8 [1982], pp. 59–69). 21

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and the Kassites,25 populations that inhabited the Zagros. With Elam the ultimate objective, the necessity of these campaigns becomes apparent; a march southeast from Der toward Susa would have left a Babylonian army vulnerable to hostile populations occupying parts of the Zagros north of Der. The Kassite tribes with which Nebuchadnezzar fought are not named, but one of the most important territories in the Zagros was Namar, ruled by the Kassite tribe of Bīt-Habban.26

IV. Consolidation in the East: Namar, Bīt-Habban, and Bīt-Karziabku While Namar and the other Babylonian provinces in the Zagros do not seem to have been formally annexed into the Elamite state,27 the Elamite invasions of Babylonia probably pried them loose from Babylonian rule, and the presence of a powerful Elam undoubtedly served as a foil to Babylonian attempts to re-exert control in the region. Even when these provinces had been within the Babylonian orbit, they enjoyed a high degree of autonomy compared to provinces in the Babylonian heartland.28 The Šitti-Marduk Kudurru is the earliest evidence that Namar was under Babylonian control during the Second Dynasty of Isin, but it is very likely that Nebuchadnezzar, or perhaps his father, was responsible for bringing this about. Namar’s later status as a region that threatened Neo-Assyrian interests in the Zagros is an indication of its continuing importance in the early first millennium and is suggestive of the difficulties Nebuchadnezzar I may have faced bringing it under Babylonian control a few centuries earlier.29 Throughout the 9th–8th centuries BCE, Namar was one of many territories or petty kingdoms with which the Assyrians had to contend as they extended the borders of their empire. Late in his reign, Adadnārāri II (911–891 BCE) campaigned as far as the passes of the land of Namar.30 A half century later in 843 BCE, Shalmanesser III defeated the king of Namar and installed Ianzû of the Kassite tribe of Bīt-Habban as the new king.31 Ianzû remained on the throne of Namar until 834 BCE, when Shalmanesser returned to Namar and deposed him.32 Forces from Namar were among the allies of the Babylonian king Marduk-balāssu-iqbi whom Šamši-Adad V defeated at Dūr-Papsukkal in 814 BCE,33 and the Assyrian eponoym chronicle records campaigns against Namar in 797, 774, 749–748, and 744 BCE.34 Tiglath-pileser III, who conducted the campaign in 744 BCE, claimed to have captured and annexed both Namar and Bīt-Habban,35 but 25

BBSt 6 i 9–10. Significantly, Lullubû and Namar were linked by a mountain pass (J. E. Reade, “Kassites and Assyrians in Iran”, Iran 16 [1978], p. 137). 27 Carter and Stolper, op. cit. (note 15), p. 42; Potts, op. cit. (note 15), p. 252. 28 Brinkman, op. cit. (note 1), pp. 108–109 and idem, “Provincial Administration in Babylonia under the Second Dynasty of Isin”, JESHO (1963), pp. 236–237. 29 For a summary of the Namar’s history see K. Kessler, “Namar/Namri”, RlA 9, pp. 91–92. 30 RIMA 2 A.0.99.4:13'–20'. 31 RIMA 3 A.0.102.14:93b–95. 32 RIMA 3 A.0.102.14:110b–126a. This campaign is also mentioned in the Assyrian eponym chronicles (A. Millard, The Eponyms of the Assyrian Empire, 910–612 BC [SAAS 2; Helsinki, 1994], p. 29). 33 RIMA 3 A.0.103.1 iv 37–45. 34 Millard, op. cit. (note 32), pp. 35–43. 35 H. Tadmor, The Inscriptions of Tiglath-pileser III King of Assyria (Jerusalem, 1994), pp. 98–99, St. I B:5'–14'; and pp. 164–167, Summ. 7:29–37. 26

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Sargon II (722–705 BCE) was compelled to return to Bīt-Habban and probably Namar as well in the course of his campaigns.36 Bīt-Habban also seems to have retained much of its prestige in the centuries that followed the recognition of Bīt-Karziabku’s autonomy; members appear in prominent roles and as provincial administrators in kudurrus from the early-11th through mid-9th centuries BCE.37 Bīt-Habban appears primarily as a toponym in Neo-Assyrian sources, but Shalmanesser III’s appointment of Ianzû as king of Namar is an indication that Bīt-Habban retained its ethnic distinction as a Kassite tribe in the mid-9th century BCE and that its leading members were deemed acceptable candidates for rule over Namar.38 By comparison, members of Bīt-Karziabku are named in only one other text, a 10th century BCE kudurru in which one member holds the administrative title šākin ṭēmi māti.39 No mention is made of Bīt-Karziabku in NeoAssyrian sources, either as a tribal designation or as a toponym. By the time the jurisdictional reorganizations described in the Šitti-Marduk Kudurru were formalized, Nebuchadnezzar I must have had the upper hand in the region. He had achieved this position through the campaigns against the local populations alluded to in the preamble of BBSt 6 as well as through his decisive victory against Elam. These successes alone are indicative of the resources upon which Nebuchadnezzar could draw and suggest that Babylonia had reemerged as a state that’s power rested both on its own core and a limited periphery.40 The long-term viability of this position was challenged by geographic realities; both distance and the topography of the Zagros Mountains made the region difficult to govern from Babylon. The apparent strength of Bīt-Habban and the tribe’s hold over Namar prevented Nebuchadnezzar I from effectively annexing the province to Babylonia and directly ruling it through appointed governors. Consequently, Nebuchadnezzar was forced to exert influence in the region indirectly (the third of Machiavelli’s proscribed methods for holding newly acquired states). As a category of imperial administration, indirect rule occupies broad definitional space between direct rule and hegemony. It does not carry with it the financial costs associated with direct rule nor does it require an extensive commitment of manpower in terms of soldiers and bureaucrats. Unlike hegemony, however, it does not eschew an imperial presence in favor of the maintenance of a power relationship between states in which one is more powerful than another and can therefore make demands.41 The exercise of indirect rule requires only a limited military and bureaucratic presence in ruled territories. Instead of relying heavily on military power, the imperial core engages in the dismantling of the traditional social order of the ruled population and extends special recognition to selected new or traditional elites, groups Liverani would identify as nodes of control in the imperial network, through 36

A. G. Lie, The Inscriptions of Sargon II, King of Assyria, I: The Annals (Paris, 1929), 20:116. Lie restores Namri and Bīt-Habban earlier in the inscription 4: [9]. 37 Brinkman, op. cit. (note 1), pp. 251–252, and note 1603. 38 For the name Ianzû, from janzi, the Kassite word for “king”, see Brinkman, ibid., p. 251, note 1601 and A. Fuchs, “Ianzû”, PNA, p. 492 (1). 39 BBSt 9 iv b 2–3. Another member of Bīt-Karziabku, Zēra-ukīn, appears as a claimant in a legal disputed described in the same document (Brinkman, ibid., iv a 3, 16, 21). 40 Imperial power cannot operate on the basis of commitments shared by ruler and ruled and extends its dominance by calling upon superior resources (Doyle, op. cit. [note 4], p. 42). 41 Doyle, ibid., p. 81.

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newly imposed legal mechanisms.42 The establishment of Bīt-Karziabku’s autonomy by Nebuchadnezzar I in BBSt 6 bears many of the hallmarks of indirect rule. By removing Bīt-Karziabku from Namar, Nebuchadnezzar I was altering the tribal hierarchy that existed amongst the Kassites in the Zagros and fracturing the social cohesion that held them together.43 Nebuchadnezzar accomplished this by recognizing the “customary” legal status of Bīt-Karziabku claimed by Šitti-Marduk while simultaneously co-opting Šitti-Marduk into legal traditions represented by the kudurru that stemmed from Babylon and carried with them implicit acknowledgement of the king’s authority. This process granted external legal and political recognition to a group whose identity had previously been culturally defined, transforming the members of Bīt-Karziabku into instruments for and beneficiaries of Babylonian rule. The possibility that Nebuchadnezzar manipulated the leadership of Bīt-Habban should also not be discounted. Nebuchadnezzar may not have been able to wrest control of Namar from Bīt-Habban, but this does not preclude the possibility that Enlil-nādin-šumi, the governor of Namar from Bīt-Habban who was present at the declaration of Bīt-Karziabku’s freedom,44 held his position because he was more amenable to Babylonian rule than other candidates for the office. The fact that the curses on the kudurru admit the possibility that a member of Bīt-Habban who would be hostile to Bīt-Karziabku’s status could become governor of Namar is an indication that Nebuchadnezzar I was aware of some antipathy toward the decision within Bīt-Habban and wanted to prevent a member of Bīt-Habban from contesting Bīt-Karziabku’s removal from Namar’s jurisdiction.45 In addition to utilizing curses, Nebuchadnezzar took other measures to con-solidate Babylonian gains on the eastern front. A clause referring to soldiers of Nippur and Babylon and soldiers of the king quartered in Bīt-Karziabku indicates that the king maintained a military presence in the region.46 No doubt this garrison was tasked with keeping Elam in check, but their presence also secured Nebuchadnezzar’s earlier victories over the Kassites and Lullubû. Importantly, these soldiers were not empowered to make arrests within Bīt-Karziabku and the cost of maintaining them was borne by the governor of Namar.47 This arrangement served several purposes and was consistent with the use of military in support of indirect rule. Having cultivated friendly relations with Bīt-Karzibaku, Nebuchadnzezzar would not have wanted to risk alienating Šitti-Marduk with a sizeable, intrusive, and costly garrison made up of soldiers from the Mesopotamian plains. By ensuring that the garrison would not harass members of Bīt-Karziabku and shifting the burden of cost to the governor of Namar, Nebuchadnezzar reinforced his recognition of Bīt-Karziabku’s special status and established a mechanism for monitoring Namar’s allegiance to Babylon. The presence of a Babylonian garrison in Bīt-Karziabku probably 42

For a discussion of how colonial powers have set apart select groups in order to exert indirect rule over a larger population see M. Mamdani, When Victims Become Killers: Colonialism, Nativism, and the Genocide in Rwanda (Princeton, 2001), pp. 21–28. 43 For the hierarchical social structure of Kassite “houses” in the Post-Kassite period see Brinkman, op. cit. (note 1), pp. 255–254 and “Kassiten”, RlA 5, pp. 465–466, 470–471. 44 BBSt 6 ii 23. 45 Ibid., ii 26–60. 46 Ibid., ii 3–4. 47 Ibid., ii 5, 9–10.

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strengthened the perception in the region that Bīt-Karziabku was closely aligned with Nebuchadnezzar. Such a perception would have fostered inter-dependence between Babylon and Bīt-Karziabku and brought the interests of the ruled population of Bīt-Karziabku more in line with those of the ruler in Babylon, making BītKarziabku a dependable ally in Babylon’s attempts to administer the eastern territories. The end result may have been that the Babylonian garrison at Bīt-Karziabku was smaller than what would have been required if all of the populations in the region had been resistant to Babylonian rule.48

V. Conclusions Looking back over Nebuchadnezzar’s career, it appears that the king was engaged in a policy of regular campaigning which, though pursued on a more limited scale than the later Assyrian expeditions, was intended to extend and also consolidate his control over territories east of the Tigris that had been within the orbit of Babylonian power during the late Kassite dynasty. These campaigns may even have been a continuation of efforts inaugurated by his father, Ninurta-nādin-šumi, who had previously campaigned in Assyrian territory. The establishment of Bīt-Karziabku’s independence from Namar and the concessions made to Šitti-Marduk gained Nebuchadnezzar an ally and possibly a valuable node in a network that facilitated his exercising of Babylonian power in the region. The degree to which Nebuchadnezzar may have relied on Šitti-Marduk in this network may be observed in the freedoms from taxation granted to Šitti-Marduk. The bonds that held the network together were fairly tenuous ones. These networks would have had to have thickened over time for Babylon to administer directly the provinces east of the Tigris in the Zagros. This does not seem to have happened; the setbacks Nebuchadnezzar’s brother, Marduknādin-ahhē, initially experienced at the hands of the Assyrians may have diminished Babylon’s presence in the Zagros.49 Certainly the destabilizing encroachment of Arameans into Babylonia by the reign of Adad-apla-iddina had a devastating effect on central administration.50 The long-term ramifications for Bīt-Karziabku are difficult to determine; members of the tribe appear infrequently in subsequent documentation. The continuing power of Namar and Bīt-Habban and the relative unimportance of Bīt-Karziabku and its eventual disappearance from records suggest that Bīt-Karziabku’s special status was not long lived. Nebuchadnezzar’s recognition of Bīt-Karziabku’s autonomy in the Šitti-Marduk Kudurru was only one event during his twenty-two year reign, yet it was part of the king’s efforts to strengthen Babylonia’s eastern border and diminish the threat posed by the Elamites to Babylon and Babylonian interests. Nebuchadnezzar apparently was incapable of achieving his strategic objectives through simple force of arms. He claims that he was in conflict with Kassites, but he never conducted a concerted and 48

Šitti-Marduk’s involvement in the campaign against Elam is a testament to the military capacity of Bīt-Karziabku. The relationship between Nebuchadnezzar and Bīt-Karziabku meant that the king could rely on Bīt-Karziabku to defend his interests in the Zagros. 49 Brinkman, op. cit. (note 1), pp. 119–130. Y. Bloch argues that Marduk-nādin-ahhē’s setbacks against Assyria occurred at the outset of his reign, but that he was eventually victorious in the war with Tiglath-pileser I (see his article in this volume, notes 73–74). 50 Brinkman, op. cit. (note 1), p. 279; Grayson, op. cit. (note 22), pp. 180–181: 8–11; Glassner, op. cit. (note 13), nos. 46–47.

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comprehensive campaign against the Kassites as a unified group. Instead he had to contend with multiple Kassite houses, some of which shared common interests with Babylon and were co-opted into the king’s efforts. As a result, Nebuchadnezzar had to navigate complex tribal networks and cultivate the allegiance of select groups within those networks. His recognition of Bīt-Karziabku’s autonomy was not the only occasion when the king’s actions betrayed the degree to which his power was limited and reliant on local potentates. In his sixteenth year, Nebuchadnezzar bestowed his approval upon a grant of land to the mayor of Nippur.51 The man who actually made the grant was another prominent Kassite who was also governor of Bīt-Sîn-šeme and served as mayor of Babylon; the mayor of Nippur was described as his servant and not as the servant of the king.52 In spite of the apparent limits on his power, Nebuchadnezzar enjoyed one of the more successful tenures of any Babylonian monarch in the 12th–10th centuries BCE. The kings who succeeded him at Babylon would continue to be confronted with the challenges of governing a considerably decentralized state. The throne was an influential but not dominant point in a network that spanned the shifting divides that existed between the millennia-old cities of Babylonia and the various tribal groups present in southern Mesopotamia. Continued consideration of the strategies Babylonian kings utilized to manipulate those networks can only further our understanding of this period. In the 12th–10th centuries BCE, the monarchy was weak relative to other periods in Babylonian history. Nevertheless, occupants of the throne during those centuries were able to negotiate and cultivate the existing networks to guarantee that Babylon retained its political, cultural, and religious significance within Babylonia and in the eyes of the Assyrian emperors who eventually viewed Babylon as a critical node in their own control of their southern neighbor in the 9th–7th centuries.53 Their patronage of the city, given in the hope that it would strengthen the networks that bound Babylon to Aššur, ultimately contributed to Babylon being well positioned to emerge as the dominant power in the Near East at the end of the 7th century BCE.54

51

Hinke Kudurru ii 7–iii 13, see W. J. Hinke, A New Boundary Stone of Nebuchadrezzar I from Nippur (Philadelphia, 1907), pp. 145–148. 52 J. A. Brinkman remarks on how striking it is that two of Nebuchadnezzar I’s inscriptions devote significant space to the deeds of two prominent Kassites (“Nebuchadnezzar I”, RlA 9, pp. 193–194). 53 Complex divisions existed among cities and tribal groups in Babylonia with regards to their support of or opposition to Assyrian rule. The varying allegiances that existed in Babylonia during the Šamaš-šuma-ukīn revolt are illustrative of these divisions (G. Frame, Babylonia 689–627 B.C.: A Political History [PIHANS 69; Leiden, 1992], pp. 131–182). 54 Postgate (op. cit. [note 6], p. 247) makes the point that the Babylonian, Persian, and Macedonian empires all followed the pattern set by Assyria.

ŠÎŠAQ’S ARMY 2 CHRONICLES 12:2–3 FROM AN EGYPTOLOGICAL PERSPECTIVE

TROY LEILAND SAGRILLO Swansea University

I. Introduction The biblical narrative in 1 Kgs 14:25–27 and 2 Chron 12:1–12 concerning the Egyptian invasion of the land of Israel by Šîšaq—the Libyan founder of Dynasty 22 known in Egyptian as Shoshenq I (minimally circa 944/943–922 BCE)1—has been of interest to both biblical scholars and Egyptologists since well-before the 19th century, and that interest has not abated. While questions such as the route of Shoshenq’s army, his motivations for invading, and the relationship between the biblical and Egyptian textual records have long dominated the discussion,2 less attention has been paid to the composition of his army in light of the Egyptian record vis-à-vis the * The author expresses his thanks to the organizers of “The Ancient Near East in the 12th–10th Centuries BCE: Culture and History” conference, particularly Gershon Galil and Dan’el Kahn, for their kind invitation to speak, as well as the generous hospitality extended to him. He would also like to thank Dan’el Kahn and Martina Minas-Nerpel for their pertinent criticism and comments on earlier drafts of this paper. 1 Shoshenq’s accession date is based on dead-reckoning back from the securely dated beginning of Dynasty 26; see E. Hornung, R. Krauß and D. A. Warburton (eds.), Ancient Egyptian Chronology (Leiden, 2006), pp. 234–264. It is anchored to a lunar date in the “greater Dākhlah stela” (Ashmolean Museum 1894.107A), dated to Regnal Year 5 of Shoshenq I (for which, see note 116, below); this is discussed in R. Krauß, “Das wrš-Datum aus Jahr 5 von Shoshenq (I)”, Discussions in Egyptology 62 (2005), pp. 43–48; Hornung et al., ibid., pp. 411–412. While this is remarkably close to the widely cited date of 945 BCE for his accession, it is independent of any purported biblical synchronism with Regnal Year 5 of King Rehoboam of Judah (1 Kgs 14:25 and 2 Chron 12:2), the date of Šîšaq’s campaign (for which, see K. A. Kitchen, The Third Intermediate Period in Egypt [1100–650 BC], [Warminster, 1996], §§ 58–60). For objections, see idem, “The Third Intermediate Period in Egypt: An overview of fact and fiction”, in G. P. F. Broekman, R. J. Demarée and O. E. Kaper (eds.), The Libyan period in Egypt: Historical and Cultural Studies into the 21st–24th Dynasties (Egyptologische Uitgaven 23; Leiden, 2009), pp. 166–167, § 13; M. A. Leahy, “The Date of the ‘Larger’ Dakhleh Stela (Oxford, Ashmolean 1894.107a)”, GM 226 (2010), pp. 45–53. 2 The literature on this topic is vast, but see generally Kitchen, idem, Third Intermediate Period, §§ 241–260, 398–415; K. A. Wilson, The Campaign of Pharaoh Shoshenq I into Palestine (Tübingen, 2005). Cf. reviews of Wilson’s book by J. K. Hoffmeier (BASOR 349 [2008], pp. 88–91), and K. A. Kitchen (JSS 54 [2009], pp. 274–276). See also T. L. Sagrillo, The reign of Shoshenq I: Textual and Historical Analyses, forthcoming.

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Bible.3 In particular, the elements of Šîšaq’s forces detailed in 2 Chron 12:3 are worth examining from an Egyptological perspective.4 The Masoretic text of 2 Chron 12:2–3 states: ‫שּׁנָה ַה ֲחמִישִׁית ַל ֶמּלְֶך ְר ַח ְבעָם ָעלָה שִׁישַׁק ֶמלְֶך־ ִמצ ְַרי ִם עַל־י ְרוּשָׁלָ ִם כִּי ָמעֲלוּ‬ ָ ‫[ ַויְהִי ַבּ‬2] ‫שׁשִּׁים ֶאלֶף פּ ָָרשִׁים ְואֵין ִמ ְספָּר ָלעָם ֲאשֶׁר־בָּאוּ‬ ִ ‫[ ְבּ ֶאלֶף וּמָאתַ י ִם ֶרכֶב וּ ְב‬3] .‫בַּיהוָה‬ .‫עִמּ ֹו ִמ ִמּצ ְַרי ִם לוּבִים ֻס ִכּיּ ִים וְכוּשִׁים‬ [2] And in the fifth year of King Rehabcām, Šîšaq, king of Egypt, came up against Jerusalem—because they had acted treacherously against Yahweh—[3] with a thousand and two hundred chariots and sixty thousand horsemen, and there was no number to the people who came with him from Egypt—Libyans, Sukkiyîm, and Kushites. The narrative raises a number of points. First, Šîsaq’s forces consist of infantry (“people who came with him from Egypt”), chariotry, and horsemen (i.e., cavalry), all in exaggeratedly large numbers. Secondly, the ethnic background of his military is composed of “Libyans, Sukkiyîm, and Kushites” (doubtlessly “Egyptians” are to be assumed). How do both points compare with what is known of the organization of the Egyptian military during early Dynasty 22?

II. The Egyptian Military During the Reign of Shoshenq I 1. The New Kingdom Background In order to understand the composition and organization of the Egyptian military during the Libyan Period,5 it is important to briefly look at what preceded it. During the New Kingdom a professional, standing army, centered on a chariot-using elite, was established in Egypt.6 The bulk of the military consisted of infantry (mnfyt),7 broken up into divisions theoretically totaling 5,000 men each,8 which were sub3

This is not to claim there have been none at all. See, for example, A. R. Schulman, “Kings, Chronicles and Egyptian Mercenaries”, BES 5 (1983), pp. 117–133; Wilson, ibid., pp. 80–85; D. Michaux-Colombot, “The Identification of the Lubim, Sukkīyim and Kušīm in II Chronicles 12, 3–4”, in È. E. Kormyševa and I. A. Ladynin (eds.), Культурное наследие Египта и Христианский восток [Kul’turnoe nasledie Egipta i Xristianskij vostok] / Cultural Heritage of Egypt and Christian Orient 4 (Moscow, 2007), pp. 279–296. 4 These details are completely lacking in the narrative of 1 Kgs 14:25–27. 5 Broadly, Dynasties 21–24. 6 In general, see R. O. Faulkner, “Egyptian Military Organization”, JEA 39 (1953), pp. 32–47; A. R. Schulman, Military rank, title and organization in the Egyptian New Kingdom (MÄS 6; Berlin, 1964); J. Yoyotte and J. López, “L’Organisation de l’armée et les titulatures de soldats au Nouvel Empire égyptien”, BiOr 26 (1969), pp. 3–19; A. R. Schulman, “Military organization in ancient Egypt”, in J. M. Sasson et al. (eds.), Civilizations of the ancient Near East 1 (New York, 1995), pp. 289–301; A. M. Gnirs, Militär und Gesellschaft: Ein Beitrag zur Sozialgeschichte des Neuen Reiches (SAGA 17; Heidelberg, 1996); A. J. Spalinger, War in Ancient Egypt: The New Kingdom (Oxford – Malden, 2005); P.-M. Chevereau, Prosopographie des cadres militaires égyptiens du Nouvel Empire (EME 3; Paris, 2001). 7 A. H. Gardiner, Ancient Egyptian Onomastica, I (London, 1947), p. 113*; Faulkner, ibid., pp. 43–44; Schulman, ibid., 1964, pp. 13–14. 8 Gardiner, ibid.; Faulkner, ibid., p. 42; Spalinger, op. cit. (note 6), pp. 155–156, contra Schulman, ibid., p. 15. It should be noted that no division was ever at its full, idealized

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divided into companies (sȝw).9 Companies were led by Standard-bearers (ṯȝy-sryt)10 under the command of an Adjutant or Deputy (jdnw).11 The chariotry (ssmt) formed specialist units attached to divisions,12as were “recruits” (nfrw)13 and non-Egyptian auxiliaries (“mercenaries”/prisoners of war).14 However, as early as Dynasty 21 the rank of “Standard-bearer” disappeared from the textual record for reasons that are not now entirely clear, 15 while conversely, a new military title, “Commander” (ḥȝwty), is known since the end of Dynasty 20.16 The latter was especially favored by Libyan tribal leaders,17 especially by those holding the rank of Great Overseer of the Army ( jmy-rȝ mšc).18 During the late New Kingdom, greater emphasis was placed on non-Egyptian auxiliaries (primarily captured prisoners of war forcibly settled in Middle Egypt19) strength, and smaller-sized units could be involved in any given conflict. 9 Faulkner, ibid., pp. 41, 45; Schulman, ibid., pp. 26–30. 10 Faulkner, ibid., p. 45; Schulman, ibid., pp. 69–71. 11 Faulkner, ibid., p. 46; Schulman, ibid., pp. 34–35; Yoyotte and López, op. cit. (note 6), pp. 6–7; Gnirs, op. cit. (note 6), pp. 31–32; Spalinger, op. cit. (note 6), p. 156. 12 Faulkner, ibid., p. 43; K. A. Kitchen, Ramesside Inscriptions Translated and Annotated: Notes and Comments 2: Ramesses II: Royal Inscriptions (Oxford, 1999), pp. 39–40. Chariots were grouped into squadrons of twenty-five chariots each, commanded by an Adjutant of Chariotry ( jdnw tȝ n ḥṯr); see Gardiner, op. cit. (note 7), vol. 1, p. 28*; Faulkner, ibid., p. 43; A. al-Ayedi, Index of Egyptian Administrative, Religious and Military Titles of the New Kingdom (al-Ismāciliyyah, 2006), no. 673. 13 Faulkner, ibid., p. 44; Yoyotte and López, op. cit. (note 6), p. 5; Chevereau, op. cit. (note 6), p. 56; Schulman (op. cit. [note 6, 1964], pp. 20–21) does not regard the nfrw as recruits but rather as elite troops. 14 For discussion regarding foreign soldiers in Egyptian military service, see (among others) Schulman, ibid., pp. 22–25; D. Kessler, “Eine Landschenkung Ramesses III. zugunsten eines ‘Grossen der thrw’ aus mr-mšc.f ”, SAK 2 (1975), pp. 103–134; Spalinger, op. cit. (note 6), pp. 270–271, 275. See also Chevereau, op. cit. (note 6), p. 90. 15 See the discussion in P.-M. Chevereau, Prosopographie des cadres militaires égyptiens de la Basse Époque: Carrières militaires et carrières sacerdotales en Égypte du XIe au IIe siècle avant J. C. (EME 2; Paris, 2001), pp. 283–284. 16 Previous to this, ḥȝwty was used in a more general sense as “leader”, rather than as a true rank (Schulman, op. cit. [note 6, 1964], p. 49). 17 G. Daressy, “Fragments héracléopolitains”, ASAE 21 (1921), pp. 138–144; Yoyotte and López, op. cit. (note 6), p. 10; K. Jansen-Winkeln, “Zum militärischen Befehlsbereich der Hohenpriester des Amun”, GM 99 (1987), pp. 19–22; Chevereau, op. cit. (note 15), pp. 266–267. 18 Often stereotypically translated as “General.” 19 S. Sauneron and J. Yoyotte, “Traces d’établissements asiatiques en Moyenne Égypte sous Ramsès II”, RdE 7 (1950), pp. 67–70; Faulkner, op. cit. (note 6), pp. 44–45; Kessler, op. cit. (note 14), pp. 117–134; H. W. Helck, “Militärkolonie”, in H. W. Helck and W. Westendorf (eds.), LÄ 4 (Wiesbaden, 1982), cols. 134–135; B. Vachala, “Zur Frage der Kriegsgefangenen in Ägypten: Überlegungen anhand der schriftlichen Quellen des Alten Reiches”, in E. Endesfelder (ed.), Probleme der frühen Gesellschaftsentwicklung im Alten Ägypten (Berlin, 1991), pp. 93–101; D. B. Redford, Egypt, Canaan, and Israel in Ancient Times (Princeton, 1992), pp. 221–227; K. Jansen-Winkeln, “Der Beginn der libyschen Herrschaft in Ägypten”, BN 71 (1994), pp. 78–97; idem, “Die Libyer in Herakleopolis magna”, Orientalia 75 (2006), pp. 297–316; T. L. Sagrillo, “The Geographic Origins of the ‘Bubastite’ Dynasty and Possible Locations for the Royal Residence and Burial Place of Shoshenq I”, in G. P. F. Broekman, R. J. Demarée and O. E. Kaper (eds.), The Libyan Period in Egypt: Historical and Cultural Studies into the 21st–24th Dynasties (Egyptologische Uitgaven 23; Leiden, 2009), pp.

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as a key part of the military. This was on account of pressure to the west from both Libyans and Sea Peoples—already in Dynasty 19, but especially during Dynasty 20—as well as due to a declining Egyptian population no longer capable of supporting a large military on its own.20 This greater reliance on non-Egyptian soldiers was a fundamental shift in practice, and one that creates a number of problems when attempting to examine military organization at the beginning of Dynasty 22, particularly as there was significant and increasing “Libyanization” of Egyptian society throughout Dynasty 21.21 Another major difficulty is a much smaller pool of evidence, both textual and iconographic, dealing with military matters for the Libyan Period as compared to the rich evidence from the New Kingdom. The result is that it is difficult to speak with any degree of certainty about the structure and nature of the military during the Libyan Period as compared with earlier periods.22 Nevertheless, as long as the evidence is approached conservatively, much that may still be gleaned. 2. Late Dynasty 21 With the establishment of Dynasty 22 by Shoshenq I, the non-Egyptian elements of the military essentially became its primary component. However, even before ascending to the throne as king, Shoshenq I was already intimately part of the Libyan tribal hierarchy, which was at its core highly militarized.23 For example, an openwork gold pectoral (Cairo JE 72171), discovered as part of the burial of Shoshenq IIa24 in tomb NRT III at Tanis, indicates Shoshenq was entitled Great Chief of the Meshwesh (wr cȝ n m<šwš>w), Chief of Chiefs (wr n wrw).25 The same two titles 343–346. 20 K. W. Butzer, Early Hydraulic Civilization in Egypt: A Study in Cultural Ecology (Prehistoric Archaeology and Ecology; Chicago, 1976), p. 83; Spalinger, op. cit. (note 6), pp. 152–154, 271–272, 274–275. 21 Jansen-Winkeln, op. cit. (note 17), pp. 19–22; idem, “Das Ende des Neuen Reiches”, ZÄS 119 (1992), pp. 22–37; idem, op. cit. (note 19, 1994), pp. 78–97; idem, “Die thebanischen Gründer der 21. Dynastie”, GM 157 (1997), pp. 49–74; Spalinger, op. cit. (note 6), pp. 274–275. See also M. A. Leahy, “The Libyan Period in Egypt: An Essay in Interpretation”, Libyan Studies 16 (1985), pp. 51–65. 22 For an overview, see Chevereau, op. cit. (note 15), pp. 282–290. 23 D. B. O’Connor, “The Nature of Tjemhu (Libyan) Society in the Later New Kingdom”, in M. A. Leahy (ed.), Libya and Egypt c1300–750 BC (London, 1990), pp. 66–76, 81–89; C. Manassa, The Great Karnak Inscription of Merneptah: Grand Strategy in the Thirteenth Century BC (YES 5; New Haven, 2003), pp. 88–90; Spalinger, op. cit. (note 6), p. 244. It is perhaps appropriate to call to mind the Serapeum stela of Pasenhor B (Paris Louvre IM 2846). The portion of Pasenhor’s genealogy running from Shoshenq I to Buyuwawa the Tjehenu-Libyan, six generations earlier, indicates that all members—with the exception of Buyuwawa—were seemingly entitled “Great Chief” (wr cȝ). See M. Malinine, G. Posener, and J. Vercoutter, Catalogue des stèles du Sérapéum de Memphis 1 (Paris, 1968), pp. 30–31, 2: pl. 10/31; K. Jansen-Winkeln, Inschriften der Spätzeit 1: Die 21. Dynastie (Wiesbaden, 2007), pp. 271–272, 28.12; R. Ritner, The Libyan Anarchy: Inscriptions from Egypt’s Third Intermediate Period (Writings from the Ancient World 21; Atlanta, 2009), pp. 17–21. A crude generational count of twenty-five years per generation places Buyuwawa towards the end of Dynasty 20. 24 G. P. F. Broekman, R. J. Demarée, and O. E. Kaper, “The Numbering of the Kings Called Shoshenq”, GM 216 (2008), pp. 9–10. 25 P. Montet, Les constructions et le tombeau de Psousennès à Tanis (Fouilles de Tanis; Paris, 1951), pp. 43–44, figure 13, plate 28; E. Feucht-Putz, Die königlichen Pektorale:

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appear on a limestone stela seen on the antiquities market by Daressey,26 but now unfortunately lost. This document additionally states that Shoshenq’s father, Nimlot A, was a Great Chief of the Meshwesh, and his mother, Ta-net-sepeh A, was likewise the daughter of an anonymous Great Chief of the Meshwesh. A third text, a rose granite stela from Abydos (Cairo JE 66285),27 establishing a funerary endowment for Nimlot A, entitles Shoshenq as “Great Chief of the Meshwesh, Chief of Chiefs” (x+5, x+7, x+24), while in line x+1 he is called “Great Chief of Chiefs” (wr cȝ n wrw), a title unique to Shoshenq I.28 The unnamed king in this text—certainly Psusennes II—informs Shoshenq that his wish for the establishment of his father’s funerary endowment has been granted by the oracle god, and that “you are True of Voice, Shoshenq, True of Voice, the Great Chief of the Me<shwesh>, Chief of Chiefs, my Great-one, together with all those upon your water (i.e., adherents), (and) your army” (mšc.k) (lines x+5–6). This extraordinary statement reveals that Shoshenq, not yet king, had drawn to himself a sizable body of men serving as “[his] army,”29 and that the king of Egypt recognized them as a legitimate force. While it is clear that Shoshenq held unprecedented power among the Libyan tribal groups as the Great Chief of Chiefs before arising to the throne of Egypt, it is remarkable that he is not known to have held any formal titles associated with the Egyptian military, such as Great Overseer of the Army ( jmy-rȝ mšc wr).30 However, a reused stone block from the delta site of Ṣafṭ al-Ḥinnah—ancient Soped— mentions that an individual named Osorkon, son of Shoshenq and Karamat, held the rank of Overseer of the Army ( jmy-rȝ mšc) and Commander of Archers of Pharaoh (ḥȝwty [pḏ]wt pr-cȝ).31 This is almost certainly Osorkon I, the son of ShoMotive, Sinngehalt und Zweck (Bamberg, 1967), pp. 126–128, 185/59, plate 16; Kitchen, op. cit. (note 1, 1996), § 93; F. Tiradritti (ed.), The Treasures of the Egyptian Museum (Cairo, 1999), pp. 330, 332–333; A. Bongioanni, C. M. Sole and L. Accomazzo (eds.), The Illustrated Guide to the Egyptian Museum in Cairo (Cairo, 2001), pp. 418–419; Jansen-Winkeln, op. cit. (note 23), p. 159, 10.6. The standard study of the Libyan Great Chiefs remains J. Yoyotte, “Les principautés du Delta au temps de l’anarchie libyenne: Études d’histoire politique”, in Mélanges Maspero (MIFAO 66/1; Cairo, 1961), pp. 121–181. 26 G. Daressy, “Les parents de Chéchanq Ier”, ASAE 16 (1916), p. 177; Jansen-Winkeln, op. cit. (note 23), p. 162 (10.8). 27 A. M. Blackman, “The Stela of Shoshenḳ, Great Chief of the Meshwesh”, JEA 27 (1941), pp. 83–95; Jansen-Winkeln, op. cit. (note 23), pp. 159–162:10.7; Ritner, op. cit. (note 23), pp. 166–172. 28 Indeed, his father Nimlot A is entitled “Chief of Chiefs” (wr n wrw) twice only (posthumously?), in lines x+7 and x+24; he is otherwise only known to be a Great Chief of the Meshwesh. 29 Among these are two “foreigners of Syria” bearing Egyptian names, Akh-Amen-em-nakht (line x+10) and Akh-Ptah-em-nakht (line x+11). E. Gubel has suggests they may be Phœnicians (“Héracléopolis et l’interaction culturelle entre l’Égypte et la côte phénicienne pendant la Troisième Période Intermédiare”, in W. Claes, H. De Meulenaere, and S. Hendrickx [eds.], Elkab and Beyond: Studies in Honour of Luc Limme [OLA 191; Leuven, 2009], pp. 334–335). 30 This title is often translated as “Generalissimo”, but it would seem best to avoid this as it gives an unwarranted cultural connotation. This and similar titles are therefore translated here in a quite literal manner. 31 J. Yoyotte, “Le roi Mer-djefa-Rê et le dieu Sopdou”, BSFE 114 (1989), pp. 44–45, fig. 9/4; P. Davoli, Saft el-Henna: Archeologia e storia di una città del Delta orientale (Archeologia e storia della civiltà egiziana e del vicino Oriente antico: Materiali e studi 6; Imola, 2001), pp.

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shenq I and his chief consort, Karamat A.32 If so, the text is noteworthy as it provides clear evidence that Osorkon was both a grown man and serving in the Egyptian military before either he or his father had yet become king. 3. The Military Role of the Royal Family As is well-known, upon assuming the kingship and establishing Libyan rule over a reunited Egypt as the first king of Dynasty 22, Shoshenq I placed a number of his sons and immediate family into positions of power throughout the country, stripping power from local, hereditary elites. As might be expected, this included the military. While details concerning the Crown Prince Osorkon’s role in the military are not known during his father’s reign,33 his brother Iuput A was established as the First God’s Servant of Amun-Re, and—as with the previous dynasty34—this was coupled with a leading role in the military. In particular, he was the First Great Overseer of the Army of His Majesty ( jmy-rȝ mšc wr tp n ḥm.f ),35 the Great Overseer of the Army of Upper and Lower Egypt ( jmy-rȝ mšc wr šncw mḥw), the Great Overseer of the Army (jmy-rȝ mšc wr), the Great Overseer of the Army of the South ( jmy-rȝ wr n rsy), the Commander of the Entire Army (ḥȝwty n mšc r ḏrw), the Commander Who is at the Front of the Great Army of the Entire District of Upper Egypt (ḥȝwty nty ḥȝt ntw mšc cȝ c n šmcw r ḏrw),36 and “King’s Son of Ramesses” (sȝ nsw rc-ms-sw).37 The brother of Iuput A, Nimlot B, was likewise a King’s Son of Ramesses, as well as bearing the titles Commander of the Entire Army (ḥȝwty n mšc ḏrw), Overseer of the Army ( jmy-rȝ mšc), and Overseer of the Army of Neni-nesu38 ( pȝ jmy-rȝ mšc n nnj-nsw).39

34–35; Jansen-Winkeln, op. cit. (note 23), p. 162 (10.9); Chevereau, op. cit. (note 15), pp. 53–53, (398). The block unfortunately has not been fully published, though a record of it was maintained in the Archives Mission Montet (manuscript 74 c), including photography from the 1930s (Yoyotte, ibid., p. 61, note 74); regrettably the documentation could no longer be located as of 2006. A transliteration of the text, as well as the hieroglyphs of some of the specific titles, is presented in Chevereau, op. cit. (note 15), pp. 52–53 (see also Yoyotte, ibid., p. 45); cf. the silver cup (Cairo JE 87742) of Wen-djeba-en-Djedet (Jansen-Winkeln, op. cit. [note 23], p. 67:4.129; Chevereau, op. cit. [note 15], pp. 50–51). 32 For the genealogy of Osorkon I, see Kitchen, op. cit. (note 1, 1996), § 85; Jansen-Winkeln, op. cit. (note 17), pp. 19–22; Ritner, op. cit. (note 23), p. 21. 33 It seems plausible that Osorkon retained his role of Overseer of the Army that he held under Psusennes II (?), but this is not certain. 34 Jansen-Winkeln, op. cit. (note 17), pp. 19–22. 35 It might be wondered if in this role Iuput was responsible for leading his father’s forces into the Levant, on the assumption that the life of Crown Prince Osorkon was too crucial to risk in a foreign military campaign. 36 Chevereau, op. cit. (note 15), pp. 12–13; cf. F. Payraudeau, “Nouvelles inscriptions de la Troisième période intermédiaire à Karnak (I)”, Cahiers de Karnak 13 (2010), p. 360. 37 P. Collombert, “Les ‘fils royaux de Ramsès’: Une nouvelle hypothèse”, GM 151 (1996), p. 27; Ritner, op. cit. (note 23), p. 224; Chevereau, op. cit. (note 15), p. 54. For discussion of this title, see below, p. 433. 38 Modern Ihnāsiyyah al-Madīnah, Classical Herakleopolis Magna. If, as has been suggested (note 57 below), Dynasty 22 had its origins in the region of this city, Nimlot’s role as the Overseer of the Army of Neni-nesu would have been quite significant. 39 K. Jansen-Winkeln, Inschriften der Spätzeit 2: Die 22.–24. Dynastie (Wiesbaden, 2007), pp. 84–85 (17.1–17.3); Chevereau, op. cit. (note 15), pp. 43–45; see also K. Jansen-Winkeln, “Zu zwei Personen der frühen Dritten Zwischenzeit”, SAK 35 (2006), pp. 313–316.

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Two sons-in-law of Shoshenq I were also active in the Egyptian military. The Second God’s Servant of Amun-Re, Djed-Ptah-iw-ef-ankh A/i, who was the husband of the king’s daughter, Ta-peseshet-net-Bastet, was not only a Royal Scribe of the Army of the South (sš nsw mšc n rsy) and a King’s Son of Ramesses, but also an Overseer of the Army of the Land of Upper Egypt ( jmy-rȝ mšc nw tȝ šmcw), Overseer of the Army of the Place of Beloved of Thoth40 ( jmy-rȝ n tȝ st mrj-ḏḥwty), and Overseer of the Army.41 Another son-in-law, Djed-Hor-iw-ef-ankh, the spouse of the king’s daughter Djed-Inet-nebu-iw-es-ankh, was an Overseer of the Army, Commander (ḥȝwty), and a King’s Son of Ramesses.42 4. The King’s Son of Ramesses The title “King’s Son of Ramesses” (sȝ nsw r c-ms-sw) first appears during the reign of Shoshenq I and is encountered only during Dynasty 22. Gauthier considered it to be an indication of direct descent from the Ramesside royal family via the female line, or used by Libyan elites married into the Ramesside line,43 while Meeks concluded that the title is similar in use to that of a Minister (“vizier”), limited in influence to the Delta region, and thus equivalent to the King’s Son of Kush in Lower Nubia.44 However, in major reviews of the prosopographical data of eleven holders of this title, both Chevereau45 and (especially) Collombert46 have aptly demonstrated the title is military in nature, very often held by Great Chiefs (wr cȝ), Commanders (ḥȝwty), and other high officers in the Libyco-Egyptian military hierarchy. It was clearly neither hereditary nor tied exclusively to the Delta. The fictional reference to Ramesses is likely due to Ramesses II being the warrior king par excellence in the minds of later generations of Egyptian and Libyan rulers.47 5. The Egyptian Military under Shoshenq I Although various individuals contemporary with Shoshenq I who held military titles are known, precise details concerning the organization of the Egyptian military at the time remain elusive. One key source of information comes from the so-called “Herakleopolis Magna altar” (Cairo JE 39410).48 A lengthy text inscribed on this 40

A military establishment on the west bank of the Nile, opposite Luxor (J. Yoyotte, “La établissement militaire du temps de Merenptah”, RdE 7 localité (1950), pp. 63–66). 41 Chevereau, op. cit. (note 15), pp. 27–28. 42 Idem, ibid., p. 53; Jansen-Winkeln, op. cit. (note 39, 2007), p. 27 (12.33–34). 43 H. Gauthier, “Variétés historiques: V. Les ‘fils royaux de Ramsès.’”, ASAE 18 (1919), pp. 245–264; see also B. Couroyer, “Dieux et fils de Ramsès”, RB 61 (1954), pp. 112–115. 44 D. Meeks, “Les donations aux temples dans l’Égypte du Ier millénaire avant J.-C.”, in E. Lipiński (ed.), State and Temple Economy in the Ancient Near East 2: Proceedings of the International Conference Organized by the Katholieke Universiteit Leuven from the 10th to the 14th of April 1978 (OLA 6; Leuven, 1979), pp. 631–633. 45 Chevereau, op. cit. (note 15), pp. 258–259. 46 Collombert, op. cit. (note 37), pp. 23–35. 47 Ibid., pp. 34–35. 48 P. Tresson, “L’Inscription de Chechanq Ier au Musée du Caire: Un frappant exemple d’impôt progressif en matière religieuse”, in Mélanges Maspero (MIFAO 66/1; Cairo, 1935–1938), pp. 817–840; Jansen-Winkeln, op. cit. (note 39, 2007), pp. 4–7:12.15; Ritner, op. cit. (note 23), pp. 180–186; Chevereau, op. cit. (note 15), pp. 44–45.

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object reveals how the king’s son, Nimlot B, (re)established on behalf of his father an annual levy of 365 oxen for the temple cult of Heryshef at Ihnāsiyyah al-Madīnah, and details the quota the officials and local settlements in the 20th Upper Egyptian nome were responsible for providing in particular months. A large number of officials drawn from the military are specified. In addition to the Overseer of the Army of Neni-nesu, Nimlot B himself, other military personnel include the Great-one of the Foreign Troops49 of the 50 of User-maat-Re (pȝ cȝ n twhrw n 51 wsr-mcȝ-rc; line x+13); the Great-one of the Foreign Troops of Neni-nesu (pȝ cȝ n twhrw n nnj-nsw; line x+13); the Chief of Bowmen of the Ships of War of the Overseer of the Army (pȝ ḥry pḏty n dpwt cḥȝ n pȝ jmy-rȝ mšc; line x+17); the Scribe of the Army of the nḫtw-Stronghold of Mery-mesha-ef52 (pȝ sš mšc n pȝ nḫtw n mry-mšc.f; line x+18); the Great-ones of the […]53 of the nḫtw-Stronghold of Mery-mesha-ef (nȝ cȝw n <mšwš>w(?) [nḫtw] mrj-mšc.f; line x+18); the Scribe of the Army of the nḫtw-Stronghold of […] (pȝ sš mšc n pȝ n[ḫtw n] […]; line x+18); the Deputy of the Place of Writings of the Overseer of the Army (pȝ jdnw n tȝ st sš<w> n pȝ jmy-rȝ mšȝ; line x+26); and the Craftsmen of Chariots (n<ȝ> ḥmww mrkbṯw; line x+28). From a military perspective, this text reveals a number of important things. First of all, it clearly demonstrates the presence of a sophisticated, complex military establishment at the site, not just something newly founded at the beginning of the dynasty.54 Secondly, it makes reference to a number of individuals concerned with 49 For this title in general, see Schulman, op. cit. (note 6, 1964), pp. 21–22; H. W. Helck, Die Beziehungen Ägyptens zu Vorderasien im 3. und 2. Jahrtausend v. Chr. (ÄA 5; Wiesbaden, 1971), pp. 490–491; Spalinger, op. cit. (note 6), p. 171, and the extensive discussion in Kessler, op. cit. (note 14). 50 For nḫtw-strongholds, see below. 51 Cf. “the Great (?) nḫt-Stronghold of User-maa-Re” (pȝ nḫtw cȝ (?) wsr-mcȝ-rc) mentioned on a Dynasty 22 stela from Ihnāsiyyah al-Madīnah. See W. M. Flinders Petrie et al., Ehnasya: 1904 (Memoir of the Egypt Exploration Fund 26; London, 1905), p. 22, plate 27/2; Jansen-Winkeln, op. cit. (note 39, 2007), p. 433 (45.81). The name refers to Ramesses III. 52 In all probability one of the old Ramesside “nḫtw-strongholds of the Sherden”; see K. A. Kitchen, Ramesside inscriptions: Historical and biographical, 5 (Oxford, 1969–1990), p. 270/11–12; Kessler, op. cit. (note 14), p. 130; Jansen-Winkeln, op. cit. (note 19, 2006), p. 309; Sagrillo, op. cit. (note 19), pp. 344 note 21; Chevereau, op. cit. (note 6), p. 62:9.19–9.20). Sherden are associated with the nḫtw-Stronghold of User-maat-Re on a stela dated to Dynasty 22 (note 51). The full name of the stronghold is “the nḫtw-stronghold of Ramesses III, Ruler of Thebes, Beloved of His Army” (pȝ nḫtw n rc-ms-sw ḥqȝ jwnw mrj mšc.f ); see A. H. Gardiner (ed.), The Wilbour Papyrus, 2 (Oxford, 1941–1952), p. 194; and especially Kessler, op. cit. (note 14); E. F. Morris, The Architecture of Imperialism: Military Bases and the Evolution of Foreign Policy in Egypt’s New Kingdom (PÄ 22; Leiden, 2005), pp. 731–732, as well as P. Grandet, Le papyrus Harris I (BM 9999) 2 (BdÉ 109/2; Cairo, 1994), pp. 203–204, note 833. 53 The signs in question are not at all clear. Tresson (op. cit. [note 48], p. 823, note 9) read this as wḥmww “repeaters, messengers, heralds”, which has been followed by Ritner (op. cit. [note 23], pp. 181, 184). Kessler (op. cit. [note 14], pp. 132–133, note 69) argues for rsww “watchers, guards.” Jansen-Winkeln argues that since the following determinative (Gardiner Sign List A14a) is that of an enemy, the word must be in the same semantic horizon, perhaps ḫrww “enemies” (K. Jansen-Winkeln, “Zu einer Sekundärbestattung der 21. Dynastie in Kom Ombo”, GM 202 [2004], pp. 75–76). 54 D. B. Redford, Pharaonic King-Lists, Annals and Day-Books: A Contribution to the Study

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foreign troops, as well as nḫtw-strongholds established by Ramesses III. These were institutions designated to house and culturally indoctrinate non-Egyptian prisoners of war who were earmarked for service to the Egyptian state.55 Late Dynasty 21 or early Dynasty 22 texts discovered by the Spanish mission to Ihnāsiyyah al-Madīnah56 make mention of the “5 great nḫtw-strongholds of the Meshwesh” (pȝ 5 nḫtww cȝw n n<ȝ> m<šwš>w), in the region, and it is probably justified in claiming that at least some of the nḫtw-strongholds given in the text of the “Herakleopolis Magna altar” are the same institutions.57

III. The Biblical Evidence The evidence from Egypt, while tantalizing, is nevertheless somewhat vague, especially when compared to what is known of the Egyptian military during the New Kingdom. However, the text of 2 Chron 12:3 at least seems to provide some additional context and data. 1. Chariotry While the presence of chariots in the forces of Šîšaq is to be expected, the numbers mentioned are surprisingly large. The narrative in 2 Chron 12:3 states that Šîšaq’s host consisted of “a thousand and two hundred chariots and sixty thousand horsemen, and there was no number to the people who came with him from Egypt”. Josephus’ paraphrase of the text (Jewish Antiquities 8:254–255) adds the detail that there were four hundred thousand foot soldiers. While Josephus’ contribution can be safely ignored as impossible, it is worth considering the remaining statistical information, particularly as Kitchen has remarked that a total of 1,200 chariots is “a large but very reasonable chariot-force”.58 He argues his case by comparing Šîšaq’s chariotry to 2,500 Hittite chariots that Ramesses II claims faced him at Qadeš;59 924 chariots captured by Thutmose III at Megiddo;60 1,032 chariots brought back to

of the Egyptian Sense of History (SSEA Publications 4; Mississauga, 1986), p. 306; Sagrillo, op. cit. (note 19), p. 347; contra Kitchen (“The Arrival of the Libyans in Late New Kingdom Egypt”, in M. A. Leahy [ed.], Libya and Egypt c1300–750 BC [London, 1990], p. 21) who sees “but very little trace of Libyans” in Middle Egypt. 55 Extensively discussed in Morris, op. cit. (note 52), pp. 96, 471–474, 731–734, 820–821, (and passim). See also note 19 above. 56 M. Pérez Die and P. Vernus, Excavaciones en Ehnasya el Medina (Heracleópolis Magna) 1: Introducción general y inscripciones (Informes arqueológicos/Egipto 1; Madrid, 1992), pp. 41–43, 81, 122 doc. 15; 43–47, 81–82, 125–126, 154–155 doc. 17; Jansen-Winkeln, op. cit. (note 23), pp. 165–166 (11.1–11.3). 57 Jansen-Winkeln, op. cit. (note 19, 2006), pp. 297–316; M. Pérez Die, “The Third Intermediate Period Necropolis at Herakleopolis Magna”, in G. P. F. Broekman, R. J. Demarée and O. E. Kaper (eds.), The Libyan Period in Egypt: Historical and Cultural Studies into the 21st–24th Dynasties (Egyptologische Uitgaven 23; Leiden, 2009), pp. 303–326; Sagrillo, op. cit. (note 19), pp. 345–349, but see also F. Payraudeau, “Un linteau de Sheshonq III à Bubastis et les origines de la XXIIe dynastie”, BIFAO 109 (2009), pp. 400–403. 58 Kitchen, op. cit. (note 1, 1996), § 253, note 288. 59 Kitchen, op. cit. (note 52), II, pp. 31, 45, 135. 60 K. H. Sethe, Urkunden der 18. Dynastie: Historische-biographische Urkunden (Urk. 4; Berlin, 1961), p. 3 (663–664); D. B. Redford, The wars in Syria and Palestine of Thutmose III (CHANE 16; Leiden, 2003), pp. 35, 36.

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Egypt by Amenhotep II as booty from the Levant;61 1,200 chariots commanded by Hadadezer (Ben-hadad II) of Aram-Damascus together with 2,000 chariots under Ahab of Israel at the battle of Qarqar.62 However, during the New Kingdom the normal ratio was fifty chariots for every five thousand infantry,63 implying that the Hittite infantry at Qadeš should have numbered over a million men. If the figure of 2,500 chariots were to be taken at face value, this would point to the presence of over five thousand horses (not to mention reserve teams), making the figure highly improbable from logistical and military standpoints.64 Furthermore, the chariotry would have presented a front of about 7.3km if stretched out for combat.65 Similarly, if the total of 1,200 chariots given to Šîšaq’s forces in 2 Chron 12:3 is correct, his infantry should have numbered over a hundred thousand men—a figure that is clearly preposterous—while the chariotry alone would have presented a line of just under two kilometers.66 Therefore, Kitchen’s assertion that Šîšaq’s chariot force is “very reasonable” on the basis of comparison with the Hittite chariot forces at Qadeš is seriously flawed. If, however, the number given in the biblical text represents the total number of chariots with the Egyptian army on campaign, and not just those directly participating in a single military confrontation outside the walls of Jerusalem (and thus contra the biblical record), this number may perhaps be more reasonable, though it would still represent a significant logistical problem. It must be noted that numbers in Chronicles are very often inflated for theological reasons.67 For example, in 2 Chron 13:3 King Abijah of Judah is said to have fielded an army of 400,000 against an army of 800,000 fielded by Jeroboam I of Israel, inflicting some 500,000 casualties. Similarly 2 Chron 14:8 claims King Asa of Judah defeated an invasion of a million men (plus three hundred chariots) led by Zerah the Kushite.

61

H. W. Helck, Urkunden der 18. Dynastie. Heft 17: Historische Inschriften Thutmosis’ III. und Amenophis’ II. (Urk. 4; Berlin, 1955), p. 1309/6. 62 J. K. Kuan, Neo-Assyrian Historical Inscriptions and Syria-Palestine: Israelite/ Judean-Tyrian-Damascene Political and Commercial Relations in the Ninth–Eighth Centuries BCE (Hong Kong, 1995), pp. 29–31, 34–35; G. Galil, “Shalmaneser III in the West”, RB 109 (2002), pp. 40–56; N. Na’aman, “Ahab’s Chariot Force at the Battle of Qarqar”, in N. Na’aman (ed.), Collected Essays, I (Winona Lake, 2005), pp. 1–12. On the Assyrian army see now F. M. Fales, Guerre et paix en Assyrie: Religion et impérialisme (Paris, 2010), and also the review article by G. Galil (Review of Biblical Literature 3/2011, pp. 1–10, http://www.bookreviews.org/pdf/7802_8508.pdf). 63 A. R. Schulman, “The Egyptian Chariotry: A Reexamination”, JARCE 2 (1963), p. 83; idem, “Chariots, Chariotry, and the Hyksos”, JSSEA 10 (1980), pp. 132–133. 64 See the analysis of Spalinger, op. cit. (note 6), pp. 214–215, 232, note 15. 65 J. Keegan, A History of Warfare (New York, 1993), p. 176; Wilson, op. cit. (note 2), p. 83. Using Spalinger’s computation of each chariot requiring a space 1.61 meters wide—leaving almost no room whatsoever to maneuver—2,500 chariots would have presented a line of over four kilometers (Spalinger, op. cit. [note 6], p. 232, note 15). 66 apud Spalinger (ibid.). Organizing the chariots in ranks could of course shorten this distance. 67 R. W. Klein, “Chronicles, Book of 1–2”, ABD 1, p. 998; idem, “How Many in a Thousand?” in M. P. Graham et al. (eds.), The Chronicler as Historian (JSOTS 238; Sheffield, 1997), pp. 270–282.

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These exaggerated numbers are not limited to the biblical record of course. Esarhaddon claimed to have taken 50,000 strong horses and 60,000 fine bulls as booty from Taharqo’s palace at Memphis.68 As mentioned above, Shalmaneser states that he was opposed at the battle of Qarqar by 3,940 enemy charioteers and over 62,000 infantry, in addition to some 1,900 horsemen and 1,000 cameleers.69 De Odorico70 argues that in the Neo-Assyrian record these numbers were consciously exaggerated by a factor of ten and under no circumstances can any of them be considered to be even close to accurate. If the same factor of exaggeration is utilized in the biblical record, Šîšaq’s force may have been in the region of 120 chariots with a minimum of 240 horses. While this may seem rather low, it should be noted that the royal stables at Per-Ramesses (Qantīr), thought to be the largest known stables from the ancient world, housed circa 460 horses, while those at Amarna held about 200.71 Of course these are individual stables, not the total for the entire country, but it seems unlikely that number of horses to be found in Egypt at the beginning of Dynasty 22 would have been particularly vast. 2. Cavalry As with the chariotry, the report of sixty thousand horsemen (‫—)פּ ָָרשִׁים‬that is cavalry, as opposed to chariotry—in 2 Chron 12:3 is a clear exaggeration. Nevertheless, Kitchen again contends that this is “a large figure, but not totally impossible when compared with the possibly 90,000 men fielded by Teos and the 100,000 deployed by Nectanebo II to defend Egypt in the fourth century B.C.”72 However, as has been noted,73 Kitchen’s figures are for entire armies, not just the cavalry.74 The logistical support required for feeding and caring for 60,000 military equines (which must be healthy for combat) is so immense as to be absurd.

68

H.-U. Onasch, Die assyrischen Eroberungen Ägyptens (ÄAT 27; Wiesbaden, 1994), I, pp. 25–26; II, p. 23; L. Török, The Kingdom of Kush: Handbook of the Napatan-Meroitic Civilization (Leiden, 1997), pp. 180–181. 69 See note 62 above. 70 M. De Odorico, The Use of Numbers and Quantifications in the Assyrian Royal Inscriptions (SAAS 3; Helsinki, 1995), pp. 104–105. 71 For the stables of Ramesses III (?) at Qantīr, see E. B. Pusch, “Recent Work at Northern Piramesse: Results of Excavations by the Pelizaeus-Museum, Hildesheim, at Qantir”, in E. Bleiberg and R. E. Freed (eds.), Fragments of a Shattered Visage: The Proceedings of the International Symposium on Ramesses the Great (Monographs of the Institute of Egyptian Art and Archaeology 1; Memphis, 1991), p. 203; idem, in A. Herold, Streitwagentechnologie in der Ramses-Stadt: Bronze an Pferd und Wagen (Forschungen in der Ramses-Stadt: Die Grabungen des Pelizaeus-Museums Hildesheim in Qantir–Pi-Ramesse 2; Mainz am Rhein, 1999), p. xii; idem, “Towards a Map of Piramesse”, Egyptian Archaeology 14 (1999), p. 13. For the stables at Amarna, see D. J. Brewer, D. B. Redford and S. Redford, Domestic Plants and Animals: The Egyptian Origins (The Natural History of Egypt 3; Warminster, 1994), p. 102. 72 Kitchen, op. cit. (note 1, 1996), § 253, note 289. 73 Wilson, op. cit. (note 2), p. 83. 74 It is worth noting that, according to Spalinger, at the height of the Egyptian empire during the Ramesside Period, for the entire country the Egyptian military did not number maximally more than 40,000 men, and was likely closer to 30,000 (Spalinger, op. cit. [note 6], pp. 203–204, 229).

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Horses require ca. 36 liters of water daily,75 and fodder equal to about 22 kg per day (although much—but not all—could be provided from pasturage, if it is available).76 Providing for 6,000 horses would be challenging, particularly in the arid environment of the Sinai and Negev, but doing so for 60,000 would be impossible.77 Kitchen does opine that if the figure is exaggerated, it may be a scribal error, and the text should be read as “six thousand horsemen.”78 Given the number of cases where the Chronicler evidently uses inflated numbers elsewhere in his text (see above), to suggest a scribal error only occurs here seems rather far-fetched. It seems more likely that the number has been purposefully exaggerated for theological reasons. Beyond the logistical problems of providing for 60,000 horses on campaign (never mind their riders, grooms, and support staff!), the reference to horsemen in 2 Chron 12:3 is debatable for another reason. At the time of Shoshenq I’s campaign cavalry units in Egypt, and most of the Near East, were unknown. Horse-mounted riders who functioned as messengers and scouts are known as early as the New Kingdom,79 but undisputed evidence for cavalry units in Egypt is not known before the first Persian occupation (Dynasty 27), although arguably they seem to present by Dynasty 26.80 Redford and Revez have independently drawn attention to a fragmentary Third Intermediate Period text now in the Cheikh Labib magazine (94 CL 1013) at Karnak81 that mentions how the king took measures against his advisory by equipping a city with ssmw wrrt “horses and chariot<s>” (lines x+5), among other supplies. While it might be suggested that this refers to cavalry and chariotry, the determinatives of each word make clear it is the actual animals and vehicles82 that are being referred to individually, therefore the 75

D. W. Engels, Alexander the Great and the Logistics of the Macedonian Army (Berkeley, 1978), p. 127; Spalinger, op. cit. (note 6), pp. 38, 41. 76 Engels (op. cit. [note 75], p. 126) states that a horse doing moderate work will need 20–24 lbs. (ca. 9–11 kg) of fodder, while 24–32 lbs. (ca. 11–14.5kg) are needed daily for a horse doing hard work, but Spalinger (op. cit. [note 6], pp. 35, 42) argues this may in fact be higher; cf. five to seven kilograms of barley fodder provided to Roman cavalry P. Erdkamp, “War and state formation in the Roman Republic”, in P. Erdkamp [ed.], A Companion to the Roman Army [Malden – Oxford, 2007], p. 102). 77 This does not take into account the additional 2,400 horses minimum needed for Šîšaq’s 1,200 chariots. 78 Kitchen, op. cit. (note 1, 1996), § 253, note 289; cf. 1 Kgs 5:6 (1 Kgs 4:26 in the English translation) with 2 Chron 9:25. 79 A. R. Schulman, “Egyptian Representations of Horsemen and Riding in the New Kingdom”, JNES 16 (1957), p. 267; A.-P. Zivie, “Cavaliers et cavalerie au Nouvel Empire: À propos d’un vieux problème”, in P. Posener-Kriéger (ed.), Mélanges Gamal eddin Mokhtar 2 (BdE 97; Cairo, 1985), pp. 379–388; C. Rommelaere, Les chevaux du Nouvel Empire égyptien: Origines, races, harnachement (Connaissance de l’Égypte ancienne: Étude 3; Brussels, 1991), pp. 123–133; Schulman, op. cit. (note 6, 1995), p. 297. 80 Chevereau, op. cit. (note 15), pp. 264–265. 81 D. B. Redford, “Taharqa in Western Asia and Libya”, EI 24 (1993), 190*; J. Revez, “Un stèle inédite de la Troisième Période Intermédiaire à Karnak: Une guerre civile en thébaïde?” Cahiers de Karnak 11 (2003), p. 537. Revez was unaware of Redford’s earlier publication, but published two additional fragments not known to Redford; he therefore reaches a very different conclusion. 82 The hieroglyph of the chariot is damaged, but traces of the wheel are evident (Revez, op. cit. [note 81], p. 541).

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horses are more likely to be chariot teams rather than cavalry mounts. 83 Neo-Assyrian texts point to the possibility of cavalry existing in Egypt by the reign of Taharqo, if not Shebitqo.84 Outside of Egypt mounted soldiers who fought from horseback are not known with a degree of regularity until the 10th century BCE, and even then these are attested only in north Syria.85 However, by the mid-9th century BCE cavalries were well established in the Near East,86 in thanks to the existence of heavier, stronger horses capable of bearing the weight of an armored rider. 87 For example, Shalmaneser III records that his cavalry of 5,542 riders88 faced enemy cavalry at the battle of Qarqar in 853 BCE.89 By the 8th century, cavalry units began to appear regularly in the Neo-Assyrian army, especially after the development of the bridle and reins suited for mounted riding.90 Before the development of bridles and reins for mounted riding, NeoAssyrian horsemen had to operate in pairs, with one rider controlling the horse of the other while his partner shot his bow.91 While it is admitted that cavalry units did not appear de novo—obviously years of training would have been required—the impact of this military strategy inside Egypt is very difficult to access. The introduction of foreign technology in Egypt sometimes proceeded at a very slow pace. For example, while chariots make their first appearance in Egypt at the very beginning of Dynasty 18, they were primarily an indicator of status among the king and the elite, their military function initially being of secondary importance,92 despite wide usage in the Near East. 83 Redford (op. cit. [note 81], pp. 189*–190*) dates the text to Taharqo (the king’s name does not appear), which is late enough for the presence of cavalry in Egypt to not be as surprising. Conversely, Revez (op. cit. [note 81], pp. 554–557) dates the text to the period of the Theban civil war during the time of Crown Prince Osorkon B and Padibastet I in mid-Dynasty 22, in which case cavalry would be rather more unexpected. 84 See L. A. Heidorn, “The Horses of Kush”, JNES 56 (1997), pp. 105–114; D. Kahn, “I Swear to Pay (Only Part of) My Taxes: Padiese’s Oath to Piankhy”, JARCE 42 (2005–2006), pp. 109–110, note 51. However, cf. S. Dalley, “Foreign Chariotry and Cavalry in the Armies of Tiglath-Pileser III and Sargon II”, Iraq 47 (1985), pp. 31–48. 85 Y. Yadin, The Art of Warfare in Biblical Lands in the Light of Archaeological Study (London, 1963), p. 310; Schulman, op. cit. (note 63, 1980), p. 119, note 41. 86 M. A. Littauer and J. H. Crouwel, Wheeled Vehicles and Ridden Animals in the Ancient Near East (Leiden, 1979), pp. 134–139; Dalley, op. cit. (note 84), pp. 37–38; R. E. Gaebel, Cavalry Operations in the Ancient Greek World (Norman, 2002), pp. 44–53, esp. p. 46. 87 Spalinger, op. cit. (note 6), pp. 10–11. 88 Although it is possible the numbers are exaggerated; see below. 89 Kuan, op. cit. (note 62), pp. 29–31, 34. 90 Yadin, op. cit. (note 85), p. 287; Dalley, op. cit. (note 84); R. Drews, The End of the Bronze Age: Changes in Warfare and the Catastrophe ca. 1200 B.C. (Princeton, 1993), p. 166; idem, 2004. Early Riders: The Beginnings of Mounted Warfare in Asia and Europe. (London), pp. 65–95; see also note 86 above. 91 Littauer and Crouwel, op. cit. (note 86), pp. 134–135, 142; Dalley, op. cit. (note 84), pp. 37–38; S. Dalley, “Ancient Mesopotamian Military Organization”, in J. M. Sasson et al. (eds.), Civilizations of the Ancient Near East 1 (New York, 1995), p. 418. 92 T. Schneider, “Foreign Egypt: Egyptology and the Concept of Cultural Appropriation”, Ä&L 13 (2003), pp. 159–160. See also I. Shaw, “Egyptians, Hyksos and Military Technology: Causes, Effects or Catalysts?”, in A. J. Shortland (ed.), The Social Context of Technological Change: Egypt and the Near East, 1650–1550 BC; Proceedings of a Conference Held at St. Edmund Hall, Oxford, 12–14 September 2000 (Oxford, 2001), pp. 59–71.

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Regardless, the development of cavalry occurred outside of Egypt proper, and mostly well after the reign of Shoshenq I. There is no evidence for its presence in Egypt at the time, and therefore it seems implausible that his army included mounted cavalry. While this changed during later parts of the Third Intermediate Period, the fact that Libu-prince Tefnakht fled on horseback at the beginning of Dynasty 25, rather than in a chariot, was noteworthy.93 3. Libyans As the (former?) Great Chief of the Meshwesh, Great Chief of Chiefs, it is axiomatic that the military forces campaigning with Shoshenq I in the Levant would have included Libyan tribesmen; they formed the backbone of the Egyptian military at the time and were certainly present. What remains uncertain is if references to “Libyans” (Lûbîm = ‫)לוּבִים‬94 in the biblical text and its derivatives indicate members of the Libu tribe (Egyptian rbw95) specifically, or, as is likely the case, more generically of any Berber-speaking inhabitant of the Western Desert, as comes to be the case in Classical Greek and Latin usage.96 One point arguing against a generic reference to “Libyans” in the Greek and Latin sense is the distinction made in the Hebrew Bible between Lûbîm and Pûṭ (‫)פוּט‬.97 The latter is the Hebrew form of the name of a Libyan tribal group known to the Egyptians variously as the pjd, pwd, pwdj, ptj, pjt, and pjdj,98 who are first attested during the reign of Osorkon II.99 In the Masoretic text of the Hebrew Bible, both groups are encountered in association with one another,100 although in Ezek 27:10, 30:5, and 38:5 the Septuagint replaces Hebrew Pûṭ with λίβυες “Libyans”. It would seem, therefore, that while the Hebrews recognized the Lûbîm as being related to the Pûṭ, a distinction between the two groups was maintained to a certain 93 See the Triumphal Stela of Piye (Cairo, JE 48862, line 89). For this stela see N.-C. Grimal, La stèle triomphale de Pi(cankh)y (JE 48862 et 47086–47089), (MIFAO 105; Cairo, 1981), p. 31*; Ritner, op. cit. (note 23), p. 485. 94 Septuagint Λίβυες (A. Rahlfs [ed.], Septuaginta; id est, Vetus Testamentum graece iuxta LXX interprete, I [Stuttgart, 1979], p. 829). 95 Gardiner, op. cit. (note 7), I, pp. 121*–122*; K. Zibelius, Afrikanische Orts- und Völkernamen in hieroglyphischen und hieratischen Texten (Wiesbaden, 1972), pp. 142–143; J. K. Winnicki, Late Egypt and her Neighbours: Foreign Population in Egypt in the First Millennium BC (Journal of Juristic Papyrology Supplement 12; Warszawa, 2009), pp. 396–403. 96 For discussion, see J. Osing, “Libyen, Libyer”, in H. W. Helck and W. Westendorf (eds.), LÄ 3 (Wiesbaden, 1980), cols. 1015–1016; F. Colin, Les peuples libyens de la Cyrénaïque à l’Égypte d’après les sources de l’Antiquité classique (Brussels, 2000), pp. 139–159; Winnicki, ibid., p. 400. 97 Libyans occur in 2 Chron 12:3, 16:8; Dan 11:43; Ezek 30:5; Nah 3:9. The Pûṭ occur in Genesis 10:6; 1 Chron 1:8; Isa 66:19; Jer 46:9; Ezek 27:10, 30:5, 38:5; Nah 3:9. For discussion regarding the Pûṭ in the Hebrew Bible, see Winnicki, op. cit. (note 95), pp. 406–408. 98 E. Graefe, “Eine neue Schenkungsstele aus der 22. Dynastie”, Armant: Deutsch-arabische Kulturzeitschrift 12 (1974), pp. 4–5; idem, “Der libysche Stammesname p(j)d(j)/pjt im spätzeitlichen Onomastikon”, Enchoria 5 (1975), pp. 13–17; Osing, op. cit. (note 96), col. 1016; Winnicki, ibid., pp. 403–415. 99 Cairo CG 1040 (H. Jacquet-Gordon, “The Inscriptions on the Philadelphia–Cairo Statue of Osorkon II”, JEA 46 [1960], pp. 17, 20; see also Jansen-Winkeln, op. cit. [note 39, 2007], p. 109:18.3/16; Ritner, op. cit. [note 23], p. 286). 100 Ezek 30:5; Nah 3:9.

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degree.101 It is possible this was the case with other tribal units as well, though it goes unrecorded in the Bible.102 This does not answer the question as to what specific tribal group(s) were including under the rubric of Lûbîm. Given the king’s own role as the Great Chief of the Meshwesh, it is certain that his fellow tribal members must have been included, if not the Libu tribe proper. It is not unreasonable that other, smaller groups may have been participants as well. One such group is that of the Mehes (mhs),103 who are perhaps to be identified with the Μασσύλιοι tribe who lived east of Carthage.104 Three chiefs of the Mehes are known from the Egyptian textual record. The earliest attestation of this title comes from the Great Chief of the Mehes, Fourth God’s Servant of Amun-Re, King of the Gods, Commander (ḥȝwty), King’s Son of Ramesses, Nesy. He is referred to posthumously in a genealogical text (Cairo CG 42218) of one of his descendants, Pa-di-Mut, who was himself a Great Chief of the Mehes.105 On chronological grounds, Nesy was a contemporary of Shoshenq I, serving in Thebes under the king’s son, the First God’s Servant of Amun, Iuput A.106 In addition, a third instance is known from the time of Osorkon I, the heir of Shoshenq I. This individual, the Fourth God’s Servant of Amun-Re, King of the Gods, King’s Son of Ramesses, Chief of the Mehes, Commander, Pa-shed-Bastet, is attested on a stela from Abydos (London UCL 14496).107 Given the chronological proximity of both Nesy and Pa-shed-Bastet to the reign of Shoshenq I, and their high ranks in both the military and sacerdotal spheres, it seems probable that the Mehes tribe participated in the campaign. This is not to say that either (Great) Chief participated personally, but rather their tribe members may have.

101

See also Winnicki, op. cit. (note 95), pp. 406–407. However, see the discussion regarding the Sukkiyîm below, who are to be regarded as a Libyan group recognized by the Hebrews as being distinct from the Lûbîm. 103 This name was formerly read as mhswn, with the final hieroglyph interpreted as the desert hare (Gardiner Sign List E34; phonetic /wn/). K. Jansen-Winkeln (Ägyptische Biographien der 22. und 23. Dynastie, I [ÄAT 8; Wiesbaden, 1985], p. 115, note 6) regards this rather as a couchant version of the Set-animal (Gardiner Sign List E21) being used as a semi-phonetic determinative. 104 W. Spiegelberg, “Ein libyscher Stammesname”, ZÄS 53 (1917), p. 114; Zibelius, op. cit. (note 95), p. 126; Winnicki, op. cit. (note 95), p. 417; see, however, Jansen-Winkeln, ibid., II, p. 492, note q. For an older, erroneous view equating them with the Bedouin Macāzah tribe of the Eastern Desert, see G. A. Legrain, “Sur les , Mahasaou”, ASAE 8 (1907), pp. 56–57. 105 Legrain, ibid., pp. 56–57; G. A. Legrain, Statues et statuettes des rois et de particuliers 3: Nos 42192–42250 (Catalogue général des antiquités égyptiennes du Musée du Caire; Cairo, 1914), p. 3 (42–44, pl. 26); Jansen-Winkeln, op. cit. (note 103), I, pp. 112–115; II, pp. 490–493; Kitchen, op. cit. (note 1, 1996), §§ 188, 266; K. Jansen-Winkeln, Inschriften der Spätzeit 3: Die 25. Dynastie (Wiesbaden, 2009), pp. 509–510 (52.288); Winnicki, op. cit. (note 95), pp. 415–416; Chevereau, op. cit. (note 15), pp. 37–38. 106 Yoyotte, op. cit. (note 25), § 28; Kitchen, ibid., § 188; Winnicki, ibid., p. 416. 107 H. Jacquet-Gordon, “The Illusory Year 36 of Osorkon I”, JEA 53 (1967), pp. 63–68; Jansen-Winkeln, op. cit. (note 39, 2007), p. 59:13.34; Ritner, op. cit. (note 23), pp. 261–262; Winnicki, ibid., p. 416. 102

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4. Sukkiyîm Another Libyan component of Šîšaq’s forces are possibly the Sukkiyîm (‫) ֻס ִכּיּ ִים‬,108 mentioned in the Hebrew Bible only in 2 Chron 12:3.109 Spiegelberg110 was first to associate them with the Tjekten (ṯktn; singular, ṯk) people of the western oases of Egypt, known only from texts dating to the Ramesside Period.111 His view has been adopted and expanded upon by a number of other scholars since.112 However, this has been questioned by Winnicki and Michaux-Colombot (discussed below).113 The arguments for a Libyan ethnicity for the Tjekten are based primarily on the testimony of papyrus Anastasi IV (British Museum EA 10249): 10,8–11,8,114 a didactic text for training scribes. This particular section is a model letter conveying a warning from the king to an Egyptian official who has attempted to have his staff remove “Tjekten of the land of the Oasis” (ṯktn n pȝ tȝ wḥȝt; p. Anastasi IV:10,9) from their hunting range. As the term “the land of the Oasis” refers collectively to both the Dākhlah and Khārğah oases,115 and makes reference to “their huntings” (nȝy.w nww; line 10,10), it is reasonable to suggest the Tjekten inhabit the region. A clear reference Libyan population in the oasis is to be found in the text of the 108

Septuagint Τρωγλοδύται and τρωγοδυται (Rahlfs, op. cit. [note 94], I, p. 829). See note 133. 109 The word may occur in a singular form (‫ סכיא‬sky’) on an Imperial Aramaic ostracon (Berlin, Ägyptisches Museum P. 10679), dated to 495 BCE, from the Jewish community on Elephantine. For this ostracon see A. L. Vincent, La religion des Judéo-Araméens d’Éléphantine (Paris, 1937), p. 266; B. Porten and A. Yardeni (eds.), Textbook of Aramaic Documents from Ancient Egypt, Newly Copied, Edited, and Translated into Hebrew and English 4: Ostraca and Assorted Inscriptions (Jerusalem – Winona Lake, 1999), D7.24; L. Koehler, W. Baumgartner and J. J. Stamm, The Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament: Study Edition (Leiden, 2001), p. 754. See, however, Michaux-Colombot, op. cit. (note 3), p. 287. E. Lipiński (On the Skirts of Canaan in the Iron Age: Historical and Topographical Researches [OLA 153; Leuven, 2006], p. 103, note 36), is of the opinion that the Aramaic notice is better tied to the Sakā, a Scythian tribal confederacy known from Achæmenid inscriptions; cf. Herodotus, Histories 7.64. This may possibly be the case for the Aramaic evidence but his argument for holding the same view regarding the Sukkiyîm in the Hebrew Bible is not warranted given the Egyptian context of 2 Chron 12:3; see also E. Lipiński, “Sukkiens”, in P.-M. Bogaert et al. (eds.), Dictionnaire encyclopédique de la Bible (Turnhout, 2002), cols. 1221–1222. 110 W. Spiegelberg, Aegyptologische Randglossen zum Alten Testament (Straßburg, 1904), pp. 30–31. 111 The earliest certain attestation comes from an unpublished statue discovered at Zāwiyyat Umm al-Rakhām, which dates to the reign of Ramesses II; see note 123. The latest occur in the Wilbour Papyrus, which dates to Regnal Year 4 of Ramesses V; see note 150. An earlier attestation may possibly occur on a statue dated to Amenhotep III (for which, see below). 112 See in particular Gardiner, op. cit. (note 52), II, p. 81 note 1; R. A. Caminos, Late Egyptian Miscellanies (Brown Egyptological Studies 1; London, 1954), p. 177; K. Zibelius, op. cit. (note 95), pp. 188–189; Kitchen, op. cit. (note 1, 1996), § 253, note 289. 113 Michaux-Colombot, op. cit. (note 3); Winnicki, op. cit. (note 95), pp. 69–72. 114 A. H. Gardiner, Late-Egyptian Miscellanies (BAe 7; Brussels, 1937), pp. 46–47; translation and commentary in Caminos, ibid., pp. 176–181. 115 That is, the Southern Oasis, Classical Όασις μεγάλη, Oasis maior; see L. Limme, “Les oasis de Khargeh et Dakhleh d’apres les documents égyptiens de l’epoque pharaonique”, CRIPEL 1 (1973), p. 42; G. Wagner, Les oasis d’Égypte à l’époque grecque, romaine et byzantine d’après les documents grecs (Recherches de papyrologie et d’épigraphie grecques) (BdÉ 100; Cairo, 1987), pp. 131–134; O. E. Kaper, “Egyptian Toponyms of the Dakhlah Oasis”, BIFAO 92 (1992), pp. 119–121.

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“greater Dākhlah stela” (Ashmolean Museum 1894.107A),116 which dates to Regnal Year 5 of Shoshenq I. It attests to the presence of a son of the mes-chief117 of the Meshwesh, in addition to several other individuals with Libyan names and titles.118 Additionally, another Libyan tribal group, the Shamin (šmjn), is attested in the region at a slightly later date. 119 It would appear, therefore, that the Tjekten inhabited a region known to be settled by Libyan tribesmen, including during the reign of Shoshenq I. There are a number of other, albeit circumstantial, links with western regions. On the Victory Stela of Merenptah (the “Israel Stela” [Cairo CG 34025]120), the Tjekten are associated with the Medjay, a people from the Eastern Desert who served the Egyptian crown as border police121; the Tjekten seem to have functioned in a similar role to the west of Egypt. A further connection with the west and Libyans may be found in the text of the second Libyan war of Ramesses III at Madīnat Hābū, which describes the defeated Libyan chieftain Keper coming to seek peace “in the fashion of a Tjek.”122 Finally, an unpublished Dynasty 19 text on a statue discovered in the Ramesside fortress at Zāwiyyat Umm al-Rakhām makes 116

See A. H. Gardiner, “The Dakhleh Stela”, JEA 19 (1933), pp. 19–30; Jansen-Winkeln, op. cit. (note 39, 2007), pp. 23–26:12.33–34; Ritner, op. cit. (note 23), pp. 173–178. 117 For this title, which is of Libyco-Berber origin, see Gardiner, ibid., p. 23; O. Rößler, “Der semitische Charaker der libyschen Sprache”, ZA 50 (1952), p. 122; Yoyotte, op. cit. (note 25), p. 123; P. Behrens, “Wanderungsbewegungen und Sprache der frühen saharanischen Viehzüchter”, SUGIA 6 (1984/1985), p. 160; G. Vittmann, Ägypten und die Fremden im ersten vorchristlichen Jahrtausend (Kulturgeschichte der antiken Welt 97; Mainz am Rhein, 2003), p. 10. See also O. Rößler, “Die Sprache Numidiens”, in Sybaris: Festschrift Hans Krahe zum 60. Geburtstag am 7. Feb. 1958, dargebracht von Freunden, Schülern und Kollegen (Wiesbaden, 1958), pp. 103, 108; K. Jongeling, Names in Neo-Punic inscriptions (Ph.D. dissertation, Rijksuniversiteit Groningen; Groningen, 1984), pp. 68–71, 87; idem, North-African Names from Latin Sources (CNWS Publications 21; Leiden, 1994), pp. xiii–xiv. 118 Stela main section, lines 1, 3, 17–20. 119 J. J. Janssen, “The Smaller Dâkhla Stela (Ashmolean Museum no. 1894.107b)”, JEA 54 (1968), p. 166; O. E. Kaper and R. J. Demarée, “A Donation Stela in the Name of Takelot III from Amheida, Dakhleh Oasis”, JEOL 39 (2005), pp. 23, 28, 35. Winnicki (op. cit. [note 95], pp. 420–421) suggests the Shamin might be the Σάμιοι mentioned in Herodotus’ Histories 3.25–26. For the Dākhlah Oasis during the Libyan Period generally, see O. E. Kaper, “Epigraphic Evidence from the Dakhleh Oasis in the Libyan Period”, in G. P. F. Broekman, R. J. Demarée and O. E. Kaper (eds.), The Libyan Period in Egypt: Historical and Cultural Studies into the 21st–24th Dynasties (Egyptologische Uitgaven 23; Leiden, 2009), pp. 149–159. 120 Kitchen, op. cit. (note 52), IV, p. 18/7, 9. 121 Gardiner, op. cit. (note 7), I, pp. 73*–89*; G. Andreu, “Polizei”, in H. W. Helck and W. Westendorf (eds.), LÄ 4 (Wiesbaden, 1982), col. 1069; J. Černý, A Community of Workmen at Thebes in the Ramesside Period (BdÉ 50; Cairo, 2004), pp. 261–284; K. Zibelius-Chen, “Die Medja in altägyptischen Quellen”, SAK 36 (2007), pp. 391–405; K. Liszka, “‘Medjay’ (no. 188) in the Onomasticon of Amenemope”, in Z. Hawass and J. Houser-Wegner (eds.), Millions of Jubilees: Studies in Honor of David P. Silverman, I (Cairo, 2010), pp. 315–331; cf. D. Michaux-Colombot, “The mḏȝy.w, not policemen but an ethnic group from the Eastern Desert”, in C. Bonnet (ed.), Études nubiennes, Conférence de Genève: Actes du VIIe Congrès international d’études nubiennes, 3–8 septembre 1990 2 (Genève, 1994), pp. 29–36; D. Michaux-Colombot, “Qui sont les Medjay et où se situait leur territoire?”, in M.-C. Bruwier (ed.), Pharaons noirs: Sur la piste des quarante jours (Morlanwelz, 2007), pp. 85, 91. 122 Kitchen, op. cit. (note 52), V, p. 70/4–5.

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further reference to the Tjekten.123 Given that the fortress is located in a region regarded by the ancient Egyptians as Libya, this notice argues persuasively for the Libyan origin of the Tjekten people.124 When this evidence is taken together, and particularly with reference to the western oases in p. Anastasi IV and the statue from Zāwiyyat Umm al-Rakhām, it seems certain that the Tjekten were located to the west of the Nile valley, and were therefore Libyans. This conclusion is strengthened by an observation made by Lefébure,125 who suggested the plural form ṯktn may in fact utilize the LibycoBerber plural suffix -tən.126 This would explain the lack of -tn in the Hebrew rendering of the ethnonym, as well as the use of the Hebrew plural suffix -îm. However, as with the Pûṭ, the Hebrews recognized the Sukkiyîm as being a tribal group distinct from the Lûbîm (in Egyptian terms, Libu and Meshwesh Libyans; that is, those Libyans who, from the perspective of the Hebrews, inhabited the Nile valley and Delta rather than oasis regions to the west). Despite this, there have been objections raised to a western origin of the Tjekten. Winnicki argues they originate in the Eastern Desert and are not Libyan in origin. He bases his argument on the earliest attestation of what is ostensibly the word ṯk, conveyed in a list of foreign toponyms on a statue of Amenhotep III from his mortuary temple at Kawm al-Hayṭān.127 Because the context is “African”—that is, south and east of the Nile valley—Winnicki concludes this toponym is probably not Libyan. 128 To bolster this claim, he appeals to one of the execration texts of Senwasret III, which contains the toponym ṯkss, listed with Nubian lands and tribes.129 However, he does not explain how this is actually the same word, only stating that the terminal -ss is “incomprehensible”. 130 In order to justify p. Anastasi IV’s testimony regarding Tjekten in the western oases, Winnicki suggests that Tjekten from the Eastern Desert were resettled by the Egyptians in the west, where they served pharaoh as scouts. Lefébure’s observation 123

G. Godenho (School of Archaeology, Classics and Egyptology; University of Liverpool), personal communication, 2 February 2011. 124 For the site in general, which was established and maintained only during the reign of Ramesses II, as well as its archaeologically attested Libyan inhabitants, see F. Simpson, Evidence for a Late Bronze Age Libyan Presence in the Egyptian Fortress at Zawiyet Umm el-Rakham (Ph.D. dissertation, University of Liverpool; Liverpool, 2002); S. R. Snape, “The Emergence of Libya on the Horizon of Egypt”, in D. B. O’Connor and S. G. J. Quirke (eds.), Mysterious Lands (Encounters with Ancient Egypt 5; London, 2003), pp. 93–106; S. R. Snape and P. Wilson, Zawiyet Umm el-Rakham 1: The Temple and Chapels (Bolton, 2007); see also L. Habachi, “The Military Posts of Ramesses II on the Coastal Road and the Western Part of the Delta”, BIFAO 80 (1980), pp. 13–30. 125 J.-B. Lefébure, “Le sacrifice humain d’après les rites de Busiris et d’Abydos”, Sphinx 3 (1900), pp. 151–152. 126 Masculine form; feminine is -tin (A. Basset, La langue berbère [Handbook of African Languages 1; London, 1952], p. 25). 127 A. Varille, “Fragments d’un colosse d’Aménophis III donnant une liste de pays africains (Louvre A 18 et A 19)”, BIFAO 35 (1935), pp. 166, no. 25. 128 Winnicki, op. cit. (note 95), pp. 69–70. 129 G. Posener, Princes et pays d’Asie et de Nubie: Textes hiératiques sur des figurines d’envoûtement du Moyen Empire (Brussels, 1940), pp. 48–62, plate 1, 1A; Zibelius, op. cit. (note 95), pp. 188–189. 130 Winnicki, op. cit. (note 95), p. 70.

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that -tn may well be the Libyco-Berber plural suffix -tən is “explainable by a certain domination of Libyan population in the oases at that time.”131 While both views are theoretically possible, neither seems particularly probable, and his rationalization for the -tn suffix is remarkably unconvincing. Another recent challenge to a Libyan origin for the Tjekten and Sukkiyîm comes from Michaux-Colombot.132 Like Winnicki, she argues that the Septuagint’s use of Τρωγ(λ)οδύται133 for “Sukkiyîm” should be connected with the Classical Τρωγ(λ)οδύται of the Eastern Desert,134 who are possibly the descendants of the ancient Medjay.135 She furthers her argument by drawing attention to Medjay scouts present in the Wādī al-Ṭumaylāt, in an area known as “Tjeku” (ṯkw) in Egyptian,136 and ostensibly related to the ṯktn people. On this basis, she ultimately concludes that the Sukkiyîm “were a leading Trogodyte tribe” who are to be identified with the Medjay and not Libyans.137 Although the evidence marshaled is interesting, it is also almost wholly circumstantial. For example, Michaux-Colombot mentions an inscribed block of Shoshenq I discovered at Tall al-Maskhūṭah in the Wādī al-Ṭumaylāt, with the implication that since this area was located in the region of ancient Tjeku, the Tjekten (i.e., the Sukkiyîm) of Shoshenq’s army may have originated there. 138 131

Ibid., p. 71. Michaux-Colombot, op. cit. (note 3). 133 For the secondary writing Τρωγλοδύται, see D. Meredith, “Berenice Troglodytica”, JEA 43 (1957), p. 56; E. Hefling, “Trogodyten (Troglodyten)”, in H. W. Helck and W. Westendorf (eds.), LÄ 6 (Wiesbaden, 1986), col. 767, note 1; Michaux-Colombot, op. cit. (note 3), pp. 288–289. 134 J. Desanges, Recherches sur l’activité des méditerranéens aux confins de l’Afrique (VIe siècle avant J.-C.–IVe siècle après J.-C.): Thèse principale présentée à l’Université de Paris-Sorbonne pour le doctorat d’État (Collection de l’École française de Rome 38; Roma, 1978), pp. 80, 82, 90, 120, 180, 213, note 91, 230, note 74, 248–249, 271–279, 295–302, 308, 325–328, 379, 394; Winnicki, op. cit. (note 95), pp. 373–378. 135 Michaux-Colombot, op. cit. (note 3), pp. 288–290; see also note 121 above. As pointed out by both Michaux-Colombot and Winnicki (op. cit. [note 95], pp. 375–376), Pliny the Elder (Natural History 4.34) mentions that Trogodytice (that is, the Eastern Desert centered about Berencie Troglodytica) was “called in former times Midoë and by other people Midioë” (Trogodytice, quam prisci Midoen, alii Midioen dixere, Pliny the Elder, Natural history: Libri III–VII 2; [Loeb 350; Cambridge – London, 1999], pp. 464–465). See also Meredith, op. cit. (note 133), p. 56. 136 In p. Anastasi V (British Museum EA 10244) 18,6–19,2 and 25,2–27,3 (Gardiner, op. cit. [note 114], pp. 66, 70–71); see also Caminos, op. cit. (note 112), p. 294; J. S. Holladay, “Tell el-Maskhuta”, in K. A. Bard (ed.), Encyclopedia of the Archaeology of Ancient Egypt (London – New York, 1999), p. 879. This probably referred to the ḫtm-fortress of Tjeku located at Tall al-Raṭābah rather than the entire wādī, after which the fortress was named (Morris, op. cit. [note 52], pp. 46, 176, 420–424, 487–488, 491–498, 504–508, and passim). For ṯkw in general, see H. Goedicke, “Tjeku”, in H. W. Helck and W. Westendorf (eds.), LÄ 6 (Wiesbaden, 1986), col. 609. Egyptian ṯkw is equivalent to Hebrew ‫( סֻכּוֹת‬Sukkôt)) of the Exodus narrative (Ex 12:37, 18:18; Num 33:5–6). See D. B. Redford, “Exodus I 11”, VT 13 (1963), pp. 404–405; J. K. Hoffmeier, Ancient Israel in Sinai: The Evidence for the Authenticity of the Wilderness Tradition (Oxford, 2005), pp. 65–68. 137 Michaux-Colombot, op. cit. (note 3), p. 294. 138 Michaux-Colombot, ibid., p. 294; for the text, see É. Naville, The Store-city of Pithom and the Route of the Exodus (MEEF 1; London, 1903), pp. 4, 15; Jansen-Winkeln, op. cit. (note 39, 2007), p. 2:12.6. 132

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However, despite an abundance of inscribed Ramesside and Dynasty 22 materials from the site,139 Tall al-Maskhūṭah was not inhabited between the Second Intermediate Period and Dynasty 26, as is demonstrated by the long break in the stratigraphic and ceramic seriation evidence140; the stone was brought from elsewhere—likely Tall al-Raṭābah—only much later when the site was re-inhabited.141 Furthermore, the toponym Tjeku most often—though not exclusively—refers to a ḫtm-fortress (that is, a settlement) located within the Wādī al-Ṭumaylāt at Tall al-Raṭābah, rather than the entire wādī (which was, however, itself named “Tjeku”).142 Further, Michaux-Colombot suggests the toponym Τρωγοδύται may have stemmed from the name of ṯghḏw, a Medjai chieftain mentioned in Middle Kingdom execration texts143; she does not explain how this name of this obscure chieftain was ostensibly perpetuated locally for some two thousand years without further attestations in the Egyptian record. In a similar vein, it is worth noting her contention that a doorjamb from the Dynasty 20 tomb a Ramesside official named Usir-maat-nekhtu of Tjeku, which was discovered at Tall al-Raṭābah, makes a “unique reference to an eastern Oasis Land,” which she holds makes unnecessary the need for a western “Oasis Land” of the Tjekten as referred to in p. Anastasi IV.144 In fact, one of the titles recorded on the jamb is the “Overseer of the Foreign-lands of God’s Land” ( jmy-rȝ ḫȝswt tȝ-nṯr),145 which Michaux- Colombot translates as “overseer of the foreign countries of God’s Land Oasis.”146 Despite her claim, the text does not mention an oasis (wḥȝt) whatsoever, making her conclusion warrantless. Ultimately Michaux-Colombot fails to adequately address the association between the Tjekten and the western oases in p. Anastasi IV,147 nor attempt to 139

In addition to the block from Shoshenq I, from Dynasty 22 there is a statue of Ankh-khered-nefer (British Museum EA 1007), dating to the reign of Osorkon II. See Naville, ibid., pp. 15–16; Jansen-Winkeln, op. cit. (note 103), I, pp. 269–271; Jansen-Winkeln, op. cit. (note 39, 2007), pp. 126–127 (18.54). 140 P. Paice, “A Preliminary Analysis of Some Elements of the Saite and Persian Period Pottery at Tell el-Maskhuta”, BES 8 (1986/1987), pp. 95–107; J. S. Holladay, “Tell el-Maskhuta”, in K. A. Bard (ed.), Encyclopedia the Archaeology of Ancient Egypt (London, 1999), pp. 959–960; J. S. Holladay, “Pithom”, in D. B. Redford (ed.), The Oxford Encyclopedia of Ancient Egypt, 3 (Oxford, 2001), p. 51. 141 Contra K. A. Kitchen (On the Reliability of the Old Testament [Grand Rapids, 2003], pp. 256–259), who fails to account for the complete lack of New Kingdom–Third Intermediate Period ceramics at the site, despite the inscribed blocks. 142 Goedicke, op. cit. (note 136), col. 609; Morris, op. cit. (note 52), p. 383, and passim; Hoffmeier, op. cit. (note 136), pp. 65–67. 143 Michaux-Colombot, op. cit. (note 3), p. 294; see Posener, op. cit. (note 129), pp. 54, A5. 144 Michaux-Colombot, op. cit. (note 3), pp. 281–282. 145 W. M. Flinders Petrie and J. Garrow Duncan, Hyksos and Israelite Cities (ERA; London, 1906), pl. 31; Kitchen, op. cit. (note 52), V, p. 393/11–12. 146 Michaux-Colombot, op. cit. (note 3), p. 281. 147 For example, she mistakenly regards Egyptian references to “the land of the Oasis” as being applicable to any oasis in Egypt (Michaux-Colombot, op. cit. [note 3], p. 294), whereas the Egyptian use of wḥȝt (“oasis”) is used specifically for either the Northern Oasis wḥȝt mḥyt) (modern al-Bahriyyah) or the Southern Oasis (wḥȝt rsyt) (al-Dākhlah and al-Khārğah together), but it was tȝ wḥȝt (“the Oasis”) that referred to the Southern Oasis (cf. Greek ή Όασις (Wagner, op. cit. [note 115], p. 133); see further above, note 115, and H. Gauthier, Dictionnaire des noms géographiques contenus dans les textes hiéroglyphiques 1 (Cairo,

ŠÎŠAQ’S ARMY

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explain the Libyco-Berber plural suffix marker. While it cannot be denied that the Tjekten and the Medjay are occasionally associated with one another,148 they are never directly equated; that is, Tjekten are never said to be Medjay.149 It can also be suggested that the association is primarily due to the similar roles that the Tjekten and Medjay played in Egyptian society as border guardians and “mercenaries,” roles that could have put them in proximity of one another. For example, pWilbour lists three Medjay granted allotments in Middle Egypt during the reign of Ramesses V in the same general region as allotments granted to six or seven Tjek soldiers.150 However, this proves nothing as both peoples served the Egyptian crown as military auxiliaries, as did the sixty-eight Sherden who were likewise granted land in the region.151 The designation of various individuals as being “Tjek” in pWilbour points to a possible solution. The names of most of them are Egyptian, including nb-wc (§ 123,46/28), bȝtȝ-ḥtp (§ 218,77/45), and p<ȝ>-n-mḥy (§ 218,77/46 and 47); šȝ-kṯ (§ 150,58/43) and pȝ-kṯ152 (§ 187,70/11) may be as well.153 One, krjy (§ 241,89/17), is clearly non-Egyptian, and it is notable that kr, krj, krjw, and prefix kr- are very well-attested in Egyptian as names of Libyans.154 Furthermore, kr is known from Old Libyan (“Numidian”) texts as well.155 Winnicki has, however, pointed to the existence of two Medjay individuals named in texts from Dayr al-Madīnah (Dynasty 20) bearing the name krj.156 It must be born in mind that the majority of Medjay from the New Kingdom onwards have Egyptian names,157 which has lead many scholars to the conclusion that by the New Kingdom the term no longer necessarily referred to a specific ethnic group, but rather had become an occupational title.158 If so, there is no way of knowing if these individuals were from the Eastern Desert as opposed to being Libyan, a conclusion the prosopographical data favors.

1925), p. 203. 148 For example, on the Victory Stela of Merenptah (the “Israel Stela” [Cairo CG 34025]; see note 120) and p. Anastasi V (note 136 above). 149 Michaux-Colombot was of course not aware of the text from Zāwiyyat Umm al-Rakhām. 150 Medjay: Gardiner, op. cit. (note 52), vol. 3, § 123,46/40; § 184,69/30; § 190,71/8. Tjek: idem, ibid., vol. 3, § 123,46/28; § 150,58/43; § 187,70/11; § 218,77/45–46, 48; § 241,89/17. 151 Gardiner, op. cit. (note 52), vol. 2, p. 80. 152 Cf. tȝ-kṯ<.t> (H. Ranke, Die ägyptischen Personennamen 1 [Glückstadt, 1935], p. 371/17). Perhaps read pȝ-kṯ (ibid., p. 120/17). 153 Winnicki, op. cit. (note 95), p. 72. 154 F. Colin, Les Libyens en Égypte (XVe siècle a.C.–IIe siècle p.C.): Onomastique et histoire (Doctoral dissertation, Université libre de Bruxelles; Brussels, 1996), p. 2 (93–102). 155 J.-B. Chabot, Recueil des inscriptions libyques 2 (Paris, 1940) p. xviii. Alternately, it may be connected to Old Libyan kn-, which is particularly common in names (ibid., p. xviii; perhaps attested in Latin as kanni (Jongeling, op. cit. [note 117, 1994], p. 73). 156 Winnicki, op. cit. (note 95), p. 72. The names are given in Černý, op. cit. (note 121), pp. 262, 276. 157 For example, see Černý, ibid., p. 262, note 1. 158 For references, see note 121. Michaux-Colombot (op. cit. [note 121], pp. 29–36) is very much opposed to this stance but it is notable that in the Onomasticon of Amenemope (Gardiner, op. cit. [note 7], vol. 1, p. 73*), the term “Medjay” appears with other occupational titles, including those involved in policing and protection (Liszka, op. cit. [note 121], passim but esp. p. 319).

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5. Kushites The biblical reference to Kushites (Kûšîm = ‫)כוּשִׁים‬159 in the army of Šîšaq is problematic as the contemporary Egyptian historical record lacks evidence for direct, sustained relations between Egypt and Nubia. Indeed, the existence of direct relations between Egypt and regions south of the First Cataract at Aswan are almost impossible to demonstrate on the basis of available archaeological and textual evidence.160 Two scarabs are known from Nubia that probably name Shoshenq I, but both were found in Napatan cemeteries dated well after his reign.161 With the exception of stereotypical references to the Nubian components of the Nine Bows found on the Bubastite Portal at Karnak,162 and a mention of ḫnty-ḥn-nfr163 in a similar formulaic context on the same monument,164 there are few references to Nubian regions that can be dated to the reign of Shoshenq I. Zibelius165 alleges that the Nubian component of a topographical list on a reused statuette of Thutmose III (Cairo CG 42192)166 may (with question) date to Shoshenq I.167 However, as noted by Giveon,168 the topographical list is most likely an example of Thutmose III copying from his own inscriptions, reproducing the beginnings of his Nubian topographical lists at Karnak. 159

Septuagint Αἰθίοπες (Rahlfs, op. cit. [note 94], I, p. 829). For general reviews of Egypto-Nubian relations following the revolt of Pa-nehesy during the reign of Ramesses XI until the Kushite invasion of Upper Egypt, see K. Zibelius-Chen, “Überlegungen zur ägyptischen Nubienpolitik in der dritten Zwischenzeit”, SAK 16 (1989), pp. 329–345; Török, op. cit. (note 68), pp. 82–130; R. G. Morkot, The Black Pharaohs: Egypt’s Nubian Rulers (London, 2000), pp. 145–166; L.Török, Between Two Worlds: The Frontier Region Between Ancient Nubia and Egypt 3700 BC–500 AD (PdÄ 29; Leiden, 2009), pp. 285–309. 161 One scarab found in the cemetery at Ğabal Mayyah (Gebel Moya) clearly names Hedj-kheper-Re Chosen-of-Re Shoshenq I (F. Addison, Jebel Moya, I [London, 1949], pp. 117–118; II, plate 50/8; Jansen-Winkeln, op. cit. [note 39, 2007], p. 29:12.36). A second scarab comes from tomb 316 at Abū Dawn Sannum but gives only the prænomen Hedj-kheper-Re Chosen-of-Re (F. L. Griffith, “Oxford excavations in Nubia”, AAA 10 [1923], p. 112, plate 42/12); nevertheless, this later scarab is best associated with Shoshenq I the use of this type of object was considerably revived during his reign (W. M. Flinders Petrie, Scarabs and Cylinders with Names; Illustrated by the Egyptian Collection in University College, London [ERA 29; London, 1917], p. 29; see Jansen-Winkeln, op. cit. [note 39, 2007], pp. 27–29 [12.36]). 162 G. R. Hughes and C. F. Nims, Reliefs and Inscriptions at Karnak 3: The Bubastite Portal (OIP 74; Chicago, 1954), plate 3, rhetorical texts, lines 1, 2, 27; topographic list, lines 3, 8. See now Jansen-Winkeln, op. cit. (note 39, 2007), pp. 11–14:12.20, passim. 163 The gold mining territory between the First and Second Cataracts, particularly that of the Wādī al-cAllāqī (H. Goedicke, “The Location of ḫnt-ḥn-nfr”, Kush 13 [1965], pp. 102–111; C. Vandersleyen, Les guerres d’Amosis, fondateur de la XVIIIe Dynastie [Mongraphies reine Élisabeth 1; Brussels, 1971], pp. 64–68; see also J. Vercoutter, “The Gold of Kush: Two Gold-washing Stations at Faras East”, Kush 7 [1959], pp. 120–153). 164 Hughes and Nims, Reliefs and Inscriptions at Karnak, plate 3, rhetorical texts, line, 27; Jansen-Winkeln, op. cit. (note 39, 2007), p. 13 (12.20). 165 Zibelius, op. cit. (note 95), p. 59; Zibelius-Chen, op. cit. (note 160), p. 337. 166 Jansen-Winkeln, op. cit. (note 39, 2007), p. 58 (13.33). 167 The statuette’s back pillar has been (re)inscribed with a text for Shoshenq I. 168 R. Giveon, “Remarks on the Transmission of Egyptian Lists of Asiatic Toponyms”, in J. Assmann, E. Feucht and R. Grieshammer (eds.), Fragen an die altägyptischen Literatur: Studien zum Gedenken an Eberhard Otto (Wiesbaden, 1977), pp. 176–177. 160

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It has long been thought that a block from Karnak inscribed with an oracular decree of Shoshenq I169 provided evidence for a military campaign into Nubia.170 This is due to the fact that immediately to the left of the oracular decree—as well as on several other blocks from the area with which it is to be associated—is a text mentioning “the land of the Nubian” (p<ȝ> tȝ nḥsj), “Kush” ( jkš171), and Nubian produce being offered to Amun-Re, ostensibly as tribute.172 However, in a major re-edition of the text, Vernus demonstrated conclusively that the texts are from two different periods, the left-hand side of the block, along with the references to Nubia, being dated to Taharqo,173 while the right hand side is the oracular decree of Shoshenq I. 174 Therefore the supposed Nubian campaign under Shoshenq I is completely chimerical. Given this, the inclusion of Kushites in Šîšaq’s army is surprising if the biblical record is to be taken seriously. Nevertheless, this has not prevented Wilson from claiming that “it is possible . . . that the Chronicler assumed (Nubians) were part of Shoshenq’s army without having direct knowledge of it, but from a historical standpoint there is no reason to doubt the report”175 (emphasis supplied). On the contrary, there is very little Egyptian historical evidence to support this report at all. While there is growing evidence for Libyan holders of the title “King’s Son of Kush” until at least the time of Takelot III,176 the title seems to have become 169

W. M. Müller, Egyptological Researches 2: Results of a Journey in 1906 (Carnegie Institution of Washington Publication 53/2; Washington, DC, 1910), pp. 143–153; P. Vernus, “Inscriptions de la Troisième Période Intermédiaire: I. Les inscriptions de la cour péristyle nord du VIe pylône dans le temple de Karnak”, BIFAO 75 (1975), pp. 10–20; Jansen-Winkeln, op. cit. (note 39, 2007), pp. 19–20 (12.23); idem, op. cit. (note 105, 2009), p. 86 (48.33); Ritner, op. cit. (note 23), pp. 213–215. 170 Müller, op. cit. (note 169), pp. 143–153; Kitchen, op. cit. (note 1, 1996), §§ 251, 260 (cf. §§ 471, 509, 511). For recent examples of this, see Török, op. cit. (note 68), pp. 109 note 93 (however, cf., idem, op. cit. [note 160], p. 290); N. Na’aman, “ ‫מסע שישק לארץ ישראל בראי‬ ‫ המקרא והממצא הארכיאולוגי‬,‫”הכתובות המצריות‬, Zion 63 (1998), p. 264; P. S. Ash, David, Solomon and Egypt: A Reassessment (JSOTS 297; Sheffield, 1999), p. 55; J. Lull García, “En torno a la campaña palestina de Sheshonq I”, AO 19 (2001), p. 227; Wilson, op. cit. (note 2), p. 10, note 49. 171 For this late orthography, which appears first during Dynasty 25, see Vernus, op. cit. (note 169), p. 51 note f; cf. Demotic jkš (W. Erichsen, Demotisches Glossar [København, 1954], p. 45). See also Zibelius, op. cit. (note 95), pp. 165–169. 172 Vernus, op. cit. (note 169), pp. 1–12, 26–59; T. Eide et al. (eds.), Fontes Historiae Nubiorum: Textual Sources for the History of the Middle Nile Region between the Eeighth Century BC and the Sixth Century AD 1: From the Eighth to the Mid-fifth Century BC (Bergen, 1994), pp. 181–190; Jansen-Winkeln, op. cit. (note 105, 2009), p. 86 (48.33); Ritner, op. cit. (note 23), pp. 505–510. 173 D. Kahn, “Taharqa, king of Kush, and the Assyrians”, JSSEA 31 (2004), pp. 109–128 regards the text as a prayer of Taharqo to Amun for the protection of his sons and concubines following his defeat by Esarhaddon. 174 Vernus, op. cit. (note 169), pp. 11, 26–59. 175 Wilson, op. cit. (note 2), p. 85. 176 Zibelius-Chen, op. cit. (note 160), passim; D. A. Aston and J. H. Taylor, “The Family of Takeloth III and the ‘Theban’ Twenty-third Dynasty”, in M. A. Leahy (ed.), Libya and Egypt c1300–750 BC (London, 1990), pp. 147–148; M. A. Leahy, “‘May the King live’: The Libyan Rulers in the Onomastic Record”, in A. B. Lloyd (ed.), Studies in Pharaonic Religion and Society in Honour of J. Gwyn Griffiths (Occasional Publications 8; London, 1992), p. 161, note 22; R. G. Morkot, Economic and Cultural Exchange between Kush and Egypt (Doctoral

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used at Elephantine primarily by the First God’s Servant of Khnum and/or the Overseer of the Southern Foreign-lands. Title-bearers were presumably responsible for regional trade, but not further south than the Second Cataract, if even that far.177 Although there is no King’s Son of Kush attested from the reign of Shoshenq I, it could be argued that Kushite mercenaries entered into the Egyptian military in limited numbers, but this is only a supposition currently unsupported by the available evidence. In the case of the biblical record, Wilson may be justified in proposing that the Chronicler, writing at a late date,178 may have fully expected Nubians to be part of the Egyptian army; such was certainly the case during Dynasty 25. Although the Napatans had long been driven back to Nubia by the Assyrians and King Psamtek I of Dynasty 26, memory of their rule during a period when Libyans were also politically active in Egypt may have been known to the Chronicler.179 Lacking any sound historical and chronological data for earlier periods, he may have simply extrapolated the data backwards. However, contra Wilson, it is the lack of secure evidence forthcoming from Egypt for Nubian participation in the Egyptian military that makes this detail of the report difficult to accept at face value.

IV. Conclusion The configuration of Šîšaq’s military undoubtedly included infantry and chariotry, albeit organized differently than what might have been encountered during the New Kingdom, with a greater emphasis on non-Egyptian troops. This is born out in the statement of 2 Chron 12:3 regarding the ethnic background of the invading military being composed of “Libyans, Sukkiyîm, and Kushites”. It is axiomatic that the Meshwesh-Libyan king of Egypt would have had an army with a significant Libyan component consisting of the Meshwesh and (almost certainly) Libu tribes, if not other, smaller tribal groups such as the Mehes. Indeed, the entire army would have been commanded by one or more members of Shoshenq I’s immediate family, all of whom were Libyans. Likewise, the majority of available evidence suggests that the Sukkiyîm were a Libyan group known as the Tjekten, but one inhabiting regions to the west of the Nile Valley, and therefore distinctive in the eyes of the Chronicler (cf. the Pûṭ Libyans). The fact that the Chronicler had knowledge of a minor tribal group last attested in Egyptian texts during the reign of Ramesses V, some two dissertation, University College London; London, 1993), pp. 197–200; Török, op. cit. (note 68), p. 108 (§ 3.2); Morkot, op. cit. (note 160), p. 163; Jansen-Winkeln, op. cit. (note 39, 2007), p. 120 (18.33), 172 (20.15); Török, op. cit. (note 160), pp. 177, 288–290. 177 Morkot (op. cit. [note 160], p. 163) suggest no further south than Qubbān. 178 J. M. Myers, I Chronicles: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 12; Garden City, 1965), p. lxxxix; P. R. Ackroyd, The Chronicler in his Age (JSOTS 101; Sheffield, 1991), pp. 7–8; Klein, op. cit. (note 67, ABD 1), pp. 994–995; S. Japhet, I & II Chronicles: A Commentary (OTL; Louisville – London, 1993), pp. 24–28. 179 Similarly in 2 Chron 16:8, an army of Kushites and Libyans is said to have been defeated by King Asa of Judah, who ruled contemporaneously with Osorkon I and Takelot I (This is related to the affair of “Zerah the Kushite” (2 Chron 14:8–14). See I. Hofmann, “Kuschiten in Palästina”, GM 46 (1981), pp. 9–10; A. R. Schulman, “The Kushite Connection”, in P. Der Manuelian (ed.), Studies in Honor of William Kelly Simpson, 2 (Boston, 1996), pp. 713–715. This might be compared with Nahum 3:8–10, which describes the fall of Thebes to the Neo-Assyrian army during the rule of the Napatan (“Kushite”) Dynasty 25, mentioning specifically that “Put and Libya were her helpers.”

ŠÎŠAQ’S ARMY

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hundred years before Shoshenq I came to the throne, speaks persuasively for the Chronicler having access to a credible source of information. With regard to the Kushites, while it is not particularly probable given the rupture between Egypt and Nubia at the end of the New Kingdom, it does, however, remain possible that they may have been involved, especially if relations between Egypt and regions further south were maintained at some rudimentary level. However, on the basis of the Egyptian evidence, this cannot as of yet be documented. Beyond their ethnic makeup, the composition of Šîsaq’s forces, as well as their numeric strengths, is more difficult to justify from Egyptian evidence. While there is little reason to doubt the presence of infantry and chariotry in large numbers, the notice of 1,200 chariots given in 2 Chron 12:3 is probably an exaggeration, unless the number represents the total number for the entire Egyptian army on campaign rather than the total number of chariots (rounded though it may be) at Jerusalem specifically, as is stated in the Bible. Much more problematic is the reference to a cavalry component. While the total number of 60,000 horsemen is doubtlessly an exaggeration,180 it could be argued that there may have been a relatively small number of mounted troops acting as scouts and messengers. However, the existence of a large body of soldiers who truly fought from horseback seems particularly implausible based on what is known regarding the development of cavalry in northern Syria and the Neo-Assyrian empire. At the time of Chronicles’ composition during the late fourth century BCE,181 cavalry units, not infantry, were the backbone of the Achæmenid Persian military. 182 Alternately, given that mounted troops were already attested under Ashurnasirpal II, and formed a regular part of the Neo-Assyrian military by the reign of Sennacherib,183 it is perhaps possible that the Chronicler added this detail to the Šîšaq narrative as he may have fully expected cavalry units to make up the bulk of Šîšaq’s forces as he extrapolated back in time several centuries.184 From the Egyptian evidence, however, the notice of cavalry given in 2 Chron 12:3 cannot be justified. The text of 2 Chron 12:2–3 regarding the composition of Šîšaq’s army has been often pointed to as an example of the Chronicler utilizing extra-biblical documentation not available to, or ignored by, Dtr in 1 Kgs 14:25.185 From an 180

Unless it is taken as a scribal error for “six thousand” (see note 78). See note 178. 182 Schulman, op. cit. (note 3), p. 122, note 16; C. Tuplin, “All the King’s Horse: In Search of Achaemenid Persian Cavalry”, In G. G. Fagan and M. Trundle (eds.), New Perspectives on Ancient Warfare. (History of Warfare 59; Leiden), pp. 101–182; J. Wiesehöfer, Ancient Persia from 550 BC to 650 AD (London, 2001), pp. 89–93; see also J. A. S. Evans, “Cavalry about the Time of the Persian Wars: A Speculative Essay”, The Classical Journal 82 (1987), pp. 97–106. 183 Littauer and Crouwel, op. cit. (note 86), pp. 134–136. 184 In a similar fashion, Japhet (op cit. [note 178], pp. 677–679) has suggested the Chronicler formulated the narrative of Šîšaq’s campaign in analogy to the invasion of Sennacherib in 2 Kgs 18–19, passim, and 2 Chron 32:9–21; cf. A. Marx, “De Shîshaq à Shéshak: À propos de 1 Rois XIV 25–26”, VT 49 (1999), pp. 186–190. 185 For typical examples of this claim, see Kitchen, op. cit. (note 1, 1996), § 253, note 289; Japhet, op cit. (note 178), pp. 676–677; A. F. Rainey, “The Chronicler and His Sources: Historical and Geographical”, in Graham et al. (eds.), op. cit. (note 67), p. 55; A. Malamat, History of Biblical Israel: Major Problems and Minor Issues (CHANE 7; Leiden, 2001), p. 205, note 42; Kitchen, op. cit. (note 141), p. 34. 181

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Egyptological perspective, this view seems to be justified. While the biblical text is not completely reliable at every point, as it does contains some anachronisms, it is nevertheless remarkable that the details regarding the composition of his army are (mostly) sound and that they are not given in 1 Kgs 14:25.

THE PHILISTINES IN THE NORTH AND THE KINGDOM OF TAITA ITAMAR SINGER Tel Aviv University

I. Migrationists and anti-migrationists The research of the Sea Peoples has experienced exponential growth in the last decades and has become one of the most popular fields in Mediterranean and Near Eastern studies. Only part of this increased interest can be attributed to the unprecedented growth in archaeological data pertaining to the Sea Peoples. Another, no less important factor has been the paradigmatic shift in the theoretical matrix enveloping the problem of their ethnicity since the 1980s. This involves major epistemological questions regarding the very ability of archaeology to correctly identify the nature of change and its reasons through the close examination of tangible evidence. An arduous debate developed between two major schools of thought — the traditional approach of ‘diffusionists’ or ‘migrationists’ on one side, and the processual approach of ‘indigenists’ or ‘immobilists’ on the other. ‘Discontinuity’, ‘cultural break’ and ‘relocation’ are the keywords of the former; ‘continuity’, ‘transformation’, ‘cultural diffusion’, ‘elite emulation’ are the keywords of the new alternative paradigm. Susan Sherratt, possibly the most eloquent speaker of the indigenist paradigm, conceives of the appearance of Aegean- and Cypriot-derived pottery in large quantities in the Levant not as the hallmark of a substantial migratory movement, as traditionally claimed, but rather as a structural, socio-economic phenomenon of cultural diffusion and elite emulation.1 A loose confederation of maritime merchants operating from Cyprus, who started as employees of the large state-administered commercial organizations, re-emerged after the collapse of the palatial systems as independent entrepreneurs circulating non-elite commodities. These decentralized seaborne entrepreneurs operated in ways strikingly similar to the later activities of the Phoe1

S. Sherratt, “‘Sea Peoples’ and the Economic Structure of the Late Second Millennium in the Eastern Mediterranean”, in S. Gitin, A. Mazar and E. Stern (eds.), Mediterranean People in Transition (Jerusalem, 1998), pp. 292–313. Cf. also M. Artzy, “Routes, Trade, Boats and ‘Nomads of the Sea’”, in Gitin, Mazar and Stern, ibid., pp. 439–448; A. A. Bauer, “Cities of the Sea: Maritime Trade and the Origin of Philistine Settlement in Early Iron Age Southern Levant”, OJA 17 (1998), pp. 149–167. For a concise survey of the ‘diffusionist’ versus ‘indigenist’ explanations of cultural change, see A. E. Killebrew, Biblical Peoples and Ethnicity (Atlanta, 2005), pp. 197–201. For an overview on recent trends in the study of ethnicity, with references to the vast literature on the subject, see A. Faust and J. Lev-Tov, “The Constitution of Philistine Identity: Ethnic Dynamics in Twelfth to Tenth Century Philistia”, OJA 30 (2011), pp. 13–31, esp. 16 ff.

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nician merchants, and, in fact, they may have pointed the way to Phoenician expansionism in the early-1st millennium BCE. Sherratt’s masterful deconstruction of all aspects of Sea Peoples ethnicity and the wholesale conveying of the problem to the socio-economic sphere had a deep influence on the spirited archaeological discussion on ‘pots and people’. As for the meagre but quite explicit textual evidence relating to the Sea Peoples, Sherratt tends to highlight contexts which suit her purposes while playing down or ignoring those which do not. The Medinet Habu inscriptions and reliefs of Ramses III are often considered as an ‘easy prey’ for sceptic interpreters who regard them as hollow royal hyperbole, and Sherratt follows suite in dismissing them as ‘conventional rhetoric’ used to produce “a kind of quasi-politico-military history”.2 The historical texts from Ugarit, however, are less prone to deconstruction since they consist primarily of letters and legal documents. Indeed, Sherratt makes the most of the entrepreneurial aspects of Ugarit’s maritime trade, for instance, by calling attention to Sinaranu, a rich merchant whose ships sailed as far as Crete, and who combined institutional activity on behalf of the palace with private enterprise and financing. On the other hand, the dramatic letters from the last years of Ugarit, with desperate pleas for food and alarming reports on the seaborne enemy attacking coastal cities, are simply shelved as “epiphenomenal symptoms, rather than prime causes”.3 In a recapitulative article, in which she rebuked some of the criticisms raised against her theories, Sherratt boosted up her arguments by a powerful analogy between ‘globalization’ processes at the end of the 2nd millennium BCE and at the end of the 2nd millennium CE: “Both saw the demise of large, established, politico-economic systems characterized by ideals of central control, the decline of which resulted in an increase in political, social, and economic fragmentation and fluidity both inside and outside their former borders”.4 Indeed, the parallels between the political-economic circumstances in these two fin de millénaire situations titillate the imagination and call for useful comparisons. But I wonder why another possible modern analogy, of no less relevance and illuminating capacity for the problem under discussion, went unnoticed by Sherratt, namely, the massive immigration movement from southern ‘developing’ countries to northern ‘developed’ countries in search of better living conditions. This analogy may also present countless revealing insights, but of course, it is less compatible with her anti-migrationist viewpoints. Besides the alignment of the indigenist theories with the recent interpretive Zeitgeist of post-colonialism and venture capitalism (see further below), they also benefited from a tail-wind coming from two further developments in contemporary Near Eastern and Mediterranean archaeology. The first is the widespread rejection of 2

Sherratt, ibid., pp. 292, 307; see further below, note 28. Idem, ibid., pp. 294, 295, n. 4, 299, n. 14. 4 Idem, “The Mediterranean Economy: ‘Globalization’ at the End of the Second Millennium BCE”, in W. G. Dever and S. Gitin (eds.), Symbiosis, Symbolism, and the Power of the Past. Canaan, Ancient Israel, and Their Neighbors from the Late Bronze Age through Roman Palaestina (Proceedings of the Centennial Symposium W. F. Albright Institute of Archaeological Research and American Schools of Oriental Research, Jerusalem, May 2000), (Winona Lake, IN 2003), p. 53. Cf. now J. Jennings, Globalizations and the Ancient World (Cambridge, 2010). 3

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other more-or-less contemporary migration theories, such as the Dorian invasion of Greece and the Israelite conquest of Canaan. The alleged large-scale migrations of the Sea Peoples were expected to simply follow suite and be transformed into some kind of local socio-economic developments. Needless to say, even if one follows anti-migrationist viewpoints in these other difficult issues, this does not necessarily need to reflect upon the Sea Peoples phenomenon which involves a totally different set of data and problems. The second supporting factor to the new theory is more substantial and derives from solid archaeological observations. Scholars working on the Philistine and the Cypriote material cultures have been noting an increasing number of similarities between the two regions, especially regarding pottery production, which may indicate a close ‘genetic’ relationship between the two communities of Sea Peoples. Such similarities had already been noted in the 1980s,5 but their full scope has now been illuminated by new materials from excavations in Israel and Cyprus and indepth investigations of ceramic production techniques and decoration styles.6 Consequently, an increasing number of archaeologists have reached the conclusion that the origin of the Philistines (and perhaps of other Sea Peoples who settled along the Canaanite coast) need not be sought farther away than Cyprus.7 Of course, there remain distinct differences between the two regions, first of all in the different trajectories of their subsequent cultural development: “In Canaan the newcomers soon assimilated and their original cultural assemblage gradually ‘died’, [whereas] Cyprus was eventually Hellenized”.8 Recently, a third side has been added to the Philistine-Cypriote parallel. New excavations in Cilicia and the northern Levant have revealed that these regions also share many cultural traits with Cyprus and the southern Levant (see below). Although the suggested Cypriote origin is an improvement compared to the fullfledged anti-migrationist view, which regards the Philistines as a “pretty cosmopolitan bunch”,9 it ultimately only shifts the problem one ‘stepping-stone’ backwards. Nobody would deny that the origin or at least the inspiration for the changes introduced to Cyprus in the 12th–11th centuries BCE comes from the Aegean Basin. Therefore, as admitted by A. Killebrew, one of the promoters of the Cyprocentric view, “this is not to detract from the obvious fact that the ultimate inspiration of 5

V. Karageorghis, “Exploring Philistine Origins on the Island of Cyprus”, BAR 10/2 (1984), pp. 16–28; E. S. Sherratt and J. H. Crouwel, “Mycenaean Pottery from Cilicia in Oxford”, OJA 6 (1987), pp. 97–113; B. Kling, Mycenaean IIIC:1b and Related Pottery in Cyprus (Göteborg, 1989). 6 A. E. Killebrew, “Ceramic Typology and Technology of the Late Bronze II and Iron I Assemblages from Tel Miqne-Ekron: The Transition from Canaanite to Philistine Culture”, in Gitin, Mazar and Stern, op. cit. (note 1), pp. 393–397; 401 ff.; idem, “Aegean-Style Early Philistine Pottery in Canaan during the Iron I Age: A Stylistic Analysis of Mycenaean IIIC:1b Pottery and Its Associated Wares”, in E. D. Oren (ed.) The Sea Peoples and Their World: A Reassessment (Philadelphia, 2000), pp. 233–253; D. Ben-Shlomo, Decorated Philistine Pottery: An Archaeological and Archaeometric Study (Oxford, 2006). 7 Killebrew, op. cit. (note 1), p. 231; A. Gilboa, “Sea Peoples and Phoenicians along the Southern Phoenician Coast—A Reconciliation: An Interpretation of Šikila (SKL) Material Culture”, BASOR 337 (2005), p. 65. 8 S. Bunimowitz, “Sea Peoples in Cyprus and Israel: A Comparative Study of Immigration Processes”, in Gitin, Mazar and Stern, op. cit. (note 1), p. 109. 9 Sherratt, op. cit. (note 1), p. 307.

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Aegean-style material culture in the east and Philistia lie in the Aegean, albeit removed by several generations”.10 In short, while it is becoming increasingly evident that we have to delineate a common cultural koiné of the Sea Peoples in the easternmost part of the Mediterranean—encompassing Cilicia, Cyprus and the Levantine coast—the search must proceed further west in order to locate their original habitats. This conclusion is further supported by some stylistic elements which are only shared by Philistine and Aegean pottery, but are absent in the Cypriote repertoire.11 After a long and circumventive ‘immobilist’ detour, we seem to be back in ‘square one’. A decade or so after S. Sherratt declared that “I am not sure that it really matters where the people that we conventionally call the ‘Sea Peoples’ came from”,12 the search for their Urheimat is once again running full steam ahead.13 In fact, it never really ebbed away. The currently promoted neo-migrationist approaches to the Sea Peoples are no longer “wedded to the once-and-for-all mass migration scenario”

10

Killebrew, op. cit. (note 1), p. 231. A. Yasur-Landau, “Why can’t we find the origin of the Philistines? In search of the source of a peripheral Aegean culture”, in N. Kyparissi-Apostolika and M. Papakonstantinou (eds.), The Periphery of the Mycenaean World, 26–30 September, Lamia 1999, Proceedings (Athens, 2003), p. 589 ff.; P. Mountjoy, “A Note on the Mixed Origins of Some Philistine Pottery”, BASOR 359 (2010), pp. 1–12, where she demonstrates that the double-stemmed spirals on Philistine vessels from Ekron and other southern sites are not found neither in Cypriote nor in western Aegean sites, but are a regular feature of the east Aegean koiné (on the islands of Kos, Kalymnos and Chios, and in western Anatolia at Miletos and Bademgediği Tepe). 12 Sherratt, op. cit. (note 1), p. 307. 13 Actually, I have noticed a regional difference in the adherence of scholars to one of the two basic approaches to the Sea Peoples problem. My (statistically unverified) impression is that scholars presently working on the southern Levantine evidence adhere (or have returned) to ‘(neo-)migrationist’ views; see references listed in A. Yasur-Landau, “Levant”, in E. H. Cline (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of the Bronze Age Aegean (ca. 3000–1000 BC), (Oxford, 2010), p. 842; cf. also Faust and Lev-Tov, op. cit. (note 1). On the other hand, their colleagues working in the northern Levant and Cilicia seem to be more susceptible to interpretations emphasizing gradual local developments, rather than sudden changes; see references listed in M.-H. Gates, “Potters and Consumers in Cilicia and the Amuq During the ‘Age of Transformations’ (13th–10th Centuries BC)”, in F. Venturi (ed.), Societies in Transition. Evolutionary Processes in the Northern Levant between Late Bronze II and Early Iron Age (Bologna, 2010), p. 65, note 5, to which one may add most scholars included in the same volume. There are of course notable exceptions in both ‘camps’. For example, Artzi (op. cit. [note 1]), the excavator of Tel Nami, was one of the first to emphasize the continuity between the intermediaries, designated by her as the ‘Nomads of the Sea’, who carried out the maritime transport in the Late Bronze Age, and the class of entrepreneurs who perpetuated this task in the early Iron Age. On the other hand, M.-H. Gates, the excavator of Kinet Höyük, recently presented “a deliberately reactionary foil to opinions that the end of the Late Bronze Age affected only political and economic structures” (ibid, p. 65; cf. also Venturi, ibid, p. 8 ff.). As for Cyprus, I am not familiar enough with recent scholarship to assess the current ‘moods’, but at a conference I attended in Nicosia in November 2010 (“On cooking pots, drinking cups, loomweights and ethnicity in Bronze Age Cyprus and neighbouring regions”) the dominant view seemed to favour immigration(s) to the island from the Aegean during the 12th–11th centuries BCE (designated by some as the ‘Greek Exodus to Cyprus’). For a useful overview of the various opinions, see K. D. Fisher, “The ‘aegeanization’ of Cyprus at the End of the Bronze Age: An Architectural Perspective”, in Venturi, ibid., pp. 81–103. 11

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(as put by Sherratt),14 but rather carefully analyze the “com-plexity of migration and colonization processes, often involving several groups migrating in different rhythms, resulting in different foundation dates of the sites they build in the target country”.15 On the spatial level too, there has been an increasing awareness to regional variations and distinct cultural zones, which reflect either specific ethnic subgroups within the wider Sea Peoples phenomenon or different social negotiations between the newcomers and indigenous populations.16 Before turning to the main thrust of this article—tracking down the eastward advance of the Philistines—I would like to add a thought on the ideological underpinnings of the fundamental controversy between ‘diffusionists’ and ‘indigenists’. Much has been written on this subject, but I find N. A. Silberman’s article on “The Sea Peoples, the Victorians and Us” as one of most stimulating analyses of how the Zeitgeist of an era influences the mindset of its intellectuals.17 Silberman claims that the traditional explanations of the Sea Peoples’ invasions to the Near East reflect interlocking Victorian ideologies of social Darwinism and European colonialism, conceived by some as superior civilizing forces and by others as barbaric onslaughts. On the other hand, the new System Theories use models of transnational venture capitalism and globalisation, replacing the uni-directional migrations by new economic connections through informed, strategic decisions of individuals. Silberman predicts “that the probability that such an image will outlive the current political vogue for supply-side economics will probably depend more on the continued public acceptance of those modern free market policies than on additional archaeological evidence”.18 In other words, it does not really matter what the archaeological evidence tells us, we are ultimately doomed to reconstruct the image of the ancient societies we are investigating as mere mirror-images of our own era and its faddish intellectual trends. This, to my mind, is an utterly pessimistic, indeed deterministic, attitude towards science and scientists, deeply influenced by postmodernist mindsets.19 No serious scholar would deny that current intellectual moods exercise a 14

Sherratt, op.cit. (note 4), p. 44. A. Yasur-Landau, “Let’s Do the Time Warp Again: Migration Processes and the Absolute Chronology of the Philistine Settlement”, in M. Bietak and H. Hunger (eds.), Contributions to the Chronology of the Eastern Mediterranean (Vienna, 2007), p. 609. For a longue durée approach to the Greek migrations to Cyprus, see M. Iacovou, “Advocating Cyprocentrism: An indigenous Model for the Emergence of State Formation on Cyprus”, in S. White-Crawford et al. (eds.), “Up to the Gates of Ekron”: Essays on the Archaeology and History of the Eastern Mediterranean in Honor of Seymour Gitin (Jerusalem, 2007), pp. 461–475, esp. 465 ff.; idem, “Cultural and Political Configurations in Iron Age Cyprus: The Sequel to a Protohistoric Episode”, AJA 112 (2008), pp. 625-57, esp. 627. 16 See, e.g., A. Gilboa, “Fragmenting the Sea Peoples, with an Emphasis on Cyprus, Syria and Egypt: a Tel Dor Perspective”, Scripta Mediterranea 27–28 (2006–2007), pp. 209–244. 17 N. A. Silberman, “The Sea Peoples, the Victorians and Us: Modern Social Ideology and Changing Archaeological Interpretations of the Late Bronze Age Collapse”, in Gitin, Mazar and Stern, op. cit. (note 1), pp. 268–275. 18 Idem, ibid., p. 272. 19 On the ‘postmodernist condition’ and its far-reaching influences on ancient Near Eastern studies, see I. Singer, “Between Skepticism and Credulity: In defense of Hittite Historiography”, in E. Cancik-Kirschbaum, J. Klinger and G. G. W. Müller (eds.), Vielfalt und Normierung: Aspekte altorientalischer Kulturgeschichte (Berlin, 2011), forthcoming; repr. in The Calm Before the Storm: Selected Writings of Itamar Singer on the End of the Late Bronze Age in Anatolia and the Levant (Writings from the Ancient World Supplements; SBL; Atlanta, 15

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certain influence on our thinking, but if this is indeed the dominant factor in our scientific approach, as Silberman seems to insinuate, what is the point of spending a lifetime in painstakingly examining the ancient evidence? I would like to believe that my long-standing support of the traditional view of large-scale migrations of the Sea Peoples will not be regarded as a residue of some antiquated Victorian mindset, but rather as a coherent analysis of the accumulating archaeological and philological evidence and a keen effort to extract from it a credible historical reconstruction.

II. Western Anatolia With the origin of the Sea Peoples reinstated to the Aegean Basin, we can once again speculate which part of it was the principal focal point of the migration process. Twenty-five years ago I presented (coincidentally, also in a Haifa conference) arguments—linguistic, historical, and literary—for my preference of an eastern Aegean (i.e. western Anatolian) focal point instead of the widely held view of a western Aegean one (i.e. Greece).20 At the time, mine was almost a lone voice in the wilderness among contemporary scholars. Gratifyingly, in the meantime more evidence has accumulated in support of my view and an increasing number of scholars have shifted their focus towards the Anatolian-Aegean interface.21 Needless to stress, this was only the ‘epicentre’ of a very extensive phenomenon of population movements, the ‘seismic waves’ of which encompassed the major part of the Mediterranean Basin. A major hindrance in the recognition of the western Anatolian focal point was, and still remains, the scarcity of reliable archaeological documentation from the region, especially from well-stratified excavations covering the transition period from the Late Bronze to the Early Iron Age. The continuing excavations at Miletos and at Troy partly fill in this gap and new evidence is slowly making its appearance also at other sites.22 2011), pp. 731–766. 20 I. Singer, “The Origin of the Sea Peoples and Their Settlement on the Coast of Canaan”, in M. Heltzer and E. Lipiński (eds.), Society and Economy in the Eastern Mediterranean (c. 1500–1000 B.C.); Proceedings of the International Symposium held at the University of Haifa from the 28th of April to the 2nd of May, 1985 (Leuven, 1988), pp. 239–250. 21 E.g., P. Mountjoy, “Mycenaean Connections with the Near East in LH IIIC: Ships and Sea Peoples”, in R. Laffineur and E. Greco (eds.), Emporia. Aegeans in the Central and Eastern Mediterranean (Liège – Austin, 2005), p. 426; F. Venturi, “Cultural Breakdown or evolution? The Impact of Changes in 12th Century BC Tell Afis”, in Venturi, op. cit. (note 13), p. 9; A. Yasur-Landau, The Philistines and Aegean Migration at the End of the Late Bronze Age (Cambridge, 2010), p. 338: “We should look therefore for the tentative place of origin of at least some of the immigrants in an area where people with feathered hats, Aegean cooking jugs, or Milesian-style kilns appear. The Dodecanese and the western Anatolian coast seem to be the best candidates, yet it is also likely that others come from the vast area between the eastern coast of mainland Greece and the Cyclades”. 22 For references to the excavations see A. M. Greaves, “Western Anatolia”, in E. Cline, The Oxford Handbook of the Bronze Age Aegean (ca. 3000–1000 BC), (Oxford, 2010), p. 882 ff.; S. Günel, “Mycenaean cultural impact on the Çine (Marsyas) plain, southwest Anatolia: the evidence from Çine-Tepecik”, AnSt 60 (2010), p. 25 ff. Besides Bademgediği Tepe (for which see below), the site of Çine-Tepecik, situated not far from the Meander Valley, has also produced significant quantities of LH IIIB/C painted pottery, as well as two Hittite seal impressions; see S. Günel and S. Herbordt, “Ein hethitischer Siegelabdruck aus Çine-Tepecik”,

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Perhaps the most spectacular new piece of evidence related to the Sea Peoples comes from the site of Bademgediği Tepe about halfway between Izmir and Ephesos.23 The site, identified with Hittite Puranda, produced in the uppermost level large quantities of locally-made LH IIIC pottery attributed to the post-Hittite newcomers, including a large painted krater depicting a sea battle.24 Unfortunately, the vessel could not be fully restored, but what is left of the scene is quite telling: warriors preparing to throw their spears and fire arrows are standing on board of two ships facing each other. They wear the typical ‘hedgehog’ helmets which are probably a coarse depiction of the feathered helmets worn by some of the Sea Peoples on the Medinet Habu reliefs. The same type of headdress appears on sherds from the Serraglio on the island of Kos and on a warrior vase from Kynos Livanates in central Greece.25 Mountjoy dates these vessels to the Transitional LH IIIB2-IIIC Early or to LH IIIC Early, a date which coincides with the movements of the Sea Peoples.26 She concludes her article with the observation “that the Bademgediği krater, from a site just inland from the west coast of Turkey, provides a strong link in the chain of evidence connecting some of the Sea Peoples to the East Aegean–West Anatolian Interface”.27 Whether the artist of the Bademgediği krater wanted to portray friends or foes is hard to tell, but in any case, these fierce warriors in the blaze of battle do not look very ‘entrepreneurial’ to me. Rather, they recall the much-discussed naumachia scenes of Ramses III from Medinet Habu, albeit in a much coarser style. Many sceptics, both Egyptologists and others,28 have sought to play down the credibility and the historical value of these scenes, but the Aegean parallels show that the Egyptian artists had a pretty good idea of what they were depicting, even if they might have exaggerated this feature or another.29 These naval battle scenes may well Archäologischer Anzeiger (2010/1), pp. 1–11. 23 Mountjoy, op. cit. (note 21), pp. 423–427, pls. XCV–XCVIII; idem, “A Bronze Age Ship from Ashkelon with Particular Reference to the Bronze Age Ship from Bademgediği Tepe”, AJA 115 (2011), p. 486, fig. 3, bottom. 24 Idem, ibid., pls. XCVI, XCVIIa. 25 For Kos see Mountjoy, ibid., pl. XCVIIIc–f; for Kynos see A. Papadopoulos, “Warriors, Hunters and Ships in the Late Helladic IIIC Aegean: Changes in the Iconography of Warfare?”, in C. Bachhuber and R.G. Roberts (eds.), Forces of Transformation. The End of the Bronze Age in the Mediterranean (Oxford, 2009), pp. 69–77; Mountjoy, op. cit. (note 23, 2011), p. 485, fig. 2, bottom. Warriors wearing similar ‘hedgehog’ helmets also appear on a krater from Çine-Tepecik (presented by S. Günel at the Nostoi conference in Istanbul in April 2011) and on a painted sherd from Tell Tayinat in the Amuq Valley (B. Janeway, personal communication). 26 Mountjoy, ibid., p. 425. 27 Idem, ibid., p. 426. 28 See, e.g., D. B. Redford, “Egypt and Western Asia in the Late New Kingdom: An Overview”, in E. D. Oren (ed.), The Sea Peoples and Their World: A Reassessment, (Philadelphia, 2000), p. 11: “The capacity, therefore, of the Medinet Habu texts and reliefs to convey a specific historical record is seriously compromised from the outset”; see also R. Drews, “Medinet Habu: Oxcarts, Ships and Migration Theories”, JNES 59 (2000), pp. 161–190; M. Van De Mieroop, The Eastern Mediterranean in the Age of Ramesses II (Malden, MA 2007), p. 42 ff. For a contrary view, which underlines the ‘surprising amount of historical information’ that can be gleaned from the Egyptian description of the Sea Peoples, see D. O’Connor, “The Sea Peoples and the Egyptian Sources”, in Oren, ibid., pp. 85–102. 29 For a balanced examination of the temporal depth displayed by the Egyptian represen-

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serve as graphic illustrations to the contemporary textual references from Hattuša30 and from Ugarit31 describing the operations of seaborne enemies in the eastern Mediterranean. Similar conclusions were reached by A. Papadopoulos in a recent article in which he investigated the iconography of warfare before and after the collapse of the Mycenaean palaces.32 One of his main conclusions is the observation that naval battle scenes are lacking on the palatial wall paintings, but they suddenly appear on painted vases in LH IIIC. I fully subscribe to his conclusion: “It could be argued that the naval battles are in fact images of contemporary events, a period in the Aegean and Eastern Mediterranean that is understood as violent and unsafe, and sea raids and attacks must have been a reality at the time. Although it is not yet agreed who was responsible for them, contemporary artists decided to represent them on pottery”.33 The evidence from Bademgediği Tepe and Çine-Tepecik, even though still very limited, may point to the first ‘stepping-stones’ of the eastward trajectory of new settlers from the Aegean Basin. The same movement can be detected also at other sites along the Aegean-Anatolian Interface, for example at Emporio on the island of Chios.34 Here too, a Late Bronze Age site of western Anatolian cultural tradition was occupied in LH IIIC by new settlers with typical Aegean-type fineware, cooking vessels, clay spools and clay figurines. Other archaeological links between western Anatolia and the Sea Peoples include the kilns from Tel Miqne/Ekron that resemble those from Miletus,35 and the imported Troyan Grey Ware found at Tell Kazel in association with locally-made Hand Made Burnished Ware.36 tations, see Yasur-Landau, op.cit. (note 15), p. 611 ff. 30 For the Hittite text of the Battle of Alašia, see I. Singer, “New Evidence on the End of the Hittite Empire”, in Oren, op. cit. (note 28), p. 27 ff.; idem, “‘In Hattusa the Royal House Declined’: Royal Mortuary Cult in 13th Century Hatti”, in F. Pecchioli Daddi, G. Torri and C. Corti (eds.), Central-North Anatolia in the Hittite Period: New Perspectives in the Light of Recent Research. Acts of the International Conference Held at the University of Florence (7– 9 February 2007), (Roma, 2009), p. 182; S. de Martino, “Relations Between Hatti and Alašia According to Textual and Archaeological Evidence”, in G. Wilhelm (ed.), Hattuša-Boğazköy. Das Hethiterreich im Spannungsfeld des Alten Orients (Wiesbaden, 2008), p. 248 ff. 31 For the texts from Ugarit dealing with seaborne attacks and land operations, see I. Singer, “A Political History of Ugarit”, in W. G. E. Watson and N. Wyatt (eds.), Handbook of Ugaritic Studies (Leiden, 1999), p. 719 ff. Sceptics scoffed at the small numbers of ships mentioned (twenty in one text, seven in another), but these were of course accidental sightings of some ships and not comprehensive tallies of all the vessels of the Sea Peoples operating in the region. Besides, it was not the size of the Sea Peoples’ ‘flotilla’ that worried the western Asiatic rulers, but rather their elusiveness. There are countless historical examples of port towns taken by surprise and sacked by small numbers of seaborne warriors. 32 Papadopoulos, op. cit. (note 25); see also Yasur-Landau, op. cit. (note 21), p. 86 ff. 33 Papadopoulos, ibid., p. 75. 34 Yasur-Landau, op. cit. (note 21), p. 156 ff. (with earlier literature). 35 Killebrew, op. cit. (note 6, 1998), p. 392 ff.; W.-D. Niemeier, “The Mycenaeans in Western Anatolia and the Problem of the Origins of the Sea Peoples”, in Gitin, Mazar and Stern, op. cit. (note 1), p. 31 ff.; Yasur-Landau, op. cit. (note 21), p. 265. 36 L. Badre, M.-C. Boileau, R. Jung and H. Mommsen, “The Provenance of Aegean and Syrian Type Pottery Found at Tell Kazel (Syria)”, Egypt and the Levant 15 (2005), p. 31 ff.; L. Badre, “Tell Kazel-Simyra: A Contribution to a Relative Chronological History in the Eastern Mediterranean During the Late Bronze Age”, BASOR 343 (2006), p. 87 ff. Whereas

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On the linguistic level there is unfortunately not much one can add to the handful of words of possible Philistine origin listed in my 1988 paper.37 On the other hand, the Philistine onomasticon was enriched to some extent by the discovery of the temple dedication inscription from Tel Mikne/Ekron38 and an inscribed potsherd from Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath.39 The most promising linguistic avenue remains, however, the very name of the Philistines which has survived as a self-designation for many centuries, both in the southern Levant, and, as recently discovered, also in the northern Levant (see below). In a recent article I attempt to reinvigorate the age-old equation of the Philistines with the Pelasgians of the Greek sources (Pelastoi > Pelasgoi), expanding on my previous observations on the Philistine homeland in northwestern Anatolia.40 From western Anatolia the immigrants continued to move on, on land and sea, towards Cilicia, Cyprus and the Levant. Some of them settled down along the route, whereas others continued, perhaps after a while, all the way down to Canaan. As repeatedly emphasized by various scholars, this was no doubt a long and complex process that may have lasted for several decades. Yet, with all its complexity and circuitousness, the long road must have started somewhere, perhaps from several places and at different points in time. There is no need to obfuscate the question even more or to put it on hold because of the current tendency to concentrate on the destinations of the movement and on questions related to the integration of the newcomers in their new lands. The migrations of the peoples whom we conveniently call the ‘Sea Peoples’ constitute, in my opinion, the largest recorded case of population movements in the Mediterranean before the Migrations Period of the Late Antiquity, and a judicious comparison between the two phenomena has much to offer for historians and archaeologists, despite the persistent attempt of anti-diffusionists to play down the impact of both processes and the analogy between them.

III. The Mediterranean Coast of Anatolia With a large-scale migration from the Aegean to the Levant, the question of transportation has recently been readdressed. The traditional view of seaborne travel, the Troyan Grey Ware has been shown by NAA analysis to originate from northwestern Anatolia, the Hand Made Burnished Ware is intrusive in the eastern Mediterranean, but has good parallels in southern Italy; see R. Jung, “Die mykenische Keramik von Tell Kazel (Syrien)”, Damaszener Mitteilungen 15 (2006), p. 209; M.-C. Boileau, L. Badre, E. Capet, R. Jung and H. Mommsen, “Foreign ceramic tradition, local clays: the Handmade Burnished Ware of Tell Kazel”, JAS 37 (2010), pp. 1678–1689. The two types of foreign pottery found at Tell Kazel may hint at the mixed ethnic composition of the Sea Peoples who trailed down along the Phoenician coast. 37 Singer, op. cit. (note 20), p. 243. 38 S. Gitin, T. Dothan and J. Naveh, “A Royal Dedicatory Inscription from Ekron”, IEJ 47 (1997), pp. 1–16. 39 A. M. Maeir et al., “A Late Iron Age I/Early Iron Age II Old Canaanite Inscription from Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath, Israel: Palaeography, Dating, and Historical-Cultural Significance”, BASOR 351 (2008), pp. 39–71. 40 I. Singer, “‘Old Country’ ethnonyms in ‘New Countries’ of the ‘Sea Peoples’ Diaspora”, in R. B. Koehl (ed.), ΑΜΙΛΛΑ, The Quest for Excellence. Studies in Honor of Günter Kopcke on the Occasion of his 75th Birthday (Philadelphia, in press).

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more-or-less along the same trade routes that were used in the Late Bronze Age,41 has been questioned by Yasur-Landau, who claims that maritime travel was costly and had severe space limitations.42 He therefore suggests a land route traversing inner-Anatolia and descending to the Mediterranean through the Cilician or the Syrian Gates. In view of the geopolitical conditions following the fall of the Hittite Empire such an inland route would be possible, but I would not exclude alternative routes hugging the Mediterranean littoral on land and sea. Until recently the coasts of Lycia, Pamphylia and Cilicia Trachea (or Aspera) were archaeo-logically terra incognita in the 2nd millennium BCE, even though Hittite sources leave no doubt that the area must have been inhabited and politically active in the Late Bronze Age. Of late, however, the “first swallows” of LH IIIC pottery have made their appearance on this long coastal stretch, albeit very modestly: a few sherds from Lycia and some better stratified LH IIIC material from recent excavations at Perge (Hittite Parha) in Pamphylia, about 10 miles inland from Antalya.43 This new evidence ties up nicely with the classical traditions about Mopsos, a western Anatolian seer who left his home in Colophon a year before the Trojan War and wandered with his men along Aegean and Mediterranean shores, founding on his way new cities in Pamphylia (Aspendos, Phaselis, Perge) and in Cilicia (Mopsouhestia and Mopsoukrene).44 According to the Lydian historian Xanthus, he moved on all the way to Ashkelon where he met his death. One would usually refrain from ascribing historical value to such legendary traditions, but in this case it adds up to the solid epigraphic and archaeological record from Cilicia (see below) and may well preserve a genuine historical memory of an Aegean migration. Whereas the archaeological picture from the western part of Anatolia’s Mediterranean coast only begins to emerge from the mist, its easternmost part, Cilicia Campensis, continues to supply significant data on the Sea Peoples’ trajectories towards the east. Some vague picture about the new Aegean settlers in Cilicia at the outset of 41

See, e. g., T. Barako, “How did the Philistines Get to Canaan? By Sea”, BAR 29 (2003), pp. 26–33; idem, “The Changing Perception of the Sea Peoples Phenomenon: Migration, Invasion or Cultural Diffusion?”, in N. C. Stampolidis and V. Karageorghis (eds.), ПЛОЄΣ… Sea Routes… Interconnections in the Mediterranean 16th – 6th c. BC (Athens, 2003), pp. 163–171. 42 A. Yasur-Landau, “How Did the Philistines Get to Canaan? By Land”, BAR 29 (2003), pp. 35–39, 66–67; idem, op. cit. (note 21), p. 114 ff. 43 M. Recke, “Die völkerverbindende Bedeutung des Südküste Kleinasiens", in Austausch von Güttern, Ideen und Technologien in der Ägäis und im östlichen Mittelmeer (Verein zur Förderung der Aufarbeitung des Hellenistischen Geschichte, Tagung 19.–21. 05. 2006 in Ohlstadt/Obb. Deutschland), (Altenburg, 2009), pp. 223, 229 (with Abb. 9); idem, “Pamphylien zwischen Ost und West: Die Ausgrabungen von Perge als Fallbeispiel”, in H. Matthäus, N. Oettinger and S. Schröder (eds.), Der Orient und die Anfänge Europas: Kulturelle Beziehungen von der Späten Bronzezeit bis zur Frühen Eisenzeit (Wiesbaden, 2011), p. 172 ff., with tafel 25. 44 See, recently, M. Finkelberg, “Mopsos and the Philistines: Mycenaean Migrants in the Eastern Mediterranean”, in G. Herman and I. Shatzman (eds.), Greeks between East and West. Essays in Greek Literature and History in Memory of David Asheri (Jerusalem, 2007), pp. 31–44; N. Oettinger, “The Seer Mopsos (Muksas) as a Historical Figure”, in B. J. Collins, N. Bachvarova and I. Rutherford (eds.), Hittites, Greeks, and Their Neighbors in Ancient Anatolia (Oxford, 2008), pp. 63–66; idem, “Invasion und Assimilation von Griechen in Kilikien: Konsequenzen aus den Berichten über Mopsos/Muksas”, in H. Matthäus, N. Oettinger and S. Schröder (eds.), Der Orient und die Anfänge Europas: Kulturelle Beziehungen von der Späten Bronzezeit bis zur Frühen Eisenzeit (Wiesbaden, 2011), pp. 127–133.

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the Iron Age was already available from excavations and surveys conducted in the 1930s, but the evidence came into focus in the course of new excavations in the region, coupled with a meticulous re-examination of the old pottery kept in various museums. The primary site for the study of the transition from the Late Bronze to the Iron Age remains Gözlükule/Tarsus (Hittite Tarša), but information is steadily accumulating also from other excavations in the region, including Mersin, Sirkeli and Soli/Pompeiopolis. According to Mountjoy’s reassess-ment of the Aegean wares found at Tarsus in the 1930s, only a handful of imported LH III A/B sherds were found in the Late Bronze Age levels, whereas the Iron Age I level produced about 1000 pieces of locally-made LH IIIC ware.45 The self-designation of the new Aegean settlers in Cilicia was disclosed by the spectacular discovery in 1997 of the late-8th century bilingual inscription from Çineköy.46 The author, Warika (Urikki of the Neo-Assyrian sources), introduces himself as king of Dnnym in the Phoenician version and king of Hiyawa in the Luwian version. The latter is no doubt a shortened form of the well-known Late Bronze Age land name Ahhiyawa, i.e. the Aegean koiné (Homer’s Achaioi). In fact, Herodotos (VII, 91) also reported that the ancient inhabitants of Cilicia were called Hypachaioi, ‘Sub-Achaeans’.47 Not only is the Luwian self-designation of the land and its inhabitants related to the ‘Aegeans’ or the ‘Greeks’, but also the name of the founder of the local dynasty is Mukasa (Luwian)/Mpš (Phoenician), who is no other than the above-mentioned Moxos/Mopsos of the classical sources. In short, what we have here is a rare case in which archaeological, epigraphic and literary sources fully converge in providing a meaningful picture of the settlement history of Cilicia and the preservation of its ancient names for many centuries.48

IV. Aleppo The picture on the other side of the Amanus is also coming into focus in recent years. The best stratigraphic evidence at the moment comes from the renewed excavations at Tell Tayinat in the Amuq Plain, but in order to fully understand its his45 P. Mountjoy, “The Mycenaean Pottery from the 1934–1939 Excavations at Tarsus”, in A. Özyar (ed.), Field Seasons 2001–2003 of the Tarsus–Gözlükule Interdisciplinary Research Project (Istanbul, 2005), p. 84 ff.; A. Özyar, ibid., p. 34. I wish to thank Prof. A. Özyar and Dr. E. Ünlü for elucidating to me (on the occasion of the Nostoi conference in Istanbul in April 2011) the intricacies of the stratigraphic and ceramic situation at Tarsus in the transition period from the Bronze Age to the early Iron Age. 46 R. Tekoğlu and A. Lemaire, “La bilingue royale Louvito-Phénicienne de Çineköy”, CRAI 2000, pp. 961–1007; G. B. Lanfranchi, “A Happy Son of the King of Assyria: Warikas and the Çineköy Bilingual (Cilicia)”, in M. Luuko, S. Svärd and R. Matilla (eds.), Of god(s), trees, kings, and scholars: Neo-Assyrian and related studies in honour of Simo Parpola (Helsinki, 2009), pp. 127–150; I. Singer, “The Luwian-Phoenician Bilingual Inscription from Çineköy and its Historical Implications”, EI 29 (2009), pp. 147–152 (Hebrew with an English synopsis). 47 In this connection see also P. C. Schmitz, “Archaic Greek Names in a Neo-Assyrian Cuneiform Tablet from Tarsus”, JCS 61 (2009), pp. 127–131. 48 H. Çambel and A. Özyar (Karatepe-Aslantaş: Azatiwataya: Die Bildwerke [Mainz, 2003]) have even suggested that some of the diagnostic features exhibited by the Karatepe reliefs may look back at Aegean, perhaps even Sea Peoples, origins; but cf. the review of T. P. Harrison, JNES 68 (2009), pp. 47–50, esp. 48.

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torical implications it is better to start with the spectacular new discoveries at Aleppo. 1996 will be remembered as a milestone in Sea Peoples studies due to the discovery of the inscribed relief of Taita in the Citadel of Aleppo, which revealed the existence of the Kingdom of Palistin in the northern Levant. The ceramic profile of this important site remains to be established, but this lack is abundantly compensated by the dazzling pictorial and textual data discovered by a joint team of German and Syrian archaeologists in the main room of the Temple of the Storm-god of Halab.49 The most impressive finds are the 26 decorated basalt orthostats and the adjacent round sculptures of a sphinx and a lion, but from a historical point of view the most crucial discovery is the Hieroglyphic Luwian inscription ALEPPO 6, which provided not only the name of the king who rebuilt the temple in the Early Iron Age, Taita, but also the surprising name of his kingdom, Palistin.50 The reading of this name requires a brief philological explanation before we move on to its farreaching implications. The second syllable is written with a sign which was read in the past as da (ta5). This reading was suspected for some time and recently E. Rieken and I. Yakubovich have convincingly argued (on the basis of abundant evidence unrelated to the Aleppo inscription) that this sign (L 172) has to be read either as la or li (lá/lí). Consequently, the name of Taita’s land is now read Pa-lá/í-sà-ti-ni, i.e. Palastin or Palistin.51 The same name, but written with an initial Wa- syllable, also appears in three other inscriptions from sites in the Orontes Valley—Sheizar and Meharde near Hama and Tell Tayinat near Alalah. It has also turned up recently on two inscribed basalt stelae from Arsuz (ancient Rhosus) on the Mediterranean coast south of Iskenderun.52 Thus, the kingdom of Palistin must have been at its peak quite extensive, covering more-or-less the combined territories of the 9th century Neo-Hittite states of Arpad, Unqi and Hamat. Its capital was probably at Tell Tayinat in the Amuq Plain, probably identified with Neo-Assyrian Kullania (see below).53 The more difficult question 49 K. Kohlmeyer, Der Tempel des Wettergottes von Aleppo (Münster, 2000); idem, “The Temple of the Storm God in Aleppo during the Late Bronze and Early Iron Ages”, NEA 72 (2009), pp. 190–202; J. Gonnella, W. Khayyata and K. Kohlmeyer, Die Zitadelle von Aleppo und der Tempel des Wettergottes: Neue Forschungen und Entdeckungen (Münster, 2005); J. D. Hawkins, “The Inscriptions of the Aleppo Temple”, AnSt 61 (2011); I wish to thank D. Hawkins for providing me (in April 2011) a draft version of his editio princeps. 50 J. D. Hawkins, “Cilicia, The Amuq, and Aleppo: New Light in a Dark Age”, NEA 72 (2009), pp. 164–173; idem, op. cit. (note 49). The discovery was previously announced by Hawkins at various congresses and public lectures; see T. P. Harrison, “Lifting the Veil on a ‘Dark Age’: Ta‘yinat and the North Orontes Valley During the Early Iron Age”, in D. Schloen (ed.), Exploring the Longue Durée: Essays in Honor of Lawrence E. Stager (Winona Lake, IN 2009), p. 173, note 4. Besides the almost fully preserved inscription ALEPPO 6, another very fragmentary inscription, ALEPPO 7, has been found carved on two adjacent round sculptures of a lion and a sphinx. For its editio princeps see Hawkins, op. cit. (note 49). 51 E. Rieken and I. Yakubovich, “The New Values of Luwian Signs L 319 and L 172”, in I. Singer (ed.), ipamati kistamati pari tumatimis. Luwian and Hittite Studies Presented to J. David Hawkins on the Occasion of His 70th Birthday (Tel Aviv, 2010), pp. 199–219; Hawkins, op. cit. (note 50), p. 171. 52 A. and B. Dinçol in K. A. Yener (ed.), Across the Border. The Relations between Syria and Anatolia in the Late Bronze and Iron Ages, forthcoming. 53 J. D. Hawkins, Corpus of Hieroglyphic Luwian Inscriptions. Vol. I. Inscriptions of the Iron Age (Berlin – New York, 2000), p. 362.

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to answer is the date and the character of this large territorial kingdom in northern Syria. Taita’s reign is sandwiched between the fall of the Hittite Empire around 1200 BCE and the campaigns of Assurnasirpal II and Shalmaneser III to Syria in the mid-9th century, which encountered a considerably different geopolitical configuration. On the basis of style, palaeography and orthography Hawkins initially dated Taita to “somewhere between the 11th and 10th centuries BCE”.54 Upon closer examination of the epigraphic features of Taita’s inscriptions (especially the usage of the word-divider L 386), Hawkins now thinks that the Meharde and Sheizar inscriptions are somewhat later than the Aleppo group. Thus, in his editio princeps of the Aleppo temple inscriptions he suggests to distinguish between two Taitas: Taita I of the Aleppo group (and also Ain Dara), dated to the 11th century, and Taita II (perhaps the grandson of Taita I) of the Meharde-Sheizar group, dated to the early 10th century. If so, the spelling Palistin (at Aleppo) would precede the change to Walistin (perhaps indicating a fricative f ). The obvious similitude between the names of this early north Syrian kingdom and that of the Philistines (Egyptian Prst, Biblical Plšt, Assyrian Pilistu) was hesitantly contemplated at first, but, after the discovery of substantial remains of typical Sea Peoples material culture in the Amuq Plain (see below), it was realized that we have stumbled, almost accidentally, upon the northern ‘cousins’ of the southern Philistines. The discovery of ‘Philistines’ (or more accurately, ‘Palistinians’) in northern Syria may have come as a big surprise, but not entirely. In my 1992 article on Dagon, I already pointed out that Dagan > Dagon was not a Canaanite god and therefore must have been ‘picked up’ by the Philistine immigrants en route while traversing northern Syria, Dagan's homeland.55 However, in my wildest dreams I could not expect to be vindicated a few years later in such a direct and spectacular way. The juxtaposition of the name Palistin with its southern counterparts raises the question of the nature of the final element -in. A Greek suffix -ine appears in SyriePalaistine (Συρίη Παλαιστίνη) of Herodotus, where it is recognized as a formative of place names; cf. also Palaistinos, the old name of the river Strymon in Thrace (Psedo-Plutarch, De Fluv. 11, 1). Hawkins maintains that this Greek suffix cannot account for the -in of Palistin because this name already appears with the Luwian 54

Hawkins, op. cit. (note 49), p. 171; see also idem, “The Usage of the Hieroglyphic Luwian Sign ‘Crampon’ (L.386)”, Kadmos 49 (2010), p. 8 ff. K. Kohlmeyer notes that this dating corresponds well with the radiocarbon dating of the site (yet unpublished); idem, “Zur Datierung der Skulpturen von ‘Ain Dara”, in D. Bonatz, R. M. Czichon, and F. J. Kreppner (eds.), Fundstellen: Gesammelte Schriften zur Archäologie und Geschichte Altvorderasiens ad honorem Hartmut Kühne (Wiesbaden, 2008), p. 122. 55 I. Singer, “Towards an Image of Dagon, the God of the Philistines”, Syria 69 (1992), pp. 431–450; cf. also A. Otto, “Das Oberhaupt des westsemitischen Pantheons ohne Abbild? Überlegungen zur Darstellung des Gottes Dagan”, ZA 96 (2006), p. 244, with n. 2; C. S. Ehrlich, “Philistine Religion: Text and Archaeology”, SM 27–28 (2006–2007), pp. 33–52. I have also referred elsewhere to some evidence from Ras Ibn Hani for “a gradual evolution from monochrome to bichrome pottery”, stressing that “such similarities should be further explored in the areas of the ‘Sea Peoples’ diaspora”; see I. Singer, “The Beginning of Philistine Settlement in Canaan and the Northern Boundary of Philistia”, TA 12 (1985), p. 112. More evidence for a similar ceramic development seems to have turned up now at Tell Tayinat; see B. Janeway, “The Nature and Extent of Aegean Contact at Tell Ta'yinat and Vicinity in the Early Iron Age: Evidence of the Sea Peoples?”, SM 27–28 (2006–2007), p. 137.

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ethnic suffix -iza (Palistiniza). As a possible explanation he suggests that the name was formed on the base of the Hebrew plural form Plštym, but since Luwian cannot take a final -m, it adopted the form to its own morphology as Plštyn. In view of the Aegean origin of the Philistines, I think that the origin of the -in suffix must rather be sought in the Aegean region, and the appearance of a double ethnicon in Palistin-iza should not pose a difficulty.56 With all their immense importance and fascination, the Aleppo reliefs alone cannot answer satisfactorily the most basic questions about the extensive kingdom of Taita, its dating and its cultural character. For this we have to move back on the Philistine trajectory to Tell Tayinat, probably the seat of Taita’s kingdom, a spectacular site which supplies a stratigraphic sequence bridging over the Late Bronze and the early Iron Age.

V. The Amuq Plain The Chicago Oriental Institute excavations in the 1930s focused primarily on the monumental buildings assigned to the Iron II and III periods (Amuq Phase O), with isolated soundings into earlier levels. Since 2004 the Tayinat Archaeological project (TAP) of the University of Toronto directed by T. Harrison expanded considerably the area of the Early Iron Age levels, especially in Field 1, where eight superimposed architectural phases (Field Phases 1–8) were delineated.57 The earliest Iron Age settlement (FP 6) was cut directly into the remains of the late-3rd millennium city.58 It is characterized by large storage ‘silos’, with smaller pits interspersed between them. The next three phases (FP 5-3) consist of rectilinear structures with walls constructed in a header and stretcher technique.59 Of much importance is the discovery in Field 4 of the remains of a metal workshop for the 56

I wish to thank C. Melchert and N. Oettinger whom I have consulted in this matter. Double ethnicons are found in different languages (e.g. Palest-in-ensis or Roma-n-ian) and Melchert calls my attention to Hier. Luwian FINES-hi-ti-na ‘(to) abroad’ (CHLI, p. 126), which is perhaps comparable to the suffix of Palistin. I initially thought that this -in may perhaps be related to the Greek suffix -ηνος (e.g. Pergamenos), for which Alexander Dale suggested in the Nostoi conference a derivation from Luwian –wann(ī), productive in forming adjectives and ethnics based on toponyms. However, both Melchert and Oettinger consider this most unlikely on phonetical grounds. 57 T. P. Harrison, “Neo-Hittites in the ‘Land of Palistin’: Renewed Investigations at Tell Ta'yinat on the Plain of Antioch”, NEA 72 (2009), pp. 174–189; idem, op. cit. (note 50); idem, “The Late Bronze/Early Iron Age Transition in the North Orontes Valley”, in Venturi, op. cit. (note 13), pp. 83–102. 58 Recently, some Late Bronze Age II remains have been discovered at Tell Tayinat, whereas at nearby Tell Atchana a mid-12th century assemblage of LH IIIC Middle Phase 1 ceramics has been found in stratified deposits (A. Yener, personal communication). It now seems that the two 700m distanced sites form part of one extensive two-mounded entity the settlement history of which must be investigated in tandem. See K. A. Yener, “Introduction: Imperial Demise and Forging Emergent Kingdoms”, in K. A. Yener (ed.), Across the Border. The Relations between Syria and Anatolia in the Late Bronze and Iron Ages (Leiden, forthcoming). I wish to thank Prof. Yener for providing me (on the occasion of the Nostoi conference in Istanbul in April 2011) an early draft of her paper, as well as other information on her recent excavations at Tell Atchana. 59 See plan and photo in Harrison, op. cit. (note 57, NEA 2009), p. 181; idem, op. cit. (note 57, 2010), p. 96, fig. 3.

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production of both iron and copper objects.60 The finds in these four Early Iron Age phases included large quantities of locallymade LH IIIC ware (Myc IIIC:1), Aegean-type cooking jugs, clay figurines and large quantities of cylindrical loom weights.61 These material remains exhibit strong Aegean associations, especially in food ways and weaving techniques. There are clear correlations of the Tell Tayinat sequence with other stratigraphic sequences in the Amuq Plain and in northern Syria. It should be emphasized that in some of the Amuq sites the Aegean-type locally made pottery accounted for 90–95 percent of the total assemblage.62 This distinctive Aegean-type pottery gave way in the Iron II period to the Red Slipped Burnished Ware, a development which can also be followed at other sites in the region (see below).63 Superimposed over this Early Iron Age settlement of an intrusive Aegean ethnic element are the remains of the monumental structures of the First Building Period. Building XIII, excavated in 1937, is a typical bīt hilani building measuring ca. 28 by 35m. The main edifice of the city appears to be the partially excavated Building XIV, an enormous complex which has already reached an exposure of more than 600m2 in the renewed excavations.64 Its walls average more than 3m in width and their foundations reach a depth of more than 3m. Unfortunately, no internal floors have been identified so far, but near its eastern exterior a stone pavement was revealed which sealed a sherd-strewn surface comprised predominantly of Red Slipped Burnished Ware. Through a meticulous study of the old excavation records, the Toronto expedition was able to plausibly associate with the Building XIV complex some monumental column bases, carved orthostats and many fragments of a Hieroglyphic Luwian inscription which cluster tightly around the building.65 This inscription (TELL TAYINAT 1) refers to a certain Halparuntiyas (title not preserved), who must have been one of the successors of Taita on the throne of Palistin (here spelled as Walistin).66 If indeed this inscription belongs to Building XIV, it seems to me that this Halparuntiyas can hardly be identical with Qalparunda, the Patinean ruler who paid tribute to Shalmaneser III in the mid-9th century BCE.67 These, in brief, are the main Early Iron Age results of the first five seasons of the renewed excavations at Tell Tayinat. When it comes to historical and cultural inter60

Presented by B. Janeway at the 2010 ASOR meeting in Atlanta. A. Pruss, “Ein Licht in der Nacht? Die Amuq-Ebene während der Dark Ages”, in E. A. Braun-Holzinger and H. Matthäus (eds.), Die nahöstlichen Kulturen und Griechenland an der Wende vom 2. zum 1. Jahrtausend v. Chr. Kontinuität und Wandel von Strukturen und Mechanismen kultureller Interaktion (Möhnesee, 2002), pp. 161–176; Janeway, op. cit. (note 55); Harrison, op. cit. (note 57, 2010), p. 88 ff. 62 At Tell Tayinat the painted ware makes up 57% of the total diagnostic sherd count. Contrary to Philistia, with its well-known shift from monochrome to bichrome pottery, at Tell Tayinat the quantity of bichrome sherds does not exceed 1% of the total (data supplied by Janeway in his 2010 ASOR lecture). 63 Janeway, op. cit. (note 55), p. 136 ff.; F. Venturi, L'età delle transformazioni in Siria (XIIIX sec. a.C.). Nuovi contribute dallo scavo di Tell Afis (Bologna, 2007), pp. 297–300; Harrison, op. cit. (note 57, 2010), p. 89. 64 Harrison, op. cit. (note 57, NEA 2009), p. 183 ff., with plan on p. 177; idem, op. cit. (note 57, 2010), p. 101, fig. 8. 65 Harrison, op. cit. (note 57, 2010), p. 91. 66 Hawkins, op. cit. (note 50), p. 365 ff. 67 As suggested by Hawkins, ibid., p. 365 (but cf. p. 366 ‘Date’); see also Harrison, op. cit. (note 57, NEA 2009), p. 179. 61

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pretations of these data, different viewpoints may be suggested. The excavator seems to regard the four-phase Aegean-type settlement and the impressive buildings of the First Building Phase as one long historical continuum representing “a powerful regional kingdom associated with the ‘Land of Palistin’, which emerged in the aftermath of the Hittite Empire’s collapse, ruled by a line of kings with Hittite names and very possibly with direct ancestral links to the royal dynasty. Intriguingly, this Early Iron Age polity also exhibits strong Aegean cultural ties, both in its material culture and now also epigraphically”.68 To me, the archaeological evidence from Tell Tayinat tells an entirely different story. The four-phase Early Iron Age sequence (FP 6-3) and the superimposed First Building Period represent two distinct chapters in the settlement history of the site. The former represents a ‘rudimentary existence’69 of a farming community, with typical silos, pits and small houses, inhabited by an intrusive population of Aegean origin. It is not yet possible to establish the size of this new settlement of Aegean immigrants,70 but in any case, it can hardly be characterized as the centre of a ‘rump state’ that survived, like Karkamiš, the fall of the Hittite Empire. On the other hand, the first city built on top of it, Buiding Period I, bears the character of a typical Neo-Hittite royal city, with large monumental buildings, carved orthostats and monumental Hieroglyphic Luwian inscriptions. This could indeed be the royal seat of Taita king of Palistin, which eclipsed Halab as the dominant city of northern Syria. Its inhabitants apparently used predominantly Red Slipped Burnished Ware, totally different from the Aegean-type pottery (LH IIIC) of the earlier inhabitants (see below). If any of the previous inhabitants remained in Tell Tayinat, they were apparently fully assimilated within the new population of the city which bears a typical Syro-Hittite character. There is nothing in this typical Neo-Hittite city that would qualify it as the capital of a ‘powerful Philistine kingdom’,71 i.e., if we understand ‘Philistine’ in the usual ethnic or cultural sense as one of the Sea Peoples. This misinterpretation of the geopolitical situation in the Early Iron Age hinges, in my opinion, on two powerful fallacies – the attractiveness of analogies and the suggestive force of names. Analogy is a very useful mental device in helping to understand similar situations and phenomena. I use it quite often myself (see below). Yet, it might be deceptive at times, when seemingly similar situations turn out to be in fact quite different. If ‘disruption’ and ‘novelty’ were the key notions in past depictions of the notorious ‘Dark Age’, the advent of New Archaeology reversed the trend in favour of ‘continuity’ and ‘gradual transformation’.72 Some parade examples of continuity have 68

Harrison, op. cit. (note 57, NEA 2009), p. 187; idem, op. cit. (note 57, 2010), p. 91. Cf. also Hawkins, op. cit. (note 50), p. 172. 69 Janeway, op. cit. (note 55), p. 140. 70 In his first survey of the evidence Janeway (ibid.) still conceived of this Early Iron Age settlement as the result of “the influx of small groups of Aegean or Aegeanized peoples”. However, in subsequent seasons it turned out that the entire upper mound was probably occupied in this period (Janeway in his 2010 ASOR lecture, kindly supplied to me before publication). Perhaps it is better to await further results before the exact size of the Aegean immigration and settlement in the region can be assessed more accurately. 71 Harrison, op. cit. (note 57, NEA 2009), p. 187; Hawkins, op. cit. (note 50), p. 172. 72 See Gates, op. cit. (note 13), p. 65 (with references to the relevant literature in note 5): “The current mood in archaeological circles investigating such questions is to favor cultural continuity at the expense of interruption and novelty; in this case, to argue for a transformation

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blown wind in the sails of the effort to detect continuities bridging over the Late Bronze and the Early Iron Ages. Most compelling is the case of Karkamiš, whose dynasty survived well into the 11th century in the Malatya region.73 The temptation is indeed great to conceive of the kingdom of Palistin as another Hittite ‘rump state’, a direct successor of either Mukiš or Halab, with the transfer of the capital to Tell Tayinat. Yet, there seems to be a distinct break in the Amuq sequence, which separates by several generations the last Hittite presence in the area at Alalah from the first Neo-Hittite presence at Tell Tayinat. This interval of undefined length is clearly filled in by the intrusive Sea Peoples village of the Early Iron Age (FP 6-3). I have so far purposely refrained from dealing with chronological issues, which will be discussed later on. The second misleading clue is the newly recognized name of this north Syrian kingdom, Palistin. Since Taita is the king of Palistin, and since the earliest Iron Age phases at Tell Tayinat and elsewhere in the region are characterized by the presence of new settlers of Aegean origin, what could be more natural than to combine the two facts and create a ‘powerful Philistine kingdom’ that succeeded immediately after the demise of the Hittite Empire.74 Yet, the association between the names of lands and their ethnic composition can sometimes be deceptive. The name Canada, for example, has an indigenous Iroquoian origin, yet a very small percentage of Canada’s population is of indigenous origin. The same applies to the majority of Latin American states which bear indigenous names (e.g. Mexico, Cuba, Peru, Chile), whereas others were designated by names of European origin (e.g. El Salvador, Colombia, Venezuela, Argentina). There are no fixed rules by which lands obtain or preserve their names. The Norman Conquest introduced fundamental changes in English society and culture, to begin with, by replacing the native AngloSaxon ruling class with a French-speaking monarchy, aristocracy and clerical hierarchy. Yet, the name of England remained unchanged. On the other hand, when Turkic peoples migrated to Anatolia and eventually put an end to the Byzantine Empire, the name of the land (and also its capital) was changed, to the Ottoman Empire first and to Turkey eventually. In the era under consideration in this paper one could cite the much-discussed substitution of the name of (southern) Canaan by Israel, whatever historical process involved in this transformation one may choose to prefer. When the people who erected the monumental structures of the First Building Period established their capital at Tell Tayinat, they inherited the name or the designation of the land from the previous inhabitants of the region. The old second millennium names of the land, Mukiš and Alalah, were long obsolete by this time, several generations after the disintegration of the Hittite Empire, unlike the situation in Karkamiš and Halab, where the old toponyms survived due to an uninterrupted setinvolving local populations and the inevitable process of gradual change over these several centuries”. 73 J. D. Hawkins, “Kuzi-Tešub and the ‘Great Kings’ of Karkamiš”, AnSt 38 (1988), pp. 99– 108. Other alleged cases of continuity, such as the kingdom of Hartapus in southern Anatolia, are far less convincing; see I. Singer, “Great Kings of Tarhuntašša”, SMEA 38 (1996), pp. 63– 71. 74 See above note 68 and Kohlmeyer, op. cit. (note 49, NEA 2009), p. 200: “On the other hand, his title ‘king of Palistin’ suggests strong connections with the Philistines, or perhaps more generally with the Sea Peoples, which may be corroborated by the presence of eastern Mediterranean-style ceramics and other material culture in northern Syria at this time”.

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tlement history. Later on, the toponym Palistin was shortened or distorted into Patin(a), either by the local population or by the Neo-Assyrians chroniclers.75 Unqi (referring to Semitic ‫עמק‬, ‘valley’) was an alternative name of the land. Except for the continuous use of the land name, there seems to be nothing else in the presently available archaeological, pictorial or philological record from the Kingdom of Pa(lis)tin that would associate it with the Philistines originating from the Aegean realm. On the contrary, all the evidence available so far from Tell Tayinat and Aleppo points to the hallmarks of a typical Neo-Hittite state.76 Also the names of the rulers of Pa(lis)tin seem to belong to the regular Syro-Hittite stock of Luwian and Hurrian origin, with no apparent connections to Aegean onomastics.77 Unlike the Kingdom of Karkamiš, however, there is no evidence for a direct link between the rulers of Pa(lis)tin and the Bronze Age Hittite royal house, even though Taita may have made a deliberate effort to give the impression that he belonged to the descendants of the Hittites.78 In short, the hastily generated association between the Neo-Hittite kingdom of Taita and the Philistines in the northern Levant is misleading. I strongly advise abandoning designations such as ‘the Philistine kingdom of Taita’ or the like, lest they generate further misconceptions and false leads.

VI. Chronology We must now address the thorny problem of absolute chronology. It is a well known fact that the only firmly established dates in this region are the fall of the Hittite Empire at one end,79 and the Assyrian campaigns of the mid-9th century BCE at the other. All dates within this interval of more than three hundred years are relative and patently imprecise. The closest approximations are based on the generation count of 75 S. Yamada, The Construction of the Assyrian Empire; A Historical Study of the Inscriptions of Shalmanesar III (859–824 B.C.) Relating to His Campaigns to the West (Leiden, 2000), p. 96, note 71; Hawkins, op. cit. (note 53), p. 362, note 8. 76 S. Aro, “Luwians in Aleppo?”, in Singer (ed.), op. cit. (note 51), p. 4 ff. 77 The name Taita cannot be conclusively classified as yet, but a Hurrian origin is not impossible; see C. Steitler, “The Biblical Toi of Hamath and the Late Hittite State ‘P/Walas(a)tin’”, BN 146 (2010), pp. 81–99. Taita’s queen (or mother?) in Sheizar (see Hawkins, op. cit. [note 53], p. 419), Kupapiya, bears a Syrian theophoric name. Other rulers of Patin/Unqi bear typical Syro-Anatolian names, such as Halparunda, Lubarna and Sapalulme (Hawkins, ibid., p. 363). The 9th century rulers of Hama, Irhuleni and Uratami, bear a Hurrian and a Luwian name, respectively (Hawkins, ibid., p. 400). 78 Aro, op. cit. (note 76), p. 5. 79 Within the territory of the Hittite Empire only the fall of Ugarit at ca. 1190/1185 BCE can be dated with any precision due to an Egyptian synchronism; see Singer, op. cit. (note 31), p. 729 ff.; idem and Y. Cohen, “A Late Synchronism between Ugarit and Emar”, in Y. Amit et al. (eds.), Essays on Ancient Israel in Its Near Eastern Context: A Tribute to Nadav Na’aman (Winona Lake, IN 2006), p. 135, note 47. Radiocarbon dates have recently been obtained from the destruction level (Level 7A) of the Late Bronze Age harbor town of Tell Tweini/Gibala, south of Ugarit; see D. Kaniewski et al., “The Sea Peoples, from Cuneiform Tablets to Carbon Dating”, PLoS One 6/6 (2011) e20232 . Another close dating may be argued for the fall of Tell Kazel, probably the capital of Amurru, where the seaborne enemies set up a camp in Year 8 of Ramses III, 1175 BCE; see Jung, op. cit. (note 36), pp. 203–210; idem, “End of the Bronze Age”, in Cline, op. cit. (note 13), p. 177 ff.

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the royal house of Karkamiš which survived in the Malatya region well into the 11th century BCE (pending on the normal interpretation of the genealogical evidence, for which see below). Comparison with the artistic style and the paleography of Karkamiš and Malatya may provide rough dates also for other Neo-Hittite inscriptions and reliefs in Syria and Anatolia. However, styles are notoriously susceptible to regional developments, especially in a geopolitically splintered reality such as the one characterizing the Early Iron Age. Therefore, chronological approximations must be taken with a grain of salt, even when based on apparently clear epigraphic and artistic parallels, such as is the case with the inscriptions of Taita. Archaeological dating is even less adequate. Stylistic comparisons of pottery and other finds may provide good relative sequences, but their anchoring on a scale of absolute chronology is practically impossible without the aid of historical evidence. Another popular way of dating is by attributing average length to archaeological strata, but again, this is illusory to a great extent; some cities may have lived peacefully for long stretches of time, whereas others may have been destroyed quite often in periods of distress and hostility. We are left with the seemingly safe radiocarbon dates, but these require multiple and adequate tests which are not always available in the region under discussion. In situations of acute chronological uncertainties it is not unusual to observe how archaeologists and philologists ‘desperately’ cling onto each other’s dates. Hawkins rightly stressed that “we are only at the beginning of the enquiry and each aspect will demand detailed evaluation”.80 I would even go a step further and claim that at this stage it is practically impossible to fix the dates of Taita’s reign(s) within the Iron Age sequence and it would be advisable to await more evidence that will undoubtedly turn up in the ongoing excavations in the region and the full publication of their results. However, waiting idly for more data to turn up is not in the habit of scientists and several attempts have hastily been made to place within a historical context the sudden appearance of a ‘Philistine’ land in northern Syria and its far-reaching implications also for Biblical history.81 For this reason it is perhaps commendable to summarize briefly the various criteria used at the present for dating the kingdom of Palistin, underlining the precariousness of the data and the extreme caution required in its evaluation. In my brief summary of the stratigraphic evidence from Early Iron Age Tell Tayinat given above, I stressed the clear distinction between the first four field phases (FP 6–3), which yielded large quantities of LH IIIC pottery, and the superimposed First Building Period, whose main ceramic trait seems to be the Red Slipped Burnished Ware. There was probably some overlapping between the two wares as the percentage of painted pottery gave way to the Red Slipped Burnished Ware,82 but on the whole, the two ceramic types represent two successive stages at Tell Tayinat and they should arguably provide a reliable chronological grip on the settlement history of the site. Laying claim to a very limited ceramic knowledge myself, I found it very useful that exactly these two diagnostic pottery types were recently discussed in tandem by an expert archaeologist active in this region. MarieHenriette Gates, the excavator of Kinet Höyük, investigated the diagnostic signifi80

Hawkins, op. cit. (note 50), p. 170. E.g. Steitler, op. cit. (note 77); B. Sass, “Taita, King of Palistin: ca. 950–900 B.C.?”, http://www.bu.edu/asor/pubs/nea/digit-al-nea.html; idem, “Four Notes on Taita King of Palistin, with an Excursus on King Solomon’s Empire”, TA 37 (2010), pp. 169–174. 82 Janeway, op. cit. (note 55), p. 136. 81

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cance of the two wares which have usually been charged with ethnic identities: the (LH IIIC) wavy-bowl as part of an assemblage representing Sea Peoples, and the red-slipped bowl associated with Arameans or Israelites.83 The red-slipped bowl has a wide distribution throughout the eastern Mediterranean coast in the Iron Age, with a gradual development from a plain red slip to an overall burnished surface. When it comes to dating, the estimates range centuries apart in the different sub-regions of the Levant. In the southern Levant the plain versions have been variously dated between the 12th and the 10th centuries BCE, whereas the burnished versions mainly to the 9th century.84 The same development in surface treatment seems to have occurred along the northern Levantine coast (Al Mina, Kinet) and further inland (Amuq Phase O). In the northern Levant, the dating of this pottery at the transition from the Early to the Middle Iron Age seems to have been more influenced by ethnic and historical interpretations than by solid primary evidence from excavations.85 Those advocating Late Bronze Age Anatolian and Syrian precursors have naturally opted for earlier dates, bridging over the end of the Hittite Empire. Others have associated the red slipped pottery with the expansion of the Arameans and set its main apogee to the 9th century BCE. Gates cautiously refrains from pinning down the exact date of its first appearance at Kinet Höyük (Period 11), which closely mirrors the circumstances at other sites in Cilicia and the Amuq. However, she stresses that it exhibits “no cultural connections whatsoever with the Late Bronze and transitional Early Iron household furnishings that preceded them in these two regions. Here, no trace of the Hittite ceramic industry survived the intervening centuries, nor did the mode of production of the Early Iron transitional assemblage, or any other features of the period”.86 Without taking a stand on the question of origins and ethnic associations, I fully subscribe to Gates’ conclusion that the Red Slipped Burnished Ware represents a clear break from the immediately preceding ceramic traditions in the region. The precariousness of the chronological framework of the Red Slipped Burnished Ware in the northern Levant prevents, in my opinion, a reliable dating for the transition from the four-phase Sea Peoples settlement to the First Building Period at Tell Tayinat. It would seem that the Toronto excavation team has basically adopted the schematic division of the Amuq pottery phases worked out by the Chicago expedition.87 At Tell Tayinat itself the Chicago expedition found only few traces of Phase N, which was dated by G. F. Swift on the basis of other Amuq sites to 1150–950 BCE.88 In his view, the uniformity and intensiveness of this ceramic phase requires a 200-year time span, which he was unable to subject to sub-phasing. The Toronto expedition, on the other hand, managed to discern at least two ceramic horizons within the Phase N sequence, with the latter portion witnessing a significant decrease in the percentage of painted pottery.89 Still, I cannot see any binding evidence for a 200-years time span attributed to this rudimentary settlement,90 nor do I see 83

Gates, op. cit. (note 13), p. 72. Idem, ibid., with references to the evidence from Tell Qasile and Tel Dor. 85 Idem, ibid., p. 72 ff., with references. 86 Idem, ibid., p. 74. 87 G. F. Swift, The Pottery of the ‘Amuq, Phases K to O, and Its Historical Relationships (Unpublished Ph.D. dissertation; University of Chicago, 1958). 88 Idem, ibid., p. 121 ff. 89 Janeway, op. cit. (note 55), p. 136. 90 Harrison, op. cit. (note 57, 2010), p. 87: “12th–11th centuries BCE”. 84

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any inherent reason why the First Building Period, with its monumental Building XIV complex, possibly the palatial residence of Taita, could not have been built several generations earlier than the date assigned to it in the present excavations.91 In view of the inadequate chronological framework provided by the presently available archaeological evidence, it is only natural that interpreters have turned towards the purportedly more secure paleographical and philological data from the kingdom of Palistin. Taita’s inscribed relief (ALEPPO 6) was purportedly inserted next to the Late Bronze Age relief of the Storm-god of Halab in the wake of the 11th century renovation of the temple.92 This dating seems to rely mainly on the epigraphical dating supplied by Hawkins, which is apparently supported by three (yet unpublished) radiocarbon dates of woodbeams.93 There are clear stylistic links between the temples of Aleppo and Ain Dara, but the exact dating of the latter (which has not produced any significant inscriptions) is even more uncertain.94 With regard to epigraphy, which appears at the moment to be the most solid element in the dating of Taita and the kingdom of Palistin, it is well to briefly repeat Hawkins's cautionary observations.95 The archaic features of the Aleppo inscriptions (notably za rendered by the ligature zi+a and ia for i and ia), which survived from imperial times, places them between the early Malatya inscriptions of the 12th–early11th centuries and the earliest Karkamiš inscriptions (of Suhi) of the 10th–early-9th centuries.96 However, this apparently reliable dating criterion is restricted by (at least) two important reservations, both amply emphasized by Hawkins: (1) The archaic versus the more recent writing of za and ia is by no means fully consistent with the relative age of different inscriptions, even those situated in geographical proximity. Thus, different epigraphic traditions and also deliberate archaizing have to be taken into account; (2) The groundbreaking discovery of the genealogical connection between Kuzi-Tešub, king of Karkamiš, and his descendants in the Malatya group, with its far-reaching chronological implications, hinges upon the usual interpretation of INFANS.NEPOS as ‘grandson’. However, if the meaning implied here is, more generally, ‘descendant’, then the raising of the dates of the Malatya group to the 12th–early-11th centuries BCE is less binding.97 In conclusion, whereas paleographic and stylistic considerations provide valuable chronological points of departure, the evidence is much too scanty and it would be a grave mistake to rely on it too heavily in the archaeological investigations yet to be carried out at Aleppo, Tell Tayinat and elsewhere. Having said that, I wish to emphasize that it is not my intention to contest Hawkins’s tentative dating of the Aleppo inscriptions to the 11th century BCE.98 It may well turn out to be accurate eventually. I only wanted to underline the many factors of uncertainty involved in its computation and to warn against its hasty acceptance as a fixed datum in subsequent archaeological and historical investigations. After his sudden emergence from obscurity, Taita will probably still hold on to his secrets for a while. 91 Harrison, op. cit. (note 57, NEA 2009), table on p. 177: “ca. 900 BCE”; idem, op. cit. (note 57, 2010), p. 177: “ca. 10th–early-9th century BCE”. Cf. Venturi, op. cit. (note 21), p. 10. 92 Kohlmeyer, op. cit. (note 49, NEA 2009), p. 198. 93 Kohlmeyer, op. cit. (note 54), p. 122, note 12; idem, op.cit. (note 49, NEA 2009), p. 198. 94 Kohlmeyer, op.cit. (note 49, NEA 2009), p. 199. 95 Hawkins, op. cit. (note 50), p. 171. 96 Hawkins, op. cit. (note 53), p. 296 ff. 97 Hawkins, ibid., p. 296. 98 Hawkins, op. cit. (note 49).

ARCHAEOLOGICAL REMAINS OF THE NORTHERN SEA PEOPLES ALONG THE SHARON AND CARMEL COASTS AND ‘AKKO AND JEZREEL VALLEYS EPHRAIM STERN The Hebrew University of Jerusalem

I. Introduction

The purpose of this study is to determine the unique position and chronological framework of the material culture of the northern Sea Peoples who settled in Palestine. Up to now, the remains of this culture have, for the most part, been identified with those of the southern Philistines1 and no genuine attempt has been made to distinguish between the two and to establish the similarities and the differences between the northern Sea Peoples and the Philistines. In this study I will attempt— based on the evidence uncovered during my many years of excavation at Tel Dor, the capital of the Sikils—to determine the stratigraphic and regional remains and material culture of the Sikils and draw some conclusions. I have limited the area examined to the coast of Palestine from the Yarkon northward, including the Plain of ‘‘Akko and the western Jezreel Valley on the Megiddo– ‘Afula line, since these areas produced extensive remains attesting to the presence of tribes of Sea Peoples and evidence of their activities. However, that is not to say that they did not penetrate into other areas as well. As a preface to my discussion I present my main conclusions: (1) In the area examined it is possible to distinguish the material culture characteristics of the northern Sea Peoples, exhibiting elements that are partly identical with and partly unlike those of the Philistines. (2) The chronological range of this culture is briefer than that of the Philistines. It apparently did not last much longer than one hundred and thirty years: from the end of the 12th century to the beginning of the 10th century BCE, when it was displaced in its entirety by the local Israelite culture. Historical records concerning the settlement of Sea Peoples in northern Palestine are rare. There are no biblical references to the Sikils, Sherden or Denyen or to their role in the settlement history of the region. The Bible mentions only the Philistines, whose area of settlement extended along the southern coast up to the Yarkon River, 1

See T. Dothan, The Philistines and Their Material Culture (New Haven, 1982).

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where their northern limit is marked by their settlements at Aphek, Tell Qasile, Tel Gerisa and Jaffa (Fig. 1). Historical references to the Sikils and other Sea Peoples are in fact confined to extra-biblical sources, principally those from Egypt. Ramesses III, who expelled the Sea Peoples from Egypt in ca. 1175 BCE, recorded that he ‘destroyed’ three of them: the Denyen, the Sikils and the Philistines. A Ugaritic text, which is more or less contemporary, mentions the Sikils as pirates who live on their ships.2

Fig. 1: Map of Iron Age I sites in northern Israel containing remains of the Sea Peoples

Most of our information about these tribes, however, is derived from two slightly later Egyptian documents.3 The first is the Onomasticon of Amenope dating to the late-12th or early-11th centuries BCE, that consists of a list of names, among which appear “Ashkelon, Ashdod, Gaza, … Sherden, Sikils, and Philistia”. The text thus refers to three coastal Philistine cities (Ashkelon, Ashdod and Gaza) and three tribes of Sea Peoples (Sherden, Sikils and Philistines) and it is possible that both the Sikils and the Sherden ruled parts of the northern and central Palestinian coast.4 The second and more detailed document, the “Tale of Wenamun” from el-Hibeh in middle Egypt (Fig. 2), dates to the early Twenty-first Dynasty, in the first half of 2

See G. A. Lehmann, “Die Sikalaya”, UF 11 (1979), pp. 481–494. See M. Dietrich and O. Loretz, “Das Seefahrende Volk von Sikilia”, UF 10 (1978), pp. 53–56. 4 See A. H. Gardiner, Ancient Egyptian Onomastica, I (Oxford, 1947), pp. 194*–204*. 3

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the 11th century BCE.5 It contains the only reference to the Sikil settlement at Dor and is probably the most important document for the history of Palestine during the “dark age” of the 11th century BCE. The author, Wenamun, was a priest in the temple of Amon at Karnak who was sent to purchase cedar wood for the sacred barge. Wenamun relates: “I reached Dor, a town of the Sikils, and Beder, its prince, had fifty loaves of bread, one jug of wine, and one leg of beef brought to me”.6 Later in the story, he tells how one of his ship’s crewmen made off with a large quantity of his gold and silver, leaving Wenamun penniless. Wenamun appealed to the governor of Dor to capture the thief and restore his goods. As that potentate was not particularly eager to fulfill this request, Wenamun despaired of any help from the people of Dor and took refuge first at Tyre, then later at Byblos. After further adventures in Byblos, Wenamun realized that Beder’s men were in pursuit: “And I went to the shore of the sea to the place where the timber was lying and I spied eleven ships belonging to the Sikils coming in from the sea in order to say: ‘Arrest him! Don’t let a ship of his go to the land of Egypt’”.7 The Tale of Wenamun, which is based on an official report, makes it clear that the Sikils were settled at Dor and that they operated a large fleet from the harbor. Apart from Beder, the story mentions three other rulers, whose names may belong to the Sea Peoples, though some scholars believe that they were Egyptians. One of them, Weret, was probably the ruler of Ashkelon; he had a trading treaty with the powerful maritime city of Tyre. The two others may have been the governors of Ashdod and Gaza. This important document presents a unique picture of the autonomous coastal cities in the 11th century BCE. Some were ruled by the Sea Peoples and others by Phoenicians. They maintained commercial ties with one another and evidently controlled the Palestinian and Phoenician coast independently of Egypt.8

5

See J. A. Wilson, “The Journey of Wenamun to Phoenicia”, in ANET; H. Goedicke, The Report of Wenamun (Baltimore, 1975); N. Hlessondra, Wenamun and Alashia Reconsidered (Oxford, 1985); A. Nibbi, “The City of Dor and Wenamun”, Discussions in Egyptology 35 (1996), pp. 77–95. 6 See Wilson, ibid., p. 26. 7 See Wilson, ibid., p. 28. 8 See Goedicke, op. cit. (note 5); M. Bietak, “The Sea Peoples and the End of the Egyptian Administration in Canaan”, in Biblical Archaeology Today, 1990. Proceedings of the Second International Congress on Biblical Archaeology (Jerusalem, 1993), pp. 292–306; G. Moers, “Die Reiseerzahlung des Wenamun”, in E. Blumenthal (ed.), Texte aus der Umwelt des Alten Testaments 3: Mythen und Epen 3, pp. 912–921, (Gutersloh, 1995); Nibbi, op. cit. (note 5); J. Bains, “On Wenamunas a Literary Text”, in J. Assmann and E. Blumental (eds.), Literatur und Politik im pharaonischen und ptolemaeischen Aegypten: Vortraege der Tagung zum Gedenken an G. Posner, 5-10 September 1996 (Leipzig, 1999), pp. 209–233; D. O’Connor, “The Sea Peoples and Egyptian Sources”, in D. E. Oren (ed.), The Sea Peoples and Their World: A Reassessment (Philadelphia, 2000), pp. 85–101; A. Egberts, “Wenamun”, Oxford Encyclopedia of Ancient Egypt, III (Oxford, 2001), pp. 495–496; but see also B. Sass, “Wenamun and His Levant 1075 BC or 925 BC? ”, Egypt and the Levant 12 (2002), pp. 247– 255, and recently P. J. King, “Wenamon Docks at Dor”, EI 29 (2009), pp. 70*–77*, and bibliography there.

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Fig. 2: The papyrus of Wenamun

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II. The Archaeological Evidence 1. The Sharon and the Carmel Coast The Egyptian documents and the biblical sources indicate that after the destruction of the Canaanite world, Philistines had settled in southern Palestine. The Bible, the Egyptian sources, and the archaeological evidence all provide considerable information about Philistine domination and settlement of this area and about their five great cities. As was stated above, their northern border was at the Yarkon River, where the remains of four flourishing Sea People cities were uncovered: the first, Tel Aphek, was excavated by M. Kochavi and published by Gadot and Yadin; the others include Tell Qasile, with its buildings and temples, discovered by B. Mazar and A. Mazar; Tel Gerisa, excavated by Z. Herzog; and perhaps also—as I believe—Jaffa, which was excavated by J. Kaplan and H. Kaplan,9 and Azor, excavated by M. Dothan (Fig. 1).10 It seems that in these border towns, both Philistines and northern Sea Peoples lived together. The Sikils probably occupied the Sharon, and the Sherden perhaps inhabited an area farther north, the Plain of ‘Akko and its surroundings (see below). Excavations have indeed confirmed these suppositions: finds ascribed to the Sikils have been discovered at Tel Hefer, Tel Zeror, Tel Dor, and other sites along the coast (see below), while at Tel ‘Akko and nearby Tell Keisan, excavations uncovered pottery attributed by the excavators of these two sites to the Sherden.11 To understand the magnitude of the revolution that took place on the northern coast of Palestine from the Yarkon northward to the Plain of ‘Akko—the subject of our discussion—we must first examine the settlement which preceded this transformation in this area―the settlement of the Canaanites who occupied this area over the course of many centuries. In some half-dozen sites excavated on this part of the coast, an identical picture was observed by the excavators of the respective sites. All the sites on the Canaanite coast of the Hefer Valley, in the Sharon and on the Carmel coast, without exception, were laid waste at the end of the 13th century BCE in a total destruction that put an end to the Canaanite culture. This destruction has 9

P. Beck and M. Kochavi, “Aphek”, NEAEHL, pp. 68–69; Y. Gadot, “Aphek in the Sharon and the Philistine Northern Border Frontier”, BASOR 341 (2006), pp. 21–36; Y. Gadot and E. Yadin, Aphek-Antipatris II – The Remains of the Acropolis (Tel Aviv, 2009); A. Mazar, Excavations at Tell Qasile, Part One: The Philistine Sanctuary Architecture and Cult Objects, Jerusalem, 1980; idem, Excavations at Tell Qasile, Part Two: The Philistine Sanctuary: Various Finds, the Pottery Conclusions, Appendixes (Jerusalem, 1985); Z. Herzog, “Tel Gerisa”, NEAEHL, pp. 480–484; J. Kaplan and H. Ritter-Kaplan, “Jaffa”, NEAEHL, pp. 655–659. 10 M. Dothan, “Azor”, NEAEHL, pp. 128–129; D. Ben-Shlomo, “The Cemetery of Azor and Early Iron Age Burial Practices”, Levant 40 (2008), pp. 29–54. 11 M. Dothan, “Sardinia in ‘Akko?” in M. S. Balmuth (ed.), Studies in Sardinian Archaeology, Vol. II: Sardinia in the Mediterranean (Ann Arbor, 1986), pp. 105–115; A. Raban, “The Philistines in the Western Jezreel Valley”, BASOR 284 (1991), pp. 17–27; E. Stern, “The Settlement of the Sea Peoples in Northern Israel”, in D. E. Oren (ed.), The Sea Peoples and Their World: A Reassessment (Philadelphia, 2000), pp. 197–112; see also B. Mazar, “The Philistines and the Rise of Israel and Tyre”, in The Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities Proceedings 1/7 (Jerusalem, 1974), pp. 1–22.

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been attributed by the excavators of all the settlements in these areas to the Sea People. Following this destruction, four groups of settlements can be distinguished. The first group includes Late Bronze Age settlements which were destroyed and never rebuilt. The most prominent example in this group is Tel Nami.12 The second group is represented by sites that were rebuilt after a gap extending through the entire Iron Age I. These settlements recovered only in the period of the Monarchy and the entire period of the Sea Peoples’ occupation bypassed them. Examples include Tel Michal (Strata XV–XIV);13 and Tel Mevorakh (Strata IX– VIII).14 The third group consists of settlements which were rebuilt over the ruins and contain remains associated with the settlement of the Sea Peoples in the area: Tel Hefer,15 Tel Zeror16 and Tel Dor. Although the Late Bronze Age level of destruction at the last site has not yet been reached, but the new Sikil city that replaced it extended over an area five times (!) the conjectured size of the last Canaanite city.17 Shikmona may perhaps be another example. At this site the Canaanite Stratum 16 was leveled and Strata 15–13 of the Iron Age I were constructed above it.18 A separate group (the fourth) includes new settlements established by the Sea Peoples on sites not previously occupied, of which Tell Qasile is the most prominent example.19 As noted above, Qasile was established in our opinion as a common settlement of both Philistines and Northern Sea Peoples. The settlements in the Plain of ‘Akko—Tell Abu Hawam, ‘Akko and Tell Keisan—also suffered destruction. At these three sites, occupation was renewed in the Iron Age I, apparently after a gap, and the new settlements can be attributed to the Sea Peoples. The same situation is encountered in the western Jezreel Valley, at Megiddo, Tell Qiri, Tell Qashish, ‘Afula and others (see discussion below). Whereas the settlement of the Sea Peoples—based on the historical sources mentioned above—is associated with the central and northern coastal areas—the Philistines up to the Yarkon, the Sikils to the north of the Yarkon on the coast of the Hefer Valley, along the Sharon and Carmel coasts, and the Sherden beyond them in the north (in the Plain of ‘Akko), the question of their possible control of areas farther inland, especially in the eastern Jezreel Valley and Beth Shean, can be determined only on the basis of the archaeological evidence.20 Consequently, we have focused here, for reasons of brevity, on a very restricted area in the hinterland: the western 12

M. Artzy, “Tel Nami”, NEAEHL, pp. 1095–1098; idem, “Nami: A Second Millennium International Maritime Trading Center in the Mediterranean”, in S. Gitin and W. Dever (eds.), Recent Discoveries in Israel: A View to the West (New York, 1995), pp. 17–41. 13 Z. Herzog, G. Rapp and O. Negbi (eds.), Excavations at Tel Michal, Israel (Minneapolis, 1989). 14 E. Stern, Excavations at Tel Mevorakh (1973–1976), Part One: From the Iron Age to the Roman Period (Jerusalem, 1978), p. 76. 15 S. M. Paley and Y. Porath, “Tel Hefer”, NEAEHL, p. 612. 16 M. Kochavi, “Tel Zeror”, NEAEHL, pp. 1525–1526. 17 E. Stern, Dor, Ruler of the Seas (Jerusalem, 2000), pp. 85–101, 345–353. 18 J. Elgavish, Shiqmona on the Seacoast of Mount Carmel (Tel Aviv, 1994; Hebrew). 19 See Mazar, op. cit. (note 9), 1980; idem, op. cit. (note 9), 1985. 20 See idem, “The Iron Age Period at Beth Shean in the Light of the Renewed Excavations: Preliminary Report and Conclusions of the 1990–1991 Excavations”, IEJ 43 (1993), pp. 201– 229.

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Jezreel Valley (up to the Megiddo–‘Afula line). The ‘Phoenician’ coast from ‘Akko northwards was also not included in this study, since in our opinion after its destruction at the end of the 13th century it was almost immediately resettled by Canaanites-Phoenicians21 and we assume it was never included in the area occupied by the Sea Peoples. At the same time it is evident that the material culture influences of these Sea Peoples is now attested in the Hattai region, farther north and beyond the Phoenician area.22 The situation is not different in the Beth Shean Valley, and perhaps also in the northern Jordan Valley, areas that may have been briefly, in whole or in part, within the area of settlement or influence of the Sea Peoples (and see also the biblical account in 1 Sam 31 of the war between Saul and the Philistines on Mt. Gilboa).23 Despite our assumption that extensive areas on the northern coast and in the Plain of ‘Akko and the Jezreel Valley were occupied by the Sea Peoples, we have chosen to begin our survey of the areas settled by the northern Sea Peoples and the discussion of their characteristic remains at Tel Dor (Fig. 3), both because it is the only northern settlement for which there is literary evidence of rule by a Sikil king24 and since according to the Bible (1 Kgs 4:11) it served after that as the capital of Solomon’s fourth district. Thus, from these documents we can deduce dates for the beginning and end of Sikil rule at the site. The second reason is purely subjective: for two decades the present writer directed large-scale excavations at Tel Dor and personally witnessed the unearthing of numerous and varied remains from the period of the Sikil rule of the city in different parts of the mound.

21

E. Stern, “New Evidence from Dor for the First Appearance of the Phoenicians along the Northern Coast of Israel”, BASOR 279 (1990), pp. 27–34; idem, “Phoenicians, Sikils and Israelites in the Light of Recent Excavations at Dor”, in E. Lipinski (ed.), Phoenicia and the Bible (Leuven, 1991), pp. 85–94. 22 See A. Caubet, “Reoccupation of the Syrian Coast after the Destruction of the ‘Crisis Years’”, in W. Ward and M. S. Joukowsky (eds.), The Crisis Years: The 12th Century (Iowa, 1992), pp. 123–131; and see also A. Gilboa, Southern Phoenicia during Iron I-IIA in the Light of the Tel Dor Excavations: The Evidence of Pottery (Ph.D. dissertation, Hebrew University, Jerusalem, 2001); idem, “Sea Peoples and Phoenicians along the Southern Phoenician Coast– A Reconciliation: An Interpretation of Sikil (SKL) Material Culture”, BASOR 337 (2005), pp. 1–32; T. P. Harrison, “Lifting the Veil on the ‘Dark Age’: Ta‘yanat and the North Orontes Vally during the Earky Iron Age”, in J. D. Scholen (ed.), Explaning the Longue Duree; Essys in Honur of Laurence Stager, (Winona Lake, IN 2007), pp. 127–136; B. Janeway, “The Nature and Extent of Aegean Contact at Tell Ta'yinat and Vicinity in the Early Iron Age: Evidances of the Sea Peoples?”, Scripta Mediterranea 27–28 (2006–2007), pp. 123–146; and see now Singer’s article in this volume. 23 See Y. Yadin, “And Dan Why Did He Remain in Ships?”, Australian Journal of Biblical Archaeology 1 (1968), pp. 9–23; J. N. Tubb, “The Role of the Sea Peoples in the Bronze Industry of Palestine and Transjordan in the Late Bronze–Early Iron Age Transition”, in J. E. Curtis (ed.), Bronze Working Centers of Western Asia (London, 1988), pp. 99–112; idem, “Sea-Peoples in the Jordan Valley”, in D. E. Oren (ed.), The Sea Peoples and Their World: A Reassessment (Philadelphia, 2000), pp. 181–196; O. Negbi, “Were There Sea Peoples in the Central Jordan Valley at the Transition from the Bronze Age to the Iron Age?”, TA 8 (1991), pp. 205–243; Mazar, op. cit. (note 20); idem, “The 11th Century B.C. in the Land of Israel”, in V. Karageorghis (ed.), Cyprus in the 11th Century B.C. (Nicosia, 1994), pp. 39–57. 24 See above and see also M. Ben Dov, “The Geographical Term of Possible Sea People Origin”, TA 3 (1976), pp. 70–73.

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Although the overall excavated area of these strata was relatively limited, a pottery assemblage was uncovered which is, in my opinion, peculiar to the Sikils. Similar finds were also made at ‘Akko, Tell Keisan, Megiddo, Yokne‘am and other sites along the western part of the Jezreel Valley up to the modern city of ‘Afula. This ceramic group, which is unique to the northern Sea Peoples, will be discussed below.

Fig. 3: Tel Dor: Aerial photo, looking north-west

The first excavation area associated with the Sikils at Dor was Area B1 on the eastern side of the mound (see Fig. 4),25 where a thick destruction layer (local Phase 12) was reached with traces of a fierce conflagration that had oxidized the mud bricks and pulverized the limestone used in the buildings, leaving large expanses of ash and charcoal. Since this stratum of destruction was sealed by floors (local Phase 11), on which pottery from the late-11th century BCE was found, some of which belonging to the rare Cypriot ‘Pictorial Pottery style’, both imported and locally imitated (Fig. 5),26 it served to date the remains of the earlier Sikil city. The destruction layer was about 2m thick and the floor below it consisted of thick plaster. We excavated limited areas only of this stratum, including parts of two rooms separated by an extremely thick wall. The total area excavated here is a narrow strip about 10m long and less than 10m wide. 25

See Stern, op. cit. (note 21); idem, op. cit. (note 17), pp. 85–101, 345–353. M. Iacovou, “Additions to the Corpus of the Eleventh Century B.C. Pictorial Pottery”, in G. C. Ioannides (ed.), Studies in Honor of Vassos Karageoeghis (Nicosia, 1992); idem, “The Topography of 11th Century B.C. Cyprus”, in Karageorghis (ed.), op. cit. (note 23), pp.149– 165. 26

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Fig. 4: Tel Dor excavation areas

Fig. 5: Tel Dor: Cypriot and Local Imitation of ‘Pictorial Pottery Style’ Vessels

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The aforementioned building abuts the eastern city wall is a large and strongly built structure with a 3m high base of very large stones. The inner side of the base is straight and the outer diagonal. On the outer eastern side a sloping wall, over 2m wide at the bottom and narrowing towards the top, supported a strong wall made of flat, square mud-bricks preserved to a height of about 0.5m Sand banked against the outer city wall protected its foundations, making Dor one of the strongest fortified cities discovered in Israel from this period (Fig. 6).27

Fig. 6: Tel Dor: Section of City Wall in Phase 12, Area B1 with the massive stone foundations and the earthen embankment, looking south

27 Stern, op. cit. (note 17), pp. 88–93; S. Matskevich, The Early Iron Age at Tel Dor: An Analysis of the Stratigraphy and Pottery Assemblage of Area B1 (M.A. thesis, Hebrew University, Jerusalem, 2003; Hebrew).

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Probes were dug on the western side of the mound in Areas F and E. In Area F, on the seashore, was found what seemed to be the same thick destruction layer caused by a conflagration that had charred the bricks and limestone, but a clear-cut floor level was not reached at this spot. A similar discovery was observed in Area E, also located on the seashore on the western side of the mound, where the remains of two rooms destroyed in the great conflagration were uncovered. Already at this stage of the excavations, after taking into account the distance between Areas B1 and E– F on the eastern and western edges of the mound, I came to the conclusion that the city of this period occupied the entire area of the mound, and, as mentioned, was almost five times larger than the estimated area of the previous Late Bronze Age town. During the 1990’s, the Sikil city was examined in two other areas: Area G in the center of the mound, and Area D2 on the southern side. Contrary to the picture revealed in Area B1, in these two areas (in which larger sections were dug), two phases of the Sikil settlement were exposed (Phases 10–9 in Area G, and Phases 13– 12 in Area D2), indicating that it was of much longer duration than I had previously believed. Of the two Sikil phases in Area G, the lower phase (10) contained thick accumulations of a waste of bronze industrial ash (more than a meter high), scant building remains and traces of a secondary metallurgical (bronze) industry, whose exact nature could not be ascertained, but which yielded fragments of a bellows, crucibles and various other installations as well as chunks of copper (Fig. 7). A few bronze tools, including a knife and a pick, were also uncovered (Fig. 8).

Fig. 7: Tel Dor: Remains of ash and vessels of the copper industry in Area G

Although no clear indications of iron-working were found here, evidence of its existence may be attested by the discovery of the bone handle of a knife in the shape typical of the Sea Peoples in the uppermost Sikil phase (9) and another knife in Area D2 (see below). A similar complete knife (with handle and blade), uncovered in a Philistine sanctuary at Ekron, was equipped with an iron blade (Fig. 8).28

28

T. Dothan and S. Gitin, “Ekron of the Philistines”, BAR 16 (1990), p. 33.

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In Area G, Phase 9, the upper Sikil phase, was first encountered on the western side of the area. From this phase were found—on an offering bench attached to a wall—about a dozen pottery vessels, mostly small offering bowls, and two other cult vessels typical of the Sea Peoples. On the southern side of Area G, beneath a massive burnt layer, were uncovered the remains of a room that may have served as a kitchen. The room was probably part of a large structure, which extends outside the excavated area. This large building probably belonged to a high-ranking official.29 We excavated only a section of this structure, including a store room south of the kitchen. In the center of the kitchen stood along narrow installation made of unfired clay, at least 5m long, 1m high and 0.8m wide, which may have served for grinding and for preparing dough (Fig. 9). The latter possibility is suggested by the discovery of a large basalt upper grinding stone of a previously unknown type that may have been used for grinding grain, as well as parts as other basalt vessels. Adjoining this room to the south was another store-room full of storage jars; a number of smaller rooms to its west contained pottery vessels and other artifacts. On the floor, in a thick ash layer, was found the handle of the above-mentioned iron knife (Fig. 8). J. R. Zorn designate it as a trough and presents many examples from all over the Ancient Near East. The present writer tends to compare it to the Aegean types, being by now a unique find in the country.30

Fig. 8: Bronze knife from Tel Dor, Area G (left), and ivory knife handles (right) from Ekron (1) and Dor (2)

29

Cf. plan in J. R. Zorn, “The Daily Grind at Tel Dor: A Trough and Basin from an Iron Age I Kitchen”, EI 29 (2009), p. 268*; fig. 1. 30 Cf. Zorn, ibid., pp. 267*-280*, and fig. 2.

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Fig. 9: Tel Dor, Area G: the clay installation (below); Boetian clay model showing women kneading dough at communal trough (above)

485

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E. STERN

Around the clay installation and in the surrounding rooms we found a large and unusual assemblage of pottery consisting of a number of characteristic types: Two local, two of an Aegean source and one Egyptian: (1) Local coastal ware, mainly jars of the latest type of the “Canaanite commercial jar”. Identical jars were also found in the Sikil stratum of Area B1. (2) Ordinary local collared-rim jars of a late type. (3) Sea People pottery, including some common Bichrome “Philistine” ware. The bulk of this pottery, however, was of the unique monochrome type widespread in the northern Palestinian coastal plain, the western Galilee and the western Jezreel Valley. All of this pottery is decorated with classic “Philistine” painted patterns, but in monochrome rather than the usual Bichrome (Figs. 10–11). This group includes kraters, bell-bowls, strainer-spouted jugs, bilbil shaped jugs, pyxides, flasks and stirrup vases, all of them imitating vessels of Cypriot origin, as well as many local types, such as jars and jugs bearing the typical red-purple and sometimes also the black monochrome painted decoration. (4) Fragments of huge pithoi with relief decorations (also found in Areas B1 and D1), also of Cypriot origin. (5) A group of about eight Egyptian storage jars that were produced in the Egyptian Delta region.

Fig. 10: Tel Dor: monochrome ‘Sikil’ beer-jug from Area G

The concentration of such a great a variety of distinct pottery types in the same small floor area not only attests to the existence of extensive maritime trade (as reflected in the Wenamun tale), but also reflects a rare chronological ‘window of opportunity’ for these vessels. In my opinion, this conjunction could have occurred only at one specific time in history: the 11th century BCE. The last area in which we penetrated into Sikil strata is Area D2 on the south side of the mound, facing the Sea Peoples’ main harbor.31 Here, during the last two seasons of excavations directed by the writer, beneath a huge brick building, we unearthed a structure that consisted of at least two phases (local Phases 13–12). This was a monumental structure of which only well-built stone foundations were pre31

A. Raban, “The Harbor of the Sea Peoples at Dor”, BA 50 (1987), pp. 118–126; idem, “The Constructive Maritime Role of the Sea Peoples in the Levant”, in M. Helzer and E. Lipiński (eds.), Society and Economy in the Eastern Mediterranean (c. 1500–1000 B.C.), (OLA 23; Leuven, 2008), pp. 261–294.

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served to floor level. The building was constructed on bedrock and was the lowest structure on the site (like the Sikil settlement in Areas B1). We excavated only the southern end of the building, facing the bay. The solid southern wall of the building formed the city’s outer wall (like the eastern wall of Phase 12 in Area B1). Inside the wall we cleared a row of rooms, on the floors of which lay another group of Sea people pottery, as well as the bone handle of an iron knife similar to the one from Area G. The western end of this building abutted an earlier wall that surrounded the town’s acropolis. Above this phase no signs of a destruction were preserved, as in the other areas, probably because the intensive construction work above it―namely, the massive foundations of the solid ‘brick structure’ (see below)―completely erased this level. Here, too, prior to the construction of this first building phase, some sort of metallurgical activity may have taken place—as was attested by the discovery of a thick layer of industrial ash beneath the building and outside it. In addition to the Sea people pottery and the bone handle of the iron knife, another typical Sea People cult vessel was discovered—an anthropomorphic juglet depicting a human figure with slanted, coffee bean-shaped eyes (see below).

Fig. 11: Tel Dor: local ‘Sikil’ imitation of Cypriot pottery: stirrup vase and a krater (Left); monochrome ‘Sikil’ sherds (Right)

In sum, the examination of the Sikil remains from all the excavated areas at Dor (mainly Areas B1, G and D2) reveals that they were engaged in industrial activities involving metal processing. Already during their initial occupation of the site, their building activities were intensive, and included the construction of a solid city wall. It was interesting to note that, with the arrival of the Sikils, the area of the walled city expanded to five times its extent in the Bronze Age. According to A. Raban, who conducted underwater investigations around the mound, the southern harbor, which became the city’s main harbor from this time onward, was also first constructed in this period. This picture agrees fully with the description of the city as presented in the Wenamun tale; it is far from being a ‘dark-age’ settlement. The excavation of the Sikil strata at Dor also threw light on aspects of the material culture unique to the northern Sea Peoples. The unique remains of the northern Sea Peoples at Dor are discussed in detail in below. However, regarding Aegean influence on the architecture at Dor, it should be noted that because of the limited excavated area only two major Aegean influences could be identified: (1) The cyclopean foundation of the wall on the east side (Area B1, Phase 12), with a straight inner face and a diagonal outer face―a building type not previously encountered in Palestine (Fig. 6). The continuation of this wall ap-

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parently formed the southern outer wall of the structure in Phase 13 on the south (the outer wall facing the sea beneath the sea-wall). (2) The trough-shaped clay installation in Phase 9, Area G (Fig. 9), which has no parallel in the local architecture, but was well known in the Greek world.32 Of the rest of the Iron Age I settlements at Dor that followed the massive destruction—Phases 11–9 in Area B1, Phases 8–7 in Area G and Phases 11–9 in Area D2— only small sections of the first two areas were excavated. In Area D2, on the other hand, a monumental, exceptionally well-preserved brick building was uncovered with its west wall abutting the acropolis wall, whose foundations belonged to a much earlier date. On the south side of the building, which faced the bay and harbor, a massive stone wall (the ‘sea wall’) was added that was also preserved to a great height and protected the city on this side. The finds from the above-mentioned phases, whose maximum time span is 1050– 980 BCE, are of a mixed character. Some continue the earlier Sea Peoples tradition and others reflect even earlier local traditions. A new element that made its first appearance here is the Phoenician Bichrome ware; a number of sherds of a rare early type of this pottery were also uncovered. In the past, I maintained that the massive destruction of Dor occurred as a result of a Phoenician conquest and expansion southward from the part of the coast of Phoenicia still occupied by them.33 Although I stand firm on this opinion—and will do so until it is proved otherwise—I now believe that I exaggerated in the matter of the “Phoenicianization” of Dor after the city’s destruction and up to the time of the Israelite conquest. There is no doubt that the picture is more complex. As I noted above, in these phases the city’s population consisted of three different ethnic elements: the ‘old’ Canaanites, the Sikils and the ‘new’ Phoenicians. Which of these elements ruled Dor cannot be decided at this point in time. It has, furthermore, now become evident that the phenomenon of destruction and subsequent rebuilding by a population made up of these three components was in fact not unique to Dor: the same scenario was repeated at Tell Qasile in the transition from Stratum XI to X, at Tell Keisan from Stratum 9c to 9a–b, at ‘Afula from Stratum IIIB to IIIA, and especially at Megiddo in the transition from Stratum VIB to VIA. It can be assumed—although sufficient evidence is lacking—that the same situation existed at Yoqne‘am (Strata XVIII–XVII) and Tel Qiri (Strata IX–VIII; see Table 1). At the same time, however, it should be emphasized that because of the limited area excavated at Dor, a full picture of the material culture of the northern Sea Peoples (at present, the Sikil culture cannot be differentiated from that of the Sherden) could not be ascertained and will be possible only after a study of this culture at other contemporary sites of the northern Sea Peoples. As mentioned above, while the regions of settlement of the northern Sea Peoples may have been much more extensive and may have my examination to the coasts of the Hefer Valley, the Sharon and the Carmel, the Plain of ‘Akko and the western part of the Jezreel Valley.34

32

As was pointed out to me by my excavation partner, Andrew Stewart, and cf. Stern, op. cit. (note 17), p. 348, fig. 247 33 See Stern, op. cit. (note 17), pp. 101–104. 34 See Mazar, op. cit. (note 23, 1994).

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In addition to Dor, which was the central city of the Sikils in the region, pottery and other artifacts of the northern Sea Peoples are known from excavations in the following sites: 1. The Environs of the Sharon and the Carmel At Tel Hefer excavations revealed a “disturbed context and a few pits which were dug into the destruction of the Late Bronze (Stratum A/6) where a few sherds of ‘Philistine’ pottery were also recovered”.35 At Tel Zeror in the Sharon Plain, several strata belong to the Iron Age I, although their exact date is not clear. The early Iron Age settlement is represented by refuse pits dug into the ruins of the Late Bronze Age II public building. The pits contained bones of sheep, goats, and cattle and sherds of bowls, pithoi, and cooking-pots typical of the 12th century BCE. In the cemetery, about ten graves of children and adults buried in collared-rim pithoi belong to this period. Burials from the 11th and early 10th centuries BCE include nine large cist tombs built of stone and covered with large stone slabs. The wealth of funerary offerings in these family tombs included ‘Philistine’ pottery, bell-shaped bowls, a socketed javelin of bronze, and a pottery rhyton in the shape of a lioness of the type often found in Sea People settlement. Contemporary with these burials is the 11th century BCE citadel with a casemate wall of large bricks built on the northern peak of the tell.36 It seems, however, that only a small number of the vessels here could be definitely attributed to the Sea People.37 Another site producing Sikil material is ‘Ein Hagit, a rural settlement located in Wadi Milkh on the ancient pass through the Carmel mountains that links the coastal site of Dor (just 12 km to the west) with Yoqne‘am (8 km to the northeast) and the Jezreel Valley. The site was excavated by S. Wolff in 1995. The excavations yielded impressive architectural and pottery remains of a small Iron Age I agricultural farmstead, as well as various ‘Philistine’ decorated sherds alongside local late ‘Canaanite’ ceramic types. The excavator suggested that the ceramic finds from ‘Ein Hagit parallel the assemblage at Dor (Fig. 12), which dates from the end of the 12th and the 11th centuries BCE. Wolff also believes that the ‘Philistine’ pottery from ‘Ein Hagit may reflect Sikil penetration into the area and that politically the site may have been part of the Sikil region of Dor.38

35

Paley and Porath, op. cit. (note 15), pp. 612–613. K. Ohata and M. Kochavi (eds.), Tel Zeror, Vol. 2 (Tokyo, 1967); idem, Tel Zeror, Vol. 3 (Tokyo, 1970); M. Kochavi, “Tel Zeror”, NEAEHL, pp. 1525–1526. 37 Cf. also M. Artzy, The Jatt Metal Hoard in Northern Canaanite/Phoenician and Cypriot Context (Barcelona, 2006), pp. 78–79. 38 See S. R. Wolff, “An Iron Age I Site at En Hagit (Northern Ramat Menashe)”, in S. Gitin, A. Mazar and E. Stern (eds.), Mediterranean Peoples in Transition: Thirteenth to Early Tenth Centuries BCE: In Honor of Professor Trude Dothan (Jerusalem, 1998), pp. 449–454; A. Cohen-Weinberger and S. R. Wolff, “Production Centers of Collared-Rim Pithoi from Sites in the Carmel Coast and Ramat-Menashe Regions”, in S. R. Wolff (ed.), Studies in the Archaeology of Israel and Neighboring Lands in Memory of D. L. Esse (Chicago – Atlanta, 2001), pp. 63–657. 36

490

E. STERN

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Table 1: Stratigraphy and chronology of main sites discussed in the text

491

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Fig. 12: ‘Sikil’ pottery from ‘Ein Hagit (three on the left) and Dor (three on the right)

El-Ahwat is situated above the Naḥal ‘Iron (Wadi ‘Ara). Its excavator, A. Zertal, claimed that it was built by the Shardana, one of the Sea Peoples.39 Examining the finds I failed to find any such connection. At Shiqmona, on the Carmel coast north of Tel Dor, the excavator, J. Elgavish, attributed three strata (15, 14 and 13) to the Iron Age I. Elgavish associated the lowest of these strata with the Sea Peoples, but since the material of this period has not yet been published, final judgment must await its publication.40 To this list of the Sharon and Carmel coastal settlements, we should perhaps add the ships’ engravings on the rocks of the Carmel ridge not far from the famous Carmel Caves and almost opposite Tel Nami (Fig. 13). M. Artzy believes that the engravings represent ships of the Sea Peoples, and that one in particular is reminiscent of the Sea Peoples’ boats depicted on the Medinet Habu reliefs of Ramesses III.41

Fig. 13: One of the Carmel engraved Ships

39

See A. Zertal, NEAEHL, pp 1563–1565. See Elgavish, op. cit. (note 14), p. 47. 41 See S. Wachsmann, “The Ships of the Sea Peoples”, The International Journal of Nautical Archaeology and Underwater Exploration 10 (1981), pp. 187–220; idem, “Were the Sea Peoples Mycenaeans? Evidence of Ship Iconography”, in S. Swiny, R. Hohlfelder and H. W. Swiny (eds.), Res Maritime: Cyprus and the Eastern Mediterranean from Prehistory through the Roman Period (Atlanta, 1997), pp. 339–356; M. Artzy, “On Boats and Sea Peoples”, BASOR 266 (1987), pp. 75–84; idem, “Mariners and Their Boats at the End of the LB and Beginning of Iron Age in the Eastern Mediterranean”, TA 30 (2003), pp. 232–246; idem, op. cit. (note 37). 40

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It should be pointed out that excavations conducted at two sites on the coast on either side of Tel Dor—Tel Mevorakh to the south, excavated by the present writer, and Tel Nami, to the north, excavated by M. Artzy—revealed that both sites were destroyed at the end of the Late Bronze Age (i.e., at the end of the 13th or beginning of the 12th centuries BCE), probably by the Sea Peoples, who did not rebuild them. Both sites showed a gap in settlement: Tel Nami was never reoccupied and Tel Mevorakh was resettled by the Phoenicians or Israelites only after a gap, at the end of the 11th or beginning of the 10th centuries BCE.42 2. The Plain of ‘Akko Excavations at three sites in the Plain of ‘Akko uncovered remains of the Sea Peoples: ‘Akko, Tell Keisan and Tell Abu Hawam (see Fig. 1). The Sea Peoples at these sites are believed to be the Shardana mentioned in the Onomasticon of Amenope (see above). Tel ‘Akko was excavated by M. Dothan. The findings from the relevant strata are complex, but several areas provide clear evidence of the presence of the Sea Peoples.43 According to Dothan, after the Late Bronze Age city came to an end, a new population arrived at ‘Akko and made use of several of the existing installations.

Fig. 14: ‘Akko: Late ‘Mycenaean’ pottery vessels

42

See Stern, op. cit. (note 14); idem, Excavations at Tel Mevorakh (1973–1976), Part Two: The Bronze Age (Jerusalem, 1984); Artzy, op. cit. (note 12). 43 See M. Dothan, “Akko, Interim Excavation Report, First Season 1973/74”, BASOR 224 (1976), pp. 1–48; idem, op. cit. (note 11); idem, “Akko”, NEAEHL, pp. 17–24.

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The final publication of the excavation has not yet appeared, but Dothan published a handful of what he called ‘Mycenaean IIIC:1b’ sherds from the site. Some of the sherds had been found not far from a potter’s kiln in Area B (Fig. 14).44 These sherds belong to painted monochrome (red-brown or black), bell-shaped bowls, a krater and some closed vessels, including a stirrup vase.45 He noted that their shape and decoration (i.e., chevrons, net-filled lozenges, hatched triangles, antithetic tongues, scales, spirals, a bird, etc.) were of Aegean inspiration.46 Because of the close proximity of some of the sherds to the potter’s kiln, Dothan considered them locally made and associated them with the settlement of the Shardana Sea Peoples in the Plain of ‘Akko (see below).47 Another important find believed to belong to the Sea People population of ‘Akko is a stone vessel in a shape of a mortar that apparently served as a portable altar. One side features an incised depiction of several rowboats or sailboats (Fig. 15).48

Fig. 15: The ‘Akko Boats

44 See Dothan, op. cit. (note 11), 106; T. Dothan and M. Dothan, Peoples of the Sea: The Search for the Philistines (Toronto, 1992), pp. 213–215. 45 M. Dothan, “Archaeological Evidence for Movements of the Early ‘Sea-Peoples’ in Canaan”, in S. Gitin and W. G. Dever (eds.), Recent Excavations in Israel: Studies in Iron Age Archaeology (AASOR 49; Winona Lake, IN 1989), p. 61, fig. 3.1; p. 62, fig. 3.2. 46 Dothan, ibid, p. 60. 47 See also A. Yasur-Landau, “A Late Helladic IIIC-Style Stirrup Jar from Level K-5”, in I. Finkelstein, D. Ussishkin and B. Halpern (eds.), Megiddo IV (Tel Aviv, 2006), pp. 299–302. 48 See Artzi, op. cit. (note 41), 1987; idem, op. cit. (note 41), 2003; idem, op. cit. (note 37).

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As at Tel Dor, here, too, were found numerous fragments of bronze and copper vessels on a charred flagstone pavement, two burned and charred clay smelting crucibles with remains of copper adhering to their inner walls, fragments of clay tuyères used in the smelting progress, and copper slag and fragments of flawed metal vessels that were apparently destined for recycling. The occupants of ‘Akko in the early Iron Age (in Areas A, B,A-B and F) built their homes on top of the old ramparts, which had by then lost their defensive character; they were apparently engaged mainly in craft production. In M. Dothan’s view, the archaeological finds—workshop installations, pottery kilns and incised depictions of ships on the altar—all seem to attest to the arrival, perhaps by sea, of a new population group in the city after the end of the Late Bronze Age. Tell Keisan. At this mound, located in the northern part of the Plain of ‘Akko, several kilometers east of ‘Akko, a French expedition conducted extensive excavations over a period of many years.49 The excavations at Tell Keisan were similar to those at Dor in that they too did not penetrate into the Late Bronze Age strata. According to the excavators, Strata 13–10 could be dated to the 12th century BCE (despite the scant finds), Stratum 9 consisted of three phases from the 11th century and Stratum 8 was ascribed to the transition period between the 11th and the 10th centuries BCE. “Philistine” pottery found at the site was considered by the excavators to be of local manufacture,50 and thus not strictly ‘Philistine’.51 The question of whether or not the excavators envisaged a SeaPeoples presence at the site remains somewhat open, although Humbert has suggested that Stratum 13 may have been destroyed by Sea Peoples.52 The pottery of these strata was re-examined by one of expedition members and formed the subject of his Ph.D. dissertation.53 His conclusions, for the most part, confirmed those of the excavators, but he disagreed with them on one point: he dated Stratum 9 and its three phases to the first three quarters of the 11th century and moved Stratum 8 forward to the last quarter of the 11th century, and its end to the beginning of the 10th century BCE. The stratum most relevant to our discussion and containing the richest material of the Sea Peoples is Stratum 9, with its three phases, whose destruction was ascribed by Burdajewicz to ca. 1025 BCE.54 Thus, as was noted, the finds associated with the Sea People were scattered throughout the excavated areas at Tell Keisan in all three phases of Stratum 9 (with

49

For the final excavation reports, see J. Briend and J. B. Humbert, Tell Keisan (1971-1976) Une cité phénicienne en Galilée (Fribourg, 1980); J. B. Humbert, “Récent travaux á Tell Keisan (1979–1980)”, RB 88 (1981), pp. 373–398; idem, “Tell Keisan entre mer montague”, in E. M. Laperrousaz (ed.), L'Archéologie, art, et histoire de la Palestine (Paris, 1988), pp. 65–83; idem, “Tell Keisan”, NEAEHL, pp. 862–867; J. Balensi, “Tell Keisan, Témoin original de l'apparition du ‘Mycénien III CIa’ au Proche-Orient”, RB 88 (1981), pp. 399–401. 50 See Humbert, ibid., 1988, p. 72. 51 See Briend and Humbert, op. cit. (note 49), pp. 210, 229. 52 See Humbert, op. cit. (note 49, 1988), pp. 72–73, 76. 53 See M. Burdajewicz, Contribution au corpus céramique de Tell Keisan: Le niveau 13 augmenté du catalogue des importations chypriotes, mycéniennes, chypro-phéniciennes et de la céramique philistine (Jerusalem, 1992); idem, La céramique palestinienne du Fer I – La contribution de Tell Keisan, site de la Galilée maritime (Ph.D. dissertation, Warsaw University, 1994). 54 In his opinion, it corresponds to Tell Abu Hawam IV, Megiddo VIA and Tell Qasile X.

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a small number also appearing in Stratum 8), but the most important and homogeneous material for our subject was uncovered in Pit 6067 of Stratum 9C.55 Tell Abu Hawam. This large mound, located at the mouth of the Kishon river, in the southern part of the Akko Plain, was excavated by several expeditions, the first directed by R. W. Hamilton, who attributed two strata to the early Iron Age: Stratum IV to 1230–1100 and Stratum III to 1100–925 BCE. He dated Stratum V to the end of the Late Bronze Age.56 Many years ago, B. Mazar suggested, on the basis of a reexamination of the finds, that a gap in settlement existed between ca. 1175 and 1050 BCE.57 In renewed excavations conducted by a French expedition, additional phases of occupation from the Early Iron Age were noted. The excavators distinguished between early Stratum VC which still belonged to the final phase of the Late Bronze Age, and late Stratum VC, which they attributed to the early Iron Age, but to a relatively late phase since it lacked certain features of the early phases. Because of the absence of these features, they also claimed that a gap existed between the two phases and that the late VC phase should be ascribed to the end of the 12th century. They also divided Stratum IV into five separate phases, dating the first two phases to the 11th century and the last three to the end of the 11th and beginning of the 10th centuries BCE.58 All the excavators unanimously agreed that the early part of the 12th century was missing at the site and the beginning of the Iron Age occupation occurred at the end of the 12th or even the beginning of the 11th centuries BCE. The finds associated with the Sea Peoples at Tell Abu Hawam come mainly from Strata V and IV. According to Balensi, sherds were recovered that “are possibly Philistine”59 and it can be assumed that the reference is to vessels with monochrome decoration. Among the noteworthy finds which, in our opinion, should be attributed to the Sea Peoples’ occupation of the city are two Cypriot cylinder seals of the type found at Tel Dor (one of which was in fact assigned to the Iron Age I in the excavation report) and local libation vessels in the form of a bull decorated with a red monochrome net pattern (almost identical to the bull figurine from Tel Dor).60 In recent excavations at Tell Abu Hawam, directed by M. Artzy, red-monochrome sherds uncovered at the site could also be attributed to this phase.61

55

See Briend and Humbert, op. cit. (note 49), pls. 67, 70, 74–75, 78; Artzy, op. cit. (note 37), pp. 81–82. 56 See R. W. Hamilton, “Excavations at Tell Abu-Hawam”, QDAP 4 (1935), pp. 1–69. 57 See B. Maisler (Mazar), “The Stratification of Tell Abu-Huwam on the Bay of Acre”, BASOR 124 (1951), p. 16. 58 See J. Balensi, Les fouilles de R. W. Hamilton à Tell Abu Hawam, Niveaux IV and V (1650– 950 environs av. J.C.), (Ph.D. dissertation, Université des Sciences Humaines, Strasbourg, 1980); idem, op. cit. (note 49); idem, “Revising Tell Abu Hawam”, BASOR 257 (1985), pp. 65–74; J. Balensi and M. D. Herrera, “Tell Abu Hawam 1983–1984, Rapport préliminaire”, RB 92 (1985), pp. 82–128; idem, “Tell Abu-Hawam”, NEAEHL, pp. 10–14. 59 See Balensi, ibid, 1980, pp. 29–37. 60 Cf. Hamilton, op. cit. (note 56), p. 41, fig. 248 and p. 217, pl. XXXVIII. 61 Artzy, personal communication; and see also idem, op. cit. (note 37), p. 81.

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3. The Western Jezreel Valley Large-scale excavations have been conducted at almost all the important mounds in the western Jezreel Valley: at Megiddo, Yoqne‘am, Tel Qiri, Tel Qashish and ‘Afula, and also at a few smaller mounds. ‘Philistine’ pottery vessels, Bichrome and mainly red-monochrome, were found in all the Iron Age I strata at these sites. Megiddo. This site was without doubt the main settlement of the Sea Peoples in the region.62 However, the history of the excavation of Stratum VI at Megiddo is one of the most complicated and difficult to unravel in the archaeology of Palestine. The remains uncovered in Stratum VI at Megiddo and their historical significance have been the subject of the most intensive and drawn-out debate in the annals of the archaeology of Israel.63 Stratum VI was first uncovered by G. Schumacher (in whose stratigraphical system it was designated Stratum IV). In the extensive excavations carried out by the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago in the 1920s and 1930s, this stratum was excavated in several areas and divided into two phases: VIB and VIA. However, only in Areas AA and DD, on the north side of the mound, did the excavators succeed in assigning any building remains to the earlier Stratum VIB. The wealth of finds discovered in Stratum VIA, were published first by Lamon and Shipton (1939) and 64 Loud (1948) and later, in 2004, by T. P. Harrison. The Chicago expedition concluded

only that the Stratum VIA pottery was influenced by the Canaanite culture of the previous period and that this culture did not continue into the following Stratum V. Harrison, on the other hand, was more explicit in his conclusions: in his opinion, Stratum VIIA, which contained an Egyptian fortress, and was destroyed in c. 1130 (based on the discovery of the bronze statue of Ramesses VI);65 and Stratum VIA, which was sealed by a thick layer of destruction on which Stratum VB was built. Harrison (as well as L. Stager in a preface to the book) have no hesitation in retaining the conventional destruction date of Stratum VIA to the early-10th century BCE and attribute it to David’s conquest.66 In the 1960s, Y. Yadin renewed the excavations at Megiddo,67 penetrating down to Stratum VI. He, too, was of the opinion that Stratum VIA represented the last Canaanite stratum in the city and was destroyed during the conquests of David. Yadin did not manage to publish his final report before his death and it was completed by

62

See R. S. Lamon and G. M. Shipton, Megiddo I: Seasons of 1925-34, Strata I-V (Chicago, 1939); G. Loud, Megiddo II: Seasons of 1935-1939 (Chicago, 1948). 63 Cf. A. Mazar, “Megiddo in the Thirteenth–Eleventh Centuries BCE: A Review of Some Recent Studies”, in S. Ahituv and D. E. Oren (eds.), Aharon Kempinski Memorial Volume: Studies in Archaeology and Related Disciplines (Beer-Sheva 15; Beer-sheva, 2002), pp. 275– 276; idem, “Book Review on T. R. Harrison, Megiddo 3”, BASOR 345 (2007), pp. 83–87; and see below. 64 See Lamon and Shipton, op. cit. (note 62); Loud, op. cit. (note 62); T. P. Harrison, Megiddo, 3: Final Report on the Stratum VI Excavations (Chicago, 2004). 65 Cf. D. Ussishkin, “The Destruction of Megiddo at the End of the Late Bronze Age and Its Historical Significance”, TA 22 (1995), pp. 240–267. 66 See T. P. Harrison, “The Battleground, who Destroyed Megiddo was it David or Shishak?”, BAR 29 (2003), pp. 30–35; idem, op. cit. (note 64). 67 See Y. Yadin, “Megiddo of the Kings of Israel”, BA 33 (1970), pp. 66–96.

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A. Zarzecki-Peleg, who agreed with Yadin’s chronological and historical conclusions (see below).68 T. Dothan, in her comprehensive and detailed treatment of the remains of the Philistine material culture at this site, was of the opinion—following the excavators —that Iron Age I at Megiddo, represented by the three strata, VIIA, VIB and VIA, spanned a period from the 12th to the late-11th centuries BCE. From her study of the finds, Dothan concluded that “Philistine” cultural influence could be noted from Stratum VIIA to the end of Stratum VIA. It should be noted that, in addition to the few Bichrome ‘Philistine’ vessels, numerous monochrome (red or black) decorated vessels of the northern Sea People type were found at the site. Also uncovered here were cult vessels and artifacts unique to the Sea Peoples, such as a lioness-shaped rhyton, a dozen or more ‘wall brackets’, some decorated with applied bull protomai, bronze double axes and a handle of a typical iron knife.69 Another theory, proposed by A. Kempinski, should also be noted here. He suggested that Stratum VIA at Megiddo had been destroyed in an earth-quake in the middle of the 11th century BCE,70 a theory which is not usually accepted. A. Mazar later argued that the local material culture of the latest Iron Age I stratum (VIA) consisted of three components: the first, the bulk of the pottery, was of local Canaanite origin and continued the local Late Bronze Age traditions; it provided evidence of the presence of a Canaanite population in the city up to the time of its destruction.71 The second component was Phoenician. The third cultural component of Megiddo VIA, according to Mazar: “is that of Cypriot or Aegean origin. There is a notable resemblance between Megiddo VI and Tell Qasile X in many details, including shapes of loom weights, pottery types, decorative style (such as the appearance of a krater decorated with isolated spirals in black color)”, and the so-called ‘Orpheus Jug’ (Fig. 16), a painted strainer jug depicting a procession of animals and a lyre-player in front of a sacred tree. Mazar adds to this list the appearance of baths and bronze objects (such as a double-axe, axe-adzes and shafted spear heads); and continues: “The significance of these resemblances between Megiddo VIA and Qasile X is not clear. The title ‘Philistine’ used for some of these components is questionable. Though one cannot speak confidently of the presence of Philistines at Megiddo, it is tempting to think that certain elements in the material culture of Megiddo VI are due to some presence of a Cypriot/Aegean population at Megiddo alongside the Canaanite majority”.72

68

See A. Zarzecki-Peleg, “Hazor, Jokneam and Megiddo in the Tenth Century B.C.E. ”, TA 24 (1997), pp. 258–288; idem, Tel Megiddo During the Iron I and IIA-IIB Ages – The Excavations of the Yadin Expedition (Unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 2005; Hebrew). 69 See T. Dothan, op. cit. (note 1), pp. 72–74; J. F. Brug, A Literary and Archaeological Study of the Philistines (Oxford, 1985), p. 48; Harrison, op. cit. (note 64); Mazar, op. cit. (note 63, 2007). 70 See A. Kempinski, Megiddo, A City-State and Royal Centre in North Israel (Munich, 1989). 71 See A. Mazar, op. cit. (note 9, 1980); idem, op. cit. (note 9), 1985; idem, “The Emergence of the Philistine Material Culture”, IEJ 35 (1985), pp. 95–107; idem, op. cit. (note 23); idem, op. cit. (note 63, 2007). 72 See Mazar, op. cit. (note 63, 2007), p. 85.

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It appears that whereas Stratum VIIA was either an Egyptian stronghold73 or a ‘Canaanite’’ town,74 Stratum VIB can be considered a Sea Peoples’ town. As well, Stratum VIA may also have been occupied by Sea Peoples, but alongside a mixed (Canaanite-Phoenician) population, i.e., the same phenomena can be found here that were detected by A. Mazar at Tell Qasile X, by other excavators at Tell Keisan 9 and Tell Abu Hawam late V and IV, and by myself at Tel Dor.75

Fig. 16: The ‘Orpheus’ jug from Megiddo

In the latest excavations at Megiddo directed by I. Finkelstein and D. Ussishkin, similar finds were uncovered.76 Remains dating to Iron Age I were also found in Areas K, M, F and L. According to the excavators, fragmentary remains of a domestic building were unearthed in Area K, Level K-5 (Stratum VIB). This level also produced a unique, locally-made stirrup-jar in Mycenaean IIIC style,77 as well as evidence of metallurgical activity (similar to the finds from Dor and Tel ‘Akko).

73

See Ussishkin, op. cit. (note 65). See Mazar, op. cit. (note 63, 2002). 75 See idem, op. cit. (note 9, 1980); idem, op. cit. (note 9, 1985); idem, op. cit. (note 71); idem, op. cit. (note 23), pp. 41–42; idem, op. cit. (note 63, 2007); see also E. Miron, Axes and Adzes in Israel and its Surroundings (M. A. thesis, Tel Aviv University, 1985); and Stern, op. cit. (note 17). 76 I. Finkelstein, O. Zimhoni and A. Kafri, “The Iron Age Assemblages from Areas F, K and H and their Stratigraphic and Chronological Implications”, in I. Finkelstein, D. Ussishkin and B. Halpren (eds.), Megiddo III (Tel Aviv, 2000), pp. 244–324; E. Arie, Intrasite Spatial Analysis in the Pottery of Megiddo VIA (Unpublished M.A. thesis, Tel Aviv University, 2004; Hebrew); idem, “The Iron Age I Pottery: Levels K-5 and K-4 and Intra-site Spatial Analysis of the Pottery from St. VIA”, in I. Finkelstein, D. Ussishkin and B. Halpern (eds.), Megiddo IV (Tel Aviv, 2006), pp. 191–298. 77 Yasur-Landau, op. cit. (note 47); and see detailed discussion below. 74

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A large domestic building, featuring a central courtyard surrounded by nine rooms, was built in Level K-4 (Stratum VIA). The building was destroyed in a fierce conflagration, with the destruction debris reaching one meter in some places. It yielded a rich assemblage of pottery. In Area M, an elaborate building of Level M-4 (VIA) is being excavated. This building, too—like the entire city of this period— came to an end in a tremendous conflagration, its collapse consisting of mud bricks almost petrified by the flames and over one meter thick. In Area F, the remains of Level F-6 (VIB) consisted of a single tomb. Simple domestic houses were constructed here in Level F-5 (VIA); the town of this period was the last to occupy both the upper and lower mounds. Burnt remains of this city were also uncovered in Area L (Level L-5) beneath Palace 6000. The controversy surrounding the chronology of Stratum VI at Megiddo arose when I. Finkelstein, even before his excavations at Megiddo, published a series of articles in which he sought to disprove the unanimously-accepted basis of the absolute chronology of the Iron Age. Finkelstein adopted a Low Chronology, lowering the traditional dates by 70 years,78 and he has reiterated his theory on numerous occasions, restating it in the first volume of the excavation report published by the Tel Aviv Megiddo expedition.79 In his opinion, Megiddo does not serve as a reliable chronological peg between Strata VIIA and III, that is, between the time of Ramesses III and the campaigns of the Assyrian kings at the end of the 8th century BCE. He rightly claimed that the only key for dating the strata at Megiddo is through the “Philistine” pottery, which he believed was restricted to Stratum VIB, while the “Philistine” pottery from Stratum VIA was composed mainly of degenerated forms, similar to, or even later than, Stratum X at Tell Qasile. He therefore ascribed Stratum VIB at Megiddo to the 11th–10th centuries BCE and Stratum VIA to the middle of the 10th century and its destruction to Shishak’s campaign in 925 BCE.80 E. Arie who studied the ‘Philistine’ pottery of Megiddo came to two conclusions: (1) The ‘Philistine’ ceramic material found in situ was confined in the site only to Stratum VI (both phases).81 (2) The attempt, made by Finkelstein,82 to divide be-

78

I. Finkelstein, “The Archaeology of the United Monarchy–an Alternative View”, Levant 28 (1995), pp. 177–187; idem, “The Stratigraphy and Chronology of Megiddo and Beth-Shan in the 12th –11th Centuries B.C.E.”, TA 23 (1996), pp. 170–184; idem, D. Ussishkin and B. Halpern (eds.), “Megiddo III, Final Report of the Stratum VI Excavations–A Review”, BAR 31 (2005), pp. 64–66; idem, Ussishkin and Halpern (eds.), op. cit. (note 76, 2006). 79 Finkelstein, et al., op. cit. (note 76, 2000, 2006). 80 But see his recent articles: I. Finkelstein, “The Last Labayu: King Saul and the Expansion of the First North Israelite Territorial Entity”, in Y. Amit, E. Ben-Zvi, I. Finkelstein and O. Lipschits (eds.), Essays on Ancient Israel in its Near-Eastern Context, A Tribute to Nadav Na‘aman (Winona Lake, IN 2006), pp. 181–182; and especially the following two articles where he himself rejects this date, see: idem and E. Piasetzky, “Radiocarbon and the History of Copper Production at Khirbet en-Nahas”, TA 35 (2008), pp. 82–95; idem, “Radiocarbon Date Destruction Layers: A Skeleton for Iron Age Chronology in the Levant”, OJA 28 (2009), pp. 255–274. 81 Cf. also Mazar, op. cit. (note 63, 2002). 82 See Finkelstein, op. cit. (note 78, 2006).

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tween the pure (VIB) and degenerate (VIA) ‘Philistine’ pottery for chronological purposes should be rejected.83 Finkelstein’s chronological suggestions were challenged not only by Stager and Harrison but also by A. Mazar who recently claimed that a confirmation of the conventional chronology was available from the Tel Aviv excavations at Megiddo themselves, according to new 14C dates,84 and again by A. Ben-Tor and A. ZarzeckiPeleg, who also correlated the stratigraphy of three sites in Megiddo’s vicinity: Tel Qiri, Yoqne‘am and Tel Qashish (see below). Zarzecki-Peleg, who, as mentioned, published the final report of the finds from Y. Yadin’s excavations at Megiddo,85 concurred with Yadin’s chronological conclusions regarding Megiddo,86 and BenTor’s correlations of Yoqne‘am, Qiri and Hazor with Megiddo. Zarzecki-Peleg consequently dated the strata at the Strata VIB and VIA at Megiddo to the 11th century, ascribed the destruction of Stratum VIA to the Israelite conquest, and correlated these two strata with Strata XVIII and XVII at Yoqne‘am.87 In the opinion of the present writer, Finkelstein is correct in one of his claims, namely that the‘Philistine’ pottery, or more precisely the pottery of the northern Sea Peoples, at Megiddo (as well as at Tel Qiri, Yoqne‘am and Tel Qashish and at all the other sites in the Plain of ‘Akko and the western Jezreel Valley), is the key to understanding the stratigraphy of the transition from the Iron Age I to the period of the monarchy. That is to say, any stratum containing “Philistine” finds could not have been under Israelite control, and vice versa. Thus, the earliest stratum at Megiddo without finds of this type should belong to the Israelites. At Megiddo there is no doubt that this transition can be defined between Stratum VIA and Stratum V.88 ‘Afula. At the mound of Afula, in the center of the Jezreel Valley, just a few kilometers north of Megiddo, M. Dothan exposed architectural remains of the Iron Age I (Stratum III). According to Dothan, this stratum featured a main building of four broad rooms along three sides of a large courtyard. Two floors, Strata IIIb and IIIa, could be distinguished in the building. Stratum IIIb, producing local pottery contin-

83

See Arie, op. cit. (note 76, 2006), pp. 222–223; and cf. recently also B. Halpern, “The Dawn of an Age: Megiddo in the Iron Age I”, in J. D. Schloen (ed.), Exploring the Longue Dure'e, Essays in Honor of Lawrence E. Stager (Winona Lake, IN 2009), pp. 151–163. 84 See A. Mazar, “Iron Age Chronology: A Reply to I. Finkelstein”, Levant 29 (1997), pp. 157–167; Idem, “The Debate over the Chronology of the Iron Age in the Southern Levant: Its History, the Current Situation, and a Suggested Resolution”, in T. E. Levy and T. Higham (eds.), The Bible and Radiocarbon Dating: Archaeology, Text and Science (London, 2005), pp. 15–30; idem, op. cit. (note 63, 2007), pp. 85–86; idem and C. Bronk Ramsey, “14C Dates and the Iron Age Chronology of Israel: A Response”, Radiocarbon 50 (2008), pp. 159–180; and see also recently L. Singer-Avitz, “Carbon 14 – The Solution to dating David and Solomon?”, BAR 35/3 (2009), pp. 28, 71. 85 See Zarzecki-Peleg, op. cit. (note 68, 2005); idem, op. cit. (note 68, 1997); idem, A Late Iron I Cave at Tel Yoqne'am (M.A. thesis, Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1997; Hebrew). 86 See Yadin, op. cit. (note 67). 87 See also recently A. Mazar, Excavations at Tel Beth-Shean 1989-1996 Vol. I: From The Late Bronze Age IIB to the Medieval Period (Jerusalem, 2006), p. 273; idem, op. cit. (note 63, 2007), pp. 85–86. 88

See A. Leonard and E. H. Cline, “The Aegean Pottery at Megiddo: An Appraisal and Reanalysis”, BASOR 309 (1988), pp. 3–40; Harrison, op. cit. (note 64); Arie, op. cit. (note 76, 2004); Mazar, op. cit. (note 63, 2007); Artzy, op. cit. (note 37), pp. 73–75.

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uing the tradition of the previous Late Bronze Age, was dated to the first half of the 12th century BCE. Stratum IIIa was dated by its ‘Philistine’ ware to the 11th century. T. Dothan maintained that this ‘Philistine’ pottery, which was only a small percentage of the whole, “lacks in both shape and decoration the elegance of the Philistine floruit and suggests an 11th century date”. It consisted mainly of decorated bowls and jugs. The pottery of Stratum IIIa spans most of the 11th century BCE; the city was probably destroyed at the end of this century.

Figs. 17–18: ‘Afula: the monochrome jug (above); ‘Philistine’ Vessels from Yokne‘am (below)

The excavation of the Iron Age I Eastern Cemetery at ‘Afula yielded a relatively large assemblage of ‘Philistine’ vessels which, on the whole, parallel those of Stratum IIIa, with the exception of one jug decorated with distinctive monochrome geometric designs (Fig. 17), about which T. Dothan wrote: “This jug, which is unique in shape and decoration, cannot be readily classified with any of the phases and styles of Philistine pottery although it belongs to a monochrome variant of Philistine pottery”.89

89 M. Dothan, “Excavations at ‘Afula”, ‘Atiqot 1 (1955), pp. 48–50, fig 20; T. Dothan, op. cit. (note 1), p. 189.

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Needless to say, this is the same type of monochrome decoration found on the ‘Sikil’ beer jug from Dor. Also of importance in this context was the discovery of a clay figurine in a style typical of the Cypriot Sea Peoples.90

Fig. 19: ‘Philistine’ pottery from Qiri

90

M. Dothan, ibid., pp. 48–50, Fig. 20; T. Dothan, op. cit. (note 1), p. 189.

504

E. STERN

At Yoqne‘am, ‘Philistine’ vessels (both monochrome and Bichrome) were found in different areas of the Iron Age I settlement, in Strata XVIII–XVII (Fig. 18). The excavator, A. Ben-Tor, dated Stratum XVIII to the second half of the 12th and beginning of the 11th centuries BCE; and Stratum XVII to the second half of the 11th century. He recognized that one of the pottery groups resembles ‘Philistine vessels’. Also discovered here was the head of a figurine in a distinct Cypriot style, though it was attributed to the end of the Late Bronze Age.91 At nearby Tel Qiri, similar “Philistine” vessels were found in Strata IX–VIII, both dating to the Iron Age I (Fig. 19).92

Fig. 20: ‘Philistine’ sherd from Tel Qashish

At Tel Qashish, also in the vicinity of Yoqne‘am, remains of the early Iron Age settlement were exposed in three or four squares. Among the finds on the floors of a residential area (Stratum IV) were a few ‘Philistine’ monochrome sherds (Fig. 20).93 In an extensive survey of the western Jezreel Valley, A. Raban found numerous ‘Philistine’ sherds at various small sites.94

91 A. Ben-Tor, “Yokne‘am”, NEAEHL, pp. 808–809; idem, A. Zarzecki-Peleg and S. CohenAnidjar, Yokne'am II, The Iron Age and the Persian Period (Jerusalem, 2005), pp. 9–89; Zarzecki-Peleg, op. cit. (note 85, 1997). 92 A. Ben-Tor and Y. Portugali, Tell Qiri: A Village in the Jezreel Valley (Jerusalem, 1987), pp. 101–103, 119, 126–128, and see also Ben-Tor et al. ibid., 2005, p. 169, fig. 42:1–7. 93 See A. Ben-Tor et al., Tel Qashish, A Village in the Jezreel Valley, Final Report of the Archaeological Excavations (1978–1987), (Jerusalem, 2003), p. 344, fig. 131:9. 94 See A. Raban, “The Philistines in the Western Jezreel Valley”, BASOR 284 (1991), pp. 17– 27.

THE NORTHERN SEA PEOPLES

Fig. 21: ‘Philistine’ potery from Be‘er Tive’on (1–2), Hurvat Hazin (3), and Midrach Oz (4–5)

505

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At Hurvat Hazin (near the city of Tive‘on), he uncovered remains of a fortification that contained ‘Philistine’ ware and in a trial excavation conducted in a small mound near Be’er-Tive‘on, he discovered the lower part of a pit filled with broken pottery vessels, most of which he claimed were of the Philistine “material culture, including a pyxis, a decorated bowl, and a large fragment of a ‘beer–jug’”.95 He unearthed similar ware at Tel Risim, Tel Re‘ala (near Kfar Yehoshua), and at Hurvat Zeror, Tel Sham, Midrach Oz and Tell Abu-Zureiq (near Tel Qiri). All these sites yielded various types of monochrome and bichrome pottery of the Sea Peoples (Fig. 21). Recently, a few more ‘Philistine’ painted pottery sherds were found at ‘Ein el-Hilu (near Migdal Haemeq) in the excavations of K. Covello-Paran (personal communication, unpublished yet; Fig. 22).

Fig. 22: ‘Philistine’ pottery sherds from ‘Ein el-Hilu (near Migdal Ha‘emeq)

III. Conclusions (1) All the Canaanite sites in the area under discussion—without exceptions— were laid waste at the end of the 13th century BCE, in a total destruction that put an end to the Canaanite culture. This destruction has been attributed by the excavators of all the settlements in these areas to the Sea Peoples. (2) Following this destruction, new settlements were established, after a gap, on earlier remains or in new sites, previously uninhabited. (3) In the area examined, it is possible to distinguish the material characteristics of the northern Sea Peoples, which are partly identical with and partly unlike those of the Philistines. (4) These remains had been found in every single 95 See A. Raban, Archaeological Survey of Israel, Nahalal Map (Jerusalem, 1982), pp. 24–29, XIII–XIV (Hebrew); idem, ibid., fig 2.

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site—large or small—revealing strata of the Iron Age I. (5) This culture is derived almost in its entirety from Cyprus, but the great majority of the finds were manufactured in Palestine by local Sea Peoples and not imported through trade with the Island. (6) The time range of this culture is of briefer duration than that of the Philistines and apparently did not last much longer than one 130 years: from the end of the 12th to the beginning of the 10th centuries BCE, when it was displaced in its entirety by the local Israelite one.

SOME ‘PROVENANCED’ EGYPTIAN INSCRIPTIONS FROM JERUSALEM A PRELIMINARY STUDY OF OLD AND NEW EVIDENCE

CHRISTOFFER THEIS

PETER VAN DER VEEN

University of Heidelberg

University of Mainz

In this article we present three Egyptian inscriptions, which were reportedly found in Jerusalem in the area north and northwest of the Damascus Gate. One of these (the stele fragment) was published previously and translations have been offered. The inscription has, however, been restudied by us and a new preliminary reading is presented here. In the course of our own survey and documentation work in the region1 two other inscriptions (a shabti fragment and a statue of a Ramesside official) have come to light and are published here for the first time. In closing, we briefly suggest a possible historical scenario for these finds, even if much more study needs to be done on this subject in the future.2

I Egyptian evidence from the area north of the Damascus Gate—i.e. from the properties of the École biblique et archéologique française (hereafter simply as École biblique), the Garden Tomb Association and St. Paul’s Hospice—was previously documented by G. Barkay.3 Barkay lists a number of items (two broken alabaster vessels, a fragmentary stele inscription, a small Egyptian statuette,4 a column capi1

IAA Survey S-203/2010, S-238/2011: co-directed by J. J. Bimson, D. Ellis and P. G. van der Veen (2009–2011). The following members of our survey team have made a contribution to our work, 2009–2011: V. Golinets, D. Matt, G. G. G. Reinhold, J. Schweinsberg, C. Theis; 2010: R. Alliband, W. Ertl, I. de Hulster, B. H. Wajdner; 2011: S. Ben-Dor Evian, C. Gitt, E. Gitt, S. Gitt. Documentation work began as early as 2001 to study Barkay’s conclusions, see note 3. Since 2009 we have begun to systematically investigate the area north of the Damascus Gate (as well as other relevant areas further to the west) to see if an archaeological context for these finds can be found. 2 We wish to thank R. M. Porter and P. J. James for proof-reading the English and for giving helpful advice and F. van der Veen for helping with the final editing of the article. 3 G. Barkay, “A Late Bronze Age Egyptian Temple in Jerusalem”, IEJ 46 (1996), pp. 23–43; G. Barkay, “What‘s an Egyptian Temple Doing in Jerusalem?”, BAR 26/3 (2000), pp. 48–57, 67. 4 A small seated serpentine statuette of a deity (presumably of the goddess Sakhmet) was found near the St. Stephen’s basilica in 1975 by archaeologist J. Balensi, who explained the find-context to us in more detail. It was retrieved from a flower bed, whose soil appears to

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tal,5 an item which may have served as an Egyptian ḥtp offering table and a large scarab from the Ramesside Period).6 Other pieces have come to light during our own field work, which appear to confirm Barkay’s overall conclusion that Egyptian influence over the Jerusalem area must have been considerable (for our survey work see note 1). Barkay also suggested that these finds may be related to a temple structure that could have stood here during the Ramesside Period. Except for the column capital (which he believes could have been part of this building), no structural remains of such a construction have come to light so far, while the presence of such a dominant shrine to the north of the Egyptian border has at least been questioned by one Egyptologist.7 The question if an Egyptian temple or perhaps a residential building of some kind could have stood in or near the École biblique area or in an area somewhat further to the northwest (where a royal Ramesside queen’s statue was found in 1929)8 deserves further study and will be pursued in another article.9

have been brought in from outside the property and hence its relationship to the other finds from the École biblique collection must be questioned (J. Balensi and Père J.-B. Humbert, personal communication, Fall 2009). 5 The column capital has been restudied by our team (under the supervision of D. Ellis and J. J. Bimson) in greater detail, and doubt exists over the question if the column is of Egyptian origin. At best, the style may be described as Egyptianizing, while its date remains unknown. A later date (e.g. a late Iron Age, Roman or Byzantine date) must be considered as well. The column capital will be re-published in our final survey report (scheduled to appear in W. Zwickel et al. [eds.], Kleine Arbeiten zum Alten und Neuen Testament – in preparation). 6 It should be noted that among other items, a lid of a small Egyptian alabaster vessel like the smaller one at the École biblique was discovered by us in a private collection near the Damascus Gate in 2007. It is kept together with sherds and small pieces (mostly from later periods) and a shabti fragment (discussed in this article), which were allegedly found during construction works during the mid 1900s. The lid will be published in our final survey report mentioned above. 7 S. Wimmer, “(No) More Egyptian Temples in Canaan and Sinai”, in I. Shirun-Grumach, Jerusalem Studies in Egyptology (ÄAT 40; Wiesbaden, 1998), pp. 87–123, esp. 90–94. 8 This larger (uninscribed) statue fragment was found in ca. 1929 during road works in the ‘gravel’ in the Prophets St. near House 42. According to the statue’s current private owner, it then housed the German Lutheran rectory. See also D. Kroyanker, Jerusalem – The Street of the Prophets, The Ethiopian and Musrara Quarters (Jerusalem, 2000), pp. 93–99; J. Eisler et al., Kultureller Wandel in Palästina im frühen 20. Jahrhundert – Eine Bilddokumentation (Epfendorf, 2003), pp. 149–152. The statue was brought to the rectory by Arab street workers and subsequently taken to Germany in ca. 1930. It was examined and photographed in December 2006 by S. Burger-Robin, U. Zerbst and P. van der Veen. A scientific analysis of the stone and 3-D computer scanning is scheduled to take place in 2012 at the University of Mainz. The statue will be published by S. Burger-Robin in the BICANE proceedings, see next note. It is on the basis of a number of stylistic elements that she assigns the current form of statue to the reign of Ramesses II. Fragmentary remains of another queen’s statue from the same reign were uncovered near Tel Ashdod in 1969. See A. R. Schulman, “A Ramesside Queen from Ashdod”, ‘Atiqot 23 (1993), pp. 111–114 and pl. 53. A specific attribution to Bint-‘Anat, the daughter and queen of Ramesses II has been suggested by M. Görg, “Eine ramessidische Prinzessin in Aschdod”, BN 111 (2002), p. 16. 9 For some uninscribed Egyptian finds from the region see P. James and P. G. van der Veen (eds.), Solomon and Shishak: Current Perspectives from Archaeology, Epigraphy, History and Chronology, Proceedings of the Third BICANE Colloquium Held at Sidney Sussex College Cambridge, March 25-26, 2011 (Oxford, in preparation).

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1. An Egyptian Stele Fragment This limestone plaque bears the inventory number SE 17 in the Collection of the École biblique (Fig. 1).10 It was discovered by the Dominican fathers in the area of the Byzantine basilica (underneath the modern St. Stephen’s Church), and so presumably together with the alabaster vessels at the bottom of the northern cistern in Area C of the Dominican excavation.11 It is noteworthy, however, that the excavators did not refer to the discovery of a limestone fragment in their initial excavation report.12 It was only after the excavation that the fragment was discovered amongst other pieces of limestone which had evidently been found during the excavation. The exact find-spot therefore remains unknown.

Fig. 1: Front of the stele from the École biblique (courtesy of Père J.-B. Humbert and Père J.-M. de Tarragon from the École biblique et archéologique française, Jerusalem; photo: R. Wiskin)

10

Address of the collection: Nablus Road, no. 6. See the exact position on the map in Barkay, op. cit. (note 3), p. 24, fig. 1, no. 1. 12 M. -J. Lagrange, Saint Étienne et son sanctuaire à Jérusalem (Paris, 1894). 11

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The object was first published by P. V. Scheil in 1892 and again much more recently by Barkay in 1996.13 Between these dates the stele fragment was published by W. A. Ward in a brief appendix to the Beth Shean excavation report edited by F. W. James in 1966 as it had mistakenly been assigned to the archaeological finds from that site.14 Barkay also notes that Scheil had been unable to identify the exact place of discovery, so that many scholars ignored this fragment in publications dealing with the history and archaeology of ancient Jerusalem. This situation, however, has changed in recent years.15 The fragment under discussion is 12.8cm high, 11.8cm wide and 5.3cm thick.16 It is made of white chalky limestone. Barkay argued that the fragment bears inscriptions on both sides and that its verso depicts a loop which he identifies with the top of an anx-symbol .17 However, our reinvestigation of the same fragment in 2009 sheds doubt on Barkay’s conclusion. Whilst its verso is heavily damaged (Figs. 2–3), it seems almost certain that this side of the plaque was never inscribed in antiquity. Hence what appears to be the top of the ankh can hardly be more than a modern scratch.18 The recto in its current state of preservation contains three and a half columns of text. Both central columns are 2.3–2.4cm wide, while the most central one is 7.1cm high. The remaining inscription contains 17 signs, some of which are extremely difficult to decipher (Fig. 1). Although the lower part of the first or left column is severely damaged, traces of what could read as a rDi, were detected. If this reading is justified, this sign may have belonged to a phrase which contained the formula DN DN di anx “DN gives life”. The second column from the left contains four signs, which read

13

V. Scheil, “Varia II”, RB 1 (1892), p. 116; Barkay, op. cit. (note 3), pp. 23–29. F. W. James, The Iron Age at Beth-Shean (Philadelphia, 1966), p. 8, figs. 98,3 and 99,2; W. A. Ward, “The Egyptian Inscriptions of Level VI (Appendix D)”, in James, ibid., p. 174, no. F2. 15 E.g. K. Bieberstein and H. Bloedhorn, Jerusalem – Grundzüge der Baugeschichte vom Chalkolithikum bis zur Frühzeit der osmanischen Herrschaft, II (Wiesbaden, 1994), p. 221 ff.; H. J. Godwin, The Extent and the Influence of the Egyptian Empire of Late Bronze Age Canaan, II (Liverpool, 1998), pp. 274–275; A. Kloner, Survey of Jerusalem - The Northern Sector (Jerusalem, 2001), p. 104*; Wimmer, op. cit. (note 7), pp. 90–94; M. L. Steiner, Excavations by Kathleen M. Kenyon in Jerusalem 1961–1967, III: The Settlement in the Bronze and Iron Ages (Sheffield, 2001), p. 39 ff.; O. Keel, Die Geschichte Jerusalems und die Entstehung des Monotheismus, I (Göttingen, 2007), pp. 127–129; M. Küchler, Jerusalem – Ein Handbuch und Studienreiseführer zur Heiligen Stadt, Orte und Landschaften der Bibel IV:2 (Göttingen, 2007), p. 968 ff. 16 Measurements were taken by C. Theis and J. Schweinsberg during the 2009 documentation season. 17 Barkay, op. cit. (note 3), p. 27. An alternative reading was recently suggested by K. A. Kitchen. But his reading is based on photographs only as he himself admits. See K. A. Kitchen, “Jerusalem in Ancient Egyptian Documents”, in Z. Kafafi and R. Schick (eds.), Jerusalem before Islam (Oxford, 2007), p. 33. It is not compatible with most of the signs that we were able to decipher on the original stele and hence his reading will not be considered here. 18 Unless we assume that only the loop is what remained of the carved verso of the stele, while its incision could have been cut much deeper than the rest. 14

SOME ‘PROVENANCED’ EGYPTIAN INSCRIPTIONS FROM JERUSALEM

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[…] ḫwi wr ┌n (.i)┐[…] - “[…] one, who guards the Great of [(the land/ city of)

…]”.

19

Fig. 2: Back of the stele (courtesy of J.-B. Humbert and J.-M. de Tarragon, École biblique; photo: R. Wiskin)

Fig. 3: Closer view of the verso (courtesy of École biblique; photo: J. Schweinsberg) 19

Alternatively one can also translate “Guarding men, Great of [(the land of ) …]”. “Guarding” could be an honorific title linked to a deity in the previous section and relate to a shrine or temple.

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The third column from the left begins with a lacuna. Previous editors proposed the reading “[Osiris, the foremost] of the Westerners.”20 No doubt this is a well-attested epithet of the god Osiris. Yet the visible traces do not commend this reading. The drawing published by Scheil suggests that remnants of the sign could be seen here,21 but this reading of the traces is problematic and is only found in the ordinary renderings of the name Osiris. If indeed one wished to maintain Scheil’s reading, one would need to argue that the element ḫnt.i of ḫnt.i Imn.tt is not written in the text, since it simply is not compatible with that rendering of the name. But quite to the contrary, our investigation has revealed that this line is indeed found in the text and that it contains the following signs Imn.tt n(.t) p.t. The additional element n(.t) p.t does not seem to suggest an epithet relating to Osiris, as it is not attested with the epithet ḫnt.i Imn.tt when used for this deity. Moreover, the traces that precede Imn.tt do not likely represent for ḫnt.i. Consequently, we wish to suggest a new interpretation. The damaged signs at the beginning of the central column reveal a t-bread sign (Gardiner X 1) followed by a small elongated sign. We would like to suggest that the traces of the longer sign are those of H (Gardiner V 28). This, we argue, may be the beginning of the title or Hnw.t—“mistress”. Unfortunately, so far only one parallel for the entire title is known, which is used for the goddess Isis in her title Hnw.t m Imn.tt n(.t) p.t found on Cairo Museum sarcophagus CG 61011, which is dated to the Third Intermediate Period.22 Despite this limited available evidence, we would suggest that this could be the title that is found on the stele and that it denotes the goddess Isis as Hnw.t (m) Imn.tt n(.t) p.t— “Mistress in the West of Heaven” or as Hnw.t Imn.tt n(.t) p.t—“Mistress of the West of Heaven”. The use of the emendation n(.t) p.t together with the traces of the first signs as indicated above would support our reading, even if—for understandable reasons—it must remain tentative. Due to the fragmentary state of the inscription and the lack of a clear connection between the individual lines, we can only assume that these signs were originally part of the same section. The fourth and final column contains merely three complete and one partly preserved signs. It is, however, clear that these signs must represent the personal name of the stele’s male owner. For the signs read as follows: […DN-Sp]ś mAaxrw - “[… DN]- Spś, justified”. The lower part of the fragment depicts traces of what appears to be a reed bundle, which was held by a seated (presumably) male figure. Unfortunately only the upper half of the reed is still visible. The seated man and what was originally placed in front of him (an offering table?) is now lost. Only the top of the male’s forehead is preserved and can be seen underneath the central column of the inscription. Based on stylistic grounds, as well as on additional funerary objects found in the immediate vicinity (such as the Late Bronze Age alabaster vessels), we would like to date the stele to the Ramesside Period (i.e. to the 19th or 20th Dynasties), when it 20

Barkay, op. cit., (note 3), p. 27. Ḫnt.i Imn.tt is a well-known Epithet for Osiris, see the collection in C. Leitz (ed.), Lexikon der ägyptischen Götter und Götterbezeichnungen V: H-x, OLA 114 (2002), p. 784a. 21 Barkay, op. cit., (note 3), p. 27, fig. 4. 22 See G. Darressy, Cercueils des cachettes royals, Catalogue général des antiquités égyptiennes du Musée du Caire 61001–61044 (Cairo, 1909), no. 61011.

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must have been erected here within an Egyptian settlement or (perhaps more likely so) within a cemetery located on the northern outskirts of ancient Jerusalem, where people who apparently had served the Egyptian government (Egyptians or Egyptianized local Canaanites23) were buried. Indeed similar stelae are well attested during the Ramesside period24, and reference can also be made to multiple similar kurkar (sand stone) and limestone funerary stelae uncovered at the Egyptian cemetery of Deir el-Balah near Gaza, which have been dated approximately to the Ramesside period.25 2. An Egyptian Shabti Fragment A fragment of an Egyptian shabti was found by our team in a private collection in Eastern Jerusalem, near the Damascus Gate. It was allegedly found during building work conducted in this area around the middle of the last century. The shabti is published here for the first time (Fig. 4). Its remaining portion measures ca. 5.5cm (height) x 3.2cm (width) x 4.5cm (depth). Only the lower part of the mummified body of the figure is preserved, while the upper part of the body with its head and hips is lost. The object is poorly preserved and so is the fragmentary inscription found on its recto. Unfortunately only a few signs are clearly readable. The inscription commences with the end of the personal name of the original owner of this small helper in the other world. The name ends clearly with the three signs […DN-]Htp.w “[…(The God) DN] is satisfied”. The other signs are rather more difficult to decipher. Nevertheless, it appears relatively certain that in antiquity the ‘title’ (or else a closely related form of it) Wśir must have preceded the name of the deceased person. It may further be suggested that the ‘common initial phrase’ found on shabtis could in turn originally have preceded the title Wśir. Based on these assumptions we may tentatively restore the beginning of the line according to its manifold parallels as [śHD Wśir DN-]Htp.w “The illuminated Osiris ‘DN-is-satisfied”. What succeeds the name may well be the hieroglyphic remains of an abbreviated form of the sixth chapter of the Book of the Dead. These signs read as follows r iri(.t) kA.w(t) nb n[…] - “to fullfill all works for […]”.26 23 On the strongly Egyptianized mortuary cult within Canaanite society at the time see the recent article by K. Charbit Nataf, “An Egyptian Mortuary Cult in Late Bronze II Canaan”, TA 38 (2011), p. 52 ff. 24 E.g. in the Petrie Museum online catalogue: especially UC 14354, stela of Djadjay, see M. Stewart, Egyptian Stelae, Reliefs and Paintings from the Petrie Collection, Part One: The New Kingdom (Warminster, 1976), p. 46, pl. 36, 2; UC 14421, a votive stela, see ibid. (x 4) p. 42 ff., pl. 33, 3; UC 14424, stela of Penmeḥḥesy, see ibid., p. 28, pl. 19, 1; UC 14545, stela of Irinefer, see ibid., p. 36, pl. 29, 2; UC 14599, a fragment of a relief of Khawy, see ibid., p. 55, pl. 44, 3. 25 The same theme can be found here too with males and females in adoration, presenting papyrus flowers to the deity (often Osiris): T. Dothan (ed.), Deir el-Balah: Uncovering an Egyptian Outpost in Canaan from the Time of the Exodus (Jerusalem, 2008), pp. 155–157. 26 Some good examples of the use of chapter six of the Book of the Dead on shabtis and an abbreviated form of it from the New Kingdom Period (and especially so from the 19th Dynasty to which we tentatively date this shabti) can be found in J. F. Aubert and K. Aubert, Statuettes funéraires égyptiennes du department des Monnaies, Médailles et Antiques (Paris, 2005), p. 80 ff., no. 14, p. 92 ff., no. 22; G. Janes, Shabtis. A private view, Ancient Egyptian

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Hence the entire line on the shabti could be restored as follows , but due to its regrettable condition and the small size of the object we are unable to restore more than that. Unfortunately, the shabti cannot be precisely dated in its present state of preservation, even though good parallels do exist from the 19th dynasty, the period under consideration for the other finds presented in this article.27

Fig. 4: A shabti fragment from East Jerusalem (courtesy of an anonymous private owner from the Damascus Gate vicinity; photo: J. Schweinsberg)

funerary statuettes in European private collections (Paris, 2002), p. 12 ff., no. 4, pp. 27–29, no. 10, p. 31 ff., no. 12, p. 37 ff., no. 14, p. 39 ff., no. 16, p. 41 ff., no. 17, p. 47 ff., no. 22, p. 50–53, no. 25; H. A. Schlögl and A. Brodbeck, Ägyptische Totenfiguren aus öffentlichen und privaten Sammlungen der Schweiz (Göttingen, 1990), p. 134, no. 74, p. 138, no. 80, p. 140, no. 82, p. 144, no. 85 and passim; H. A. Schlögl and C. Meves-Schlögl, Uschebti. Arbeiter im ägyptischen Totenreich (Wiesbaden, 1993), p. 18 ff., no. 4; H. D. Schneider, Shabtis. An Introduction to the History of Ancient Egyptian Funerary Statuettes with a Catalogue of the Collection of Shabtis in the National Museum of Antiquities at Leiden, III (Leiden, 1997), fig. 3. For an abnormal formula on shabtis see J. J. Clère, “Une statuette funéraire (chabti) à formule anormale”, in L. H. Lesko (ed.), Egyptological Studies in Honor of Richard A. Parker. Presented on the Occasion of his 78th Birthday, December 10, 1983 (Hannover – London, 1986), pp. 17–21; A. Piankoff, “Deux variants du chapitre VI du ‘Livre des Morts’ sur les Ouchabtis”, ASAE 49 (1949), p. 169 ff. 27 On the style of the foot section on shabtis see for instance Schlögl and Brodbeck, op. cit. (note 26), p. 125, no. 66, p. 127, no. 67 or p. 131, no. 70 [note 19].

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3. A Statue Fragment of a Male Official28 The upper part of an Egyptian male statue was found in 1951 by children in the courtyard of Mr. Noah Gershon’s house in the Hayarkon St. in Northwest Jerusalem, near the Maḥaneh Yehudah market.29 This area is located ca. 1.2km west of the École biblique and ca. 600m west of the Prophets Street area where another Egyptian statue was discovered in 1929. This area is also only ca. 400–500m away from the Naḥlat Aḥim neighbourhood (between the Bezalel and Ussishkin Streets), where a Late Bronze Age II tomb was discovered back in 1933.30 While checking which other Egyptian items from Jerusalem could still be found in storage at the Israel Antiquities Authority store rooms, it was through the kind assistance of Mrs. D. BenAmi that we unexpectedly learned about this fragmentary Egyptian statue, which is registered under the inventory no. 1951–1059/1. To our great surprise, this statue had never been studied nor published anywhere in the past. The statue fragment is ca. 15.2cm high, 12.1cm wide and 9.8cm thick (Fig. 5). It shows a finely-cut beardless head wearing a double-styled or duplex wig (of which only the under part, which descends down to the chest, is carved in detail, to accentuate its individual plaits), the shoulders and the upper chest. Heavily pierced earlobes are seen underneath the wig. The upper part of the wig only descends to the shoulders (which can be best seen on the back of statue). The facial features belong to an Egyptian male, evidently of high rank. The statue is made of black, white28 This is not the same Egyptian statue as the one referred to above in note 8, which is that of a royal Ramesside female. The latter, unlike the one discussed here, does not bear an inscription, since the upper part of the (presumably) seated figure is broken precisely at the point where the inscription on the back would have commenced. There is yet another statue fragment from Jerusalem, which was found in 1925 on the property of St. Pierre en Gallicantu on Mount Zion, which apparently disappeared during the 1967 war. A picture of this fragment (the defaced head of an Egyptian prince with the fragmentary inscription iri-pa.t, ‘the prince’ on the back) was published by A. Rowe, A Catalogue of Egyptian Scarabs, Scaraboids, Seals and Amulets in the Palestine Archaeological Museum (Cairo, 1936), p. 291 and Plate XXXVII. In a short note A. Maeir has argued for an Old Kingdom date for the statue head, so that there may not be any chronological relationship between this fragment and the other statue fragments from Jerusalem. See A. Maeir, “A Note on a Little-known Egyptian Statue from Jerusalem”, GM 110 (1989), pp. 35–40. On the other hand, older statues were often recarved or sometimes simply reused (or reinscribed) during later periods, as was common practice during the Ramesside period, but also later—for instance during Dynasty 26. As this statue is missing and so little of it had survived in the first place, no final conclusion can be reached at this point. 29 This information can be found in the IAA notebook under entry 711 of December 25, 1951. 30 Despite an earlier proposal by R. Amiran that the tomb dates squarely to the 14th century BCE or LB IIA, close inspection of the pottery by the authors and by G. Litani at the Israel Antiquities Authority store rooms in Beth Shemesh on August 7, 2010 suggests instead that some dipper juglets in the repository date to the LB IIB/IA I transition (contemporary with Megiddo Stratum VIIA, as Amiran had recognized). This would mean that the tomb (or tombs?), were still used by local Canaanites (presumably in Egyptian service) during the Ramesside Period. For Amiran’s analysis of the pottery evidence see: R. Amiran, “A Late Bronze Age II Pottery Group from a Tomb in Jerusalem”, EI 6 (1960), pp. 28–37, 27*. Further it should be noted that the tomb repository also contains an Egyptian calcite cylindrical jar, currently housed at the Israel Museum. Other luxury items in the repository include Mycenaean and Cypriot vessels. Also see: R. T. Sparks, Stone Vessels in the Levant (Leeds, 2007), p. 218; R. Gonen, Burial Patterns and Cultural Diversity in Late Bronze Age Canaan (Winona Lake, 1992), p. 63 ff.

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spotted granite. Based on the analysis of the statue by S. Burger-Robin and of the wig in particular by J. Fletcher, we can state with some certainty that this statue represents a high-ranking male of the post-Amarna period, likely of the reign of Ramesses II (1279–1213 BC): “...the readable facial features of the statuette, the rounded, full cheeks and ‘aquiline’ nose point rather conclusively to a date within the reign of Ramesses II”.31 The statue bears an inscription on its back (on a separately carved column), which currently still contains ten rather crudely-carved hieroglyphs that read PA-di-p.t Wśir nb nś.wt bik […] — “Padipet (The one, which Heaven has given),32 Osiris, Lord of the Thrones, falcon […]”. Although the reading of the last

31

S. C. Burger-Robin, personal communication of February 1, 2010. Also personal communication with J. Fletcher on July 20, 2011. For general information on Egyptian wigs see J. Fletcher, “Hair”, in P. Nicholson and I. Shaw (eds.), Ancient Egyptian Materials and Technology (Cambridge, 2000), pp. 495–501; J. Fletcher, “Ancient Egyptian Hair and Wigs”, The Ostracon, The Journal of the Egyptian Study Society 13 (2002), pp. 2–8. Parallels for this type of wig can be found in many publications: e.g. R. Rogge, Statuen des Neuen Reiches und der Dritten Zwischenzeit (Kunsthistorisches Museum Wien, Corpus Antiquitatum Aegyptiacarum 6; Vienna, 1990), e.g. p. 42 ff.; R. Schultz and M. Seidel (eds.), Ägypten - Die Welt der Pharaonen (Potsdam, 2010), the seated figure of Maya (late 18th Dynasty) on p. 268, fig. 234 (Leiden Rijksmuseum van Oudheden, AST 1) and p. 339, fig. 27 (AST 3); statue group of Neye (late 19th Dynasty), on p. 261, fig. 222 (Staatliches Museum Ägyptischer Kunst, München, Gl. WAF 25); the statue group of a couple from the early-19th Dynasty, p. 408, fig. 139 (Louvre E 3416). In M. Saleh et al. (eds.), Die Hauptwerke im Ägyptischen Museum Kairo (Mainz, 1986), no. 195 (i.e. general Nakhtmin – late-18th Dynasty, Egyptian Museum in Cairo, JdÉ 31630). Further examples: in the online catalogue of the Petrie Museum in London: UC 14636, a faceless head and shoulders from Paser, see Page 1976, p. 119, fig. 166; UC 14643, a head from a statue of an unknown man, see ibid. p. 80, fig. 87. At the British Museum: Statue of Panehsi, EA 1377 and Statue of Roy EA 81 (both from the reign of Ramesses II). The statue BM EA 1377 was formerly called ‘Sesostris Statue’, but now identified as a 19th Dynasty limestone statue of Panehsi, see A. Werner, “Egypt in London – Public and Private Displays in the 19th Century Metropolis”, in J.-M. Humbert and C. Price (eds.), Imhotep Today: Egyptianizing Architecture (London, 2003), p. 88 ff. For BM EA 81 see T. G. H. James and W. V. Davies (eds.), Egyptian Sculpture (London, 1983), p. 4 ff. Also see EA 36 (late18th or early-19th Dynasty). At the Museum of Brussels: E. 2401 (time of Horemheb), see M. Werbrouck, Musées Royaux d’Art et d’Histoire (Brussels, 1934), pl. 22 and W. Seipel, Gott, Mensch, Pharao. Viertausend Jahre Menschenbild in der Skulptur des Alten Ägypten (Vienna, 1992), p. 330 ff. 32 It seems clear that the second sign is t and not p and that the small narrow sign unbeneath is . A theophoric element Pp is attested during the Late Period in personal names such as PA-di-Pp, cf. H. Ranke, Die ägyptischen Personennamen (Glückstadt, 1935–1977), I, p. 123, 12; II, p. 356. Personal names of this kind have been assembled by D. Heiden, “Die Stele des PA-dj-Pp”, SAK 30 (2002), pp. 193 ff., note e. Cf. for the deity and this name see F. von Känel, “Les prêtres-ouâb de Sekhmet et les conjurateurs de Serket”, Bibliothèque de l’école des hautes etudes sciences religieuses 87 (1984), p. 220 ff., no. 39; L. M. Leahy and A. Leahy, “The Genealogy of a priestly family from Heliopolis”, JEA 72 (1986), p. 138, l. 15; E. Kerrn Lilles, “Four Late Egyptian Sculptures in Thorvaldsen’s Museum”, SAK 6 (1978), pp. 98–100; H. de Meulenaere, “La statue d’un chef de chanteurs d’Epoque Saite”, MMJ 8 (1973), pp. 94–97. As personal names with the element Pp are common during the late period (while the first attestation is found during the 26th Dynasty), this theophoric element is too late for this type of statue which clearly dates to the late New Kingdom.

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two signs is evident, we have not yet found a satisfying explanation for them, nor have we been able to find parallels for this rendering.

Fig. 5a: Male statue from Jerusalem. Front. (courtesy of the Israel Antiquities Authority; photo: IAA)

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Fig. 5b: Inscription on the back of the male statue (courtesy of the Israel Antiquities Authority; photo: IAA)

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II All three inscriptions (especially the stele and the statue fragment) seem to date to the Ramesside period. Moreover, the statue seems to suit the reign of Ramesses II (1279–1213 BCE) particularly well, as does the female royal statue not discussed in detail in this article. An Egyptian calcite vessel of the so called Cypriot base ring type from the École biblique (SE 19) can also be dated more generally to the Amarna–early Ramesside period.33 What are these objects doing in Jerusalem? While it could be argued that some of them (for instance the statues) arrived there long after they were made (e.g. during the classical period or even much more recently), it must be noted that most of them appear to belong to the same period, i.e. the Amarna–Ramesside period, when indeed Egyptians are known to have controlled the region (see below). Some of the finds—e.g. the alabasters (often found in graves like in several tomb repositories in and around Jerusalem), the shabti and perhaps the stele also—suggest that these originally were associated with burials and funerary rites. New Kingdom tombs could indeed have existed to the north and northwest of the Damascus Gate (and perhaps some of them still remain).34 Late Bronze Age burials have been found in the Naḥlat Aḥim neighbourhood, some 2km to the west of the École biblique. They indeed contained Egyptian and Aegean luxury items, while the Egyptian male statue was found nearby. Egyptian scarabs from the same period have also been found in some excavations in and around Jerusalem.35 Several pieces of evidence both from Egypt and from excavations in Israel support the idea that the Egyptians indeed ruled the area under consideration. The Ramesside pharaohs (especially Ramesses II after his unsuccessful battle at Qadesh in his 5th regnal year) was forced to restore and (re-establish) strongholds located along the coast and the foot hills to control the Via Maris. Egyptian administrative centers have indeed been uncovered for instance at Ashdod, Tell Far‘ah (South), Jaffa and Tell Aphek.36 According to Kitchen Ramesses II also sought to control areas further inland. He suggests that his army invaded the Judean hill country (east of Gezer37) in his 8th year, when he set off to conquer areas in Transjordan.38 There 33

See Sparks, op. cit. (note 30), p. 217 ff., esp. 306, no. 332. Although no Late Bronze tombs have been found to date on any of the private properties along the Nablus Road, a number of later tombs and cavities in this area do suggest that this area had been a burial ground for a long time. Extensive quarrying during the Herodian period as well as in modern times may have destroyed such evidence, but it cannot be ruled out that Late Bronze Age tombs could still be uncovered in future excavations. 35 For instance at Manaḥat in the Rephaim Valley – scarabs of Amenhotep III and Ramesses II: G. Edelstein and I. Milevski, “The Rural Settlement of Jerusalem Re-Evaluated: Surveys and Excavations in the Reph’aim and Mevasseret Yerushalim”, PEQ 126 (1994), pp. 2–23. These were recently restudied by us. A scarab of Amenhotep III also surfaced in the Temple Mount sifting project (G. Barkay, personal communication, March 2007). 36 See for instance I. Singer, “Merneptah’s Campaign to Canaan and the Egyptian Occupation of the Southern Coastal Plain of Palestine in the Ramesside Period”, BASOR 269 (1988), pp. 1–10. 37 Although the conquest of Gezer is attested during the reign of Merenptah, Ramesses II also refers to a battle against Asiatics and the conquest of Gezer on a hitherto unpublished stele from the Sacred Lake at Tanis: H. Coutts, Gold of the Pharaohs – Catalogue of the exhibition of Treasures from Tanis (Edinburgh, 1988), pp. 25–26. 34

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may, in fact, be direct evidence that Ramesses II had conquered Jerusalem early during his reign. The First Pylon of the Ramesseum in Thebes refers to the sack of a town called Shalem.39 Although, as some have argued, the other towns on the same wall are located in Syria and northern Galilee, the fragmentary state of the reliefs clearly forbids the equation with Jerusalem to be categorically ruled out.40 The interest of the 19th Dynasty kings in the region is also shown by an entry in the Journal of a Frontier Official (Papyrus Anastasi III) from the reign of Merenptah (1213–1204 BC), which refers to a Chief of Bowman, who served at the “Wells of Merenptah Hotep-hir-maat, which is (on) the mountain range”.41 This place has been identified by several scholars with the site “The Fountain of Merenptah” (see Josh 15:9 and 18:15), modern Liftah, immediately to the northwest of Jerusalem. Moreover, based on Yurco’s reattribution of the Cour de la Cachette battle reliefs at Karnak to Pharaoh Merenptah (accepted by an increasing number of scholars with extensive work done in recent years by P. J. Brand), it may be concluded that the Egyptians were confronted with at least one significant enemy in the central hill country, namely Israel.42 38

K. A. Kitchen, Pharaoh Triumphant: The Life and Times of Ramesses, II (Warminster, 1982), p. 67 ff.; also K. A. Kitchen, “Some New Light on the Asiatic Wars of Ramesses II”, JEA 50 (1964), pp. 47–70. The conquest of Moab has, however, been questioned by N. Na’aman, “Did Ramesses II Wage Campaign against the Land of Moab?”, GM 209 (2006), pp. 6369. But see the devastating reply in K. A. Kitchen, “Moab in Egyptian and other Sources”, GM 212 (2007), pp. 119–128. The name Moab is also attested in topographical lists from the reign of Ramesses II. See M. Görg, “Weitere Beobachtungen zum sogenannten Moab FeldZug Ramses’ II.”, in M. Görg, Beiträge zur Zeitgeschichte der Anfänge Israels: Dokumente, Materialien, Notizen (ÄAT 2; Wiesbaden, 1989), pp. 123–134. For a further mention of Moab at the time of Ramesses II see Z. Hawass, “A New Colossal Seated Statue of Ramses II from Akhmim”, in E. Czerny et al. (eds.), Timelines. Studies in Honour of Manfred Bietak, I (OLA 149; Leuven, 2006), pp. 129–139. 39 E.g. ANET, p. 256. Kitchen maintains a Galilean/South-Syrian topography for Shalem, because according to him “there was no revolt in Canaan that far south” at any time during the reign of Ramesses II. See: Kitchen, op. cit. (note 17), p. 32. However, in the light of his own view, that (a) Ramesses traversed the hill country on his way to Moab; (b) that Ramesses II took the city of Gezer—see note 37; and that (c) we know little about the fact how the early 19th Dynasty pharaohs reestablished their sovereignty over the hill country after the Amarna period (see e.g. Amarna Letters, nos. 289, 290, 335), this view seems highly exaggerated. 40 This equation has been suggested by D. M. Rohl, A Test of Time – The Bible from Myth to History (London, 1995), p. 149. The photos on pp. 3–5 of his publication show well how difficult it is to categorically rule out this assumption. Barkay also refers to a place called “Sar-ram” in P. Anastasi III (op. cit. [note 3]). This place, however, has nothing to do with Jerusalem since the hieroglyphic rendering starts with a different sibilant. See also Kitchen, op. cit. (note 17), pp. 32–33. Kitchen correctly reads dj-r-r-m and suggests the plausible translation s(u)r ram, i.e. “high rock”. Although speculative, Kitchen asks if this hill-site could “be somewhere close to Jerusalem, like Merenptah’s Wells (Lifta)?” On p. 33 he suggests that it may be sought anywhere between early Jerusalem and the Wells of Merenptah near modern Liftah. More specifically, in the light of our own survey work in the region, such a locality is indeed plausible and a place either on the north-western hill near Prophets Street No. 42—see note 8—or near the École biblique, for instance on Gordon’s Calvary, could be taken into consideration. 41 E.g. see ANET, pp. 258–259. 42 See F. Yurco, “Merenptah‘s Canaanite Campaign”, JARCE 23 (1986), pp. 189–215. Moreover, Yurco suggested that the Israelites on this relief are depicted as Canaanites, dressed in

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The evidence presented in this paper appears to put flesh to the bones of previous assumptions that Jerusalem and its vicinity were under Egyptian control during the reign of Ramesses II. It is therefore all the more tempting to believe that the stele fragment from the École biblique (whose male Egyptian owner’s name has partly been preserved as [… DN]- špś) refers to an Egyptian official in or near Jerusalem, who had been appointed by the Egyptian government to guard “the Great of [(the land/city of) …]” (perhaps Jerusalem).43 The title wr indeed is used for Canaanite vassal rulers dependent on Egypt.44 Moreover, the male statue of an official (whose name is given in the inscription as Padipet) would sustain the idea that local Egyptian officials were working near or even in Jerusalem at this time. The royal Egyptian queen’s statue (to be published shortly) suggests that the city may even have played a significant role in the Egyptian administration of central Palestine. C. Higginbotham has argued that the Ramessides continued to depend on their vassal rulers for daily affairs, while Egyptian royal envoys and overseers (“of the northern lands”) were sent out to the region45 for taxation purposes and to watch over (or guard) the northern provinces. Indeed, the Jerusalem finds presented here do appear to substantiate these political circumstances.46

long gowns and with their own war chariots. For a discussion and detailed list of publications see D. Kahn, “A Geo-Political and Historical Perspective of Merneptah’s Policy in Canaan”, in this volume. Also see P. J. Brand, “The Date of the War Scenes on the South Wall of the Great Hypostyle Hall and the West Wall of the Cour de la Cachette at Karnak and the History of the Late Nineteenth Dynasty”, in M. Collier and S. Snape (eds.), Ramesside Studies in Honour of K. A. Kitchen (Bolton, 2009), pp. 51–84. If these interpretations are indeed correct (despite criticisms by D. B. Redford and A. F. Rainey, see D. Kahn in this volume), then it may be suggested that Israel had lived in Canaan since quite some time. Indeed, we have suggested elsewhere that the name Israel may well be found on a fragmentary topographical pedestal relief at the Berlin Museum, which—based on its writing of the names—could be more than 150 years older than the Israel Stele of Merenptah. See P. van der Veen, C. Theis, M. Görg, “Israel in Canaan (Long) Before Pharaoh Merenptah? A Fresh Look at Berlin Statue Pedestal Relief 21687”, JAEI 2 (2010), pp. 15–25. 43 Note, however, that the title wr is also employed for Egyptian officials in the Egyptian army, see D. B. Reford, Egypt and Canaan in the New Kingdom (Beersheva, 1990), pp. 6 (e.g. “chief of police”) and 8. 44 For the use of wr for Canaanite rulers see, e.g. D. Sweeney, “Section B: The Hieratic Inscriptions”, in D. Ussishkin (ed.), The Renewed Archaeological Excavations at Lachish (1973–1994), III (Tel Aviv, 2004), p. 1601 ff.; S. Wimmer and A. Maeir, “‘The Prince of Safit?’ – A Late Bronze Age Hieratic Inscription from Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath”, ZDPV 123 (2007), pp. 37–48. 45 C. R. Higginbotham, Egyptianization and Elite Emulation in Ramesside Palestine: Governance and Accommodation on the Imperial Periphery (Leiden, 2000), pp. 72, 136 ff. 46 For a number of Egyptian officials attested to be working in the northern provinces from the Amarna to the Ramesside period see e.g. Redford, op. cit. (note 43), pp. 5–25, esp. 22–25.

COEXISTENCE AS GUILT IRON I MEMORIES IN JUDGES 1

KOERT VAN BEKKUM Theological University, Kampen (NL)

I. Introduction Is it possible to make a connection between the biblical historiography of Israel’s settlement in Canaan and the reality of the Late Bronze – Iron Age transition as it is found in the archaeology of the Southern Levant? During large parts of the 20th century CE, three models integrating textual and art factual evidence shaped the interpretation of biblical books and archaeological remains. A. Alt, W. F. Albright, and G. E. Mendenhall disagreed on the issue which historical process was reflected in both types of evidence. But whether they viewed this reality as a peaceful infiltration, a conquest, or a peasant’s revolt, archaeology and exegesis were two sides of the same coin.1 This picture has totally changed. The Albrightean paradigm collapsed due to the fact that a refined interpretation of existing destruction layers and new archaeological data falsified the hypothesis of a series of contemporary destructions at the end of the 13th century BCE, caused by Israelites. Consequently, the biblical picture of a common Israelite conquest of the promised land is nowadays generally acknowledged to be unhistorical and the reconstruction of the 14th–10th centuries BCE history of the Southern Levant is more and more dominated by socio-archaeological interpretations of material remains.2 In addition, a linguistic turn in the study of ancient historiography directed the attention to its literary qualities and to the ideol1 A. Alt, “Die Landnahme der Israeliten in Palästina. Territorialgeschichtliche Studien”, Reformationsprogramm der Universität Leipzig, 1925 (= KS, I, pp. 89–125); W. F. Albright, “The Israelite Conquest of Canaan in the Light of Archaeology”, BASOR 74 (1939), pp. 11– 23; G. E. Mendenhall, “The Hebrew Conquest of Palestine”, BA 25 (1962), pp. 66–87. 2 E.g., N. P. Lemche, Early Israel: Anthropological and Historical Studies on the Israelite Society Before the Monarchy (VTS 37; Leiden, 1985); R. B. Coote and K. W. Whitelam, The Emergence of Early Israel in Historical Perspective (SWBAS 5; Sheffield, 1987); I. Finkelstein, The Archaeology of the Israelite Settlement (Jerusalem, 1988); N. Na’aman and I. Finkelstein (eds.), From Nomadism to Monarchy (Jerusalem, 1994); W. G. Dever, “Archaeology and the Emergence of Early Israel”, in J. Bartlett (ed.), Archaeology and Biblical Interpretation (New York – London, 1997), pp. 20–50; U. Zwingenberger, Dorfkultur der frühen Eisenzeit in Mittelpalästina (OBO 180; Göttingen, 2001); R. D. Miller II, Chieftains of the Highland Clans (Grand Rapids, MI 2005); A. Faust, Israel’s Ethnogenesis. Settlement, Interaction, Expansion and Resistance (London, 2006).

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ogy of its scribes. As a result, biblical historiographical texts are no longer primarily studied as sources for the period they refer to, but as works of art reflecting the time of their composition and redaction.3 Thanks to these trends, scholarly research has been able to do more justice to the available data, for the textual and the archaeological materials are treated as discourses that should be continued on their own terms. At the same time, however, the new directions face major problems. Scholars are widely divided on the issue how the antiquarian interest that can sometimes be observed in ancient historiography should be handled. In addition, it can be questioned whether the new archaeological approaches in the study of the Late Bronze Age – Iron Age Transition have led to new and independent historical conclusions. It was fully justified to reject the assumption of traditional biblical archaeology that material remains could function as ‘objective external evidence’ verifying biblical history. But the same applies to the new embraced idea that the analysis of material remains would be more ‘objective’ than the historical study of ancient texts.4 Sociology is not the same as history and as an interpretative enterprise archaeology still belongs to the humanities. Unfortunately, the results of the use of long-term history and of socio-archaeological and anthropological models are more often presented as bare facts than as heuristic devices. Accordingly, it is no surprise that a close analysis of the latest reconstructions— easily recognized as Neo-Altian and Neo-Mendenhallist interpretations—do not meet the conditions that would be expected. The limited nature of the theoretical frameworks building the evidential blocks into a historical edifice is not taken into consideration; the concepts purporting to explain the archaeological phenomena of for instance the identity markers of the so-called Iron I settlers are highly influenced by images that are reflected in the texts; and finally, their ideology and historical truth claims are seldom defined; and the policy of destruction by the conquerors is most of the time not studied before the relation between archaeology and the biblical picture of a conquest is evaluated.5

3

E.g. M. Liverani, “Memorandum on the Approach of Historiographic Texts”, Orientalia 42 (1973), pp. 178–182; J. Van Seters, In Search of History. Historiography in the Ancient World and the Origins of Biblical History (London, 1983); G. Garbini, History and Ideology in Ancient Israel (London, 1988). 4 For assertions in this direction—despite the warnings of F. Brandfon, “The Limits of Evidence: Archaeology and Objectivity”, Maarav 4 (1987), pp. 7–30—see e.g. W. G. Dever, What Did the Biblical Writers Know and When Did They Know It? (Grand Rapids, MI – Cambridge, 2001), pp. 87–90; I. Finkelstein and N. A. Silberman, The Bible Unearthed. Archaeology’s New Vision of Ancient Israel and the Origin of Its Sacred Texts (New York, 2001), pp. 19–24; E. A. Knauf, “From Archaeology to History, Bronze and Iron Ages With Special Regard to the Year 1200 BCE and the Tenth Century” in L. L. Grabbe (ed.), Israel in Transition From Late Bronze II to Iron IIa (c. 1200-850 B.C.E.). Vol. 1. The Archaeology (LHB/OTS 491; New York – London, 2008), pp. 72–85; I. Finkelstein, “Archaeology as a High Court in Ancient Israelite History. A Reply to Nadav Na’aman”, JHS 10/19 (2010), pp. 1–8. 5 K. van Bekkum, From Conquest to Coexistence. Ideology and Antiquarian Intent in the Historiography of Israel’s Settlement in Canaan (CHANE 45; Leiden – Boston, 2011), Part I.

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This situation of scholarly debate, calls for explicit attention to the textual aspect of the historical problem of the Late Bronze Age – Iron Age transition in the Southern Levant. What happens when the results of a refined analysis of ideology and antiquarian intent of the historiography of Israel’s settlement in Canaan are brought into dialogue with the results of a socio-archaeological approach that is aware of its limitations? Undeniably, biblical historiography belongs to a corpus of transmitted texts. Therefore, a tradition-historical approach is needed to explore what the historical background of certain stories and traditions might be. Fortunately, the historiography of conquest and settlement contains numerous references to geographical and ethnographical realia that can be compared to its attestations in non-biblical texts and to archaeological remains. So it seems at least partly possible to break through the circular reasoning that is unavoidably connected to every tradition-historical reconstruction of the growth of a transmitted text. In a previous study, the application of this approach to Josh 9:1–13:7 resulted in the hypothesis that this 1st millennium BCE text was composed by using some textual and oral traditions in order to state that YHWH once gave the promised land of Canaan to Israel by his mighty acts in the history of the conquest and settlement, and—later on—by choosing David as his king. The stories and the geographical tensions in the composition underline that YHWH’s promise still guide Israel’s leader, but also that the fulfilment of this promise is dependent on his and the people’s obedience.6 A careful study of all relevant archaeological data and non-biblical textual evidence shows that the material remains do not falsify the text’s historical truth-claims and even lead to the surprising conclusion that the chapters indeed contain Late Bronze memories. The concept of the promised land as exploited in the historiography of the settlement goes back to the New Kingdom view of the Egyptian Province in Asia. The social structure of a region dominated by little kingdoms and of constant rivalries and shifting coalitions with and against each other neatly matches the situation as presupposed in the Book of Joshua. The historical truth-claims even obtain some powerful clarifying abilities in interpreting the historical picture as it can be reconstructed by applying socio-archaeological theories to art factual evidence. Israel occurs to be a serious candidate for having destroyed Tel Hazor during the 13th century BCE. A conquest might be one of the additional factors causing the collapse of the Late Bronze Age southern Levantine social system. The settlement of several tens of thousands of immigrants from Egypt mixing up with withdrawing urban and rural elements, displaced peasants and other sedentarizing nomads and non-indigenous groups helps to explain the explosion of Iron I settlements in the Central Hill Country. But most strikingly, the underlying rhetoric in the Book of Joshua, namely that it in fact presupposes a story of Israel’s settlement going ‘from conquest to coexistence’, fits the historical picture of continuity in the material culture and elucidates why it is so hard to detect the origin and common ethos of Iron I settlers.7 The last conclusion, however, raises a question. If, from the beginning, the geographical tensions in the Book of Joshua play a game between the ‘real’ and the 6 7

Van Bekkum, ibid., Part II. Idem, ibid., Part III and IV.

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‘ideal’, presuppose a situation of coexistence between Israelites and autochthonic inhabitants, and reflect historical memories, what does that mean for the historical significance of the passage that is seen as the historical source par excellence of this coexistence, Judg 1:19,21,27–35?

II. Judges 1 as a Historical Source The explicit testimony of Judg 1 that the tribes did not succeed in settling their inheritances has attracted the attention of historians of ancient Israel, in particular since the end of the 19th century CE.8 Scholars assumed that the original version of the Book of Joshua reflected the deuteronomic idea of the conquered land as a tabula rasa—an empty territory devoid of enemies that only had to be settled. Accordingly, a huge contrast was created between Joshua’s later, idealizing picture of a great victory in a common conquest on the one hand, and the poor and fragmentary testimony in Judg 1 describing the difficult and also failed settlement of the individual tribes on the other. This resulted in the view of Judg 1 being J’s lost story of the fulfilment of the promise of the land and in the conviction that a careful study of the fragments used by the Jahwist or Jehovist could be exploited in the reconstruction of Israel’s early history.9 This intuition entered a new paradigm when the search for ancient Gattungen resulted in the suggestion of A. Alt that Judg 1:27–33 in fact reflected an old list claiming territories for Israel by saying that the tribes had not been able to conquer them. Alt’s argument was twofold. In his view, the existence of such a list could be detracted from the textual form of the passage. But being well acquainted with the landscape of the Southern Levant he also saw striking similarities between the described areas and their Iron I histories as reconstructed in his territorial-geschichtliche Studien.10 Alt’s hypothesis was vindicated for almost half a century.11 8

Cf. M. Rake, “Juda Wird aufsteigen!”. Untersuchungen zum ersten Kapitel des Richterbuches (BZAW 367; Berlin – New York, 2006), pp. 1–29. 9 E. Meyer, “Kritik der Berichte über die Eroberung Palästinas”, ZAW 1 (1881), pp. 117–146; K. Budde, Die Bücher Richter und Samuel (Giessen, 1890), pp. 1–89; J. Wellhausen, Die Composition der Hexateuch und der historische Bücher des Alten Testaments (Darmstadt, 19634), pp. 208–210; G. von Rad, “Das Formgeschichtliche Problem der Hexateuch”, in Idem, Gesammelte Studien, Bd. 1 (TB 8; München, 19582), pp. 80–81; S. Mowinckel, Tetrateuch-Pentateuch-Hexateuch (BZAW 90; Berlin, 1964), pp. 16–33. For a recent view along the same lines, see M. Weinfeld, “The Period of the Conquest and of the Judges as seen by the earlier and later Sources”, VT 17 (1967), pp. 93–97; idem, “Judges 1.1–2.5: The Conquest under the Leadership of the House of Judah”, in A. G. Auld (ed.), Understanding Poets and Prophets (JSOTS 152; Sheffield, 1993), pp. 388–399. 10 A. Alt, “Judas Gaue unter Josia”, PJ 21 (1925), p. 100 (= KS, II, p. 276); idem, “Das System der Stammesgrenzen im Buche Josua”, in Sellin Festschrift. Beiträge zur Religionsgeschichte und Archäologie Palästinas (Leipzig, 1927), pp. 14–20 (= KS, I, pp. 193–198); idem, “Der Staatenbildung der Israeliten in Palästina”, Reformationsprogramm der Universität Leipzig 1930, p. 61 (= KS, II, p. 51). 11 See e.g. M. Noth, Überlieferungsgeschichtliche Studien (Tübingen, 19572), p. 9; idem, Geschichte Israels (Göttingen, 19594), pp. 55, 176–177, 193; G. Schmitt, Du sollst kein Frieden schließen mit den Bewohnern des Landes (BWANT 91; Stuttgart, 1970), pp. 86–88; H. Weippert, “Das Geographische System der Stämme Israels”, VT 23 (1973), p. 88; N. Na’aman, Bor-

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Nevertheless, the theory of an ancient list faced three major problems: (a) it was very hard to determine the extent of the Negative Besitzverzeichnis, because of the analogous nature of the remarks in Judg 1:19,21, and 34–35; (b) at least some of the verses paralleling similar passages in the Book of Joshua seemed to be of a secondary nature;12 and (c) the relation between Judg 1 and 17–21, and between Josh 24:29–30 and Judg 2:8–9 clearly suggests that Judg 1:1–2:5 should be considered to be an introductory chapter being added in a late stage of the growth of the book. These difficulties led first of all to a discussion about the size of the list.13 Then, scholars became more reluctant about its existence and they agreed that a late, postexilic editor had most likely used old material.14 But after synchronic studies had shown that Judg 1:1–36 as a whole is clearly written from a pro-Judean perspective,15 the idea of the chapter as a possible historical source for the Iron I period was totally rejected. Accordingly, a new consensus has grown that the text of Judg 1 should be understood as a story reflecting the horizon of Judean scribes during the Persian or Hellenistic period.16 This tendency is understandable in the light of the fact that recent scholarship focuses on the literary bridges between the Pentateuch and the Former Prophets in order to study the latest redactions and canonical shape of the Enneateuch. Accordingly, Judg 1 has to be very late, for the story of the chapter coincides with the separation of the narrative of Genesis—2 Kings into different books. At the same time, ders and Districts in Biblical Historiography (JBS 4; Jerusalem, 1986), pp. 95–98, 198; Z. Kallai, Historical Geography of the Bible (Jerusalem – Leiden, 1986), pp. 28, 286, 292. 12 Cf. C. H. J. de Geus, “Richteren 1:1–2:5”, Vox Theologica 36 (1966), pp. 32–53; A. G. Auld, “Judges I and History”, VT 25 (1975), pp. 261–285. 13 K. D. Schunck, Benjamin. Untersuchungen zur Entstehung und Geschichte eines israelitischen Stammes (BZAW 86; Berlin, 1963), pp. 77–78; Schmitt, op. cit. (note 11), p. 59; Weippert, ibid., p. 87; H. N. Rösel, “Das ‘Negative Besitzverzeichnis’”, in M. Augustin and K. D. Schunck (eds.), Wünschet Jerusalem Frieden (BEATAJ 13; Frankfurt, 1988), pp. 124, 131. 14 R. Smend, “Das uneroberte Land”, in G. Strecker (ed.), Das Land Israel in biblischer Zeit (GTA 25, Göttingen, 1983), pp. 101–102 (= idem, Zur ältesten Geschichte Israels. Gesammelte Studien, II [BET 100; München, 1987], pp. 227–228); Rösel, ibid., pp. 124–127; U. Becker, Richterzeit und Königtum. Redaktionsgeschichtliche Studien zum Richterbuch (BZAW, 92; Berlin – New York, 1990), pp. 25, 32; N. Na’aman, “The ‘Conquest of Canaan’ in the Book of Joshua and in History”, in Na’aman and Finkelstein (ed.), op. cit. (note 2), p. 268 (= idem, Canaan in the Second Millennium BCE Collected Essays, II [Winona Lake, IN 2005], p. 365); E. Blum, “Der kompositionelle Knoten am Übergang von Josua zu Richter”, in M. Vervenne and J. Lust (eds.), Deuteronomy and Deuteronomic Literature (BETL 133; Leuven, 1997), p. 206; V. Fritz, “Das ‘negative Besitzverzeichnis’ in Judicum 1”, in M. Witte (ed.), Gott und Mensch im Dialog (BZAW 345/I; Berlin, 2004), pp. 385–388. 15 B. G. Webb, The Book of Judges. An Integrated Reading (JSOTS 46; Sheffield, 1987), pp. 82–105; K. L. Younger, “The Configuring of Judicial Preliminaries”, JSOT 68 (1995), pp. 75–95; Y. Amit, The Book of Judges: The Art of Editing (BIS, 38; Leiden, 1999), pp. 141– 152; K. van Bekkum, “De historiografie van Israëls vestiging in Kanaän aan de hand van Richteren 1”, NTT 54 (2000), pp. 298–301; G. Wong, Compositional Strategy of the Book of Judges (VTS 111; Leiden, 2006), pp. 144–156. 16 Rake, op. cit. (note 8), pp. 142–152; W. Groß, Richter (HThK AT; Freiburg, 2009), pp. 108–118, 152–154; K. Spronk, “From Joshua to Samuel: Some Remarks on the Origin of the Book of Judges”, in J. van Ruiten and J. C. de Vos (eds.), The Land of Israel in Bible, History, and Theology (VTS124; Leiden, 2009), pp. 138–140, 145–149.

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however, this conclusion is highly problematic from a historiographical point of view, for it is very hard to connect the story to the historical circumstances of the post-exilic Southern Levant. According to M. Rake, the chapter contains the ideology of the ‘people of the land’. In view of this people it was not the city of Jerusalem that gave Yehud its glory, but the province of Judah that granted Jerusalem its central position. The ‘people of the land’, however, are absent in the text and it contains no polemic against the urban culture as such. In addition, it might seem logical that Rake and W. Groß connect the sharp contrast between Judah and Joseph in Judg 1 to the rivalry between the Persian provinces Yehud and Samarina. But this idea fails in the light of the content and the geography of the chapter. Despite the polemic against the ‘House of Joseph’, the negative climax in the story develops only gradually. In addition, it is highly unlikely that Bezeq and Luz are to be located within Samarina. And finally, the origin of the cities mentioned in Judg 1:27–33 remains clouded or is only resolved by Rake’s unqualified hypothesis that the text uses a geographical pattern reflecting the historical situation between 734 and 732 BCE, when Tiglath-Pileser III bereft the kingdom of Israel of all its cities in the plains.17 In view of these nuisances an additional approach is required. Undoubtedly, the present text of Judg 1 functions as an important literary bridge in the narrative running from Genesis to 2 Kings. But a more serious exploration of the chapter’s historiographical intent is needed in order to uncover the horizon of its first scribes and to test the assumption that the composition might contain pre-exilic memories.

III. Antiquarian Intent and Ideology Interestingly, the antiquarian intent of Judg 1 can be observed in precisely those textual elements that make it so hard to read it as a story. The text often changes the number of verbs and subjects in a remarkable way.18 Large parts of the chapter parallel passages in the Book of Joshua.19 It is difficult to establish which of them are the original ones, although it seems indeed most likely that the fragments in Judg 1 are of a secondary nature.20 But in any case, the parallels bear the clear suggestion 17 Cf. Rake, op. cit. (note 8), pp. 96–101, 142–144, 149–152; Groß, ibid., pp. 114–118. For the relation to the Assyrian Provinces in the Southern Levant, see below. 18 Vv. 1:4,10,16,17,20,30,32,33,34,35. Subjects and persons in singular in 1:2,3,10,17,18,19,20, 22,27,29,30,31,33, and in plural in 1:1,8,9,19,16,21,32,34; 2:1,4. 19 Judg 1 has the same arrangement of tribes as Josh 15–19; Judg 1:30 mentions some of the cities listed in Josh 19:10–16, Judg 1:31–32 from Josh 19:24–32, and Judg 1:33 from Josh 19:32–39; Judg 1:34 contains information that is also present in Josh 19:47–48. The true parallels are Judg 1:10–15 // Josh 15:13–19; Judg 1:21 // Josh 15:63; Judg 1:27–28 // Josh 17:11–13; Judg 1:29 // Josh 16:10. 20 This is evident from the parallels between Josh 15:13–19 // Judg 1:10–15 and Josh 15:63 // Judg 1:21. In the Book of Judges, Caleb starts to speak without being introduced, for in the new context he acts on behalf of Judah. In a similar way, the text of Judg 1:21 differs from Josh 15:63 in two cases. One of them is a plural (‫ )יוֹשְׁ בֵי‬that becomes singular (‫ ;)ישֵׁב‬the other reads ‫ְהוֹרישָׁם‬ ִ ‫י ְהוּדָ ה ל‬-‫ ֹלא יָכְלוּ ְבנֵי‬as against ‫הוֹרישׁוּ ְבּנֵי ִבנְי ָמִן‬ ִ ‫ֹלא‬, thus creating a iuxtapositio between Caleb and the Jebusites and blaming Benjamin in stead of Judah for not having conquered Jerusalem. Cf. Rake, op. cit. (note 8), pp. 34–60.

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of being references to highly valuable traditions. This idea is strongly confirmed by the fact that referring to a city by mentioning its ancient name is a common and consistent feature in the chapter: Hebron was once called Kiriath Arba (Judg 1:10); Debir was called Kiriath Sefer (Judg 1:11); Jericho is referred to as ‘Palm City’ (Judg 1:16); Zefath becomes Hormah (Judg 1:17); Bethel was called Luz (Judg 1:23); and surprisingly, the area of the tribe of Dan is not diminished by Philistines, but by Amorites (1:34, cf. 13:1–2; 14:1–2).21 The Jebusites are also said to have lived in Jerusalem ‘unto this day’ (Judg 1:21). In addition, Judg 1 conveys various astonishing anecdotes and remarks creating some tension with other biblical information. First, there is the story of Judah’s defeat of Adoni-Bezeq, king of Bezeq (Judg 1:4–8). According to some scholars the attestation of Adonibezek in Josh 10:1 LXX shows that this anecdote is to be equated with the story about Israel’s battle with the Amorite coalition led by king Adoni-Zedeq of Jerusalem.22 But the find of 4QJosa, confirming the reading of Josh 10:1 MT, and a literary comparison of both stories make this idea highly unlikely.23 Others state that the city of Bezeq is the same as Bezeq in 1 Sam 11:8, where king Saul gathers his troops before he goes to Jabesh in Gilead. In that case Bezeq could be the same as Kh. Ibziq (Palestinian Grid 1878.1971) in the northern part of the Central Hill Country.24 But this identification has to be rejected, for Judg 1 runs from south to north and it is more and more acknowledged that the scribes writing and editing the books of Joshua and Judges had a very intimate knowledge of the land.25 So the reader is left with a strange story about Judah’s defeat of the ruler of an unknown city in the south,26 who suppressed a remarkable high number of kinglets. Its rhetorical function is clear. A Canaanite/Perizzite king confirms with regard to the tribe of Judah (Judg 1:7) what Rahab and the Gibeonites already had said in the Book of Joshua—that is, that YHWH not only fights for Israel, but also rightfully wipes out all the inhabitants of the promised land (Josh 2:9–12; 9:9–10,24). But it remains impossible to say anything about the story’s origin. The same applies to the next section, Judah’s defeat of the Canaanites in the mountains, the Negev and in the hills (Judg 1:9–20). In the Book of Joshua, Caleb is the true hero of the same story. But now he acts on behalf of Judah, whereas Othniel is portrayed as a representative of the next generation (‫ ֲאחִי ָכלֵב ַהקָּט ֹן ִממֶּנּוּ‬, Judg 1:13), 21

See Num 32:37–38, 41-42. Cf. O. Eissfeldt, “Umnennungen im AT”, in P. R. Ackroyd, B. Lindars (eds.), Words and Meanings (Cambridge, 1968), pp. 69–79. 22 E.g. K. D. Schunck, “Juda und Jerusalem in vor- und frühisraelitischer Zeit”, in K.-H. Bernhardt (ed.), Schalom. Studien zu Glaube und Geschichte Israels (Stuttgart, 1971), pp. 50– 57. 23 Van Bekkum, op. cit. (note 5), pp. 111, 352–353. 24 E.g. Na’aman, op. cit. (note 14), p. 262 (= idem, op. cit. [note 14], p. 359); E. Gaß, Die Ortsnamen des Richterbuchs in historischer und redaktioneller Perspektive (ADPV 35; Wiesbaden, 2005), pp. 9–11. 25 One example from Judg 1 may suffice. Achsah’s request for water in the story of Caleb and Othniel fits the geographical situation of the dissected terrain and the two concentrations of springs in the transitional area from the southern desert fringe to the central range between Hebron (Tell Rumeida, 1598.1035) and Debir (Kh. Rabud, 1514.0934). Cf. A. Ofer, “All the Hill Country of Judah”, in Finkelstein and Na’aman (eds.), op. cit. (note 2), p. 94. 26 Probably, Kh. Buzqa (142.140) in the Ayalon Valley, east of Tel Gezer, is an alternative.

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thus as one of the warriors acting in the insecure period after the death of Joshua (Judg 1:1, cf. Josh 13:1), while the section also announces his later act in Judg 3:7– 11. Further, the text mentions the settlement of the Kenites in Arad and the destruction of Hormah27 by the tribe of Simeon. Again, the provenance of these passages is insecure and the ideas about their historical value is highly dependent on the historian’s reconstruction of the history of early Israel as a whole.28 It is easier to detect their rhetorical function. These triumphant settlements take place under the umbrella of Judah. Besides, it is striking that the first and the last application of the complete elimination of the pre-Israelite inhabitants in the conquest’s story occur at a location containing a pun on the verb describing this practice: Hormah (Num 21:1–3; Judg 1:17). So in fact, the conquest of the land ends here. Accordingly, the next verses put the report on the settlement of the tribes into perspective. Judah takes the southern Coastal Plain, but its inhabitants are not driven out (Judg 1:18–19) and Benjamin fails to drive out the Jebusites from Jerusalem. This failure, however, is in contrast with the fact that Caleb—the one from Judah—dealt with the sons of Anak in Hebron, who once had been a major stumbling block for Israel in entering the promised land (Judg 1:20–21).29 The real negative climax of the story starts with the ‘House of Joseph’, which ‘goes up’ against Bethel30, just as Judah had ‘gone up’ before, and the angel of YHWH will ‘go up’ from Gilgal to Bochim (‫עלה‬, Judg 1:22, cf. 1:2; 2:1). Joseph conquers Bethel by trickery, but the problem is that the tribe spares one man and his family (‫חסד‬, Judg 1:24-25) in stead of ‘devoting him to destruction’ (‫)חרם‬, so that he can rebuild the Canaanite city of Luz in ‘the land of the Hittites’ (Judg 1:26).31 The next sections of the chapter make it clear how this concession leads to three kinds of coexistence between Israelites and non-Israelite people. The first is the continuing existence of Canaanites within the tribal areas. Manasseh fails in settling the Beth Shean Valley, the Jezreel Valley, and the coastal strip at the other side of the passes from the Jezreel Valley, because it is not able to drive out the inhabitants of Beth Shean, Taanach, Dor, Ibleam and Megiddo (Judg 1:27).32 The Canaanites 27 The most likely candidate for being Hormah/Zefath is Tell Halif (1373.0879), southeast of the Judean hills, south of the Shephelah and north of the Negev desert. Cf. Gaß, op. cit. (note 24), pp. 55–57; J. C. de Vos, Das Los Judas. Über Entstehung und Ziele der Land-beschreibung in Josua 15 (VTS 95; Leiden, 2003), pp. 345–348, 352–353, 367–371. 28 See e.g. S. Mittmann, “Ri. 1.16f und das Siedlungsgebiet der kenitischen Sippe Hobab”, ZDPV 93 (1977), pp. 212–235; N. Na’aman, “The Inheritance of the Sons of Simeon”, ZDPV 96 (1980), pp. 136–139; Na’aman, op. cit. (note 14), p. 265 (= idem, op. cit. [note 14], pp. 362– 363); Ofer, op. cit. (note 25), pp. 110–112. 29 Cf. Num 13:6; 14:7–9, 30–31; 34:19; Deut 1:36; 9:2. 30 Most scholars identify Bethel with Beitin (1727.1482), but it is also argued that an identification with the acropolis of Ras et-Tahune (1701.1462) in el-Bireh is doing more justice to the biblical and non-biblical sources. Gaß, op. cit. (note 24), pp. 71–76; B. G. Wood, “The Search for Joshua’s Ai”, in R. S. Hess et al., Critical Issues in Early Israelite History (BBRS 3; Winona Lake, IN 2008), pp. 214–221. 31 Most likely, the term ‘Hittite’ denotes Syria due to the Assyrian labelling of the Neo-Hittite kingdoms between the 11th and 7th centuries BCE (cf. Josh 1:4; 1 Kgs 10:20; and 2 Kgs 7:6). See Van Bekkum, op. cit. (note 5), pp. 129–131. 32 These sites are to be identified with Tel Beth Shean (1975.2123), Tell Taanach (1708.2142), Tel Dor (1424.2247), Kh. Balamah (1777.2058) and Tel Megiddo (1676.2212).

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continued to live in these areas and became only subject to forced labour in a later phase, when Israel grew stronger (Judg 1:28). The same occurs to the Canaanites in Kitron and Nahalol for the tribe of Zebulun (Judg 1:30), while with respect to Ephraim it is only told that it did not drive out the Canaanites from Gezer (Judg 1:29).33 The second form of coexistence is the settlement of tribes in areas where the Canaanites still dominate the scene. Asher lives between the former inhabitants of the promised land—not only in the seaports of Acco, Sidon and Achzib, but also in cities in the Plain of Acco and south of Tyre closer to the hills, namely Achlab, Helba, Aphek and Rehob (Judg 1:31–32).34 More to the east, Naphtali does the same in Beth-Shemesh and Beth-Anat, although here it is also mentioned that the inhabitants were obliged to do forced labour (Judg 1:33).35 The final and third consequence of Israel’s compromising attitude towards the preIsraelite nations regards the tribe of Dan. Interestingly, the direction from south to north is implicitly confirmed in the last verses of Judg 1. According to Josh 19:47 and Judg 17–18, Dan lost its territory in the Ayalon Valley and the southern Coastal Plain and became Israel’s northernmost tribe after the conquest of Leshem/Laish. Judg 1 offers its own version of the tradition that ‘the Danites lost their territory’ (Josh 19:47) and ‘was seeking for itself a territory to live in; for until then no territory among the tribes of Israel had been allotted to them’ (Judg 18:1). The Danites are pressed back into the hills by the Amorites who continued to live at Mount Heres

For the historical-geographical discussions, see Gaß, op. cit. (note 24), pp. 90–108. 33 The identification of Gezer with Tel Gezer (1422.1404) is well known, but the location of Kitron and Nahalol is uncertain and partly dependent on the interpretation of Josh 19:10–15, which does not describe the western boundary of Zebulun in detail. The most likely candidates are Tell el-Far (1601.2419) at the edge of the Plain of Acco and Mahlul (1724.2339) in the southern slopes of the Nazareth hills. As a result, Judg 1:30 depicts the incomplete settlement of Zebulun by drawing a line from west to southeast through the western part of the Jezreel Valley. Cf. e.g. Z. Gal, Lower Galilee During the Iron Age (ASOR Dissertation Series 8; Winona Lake, IN 1992), pp. 14, 98–102; Gaß, op. cit. (note 24), pp. 108–121. 34 Acco, Sidon, Achzib, Aphek and Rehob are generally identified with Tell el-Fukhkhar / Tel Akko (1580.2580), Saida (Lebanese Grid 1160.1810), az-Zib (1599.2725), Tell Kurdana / Tel Aphek (1605.2500), and Tel Bira (1661.2562). Cf. Gaß, op. cit. (note 24), pp. 121–128, 131– 132, 144–146, 153–154. More difficult is the identification of Achlab and Helba, for Helba is only mentioned in Judg 1:31, and Josh 19:29 also refers to a city called Mahalab. Do these names actually refer to three different locations or are the texts corrupted by metathesis and dittography? Unfortunately, the versions are not helpful in clarifying this issue, for their transliterations conform to the spelling of the names in MT, while some LXX manuscripts only offer a different arrangement of the names. Moreover, the identification of possible candidates for these cities—Kh. el-Mahalib (172.303 / LG 1040.1540) near the mouth of the Litani river and Ras el-Abyad (LG 0970.1360) south of Tyre—also depends on the question whether they should be located in- or outside the conquered land. The conceptual and geographical similarities between Joshua and Judges suggest that the last option is to be preferred. For a discussion, see e.g. Na’aman, op. cit. (note 11), pp. 57–60; Kallai, op. cit. (note 11), pp. 222–223; Gaß, op. cit. (note 24), pp. 128–129, 135–137. 35 The location of these cities is unknown; the most likely possible identifications are Tel Rosh (1815.2718) and Be‘ana (1758.2596). Cf. Gaß, op. cit. (note 24), pp. 163–164, 166–169.

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and in Ayalon and Shaalbim.36 Later, when Joseph had become more powerful, these people became also subject to forced labour (Judg 1:34–35). So in the end, the ambiguous facts of the Kenites settling among the Amalekites and of Judah not being able to drive out the inhabitants from the southern Coastal Plain (Judg 1:16,19) turn out to be the prelude to a negative climax in the description of the settlement of the tribes of Joseph. In the end, Israel simply does not drive out the pre-Israelite people and is not in control. Consequently the promised land is not theirs, for the southern border from the Ascent of the Scorpions and Sela is the border of the land of the Amorites (Judg 1:36).37 A further reflection on the dating and ideology of Judg 1 can start with an overview of references to its realia in non-biblical texts. Most of the non-biblical attestations of the geographical locations occur in Late Bronze Age texts reflecting the Egyptian New Kingdom sphere of influence in the Southern Levant (Jerusalem, Hebron, Gaza, Ashkelon, Beth Shean, Taanach, Dor, Ibleam, Megiddo, Gezer, Acco, Sidon, Aphek, Rehob, Beth Anat, Ayalon, the Ascent of the Scorpions). Apart from two names in the Egyptian story of Wenamun (Dor, Sidon) and four references in the 10th century BCE Shoshenq-List (Arad, Ekron, Megiddo, Gezer), the frequent attestations from the Neo-Assyrian period score a second place (Jerusalem, Gaza, Ashkelon, Ekron, Megiddo, Dor, Gezer, Acco, Sidon, Achlab, Achzib), while the attestations from the Hellenistic period are third in rank (Jerusalem, Ashkelon, Beth Shean, Dor, Gezer, Acco, Sidon). The references in texts dating from the Babylonian (Jerusalem, Ashkelon, Ekron) and Persian periods (Jerusalem, Ashkelon, Dor, Sidon) are relatively scarce, in particular in the light of the fact that literacy was more widespread in these imperia than in the pre-exilic territorial kingdoms.38 Other information is acquired from extra-biblical records regarding the personal names and ethnographical designations. There are no parallels for a ’dn in combination with the name of a city. Accordingly, it is possible to read ‘Adoni-Bezek’ (Judg 1:5-7) simply as ‘lord of Bezek’. In their turn, the names ‘Sheshai’, ‘Ahiman’ and ‘Talmai’ (Judg 1:10) seem to be of a Hurrian and West-Semitic origin. This phenomenon of West-Semitic and northern names found in a single kinship group is not uncommon in the Late Bronze eastern Mediterranean.39 But as such, this observation does not say very much. More promising are the ethnographic designations ‘Canaanites’ (Judg 1:1,4,9–10,17,27), ‘Perizzites’ (Judg 1:1,4), ‘Jebusites’ (Judg 1:21) and ‘Amorites’ (Judg 1:34,36). The information regarding the Perizzites and Jebusites is scarce. The former are only depicted as living in the mountains and as inhabitants of the woods of the inner valleys of Northern Samaria (Josh 11:3; 17:15), while the area for the latter is in most attestations narrowed to that of Jerusalem and

36

Har Heres cannot be identified, but Ayalon is Yalo (1523.1388) and Shaalbim is Salbit (1485.1420). Cf. Gaß, op. cit. (note 24), pp. 169–178. 37 This border clearly parallels the description of the southern border of the tribe of Judah as depicted in Num 34:3–4 and Josh 10:41; 11:17; 15:1–4. Cf. De Vos, op. cit. (note 27), pp. 313–317; Gaß, op. cit. (note 24), pp. 169–178; Van Bekkum, op. cit. (note 5), pp. 189–190. 38 For the attestations in ancient sources, see Gaß, op. cit. (note 24), pp. 14–17, 19, 58–59, 61– 63, 66–67, 78, 84, 95–96, 98, 102, 107, 109–110, 122, 126, 129, 141, 153, 166–167, 173. 39 R. S. Hess, “Non-Israelite Personal Names in the Book of Joshua”, CBQ 58 (1996), pp. 210–213.

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its neighbourhood.40 Possibly, the term ‘Perizzites’ also contained socio-economic associations besides its exclusive ethnographic use.41 But like in the rest of the historiography of the settlement, they are used in Judg 1 together with the more general terms for the inhabitants of the promised land, namely, the ‘Canaanites’ and ‘Amorites’. These terms indeed contain Late Bronze and Iron Age memories and suggest that the schematic presentation of pre-Israelite nations as they are now present in Genesis—2 Kings already took place at the beginning of Iron IIA.42 It is interesting to compare this information from the realia in the text to the ideology that is reflected in the story’s tendency and its literary connections. Apparently, the command to drive out (‫ירשׁ‬, hi.) the former inhabitants of the promised land and to devote them to destruction (‫ )חרם‬is the driving force behind the story of Judg 1. In order to prevent spiritual contamination and idolatry, the inhabitants of Canaan should not ‘live in the midst’ (‫ )ישׁב ְבּק ֶֶרב‬of Israel (Ex 23:32; 34:12,15; Deut 7:2). Accordingly, Judah indeed eliminates Adoni-Bezeq, the inhabitants of Jerusalem and those of Zefath (Judg 1:7–8,17). But the Kenites settle among the inhabitants of Arad (Judg 1:17); ‘it was not possible for Judah’—look at the striking passive formula—‘to drive out’ the inhabitants of the Coastal Plain because of their ‘chariots of iron’ (Judg 1:19);43 Joseph refuses to eliminate one inhabitant of Luz (Judg 1:25); the Canaanites remain and live among Manasseh, Ephraim and Zebulun (Judg 1:27– 30); Asher and Naphtali settle and live among the Canaanites (Judg 1:31–33); and Dan is driven back by the Amorites (Judg 1:34). The situations are only described, for the explicit accusation and blaming of the tribes will follow in the words of YHWH’s messenger in Judg 2:2. But it is clear that apart from the passive formula with respect to the tribe of Judah, the coexistence following Joshua’s death is presented as guilt.44 Several elements, however, put this negative climax in perspective. The expression ‫ מס עובד‬and the locations of the Canaanite ‘forced labour’ create a connection to 2 Sam 24:7, 1 Kgs 4:11–12, 5:29, and 9:15–22, thus suggesting that they were at least subjected in this way by the later kings David and Solomon. A similar allusion to slavery and Solomon can be observed in the story about the origin of the Gibeonite slavery in Josh 9.45 Other remarkable features are the opposition between Judah and Joseph and the links between Judg 1 and 17–21.46 These literary ties highlight 40

Num 13:29; Josh 11:3; 15:8,63; 18:16,23; Judg 19:10–11; 2 Sam 5:6; 24:16,18; 1 Chron 11:4; 21:18; 2 Chron 3:1. 41 Cf. H. M. Niemann, “Das Ende des Volkes der Perizzieter”, ZAW 105 (1993), pp. 245–255. 42 For the evidence and its interpretations, see Van Bekkum, op. cit. (note 5), pp. 128–142, 323–324, 415–416. 43 The element of ‘iron’ in the depiction of Canaanite chariots (Josh 17:16,18; Judg 1:19, cf. 4:3,13) most likely has its terminus a quo in the innovation of the reinforcement of chariots by iron in Assyria and the Neo-Hittite states, somewhere between the late-10th and early-8th centuries BCE. Van Bekkum, op. cit. (note 5), pp. 170–172. 44 For the relation with Exodus 34 and a tradition-historical view of the command to drive out the nations, see Van Bekkum, op. cit. (note 5), pp. 244–248, 385–389. 45 Cf. e.g. A. F. Rainey, “Compulsory Labour Gangs in Ancient Israel”, IEJ 20 (1971), pp. 197–202; G. C. Chirichingo, Debt-Slavery in Israel and the Ancient Near East (JSOTS 141; Sheffield, 1993), pp. 114–120; Van Bekkum, op. cit. (note 5), pp. 259–267. 46 There are four striking allusions between Judg 1:1–2:5 and 17–21. (a) 20:18 parallels 1:1;

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the fact that Judg 1 presupposes the rejection of Ephraim and of Saul and Benjamin, supports the defilement of the origin of the northern cultic site in Dan in chapter 17– 18, and is quite positive about the election of the Davidic dynasty (cf., e.g. 1 Sam 13–15; Ps 78:67–68; 89; 132). This contention is confirmed by the arrangement of the tribes—Judah comes first—and by the opposition between Judah and its clans and the ‘House of Joseph’, that is, the other tribes (cf., e.g. 2 Sam 19:21; 1 Kgs 11:28; Amos 5:6).47 As a result, the chapter presents a multi-staged process of conquest directed at the actual ‘living’ (‫ )ישׁב‬of the tribes in their tribal inheritances and depicts a development by which the people are gradually swept up into a situation of coexistence with the inhabitants of the land. The selection of events describing this process is not accidental. Both the positive fashioning of the tribe of Judah and the report of its taking of Jerusalem, and the negative portrayal of the tribes under guidance of Joseph in fact foreshadow what will happen later, namely the election of David as Israel’s king and his conquest of Jerusalem, where he ‘rules’ and ‘lives’ (‫ישׁב‬, 2 Sam 5:9),48 and the rejection of Saul and the northern kingdom. Diachronically, these lines fit the historical reference in Judg 18:30–31 to the conquest of the north and the destruction of the sanctuary at Dan during the campaigns of Tiglath-pileser III in 734–732 BCE. From an ideological point of view, this would implicate that the text reflects the view of late-8th century Judean scribes admonishing their king to be faithful to YHWH and to put his trust in the promises for the house of David. In that case the king and his people will prosper. But if he denies the divine commands and promises, chooses for coexistence and approves forms of cult similar to those in Dan and Bethel, it might be that YHWH rejects him and Jerusalem, just as happened to the Benjaminite Saul, Shiloh and the house of Joseph (cf. Ps 78:59–72; Jer 7:1–15). As a result, not only the areas of former coexistence, but also his kingdom might be conquered, divided and transformed into Assyrian provinces, just as had happened to Galilee, the Jezreel and the Beth Shean Valleys (Magidu), Dor (Duru or Samarina), the Plain of Acco (S urru) and Gezer (Samarina).49 This hypothesis that the introduction of the present Book of Judges goes back to literary activity that already occurred during the reign of king Hezekiah of Judah, (b) the combination of ‘weeping’ (‫ )בכה‬and ‘sacrificing’ (‫ )זבח‬occurs in both 2:4-5 and 21:23, 26 (cf. 21:2); (c) 1:34-35 presupposes the move of the tribe of Dan as reported in 17–18; (d) both passages are critical about Benjamin and the sanctuary of Dan, and implicitly highlight Jerusalem and its cult. 47 Cf. C. H. J. de Geus, The Tribes of Israel (SSN 18; Assen – Amsterdam, 1976), pp. 70–96. 48 Cf. Amit, op. cit. (note 15), pp. 142–148. Strikingly, ‫ישׁב‬, ‘to live’, occurs very rarely in the Book of Joshua as the description of a completed act in the Cisjordanian tribal territories. Only Joshua himself is said to have settled his inheritance (Josh 19:50) and it is concluded that Israel ‘lives’ in the land of the Amorites (24:13,15), besides Hivites, Jebusites, and Canaanites (11:19; 15:63; 16:10; 17:12,16). 49 For a sketch of the historical and geographical situation, see e.g. N. Na’aman, “Province System and Settlement Pattern in Southern Syria and Palestine in the Neo-Assyrian Period”, in M. Liverani (ed.), Neo-Assyrian Geography (Rome, 1995), pp. 103–115 (= idem, Ancient Israel and Its Neighbours. Interaction and Counteraction. Collected Essays, I [Winona Lake, IN 2005], pp. 220–237).

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does not only fit synchronic studies dating parts of the book to this epoch.50 It also matches the tradition-historical reflection regarding the Book of Joshua tracing its use of geographical concepts, textual sources and oral traditions back to an earliest composition from the period between the late-10th and the early-8th centuries BCE.51 With regard to the outer borders of the conquered land and the tribal areas, Judg 1 reflects the same geographical concept and tribal arrangement. It also uses textual fragments that now occur in the Book of Joshua, while both compositions presuppose a correlation between law, land and leadership. Nevertheless, the chapter exploits different traditions and is much more critical about Israel’s attitude, thus suggesting that the Neo-Assyrian conquest of Israel and the threatening situation for the kingdom of Judah has had a considerable ideological impact on the historiographical tradition in which both texts came into existence. So in the end, it is highly unlikely that the references in Judg 1 to ancient traditions are to be interpreted as antiquarianisms, that is, as fictional elements that look antique, in order to suggest that the narrative relies on ancient and respectable sources. In that case, the text would be smoother and easier to read. Undoubtedly, the chapter contains an ideological flavour and reflects the historical horizon of its scribes. But the text’s antiquarian intent is so obvious that from a historical point of view, the question becomes inevitable whether this story contains Iron I memories.

IV. Archaeology and Social Structures From an archaeological point of view, the sites and regions mentioned in Judg 1 are subject of a major social transformation in the period under study. The Late Bronze Southern Levant was dominated by rivalling little kingdoms and Egyptian garrisons and estates. Some of the cities were more independent than others, but all of them profited from the flourishing international economic relations in the eastern Mediterranean. Between 1300 and 1100 BCE this social system collapsed due to the weakening and disappearance of the Egyptian imperial rule, the arrival of the ‘Sea Peoples’ in the coastal regions, lack of economic resources in the cities, riots by groups of outlaws, attacks by semi-nomadic elements, and possibly by the immigration of several tens of thousands immigrants too. In many cites, the traditions of the palatial cities survived, but the most dominant feature of the next centuries was a different one, namely that of the tribal settlement systems in the hill country. During Iron I and in particular in Iron II, the increasing importance of the tribal element resulted in the rise of several new polities with a central administration. Archaeologically, it is very hard to establish the exact beginning, number and extent of these entities, which later became the territorial kingdoms of Aram, Israel, Judah, Ammon, Moab, and Edom. But with regard to the Cisjordanian Southern Levant it is clear that the power of the new polities also affected the important cities. In any case, the intensification of the agricultural and pastoralist activities resulting in a surplus made it possible to fortify some of them and to reorganize them into sizeable regional and administrative centres.

50 51

E.g. Amit, op. cit. (note 15), pp. 365–375. Van Bekkum, op. cit. (note 5), pp. 389–423.

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Of course, the structural function of the regions did not differ too much from that in previous and later periods. The relatively remote areas around Bethel and Jerusalem, the hill country of Judah, and the southern steppe were only indirectly influenced by international political vicissitudes and cultural developments. This, however, was not the case with the area along the trade routes, the plains, and the coastal regions. In addition, the dune area of Dor, the Plain of Acco and the coastal strip up to Tyre and Sidon reflect a primary interest in maritime affairs. In their turn, the Northern Valleys not only functioned as the bread basket of the Southern Levant, but also indicates a society clearly differing from that in the Central Hill Country. The importance and distinctiveness of these valleys is illustrated by the perseverance of some cultural traditions during the Bronze and Iron Ages and by the efforts of Egypt, Israel, Aram, and Assyria to control them. A brief sketch of the archaeology of the sites and regions mentioned in Judg 1 within this framework goes along the following lines. 1. Centers in the Central Hill Country With regard to the Central Hill Country, there is a difference between its northern and southern part. Beitin was one of the few sites that continued to exist in the Late Bronze Age, because it was close to important highways.52 During Iron I both Beitin and el-Bireh were part of a pattern of sites, mostly founded by an influx of settlers overrunning southern Samaria and Benjamin. The density of settlements in the southern slopes of Samaria and the desert fringes of Benjamin was limited. But application of Thiessen Polygons suggest that the sites in the ‘Bethel Hills’ formed one of the complex settlement systems in the area.53 During Iron II the settlement activity practically doubled, reaching its floruit in the 8th century.54 At the beginning of this period, Beitin was one of the newly fortified cities in the highlands.55 More to the south, the Judean Mountains offer a totally different picture. The Amarna Letters make it clear that Jerusalem was an important city. Its decent dimensions during this period, however, lead to the conclusion that there was a striking dichotomy between the valleys and the hills, for the small remote cities in the highlands dominated much larger territories. Unlike the northern part of the Central Hill Country the southern hills were never densely occupied before late Iron II. Surveys suggest that it was a marginal area during the Late Bronze Age and that the following settlement wave of Iron I consisted out of only 18 sites. Later on, the number of sites doubled and steadily increased though Iron II, to a peak of 122 sites in the late 8th century BCE.56 52

For literature regarding the imprecise archaeological record of the excavation of Beitin, see Van Bekkum, op. cit. (note 5), pp. 496–497. 53 Miller, op. cit. (note 2), pp. 53, 89. 54 I. Finkelstein and Z. Lederman (eds.), Highlands of Many Cultures. The Southern Samaria Survey I-II. The Sites (Tel Aviv Monograph Series 14; Tel Aviv, 1997), pp. 131–856, esp. 512– 513; I. Finkelstein and Y. Magen, Archaeological Survey of the Hill Country of Benjamin (Jerusalem, 1993), pp. 26*, 36*, 44*, 46*, 76–77*, 448–449. 55 J. S. Holladay, “The Kingdoms of Israel and Judah: Political and Economic Centralization in the Iron IIA-B (CA. 1000-757 BCE)”, in T. E. Levy (ed.), The Archaeology of Society in the Holy Land (New York, 1995), p. 373. 56 Ofer, op. cit. (note 25), p. 110–112; G. Lehmann, “The United Monarchy in the Country-

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The excavation results of the cities in this area are somewhat contested. With regard to the City of David (Jerusalem) two things are agreed upon: the Middle Bronze wall was no longer in use during the Late Bronze Age, whereas parts of it helped in constructing a new city wall at the foot of the hill during Iron IIB, that is, in the 8th century BCE. It is insecure, however, what happened in between. Possibly, the terraces were constructed during Iron I in order to undergird a small fortress. In that case, the famous stepped stone structure was added during Iron IIA together with a city wall at the top of the hill, which made the city a sizeable regional centre, comparable to Tel Hazor, Tel Megiddo and Tel Gezer.57 According to another interpretation the Iron I city was larger than often assumed, for both the terraces and stepped stone structure would have been part of a monumental stepped rampart and fortification system that was built at the beginning of this period.58 It is often stated that Tell Rumeida (Hebron) was not occupied during the Late Bronze Age. But a closer look at the results of the poorly published excavations by P. C. Hammond (1964–1967) and of later research shows that the general history of the tell is comparable to that of other major sites in the southern Levantine Central Hill Country: a decline during the Late Bronze Age and Iron I and a recovery of the site during Iron II.59 The same pattern can be observed with regard to Kh. Rabud (Debir).60 Interestingly, these three locations also play a part in an ethnographic model with regard to marriage alliances that was applied to the survey results in the region. According to this model, the area consisted out of four fields of interaction during Iron I: the area surrounding el-Jib, the vicinity of Jerusalem, the highlands of Tell Jedur and Ras et-Tawil, and the area between Tell Rumeida and Kh. Rabud. The analysis of the data also suggests that Jerusalem was at the top of the settlements systems at the beginning of Iron IIA and that the system between Tell Rumeida and Kh. Rabud was split up in two economic independent areas.61 2. Steppe, Southern Coastal Plain, and Ayalon Valley At the end of the Late Bronze Age, the north-western part of the Negev appeared to be a strongly fortified region with a particularity that is not attested elsewhere in the Southern Levant. Despite the lack of agricultural hinterland, large cities like Gaza,

side”, in A. G. Vaughn and A. E. Killebrew (eds.), Jerusalem in Bible and Archaeology. The First Temple Period (SBLSS 18; Atlanta, GA 2003), pp. 130–133, 146–156; G. Lehmann and H. M. Niemann, “Klanstruktur und charismatische Herrschaft: Juda und Jerusalem 1200–900 v.Chr.”, Theologische Quartalschrift 186 (2006), pp. 139–141. 57 See e.g. M.L. Steiner, “The Evidence from Kenyon’s Excavations in Jerusalem”, in Vaughn and Killebrew (eds.), op. cit. (note 56), pp. 347–363. 58 J.M. Cahill, “Jerusalem at the Time of the United Monarchy”, in Vaughn and Killebrew (eds.), op. cit. (note 56), pp. 27–67; A. Mazar, ‘Jerusalem in the 10th Century BCE: The Glass Half Full’, in Y. Amit et al. (eds.), Essays on Ancient Israel in Its Near Eastern Context (Winona Lake, IN 2006), pp. 255–272. 59 For an assessment, see Van Bekkum, op. cit. (note 5), pp. 520–524. On LB Hebron, see J. Chadwick, “Discovering Hebron: The City of the Patriarchs Slowly Yields Its Secrets”, BAR 31/5 (2005), pp. 24–33, 70–71. 60 M. Kochavi, “Khirbet Rabûd–Debir”, TA 1 (1974), pp. 1–33; Ofer, op. cit. (note 25), p. 96. 61 Lehmann, op. cit. (note 56), pp. 139–156; Lehmann and Niemann, op. cit. (note 56), pp. 142–151.

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Tell Jemmeh and Tell el-Far‘ah (South) coexisted, most likely under Egyptian control.62 Somewhat more to the northeast Tel Halif (Hormah) functioned as a trade station on the border between the northern Negev and the Shephelah. In later periods, the site remained an important settlement.63 Geoarchaeological research south of Tel Halif discovered many Late Bronze remains of human activity, but no sedentary settlements were uncovered, except for Tel Masos.64 This changed during Iron I, when a new chapter in the sedentarization of the southern steppe began with the foundation of new settlements in the Beersheba Valley—a development culminating in the establishment of a series of Negev highland sites during Iron IIA. After a short period, however, these settlements were deserted, while many of sites in the valley were rebuilt into fortresses. The region experienced a renewal and expansion during the 8th century BCE, when other fortresses were built and new cities founded.65 A remarkable development during the Late Bronze Age – Iron Age transition and the following Iron II period took place in the densely settled southern Coastal Plain—now excellently summarized in the works of A. Yasur-Landau and A. Shavit.66 Here, the number of settlements decreased in Iron I. But the central sites became more important. Some of the cities even enlarged their territory into the lower Shephelah, whereas new features related to northern and Aegean culture were introduced. The changes in material culture, settlement patterns, subsistence strategy and animal husbandry are most plausibly explained by the assumption that a substantial Aegean migration and colonization created a mixed ‘Philistine’ culture of Aegean, Egyptian, and indigenous elements. The excavations of, for instance, Tell Harube (Gaza), Tel Ashkelon (Ashkelon) and Tel Miqne (Ekron) fit this pattern.67 62

M. Jasmin, “The Political Organization of the City-States in Southwestern Palestine in the Late Bronze Age IIB”, in A. Maeir and P. de Miroschedji (eds.), “I Will Speak the Riddles of Ancient Times”: Archaeological and Historical Studies in Honor of Amihai Mazar on the Occasion of His Sixtieth Birthday (Winona Lake, IN 2006), pp. 176–177. 63 For a summary, see J. D. Seger, “Halif, Tel”, NEAEHL, pp. 557–558; P. F. Jakobs, “Halif, Tel”, NEAEHL, pp. 1761–1762; O. Borowski, “Life and Death in Tel Halif in the Eighth Century B.C.E.”, EI 25 (2009), pp. 1*–10*. 64 H. J. Bruins and J. van der Plicht. “Radiocarbon Dating the ‘Wildernis of Zin’”, Radiocarbon (2007), pp. 481–497. 65 R. Gophna and L. Singer-Avitz, “Iron Age I Settlements to the West of Tel Beer-Sheba”, in Z. Herzog (ed.), Beer-Sheba II. The Early Iron Age Settlements (Tel Aviv Monograph Series 7; Tel Aviv, 1984), pp. 125–131; Z. Herzog, “The Beer-Sheba Valley: From Nomadism to Monarchy”, in Finkelstein and Na’aman (eds.), op. cit. (note 2), pp. 122, 128–140; idem, “The Fortress Mound at Tel Arad: An Interim Report”, TA 29 (2002), pp. 86–89, 94–99; Z. Herzog and L. Singer-Avitz, “Redefining the Centre. The Emergence of State in Judah”, TA 31 (2004), pp. 225–229. 66 A. Yasur-Landau, The Philistines and Aegean Migration at the End of the Late Bronze Age (Cambridge – New York, 2010), pp. 216–345; A. Shavit, “Settlement Patterns of Philistine City-States”, in A. Fantalkin and A. Yasur-Landau (eds.), Bene Israel: Studies in the Archaeology of Israel and the Levant during the Bronze and Iron Ages (CHANE 31; Leiden – Boston, 2008), pp. 135–164. 67 A. Ovadiah, “Gaza”, NEAEHL, p. 465; L. E. Stager, “Ashkelon”, NEAEHL, pp. 107, 1580–1585; T. Dotan and S. Gitin, “Miqne, Tel (Ekron)”, NEAEHL, 1052–1058, 1953–1957. See also A. Maeir and J. Uziel, “A Tale of Two Tells: A Comparative Perspective on Tel

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During Iron II, Gaza and the Nahal Besor Basin and Ashkelon and its surroundings remained important port powers, despite a decrease during the 9th century BCE. At this time, however, the more inland site Tel Miqne in the Nahal Soreq Basin increased and started to flourish due to the destruction of Tel Ṣafit (Gath).68 More to the northeast, Tel Gezer (Gezer) and the Ayalon Valley experienced a serious decline during Iron I, although the area remained more inhabited than other parts of the Shephelah. The excavations show indications of trade with the ‘Philistine’ areas, but its pottery is only a small part of the Iron I ceramic assemblage of Tel Gezer. The amount of settlements again increased during Iron II, when the Late Bronze fortifications of Tel Gezer were partly repaired and an administrative centre was erected on the mound.69 Several surveys showed that Yalo (Ayalon) and Salbit (Shaalbim) remained occupied during the Bronze and Iron Ages.70 3. Dor, Plain of Acco, and Northern Coastal Area Another picture appears with regard to the development of Dor, the Plain of Acco and the coastal sites north of it. Most of these cities were part of the framework of international trade that collapsed at the end of the Late Bronze Age. This is confirmed by the excavation and survey of most of the sites, although Late Bronze Tel Dor (Dor) has not yet been located. During Iron I, Tel Dor developed into a fortified flourishing urban centre. At the beginning of Iron II the city was newly protected by a casemate wall. Most likely, connections to other harbours and newcomers from Cyprus contributed significantly to the gradual transformation of the Late Bronze ‘Canaanite’ culture of the site to its ‘southern Phoenician’ characteristics of the Iron Age.71 Tel Dor’s growing interest in business as reflected in its distinct material culture can also be observed more to the north, for instance at Tell Abu Hawam, Tell Keisan, Sarepta and Sidon.72 Surveys and excavations show that Tel Kurdana (Aphek), Tel Bira (Rehob), Tel Akko (Acco) and az-Zib (Achzib) played some part in this development.73 Tel Acco seems to have experienced a cultural and occupaMiqne-Ekron and Tell eṣ-Ṣâfi/Gath in Light of Recent Archaeological Research”, in S. Crawford et al. (eds.), “Up to the Gates of Ekron” (Jerusalem, 2007), pp. 29–42. 68 Shavit, op. cit. (note 66), pp. 139–141, 149–153. Cf. A. Maeir, “Notes and News: Tell eṣṢafi”, IEJ 53 (2003), p. 244. 69 I. Shavit, “Settlement Patterns in the Ayalon Valley in the Bronze and Iron Ages”, TA 27 (2000), pp. 211–218. For the complex archaeological history of the site from Late Bronze II to Iron II, see Van Bekkum, op. cit. (note 5), pp. 529–534. 70 J. L. Peterson, “Aijalon”, ABD, I, p. 131; M. Fischer, B. Isaac and I. Roll, Roman Roads in Judaea, II (BAR International Series 628; Oxford, 1996), pp. 248–249. 71 For this interpretation, see Van Bekkum, op. cit. (note 5), pp. 498–504. 72 A. Gilboa, “Sea Peoples and Phoenicians along the Southern Phoenician Coast”, BASOR 337 (2005), pp. 47–70. See also the contribution of M. Artzy to this volume. This interpretation fits the evidence better than the ethnic labels used by e.g. A. Raban, “The Philistines in the Western Jezreel Valley”, BASOR 284 (1991), pp. 17–27; and E. Stern, “The Settlement of the Sea Peoples in Northern Israel”, in E. D. Oren (ed.), The Sea Peoples and Their World (UMM 108; Philadelphia, PA 2000), pp. 199–207. 73 G. Lehmann, “Phoenicians in Western Galilee: First Results of An Archaeological Survey in the Hinterland of Akko”, in A. Mazar (ed.), Studies in the Archaeology of the Iron Age in Israel and Jordan (JSOTS 331; Sheffield, 2001), p. 99; M. W. Prausnitz, “Bira, Tel”, NEAEHL, pp. 262–263; idem, “Achzib”, NEAEHL, p. 32.

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tional decline during the 11th and 10th centuries BCE.74 Another interesting feature is the distribution of the so-called Achzib-Huelva fibula in the Mediterranean, because of its attestation in an early Iron II deposit in Huelva in Spain dating to the 10th century BCE.75 This find shows that Achzib had its place in the earliest Phoenician trade reaching far into the western Mediterranean, thus confirming the contention of its excavators that the city was a flourishing harbour at the beginning of Iron II.76 It is hard to translate these economic and cultural observations in terms of political power. The settlement pattern of the Plain of Acco clearly shows a break between the Late Bronze Age and Iron I. The cities declined and almost all small villages were abandoned. In addition, monochrome pottery shows an influence of Sea Peoples that is distinct from that in the southern Coastal Plain. In Iron II the valley gradually developed by new settlements. It became a centralized system under Tel Akko from the 9th century on. But it remains unclear what happened before and the reconstruction of this period is heavily dependent on the interpretation of biblical texts.77 The dense settlement of the Sharon Plain, however, could suggest that Tel Dor was closely connected to a polity in the middle of southern Central Hill Country during the 10th century BCE.78 In western Upper and Lower Galilee, the interpretation of the situation becomes even more complicated. Tel Rosh (Beth Shemesh?), for instance, is a large high tell in Upper Galilee with traces of walls on top of it. The pottery below the large terraces shows that it was occupied from the Early Bronze Age to the Byzantine period.79 Its relation, however, to the Iron I villages on lower slopes of the mountains and the villages in the east, and to the Iron II fortresses in the neighbourhood cannot be established. Be‘ana (Beth Anath?), a site on a dolomite peak with a large spring, in its turn seems also to have been settled during the Bronze and Iron Ages. If the site is indeed to be identified with Beth Anath, Late Bronze Age sources indicate that it was an important city in the mountainous region of western Galilee. The settlement in the area appears to be meagre in Iron I, but new cities were established during Iron II.80 But the archaeological materials themselves remain silent about the causes of these fluctuations. Just as it is unclear which history is connected to the continuous occupied sites in Lower Galilee, such as Tell el-Far (Kitron?) at the edge of the Plain of Acco, and Mahlul (Nahalol?) at the northern side of the Jezreel Valley.81 74

M. Dothan, “Acco, Tel”, NEAEHL, p. 21–22. H. J. Bruins, A. J. Nijboer and J. van der Plicht, “Iron Age Mediterranean Chronology: A Reply”, Radiocarbon 53 (2011), pp. 213–215. 76 M. W. Prausnitz, “Achzib”, OEANE, pp. 13–14. 77 Lehmann, op. cit. (note 73), pp. 83–95; idem, “Das Land Kabul: archäologische und historisch-geographische Erwägungen”, in M. Witte and J. F. Diehl (eds.), Israeliten und Phönizier (OBO 235; Fribourg – Göttingen, 2008), pp. 39–45, 59–71. 78 Cf. A. Faust, “The Sharon and the Yarkon Basin in the Tenth Century BCE”, IEJ 57 (2007), pp. 65–82. 79 R. Frankel et al., Settlement Dynamics and Regional Diversity in Upper Galilee (IAA Reports 14; Jerusalem, 2001), pp. 36, 131. Cf. Gal, op. cit. (note 33), pp. 61–62. 80 A. Saarisalo, “Topographical Researches in Galilee”, JPOS 9 (1929), p. 39; Gal, op. cit. (note 33), pp. 29, 61–62, 96. 81 Lehmann, op. cit. (note 73), pp. 99; A. Raban, Excavations and Surveys in Israel 1 (Jerusalem, 1982), pp. 69–70; Gal, op. cit. (note 33), p. 14. 75

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4. Bet Shean Valley and Jezreel Valley Much more information is available with regard to the cities and settlement patterns in the Beth Shean Valley and the Jezreel Valley. Tel Beth Shean (Beth Shean) was a rather small town serving as an Egyptian stronghold for approximately 300 years since its conquest in the 15th century BCE by the 18th Dynasty pharaohs. Two violent destructions that occurred during this period were followed by reconstruction, until the final destruction of the site in the second half of the 12th century BCE. Occupation of the site during the 11th century BCE is attested in the renewed use of a few streets and buildings. Monuments and statues erected from the latest Egyptian phase are clear evidence of bold propaganda in order to ‘show off’ the power of the empire as against its weakening grip on the Southern Levant. Most likely, the site was inhabited mainly by Egyptians and their mercenaries—some of them with characteristics of the so-called Sea Peoples—alongside some indigenous inhabitants, who maintained trade connections as well as economic relations with nearby cities like Tel Rehov, the largest city in the Beth Shean Valley.82 In the Jezreel Valley, Tel Megiddo (Megiddo), Tell Taanach (Taanach) and Kh. Balamah (Ibleam) bear witness to a strong cultural continuity at the end of the Late Bronze Age and the beginning of Iron I. Tel Megiddo was a flourishing, though deteriorating unfortified palatial city that was destroyed at ca. 1130 BCE, when the rulers were driven out, but the population did not change. Soon thereafter, the city was rebuilt without its magnificent architecture, but still functioning as a kind of city-state and then again demolished and burnt during the first half of the 10th century. During this same period Tell Taanach was not as important as Tel Megiddo and its material culture was somewhat more reminiscent to that of the hill country. This city came to a violent end somewhere during the 11th century BCE.83 More to the southeast, however, impressive remains were found in the 1996–2000 excavations of Kh. Balamah by the Palestinian Antiquities Authorities and the Archaeological Faculty of Leiden University. The excavators uncovered parts of the fortifications and a tunnel both most likely dating to Iron I. In addition, a collared rim jar was found, thus suggesting that Kh. Balamah was an important city during this period with connections to the Central Hill Country.84 During the Iron IIA period, Tel Taanach was rebuilt, while Tel Megiddo started with a settlement of domestic nature. Megiddo expanded at some moment between 950 and 850 BCE into an administrative centre with palaces, a gate and possibly also a casemate wall—a development carried through in the next century, in which the town was rebuilt into a kind of garrison city. During the same period, Tel Taanach was destroyed and fortified thereafter. In this way, the city joined Megiddo and Jezreel in being locations of strategic importance in the Jezreel Valley.85 82 A. Mazar, “The Egyptian Garrison Town at Beth-Shean”, in S. Bar, D. Kahn and J. J. Shirly (eds.), Egypt, Canaan and Israel: History, Imperialism, Ideology and Literature (CHANE 52; Leiden – Boston, 2011), pp. 155–189. 83 For these results, see Van Bekkum, op. cit. (note 5), pp. 478–483, 488–491. 84 H. Taha and G. van der Kooij, “Les Fouilles de Khirbet Belameh”, L’Archéologie Palestinnienne. Dossiers d’Archéologie 240 (1999), pp. 143–144; G. van der Kooij, “Khirbet Balama”, Monumenten 11 (2007), pp. 15–17; H. Taha and G. van der Kooij, The Water Tunnel System at Khirbet Bal’ama (Ramallah, 2007), pp. 85–86. 85 See Van Bekkum, op. cit. (note 5), pp. 483–487, 491–492. The occupation of Kh. Balamah

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Scholars agree that the kings of Israel reinforced these cities in reaction to a threat from the north. Opinions are widely diverted, however, on the question when and how the Northern Valleys had been integrated into the Israelite area. In particular the presence of collared rim jars and ‘Philistine’ pottery in the Iron I Stratum VI at Tel Megiddo led to a debate, in which the site was reversely baptized as ‘Israelite city’ and ‘Philistine-Canaanite stronghold’.86 These labels, however, are problematic, not only because it is methodologically inadequate to assume a direct relation between ‘pots’ and ‘people’, but also because Tel Megiddo featured clear continuity of second millennium cultural traits. Moreover, the Jezreel Valley and the Beth Shean Valley are characterized by a relatively steady human activity throughout the ages. Even the destruction of some of their cities during the 12th and 11th centuries BCE did not affect the demographic and cultural processes in the region. This was also the case during Iron II, when Tel Megiddo and Tel Rehov came back as major urban hubs and the number of sites and built up area steadily grew to its peak during Iron Age II.87 Recently, the debate about Iron I in the Northern Valleys got a new impetus by the hypothesis that the ‘Philistine’ bichrome ware occurred more than half a century later in the southern Coastal Plain than is often assumed. Accordingly, a new grand narrative was developed, concluding that the Iron I cities in the Northern Valleys together formed a ‘New Canaan’ that came to an end by the conquest of the Omride kings of Israel.88 A more comprehensive approach is offered in reflections from a territorial-historical angle. This hypothesis accepts the so-called ‘Low Chronology’ and studies the biblical texts on Deborah, Saul, Eshbaal, Solomon, and Omri—all highlighting Israel’s efforts to control the Jezreel Valley—within the constraints of the available geographical and archaeological information. At the same time, however, it is assumed that maintaining a grip on this valley from the Central Hill Country is in fact impossible from a structural-geographical point of view. For that reason, even the Omrides would have had great difficulties in controlling the Jezreel Valley and Galilee.89 during Iron II is also confirmed by excavations and surveys. See E. van der Steen, “Putting Khirbet Balamah on the Archaeological Map”, PEQ 133 (2001), pp. 111–129; A. Zertal, The Manasseh Hill Country Survey. Vol 1. The Shechem Syncline (CHANE 21/1; Leiden – Boston, 2004), pp. 123–125. 86 Cf. e.g. Y. Aharoni, “New Aspects of the Israelite Occupation of the North”, in J. A. Sanders (ed.), Near Eastern Archaeology in the Twentieth Century (Garden City, NY 1970), pp. 263–265; A. Kempinski, Megiddo. A City-State and a Royal Centre in North Israel (Munich, 1989) pp. 78–82; G. I. Davies, “Megiddo in the Period of the Judges”, in A. S. van der Woude (ed.), Crisis and Perspectives (OTS 24; Leiden, 1986), pp. 41–47; T. P. Harrison, Megiddo 3. Final Report on the Stratum VI Excavations (OIP 127; Chicago, 2004), pp. 107–108. 87 I. Finkelstein, B. Halpern, G. Lehmann and H. M. Niemann, “The Megiddo Hinterland Project”, in I. Finkelstein, B. Halpern and D. Ussishkin (eds.), Megiddo IV: The 1998-2000 Seasons (Tel Aviv Monograph Series 24; Tel Aviv, 2006), pp. 760, 770. 88 I. Finkelstein, “From Canaanites to Israelites: When, How and Why”, in Recenti Tendenze Nella Ricostruzione della Storia Antica d’Israele (Contributi del Centro linceo interdisciplinare Beniamino Serge 110; Roma, 2005), pp. 11–27; idem, “City-States to States: Polity Dynamics in the 10th–9th Centuries B.C.E.”, in W. G. Dever and S. Gitin (eds.). Symbiosis, Symbolism, and the Power of the Past (Winona Lake, IN 2007), pp. 75–83. 89 H. M. Niemann, “Taanach und Megiddo: Überlegungen zur strukturell-historischen Situa-

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Both theories are not without problems. Besides methodological objections, the Low Chronology-theory is not conclusive in clarifying concrete archaeological issues.90 Geographical and cultural differences are indeed very important. But the categorical presupposition that rulers of the hill country were not able to exercise decisive political influence on the northern tribal areas prevents the explanation of Israel’s maintaining interest in the northern areas and undervalues the differences between the Late Bronze and Iron II social structures. Local elites, for instance, most likely took over the administration of Iron I Megiddo after the destruction of the town in the late-12th century BCE. It cannot be excluded that these elites, ruling the city during the following century, considered it to be profitable to join an upcoming tribal entity in the south.91 In addition, a comparison of the households in the rural areas to the public buildings in the Iron II towns in the area led to the suggestion that the new Iron IIA administrative ‘royal’ cities of the Northern Valleys were used as ‘symbols of power’ in order to suppress the traditional indigenous population and to legitimize a new political entity and a new social order.92 Accordingly, it is important to realize that the archaeological picture is still incomplete and that the complexity of economic ties and political alliances should not be underestimated.93

V. Conclusion The study of the ideology and antiquarian intent in Judg 1 and of the archaeology of the sites and regions mentioned in this chapter leads to two observations. In terms of social structure and historical development there is an almost perfect match between text and artifact. Most sites were indeed important cities during the Late Bronze – Iron Age transition, all of them existed during Iron I, and the situation of an ongoing Late Bronze culture in the valleys and rising tribal polities in the hill country during the 12th and 11th centuries BCE fits the text much better than any other period in the pre- and post-exilic history of ancient Israel. At the same time, it is obvious that Judg 1 offers its own picture of the past. The story is not arranged in relation to natural regions, but according to tribal areas.94 In addition, the focal point of the tion zwischen Saul und Salomo”, VT 52 (2002), pp. 93–102; idem, “Kern-Israel im samarischen Bergland und seine zeitweilige Peripherie: Megiddo, die Jezreel-Ebene und Galiläa im 11. bis 8. Jh. V. Chr.”, UF 35 (2003), pp. 421–485. 90 For an evaluation and presentation of a chronological framework trying to do more justice to the overlap of archaeological periods and differences between regions, see Van Bekkum, op. cit. (note 5), pp. 427–461, esp. 441–445, 450–459. 91 Cf. B. Halpern, “The Dawn of an Age: Megiddo in the Iron Age I”, in J. D. Schloen (ed.), Exploring the Longue Durée (Winona Lake, IN 2009), pp. 151–163. 92 A. Faust, “Ethnic Complexity in Northern Israel during the Iron Age II”, PEQ 132 (2000), pp. 2–22. 93 Hopefully, more light will be shed on the issue in the Ph.D. dissertation of E. Arie on the settlement, social and cultural processes in the Jezreel Valley at Tel Aviv University, and by the advanced physical survey of sites in the area by the Jezreel Valley Regional Project, directed by M. J. Adams. 94 Gezer (Judg 1:29) is not mentioned besides the nearby settlements in the Ayalon Valley (Judg 1:35). The text also creates some distance between Kitron and Nahalon (Judg 1:30) and the cities in the Plain of Acco (Judg 1:31).

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climax in the sketch of Israel’s coexistence with the indigenous nations is not the lack of political control, but the increasing failure among the tribes to dedicate themselves to YHWH. This ambiguity creates a tension. As is shown by the history of research, it is tempting to use the close parallels between Judg 1 and the territorial and archaeological record for detailed historical reconstructions. Though, it has to be noted that the text in fact offers a very incomplete picture with respect to the actual social, economic and political developments. Of course, the chapter strongly confirms the contention that the Cisjordanian Southern Levant was inhabited by a mixed multitude.95 It also states that Israelites were living all over the place, thus suggesting that it is wrong to identify their material culture exclusively with that of the Central Hill Country, for it also included nomadic groups in the south and settlement systems influenced by the cities along the Phoenician coast. But Judg 1 does not say who was in political control in the described areas and leaves much room for all kind of answers to the question when and how they became part of the kingdom of Israel.96 The chapter only indicates that some of the regions had become Israelite during the reign of Solomon by referring to the Canaanite forced labour. Nevertheless, in several cases information from the text can be used to speculate on the historical background of archaeological finds. First, a parallel is observed between the peculiar construction of the stepped stone structure in Jerusalem and the base of an Iron I tower at nearby Giloh.97 This is striking, for the analysis of pottery production in Iron I Jerusalem not only led to the conclusion that there existed a tradition of rural potters from Late Bronze ‘Jebus’ who survived in the 12th century BCE, and whose products are to be found in many sites, but also that the difference in the ceramic repertoire between 13th century BCE and Iron I Jerusalem and the new rural settlements in Judah cannot be explained exclusively by the different need of the settlers.98 Archaeologically, it is impossible to make a connection between these two very diverse observations. But in the light of Judg 1 the historical question has to be raised whether these are indications that Iron I Jerusalem and Giloh indeed formed a ‘Jebusite’ enclave (e.g. Judg 1:21). A second interesting state of affairs occurs with regard to the archaeology of the cities in the valleys and the subsistence strategies in the Central Hill Country on the one hand, and the remarks about forced labour in Judg 1 and 1 Kgs 5 and 9 on the other. Economically, it seems not unlikely that the people being affiliated to several of these provincial cities were used to do forced labour during early Iron IIA, for some people had to do the work of the building of the new administrative centres. In the yearly planting, horticulture, harvesting and the pastoralist calendar required by 95

Cf. A. E. Killebrew, “The Emergence of Ancient Israel”, in Maeir and Miroschedji (eds.), op. cit. (note 64), pp. 558–559, 571; Van Bekkum, op. cit. (note 5), pp. 584–586. 96 This also applies to A. Mazar’s suggestion that David managed to “take hold of the unique stronghold of Jerusalem (probably the citadel built before his reign), and turn it into a power base from which he could control main portions of a small country like the Land of Israel and its diverse population groups”. See A. Mazar, “From 1200 to 850 BCE: Remarks on Some Selected Archaeological Issues”, in Grabbe (ed.), op cit. (note 4), pp. 109–110. For a different view, see e.g. Lehmann and Niemann, op. cit. (note 56), pp. 153–155. 97 Mazar, op. cit. (note 58), p. 266. 98 H. J. Franken, A History of Potters and Pottery in Ancient Jerusalem (London, 2005), p. 76.

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the highly diversified subsistence strategies of the hill country, labour taken from the villages would have had a significant impact on productivity and upon the viability of individual communities and therefore would have been counter-productive. In addition, in contrast to Egypt and Mesopotamia there were no great masses of unskilled workers in the Southern Levant. So unquestionably, some taxes were paid by the inhabitants of the Central Hill Country in the form of work, but only at a fairly moderate level. As a consequence, it becomes almost certain that the burden of the forced labour fell upon the lowland farmers, who had more seasonable occupations, and upon other less enfranchised elements that were considered to be ‘autochthonous’ rather than upon the highland agriculturalists and pastoralists.99 As a result, the comparison of Judg 1 to the relevant artifactual data leads to the conclusion that the late-8th century BCE Judean scribes writing the first version of its story indeed made use of traditions containing Iron I memories. By their nature, the material remains do not offer the opportunity to say anything about the anecdotes. The chapter also contains less historical information about political control than is often assumed. But it perfectly matches the Iron I Southern Levant in terms of social structure and general historical development, and might even contain a few suggestions concerning the historical interpretation of some archaeological issues.

99

Holladay, op. cit. (note 55), p. 382.

CHARIOTS, SPEARS AND WAGONS ANATOLIAN AND AEGEAN ELEMENTS IN THE MEDINET HABU LAND BATTLE RELIEF

ASSAF YASUR-LANDAU University of Haifa

I. Introduction: The Land Borne Migration of the Philistines In a 2003 article1 and later in the 2010 book2 I advocated the existence of a largescale land-borne Aegean migration to the Levant, rather than a seaborne migration from the Aegean directly to the coast of the southern Levant—the prevailing theory at that time.3 Various Aegean groups of emigrants had used different land routes from western Anatolia through the Amuq and Syria to the south. This is evident by the appearance of Aegean material culture traits in settlements along the routes and by the description of the migration in Ramesses III’s Year 8 inscription in Medinet Habu. Depicted on the temple walls is the advance of the migrants from western Anatolia (Arzawa) to the area of the Cilician Gates (Qode) ending in Syria (Charchemish and the Land of Amurru).4 The theory of land-borne migration is further strengthened by the logistic implausibility of mass maritime migration in the Late Bronze Age. During this time, there was low availability of ships and crews in the Aegean area; on the other hand, the collapse of almost every significant political power in the 12th century BCE, from Troy in northwestern Anatolia to Ugarit in Syria, opened a window of opportunity for land-borne migration. Further confirmation of this hypothesis was received recently with the publication of the 11th century Luwian text from the temple of the storm-god in Aleppo,5 dedicated by Taita, “hero and king of the Land of Palastin”, and also with a reevaluation of the Luwian-Phoenician inscription found at Çineköy, dedicated by Warika, the king of Hiyawa.6 1

A. Yasur-Landau, “How Did the Philistines Get to Canaan? Two: By Land”, BAR 29/2 (2003), pp. 34–39, 66–67. 2 A. Yasur-Landau, The Philistines and Aegean Migration to the Southern Levant at the End of the Late Bronze Age (Cambridge, 2010), pp. 116–118, 190, 192. 3 E.g., L. E. Stager, “The Impact of the Sea Peoples in Canaan (1185–1050 BCE)”, in T. E. Levy (ed.), The Archaeology of Society in the Holy Land (New York, 1995), pp. 332–348; T. J. Barako, “The Philistine Settlement As Mercantile Phenomenon?”, AJA 104 (2000), pp. 513–530. 4 Yasur-Landau, op. cit. (note 2), p. 173. 5 J. D. Hawkins, “Cilicia, the Amuq, and Aleppo: New Light in a Dark Age”, NEA 72 (2009), pp. 164–173. 6 J. D. Hawkins, “Die Inschrift desWarikas vonHiyawa aus Çineköy”, in B. Janowski and G. Wilhelm (eds.), Texte aus der Umwelt des Alten Testaments, Neue Folge, Band 2: Staatsverträge, Herrscherinschriften und andere Dokumente zur politischen Geschichte

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These indicate the existence of two inland kingdoms with names that strongly indicate their founding by Aegean migrants: The (A)hiyawa kingdom was centered on Adana; its name preserved the term Ahhiyawa, used by the Hittites to call parts of Mycenaean Greece.7 The center of the “Land of Palastin” was in the Amuq Valley, yet included also Hamath and Aleppo;8 its name is closely connected with Philistia in the southern Levant. The evidence of migratory movement through Anatolia supports, at least in part, Singer’s long-held views of the Anatolian descent of the Philistines.9 I would still argue that the Philistines were originally from the realm of the Aegean culture of western Anatolia (and perhaps the Dodecanese), yet it may well be that the contact with Anatolian culture before the migration, as well as during the migration process, left an impact on the migrants’ material culture. A full discussion of a possible Anatolian impact on the material culture of the Philistines will be presented elsewhere; in this paper, I would like to investigate possible non-Aegean elements in the Medinet Habu Land Battle Relief, especially those that may have Anatolian parallels.

II. The Philistine chariots, their Crews and their Arms An opening point for this discussion may be Yadin’s 1963 The Art of Warfare in Biblical Lands, claiming, regarding the chariots used by the enemies of Egypt in the Land Battle Relief at Medinet Habu that “[t]he two features—the crew of three and the use of the spear strengthens, in my opinion, that the Philistines reached Palestine and Egypt through Anatolia and Northern Syria”.10 Yadin supplied no further support for this argument, although he may well have referred to comparison with Hittite chariot crews in the depictions of Ramesses II’s Battle of Qadesh. This argument for the origin of the Philistine chariots should therefore be reexamined using available iconographic evidence on both Hittite and Aegean chariots.

(Gütersloh, 2005), pp. 155–156; I. Singer, “‘Old Country’ Ethnonyms in ‘New Countries’ of the ‘Sea Peoples’ Diaspora”, in R. B. Koehl (ed.), Amilla: The Quest for Excellence: Studies in Honor of Günter Kopcke on the Occasion of His 75th Birthday (Philadelphia, forthcoming). 7 W.-D. Niemeier, “The Mycenaeans in Western Anatolia and the Problem of the Origin of the Sea Peoples”, in S. Gitin, A. Mazar and E. Stern (eds.), Mediterranean Peoples in Transition: Thirteenth to Early Tenth Centuries BCE (Jerusalem, 1998), pp. 17–65; P. A. Mountjoy, “The East Aegean–West Anatolian Interface in the Late Bronze Age: Mycenaeans and the Kingdom of Ahhiyawa”, AnSt 48 (1998), pp. 33–67. 8 T. P. Harrison, “Neo-Hittites in the ‘Land of Palistin’: Renewed Investigations at Tell Ta‘yinat on the Plain of Antioch”, NEA 72 (2009), pp. 174–189. 9 I. Singer, “The Origin of the Sea Peoples and Their Settlement on the Coast of Canaan”, in M. Heltzer and E. Lipinski (eds.), Society and Economy in the Eastern Mediterranean (c. 1550–1000 B.C.), (Leuven, 1988), pp. 239–250; idem, “The Political Organization of Philistia in Iron Age I”, in A. Biran and J. Aviram (eds.), Biblical Archaeology Today, 1990: Proceedings of the Second International Congress on Biblical Archaeology: Pre-Congress Symposium: Population, Production and Power. Jerusalem, June 1990 (Jerusalem, 1993), pp. 132–141; idem, “Egyptians, Canaanites, and Philistines in the Period of the Emergence of Israel”, in I. Finkelstein and N. Na’aman (eds.), From Nomadism to Monarchy: Archaeological and Historical Aspects of Early Israel (Jerusalem, 1994), pp. 282–338. 10 Y. Yadin, The Art of Warfare in Biblical Lands: In Light of Archaeological Study (Jerusalem, 1963), p. 250.

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Indeed, The Philistine chariots at the Land Battle Relief at Medinet Habu are operated by a crew of three: a driver and two warriors, each carrying two spears (Figs. 1 and 2). In the two chariots depicted in the second register from the top it seems that there is only one warrior per chariot, armed with a rounded shield. A quiver is seen on one of the chariots, yet as there is no bow, it is possible that it was a quiver for javelins. In Egyptian art, a three-person chariot crew is known only from the depiction of Hittites and their allies in the Battle of Qadesh.11 Unlike the Egyptian chariots, which were a mobile fire base for an archer, the Hittite chariots in the Abydos depiction are shown without an archer, but rather with one warrior armed with a long spear or javelin and another carrying a shield (Fig. 3).12 In the Abu Simbel depiction of the battle13 (Fig. 4) some of the Hittite chariots are armed with two to four spears or javelins. According to Spalinger, the spears allowed the Hittites and their allies to engage both Egyptian chariots and infantry directly, from a close range.14

Fig. 1: Two chariots of the feather-hatted people/Philistines from the Land Battle Relief at Medinet Habu (after Nelson, below [note 22], pl. 34)

11

See Yadin, op. cit. (note 10), p. 239; A. Spalinger, “The Battle of Kadesh: The Chariot Frieze at Abydos”, Egypt and the Levant 13 (2003), pp. 163–199, esp. 176–183 12 See Spalinger, op. cit. (note 11), fig. 10. 13 See I. Rosellini, I Monumenti dell’Egitto e della Nubia, parte II: Monumenti storici. Tavole (Pisa, 1836), tl. CIII. 14 See Spalinger, op. cit. (note 11), p 180.

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Fig. 2: A chariot of the feather-hatted people/Philistines from the Land Battle Relief at Medinet Habu (after Nelson, below [note 22], pl. 34)

Fig. 3: A Hittite chariot from the depiction of the Battle of Qadesh in Abydos (after Naville, below [note 52], pl. XIV)

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Fig. 4: Chariots of the Hittites and their allies from the depiction of the Battle of Qadesh in Abu Simbel (after Rosellini, op. cit. [note 13], tl. CIII)

Fig. 5: An amphoroid Krater from Ras Shamra with a chariot scene (after Rystedt, below [note 15], fig. 5b)

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Crews of three are not common in Aegean representations of chariots, but nevertheless exist in vessel and larnax paintings. A krater from Ras Shamra15 (Fig. 5) shows a crew of three men—none of whom appears armed—in a dual-chariot with four-spoked wheels. Similarly, a depiction on a bell-shaped krater from Aptera, Crete16 shows a chariot with a crew of three on one side and a non-armed crew of four(!) on the other side. Other representations of three-man chariot crews are seen on an amphoroid krater from Aradippou17 and on both sides of an amphoroid krater, probably from Cyprus as well, exhibited in the Allard Pierson Museum.18 A depiction on a larnax from Episkopi-Ierapetra, Crete portrays a three-man crew in rather schematic style, none holding a weapon.19 These isolated examples of three-man chariot crews do not continue into the 12th century depictions on pottery, and LH IIIC vase paintings show only chariots operated by a two-man crew at most: the driver, protected by a round shield, and a warrior, armed with two spears and protected by a round shield, as seen in a LH IIIC example from Tiryns (Fig. 6).20 A more fragmentary example from the acropolis of Mycenae (Fig. 7) depicts a twoman chariot crew with round shields.21 The chariots employed by the feather-hatted people in the Land Battle Relief may be different from the Egyptian ones. While both had six-spoked wheels, the chariot-box in the third register from the top (Fig. 2) seems solid, apart from a small circle on its right side, perhaps a small, round object or fenestration. In contrast, the sides of the Egyptian war chariots depicted in the relief are characterized by open framework (Fig. 8).22 Though the chariot-boxes seen in the second register from the top are poorly preserved, they may represent either another fenestrated form of a box side or a more open framework, similar to the Egyptian chariots (Fig. 1). These chariots are similar neither to Palatial nor to post-Palatial Aegean imagery of chariots. The common 14th–13th centuries BCE chariot type in the Aegean, seen in frescoes and pictorial pottery and mentioned in the Linear B record, was the dual chariot, which had a rectangular, closed box and curved extensions or wings. The wheels of this type were always four-spoked and it had a crew of two.23 This type was replaced in 15

See E. Rystedt, “Tracing Stylistic Evolution in Mycenaean Pictorial Vase Painting”, in E. Rystedt and B. Wells (eds.), Pictorial Pursuits: Figurative Painting on Mycenaean and Geometric Pottery: Papers from Two Seminars at the Swedish Institute at Athens in 1999 and 2001 (Stockholm, 2006), pp. 124–129, esp. fig. 5b. 16 See E. Vermeule and V. Karageorghis, Mycenaean Pictorial Vase Painting (Cambridge, MA 1982), fig. V.19. 17 See Idem, ibid., fig. V.23. 18 See idem, ibid., fig. V.17. 19 See J. H. Crouwel, Chariots and Other Means of Transport in Bronze Age Greece (Allard Pierson Series 3; Amsterdam, 1981), Fig. 33. 20 See W. Güntner, Figürlich bemalte mykenische Keramik aus Tiryns (Tiryns, Forschungen und Berichte 12; Mainz am Rhein, 2000), pl. 7:1b. 21 See Vermeule and Karageorghis, op. cit. (note 16), fig. XI:1b; J. A. Sakellarakis, The Mycenaean Pictorial Pottery in the National Archaeological Museum of Athens (Athens, 1992), fig. 28. See also recently, J. R. Zorn, “Reconsidering Goliath: An Iron Age I Philistine Chariot Warrior”, BASOR 360 (2010), pp. 1–22, esp. 11, noting the use of spear by Hittite and Mycenaean chariot crews, to support his argument of seeing Goliath as a chariot, rather then a foot warrior. 22 See H. H. Nelson, Medinet Habu I: Earlier Historical Records of Ramses III (Chicago, 1930), pl. 33. 23 See Crouwel, op. cit. (note 19), pp. 112–114.

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the 12th century by the Rail Chariot (introduced already in the late 13th century), which had an open box with light railing, as well as four-spoked wheels (Fig. 6).24 The small circle depicted on the side of one of the Medinet Habu chariots (Fig. 2) is a feature not depicted on Aegean chariot kraters, frescoes or later LH IIIC depictions on pottery.

Fig. 6: A LH IIIC depiction of a chariot from Tiryns (after Güntner, op. cit. [note 20], pl. 7: 1b)

Fig. 7: A LH IIIC depiction of a chariot from the acropolis of Mycenae (after Vermeule and Karageorghis, op. cit. [note 16], fig. XI: 1b)

24

See idem, ibid., p. 115.

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Fig. 8: An Egyptian chariot from Medinet Habu (after Nelson, op. cit. [note 22], pl. 33)

A contemporary 12th century BCE depiction of two chariots from Cyprus on an ivory game box from Enkomi, Old Tomb 5825 does not present exact parallels, but opens new possibilities for comparing between Hittite chariots and Cypriot ones. A little-mentioned fact is that the chariots on both sides of the box are different from one another. On Side A, which is more commonly presented, four men are depicted: a driver and an archer that is clad in scale armor or a dotted tunic are on the chariot, and two men, both wearing feather hats, are on foot. The chariot has six-spoked wheels; its closed box is not fenestrated, and it has a straight front and a rounded back, very similar to the Hittites’ chariots seen in the Battle of Qadesh scene.26 This chariot also bears some resemblance to a six-spoked wheels chariot seen on a sherd 25 See L. Åström and P. Åström, The Late Cypriote Bronze Age: Other Arts and Crafts, Relative and Absolute Chronology, Foreign Relations, Historical Conclusions (The Swedish Cyprus Expedition IV: 1D; Lund, 1972), pp. 473–617, esp. 554; V. Karageorghis, Early Cyprus, Crossroads of the Mediterranean (Los Angeles, 2002), p. 88; idem, Aspects of Daily Life in Ancient Cyprus: Iconographic Representation (Nicosia, 2006), pp. 64–65, fig. 50a, b. 26 E.g. in the depiction in Abydos; see Spalinger, op. cit. (note 11), figs. 10: 5, 8–9, 11, 13–15.

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of an Old Hittite relief vase from Boğazköy.27 On Side B of the Enkomi game box, the chariot seems to be manned only by an archer, who wears a tunic or leather armor. This chariot also has six-spoked wheels, yet its box is square, similarly to the chariot-boxes driven by the Hittites’ bearded (Syrian?) allies in the Battle of Qadesh.28 Returning to Medinet Habu, the closed chariot-box and the circle depicted on it find direct parallels in Hittite chariots at the Battle of Qadesh Relief at Abu Simbel. A group of chariots belonging to the Hittites and their allies is shown being struck by a well-organized file of advancing Egyptian chariots on the lower right-hand corner of the northern wall of the great hall of the Abu Simbel temple.29 The details of the painting over the relief is not clearly visible anymore, yet a color drawing made by Rosellini30 (Fig. 4) shows the same round object or fenestration painted in yellow in five of seven depicted chariots, three belonging to the Hittites and one to their allies with the ‘pigtail’ hairstyle.

III. On Strapping the Long Sword While chariot warfare may well show some Anatolian influence, distinctive nonHittite features of infantry warfare presented in the Land Battle Relief are the long sword and the manner in which it is strapped to the warriors’ bodies. In the Medinet Habu reliefs the long sword is used both by the Sherdana mercenaries and by their feather-hatted enemies (Fig. 9).31 It is used also by the feather-hatted mercenaries in the service of Egypt in the depiction the Libyan campaign. In all three cases the sword is strapped across the body, diagonally from shoulder to waist. This was very likely the practice among the people with the feather hats, be they Philistines, SKL or DNYN. One Philistine warrior, a casualty of war with a severed left hand, is shown with a sword strapped across his chest (lower register; Fig. 10);32 another is shown in the upper register, waving his hand at Ramesses II as a gesture of surrender (Fig. 11).33 This sword-holstering method is seen at Medinet Habu also on two feather-hatted mercenaries in the service of the Egyptians in the early Libyan campaign (Fig. 12).34 One mercenary is shown stabbing an enemy with a dagger, while the other ties the hand of a prisoner. In the Year 11 war with the Libyans, a featherhatted mercenary in the service of the Egyptians is showed with a sword strapped

27

See R. M. Boehmer, Die Reliefkeramik von Boĝazköy (Berlin, 1983), pl. XV:49. See Spalinger, op. cit. (note 11), figs. 9:10, 10:16, 11:20; 12:24. 29 See Rosellini, op. cit. (note 13), tl. LXXXVII; G. A. Gaballa, Narrative in Egyptian Art (Mainz am Rhein, 1976), Fig. 9; T. G. H. James, Ramses the Great (Cairo, 2002), figs. 99– 102, 104–105. 30 See Rosellini, ibid (note 13), tl. CIII, reproduced in James, op. cit. (note 29), fig. 117 and M. C. Guidotti and F. P. Daddi (eds.), La battaglia di Qadesh. Ramesse II contro gli ittiti per la conquista della Siria (Livorno, 2002), pp. 166–167. 31 See Nelson, op. cit. (note 10), pl. 34; Yadin, op. cit. (note 10), p. 336. See also recently Zorn, op. cit. (note 21), p. 10, arguing that the sword strapped across the body may be one of the options to understand the biblical kidon, carried by Goliath (1 Sam 17:6). 32 See Nelson, op. cit. (note 10), pl. 34. 33 See idem, ibid., pl. 34. 34 See idem, ibid., pl. 19. 28

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across his chest spearing a fallen Lybian in the lower right-hand corner of the relief (Fig. 13).35

Fig. 9: Ox-carts attacked by Shardana mercenaries from the Land Battle Relief at Medinet Habu (after Nelson, op. cit. [note 22], pl. 34)

Fig. 10: Fallen warrior with a feather hat and a sword from the Land Battle Relief at Medinet Habu (after Nelson, op. cit. [note 22], pl. 34)

35

See H. H. Nelson, Medinet Habu II: Later Historical Records of Ramses III (Chicago, 1932), pl. 72; Yadin, op. cit. (note 10), pp. 334–335.

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Fig. 11: A warrior with a feather hat and a long sword from the Land Battle Relief at Medinet Habu (after Nelson, op. cit. [note 22], pl. 34)

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Fig. 12: Two feather-hatted mercenaries in the service of the Egyptians in the early Libyan campaign at Medinet Habu (after Nelson, op. cit. [note 22], pl. 19)

Fig. 13: A feather-hatted mercenary in the service of the Egyptians in the Libyan campaign of Year 11 at Medinet Habu (after Nelson, op. cit. [note 22], pl. 72)

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Fig. 14: An amphoroid krater from Ialysos with a chariot scene (after Vermeule and Karageorghis, op. cit. [note 16], pp. 151–152, pl. XII.3)

Fig. 15: A bell-shaped krater from Pyla-Kokkinokremos with a chariot scene (after Karageorghis and Demas, below [note 38], p. 51, pl. XXXIII)

While there are no Hittite parallels to this manner of carrying the sword, there are adequate examples from the 14th–13th centuries BCE Aegean world, as seen on amphoroid kraters with chariot depictions from Ras Shamra (Fig. 5) and Ialysos (Fig. 14).36 Representations of Mycenaeans with long swords hung over the shoulder exist also in the scene on a krater from Enkomi showing pairs of men on a boat.37 One of the latest depictions of a long sword hung over the shoulder may be on a Mycenaean bell-shaped krater from Pyla-Kokkinokremos, stylistically belonging to LH IIIB and found in a destruction deposit dated to the end of the 13th century (Fig. 15).38 Here four chariots are seen with a groom walking before them, equipped with a long sword, suspended from the shoulder.

36

See Vermeule and Karageorghis, op. cit. (note 16), pp. 151–152, pl. XII.3. Yasur-Landau, op. cit. (note 2), fig. 2.4. 38 See V. Karageorghis and M. Demas, Pyla-Kokkinokremos: A Late 13th Century B.C. Fortified Settlement in Cyprus (Nicosia, 1984), p. 51, pl. XXXIII. 37

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Fig. 16: A LH IIIC bell-shaped krater from Lefkandi with an image of a warrior (after Vermeule and Karageorghis, op. cit. (note 16), fig. XI.39)

A change in the mode of strapping the long sword is seen in 12th century LH IIIC depictions on pottery, with examples of scabbards and swords suspended from a belt worn at the waist level. These examples include two depictions of sword and scabbard attached to the waist from LH IIIC Lefkandi (Fig. 16),39 two depictions on a single krater from Kalapodi (Fig. 17),40 a representation of fighting warriors on a sherd from Seraglio (Fig. 18)41 and possibly on a krater from Thermon showing a

39

See Vermeule and Karageorghis, op. cit. (note 16), p. 129, fig. XI.39; p. 136, fig. XI.59. See M. Jacob-Felsch, “Die Spätmykenisce bis Frühprotogeometrische Keramik”, in R. C. Felsch (ed.), Kalapodi I (Mainz, 1996), pp. 1–105, esp. pl. 36:231; P. A. Mountjoy, Regional Mycenaean Decorated Pottery (Rahden, 1999), fig. 325:28. 41 See E. Karantzali, “I mymenaiki enkatastasi sta Dodekanisa: I priptosi tin Rodou”, in N. Kyparissi-Apostolika and M. Papakonstantinou (eds.), The 2nd International Interdisciplinary Colloquium: The Periphery of the Mycenaean World. 26–30 September, Lamia 1999 (Athens, 2003), pp. 513–534, esp. fig. 8. 40

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Fig. 17: A LH IIIC krater from Kalapodi with images of warriors (after Mountjoy, op. cit. [note 40], fig. 325:28)

Fig. 18: A LH IIIC sherd from Seraglio depicting fighting warriors (after Karantzali, op. cit. [note 39], fig. 8)

row of warriors.42 Similarly, on the Master of the Horses krater from Ugarit, dated to LH IIIC Early there is a figure with a long dagger or sword suspended from the waist.43

42

K. A. Wardle and D. Wardle “Prehistoric Thermon: Pottery of the Late Bronze and Early Iron Age”, in N. Kyparissi-Apostolika and M. Papakonstantinou (eds.), The 2nd International Interdisciplinary Colloquium: The Periphery of the Mycenaean World. 26–30 September, Lamia 1999 (Athens, 2003), pp. 147–156, esp. fig. 3. 43 See Vermeule and Karageorghis, op. cit. (note 16), fig. XIII.28; for the date, see YasurLandau, op. cit. (note 2), pp. 187–188.

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Fig. 19: A fragment of an Old Hittite relief vase from Boğazköy showing an ox-cart (after Boehmer, op. cit. [note 27], pl. XV:47)

Despite this change, it is possible that the practice of strapping the sword across the body from shoulder to waist was practiced by 12th century Aegean migrants. Possible evidence for this can be found in the last phase of the rich tomb from Enkomi that contained the remains of seven individuals.44 A large Aegean-type sword was found across the torso of a skeleton of an individual that lay in the center of the 44

E.Sjöqvist, “Enkomi: The Necropolis”, in E. Gjerstad, J. Lindros, W. Sjöqvist and A. Westholm (eds.), The Swedish Cyprus Expedition: Finds and Results of the Excavations in Cyprus 1927–1931, vol. 1: Text (Stockholm, 1934), pp. 467–575, esp. 546–558.

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burial chamber. On another skeleton, a pair of greaves was found.45 According to Sandars46 and Karageorghis,47 the greaves and the Naue Type IIa sword may indicate that these were Aegean warriors.

Fig. 20: Ox-drawn wagons used by the Hittites from the depiction of the Battle of Qadesh in Abydos (after Naville, below [note 52], pl. XVII)

45

These were called “remains of helmet” in the report; see H. W. Catling, Cypriot Bronzes in the Mycenaean World (Oxford, 1964), p. 140. 46 N. K. Sandars, The Sea Peoples (London, 1978), p. 188. 47 V. Karageorghis, The End of the Late Bronze Age in Cyprus (Nicosia, 1990), p. 19.

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IV. Ox-carts The ox-cart in the Land Battle Reliefs, carrying a contingency of women, children and noncombatant men (Fig. 9),48 finds better parallels in the Anatolian realm than in the Aegean. In Anatolia wagons with disk-shaped wheels drawn by zebu cattle were still being used in the 12th century CE and even later.49 A fragment of a relief vase from Boğazköy from the 17th or 16th centuries BCE depicts a cart with composite wheels drawn by a bovid (Fig. 19).50 A sherd of a relief vase from Alişar shows a wheel of a similar wagon,51 and two wheel models from Boğazköy are of the composite type, made from five segments.52 The ox-drawn wagons were also used by the Hittites and their allies, and they were presented as baggage wagons in the Battle of Qadesh scene in the 13th century (Fig. 20),53 having however six-spoked wheels, rather than solid ones. The use of ox-drawn wagons has a long history in Europe and Asia,54 yet it is not represented in Mycenaean art, and there is only a possible reference to working oxen in the Linear B archives of Pylos and Knossos. Mycenaean terracotta groups of an ox and driver might represent plowing by oxen.55 An exceptional example is an LM IIIC or Subminoan model of an ox-driven wagon or ceremonial chariot from Karphi.56

V. Conclusions The results of this preliminary analysis of several aspects of weaponry and means of transportation in the Land Battle Relief at Medinet Habu expose significant Anatolian cultural elements. These may be used as further support for the theory of landborne migration setting from western Anatolia and/or passing through Anatolia onroute to Syria and the southern Levant. The mode of engagement for the Philistine chariots may be described as a cross between Aegean and Anatolian/ Hittite methods: the use of a three-warrior crew is a non-Aegean trait, while the chariot warriors are armed in a style typical of the 12th century Aegean, with round shields, atypical of the Hittites or their allies, and pairs of spears. A peculiarity of these reliefs is the manner of carrying the long sword strapped across the body, in a style characteristic of the Aegean area before the 12th century. This may be an indicator of the origin for the warriors that are depicted in areas outside the core of Mycenaean civilization. The six-spoked-wheels chariots appearing in the Medinet Habu reliefs are also different from contemporary Aegean examples. At least one of the chariots finds par48

D. Sweeney A. and Yasur-Landau, “Following the Path of the Sea Persons: The Women in the Medinet Habu Reliefs”, TA 26 (1999), pp. 116–145. 49 S. Piggot, Wagon, Chariot and Carriage: Symbol and Status in the History of Transport (London, 1992), p. 31; Yadin, op. cit. (note 10), p. 339. 50 See K. Bittel, Die Hethiter (Munich, 1976), fig. 142; Boehmer, op. cit. (note 27), fig. 30, pl. XV:47. 51 See Boehmer, op. cit. (note 27), fig. 24. 52 See idem, ibid., figs. 25, 26. 53 E. Naville, Détails relevées dans les ruines de quelques temples égyptiens (Paris, 1930), pl. XVII; M. A. Littauer and J. H. Crouwel, Wheeled Vehicles and Ridden Animals in the Ancient Near East (Leiden, 1979), pp. 73–74; Spalinger, op. cit. (note 11), p. 198. 54 Piggot, op. cit. (note 49), pp. 13–36. 55 Idem, ibid., p. 28; Crouwel, op. cit. (note 19), pp. 55–57. 56 Crouwel, ibid., p. 56.

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allels in the chariots of the Hittites and their allies depicted in the Battle of Qadesh scenes. Another Anatolian trait is the ox-carts, which lack Aegean parallels, while earlier Anatolian parallels to these carts may have implications for the origin of the people depicted in them, and for the migration route that they chose.

THE ARAMEAN INFILTRATION AND DIFFUSION IN THE UPPER JAZIRA, CA. 1150–930 BCE RAN ZADOK 1 Tel Aviv University Twenty years ago I discussed the issue of the initial Aramean infiltration and diffusion in the Upper Jazira.2 Since then there has been a considerable archaeological activity in the region3 and many relevant texts were published. Therefore, time is ripe to update and re-evaluate the cumulative evidence for the interaction between the Assyrian state and the West Semitic semi-nomads in and around its territory. The process of the Aramean infiltration is first recorded in 1111 BCE, when the Arameans are first mentioned by their name thus starting the period of Aramean ‘proto-history’. Interestingly enough, an individual named Ar-ma-ia ‘the Aramean’ (gentilic used as an anthroponym) is recorded in the same time.4 However, the pro1

Abbreviations of editions of cuneiform texts are as CAD Ṭ, pp. ix–xxx. For a convenient presentation of the geography, geomorphology, climatology, ecosystem and economy of the Jazira and adjacent zones see G. Masetti-Rouault, Cultures locales du moyen-Euphrate: Modèles et Evénements IIe-Ier mill. Av. J.-C. (Subartu 8; Turnhout, 2001), which also contains a theoretical framework, without concrete details, of the transition from the Late Bronze Age to Iron Age I, esp. on pp. 13 ff., 18 ff. 2 R. Zadok, “Elements of Aramean Pre-History”, in M. Cogan and I. Eph’al (eds.), Ah Assyria. Studies in Assyrian History and Ancient Near Eastern Historiography Presented to Hayim Tadmor (Scripta Hierosolymitana 33; Jerusalem, 1991), pp. 104–117, esp. 117; E. Lipinski, The Arameans: Their Ancient History, Culture, Religion (OLA 100; Leuven, 2000), p. 26 ff.; A. Tenu, L’expansion médio-assyrien: Approche archéologique (BAR Inter-national Series 1906; Oxford, 2009), p. 237; K. L. Younger, Jr., “The Late Bronze Age / Iron Age Transition and the Origins of the Arameans”, in K. L. Younger, Jr. (ed.), Ugarit at SeventyFive: Proceedings of the Symposium Held at Trinity International University, Deerfield, Illinois, February 18–20, 2005 under the Auspices of the Middle Western Branch of the American Oriental Society and the Mid-West Region of the Society of the Biblical Literature (Winona Lake, IN 2007), pp. 131–174, esp. 134; W. Schniedewind, “The Rise of the Aramean States”, in M. W. Chavalas, and K. L. Younger, Jr. (eds.), Mesopotamia and the Bible: Comparative Explorations (JSOTS 341; Sheffield, 2002), pp. 276–287, esp. 276, 282 ff. 3 Cf. Tenu, ibid., passim. 4 H. Freydank and B. Feller, Mittelassyrische Rechtsurkunden und Verwaltungstexte 9 (WVDOG 125; Berlin, 2010), p. 97 from the eponymy of Aššur-apla-iqīša son of Ikkaru, i.e. end of the 12th century – beginning of the 11th century BCE (see S. Maul, Die Inschriften von Tall Bderi [Berliner Beiträge zum Vorderen Orient, Texte, 2; Berlin, 1992], pp. 40–41; in the middle of Tiglath-pileser I’s reign, the reference to Maul’s discussion was kindly supplied by J. Jeffers, personal communication). Ar-ma-ia is recorded in a hasty note about delivery of foodstuffs to two individuals. He is mentioned after ┌A!?┐-HUR-re-e. It is perhaps co-incidental, but noteworthy, that ┌A!?┐-HUR-re-e was the governor (bēl pāhete) of I7 Ah-hu-ra (p. 3 ff.), a place whose name resembles his governor’s name (unless the polyphonic sign HUR

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cess of Aramean infiltration must have begun some time earlier, i.e. during the period of Aramean ‘pre-history’. The West Semitic semi-nomads, who are labeled ‘Suteans’ (mostly in MiddleAssyrian sources)5 or Ahlamites (mostly in Middle and Standard Babylonian sources)6 then, were very probably the ancestors of the Arameans. This can be argued in view of the fact that the latter first appear as Aḫlamû Aramāyu in Middle-Assyrian sources. Aḫlamû Aramāyu means ‘the Aramean semi-nomads’. It is of the same pattern as Sutû Ia-ú-ra-ie,7 i.e. ‘the Yaurean semi-nomads’. This means that the Arameans were regarded as a group of Ahlamites (= Middle-Assyrian Suteans). It may be surmised that the Aramaic language and onomasticon are in a way a continuation of late Amorite. In short, the Arameans were originally formed from certain groups of Suteans/Ahlamites (or at least had a special relationship to them),8 but not all the Suteans/Ahlamites became eventually Arameans (some might have been the ancestors of the Chaldeans and Arabians). There is a geopolitical continuity. ‘The mountains of the Ahlamites’ (SB šadān Aḫlamî) in an inscription of the late MiddleAssyrian ruler Tukulti-Ninurta I probably refer to Jabal Bišri,9 which played an important role in the history of the Amorites.10 The demise of Hanigalbat resulted in the desertion of numerous settlements at the end of the 14th century BCE. The Assyrian conquerors tried to fill the vacuum to some extent by the establishment of the system of the fortified production centers11 owned, operated and controlled by the has the value -mur- here). 5 Su-ti-ú (PN) prob. archive of Assur temple (deed about giving bread to an individual), eponymy of Aššur-šallimšunu (the accession year of Tiglath-pileser I, see H. Freydank, Beiträge zur mittelassyrischen Chronologie und Geschichte [Schriften zur Geschichte und Kultur des Alten Orients 21; Berlin, 1991], p. 122 ff.; H. Freydank and B. Feller, Mittelassyrische Rechtsurkunden und Verwaltungstexte 7 [Ausgrabungen der Deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft in Assur, E. Inschriften. 7. Keilschrifttexte aus mittelassyrischer Zeit, 5. WVDOG 111; Berlin, 2006], 81, 9). Suti’u (all damaged, H. Freydank and C. Fischer, Mittelassyrische Rechtsurkunden und Verwaltungstexte 4. Tafeln aus aus Kār-Tukultī-Ninurta [Ausgrabungen der Deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft in Assur, E. Inschriften. 7. Keilschrifttexte aus mittelassyrischer Zeit, 2. WVDOG 99; Berlin, 2001], pp. 26 ff. with references). 6 See M. Herles, “Zur geographischen Einordnung der aḫlamû - eine Bestandsaufnahme”, AoF 34 (2007), pp. 319–341 and B. Faist, Der Fernhandel des assyrischen Reichs zwischen dem 14. und 11. Jh. V. Chr. (AOAT 265; Münster, 2001), p. 228 ff. Noteworthy is the occurrence of a female slave defined as Aḫlamītu in a deed from the time of Meli-šihu, ca. 1181 BCE found in Babylon (O. Pedersén, Archive und Bibliotheken in Babylon: die Tontafeln der Grabung Robert Koldeweys 1899–1917 [Abhandlungen der Deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft, 25; Saarbrücken, 2005], p. 92). For dating after this ruler cf. A. Cavigneaux and D. Beyer, “Une orpheline d’Emar”, in P. Butterlin, M. Lebeau, J.-Y. Monchambert, J. L. Montero Fenollos and B. Müller (eds.), Les espaces syro-mésopotamiens. Dimensions de l’expérience humaine au Proche-Orient ancien. Volume d’hommage offert à Jean-Claude Margueron (Subartu 17; Turnhout, 2006), pp. 497–503. 7 S. Jakob, Mittelassyrische Verwaltung und Sozialstruktur (CM 29; Leiden, 2003), p. 171, notes 10, 12. 8 Cf. the more cautious formulation of P.-E. Dion, Les Araméens à l'âge du fer, histoire politique et structures sociales (Paris, 1997), p. 18. 9 Cf. K. Nashef, Die Orts und Gewässernamen der mittelbabylonischen und mittel-assyrischen Zeit (RGTC 5; Wiesbaden, 1982), p. 5 ff. 10 For a diachronic study of this mountainous region see C. Pappi, “The Jebel Bišri in the Physical and Cultural Landscape of the Ancient Near East”, Kaskal 3 (2006), pp. 241–256. 11 See P. M. M. G. Akkermans and I. Rossmeisl, “Excavations at Tell Sabi Abyaḍ, Northern

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Assyrian palatial administration. Such were, for example, Tall Sabi Abyaḍ, whose pottery is identical to that of Tall Šēḫ Ḥamad, the Assyrian administrative centre and garrison town Dūr-Katlimmu on the Ḫābūr in the central Jazira.12 Many of these fortified centers were outposts in a chain thus forming a quasi-limes,13 but in the present state of archaeological research it is impossible to establish whether all of them fulfilled their function simultaneously, especially when the Aramean pressure intensified. However, in the long run this policy (beginning in the time of Shalmaneser I, i.e. 1263–1244 BCE, at the latest) was effective for no more than a century. It did not stop the decline of the settlements and the weakening of the sedentary population, which is discernible after Tukulti-Ninurta I’s death (1197 BCE: the Middle-Assyrian archive from Dūr-Katlimmu covers a period of 50 years in the reigns of Shalmaneser I and Tukulti-Ninurta I).14 The latest dated evidence for the existence, albeit precarious, of such a production centre is recorded at Dunnu-šaUzibi (Giricano) from 1068 BCE and slightly later (early in the reign of Aššur-bēlkala).15 The inherent impotence of the colonizing forces weakened the sedentary component of the Jazira population, thereby facilitating the infiltration and expansion of the West Semitic semi-nomads. In addition, the Assyrian colonization might have broken up the dimorphic society in the upper Jazira. This is pointed out by Masetti-Rouault,16 who addresses the issue of dimorphic oscillation. One gathers from her discussion that unlike the breaking up of the dimorphic society in the upper Jazira by the Assyrian colonization, this type of symbiosis17 was retained further south, in the kingdom of Terqa.18 However, later on, in the first quarter of the first millennium BCE there was a conflict in the lower Jazira, notably in Sūḫu, between the Suhean urbanites and the semi-nomadic Aramean tribesmen.19 Sūḫu, like Laqê (where Terqa/Sirqu was located), mainly consisted of a series of riverine oases. It should be remembered that the semi-nomads continued to form a separate entity throughout the Jazira even during the hypothetical peak of Middle Assyrian control and slightly later: for instance, Suteans from Qatna (? kurQa-at-n[i?...]) and Nešḫa[...] (kurNé-eš-ha-[...]) are recorded in the time of Ninurta-apil-Ekur (1181–1169 BCE).20 The Assyrian authorities in that period (unlike their Neo-Assyrian imperial succesSyria: a Regional Centre on the Assyrian Frontier”, Akkadica 66 (1990), pp. 13–60, esp. 32 ff., cf. M. G. Masetti-Rouault, “Syriens et Assyriens dans le Djéziré, XIVème-IXème siècle av. J.-C.”, in M. Lebeau (ed.), À propos de Subartu, études consacrées à la Haute-Mésopotamie (Subartu 4; Turnhout, 1998), pp. 223–242, esp. 228 ff. 12 See Akkermans and Rossmeisl, op. cit. (note 11), pp. 36 ff. 13 Cf. M. Herles, “Assyrische Präsenz an Euphrat und Balih – Grenzkontrolle gegen Feinde des Reiches (nakru) und nomadische Gruppierungen”, UF 39 (2007), pp. 413–449. 14 See E. C. Cancik-Kirschbaum, Die mittelassyrischen Briefe aus Tall Šēḫ Ḥamad (BATSH 4/1; Berlin, 1996), p. 8 ff. 15 See K. Radner, Das mittelassyrische Tontafelarchiv von Giricano/Dunnu-ša-Uzibi (Subartu 14; Turnhout, 2004), pp. 52 ff.; Younger, op. cit. (note 2), p. 150 ff. 16 Masetti-Rouault, op. cit. (note 11), pp. 229–230. 17 See G. M. Schwartz, “The Origins of the Aramaeans in Syria and Northern Mesopotamia: Research Problems and Potential Strategies”, in O. M. C. Haex, H. H. Curvers and P. M. M. G. Akkermans (eds.), To the Euphrates and Beyond: Archaeological Studies in Honour of Maurits N. van Loo (Rotterdam, 1989), pp. 275–291, esp. 281, cf. Younger, op. cit. (note 2), p. 132 ff. 18 Masetti-Rouault, op. cit. (note 11), pp. 230–232. 19 Cf. Lipinski, op. cit. (note 2), p. 425. 20 See Jakob, op. cit. (note 7), p. 102.

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sors) did not seem to encourage the absorption of the semi-nomads in their palatial economy. Except for few individuals, no Suteans are recorded in the ever-increasing pool of individuals who formed part of the system of fortified production centres. Almost all the people mentioned in the detailed late Middle-Assyrian lists from the Jazira bore Assyrian (the majority) or Hurrian names (far less than the Assyrian, presumably a survival of the inhabitants of pre-Assyrian Mitanni/ Hanigalbat21). The Assyrians deported Hurrians from the Jazira to Assyria proper, notably Kār-TukultiNinurta.22 None of these deportees had a West Semitic name, an indication that no Suteans were integrated into the ruling class of Hanigalbat. Therefore their absence among the deportees does not mean that West Semites were not present in the Jazira before Tiglath-pileser I.23 The marginality of the Suteans in the administration and political life of the Jazira shows a continuity from the Mitannian into the Middle Assyrian rule of that region. A case in point of the very low degree of Sutean integration is the fact that none of the individuals engaged in raising and breeding of livestock (shepherds, cowherds, ass drivers, etc.) at Dūr-Katlimmu, Duara, DūrAdad, Naḫur and Tuttul was a Sutean,24 although one would expect a certain demand for them by the palatial system, as semi-nomads specializing in livestock.25 In the same manner, no Suteans or bearers of West Semitic names are recorded among the recipients of garments from Dūr-Katlimmu and its region, who were employed by the Assyrian state.26 These recipients bear Assyrian and Hurrian names (Pi-ra-di 21 E.g., both lists from Tall Sabi Abyaḍ (R. Jas, “Two Middle Assyrian Lists of Personal Names from Sabi Abyad”, Akkadica 67 [1990], pp. 33–37); most of the material from there is still unpublished, cf. F. A. M. Wiggermann, “The Middle Assyrian Texts from Tell Sabi Abyad”, unpublished lecture in RAI 41, Berlin 1994 (quoted by S. Jakob, Die mittel-assyrischen Texte aus Tell Chuēra in Nordost-Syrien, mit einem Beitrag von Daniela I. JanischJakob [Vorderasiatische Forschungen der Max Freiherr von Oppenheim-Stiftung, 2. Ausgrabungen in Tell Chuēra in Nordost-Syrien 3; Wiesbaden, 2009], p. xvi); idem, “Agriculture in the Northern Balikh Valley. The Case of the Middle Assyrian Tell Sabi Abyad”, in R. M. Jas (ed.), Rainfall and Agriculture in Northern Mesopotamia (PIHANS 88; Leiden, 2000), pp. 171–231; and idem, “Middle Assyrian Texts from Sabi Abyad”, unpublished lecture listed in W. H. van Soldt et al. (eds.), Ethnicity in Ancient Mesopotamia. Papers Read at the 48th RAI, Leiden 1–4 July 2002 (PIHANS 102; Leiden, 2005), p. 453. 22 Anonymous “Subareans”, i.e. Hurrians, are recorded in a letter (see Jakob, op. cit. [note 21], p. 55 ad 15, 31 and idem, “Zwischen Integration und Ausgrenzung: Nichtassyrer im mittelassyrischen Westreich”, in van Soldt et al. [eds.], ibid., pp. 180–188). 23 Differently Younger, op. cit. (note 2), pp. 147 ff. 24 Cf. A. Tsukimoto, “Aus einer japanischer Privatsammlung. Drei Verwaltungstexte und ein Brief aus mittelassyrischer Zeit”, WdO 29 (1992), pp. 21–38; W. Röllig, Land und Viehwirtschaft am Unteren Habur in mittelassyrischer Zeit (BATSH 9; Wiesbaden, 2008), passim, esp. p. 5 ff. 25 Horses of the Suteans are discussed in Jakob, op. cit. (note 21), p. 55, ad 15, 18, 26. Sutean sheep (presumably as a special breed) are mentioned, for instance, in Jakob, ibid., 1, 13 as well as in H. Freydank and B. Feller, Mittelassyrische Rechtsurkunden und Verwaltungstexte 8 (WVDOG 119; Berlin, 2007), 83, 2’ (see Jakob, op. cit. [note 22], p. 184, with note 34, cf. Faist, op. cit. [note 6], p. 230, with note 133). 26 W. Röllig, “Aus der Kleiderkammer einer mittelassyrischen Palastverwaltung mašhuruKleider”, in O. Loretz, K. A. Metzler and H. Schaudig (eds.), Ex Mesopotamia et Syria lux. Festschrift für Manfried Dietrich zu seinem 65. Geburtstag (AOAT 281; Münster, 2002), pp. 581–594. Suteans are also absent in the documentation about Duara, which may be sought in a semi-arid region not near the Ḫābūr or its canal system (cf. W. Röllig, “Duara - die Satellitenstadt zu Dūr-Katlimmu”, in D. Bonatz, R. M. Czichon and F. J. Kreppner [eds.], Fund-

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and fBa-du-ia resemble West Semitic names but are not necessarily such).27 There is some evidence for integration of Suteans in Assyria proper, where not being indigenous they did not have a separate and significant territorial concentration, cf. the case of the father of an Assyrian royal scribe noticed by Jakob.28 More appropriate is a comparison of the evidence from Mari about the interaction between sedentaries and semi-nomads in the OB Jazira with the interaction between the Arameans and the sedentaries in NA Sūḫu according to the inscriptions of Šamaš-rēša-uṣur and Ninurta-kudurra-uṣur. Regarding the Middle-Assyrian record, notable exceptions are the Sutean addressee from Ḫarbê, who might have served as a district governor.29 He was a subordinate of Aššur-mudammeq.30 Suti’u31 is either an anthroponym, in which case it would refer to the official, or ‘one Sutean’. He is associated with horses, but the context is damaged.32 Certain Suteans adjusted themselves to the Assyrian rule33 and very few were in his service, like the Suteans serving as guides of envoys of international delegations who crossed the steppe and the desert34 and the anonymous Sutean, who accompanied an anonymous Assyrian. In the latter case, both were supposed to bring tablets (official correspondence) from Sahlala, whereby the Sutean acted perhaps as a scout.35 Still, it can be surmised that these guides and scouts were only indirectly in the service of the Assyrian authorities. stellen. Gesammelte Schriften zur Archäologie und Geschichte Altvorderasiens ad honorem Hartmut Kühne [Wiesbaden, 2008], pp. 189–196, esp. 190, 192). Duara was attacked by anonymous enemies and is not mentioned after the eponymy of Aššur-zēra-iddina. Was this settlement under Sutean pressure? 27 For the latter cf. Ba-di-ia (Freydank and Feller, op. cit. [note 4], 86, 5, feeder = mušākilu of Šamaš-aha-iddina, eponymy of Adad?-x [...], cf. Freydank, op. cit. [note 5], p. 106) and Ba-di-i (Freydank and Feller, op. cit. [note 4], 110, 5, eponymy of Mudammeq-Bēl, time of Tiglath-pileser I, cf. Freydank, op. cit. [note 5], p. 151). Sa-i-ra-a-nu (son of Ušuh-biltī, boatman, Assur, time of Ezbu-lēšir, Freydank and Feller, op. cit., [note 5], 95, 5, see Freydank, op. cit. [note 5], p. 112), DUMU Sa-i-ra-ni (undated, H. Freydank and B. Feller, Mittelassyrische Rechtsurkunden und Verwaltungstexte 7 [WVDOG 111; Berlin, 2006], 19, 4, 15, 23, 40) < WSem., cf. NA Sa-i-ru, Sa-’-i-ru, Sa-a-e-ru (etc., H. D. Baker, The Prosopography of the Neo-Assyrian Empire, 3/I [Helsinki, 2002], pp. 1065–1066 with an unlikely derivation), which may derive from Š-‘-R “to measure, calculate” or—more likely as far as naming is concerned—from Ś-‘-R, cf. Bibl. Heb. ś‘yr ‘buck’ < ‘hairy’, an adjective (it is interesting that both its formation and its suffix, viz. -ān, are adjectival, like Ţābān in Nashef, op. cit. [note 9], p. 322; R. Zadok, Geographical Names According to New- and Late-Babylonian Texts [RGTC 8; Wiesbaden, 1985], p. 316); Ili-i-pa-da (the grand vizier, sukkallu rabû) is not necessarily a West Semitic anthroponym in view of the alternative reading –had-da (see M. Jursa and R. Zadok, PNA, p. 518a). 28 Jacob, op. cit. (note 22), p. 181, note 12. 29 See Jakob, op. cit. (note 21), p. 75 ad 40; idem, op. cit. (note 22), p. 181 ff. 30 The sender of 15 letters addressed to Suti’u (Jakob, op. cit. [note 21], pp. 2–16). Suti’u sent one letter only (Jakob, ibid.; Sahlala and Aššukanni are mentioned in 2, 5, 9; and the former alone in 10, 11; Emar in 2). 31 Jakob, op. cit. (note 21), p. 94. 32 See Jakob, op. cit. (note 21), p. 115. 33 Cf. Jakob, op. cit. (note 22), p. 184, with note 35. 34 See P. Artzi, “Aššur-uballiṭ I and the Sutians. A Small Chapter from the Theme: Pro-legomena to Assyrian Empire”, Cogan and Eph’al (eds.), op. cit. (note 2), pp. 254–257; M. P. Streck, review of E. Cancik-Kirschbaum, Die mittelassyrischen Briefe (op. cit. [note 14]), ZA 87 (1997), pp. 271–276 (esp. 275) and Jakob, op. cit. (note 7), p. 297. 35 See Jakob, op. cit. (note 22), p. 184, with note 36; idem, op. cit. (note 21), p. 49, ad 9, 4.

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Moreover, the fact that the Assyrians relied on the semi-nomads’ unique skills highlights their non-integration in the Middle Assyrian society, for the rulers employed them only when they had no choice. Others were apparently hostile: two Suteans of the Qairānu tribe were seized by Assyrian soldiers near the town of Sa-ab-’.36 Hungry troops eager for booty, have always been a social explosive, in addition to other destabilizing factors, such as nomadization as a result of ana-choresis, the formation of bands and gangs in the periphery and incursions of Hurrian forces from the north (notably near Niḫriya), as well as the presence of hostile Hurrian soldiers in the northern Jazira.37 However, the soldiers, who regrouped in the northeastern Jazira planning to plunder the territory of Ḫānu—perhaps somewhere between the Ḫābūr and the Balīḫ38—belonged in all probability to the Assyrian army. Unlike the NeoAssyrian period, West Semitic semi-nomads did not form—for all we know—auxilia within the Middle-Assyrian army.39 The statement “no Suteans are stationed in the land/mountain of [...]”40 is too vague to constitute firm evidence for a MiddleAssyrian precursor of such forces. If the integration of West Semitic semi-nomads in the production centers was—as we happen to know—minimal, their involvement in the Assyrian system outside them was presumably negligible. In this case they must have formed their own conglomerates outside the Assyrian urban and production centres. Inspired by anthropological models, J. Szuchman41 argues that the pastoral nomadic predecessors of the 1st millennium BCE Aramean kingdoms became sedentary farmers in the Jazira and beyond at the end of the Late Bronze Age. They exploited the power vacuum in Hanigalbat that followed the decline of the Hittite and Middle Assyrian kingdom. He is of the opinion that these nomads (recte seminomads) became cultivators during a stable rule, viz. in the height of the Middle Assyrian control of Hanigalbat. However, it is difficult to verify this claim from the ethno-linguistic identity of the individuals recorded in Middle Assyrian sources concerning the Jazira especially because the West Semitic (semi-)nomads are severely under-represented in the Middle Assyrian documentation.42 It stands to reason that the ensuing Aramean penetration into the Jazira was enhanced by the demise of the Late Bronze entities and urban centres there, notably Emar and Tuttul. Before the fall of the Hittite state the Assyro-Hittite frontier was west of the Balīḫ.43 36

Cancik-Kirschbaum, op. cit. (note 14), pp. 15, 20. Cf. Jakob, op. cit. (note 22), p. 182 ff. 38 According to Cancik-Kirschbaum, op. cit. (note 14), p. 30 ff; 108 ff., ad 3, 5 ff; 125 ff., ad 7, 17’ ff. 39 Foreign recruits were former members of armies of organized polities. For Elamite bowmen, whose expertise was much sought after also in 1st millennium Mesopotamia, as well as Shubrians and Shelenayans in the Middle Assyrian army see J. N. Postgate, “The Organization of the Middle Assyrian Army: Some Fresh Evidence”, in P. Abrahami and L. Battini (eds.), Les armées du Proche-Orient ancien (IIIe-Ier mill. Av. J.-C.). Actes du colloque international organisé à Lyon les 1er et 2 décembre 2006 (BAR International Series 1855; Oxford, 2008), pp. 83–92, esp. 85–88. 40 Cancik-Kirschbaum, op. cit. (note 14), 2, 42. 41 J. Szuchman, “Revisiting Hanigalbat: Settlement in the Western Provinces of the Middle Assyrian Kingdom”, in G. Wilhelm (ed.), General Studies and Excavations at Nuzi in Honor of David I. Owen on the Occasion of His 65th Birthday October 28, 2005 (SCCNH 18; Bethesda, MD 2009), pp. 531–544. 42 Cf. Masetti-Rouault, op. cit. (note 11), p. 223. 43 See M. Luciani, “On Assyrian Frontiers and the Middle Euphrates”, SAAB 13 (1999–2001), 37

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It should be remembered that the section of the middle Euphrates between Emar and Tuttul, which was dominated by the Assyrians after the fall of the Hittite state (ca. 1200 BCE), seems to have had less fortifications (notably Tall Fray) than the section in Laqê and Sūḫu.44 Consequently, there were much less Assyrian garrisons there.45 On the whole, this southwestern corner of the Assyrian frontier was a weak point. There is evidence for Sutean/Ahlamite presence in the Jazira before 1200 BCE, but it is difficult to assess its full extent. The Sutean/Ahlamites, like other foreigners (e.g. Kassites) are generally anonymous in Middle-Assyrian sources from the Jazira.46 The individuals mentioned by name in the documents from Dūr-Katlimmu, Sabi Abyaḍ and Ḫarbê are mostly Assyrians and deportees (notably Elamites in Ḫarbê47). On the whole, non-Assyrians are severely under-represented in Middlepp. 87–114, esp. 107 ff.; A. Tenu, “Du Tigre à l’Euphrate: la frontière occidentale de l’empire médio-assyrienne”, SAAB 15 (2006), pp. 161–181 (a clear distinction between the situation of the western frontier before the demise of the Hittite state and after it, is not clear in some cases in the current state of archaeological research). 44 Cf. Herles, op. cit. (note 13), p. 434 ff.; B.J. Parker, The Mechanics of Empire: the Northern Frontier of Assyria as a Case Study in Imperial Dynamics (Helsinki, 2001). 45 For Assyrian garrisoning in general see Parker, ibid., p. 148. 46 West Semitic names in MA documents from the Jazira refer to people from Syria who just visited the region: Ab-di-na-te < *‘Abdi-‘Anat, from Tall Sabi Abyaḍ (13th century BCE, see Faist, op. cit. [note 6], p. 129, with note 108); Hamis-Dagal (< Dagan) was originally from Emar (see Faist, op. cit. [note 6], p. 129). Likewise, A-bi-sa-ma-ka, A-hi-ra-ah-qa and A-bira-eš-┌pa┐ might refer to people from Canaan (see Faist, op. cit. [note 6], p. 251 ff., 254, ad loc.; merchants from Canaan are recorded in Tall Sabi Abyaḍ as well). The Sidonian (Ṣidūnāyu) envoy Mil-ku-ra-mi, who brought tablets from the Egyptian king, is recorded in Ḫarbê (Jakob, op. cit. [note 21], 22, 11 ff.), where Emarites (Imārayu), north-Syrians (Ḫatāyu, Jakob, op. cit., [note 21], 2 and 24–26, 54, 56) and Ia-ab-na-an, the Amorite envoy (Amurrāyu), are also mentioned (Jakob, op. cit., [note 21], p. 23, cf. Faist, op. cit. [note 6], p. 224). 47 There are 18 Elamite families in Ḫarbê, all were archers (ša qalte), who are recorded in five ration lists (see Jakob, op. cit. [note 22], p. 184 ff., ad 46, 69–71, 77). On the preservation of the ethnic label ‘Elamite’ after hypothetical three generations of acculturation see D. Charpin, review of W. H. van Soldt et al. (eds.), op. cit. (note 21), RA 102 (2008), pp. 184–187 (184b with an OB analogy). It is not clear whether they were voluntary immigrants or prisoners of war (see Jakob, op. cit. [note 21], p. 17; the figures in brackets below refer to his text editions). Many of them bore Assyrian names and at least one a Hurrian name (a female, Pu-uttu-me-ri, 70, 17, perhaps due to intermarriage; the Hurrians belonged to the local milieu). Most of their non-Assyrian names are Elamite (six, viz. 1–6, see C. Kühne, “Ein mittelassyrisches Verwaltungsarchiv und andere Keilschrifttexte”, in W. Orthmann et al. [eds.], Ausgrabungen in Tell Chuera in Nordost-Syrien 1 [Vorderasiatische Forschungen der Max Freiherr von Oppenheim Stiftung 2; Saarbrücken, 1995], pp. 203–225, esp. 223, of which at least one [4] is hybrid, Elamite-Akkadian) and another two (7, 8) are perhaps Elamite: (1) Gu-ú-ug-maan-za-a (70, 21)/ Gu-ug-dma-an-za-a (77, 4) /Gu-┌gu┐-[ma-an-za] (40, 4) < Elam. kuk ‘protection’ and Manzat (a goddess), extant in OB Ku(-uk)ku-ma-an-zu (with omission of –t, see R. Zadok, The Elamite Onomasticon [Supplemento no. 40 agli Annali dell’Istituto Orientale di Napoli 44; Naples, 1984], pp. 21 ff.: 110, 27:138); (2) Na-par-ak-še-er (70, 25)/[N]a-┌par┐ak-šèr (77, 5)/Na-par-a[k-šèr] (40, 5) < Elam. napir ‘deity’ and akšir (see Zadok, ibid., 5:5b; 31:57b). The second component is extant also in MB dŠi-mut-ak-šìr (J. A. Brinkman apud M. W. Stolper, Texts from Tall-i Malyan. 1: Elamite Administrative Texts (1972-1974) [Occasional Publications of the Babylonian Fund 6; Philadelphia, 1984], p. 50, ad 19, 3 ff.: FLP 1313, iv, 6, unpubl., where Stolper lists several names with this element); (3) Ki-din-n[a-párša] (40, 6) /[Ki-di]n-na-pár-ša (70, 29)/Ki-din-na-pár-[ša] (77, 6) < Elam. kitin ‘divine protec-

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Assyrian sources. The system of Assyrian border fortresses (‘limes’) can now be partially reconstructed,48 but it eventually did not stop the Aramean infiltration into the entire Jazira (ca. 1180–1060 BCE), seeing that Ashur-bēl-kala encountered Arameans practically in every part of the Jazira. The period of initial infiltration and diffusion reached its climax sometime before 930 BCE, when the Assyrian reconquista of the Jazira began. In addition, there might have been non-political changes which caused a pressure of less-sedentarised groups on the Assyrian-dominated Jazira. Kirleis and Herles49 reach the conclusion that increasing aridity in the 12th–9th centuries BCE caused migrations of Arameans northwards. Around 930 BCE, the Arameans started to establish several fairly large polities which can be defined as ‘expanded chiefdoms’, notably the three polities of the Temanites in Geṭara (Tall arRimāḥ), Naṣībīna and Ḫuzīrīna (Sultantepe). The Aramean capitals of Naṣībīna and Ḫuzīrīna were located not far from ancient urban centres, viz. Nabula and Harran respectively, presumably because the Arameans were initially unable to conquer Assyrian fortified centers. This pattern of Aramean settlement is also discernible on former Hittite territory: Bīt-Adini was established near Til-Barsip, which initially continued to be a Hittite-Luwian center. An analogous situation existed in BītBaḫiāni and Bīt-Agūsi, where the Aramean capitals were located outside the Assyrian and Hittite urban centers. A higher degree of continuity from Late Bronze to early Iron Age existed in Sūḫu and Laqê.50 Against Lipinski’s hypothesis that the tion’ and napi-riša ‘great god’ (see Zadok, ibid., 21:108; 31 ff.:157d, to which add Middle Elam. Un-taš-na-GAL, P. Amiet, “Trois colliers iraniens”, Revue du Louvre et des musées de France 30 (1980), pp. 88–90 [esp. 88 ff., fig. 2] and MB Hu-un-da-šá-DINGIR.GAL, J. van Dijk, “Die dynastischen Heiraten zwischen Kassiten und Elamern: eine verhängnisvolle Politik”, Orientalia 55 [1986], pp. 159–170 [161 = VS 24, 91, 12]); (4) Gu-gu-LUGAL (40, 8)/Gu-ú-ug-šar-ri (70, 42, hybrid, Elamo-Akkadian; a new name) and (5) ┌Gu┐-ú-ug-ha-di-ra (70, 31) do not contain Elam. gugu ‘peace, accord, harmony(?)’ (pace Jakob, op. cit. [note 21], 101 ad 46), but Elam. kuk ‘protection’ (cf. above); (6) fDu-tu-ma-an-za-a (70, 43), cf. tutu (Zadok, ibid., 45:252b and Manzat, above). (7) fMe-e-na-ma-gi (70, 22) -menna never occurs as an initial component in Elamite names, -ma-gi looks like a rendering of ma-k, perhaps a passive participle of ma “to decide, show willingness” (cf. Zadok, ibid., 27:136e; 28:144). (8) Na-al-ka-me-en-na (70, 19), perhaps < *Nanki (with dissimilation) “I speak, say” and -min (Zadok, ibid., 28:144; 30:155, cf. Na-an-ni-me-na?). (9) Ru-us-su-kar-du (70, 10) and (10) fÚ-ta-za-ku (70, 51) have no cognate forms in Elamite. 48 See Herles, op. cit. (note 13), passim. 49 W. Kirleis and M. Herles, “Climate Change as a Reason for Assyro-Aramaean Conflicts? Pollen Evidence for Drought at the End of the 2nd Millennium BC”, SAAB 16 (2007), pp. 7– 35, esp. 29. 50 Five Suhean brewers, who dwell (šaknūni) in the district (ugāru) of Ḫarbê, are recorded in Jakob, op. cit. [note 21], p. 66 (see also Jakob, op. cit. [note 22], p. 184): Ia-ar-i-ú and Nu-ranu. Both are defined as uruGIBIL-iu-ú, i.e. from Ālu eššu, which refers to various settlements, e.g. in central Babylonia not far from Nippur and the Tigris (see Nashef, op. cit. [note 9], p. 19). Ālu eššu of Sūḫu is a designation of Gabbari-DÙ and does not predate the mid-8th century BCE, but such settlement could have referred to a new foundation there or in other parts of upper Mesopotamia in earlier periods. Ṭa-bi-ú-da-a (perhaps Akkadian ‘mein Gutes kenne ich’, see Jakob, op. cit. [note 21], p. 94 ad loc.), I-da-ia-a (a gentilic of Idu = modern Hīt?) from Ḫarbê (uruḪar-be-iu-ú) and Li-ba-nu uruḪar-ba-na-iu-ú. Jakob, op. cit. [note 21], p. 94 ad loc. is of the opinion that both gentilics refer to Ḫarbê on the Balīḫ as their place of activity. Li-ba-ni, who is mentioned in Jakob, op. cit. [note 21], p. 63, may be a different individual.

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Arameans originated from Ṭūr-‘Abdīn51 one may argue that Giricano, which is located near it (as a test case) has very few West Semitic names.52 The Campaigns of Tiglath-Pileser I against the Arameans were conducted in the middle Euphrates region from the Euphrates bend (where he fortified the twin forts Pitru and Mutkīnu) down to Sūḫu, i.e. basically in the steppe and exceptionally in the Syrian desert. The late Middle-Assyrian and Neo-Assyrian line of fortifications, actually stretched from Sūḫu (Haditha dam region, between Ana in the north and Haditha in the south53) to the mouth of the Ḫābūr, whereas the section further northwest was much less fortified, except the Euphrates bend south of Carchemish54 with the twin forts of Pitru and Mutkīnu.55 This Limes Euphraticus included twin forts on both banks of the middle Euphrates.56 The fortifications and outposts were connected by communication and transportation ways, both riverine (the Euphrates) and overland (presumably along the Euphrates; a Neo-Assyrian royal highway, ḫarrān šarri,57 like that along the Ḫābūr, is not recorded along this river). Laqê, Ḫindānu and Sūḫu functioned as buffer states in Herles’s opinion,58 but at best they were buffer zones. For Sūḫu was a Babylonian vassal from time to time, Ḫindānu as a separate polity is first recorded in Tukulti-Ninurta II’s time (from 885 BCE onwards). It seceded from Sūḫu after it had become a terminal of the south-Arabian trade. Laqê on the territory of the earlier kingdom of Terqa has never been a unified polity, but a confederation of tribes. On the other hand, Dunnu-ša-Uzibi (modern Gericano) is situated in the frontier region, but being not fortified59 it did not form part of a chain of fortifications. There is no evidence for fortresses on the frontier northwest of Harran, in the present stage of archaeological research (on the north-

51

Lipinski, op. cit. (note 2), p. 46 ff. Gu-sa-a-ni, Gu-sa-ni (Radner, op. cit. [note 15], 10, 20 and 7, 24 resp.) = A-gu-sa-ni (11, 17, son of Ṣilli-Ašihi > Ṣillê, cf. 14, r. 14, see Radner, op. cit. [note 15], p. 87 ad loc.), Bi-teìl-ia (son of Sir-qi, 11, 5 ff.), as well as, perhaps, A-ma-di-i. The latter hardly renders West Sem. Ḥamadî (as understood by M. P. Streck apud Radner, op. cit. [note 15], 83 ad 4, 33, cf. 8, 28) seeing that WSem. /ḥ/ cannot be rendered by Assyrian ø. Perhaps it derives from ̒-M-D (he was son of Šamaš-šarra-uṣur, i.e. with a palatial connection in view of his paternal name containing šarru ‘king’ ); and A-┌ma┐-ma-i (son of Adda-te-ia, Radner, op. cit. [note 15], 9, 4). The other names listed as Aramaic by Radner, op. cit. [note 15], 74 can be atypical. The name of the scribe dSē-šēzib (Radner, op. cit. [note 15], 7, 29) is vulgar Akkadian. Milku can be Akkadian. uruHi-ra-ni (see Radner, op. cit. [note 15], p. 84 ad 5, 6) may be a West Semitic toponym. 53 See Herles, op. cit. (note 13), p. 418 ff.; A. Tenu, “Les fortresses assyriennes de la valée du moyen Euphrate”, in Abrahami and Battini, op. cit. (note 39), pp. 151–176, including an analysis of the temporary camps; cf. idem, “Le moyen Euphrate à l’époque médio-assyrienne”, in Ch. Kepinski, O. Lecomte and A. Tenu (eds.), Le moyen Euphrate iraqienne révélé par les fouilles preventives de Haditha (Travaux 3; Paris, 2006), pp. 217–245. 54 Tiglath-pileser I’s claim that he acted from Sūḫu to Carchemish in one day (cf. Herles, op. cit. [note 13], p. 415) is merely a topos (with typological parallels, e.g. in old Irish poetry). 55 See Tenu, op. cit. (note 43), p. 167 ff. 56 See Herles, op. cit. (note 13), pp. 421, 429, 437 ff. 57 See K. Kessler, Untersuchungen zur historischen Topographie Nordmesopotamiens nach keilschriftlichen Quellen des 1. Jahrtausends v. Chr. (Beihefte zum TAVO B, 26; Wiesbaden, 1980), p. 183 ff. 58 Herles, op. cit. (note 13), p. 417 ff. 59 See A. Schachner in Radner, op. cit. (note 15), p. 5. 52

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west section of the Middle-Assyrian frontier).60 There is very little information on the Assyrian frontier in the north, opposite the Nairi lands in the Middle-Assyrian period.61 Despite their impressive duration, intensity and territorial coverage, the campaigns of Tiglath-pileser I failed to curb the Aramean penetration62 as can be concluded from the fact that the Arameans regrouped in the time of his successor throughout the Jazira. It is remarkable that a fragmentary Assyrian chronicle63 preserved a report about an Aramean incursion into Assyria proper sometime in the reign of Tiglath-pileser I (ca. 1082/1 BCE).64 As a result, residents of Assyria proper retreated northeastwards65 and sought refuge in the mountains of the land of Ḫab-riú-ri (modern Dašt-i Ḫarīr),66 which was an Assyrian province in the late MiddleAssyrian period (ca. 1124–1120 BCE).67 However, this was apparently an episode. The broken obelisk (ca. 1069–1067 BCE68) records several Assyrian campaigns against the Arameans: (1) From the Ḫābūr to the land of Ḫur/Mur-ku and Carchemish; (2) in Pauza (on Mt. Kašyari) and at the (head of) Nabula; (3) at […]tibua on the Tigris after a campaign against Muṣri (probably as a continuation of that campaign which took place in the same month); in the towns of Šinamu (near the upper Tigris) and Mu-ra-ar-┌ri┐?-ir of the land of Šubriya (kurŠub-re-e); (4) from Maḫiranu to Šuppa of the land of Harran; (5) a long itinerary from northwest to southeast is about a campaign in the 9th month: Magrisu of the land of Yaru → Dūr-Katlimmu→ Sangarite→ along the Ḫābūr river, on a hypothetical forerunner of the Neo-Assyrian royal highway,69 merely in order to secure the control of the important roads.70 This may be applicable to the other campaigns conducted on ways leading from one urban centre to another as described above. Then all the way to Gulgul near Sippar → [...](-)at-x-┌ṣi-ka┐of the land (or mountain) of Ḫa-a-ni (cf. kurḪa-a-na, iv, 17) and [...] (drinking places are mentioned in broken context). On the long run all these 60

Cf. Tenu, op. cit. (note 43), p. 173 ff. For the northern frontier in the Neo-Assyrian period and its fortifications and garrisoning see the special monograph of Parker, op. cit. (note 44). 62 Cf. G. van Driel, “Ethnicity, how to Cope with the Subject”, in W. H. van Soldt et al. (eds.), op. cit. (note 21), pp. 1–10, esp. 8. 63 H. Tadmor, “Historical Implications of the Correct Rendering of Akkadian dâku”, JNES 17 (1958), pp. 129–144, esp. 133 ff.; A. K. Grayson, Assyrian and Babylonian Chronicles (TCS 5; Locust Valley, NY 1975; new ed. Winona Lake, IN 2000), p. 189. 64 Younger, op. cit. (note 2), p. 148 ff. 65 See Tadmor, “The Campaigns of Sargon II of Assur: A Chronological-Historical Study”, JCS 12 (1958), pp. 22–42 (esp. 26, note 34; 30, note 65), cf. Lipinski, op. cit. (note 2), p. 36. 66 Is uruḪa-ba-ru-ḪA (MLC 1300 = Grayson, op. cit. [note 63], p. 186, 19) a mistake of the same toponym? 67 According to Y. Bloch (“Assyro-Babylonian Conflicts in the Reign of Aššur-rēša-iši I: The Contribution of Administrative Documents to History-Writing”, in this volume) based on H. Freydank and B. Feller, Mittelassyrische Rechtsurkunden und Verwaltungstexte 6 (WVDOG 109; Saarbrücken, 2005), 86, 16. It is mentioned after the province of the bank of the ḪUR-ri river (or i7ḫar-ri ‘the province of the bank of the ditch’?) in connection with Arbela. 68 Cf. R. Zadok, “Neo-Assyrian Notes”, in M. Cogan and D. Kahn (eds.), Treasures on Camel’s Humps: Historical and Literary Studies from the Ancient Near East Presented to Israel Eph’al (Jerusalem, 2008), pp. 312–330. 69 Cf. Kessler, op. cit. (note 57), p. 212 ff., 227 ff. 70 Cf. M. Liverani, “The Growth of the Assyrian Empire on the Habur/Middle Euphrates Area: A New Paradigm”, SAAB 2 (1988), pp. 81–98. 61

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counter-measures failed and the Arameans settled and controlled the whole Jazira except for Assyria proper (but cf. above on an Aramean incursion deep into Assyria proper). This process culminated in the conquest of Pitru and Mutkīnu, the Assyrian outposts on the Euphrates bend, by an anonymous king of the Arameans (MAN kur Aru-mu) in the reign of Aššur-rabi II (1012–972 BCE).71 There is very little information about this period, but the fact that Aššur-kettī-lēšer of the land of Mari based at Ṭābētu/Tall Bdēri (ca. 1100 BCE, and his predecessors since the middle of the 12th century BCE)72 and slightly later Bēl-ēreš, who ruled Šadikanni sometime in the reign of Aššur-rēša-iši II (971–967 BCE), left their own inscriptions and called themselves ‘king’ and ‘vice regent’ (lúŠID) respectively, indicates the weakness of the central government as they were just nominally subject to the Assyrian king. Masetti-Rouault73 visualizes here a fragmentation of the MA Jazira into semi-independent polities founded by the descendants of the Assyrian settlers who used the Arameans as their troops. This generalization awaits concrete evidence. For the time being both urban centers and their vicinity can be regarded as Assyrian enclaves or one (continuous) Assyrian enclave in Kühne’s opinion.74 For the Assyrians, who lost control of most of the Jazira, the emergence of semi-autonomous governors of the Assyrian enclaves was the lesser evil. Subsequently, the Arameans conquered Geṭara in the reign of Tiglath-pileser II (966–935 BCE). Nevertheless, the ancient Assyrian garrison town of Dūr-Katlimmu seems to have remained in Assyrian hands even then if to rely on the fact that no local dynasty is recorded there in late MiddleAssyrian and early Neo-Assyrian times. Aššur-dan II (934–912 BCE) made a successful attempt to regain territory lost to the Arameans as early as his accession year (934 BCE) when he fought against the Iauseans (kurIa-ú-sa-a-IA, implicitly Arameans), whose settlements extended from Ekal-pī-nāri to [...], as well as against the Ruqāḫu tribe.75 The Zab river and [kurI]aḫa-a-nu of the the land of the Arameans (kurA-ru-mu), located behind kurPi-[xx], which was conquered by the Arameans in Aššur-rabi II’s time are recorded in the same damaged inscription. Aššur-dan II defeated the Arameans from the town of Ḫal-ḫa-la-uš of the land of Sa-[x(-x)]-zi. His successor, Adad-nirari II, conquered in 901–896 BCE the three expanded chiefdoms of the Temanites, which covered most of the northern Jazira. This marks the end of the Aramean expansion and is a turning point in the successful Assyrian re-conquest of the Jazira. This re-conquest was achieved just before the process of secondary state formation among the eastern Arameans, triggered by the Assyrian renewed pressure, was completed. This process was however completed a generation later further west in Bīt-Adini on the bend of the Euphrates and in northern Syria, where Ahūni of Bīt-Adini supported anti-Assyrian parties on the lower Ḫābūr and the middle Euphrates. The Aramean and NeoHittite polities in Northern Syria and southeastern Anatolia reacted to the Assyrian re-conquest of the whole Jazira by forming Anti-Assyrian coalitions.

71

RIMA 3, A.0.102.2, ii, 36 ff. Maul, op. cit. (note 4), p. 48 ff. 73 Masetti-Rouault, op. cit. (note 11), p. 234. 74 See H. Kühne, “Interaction of Aramaeans and Assyrians on the Lower Habur”, Syria 86 (2009), pp. 43–54; Cf. Younger, op. cit. (note 2), p. 154. 75 RIMA 2, p. 131 ff. 72

CULT IN THE IRON AGE I–IIA IN THE LAND OF ISRAEL WOLFGANG ZWICKEL University of Mainz In my paper I will present some general ideas concerning cult in the Iron Age I period in the southern Levant. The main focus will be on religion in the territory which later was called Israel and Judah. The religion of the Philistines, Edomites, Moabites, Ammonites, Arameans and Phoenicians are not the focus of this paper.1 The archaeology of the Iron Age I period has been highly debated in the last 30 years with a completely new view of the historical events emerging.2 Nevertheless, relatively little attention has been placed on the religious changes from the Late Bronze Age to the Iron Age. These dramatic changes cannot be discussed though without some general remarks on the history of Israel during that period, including the social and economic changes. Thesis 1: The end of the Late Bronze Age was a transition period starting about 1250 BCE and ending at some sites not before ca. 1000 BCE, during the Kingship of David and Salomon. Nearly all Late Bronze Age towns in the country were originally located along main trade routes. Most of them were abandoned at the end of the Late Bronze Age or at least became much smaller during the Iron Age I. Hundreds of new settlements were built during the Iron Age I in Galilee, the central hills region and the Negev. Generally, those villages were relatively small (not more than 30 houses). Some Late Bronze Age towns like Jerusalem or Keila survived as city states until the end of the Iron Age I. The changes that occurred during the last centuries of the 2nd millennium BCE were enormous. Instead of relatively large city states, between about 1250 and 1000 BCE, in Galilee, the central hill region and the Negev a tribal system developed. David and Solomon were the first ones to unify those tribes into a territorial state with a central leader. There were severe changes not only in the architecture of the towns and villages, but also in the society and—as a consequence—also in the religion of the people living during the Iron Age I period. 1

Cf. for the religion of those areas see D. Elkowicz, Tempel und Kultplätze der Philister und der Völker des Ostjordanlandes. Eine Untersuchung zur Bau- und zur Kultgeschichte während der Eisenzeit (Münster, forthcoming); G. E. Markoe, Peoples of the Past: Phoenicians (London, 2000). 2 Cf. e.g. I. Finkelstein, The Archaeology of the Israelite Settlement (Jerusalem, 1988).

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Thesis 2: The end of the Late Bronze Age period is characterized by the break-down of an economic and social system not only in Canaan, but also in the whole eastern part of the Mediterranean Sea. There are definitely several reasons for those changes. A weather catastrophe, which affected the whole area, was one of the main reasons for this breakdown.3 Even in a country like Albania, more than 2000km in the west of Palestine, an abandonment of sites at the time of 1200 BCE can be observed.4 A famine crisis of the 13th century BCE affected the whole eastern part of the Mediterranean region. The water level at the Dead Sea fell at that period, as newer researches have shown, to nearly the same height as today.5 The Sea Peoples, but also some Anatolian tribes and people from other origins, tried to find new areas to settle down. The models we still use today for the Palestinian society during the Iron Age I period are too simple to reconstruct the general changes in that period in the whole eastern Mediterranean area. New settlers entered the area of Palestine; others had to leave the country because of the pressure of the new settlers. Therefore we have to assume that the population changed dramatically during that period. The new settlers of Iron Age I included: (1) inhabitants of former cities abandoned at the end of the Late Bronze Age; (2) people living in the coastal areas (and maybe the Jordan valley) driven away by the Philistine settlement;6 (3) people from several parts of Anatolia and the Syria, who lost their homes during the famine in the eastern Mediterranean in the 13th century BCE; (4) a small number of nomads, mainly from eastern Jordan, driven away by Bedouin attacks;7 (5) an even smaller number of people who had emigrated to Egypt at the end of the 12th century BCE in order to survive the famine, and who returned back to Palestine later. All of them had differrent religious traditions. The hill country was ideal for the new settlers. This area was nearly unsettled during the Late Bronze Age, there was more humidity than in the coastal area or in the Jordan valley, and it was far away from the international roads, where well armed soldiers could pass. The main income of these people was completely different from that of the Late Bronze Age period. While the Late Bronze Age cities had a distribution of labor and were dependent on trade activities and highly were specialized, the settlements in the hill country region were rather poor, and at least in the beginning conducted very little agriculture, mainly herded flocks. Since the international trade broke down at the end of the Late Bronze Age, also the possibilities to ascertain the income for a family changed dramatically during that period. This certainly also had some influence on the religion of these people.

3

W. Zwickel, “Hungersnöte in der südlichen Levante vom 14. Jh. v.Chr. bis zum 1. Jh. n. Chr.”, FS Oren, forthcoming. 4 The financing of a research trip to Albania, which I undertook in the year 2008 together with Dr. R. Kletter, was funded by the Landesexzellenzcluster Archaeoscience of the Johannes Gutenberg-University Mainz. 5 C. Migowski, Untersuchungen laminierter holozäner Sedimente aus dem Toten Meer: Rekonstruktion von Paläoklima und –seizmizität (Potsdam, 2004). 6 Cf. W. Zwickel, “Die Landnahme in Juda”, UF 25 (1993), pp. 473–491. 7 R. Neu, Von der Anarchie zum Staat. Entwicklungsgeschichte ISRAELS vom Nomadentum zur Monarchie im Spiegel der Ethnosoziologie (Neukirchen, 1992), pp. 111–117.

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Thesis 3: At first, the new settlers who settled in the hill country region, the Galilee and the Negev were mostly independent. They had few connections to other settlements. In the course of the time, neighboring sites established clans and later tribes. People of neighboring sites married each other, a regional trade was established, and neighboring sites helped each other in military activities when any enemies tried to fight against them. During the Iron Age I period, a tribal system in the Land of Israel and Judah was established with judges as their leaders. In early times some tribes helped each other in military campaigns, but there was no pressure that every tribe had to be part of a military activity (cf. Judg 4–5 with some tribes who did not participate at that battle). Likely, the first campaign with all tribes was organized by Saul (1 Sam 11). With Saul and especially David a new era in the Northern kingdom started: Now the country formed by 9 separated tribes (except of Judah, Simeon and Levi) started to be a military organization headed by a king. Thesis 4: The city states of the Late Bronze Age were well developed centers with a sophisticated society. The settlers of Iron Age I period, as well as the territorial state of the Iron Age II period, were largely economically autonomous. The changes from the Late Bronze Age to the Iron Age mainly affected the economic and social system. Pottery items8 as well as ivory items9 or metallurgy products10 clearly demonstrate the highly developed craftsmanship in the Late Bronze Age period. There were also intensive trade activities with other countries in the Mediterranean area.11 Both the trade activities and the craftsmanship came to an end at the end of the Late Bronze Age. Thesis 5: All Late Bronze Age cities had at least one temple. Temples (and palaces) were necessary parts of each city state and even smaller settlements in Palestine. The temples of the Late Bronze Age were closely connected to political power; the king or ruler was probably responsible for cultic stability, while the city gods guaranteed the stability of the kingdom or political power. For the Late Bronze Age there are several buildings, which certainly can be interpreted as temples.12 The following list presents all those buildings:

8

R. Amiran, Ancient Pottery of the Holy Land from its Beginnings in the Neolithic Period to the End of the Iron Age (Jerusalem, 1969), pp. 124–190. 9 H. A. Liebowitz, “Late Bronze II Ivory Work in Palestine: Evidence of a Cultural Highpoint”, BASOR 265 (1987), pp. 3–24; E. Fischer, Ägyptische und ägyptisierende Elfenbeine aus Megiddo und Lachisch. Inschriftenfunde, Flaschen, Löffel (AOAT 47; Münster, 2007). 10 O. Negbi, Canaanite Gods in Metal: An Archaeological Study of Ancient Syro-Palestinian Figurines (Tel Aviv, 1976). 11 A. Leonard, Jr., An Index to the Late Bronze Age Aegean Pottery from Syria-Palestine (Studies in Mediterranean Archaeology 114; Jonsered, 1994); Ü. Yalçın et al. (eds.), Das Schiff von Uluburun. Welthandel vor 3000 Jahren (Bochum, 2005). 12 For a detailed description of every temple, cf. W. Zwickel, Der Tempelkult in Kanaan und Israel. Studien zur Kultgeschichte Palästinas von der Mittelbronzezeit bis zum Untergang Judas (FAT 10;Tübingen, 1994), pp. 75–203.

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Tel Musa/Tell Kittan, Stratum III (LB IA) Hazor, Area A, Stratum XV and XVI (LB I) Hazor, Area C, Stratum 1B and 1A (LB IIA) Hazor, Cult Place, Area F, Stratum 1B and 1A (LB I–II, early Iron Age I) Hazor, Area H, Stratum 2, 1B and 1A (LB I–II, early Iron Age IA) Tell Balata/Sichem, Stratum XIV–XII (LB IB–II, early Iron Age IA) Megiddo, Area B–B, Strata IX, VIII, VIIB/A (LB I–II, early Iron Age IA) Tell Der Alla (LB II) Lachish Fosse Temple I–III (LB I–II, early Iron Age IA) Lachish, Acropolis Temple (LB II, early Iron Age IA) Tel Mubarak/Tell Mevorakh, Stratum XI and X (LB I–IIA) Tell Abu Hawam, Temple 50 and 30 (LB I–II, early Iron Age IA) Bet-Shean, Stratum R3 (LB I) Bet-Shean, Strata IX, VI, VI (LB I–II, Iron Age I) Jaffa, Lion Temple (LB II) While there is very often discussions whether buildings of earlier or later periods may be interpreted as temples, Late Bronze Age temples are easily identified as such. Mostly, they are built up with strong walls (so called Migdal temples). They normally have rich cultic finds and installations like podiums or niches. Most of the temples were found in the main cities like Megiddo, Lachish, Hazor or Bet-Shan. But also small sites like Tell Mevorakh had a sanctuary, which most likely served the people on the road leading up to the north (as a highway-sanctuary). Thesis 6: All temples of the Late Bronze Age were abandoned at the end of this period or in the early years of Iron Age I. This was at least sometimes not a “sudden death”, but a slow process associated with the end of the city states. Only at a few sites, the temples continued to be used in early Iron Age I. But even those temples ceased to exist in the course of Iron Age I. The following list presents those temples which still existed according to archaeological reports in the early Iron Age (with an absolute date of 1200 BCE as the starting point for the end of the Late Bronze Age): Hazor, Cult Place, Area F, Stratum 1B and 1A (LB I–II, early years of Iron Age IA) Hazor, Area H, Stratum 2, 1B and 1A (LB I–II, early years of Iron Age IA) Tell Balata/Sichem, Stratum XIV–XII (LB IB–II, early Iron Age IA) Megiddo, Area B–B, Strata IX, VIII, VIIB/A (LB I–II, early Iron Age IA) Tell Der Alla (early years of Iron Age IA) Lachish Fosse Temple I–III (LB I–II, early years of Iron Age IA) Lachish, Acropolis Temple (LB II, early years of Iron Age IA) Tell Abu Hawam, Temple 50 and 30 (LB I–II, early years of Iron Age IA) Bet-Shean, Strata IX, VI, VI (LB I–II, Iron Age I) But there is still no general agreement about the end of the Late Bronze Age. Generally, the year 1200 BCE is used in the handbooks. Clearly, the Canaanite society did not come to a sudden end. The decline of the city state society, which is identical with the Late Bronze Age society, lasted at least until about 1160 BCE, at some places even longer. Every city state should be considered separately and had its own specific history and development. Lachish came to an end about 1160 BCE or even

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some decades later; Megiddo VIIA was not destroyed before about 1140 BCE, if a pedestal bearing the cartouche of Ramesses VI can be attributed to this stratum. The layout of the city changed completely in Stratum VI. Most likely, Megiddo survived as a Canaanite city state at least to the second part of the 12th century BCE. Also in Shechem the Migdal Temple existed until the middle of the 12th century BCE. Unfortunately, we know nothing concrete about the history of Megiddo or Shechem in this period. Only in Bet-Shean the series of Late Bronze Age temples continued at least to the end of the 12th or even the beginning of the 11th century BCE. But already H. Weippert noted: “Politisch hat die Eisen-I-Zeit … in Beth-Sean überhaupt nicht stattgefunden” (Politically the Iron Age I period did not exist in Bet-Shean).13 This town may have been under Egyptian influence until the 11th or even 10th century BCE – and likewise also the temple with the Late Bronze Age tradition existed longer than at any other site in the country. We do not know if other city states survived likewise until the 11th century BCE. This is likely at least in Jerusalem and maybe also in some (very few) other sites, that the Late Bronze Age temples still existed during the Iron Age I period, since those cities were still able to exist as typical Canaanite city states until the 11th or even 10th century BCE. Thesis 7: If a Late Bronze Age town or village was re-established during Iron Age I, after abandonment, the new temples were – as far as we know until now – never erected on the same spot. As soon as a town lost its character as a Canaanite city state, the sacred area was abandoned. This is even true for Shechem, where a building of the late 9th or 8th centuries BCE was considered by the first excavators to be a sanctuary, because it was built above the former temples; but it should be regarded to be a granary.14 This general abandonment is a really surprising fact, which demonstrates that the settlers were not interested in any continuation of cultic activities from the Late Bronze Age. Thesis 8: Typical sanctuaries of the Iron Age I and II periods were open air sanctuaries (bamot). Until now, the word bamah has not been mentioned in any Levantine Late Bronze Age inscription in a cultic sense.15 The bamot are likely new types of cultic places founded for the first time during the Iron Age I period. The word bamah should be translated very generally as an “open air sanctuary”, which was normally situated on a higher spot. According to its description in the Old Testament, the typical layout of a bamah includes a tree, a masseba and maybe a small stone-altar (just a usual big stone), but any special “high place” had likely its own layout: “They set up pillars (massebot) and sacred poles (asherim) on every high hill and under every green tree; there they made offerings on all the high places” (2 Kgs 17:10–11a). Such sanctuaries can hardly be identified during archaeological field work (except: 13

H. Weippert, Palästina in vorhellenistischer Zeit (Handburch der Archäologie. Vorderasien II. Band 1; München, 1988), p. 365. 14 Cf. Zwickel, op. cit. (note 12), p. 248. 15 P. H. Vaughan, The Meaning of bāmâ in the Old Testament. A Study of Etymological, Textual and Archaeological Evidence (The Society for Old Testament Study. Monograph Series 3; Cambridge, 1974), pp. 3–28.

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Ḏahret et-Tawile/The Bull Site) because of this basic and non-diagnostic equipment, especially when they are not connected with any buildings. The high place of Ḏahret et-Tawile16 in the Samarian hill country was discovered by chance because a bronze bull had been found on top of a hill. Otherwise this simple stone construction certainly would not have been observed by archaeological surveys. Until now this is the only discovered high place of the Iron Age I or II period. Recent survey activities by A. Zertal17 and his team showed several Iron Age I sites only in the north of Ḏahret et-Tawile; this open sanctuary was used by those settlers as a religious centre. The people living in a diameter of 5–10km used those open air sanctuaries for their cultic meetings. A similar installation dating from the 7th century BCE has been found as the nucleus of the sanctuary of Apollo Hylates in Cyprus.18 Other sites like the so-called altar of Joshua on Mount Ebal19 should not be considered as open sanctuaries because they may be explained differently. Real temples have not yet been discovered on Iron Age I sites in Israel and Judah, but in the neighboring countries.20 Thesis 9: In the biblical literature as well, it is mainly bamot which are attested for the Iron Age I and IIA. They seem to be the typical type of sanctuary in that period. Surprisingly the list of the open air sanctuaries in the Old Testament and the extrabiblical literature is rather long. Unfortunately, for most of the sanctuaries, we cannot write a history of their development since they are mentioned only once or twice in the Old Testament. We seldom know when they were founded. The following list mentions all sanctuaries according to Biblical literature except those which are definitely from the Iron Age II period: Atarot (Num 32:3; KAI 181:12) Beer-Lahai-Roi (Gen 16:14) Beer-Sheba (Gen 21:33; 26:23–25; 46,1; Am 5:5; 8:14 Bethel (Gen 28:10–22; 35:8–15; 1 Kgs 12:28–30 and others) – Tabor Oak near Bethel (Judg 4:5; 1 Sam 10:3) Bethlehem (e.g. Judg 17:7) Carmel (1 Kgs 18:19–40) Dan (1 Kgs 12:29–30; Am 8,14) Palm of Deborah (Judg 4:5) Eben-Ezer (1 Sam 7:2) Gibeah in Benjamin (1 Sam 10:5,13; 22:6) Gibeon (2 Sam 20:8; 1 Kgs 3:4–5) Gilgal (Josh 4:20; 5,9–10; Judg 3:19; 1 Sam 7:16; 10:8; 11:14–15; 13:8–10; 15:21; Hos 4:15; 12:12; Am 4:4; 5:5) Jabesh (1 Sam 31:12–13; 1 Chron 10:12) Jerusalem – High Places of the Satyrs (2 Kgs 23:8) 16

For a summary and literature: Zwickel, op. cit. (note 12), pp. 212–215. A. Zertal, The Manasseh Hill Country Survey. Volume 1: The Shechem Syncline (CHANE 21; Leiden – Boston, 2004), p. 55, site 61. 18 W. Zwickel, “Eine zyprische Parallele zur kürzlich in Israel gefundenen Kulthöhe”, BN 24 (1984), pp. 24–29. 19 Cf. for a summary and literature see Zwickel, op. cit. (note 12), pp. 204–207. 20 Cf. for a summary, see now Elkowicz, op. cit. (note 1). 17

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– Spring of Gihon (1 Kgs 1:33–34,39) – Mount of Olives (2 Sam 15:32; 1 Kgs 11:7) – Serpent’s stone (1 Kgs 1:9) Mamre/Hebron (Gen 13:18; 18:1) Altar of Manoah between Zora and Eshtaol (Judg 13:20) Mizpa in Benjamin (Judg 20–21; 1 Sam 7:5–16; 10:17) Mizpa in Gad/Gilead (Gen 31:45–46) Morija (Gen 22,14) Nebo (Num 33:47; KAI 181:14–18) Ofra (Judg 6:11–24) Peor (Num 23:28; 25,18; Josh 15:59; 22:17; cf. Num 25:3.5; 31,16: Deut 4:3; Ps 106:28; Hos 9:10) Qeriho/Dibon (KAI 181:3) Qerijot (KAI 181:13) Ramah(tajim) (1 Sam 9:19,22,25) Shechem/Oak More (Gen 12:6; 33:20; Jos 24:26; Judg 9:6,37) Shittim (Num 25:1) Zaanannim (Josh 19:33; Judg 4:11). At least some of those open air sanctuaries like Beer-Sheba, Mamre, Ofra and others can certainly considered as bamot because they are closely connected to sacred trees. The layout of most of the other sanctuaries is unknown, but according to the biblical texts no temple building existed there. In Dan the so-called bamah reconstructed by Avraham Biran is not really proven by archaeology, but just a reconstruction.21 For Bethel a temple is not mentioned in the biblical texts; this may have been just an open air sanctuary. Thesis 10: Typical offerings at these sites seem to have been the sacrifice of animals, only the fat of which was burnt, while the meat was shared by the family (zaebah). We have only very few—if at all—biblical texts from the Iron Age I period. Nevertheless it is possible to reconstruct the development of cult in the Iron Age using the historical-critical method. In the following overview I present the results of a more detailed study published elsewhere.22 The slaughter of animals was not necessarily a cultic act in the early periods. The basic text of the Gideon story in Judg 6:11aα,18,19aαb,21–24a did not mentioned any cultic slaughter of an animal, as well as the Abraham story in Gen 18:1–8 or 19,1–3, traditionally attributed to the Jahwistic source. On his pilgrimage to the sanctuary of Silo, Elkanah killed an animal and boiled the pieces of this animal in several pots as a zebah-offering. Normally, as shown in 1 Sam 2:13–17, the fat of the animals had to be burned on a small altar as an offering for god, while the meat was eaten by the members of the family. The main duty of the priests was to prepare things to be offered on the altar, to burn fat and other things on it, and to wear the Ephod, that means to give oracles (1 Sam 2:28a). 21

Cf. for some criticism Zwickel, op. cit. (note 12), pp. 254–256. Zwickel, op. cit. (note 12), cf. also W. Zwickel, “Priesthood and the Development of Cult in the Books of Kings”, in A. Lemaire and B. Halpern (eds.), The Books of Kings: Sources, Composition, Historiography and Reception (VTS 129; Leiden – Boston, 2010), pp. 401–426. 22

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1 Sam 9:12–24* presents a cultic feast on a high place of Rama, likely typical for that period at that site. Similar feast activities are also mentioned in 1 Sam 16:1–13 and 1 Sam 20. Some guests were sitting in a special house (lishka) at the high place waiting for a zebah meal prepared by a cook. Nothing is said about any burning of fat of the animal. Even the fat tail of the animal was taken aside as a present for a special guest. Burnt offerings are mentioned in early texts at the end of the Great Flood (Gen 8:20–22). The aim of this offering of Noah is to calm god after his anger against mankind. But it was also necessary to offer burnt offerings to god in order to get his assistance during the fights in the beginning of a war. Therefore Saul offered an ‘olah in Gilgal before he started to fight against the Philistines (1Sam 10:8; 13:7b– 15a). Nevertheless burnt offerings are not mentioned before the 8th century BCE as regular sacrifices. Libations are only mentioned in 2 Sam 23:16. They seem to be in a Late Bronze Age tradition, where libation offerings were very prominent. To sum up: The typical cultic offering in the early days of Israel is the zebah-offering. At some placesm the fat was burnt and at some not. The typical place for cultic activities was a high place (bamah). ‘Olah offerings were only used to calm god or to make god well-disposed, and libations are rarely mentioned. Thesis 11: So far, temples are not attested for the Iron Age I and IIA periods in Israel and Judah through archaeological finds. All those buildings considered as temples can possibly be interpreted in a different way. But there are evidently some rooms which contained cultic items. Likely those rooms were used as storage rooms for cultic vessels to be used anywhere outside on an open air sanctuary. No archaeological traces of any temple have been found during the excavations at Silo/Khirbet Selun, where, according to the biblical tradition, a temple in the Iron Age I period existed. Perhaps, the excavations failed to find the very place. But there are no traces of any temple building remains in the whole of Israel and Judah during the Iron Age I and II as well. The temple in Arad, which did not exist before the Iron Age II period,23 is an exception because it has been a border sanctuary in the very south of the country. In Lachish, Room 49, and Megiddo, Room 2081,24 both very famous and often discussed in the literature, special rooms for storing cultic vessels were found. But compared to the number of items found in these rooms, the space was too small for a usage as sanctuary. Most likely, all the cultic elements were used on a high place or an open air sanctuary nearby, whose location is still unknown. Both rooms are from the Iron Age IIA period, but may reflect earlier developments. Some more special buildings need further consideration. One building of Strata VIIIA/B/C and IX (12th–11th centuries BCE) in Tell Qiri was considered by the excavators as a cultic building because of the finds discovered in the house.25 The size of the house, which was built up in a domestic context, is approximately 7x7m 23

Z. Herzog, “The Fortress Mound at Tel Arad. An Interim Report”, TA 29 (2002), pp. 3– 109; L. Singer-Avitz, “Arad: The Iron Age Pottery Assemblages”, TA 29 (2002), pp. 110– 214. 24 Cf. Zwickel, op. cit. (note 12), pp. 277–280. 25 A. Ben-Tor et al., Tell Qiri: A Village in the Jezreel Valley. Report on the Archaeological Excavations 1975–1977. Archaeological Investigations in the Valley of Jezreel. The Yoqne’am Project (Qedem 24; Jerusalem, 1987), pp. 86–90.

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(external measurements) in its earliest phase, VIIIC. During that phase, the house was entered from the street in the north. Nearly half of the house belonged to a front room (Locus 685a) with a narrow bench on the western wall; because of the light conditions, this room may have been an uncovered courtyard. Another room could be entered by a small doorway (Locus 1074), and a third dark room (Locus 1065), which may have been used as storage room, lay behind the second one. In Phase B, the complete layout was changed. Now the entrance was in the south, where an additional broadroom, Locus 690, was added. Loci 1074 and 1065 were combined to a new broadroom, Locus 1044. That means that the building was divided now in three parallel broadrooms of nearly equal size. The size of the house was enlarged to 7 x 9.5m. Whether or not the former courtyard was still uncovered is not clear, but this is most likely, since otherwise, no light could enter this room. In Phase VIIIA, the layout was changed once again. Now the former courtyard served as an open air entrance area; the house could be entered again from the north. Locus 670 (former Locus 1044) and Locus 690 were now two parallel broadrooms. The architecture—besides the bench in Locus 685a—is typical for domestic houses. Due to the finds, the excavators suggeste that this building should be connected with cultic purposes. More than 200 bones were found, 92% of them from the right foreleg of sheep or goats. The excavators connected this with the cultic practice in Ex 29:22 and Lev 7:32 and compared the high amount of right forelegs found in the Fosse temple in Lachish. In addition, a vessel and a stand, likely used for libations, and not as an incense burner, had been found in that building. It is not clear that the upright stone that found there can really be considered as a masseba. Also the function of a stone basin recovered in Phase VIIIA/B is not clear. The space in this building seems to be too small for public use. If the right forelegs can really be combined with the priestly portion of a sacrifice, it seems understandable that this building was used as the private house of a priest. The cultic instruments were stored in his private house and could be used on an open air site anywhere in the surroundings of Tel Qiri. The priests did not live on the open air sanctuaries, but in the villages nearby (cf. 1 Sam 9:12–13). But likely, they ate their portion of the sacrifices at home with their families. If this assumption is true, the finds from the Iron Age I period in Tel Qiri are proof for a cultic practice only described in much later texts of the priestly source in the Bible. A similar building has been excavated in Tell el-‘Oreme/Kinneret at the northwestern shore of the Sea of Galilee. The size of this building is 11.8 x 5.95m. This building complex consists of a courtyard (Locus 3507) with a roofed part on the eastern side, separated by five pillars (Locus 3925); to the west, the courtyard is bordered by two elongated rooms (Loci 3578 and 3538). The house complex is situated at the corner of two streets of the Iron Age I period. Surprisingly, no domestic finds were discovered in the building, but a partially preserved kernos-like bowl with zoomorphic applications, a complete fenestrated vessel, and a pilgrim flask were discovered. Also, two pits filled with bones of small livestock were discovered, but the bones are not yet analyzed. In particular, the fenestrated vessels26 26 Cf. M. Nissinen and S. Münger, “‘Down the River …’: A Shrine Model from Tel Kinrot in its Context”, in E. Kaptijn and L. P. Petit (eds.), A timeless vale: Archaeological and related essays on the Jordan Valley in honour of Gerrit van der Kooij on the occasion of his sixty– fifth birthday (Leiden, 2009), pp. 129–144, for an additional parallel D. Vieweger and J. Häser, “Das ‘Gadara Region Project’. Der Tell Zerā‘a in den Jahren 2007 bis 2009”, ZDPV

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are typical in the Levantine area for the Late Bronze (Ugarit, Kamid el-Loz, Hazor, Tell Deir ‘Alla) and Iron Age I (Dan, Tel Hadar, Kinneret, Tell Zera’a) periods. One example from Ashkelon, which can be dated to the Middle Bronze Age II period, has a much higher profile and should be considered separately, while another piece from Tel Rehov is likely in a Iron Age I tradition. All those fenestrated, globular vessels from the Iron Age I period were found in a very limited area in the Jordan valley, from Dan in the north and Tell Zera’a and maybe Tel Rehov in the south. They seem to be typical of an unknown ritual. One may suppose that also the building in Tell el-‘Oreme, where the vessel was found, was used as a storage house for a cultic context. Most likely, the cult place was somewhere in the neighborhood, perhaps outside the city wall, which is just to the south of this building. We find a similar situation in Dan, where a storage room (Locus 7082), measuring only 1.5 x 1m was excavated, and a similar globular clay vessel was found within.27 Also this room could have been used as a storage room for cultic purposes. At other sites, the globular clay vessels were discovered in typical storage rooms. In Tel Hadar this type of cultic vessel was found in the tripartite pillared building.28 In Tell Zera’a it was found in a silo.29 Other typical cultic items are cult stands with a square groundplan.30 All the items dating to the Iron Age I period were found in a very limited area (Bet Shan, Megiddo, Pella, Ta’anach), comparable to the globular clay vessels. Perhaps these items are markers for specific cultic or ethnic groups or traditions. The so-called ‘Sellinstand’ from Taanach was found in a private house, but a ground plan of this building is missing. The ‘Lapp-stand’ from the same site was discovered in a nearby cistern. The items from Bet-Shean were found in the so-called ‘North temple’ respectively in the south temple. But both buildings should not be considered as temples.31 One item from Megiddo was found in Building 338, considered by the excavator Schumacher32 and by Ussishkin33 as a shrine. If this building can really be interpreted as a temple or a shrine is still highly debatable.34 Some items from this building can clearly be identified as cultic, but no clear architectural proof can be found for a definite cultic use of this building. Unfortunately, the publication of the excavation 126 (2010), tf. 7. 27 A. Biran, Biblical Dan (Jerusalem, 1994), pp. 152–153. 28 M. Kochavi and E. Yadin, “Hadar, Tel”, in NEAEHL, V, pp. 1756–1757. 29 Vieweger and Häser, op. cit. (note 26), p. 13. 30 J. Bretschneider, Architekturmodelle in Vorderasien und der östlichen Ägäis vom Neolithikum bis in das 1. Jahrtausend. Phänomene in der Kleinkunst an Beispielen aus Mesopotamien, dem Iran, Anatolien, Syrien, der Levante und dem ägäischen Raum unter besonderer Berücksichtigung der bau- und religionsgeschichtlichen Aspekte (AOAT 229; Kevelaer – Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1991); B. Muller, Les “maquettes architecturales” du Proche-Orient Ancien. Mésopotamie, Syrie, Palestine du IIIe auch milieu du Ier millénaire av. J.-C. (BAH 160; Beirut, 2002); C. Frevel, “Eisenzeitliche Kultständer als Medien der Alltagskultur in Palästina“, in H. von Hesberg (ed.), Medien der Antike (Zakmira 1; Berlin, 2004), pp. 145– 202; W. Zwickel, “Kultständer aus Taanach”, in S. Kreuzer, (ed.), Taanach/Tell Ta’annek. 100 Jahre Forschungen zur Archäologie, zur Geschichte, zu den Fundobjekten und zu den Keilschrifttexten (WAS 5; Frankfurt, 2006), pp. 63–70. 31 Zwickel, op. cit. (note 12), pp. 240–242. 32 G. Schumacher, Tell el-Mutesellim I: Fundbericht (Leipzig, 1908). 33 D. Ussishkin, “Schumacher’s Shrine in Building 338 in Megiddo”, IEJ 39 (1989), pp. 149– 172. 34 Cf. Zwickel, op. cit. (note 12), pp. 257–258.

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results in Megiddo by Schumacher was insufficient for a careful interpretation more than 100 years after the original excavation. Therefore, the identification is uncertain and this building should not be considered as a shrine. Similar items from Pella were found out of their original context in a pottery deposit.35 To sum up: The overview has shown that no definite temples have been discovered in Judah or Israel from the Iron Age I period until now. At some sites, cultic material was discovered, but very likely the buildings connected to those items served not as sanctuaries, but rather as storage rooms or as domiciles for a priest. The sacred area should be located nearby as an open air sanctuary. Because of the fact that many sites of the Iron Age I period were already excavated, this result is likely not accidental. Rather, it is likely that at nearly all the sites there were no temples and that some cultic activities took part in open air places in the villages or nearby. Even if the small rooms in Tell Qiri, Kinneret, and perhaps Megiddo, really should be regarded as shrines, the size of the shrines was extremely small and cannot be compared to the magnificent temple buildings in the Late Bronze Age. Thesis 12: Temples are rarely mentioned in the biblical texts describing the early periods of Israel and Judah. Actually, some must have existed, but they were really rare. According to the biblical text, there are only two buildings that can clearly be considered as temple buildings and not an open air shrine in the Iron Age I period: the sanctuary of Shiloh and the sanctuary of Nob. Perhaps a temple existed in Shiloh (1 Sam 1:3,9,24; 2:14 and others) because it was a central cultic place for the tribes of Northern Palestine or at least of the tribe of Ephraim. Unfortunately, during the excavations in Silo no cultic building was discovered. The story of the sanctuary of Nob on the eastern slopes of the Mount of Olives (1 Sam 21:2; 22:9,11,19) could also be of an early origin. There are also some observations for a very late tradition (or a late redaction) of those texts. According to 1 Sam 22:18, eighty-five priests were killed by Doeg. Such a high number of priests only existed in the late postexilic period. During the Iron Age I and II period, only one priest, or perhaps in late Iron Age II in Jerusalem, three priests worked at one sanctuary. Thesis 13: The situation in Israel and Judah is completely different to the neighboring countries (Arameans, Ammonites, Moabites, Edomites, Philistines), where according to recent excavations temples existed already in Iron Age I. New excavations in the neighboring regions of Philistia, Edom, Moab and Ammon show that in those territories, some temples existed already in the Iron Age I and especially in the Iron Age II.36 For the Iron Age I, Tel Qasile and Ekron are the most important sanctuaries, but there are further examples at other sites. In Wadi ethThamad 13, a ‘wayside shrine’ dating back to the Iron Age I was discovered. In the Iron Age II period, many temples were discovered (e.g. Rujm el-Kursi, Horvat Qitmit, Khirbet el-Mudayne). Accordingly, the religious situation in Israel and Judah was completely different from the neighboring countries.

35

T. F. Potts et al., “Preliminary Report on a Sixth Season of Excavation by the University of Sydney at Pella in Jordan (1983/84)”, ADAJ 29 (1985), pp. 181–210. 36 Cf. now Elkowicz, op. cit. (note 1).

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Thesis 14: The surprising discontinuity of cultic sites from the Late Bronze Age to the Iron Age demands explanation. It must be associated with the abandonment of towns at the end of the Late Bronze Age and the completely new sociological and economic situation. This results in social changes which influenced cultic behavior as well. All the temples were abandoned when the Canaanite period at those sites came to an end. The economic and social situation changed completely in the Iron Age I. While the people in the Late Bronze Age had some specialists among the craftsmen, in the Iron Age villages, people were trained to do everything by themselves. The quality of the products, especially the quality of pottery, was poorer in the Iron Age I period, because people were not trained anymore as specialists. Likewise, the cult changed during the Iron Age I period. While in the Late Bronze Age cult was in the hand of a small group of well informed priests at every city state, the cult became more popular during the Iron Age I period. Most probably, many new cultic sites were now established (“under every green tree”), distributed over the hill country region, and it was not necessary anymore to have a priest responsible for the sanctuary. Also, a judge like Samuel (1 Sam 9:14–25) could be responsible for the ceremony, while a purely political leader could not overtake the role of a priest (1 Sam 13:7–15). Thesis 15: Because of the close connection between temple and kingdom in Late Bronze Age city states, people of the Iron Age I period did not trust the traditional city gods anymore. When the city-state system broke down, the traditional religious system came to a sudden end as well. The bamot are evidence for a new kind of worship during Iron Age I. If there were still some temples in the Iron Age I period, they mostly were surviving relics of the Late Bronze Age tradition. The main god of early Israel in the Iron Age I period was the god El, as clearly shows the name Isra-El (‘El fights’ or ‘El reigns’). The most important god of the Late Bronze Age in Palestine was Baal, who is most often mentioned as theophoric part of a personal in the Amarna letters and other Late Bronze Age texts.37 Baal was a god of war and fertility. The famine and the weak political situation for the people of Palestine during the Late Bronze Age were certainly not profitable for Baal’s power and popularity. Therefore it seems understandable that a specific group of settlers in the hill country, which are mentioned for the first time at about 1208 BCE on the stela of pharaoh Merenptah, named themselves after the god El, the second popular god in the Late Bronze Age (according to appearance of theophoric names). We do not know anything about male gods besides El that were worshipped during the Iron Age I period. YHWH is not attested in Late Bronze Age personal names, but he must have been venerated by some groups in the Iron Age I. He was a newcomer, who rose because of the crisis of the traditional religious systems. But YHWH did not become a central god before the time of David who introduced his personal god as the new national god for the United Kingdom. There exists a surprisingly high number of names with the theophoric element YHWH among the people connected with David (Benaja, Joab, Joshafat, Seraja, Jojada, Jonatan). YHWH was most likely worshipped by people of a lower social class, because the 37

R. S. Hess, Amarna Personal Names (Winona Lake, IN 1993); W. Horowitz – T. Oshima, Cuneiform in Canaan: Cuneiform Sources from the Land of Israel in Ancient Times (Jerusalem, 2006).

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military group fighting under the leadership of David can be considered as some of the last habiru. The social system of the Iron Age I period was rather egalitarian compared to the elite system of Late Bronze Age Canaanite society. The popularity of open air sanctuaries during the Iron Age I period clearly demonstrates that there was also an egalitarian religious system. No leaders in cultic affairs were needed anymore. Thesis 16: Besides gathering on the bamot, personal cultic practice became more relevant during the Iron Age I period. Some element of traditional cult praxis survived in private cult. The poor economic situation in the Iron Age I period in Judah and Israel is reflected by the poor quality of cultic artifacts at most sites. We still have some cultic finds that were typical for the Late Bronze Age cultic practice. But the number of items is much lower in the Iron Age I than in the Late Bronze Age, and instead of bronze items, less expensive pottery objects were commonly used. According to the O. Negbi’s catalogue “Canaanite Gods in Metal”38 there are more than 53 metal figurines from the Late Bronze Age compared to only 3 from the Iron Age. More recent finds have not changed this significant contrast, and even some of the Iron Age items seem to be heirlooms from the Late Bronze Age. On the other hand, there are some important changes in the cultic material. Only 8 kernoi are known from Late Bronze Age Palestine, while 47 were found in Iron Age I levels, most of them in Israel and Judah, but some also in the Philistine area.39 For globular clay vessels and stands with a square ground plan, cf. thesis 11, above. Thesis 17: The establishment of a new kingdom under (Saul), David and Solomon made a new cultic center for the whole country necessary. David was not yet a “real” king (like other king in the ancient orient), who combined political and religious power in one hand. But it was David’s idea to introduce his personal god YHWH as the central god for his united kingdom instead of El (Isra-El). It was only Solomon, who erected a new temple building in order to combine political and religious power; both temple and palace were situated on the temple mount in close spatial relation. The temple of Solomon40 was one of the largest temples of that period in the whole country. The only excavated temple of the Bronze and Iron Age, which is larger than the Solomonic temple (according to the biblical description), is the temple in Aleppo.41 To build a magnificent temple in Jerusalem was a recourse to Late Bronze Age traditions. Because Jerusalem survived as one of the last Canaanite city-states until the time of David, it was easier here to resume the Late Bronze Age tradition than at any other site in the country. The establishment of United Kingdom needed a religious centre, and therefore Solomon erected the temple in Jerusalem. The maj-

38

Negbi, op. cit. (note 10). A. M. Bignasca, I kernoi circolari in Oriente e in Occidente. Strumenti di culto e immagini cosmiche (OBO, Series Archaeologica 19; Fribourg – Göttingen, 2000). 40 Cf. W. Zwickel, Der salomonische Tempel (Kamen, 20112). 41 K. Kohlmeyer, Der Tempel des Wettergottes von Aleppo (Münster, 2000); J. Gonnella et al., Zitadelle von Aleppo und der Tempel des Wettergottes (Münster, 2005). 39

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esty of the national god YHWH should be presented in the glory of a temple building, and the stability of the cult should help to stabilize the kingdom of Solomon. Thesis 18: The close connection between the personal god of the king and a whole national state was first established during the kingdom of David and Solomon. This concept was clearly influenced by the neighboring countries, where the same process can be observed during this period or even somewhat earlier. This close connection of one god and a national territory continued after the death of Solomon, both in Judah and Israel. Jerobeam I erected two new border sanctuaries in Bethel and Dan in order to protect his territory by the power of the god YHWH.

THE CHANGE FROM EGYPTIAN TO PHILISTINE HEGEMONY IN SOUTH-WESTERN PALESTINE DURING THE TIME OF RAMESSES III OR IV1 WOLFGANG ZWICKEL University of Mainz

In the last years several interesting finds have been discovered, which provide new details about the changes in the southwestern area of Palestine during the early years of the 12th century BCE. The aim of this article is to present this collected information and to draw some historical conclusions.

I. Papyrus Harris Papyrus Harris I is a summary of important events during the reign of Ramesses III (1187–1156 BCE), which was prepared by his son and successor Ramesses IV. In chapter 9,1–3 a temple of Amon situated in Djahi is mentioned (ANET, 260–261):2 I built for thee a mysterious house in the land of Djahi, like the horizon of heaven which is in the sky, (named) “the House of RamessesRuler-of-Heliopolis—life, prosperity, health!—in the Canaan”, as the vested property of thy name. I fashioned the great cult image which rests in it, (named) “Amon of Ramesses-Ruler of Heliopolis—life, prosperity, health!”. The foreigners of Retenu come to it, bearing their tribute before it, according as it is divine. Evidently the Canaan should be considered as another name for the town of Gaza, the southernmost Palestinian site.3 This text testifies that Ramesses III built up an Egyptian temple in this town, and that the inhabitants of the country had to present offerings to the main god of the New Kingdom Amun. There is no reason to doubt the historicity of this information.

1

I thank D. Kahn for his comments on my paper. For the last scientific translation and commentary see M. Weippert, Historisches Textbuch zum Alten Testament (Göttingen, 2010), pp. 173–174 (this part of the Textbuch was written by B. U. Schipper). 3 Cf. Weippert, ibid., p. 173, note 185. 2

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II. Hieratic Inscriptions In Tell esh-Sheri‘a/Tel Sera‘, Lachish/Tell ed-Duwer, Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath, Tell elFar‘ah South, Deir el-Balah, Ashkelon, Tell Abu Hurera and Beth Shean the excavators found several fragments of hieratic inscriptions.4 Except for Beth Shean, where an Egyptian military garrison was installed, all those texts are from a limited area in southwestern Palestine. Even more: Nearly all of those inscriptions mention taxes of harvest handed over to an official, who wrote a confirmation. The use of the hieratic writing system may be considered as a proof for an Egyptian tax delivery system. Based on paleographical and stratigraphical reasons all those texts should be dated in the 13th or early-12th century BCE.5 Not definitely but likely those harvest deliveries can be understood as the tributes presented to the temple in Gaza mentioned in Papyrus Harris I (or to a predecessor in that area). Since Egyptian temples were connected normally with an economic system, we have to assume that also the temple in Gaza was supported by the income of the surrounding farmsteads and villages, whose land was owned by the temple. The combination of the Papyrus Harris I and the hieratic inscriptions shows us the extension of the land owned by the temple of Gaza: the whole area in the southwestern part of Palestine up to Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath and likely Ashkelon in the north and Lachish/Tell ed-Duwer and Tell esh-Sheri‘a/Tel Sera‘ in the east. This is a territory with fertile landscape of approximately 500km2. To own a specific territory is something new in the Egyptian way of dominating Palestine. During the 18th and 19th dynasties the Egyptians were only interested to control the country and to ensure trade activities. Just a small group of soldiers were installed in Palestine to guarantee free roads and to keep the stability in the country. The tax delivery is different from the former system of Egyptian control: Now a specific territory was owned by the Egyptians and most of the income of the agriculture activities had to be delivered to the temple, which was regarded as an Egyptian economic and religious centre. Inscription I of Tel Sera‘6 mentions the regnal year 22, likely the reign of Ramesses III (1187–1156 BCE). The regnal year 22 is in conformity with 1165 BCE. The bowl from Tel Sera‘ shows that at least in the last years of the 60’s of the 12th century BCE the Egyptian temple in Gaza was still in use.

III. Seals of Egyptian Officials Some years ago C. Uehlinger focused attention on three seals found in Tel Beth Shemesh and Tell el-Far‘a South with the inscription “House of Ramesses-Ruler-ofHeliopolis”.7 These seals were certainly official seals used by somebody, who was 4 For an updated list of all these inscriptions see S. J. Wimmer, “A New Hieratic Ostracon from Ashkelon”, TA 35 (2008), pp. 69–71. 5 See S. J. Wimmer in Weippert, op. cit. (note 2), pp. 175–178. A few of these inscriptions are dated by Wimmer to the reign of Ramesses III (ibid., p. 176, note 206). 6 O. Goldwasser, “Hieratic Inscriptions from Tel Sera‘ in Southern Canaan”, TA 11 (1984), pp. 77–93. 7 C. Uehlinger, “Der Amun-Tempel Ramses‘ III. in p3-Kn‘n, seine südpalästinischen Tempelgüter und der Übergang von der Ägypter- zur Philisterherrschaft: Ein Hinweis auf einige wenig beachtete Skarabäen”, ZDPV 104 (1988), pp. 6–25 (enlarged edition in O. Keel, M. Shuval and C. Uehlinger, Studien zu den Stempelsiegeln aus Palästina/Israel. Band III: Die

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responsible for the area belonging to the temple in Gaza.8 Tell el-Far‘a South lies in the same territory covered by the hieratic inscriptions. Beth Shemesh is located about 20km to the north. Naturally seals can be transported or lost by their owners in several places. But it seems probable that the territory owned by the Egyptians was enlarged up to Beth Shemesh in the north.

IV. The Settlement of the Sea Peoples In the 8th year of Ramesses III several groups of the Sea Peoples were—according to Papyrus Harris—brought to Egypt by the Egyptians and settled in strongholds. Since the first sentence of this paragraph mentions that Ramesses III extended all the frontiers of Egypt, it can be assumed, but not be proved, that he settled the Sea Peoples along the Palestinian coast, which Ramesses III understood as part of Egypt. While the Tekker settled in the north with Dor as their capital, the Philistines lived in the southwestern part of Palestine. They established Gaza, Ashkelon, Ashdod, Gath and Ekron as their capitals. This is at least part of the landscape owned by the Egyptian temple of Gaza. Therefore, it seems credible that Ramesses III offered to the Philistine groups a landscape owned by him in which to settle in. Maybe he kept some areas at the eastern and southern borders to be still under Egyptian control. Gaza was one of the Philistine capitals. Therefore we may have to assume that Ramesses III built his temple in Gaza during his early years, before the Philistines arrived. It seems understandable that the Egyptians settled the Sea Peoples as mercenaries in this territory, which could contribute to the Egyptian control over Palestine. Most likely, at least until 1165 BCE, the 22nd year of Ramesses III mentioned in the inscription I from Tel Sera‘, the Philistines cooperated in this way with the Egyptians, since probably the temple in Gaza recieved taxes from the area which was now also settled by the Philistine newcomers.

V. Inscription of Ramesses III from Lachish In the early stages, Lachish was most likely not under Philistine control. In Level VI of Lachish, a bronze plaque with the cartouche of Ramesses III was discovered. 9 Despite earlier suggestions, the writing of the name of Ramesses III cannot be considered as a proof for the early years of this pharaoh. Nevertheless, Lachish was conquered and destroyed by enemies not before the time of Ramesses III. It seems probable that the Philistines, who were the direct neighbors, destroyed Lachish, because they did not want to be simply mercenaries of the Egyptians but to be independent. If Lachish still belonged to the Egyptians during the reign of Ramesses III, Frühe Eisenzeit. Ein Workshop [Fribourg – Göttingen, 1990], pp. 3–26). 8 But cf. the criticism by B. Brandl, “Scarabs and Plaques Bearing Royal Names of the Early 20th Egyptian Dynasty excavated in Canaan – from Sethnakht to Ramesses IV”, in M. Bietak and E. Czerny (eds.), Scarabs of the Second Millennium BC from Egypt, Nubia, Crete and the Levant: Chronological and Historical Implications (Vienna, 2004), p. 59. In his opinion the estate was situated in Egypt. But Brandl cannot explain why these scarabs were found in southern Palestine. 9 R. Giveon, D. Sweeney and N. Lalkin, “The Inscription of Ramesses III”, in D. Ussishkin, The Renewed Archaeological Excavations at Lachish (1973–1994), III (Tel Aviv, 2004), pp. 1626–1628.

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it was logical to destroy this town in order to demonstrate the Philistine independence. Later on the Philistines probably also destroyed the Egyptian temple in Gaza, which was still an existing symbol of the Egyptian domination. If all these suggestions are true, this deliberate attack of the Philistines did not take place before the 22nd regnal year of Ramesses III (1165 BCE). This deliverance of the Philistines from the Egyptians had severe consequences. The international trade through Palestine broke down immediately, because the Philistines did not want to cooperate with the Egyptians anymore. On the other hand, the Egyptians were not strong enough anymore to reestablish their dominion in Palestine. We have no single information of a campaign to Palestine of any pharaoh of the 20th or 21st dynasties after Ramesses III down to Siamun10 or Shishak in the 10th century BCE, and even Ramesses III was not able to establish his domination again. Likely the might of the Philistine military power was too strong for the Egyptians. The breakdown of the international trade, caused by the settlement of the Philistines and their succeeding liberation from Egyptian domination, was the final stroke for Late Bronze Age society in Palestine. Since most of the city states were connected with trade activities and were situated on major trade routes, they lost their income. Therefore the inhabitants left the towns and settled in the Negev or in the Hill country.

VI. Scarabs of Ramesses IV in Lachish Some years ago R. Krauss emphasized that a scarab with the name of Ramesses IV (1156–1150 BCE) has been found in the 1930s in a Late Bronze Age context outside the city of Lachish in Area 7000. Therefore, the destruction of Lachish, Stratum VI did not take place before the reign of this pharaoh.11 Unfortunately the stratigraphy, as well as the identification of this scarab is not completely clear. There is another scarab that was found in Tomb 570, which most likely can also be attributed to Ramesses IV, although this reading is not definite..12 The finds from this tomb belong to the final days of Late Bronze Age Lachish. If the analysis of the writing on the seals is correct, we have a proof for a destruction of the city of Lachish not before the early years of Ramesses IV. Generally Egyptian royal seals are not to be considered as a proof for Egyptian hegemony at this site. They may have come to a specific site by Egyptian officials or traders even when the Egyptian hegemony had finished. But if they are well stratified they can be used for an absolute chronology of the site.

10

An expedition of Siamun to Palestine is based on 1 Kgs 9:16. In addition, a relief from Tanis, presenting this pharaoh triumphant over an enemy with a double-axe in his hand, may be also connected with this campaign; see K. A. Kitchen, On the Reliability of the Old Testament (Grand Rapids – Cambridge, 2003), pl. xvi. 11 R. Krauss, “Ein wahrscheinlicher Terminus post quem für das Ende von Lachisch VI”, MDOG 126 (1994), pp. 123–130. For a possible attribution of this seal to Osorkon II, cf. Brandl, op. cit. (note 8), p. 60. 12 N. Lalkin, “A Ramesses IV Scarab from Lachish”, TA 31 (2004), pp. 17–21.

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VII. Finds from Later Pharaohs of the Ramesside Period in Palestine The main category of finds from the 19th and 20th dynasties is seals. According to Keel and Brandl13 seals with the name of a Ramesside pharaoh have been found in official digs according to the following distribution: Seti I Ramesses II (Nefertari Merenptah Sethos II Siptah Tausret Sethnakht Ramesses III Ramesses IV

10 about 110 1) 3 1 1 114 1 15 5 + x15

No seals of later kingds of the Ramesside period have been found.16 The presence or absence of seals from later pharaohs can be interpreted as proof for the end of the Egyptian hegemony on southern Palestine during the reign of Ramesses IV. Egyptian annalistic texts do not mention any further military activity of a Ramesside king after Ramesses III. Only campaigns into the Sinai and to Timna, conducted by the Pharaohs Ramesses IV, Ramesses V and Ramesses VI, are reported. There are no inscriptions in Timna that are later than Ramesses V, and evidently during his reign the Egyptian interest in the eastern part of the Sinai peninsula came to an end. The last architectural elements in Serabit el-Khadim were built up by Ramesses VI’s reign. His reign was definitely the end of Egyptian hegemony in the Sinai area.

VIII. A Socket of Ramesses VI in Megiddo A socket for a bronze statuette has been found in Megiddo, which mentions the name of Ramesses VI (1145–1137 BCE), but this cannot be considered as a proof for Egyptian military presence in Megiddo during that late period. It may be regarded as a gift of that pharaoh or even as a booty. It was found “under a wall in 13

O. Keel, Corpus der Stempelsiegel-Amulette aus Palästina/Israel. Von den Anfängen bis zur Perserzeit. Einleitung (Fribourg – Göttingen 1995), p. 235, § 643; Brandl, op. cit. (note 8), p. 61–63. 14 For Tausret cf. also the vases with inscriptions from Tell Der Alla and Sidon (H. J. Franken, Excavations at Tell Deir ‘Alla. The Late Bronze Age Sanctuary [Louvain 1992], p. 187, pl. 4b; C. Doumet-Serhal, “Sidon during the Bronze Age: Burials, Rituals and Feasting Grounds at the “College Site”, NEA 73 [2010], p. 125). 15 I will not discuss the problematic readings of the names of Ramesses IV on scarabs, but some may be definitely connected with this pharaoh. Brandl attributes 10 pieces to Ramesses IV, others like Krauss or Lalkin even more. According to O. Keel (personal communication) seals with the name of Ramesses IV were found in Ashdod, Bet Shean, Tell el-Far‘a South (1 or perhaps 2 examples), Gezer, Khirbet Ni‘ana and perhaps Megiddo (the list will be published in the next volume of his Corpus, s.v. Gezer 10). 16 Cf. Uehlinger, op. cit. (note 7, 1990), p. 21–24.

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Stratum VIIB Room 1832 as if deliberately buried there and therefore intrusive”.17 There are many problems with this stratigraphic attribution. Stratum VIIB is dated to about 1350 BCE—definitely too early for Ramesses VI. But if it has to be attributed to Stratum VIIA, as most scholars proposed and which does not correspond to the archaeological description, this item is definitely out of any archaeological context. The socket has been found in Area CC, the residential area (Square R9). Such an official object would rather be expected in an administrative area. We may only speculate why this socket was hidden in that area. Perhaps it was stolen or considered as a memory of former times, buried there in later periods than even Stratum VIIA. Since there definitely exists a stratigraphic problem, no secure attribution to any layer seems reliable. Taking into consideration these problems, the inter-pretation of this item remains problematic and should not be considered as an anchor for the absolute chronology of this site. IX. The “overseer of the northern foreign countries” Beginning with Thutmosis III, an Egyptian title “overseer of the northern foreign countries” is attested for the responsible commissioner.18 The last overseer who definitely had this title, was Usermaatrenacht, who was governor under Ramesses III. Perhaps, also Userchau, who was responsible likely at the early years of Ramesses IV, had the same function. Nobody had this title in a later period. This demonstrates that at least during the time of Ramesses IV, Egypt lost its control over Palestine. X. Summary All the discussions about the history of southwestern Palestine at the end of the Late Bronze Age were based until now mainly on scarabs. The discussion about the end of Egyptian influence in Palestine was concentrated on a single and very problematic socket of Ramesses VI found in Megiddo. Our historical reconstruction is based on historical texts, archaeological data, scarabs and inscriptions. Within a few years, the situation in southwestern Palestine changed dramatically. In his first regnal years, Ramesses III (1187–1156 BCE) established a temple in Gaza and become the personal land owner of this region, parallel to the estate ownership of Egyptian temples in Egypt itself. With the appearance of the Sea Peoples in ca. 1179 BCE, the Philistines were settled by the Egyptians in this area as mercenaries. Some areas outside the Philistine territory, to which Lachish belonged, may still have been under Egyptian influence, but likely this area was not an Egyptian estate. Lachish seems to have still been a Canaanite city state with rather close connections to the Egyptians. In the early years, Philistine and Canaanite people likely lived side by side together with nearly no cultural exchange. 17

J. H. Breasted, “Bronze Base of a Statue of Ramesses VI Discovered at Megiddo”, in G. Loud, Megiddo II. Seasons of 1935-1939. Text (Chicago, 1948), p. 135, note 1. 18 Cf. E. Hirsch, “Die Beziehungen der ägyptischen Residenz im Neuen Reich zu den vorderasiatischen Vasallen. Die Vorsteher der nördlichen Fremdländer und ihre Stellung bei Hofe”, in R. Gundlach – A. Klug (eds.), Der ägyptische Hof des Neuen Reiches – Seine Gesellschaft und Kultur im Spannungsfeld zwischen Innen- und Außenpolitik (Königtum, Staat und Gesellschaft früher Hochkulturen 2; Wiesbaden, 2006), pp. 120–200.

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Only some years later, definitely not before regnal year 22 of Ramesses III (1165 BCE), and perhaps even not before the reign of Ramesses IV (1156–1150 BCE), the Philistines freed themselves from the Egyptian dominion and destroyed Lachish and perhaps also some other sites, which were still under Egyptian influence. This was the final stroke for the Late Bronze Age society in that region, which could not survive anymore, because the trade activities, which were very important for the Late Bronze Age economic system, came to a sudden end. If this hypothesis is correct, the Late Bronze Age city state society in southwestern Palestine lasted until about 1160/1150 BCE, although some of the other city states further to the north may have been abandoned already before that date.

The Ancient Near East in the 12th-10th Centuries BCE: Culture and History

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